#The timeline got shuffled

[gnomeonamelon]

July 31, 2011 > August 6, 2011

London, Manhattan, Giza, Luxor, Pheonix

August 17, 2011

Manhattan

[rosiesdisneydrama]

Night Raven College: A (Loose) Year's Timeline

I got frustrated that I couldn't find a timeline of events for Disney Twisted Wonderland, to help me figure out which "yearly" events happened when and at what time of year each Story happened during.

So, like the Madwoman I am, I tried to make one of my own.

Just so you know, this is based on when they happen in a single year and not which years they happen at the school (since, despite game logic, I refuse to believe that insanity happens in a single year), as well as the rough estimate of when each overblot happened based on context clues and irl events they match and when the game holds them. (please note, this doesn’t include the Japan-exclusive events)

Since NRC is 4 year school, I would assume that some events wouldn’t be yearly or happen in the same year. This is just a general “yearly calendar” timeline. So specific one-time events aren't really included (like the Tsumtsum or the Apprentice Chef ones), nor are the ones that don't have stories. And since the school is based on the Western school year, it starts in the fall and not spring!

I hope my crazy is useful to someone!

September (9th Month of the Year)

Semester: Fall Term

Story: The Rose-Red Tyrant (Riddle’s Overblot)

School Events:

Entrance Ceremony

Club Recruitment

Birthdays:

12th is Jamil’s Birthday

23rd is Ace’s Birthday

October (10th Month of the Year)

Semester: Fall Term

Story: The Usurper from the Wilds (Leona’s Overblot)

School Events:

Interdorm Spelldrive Tournament

Halloween

Birthdays:

11th is Jack’s Birthday

25th is Trey’s Birthday

November (11th Month of the Year)

Semester: Fall Term

Story: The Merchant from the Depths (Azul’s Overblot)

School Events:

End of Term Exams

Glorious Masquerade

Birthdays:

5th is Jade and Floyd’s Birthdays

December (12th Month of the Year)

Semester: Fall Term

Story: Schemer of the Scalding Sands (Jamil’s Overblot)

School Events:

Winter Break

Haveston Sledathon

A Firelit Sky

Birthdays:

2nd if Rook’s Birthday

18th is Idia’s Birthday

January (1st Month of the Year)

Semester: Winter Term

Story: (None)

School Events:

New Years

Founding Day

Birthdays:

1st is Lilia’s Birthday

18th is Malleus Birthday

February (2nd Month of the Year)

Semester: Winter Term

Story: A Beautiful Tyrant (Vil’s Overblot), The Watchman of the Underworld (Idia’s Overblot)

School Events:

Beanfest

Birthdays:

4th is Cater’s Birthday

24th is Azul’s Birthday

March (3rd Month of the Year)

Semester: Spring Term

Story: (None thus far)

School Events:

Cultural Festival

The Fairy Gala

Birthdays:

17th is Sebek’s Birthday

April (4th Month of the Year)

Semester: Spring Holiday

Story: (None thus far)

School Events:

(None found thus far)

Birthdays:

9th is Vil’s Birthday

18th is Ruggie’s Birthday

May (5th Month of the Year)

Semester: Summer Term

Story: (None thus far)

School Events:

None yet

Birthdays:

6th is Epel’s Birthday

15th is Silver’s Birthday

June (6th Month of the Year)

Semester: Summer Term

Story: The Lord of Malevolence (Malleus’ Overblot)

School Events:

Port Fest

Birthdays:

3rd is Deuce’s Birthday

25th is Kalim’s Birthday

July (7th Month of the Year)

Semester: Summer Term

Story: The Lord of Malevolence (Malleus’ Overblot)

School Events:

End of Term Exams

Camp Vargus

The Phantom Bride

Birthdays:

27th is Leona’s Birthday

August (8th Month of the Year)

Semester: Summer Term

Story: (None thus far)

School Events:

Star Sending

End of Year Exams

Birthdays:

14th is Ortho’s Birthday

24th is Riddle’s Birthday

If I've missed an event or you can think of a "normal" school event that should have been included but isn't, let me know and I'll add it to the list!

This is meant to be a loose timeline for what would be put on a calendar (or a fanfic writer would want included) so it doesn't include EVER SINGLE event that's been held.

Anyway, have fun with these folks!

3/13/24 Edit: I fixed a few things! Vil's and Idia's overblots happened in February along with Beanfest, it's a shockingly busy month apparently. If there are any other inconsistencies, please let me know so I can fix them!

(knowing how things progressed in the story, I'm starting to wonder if Malleus' Overblot was in March... God an overblot a month is insane XD )

[omnipresentlemon]

While I know most Vanco/Zaundads enthusiasts are focused on the family dynamic centered around Powder for obvious reasons (alternate timeline w/ Vi dead, we’re not really sure when Vanco reunited in that timeline, Jinx and Silco’s relationship in S1, etc.), I feel like we’re missing out on some solid Father-Daughter antics between Silco and Vi. For example:

- Vi growled at people she didn’t like until she was like 10 because she heard someone call Vander the Hound of the Underground and thought that was the coolest thing ever. Silco threatened to muzzle her if she didn’t stop.

- While Powder loves helping Vander out at The Last Drop, Vi insists on being Silco’s “bodyguard” whenever he had business to deal with, whether it’s with the Chem Barons or Piltover elite. Silco appreciates it but also cannot have every meeting end with a fistfight, please just stand in the corner and look menacing, Violet.

- Silco is the only one who calls her Violet. When she was really little he gave her the nickname Petal, which she loathes once she’s older but also secretly loves.

- He’s also the one she goes to when she wants to hear stories about her parents. Vander will tell her the big stuff, how Connol and Felicia met, when Vi was born, etc., but Silco will tell her about how her mom would sing the raunchiest ballads when she got drunk, how her dad hand-carved her crib when he found out Felicia was pregnant; the sweet little in between moments that made them who they were.

- Vi will keep Silco company when he stays up late working, a warm, solid presence pressed into his side. Vander loves it, because the second Vi starts drifting off, Silco will put down his work and help shuffle her off to bed. It’s the most effective way to keep Silco from burning the midnight oil.

Please feel free to add on, I’m obsessed with the entire Zaundads dynamic and want my girl Vi to get some love, too. ♥️♥️

[foolinafable]

your wildest dream, his nightmare

Five Hargreeves x Reader Synopsis: Walking into Max’s diner as a respite after you and Five are seemingly stuck you don’t think you could’ve imagined a better outcome surrounded by various versions of your lover. At the same time, for him it’s nothing more than a bad dream he hopes will end soon. Word count: 760 Tags: Fluff, Jealous Five, Crackfic Note: This small fic because it's funny to imagine jealous Five being jealous of himself

“Come on”

Five grabbed your hand as he led you out of the tube to, probably, another timeline. It must have been a few hours the two of you had been stuck in this place going station to station still with no idea how to get back. 

You turned left but instead of being greeted with the usual blankness for Five to scribble about in his notebook you instead were somewhat blinded by the light of a sign.

‘Max’s delicatessen.’ You made eye contact with Five to the side of you before tilting your head with a nod towards the building. He simply followed your lead before quickly grabbing the door to let you in first. 

You turned back to smile in thanks when you noticed his shocked expression, head quickly turned back towards the diner at a call of your name to see the whole diner was made up of your lover. Looking back to Five, your Five, in bewilderment a shocked smile on your face.

The look on your face seemed to take him out of his stupor clearing his throat before leading you into the diner- trying to find an empty table for you to sit at. He was quickly stopped by another Five, one sat on his own, and gestured for the two of you to sit opposite him. Five begrudgingly agreed as he realised the restaurant was at max capacity. No spare table in sight.

You quickly shuffled onto the brown bench when the other Five spoke 

“It’s rare to see one of you around here” he smiled happy to see you

“Maybe this is not my typical scene” you rebutted a cheeky smile on your face that the Five opposite you seemed to enjoy, dimple now showing from smiling so wide

“Maybe” he breathed out in a laugh 

Before you could continue to speak with this version of Five another one appeared in front of you, this one not wearing a suit or vest. He quickly placed down a peanut butter and marshmallow sandwich in front of your Five. He then turned to you placing a very familiar drink in front of you

“Your favourite” he declared when you looked confused  

“How did you know?” You smiled at him eyebrows furrowing as his cheeks went red

“We all know your favourites” he shrugged as if it was the most normal thing in the world

“Um- Thanks” you nodded your head in gratitude 

“Anything for the missus” he mumbled before leaving to go back to the kitchen 

You took a sip of your drink when your Five spoke irritated “What was that about?” a hand possessively stroking at your thigh 

“A lot of us having seen our version of her in a long time” the other Five spoke wistfully   

“How sad” you stated before turning around in your seat you waved and greeted the Fives around you who all became quite delighted at your attention all greeting you with a similar bravado.

“Okay.” Five declared “I think we are done here” he quickly at up pulling you up with him by grabbing hold of your hand once more 

“But we just got here, can’t we stay a little longer and rest?” you asked not wanting to leave. I mean why would you, surrounded by multiple versions of the man who loved you, say no to having his attention on you?

“No, we need to get back to my family in our timeline, come on. We are wasting time.” he rebutted practically pulling you away from the diner seemingly getting even more annoyed as the other Fives shouted goodbyes towards you.

“I didn’t realise I was so annoying, that was a nightmare” Five claimed as you sat on a train hopefully taking you back home

“Sure you weren’t jealous?” you quipped staring at him mischievously

“No” he grumbled arms crossing against his chest

“Then you won’t mind if I-” you spoke moving towards the doors to go back to the diner, quickly shutting up when Five grabbed your hands pulling you back onto the seat beside him. You simply smiled at his look of false ire towards you as the train started to move. Resting your head on his shoulder as he let a smile grace his features giving a kiss to the top of your head.

You hope that at some point you will get to return to the diner- a place you have just coined akin to heaven on earth.               

[buckyalpine]

40's baby Bucky & baby Reader, Present Bucky x Reader, all the flufff, a lil angst but it just adds to the fluff, promise

Bucky sat under the tree with a very prominent pout on his chubby face, his arms crossed against his chest with his brows pulled together. He wasn't happy. Not one bit. Not after his favorite ball was kicked over a fence by the other neighborhood boys.

"Bucky, do you want to play with me?" You toddled over to your best friend hoping to lift his spirits after seeing him so grumpy only to be met with a huff.

"No! Go play with Stevie instead. Leave me alone!" He frowned, brushing you off and turning his back at you to sulk facing the tree instead.

"But-

"I don't want to play with you" Bucky grumbled. Your bottom lip wobbled, dropping your shoulders as you walked off and sat by yourself under some shade on your porch. You didn't have many friends being the youngest and only little girl on your street; Bucky and Steve being the only two who included you in their games.

"Bucky's mean" You picked up one of your dolls, setting her up beside you while you toyed with a wild flowers, doing your best to keep from sniffling after he shooed you away. You knew he was upset but you wanted to make him feel better!

Of course it didn't take long for Bucky to feel bad, peeking over to see your fallen face sitting all alone on the steps of your house, eyes wet with tears which you were desperately blinking back. He got a bad feeling in his little pudgy belly, knowing he wasn't very nice to you. He knew his ma wouldn't be very happy if she heard how he'd spoken to you, especially after you were just trying to brighten his mood. He got up from his place on the grass, nicking a few flowers from his garden before shuffling over to you only to be met with your now grumpy face, crossing your arms and turning away just like he did.

"I'm sorry y/n" Bucky came and plopped beside you, moving the doll away, while clutching onto a few pink tulips. You didn't respond, still mad at him for being mean to you when you'd done nothing wrong. "C'mon jellybean, pwease?"

His baby blues were shining bright as he gave you his best puppy eyes, hoping you'd forgive him. You felt a giddy at the name he called you, one he'd given you because he thought you were sweet like one. You turned to face him while he gave you a shy little smile, placing the flowers onto your lap.

"I brought you flowers" He stated proudly, happy at the giggle you let out, setting them aside before tugging at his hand to run off and play.

-

"Y'promise you'll come back?" your eyes were wet with tears again although you were now 20 years older and the chubby boy you grew up with had grown into a very handsome soldier. He stood before you in his clean and pressed uniform, his face shaven, hair neatly cropped.

"Of course doll" He whispered affectionately, letting his thumbs swipe across your cheeks, kissing away the tears that fell. "I'll always come back to you jellybean"

"You better" You sniffled, standing on your toes to chase more of his lips as he pressed them to yours, his hands wrapping around your waist, picking you up with ease.

"M'gonna come right back to you, safe n'sound" He held you for as long as he could, rocking you close to his chest while you fought back a sob, giving him a brave smile instead.

"I love you Jamie"

"I love you jellybean"

That was the last time you saw him.

-

"This is a bad idea"

"When have I ever had a bad idea" Tony scoffed, continuing to tinker with his quantum portal while Bruce looked over numbers.

"It's not stable enough Tony, if we send someone through this, they could get stuck in an alternate timeline or we could end up changing the future-

"Yea, yea, stop worrying, hand me that spanner"

Bruce sighed, handing over the tool while contemplating on the safest way to test the machine. It wasn't ready to handle anyone actually travelling through time but at the very least they could potentially open portals to the past.

"We gotta put in a location to see if this works-how about-" Tony contemplated on a location, his eyes growing wide with excitement when he spotted Steve's diary that he'd left behind in the lab, "Let's see if Captain has any interesting places from the 40's"

"Why wouldn't you just see if we could get to the compound garden" Bruce groaned while Tony flipped through the pages, typing in an address that had been scribbled in. It was from a list of places Steve wanted to visit again from when he was a child, the address of the person listed under friends. There was only one other person listed there other than Bucky.

"Alright, call the others, let's see if this baby works"

"You're going to get us all killed" Bruce shook his head while calling for everyone to come to the lab. By now everyone was used to Tony's antics; the only one who was genuinely giddy with excitement was surprisingly Bucky. One thing he'd always loved was science; even his stoic expression couldn't hide the twinkle in his eye every time he got to see another Stark experiment.

"Glad you all made it. Now, thanks to Cap, we're going to see if we can open a portal that travels back to the 1940's. I suggest you all stand back since I haven't actually tested this before"

"Why are you like this" Nat snorted while Tony waved her off, pushing a few more buttons before hitting start. Bucky watched from the safe sidelines of the lab as the machine began to vibrate, a low buzz growing louder until a portal roared to life that lead to the inside of someone's home. Bucky and Steve were both stunned from shock seeing a flash of a very familiar living room for no longer than a second before the whole thing closed with a bang and a large puff of smoke in its place.

"Well done Mr. Playboy billionaire dumbass" Sam wheezed while the team was left coughing, the room cloudy as the loud buzz began to dull. "What was the location you even put in-

Sam stopped talking midway when he heard another voice coughing followed by mumbling coming from the place where the portal closed. The smoke hadn't yet dissipated but the shadow of a person was slowly becoming visible. Everyone froze when they realized there was someone on the platform, wondering who could've been sucked through.

"Bruce, turn on the fan-" Bruce hit the lab fan which pulled helped with the smoke revealing a young woman in a flower printed dress. An apron was still tied around her waist, flour streaked across her cheeks, a rolling pin still in her hand. "What the-

"JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES"

Bucky thought he was going to collapse as soon as he saw who was on the platform, his heart fluttering madly in his chest. He couldn't control the blush that crept up on his cheeks, butterflies bursting in his tummy, just as they did all those years ago. The young woman stormed up to the soldier, face full of fury as her palm smacked his cheek (Not hard enough to actually hurt him of course).

"HOW DARE YOU"

Everyone else in the lab silently congregated to one side watching curiously though Steve was still utterly frozen seeing-

"Y-y/n? Doll?"

"Don't you doll me" you whacked his arm with your rolling pin, huffing when it clanged back after hitting metal. That didn't seem to faze you as you switched and hit the other arm instead, making Bucky yelp. "You lied!"

You dropped your makeshift weapon to the floor, moving your hands to your hips instead, looking up and down at the man you loved with your entire heart, the man who you mourned for years after you were told he was dead. He looked much different from when you'd last seen him, the most obvious difference being an entirely new arm. His cheeks were scruffy and it was clear some form of time travel had taken place but none of that mattered. None of that mattered when the love of your life was standing right there, alive and well.

"Oh baby, no-

"Absolutely not Barnes" you huffed at the pet name he gave you, crossing your arms over your chest and Bucky thought he'd melt into an absolute puddle at the sight. He was thrown back to when you were both no more than 4 years old, with a cute little frown on your face whenever you'd get upset. "You left! I thought you-I thought you died!"

The sound of your voice cracking broke Bucky's heart, his hands itching to wrap you up and pull you close to his chest the way you loved. He could see your eyes twinkle with tears threatening to spill out while you rapidly tried to blink them away. You chewed on your bottom lip to keep from wobbling and it only made Bucky yearn to hold you and never let go.

"Sweetheart please, I didn't mean to leave you doll, I promise" He stepped closer to you, hesitantly reaching out to take your hand in his, not feeling the slightest bit conscious about his metal arm. The coolness of his hand calmed your racing heart while you sniffled, still refusing to meet his eyes as you stared down at your feet instead.

The day you'd been told he'd never come back had been the worst day of your life. You wept for months on end, losing the man you were waiting to marry. The only person you'd been in love with since you were 4 years old.

Seeing you standing there before him stirred feelings in Bucky h never thought he'd feel again. Having a home. A beautiful wife. Little chubby babies. All with his dream girl he'd loved all his life. There wasn't a day that had gone by where he didn't think about her. He didn't think he'd ever get the chance again but here you were, dusted in flour like you always were whenever you were in the kitchen, in a pretty dress he loved so much, fighting your cries after desperately missing him. He softly cupped your cheeks, swiping away at your tears, his forehead coming down to softly rest against yours. He smiled through watery eyes at your stubborn nature, still keeping your arms crossed while his nose bumped with yours.

"Jellybean" Bucky whispered, your heart melting at the name, swallowing the lump in your throat, "Please? I-I'll- I'll bring you flowers" He said with a shaky voice, nearly toppling over when you flung yourself into his arms. He caught you, squeezing you right back and lifting you off the floor to cradle you nice and tight before pulling back to smash his lips against yours. The collective sniffles and whistles from the team were drowned out by your soft giggles and warm lips.

"I missed you so much" you buried your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of him, the one that comforted yo the most.

"You have no idea how much I missed you jellybean, never letting you go again"

"Terminator, you wanna introduce us?" Tony was the first to speak up, not so subtly wiping away at his eyes while Bucky continued to look at you with heard eyes, introducing you to everyone. You could only wrap your head around so much at a time but nothing truly mattered now that you were back with your soldier.

And of course your other best friend.

"Steve" You giggled as Steve lifted you up with ease into a tight hug, grinning at his two friends finally getting the life they deserved together.

Seriously imagine how sickeningly cute these two would be. Bucky is so excited to teach you all about the future. He gets to show you how to use all the new technology around the compound. He's so naughty about it too, teasingly telling you he'd be happy to help you in the shower if there's any questions you has about water temperature.

He doesn't waste any time with asking to marry you. Its everything you've ever dreamed of and more considering Tony took the bill and ran. Bucky can't put into words how happy he is finally getting the life he thought was ripped from his hands.

On your wedding night, Bucky spends hours loving on you like there's no tomorrow which is why a few months later, your belly is swollen with your first baby. Bucky is thankful for the future because as excited as he is to start a family, he's scared shitless something could happen to his jellybean.

"Bucky, I'm fine-

"Absolutely not, why are you up Jellybean, go sit down, I'll bring breakfast to you"

"I can still walk y'know-

"Nope. You stay right there, don't move mama, just rest"

When you do have to move around, he's there holding your baby bump, feeling giddy over becoming a dad. He can't wait to meet his little baby that he's made with his dream girl.

After his son is born, he waits for your body to heal but no ones surprised to see you with a new bump not too long after.

Two baby boys are no match for all the avengers but they all happily share their god father and god mother duties.

Your third is a little girl and she's going to be spoiled by everyone.

Somewhere along the way, you get a white fluffy cat.

Bucky's life has never been better.

[your-local-simp-writers]

Home in the Chaos

Word Count: 1024

Warnings: None

Sonic the Hedgehog x Fem! Reader

Note- You are human for this one, and their relationship is more platonic. Also this takes place during the movie timeline!

Also yall should check our our latest poll ︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶︶꒦꒷♡꒷꒦︶

The cozy living room of the Wachowski household was a whirlwind of activity. Knuckles, Tails, and Sonic were abuzz with energy as you tried to keep up. As Jojo’s babysitter and the honorary fourth member of this ragtag group, your days were anything but ordinary. Between Tails' tech experiments, Knuckles' newfound obsession with braiding, and Sonic's endless antics, you often found yourself being pulled in every direction.

Today was no different. Knuckles sat behind you on the couch, his large hands clumsily attempting to braid your hair with an intensity that could rival a championship match. "I do not understand why humans have so much hair," he grumbled, his brows furrowed. "It is like battling a wild beast."

You laughed, glancing over at Tails, who was sprawled out in front of you as you gently brushed his fluffy tails. "It's not that bad, Knuckles. And Tails, hold still—you keep twitching!"

“Does this hurt?” you asked, pulling through a particularly stubborn knot.

Tails winced slightly but shook his head. “Nope! Just tickles a little. But thanks for helping—I’ve been meaning to take better care of them. Gotta stay aerodynamic, you know?”

Knuckles, sitting behind you on the couch, furrowed his brow in concentration as he fumbled with a section of your hair. “Braiding is no simple task,” he declared, his tone serious. 

You laughed, glancing over your shoulder. “You’re doing great, Knux. Just… maybe don’t pull so tight?”

“Noted,” he said solemnly, adjusting his grip.

Across the room, Sonic was perched on the armrest of the couch, tapping his foot impatiently. “Hey, Y/N,” he called, leaning forward. “when you’re done playing hairdresser, how about we do something fun? I’ve got this really cool idea we should try—”

 “Just a minute, Sonic,” you said, not looking up from Tails’ fur.

Sonic froze mid-step, the ball caught in his gloved hand. His ears drooped slightly as he flopped onto the armrest of the couch, kicking his legs lazily. “Sure. No rush,” he muttered, but the slump in his posture betrayed his disappointment.

Knuckles glanced at Sonic, his crimson face betraying a rare flicker of sympathy. “The blue one grows restless. Perhaps we should take him on a hunt?”

“A hunt for what, Knuckles?” Tails asked, clearly amused.

Knuckles puffed out his chest. “For purpose!”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “Maybe we’ll plan something after I finish here, okay?”

...

As the day wore on, you found yourself in the kitchen, preparing sandwiches and snacks for everyone. The kitchen was warm and alive, the aroma of freshly chopped herbs mingling with the distant hum of conversation and laughter spilling in from the living room. Tails’ excited rambling about his latest gadget punctuated Knuckles’ booming declarations, and every now and then, a peal of laughter rippled through the air. It was the kind of noise that made the house feel less like walls and more like a heart—beating, alive, and full.

Sonic lingered near the counter, his hand idly drumming against its edge. His usual easy grin was there, but you noticed the subtle edge to it—like he was trying to hold something back.

“Need help?” he asked casually, though the slight upward tilt of his voice betrayed him.

“Sure,” you replied, pointing toward the stack of plates. “Can you grab those for me?”

In a flash, he zipped across the room, the plates balanced precariously in his arms as he stopped so close that you had to catch yourself against the counter.

“Whoa!” you exclaimed, your laugh breaking the momentary surprise.

“Sorry!” Sonic said quickly, his ears flattening as he shuffled back a step. His usual cocky demeanor faltered, replaced by a sheepish glance your way.

“It’s okay,” you reassured him, your laugh softening. “Just… maybe slow down a bit?”

He rubbed the back of his neck, his hand brushing over the white band of his glove. “Yeah… sorry,” he murmured, his voice quieter now.

Sonic hopped onto one of the kitchen chairs, the bounce in his step noticeably missing. He swung his legs slightly, his eyes avoiding yours as he fiddled with his gloves, the silence settling between you.

“You alright?” you asked, tilting your head to get a better look at his face.

He hesitated, his fingers pausing mid-fidget. “It’s just… I don’t know,” he began, his voice low and uncertain. “I guess I feel like I’m kinda… left out sometimes.”

The confession hit you like a weight, and you felt your chest tighten. Setting the knife down, you pulled a chair next to him, your movement slow and deliberate.

“Sonic, I’m so sorry,” you said softly, your hand resting gently on his arm. “I didn’t know you felt that way.”

He shrugged, though the gesture lacked its usual confidence. When he finally looked at you, his green eyes were unguarded, vulnerable in a way that felt rare and precious.

“I know you don’t mean to,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s just… Tails has all his gadgets, and Knuckles has his whole ‘warrior thing.’ Sometimes it feels like… like I don’t really fit anywhere.”

The ache in his words settled heavily in the space between you. You leaned forward, squeezing his arm gently.

“Sonic,” you said, your voice firm yet kind, “you’re just as important as Tails and Knuckles. You don’t have to have gadgets or a warrior thing to matter. You’re you. And I care about you—just as much as them. You’re family to me.”

He blinked, his eyes wide as if the words caught him off guard. Slowly, a small, genuine smile spread across his face.

“Really?” he asked, his voice tentative but hopeful.

“Really,” you affirmed with a nod. “And families? They don’t pick favorites.”

He grinned then, the kind of grin that made his eyes light up and the room feel just a bit brighter. Without a word, he leaned in, wrapping his arms around you in a hug that was both spontaneous and deeply sincere.

“Thanks, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder.

You hugged him back, your hand rubbing small circles on his back. “Anytime, Blue Blur,” you replied, your smile mirroring his.

[actuallybridgetjones]

so long (worst!wolverine x reader)

warnings: +18 minors do not interact, smut, fluff, female!reader, worst!wolverine, change of events, after d&w.

a/n: hi! since d&w got on disney+ i just had to rewatch it and had this idea. please note that this is my first fic ever and that english isn’t my first language. also, i can’t write wade accurately so here is my messy attempt. sorry in advance for any mistake (or if this seems to messy) and feedback is much appreciated. love, carol ♡

you and logan had a life together, both teacher at charle's institute. your relationship with him blossomed through late sleepless nights in the kitchen, when you listened to the older man, appreciating the little he shared with you everyday.

it was evident that you two grew close as each day passed. after lingering touches and stares, stollen kisses in empty classrooms, you eventually got together and boy, were you happy.

you had it all, you knew each other like the palm of your hand. you were logan's harbor and he was your safe haven. you saw how he would get when the nightmares were too much, feeling the urge to drink his worries away. you saw his flaws and his sins and still you stood by.

that's what made logan wonder at first. it made him wonder how a girl sweet and kind like you wasn't terrified by the thought of him. he would often even wonder what kind of good thing he did to have you only listening to him in the first place.

so, when that tragic night came, logan got reminded of how he didn't deserve any good, how everything of his always had a way to be taken, ruined. he was coming home from the bar, a solo mission went wrong, he decided to stop to drink it away before collapsing in your arms. he knew you would be home, you were always home.

until you weren't.

he got to the mansion to find it filled with dead bodies, jean, scott, storm, hank... everyone, it was a blood bath. logan's first thought was you. running into your shared bedroom, he searched, spent days looking through the damn corpses but there were no traces of you, nothing for him to mourn over.

logan turned to alcohol and self hatred, his healing abilities now appearing as a curse, as if nothing was hard enough to numb him from the pain of it all.

the day wade (or whatever was his name) came in saying that he would take him out of there, logan didn’t even flinch. if he didn’t have you, there was nothing holding him back to his timeline.

here he was now, storming in to help deadpool, the guy who gave him a second chance, stoping cassandra with the time reaper. his mind was filled with memory of the journey he had gone through, but not only.

through his head flew images of you. your smile, your eyes, your small almost unnoticeable freckles, the way your nose scrunched when you laughed and the way your cheeks always seemed to turn a warm pink shade around him. images of you underneath and on top of him, holding him or sleeping tightly in his embrace. memories of slow mornings tangled on each other and late nights spent panting.

after all was safe and sound, after wade’s world was no longer endangered, logan gave himself a second chance too. he let himself be friends with wade, agreeing to live with him until he figured something out. he always did.

wade, cheery as ever, took logan to his building, wanting him to meet blind al, the so infamous roommate. after climbing up the stairs logan feels a perfume he hadn’t felt in years. he turned to see you shuffling through your keys, trying to enter the apartment. you didn’t even have to turn his way.

it was you.

logan stood frozen, trying to figure out if this was another one of life’s tricks to him.

“peanunt, that’s y/n, she’s a sweet girl, but you’re literally drooling you nasty dog” wade says, and that’s when you turn to the two men, hearing your name coming from the mouth of your chatty neighbor.

the sight in front of you made your heart stop. was it your logan? could it be? or was it just another nightmare about the love of your life, just for you to wake to an empty cold bed?

your brows furrow as you look at him. he was older, thinner even despite his still very defined muscles. you were sure this was your logan from the way he looked at you, his hazel eyes seeming worn over but with the same love inside of them.

“lo-logan?”

“y/n?”

your breath hitched on your throat as tears fall down your face. you run to logan, wrapping your arms tightly around him. if this was a dream, you wanted to hug him for one last time, to atleast try to feel his embrace, his touch.

logan hugged you back, bringing your smaller body to his chest as he crouched to whisper, crying too. “is this really you? y/n, oh god”

you pull your head back to look into his eyes, meeting his hazel orbs.

it was your logan.

“i-i can’t believe…” your voice comes out shaky, small even as you look at the man. dirty, rugged and with stains of blood everywhere, but he was your man.

“oh darling… god darling girl” his voice is small too, contrasting with his own appearance. you wrap your arms securely around his neck once again, crying in pure bliss as his large arms came to wrap around your waist.

“i missed you so much” you say between sobs against his neck. “how-how did you get here?” he asks, finally finding all of his worries dissipating in your embrace.

“on the night of the attack… a portal opened and I came here, I had no idea how to go back, how to go back to you lo-” you say almost out of breath, feeling his hand now softly combing through your hair.

logan pulls back to look at you in the eyes, his fingers brushing softly against your cheek as he whispered “beautiful” and brings his lips to yours.

there’s no point in denying the hurry of the kiss, the desperation and the longing cursing through your veins. of course there’s always someone to wreck the party.

“peanut? honey? am i missing something or are we starting to make out with greasy strangers in the hallways now?” deadpool’s voice interrupts.

logan grunts and turns back to him, giving him a glare. “she was, is, the one i told you about” the wolverine says surprinsingly soft.

you smile and add shyly “he’s the one i told you about”, logan looks at you tenderly, a reminder of the love still in him. the love that he had burried deep down after that night.

“honey? you had no will to tell me that THE MAN YOU WERE FUCKING NASTY BACK IN YOUR TIMELINE WAS THE WOLVERINE?” wade adds excitedly.

you and logan both roll your eyes, you blush and turn to your neighbor. “i don’t know if he was going up to meet blind al, but i’m going to keep him for the night”

“don’t make too much noise”

before you pull your long lost lover inside with you into your apartment he turns back. “hey, wade… thank you”.

after that he was on you, door closed as he pinned you against it, arms wrapping around you, your own traveling down the hoodie he was wearing. your lips meet in a searing kiss, his tongue not taking much time in entering your mouth, joining your own in a slow and long known dance.

this was home.

“my bedroom his down the hall” you say between kisses and logan pulls you to wrap your legs around his torso, bringing you to your own bedroom. once you’re there he lays you against the bed gently, taking off his hoodie and moving to remove the tank top you were wearing, nothing underneath.

“what a fucking sight” he whispers, the rough tone contrasting with the love his gaze held, his eyes turning a deep shade of forest greeen now. reaching down, he kisses your neck, bitting and nibbling on the tender skin under his mouth.

"i- i need you logan" you say gravely, voice filled with need and passion. you remove your jeans and panties, laying bare under him now. "what a sight, princess" he hums against your hear, letting out a soft groan as he feels your desperate hands fumbling with his pants.

not longer after that, logan was moving inside you, his movements desperate as your manicured nails dig into the flesh of his back. his hands travel sloppily down your body, massaging the soft skin.

"i love you logan, i love you" you manage to say between moans, head thrown back in pleasure as you feel your high approaching. his hips grew more erratic, your words making his need grow "you'll be the death of me darlin' " he says between pants.

you feel the familiar stretch of his large cock on you, the familiar pleasure his calloused hands bring you. but you also see the depth of his eyes. the love and longing they carry. he shifts, now kneeling as his hands grasp at your hips, tight enough to bruise.

from the new angle it all feels too much and you can't even begin to process it until it's happening. "oh logan..." you almost scream in pure bliss, your whole body convulsing as your eyes roll to the back of your head, your juices spilling all over him.

the sight is too much for logan as he cums inside of you, the feel of his warm seed filling you up, making you squirm. he collapses on top of you, his hands anchoring his body as he looks you in the eye, still inside of you. "i love you so much princess"

you can only smile, new tears threatening to roll down your cheeks as you looked at the man that was, is, everything to you. in that moment you know it'll be alright, and he knows, feels it too.

as long as you've got each other, it'll be alright.

[enidette]

THE PERFECT DRUG

warnings :: both are 18+, this doesn’t follow canon timeline but who cares, riding, unprotected sex (they’re so dumb don’t do that)

carl met you when you were brought back to alexandria, battered and bruised and shaking like a leaf from presumably trauma. his father, daryl, and rosita had gone scavenging and found you, and after some questions and your worrying state they brought you back.

he was drawn to you immediately. he was intrigued by how you held yourself. your normal behavior a great contrast to how shaken up you were when he first saw you.

he liked how similar you held yourself compared to him, independent, confident even if it was a facade. he liked how when you met him you just shook his hand and looked into his eye with kindness in yours. one of the first people to not look too long or overreact and interrogate him about the bandage.

but it was the little things that made carl's brain short circuit. tying your shirt up when it got too hot, exposing the skin of your belly. offering to care for judith, unknowing to how carl's mind ran wild about how you would do as a mother. maybe he was getting ahead of himself, but this crush he’s developed has become deeply rooted in the two years you've been here. despite never acting on it.

but you act so nonchalant around him. he's starting to understand how glenn and maggie fell together like puzzle pieces so quickly, but you don't seem to spare him a glance anymore. it drives him insane.

as of now the group is huddled together, brainstorming their next scavenging trip to satisfy negan. you're standing right in front of him, clad in cargo shorts and a white top tied in the front. you stood with your hand over your eyes, blocking yourself from the blazing sun as much as you could.

it's the little things.

you feel eyes on you and turn around, laughing shortly with no surprise that carl was behind you. "hey carl," you walk up to him, flicking his hat with a smile.

he hums in response, squinting his eye to see you clearer. "hi."

you shift your weight on your hip, "it's a little hot out to be wearing a flannel and jeans, huh?"

carl shrugs, "not much choice." him and those short answers, making it hard for you when all you want to do is listen to his pretty, raspy voice. it’s too bad he just doesn’t trust himself to speak around you.

you huff and start walking towards his house, a slight smirk setting on your lips when you hear him shuffling behind you "you're not going to help?"

"they're sending daryl and a couple of others, not me." you wait for him to speak again, ask you something else maybe. "they want me to watch after judith though."

"i got it." you say and open the front door of his house. you take judy away from olivia with a smile and a thank you. you bounce judith on your hip, carl standing behind you after he closes the door. you heard olivia say something about judith's nap time so you head up to her room to put her down.

no surprise carl followed you. you put judith down for bed, smiling at her sweetly.

“you’re good with her,” he observes allowed, following you as you walk out. you mumble a ‘thank you’ and turn to face him, leaning against the door of his bedroom. silence falls between you, the awkwardness growing when carl tries to get into his room.

you giggle nervously when you realize you’re in his way, moving to the side a bit before looking up at him. his eye flicks from your eyes to your lips. you don't miss it, silently gasping and put your hands on his chest to prevent him from coming closer.

his hand comes up to one of yours, guiding it up to his hair. you blink your eyes away from him. his head dips down to look into your eyes that are hellbent on avoiding him. you look up at him now, breathing out heavily. "i want you." it's a mumble under your breath, barely audible.

he laughs breathlessly, inching his face closer to yours. "i want you too." he mumbles before pressing his lips against yours. and his imagination is vivid, no doubt. but all of the noises he had you make for him in his head didn't come close to the pretty, honey-like sound of the ones escaping you now.

it didn't compare to how soft your lips felt against his, how perfect your skin felt on his fingertips. he pushes himself against you, chest to chest and deepens the kiss. you let out a small whine, using your free hand to grip his shirt.

his lips go to your jawline, sucking and biting and kissing at the skin. he's careful to not leave marks, saving those for the places only he could see. his hand goes behind you to open the door, pushing you inside clumsily before laying you down on his bed and hovering over you.

he bites his lips while he takes you in. you're breathing heavy, your chest rising and falling quickly. he sees the sheer shine of sweat on your skin, how plump your lips are from your kiss, how pretty your skin looks with the little light seeping from the window.

he pushes your shirt up and kisses along your abdomen, leading up to your chest and taking it off completely. his hand goes to your back, lifting you off the mattress slightly to rid you of your bra. he sighs with satisfaction when he finally sees your tits for himself.

his fingers lazily roll your nipples, the small action causing you to whimper and buck your hips. he looks up at you curiously, taking in everything that caused a reaction. he was going to prove to you that he could make you feel good.

he motions for you to take your clothes off and groans at the wet patch on your panties. he grinds against your clit and you gasp, his jeans causing friction that feels so good. the embarrassment of you being nearly fully naked while he's still dressed adding onto the fire in your belly. he whimpers in your ear every time he moves his hips, his hands holding yours in place against the mattress.

“wait,” you breathe out, hands coming up to his chest to stop him. you gesture for him to lay down before straddling him. you unzip his jeans, tugging them down his legs. your impatience gets the best of you leaving you to abandon them at his mid-thighs. he laughs at your desperation, helping you pull your panties to the side and guide yourself onto his cock.

you whine at the intrusion, going down slowly. he sucks in a breath through his teeth, throwing his head back. his hat falls off as a result and with a smirk you pick it up and set it on your head.

"you look perfect." you look down shyly, trailing your hand up his shirt to reveal his slim figure. you breathe out shakily as you force the rest of him inside of you, sitting still for a bit to adjust and get used to feeling him inside of you.

all the while carl is looking at you like you’re a goddess, half lidded eyes raking along your body. your hands are unsteady on his chest, trying your best to steady yourself and bounce on him properly.

you find a rhythm and your head falls to his neck. but he doesn’t want to take his eyes off of you, finally getting you to himself the way he wanted. not to mention how crazy you drove him wearing his hat.

your arms wrap around his neck and you move your head to kiss him. it's soft, carl wants to savor this as long as he can. his arms go around your waist, leaving you to grind on him instead. the kiss is messy, mostly heavily breathing into each others mouths trying to stay as close as possible.

his hips attempt to buck into yours, thrusting into you fast and messily. his lips lock with yours and his right hand cups your chest. he pulls out with a groan and your hand comes up to wrap around his cock. his thumb finds your clit, rubbing fast causing whimpers to fall from your lips. his brows furrow and his mouth falls agape while he watches your pretty hand finish him off.

taglist :: @carlslvr @hiro--aoki @carlsangel @mozzeralla-stix @carlmipololo

[missberrycake]

Absolutely outraged to learn that the little headcanon I dreamt up in bed this morning doesn’t work timeline-wise but screw it, I’m doing it anyway.

When Eddie was small, his mom always used to sing him Rainbow Connection from The Muppet Movie. They’d watched it together over at Uncle Wayne’s trailer when it first came out on VHS and Eddie had been entranced. He’d parked himself right up in front of the small TV, his eyes glued to this little frog playing the banjo.

His mom noticed, of course, and made it theirs. Their song for when his dad was away and they could dance in the kitchen without being yelled at. For when Eddie was sick in bed, or couldn’t sleep, or had woken up with a nightmare. For when he came home from school with grazed palms and tears in his eyes.

“Who said that every wish, would be heard and answered?” his mom sang to him, brushing away Eddie’s tears the day she told him that she was very poorly. That she had to go into hospital, just for a little while, for the doctors to fix her up.

Eddie had asked for the song to be played at her funeral, in his small voice, tugging at his dad’s shirt sleeve. He’d said no, of course. He’d never understood either of them.

But later that night, when everyone had left and his dad was asleep, Uncle Wayne led Eddie out into the backyard and picked up his old guitar. He’d smiled at Eddie as the familiar chords rang out in the night sky and Eddie’s voice trembled when he started to sing, “Why are there so many, songs about rainbows?”

Uncle Wayne’s voice soon joined his, strong and sure. “And what’s on the other side?”

Eddie smiled. Maybe it could be their song, too.

So, years later, when Eddie was shuffling around Steve’s vast kitchen, trying to find where the hell the Harringtons kept their mugs, he found himself humming along to the familiar tune with a happy heart.

“Oho, I see we’ve got another Tammy Thompson fan on our hands here,” came Steve’s voice as he and Robin sidled in and leant against the countertop.

Robin snorted. “Someday we’ll find it,” she sang, her words taking on a pitchy, mocking quality.

Steve joined in, squeaky and off-tune, “The rainbow connection.”

They were grinning at each other as they carried on. “The lovers, the dreamers -”

“Stop,” Eddie yelled, red-faced, his heart beating wildly as he clutched the empty mug in his hand. “Stop it.”

They did, with matching looks of confusion. Clearing spotting the way Eddie was breathing too hard, eyes too glassy, Steve shifted. “Shit, sorry Eddie. We didn’t mean anything.”

And it was bullshit because Eddie knew that. How could they know about that song, about his mom and Uncle Wayne and everything it meant? They couldn’t, but now Eddie had made it weird. Made it awkward. But he was still too worked up, he couldn’t explain.

“S'okay,” he said. “I guess I just don’t feel well. Might go home.”

He didn’t let either of them get another word in before he fled the house.

The next day, Eddie was disturbed from his still-embarrased wallowing by a gentle knock on his bedroom door. It was Uncle Wayne, with a soft look on his face.

“The Harrington boy’s here,” he said. “Came to apologise. Called last night, you know. We talked for a bit.”

He disappeared and moments later a contrite-looking Steve shuffled in.

Eddie pushed himself up against his headboard.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “It was just a joke Robin and I have. I would never -” He cut himself off and sat down on the end of the bed, a little sheepishly. “I got you this.”

Steve pulled his hand out from behind his back to reveal a tiny Kermit the Frog toy, complete with a small, squishy banjo.

Eddie’s chest clenched. He reached out for the toy and smiled wide at Steve.

When the other man dragged him into a hug, Eddie let himself fall into it.

Maybe it wasn’t going to be a song for him and Steve, but it could definitely be the start of something sweet.

[Yeah, I'm scouring the archives and trying to salvage as many headcanons as I can from my old deleted account, but let's just pretend this is brand new content.]

[annievrse]

How'd You Turn It Right Around? / Act IV

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 post-time skip. W/C: 20.3k C/W: Fic structure: Sabaody Archipelago → Zou spoilers, canon timeline but majority canon-divergent events, she/her pronouns, no use of y/n. Content: Mentions of torture and violence, Doflamingo (& his past), anxiety, descriptions of injuries, blood, and more violence. A/N: Welcome to the final instalment of Labyrinth! I'm so beyond excited to share this with you, and I hope you find it a fitting ending for a story I've poured so much of myself into. This chapter is more reader-focused, but Law isn't far away! Enjoy!!

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

Much to your chagrin, the Palace is nothing short of elegant—it disgusts you. You sit on the highest level, gazing over a country ruled by a sadistic, arrogant psychopath, and wonder how you ended up here. You could have fought him back on Green Bit, but with Law so close and Doflamingo so ruthless, you took the first out offered to you. Law isn’t weak, you know this, but with his motive so personal, he would act irrationally and maybe get himself killed in the process. So, you took it upon yourself to save him, which cuts him deeply. You know you shouldn’t be putting him through this, but it’s his life or yours. And he deserves to live. 

There’s shuffling behind you, Doflamingo’s executives preparing the chamber for something. They give you wary looks, some laced with terror and some with curiosity, and you wonder what he told them. 

“Dreamweaver.”

You scowl at the name and turn. “Don’t call me that.”

Doflamingo leans against the massive throne that faces the window, his looming figure ominous. You stumble backwards, the backs of your thighs hitting the other throne behind you. There are specks of blood splattered on his pink, feathered coat, but you don’t linger on them for too long, scared of what your mind will conclude. 

“Touchy,” He mutters, sucking his teeth. “Your dear Law will be here soon.” 

Your eyes narrow. “What?”

A grim smile paints his lips. “I captured him, you know, so that I can kill him… if he isn’t already dead.”

You squint at him, the urge to ask what he means by that on the tip of your tongue. The awkward air between you is palpable, but you don’t turn your back to him. “You said—”

“Did I?” Doflamingo interrupts, and then you close your eyes and scold yourself for being so naive, so trusting. He lied about resigning from the Warlords, even got the newspaper to cover it, yet you believed he’d stay away from Law in exchange for your cooperation. How foolish. 

“He fought so valiantly for you,” He continues, pouting. “Too bad it wasn’t enough. He’s just as weak as he was as a child.” 

Vexation churns in your stomach, and you regard him with such revulsion that Doflamingo cackles. Angry tears burn your eyes as you clench your jaw. 

“Who knew the brat could have someone like you caring for him? Someone with an ability so beyond the realm of human comprehension—” 

“Young master,” A man says from the doorway, effectively cutting Doflamingo off. “There are some issues on the lower levels.”

He scowls, his fingers jagged. It’s too late before you fathom what’s happening. The man falls to the floor, his body writhing. His cries are broken, and you watch in horror as the man’s limbs twist and snap grotesquely. You blanch at the sight of his mangled body, his bones turning to ash under his skin. 

Doflamingo's malice is unlike anything you've ever witnessed, his wicked grin stretching wider with each passing moment. He chuckles darkly, his eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure as he looks down at the man, who lies unconscious from the torment.

“They never learn, do they?” 

You don’t breathe. The man’s body dangles like a marionette, invisible strings controlling his limbs. 

“Stop,” You whisper. The sound is almost muted, but a strangled cry escapes your throat when the corners of the man’s mouth rise into a sick, unnatural grin. “Stop!”

Doflamingo looks over his shoulder, his arm raised as he plays with the man like a toy. “Make me.”

If you were thinking clearly, you'd realise this was a test—a twisted way for Doflamingo to gauge the limits of your power. But at this moment, all you can focus on is the overwhelming urge to wrap your hands around his throat and squeeze—for Law, for this man, for everyone who’s suffered at Doflamingo’s hands. You can hardly believe you fell for his manipulative words.

Then Law’s face flashes in your mind, and you feel the tension in your fist ease. You have to stick this out. You can’t let your emotions take over—not with Doflamingo. You can’t let yourself die before seeing Law finally exact the revenge he’s carried since childhood. You cling to the loathing and raw fury that fuels you, and a smile twists your lips.

“I’m not playing games.”

The King of Dressrosa pauses his assault and drops the man to the floor, his body tumbling like slime. “I’m glad. Neither am I.”

He faces you, sunglasses reflecting the sun shining through the windows. Behind him, the man’s soul exits his body and enters Seam. You hope he has a nice time there. 

A crash echoes from below, muffled by the palace's many levels, but neither of you moves. You lock eyes with him, and the way he runs his tongue over his teeth tells you everything—you’re confident no one has dared meet his gaze like this in a long time.

“Wanna tell me why you kidnapped me in the first place?”

“Fiesty.” He was having fun. Nobody has spoken to him like this before and gotten away with it.

You cock your head. 

“Not one for jokes, then,” Doflamingo sighs with a hint of humour. “You possess the Sew-Sew Fruit, correct?”

Nodding warily, you watch as he gestures with his hand. 

“There’s your answer.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

Doflamingo pauses, almost dumbstruck. “You really don’t know what you are?”

“Clearly not.”

“Calm it with the fire, sweetheart.” 

You feel your body go numb, and suddenly, you feel like you’re floating outside of yourself. “Don’t call me that.”

Doflamingo smirks. “What? Sound familiar?” 

“Fuck you.”

“Don’t think Law would like that very much. Though, I’ve never cared what that brat likes.” 

You take a step back, gaze sweeping his body with disgust. “Are you done?”

“Who do you think is in control here, dollface? Because it sure as hell isn’t you.”

“I’m not fighting you.” 

“Smart.” 

A knock on the wide-open door draws you from your staring contest, and you swallow thickly. 

“Yes?”

“Young master, we’re here to deliver your package.” 

The thought of Law being treated like nothing more than a package ignites a searing rage inside you. Your lover sways unsteadily on his feet, clearly unconscious, as massive men drag him through the door. Sea-prism stone cuffs bite into his wrists so tightly that blood drips from his fingertips.

They throw him onto the throne, their hands moving swiftly to attach chains to his cuffs on either side of the chair. His head hangs limply, his body a dead weight. The sight twists something dark and cold in your gut.

“Pity. He’s not dead.” 

You’re too immersed in a state of shock to react to Doflamingo’s comment. What happened after Green Bit that could’ve led to this? 

He greets the newcomers with a casual nod—Baby 5 and Buffalo, both familiar from Punk Hazard. Doflamingo lets out a long sigh as he moves toward the chair opposite Law, stretching his arms high above his head before settling into the seat. You watch, tense, as he relaxes into the position: one leg crossed over the other, arms folded, head tilted in a way that suggests he’s ready for an interrogation—or at least, that's how it seems to you.

Doflamingo uses his strings to reel you in, his grip on you almost suffocating in possessiveness. You bite your lip, fighting back the surge of nausea. How dare he.

Law sits slumped, his hat missing and his clothes in tatters. Upon closer inspection, you see the skin of his stomach streaked with dried blood.

“Nice of you to join us, Law.”

Your eyes snap to his face, and your breath catches when his weary gaze locks with yours. It takes him a moment to register it’s you, and then he’s struggling against his restraints. You force yourself to bite your tongue, stopping yourself from doing something reckless.

“Let her go! This is between you and me!”

Doflamingo blinks, a slow, mocking grin stretching across his face. “Oh, I didn’t take her unwillingly. There were... conditions. I made that clear in front of the Colosseum.”

Law’s usually indifferent, half-lidded gaze is now sharp and wild as he scans your body. You seem unhurt, standing there unrestrained, but Law knows you too well. He knows exactly what Doflamingo must have said to make you comply, and he realises that tearing out his own heart without his power would hurt less than seeing you like this.

“Well, your conditions don’t mean anything, do they? I’m still here.”

You lunge forward, anger burning in your chest, hands poised to strike at Doflamingo. But before you can move, you stagger back, the strength of invisible strings pulling you against the wall. Law grunts, realising you are physically being controlled by Doflamingo.

With a low snarl, you glare at Doflamingo, focusing on the minuscule needles aimed at his eyes. He senses the danger, and with a flick of his index finger, he effortlessly swats the nearly invisible metal rods away from his face.

“Try that again, and Law dies. Got it?” 

Your lover looks up at you through his lashes, the blaze in his irises sparking brighter. “Don’t touch her.” 

Doflamingo smirks, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Pathetic. You’ve become a fool, Law.” 

His breaths are ragged as he squirms in the chains. Law is losing his composure. “I will fucking kill you!”

Doflamingo lets out a low chuckle beside you, and Law shoots him a venomous glare.

"Don’t even look at her."

A whimper escapes you as the restraints tighten, and Doflamingo pulls you roughly in front of him. His eyes slide over your body, making you shiver with disgust.

“What are you gonna do if I do? Huh? Keep throwing empty threats at me?” He spins you around so you’re body is facing Law, and he drags a finger along your throat.  

Law huffs through his nose, his muscles straining as he tries to wrench the cuffs off his wrists. He grunts with pain, but the blood dripping from his skin doesn’t stop him from trying again. You focus on him, silently willing him to meet your gaze, to understand the message in your eyes—that everything will be okay.

When he finally looks at you, you inhale sharply, furrowing your brow in a silent promise: no matter what happens, you’ll both make it out of here alive. The unspoken exchange lingers between you briefly before Doflamingo clears his throat, breaking the tension.

“Enough.” The expression on Doflamingo's face indicates his disturbed attitude towards the connection between you and Law, and he stands. 

“Something wrong, Young Master?” Buffalo asks, oblivious to whatever understanding his master has of his two hostages. “Did you hear something?”

Doflamingo ignores him and approaches Law, his hands in his pockets. “You’ve caused me a lot of trouble, brat. I’m not about to let you mess this one up too.” 

Law scowls up at him, his lip curling. “You can’t control me anymore.” 

“That’s where you’re wrong,” The King laughs, his hand jerking quickly to draw you toward him. You stumble but catch yourself before you fall. “As long as I have her, you’re nothing but a slave.” 

Suddenly, a giant boulder comes out of nowhere, crashing from the left side of the room with a slick zing of a sword to lob off Doflamingo’s head. You stand there in awe and bewilderment as you see the blonde head tumble to the floor and bounce away. The scene before you is grisly and horrifying, but where you expect blood, there’s nothing. You blink in horror at the lack thereof, and your brain struggles to catch up to the present. 

There are screaming and guttural cries around you, but you stare at the stump where Doflamingo’s neck is—how is he still standing? 

Everything makes sense: how he flies, controls a body like a puppet, and can stand without a head… it all stems from the strings. The same strings that control the country’s citizens, the ones that held Law against the tree on Green Bit, and the ones that wrap around your waist to keep you compliant are controlled by Doflamingo. 

You gasp and turn, spotting a man battling Baby 5 and Buffalo. It wasn't a boulder after all, but a gladiator-clad figure who had just sliced Doflamingo’s head clean off his body—or, his fake body. Thinking fast, you conjure a needle and swiftly sever the strings binding you. A wave of relief washes over you as they drop to the floor.

Law watches you, his expression calm, though he knows exactly what you're planning. You rush toward him but halt abruptly, the sea prism cuffs sending a jolt of dread through you. "Shit."

"There’s no time," Law snaps, his voice laced with urgency, making the anxiety in your stomach spike. "Go while you still can."

“Like hell.”

“Traffy!” 

You let out a scoffing laugh, recognising that voice all too well. Luffy calls your name moments later, his smile stretching wider. His timing is, as always, perfect.

“You’re okay!”

“I am,” You reply, exhaling with relief. Your heart clenches at the sight of him, and for a brief moment, all you can wish for is that Luffy would scoop you and Law up and whisk you both away to some peaceful, far-off island.

A woman runs alongside Luffy, a key in her hand. Luffy grabs it from her and nearly tackles you in his rush. With Doflamingo’s headless body, his executives battling a gladiator, and you finally free from his grasp, Law sits frozen, overwhelmed by the commotion around him.

“How’re you here, Straw Hat?”

The key is shoved into your hands, Luffy shaking with anticipation. “Do it.” 

“Me?” You blink. “I can’t touch sea-prism stone either.”

“Did you destroy the factory?” Law side-eyes Luffy. 

“Why’s it always business with you?” Luffy asks, pouting. “What if I just wanted to save you guys?” 

Your hands tremble as you aim the key at the cuff's keyhole. Without touching them, you can’t unlock the cuffs properly. “I can’t do it.” 

“What if we—”

A chill spreads through your body like a bucket of ice water has been dumped directly over your head. A sinister laugh echoes through the room, and when your eyes lock with Law's, fear and alarm are evident in his gaze. You were right—it’s all connected to the strings.

The entire chamber goes deadly still, and then, instantly, you’re lifted into the air. Your legs flail, searching for something to land on. You hit the ground with a slide, landing on your feet, followed by Luffy and the woman. Law remains seated on the throne, which comes to a halt a few feet away, tossing him sideways onto the ground.

A stone pillar juts up from the floor, but before you can process where it came from, Doflamingo’s voice cuts through your thoughts.

“That was a surprise.”

Luffy gasps before you do, but you’re too stunned to move.

“The whole country’s in chaos now that the toys are free.”

Toys? The word sends a jolt through you, and memories of the clown from when you were shopping for disguises flicker in your mind. You gape in shock as the realisation hits—it was a toy, not just a figment of your imagination.

“Tragic, really. I was having fun.”

You squint at Doflamingo’s body, the tendrils of string emerging from the base of his neck. 

Doflamingo’s head lets out a heavy sigh, a look of mock contemplation crossing his face. 

“Looks like I’ll have to use the Birdcage to get this under control.” His voice is smooth, almost casual.

Across the room, you hear a chair scrape against the floor, followed by the frantic sound of chains rattling. Law’s body thrashes against the restraints holding him in place. His eyes are wide with panic, his breath coming in short, keen gasps. 

“No! You can’t!” His voice cracks, raw and desperate.

Doflamingo’s eyes flick over to him, his expression unreadable as he raises a brow. "Oh? You seem concerned, Law. You remember, don't you?" 

Law’s chest heaves as he glares at the man before him, his usually composed demeanour wholly shattered. 

"You would subject innocents to this?" His voice is filled with disgust, and his tone’s an apparent tremor—a mix of dread and revulsion. 

Doflamingo’s lips curl into a cruel smile. 

“Nobody is truly innocent.” His tone is flat, devoid of empathy, as if he'd long abandoned any notion of moral boundaries. The words hang in the air, chilling in their certainty.

Law's face contorts with frustration. “You’re wrong,” He spits, the words thick with disdain. "Innocence isn't something you can just take from people, Doflamingo."

Before Doflamingo can respond, a figure steps forward from the shadows—the imposing gladiator, his muscles rippling beneath his armour. The man draws his sword fluidly, the blade gleaming in the sunlight. His face is set in a grim, determined expression.

“Enough!” the gladiator bellows, his voice booming with authority. Without hesitation, he leaps from his position, sword raised high as if preparing to charge. The tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife, the room brimming with the sense that everything is about to escalate into an uproar.

You watch the scene unfold, heart pounding, as Doflamingo’s smirk deepens into something more sinister. Law’s struggle intensifies, his body twisting and writhing in his chair.

The tension is unbearable, the calm before the storm.

Doflamingo materialises behind the gladiator, fully intact—no longer the headless phantom he once was. You blink, heart racing, a wave of horror washing over you. The sheer force of his power is palpable, and for a moment, you wonder if you could pull off the same technique. The thought lingers, both terrifying and fascinating.

A low, menacing growl rumbles from Doflamingo’s throat as he steps forward, his leg swinging from the right with a devastating force. 

“I’ll show you how to behead a man properly...” His words drip with malice, and before anyone can react, the room erupts into screams of terror. But just as Doflamingo’s leg is about to make contact, Luffy shoves the gladiator out of the way, sending him sprawling to the floor, and plants himself between you and Doflamingo. The world feels like it shifts around you. Sunlight bursts through the cracks in the building, dancing on your skin, and when you glance up, the sky seems impossibly vast, stretching above you.

Your mind struggles to process what just happened. There’s no way a single kick could have taken the roof off a building.

You push the thought aside, focusing instead on the fight before you. Amid the rubble and mayhem, you sprint toward Law.

"It's no use," Law says, his voice strained, his eyes filled with frustration and helplessness. "You can't touch it..." His words are heavy, laced with a deep sense of defeat, and there's a desperate plea behind them. "Please, just leave."

Your breath catches in your throat. His face, normally composed, is filled with an urgency you can’t ignore. But there’s no time for hesitation.

"Where's your katana?" You ask quickly.

Law shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his teeth gritting in pain. "Don’t know—please, just leave."

You ignore his pleas, your focus honing in on getting him free. You search desperately around the space, looking for anything to help cut through the chains. But before you can find anything, a scream cuts through the air, a distinct cry of panic that stops you dead in your tracks.

Instinctively, you turn, your gaze snapping to the scene unfolding before you. Your voice catches, but it escapes, barely pushing through the rawness of your throat. 

"Luffy! There’s two!"

He looks up just in time to see two figures of Doflamingo descend upon him, one headless and the other fully intact. The sight is enough to make your blood run cold, but Luffy doesn't flinch. With a burst of speed, he rolls out of the way, narrowly avoiding the attack.

Seizing the brief moment of distraction, you face Law again, checking his condition. Your breath catches as your eyes fall on his abdomen.

“He shot you,” You gasp, your fingers trembling as they hover over the dried blood and bulletholes that mar his skin.

Law’s lips curl into a pained but rueful smile. “Three times.”

A billowing rage floods your chest, and your hands begin to shake, your anger threatening to overtake your thoughts. You clench your fists at your sides, barely holding back the venom in your voice. 

“I’m gonna kill him,” You mutter, the words tasting bitter on your tongue.

Law’s gaze narrows, his voice low and calm but with a hard edge. “I will, for taking you away.”

You shake your head in disbelief, the intensity of the situation rendering an argument pointless. But before you can respond, an explosion of rock to your right makes you stumble, and you instinctively reach out for something to steady yourself.

A jagged spike from the shattered floor shoots upward, embedding itself into your calf. You cry out, the intense pain momentarily blinding you. It’s small, nothing you can’t handle—but just as you compose yourself, the ground beneath you shifts.

Once solid beneath your feet, the tiled floor begins to ripple, moving like water, sending waves of disorienting motion through the room. The world tilts as the ground you stand on seems alive, pulsating with someone’s power.

Your heart pounds. This is bad. Too bad. And it’s only going to get worse.

“I need to get you out of this,” You grit out, your jaw tight as you reach for Law’s forearm. The chair gives way beneath you, and apprehension sweeps through you. In one swift motion, you extend your hand, desperate to free him from the chains that bind him to the throne.

Threads of power shoot forward, wrapping tightly around the chains, constricting them. The tension in the air is suffocating, but your focus is razor-sharp as you glance toward Luffy and Doflamingo. They’re locked in combat, the two moving like a whirlwind of destruction, a brutal dance of fists and fury. You clench your hands, and the sound of metal ringing through the chaos is like a jolt to your senses.

With a sudden, determined jerk, Law breaks free, his body lurching forward despite the weakening effects of the sea prism stone. He stumbles against you, and you wrap your arms around him, supporting him the best you can. But the ground beneath your feet begins to shift again, the floor undulating like the surface of water, and you brace yourself as the room shakes violently.

Before you can fully react, the palace tilts. Gravity pulls at you both, and with a sickening lurch, you tumble, dragged by the chaotic motion. The wind slashes at your face like knives, the world a blur of spinning rock and dust.

You grip Law tighter, but his weight is too much. He’s slipping. You can feel it—his body going limp in your arms, the lack of strength in his limbs a grim reminder of the toll the sea prism stone has taken on him.

I can't carry him, you think, not like this, not without help.

Desperation surges through you as you fight against the pull of the mountain, your hands shaking as you try to keep him upright. 

Luffy yells above you, his body flying toward you. The gladiator’s sword flashes as he falls past you, and the realisation hits immediately. The tiles beneath you give way, and you scream as you drop toward the ground. Law yells something, but his words are drowned out by the rush of wind in your ears before he slips. You watch with horror as Law plummets ahead of you, a strangled cry leaving your throat.

Just as you’re about to crash into the solid ground, Luffy expands, and you land with a jolt on his stomach. It happens so quickly that you can barely process it, but you're grateful for the soft landing. You groan as you sit up, tears streaking down your cheeks and adrenaline blurring your vision. No one speaks—no mention of Luffy’s ability or that you all nearly fell to your death. Instead, everyone’s gaze is fixed upward, staring at the sky in stunned silence.

You don't care what Doflamingo is doing now. All that matters is getting to Law. You crawl over to him, and his eyes flick over you with a curt intensity, his gaze locking on the gash in your leg—a deep, jagged cut from the pointed rock that had impaled your calf.

“I can stitch it up,” You murmur, your hands trembling slightly as you cup his face. It’s not the most reassuring of statements, but it's the best you can offer now.

His frown deepens, his brows furrowing in that way you know all too well. The silver of his eyes flickers with concern, even as his tone remains steady, though laced with frustration. “It’ll get infected if you don’t clean it out first—”

“Law,” You cut him off, your laugh breathy and strained. You don’t have the energy for an entire conversation right now.

Luffy groans beneath you, his body deflating like a balloon, and you roll off him, helping Law to his feet with a quick but careful movement.

Law blinks at you, his breath catching as he stands on shaky legs. “It’s starting.”

Your heart skips a beat at his words, and you follow his gaze, dread pooling in your stomach. 

Above you, the sky begins to twist. 

Strings. 

Hundreds of them, thin as silk, fan out in every direction, their glowing ends weaving together at a central point directly overhead. The air grows thick and heavy with the impending doom, and the calm summer day is suddenly replaced by a storm cloud gathering ominously above you. It’s as if the Gods themselves are bracing for what’s coming.

That’s the Birdcage.

“Traffy!” Luffy yells suddenly, his voice full of urgency and confusion as he runs toward you, his eyes wild. “What’s the Birdcage? What does it mean?”

Law’s eyes widen with something you’ve only seen a handful of times in the two years you’ve been with him. The last time was when you were shot on Hachinosu when poison coursed through your veins and left you unconscious for eight days. He displays such uncharacteristic, raw emotion that your heart skips a beat, suddenly gripped by the weight of what it could mean.

“It means he’s going to kill everyone in Dressrosa.”

You swallow hard, words failing you for a moment. The Birdcage isn’t just a cage; it’s a trap. 

The group gasps, the woman whimpering as she looks at the gladiator. They exchange a quiet, wordless conversation, and you avert your gaze, giving them space. Luffy, however, locks his eyes on Law, his lip curling in frustration.

He opens his mouth to speak, but you suddenly feel a tug along your spine. It’s subtle like someone gently testing the tension.

Law immediately senses your discomfort. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s still got me,” You whisper, and from the way Law’s jaw tightens, he understands precisely what you mean. “Luffy, where’s that key?”

“Uh…” Luffy pats his clothes, scanning the ground. “I gave it to you.”

You freeze, trepidation rising in your throat. “Shit, I must’ve dropped it.”

Law curses under his breath, pulling at his restraints in vain. It’s no use.

Suddenly, your body jerks and you instinctively reach behind you to grab the string. Your name rings out from the mountain, Doflamingo’s voice echoing like a twisted melody. He sings it, dripping with cruel, sadistic pleasure.

Your feet leave the ground, but you fight against the pull, driving a needle into the earth to anchor yourself. Law’s gaze is wild, his eyes locked on Doflamingo as he toys with you.

“We have to go!” The woman yells, nearly tripping as she starts to run. The deafening crack of stone makes you flinch, and a massive shadow looms overhead, casting its dark presence over you and the country below.

“I’m not leaving,” Law growls, his voice steady with resolve. “You guys go ahead.”

You watch as the gladiator and Luffy hesitate, their eyes wide, bulging with shock at the sight above you.

Law gives you a stern look, but you urgently shake your head. "Law, go."

"Like hell."

He throws your words back at you, and you clench your jaw in frustration. "Law—"

Doflamingo roars again; his voice laced with a deadly promise. The venom and wrath in his tone send a chill down your spine as he urges you to stop resisting the pull of the string. You’re yanked forward, a puppet under his command, but you manage to attach a thread to the ground, pulling yourself back toward Law.

“Trafalgar, go.”

He ignores your command, his voice laced with defiance. "No."

You yelp as it feels like your spine is being torn from your body. Doflamingo’s rage pulses down the string, and you shove Law away, desperate to protect him. 

"Go!" You plead, your voice shaky, almost desperate. "Go with them, please!"

Law’s brow furrows, confusion and concern flickering across his face as he meets your frantic gaze. "No! I’m not leaving you here!"

You grab hold of the fabric of his coat, your hands shaking, fingers digging into the material as if you could hold onto him forever. 

"You have to!" Your voice cracks with the effort it takes for you to say it. "If Doflamingo gets to you again, if he kills you—if I lose you, I—" The words catch in your throat.

Law's eyes soften for a split second, but then his voice comes out strained, raw, like he's trying to hold it together, too. 

"No... No way in hell I'm leaving you," His gaze shifts away, and when it comes back to you, there's a flicker of something deeper in his eyes—determination laced with acceptance. He knows you can handle yourself. You hadn’t been training with him for two years for nothing. 

"You better not fucking die," He spits out, his voice thick with emotion. "You have to come back to me. You hear me?"

Your heart twists painfully, and you pull him closer, your forehead pressing against his. The warmth of his skin against yours is the only thing that feels real right now. 

"I’ll never not come back to you," You whisper fiercely, your words a vow, a promise etched into every fibre of your being. "You have my word."

For a moment, neither of you speak. The chaos around you fades into the background as you hold each other, the storm raging inside your chest more painful than anything the outside world could throw at you.

“Hurry up!” the gladiator yells, his voice pulling you away from Law, snapping you back to the destruction around you. 

Luffy takes a step forward but freezes when your eyes meet. His eyes are full of concern, something you rarely see in the gaze of someone so carefree. You offer him a smile, though it's shaky.

"I’ll be fine, Luffy," You reassure him, the words slipping out with more confidence than you feel.

"But we just got you back!" Luffy protests, his voice tight with panic. "I’m not letting him lay another finger on you!"

You swallow hard, fighting to keep your tears in check. "I’ll be okay. I’ll see you soon, alright?"

Luffy’s eyes narrow, his face a mask of determination, but you can see the storm brewing underneath. He doesn’t want to let go.

You meet his gaze, steadying your breath. "Please, Luffy. We can’t fight him right now."

Luffy huffs, frustration flickering across his face, but after a long beat, he nods once, his jaw set. "See you soon."

You turn back to Law, your heart heavy. A lump forms in your throat, and you blink rapidly, trying to clear the tears threatening to spill. 

"I’ll see you soon, too, okay?" You whisper, but it’s barely audible.

"I love you," Law mutters, his voice hoarse, his chest rising and falling as he breathes raggedly. The words are heavy like he’s trying to say everything at once, and it hits you harder than expected. You push him gently toward Luffy, your hands trembling.

"I love you," You repeat, your voice breaking. "Now, go!"

Luffy catches him quickly, his strong arms wrapping around Law’s body like a vice. With one last glance at you, Luffy carries him away, moving swiftly, but you’re left standing there, your heart in your throat.

The tears you’ve held back finally break free, but you can’t look away. You won’t look away.

Your body is yanked upward when you release the thread, your limbs hanging limply as you cry. You watch Luffy run off with Law, wishing you were anywhere but here—somewhere safe, warm, surrounded by everyone you love. The desire for peace, for something ordinary, washes over you. But you were born to be a pirate, and your cries cease. 

You stay with Doflamingo, not because you want to, but because he seems to know more about you than you do yourself—and that’s something you can’t allow.

— Scene 2 —

You’re sick with trepidation. Night has fallen, and the strings of Doflamingo’s Birdcage glitter under the full moon. He sits across from you, stabbing his fork into the medium-rare steak on the plate before him. You decided to forego dinner, feeling far too queasy to stomach anything. 

“When’d you eat the Sew-Sew Fruit?”

You control your breathing, calming yourself from both anger and fear. “When I was seven.” 

Doflamingo’s eyebrow arches, and he bites the steak off his fork, the metal scraping his teeth. “And you still haven’t awakened your true power?” 

Curiosity outweighs caution. “No.”

He hums. “Would you like me to teach you?” 

Your muscles tense under your skin, and your heart rate increases so rapidly that you can hear the roar of your blood in your ears. 

“Our abilities are intertwined, you see,” Doflamingo says when you take too long to answer. “But your power is unlike anything on this planet. Have you heard of the legends they call Dreamweavers?” 

Your head shake is slight, and he takes it as a sign to continue. The clink of his metal fork on the ceramic plate jolts you from your thoughts, and you breathe deeply as he prepares his speech. 

“Devil Fruits embody humanity’s evolutionary potential, with each power representing a distinct path for the future. Born from humanity's collective hope and ambition, they are a tangible manifestation of what we could become.”

You recall hearing this story in your grandfather’s library as a child, though you’d long forgotten it since his death. Devil Fruits had been one of his greatest passions, something he obsessed over. When he finally acquired one, he gave it to you, his most prized possession. It had been his life's single greatest achievement, and he entrusted it to you, asking you to eat and wield it. You smile softly at the memory.

“There were three original rulers at the dawn of time: The Dreamer, The Monarch, and The Reaper. One to blend dreams with reality, one to rule over the seas, and one to govern life and death. That’s how they lived. That’s how they thrived.”

It strikes you as strange that Doflamingo speaks so openly, with no venom or mockery. You don’t know much about his past, but somehow, you get the sense that if he’d been raised in an environment devoid of cruelty and ambition, he might’ve been a very different person—a far more pleasant one.

“Following?” He asks, his dinner now forgotten on his plate. The sight of untouched food causes a flare of irritation in your stomach. Sanji would have a fit if he saw this.

You nod, rolling your shoulders and propping your chin in your palm, trying to seem casual about his strange demeanour.

“Nobody knows what happened during the Void Century, but it’s been theorised that a revolt, now known as the Celestial Dragons or the World Nobles, overthrew the Big Three, rendering the world a hopeless, war-torn hell hole.”

The upset and surprise are evident on your face, but Doflamingo pays no mind—you know he revels in the misfortune of others. There’s a nagging piece of information about the World Nobles that Law told you about Doflamingo that you struggle to remember. 

“The Dreamers were beheaded, their ideals and prophecies branded as blasphemy and forbidden. The Monarchs were slaughtered, their weapons far less advanced than the Celestial Dragons. The Reapers were sentenced to eternity underground, where even the brightest light couldn’t penetrate. It was a fate worse than death.

“From their deaths, the Devil Fruits were born. The people of the four seas, lost and enslaved, clung to the ideals they inherited—the ones foretold by The Dreamers. The hatred for the World Nobles and the hope that their reign would one day end fueled the creation of the Fruits. This very defiance gave them life, allowing humanity to fight back.”

“What’s this got to do with me?” You ask, your throat dry. 

Doflamingo smirks and lifts his head from where it leans on his palm. “You’re a Dreamer.” 

You scoff, pushing yourself halfway out of the chair. “You’re delusional. You just said they all died out.”

Before you can fully rise, strings shoot out from his fingers, wrapping around your wrists like chains. They yank you back into the seat with an unyielding force, pinning you to the chair.

“You don’t get it,” Doflamingo says, his voice low and cold, as if explaining something obvious. “Your Devil Fruit is the direct descendant of a Dreamer. The Sew-Sew Fruit was created as a way to continue the practice of weaving reality with fantasy or dreams. You defy the Celestial Dragons every second you’re alive.” 

Then it hits you what Law said about the World Nobles: how the Donquixote family were considered Celestial Dragons, and then they lost their privileges when Doflamingo’s father wished for a normal life… Your lip curls, the bitterness rising like acid in your throat. 

“And you want to use me for what? Some kind of revenge plot?”

Doflamingo’s smirk shifts, dark satisfaction shining in his eyes as if amused by your defiance. “You’re a smart one. Law doesn’t deserve someone like you—someone so far beyond his reach.”

The words hit you harder than you’d like to admit. You swallow thickly, your heart heavy in your chest. "When you said I could be a god..."

The thought lingers between you, and you can see the twisted mirth in Doflamingo's eyes like he's savouring the moment. “You could be more than a god. You could reshape the world, bend it to your will.”

A chill runs down your spine.

“You can control the minds and thoughts of everyone across the four seas,” Doflamingo continues, his voice dripping with malice. “You can create entire false realities that people will live in as though they’re true. Weaving dreams into the fabric of reality—it's what your Devil Fruit was made for. You’re the last of the Dreamers.”

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, but you take a moment to steady yourself. Who’s to say whether or not he’s telling the truth? Doflamingo is a master manipulator, a liar who thrives on controlling others. This could easily be another of his twisted games—getting you to unlock your power only so he can use it for his own ends.

But then, Law’s face flashes in your mind. The way he spoke on Punk Hazard, his words were heavy with something you didn’t fully understand then. “I’ve heard of legends with the same name.”

That strange surge of power stirs inside you again, stronger now, urging you to act. You yank your wrists free from the chair, the strings Doflamingo had bound you with snapping quickly under the force of your will. His smirk deepens, watching you with a mixture of pleasure and dark anticipation.

As you stand, the chair screeches against the tiles, its sound jarring in the room's silence.

“Leaving so soon?” Doflamingo taunts, leaning back with a lazy air like he’s entirely in control. “You’re going to take all that juicy information I gave you and not even thank me?” He lets his tongue flick out, brushing the gap in his grin, his amusement evident.

You tense, your hands curling into fists, and despite the disorganisation of your thoughts, something inside you cements. He’s not going to win this. 

“I’m not killing Celestial Dragons for you. I won’t let you hone me into your personal weapon just because you told me some fairytale.”

Doflamingo tilts his head, his grin morphing into something far more sinister. The veins in his forehead pulse, a telltale sign of his growing frustration. 

"Why would I go through all this trouble to bring you here and then lie to you?" He sneers, his voice low and chilling. "You're special. I'm trying to help you."

You narrow your eyes, unfazed by his theatrics. 

"And what about your power?" You retort. "You use strings to control others."

"That's where we're different," He says, a hint of satisfaction in his voice at your question. "I control people with my strings, but your power creates entire mindscapes, places where people live—spanning across the four seas. Your ability doesn’t drain you; mine does. You were made to weave dreams into reality, to rule the world. You're more powerful than you realise, and even I don’t fully understand the extent of it. The Dreamers kept much of their knowledge hidden."

"I don’t want to rule the world," You say firmly.

"Yet," Doflamingo mutters, his voice dripping with condescension.

You shake your head, unwavering. "I don’t."

His expression darkens. "You're selfish. Ungrateful. Do you know how many lives you could save with your power?"

"Save?" You let out a sharp, humourless laugh. "You don’t want to save anyone. You only dream of a world where you hold all the strings, where death and destruction are the price for your sick version of control."

His face hardens momentarily, but without missing a beat, his scowl fades into a twisted grin. "Yeah, you're right."

You crash into the wall, the impact force stealing the breath from your lungs. Doflamingo approaches, his fingers curling and weaving in the air with a sinister grace. Your mind struggles to process what's happening, still disoriented from the surprise of his power coiling around you and pulling you backward.

“If you’re not going to cooperate, I’ll have to force you. Do you want that?”

You grit your teeth, and your jaw hurts with how hard you tense. “Fuck you.” 

“That’s all you seem to say to me,” He chuckles darkly, leaning his face close to yours. Doflamingo is so close you can see the strings moving under his pores. “But I need you to work with me here. I need to destroy the Celestial Dragons.” 

“Not gonna happen,” You spit before stabbing him between the shoulder blades with a needle. Doflamingo keels over, and you take the opportunity to get away from the wall. Blood swells from the puncture and drips down the feathers of his pink coat. 

"Bitch," He mutters under his breath. You gasp for air, sprinting toward the door, but the wood splinters into chunks before you can reach it. Skidding to a halt, you whip around, only to find Doflamingo’s clawed hand pointed directly at you. “Strings.”

Turning your focus inward, you activate your Observation Haki. Time seems to stretch as five metallic strings streak toward your torso. You pivot to the left, narrowly avoiding the attack. Each time you dodge, another string is sent flying in your direction. You can’t waste energy fighting him head-on—not when you know you’ll lose.

“Fight back,” Doflamingo growls, his frustration growing with every evasive move you make. He closes the distance between you, his attacks becoming more rapid and precise. You wince as a string slices across your shoulder, but you force yourself to keep moving.

The palace begins to shake. At first, you don’t understand why, but then it becomes clear—Doflamingo is the cause. He bares his teeth at you, pausing his assault for a moment, and that’s when you feel it—tendrils of string weaving into your mind. Without hesitation, you rip them out with Seam Ripper, a technique you mastered a year ago when a pirate with the Persuasion-Persuasion Fruit attacked the Polar Tang.

“Fight me!”

You glare at him, your hands clenched at your sides. "Why? So you can taste my power and figure out how to control me?"

He shrugs nonchalantly, the movement stiff thanks to the needle lodged in his back.

You pause, taking a breath, considering your next move. A manic smirk slowly pulls at the corners of your lips. “What do you say, Doflamingo? Ready to have some fun?”

He chuckles lowly, his twisted grin mirroring yours. “Finally, a worthy opponent.”

Your eyebrow arches, and you fling your arm out. Threads, woven into a tight rope, whip out to sweep Doflamingo off his feet, but just as quickly, his own ropes send you flying to the side.

You sniffle, a thought flashing through your mind—maybe your abilities are more intertwined than you realise.

“Bullet String.”

The pellets ricochet off the needle you wield like a sword. Your movements are fluid and precise—if someone from the outside were watching, they’d mistake you for a swordswoman. You silently thank Zoro for drilling the motions into you over the years.

You press forward, matching his attack with your own. “Darts.”

The battle rages on, both of you exchanging strikes, dodging, weaving, and countering with perfect synchronicity. It's a standoff—an even match.

You gulp down a breath, your lungs burning as you round a corner of the palace, the fight spilling out of the chamber when Doflamingo reveals his Excess String Whip.

Your head hurts with the stamina you’ve used, and you feel the effects of not using Seam in your hands. With a definitive, fragmented sigh and a burning urgency to end this and get back to Law, you position yourself in the hallway, waiting for Doflamingo to close the distance. Blood slides down the side of your face, and you wipe it away with your shoulder, smearing it along your skin. 

“You can’t hide,” A sing-song, ragged voice taunts. “I will defeat you, Dreamweaver.”

You bite your lip, his words only spurring you on. “We’ll see about that.”

Without waiting to face him, you summon Seam.

Your body aches when he enters, his pure, unadulterated power already clawing at the walls of your mindscape. You scream as you collapse to the floor, your hands squeezing the sides of your head. 

There’s a faraway crash, but you ignore it to concentrate on keeping Doflamingo’s soul inside you. 

Your name cuts through the foggy pain reverberating in your skull. You strain your eyes, trying to bring the figures in front of you into focus, but they remain distorted, shadows dancing just out of reach. You think you're screaming—an agonising, blood-curdling scream that forces the two figures back, hands clutching their ears in desperation. Tears pour from your closed eyes, and blood streams from your ears; the white-hot power of the man’s soul inside you wreaks havoc. 

A touch comes, someone trying to lift you from the floor, but they recoil instantly, your skin burning too hot to bear.

Your throat is raw, searing with every breath, but you know it’s time. And with a final, desperate breath, you enter Seam.

— Scene 3 —

It’s eerily quiet when you appear, the world around you a vast stillness, interrupted only by the crash of distant waves. The air is thick with salt, stinging your nose, but you push it aside. Doflamingo sits some distance away, his fingers threading through the blades of grass, lost in his thoughts.

You don’t move to attack him, instead standing behind him, watching. The chirp of birds passes overhead, their flight a gentle reminder of something once familiar, something that hurts to remember.

“Is this your mindscape?” He asks, his voice slicing through the silence.

“Yes,” You respond, your tone cool.

The feeling here differs from the usual pull of Seam, but you can't tell if it's unsettling or calming. Seeing Doflamingo, a monster who now taints your thoughts and memories, sitting so casually in your mind makes your stomach churn. The images of what he’s done to Law, Dressrosa, and the other nameless people who now live in his shadow burn you with disgust.

Law’s words echo in your mind but do nothing to quell the hate rising within you. The emotions collide—hate, revulsion, and a quiet, simmering fury. The mix churns beneath your skin as you study the man before you, wondering how much further you'll have to go to make him pay.

In the end, you’re seething, each breath coming faster and harder. “You deserve everything that’s coming for you.”

Doflamingo doesn’t even bother to turn around, but you can hear the smirk in his voice. “So you can see the future?”

You step forward, the words barbed. “No, not the future. Just what I’m going to do to you.”

Before Doflamingo can move, you focus on the back of his head, your mind swirling with something ancient and unwelcome. The words slip from your lips like an instinct, more felt than thought, the word slipping free before you can stop it.

"Eyelet."

You’ve never ventured into someone else’s mind before—not like this. You’ve only ever existed within Seam, a realm born of your own memories. But this—this is different. Doflamingo’s consciousness feels like a cold, jagged thing, cruel and suffocating, and the skin on your body prickles under its intensity.

Your senses flare as you absorb the full force of what you’ve unleashed. This power is vast, far darker than anything you’ve touched before. It feels like a shadow of something you’ve long forgotten, something that the voices once whispered to you about, teaching you to wield it with cautious reverence. But now? It feels like part of you—a second skin that fits in ways you hadn’t imagined until now.

Indifferent, you remain still, allowing the new, raw power to wash over you. 

“She’s awakened.” 

“The Dreamweaver has returned.” 

“Welcome, young one. We’ve been expecting you.”

Feminine voices surround you, their whispers caressing you like a soft breeze, warm and gentle. A smile tugs at your lips as you feel their presence, and slowly, you open your eyes.

You find yourself standing in the ruins of a house, its decay a reflection of the destruction within. The bed is a mess, drenched in unspeakable filth, and the air is thick with the stench of rot and hopelessness. Every instinct screams at you to flee, but fear paralyses you, making it impossible to breathe freely.

In the corner, a small boy curls up, his face buried in his knees as he sobs in agony. Though his features are familiar, resembling Doflamingo in a way that twists your stomach, you know, deep in your bones, that this is not him. There is something pure about how he cries—innocent in a way Doflamingo never was.  

Without warning, the door crashes open, and another figure enters. This one, unmistakably Doflamingo, strides into the room with the same arrogance you’ve come to associate with him, even at his current age. His glasses gleam in the dim light, and his presence fills the room with a suffocating sense of authority.

“Get up!” He commands, his voice harsh, the words dripping with disdain as they land on the boy. Your heart clenches when you realise that the child on the floor is none other than Corazon, his face streaked with tears and his hair matted to his forehead. The contrast between the two is striking, and the moment's violence weighs heavily on you.

Doflamingo’s following words are chilling. “Stop crying, he deserved it.” His voice cracks like the snap of a whip, and the cruelty in it hangs in the air.

Still shaken, Corazon lifts his head, his face red from emotion and pain. His voice is quiet but full of desperation. “But why?”

The eldest Donquixote child scoffs, stomping towards him with the same disdain he carries now, a gun dangling carelessly in his small, trembling hands.

The scene before you fades, its bitter hatred dissolving into the ether. This isn't the memory you need.

Another materialises in its place—a young child wearing the same patterned hat Law always wears. He looks up at Doflamingo, and your breath catches in your throat. You can’t bear to watch this.

Just a boy, Trafalgar Law stands there with a fierce scowl, hurling his small body against the towering man’s legs. Around his waist are dozens of grenades, each one wrapped in a dull khaki green. "Let me in!"

Doflamingo scoffs, his gangly form looming over the child. "Not a chance, brat. Get lost."

Law’s face morphs into something unreadable, and before you can process it, the door slams in his face. He stands frozen, staring at the wooden panel, his heart sinking at the stark reality—he’s unwanted, unwelcome. Alone.

He stumbles away, fighting back the tears, as he trudges down the grimy stairwell into the waste processing plant, swallowed by despair.

At that moment, the hatred you feel for Doflamingo crystallises into something darker and more dangerous. You lift your arm, your movement fluid, and a new memory plays before you. A cruel satisfaction fills you as you make your choice, knowing this is the memory that will hurt Doflamingo more deeply than any before it.

His soul thrashes violently within the confines of Seam, shaking the very core of your being. Doflamingo’s Haki-infused strings press against your mind, sharp as daggers, their relentless pressure threatening to tear through the walls of your consciousness.

The same voices you heard earlier whisper to you again, guiding you with soft, melodic tones, their words like a balm to the chaos swirling within you. They gently walk you through extracting the memory from Doflamingo’s mind, showing you how to pull it into reality.

“Who are you?” You ask, your voice tight with anxiety and your stomach churning with unease. You hesitate, your hands shaking as you halt the process, the air heavy with the question.

“We are the Dreamers of time past. You are our descendant, chosen to consume the Sew-Sew Fruit and restore balance alongside The Monarchs and The Reapers. You are the saviour of this world.”

Your throat tightens as you struggle to swallow the lump forming there. “But I don’t want to rule.”

“There is no need to wish for power,” they reply, their voices soft and understanding. “You are one of us—someone who hopes for the best for others and desires nothing for herself. We bear no ill will toward you for not seeking dominion. But time is of the essence. You must hurry the extraction; the man you harbour within you is far too dangerous.”

A screeching, hollow sound echoes in your mind when they depart, but you ignore it, focusing on your task. With a swift motion, you pull yourself free from his mind. As you return to Seam, Doflamingo’s pale face stares back at you, his eyes wide and full of disbelief.

“What did you just do?” His voice is laced with fear and fury, but it doesn’t rattle you like it once would have. Beneath his arrogant mask, you see him for what he really is—a boy given too much power too soon, thrust into a world that demanded cruelty over compassion.

You don’t pity him. But you do feel a deep, sorrowful sadness. When you look into Doflamingo’s eyes, hidden behind the dark lenses of his sunglasses, you don’t see a man but a child—one who was placed on a pedestal and taught to wield power for destruction, surrounded by people who saw weakness as something to be stamped out, never nurtured. He’s a product of a broken system, raised to carry on the twisted legacy of the Celestial Dragons. Whether it’s tragic that he failed is irrelevant—you’re not here to play Gods.

With a deep sigh, you leave Seam, taking his soul with you.

Doflamingo’s body jerks as he’s violently pulled back into himself. He gasps, his anger flaring as he shoots you a venomous glare. “You little—”

Before he can finish, the words slip from your mouth without thinking. You don’t know where they came from nor what they fully mean, but they feel natural. They feel right.

“Binding and Stitch.”

Your mindscape bleeds into the material world, the scene seamlessly overlapping with the palace hallway. Doflamingo blinks, his confusion turning to dawning realisation as he senses the shift behind him.

His mouth opens and closes as his eyes fall on the fire, the brick wall, the deep crimson stains of blood, and the iron shackles—memories he tried so hard to bury. “No…”

Doflamingo’s voice falters as the raw, jagged edge of the memory snaps shut, locking it into the space around him. The scene solidifies. It’s a frighteningly beautiful thing, and the power thrumming through you makes your skin hum with exhilaration. There’s a gnawing hunger for more.

“Pin.”

With a keen snap, Doflamingo vanishes from the ground and reappears, pinned high against the wall. His curses echo in the air, his iron shackles rattling, but you don’t flinch.

The voices of the women in your ears sing praises, urging you to unleash more, to continue the assault. But you remain unmoved, standing still as Doflamingo’s defiance and rage bounce harmlessly off your calm, unyielding focus.

As expected, the shackles shatter almost immediately, and Doflamingo’s hand shoots out in a blur of savagery.

“How dare you?” He spits, his voice seething with venom. Razor-sharp strings whistle through the air, their edges a hair’s breadth from your neck. The memory replays in the room, the screams of children flooding your senses, and dizziness pulls you into its dance. Blood pricks your skin like ice, and you shut your eyes tight, trying to block it out. “You think this is funny, huh?”

“Binding and Stitch,” You murmur, the words laced with raw power. White-hot energy lashes out, searing the skin of your neck as the cords of Doflamingo’s strings tighten.

The world tilts, and your vision blurs as a fierce white flash erupts behind your eyes. Another memory erupts, pulling you deeper into its grip. The room is heavy with dread and bitter resentment, the fading embers of an inflated superiority complex thickening the air with suffocating smoke. The ground beneath you trembles, the polished tiles warping into grimy cobblestones, shifting with the tremors of a long-forgotten trauma.

“Father! What are they doing?” 

Doflamingo freezes, his face draining of colour. His lips press into a thin, tense line as his gaze shifts quickly to the right.

“Stay calm,” Donquixote Homing orders, his voice laced with apprehension. “Take Rosinante and lock yourselves in the house. Quickly.”

“But, Father—”

“World Noble scum!” 

A rock, the size of a man’s fist, hurtles through the air, striking the child and sending him sprawling to the ground. Donquixote Doflamingo pushes himself up on his elbows, a steady stream of bright red blood spilling from his temple. Another stone slams into the cobblestones beside him, followed by another. Then, a shower of pebbles and larger rocks pelt a father and his son, rendering their pride irreparable. 

“You deserve to die!”

“I heard they live on top of the hill! Burn it!”

Flames lick the palace's ceiling, and Doflamingo’s grip around your neck loosens. 

“They’re burning down the mansion!” 

“I hope they’re still inside!” 

The Donquixote family stumbles down the steps of their burning house, the wood cracking and metal warping as the flames consume everything behind them. A woman with an intricate braid, the strands of her hair barely holding together, presses a small boy tightly to her chest. Donquixote Rosinante clings to his mother’s shirt with desperate strength, as if his very survival depends on it—and perhaps it does. His eyes are swollen and red, his face streaked with the remnants of tears and sheer terror. The eldest Donquixote son hides his emotions beneath a mask of silence, his heart stewing with profound and unsettling darkness, honing it into a weapon he will eventually unleash on the world. His young mind processes the entropy around him in ways no child should.

“Stop…”

"Interfacing." You move like a shadow, spinning a labyrinth of thread. The sheets you create stretch as tall as the ceiling, as wide as the walls, as strong as the thickest metal in all four seas—an inescapable barrier.

You sprint down the hallway, heart pounding. You only have a little time. Doflamingo won’t stay contained for long. Soon, he’ll be hunting you again, relentlessly.

A door slams open ahead, and you duck to the side just as figures rush from the stairwell, pausing for a split second before giving chase. You push yourself harder, dodging and weaving through the narrow corridors. Every corner blurs into the next, every hallway the same, and the sound of footsteps pounding behind you grows louder closer. You throw attacks desperately to slow them down—prompt, precise strikes, but there’s no time to stay and fight.

Hey! Stop!”

You flinch as a bullet zips past your ear, its shrill whistle still ringing in your head. Instinctively, you activate your Observation Haki to anticipate the next shot.

But you’re interrupted when you sense a Devil Fruit user nearby, their presence suffocating.

The overwhelming force of their power presses in on you like you’re being crushed under an invisible hand. You strain to pinpoint their location, but they’re everywhere. In the walls. The floor. The very air around you. 

“Pica.”

Though the name rings a bell, it's faint, barely a whisper in the back of your mind. The face of the person who said it is a blur, but you recall a massive, terrifying figure breaking through the ground in the chamber where Doflamingo held Law captive.

You piece it together—like your own, it’s a Paramecia-type Devil Fruit. You sift through your knowledge of Devil Fruits and their weaknesses. The two years with Law were spent training and learning about the many different fruits, some useful and some deadly. The knowledge is proving more valuable than ever.

Suddenly, the cobblestones beneath you begin to crack and give way. Before you can react, the ground collapses beneath your feet, and you’re falling, only barely managing to catch yourself on the level below.

You scan the area, relieved to see the people following you remain unaffected by the Devil Fruit user’s power; it gives you the edge you need to make your escape.

Ahead, double doors swing open to reveal a balcony. You push through them, skidding to a halt, when you catch sight of the drop. The wind howls in your face, stinging your skin as you squint to get a better look. Below, the city sprawls far beneath you. The palace perches precariously on a jagged rock, its foundations slanted at an unnatural angle as if defying gravity itself.

Your heart drops when you spot the Birdcage. Its metallic threads are shrinking like a noose around the island. You watch in horror as buildings are sliced to pieces, their shattered remains falling to the streets below. Citizens scream in fright, some crushed, others mutilated by the unrelenting power. The carnage is just beginning—only the outermost areas are being affected for now.

Doflamingo must have finally escaped the maze of threads. And now, the island is in turmoil.

With little hesitation, fueled by a surge of courage, you wrap a thread around your waist, leaving just enough slack for a rope to slip through. Your eyes dart nervously down the hallway, ensuring no one is watching as you toss another strand over the edge, letting it drop as far as it will go. Carefully, you thread the end of the long strand through the web of threads at your waist, securing it to a needle.

Climbing over the railing with shaky hands, you crouch down and stab the floor with the needle, imbuing all the Armament Haki you can into it to keep it stable. The stone cracks with the force, and when you wiggle it, it stays in place. 

You don’t dare look back at the sheer drop behind you, the nerves tightening your chest, making it hard to focus. But the thought of Doflamingo catching you in such a vulnerable position is enough to propel you forward. Without hesitation, you push off the edge of the balcony.

Coating your hands with Haki, the purple sheen shimmering under the full moon’s light, you descend the long thread. The wind dies down, and you’re left with only the sound of your breath and the city below. With each slow movement, the pain of distant screams grows louder and harsher, as though the suffering in the streets is chasing you down.

The palace groans, a deep rumble vibrating through the thread. Your grip tightens, but the adrenaline dulls the anxiety that would usually freeze you in place. The sounds of shouts and breaking glass rise from the palace as it starts to collapse. You focus on the thread beneath your feet, inching closer to the ground, and when your feet finally hit the street, a violent tremor shakes the rock beneath you. 

You pull away from the thread and sever it from your waist. You need to find someone who can help you. You need to see Luffy and Law.

— Scene 4 —

Civilians scatter around you, frantic cries and desperate prayers filling the air. You don’t know how long you’ve been running, each step a blur. The only thought consuming you is the desperate need to find Law and Luffy. 

But you’re distracted; the screams around you only focus on a colossal man destroying the city. You finally choose to look, and when you do, your heart skips a beat when you see the figure clearly—a massive stone giant attacking the skies as if trying to catch something—or someone. Squinting, you spot the figure attacking back— a swordsman, three blades flashing in the moonlight as he cleaves the stone into chunks.

A gasp escapes your lips, and you sprint toward the battle, cutting through the sea of panicked people gathering in the centre of the Birdcage. Some try to push you back, telling you you're going the wrong way, but you shove them off without breaking stride. 

Zoro moves with the precision and power of a force of nature, his every motion fluid and controlled. His black blades slice through the stone like paper, each strike sending debris flying. There’s no hesitation, no wasted effort—just raw, unrelenting precision. With every swing, the ground trembles, and the air ripples from the force of his speed. The once-solid stone crumbles beneath him, a testament to his honed skill and dedication.

You watch in awe, a swell of pride rising in your chest. This is the result of two years of gruelling training. Zoro’s mastery is on full display, and you can’t help but feel emotional when you see how far he’s come.

"Zoro!" You shout, your voice cutting through the turmoil. A lump forms in your throat, but you push it down, your heart swelling with pride. Your friend has grown beyond what you thought possible, and it fills you with both awe and a tinge of nostalgia.

As you push through the crowd, the chaos seems to slow, but Zoro remains focused, every movement an extension of his purpose. Despite the destruction around him, you catch a slight smirk tugging at his lips, a flicker of mirth in his eyes as they meet yours.

“I’ll be a sec, just have to drop this guy,”

The words catch you off guard momentarily, and a tiny laugh bubbles in your throat despite the dread. Only Zoro could be fighting a stone giant and still manage to make time for a cocky joke. 

But there’s no time to lose. Luffy and Law need you. 

And, as if he’s read your mind, a piercing scream echoes through the night, abruptly cut off. Zoro lands atop the rubble, sheathing his swords with a fluid motion before he makes his way down to you. You can tell by how he walks, his smirk practically a permanent fixture, that he’s pleased with himself.

“Did you see that?”

You raise an eyebrow, clearly amused by his cockiness. “I did. Enjoy yourself?”

Zoro chuckles, shrugging with a grin. “Psh, of course I did. You know me.”

You roll your eyes, the smile fading as you nudge him to walk with you. "Have you seen Luffy?"

"Yeah, he's at the palace on the hill. With Law."

You halt in your tracks. “They are?”

Zoro nods, scratching the side of his head. “They should be.”

You glance at the crumbling lookout beside you, the rocks threatening to give way at any moment. It looks like the perfect vantage point.

"Get me up there."

Zoro raises an eyebrow, his expression doubtful as he follows your gaze. "Right now?"

"Yes, now!" You snap, urgency thick in your voice.

“Damn, okay.”

Zoro crouches and wraps his arm around your legs, effortlessly hoisting you over his shoulder.

"Zoro!"

"This is faster, alright? Relax, I won’t drop you. I swear you guys have no faith in me."

You grip the back of his suit jacket, feeling the fabric wrinkle under your fingers as he springs back onto the stone man’s remains. He then nimbly leaps to the jagged rocks of the lookout. As he climbs, your mind drifts back to the events at the palace.

There had been two people when you sent Doflamingo into Seam, but then they were gone. The hands on you had felt familiar, comforting even—but then they disappeared, and that was the last thing you remember before infiltrating Doflamingo’s mind.

“Quit thinking so hard; you’re giving me a headache.” 

“Sorry,” You mumble, lifting your head to study the palace in the distance. If Luffy and Law were there when you trapped Doflamingo in Interfacing, how furious would he be to find them roaming his castle without care?

“I need to get back to the palace.”

Zoro pulls himself over the lookout's edge, gently setting you down on the grass.

“You’re not making any sense,” Zoro sighs, his brow furrowing. “You just escaped. Why the hell would you wanna go back?”

“If Luffy and Law are in trouble, I—”

Your name echoes through the air, and you turn to see Usopp standing there, sweating, with his oversized slingshot gripped tightly in his hands. “What are you doing here? Violet said you were fighting Doflamingo.”

Usopp glances back toward the woman you saw earlier, the one you left behind when you parted ways with Law. She’s standing still, her eyes wide and filled with fear as they lock onto you.

“Usopp,” You gasp, your breath coming out in shaky bursts. “What are you doing up here?”

Violet’s voice breaks in before Usopp can answer, her tone tinged with desperation. “Luffy and Law are in danger. Sugar’s closing in on them.”

“Sugar?” You ask, confusion mixing with the rising alarm.

Usopp nods. “She looks like a little girl, but she’s not. She’s actually—”

“How are they in danger?” You cut him off, your heart pounding in your throat.

“Sugar is the one who turns people into toys,” Violet explains quickly, her words like cold water splashing over you.

The gravity of her words hit you, and everything seems to freeze for a moment. A wave of panic floods through your veins, and your heart races uncontrollably.

“If she turns you into a toy,” Usopp adds quietly, his voice heavy with dread. “Everyone you know forgets you—until she’s taken out.”

The realisation slams into you, and you can barely catch your breath. “I have to get over there.” 

You’re not about to be launched by Usopp’s slingshot, but you can’t waste any more time. 

“Just get the guy to throw you there,” Zoro mutters, sounding like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “That’s how he got me onto that rock guy.”

Usopp gives him a flat look, clearly unimpressed. “We’re not launching her through the sky, Zoro.”

You hesitate momentarily, and the idea starts to take shape in your mind. 

"That doesn't sound half bad," You say, already weighing the possibility. "Where is he?"

Usopp blinks at you, his face frozen in disbelief. "You two are out of your minds."

Zoro grins, leaning over the edge of the lookout, scanning the area like it’s a casual day out. “He should be around here somewhere...”

"God Usopp!" A civilian's voice suddenly shouts, causing you to jump. You turn, startled, and see a crowd of people behind you. "Come with us, and we'll make it as painless as possible!"

"Why are they so angry?" You ask, brows furrowed.

"Did you hear the bounties?" Zoro mutters with a hint of amusement in his voice.

You shake your head, confused. "What bounties?"

Usopp whimpers next to you, eager to avoid further conversation about it.

Violet gasps before Zoro can explain, her voice trembling with fear as she recounts what she witnessed. You can’t help but be impressed by her ability, and Usopp fills in the gaps, telling you that she has clairvoyant powers. 

“She’s getting closer! Usopp, get ready to fire!”

Usopp fumbles with his slingshot, his hands unsteady as he slides the bottom of the handle under his foot. He pulls the elastic back as far as it will go, then carefully loads a large ball, nearly the size of his head, into the leather pouch.

Zoro perches on the ledge as he searches for the man, his feet swinging dangerously close to the drop below. You swallow thickly, your throat tightening as the reality of the situation sinks in. Usopp's shot has to be perfect—if he’s even a millimetre off, Luffy and Law will vanish from everyone’s memory, lost to the curse of forgetting. 

Usopp trembles, his body shuddering with the weight of the pressure. The steady drip of sweat mingles with the rapid beat of his heart; each drop is a reminder of just how high the stakes are. His breath comes in shallow gasps, and he wipes his forehead only for more to replenish it, the tension building with every passing second. Every movement feels too loud, too heavy as if the world itself is holding its breath, waiting for him to make the shot.

You hold your breath, the tension thick in the air, your pulse drumming in your ears as you wait for the moment to unfold. But time seems to stretch, and the climax never comes.

“Usopp,” You whisper, your voice soft but firm enough to cut through the silence and bring his attention back to the task. “Slow your mind. I can hear your thoughts from over here.”

He doesn’t respond verbally but nods, his fingers loosening slightly on the slingshot as he adjusts his stance.

“Hurry!” Violet squeals, her voice high with anxiety as she covers her eyes with one hand, unwilling to watch what could be the final moment of reckoning. “I can’t watch!”

Usopp, however, remains focused. His expression hardens, and the resolve in his eyes returns with full force. He takes a deep, steadying breath and, with a swift motion, lines up the slingshot again. His gaze sharpens as he aligns it perfectly, focusing on the left-bottom pane of a window in the distant palace. The world around him blurs as he enters the zone—calm, centred, and ready to make the shot that could change everything.

And then, everything seems to slow.

Usopp pulls the rubber band back just a fraction further, his eyes never leaving the target. He takes one final, steady breath before releasing it. The slingshot snaps, sending the plant ball flying through the air, cutting through the silence of the lookout.

Everyone watches, holding their breath as the ball hurtles toward the window. It’s too far to see exactly where it lands, but the tension in the air is palpable.

And then, a loud cry breaks the stillness.

“I-It hit! It actually hit!” Violet screams, her voice trembling with joy, her hands shooting up to her face in disbelief. Tears stream down her cheeks as she laughs, overwhelmed with emotion. “It worked! Oh my God, it worked! Sugar is down!”

Her voice rings across the lookout, and you can't help but smile at her relief and joy. The tightness in your chest lessens just a little as the reality of Usopp’s success sinks in.

But even amid relief, trepidation clings to you like a leech. The looming dread always shadows the joy of victory. If one of Doflamingo’s executives is down, he’ll be livid—and the consequences of that rage could be catastrophic.

"Zoro, where's this guy?" You ask, trying to keep your voice steady.

Zoro’s eyes scan the area, his gaze flicking over the crowd. 

"There!" He points, his finger stabbing through the air. "That guy, the one with the weird hair and the huge jacket."

You follow his gaze, narrowing your eyes to spot the figure amongst the crowds of people. It’s like a countdown now—every second matters. “Thank you.” 

Usopp’s voice calls out behind you, laced with concern, but you don’t slow down. The wind catches the edges of your thread as you descend the cliff, the rush of air filling your ears. With a thud, your feet hit the rocky ground, and you’re off, heart pounding as you dart towards the man. His massive frame cuts through the crowd like a towering figure, and you catch up to him in no time. 

"Hey!" You call out, skipping the pleasantries. "You're the one who tossed the green-haired guy onto that rock, right?"

The man turns, his expression shifting to irritation. “Yeah? What’s it to you?”

You don’t waste time. “Think you could throw me toward the palace?”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not expecting the request. For a moment, there’s a flicker of disbelief in his eyes as he assesses you—your determination and the desperation leaking through your tone. The air feels thick with tension. He looks you up and down as if trying to gauge whether you're out of your mind or if there's something more to it.

“You want me to throw you?” His voice holds a mocking edge, but something is calculating in how he studies you. “Like I did that green-haired guy?”

You step closer, adrenaline pumping through your veins. You can almost feel the pulse of time slipping away. “Yes.”

His gaze flicks to the horizon, then back at you, a reluctant sigh escaping him. “Fine. You better make it count.”

He steps forward, closing the distance, and you can see the glint of something fierce in his eyes. “You get one shot at this. If you fall short... well, that’s on you. Don’t come crying to me.”

You nod; relief is evident on your face. With a grunt, he positions himself, his muscles tensing. His hands find their place around your waist, and you barely have time to brace yourself before—

With a swift motion, he launches you into the air, and for a fleeting moment, you feel weightless.

The wind rushes past you as the world blurs below. You barely have time to process it all when the palace looms ahead, much closer than anticipated. And as you hurtle toward it, all you can think about is how you’ll kill Doflamingo. 

The palace looms closer, towering above the landscape like a jagged mountain of stone and marble. You can see the windows gleaming like cold eyes, watching you as you fly toward them. The sounds of the battle reach your ears: distant shouts, the crackle of energy, the rumble of disarray.

The ground rushes up too quickly, and dread claws at your chest. You adjust your body midair, instinctively tucking your knees beneath you to brace for the impact. There’s no time to think about using threads to break your fall—you’re a Straw Hat, after all… logic is only a sometimes thing. 

Without thinking, your body hardens with Armament Haki, and you hit the ground with a sickening thud that shakes your bones and rattles your teeth. The shock of the landing sends a burst of pain through your legs, but it’s nothing you can’t push through. Your body rebounds from the impact, rolling quickly to absorb the force. Your Haki melts away, leaving you with the aftershock of landing.

Your palms scrape against the stone, ripping the skin of your palms as you scramble to your feet. You wince at the ache in your legs, but there's no time to slow down. Your vision clears, and you stand just a few meters from the entrance. You glance around quickly, assessing your surroundings. The area is eerily quiet, save for the distant sounds of battle. A deep rumble shakes the ground beneath you as something significant crashes far off in the distance—probably another of Doflamingo’s executives wreaking havoc.

You step forward, your feet steady despite the pain, and then another. You’re sure adrenaline plays a significant part in how you feel, and Law will no doubt scold you for your recklessness afterwards. 

You spot a group of soldiers moving toward you from the side, weapons raised, and you instinctively draw in a breath, ready to spring into action.

But before you can move, a shadow falls across the courtyard, and you freeze.

It’s a figure—a familiar one—with a signature straw hat perched atop his head.

“Luffy!” You shout, relief flooding through you, but there’s no time to waste on catching your breath. You point toward the palace entrance, urgency creeping into your voice. “We gotta go.” 

“You made it!” He exclaims, a grin spreading across his face. “Thought you’d never catch up!” He pulls you into a quick, tight hug.

“I’m fine,” You say, shoving him off with a smirk. “We don’t have time for this. Where’s Law?”

Luffy doesn’t hesitate, pointing toward the palace doors. “He’s inside. He’s been holding his own, but things are getting worse. Doflamingo’s up to something big.”

You nod, heart pounding. You don’t need to be told twice. The air inside feels heavy with the tension of a thousand possible outcomes, and you know that every moment you spend out here only increases the risk. But there’s no turning back now, not that you want to. 

A voice calls from the darkness of the palace halls. “Over here!” 

It’s Law, unmistakable even through the strain in his tone. His voice cuts through the madness like a beacon, and in that moment, you have a one-track mind. The weight of everything that’s happened—the battles, the separation, the endless dangers—melts away. You dart toward the sound, your heart hammering, emotion clogging your throat. 

As you round the corner, you spot him. Law is standing there, leaning against the wall, bloodied but alive, his breathing shallow, and his expression pained but focused. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, everything else fades. There’s no madness. No fight. Just him and that familiar, steady look in his eyes that you’d thought you might never see again.

You can’t stop the rush of relief that powers through you. Without thinking, you sprint toward him, your feet pounding against the cold stone floor. When you’re close enough, you throw your arms around him in a fierce hug, the rush of love almost knocking the air out of both of you.

“Law…” You whisper, your voice hoarse. He's warm against you, his pulse beating steadily beneath your hands. Law hesitates briefly, surprised by the intensity of your hug, then wraps one arm around you, pulling you in just as tightly. His voice, rough but filled with that familiar edge, cracks the fragile silence. 

“Took you long enough,” He mutters, though you can hear the relief in his voice despite the sarcasm. 

You pull back slightly, looking up at him, breathless and with a shaky laugh. 

“I had to get back here somehow,” Your fingers graze the cuts on his cheek, and you can see the faintest flicker of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

He gives you a keen, tired look, but there’s something almost tender in how he searches your face. 

“You’re insane,” He says, his voice low but softening. “You shouldn’t have come back. You were free.”

“And leave you here alone? Never.” You can feel the heat of the battle around you, the urgency creeping back into your veins, but it doesn’t matter. Everything feels right for these moments with him in your arms. 

“I gotta go,” Luffy interrupts. “Doflamingo is on a rampage.” 

You furrow your eyebrows and open your mouth to ask him where he’s going when he runs out of the palace. 

“We need to get to a rooftop near the middle of the Birdcage. Luffy and I have a plan.”

You nod and go to grab his hand when you freeze, your hand hovering in midair. The absence of his touch—of the weight of his hand—sends a shock through you, an emptiness settling in your chest. No, your mind screams as if in denial. This can’t be happening.

His left arm, the one you were trying to reach for, is gone. Still fresh and raw, the stump of it stares back at you. Your breath catches, and for a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at the empty space where his arm should be. 

“...What?” He asks, his voice rough.

The space where his hand should be feels like a chasm. Your fingers brush against the blood-soaked fabric of his sleeve, but the emptiness where his hand would’ve been is a painful reminder of what’s been taken from him.

“I’m fine,” Law whispers, realising what you’re staring at. “I can fix it. We just need to get to a rooftop, and I’ll do it there.”

“Fine,” You sigh, knowing he’d brush it off. “Let’s go.”

— Scene 5 —

The battle rages below you, Luffy’s roar of fury echoing in the distance as he clashes with Doflamingo. The sky above the palace is alive with the storm of their fight, but there’s no time to linger. The tension within you tightens with each passing second. You know what’s at stake.

With your hand braced against his back, you lead Law toward the nearest edge of a building. The sounds of Luffy’s fight grow louder—the sickening crack of bone against flesh, the ferocious sound of rubber meeting the wind—but you can’t think about that now. 

You survey the drop. Small ledges, scattered stones, and an open rooftop with a short drop—just enough for a quick jump. Law’s eyes narrow as he watches you study the distance. His breath quickens as he shifts his weight slightly, clearly reluctant but understanding.

"Don't—" He starts, but you’ve already decided. 

When you inch closer to the ledge, Law grumbles something under his breath, a curse or two. The wind howls as you push off from the edge, feeling the weight of Law in your arms. Everything is suspended in time for a moment—the world beneath you shrinking and the rooftop ahead growing closer.

You land with a jarring thud, your legs reverberating with the second landing of the night. The rooftop is elevated, and you have a clear view of Luffy in the sky, his body larger than you’ve seen—a new technique?

As you carefully lower Law onto the cool stone, the wind whips around you, your hands trembling as you check him over. Your muscles ache, but you’re glad the journey to get here wasn’t that hard.

You’re both hidden from Doflamingo’s view, the sounds of Luffy’s battle clearer than before, but for a brief moment, it’s just you and Law—quiet and away from the mayhem of Dressrosa.

"Good?" You ask, looking at him with concern. 

Law glances at you briefly, his silver eyes stark with focus, before looking back at the chaotic battle between Luffy and Doflamingo. He tugs his hat from his head, his hair sticking in all directions. You watch Luffy in his Gear Fourth form, his strikes thunderous, and wonder when he discovered that. A flicker of something crosses Law’s face — a mix of frustration and the ghost of a smirk. 

“This should be fine.” His face remains impassive, but there’s a tightness in his jaw, a subtle flinch when he moves. 

You watch as he expands Room, using Shambles to summon his arm. It’s odd to see Law handle his own limb like this. 

You raise an eyebrow, giving him a sideways glance. “Do you want to reattach your arm? Or do you want me to?” 

Your words hang in the air, though you can hear the slight edge of amusement laced within them. The situation, grim as it is, feels strangely familiar — him, injured and stubborn, not wanting to ask for help.

He pauses briefly, eyeing you with a hint of that usual deflection. "You’re not going to let me do it myself, are you?"

You smirk, inching closer to him. “I could let you try, but you might get your stitches tangled.”

Law snorts, a small, pained laugh escaping him despite himself. “My stitches are perfect.”

“Tell that to my torso,” You quip, remembering how often your stitches ripped when you first met him. 

“That was your fault,” He rolls his eyes. “You don’t know how to sit still.”

“And you do?” You meet his eyes, an unspoken understanding between you. The situation is dire, and Law needs to use his power soon, so without hesitation, you summon Sew. 

“Don’t move.”

Law doesn’t respond—but his half-smile, which barely tugs at his lips, is enough to settle your heart.

As you begin working, Law remains surprisingly quiet. The battle rages above; Luffy’s shouts and Doflamingo’s curses punctuate the tension. But for now, in this small moment amidst the chaos, the two of you sit in a rare silence, the past few days of turmoil and bloodshed settling into something almost calm. 

You make quick work of the sutures, conjuring a gauze from Sew when they are finished. 

“Done,” You say, your voice a little breathless, as if sewing him together has taken more out of you than you care to admit. You secure the end of the gauze before leaning down and pressing your lips to his shoulder. 

Law flexes his fingers, testing the strength of the arm. His usual mask of cool indifference slips just a little, and, just for you, a smile plays at his lips. 

“You sure you’re not going to be a little more gentle next time?” He teases, his voice still raspy from the strain of the fight earlier. 

You laugh, though it’s a little breathless. “Maybe I’ll take it easy next time,” You say, lightly brushing over his arm's now-healed skin, lingering there for a moment longer than necessary.

Law speaks again, voice softer than before. “I never thought I’d be in a situation where I’d allow someone to put me back together again.”

You glance up, locking eyes with him. 

“You don’t need to do everything alone, you know.” You whisper. “That’s why I went with you to Punk Hazard despite your relentless arguing.”

“I didn’t want you to be in danger. I can’t handle it.” 

His gaze shifts away for a moment as if the vulnerability of his words unsettles him. The admission catches you off guard. But then, that’s always been his way—never one to show weakness, yet here he is, allowing himself a glimpse of it. The vulnerability behind the facade is just for you.

You close the distance between you instantly, your hands reaching his chest. 

“I know,” You say softly, your heart swelling at the raw honesty in his eyes. “But I’m here. I’m not going anywhere.”

His hands find your waist, pulling you close. His fingers tighten ever so slightly as if ensuring himself that you’re here.

“You better not,” He mutters, his voice thick with emotion.

“I’m not leaving you,” You say, your voice firm. It’s in moments like this, when everything else goes silent, that you know for certain: no matter what happens or the dangers that await, you’re not letting him go.

His forehead rests against yours, and you close your eyes, the weight of his breath mingling with yours. The world outside could burn, and you'd still feel this—this unshakable connection between you two.

“You know,” Law says, his voice low, but there's a playful edge. “I don’t need you to save me.”

You let out a breathless laugh, the sound a little too close to a sigh of relief. 

“I’m not saving you. I’m just making sure you don’t bleed out on me,” You tease, but there’s no mistaking the tenderness behind the words. 

“I could’ve done it myself,” He mutters, brushing his lips against your forehead before pulling back slightly, his gaze darkening as he meets your eyes.

You raise an eyebrow, aware of the subtle change in his tone. 

“What, now you're going to fight me about how much I love you?” You laugh, though you know the real fight is just starting. This brief moment of peace is fleeting.

“Always,” Law replies, and you don’t need him to say more. His actions have always spoken louder than words ever could. “Because I love you more, sweetheart.”

And just as you roll your eyes and go to answer, there’s a voice.

“Law?”

Violet and a pink-haired girl emerge from the darkness, their expressions tainted with fear. 

“Here,” He mumbles. “Is Luffy almost done?”

“We’ve got two minutes.” 

But now, Luffy’s struggling—his body pushed beyond its limits, his Fourth Gear faltering. He won’t last much longer. 

And then, as if on cue, he collapses. The look in his eyes as he stumbles back, bloodied and exhausted, makes something snap inside you. The night rages on, the Birdcage encapsulating only a mere kilometre of Dressrosa. 

"No..." You mutter under your breath. You’ve seen Luffy take hits before, but this time, it’s different. The familiar power he had just moments ago is slipping away, and Doflamingo is already closing in, that smug grin plastered across his face. 

Your eyes narrow as you look up at the sky, your gaze zeroing in on his body.

Law tugs you into him, his breathing rapid and his voice low. “You have to kill him.”

You blink, your eyes wide. “What?”

“Luffy’s down; he’ll be out for ten minutes. We don't have that much time.”

“But you—”

“I can’t. My stamina’s run out, my power’s useless,” Law says quickly. “It has to be you.”

“Law…”

“Please,” He begs. “For me, for Cora.”

You frown, tears welling as you nod. “Okay.”

Rising on shaky legs, you take a deep breath. 

“Doflamingo!” You shout, your voice slicing through the air. He turns toward you slowly, amusement curling his lips.

“Oh? And what do you think you can do, Dreamweaver?” His voice is condescending as if he already knows the answer. “You can’t possibly think you’re going to stop me. You’re weak!”

His strings whip through the air, targeting you, aiming to pierce, constrict, and control. But this time, you don’t dodge; you don’t need to. The power inside you surges, something ancient and primal awakened by the desperation coursing through your veins. 

Your hands snap to life, fingers moving with purpose as you channel your power. 

The strings Doflamingo sends toward you come in slow motion as your mind takes over. You flick your wrist, and the threads appear mid-air, their shimmering lines of power intertwining with the strings Doflamingo controls. Your threads, woven from sheer will, latch onto his, effortlessly pulling them apart.

“What the—?!” Doflamingo snarls as his strings begin to unravel, sliced through by your own, snapping under the force of your mastery. Once awakened, it feels like there’s no limit to your power.

Law, Violet, and the girl you’ve come to know as Rebecca gasp, their surprise a welcome sound. 

The battlefield quiets momentarily as Doflamingo is forced to retreat, confusion flickering in his eyes. You can feel his shock; he wasn’t expecting you to be able to manipulate his strings. You’re not just fighting him now; you’re bending the very laws that govern his power—just like he said you could, but you don’t think he thought it possible. 

You’re done letting him control innocent people and drink their grief as he pleases. This isn’t about survival anymore—it’s about protecting your crew, your friends, your family. With one last look at Law, you nod. 

The pressure of the moment weighs heavily on your shoulders, the culmination of years of pain, battles fought, and lives lost. His life, in particular, comes into sharp focus—Corazon.

You never met him, only catching fleeting glimpses of his face through Doflamingo’s twisted memories, but his legacy reverberates in every part of Law’s soul. The boy who had once been a scared, isolated orphan, consumed by the need for vengeance, has grown into one of the most extraordinary men you’ve ever known.

You think back to that first meeting. The awkwardness and confusion. Law had been so guarded, so closed off. He didn’t trust you. You weren’t sure why you felt compelled to help him at that time—perhaps because you saw something in him that was so familiar: a pain that mirrored your own—a loneliness. You were away from the Straw Hats, unaware they were alive, and felt utterly useless.

Now, standing in the eye of the storm, with Doflamingo finally glaring down at you with a scathing hatred, you understand the truth. Corazon had never wanted anything for himself. The way he saved Law from Doflamingo’s cruelty, even when his own life hung in the balance… It was a gift that could never be repaid.

And now you were going to avenge him.

Law’s Adam’s apple bobs, and he nods once back, recognising the fire in your eyes. The moment is fleeting, and you step onto the rooftop's ledge. 

“Go get Luffy,” You say, Violet and Rebecca hurrying off the roof to retrieve your captain. You roll your head, cracking your neck as you breathe out. 

You pull the threads together with a single, fluid movement, weaving them into a perfect net of power. It’s not just about cutting or controlling anymore; you can reshape and rebuild. And you can feel Doflamingo’s control over Dressrosa slipping with each string severed. 

"You’re brave," He laughs. "I’ll have fun with you.” 

You don't answer. You don't need to. With a single thought, you twist his strings, feeling the connections snap and pop under your command. His stance falters, just for a moment, but it's enough. You seize the opportunity, sending your threads into his body, sinking deep into his flesh, pulling him toward you with an almost sickening precision. His body jerks as he tries to resist, but the more he struggles, the more your threads tighten around him, squeezing, constricting, making him fight against his own body.

The Sew-Sew Fruit isn't just about control; it's about creation. And you're about to reshape the battlefield itself.

With a brutal yank, you rip the strings of his power from his body, using them against him. The tension in the air becomes palpable as Doflamingo's strength turns on him, his movements jerking in unnatural directions. He roars in anger, but you're not listening anymore. You're focused, the world shrinking to the space between you and him, where you will make the final strike.

A flurry of movement, a desperate swing of his hand, and you dodge just in time, the strings grazing past your cheek. You respond with a sharp movement of your own—your hands flashing through the air as you manipulate the threads around him, tying his limbs together, pulling his body into an intricate web that he can't escape. His attempts to break free are fruitless; your threads are everywhere now, pulling and twisting him into submission.

"Stop!" Doflamingo howls, his voice strained and desperate. But the sound of his frustration only spurs you on. 

“You think you’re the only one who can control strings?” You sneer, your hand outstretched as you weave more threads into the air. They dance in the sky, intricate braids of thread coming together to sing a song of destruction. 

Doflamingo’s face twists in anger, but his eyes show an undeniable hint of fear. This is not the kind of power he expected from you. His usual smugness falters, replaced by a growing sense of unease.

“I’m the one who made you like this!” He spits, trying once more to tap into his power. “If I didn’t tell you the truth of your power, you’d be dead!”

You pull tighter, weaving the threads through his joints, making him bend to your will, contorting him into painful positions. His skin tears where your threads dig in, the blood staining the light pink of his coat. But you're relentless. The control you have over his body now is unadulterated. The ground beneath you vibrates, a low hum running through your body as you extend your reach. 

His eyes flash with panic as he realises he is now a marionette, and you're the one pulling the strings.

Needles fly toward him, overlapping and creating a network. Doflamingo is surrounded by a metal cage, the gaps closing with every second that passes. He gasps for breath, but it’s futile. The reality you’ve woven around him is his prison, and now he can only watch as his defeat unfolds.

You don't give him the satisfaction of a response. Instead, you gather every ounce of energy left in you, and with a final, swift motion, you break the threads. The sickening sound of his body, his soul, being torn apart echoes in your ears as your power rips through him, pulling his strings free from his body like a shattered puppet.

Needles clatter to the street below, and his soul screams before tapering off with a whimper.

“You’re done,” You whisper with finality and a deep sense of resolve.

And Doflamingo’s body falls to the earth, defeated.

— Scene 6 —

The first light of dawn creeps over the horizon, painting the sky with soft hues of pink and gold. It’s a slow, gentle rise—like the world waking up after a long, restless night. The ruins of Dressrosa, still scarred by the battle, bathe in the early light, casting long shadows that slowly fade into the warmth of the sun’s touch.

The oppressive weight of victory slowly begins to lift from your chest, replaced by a quiet reverence. The Birdcage retracts, the strings pulling up from the ground and disappearing when they meet in the middle of the sky. As the dust settles, the tension in the air gives way to something deeper, something far more personal. 

“Luffy,” You gasp, turning around and making a beeline for his exhausted body. His face is smeared with dirt, his body bruised, but that light in his eyes, the unshakable spark of life—that hasn’t changed.

His grin spreads even wider as if seeing you standing there, alive, is the greatest victory of all. But when he sees the look on your face—something softer, something raw—his expression falters just a little. His voice, always full of energy, carries that familiar comfort.

"You alright? I knew you'd pull through. You’re tougher than you look!"

You walk toward him, your chest tight, your throat thick with emotion. You open your mouth to speak, but no words come at first. How do you convey the years of struggle, the battles fought together, the times when it felt like everything was falling apart, and yet you never gave up because he was there, always believing in you, in all of you?

Luffy doesn’t push you to speak. He just watches with that patient, understanding look in his eyes. He knows you’ve been through something heavy. He knows the weight of a captain’s responsibility, the loss of friends, and the pain of living a life filled with blood and betrayal.

You kneel before him. His wide eyes blink in surprise, the usual bravado of his face softening. The words are stuck, but then, something inside you breaks. You feel it—the flood of gratitude, of relief, of everything he’s done for you, for all of you. The way he’s always believed in you, even when you couldn’t believe in yourself. The way his stupid, unwavering faith pulled you back from the edge time and time again.

"I don’t know how to say it,” You say, smiling through tears. “I can’t… But thank you. For everything."

Luffy’s expression softens, a rare vulnerability creeping into his eyes. The words might be simple, but they carry significance. You can see it in how his shoulders relax, and his chest rises with a deep breath. He opens his mouth, but instead of some teasing remark, it’s something much quieter, much more real.

"Don’t say that. You don’t need to thank me. It’s just... it's what I do. You’re my friend.”

You feel something swell in your chest, a quiet release, like all the tension you’d carried for so long, just melts away in those words. The bond between a captain and their crew is unshakable.

“You did most of the work,” You laugh, moving the hair from his face. “I just finished him off.” 

Luffy’s laugh bursts from him, loud and unrestrained, as if he’s just heard the funniest thing in the world. The same carefree, reckless sound has always been a beacon of hope and unshakable confidence, even in the darkest times. He throws his head back, his arms flailing in the air as his laugh echoes across the ruins of Dressrosa.

“You’re really something, you know that?" He grins. The weight of reality doesn’t seem to reach him, not when he’s laughing like this. 

You shrug helplessly, a laugh leaving your lips. Luffy’s laugh—it’s infectious. It makes the whole world feel just a little bit lighter. And in this moment, despite the scars and bruises, bloodshed and loss, it’s as if his laughter proves that everything you’ve been through was worth it. 

“Are you okay?” You ask, noticing the exhaustion painting his demeanour. He nods, but then his eyes roll to the back of his head, and snores erupt from the deepest parts of his chest. 

You stand, your gaze meeting Violet and Rebecca, and you thank them for caring for your captain. 

Law’s eyes lock with yours across the rooftop, and it’s as if time slows—the world around you blurs into nothingness, and in that single, suspended moment, all the pain, the loss, the suffering fades into the background. Only the two of you exist in this space, your hearts racing to meet one another.

He doesn’t say anything at first. He doesn’t need to. The relief is in how his shoulders ease, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his usually stoic face.

"...You did it."

His voice is quiet, but there's weight in the words—more than just acknowledgment, it’s gratitude, it's understanding. It's the recognition of everything he’s sacrificed, everything you've fought for. He steps forward; the movement is almost tentative, unsure whether to close the distance or give you space. His gaze never leaves you like he’s making sure you're there, standing after all the carnage. 

Law is in shock at the extent of your power, but he holds off on asking about it when you take a step toward him and then another. Before you know it, you’re close enough to feel the heat of his body, to breathe in the scent of him—the faint trace of salt from the sea, the worn material of his coat, the familiar scent that’s somehow always anchored you. Without a word, your hands find him, and it feels like a release.

You reach out and wrap your arms around him. His body tenses for just a heartbeat, and his arms encircle you in return. It’s not a gentle embrace; it's raw, urgent like a drowning man grabbing hold of something solid. His fingers press into your back as if to remind himself that you’re real, that you’ve made it through this hell. 

"I never realised how... far you could take your power,” Law muses. “You awakened, didn’t you?”

You watch him momentarily, letting his words settle, and nod. Law isn’t the type to be easily impressed. He’s been surrounded by people with powerful abilities his whole life, seen every form of strength and technique. And yet, here he is—staring at you like you’re something new, something beyond even his experience. 

You glance down at the threads suspended in the air between you, your hands still tingling with the power you’ve just unleashed. For a second, you wonder if he’s afraid of it, the sheer weight of what you can do, and the responsibility that comes with it. After all, not everyone can control such power without losing themselves.

"No. Not a curse,” He shakes his head, his lips pursed. “I’m... I’m just trying to wrap my head around it. This is bigger than I thought. But I trust you. I always have."

His words don’t surprise you. Law has been your biggest supporter for two years; always one to improve your techniques rather than shy away from them. But the way he says it—quietly but with complete certainty—it’s like he’s acknowledging the full depth of you, not just the person you were, but the person you are now—the strength you’ve built and the raw power underneath your skin. 

“We make a good team," You smile, tucking stray hairs behind his ears. 

Law licks his lips, his eyes piercing in the dawn sun when he leans in. He captures you in a searing, dizzying kiss that sends you reeling. He pours everything he can into it, using his injured arm to draw you closer. Law doesn’t care that Luffy’s there or that Violet and Rebecca giggle behind you; all that matters is you.

“Hey! Guys!” 

You pull away from the kiss, the taste of Law still lingering on your lips as you catch your breath, your heart racing from both the intensity of the moment and the joy that surged through you just a moment ago. His hand still lingers in the space between you, but you break free, playful mischief dancing in your eyes.

Law’s gaze flickers with something between amusement and frustration, his fingers still reaching for you as you step back a few paces, a grin tugging at the corner of your mouth.

“Hey, don't just run off like that."

You laugh, a teasing sound that makes his brows tug together, his lips curving downward in that way he gets when he’s trying to act annoyed, but the small tilt of his head and the gleam in his eyes betray him. He doesn’t mind the chase, especially not when it ends with you.

You glance over at the street below, where half of the crew is waving up at you, their bodies worn and tired from the night's battles. They’re standing in a disorganised, ragged line, but each wears that unmistakable, heartwarming smile despite their exhaustion. Zoro, ever the stoic, looks a bit more dishevelled than usual, but there's a flicker of something in his eyes—relief, pride, maybe even a hint of amusement as he watches you.

“Are you all okay?" Your voice calls down to them, and they all respond with bored yeses, like they’ve been waiting for you to acknowledge them, to pull you out of the moment with Law.

Zoro doesn’t answer, but you can tell he’s fine by the way his sword is casually slung over his shoulder, his stance relaxed despite the weariness in his eyes. A faint smile on his lips is too small to be noticed at first, but it’s there.

You take a deep breath, feeling a mix of relief and concern. The battle was brutal, and seeing your friends here, battered but smiling, brings warmth to your chest. You step closer to the rooftop's edge, gripping the stone and leaning out just enough to be closer to them.

“Are you sure? You all look like you’ve been through hell."

Franky throws both hands in the air, his signature mechanical arm extending dramatically. His grin is as wild as ever. "Franky’s super! I’m built to last, baby!"

He strikes a ridiculous pose, flexing his robotic muscles, and you can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, even after everything. His body’s covered in scratches and scuff marks, and there's a noticeable dent in his arm, but the energy radiating off him makes him seem fine. 

Robin’s laughter rings out next, soft and knowing. She stands a bit behind the group, her eyes glinting with something more than just the weariness of battle. Her power unfurls from your shoulder to gently pat your hair, a comforting touch that feels almost like a reassurance. You lean into it instinctively, feeling the faint flutter of her tendrils against your scalp.

"We’re all alive, at least,” She says; her smile is quiet, but her voice has a deep sincerity. 

"All thanks to captain Usopp!!" Usopp’s voice rings out from behind the others. He waves from where he’s leaning against a nearby building, a blinding smile on his face. He flexes his bicep, much like Franky, and laughs. Exhaustion is evident on his face, but there’s that ever-present glint of optimism in his eyes. 

"Zoro?" Your voice rings through the silence.

His eyes flicker toward you for just a second before he smirks, that familiar, infuriating grin creeping across his face. "Tch, I’m fine. Don’t worry about me."

His voice is hoarse, and you catch the subtle strain in his tone, but you know better than to press him. 

You laugh softly, shaking your head. 

"You’re all impossible," You mutter under your breath, but there’s a fondness. Even with their bruises and injuries, they are alive, and that’s all that matters. You’ve all made it through yet another fight, another battle against overwhelming odds.

You turn back to Law, who’s still standing there watching you, his expression unreadable but his eyes softening with something more profound. He steps forward, his hand reaching out to you, a silent invitation. Without a second thought, you slide into his side, leaning into him. Your fingers brush his, intertwining with his as the two of you stand there, watching the crew. There’s a quiet understanding between you; Doflamingo has been defeated, and the crew’s safe, but there’s still a long road ahead.

A loud, enthusiastic yawn sounds from behind you. Rolling your eyes, you glance at Luffy, who stretches his arms high above his head as if he’s just had the most peaceful nap of his life. The moment he blinks open his eyes, he’s already grinning—like nothing could ever be wrong in the world. His laughter rings out, even though he’s barely even fully conscious. 

"Mmm, I’m hungry! What’s for breakfast?"

Everyone groans, ignoring your captain as you figure out where to go from here. 

“The Navy’s still here. I think they’re on to us.” The moment Robin’s words cut through the air, the lighthearted mood of the crew evaporates like smoke in the wind. 

“We don’t have a ship,” Usopp says. “The others took the Sunny to Zou.”

“I can help!” A voice squeaks. You raise an eyebrow as the man steps fully into view, brushing dust and debris off his ragged clothes. He stands there, almost nervously, before raising a hand with a glint of determination in his eyes. “My ship can carry everyone and more!” 

“Rooster Head!” Luffy exclaims, rising to his feet. The nickname makes you blink again, but it’s clear that Luffy knows him. 

The man’s face lights up, recognition clicking in his eyes as he hears the name. You can practically hear the stars in his voice as he continues.

“Mister Luffy,” The guy cries. “I saw you fighting with Doflamingo. You are so incredible.”

Luffy laughs, jumping off the roof and landing on the street with a rubbery thud. “Nah, that was all her.”

You blink, caught off guard as his grin broadens, and he turns to you. There’s something in his eyes, something deep that makes your heart skip a beat.

“She’s the one you should be thanking.”

The green-haired man Luffy calls "Rooster Head" is staring at you with wide eyes now, his mouth hanging open like he’s just realised who you are.

“Incredible... this is perfect! I can’t believe it! I didn’t know I’d get to meet the hero of Dressrosa today!”

Luffy bursts into laughter, clearly delighted by the reaction.

“Oh,” You feel your cheeks warm. “I’m no hero.”

“So humble!” Rooster Head fawns. But as quickly as the starstruck glint in his eye comes, it disappears. He seems as though he almost forgot his initial reason for approaching. He starts to fidget a little, his hands moving as though he’s trying to figure out the best way to get to the point. “Oh! Right, right! I’ve got a ship nearby, a fast one. It’s perfect for getting away from the Navy.”

“Fast, huh?” Robin teases. 

“Yeah, yeah! It’s small, nimble—should be able to get you all out of here before they even know what happened!” His eyes are sparkling like this is the moment he’s been waiting for his whole life. For a second, it almost feels surreal. 

You look at Luffy, who’s grinning wider than ever. “See? I told you, everything works out! We’ll get out of here, no problem.”

You nod, a little smile pulling at the corners of your lips as you look back at the green-haired stranger. “Alright, let’s get moving then. Lead the way.”

Rooster Head nearly jumps out of his skin at your words, already turning on his heel to lead you to the ship. Luffy, as usual, follows in his wake, practically bouncing with enthusiasm. 

Violet and Rebecca thank you and the crew for all your help; hugging each of you tightly. Their teary goodbye makes you feel guilty for leaving so abruptly, but you’re eager to see the rest of your crews—both of them. 

Nami, Sanji, Brook, Chopper, Bepo, Shachi, Penguin, Ikkaku, and the rest of the Heart Pirates are on Zou. 

Law’s steady presence beside you feels like a quiet reassurance as he helps you down from the rooftop. You glance at him, but he already knows what you're thinking. 

“You ready?”

Nodding, you send a tired, easy smile as you reach for his hand with quiet certainty, your fingers brushing his as you clasp it. The gesture is simple, but it speaks volumes. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

As you both fall in step, you notice the Straw Hats already ahead of you, their movements light, laughter and chatter flowing easily between them. 

You follow them for a few moments, and the distance between you and them does not feel far at all. It’s just a ten-minute walk to the port, a short journey to the ship Rooster Head had told you about. The air feels fresh after Doflamingo’s defeat, as if the world feels free from the grips of a man like him.

“Rooster Head said the ship’s fast, right?”

“That’s the plan.” His voice is almost dry, but there's an undercurrent of amusement like he’s already resigned to the inevitable chaos when the Straw Hats are involved.

As you watch your crewmates ahead, you chuckle softly, the tension easing out of your shoulders. The thought of the Straw Hats and Heart Pirates forming an alliance, even briefly, fills you with something close to fondness. 

The ship comes into view, and you halt when you look at it. Law deflates beside you. It’s a strange, oddly shaped vessel painted with bright colours. The ship’s sails are adorned with a distinctive green and white colour scheme, and you can see the figure of a tall, spiky-haired man waving excitedly from the helm. The ship is unlike anything you’ve seen before—a testament to its captain's wild, fearless personality. The ship's exterior is covered in graffiti-like designs and emblems that pay homage to Luffy and his crew. Even the figurehead at the front is a massive, exaggerated bust of Luffy, grinning with unrestrained joy. 

Luffy’s cheers echo through the air when he steps onto the ship, throwing his arms up. “This ship’s great, Bartolomeo! You really know how to pick ‘em!”

Bartolomeo, practically glowing with pride, stands a few feet behind him, his hands gripping the ship's edge as he watches Luffy with awe. His eyes shine with admiration, and it’s obvious how much this moment means to him. This ship—his ship—now has Luffy’s stamp of approval, and to him, it’s the greatest compliment in the world.

“Alright!” Luffy yells. “Set sail! To Zou!” 

— Scene 7 —

As you sit on the bow of the ship, the sunsetting and half of your family partying behind you, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be. You once believed you were a fool for thinking Law helped you out of the goodness of his heart, but the journey through the labyrinth proved you wrong, and you’d do it over a million times if it meant you’d end up with him. 

Whether you rejoin the Straw Hats or stay with Law and the Heart Pirates, you know both sides will be happy with your decision. Because love isn’t about being bound to just one world. It’s about finding the strength to exist in both. The Straw Hats and the Heart Pirates—they’re both your family. And with them, you know you’ll always be home.

You still have a lot to learn about your power, now awakened. If you're not careful, you think you might lose yourself to it—to the overwhelming pull of creation, the seductive promise of absolute control over memories, over fate, over the very essence of existence. At times, it’s hard to remember where you end and the world begins.

Something is lurking just beneath the surface—something that doesn’t make sense yet, a hidden potential waiting for you to unlock. You can feel it pushing at the edges of your mind, urging you to understand it and to delve deeper into the art of weaving the world itself into a tapestry of your design.

But you will learn. The power will be yours to command—on your terms. You will discover the true cost of weaving threads into the world’s fabric. And in the process, you’ll uncover a truth that only those who wield the Sew-Sew Fruit can recognise: You are the weaver, but you must never forget that some things cannot, should not, be sewn. And yet, the temptation to do so, to reshape everything, is always there. It’s just a matter of when you will choose to listen to the warnings or let the threads lead you down a path where only you can understand the full extent of your power.

And somewhere, deep within, you feel that perhaps this is only the beginning. The true test is yet to come.

With a final word count of 73,550 words, Labyrinth is my longest piece of writing to date, and I couldn't be more grateful to share it with you. Thank you so much for reading my fanfic in the first place; your kind comments and sheer excitement for this series warmed my heart so, so much. There may be more fics like this in the future, but for now, I will be sticking to reading them and finishing One Piece, haha! I love you all, and thank you for reading <3

Taglist: In the comments

[javierpena-inatacvest]

Maybe, Baby?

Summary: You and Frankie aren't trying for a baby just yet, but when your weird symptoms start to throw your body for a loop, you start to wonder if you actually might be pregnant

Pairing: Husband!Frankie Morales x Wife!Reader (no use of y/n)

Word Count: 5.4K

Warnings: SMUT (18+), Unprotected p in v sex (wrap before u tap, silly gooses), creampie, praise kink, size kink (if u squint), unintentional breeding kink (lmaoooo, it's me, sorry not sorry), birth control/family planning, pregnancy (or maybe not? part 2 maybe? hehe) symptoms, Frankie and reader mention being closer to 30 than 16 (turns out when you're an adult, it's not a teen pregnancy anymore), reader has hair that can be played with, Frankie being the sweetest husband alive (all the gold stars for him), Frankie is so excited to be a dad that I just may pass away

A/N: I know y'all voted for me to finish chapter 20 but i lied (I'm so sorry), but I wrote this in a day and husband Frankie was really speaking to me on this one 😭 This one is brought to you by my raging baby fever and perhaps some real life inspiration WHOOPS, art imitating life on this one ig 💀 Poorly beta'd bc that's how I roll!!!

Ever since getting off birth control a few months ago, your body had felt… different. 

While you were glad you had made the change for yourself, you still found yourself shocked every month when a new sort of symptom decided to appear at some point in your cycle that you had never dealt with before- acne in new places, weird cramps, and crazy mood swings that showed up out of nowhere before your period were just a few of the things you were learning to manage as you figured out your body post birth control. 

Another symptom you hadn’t expected was that now, you were insatiably horny. 

All the time. 

While Frankie had been more supportive and caring in helping you deal with all of your not so pleasant symptoms than you could have hoped for, he was also more than happy to help you with your newly found positive one, too. 

The only problem was, after so many years of not having to worry about the consequences of your sex life on birth control, you and Frankie were finding it very hard to adjust to be more… careful. 

As you got hornier and hornier, the box of condoms that Frankie had bought after you stopped taking the pill had been seeing less and less use, and to be honest, hadn’t really seen the light of day from the back of his nightstand drawer in about a month an a half- and if you were being even more honest, on top of that, Frankie’s pull out game was almost nowhere to be found. 

You both knew that you wanted a family in the future- That was a part of your reason for getting off birth control to begin with. The two of you had agreed to hold off at least for a little longer to try and get your life more in order before bringing a baby into it, but with with your new lack of protection when it came to sex, and constant horniness around the clock, you both were beginning to have a feeling that that your agreed upon timeline for having a baby might be harder for you to maintain that you thought. 

Especially when you found yourself morphing into an unspeakably horny monster when you were ovulating. 

So little did you realize, that as you were brushing your teeth in the bathroom as the two of you were getting ready for bed and you caught a glimpse in the mirror of Frankie, stripping out of his shirt and jeans, leaving him only in his boxers as he searched around in your dresser for pajamas, that was the reason you nearly spit out your entire mouthful of toothpaste to try and get a mouthful of something else. 

You couldn’t help but ogle at your husband's broad body and freckled tan skin, muscles flexing as he shuffled through your drawers, pulling out an old, worn gray t-shirt and tugging it over his head, running his hand through his messy, curly hair before searching for his pajama bottoms.

At this point, you had honestly braced yourself on the edge of the bathroom counter to keep yourself from falling over at how mouth-watering he looked, already feeling the wetness beginning to pool in the cotton of your underwear at the thought of wanting to rip his clothes off just as fast as he had put them on. 

Letting out a yawn, Frankie raised his hands above his head so a sliver of his soft belly peaked out between his waistband and shirt hem before making his way into the bathroom, sleepily padding along the tile floor until his body was behind yours, chest flushed against your back and arms wrapped around your waist. Even more prevalent, his bulge pressed against your ass, making the wet spot in your underwear grow damper by the second. 

“You ready for bed, querida?” Frankie cooed, placing a soft kiss on your shoulder and smiling at your reflections in the mirror. 

While you were absolutely ready to get into bed, sleeping was not going to be your activity of choice.  

“I think that maybe…” You paused, turning around to face Frankie, his body caging yours against the counter, palms splayed flat on either side of your hips, looking down at you with his sweet, brown eyes, “I think that maybe we should do something else before we go to sleep.” 

“Something else, huh?” Frankie smirked, raising his eyebrows at you as your hands began to run up and down his arms, slightly squeezing the muscles of his biceps as your fingers crept under the fabric of his shirt sleeves. “And what might that something else be, Hermosa?” 

“You know exactly what it is, Fransisco. You expect me to watch you just roam around shirtless in our bedroom and not get all hot and bothered? God, you’re so fucking hot.” You moaned, letting your hands run up his shoulders and around his neck, pulling him in for a long, electric kiss. 

“Damn, what’s gotten into you, babe?” Frankie chuckled, trying his best not to blush at your comment, sliding his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. 

“I don’t- Fuck, I don’t know, I just know that if you don’t fuck me right this second, I think I’m gonna explode.” 

While your statement may have had a flair for the dramatic, it was just about as close to the God’s honest truth as you could get- You were so worked up, you felt practically feral, the ache in your core so strong that you really did feel like you were on the verge of implosion. 

Before you even gave Frankie time to respond, your lips were crashing into his with a ferocious intensity, your hands grabbing fistfulls of his t-shirt as you stumbled back towards your bedroom, bodies bumping and bouncing against the walls and door frames, mouths never parting as the back of Frankie’s knees finally hit the mattress, forcing him to fall backwards onto the bed. 

Crawling overtop of him, you were already straddled over his hips, grinding your bottom half on the bulge growing in his pajamas as your hands crept under the hem of his t-shirt, running along the tanned, soft skin of his chest, making him let out a low groan that rumbled in his throat. 

Frantically shuffling himself further onto the bed, Frankie’s hands dug into your hips and over your ass as your hands slid down from his chest to his waistband, fingers tugging at the elastic to shuffle his bottoms and boxers down his legs, quickly followed by your own, dropping to a crumpled pile on the floor. 

Feeling your fingers wrap around his cock, already painfully hard, you swirled the precum leaking from his tip with your thumb before dragging your hand up and down his length, leaving Frankie sitting up in surprise while he watched you begin to hover over him, dragging his dick through your folds. 

“Hermosa, are you sure you don’t need me to-” But before Frankie could finish the rest of his protest to make sure you were ready to take him, you were already sinking down onto him, whimpering at the sweet sting and stretch of his fullness, followed by the ragged moan escaping Frankie’s lips. 

“Oh fuck… Nuh uh, Frankie. I need to feel you, baby. Needed to feel you inside me.” You whined, taking Frankie cock inch by inch until he had bottomed out inside you, his tip kissing your cervix, the fullness making you cry out in pleasure. 

Normally with Frankie’s size, you would have needed to warm you up first, but with how wet and worked up you already were, you were able to take him with ease, desperate to feel him buried deep inside you. 

“Jesus fucking christ, queirda, you’re so fucking wet. Fuck, baby.” Frankie moaned, feeling you begin to slide up and down his length, coating him with your arousal with each swirl of your hips. 

Arching your back, you jutted your hips forward, bracing your hands on Frankie’s strong thighs, circling your bottom half against his, whimpering at his fullness and the hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your clit, selfishly already longing to chase your own high to ease the ache that had been burning in your core. 

“Fuck, Frankie, you feel so good. Feel so fucking full with you in me.” You whimpered, bouncing even harder and faster on Frankie’s cock, the lewd sounds of your skin slapping his and wetness dripping from your heat coating the walls of your bedroom. 

“Yeah? This what you wanted, pretty girl? Wanted me to stretch this pretty little pussy out and fill you up?” Frankie groaned, gritting his teeth as he began to jut his hips up into yours as you rode him, the added depth of his thrusts making you cry out in pleasure. 

And for as fucking good as it felt, the horny monster you had morphed into had you greedily craving more- to have Frankie stretch you open in a way that had you seeing stars, so much that you could still feel the next day, long after the two of you were finished. 

“I-I want more, p-please, baby. Fuck- Fuck me harder, Fransisco.” You cried, your sweet voice whimpering his full name turning him almost as feral as you were, letting out a low growl as he grabbed you by your hips, flipping you so that your back hit the mattress and he was caging his broad body over yours. 

Practically ripping the t-shirt still covering your upper half off your body, Frankie dove face first between your breasts, groping one while hungrily sucking at the other, flicking your pebbled nipple with his tongue, his free hand reaching down to line his cock back up with your entrance, sliding back in to your aching core with ease. 

Frankie let himself sink all the way back in, filling you to the brim before hooking his arms around your knees, pressing your legs against your stomach, smirking to himself at the ragged moan you let out as the new angle opened you up even further. 

“You want me to fuck you harder, Hermosa?” Frankie mewled, slowly dragging his length out of your heat, looking down to see your shiny slick soaking his cock before looking back at you and the wrecked expression plastered across your face, frantically nodding in desperation. “Tell me how badly you want it, sweet girl.” 

“Fuck, I need you so bad, Fransisco, please.” You begged, damn near close to tears with how deeply you needed to feel Frankie ease the emptiness inside you. “Please, baby, I- oh fuck-”  

Before you could even finish the rest of your plea, your breath was already hitched in the back of your throat as Frankie began to pound into you at a relentless pace, tightening his grip around your thighs while he pressed them closer to your chest, grunting with each rut of his hips into yours. 

“This what you want, querida? Meirda- so fucking wet and tight, baby girl. You feel so fucking good, holy fuck.” 

It didn’t take long for the all too familiar tingle at the base of your spine to start spreading through your body like a wildfire as Frankie continued to slam into your g-spot, making you chant his name like a prayer, your brain at a loss for any other words than “Fuck, Fransisco.” 

And as if you already weren’t close enough, when Frankie reached down to thumb at your clit, rubbing in relentless circles against your sensitive nub, you knew you were a fucking goner. 

“That’s it, Hermosa. Cum for me, baby. Want that- oh fuck- want that prefect pussy to fucking soak me.” Frankie groaned, feverishly pounding into you, desperate to feel you come undone for him giving him long enough to fight off his own high that was rapidly building in the pit of his stomach. 

A few more thrusts were all it took to have the coil snapping in your belly, crying out Frankie’s name as you came, orgasm ripping through your body with a blinding intensity, eyes scrunching shut and jaw hanging open while pleasure and euphoria flowed through every ounce of you. 

Still blissed out and wrecked out of your mind, your eyes shot open as Frankie’s mouth crashed into yours, swallowing your whimpers and moans in a messy dance of tongues and teeth. 

“Fuck, you’re so fucking pretty when you cum. Jesus fuck-  fuck, I’m close too, baby. W-where do you want me, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, barley holding on long enough for you to answer, his thrusts becoming sloppier and sloppier as his hips began to stutter, gritting his teeth and furrowing his brow with every ounce of self control he had left. 

Still barley coherent enough to form a sentence, your brain blurted out the only thing you could think of, and the only thing that you really wanted in the moment. 

“Inside, Fransisco. Fuck, cum inside me, baby.” 

That alone was almost enough to send Frankie over the edge, letting out a long, low groan, sloppily rutting into you as his brain went blank alongside yours, starting to babble incoherently. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck- you want me to fill you up, queirda? Fuck, I’ll fucking fill you up so good you’ll be dripping out of me for days. Oh fuck, shit baby, fuck, oh I’m gonnaahhhhhh-“ 

Just like that, Frankie took one last thrust, spilling deep inside you, coating your walls with his spend as his body slumped into yours, the pair of your chests rising and falling in sync as you both came back down to earth. 

“Jesus Christ… Holy fuck, Frankie.” You giggled quietly to yourself, blissfully filled with post orgasm ecstasy as your husband carefully pulled himself out before rolling over next to you on the bed, pulling you close against his chest. 

“Fuck me, Hermosa, holy shit.” Frankie chuckled, pressing a soft kiss into your forehead, tracing small circles on your back as he held you, heat radiating off of each other's sweat-ridden bodies. “God, I love you. We should probably get you cleaned up. You wanna shower?” He asked, smirking as your face lit up at his nearly rhetorical question. 

“Only if you’re up for round 2, Morales.”   

“My eyes are up here, Fransisco.” 

“Hmmm? What did you say?” 

“Exactly my point. Can you stop looking with your man eyes and look with your normal, helpful people eyes to help me decide on a dress for Benny and Victoria’s wedding?” You sighed, laughing to yourself as you raised an eyebrow at Frankie, his gaze still fixed on your chest. 

“Sorry, sorry, I’ll be helpful.” Frankie huffed, overdramatically rolling his eyes at you, playfully throwing his hands up in defense as he leaned back against the dressing room door, looking you up and down in one of the cute floral dresses you had picked to try on for your friends’ upcoming wedding. “It’s just that… Nevermind.” 

“It’s just that what, Frank?” You asked tilting your head in confusion at your husband as his eyes traveled back to your breasts, furled look in his brow like he was really staring there to prove a point. 

“It’s just that- Baby, I don’t know if it’s just the dress or what, but your boobs look huge. Like, they always look good, believe me, but like… Whew.” Frankie whistled, practically shaking his head in disbelief at how good you looked. 

“Really?” You asked, turning around to face the mirror in the dressing room, gently cupping your breasts, grimacing as you held them in your hands. “Yeah, I guess they do… Honestly, I was gonna complain about how sore they’ve been all day. I wonder if maybe my period is just coming early?” 

“Maybe? You did ride me pretty hard the last couple nights and put on a good show, so maybe they hurt from all that bouncing and-” 

“Frankie! We are in public!” You playfully scolded, giving him a flimsy slap to the chest to cut off the rest of his thought, the two of you quietly giggling to yourselves and trying to “Shhhh” each other from drawing too much attention to your dressing room stall. “The dress, you goofball, yes or no? Sooner we pick, the sooner we can go get food, because your wife is starving.” 

“I vote yes on the dress. You look beautiful in it, querida.” Frankie smiled, stepping behind you to press a kiss on the side of your head. 

“You just like it because it makes my boobs look huge.” 

“What? Can you blame me for wanting to stare at my gorgeous wife’s boobs all night?” 

“God, you are ridiculous, Fransisco. Fine, boob dress wins. Now let’s get out of here and go get some food before you get stuck in a titty trance and I die of hunger.” 

While the rest of your Saturday was spent enjoying the delicious Mexican food that you had picked up on the way home and a much needed night in on the couch with Frankie, there was a tiny part of your brain that couldn’t seem to shake his comment from earlier about how big your boobs looked. 

You’d be lying if you said you didn’t agree with him, because truth be told, they felt huge, too. They had been sore since you had woken up this morning, and while you had chalked it up to what you and Frankie had been up to the past few nights, or bad PMS symptoms, there was still just something about you that felt off. 

Later that night, during your movie marathon, you had paused whatever new action movie Frankie had been begging to watch since it had popped up on Netflix a few days ago for a popcorn refill. 

While Frankie meandered around the kitchen waiting for the next bag of popcorn to finish popping, you stayed curled up with your blanket in your corner of the couch, mindlessly scrolling through your phone, until a sharp twinge began to cramp in your lower stomach. The feeling took you by surprise, digging your fingers into your side to try and ease the dull and achy sensation as your face scrunched in confusion, wondering why in the world you had what felt like period cramps in your belly. 

“Hey, you okay, Hermosa?” Frankie asked, returning with popcorn in hand, his face painted with concern to see the pained look scrunched between your brow as you curled deeper into the couch. 

“Oh, y-yeah, I’m fine. I just um, I just had a weird cramp I guess. Probably just ate all that popcorn too fast.” You replied, trying to convince yourself just as much as you were trying to convince Frankie that you were overthinking whatever mystery symptoms had just flashed through your lower half. 

“Here, lemme just set this popcorn down and then I can rub your back while we finish the movie, okay?” Frankie smiled softly, setting down the bowl on the coffee table before crawling back under the sea of blankets on the couch with you, laying your head against his thigh like a pillow while his hand traced up and down along the small of your back. 

“Thanks, Frankie.” You whispered quietly, taking a few deep breaths as the familiar warmth of your husband’s palm worked up and down the worn fabric of his shirt that you had put on earlier. 

“Of course, baby. If you need anything else, just let me know, okay? Just promise me you’ll take it easy on the popcorn if you have any more there, Killer.” 

The two of you laughed quietly as Frankie leaned down to press a soft kiss into your messy hair laid across his lap before picking up the remote to let the rest of the movie play as your eyelids began to get heavier and heavier as you slowly drifted off to sleep. 

“What’s inside this box?” 

“Open it up and find out! It’s a surprise for you!” 

“Okay? Huh, why is it just a pregnancy test in there?” 

“It’s yours! Congratulations! You’re having a baby!” 

“Ahhhhh!” You shrieked, panting as you woke from a cold sweat, shooting up from the couch. “What the fuck…” You whispered to yourself, coming to and realizing that you were now awake and had only been dreaming moments before this. Running your hands over your face, you blinked a few times to be greeted by the dim light of the TV still flickering in the background, Frankie sprawled out and snoring by your side where the two of you must have fallen asleep on the couch during the movie. 

“What a weird fucking dream…” You sighed to yourself, shaking your head as you quietly pushed yourself off the couch to stumble to the bathroom, pulling your phone out of your sweatpants pocket to check what ungodly hour of the night it had to be since the two of you had crashed on the couch. 

2:07 A.M. 

You let out a low grumble, pushing your sweatpants down to your ankles as you sat down to pee, blinking your eyes open wider to look through the notifications piled on top of each other on your lockscreen. Mindlessly swiping through a few junk emails and text messages from group chats, one notification in particular caught your eye, rousing you from your half awake state. 

“Feeling down? As you begin your Luteal Phase of your cycle, it’s normal to be less cheerful compared to last week when you were Ovulating! Click to track your cycle symptoms for today!” 

Oh shit.  

You could feel your heart beginning to race as you opened up the app, scrolling to the calendar tracker for the month. Swiping through the days, it didn’t take you long to realize that despite all of your weird symptoms you had been chalking up to PMS, you were almost two weeks away from starting your period. Frantically scrolling backwards, you began to try and rack your brain of all of the times in the past week that you had sex with Frankie while you would have been ovulating, and out of that number, how many times he hadn’t finished inside you, let alone even attempt to pull out. 

And that number was a big, fat zero. 

That’s when it hit you like a fucking freight train- You weren’t PMS-ing.

More than likely, you were pregnant. 

“Holy fuck…” You whispered to yourself, your voice trembling and heart pounding as you buried your face in your trembling hands, your mind flooding with a million different thoughts all at once. 

How could you not remember that you were ovulating? Would Frankie be upset? The two of you weren’t even trying for kids right now. Would you be a good Mom? What were you even going to need to do to prepare? Your house was starting to get small for just you and Frankie, let alone a baby. How were you going to find a new place to live in 9 months? And get a new car? How were you- 

“Baby, you good in there?” Frankie groaned, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes as he stumbled into the bathroom, letting out a yawn as he opened the door, bright light flooding into the hallway and revealing the sobbing mess you had become, still pants down, hunched over the toilet. 

“Woah, hey, hey, hey. Baby, baby, what’s going on? Talk to me, Hermosa. Are you okay? What happened?” You could feel Frankie’s demeanor immediately switch as soon as he saw you in the bathroom, instantly dropping to his knees by your side, his hands gently grabbing your face to shift your gaze towards him, carefully swiping his thumb to dry the tears that had been streaming down your cheeks. 

“Frankie, I- I- Fuck.” You stuttered, gulping hard as you tried to catch your breath, fighting back your nervous sobs as you locked eyes with Frankie, wondering how in the world you were ever about to brace him for the news you were about to tell him. 

“Hermosa, what is it? Please, tell me baby, what’s wrong?” Frankie pleaded, softly squeezing your face in reassurance as he waited for your response. 

You took a few more deep breaths, composing yourself enough to at least try to get a coherent thought out, swallowing hard as the words left your mouth. 

“Frankie, I-, Frankie, I think- I think I’m pregnant.” 

Frankie’s eyes went wide, his jaw practically hanging open as he tried to process what you had just told him, wondering if he hadn’t heard you right in his groggy state. 

“W-what?” 

“I think I might be pregnant, Frankie.” 

Before you could even bear the thought of looking at his face again, filled with fear that it would be a look of shock and disappointment, you buried your face in your hands again, fighting with everything in you not to cry and keep your composure. 

Frankie sat quietly for a moment, his hand covering up the gaping hole his jaw had made as it nearly hit the floor, shaking his head in disbelief before wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulling your hands to look at him. 

“R-really? You- fuck- You really think you’re pregnant?” 

As your eyes met his, you couldn’t believe the look on your husbands face- Not only was Frankie practically grinning from ear to ear, the sweet brown of his puppy dog eyes were welling with happy tears of their own, waiting on your every word as if he still didn’t believe what he was hearing. Silently, you began to slowly nod your head, biting down on your tongue, your heart feeling like it was about to shoot out of your chest. 

“You’re...y-you’re not upset?” You stammered, sitting up a little taller at Frankie’s reaction. 

“Upset? Hermosa, why in the world would I ever be upset?” Frankie laughed quietly, gently tucking a stray piece of hair behind your ear as his other hand cupped your jaw. “Querida… There’s nothing more I want on this earth than to have a family. And-fuck- The fact that it gets to be with you? That you might give me a family? How could I ever be upset about that? 

“Well it’s not like we were really trying for a baby, Frank. We said another year or two. With the house and money -” 

“Hey. We’ll figure it all out, okay? I promise, we’ll be more than okay.” Frankie smiled, his goofy grin still stretched wide between his cheeks, finally easing some of your worry. 

“I don’t even feel like I’m old enough to have a kid. I feel like I need to call up MTV to tell them I’ll be on the next season of 16 and Pregnant.” The two of you snorted, shaking your heads in awestruck disbelief that a stupid joke about a reality TV show could soon become your reality. 

“Well considering we’re married, have a house, and most importantly, are much closer to 30 than we are 16, I think they may have a hard time pitching the show “Married Couple Has a Baby”.” Frankie teased, giving you a playful nudge as the two of you laughed, giving you a few seconds to catch your breath before trying to dig into details. “Did- Did you take a test? How long have you known?”

“No, I don’t know for sure yet, Frank. It’s… It’s just a feeling, I guess. But the huge, sore boobs, weird, period-like cramps and the fact that we really haven’t been the most careful are all pretty good clues.” 

“Well, I mean, I don’t know, we’ve tried to be care-” 

Before Frankie could even finish the rest of his thought, you were already giving him the sassiest look you could muster in your overwhelmed and sleepy state, making the two of you laugh again he let out a sigh of defeat. 

“Okay, yeah, we really haven’t been that careful at all. Sweetie, listen, I- I know it’s not what we had planned, but… I mean, if you are pregnant…” Frankie paused, smiling at your stomach as he gently place a hand over your belly, tears welling in his chocolate brown eyes, “Baby, I would be so excited. Nervous as hell, but so fucking excited.” 

“Me too.” You sniffed, looking down at Frankie’s palm splayed across your stomach, heart swelling at the thought of Frankie being dad, thinking of how sweet and caring and perfect he’d be as you grew your little family together. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you pulled Frankie in close, letting out a shaky sigh, whispering your words through happy tears. 

“I love you so much, Frankie.” 

“I love you so much too, Hermosa. More than anything.” 

For the sake of Frankie’s shoulder, you pulled away to wipe your tears to keep from soaking your husband’s shirt, quietly laughing to yourself at the fact that this whole time you had been talking to Frankie, you had still been pantsless, hunched over the toilet. 

“It probably would have been way more romantic to tell you all of this not at 2:30 in the morning, pantsless and hunched over the toilet like a little gremlin.” You snorted, Frankie following suit as he shook his head, running his hand through the sleepy curls of your hair. 

“I wouldn’t want it any other way, mi amor. C’mon, let’s get you up to bed.” 

As the two of you sleepily trotted your way upstairs, curling together under the warmth of your comforter with Frankie’s chest pressed against your back, you couldn’t help but smile as his arm draped over your stomach, hand resting on your belly while his thumb traced soft circles on your skin, imagining what it would be like if a few months from now if you really were getting ready to add another member to your family. 

The next morning, as the sunrise began to spill through your curtains, casting bright orange and pink shadows on your bedroom walls, you couldn’t help but stir as the familiar scent and warmth of Frankie’s body was missing from his side of the bed.

 As you sat up in the sea of blankets and comforters, softly rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you saw Frankie’s frame quietly sneaking through the bedroom door, fresh mug of coffee and bag of breakfast in hand with a stupid smile plastered across his face as he was greeted with your barely awake grin. 

“Good morning, beautiful.” Frankie cooed, setting down the coffee and breakfast down on your nightstand as he sat down next to you on the edge of the bed, pressing a tender kiss into the sleep-ridden ends of your hair before wrapping his arms around you in a long embrace. 

“Good morning, handsome.” You yawned, stretching your arms over your head, letting out a little grunt and laying your head on Frankie’s shoulder. “What’s all this for?” You asked, gesturing towards the coffee and oversized McDonald’s bag, assuming it was the reason for Frankie’s absence when you woke up. 

“I- I don’t know, I uh- I was just really excited when I got up this morning. It was early, and I didn’t wanna wake you up, so I made a trip to CVS to buy some pregnancy tests for you and figured I’d pick up breakfast on the way home.” Frankie smiled sheepishly, rubbing his hand over the back of his neck, brushing past his untamed morning curls. “I know- I know you can’t really take the tests yet- I spent a lot of time reading the boxes in the store and wasn’t really sure what the best one was to take, so I got like, 4 different ones for when it's time.” 

“God, you’re so sweet. You’re the best, you know that? It’s about to be a long week of waiting before I can take one of those. Do you- fuck, Frankie, do you think it could really be positive?” You asked, tears beginning to well in your eyes again as you smiled up at your husband, already beaming back at you, picturing the two pink lines showing up on all of the tests he had bought for you. 

“Maybe, if we’re lucky.” He smirked, gently cupping your face, swiping his thumb across your face. “But if it’s not, then maybe… Maybe we start trying for a positive one on purpose.” 

“R-really?” You grinned, biting down on your lip in excitement. 

“Really, really.” Frankie replied, bringing his lips to yours in a long, slow kiss, soaking in the sweet taste of you on his tongue. “And maybe…” 

“Maybe, what, Fransisco?” You giggled, bringing your mouth back to his in a sweet and sloppy kiss. 

“Maybe…. We start trying right now, ya know, just to be sure. Wouldn’t want all those pregnancy tests to go to waste.”

Taglist:

@chaotic-iguana @rhoorl @whyjuliaaa @bbiophiliaa @pertinentpostmortem @angelofsmalldeath-codeine @pedrobaby @fatima-marisa @beboldbebravethings @poodlebae @kittenlittle24 @3sriracha @jungchloee @perennialdoll247 @prettyinpunk85 @partyofone3413 @harriedandharassed @pedrohoe04 @theorganasolo @endlessthxxghts @beware-my-thorns @missladym1981 @messinadress @milly-louise @jay-zzle @the-one-with-the-grey-color @persephone-girl @bitchesuntitled @pedropascallvr @millennial-teenybopper @nastiasnow @vee-bees-blog @hopplessilse @mxtokko @its-nebuleuse @mandoisapunk @msmorningstaarr @amyispxnk @honeyedmiller @mountainsandmayhem @picketniffler @burningnerdchild @copperhalfcent @theoraekenslover @bloodyinspirationaldemon @vee-bees-blog @amyispxnk @samgirl4life @pigeonmama @pedr0swh0r3

[twilightkitkat]

Part 2 of thinking about the reaction another universe's Logan would have to meeting Wade. To Wade and Logan's relationship.

Part 1 , Part 3, Part 4

---

It'd been a few days since Wade had revealed the truth to Wolverine.

He'd expected things to be awkward, for them to fight over it, for Other-Logan to pull away so that his previous annoyance-indifference would look warm in comparison.

But, shockingly, things had gotten... easier?

Wolverine seemed more comfortable with him, becoming more talkative than before (which wasn't exactly hard to top, but progress is progress). Instead of yanking away the second Wade got too close for comfort, he'd let him brush by him, close enough that Wade could feel his body heat through the seat. Instead of sitting a respectable five feet away at all times, Other-Logan now sat at a friendly distance, close enough to sling an arm around his shoulder if Wade was in a particularly masochistic mood.

It was nice to feel like he had companionship in a world where he knew no one. It was comfortable. It reminded him of his own Logan sometimes, when he could close his eyes and drown out his thoughts and pretend that he was on a mission with Logan in his world instead of in the middle of fucking nowhere with a shitty knockoff.

Well, "shitty knockoff" is a harsh way to put it. This Logan wasn't that bad (he was certainly less anger-prone than his counterpart). It just... wasn't the same. It's like wanting a bowl of Lucky Charms at 2am so you go to a Dollar General and buy a copycat brand to satisfy your craving. Yes, it's similar, but no, it isn't the same.

And fuck, did Wade feel his Logan's absence.

It'd especially hit at night, when Wade was used to curling up on the pull-out couch with Logan beside him and pretending that he was shuffling closer so he wouldn't fall off the edge.

(They both were able to sleep in far more precarious positions. A perk of the job. But under the veil of darkness, they were able to pretend that they weren't vying for touch just to have it. To feel the warmth of someone else next to them. To know that they were both alive and safe and, despite everything, here with each other.)

But, even if Wade curled in on himself at night, feeling the chill in his bones despite the luxurious blankets in the mansion or whatever insulating sleeping bag he was using, he was fine.

So fine, in fact, that it didn't bother him at all that it'd been nearly a week since he arrived in this universe. Not that he was counting. (He was.)

Logan was probably fine. Wade would send him a message or something, let him know that he was okay and that the mission was just taking longer than expected, but interdimensional texting hadn't yet been invented. Or, at least, the TVA bastards were cheap enough to not let him access it.

Besides, they'd been making progress. They were finally working their way up to beating The Big Bad, to telling whatever evil organization was plotting to destroy this timeline to fuck off and go to hell.

As a matter of fact, they were on their way to a particularly promising lead right now. All the henchmen they've managed to get information out of seemed to point their fingers to the same place, some discreet nuclear power plant that had been shut down a decade ago. (Real original, guys. Why don't supervillains ever set up base in a less stereotypical place? Like a public park or an Olive Garden. But nooooo, it always had to be the shady abandoned government facilities.)

"You seem to be thinking real hard over there, bub," Wolverine remarked, raising an eyebrow in question.

"Oh, y'know, just the usual, like what your abs would taste like if I covered them in whipped cream. Would it be more salty, or sweet? Do you think they'd taste metallic if you'd been roughed up lately?" Wade slid back into his typical persona instead of lingering on his unhelpful desire to mope around until he could go home.

Other-Logan snorted. "I think you're thinking way too hard about my abs when you should be focusing on your plan for when we get to the base."

Wade pouted, "Awwww, c'mon, Wolvie, don't you know that my pleasure comes before our job? You only live once, fuck capitalism and all that."

"Without capitalism, you wouldn't have the money to get 'pleasure,'" Logan deadpanned.

"Ah yes, you're right. I'm but a humble servant to the almighty Capitalism King. I shall kill and show no mercy as long so long as my king asks for it." Wade clutched a hand over his heart dramatically, voice imitating sincerity but a few pitches too high.

Logan just shook his head and chuckled, trying and failing to suppress the grin that threatened to stretch across his face.

It looked good on him. A far cry from the serious, no-nonsense, version he'd first encountered. Who knew all it took to have someone open their heart to you was revealing you were besties in an alternate universe?

"We're here," Logan grunted, smirk falling off his face as he climbed out of the vehicle.

"Fucking finally! One hour longer and I think I'd puke all over your shiny yellow suit," Wade whined obnoxiously. Logan elbowed him harshly in response. Ouch. Manners.

The base was exactly what you'd expect. Just run down enough to not attract suspicion but just well-kept enough to be home to some freaky villain technology.

And, also as expected, as soon as they entered a blaring alarm went off. Flashing red lights and all. Just great, exactly what he needed today. Wade was definitely going to end up with a headache by the end of this raid. They're lucky he didn't have epilepsy or he'd sue them.

Wolverine didn't seem to be faring much better, judging by his furrowed eyebrows and how he was barely holding back a grimace.

They make quick work of whatever lackeys they find as they tear their way through the halls. They'd definitely improved their synchronization during the time they'd spent fighting together (mainly on Wolverine's part).

Finally, they arrive at some sort of convoluted metal dome with a suspiciously alien-looking machine in the middle. It didn't seem to be an exact replica of the Time Ripper Wade knew, but it was close enough to make an educated guess about its purpose. (An educated wish, some may say.)

Unfortunately, it wasn't left unguarded.

Some old-looking bald guy (never a good sign) with a metal arm (again, never a good sign) was holding a suspiciously futuristic gun. (Who is this, Cable's long-lost twin with a receding hairline gene?)

Deadpool unsheathed one of his katanas, gripping his gun tightly with his other hand. Wolverine shifted into a battle stance beside him.

"And what do we have here?" The man drawled, his piercing gaze sweeping over them both. "Deadpool and... Wolverine? An interesting team-up." Despite this, he didn't seem too surprised. If anything, he seemed to be glancing warily at Wolverine beside him.

"I don't have time to listen to your monologue, how about you just undo whatever fucky-wucky stuff you did to the timeline and we all head our separate ways, yeah?" Wade was nothing if not merciful for offering this fucker a chance to stand down before it got ugly.

"I don't think so," the man huffed, as if he found it amusing that he'd even suggest that. He was starting to get on Wade's nerves.

"Then let's cut the chit-chat and get straight to the ass beating." Deadpool nodded at Wolverine, who smirked almost imperceptibly.

They both lunged at the same second, Wolvie swiping at the bastard's head while Deadpool fired at his legs and torso.

Oh fuck, this guy has a regenerative healing factor too, Wade groaned internally when he saw the bullet wounds stitch themselves up. Just his luck.

The battle was more difficult than expected, but they managed to hold up fairly well by bouncing off each other's attacks. When Wade moved in, Logan moved out. When Wolverine sunk in his claws, Deadpool fired his gun or slashed with his katana.

That was until the bastard injected himself with some sort of serum, like a heroin addict stopping to shoot up during a fight.

That better not be what I think it is, Wade grimaced.

It was exactly what he thought it was.

Fighting a meaner-looking, more equipped version of Cable was hard enough, but on steroids? Wolverine and Deadpool soon began to lag behind. Even their teamwork couldn't help much when the opponent was that much stronger and they both were becoming exhausted.

However, Deadpool saw an opening. The fucker wasn't guarding his flank properly. And so, without warning, he flipped over the asshole's head and slashed at his side at the same moment Logan sank his claws into his neck. (Yay, teamwork!)

It seemed to hit some sort of weak point because the man slumped down onto the ground, unconscious. Wade sighed in relief and walked over to Logan.

"Hey man, I don't know about you, but when we get out of here I think we should get some chimichangas to celebrate—"

Bang.

Wade was flung into the wall with the sheer force of whatever futuristic weapon the man shot him with. Fucking rat bastard.

His head began spinning with the force at which he'd been full-body slammed against the wall. His vision was blurred and it was hard to make out shapes, but it seemed that Logan was having the same issue, given the red, blue, and yellow spot on the wall opposite him.

His vision was dancing with black dots and colors bled together, but through the haze he could make out the man they'd fought getting up and limping away, seemingly talking to someone as he did so.

Wade groaned and tried to lift his hand up to feel the wound on his head when he noticed. There were fragments embedded in his suit where he'd hidden it.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

In his haze, he managed to yank the tattered remains out of a device from his suit. Oh shit. It was broken.

How the hell was he supposed to get home now?

He didn't have time to linger on the question before darkness overtook his vision.

---

Logan paced back and forth on the shitty hardwood floors of their one-bedroom apartment.

Where the hell was he?

Wade was supposed to be back a month ago. Hell, the mission was only supposed to take a day and he said he'd be back for dinner that night.

But then that night passed, and Wade didn't show. Logan had waited at the table, bouncing his lex anxiously (although he'd deny it if anyone asked) long after Al reluctantly went to sleep and Mary Puppins settled down for the night. He remembered waiting, staring blankly at his plate but unable to stomach a bite, until he finally decided to put their food in the fridge to reheat later. He felt vaguely nauseous at the idea of eating peacefully while Wade was still frolicking about, fighting bad guys (and potentially getting hurt).

Logan fell asleep in that position, his head resting on his arms, hyperaware and jolting awake at the slightest sound. Waiting to hear the jingle of the doorknob and the sound of Wade shuffling in.

When Wade came back, Logan would tell them that he didn't care what the mission was about or what type of universe it was, he'd come with him next time. No room for arguments. He'd rather be bleeding and bruised by Wade's side than feel the gnawing emptiness and anxiety of being apart from him.

Logan never dealt well with separation. Not when it came to Wade. The only person who made this universe he'd barged his way into a home. The one who'd looked at him—a pathetic, miserable, drunk, mess—and still asked him to come home with him. The only person to make him feel like he belonged somewhere, to someone. That he wasn't just an unwanted, shunned monster who could only be loved for the destruction he could cause.

When Wade was gone, it felt like he was alone again. Like he was back in that shitty universe where even the fucking bartender refused him service unless he begged. Where everyone mocked him or shied away but nobody looked him in the eyes.

Wolverine was used to being alone. He'd been alone, in one way or another, for as long as he could remember.

But that's why he latched violently, viciously, desperately, onto the first lifeboat he could. The first person to yank his head above the water and welcome him onto their raft without expecting anything.

The next morning came and Wade still hadn't come back.

Logan tried to convince himself that it was just taking a second longer, that maybe he'd encountered an obstacle, that everything was still okay.

(Don't be overbearing, Logan. If he sees what a needy, writhing, mess you are then he won't want to be around you anymore. He'll finally wise up and leave you behind like everyone else. Like how you deserve. He'll finally see you for the pathetic creature you are instead of the delusion of a man he's been holding onto.)

But then that day turned into two. Turned into three. Turned into nearly a week in which he hadn't heard a word from Wade.

(Accept things how they are, Logan. Take the warmth you can get and savor it, clutch it so tight to your chest that your fingers bleed, and don't ask for more. Don't ruin this.)

Blind Al had tried saying something, once, about how Wade might just be running that. That he was having troubles, you know how it is (but even she had a worried crease to her brow, the slightest bit of hesitation that spoke volumes). Logan had grunted something he couldn't remember and kept pacing.

It felt like every day was an endless loop. Wake up, choke down what food he could, and wait anxiously. Wait to see if Wade would stroll through the door.

Until one night, he snapped. He'd just gotten out of the shower (the first he'd taken in a while, with how difficult it was to focus on anything but Wade Wade Wade Where is Wade Where—) when he noticed Wade's shitty music box was playing. The one he had of him.

He saw red. The next thing he knew, he stood in a completely trashed living room. Chairs were knocked over and splintered, bottles were shattered, and blood was splattered across the walls from where he'd raked his claws up and down his arms in a desperate attempt to get out of his skin because it was burning so badly and he just wanted to crawl inside Wade instead of being trapped in a useless fucking husk of a mindless animal—

He barely scraped the room back together by the time Al got back. He knew she was able to tell, but she didn't say anything. Just sat down on the tattered couch and murmured something that suspiciously sounded like Wade's name.

Logan was barely functioning. It was a Good Day if he managed to eat, shower, and not drink himself into a stupor by night. Every day that went by made the knot in his stomach twist further until he could barely remember what it felt like to not be on edge constantly.

(He knew it was pathetic. That he should be better than this. That he shouldn't need Wade to babysit him to make him want to eat and sleep and shower and do all the things that normal people were expected to just do. He knew that he shouldn't revert back to a state of depression and anxiety when he was gone but Logan didn't know what to do. He'd been fucked up for so long that he didn't know what okay meant anymore, didn't know to just breathe without clenching his teeth and forcing his lungs to expand and contract.)

(The only time he got relief from the reminder of who he was and what he'd done was with Wade, who knew him and still somehow wanted him. Who made him feel normal, like he could just be Logan and live a domestic life as a borderline househusband in their apartment. Who made him feel like he had a future and a chance at happiness again.)

At first, he could convince himself that it was just the mission holding him up. That he was being unreasonable. (Why didn't Wade just take him along to begin with? He'd let Wade talk as long as he wanted, take the lead, and annoy him however he liked as long as he could be with him.)

But then doubt began creeping in. What if Wade realized that he really was the Worst Wolverine? What if this universe's Wolverine was better than him—nicer, stronger, less fucked up—and Wade preferred him. He wouldn't blame him. Hell, he knew Wade only settled on him because of a time crunch and the fact that he didn't claw his eyes out immediately. If Wade had more time, he would've gone with a better option.

(Logan chose to ignore the instinctive dread he felt at that thought. What if Wade hadn't come for him? What if he found another Wolverine and he was left to be drunk and miserable for the rest of his life, never knowing Wade's presence? The thought made him physically ill.)

But Wade, despite what people said, was a man of his word. He kept his promises and tried to avoid lying. Even if he did decide to fuck off and find another Logan, he'd tell him first. He'd let him know, at least.

As the time crept closer to a month, Logan's anxiety reached an all-time high. If Wade was taking this long, something must've gone horribly wrong. He's in danger.

Logan couldn't pace back and forth anymore, listening to the TVA rattle excuse after excuse when he called them to ask for an update. (It's confidential, they said. Don't worry, they said. Eventually, they got so used to him calling—without fail, twice a day, once in the morning and once at night—that they'd immediately forward him to the line he needed. And they'd always give the same excuses.)

Not anymore.

Logan was going to find Wade, even if he had to rip the whole fucking TVA or multiverse apart to do so.

---

Wade groaned, slamming his forehead against the counter before eating another spoonful of cereal.

The X-men still hadn't found a way to fix his universe-hopping device. To be fair, back in his universe it'd taken a while to fix Cable's time-jumping one, and Wade's sure that dimensional travel adds a whole new level of complexity. The TVA does not fuck around with their technology.

That being said, at least the rest of the X-men were starting to take the timeline issue seriously. They'd finally all decided to pitch in and try investigating on their own time.

"Look alive a little, bub, we're going on a mission today." Logan eyed Wade as he continued to eat his high-protein classic bacon and scrambled eggs breakfast.

The other X-men eyed them curiously. Logan had been acting differently as of late. Ever since Deadpool had come to their world and began hanging around him, he'd softened around the edges. He'd become a little more open, actively engaging with conversation instead of tuning in and out.

It was... nice to see him close to someone. To see him look at someone with an odd sort of affection visible in his eyes. Even if it was a little jarring.

(A few wondered what Wade had done to earn his affection. How a single man could swoop in and do what they'd been trying to do for years. What was so special about him? Why couldn't they reach him earlier? What were they doing wrong?)

It was good to see him be close to someone. Even if it stung a little that Wade made more progress in a month than they'd made this entire time.

Aside from that, the X-men had been able to interact with Wade more ever since he started spending a bit more time at the mansion.

When he'd gotten knocked out and his dimensional travel device broken, it'd taken a few days for him to fully regenerate (and mentally recuperate). During that time, him and Logan seem to have developed an odd kinship. A casual, friendly relationship where they eat meals together and occasionally, in between missions, watch shows together, or just... talk.

It was a little unnerving to see Logan so willing to act almost domestically with someone else. Of course, the X-men had managed to coax Logan into hanging out with them more casually. And sometimes, they'd gotten the privilege of seeing how his shoulders would relax and he'd become content to just listen and soak up the company. But those occasions were few and far between, and Logan's default state was to keep a certain degree of distance.

Wade had begun to interact with the other X-men, too. He'd taken to teasing Colossus to pay him back for the many headaches he'd given him in his world. Logan often trailed a few steps behind, trying and failing to pretend to be engaged with something else while keeping an eye on Wade. It'd be endearing, almost, if it wasn't so out of character for him.

Unfortunately, after the villain had escaped, their luck seemed to dry up. They'd only gotten a few leads since, and all were dead ends. With too much time to spare and too much pent-up energy (and anxiety to some degree over being away from his world for so long), Wade accompanied Wolverine on a few of his other missions.

Wade sighed and pushed away the remainder of his cereal. Well, there went his appetite. Thinking about his world and his Logan was a surefire way to kill his mood.

(It made him feel sick to think about how Logan was faring without him. To question when he'd get to see him again. To remember that this wasn't His Logan. It was always uncomfortable to be away from him for too long, to feel the same loneliness settle inside him like an old friend. What a joke. He saved the world just so he could whine about how he wanted it to revolve around him.)

(Logan never made him feel that way. He understood how it felt to lose everyone and still tremor at the thought. He understood the struggle of knowing you'd outlive everyone you love. He understood because they'd been through it together. Because they'd shared their pain and their feelings and their hearts and bared themselves, raw and vulnerable and bloody, before each other and still sacrificed themselves for each other anyway.)

"Not in the mood?" Logan asked. "Y'know, we have other types of cereal. Think they keep Captain Crunch or Cheerios or some shit around here."

And Wade almost screamed in frustration.

It was so stupid. Logan was trying to help. But Other-Logan wasn't His Logan.

His Logan knew that he hated that type of cereal. That he drenched his pancakes in syrup. That he was a picky bitch with food and would only eat certain brands. He'd learned to cook food just for him so that he could eat comfortably.

He was about to take a few centering, deep breaths (never claim he doesn't know how to be zen) before an alarm blared.

"There's been a break-in in the main lobby of the mansion!" someone shouted.

Huh. That's a convenient way to get information. A very good way to move the plot along.

The X-men around him were tense, drawing their weapons and preparing to investigate who dared intrude. Wade got ready too, drawing his baby knife just in case. (Not that he really can take the moral high ground here, considering he did the same just a month ago.)

Other-Logan glanced at him from the corner of his eye and Wade nodded. The two slinked along the walls, braced for an attack.

Loud crashing noises could be heard from the lobby. Furniture slammed against the wall, shattering into a million splinters (strong ass motherfucker, it seems). There was yelling and screaming and... growling?

The cacophony got louder as they drew closer. Except, Wade began to recognize the sounds. They were distinct, clear, and... familiar.

Too familiar.

Holy shit.

"Logan?" he breathed, and then he was darting out from behind the wall even as Other-Logan let out an aborted shout and attempted to grab his arm.

He slipped through his grip and turned the corner, and lo and behold, there he was.

His Logan.

He was snarling, claws unsheathed and raised to attack the people who swarmed him. They all seemed terrified and incredibly confused (given that he had the same face as one of the X-men themselves), but seemed to recognize him as an enemy and were making a quite frankly pathetic attempt to fight back.

He was breathing heavily, sweat dripping down his forehead and eyes darting around anxiously. He had a feral look on his face, like a cornered animal that had just escaped his captors.

His eyes were somehow distant and hyper-focused, as if he was running on pure adrenaline without really registering anything.

He looked furious. He looked serious. (He looked scared.)

It was the sweetest sight he'd ever seen in his life.

"Peanut!" Wade shouted, pushing through the people who crowded around.

Logan's head snapped in his direction immediately, body trembling.

"Wolvie! Babygirl!" he continued to yell out nicknames as he drew closer, finally elbowing past the last line of unhelpful bystanders.

"Logan," he murmured breathlessly, reverently, at finally getting to see him again. To see him up close and personal.

As soon as he muttered the word, Logan pounced.

From behind him, Other-Logan and a few of the X-men yelled for him to move out of the way, that he was hostile.

But Wade knew that face. Knew those eyes.

This wasn't just A Logan, this was His Logan.

(His Logan, who knew how he liked his pancakes. Who listened to him rant about stupid conspiracy theories and children's shows. Who had gone through hell and back with him just to help him save his family. Who he'd slowly, painstakingly built a home with.)

And so Wade simply opened his arms and offered a shaky, wet, smile as Logan barreled into him, wrapping around him like he'd die if he let go for a second. Digging his fingers (with the claws retracted, luckily) into his back and gripping onto the fabric of his suit like a lifeline. Shivering against him as if he were a man stranded in a blizzard, finally able to huddle up against a fireplace.

And oh.

Logan was crying, hot tears trailing down the curve of Wade's neck and soaking his suit as Logan nuzzled closer, desperately.

When Wade went to stroke the back of Logan's head and brushed against his own damp face, he realized he was crying too.

He'd been trying so desperately to push down his feelings. Of frustration, of anger, of sadness (of fear). To pretend he didn't miss Logan like he missed air, to pretend that the separation wasn't putting him on edge.

He knew that Logan would worry about him. Wade wasn't that oblivious. But he didn't think Logan would be nearly full-body sobbing against him, rocking back and forth, trying to convince himself that Wade was real.

"Please, never do that again. Don't leave."

And oh.

Wade knew that Logan cared. Knew that Logan would be upset, would miss him, if he disappeared or died. Logically, he knew that.

But Wade was used to being seen as annoying. To being someone people could begrudgingly tolerate, maybe occasionally find funny, but never actively want. Was used to being seen as lesser.

Physically, he was a freak. Mentally, he was a wreck. Emotionally, he was one bad day away from trying (and failing, yet again) to end it all.

He didn't understand how someone could want him. Could need him. Could make him their whole world and cradle it in their hands like his absence would be the collapse of their very foundation.

And yet, here Logan was.

When Wade considered it, it was obvious in hindsight. Logan may respond to his insults, and may be up for a fight, but he never actually seemed to be bothered by Wade. When Wade called him stupid nicknames, he may grumble out a response, but never showed actual annoyance. When Wade slung an arm around his shoulder, he'd let it rest there or lean in closer instead of pushing it off. When Wade goaded him into a fight, he'd rise to the challenge but never unsheathe his claws unless Wade drew out his knives, too.

In fact, he'd only shown true irritation when they'd first met. When Wade had kidnapped him and turned his life on his head. When they were struggling under high-stress situations while Logan grappled with grief.

Logan... more than cared. More than tolerated his existence. More than reluctantly put up with him.

The realization was so obvious and yet it hit Wade like a freight train. This whole time, he'd been trying to convince himself that his feelings were one-sided, that he was abnormal for latching so hard onto Logan while he only humored him in response.

He'd let his self-hatred blind him to the most obvious fact of all: Logan needed him too.

He clutched Logan's back tighter, murmuring reassurances and apologies into the top of his head.

"I'm not leaving you, Wolvie," Wade whispered, "you'll have to kill me to get me to stop haunting your ass."

Logan grumbled, "You aren't allowed to die on me. You can't leave. Ever."

"I won't, I won't. You came and got me. I'm not going anywhere."

While Wade and Logan had their reunion, the crowds were herded away until only a few X-men remained. They stared at the two, bewildered.

"...Is that seriously Logan?" Jean murmured to Scott.

"It looks like him... but..." he gestured to the scene in front of them.

They'd never seen Logan break down before. Had never seen him so vulnerable. He'd never let anyone as close as he was to Wade, right now. Not even a fraction as much.

They cast contemplative and vaguely concerned glances at their world's Logan. He was staring hollowly at the scene in front of him.

It was so... odd to see himself like that. Open. Emotional. (Safe enough to let himself be that way.)

Wade had never acted that way with him, either. Tears welling up in his eyes, looking at Logan as if he hung the stars in the sky and set his universe back in balance again.

(Logan looked back at him with the same fervency, as if Wade was his universe. The stars and the sun and the planets all in one.)

It made that familiar envy curl in his gut. Before, it'd been muted by the fact that Wade's Logan was just a story. He was the one physically with him, able to get to know him and learn about him and get his undivided attention and time.

It felt nice. To be understood. To be able to treat someone as an equal, a companion, without worrying about them pulling away if he revealed too much. He'd gotten used to Wade's presence, to the comfort it brought.

However, it looked like he was going to have to confront the version of him that made it all possible.

Wade and Logan had finally calmed down, holding each other more loosely and letting the tension bleed away. Logan nearly collapsed onto Wade as he came down from the adrenaline high, feeling the exhaustion and anxiety of the past month hit him all at once. He was in Wade's arms and finally able to process his emotions now that he was home.

Other-Logan approached them carefully, schooling his face into the typical mask of calculated indifference.

However, despite that, there was a sharpness to his tone as he tersely spoke to his counterpart, "Nice to meet you, other me. It seems you've managed to find your way into our mansion."

"Yeah, well, the mansion was holding something of mine, so let's call it even," Logan near growled, glaring at himself.

It'd almost be funny if not for the tension crackling in the air between them.

"Woah, woah, woah," Wade placated, "we've all made our mistakes. I'm guilty too, your honor. Let me just have some time alone with dear Wolvie here and we can all have a group therapy session later to talk about our feelings."

Other-Logan looked at Wade, a searching look in his eyes. Wade met his gaze steadily, smiling slightly to reassure him that it'd be OK.

Finally, he sighed and moved away to let the other X-men gawk.

It was going to be a long night.

[xannypiratez]

Prompt: a little shopping trip with Billie turned into a whole internet debacle. Now your phone is blowing up and oop….. everyone knows you are dating Billie apparently

The day started like any other. Billie grabbed her oversized hoodie, you threw on a beanie, and together, you slipped into the comforting anonymity of a grocery store. The plan was simple: stock up on snacks, maybe pick out a few candles, and just enjoy the mundanity of it all.

Billie, being herself, managed to turn even aisle browsing into a whole event. She pushed the cart like a race car, spinning it around corners while you rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop laughing. Every so often, she’d throw random items into the cart just to see your reaction—a jar of pickled eggs, an inexplicably large pack of glitter pens, a garden gnome you were certain had no place in either of your homes.

As you stood debating between two different brands of ice cream, the quiet day took a sharp turn. A sudden shuffle of movement at the entrance caught Billie’s attention, her expression hardening as she spotted a group of paparazzi. They swarmed like bees, cameras flashing and voices overlapping as they shouted her name.

She let out a long sigh but didn’t shy away. Instead, she tightened her grip on the cart and walked right toward them, her arm brushing yours.

“Billie, any comment on the rumors about your new song?” one of them shouted.

Another jumped in. “Are you dating anyone? Fans want to know!”

Without missing a beat, Billie smirked. “I’m more than satisfied with what I’ve got, thanks,” she said casually, her tone sharp enough to draw silence from the crowd. She turned to you briefly, her expression softening in a way that felt like it was meant just for you. “And my song ‘Lunch’? Yeah, that should clear everything up.”

You could feel your cheeks heat up as the realization hit. She didn’t even try to dodge the question. She was saying it—out loud, in public.

It wasn’t long before Twitter was set ablaze. Billie Eilish had basically just confirmed she was in a relationship, and her fans were spiraling, dissecting every lyric of “Lunch” and speculating wildly about the mysterious girlfriend she’d hinted at.

By the time you got home, the chaos online had reached new heights, with hashtags trending and memes flooding your timelines. But Billie didn’t seem fazed. She plopped onto the couch, scrolling through her phone with an amused smirk before casually tossing it aside.

You sat down beside her, still reeling. “You realize what you just did, right?”

She grinned, leaning her head against your shoulder. “Yeah, and it feels pretty damn good.”

Later that night, as you both lay sprawled across the couch, her arm draped lazily over your waist, you heard the familiar click of her phone camera.

“Billie—” you started, but she was already typing something.

Moments later, her Instagram story popped up on your feed. A candid photo of the two of you—her grinning like an idiot, you mid-protest, eyes soft despite your exasperation. The caption?

“All the rumors are true.”

The internet exploded. But all you could focus on was Billie beside you, her laughter echoing through the room, her hand laced with yours.

[slttygeto]

SOMETHING I’M MADE FOR

what was i made for? | think i forgot, how to be happy

જ⁀➴ synopsis: you owe suguru a lot. a heartfelt apology is one of them.

જ⁀➴ c.w: hurt/comfort, fem bodied! reader, very unrealistic timelines, i have never taken a 'break' while in a relationship so pls dont come for me, reader is mentioned to being depressed at one point, suguru is going through it, second chance sort of.

જ⁀➴ word count; 1,4k

જ⁀➴ note: idk how to feel abt this tbh

comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

There was no need for you to feel this nervous, but given the amount of times you’ve wiped your hand on the fabric of your skirt that would sound a bit ridiculous. You were nervous, and rightfully so. You stand in front of the same door that you used to have the keys to, a very familiar red wooden door with the number of the apartment written in gold sitting at the very top, you raise your hand and your knuckles collider with the wood one, two and then three times before you’re taking two steps behind out of respect and privacy for your… well, you didn’t know what to refer to Suguru in this case.

You try not to overthink it, you came here with good intentions. Over the four weeks with almost contact with the man except for the occasional text messages here and there, you’ve come to realize a couple of things. First, you needed to apologize to him. Four weeks isn’t enough for you to heal completely from the damage caused from feeling so low in a long term relationship, but it was enough time to reflect on how you behaved that night with him. Some of his words might’ve hurt you, but you later on figured that it was because he was right, as bad as it sounds.

And second, you were ready to let go of him if staying with you was draining him. You knew that Suguru would never tell you something like that—he might’ve been blunt with strangers, but the man had such a soft spot and a sweet side with his loved ones. God knows how much he loves you, and how many times he said it. But you were too busy thinking that your problems were burdening him and thus, you didn’t deserve the man.

You hear shuffling from behind the door and when it swings open with and you’re greeted with a Suguru in a lazy attire, you feel your heart get stuck in your throat. You hadn’t told him you were going to show up, but you had texted Satoru earlier the same week to make sure that he was at home. To say that Satoru wanted to kill you was an understatement, the white haired male was very protective of his best friend no matter how dearly you meant to him.

Me

Hey, is suguru gonna be home this week?

Satoru

yeah. he hasn’t been outside in a while. why?

Your heart drops when you read that. Suguru wasn’t the type to stay holed up in his place for too long.

Me

um I thought id give him a visit

Satoru

yeah sure

he’ll appreciate that

You could feel the ice cold stare of his best friend through those messages. Maybe it was a little childish from his part, but after hearing that Suguru was acting unusual, you figured that maybe this time you would gladly take the heat.

You hoped that the person standing in front of you wasn’t any different from the person you abruptly left four weeks ago after a horrible fight, but one quick look at the messy hair and the sleep deprivation visible on his face was enough to make your chest burn with guilt. You’re unsure of what to say for a good few seconds, eyes darting behind him only to find the vacuum in the middle of the middle room and groceries on the counter. It seemed like he was trying to get life back together, did you really decide to pop at the wrong moment?

“Do you need something?” the way he breaks the silence is almost bone chilling and you find yourself smiling nervously at him before holding up bags of food to show him that you got him his favorite. But he doesn’t budge, emotionless eyes darting all over your face in what you assumed to be an attempt at making you feel small. And boy, it was working.

You feel stupid and drop the bags of food in front of him before taking a few steps back.

“I wanted to talk to you.”

“About what?” Suguru knows what you want to talk about.

“About u-“

“About us?” He cuts you off before you can even finish and raises an eyebrow. “Didn’t you say that you wanted to stop thinking about me for a while?” he continues. “It’s only been a month.”

“A month is more than enough,” you try to reason. “We were together for three years, of course-“

“Should’ve told yourself that when you left me.” Suguru retorts venomously and you start getting the clear picture. While being away from him made you realize how toxic you were behaving towards him, you being out of his life brought out his worst side. You knew this Suguru—he was spiteful, filled with hatred and didn’t hesitate to cut anyone with his words.

“Suguru,” you try again. “Let me come in.” You see him bite back another snarky response and he complies, letting you walk inside.

Once the bags of food are inside and you see him close the door, you hesitate on where to sit. The kitchen seemed to bring back bad memories, so you choose the couch that you both picked when you first moved in here and you watch as he sits on the other side, a little grunt leaving his lips as he leans back and stares at you.

“Seems like you’ve been doing well,” he points out. “I forgot what happy you looked like.”

You squirm a little under his intense gaze, the way his eyes travel from your bare legs up to your upper half then your face. You were used to Suguru’s loving stare, he always looked at you like you meant the entire world to him—but right now? You felt like he could eat you up and spit you out with his eyes.

“I’ve been, um…” You pause and place one leg on top of the other. “Reflecting on how I behaved in our relationship.” You admit and look around the place. He still managed to keep it neat.

“It was wrong of me to explode on you that night, and to keep so many things from you—it doesn’t undo the fact that I said what I said, but I just want to apologize.” Suguru’s eyes seem to soften for a split second when you shift again in your seat.

“For what?” he asks flatly but the way his body relaxes on the couch indicates that he means no harm. “For possibly being depressed when you were with me?”

“No,” you avoid looking at him. “It wasn’t because I was with you it’s because-“

“That’s not what you said that night,” he cuts you off. “I am so perfect and my life is so perfect that being with someone like me made you feel too guilty to tell me about your problems.” He continues before leaning forward, placing both of his elbows on his knees. “My face…apparently, that was also a reason for you not to tell me about your problems.”

“I was wrong,” you start growing a little nervous. “You weren’t the problem, and I’m here to tell you that I am deeply sorry for what happened that night, even if it was needed.”

Suguru is quiet for a few moments, he is in deep thought before he decides to speak up again.

“You know, a month isn’t enough to fall out of love with a person you pictured your future with,” he starts. “But it sure is enough time for you to resent them a little. You’re hurt and confused, everything was going well, or so you thought,”

“Suguru…”

“I thought that maybe I didn’t want to think about you too, that I was doing so much better without you but-“ the dry chuckle makes your heart squeeze. “As you can see, it’s clearly not the case.”

“We don’t have to get back together right now,”  your voice is soft and the way you’re trying to make yourself look small on his couch tugs at Suguru’s heart strings.

“I don’t think it’s that easy either,” he admits. “After all, I still do resent you a little.” His honesty is both relieving and hurtful. A part of you knows that it’s a long and difficult process, but if there was any person actually worth fighting for in your life, it was Suguru. “But…” you raise your head when you hear him speak up.

“I think we could try.”

And through tearful eyes and shared hopeful smiles, you are finally able to breathe again.

“Yeah, I’d like that.”

2023 ; all works belong to @ slttygeto. do not repost my works on any other platofrm.

[miiyochi]

living with solomon in cocytus hall

note. didnt feel like making it a big post, take this small..thing. its 3am im going to bed :p

read part 2 here

living with solomon has given you the much needed tranquility in your otherwise very chaotic life in the devildom. months ago you would’ve never thought that living with solomon could be so… intimate.

it only took three days to come up with a chore schedule that the both of you follow to a t. monday, wednesday, friday where solomon’s while tuesday, thursday and friday were yours. to settle for sunday solomon suggested rock paper scissors. (you thought it was a silly way of settling it but you went along with it because he’s got the cutest laugh when he wins &lt;3)

on his days, solomon had basically become your house husband. he’d welcome you at the door with a greeting, “welcome back darling <3” he’d half tease while blowing a kiss. you’d roll your eyes and sit at the kitchen island with your own greeting,

“hi sol. did you miss me?” “more than anything” he says earnestly.

solomon thinks sleepy you is the cutest you. sometimes he’ll just sit at the couch fondly watching you stumble around tired as hell. or he’d sit in your shared bed and comment on how cute you’re being when you shuffle your way to the bathroom to get ready.

“ah, you’re so cute i could just die.” he sighs contently while sliding over your cup of coffee. “mmm…shutup” you mumble, eyeing the mug suspiciously. “you didn’t put anything funny in this?” you say as you take curious sips… it’s kind of sweet. solomon lets out an airy laugh with a half offended look, “you think i’d poison you?” you nod.

you and solomon have seperate rooms. yet the both of you find eachother having “sleepovers” at eachother’s rooms. solomon’s excuse is always ‘yours is closer’. you don’t even bother making up one, just simply inviting yourself over when solomon stays up late. ‘if i’m not here you’d never sleep’ you reason, solomon just nods along and lets you drag him to bed.

though, you tend to stay in solomon’s room more. it smells like him…. his scent is comforting. it’s become the most comforting and familiar thing in this strange and unfamiliar world. even back in your timeline his room smelt the same.

“you smell like home” you mumble sleepily, clinging on harder to solomon’s waist. snuggling closer to his chest, you can faintly hear solomon’s heart thump faster. he doesn’t respond but you know he’s heard you. solomon pulls you closer and kisses the top of your head, ‘you are home’ he thinks.

m.list

[toxicanonymity]

My dearest toxic, I would simply do anything for a NW blurb. On top of the election I'm having one of the worst weeks I've had in awhile tbh. I saw you were doing blurbs/requests and figured I would throw my hat into the ring 🙃 as always, you're the best and deserve all the love and accolades 🖤

tired

JOEL x READER | 1k | NIGHT WALKS AU

NOTES: I’m so sorry for your week, bestie. Ty for your kind words. I hope he can help some of y'all a little bit. Love you 🖤 Y'all don't have to know Night Walks, but if you care about the timeline: After Menace, before Late Night Dip.

WARNINGS: 18+ blog. Unspecified source of angst, crying, comfort, soft but it also gets a little horny.

When you got home, your throat was sore from trying not to cry. You put on your PJs, went outside, and unscrewed the floodlight to be in the dark. Seated on a cheap plastic chair, you looked at the joint and lighter in your hand and didn’t even have the energy. You set them down, bent forward, and buried your face in your hands. Warm tears coated your fingers. Your throat untied itself, your chest opened up, and, physically at least, you felt some relief.

Then a light turned on in an upstairs window. Worried that you were louder than you realized, you got up to take a walk so you wouldn’t have to talk about it.

The thing was, you didn’t really have the energy to walk either. You shuffled along, until you got to the pool. It was as good a place as any to stop. The frogs and crickets made it a comfortable silence. You stood outside the fence with your forearms resting on top of it, doubled over.

By the time a twig snapped behind you, you must have been ugly crying.

Your skin prickled until his smooth, deep voice sliced through the tension. “Wanna talk about it?”

When you didn’t answer, you heard and felt him come closer. Joel was like a furnace, and the heat reached you without contact. When you didn’t answer him, he joined you against the fence, both of you looking toward the pool. His hand was resting a few inches away from your elbow.

“Hmm?” He prodded.

You shook your head, sniffled, and dabbed your eyes. “You wouldn’t get it,” you told him.

“Maybe not,” he conceded. “But I still got ears.”

“I’m okay,” you lied.

He answered, “Don’t have to be,” then laid his big, warm hand on your back and it brought a crescendo of emotion. Grief, gratefulness for him, and guilt for selling him short. He was more than a sleaze, he just didn’t tend to show it.

He rubbed your back as you took ragged breaths and tried to stop, then he got closer.

“It’s not just–it’s everything,” you sniffled. “It’s a lot.”

He kept rubbing slow circles on your back for a minute. Then, with a lighter tone, he offered,

“Who do I gotta fight?”

“You don’t seem like the fighting type,” you replied, then finally looked at him.

“I can be,” he cocked an eyebrow, and faced you with one hand still on your back. Your eyes settled on his strong pecs and biceps stretching his tee. And yeah, he could’ve been a fighter for all you knew. He could for sure fuck someone up. The small tattoos you saw in the shower crossed your mind. Then your thoughts drifted to the rest of him.

“I’ll be anything ya want, pumpkin,” he murmured as he got behind you and moved his hand to your hip. He thumbed the waistband of your bottoms and chuckled. You were dressed alike.

He nosed your hair and inhaled deeply as he wrapped his arms around you. You kept your arms resting on the pool fence, but your body relaxed into his embrace. He held you, with his feet bracketing yours. For the first time all week, you felt safe on some level. And not so alone.

It was the first time he’d hugged you like this. Holding you without a hard-on poking you, and–yeah, nope–there it was.

Not raging, but it twitched and made itself known.

He dipped his head and murmured into your neck, “Let’s go have a beer, watch a movie or somethin’," and his hips pushed forward, making you throb. But at the same time, you tensed at an assumption that he had expectations all along.

“Yeah, I know,” he acknowledged, without backing away. “Too damn hot, pumpkin. I just wanna hold ya, now I got two things in the way.”

“Two things?”

“That fine ass and this cock.”

You had been enjoying the softer side of him, but the harder side sure did make you tingle.

“I just wanna rest,” you answered.

“We'll just rest, then,” he replied. “We can just sleep if ya want. Can’t promise I'll behave in the *mornin’*, but…”

“Feels good out here,” you said.

“Alright pumpkin,” he agreed. “We’ll stay here a while.” Then he asked with light-hearted skepticism, “Feel good against this fence?”

His arms relaxed around you, then fell away.

You felt cold as he stepped aside, but he took your hand and gently pulled you to the pool gate. He reached his free hand over and unlocked it. The metal creaked as he pushed it open.

“C’mon,” he led you in, all the way to the edge of the pool. He dropped your hand to roll up his pj pants, then while he was down there, he rolled yours up, too. You both slipped of your sandals. “Sometimes I just look at the water….all lit up. Speakin’ of,” he reached in his pocket and showed you a joint.

“Not now,” you answered, and he tucked it behind his ear as he sat down on the edge.

You sat down an inch or two away from him, and he scooted over to close the gap. He placed his hand on the back of your head and you leaned into him. He put his arm around you. “Ya know pumpkin… it’s gonna be okay.” Your throat tightened again. He continued, ”There’s been times I thought it wouldn’t. But it always got better.”

You both watched the light patterns dance in the water, and he added, “Might’a taken time, but it did.”

“I dunno,” you sniffled.

He rubbed your arm and said, “Well, you’re not alone, anyway.”

And you couldn't help but laugh, “yeah I've noticed.”

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Thank you for reading 💙🫂