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SSR Malleus Draconia - New Year's Attire Voice Lines
Due to event restrictions, Groovy related lines are locked until the event has been cleared. I will update once these are unlocked. Login line has been captured.
A Happy New Year to you. I bestow upon you a blessing of good fortune for your coming year.
Summon: If anything catches your eye, you would do well to call upon me without any hesitation. Allow this opportunity to pass you by, and there may never come another chance to experience my personal hospitality.
Groovification: Well, well... Aren't you a bold customer to challenge me to a TAKOAGE battle.
Home: And so a new year begins.
Home Transition 1: I see that sales have a way of bringing joy to people. Even a shop mired in the bustling chaos can seem like such fun.
Home Transition 2: All this hindering snow need only be melted with a cast of a spell. Is it simply a human propensity to crave manually piling snow on high mounds?
Home Transition 3: I've had my fair share of attire that require much care to wear, but this garb is unlike any other. This is a rare experience, indeed.
Home Transition - Login: Working at the shop is rather taxing. I've become used to waking up in the mornings ever since I enrolled here, however being required to rise even earlier is taking its toll.
Home Transition - Groovy: Is my customer service lacking in any way? Most often I've found people have either fled before I've had the chance to approach them, or they've stood frozen in terror.
Home Tap 1: While on break, Leech spoke on the proper way to provide customer service. He said it all comes down to changing up the tempo every so often... What sort of tempo should we be operating at while serving customers?
Home Tap 2: I've laid myself down in a snowfield before at the suggestion of an old acquaintance. I found the way it cooled my body down after breathing fire to be especially soothing.
Home Tap 3: The way Howl starts working waiting for instructions is an admirable trait. He could only be bettered by becoming more flexible in his thinking.
Home Tap 4: The products in this shop are beyond fascinating. I saw Viper gingerly returning to the shelves a magical item that even I know not how to use.
Home Tap 5: Is there something on my head? Ah, you simply find my hairstyle different. ...To be quite honest, I still have not grown accustomed to seeing it this way, either..
Home Tap - Groovy: If there is a product you cannot reach, you should call upon me. See, I can use magic to retrieve it for you.
Duo: [MALLEUS]: You should simply sit back and watch, Viper. [JAMIL]: It'll be dangerous if you go overboard, Malleus-senpai!
Requested by Anonymous.
#twisted wonderland#twst#malleus draconia#jamil viper#twst malleus#twst jamil#twst translation#twst new years#mention: floyd#mention: jack#mention: jamil
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Professional (Kento Nanami)
A gift for @eevwrites <3
Summary: Kento Nanami is your OBGYN. The father... isn't present for this journey, but that's okay. Nanami always takes care of his patients.
Warnings: Themes of pregnancy, parenthood discussion of abortion, childbirth (semi-graphic), paternal abandonment, toxic relationships, yandere.
Reader is pregnant and WANTS the baby. Nanami is 1000% feminist, he just also happens to be a yandere sdfhslghg

Nanami Kento considers himself an excellent physician, even if some would call his bedside manner 'gruff'.
Obstetrics and gynecology is a sensitive subject for many and he strives, every day, to maintain the height of professional decorum.
As a professional and as a physician, he would never admit to having a favorite patient.
As a man, something soars inside his chest whenever you walk into his clinic.
You're so young to be a mother - that was his first assessment, though of course he'd never say as much out loud.
As your doctor, he asks questions purely on the basis of being able to provide the best care possible. The more he knows about your circumstances, the more assistance he can offer.
That was the first time he'd felt that warmth in his chest - the look of utter relief and gratitude in your eyes, nearly tearing up.
Nanami watches you try to compose yourself, discreetly slides the tissues closer to you as you tell him a much-shortened version of your story.
The father isn't present because he doesn't want anything to do with this child.
It's a disheartening tale, made no less so by the fact that he himself had always dreamed of being a father.
At a young age, he'd discovered that he was completely sterile. So becoming a doctor and delivering them had felt like the closes he could get.
But there's this glow in your face. A sheepish sort of smile accompanied by a little tear and a "I know it's stupid, but I've just always wanted to be a mom, and have a family, and - well. Anyways, I want this baby."
And he could be excused if his heart is moved a little. It's not professional, but is it professional when he holds the hand of a woman whose husband was too nervous to come into the room with her?
It it professional when he gives a woman one of his rarest smiles, tells her she's doing great, she'll see her baby soon?
It it professional how his heart leaps as the infant starts crowning, how it races in his chest as he helps to deliver this new life into the world?
It is professional when he assures worried mothers that they're still beautiful, that their bodies are perfectly natural and healthy even if they never appear identical to how they were before?
Professional is not always what's best for his patients. And being a good doctor means being what his patients need, not the model of a distant physician.
So Nanami doesn't think about being professional when he reaches out to hold your hand, telling you with a smile that he'll help you get through with this.
He provides resources, walks you through getting aid from different programs, helps you in any way he can. Above and beyond.
So what if he's blurring lines? You're his patient. You're all alone in this journey. He's the only one here to help you through this. Of course he'll go the extra mile to help.
Nanami is only human. He could be excused for having a favorite patient.
He watches you grow more and more anxious as your body changes. He prescribes you sleep aids, nausea medication, prenatal vitamins.
When you get the ultrasound, he's the first person you show it to. You tell him with a laugh that he's the only one so far, and he can't help but embrace you, boundaries be damned.
It's beautiful. You're having a girl, a beautiful baby girl, and he's sure she'll look just like you. He asks you what names you're thinking of and you're bursting with ideas to tell him.
It occurs to him, heartbreakingly, that you're the only person he has to share this with.
So animated, so creative and full of life. How could anyone abandon a wonderful young woman like you? Who wouldn't want you in their life?
Security lets him know that there's a man who's been waiting outside the clinic. They've seen you arguing with him - gone out to break things up, too.
Your conversations with him grow more hesitant. You're nervous, and he's perhaps a little pushy in asking why, reminding you that stress isn't good for the baby.
You laugh sheepishly (why? why are you always so demure? you act like you're just waiting to be struck down. it terrifies him.), telling him that 'the father' has recently come back into your life, and you're not sure.
There's a little sigh you make that tells him he's in, you're about to spill. And he doesn't like what he hears.
Your boyfriend - ex-boyfriend - didn't want the baby at all at first. He blew up at you, telling you to get an abortion, or get dumped.
Obviously, you kept the child, and he'd summarily left. You stumble on your words and Nanami wonders just how amicable that parting was.
Apparently, he's outside the clinic now to "reconcile". His parents, traditional and wealthy folk, have threatened to cut him off. He's talking about getting married now, you mention with a bitter laugh.
It doesn't pass his notice, the contemplative nature of your tone, how you pause and look away before you rub your neck and mention something about how you shouldn't be so harsh, he's trying and it was selfish of you to want to keep the baby when you knew he didn't want it.
Something dark and terrible boils up inside him at the thought. He has never, ever tried to sway a woman for or against terminating a pregnancy, only informed them.
And he comes across them every day. Men like this, who thought women and their pregnancies were props, mere fixtures in their lives to be taken down or put up whenever they wanted.
What he wouldn't give to have a child of his own. To deliver a baby and just... keep it in his arms, knowing he would take that fragile, teary creature home. Knowing he would watch it grow up alongside the woman it came from.
You laugh it off, haltingly. Ask Nanami, with your head hung low, if he knows any programs you can sign up for, or places that sell prenatal vitamins at a discount.
Nanami tries very hard to ignore the thought that springs up in the back of his mind.
I could take care of you. I would take care of you.
He ignores the thoughts, dismisses them, and then the daydreams start.
It's not like he doesn't have money. He's a doctor. There's money in the bank, but what does he have? Working long hours every day only to come back to an empty home, empty bed.
Empty life. No friends, no family, just work, work, work.
And it's for a reason. He loves his job, he loves helping you - women like you. He spends his days caring for women and their pregnancies, only to deliver and hand off the child to another man.
But these men wouldn't take better care of these children than him. Who could take better care of your aches and pains and struggles than him? Who could understand you, empathize with you, support you like he could?
It's not the man that lurks outside the clinic with an angry look on his face. The man who discarded you like trash, and now wants to pick you back up like a misplaced toy.
So Nanami makes a choice. You're his favorite patient, after all.
He doesn't want to do this. He's a doctor, he's sworn to do no harm. But some things are simply inexcusable.
Nanami's done a lot of favors for a lot of people. One Fushiguro Toji, whose wife he saved on the operating table, one well-connected former classmate Gojo Satoru, and the man disappears.
You come to him the next day, crying. Tears in your eyes. Your former boyfriend - the one who said he would reconcile, the one who wanted to see your daughter - he didn't show up.
He takes one of your hands in his, nodding and humming at all the right parts. Sympathy pouring out through his eyes.
It's terrible to see you like this. It really is. You never deserved this, none of it. You're an angel, really, heaven-sent, and you'll be such a wonderful mother, once the baby arrives.
But since he's dead, it's not as if his name needs to be on the birth certificate. You could put any name you wanted on there. That's for later, though.
Right now you need comfort and reassurance. You need someone to take charge, to help you through this, and he's been the one doing that this whole time.
You've been on your own, trying so hard, waiting for a man who didn't deserve you to come back and treat you with basic human dignity. And Nanami had spared you that fate.
One day, you'll be grateful things turned out like this. For now, he just holds you, strokes your back while you cry, shushes you.
Nanami smiles to himself. It isn't professional.
It isn't professional, but being professional comes second to being a good doctor. To being the person you needed in your life.
Based on your delivery date... he's quite sure he could make it a June wedding.
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(Not) About Us - Karina x reader


SYNOPSIS: A young idol's mental fatigue messes up her life beyond expectations but when the world is cold Karina is your warm home.
CONTENT WARNING: angst/smut, little discussion, make-up sex, slaps, comfort
A/N: Chat I would kiss her so sofly :(
I've been wanting to write a bit of angst for a while now, so I hope you like it :)

The walk home was quiet, eerily quiet. In the noisy streets of Seoul, tiredness was the loudest noise in people's minds. As a young idol in the industry, your days were almost always busy and tiring, but despite that, the walk home usually felt good, almost as if the world was redeeming itself by giving you at least 15 minutes of rest.
It was in these turbulent times that you began to question yourself... About your career, your personal life, your choices. Maybe it was just the difficulties of being in this industry knocking on your door, weighing your body down and changing your attitudes. Maybe it was just a phase.
The hood of your sweatshirt covered most of your face and the mask helped you hide your identity. The hallway light turns on as you step out of the elevator and cross to your door, your hand reaching for the doorknob, taking a deep breath as you hesitantly type in the password.
You already know what to expect, but you open the door and walk through, taking off your mask and hoping that maybe today won't be like the last two weeks. But you spot the figure sitting in the armchair on the darkest side of the shared apartment's living room.
Your fingers reach for the switch, turning on the light and revealing the expressionless face of the woman you loved. Your eyes watch her run her fingers through the pages of one of the books you had given her for her last birthday. She doesn't say anything at you and you think that maybe silence would be better than another argument to fill your ears.
Then she leaves the book on the stool next to her, gets up, puts on her little slippers and walks towards you, passing straight past you with her body lightly brushing against yours, following the corridor that led to the room.
You finally exhale, realizing that you've been holding your breath and your body tense since the moment you set foot here.
Your eyes scan the room before turning to the hallway, hands clenched as your feet drain all the courage you have in your body to walk to the room.
Opening the already open door, you can see her leaving her glasses on the table next to the headboard of the bed, she lets her hair down and it flows perfectly down her back, long dark and soft curls.
You finally walk in and she doesn't look at you again. Sighing, you sit on the bed with your back to her, taking off your sweatshirt and quickly getting up to go to the bathroom. You take your time in the shower, feeling the hot water soothe the pain in your back.
The wrinkled fingertips betrayed your commitment to avoiding the inevitable — and necessary — conversation. The sight of the sweatsuit waiting on one of the pieces of furniture decorating the room made your heart clench. She had set it aside for you, even during this moment.
You take your time to brush your teeth, already wrapped in the comfort of your clothes. The sight of her lying with her back to you fills your vision as you approach the bed.
The secondary lamps are the only source of light that illuminates the room. Your eyes stare at the ceiling for a long five minutes after you insert yourself between the heavy blanket and the large, soft bed. But you can't help but look back at her, far enough away that you miss her warmth, her smell, and the sound of her breathing.
"Karina." You whisper as you turn towards her, your hands itching to touch her but you don't.
She doesn't respond, nor does she move.
"Jimin... Please." You whisper again. And you see her body shiver.
"What do you want?" She tries to speak firmly, but you can hear the fragility in her tone.
The room is silent as you select your words.
"Can we talk?" Your voice comes out carefully.
"Now you want to talk? You've been avoiding me all week, Y/N." She says irritably.
The words don't come out of your mouth and she continues.
"You leave early, you stay there longer than you need to, you take a long time to get home and when you get home you hole up in that damn studio." The grinding of her teeth is clear as she raises her voice, turning to you.
Your words falter, swallowing for a moment the shame of your own actions.
"So what do you want now?" She repeats, staring at you with her brow furrowed in anger.
"I just... I thought we could talk, like... A real talk. No yelling." The words come out slowly, at this point you can see the anger bubbling in her eyes as she takes her time watching you.
"Okay. So where have you been? Who have you been with?" She shifts on the bed, towering over you. "When you're not at work and don't even come home." Somehow you know she's been thinking about this often, maybe because of the way she immediately mentioned it.
"You know I always stay longer than my office hours." You say, sitting up in bed.
"I know?" An unhappy laugh is uttered. "Yoona assured me that you weren't there during the twenty times in a row I called to check on you." She refers to the leader of your group.
You sigh, not believing what she's implying. "Jimin... please. I'm not always in Yoona's sight." Your tone can describe a bit of discontent.
"Come on, Y/N. Be honest once and for all." The voice echoes in a delicate thread about to break.
“I’m not cheating on you, Jimin.” You make sure to meet her eyes as you say this. “I could never do that.” Your head falls back, closing your eyes and sighing before turning your gaze back to her. “It’s not that.”
"So what is it? What makes you come back late, avoid me and dodge around." Her tone gives her away, the restrained words coming out as if they were stuck in the back of her throat.
"I just... I've been going through some things. Work..." Your throat tightens. But you have to do this, you know you have to make sure she knows that... "It's not about us."
"But you're the one doing this to us." She whispered, tears starting to stream down her face. And fuck... That hurt, it hurt more than when she pointed her finger at you about her suspicions, it hurt more than the angry words exchanged over the past few weeks, because you knew it was true, you knew it was your fault.
"Jimin..." This time you don't hesitate, your hand reaches out to reach her, sliding over the tears that were streaming down the woman in front of you. You can feel the warm skin in contrast to the cold tears that ran down your hand.
As much as she briefly thinks about pulling away, she can't. She misses you, she misses your touch on her, your love.
She chokes, trying at all costs to stop crying but the small sobs come to the surface with the persistence of her tears.
"Don't cry, please don't cry." You gently beg, your voice low as your hands cup her face.
Your fingers stroke her sadness-stained cheeks and her blurred eyes look up at you. You step closer to her, your faces inches apart.
"Shh... I'm here. It's okay." You stated, trying to reassure her. Your foreheads were now touching, your gazes locked even though she couldn't see much in her current situation.
Her hands reach out to grip the hem of your sweatshirt, her grip firm as she tries to make sure you’re really there.
"My love." You whisper, placing kisses on her face. She continues to pant as her sobs fill the room. "I'm sorry I did wrong to you." Your hand moves to the back of her neck, caressing every skin it touches.
"I thought..." She shudders before completing her sentence. Her chest rises and falls unevenly.
"No, no, never." You insist, nodding. You can feel the pressure of her grip on you, pulling you toward her. "There's only you." Her eyes meet yours again, swollen and watery.
"Do you promise?" She whispers, her voice weak and exuding fragility.
"Babe, I promise." The gentleness is present in your tone. "I'm so sorry." Your lips brush against hers as she gasps for breath, her tears stifling.
Your mouth moves forward millimeters, feeling the softness of her lips and the great gusts of air that enter and leave her mouth. You press your touch to the warmth of her half-open mouth, the delicate contact expressing all the care and love you have for her.
Her lips slowly meet your, effectively sealing them in a kiss. Parting for another breath of oxygen and meeting again.
Her tongue slid over your lip, exerting pressure to enter your mouth. Your saliva mixed and her taste intoxicated you like a sweet warm shot of tequila.
She gasped into your mouth, pulling you desperately towards her. Your sighs were inevitable as her nails scraped the skin of your waist through the gap in your sweatshirt. Your body followed hers, carefully laying her down on the bed and placing yourself on top with her legs on either side of hers.
"Mmmph..." She bites your bottom lip before you pull away, you lowering yourself towards her neck.
"Jimin..." You whisper into her neck between wet kisses, sending goosebumps across her skin. Her legs open to receive your hips.
All you hear are the murmurs she lets out whenever you run your tongue over her or catch the skin between your teeth, marking her with a red that makes her sigh.
Your hands slide down over her pajama shirt, settling on her hips to squeeze the soft flesh. Gently your hands rise along with the fabric, with her help you manage to remove what was blocking the view of your paradise.
Your eyes travel down her figure, trying to imprint the image in your mind. Her rosy face and closed eyes furrowing her brows, her blotchy neck and her large breasts moving with her rapid breathing.
Her tapered waist and wide hips painted by the pale skin your hands touched. She has no flaws at all, and you feel guilt build up in your chest.
The path your hands trace is warm, the skin that fills your palms is firm and soft. Her eyes open as your fingers tighten, squeezing her boobs.
The heat that takes over her is expressed in the way her hips advance beneath you, seeking contact.
"Oh..." Escapes her mouth, her low, gravelly voice reaching your ears as you lean down, your tongue snaking across the bristling areola.
Your tongue runs over the entire breast before wrapping around the nipple and sucking it between your lips. Your hand never stops working the other, teasing it with small pinches.
"Y/N!" She exclaims louder, your teeth working on the sensitive area. Her full breasts are pink with darker spots from the hickeys you've beautifully distributed all over her.
Her hips move, grinding against you. Her hands hang on the back of your neck, pressing your face even harder into her, you can feel her nails digging into your skin as you pulls harder between your lips.
She lifts her hips off the bed as your hands travel to the edge of her pants, pulling her panties off with them. Your mouth trembles with desire as you see her pale, shapely thighs squeezing her intimacy.
Your fingers wander again over the slender body laid out below you. Feeling yourself throb as you gaze at her.
"You're so beautiful." It escapes your mouth without you even questioning it. Her bright eyes staring deeply into yours, her body moving vaguely in a hurry.
She likes it. Karina loves having your eyes on her and your compliments directed only at her. Seeing your tongue moving over your lips as you saw her exposed made her feel desired, powerful, loved.
When she was like that, with her legs opening slightly to give you the pleasure of her glistening folds, and you saw your brain stop for seconds, completely enchanted by her. All of this made her own mind imagine the feeling of having you inside her.
"Y/N, please." She asked in the way she knew you liked, low in a growl. Trying to rub herself against your thigh next to her.
You quickly removed the sweatshirt that covered your torso wrapped in a tight tank top. Your hands hurried to lift her legs, making her sigh due to the pressure of your fingers on her open thighs.
She felt the cold air in the room in contact with the throbbing heat that was already seeping out by now.
Her hands squeezing her own breasts, before having you between her legs. Your mouth kissing and sucking the white skin of her inner thighs, on the way to paradise.
Her scent filled the air, filling your lungs with the most delicious aroma. Your mouth glided along her sides, kissing her larger lips. The feeling of being on the edge of an abyss about to fall.
She gasps with delicious sounds as your tongue slips over her soaked folds. Gliding smoothly over the soft skin, dipping into the slit that expelled the liquids into your mouth.
"Oh, oh... Fuck!" She moaned needily, pressing your head into her and lifting her hips to grind herself into your mouth.
Her mouth drops open as her eyes roll back at the pressure of your tongue on her sweetest spot.
"Tell.... Tell me you're mine." She begs through gritted teeth, fucking your face hard. Your scalp is starting to feel sore from the way she's gripping your strands and forcing your head down.
"I'm yours. Only yours." You reply messily with your mouth full of pussy. Your teeth scraping deliciously against her swollen clit and your tongue pressing against her entrance.
Her mind is confused and aching from the impact of her pussy with her face. She starts to rub it on his face, enjoying the way her liquids make him wet, and how his eyes express nothing but an empty mind desperate for her pussy.
"Ah... Yes, you're mine." She moans softly, reveling in the sensation of your mouth devouring her. Her hands reach up to her hair as you sink into her.
"You're mine," you say through gritted teeth, sucking her clit between your lips hard as your hands work to keep her legs open.
The soft flesh spreads in your hands, filling them completely. Your body begins to shudder in his hands, your hips stuttering as they thrust into you.
"Fuck, fuck... I'm gonna cum."
You allow her thighs to close around your head, pressing her pussy hard into your face as she melts into you.
The moans echo in sequence as you feel your mind go numb for a few minutes due to lack of air.
She takes several deep breaths, panting with pleasure. Her arms fall to her sides and her legs slacken around her, demonstrating her lack of strength after orgasm.
You partially raise your torso, watching her mumble some nonsense to your ears.
Her thighs tremble slightly at your soft touch on them, roaming inside her, squeezing in some places for the pleasure of hearing her gasp, still dizzy with pleasure.
Your wait isn’t long, she barely recovers before your fingers are wandering even closer to her throbbing cunt. You can feel the heat emanating from her core, her sensitive hips pulling away ever so slightly, only to press back into the touch.
"Ugh... I haven't... I haven't recovered yet." She struggles to catch her breath.
"Let me show you how much I love you. Hm?" You state more than ask. Your fingers, which had previously been pressed to spread her legs, now touch directly to her core.
Wet skin, sliding over your fingerprints, her hole opening and closing slowly, pulsing as if begging you to fill her. Your fingers press against her, but return to roaming calmly around her sensitive clit.
"Ah... I..." She can't find the words to speak when she feels your fingers tug lightly on her hard spot. Her hands fly to her hair when she doesn't know what to do with them. She feels herself shiver, her throat closing and her womb tightening with the pressure of your fingers.
Your fingers slide down her slit, now inserting one inside her. Slowly getting used to it, you know she's too sensitive, her walls gripping tightly around your length.
You can feel them opening and closing as your finger pushes deeper, reaching all the way to the base of it. You arches inside her, hitting her pleasure spot, her hips jerking up with a loud moan.
"Mmmph..." She bites her own hand to keep from screaming when you insert the second finger at once. You're almost certain she hurt herself with the force of the bite.
Warm walls expand around you, molding themselves to your shape. The high blood pressure makes it all better, the clenched fingers squeezing all the remaining sanity from your needy body.
Your fingers start to pound hard inside her, in sync with your other hand that moves towards her face. Forcing her to open her eyes to look at you when you hold her by the jaw, you can see her cloudy and shiny eyes, her swollen and open mouth that drips a trickle of saliva.
A firm slap makes her eyes widen as your palm touches the now red skin, your hand immediately caressing the spot. Her pussy throbs at the same time, pulling you deeper inside, sliding around you, the texture of her insides leaving your brain overstimulated.
"Take it. Take it all." You command, your fingertips hitting her most pleasurable spot.
"Oh... Uh... Fuck! Ugh..." Her moans are cut off when you shove your fingers inside her mouth. Sliding over her soft tongue, bathed in her saliva.
She works her mouth over you lazily as your fingers pound inside her holes. You feel her gasp as her pussy begins to convulse in your hand, her juices spilling over your palm and wrist, dripping onto the expensive white sheets.
Your hand speeds up, fucking her hard even as her thighs struggle to stop the impact. She starts to whimper as you slap her breasts again, turning the marked skin red again.
"It's my love, take it." You whisper in her ear as you lift up to kiss her neck.
"Ugh... Y/N!" She exclaims once again, completely melting into you. Her nails tearing into your back and her legs squeezing your hand between them with her hips chasing her pleasure.
"Oh..." Her breath echoes loudly through the room, her body softening beneath you. Your fingers tremble inside her to pull out. "No... No, leave it there. Leave it inside." She begs, her eyes dazed from her recent orgasm.
You laugh, pulling your hand out slowly, she stops you halfway, both hands grabbing your wrist to push back in. You look into her eyes and know that even though they look silly, she's not joking.
"Baby, let me taste you a little. I promise I'll put you back in." You wait for her to let you, your grip on her hands loosening hesitantly.
Your fingers come out with a sigh from both of them, lifting them your mouth to suck on them. You run your tongue between them to taste the milky cum with a moan. She keeps her eyes on you even though they are heavy with fatigue.
"So delicious, my love." You climb on top of her to seal your lips gently. She moans into your mouth feeling her own taste flavor the kiss.
"I'm so sorry... It won't happen again." You whisper against her lips, your regret expressed in all your actions, in the shine in your eyes.
"It's okay now. I understand." She matches your tone. "We'll deal with this together." Her fingers caress the arm hanging over her waist.
"Yes." You affirm with conviction. Her hands move down your arm to your hand, her lips pressing back to yours in a calm kiss, her hands directing yours to the middle of her thighs.
You giggle as she places you in her warmth, your fingers filling her again and she moans into your mouth.
You settle into each other as comfortably as you can, your bodies intertwined in a lovely warmth.
"I love you. I love you so much." You say, caressing her sleepy face, removing the strands of hair from her eyes.
"I love you too." She smiles big, falling asleep in your arms within minutes.
For the first time in about a month you feel at peace with life, with yourself again.
#aespa#karina#yoo jimin#yu jimin#karina x reader#karina smut#aespa smut#kpop smut#f!reader#yoo jimin x reader#yu jimin x you#yu jimin x reader#aespa x reader#aespa x fem reader#female reader
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How the heck do I make a system? A brief introduction
This guide includes brief mentions of suicide and brief descriptions of abuse.
Hi there! My name is Arthur, and I'm a tulpa of the Fluffy Crew. If you're here, I'm assuming you're a singlet who doesn't know much about system creation (but has interacted with the plural community), and wants to intentionally create fully separate headmates. If you're not that, you're welcome here too, but I'm writing with that audience in mind. This will be a long one, so everything else is under the cut.
First, I want you to ask yourself, am I ready to make a system? Becoming a system is a big decision. You are going to be sharing your mind, including the most intimate and private parts, with other people 24/7, for the rest of your life. You will have to give up some of your time and energy to the rest of your system, and more than some if you plan on having them interact with the outside world at all. If you consider all of that and you decide being a system isn't something you want, that's okay. This is a deeply personal decision, and nothing you should be forced into. I highly recommend waiting until adulthood before making this decision, but I also can't exactly stop you.
(suicide and abuse mention in this paragraph) Second, I want you to ask yourself, WHY do I want to be a system? Is it something selfish? Is it going to hurt myself or my headmates? All reasons are going to be a little selfish, and that's okay. But consider what your goals are. Do you want a friend? Do you want to know if this is even real? Do you have an interest in mind hacking and find this really cool? These are "selfish" reasons, but they aren't malicious. When you cross the line into goals that hurt one of you that's the trouble spot. A lot of people want to become plural and switch because they're overwhelmed with the world and want escapism. Others want to force their headmates to fill specific roles, such as being a partner or their favorite character. I've heard of too many systems where the host destroys their own personality and leaves their created headmate alone as an alternative to suicide. Your headmate is a conscious person who can be hurt just like you. If you can't act like a responsible person who can respect and cooperate with their headmates as equals, I suggest not becoming a system until you can.
But let's say you decide that, yep. You 100%, beyond a shadow of a doubt, want to be a system, and you're not doing it to have a brain slave or to withdraw from the world. Do you have someone already in mind? A base can definitely help your mind latch on, but it isn't necessary. A base can be anything from a whole character, to a few personality traits in a list, to just a name and gender. Keep in mind, your headmate will likely diverge from this. A good host encourages this, nurturing a headmate's self-expression.
Speaking of being a good host, there is a certain mindset you should keep in mind. You are here to nurture and help your created headmates grow. You're going to have to be gentle with your mental presence sometimes, especially in the beginning where your personality can accidentally easily dominate. But don't feel like you have to lesser yourself to greater your headmates. You can all grow and become greater together.
Now, we are going to focus and form ONE headmate. For the love of god, do not do what we did and create four at once. Its overwhelming and leads to a lot of guilt over not spending enough time with everyone, speaking from experience. If you are starting with a base, dedicate any traits and visuals to memory. If you aren't, it may help to create a simple visual form to focus on when interacting with them. In tulpamancy, a ball of light is a traditional choice, but you can choose anything you can think of. Visual forms are not necessary for creation, but many enjoy the ability to visualize them and interact in headspace. Headspace creation will not be gone over here.
In my opinion, the best way to start is an introduction. Feel the space in your mind where they are, or at least try to. You are going to direct your thoughts to this space, your headmate. If they have a visual form, visualize it as vividly as you can. Introduce yourself to them, and explain your intention of creating a system. Explain that they are a headmate of yours, and the form you are visualizing is theirs to control. If they have a base, explain who they are and tell them that they are that base, though they are free to change it. Invite them to respond back, and keep an open mind.
Try to spend time with your headmate every day, as much as you can. You are having to build the mental connections that form your headmate by hand, and that takes a LOT of repetition. Spending time with them could be a lot of things. It could be speaking with them as you go about your day, immersing yourself in headspace with them, working on a new system skill, playing a game together, or just hanging out. Try to be varied in the type of interaction you do.
Eventually, you will start getting responses. These probably won't be words at first. More likely, they'll be an emotional response that feels "alien" and "not you", a sense of pressure in your head, or a raw thought or feeling that isnt yours. It can be difficult to hear their responses, especially if you have a busy mind. You have to try not to block out their thoughts from appearing, as especially in the beginning that's easy to do. Their responses may sound like you at first, but that will get better with time and practicing separation.
Now, there isnt exactly one way to form a headmate, and you should experiment on your own to find what works best for you and your system. We theorize the most basic mechanism for created plurality is your brain being allowed to think as someone who isn't the host, over and over, until it happens subconsciously. The difference between a headmate and an imaginary friend or character is autonomy. Wren used to daydream constantly but it didn't lead to a system because they didn't allow their characters any freedom of thought. It was all very much puppeteering. When they started roleplaying, they allowed the characters to "think" on their own, imagining what their emotions and thoughts would be, separate from theirs. This eventually caused me and the other original three to start forming, due to that freedom of thought. Anything that allows your headmate to gain that autonomous thought is just as valid as any other method.
How long development could take varies a lot. Some people are more predisposed to be plural, and become a system easier and quicker than others. Some people have a really hard time becoming plural, and it takes a lot more effort and time to become a system. Singlets who already talk to themselves, have dissociative tendencies, are easily hypnotized, and are creative storytellers tend to have a high disposition for being plural. It could take as short as a week, or as long as years. Average times are around 3-6 months with dedicated work. It took us 18 months to feel confident in saying we were a fully realized system, but we also struggled with motivation and dedication.
The most common system goal is to have fully-realized independent headmates who can operate without their host's help and do not fade without interaction. The best way to get to this stage is just time. Keep spending time with them and living your life together. Treat them as independent, and they will become independent quicker. Your expectations shape a lot of your experiences when it comes to system creation.
I'm not going to cover any more advanced techniques like switching or headspace creation in this guide, as this is meant to be a jumping-off point for beginners. This is our first attempt at a guide and would love to improve. If you have any comments or questions, please feel free to reach out!
Have a wonderful day, and I wish you the best of luck on your system journey!
#plural#system#plural system#pluralgang#created system#tulpamancy#willogenic#parogenic#plural community#endo safe#plurality#pro endo#pro tulpa#guides#How to#paromancy#willomancy#cw sui mention#cw abuse mention#Resources
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Lovely To Be Rained On With You

Summary: 3K. Reader and Joel rush to find shelter from the storm
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, post-outbreak, oral f!receiving, unprotected PIV, creampie
A/N: okay I have spent so much time on here reading other Joel fics and enjoying myself so I kinda wanted to give back. but first of all I need to get three things off my chest. one, it's been a long time since I've written anything. two, this is my first writing The Last of Us. three, and probably most important as I beg for kindness, it's my first time writing smut. this has been sitting in my docs for too long so Imma just press post and walk away. enjoy! AO3
EDIT: This was a one shot that got continued! You can find it here: Lovely To Sleep With You
The weather was changing rapidly. Not long ago it had only been partly cloudy, but now, for as far as the eye could see, the sky was one massive, threatening cloud. The leaves danced on their branches as the gusting wind flowed through them; their rustling a constant melody accompanied by the quickening beat of two pairs of boots.
Tightening the grip on your rifle, you look up at the darkening sky. The weapon could protect you from a lot, but not from this. It had been four days since you left camp and it was still another day’s walk until you returned.
There was no outrunning this storm.
A few feet ahead of you Joel Miller marches onward, his broad frame and long legs setting a rapid pace you struggle to keep up with. The pack on your back is overfilled and heavy with recently looted goods. It causes your steps to be slow, more cautious and measured.
You take a deep breath, “Joel…?” you begin. You’re both thinking it. Someone has to say it out loud. “It’s gonna pour in any minute.”
His graying curls dance along with the leaves in the wind. He steps over a fallen tree then turns and offers his hand to help you over. You graciously accept it, sliding your fingers over his calloused hand. The weight of the bag digs into your shoulders as you step over. Had it not been for the heavy sack you would have been closer to camp by now, but those supplies are the sole reason the two of you journeyed so far away.
“I know,” he says as you join him on the other side of the log.
“We’re too far from camp—”
“I know,” he repeats, his brows furrowing. He scouts the distance, bright eyes scanning left and right, through the trees and beyond. A bead of sweat slowly falls down his face, the unseasonable hot May weather demanding to be acknowledged.
“There was a cabin…” he trails off, lost in thought. You look ahead, only seeing trees. “D’you remember? Was it before or after all those alliums we saw?”
You think back and try to remember this area from a few days ago but a lot had happened since: Joel injured his shoulder wrestling with a jammed door; you found and promptly devoured a can of ravioli; there were two separate attacks with solitary infected; finding the motherlode of supplies in what looked like a doomsday prepper’s basement; oh, and then there was last night.
Still riding the high of finding all those medical supplies and ammunition (and a bottle of bourbon), the two of you spent last evening in high spirits. You shared stories and laughed and drank. Joel hummed a tune that had you swaying your hips and smiling towards the obsidian sky. For a moment things felt so easy and normal.
At some point that night, with only a sliver of the moon in the sky, you stumbled in the darkness and fell into Joel’s arms. You had looked up at him, your hand rested on his strong chest as you breathed in the scent of him. Your body tingled where his hands pressed into your waist. The stars twinkled above him as he smiled crookedly and whispered, “y’okay, sweetheart?” and you nearly confessed. Nearly told him how you truly felt about him. Nearly revealed you knew he watched you when he thought you couldn’t see.
Nearly kissed his gorgeous face.
But then he dropped his hands, the magic of the moment gone, and you swallowed your feelings. You fell asleep last night wishing things were different. Wishing Joel was yours.
A single raindrop plopping on your forehead brings you back to the present. “We saw the cabin first,” you recall. “And then the flowers.”
Joel nods, walking forward even faster than he had before. He too must have felt a raindrop.
The two of you continue onwards, the sky teasing you with singular drops of rain as you migrant the woodsy terrain. It doesn’t take long until you see them in the distance.
Alliums. The purple flowers, towering high on skinny stalks, sway in the wind. The bulbous plant, petals like bursting fireworks, are scattered across the field. The sight of them brings you relief. It shouldn’t be much longer until you find the cabin.
Just as you walk past the last bunch of flowers the sky begins to open up. The rain comes softly at first. Small drops that slide off your skin and moisten your clothing. Foolishly, you believe if it continues like this you’ll be fine. But as lightning shoots across the sky and thunder shakes your body, the drops grow heavier, their frequency increasing.
The rain continues to fall harder as you trek on. The sound of water blanketing the land drowns out everything else. Joel turns and looks behind at you, his normally bouncy hair weighted down and plastered to his face. Another clap of thunder rings as the rain soaks through you. It seeps all the layers of your clothing, through your jeans, through your socks, pooling in your boots.
Walking is becoming more difficult as your boots sink into the mud, your clothes are soaked through and heavy and your cumbersome backpack doesn’t help. You’re about to yell ahead, tell Joel it doesn’t even matter anymore, that you’re too tired, but then you see the cabin.
It’s a tiny little thing. The sheltered patio leads into one cozy room. To your right is a kitchenette, directly in front of you is a small living space, and further back, against the wall rests a bed. There’s a closed off area there as well, presumably a bathroom.
Joel crosses the cabin, his hand resting on the pistol holstered to his hip, and peers into the smaller room. His posture relaxes and he gives a quick nod. The cabin is safe.
You rest your rifle against the wall by the door and unceremoniously drop your bag. Relief spreads through your bones. You arch your back and stretch your arms upwards, pulling the muscles along your spine. You glance across the room and there it is again—Joel is watching you. His eyes travel your body and linger where your soaked top clings to your chest.
He’s lost in the sight of you. You raise your arms higher, his gaze warming your cheeks and your core, and you push your chest further out to taunt him. The wet fabric is unforgiving and you're sure he can see your hardened nipples even from across the room.
You decide to break the silence. “You think it will last long?”
Joel snaps to attention, his eyes finding yours as he runs his fingers through his hair. “Huh? What was that?”
“The storm,” you pause to lick your lips. “Do you think it’ll last long?”
Joel sets his backpack down at the head of the bed. “Not too sure,” he looks past you out the window at the turbulent weather, “regardless, we should stay here for the night.” He opens his bag and begins to rummage through it.
You nod as you walk over to the foot of bed. With your back facing him you sit on the edge. “In that case I’m gonna get out of these clothes.”
You wrap your fingers under the hem of your shirt and pull it over your head. You toss the clothing and it lands with a loud slap on the wooden floor. After kicking off your boots and socks you lift your hips off the bed enough to push your jeans to your thighs. You struggle to get the tight and stiff wet denim off your legs.
You lean back on your forearms and look behind at Joel. He’s suddenly very interested in his bag. You watch as he digs around, the muscles in his arms pressing against his tee. His face is glistening wet and it highlights the slope of his nose and the curve of his jaw. He’s just as handsome as always.
“Hey, Joel?” You bite your lip and wait for his attention.
His hands still as he looks down at you. “Yes, sweetheart?”
The endearment makes your heart swell. You swing your dangling legs. “Can you help me out of these? They’re giving me trouble.”
He looks at the jeans halfway down your thighs. You’ve changed in front of Joel before but after last night, after spending so much time alone with him, things have gotten intimate. You feel exposed half undressed in your mismatched undergarments, but it’s also exciting and your breath quickens under Joel’s glare.
“Yeah, I can help,” he nearly whispers. He drops his bag on the floor, the stuff within no longer important, and rounds the bed. You lift your legs when he gets close and await his touch.
He holds your ankles first. Gathering the material there, he attempts to pull, but the jeans barely move. So his hands climb up, over your calves, then behind your knees, and when they reach your thighs he pauses. He hooks onto the edge of the material, his thick fingers touching your bare skin, and pulls.
The jeans start to give way. As he tugs your body jostles, your breasts bouncing lightly in your worn bra, each jerk becoming more arousing. Once he’s peeled your pants off he discards them onto the floor along with your shirt.
“There ya go,” he says as he comes between your legs and leans in. “Will you be needin’ anything else?”
He looks at you, his eyes intense and questioning. He’s so close you can feel his body heat, even with his cool wet shirt brushing against your bare torso. A flash of lightning briefly brightens the room. You swallow hard and wait for the resounding thunder. You won’t repeat last night. You won’t let this moment pass.
“Kiss me,” you whisper.
And suddenly Joel’s lips are pressed against yours. He kisses you hungrily, mashing himself against you, finally feeding the longing you’ve both felt for some time. You part your mouth and allow his tongue entry as you melt into him. You explore each other, your hands running along his chest as you’re rendered breathless under his kissing. Your fingers tangle in his shirt. You pull at the fabric wanting to feel his skin against yours.
Joel breaks from the heated kiss and straightens his body. His eyes are dark and filled with lust as he yanks his shirt off. You watch him as you scoot back on the bed and fully lay down. He kicks off his boots and undoes his belt and jeans. His body is strong from years of manual labor. There’s a line of hair on his soft belly that trails under his boxers.
“What else do you need, sweetheart?”
You can’t tell if the roaring in your ears is the sound of the rain or of your quickly beating heart. Joel waits for your answer as he unclips the gun holster from his belt and rests it on the floor. His hardening cock springs free when he drops his pants and boxers.
He strokes himself slowly and you watch as his cock gets harder in his grasp. You rub your thighs together, desperately seeking relief for the growing ache between your legs. You unclasp your bra and cup your breasts. Joel softly grunts when you pinch your nipples between your fingers.
The sight of him bare and beautiful leaves you breathless. He looks so handsome with his hair slicked back and glossy from the rain. The sight of his cock, hard and ready for you, sets you on fire. He licks his lips and all you can think about is those lips on you. On your mouth, on your tits, on your cunt. You have never wanted someone so badly.
“You, Joel,” you finally say. “I need you.”
He smiles at your answer and makes his way onto the bed. He takes his time crawling up to you, planting kisses along the way. He pauses when he meets the apex of your legs.
His fingers curl around the band of your panties and he pulls them down and off. You open your legs, inviting him in, so desperate for his touch.
He looks up with hungry eyes. “I want to taste you,” he says as his fingers part your pussy lips, opening you even further for him.
Joel opens his mouth and presses his tongue against your cunt. He licks up, takes his time savoring you until he passes over your sensitive bundle of nerves. The sensation has you moaning and lifting your hips to meet his mouth.
“Oh, Joel,” you whine as he continues sucking and licking you, alternating between the flat of his tongue and the point of his tip. One of his large fingers finds the entrance to your hole and pushes inside.
“Fuck, you’re so wet for me already,” he mumbles into your folds. “One of my fingers isn’t enough, is it?”
Your hands run through his hair as he inserts another finger inside you, your walls clenching around him. He pumps his fingers in and out of you, curling them into the spot within you that has you moaning his name.
Your pleasure grows as Joel finds his rhythm, his mouth and hand working together to bring you closer and closer to orgasm.
“Please, Joel,” you’re begging, pleading with him. “Don’t stop! I’m so close, please don’t stop!”
So he doesn’t. His moans join your screams of pleasure until the pressure in your core finally snaps. Your back arches and your legs shake as your orgasm rips through you. Joel’s fingers continue to work through your high, prolonging your pleasure until your legs relax and your grip loosens from his hair.
“Fuck,” you exhale as Joel crawls up, his strong body caging around you. He leans into you, the touch of his skin on yours and the weight of him soothing your body. He nestles his face into the crook of your neck as one of his hands squeezes your breast, his fingers playfully twisting your nipple.
He’s planting kisses on you again, on your neck, along your jaw, then on your lips. You moan when you taste your own release on his tongue as he slips it between your lips. You spread your legs further underneath him, a fire burning in your core that only he can put out. His cock rests thick and hard between you.
“I still need you,” you whisper, lifting your hips to grind yourself against the length of him. You need all of him, every pound and every inch. You need his touch, his lips, his moans. You need him around you. You need him in you.
He grunts as you rub against him, your wet hole eager to be filled.
“I need you too,” he whispers back as he reaches in between your bodies. He grabs himself and aligns the thick head of his cock at your entrance.
You whimper as he slowly pushes himself inside you. Inch by inch your walls stretch to accommodate his shaft. Seeds of pleasure start to grow when he’s fully inserted into you.
Joel stills inside you and looks into your eyes. His face is twisted in bliss. “Goddamn, your pussy is squeezing me so tight,” he rasps. He sharply exhales when you flex your cunt around him.
You wrap your arms around his neck and pull him in for a kiss. He begins to pump his hips then, making soft shallow thrusts until he’s gotten used to the feeling of you. He moans into your mouth as he picks up the pace, nearly pulling himself out of you entirely before plummeting back into your depths.
His dick is intoxicating. Waves of pleasure wash over you each time he rams himself deep in you. He fills you completely, your wet hole stretching around the length of him.
Joel begins stroking faster, his hips snapping into you at a blinding pace. Your fingers dig into his back when he rocks into the spot that makes you arch your back and moan his name.
He smiles, satisfied with the pleasure his cock gives you. “Right there?” He asks as he continues to mercilessly drill into you, pounding your sweet spot over and over again.
“Yea—oh my god, Joel—yes!”
He’s already pushing you towards your next orgasm and he can sense it. He repositions your bodies, folding you nearly in half as he brings your knees up.
You scream out as the altered position lets him stroke deeper inside you. His cock hits your cervix, pain and pleasure meshing together, forcing you closer to the edge.
“You like that, sweetheart?” Joel asks as your moans increase in volume. “Look at your pretty pussy juices making a mess… so fucking wet.”
You look down where the two of you are connected. You watch as he disappears inside you and then reappears again, shiny with your slick. The image makes your head spin.
“I… oh fuck! I’m gonna… I’m gonna—”
“You’re gonna cum on my cock for me? Huh?” His strokes are becoming more erratic, his own orgasm approaching. “Gonna let me feel that pussy grip my dick while you cum?”
Joel’s filthy words combined with his dick destroying your cunt sends you over. You yell out as your orgasm knocks over you. Your pussy pulsates around Joel, pushing him over the edge. You milk his cock as he cums, his dick twitching inside you as his warm seed fills your hole.
The two of you lay there a while, Joel softening inside you as his body envelopes yours. When your body has relaxed and your breathing has slowed Joel softly presses his lips to yours. He rises and slowly pulls out. You feel your combined arousal spill out of you once he’s completely out of the warmth of your cunt. You immediately miss the fullness he gave you when he rolls over to lay beside you.
The storm continues on outside. Fat raindrops pellet the cabin and the wind rattles the windows. Staying in was a good call, the sky was already darkening with the approaching night.
You look over to Joel. His eyes are closed, his face is soft and relaxed. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so calm before.
“Y’okay, sweetheart,” you ask, mirroring Joel’s words from last night.
Joel chuckles as he intertwines his fingers in yours. “Yeah. I am now.”
#Joel Miller#Joel Miller x Reader#Joel Miller x You#The Last of Us#Joel Miller smut#joel miller fanfiction#chantersboardwritessometimes
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buck meta
ohhh boyyy. i've been putting this off for weeks because it takes me a minute to be objective about buck with how it feels about him around here sometimes but i wanna put all my thoughts somewhere for once and all so here you go, for my 20 followers who like to read my meta 💛
now i've been thinking about how to frame this entire thing, and i keep going back to buck's passivity that people (including me) has talked about since the breakup because this is one thing i never felt in consensus with. when people say buck's passivity it's always about him not calling tommy when he wanted to, how he should go after him and tell him he loves him, and to this day i cannot see what that would change. even if tommy was willing to reconsider his stance during the breakup because all he needed to hear was those three words (which i don't think he would). it would only put them back into this pattern where buck's passivity during the relationship would continue to be an issue.
@alchemistc wrote this awesome tommy meta the other day about how tommy's way of talking about his past in this polished way where he presents these facts like they have no emotional bearing on him anymore created an environment where buck had no way of knowing more about tommy without pushing. now i'm not gonna rehash that because i think her meta is perfect, but i wanna bring it back to buck here and his unwillingness to push. buck who's known for inserting himself in places where he's not even welcome (with eddie's entire life, with taylor and her dad, with abby and her mom). but also buck who has kept hearing he's "too much" or "making things about himself" and has a string of failed relationships in his past, suddenly finds himself in one where it feels as transformative and special as the first time he fell in love. he's comfortable, he's happy, they nominally have started on really strong foundation etc. now this is kind of a side note but while i think part of this is due to how tommy treats buck, i think another part is the freedom he finds in not having to act like "the man" in the relationship, which is awesome because heteronormal roles in relationships suck and buck has always been the giver in his relationships, but only till it skews the other way and you forget the "mutual" part of being in a relationship.
i think this combined with tommy's "water off my back" way of bringing up things about himself that again catie mentioned, and i also wrote about here, really made buck unwilling to rock the boat. do i think he was ignoring tommy when tommy was bleeding his heart open to him? no. again, the way tommy shares things about himself (like just look at the way he talks about gerrard's 118 being oppressive or the one time he brought up his dad; which he again does with the eddie reveal but we'll come back to that) doesn't really invite more digging, especially from a guy like buck whose way of inserting himself in places and wanting more has cost him many relationships.
then the abby fiasco happens. this is likely the first time buck has felt anything conflicting about tommy, especially something he has a personal connection to (now tommy doesn't know this obviously but the way he talks about being closeted with abby and breaking abby's heart is also so reminiscent of how he talks about anything to do with his personal story lol what a guy) and buck genuinely SUCKS at dealing with conflicting emotions. he's such a head in the sand guy when it comes to things that concern him personally and emotionally. he refused to acknowledge that abby had left him for a year, spent almost as long ignoring that him and taylor were on a downward trajectory, pretended eddie leaving didn't make him feel weird till it came out as him acting out and being passive aggressive, he didn't even crack open the book on his sexuality beyond what this relationship means. it is SO in character for buck and i felt this way since the moment i watched 8x06 when people were going "that's so ooc of him" to deal with the storyline (my daily reminder that characterization in an ongoing story is dynamic and there's not one true way for characters to act)
so he learns about abby, he's already unwilling to dig too much into tommy lest he hit something tommy doesn't wanna show, and this time he also has a personal connection to it. he's not gonna "make it about himself" in front of tommy obviously, so he tries to resolve and process the entire thing before the next time they even see each other. he makes peace with it, he's ready to go back to their undisturbed bubble of peace, there's no reason for them to not continue on as they have been.
then he miscalculates his level of damage control.
now i genuinely think that all buck has told tommy right before the breakup is earnest, in that he wants to be with him as long as they can see into the future, he'd love to live together, hell maybe he even thought about marriage, but his motivation for saying these at this time is all wrong. namely that he wants to forget about the one thing he perceived as threat to their relationship so far, pretend he resolved it all in his head, and they can be back in their honeymoon.
then tommy breaks up with him. now i keep going back to tommy's insecurities about buck outgrowing him or finding someone else (someone else later becoming eddie) is a smokeshow to cover for his actual fear of investing in this relationship longterm and seriously, not because he's flaky, but real commitment would require him to open even more of himself to buck. because while these insecurities might have been building up, it's buck's mention of their future that triggers tommy. now i always give tommy more credit in terms of how aware he's of the situation, what he's doing/feeling, but also what buck's doing/feeling, under his layers of bullshit, so i think a part of him foresees the pattern with buck that doesn't spell out confidence in the longevity of their relationship. but this is not what buck hears.
buck doesn't hear "you can't even bring up your issues to me" or "you never ask for more when you seem overtly invested in everyone else's lives" what buck hears is "you're great, i would like to be with you, but you will hurt me whether you mean it or not, so i can't give us a real chance" tommy leaves buck with nothing to reflect on other than that what he's feeling is not forever and he'll cause tommy heartbreak.
now this is where i get back to buck calling tommy in the aftermath. i genuinely think buck calling tommy in the mindset he was in post-breakup would be useless, and the 118 not encouring him was the right thing, because look at buck in those eps. he's upset but he's upset about being in the state of tommylessness. he doesn't do any introspection about what motivated the breakup, what would cause tommy to think that (partly because tommy doesn't give him much as mentioned above lol), and most importantly how he feels beyond "sad" he's not angry, he's not hurt (on the surface), he's making up scenarios about tommy being injured so they can reconnect and take each other back and pretend it's okay. to me THIS is buck's passivity. his unwillingness to take things apart in himself.
so months go by, they're both in a limbo, then they see each other again, and immediately fall into acting the same easy way. buck brings up being dumped but only as a joke because that's the diatance of how willing he is to think about it, tommy sidesteps that comment entirely, buck doesn't ask for more, and they're two amicable exes who clearly still have sexual chemistry and are down to fuck, sex is the easiest thing to buck and they have a great night.
in the morning, buck thinks tommy has left and why wouldn't he? as the party who said "i can see a future for us" and in response got broken up with with "well i can't" i'm not even saying that buck was entirely blind to the possibility of tommy's mind changing, i'm not saying his "what changed?" was in disbelief because tommy is so tightly closed, but i also can't see his "this doesn't have to change anything" as him throwing tommy's feelings in his face (between this line and "tommy is so vulnerable" i lost a couple of years of my lifespan). it's an out in case they're not on the same page after their great night together and can you blame buck for being cautiously optimistic instead as the person who was told their relationship won't last because his feelings are not permenant and will cause the relationship to fail?
i see people taking buck's "are you not scared anymore i won't break your heart?" as him thinking he could never hurt tommy but i think the exact opposite. buck who takes on the blame of things that are not even his fault (like chimney leaving in s5), to the point it genuinely feels like he's making things about himself, who punishes himself emotionally, in my opinion, would just chew on that line for months. especially when tommy didn't give him anything else. why would tommy think buck will break his heart when buck was being so careful with this relationship to begin with? i think buck is aware of his capacity to hurt tommy (or anyone for that matter) especially because we've already seen him hurt tommy, apologize, and ask for a second chance right at the beginning of their relationship, but i don't think buck quite grasps not pushing can also hurt their relationship, come off as disinterest, make tommy latch onto every little think because he's already looking for ways to sabotage himself.
anyway i think, "this doesn't have to change anything" is clearly just an optimistic prompt for them to actually talk about what changed, and "you're not scared i'm not gonna break your heart anymore?" is buck hopeful tommy believes him now when he says he wants a future for them, and i think tommy sees it as that as well but then. he does his own cautious thing where he brings up eddie by downplaying what he felt re him during their relationship. what i love the MOST about this scene is how tommy's careful way of dropping personal nuggets was the one reason buck held back from pushing at all, but here precisely the way he brings it up sets buck off. i genuinely think that if he gave buck any other reason or this reason presented differently, without making a joke of tommy's own insecurities but also buck's feelings, buck would just take tommy back. he was willing to the moment tommy first walked out of that loft, he's had ZERO DESIRE to question tommy's choice or how it made him feel, but this pushes him into the territory where we for once see him feel something about this breakup other than "sad bc i'm alone again". he's justifiably angry because he's hurt and it is so delicious to me after how the show sets up their breakup where maddie suggests if buck's scared tommy will hurt him like he hurt abby, to which buck obviously says no because buck never even thinks other people can hurt his feelings, and then the breakup plays out with tommy leaving him hurt, precisely for the reasons josh spells out.
tldr; to me so many of bucktommy's issues boil down to both treading so carefully because of how much they wanted to make it work and neither being willing to share much of their baggage and not asking more in return. will it change? eh. do i think the show will have buck process all his feelings in front of tommy? i don't think so. at most we'll get an "i'm sorry, i didn't mean that thing about not having feelings for you" and we're lucky tommy responding with "i'm sorry i left" then kiss kiss smooch smooch. which i will take, i will take all the crumbs, but i think it'd be awesome for buck's character and their relationship if buck felt comfortable to bring up all his hurt and conflicting emotions to tommy, realize he can push with his own bullshit but also push tommy to share back more of his bullshit. my kindgom for buck and tommy to be the safe haven to each other where they can lay their hurt, neediness, insecurities, fears, anger with.
#i accidentally deleted this halfway thru and rewrote the entire thing lol#bucktommy#evan buckley#911#mimi.txt#girl why dont i have a meta tag
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I have thoughts in regards to That Photo of Shani Louk receiving an award.
But first, I'd like to address something I've seen in our community about how the situation has been handled.
Many people I've seen have been sharing their anger and pain in regards to the photo and the award, rightfully so. However, many of these people have shared those thoughts alongside That Photo. While I understand the intent of this, I'd like to just ask for people to not do that.
Do not distribute That Photo in any way, please.
Shani Louk's family has asked for that photo not to be shared. Her family has asked for her to be remembered for her life, not her death.
Instead, I encourage you to share your views alongside a photo of Shani from her life. Share her as she lived, not as she died.
Let Shani's memory be who she was, not what was done to her.
Now, I know there's little I can say about the photo and award that hadn't already been said. I'd like to talk about it anyway.
First and foremost, receiving an award for photographing a woman being subjected to the worst a person can endure is disgusting. That award was given for taking a picture of a woman who has been raped and killed, and of her body continuing to be violated and paraded around. Not for protecting her, not for intervening, not for doing anything to help anyone.
Additionally, as I mentioned before, Shani's family has asked for that photo not to be spread around, and the resurgence in publicity that this photo is getting as a result is a direct blow to the family's wishes.
In that photo, for the purpose of that photo, Shani is used as little more than a prop. It is dehumanizing and violating. It is beyond that, but I cannot even come up with words to articulate how horrible it is.
I'm sure we've all heard the phrase, "people love dead Jews" at this point. This photo receiving a major award is simply confirmation of this. This photo, a photo of a dead Jewish woman, receiving such a highly esteemed award, proves this. I am sick to my stomach just writing about it.
There is nothing about that photo that would merit an award and it tramples upon Shani's memory and dehumanizes her even further than she already has been.
In protest of that award, I encourage you to share photos of her that aren't of her lowest moment.
Share photos of her life, share photos of her art. Do not share photos of her death.
Here are some photos I am choosing to share:

You can find these photos online, there's a whole Instagram account dedicated to sharing photos of her life. The first and last photos are from an article about her art being put up in an exhibition. These photos are out there, just find and share them please.
May her memory be a blessing and may it be protected from further desecration.
#jumblr#jewish#judaism#proud israeli#israel solidarity#opinion#antisemitism#jew#shani louk#israel#oct 7th
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A/N- I saw this on Pinterest and thought it was so cute so I wanna try and write about child! reader x demons (platonic obvs) Credit goes to the artist @lll_123_lll
Summary- Short story for each demon interacting with a human child- Kokushibo, Akaza, Douma, Hantengu, Gyokko, Daki
Genre- Fluff
Warnings- None
Part one(here|| Part two||
Kokushibo
As Kokushibo walks through a peaceful village, he notices a small child playing with a wooden sword. Intrigued by the child's innocence, he decides to approach and kneels down to the child's level. The child stopped and looked at him wide eyed, '' Are you a samurai, mister?'' Kokushibo expression softened, ''Indeed, little one.''
The child jumped up in excitement, ''Wow, Can you show me some cool moves? Pretty please!?''
For a moment, Kokushibo, contemplates the request. Surprisingly, he decides to humour the child. With grace and precision, he performs a series of fluid sword movements, creating an intricate display of swordsmanship.
The child clapped in glee, '' That was amazing! Can I try too?''Kokushibo hands the child a small, wooden practice sword, showing them a basic stance. The child mimics his movements, albeit with less finesse. ''Excellent effort, young one... With dedication, you may become a skilled warrior.''
Douma
''Why do you have fangs? Are you a scary monster?"
Douma was taken aback but then chuckled softly, amused by the innocence of the child. "These fangs are a part of what I am, I need them to eat!''
The child, not completely satisfied with the answer, pointed to Douma's mouth and said, "Can I see them up close? I want to look!!''
Douma hesitated for a moment, contemplating whether to allow the child to get so close. However, he had no ill intentions and decided to humour her curiosity. With a nod, he opened his mouth wide, revealing his sharp fangs. Unfazed by the intimidating sight, The child leaned in closer to inspect the fangs. She reached out tentatively and touched one of them with her small fingers.
"They're sharp," she observed with wide-eyed wonder.
Douma, surprised by the child's boldness, couldn't help but smile. "Indeed, they are. But remember, appearances can be deceiving. It's essential to look beyond what you see on the surface."
Akaza
The moment the girl spotted Akaza, her eyes widened with excitement. She approached him fearlessly, her curiosity overcoming any apprehension she might have had. "Wow! Your hair is so pink! It's like cherry blossoms! Can I touch it?" she exclaimed, her enthusiasm contagious.
Akaza, taken aback by the girl's boldness, hesitated for a moment. Demons were not accustomed to such innocent interactions. However, something about the child's pure fascination touched a chord within him. "Uh, well, it's not something people usually ask," he replied, unsure of how to respond to such an unusual request.
The little girl beamed, undeterred by Akaza's initial uncertainty. "Please? I promise I won't pull it or anything. I just want to feel it! It looks so soft and pretty!"
Akaza couldn't help but crack a small smile at the girl's sincerity. Slowly, he nodded, allowing her to approach. Gently, she reached out and delicately ran her fingers through the strands of his pink hair. The texture surprised her, and a giggle escaped her lips. "It's softer than I imagined! Your hair is really nice, mister demon!"
Akaza found himself chuckling. Emboldened by the positive response, the girl continued to play with Akaza's hair, creating impromptu hairstyles and sharing her infectious laughter.
Hantengu (Main body)
The child's eyes fixated on the peculiar lump on Hantengu's head. "What's that big lump on your head?" she inquired, her concern evident in her voice.
Hantengu's faces displayed a mix of embarrassment and discomfort.'' I- I dont know, I've always had it! I'm not lying this time either!''
The child, being a compassionate soul, couldn't bear to see anyone in distress. Without a second thought, she took a step forward and planted a small, innocent kiss on the lump. Hantengu's face immediately transformed into expressions of surprise and gratitude.
"There, now it's better," The child said with a smile, her eyes sparkling with kindness.
Hantengu, touched by the child's pure heart, felt a warmth spreading through his body. "Thank you, little one. You possess a kindness that is rare even among humans."
Gyokko
Gyokko observed the child doodle in the dirt with a small stick, a display of untapped creativity. Intrigued, Gyokko decided to share his passion for painting with the young artist.
Gyokko teleported beside the child. In his hands, he conjured a set of vibrant paints and brushes, as if summoning colours from the very air. The child's eyes widened in amazement as Gyokko presented the tools of creation.
"Art is like the dance of a butterfly," Gyokko spoke, his voice gentle like a breeze. "Let the colors flow, and your heart guide the brush."
Gyokko dipped his brush into a pool of blue paint and began to demonstrate fluid strokes on a blank canvas. the child, fascinated, mimicked the motions with a mixture of excitement and concentration.
Gyokko and the child painted side by side, creating a masterpiece that mirrored the beauty of their newfound friendship.
In the quiet of the night, Gyokko spoke words of encouragement to the child. "Every stroke tells a story, and every colour holds an emotion. Let your imagination soar like a bird in the sky, young one."
Under Gyokko's guidance, the child discovered not only the art of painting but also the power of expression and self-discovery.
Daki
Daki's beauty was enhanced by the intricate layers of silk, vibrant colours, and elegant accessories. She moved through the crowd gracefully, her presence drawing both admiration and whispers. Unknown to her, a wide-eyed human had been trailing behind, mesmerized by the ethereal vision.
With her innocent curiosity, tugged on the hem of Daki's exquisite kimono, her eyes filled with admiration. Daki, though known for her short temper, couldn't help but soften at the sight of the little girl.
"Wow, you look so pretty!" The child exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with wonder.
Daki turned her attention to the child, a small smile playing on her lips. "Thank you, little one. You seem to have an eye for beauty," she replied, her voice as silky as her attire.
Undeterred by the imposing aura of a demon, asked, "Can I look pretty like you too? I want to wear such beautiful clothes!"
Daki crouched down to the child eye level, her long, silky hair cascading around her. "Of course, you can, little one. Beauty is not just in the clothes we wear but in the kindness of our hearts.''
As Daki spoke, she noticed the simple charm bracelet on the child's wrist. She reached into the folds of her kimono and took a delicate flower hairpin. "Here, take this. It will make you look even more beautiful."
The child's eyes widened as she accepted the gift, a radiant smile spreading across her face. Daki, for a moment, found herself enchanted by the purity of the child's joy.
"Thank you, miss!" The child exclaimed, twirling around with newfound delight.
Daki watched as she skipped away, her heart touched by the innocence of a child who saw beyond the dangers of the world. As the festival continued, Daki couldn't help but feel a warmth in her heart, a reminder that beauty, in its truest form, transcends appearances and lies within the bonds that connect people.
A/N=Added Gyokko and Daki
#demon slayer#kny#kny x reader#douma x reader#akaza x reader#kokushibo x reader#hantengu x reader#akaza#douma#kokushibo#hantengu#gyokko#gyokko x reader#daki#daki x reader
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hey so can I have a scenario with Kurt wagner having a crush and he’s kind of hanging with the group, and the topic of “your type” comes up cuz crush just got asked out by the group very hot bad boy hero and crush is just like “Oh I don’t find bad boys or tough guys attractive at all. I like the opposite”. They like men who are cozy basically? (Kurt is cozy to be around once you know him).
~You Know You're Just My Type~
Pairing: Nightcrawler x Reader
Word Count: 1.5k
Warnings: none
Genre: fluff
Summary: A conversation about your type leads to some discoveries you were not prepared to make today- carpe diem... you guess
***
"I've got a question for you y/n." Jack announces as he walks back into the room that you're all hanging out in.
"Shoot." You say dismissively. Jack's cool and all but nothing good ever comes out of his mouth when he begins like that. Plus all did was go get a soda, what could he possibly have discovered he needed to ask in that 5 minutes?
"When are you going to let me take you on a date?" He asks. Across the room, Kurt hold his breath at the question. Jack had a habit of flirting with you, but he'd never asked you on a real date before now. Or at least not that he knew of. But Jack is attractive, Kurt's never seen anyone say no to the guy before and he's not convinced you will either.
"Excuse me?" You blink at him and then burst out laughing. "That's the funniest thing you've ever said if I'm honest." You shake your head and Kurt feels beyond relieved as he sighs.
"Give it a rest man you're barking up the wrongest of trees." Logan scoffs.
"And how would you know?" Jack looks at Logan.
"Because he's got a brain." You say.
"They're practically attached at the hip dude, if any person here would know what's what with her dating preferences it'd probably be Logan." Jean says.
"Blasphemy!" You scoff.
"Defamation!" Logan chimes.
"Character Assassination!" You add.
"You're literally leaning against each other as if you can't sit up on your own right now be serious." Scott scoffs.
"Wait a second, that's a good point- are you two dating?" Jack asks.
You and Logan share a look.
"Gross." You both say.
"Why would you ask that?" You scoff.
"We just established the two of you are basically one person." Jack says.
"Yeah- platonically." You say.
"Have you never been friends with a girl dude?" Logan asks.
"I mean yeah, I'm friends with Jean, and Storm, and y/n- we're just not as close as you and y/n seem to-"
"Well hang on you just asked y/n on a date, so that automatically makes things a little different." Logan cuts Jack off.
"You're telling me you wouldn't date y/n?"
"I'm not answering that. You're being weird." Logan says, shaking his head.
"Yeah and don't talk about me like I'm not right here." You say.
"Fine, why won't you go on a date with me?" Jack asks.
"You are not my type darling."
"Nonsense." He rolls his eyes.
"So what is your type?" Jean asks.
"More importantly, how is it not me?" Jack asks.
"Do we have to do this?" You sigh.
"I think we should, I wanna know." Jack smirks.
"You're rowdy and obnoxious and kind of a dick sometimes and surprise there's only room for me to be close to one guy who's kind of a dick- Logan's already taken the spot." You shrug.
"So if you stop being friends with Logan-"
"Hey, tread carefully asshole." Logan points at him.
"Yeah that sounds like the start of a threat." You say.
"Don't team up against me." Jack shakes his head.
"Fine so we know they're not your types but you still haven't answered what is." Jean presses.
"Does it matter?" You scoff.
"Why are you being so secretive about it?" Storm asks.
"I just don't think it changes anything for most of you." You say.
"But for some of us?" Scott asks.
"Maybe Jack here." You say.
"Just Jack?" Logan smirks.
"Go die." You side eye him.
"Just answer their question." Logan chuckles. You sigh heavily.
"I like someone kind, gentle, I guess more on the soft spoken side? Not a pushover but not abrasive. I want someone calm, none of the adrenaline junkie shit."
"Can you guess who she's thinking of?" Logan smirks. His eyes flit very briefly to the subject of his oh so subtle insinuation.
"Shut up. You piece of shit." You shove him slightly, but you are still leaning on him so not with enough force to knock him down. You hope no one was able to pick up on what he was trying to hint at to the rest of the room. Although with Kurt being more quiet than usual you can't help but wonder if he knows.
"Wait, are you thinking of someone particular?" Scott asks.
"No." You say firmly.
"Logan?" Jean presses.
"She says no." He shrugs.
"You are such a dick. You know they're not gonna let this go! I will have no peace so long as they think I was describing someone in particular." You groan.
"Well-"
"Shhhhh! You're the worst. I'm never telling you anything of importance ever again." You smack Logan's chest.
"So there is someone specific?" Storm asks.
"That why you won't date me? Because you have a crush on someone else?" Jack asks.
"I! Did not say I have a crush on someone else." You say.
"No but your second head basically did." Jean says.
"Okay, just so we're clear, I won't date you because you're you. Whether or not I have a crush on someone else is irrelevant to that decision." You tell Jack.
"Ouch." Jack grabs his chest as if you've wounded him.
"You'll be fine, walk it off." You roll your eyes.
"Come on- you can trust us. You know that." Jean says.
"That is so not the problem here. I didn't want to talk about any of this in the first place. Can we drop this? Now?"
"Okay when y/n wants us to know anything about that she will tell us herself guys." Scott says.
"Thank you Scott." You say. "I'm going to get a drink. Anyone want anything?" You ask standing up. You need a break from this nonsense.
"I just came back from the kitchen, I could've got you something." Jack says.
"I didn't want anything then."
"I'll take a beer." Logan says.
"Great- be back." You say, leaving the room. You walk down to the kitchen and grab a beer from the fridge for Logan and a bottle of water for yourself.
"Do you- actually have a crush on someone?" Kurt's voice surprises you as you shut the fridge door.
"Fucking Christ!" You shout as you clutch your chest.
"Sorry! I didn't mean to scare you." He blinks in surprise.
"We need to get you a bell, you're too quiet when you walk." You say waiting for your heart rate to slow.
"I'm sorry. Logan asked me to refill on snacks." Kurt says
"It's fine dude, what'd you ask me?"
"Just- if Logan was telling the truth about you having a crush on someone or just taunting you like he does?" Kurt asks. Your knee-jerk reaction is to lie, tell him Logan was just being a dick and there's no one, but how bad could it be if he knew- I mean he's asking after all.
"Uh- well he was definitely trying to tease me but he wasn't lying about it I- was describing a specific person, yes."
"Someone we know- I assume?" Kurt asks hesitantly. He's not even sure he wants to know what the answer is.
"Correct." You nod. This conversation feels so awkward. You wish he would just ask who it is if that's what he wants to know.
"And you... want to keep it a secret, who it is?"
"I want the person to know before everyone else does." You say. Quit beating around the bush and tell him already my GOD
"I don't want to pry." Kurt says.
"Kurt the person I'm talking about is you." You blurt out before you can convince yourself not to. Again.
"What?" His eyes snap up to meet yours.
"I was talking about you."
"Oh." He whispers.
"It's not a big deal and I'm only telling you because Logan's been giving me grief for the past couple of months and after what just happened I'm starting to think he'll tell you before I do so- I wanted to get it out there. While we're on the subject or whatever."
"You- you like me?" Kurt asks, astonishment laced through his quiet words.
"Don't make me regret telling you."
"I- I had no idea."
"Yeah I'm pretty good at that."
"No I mean- I didn't even know you paid attention to me."
"Of course I do."
"I like you too."
"You do?"
"More than anything. When Jack asked you out earlier I thought for sure you'd say yes and- I really hated the idea."
"I hate the idea of saying yes to Jack too." You quip. Kurt chuckles and you're glad that at least some of the tension has been cut by the joke.
"So- what happens now?"
"Now we go back in there and pretend this didn't happen because- I want us to figure things out before we tell everyone else." You say.
"Okay, but what does figuring things out look like?" Kurt asks.
"A date. How's Friday?"
"I can do Friday." He nods.
"Okay, good, I'll meet you in the foyer at 8?"
"Where are we going?"
"Wherever the night takes us." You shrug.
"How do I dress for that?"
"Something you'll be comfortable in."
"Okay. Friday. 8pm. Now we go back in there and be normal?"
"Yep. Until at least Friday at 9."
"What happens after 9?"
"Depends on how the date's going."
"Cool- you should head back first you've been gone longer." Kurt suggests.
"Good idea. See you in a few." You say leaving the kitchen. You're a little confused on how that all just happened but you're pretty sure you have to thank Logan for that? You're not totally sure why yet, but later, when you're alone with your thoughts and able to dissect this whole evening properly, you'll hopefully understand what the hell just took place.
***
#marvel#marvel fanfiction#xmen#xmen nightcrawler#nightcrawler fluff#nightcrawler x reader#nightcrawler#kurt wagner x reader#kurt wagner
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Totally agree 💯 with your thoughts on Sanji as a romantic partner (he's my favourite 🥰). What is your opinion on him as a sexual partner? I somehow see him still as a virgin (would have died from that massive nosebleeding) 🤣 and shy, afraid of not pleasing his woman. Maybe more vanilla than into kinks. Lot of cuddling, kissing and holding hands. 🤔 What you think?
I love this question. Sanji is also my fav- you have good taste.
Okay, buckle up, folks—I've put some serious thought into this, and here comes a full-blown essay.
First off, I’m convinced Sanji is a virgin. Hear me out. I think even Oda might’ve hinted at this somewhere? The guy’s all about the romance of the relationship, not the deed itself. His intensity about love probably scares off anyone looking for casual fun. Add to that his chronic nosebleeds at even the hint of affection or attraction—it’s safe to say it takes someone very special to get over him losing his entire supply of blood through his nose to get to that level.
But let’s talk about Sanji as a lover. The man is a giver, full stop. His happiness comes from making you happy, no matter the lengths he has to go to. Sanji’s the kind of guy who could literally lose himself in your pleasure—like, "Oh, you’re enjoying this? Great, I’m done!" He’s probably the type to cum in his pants while he’s focusing on you.
In the early stages of your relationship, Sanji would be laser-focused on perfecting his technique. Picture him pouring over every guide, every book, every questionable magazine he can find to up his game. And don’t think he’d stop there—oh no, this man would shamelessly eavesdrop on his fellow crew members for tips. And yes, I absolutely believe he’d practice on a half-eaten peach in the privacy of his room. (RIP peaches, forever ruined for him he can't go near them without his pants tightening .)
Being the hopeless romantic he is, Sanji’s all about slow burns. He’d wait until marriage, all while showering you with kisses and cuddles—he thrives on emotional and physical connection. That said, if you weren’t a virgin, he’d be down for a little extra physical affection before marriage and the big event (cue eyebrow waggle). He wouldn’t mind your past; he’d just be thrilled to share this new chapter with you. And hey, if you’ve got pointers? Even better. Sanji’s a fast learner with a willingness to please.
Now, if you were a virgin, Sanji would handle it with the utmost care. This man would be terrified of messing it up and you never want him to touch you again (I feel like this is the biggest fear for him getting physical with you, that and hurting your even the slightest bit). Hence lots of prep, oils, and constant check-ins to make sure everything feels just right. He’d follow your instructions to the letter, treating the whole experience like a sacred ritual.
Now for the spicy part: fetishes.
I’m torn here. On one hand, I could see Sanji keeping things vanilla—classic positions, whatever works best for you, with a side of soul-stirring romance. But let’s not forget, this man is also prone to dramatic flair. I wouldn’t be shocked if he pulled out some next-level One Piece tantric lovemaking just to keep things interesting.
On the kinkier side, I think a breeding kink might be on the table. Sanji dreams of a big, loud, loving family, and the "practice makes perfect" mindset tracks perfectly with his character. Beyond that, he’d be open to experimenting—but with clear boundaries. Anything involving harm or discomfort? Absolutely off-limits. Sanji wants you happy and safe, always. Nothing you do or say will persuade him. Side note thought - he would be very down to mark you up with hickeys, something that doesn't hurt you but tells everyone your his really hits his possessive needs.
That said… I do get strong "step on me, mommy" vibes from him. Just putting it out there. Take that as you will.
At the end of the day, Sanji is all about love, care, and devotion. Whether he’s cooking for you, cuddling with you, or, ahem, other things *wink wink*, he’s 100% in. He lives to see you happy, and your joy and pleasure is the greatest reward for this passionate, hopeless romantic man.
#vinsmoke sanji#sanji x reader#black leg sanji#one piece sanji#sanji vinsmoke#one piece#one peice#opla x reader#opla#straw hats#straw hat pirates#straw hat crew
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hi! can i request a friends to lovers fanfic where the reader is a surgeon and met pedro through mutual friends, but then they grew apart because of their busy schedule. After a few years they meet again and decide to date, thanks 🖤
From Friends to Forever
Pairing: Pedro Pascal x female reader
Word Count: 2074 | requests are open!
Pedro Pascal Masterlist
The upscale restaurant buzzed with a lively energy, the clinking of glasses and the soft laughter of patrons creating a warm, inviting atmosphere. You sat nestled in a booth, a rare evening off from the whirlwind of your life as a surgeon granting you this moment of respite. The long, grueling shifts, the constant pressure of life-or-death situations, and the emotional weight that clung to you like a second skin had left little room for anything beyond the sterile walls of the hospital. But tonight was different. Tonight, you found yourself face-to-face with Pedro .
The memory of your initial meeting, a serendipitous encounter orchestrated by mutual friends, flashed through your mind. His infectious laughter and the warmth that radiated from him had drawn you in immediately. You'd spent hours engrossed in conversation, bonding over shared passions, late-night musings, and a mutual appreciation for the simple pleasures of life, like sharing a bottle of cheap wine and debating the merits of obscure indie films.
However, life had a way of intruding on even the most cherished connections. His career had skyrocketed, propelled by a string of critically acclaimed roles, while your own life was consumed by the relentless demands of your surgical residency. Phone calls became less frequent, texts went unanswered, and the vibrant thread of your friendship gradually frayed, fading into a distant memory.
Yet, here he was, sitting across from you, that same mischievous glint in his eyes, that familiar warmth emanating from him. "How long has it been?" he asked, his voice a low rumble, laced with a hint of surprise and a touch of nostalgia.
"Too long," you replied, taking a sip of your wine, the cool liquid a welcome respite from the sudden flutter in your chest. "You've been busy becoming a household name, while I've been buried under a mountain of surgeries."
He chuckled, leaning back in his chair, a comfortable ease settling over him. "Fair enough. But look at you! Surgeon extraordinaire. You always had that drive."
"And you always had that charm," you retorted playfully, earning a genuine laugh from him. The ice was broken.
The rest of the evening unfolded with a surprising ease. The years that had drifted by seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable familiarity. You found yourself drawn into his stories, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as he described the challenges and triumphs of his career. In turn, you shared glimpses into the demanding world of medicine, the adrenaline-fueled chaos of the operating room, and the profound satisfaction, and sometimes the crushing weight, of saving lives.
As the night wore on, the restaurant began to empty, the initial buzz replaced by a lingering sense of contentment. Pedro glanced at you, his expression softening, a question unspoken hanging in the air. "Hey," he began, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper, "do you have a moment? There's a little coffee shop around the corner. Want to catch up properly?"
You hesitated, glancing at your watch. You had an early shift tomorrow, the exhaustion of the past few weeks threatening to catch up with you. But the pull to reconnect, to delve deeper into this unexpected reunion, was undeniable. "Sure," you agreed, grabbing your coat.
The coffee shop was a haven of tranquility, the warm glow of the lights casting a soft halo over the worn leather booths. You settled into a cozy corner, the aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. Pedro ordered two lattes, his gaze lingering on you as he spoke to the barista.
"So," he began, his voice low and sincere, "tell me everything. What's it like saving lives every day?"
You smiled, tracing the rim of your cup, the warmth radiating through the ceramic. "It's rewarding, incredibly so. But it's also...intense. The hours are long, the pressure is immense. You're constantly on the edge, dealing with life-and-death situations. Sometimes, it feels like there's no room for anything else."
He nodded thoughtfully, his gaze searching yours. "Sounds lonely."
"It can be," you admitted, a tinge of melancholy coloring your voice. "But I've learned to find joy in the small things. Like this," you gestured to the steaming cup of coffee, "these quiet moments, these unexpected connections. They remind me that there's more to life than just the operating room."
He leaned forward, his elbows resting on the table. "I get that. Acting can be the same way. It's easy to get lost in the whirlwind, to become consumed by the character, the performance. You lose sight of everything else."
For hours, you poured your heart out, sharing your fears, your dreams, the joys and the sorrows that shaped your life. He listened intently, his eyes reflecting a genuine interest in your story. In turn, he opened up about the challenges of his own career, the constant scrutiny, the pressure to maintain a public persona while navigating the complexities of his personal life.
As the night deepened, you found yourself captivated by his honesty, his vulnerability. The years of distance seemed to melt away, replaced by a comfortable intimacy that had been dormant for far too long. As you parted ways, a sense of warmth, a feeling you hadn't realized you'd been missing, lingered in your heart.
The following weeks were a whirlwind of reconnection. Texts and calls became a lifeline, a way to bridge the gap between your busy schedules. You shared stories, laughed until your sides ached, and discovered a renewed appreciation for each other's company. Late-night phone calls became your refuge, a space where you could unwind, share your deepest thoughts, and simply enjoy each other's presence.
One evening, after a particularly grueling day at the hospital, your phone buzzed with a text from Pedro. "Hey, are you free this weekend?" he asked, his tone unusually hesitant.
"I think so. Why?"
"There's this little art exhibit I've been dying to see. Thought maybe you'd join me?"
You smiled, touched by the invitation. "I'd love to."
The exhibit was a feast for the senses, a vibrant explosion of colors and textures. Pedro's enthusiasm was contagious as he guided you through the gallery, sharing his insights, his interpretations of the art. You found yourself captivated by his passion, his ability to see the world through a different lens. At one point, you caught him watching you, a thoughtful expression gracing his features.
"What?" you asked, a playful lilt to your voice.
He shrugged, a small smile playing on his lips. "Just...happy you're here."
Something shifted in that moment. The air between you thrummed with a subtle energy, a connection deeper than mere friendship. The realization hit you with the force of a tidal wave – this was more than just a casual reunion, more than a friendly catch-up.
The weeks that followed were a delicate dance, a slow, tentative exploration of a burgeoning connection. His gestures became more pronounced – a lingering touch, a compliment that lingered on your mind long after he'd spoken. And then, one evening, as you walked along a quiet street, he stopped abruptly, his gaze fixed on you.
"I need to say something," he began, his voice uncharacteristically hesitant. "I've been trying to ignore it, but I can't. I like you. More than a friend should."
Your heart pounded against your ribs, the weight of his words sinking in. "Pedro..."
"I know it's complicated," he interrupted, his gaze intense. "Our schedules are insane, and it won't be easy. But I'm willing to try. If you are."
Tears welled up in your eyes, the intensity of his confession overwhelming you. "I'm willing," you whispered, your voice barely audible.
The transition from friends to lovers was a gradual, organic process. You navigated the complexities of your careers, finding solace in stolen moments, late-night phone calls, and weekend escapes. His unwavering support became your anchor, a constant source of strength during the most challenging days. You would wait for you outside the hospital after a long shift, bringing coffee and a warm smile that could melt away the exhaustion of the day. You would spend hours on set with him, watching him transform into a different character, marveling at his dedication and talent.
One evening, as you sat on the edge of his bed, watching him read a script, you noticed a small, silver locket tucked into his jeans pocket. Curiosity piqued, you reached out and gently pulled it out.
"What's this?" you asked, turning it over in your hand.
He looked up from the script, a hint of surprise in his eyes. "Oh, that." He hesitated, then continued, "It was my grandmother's. She gave it to me before she passed away. She told me to hold onto it, to remember the things that truly matter."
You opened the locket. Inside, nestled on a bed of velvet, was a faded photograph of a young woman with kind eyes and a warm smile.
"She was beautiful," you said softly.
"She was," Pedro agreed, a touch of melancholy in his voice. "She taught me about love, about family, about the importance of cherishing the moments that truly count."
He reached for the locket, his fingers brushing against yours. "I want to give you something," he said, his voice low and husky.
He pulled out a small box from his bedside table and opened it. Inside, nestled on a bed of satin, was a delicate silver bracelet, a single diamond sparkling in the center.
"It's… it's beautiful," you whispered, your breath catching in your throat.
He slipped the bracelet onto your wrist, his gaze intense. "It's for you. A reminder of the moments we've shared, and the many more to come."
You leaned in, your lips brushing against his. The kiss was slow, tender, a culmination of weeks of unspoken emotions. As you pulled away, you looked into his eyes, and you knew. This was it. This was the beginning of something truly special.
The following months were a whirlwind of stolen moments and unexpected joys. You navigated the challenges of your demanding careers with a newfound sense of ease, your love a constant source of strength and support. You learned to cherish the small moments – a shared cup of coffee in the morning, a stolen dance in his trailer on set, a quiet evening at home, watching a movie curled up on the couch. You discovered that even in the midst of chaos, there was always time for love.
One evening, months later, Pedro surprised you with a weekend getaway to a secluded cabin in the woods. The crisp autumn air, the crackling fire, and the peaceful silence were a balm to your souls. As you sat on the porch, watching the stars twinkle in the night sky, Pedro turned to you, his eyes filled with a love that transcended words.
"I want to spend the rest of my life with you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "Will you marry me?"
Tears welled up in your eyes, and you nodded, unable to speak. He pulled you close, burying his face in your hair. "Yes," you whispered finally, "yes, a thousand times yes."
The wedding was a small, intimate affair, held in a charming vineyard overlooking the rolling hills of Tuscany. Your friends, family, and a select few colleagues from both your worlds gathered to celebrate the love that had blossomed between you. As you stood at the altar, exchanging vows, you felt an overwhelming sense of peace and joy. You had found your soulmate, the one person who made your heart sing and your life feel complete.
Years later, as you sat on the porch of your own cozy cabin, watching your children play in the garden, you couldn't help but smile. Life had thrown its curveballs, but you had navigated them together, your love a constant, unwavering force. You looked at Pedro, who was now reading a bedtime story to your son, and you knew that this was just the beginning of your happily ever after. The clinking of glasses and the laughter of friends faded into a distant memory, replaced by the sound of children's giggles and the gentle rhythm of your own lives. And as you watched them, you realized that the greatest adventure of all was not the fame or the fortune, but the love you had built, brick by brick, a testament to the enduring power of connection and the magic of finding your way back to each other.
#marcus acacias x reader#marcus acacius x y/n#justus acacius#gladiator ll#joel miller x reader#marcus acacius smut#pedro pascal x reader#pedro pascal x f!reader#pedro pascal#pedro pascal x reader masterlist#pedro pascal fanfic#pedro pascal smut#pedro pascal fanfiction#pedro pascal x y/n#pedro pascal x you#pedroispunk#pedropascaledit#pedro#marcus acacius x reader#pedro pascal x plus size reader#pedro pascal character fanfic#pedro pascal fandom#pedro pascal characters#pedro pascal fic#jose pedro balmaceda pascal#pedro pascal x ofc#real people fiction#gladiator 2#pedrito#marcus acacius
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hi friends and lovers, I've gathered a small collection of dialogues from Zevran in DA:O regarding Antiva & the Crows.
I got this together mostly for myself, but thought I'd share in case anyone who is maybe looking to flesh out their new Crow OC, write fanfic involving Crow characters, or is looking for a refresher on early Crow lore would like something to reference. I trimmed down dialogues a bit, so mostly just information relevant to the Crows, Antiva in general, and Zevran's own attitudes about being an assassin are present.
this post has dialogues from Zev's recruitment event and a couple of early game camp conversations. because it's only a handful of dialogues, this is, ostensibly, part 1 of several. I plan to post more as I progress through my replay of origins. enjoy! <3
Recruitment
Warden: "What are the Antivan Crows?"
Leliana: I can tell you that. They are an order of assassins out of Antiva. Very powerful, and renowned for always getting the job done... so to speak. Someone went to great expense to hire this man.
Zevran: Quite right. I'm surprised you haven't heard much of the Crows out here. Back where I come from, we're rather infamous.
Warden: "You came all the way from Antiva?"
Zevran: Not precisely. I was in the neighborhood when the offer came. The Crows get around, you see.
[After being asked if he's loyal to Loghain]
Zevran: Beyond that, no, I'm not loyal to him. I was contracted to perform a service.
Warden: "And now that you've failed that service?"
Zevran: Well, that's between Loghain and the Crows. And between the Crows and myself.
Warden: "When were you to see him next?"
Zevran: I wasn't. If I had succeeded, I would have returned home and the Crows would have informed your Loghain of the results... if he didn't already know. If I had failed, I would be dead. Or I should be, at least, as far as the Crows are concerned. No need to see Loghain then.
Warden: "How much were you paid?"
Zevran: I wasn't paid anything. The Crows, however, were paid quite handsomely. Or so I understand. Which does make me about as poor as a chantry mouse, come to think of it. Being an Antivan Crow isn't for the ambitious, to be perfectly honest.
Warden: "Then why are you one?"
Zevran: Well, aside from a distinct lack of ambition, I suppose it's because I wasn't give much of a choice. The Crows bought me young. I was a bargain, too, or so I'm led to believe. But don't let my sad story influence you. The Crows aren't so bad. They keep one well supplied: Wine, women, men. Whatever you happen to fancy. Though, the whole severance package is garbage, let me tell you. If you were considering joining, I'd really think twice about it.
Warden: "Aren't you at least loyal to your employers?"
Zevran: Loyalty is an interesting concept. If you wish, and you're done interrogating me, we can discuss it further.
Warden: "I'm listening. Make it quick."
Zevran: Well, here's the thing. I failed to kill you, so my life is forfeit. That's how it works. If you don't kill me, the Crows will. Thing is, I like living. And you obviously are the sort to give the Crows pause. So let me serve you, instead.
Warden: "And what's to stop you from finishing the job later?"
Zevran: To be completely honest, I was never given much of a choice regarding joining the Crows. They bought me on the slave market when I was a child. I think I've paid my worth back to them, plus tenfold. The only way out, however, is to sign up with someone they can't touch. Even if I did kill you now, they might kill me just on the principle of failing the first time. Honestly, I'd rather take my chances with you.
Warden: "Won't they come after you?"
Zevran: Possibly. I happen to know their wily ways, however. I can protect myself, as well as you. Not that you seem to need much help. And if not, well, it's not as if I had many alternatives to start with, is it?
Warden: "Why would I want your service?"
Zevran: Why? Because I am skilled at many things, from fighting to stealth and picking locks. I could also warn you should the Antivan Crows attempt something more... sophisticated... now that my attempts have failed.
A few early game camp conversations
Conversation 1 Warden: "What does it take to become an assassin?"
Zevran: Well, the Crows would have you believe that it is an involved process that takes years of training, the sort that tests both your resolve and your endurance. Survive that process and maybe, just maybe, you're good enough to start being considered one of them. But quite frankly the truth is that all it requires is a desire to kill people for a living. It's surprising how well one can do in such a field.
Warden: "It doesn't take any special skill?"
Zevran: I don't know about that. It's simply a slightly different skill set from your average killer, as I see it. An assassin simply specializes in striking from stealth... and in maximizing that first attack to be as lethal as possible. Debilitating your foe, either by poison or by crippling their limbs, makes any follow-up combat you need to engage in that much simpler.
Warden: "That sounds like it could be useful."
Zevran: See? Getting paid for the act is beside the point. An assassin is more a tactical choice than a lifestyle. Of course, the Crows like to pretend that their abilities are trade secrets, shrouded in shadows and wrapped in a blanket of mystery. So let's just keep this between you and me, shall we, hmm?
Conversation 2 Warden: "Why did you want to leave the Crows, exactly?"
Zevran: Well, now, I imagine that's a very fair question. Being an assassin, after all, is a living, at least as far as such things go. I was simply never given the opportunity to choose another way. So if that choice presents itself, why should I not seize upon it?
Warden: "You didn't choose the Crows?"
Zevran: Mm? To be truthful, I didn't even know the Crows existed when I joined them. I was but a boy of seven when I was purchased. For three sovereigns, I'm told. Which is a good price, considering I was all ribs and bone and didn't know the pommel of a dagger from the pointy end. The Crows buy all their assassins that way. Buy them young, raise them to know nothing else but murder. And if you do poorly in your training, you die.
Warden: "That sounds awful."
Zevran: "Oh, I don't know about that. The Crows who are actually good enough to survive come to enjoy some of the benefits. In Antiva, being a Crow gets you respect. It gets you wealth. It gets you women... and men, or whatever it is you might fancy. But that does mean doing what is expected of you, always. And it means being expendable. It's a cage, if a gilded cage. Pretty, but confining. [note: I transcribed the first line of the last section as it was written in the subtitles because it seemed to make more sense in context, but when Zevran speaks it aloud he actually says "That does not mean doing what is expected of you." presumably an editing error, but can't be 100% positive which is the intended message.]
[After being asked what he thinks his future might hold]
Zevran: As for what I'll do in the future... presuming that there is one... I truly can't imagine. It might be interesting to go into business for myself, for a change. Far away from Antiva, of course. For now, naturally, I go where you go.
Warden: "Won't the Crows eventually find you?"
Zevran: [laughs] Eventually can be a very, very long time if one plays one's cards right. Come, now. Enough chit-chat. Talking about the Crows summons them, you know. Any Antivan fishwife could tell you so.
Conversation 3 Warden: "Do you actually enjoy being an assassin?"
Zevran: And why not? There are many things to enjoy about being a Crow in Antiva. You are respected. You are feared. The authorities go out of their way to overlook your trespasses. Even the rewards are nothing to turn your nose up at. As for the killing part, well... some people simply need assassinating. Or do you disagree?
Warden: "You've never killed an innocent?"
Zevran: Now there's an interesting word, "innocent." How many men do you know who can claim to truly be innocent? But if you're talking generalities, such as children and relatives and bystanders and such... never on purpose, but it happens. It's unfortunate, but death comes to us all. If not me, then some wasting disease. Or a fall down the stairs. Or at the hands of a darkspawn. It's all relative in the end.
Warden: "I suppose that's true."
Zevran: "Death happens," as we like to say. And when I get paid for it, death happens more often. As far as enjoying the act of killing itself, why not? There is a certain artistry to the deed, the pleasure of sinking your blade into their flesh and knowing that their life is in your hands.
Warden: "I know what you mean."
Zevran: There are many things I did not enjoy about being a Crow, of course. Having no choice, being treated as an expendable commodity, the rules... oh, so many rules! But, simply being an assassin? I like it just fine. I will continue to do it, if I can, even if I am not a Crow. Honestly, could you picture me doing something else?
Conversation 4 [note: I trimmed this one down a lot bc it's just one of the ones where he tells you about a job and there's not a lot to be gleaned about Antiva, how the Crows operate, etc] [In response to being asked, "The Crows were willing to anger the Circle of Magi?"]
Zevran: In Antiva, nobody is too important to escape the reach of the Crows. They have killed kings and queens. That's simply how it is.
[After elaborating on how he fumbled an assassination attempt and the mark died accidentally, instead of by his hand]
Zevran: Then I found out she had told the driver to take her to Genellan instead. She has planned to lose me in the provinces. I would have looked very foolish to the Crows. As it was, my master was very impressed that I had done such a fine job of making it look like an accident. The Circle of Magi was unaware of foul play, and everyone was happier all around.
Conversation 5 Warden: "Tell me a little about Antiva."
Zevran: Oh? You wish to know about Antiva, do you? The only way to truly appreciate it would be to go there. It is a warm place, not cold and harsh like this Ferelden. In Antiva it rains often, but the flowers are always in bloom... or so the saying goes.
Warden: "Don't you want to go back?"
Zevran: [sighs] It is not really a matter of wanting to go back. I cannot go. At least not yet. I hail from the glorious Antiva City, home to the royal palace. It is a glittering gem amidst the sand, my Antiva City. Do you come from someplace comparable?
Warden: "I'm not from any glittering gem, no."
Zevran: No? That is too bad. If you were, then surely you would spend as much time boasting about it as I do! Hmm. You know what is most odd? We speak of my homeland, and for all its wine and its dark-haired beauties and the lillo flutes of the minstrels... I miss the leather the most.
Warden: "Is that some kind of euphemism?"
Zevran: [laughs] It may as well be! But not this once, no. I mean the smell. For years I lived in a tiny apartment near Antiva City's leather-making district, in a building where the Crows stored their youngest recruits. Packed in like crates. I grew accustomed to the stench, even though the humans complained of it constantly. To this day the smell of fresh leather is what reminds me most of home more than anything else.
Warden: "That's a little bizarre. There's leather everywhere."
Zevran: Ah, but it's not Antivan leather, is it? I do not know what the Antivan tanners do that is different, but ther is no leather more supple nor more fragrant.
Warden: "You sound like you've been away from home forever."
Zevran: Oh, not so long, I know. It is my first time away from Antiva, however, and the thought of never returning makes me think of it constantly. Before I left, I was tempted to spend what little coin I possessed on leather boots I spotted in a store window. Finest Antivan leather, perfect craftsmanship—ah, but I was a fool to leave them. I thought, "Ah, Zevran, you can buy them when you return as a reward from a job well done." More the fool I, no?
Warden: "Your home is still there, Zevran."
Zevran: True, and it's a comforting thought. One simply never knows what is to come next.
Now, if it is all the same to you, I would prefer not to speak more of Antiva. It makes me wistful and hungry for a proper meal.
Bonus banter snippet because I found it amusing:
Morrigan: You assassin types have a death wish, I see.
Zevran: [laughs] Only the really good ones.
#dragon age#zevran#zevran arainai#antivan crows#hopefully someone besdides myself finds this useful and im not just clogging up tags!!#yapping#daoblogging
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I have gone down this rabbit hole now and I'm afraid I'm never getting out. I hope I give justice to this. And sorry if this is long.
I've seen a lot of the Colin and Marina vs. Colin and Penelope analyses in here and I want to raise this parallel as to how the Butterfly ball was such a powerful move for both Penelope and Colin. We all have our issues with how they handled Pen and Colin finding their way back to each other but let me add this perspective and hope it helps us understand how real they handled the issue of LW and pushed the character development for them both.
The scene on the left is from S01e06 (Swish) and the right is S03e08 (Into the Light)
S1 scene - Violet is still in her dressing gown, obviously distraught having just read something from LW. She hears someone come down and finds Colin.
S3 scene - Violet is dressed for the morning and her face looks a combination of surprise and confusion after reading a letter. She turns around when she hears someone coming down the stairs.
In both scenes, we see Colin coming down the stairs.
S1 - we only see Colin's back. We're in suspense on what emotional state he is in but we do know that he's on his way to elope with Marina.
In S3 - we see Colin's face immediately looking determined and ready. We see Violet calling his name quite urgently.
S1 - Colin sees his mother's face looking like a combination of disappointment and anger. He asks what's happening. She doesn't say anything but just looks at Colin with a sadness that only a mother can give.
S3 - Violet pointedly says that she received a letter from Colin's wife (I love this line so much) that sounds awfully like "I need you to explain what's happening right now."
S1 - Violet hands Colin LW without saying anything and just looks so so so sad. Colin is shocked to his core because we learn that LW (Pen) exposes Marina's pregnancy and that she has been pregnant from the beginning of the season.
S3 - Colin determinedly faces his mother telling her that they had better sit. And I'm guessing that Colin tells her everything.
Where am I going with this? (Gosh, doing an analysis is hard 😂)
The first time Colin fell in love (thought he fell in love), he was blindsided. But I believe the pain he felt at that time was made deeper because his family had to save him from the situation (Anthony explaining that his actions in the scandal will affect his sisters' prospects as well). To think that it was his mother who first learned of the situation added salt to the wound because we all know that he is a mama's boy and that the one person he dislikes letting down is his mother.
The second (and last time) Colin falls in love, he once again feels betrayed. But he's fallen in love so deeply that he can't imagine his life without Pen. The struggle he goes through in understanding his emotions was very hard to watch and it's because the issue goes beyond his and Pen's relationship. It extends to his family.
Colin's hero complex goes beyond feeling worthy of Pen's love but also worthy of the Bridgerton name. We see it several times in S3 when he mentions it in his confrontation with Portia (" I advise you not to sully our Bridgerton name...") and when Pen tells him that Cressida discovered her secret ("It will besmirch our Bridgerton name. The entire family").
The whole sequence in the study is now more significant because of what Pen addresses in their conversation-- Colin's family ("Your family... the one you so kindly shared with me, they are too good").
Pen's "sacrifice" ("But I can no longer conceal the biggest piece of information I have. My identity."), I believe, was to save the Bridgerton family (once again) and she asks Colin to stand by her as she formulates and executes this plan.
It was very important that Pen wrote a letter to Violet directly and that Colin was there right after she's read it to explain everything. From this point on, they were a team. From this point on, Colin moves in parallel with Pen instead of against it. Colin finally sees that version of Pen that she's always been even while she was LW-- the person who was always determined to save his family just as much as he does.
From this point on, their goals were aligned.
10 rewatches after, I finally see how Colin found his way back to Pen. It wasn't very obvious to me how he got over the feelings of betrayal after he discovered Pen was LW. Of course, him reading the letters help but the events leading up to the Butterfly ball, helped him see her as both Pen and Lady Whistledown and the overflowing pride we see on his face was heart-melting to watch.
From this point on, they finally see each other eye to eye. From this point on, they finally accept this version of each other.
If you got to the end, thanks for reading my humble musings.
*Editing to add this: The Butterfly Ball deep dive series
#Butterfly ball#analysis#gosh this was hard to write#polin#bridgerton#nicola coughlan#netflix#luke newton#bridgerton seaosn 3#bridgerton season three#netflix bridgerton#bridgerton s3#bridgerton season 3#peterpanbutterflyball
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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
#trafalgar law x reader#trafalgar law#trafalgar d law x reader#trafalgar d water law x reader#trafalgar d water law#law x reader#law one piece#one piece#one piece x reader#one piece imagine#anime
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one of your girls (frankie morales x triple frontier boys) 18+


a/n it's @swiftiscruff friendship exchange time!!! i'm so beyond excited to share this piece i've been working on, dedicated to my incredible friend han @swiftispunk 🌙 we brainstormed the idea for this fic months ago and it's finally somehow become something tangible - but han, if i've learned anything from writing this fic, it's how much i depend on you when it comes to so many aspects of my writing. whether it be workshopping ideas, input on characterization & dialogue, sharing snippets, etc, you are always there to lend a hand, listen, and advise. not having that this time around (because this fic has been a secret ofc!) just further proved to me what an incredibly patient, giving, caring, kind, & beautiful friend you are. i love you so much & i'm so grateful you slid in my dms one whole year ago today 💕 summary: unpacking some of frankie's old things leads to a revelation about his past. (OR to put it simply: frankie morales x triple frontier boys circle jerk 🙌) rating: 18+ explicit warnings: circle jerk (frankie/benny/santiago/will), sub!frankie, bukkake, facials, cumplay, cum swallowing, frankie is literally a cum dumpster (and loves it), praise kink galore, pet names (good boy, baby boy), dirty talk, oral (m receiving), deepthroating, cock worship, use of restraints, sexy photographs, sharing, mentions of frankie x all the boys individually (this includes tom but he's not involved in the circle jerk - sorry tom), brief mentions of anal sex (m/m), for story purposes you are frankie's current gf but it's not really the main focus...for now anyway, all of this takes place before the events of triple frontier word count: 12.2k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 💙
You've been moving boxes for what feels like forever, arms aching and the sun beating hot against the back of your neck as you swipe sweat from your brow and head back into the aging, disintegrating storage unit. When Frankie had first told you about it you'd been adamant that he move his old things - locked away for almost ten years now - out of the unit and into the new house. "We don't need to be paying for storage when we have a garage", you'd said confidently, "we have a house now, Frankie. What's yours is mine."
If only you'd believed him when he'd told you it wouldn't be that easy.
"I told y-" he begins for the fourth time as you lean down to grab another box, but you snap up immediately with a finger to your lips. "Why don't I just do the rest from here?" He offers fruitlessly, "You take a break, relax in the truck for a little while."
You're already shaking your head before he's finished talking, resuming your retrieval of the large box at your feet, "No, Frankie. We do this together."
You don't have to look at him to know that he's rolling his eyes. All the same, you hear him clamoring after you with another box as he follows you from the unit and back to the truck. The sun hangs high overhead and you squint uncomfortably against it, piling the box alongside the others in the truck bed. Frankie does the same.
"I mean, what's even in all of these?" you ask exasperatedly, shoving one of the many boxes with your hand and leaning backwards against the truck, "How did you accumulate this much shit in the military? I thought minimalism was all the rage over there."
"I told you, it's not just mine," he reaches forward to brush some sweaty tendrils of hair out of your eyes, "It's the whole team's shit. Well, mostly Ben and Pope's, the others were uh-" he winches, "a little more organized, I guess."
"You guess?" you push up on your hands and seat yourself precariously on the edge of the truck bed, catching your breath. Frankie watches as you tear open the nearest box, biting down on his lip to stifle a laugh when he sees your eyes widen at what's inside.
"Paperwork?" you breathe, mouth agape, "Paperwork? That's what in all these? Fucking forms?"
"Something they don't tell you when you first join," he shrugs, "But no, that's not all that's in these. There's souvenirs, journals, photos, mission plans-" he cuts himself off and stops speaking altogether, lips clamping shut. Your brow furrows as you watch him assess the open box beside you, then the others strewn haphazardly here and there inside the truck bed, as if he's only just realized something he hadn't considered before.
"What?"
He seems to shake himself from whatever stopped him, eyes still settled on the open box as he murmurs, "Um, maybe don't open any more right now."
You raise an eyebrow, "Why not?"
"Just, uh... don't."
"Well that's not ominous in the slightest."
He laughs but something about it seems off, almost forced as he reaches forward with both hands to help you down from the truck. You follow his lead, peering up at him curiously and hoping maybe he'll elaborate, explain, but instead he turns on the spot and heads back toward the storage unit, pulling you along in tow.
You decide not to press him about it for the time being. Right now, all you can think about is finishing hauling these ridiculous boxes and devouring an iced coffee on the way home.
A week passes before you even think about the boxes again.
By that time they've been taking up residence in the garage, haphazardly placed along the concrete in unorganized disarray, exactly where you'd both left them the day you unloaded the unit. You'd been too exhausted to start unpacking and had instead collapsed on the couch, laying there with aching limbs as Frankie discarded your empty iced coffee and poured you a tall glass of water.
"Your job is done now, querida," he'd murmured softly, stroking your cheek, "I'll do the rest."
Except he hadn't. He'd pulled your feet into his lap and settled comfortably beside you on the couch, just for a moment - and then it was lights out for the both of you, boxes be damned.
Now you find yourself the following Saturday perched precariously atop your counter, fingers smeared a soft fern green as you paint the walls of your new kitchen. You only moved into this house a month ago - your first real house together; shared, owned, all that jazz. Most of that time has already been entirely dedicated to making it your own space; unpacking, decorating, furnishing, rearranging - you've been more than busy with curating this new step in both your lives.
Which is why it's not surprising that you forget about the storage unit boxes and their scatteredness in the garage, too distracted by your current ongoing tasks. You hum along to the radio as you carefully attend to the smallest crevices and spaces between the cupboards, above the stove, under the window sill. You need it to be perfect, have gone far too long living in a less than adequate apartment without much creative freedom for this house to suffer the same fate.
Of course, just as you acknowledge the desire for perfection, your hand slips. A splash of green suddenly paints the pure white window sill and your heart sinks.
"Frankie!" you call out with a groan, reaching forward to wipe the mess away and only making it worse, "Where's the white paint?"
"Should be in the garage, I think," you hear him call back from the living room, busy with his own task of painting the walls a deep maroon, "Need me to get it for you?"
"No, I got it," you slide off the counter, careful to avoid the can of green paint at your feet as you make your way to the garage. It's only when you pass the threshold off the laundry room that you finally remember the forgotten boxes, faced with them for the first time since you dropped them off.
"Dammit, Francisco," you mutter, "You said you'd take care of it."
You can't really blame him though. It really is an undertaking; you'd known that from the moment he told you about the unit to begin with. He'd wanted to keep them there, would rather continue paying the monthly fee than deal with the enormous amount of unpacking he'd have to do, but you'd pushed. Now, as you grimace at the pile of heavy boxes, you wonder if maybe he'd been right.
For now, you turn your attention to the task at hand - finding white paint. You scan the storage shelves along the walls and spot the can you're looking for on a high shelf, out of reach.
Maybe those boxes can serve a purpose today.
You shove one toward the shelf and heave another one on top, making quick work of it despite the effort. Climbing onto your makeshift stepladder, you reach for the white paint and successfully pull it to your chest, but the added weight causes your feet to dig into the box below, exposing its contents as you carefully pull yourself back down. Your eyes can't help but dart to the crushed opening, spotting what looks like a photo album peeking through.
Setting the paint down, you lower yourself onto the concrete and cross your legs, biting your lip and reaching inside the box to grab the album. It's navy blue, relatively small, lightweight. A little skim couldn't hurt.
As soon as you open the photo album you can't help but smile, met immediately with a photo of Frankie and Santiago with their arms around each other - fifteen years younger. Their eyes are alight with excitement, Frankie's cap askew and Santi's expression caught in a permanent laugh. Before, you think to yourself, this was before shit got real. You flip the page and smile wider when you see a photo of Benny and Will, caught in what must be a playful brawl with Benny's hand grabbing at Will's leg as he tries to get away. Will is grinning from ear to ear, a genuine smile you've only seen a handful of times. Yep, definitely before.
You flip through the rest of the photos with a heaviness in your heart you can't describe. You've known these boys for a handful of years, have only heard fragments of the shit they've been through together, but you know it wasn't easy, know it affected them in ways you'll never even begin to understand. Being able to see them before all that, before they became hardened and molded by pain and trauma, you can't deny the emotions that bubble in your throat.
The last page contains a group photo; Frankie is in the center, surrounded by his friends on all sides, Will and Benny turned towards him with a fond smile and a grin, Santiago with an arm around him again and his head tilted to brush against Frankie's cap, and Tom on the edge - looking a little out of place, you must admit. But then, you suppose, things haven't really changed.
You're about to close the album and return to your painting when you notice a little pocket built into the backing, hidden out of sight with a hint of white poking through. Not wanting to miss out on another good photo, you slip your finger inside and happily tug out what looks to be a polaroid, different than the others. Curiously, you flip it over.
And immediately drop it to the floor.
Suddenly you can hear Frankie's words from last week, thrumming in your mind on repeat: "Um, maybe don't open any more right now."
You hadn't understood. But now you think you do.
With slightly shaky fingers you reach down and pick up the polaroid, taking a breath before slowly flipping it over again. Lips parted, eyes wide, heart pounding, you peer down at the little photograph and try to understand what you're seeing.
A much younger Frankie - naked, save for the cap on his head and the pants around his ankles. On his knees, peering up at the camera with hooded eyes and a fucked-out expression you've become more than familiar with at this point in your relationship. But that's not what made you drop the photo, no.
His face is covered in cum. You know that's what it is, know there's nothing else it could possibly be. Thick trails of it paint his face like abstract art, dripping down his forehead and the bridge of his nose, his cheeks, his lips, his chin. It's all over him, smeared along his neck and chest bloomed red with heat and arousal. His cap is askew, cheeks flushed, and - most notable of all - he's smiling. Looking up at the camera, drenched in cum, smiling.
Frankie is bisexual; you've known this since your first date, remember how shy he'd been as he'd softly murmured, "Just so you know, I like girls and guys." It hadn't bothered you at all to know that he'd been with men in the past - in fact, you'd kind of liked that about him.
So this - this doesn't bother you. You're not bothered. You're... you don't know what you are, can't seem to pinpoint exactly how you're feeling right now as peer down at the polaroid that you were probably never supposed to find. You're not bothered, you're just... surprised. And confused. What is this doing here? Why is it hidden in an album of Frankie and his friends?
....Oh.
"Find it?" you suddenly hear Frankie call from the living room, and your stomach drops. You hastily stand and slip the polaroid into your back pocket, then close the album and toss it back into the box.
"Y-yeah," you call back, "I got it!"
You try not to mention it. Try, being the operative word.
But it's all you can think about. It's all you see when you reunite with Frankie in the kitchen later that afternoon, staring at the flecks of maroon paint scattered across his face and being unable to not see smears of splattered white. It's all you see that evening as you dig into your leftover Chinese food, eyes constantly flickering across the table to watch Frankie bite and chew, lips soft and wet and definitely not leaking cum at the corners.
It's all you see that night when you settle in bed and watch as he comes out of the bathroom with a towel around his waist, water dripping down his neck and chest not unlike the thick drops of release in the photo. You watch with hooded eyes, lips parted, heart thrumming, as he tugs the towel off and walks to the dresser with his pert ass on full display. You can't help but wonder if there'd been cum there too, leaking and dripping, hidden away because of the angle of the photo.
"I can feel you staring at me," he suddenly says with a chuckle, "Why don't you take a picture? It'll last longer." He says it in jest but you feel your face bloom with heat, immediately averting your eyes and burying yourself beneath the sheets.
"I was not," you lie, "Get over yourself."
He laughs again and you hear him shut the dresser, probably tugging on a pair of briefs, "You've been looking at me weird all day, it's kind of freaking me out."
You want to point out that "all day" is an exaggeration, but then you'd have to admit that you have been looking at him strangely for at least a portion of it, and you really don't want to do that. Instead, you reach over and turn off the lamp on your bedside table, then nuzzle into your pillow and close your eyes, ignoring him.
"Is something wrong, baby?" you hear him ask, humor slowly dissipating from his voice, "You need to talk about anything?"
"No," you lie, your own voice betraying you immediately, "I'm fine."
You feel the bed dip beside you, feel the warmth of his palm come down to gently caress your upper arm, "You sure? Did I do something to upset you?" You can practically hear him wince as soon as he says the words, "I know, I should already know if I did. But today's been busy and-"
"You didn't do anything, Frankie," you tell him softly, "I promise."
"Then what is it?" you can hear the concern, the gentle worry as he strokes your arm up and down, "Talk to me." He sounds so kind, so tender, as always. It's so damn hard to keep anything from him. You sigh.
"I feel..." you grimace, eyes still closed, "I just feel..."
He waits for you to continue, in the meantime settling into bed beside you and tugging the sheets up over himself. You feel his warmth against your body and it immediately fills you with a sense of calm, comfort. Your heart slows a bit, breaths coming a little easier as he brings his arm down to wrap around you and pull you in close.
"How do you feel, querida?" he murmurs, "Tell me."
"Guilty," you finally breathe, and you're surprised to feel tears pricking in your eyes, "I feel guilty."
You can hear the confusion in his voice, "For what?"
"I...I saw something I shouldn't have," you admit quietly, "In one of your boxes. Something really private that you probably never ever wanted me to see and I'm so sorry." You feel his arm freeze at your side and you take a shaky breath, "And now I can't stop thinking about it even though it's absolutely none of my damn business. And I wanna ask you about it but I really have no right to, not when I wasn't even supposed to know about it in the first place, and-"
"Mierda," he groans - shit.
"I'm so sorry, Frankie" you whisper pathetically, still facing away from him, "It's all my fault and if you need me to just forget about it, I will. I promise that I will."
"Fuck," he murmurs, "No no, baby, it's not your fault, it's mine. I should have unpacked all of it myself. I knew there was shit in there you might not wanna see."
"Y-you're not mad at me?"
He buries his face in your hair, nose nuzzling against your neck, "Of course I'm not mad at you - could never be mad at you for that. What's mine is yours, remember?"
You pull away to turn and face him, expression pensive. He's looking at you with earnest eyes, no anger or betrayal to be seen, and it almost makes it worse. Because does he know? Does he realize what exactly it is that you found?
"You have um..." you bite your lip, "You have pictures, in a photo album."
He stares at you, brow furrowing. "What?"
Fuck.
"There was... there was a photo album in one of the boxes. And I figured I'd just flip through it, just to have a look at you when you were younger, you know? Thought it'd be nice, that there might be something we could frame for the house."
He's looking at you like you're speaking another language, confusion lining his features, "....So?"
"So... so I found..." you wince, the image flashing behind your lids again as you try to figure out how to word it, "I found a picture that I don't think you would have wanted me to see."
He's still staring at you, the cogs turning in his head but seemingly no closer to an answer. You picture him flipping through an invisible rolodex, trying to pinpoint exactly what picture you could be talking about. You're starting to realize that maybe when he'd told you to stop looking in the boxes he'd been talking about something else.
"Honestly baby, I thought you meant you looked at some of my paperwork," he admits. Bingo. "Saw some stuff we did for a mission or something. There's plans in those boxes, strategy stuff, and you know how intense some of those were, some of the..." he takes a beat, biting his lip, "some of the things we had to do."
You shake your head quickly, "It wasn't anything like that. It wasn't...it wasn't something serious, really. It was..." you take a deep breath, still unable to say the words. Instead, you reach over into your nightstand and grab the polaroid, sitting up in bed and waiting for him to join you.
"What is it?" he asks, gentle and kind as he sits up beside you, "You can tell me, baby. We can talk about it."
Your heart races but you figure there's no going back from it now, and you're not sure you'd want to keep it from him anyway. Up until this point you and Frankie have always made communication an important part of your relationship. It's been necessary considering what he's been through, what he still deals with, and it's something that you're proud of. You're just gonna have to grin and bear it.
With a sigh, you shakily hand him the polaroid.
He flips it.
And drops it.
"Oh," he gasps, hand coming up to cover his mouth, "Oh, fuck."
"It's not- I'm not-" you stutter, fumbling over your words, "It's not a big deal, really. Like, it's whatever. I know you're bi, I know you've probably sucked your fair share of dicks-"
"Oh god," Frankie moans, his hands coming up to cover his eyes, "Oh my god."
"Hey, hey, no," you reach up and try to pull his hands away from his face, desperation in your voice, "Do not hide from me, you did nothing wrong. You hear me? There's nothing wrong with this." He groans again, shaking his head, but you just keep on talking, "I'm not mad about it or anything, it'd be pretty fucked up for me to mad about it actually. I'm just- hey," you continue to pry at his fingers, "Francisco, look at me."
Slowly, hesitantly, he finally removes his hands from his eyes to peer at you. You can see the embarrassment there, the humiliation - and not the good kind, not the kind he likes.
"Hey," you whisper, "You don't have to talk about this. We can pretend I never even saw it if that's what you want," you bring his hands down and hold them tightly, squeeze them in your own, "I just... I just wanted you to know that I saw it. And that I was just a little curious about why it was in an album from your military days. That's it. That's all."
His eyes fall back to the flipped polaroid on the bed, the back of it facing the both of you. You watch as he slowly reaches forward to pick it up again with his index and middle finger, pulls it upwards and turns it around to see it again.
Out of respect for him, you don't look at it. You just watch his face, his expression. He looks.... thoughtful.
"Talk to me," you whisper, voice breaking, "Please."
He looks from the polaroid to you, then back to the polaroid. After taking a steadying breath, he places it back down onto the bed between the two of you, face up. Your eyes spot his cum-covered face again, frozen forever in time, and you quickly avert your gaze.
He notices, and gives you a small half smile. You return it tenfold.
"Well, it.." he starts, taking another breath, "It was just something that.. we just started-" he cuts himself off, smile turning to a frown as he formulates his words. "It started..."
"Hey," you breathe, reaching down to squeeze his hands again, "Take your time."
It started as a way to blow off steam - that's it. Simple, easy.
They'd all gotten to know one another during training, spent time shooting the shit and building friendships with each other. There had been such a sense of belonging, of fortified brotherhood, a pull toward one another that none of them could deny. So it was unsurprising when their teamwork and comradery resulted in their placement into a special task force, just the five of them against the world - or, rather, the enemy.
But it was stressful. Going from basic military training to special ops added a new layer of pressure and competence that they hadn't experienced before, and it was no walk in the park. Things got harder, more pressing, more important. And all they had, like always, was each other.
So it made sense one night, for Frankie anyway, to offer Santiago a blowjob.
He'd heard the stiff grunts from the bed beside him, the dry - too dry - slap of skin as Santi worked at himself beneath the thin sheet of his bunk. It wasn't abnormal for Frankie to overhear one of his buddies masturbating; in fact it would have been abnormal to not hear it. He'd gotten used to the different sounds they'd each make as they gripped their cocks, hidden away in the dark, and pumped themselves to completion. He had memorized the sounds of their breathing, the grunts and the whines, the soft moans of their orgasms.
But it was never something that was discussed. It was an unspoken rule, almost: what happens in the bunks stays in the bunks. So Frankie had never even considered crossing that line, especially because he was pretty sure he was the only one in the group who liked dudes - something everyone was only vaguely aware of.
There was something about the desperation in Santi's movements that night, in the sweat on his brow and the pained expression on his face. He'd gotten reprimanded earlier that day for failing a training mission, been yelled at by two commanding officers while the rest of the boys looked on with regret in their hearts. If one of them failed, they all felt as if they'd failed too. Santi hadn't spoken to anyone for the rest of the day, had eaten in silence and then retired to his bunk much too early. And now, hours later here he was, hand around his cock, trying to forget.
And Frankie wanted to help.
"Pope," he'd whispered under his breath, just loud enough for Santiago to hear. Santi had turned his head slightly, eyebrows raising when he realized he'd been caught in the act. He'd been about to say something, defend himself maybe, but Frankie had shook his head and continued, "Need some help?"
A look of confusion. "Help?"
Frankie's eyes had wandered to the shape of Santi's lower half beneath the sheet, then back up to meet his gaze.
"Yeah," he'd murmured earnestly, "Help."
Santi had stared at him for a few seconds, brow furrowed, chest heaving. His hand was frozen under the sheet, gripping firmly to his hard cock as he'd considered Frankie's offer. Someone else might have hurled hurtful words, another might have ignored him completely.
But Santi took a deep breath and leaned back, closed his eyes and breathed, "Go ahead."
Frankie had been under the sheet in minutes.
Tucked away, hidden in case any of the other guys woke up, Frankie sucked slowly on his friend's cock. He wasn't sure how much Santi wanted to see of him, figured maybe he'd have his eyes closed as he pictured someone else, maybe that girl he liked from back home, but it didn't matter to Frankie - what mattered most was helping his friend forget about the shitty day he'd had. He treated Santi's cock like something to be worshipped, swallowing and licking around the big shape of him, warm and thick in his mouth. And when Santi came, it was only moments after Frankie had started.
His hands came down to grip Frankie's curls, tugging and pulling as he'd groaned and spilled down his friend's throat. And Frankie had swallowed every drop.
"Francisco," Santi had murmured when Frankie pulled off his cock with a pop, a drop of cum leaking from the corner of his mouth as he peered up at Santi from beneath the sheet, "You've been holding out on me."
With a smile, Frankie had licked the cum away and placed a gentle, reverent kiss to the wet head of Santi's cock. Santi had watched with hooded eyes, let Frankie kiss him there a few more times, let him trail his nose along his thick shaft and inhale deeply at the base. Hands still carding through his hair, Santi had let him mouth at his cock for a few more minutes before softly telling him he should get back in his bunk.
"Just trying to savor it," Frankie had whispered, voice a little sad, a little broken.
"You'll do it again," Santi had replied, reveling in the way Frankie's eyes widened, a smile lighting up his face.
And he did do it again - the following night. He'd been a little hesitant, unsure if Santiago had really meant what he said. But after the others had fallen asleep and Frankie was still just lying there, waiting, he'd heard a soft pssst sound. He'd looked over to see Santi sitting up in bed with a smirk on his face and one hand already beneath the sheet, tugging at his dick.
He stuffed his mouth with Santi's cock every night that week. It was almost feral the way he drank him down, eyes rolling as his lips kissed Santi's pubic hair and his tongue laved the shaft of his cock up and down, up and down. Drool cascaded from his lips all over his friend's belly, and he whined softly over and over whenever his curls were tugged, his temples stroked. Santi would talk to him softly, murmur the quietest little praises that made Frankie insane with need. That's it, there you go. You take what you need, Francisco. And then he'd come down his throat, fill his stomach with it, and whisper, "Good boy."
It was filthy, but it wasn't wrong. Not one part of it felt wrong. And Santiago never once made him feel like it was a shameful secret they were keeping, like the others finding out would be the end of the world. And it's good that he'd maintained that stance, because soon enough, Benny was in on it too. They should have seen it coming, considering his bunk was directly above Santi's.
"Can you give me one, maybe?" he'd asked Frankie awkwardly one night, voice quiet and slightly nervous as he leaned over the bars of the bunk bed, "I've been... I've been listening to it every night and it's driving me fuckin' crazy that I don't know what it feels like."
"Are you saying you've never had a blowjob, Ben?"
Benny had rolled his eyes, "Of course I've had a fuckin' blowjob, idiot. I've just never had a... a you know..." he'd shrugged, "A Frankie blowjob."
"It's good," Santi had said nonchalantly, tugging off his shirt and climbing into his bunk, "He's fucking incredible, actually."
Frankie had preened at the praise, cheeks reddening. An hour later he'd climbed up into Benny's bunk and deepthroated his cock for a solid fifteen minutes. Benny was breathless, chest blooming with heat as he watched Frankie suck and drool, gagging every so often but immediately resuming his sloppy ministrations as soon as he'd caught his breath.
"Look at that," Benny had marveled softly, "Look at that."
"I told you," they'd both heard Santi whisper from below, "He's a fucking godsend."
"I'm gonna cum down your fuckin' throat, Frankie," Benny had groaned, and no sooner were the words out that he was following through, spurting slow and steady into Frankie's mouth. He gripped the back of his head, watched Frankie swallow, and then whispered, "Good boy". Oh, he really had been listening.
Sated and warm with wet and sticky briefs, Frankie had climbed back into bed with a new appreciation for Benny.
As if two wasn't enough, Will got involved shortly after that. Of course Benny had unsurprisingly spilled the beans to his brother, which lead to Frankie climbing atop his own bunk one night to join Will, who'd been a bit unsure. It was as if he thought a prank was being pulled on him, like it was all bullshit, but he didn't say no.
"Been wonderin' what you three were gettin' up to," he'd muttered, watching Frankie a bit dubiously, brow furrowed, arms crossed, "Ben says you're, uh... good."
"I'm good," Frankie had promised softly, bringing his hands down to tug at Will's boxers, "Promise."
Will had watched as Frankie brought his already hardening cock out of his underwear, kissed the tip gently and then brought it into his mouth. "Oh fuck," he'd heard Will gasp out, immediately reaching up to cup the back of Frankie's head. And then there were three.
But three stayed three. Tom did find out about it, considering every single night somebody seemed to be getting their dick sucked. Any discreetness had gone out the window, especially when two of them would jack themselves off to the sounds of Frankie slurping and sucking, groans and the heavy slap of skin echoing throughout the large room. But despite the knowledge of what his friends were doing, the leader of the group was seemingly disinterested in having a go with Frankie.
There was one disastrous evening wherein the others managed to convince Tom to give it a shot. But Frankie bobbed on his cock for a solid five minutes before realizing he just wasn't getting him hard, and Tom had pushed him away and turned in bed with a low sigh.
"It's just not for me, Fish," he'd muttered, "Pretend it never happened."
"He doesn't know what he's missing," Santi had murmured ten minutes later as he watched Frankie suckle on the leaking tip of his cock, "Huh, Francisco? Doesn't know you've got the mouth of an angel, huh?"
Frankie had continued to suck, eyes closed, breathing deeply in and out as Santi stroked his hair.
Things were easier for a while after that. The training was strenuous, oftentimes near impossible, but there was always pleasure at the end of it, always something to look forward to. Every night Frankie would take up residence in someone's bunk, usually after a quick game of rock paper scissors or a straw draw. Each of his friends were different in their own way, and Frankie took a lot of joy in being able to have those moments with them, be what they needed. It felt like he was floating, dreaming; he'd never realized how badly he wanted to be submissive like this until it actually happened. Being their shared prize, their plaything, it was fucking incredible.
Sometimes he'd have all three in one night. He'd deepthroat Benny's cock and swallow him down, then stagger to Will's bunk and do the same. With his own erection aching in his underwear he'd finally crawl in with Santi and allow his closest friend to pull down his briefs and notch the head of his cock into his ass. Santi was the only one who fucked him, the only one who held him close afterwards and sometimes fell asleep with him.
"You my good boy, Francisco?" he'd murmur in Frankie's ear as he fucked him slow and deep, fingers digging into his hips beneath the sheets, "You like feelin' that cock in your ass?"
And god, did he ever.
The first real mission was brutal.
It was tame compared to the things they'd eventually do, but for what it was, they were stressed out of their minds. They spent weeks planning, training, preparing. They'd find themselves so tired at the end of the day that their nighttime habits became a thing of the past, if not something that only happened once in a blue moon. And in its own way the lack of it had begun to affect everything else, their comradery, their abilities, their drive. The day before the mission was set to begin, Benny stood up at dinner and proclaimed, "We've gotta get our shit together."
"Sit down, our shit is together," Tom grumbled, "We're gonna be fine."
"We are not gonna be fine," Benny argued, expression genuinely fearful, "We're gonna fail the whole fuckin' thing and then we're out on our asses."
"There's truth to that, you know there is," Will pointed out as he pulled Benny back down, "There's somethin' missing here. We're not on our A game."
"What, 'cause Morales isn't getting sucked and fucked?"
Frankie's head had gone up, ears tinging pink as he looked over at Tom along with everybody else. There had been a beat of silence, and then-
"Nobody said that," Santi had stated calmly, "And don't be a dick."
"I'm not being a dick. It's fine what you all get up to in your own time, whatever. But it's not the be-all and end-all of our fucking team," he'd shrugged and looked at Santi with a frown, "I mean, come on, Pope. We're prepared, with or without the extracurriculars."
"We are," Santiago had agreed with a nod, turning to Benny, "It's gonna be fine, man. The nerves are just kicking in now but that's normal. We've trained for this, we're ready."
But Frankie could tell he wasn't being entirely truthful.
That night, despite the tiredness of the last day of training and the anxiety of what was to come - Frankie found a solution. He told Santi first, whispered it to him in his bunk and grinned at the expression on his friend's face, awestruck and aroused all at once.
"You're sure?" Santi asked him quietly.
"I'm sure. I think it'll help us de-stress."
Santi had leaned forward and tilted Frankie's cap up, pressed a firm kiss to his forehead and murmured, "Me sigues sorprendiendo, Francisco." You continue to surprise me.
A moment later he was climbing the ladder of Santi's bunk, coming face to face with Benny. "You wanna do something kinky?"
The younger man's eyebrow raised, "Kinkier than usual?"
"A blowjob is not kinky, Ben."
"Getting one from a guy is."
Frankie rolled his eyes and went to pull himself back down the ladder but Benny stopped him, reaching out to touch his wrist.
"What'd you have in mind?"
And that's how he'd ended up on his knees.
Will and Benny stood on either side of Santiago, all three men looking down at their submissive friend with unbridled arousal in their expressions, dark and anticipatory. There was silence at first, not necessarily awkward but full of a definite tension that was more than palpable.
Until-
"Tie him up," Santi murmured to Benny. Frankie's eyes went hooded almost immediately, lips parting as he peered up at his friends and felt his heart pound at the thought of what Santi was asking.
"How so?"
"His hands," Santi clarified, "There's some string in the first aid kit, tie his hands behind his back so he can't touch himself."
Benny followed his orders without question, heading toward the bathroom to grab the kit while Will gave Santiago a confused look. "Why can't he touch himself?"
Santi smiled, tilting his head a bit and peering down at Frankie's already debauched form. He walked forward and kneeled down in front of him, levelling with him as he reached for his waistband.
"'Cause he likes it," Santi murmured, "Haven't you noticed something about Frankie in all the months we've been doing this?" As he spoke he pulled down Frankie's pants to his knees, exposing his bare thighs to the room. He was already hard, the long shape of his cock protruding from his black briefs. "He doesn't touch himself," he continued softly, stroking his thumb gently against the V of Frankie's hips, "He always comes in his pants when he sucks our dicks."
Hearing the words aloud, stated so matter-of-factly, Frankie realized in that moment how fucking well Santiago had come to know him. Not once had Frankie voiced this, told him anything about what he really liked, what he craved. And yet here he was, having his desires told directly to him, like it was the most casual thing in the world.
"And when he gets fucked," Santi continued, fingers trailing downward to ever so gently cup Frankie's cock, "He only lets me touch it. Ain't that right, Francisco?"
Frankie nodded slowly, a lump forming in his throat.
"Why?" Will asked again - always wanting clarification, an explanation.
"'Cause it feels good, doesn't it, Frankie?" Santi cooed, releasing Frankie's bulge and bringing his hand up to place a finger under his chin, "Feels so good to come untouched, huh? Feels good to let go when you've got a dick in your mouth, to fall asleep with your underwear all wet and your cock all sticky?"
Frankie nodded again, cheeks blooming pink. He felt someone behind him pick up his hands, start tying them together - Benny.
"Come to think of it, I've never seen his cock," Benny admitted, voice already rough with anticipation, "I mean... I guess I had other things on my mind."
"He's got a fucking great cock," Santi murmured, "Why don't you show 'em, Francisco? Let 'em see what you've been hiding under here, huh?" His finger dug into the band of Frankie's briefs, and all Frankie could do was nod again, unable to speak with the way his thoughts had begun to melt away, brain going fuzzy.
Benny finished tying his hands and walked in front of him again to stand alongside Santi, eyebrows going up when he watched Frankie's cock be freed from the confines of his underwear. It stood at attention immediately, long and hard, pink and flushed at the tip. It smacked wetly against his belly, balls hanging heavy and full as Santi pulled his briefs down entirely.
"Now look at that pretty cock," Santi breathed, almost just for Frankie alone, "Look how it's dripping."
And it was dripping, already pulsing and bobbing against his belly button with every rise and fall of his chest. The three men watched in silence for a moment as Frankie took deep breaths, his cock twitching and stuttering in front of them without being touched, simply exposed to the cool air of the room and their interested gazes.
"I kinda wanna...." Benny started to say, but trailed off, blushing a bit as he took a step away from his brother.
"I'll stay between you," Santi offered quickly, "Pull 'em out, it's fine."
There was no more hesitation after that. Frankie watched under his lashes as his three friends reached into their pajama pants and pulled out their cocks. Will was still mostly soft, though you could tell he was starting to harden with the sudden gravity of the situation. Benny was already stiff and leaking as he fisted his own, and Santiago's hung heavy and thick between his legs as he carefully circled the head with his thumb.
"We're gonna come all over your face, Frank," Benny told him quietly as he jerked his cock slowly up and down, "You know that, right? You're sure you're cool with that?"
It was like he was underwater, still unable to speak; he hadn't said one word since he'd gotten on his knees. It was as if the submissive part of him had taken over completely, mind going blank.
"Say yes or no, Fish," Will said, voice strained as he squeezed himself gently, "Wanna hear it."
"Yes," Frankie had finally managed to whimper, knees trembling against the cold floor, "Yes, please."
Santi grinned, "Well boys, I think we got our answer," He tilted his head again to eye Frankie from where he stood, "Let's get a little closer, shall we? I think he wants us up close and personal."
Within a few seconds Frankie was suddenly face to face with three cocks - it was like fucking Christmas morning. His mouth popped open and drool immediately began to collect in the corners of his mouth, eyes trailing back and forth to look at absolutely everything he could. He stared at the weeping tips, the fat heads, the thick shafts where his friends pumped and fisted. Without any thoughts in his brain he opened his mouth and laid his tongue flat against his lower lip, staring at Benny's cock - arguably the biggest - with pleading eyes.
"Yeah, you wanna suck on it, don't you?" Benny asked, a smile in his voice, "You go ahead, Fish. Suck that cock."
He did not need telling twice. His lips wrapped around the pink mushroom head of Benny's cock and his eyes rolled back as he began to suck, tongue lapping at the tip and devouring everything it had to offer. God he loved having his mouth full, loved hearing Benny's groans as he pushed his head forward and enveloped more and more of the cock in front of him, began to slide his lips up and down the shaft and cover it in his saliva.
"So pretty with a cock in your throat, Francisco," Santi told him, voice full of praise as he watched Frankie sink down even further on Benny's cock, 'til his nose was buried in his pubic hair. "Tell him how pretty he is, Benny. He wants to hear it."
Frankie anticipated some hesitance, maybe even a sarcastic comment, but Benny did no such thing. Instead, Benny's hand came up to cup the back of Frankie's head, holding him still on his cock as he breathed, "You're so pretty, Frankie."
A high keen of a whine made it's way from Frankie's throat, vibrated around the cock in his mouth. Benny trembled a bit, tangling his fingers in his hair and helping him bob a few more times before pulling him off completely. Frankie gasped for breath, tears in his eyes as he stared up at his friends.
"Your turn," Santi murmured quietly to Will, "Stuff him full."
"He fuckin' loves being stuffed," Will replied with a low chuckle, yanking Frankie forward by his hair and shoving his now fully hard cock into his mouth. It was the kind of rough Frankie was already well acquainted with when it came to Will, and he welcomed it with gratitude. He closed his eyes and allowed Will's cock to sink into his mouth like Benny's had, then swallowed around it, tightening the walls of his throat and gagging around the large intrusion.
"Yeah, choke on it, baby," Will muttered, gripping both sides of Frankie's head with a groan, "Baby boy."
Baby boy. That was a new one, especially from Will, but Frankie certainly wasn't complaining. He swallowed around him again, feeling his own cock bob against his stomach as he continued to worship Will's dick. There was only so much of the sensation that Will could take, and before long he too was pulling out of Frankie's mouth and resuming his slow strokes, breathing heavily.
"M'your baby boy," Frankie murmured to the three of them, Will's words still echoing in his mind. His voice was already completely shot, rough and scratchy from the two large cocks that had invaded his throat.
"You are," Santiago cooed, leaning forward to gently tap the head of his own cock against Frankie's bottom lip, "You're our baby boy, Frankie. Our good, pretty, perfect boy, huh?"
Yes, Frankie wanted to whisper, it's all I am. It's all I wanna be. But his mouth was already being filled a third time, this time by Santi's cock - the thickest of the three. His vision blurred with tears as it stretched his lips, the masculine taste dripping on the back of his tongue and down his throat. He'd had Santi's cock in his mouth the most out of everyone's; had fallen asleep a few times suckling on the tip of it while Santi murmured praise, like a comfort, a constant.
He knew exactly what Santi liked, what he didn't, how to tease him, how to get him there. Immediately, Frankie curled his tongue around the wide head, dipped the tip of it into Santi's slit and carefully fucked it in and out while suctioning the rest. He kept his eyes open this time even though they burned with tears, allowing himself to meet Santiago's gaze just how he knew he liked it.
"Oh, good boy," Santi praised softly, thumbing Frankie's cheeks and letting the head of his cock sit just inside the wet heat of his mouth, "Suckin' on that cock like it's my thumb, huh? Just how you like it?"
Now that was something unbeknownst to Benny and Will. They knew Santi liked to fuck Frankie sometimes, but they didn't know much about the logistics, the positioning, the way it worked. More often than not, Frankie would suck on Santi's thumb when he was being fucked, liked the feeling of having both his holes full at the same time. It felt complete somehow, safe. God, what would it feel like now if Santi were to fuck him and let Benny or Will fuck his throat? What would it feel like to be truly filled up like that, the way he'd always imagined? His cock twitched against his belly again, still untouched, still pulsing, and he moaned around Santi's cock.
"I think our baby boy needs a little break," Santi murmured softly, "Shh, it's okay, Frankie, it's alright," he slowly pulled his cock from Frankie's lips and allowed him to catch his breath, chest heaving. He felt multiple hands petting his hair, stroking his cheeks, thumbing his temples. Someone brushed one of his nipples, pinched it ever so gently and then did the same to the other one.
"Sweet little things," Will murmured, and that answered that.
"He really is a fucking godsend, Pope," Benny breathed, disbelief and awe playing at the edge of his voice, "Softest mouth I've ever felt."
"His eyes are what get me," Santi replied, and Frankie felt him take his cap off and toss it to the side, then a pair of lips kiss his forehead, "He's got the prettiest brown eyes, look so beautiful when he's got that wet mouth all full."
The way they talked about him, like he wasn't even there, like he was just a toy, something to play with, an object - it was so much. It was too much. He leaned back on his haunches and whimpered, eyes fluttering open as he looked up at his friends, still standing in front of him with their now very wet cocks in their hands.
"Put them on my face," he begged, voice broken and haggard, "All of them, please."
"Fuck," Benny gasped out, and without hesitation he placed the entire length of his cock along Frankie's cheek and forehead, tapping it a few times and hissing, "There you go. There it is, baby boy."
"You go around the other side," Santi told Will, knowing he wouldn't want to touch Benny's cock, "Put yours upside down on his other cheek, I'll go middle."
Benny was still slapping Frankie's face gently with his cock, hissing and groaning out words of praise. Santi slapped his own down across the center of his face, along his nose and lips. His cock settled up against Benny's, and for the shortest of seconds Frankie noted that they rubbed them together without speaking, without looking at each other. Will joined them on the other side, his balls hanging low on Frankie's forehead and his tip jutting out near his chin. Three cocks, side by side, covering their friend's entire face.
"Slap him with them, he likes that," Benny said through gritted teeth, doing it again and again and reveling in the whimpers and whines Frankie was making below them, "Ohhh, he fuckin' loves that."
"I don't think I can last," Will spit, voice more strained than it had been before, "This is too much, I'm gonna blow my whole fuckin' load any minute now."
"No one's stopping you," Santi encouraged, "Doesn't matter when we come, what matters is we do it all over his face. Cover him with it."
"Oh, he's gonna be fuckin' drenched," Benny groaned, eyes closing as he stilled his slapping movements to hold back his own orgasm. His voice was wild now, desperate, "I wanna come in his mouth, I call dibs."
"You hear that, Frankie, baby?" Santi murmured with a sly smile, "Benny called dibs on filling your mouth."
Frankie wouldn't have responded even if he could, just let out another whimpering moan and dropped his jaw, lolled his tongue out so his friends could take turns tapping the heads of their cocks against it. He was covered in precum, felt it dribbling down his chin and forehead, collecting behind his teeth and dripping down the back of his throat.
"Let him suck," Will hissed, "Let him suck mine one more time." At his words, Benny and Santi moved out of the way as best they could, Santi tapping Frankie's eyelid with his cock while Benny smeared more precum into his forehead. They watched as Frankie carefully suckled Will's tip into his mouth, closed his lips around him and hummed.
"Put it in your throat, baby boy," Will told him firmly, "Swallow around it, there you go. Thaaat's a good boy."
Gurgling sounds were coming from Frankie's gag reflex but he didn't stop or pull away, kept doing exactly what he knew Will needed as he swallowed him down. It took barely any time at all for it to be too much for Will to handle, and before any of them knew it he was pulling out and pumping his cock furiously over Frankie's face. Benny and Santi stepped back - they all knew what was coming.
"Don't come in his mouth, I called dibs," Benny warned, and Frankie could have sworn he heard Santiago chuckle.
"Keep your eyes closed, Fish," Will muttered, directly in front of him now as the wet sounds of his fist slipping up and down his cock filled the room, "Gonna paint that pretty little face and those sweet little nipples."
Franke whimpered, keeping his eyes closed as he continued to listen to what was going on around him. He could hear Santi and Benny still jerking themselves a few steps away, but Will's grunts and groans were the most prominent, the most present. And only a few seconds later he felt the first splash of cum hit his face - his left cheek.
"There it is," Santi egged Will on, "There he goes."
Another rope of cum landed on his forehead, dripped down onto his eyebrow. Then another on his chin. He listened as Will let out one more groan, still pumping his cock as he aimed at Frankie's bare chest. He felt two more spurts trickle down both of his nipples, sensitive and hard, and that was it.
"Fuck," Will groaned, satisfaction plain as day in his voice, "Fuck, Frankie."
He opened his eyes and was met with Will's cock, tight in his fist. Without hesitation he leaned forward and brought the tip gently into his mouth, licking off the excess cum as Will brought his hand down to play with Frankie's curls. He sucked for a few seconds, placed a soft kiss to the tip - his favorite spot - and then looked up to meet Will's gaze, a dazed little smile playing on his lips.
"Give it one more little kiss, baby boy," Will murmured, "Just one more." Frankie did as he was told, eyelashes fluttering as he kissed the sticky tip once more, and then Will was backing up to let Santi and Benny back into their spots.
"You're a good boy, Fish," he murmured, tucking himself back into his pants. "Mind if I watch the rest?"
"Please stay," Frankie managed to breathe, and the movement of his face caused some of the cum in his eyebrow to trickle downwards, dipping into the crevice of his nose. Will smiled and nodded, crossing his arms and leaning against the wall to observe.
"Won't be much longer now, Francisco," Santi told him softly, shuffling forward to carefully fill Frankie's mouth again with his dick. He watched with fascination as Frankie slowly bobbed on it, like muscle memory as he breathed evenly through his nose. "M'close. I think Benny's close too."
"You look so fuckin' good with all that cum on your face," Benny told him, voice almost pained, "Gonna look even better with more."
Surprisingly, Frankie pulled off Santi's dick without being told to do so and peered over at Benny with hunger in his eyes, "Can you... can I..." he cut himself off, going bright red as he looked back to Santi for reassurance.
"What is it, baby?" Santi asked softly, brow furrowing, "You good? You need to take a break?"
Frankie shook his head quickly, "N-no, I just...I..." he bit his lip and hoped his sudden idea wasn't about to be shot down, "Can you put them both in at the same time?"
A beat of silence. Then-
"Fuck," Benny groaned, "Fuck, that's hot." There was no doubt in Frankie's mind now that Benny had quite liked having his dick so close to Santi's, so it made him grin when Benny moved forward to stand beside his friend and jut his cock out toward Frankie's mouth.
"Open up, Fish."
Dropping his jaw once again and staring wide eyed up at his teammates, cum still fresh and sticky all over his face, Frankie allowed Benny and Santi to slide both their cocks into his waiting mouth. The feeling was insane. The taste was insane. All masculine and heady and musky and wet, the smell of sweat and raw sex invading his nostrils as they both pushed their dicks further in alongside each other. Frankie felt two hands in his hair, one of Santi's and one of Benny's, holding him still.
"Oh fuck, I need a picture of this," Benny groaned, blinking furiously as he peered down at where he and Santi's dicks jutted out from Frankie's mouth. "Will, grab Pope's camera, I'm serious. I need to remember this."
As Will made his way to the bunks, Frankie continued to blink slowly and languidly, tongue almost lazily swirling along the fat heads of the two big cocks in his mouth. They were dripping everywhere, warm and sticky, layering the back of his tongue with all of their arousal. And he was so fucking overwhelmed.
"Two cocks," Santi breathed, thumbing a bit of Will's cum that had begun to dry on Frankie's cheek, "Two fat cocks for Frankie, huh?"
"Look at how his lips stretch," Benny added, pushing his cock in the tiniest bit further to watch how Frankie's mouth adjusted to the size, "S'like he was made for it."
"He was made for it," Santi agreed softly, pushing some hair out of Frankie's face and tucking it behind his ear, "Huh, Francisco? Were you made for this?"
Another slow blink and an even slower nod, careful not to dislodge the appendages in his mouth. Benny assessed the door Will had left through and then hesitated for a moment before turning to Santi and whispering, "You feel good, Pope," under his breath.
"So do you," Santi replied with a smile, "Y'got a nice dick."
Benny seemed a bit flustered, avoiding Santiago's gaze as he muttered, "Thanks."
Will rejoined them a few seconds later, Santiago's polaroid camera in hand. Frankie watched with pleasure as Will brought the camera over his head and faced it downwards, preparing the shot.
"Chipmunk cheeks," Will murmured fondly, snapping the picture with a smile, "This'll do great for the annual Christmas card, huh boys?" It was a joke of course; they all knew that what was happening right would more than likely never leave the base, but Santi and Benny laughed nonetheless, pushing their cocks just a little bit more into Frankie's mouth.
"He's full," Benny murmured, "All filled up."
"Not entirely," Santi chuckled, "But close enough."
Their teasing words, their smiles and their laughs, it was making Frankie crazy. His untouched cock was still bobbing on its own accord, twitching and dripping as they talked about him like he wasn't even there. He was going to come soon, he just knew it, and the thought alone made him whine around his friend's dicks, his eyes rolling back.
"Shh, it's okay, Francisco," Santi reassured him softly, "Just give us one more minute to enjoy this, okay? Will's gonna take a few more pictures. You just stay still and keep suckin' on those cocks."
"You got this, Fish," Benny murmured, "You can do it, you're a good boy."
I am, Frankie thought to himself as he closed his eyes and heard the snap of another photo, I am a good boy.
Will took two more pictures with the camera so they'd each have one, tugging the polaroids out as they developed and waving them in the air. This was better than any porno magazine they'd ever be able to stow away, something real and raw, perfect spank bank material.
"I want the first one, where his eyes are open," Santi told Will when he was done, "Calling dibs."
"You got it."
Finally, Benny and Santi pulled themselves slowly out of Frankie's mouth, leaving him nothing but a drooling, lightheaded mess on his knees in front of them. He gasped for breath, head going down as he coughed and spluttered. He felt Will's hands patting his back, helping him through it as his chest heaved.
"Gonna come all over that pretty face, Fish," he heard Benny groan, "Open that mouth again, gonna fill it up."
With all the strength he could muster, Frankie tilted his head up and shakily opened his mouth again. His jaw was sore and aching but he knew he could last a little longer, knew he could give his friends what they needed before he collapsed in a heap on the floor. He watched as Benny jerked his cock in front of his face, watched the way his precum bubbled and spilled at the tip before being replaced with ropes and ropes of hot cum. If Benny was known for anything when it came to their little extracurriculars, it was certainly the ridiculous amount of spend he was able to produce.
"Right in the back of his fuckin' throat," he groaned, watching as it spurted into Frankie's open mouth, "Knew I had perfect aim." He redirected the head of his cock to further paint more of Frankie's face, covering him with thick white all over his cheeks and lips. "Don't swallow it, Fish," he managed to moan out, "Keep aaaall of it in there for me like the good boy you are."
A few more spurts along his neck and chest, one more in his mouth, and then Benny was tapping the head of his cock against Frankie's tongue again, watching as the last few drops spilled out onto it. Frankie peered up at him with heavy lids, a low moan emitting from the back of his throat.
"Yeah," Benny breathed, tapping his tongue again, "That's for you, s'all for you." He pulled his cock out and took a step back, nodding toward Santi, "Go ahead, man. I think he's spent."
"He'll be okay," Santi said softly, shuffling in front of Frankie again and pressing the sticky tip of his cock to the corner of his cum-filled mouth, "Huh, baby? Can you last a little longer? Just a few more minutes for me?" Frankie nodded and he smiled, "Open wide, baby boy."
"Come on, I don't want him to swallow it yet," Benny said a little exasperatedly as Santi slipped the head of his cock past Frankie's lips, the tiniest bit of Benny's cum dribbling from the left corner of his mouth.
"He won't swallow," Santi murmured, "He's just gonna get my dick a little wet." He looked up to share a knowing look with Benny, like a little secret between them, and Benny turned bright red.
At his words, Frankie swirled Benny's cum around the head of Santi's cock, coating it in the salty substance. He gazed up into Santi's eyes as he did it, almost like he was silently whispering to him, pleading; I'm ready now, I'm ready for you to give it to me.
"Okay, Francisco," Santi whispered, just for him, "Lo has hecho tan bien." You've done so well.
He pulled out of Frankie with a pornographic squelching sound and began to work Benny's cum and Frankie's saliva up and down the length of his cock, still staring directly into Frankie's deep brown eyes. He bit down on his bottom lip, brows furrowing as he brought himself closer and closer to the edge.
"Ask for it," he said quietly, edged with something unhinged.
"Please," Frankie breathed, voice garbled and muffled by the cum in his mouth and the ache in his throat, "Please come on me, Santi."
And that was enough.
"Mierda," Santi groaned out, stomach tensing as his thick cock twitched in his grasp. Frankie didn't close his eyes this time, kept them locked onto Santi's as cum drenched his face. It splashed along his cheek and nose in short bursts, dripped down his neck and collected in the corners of his mouth. Without being able to help it, he popped his mouth open one final time to allow Santi to add more cum to the cocktail on his tongue.
"Christ," Will muttered a few steps away, "Would ya look at that?"
"This," Benny sighed, a smile in his voice, "This is what we needed. Fuck Redfly, man."
In any other circumstance Santiago probably would have smacked Benny on the back of the head for disrespecting the team leader, but he was a little more than preoccupied at the moment. He was still staring down into Frankie's eyes, lost in a daze as Frankie tugged him back into his mouth with his tongue and sucked the last remaining spurt of cum from the tip of his cock.
"C'mere, watch him swallow," Santi gestured for the others to join him, and they all resumed their positions in front of Frankie with heavy lidded eyes as they watched him suck.
"Show us first," Benny murmured, "Come on, Fish, show us what's in your mouth, huh?"
Releasing Santi's cock with a pop, Frankie carefully opened his mouth to show his friends the pool of cum swirling on his tongue, dripping down into the soft pockets of his cheeks. Practically in awe, they all stared as he played with it, twisted his tongue back and forth and moving the thick globs of cum from one side of his mouth to the other.
"Swallow," Santi whispered, and Frankie obeyed.
It felt like heaven going down his throat, thick and warm. His eyes rolled a little, tongue darting behind his teeth to lick any that he'd missed, swallowing again and then dropping his jaw to show them his clean tongue, mouth empty.
"Good boy."
They stood there in silence for a moment, almost in reverence. Frankie was a mess, covered in three thick loads of spend and still on his knees with his cock bobbing against his stomach. He was so aroused it was almost painful, the head of his cock pulsing along with his heartbeat as he waited for an order, a command. He whined a little, waiting for someone to do something.
"Untie him," Santi finally told Benny with a smirk, "I think he's ready now."
Ready was an understatement. So much of an understatement in fact that Benny had barely brushed against Frankie's hands to untie the string when Frankie was suddenly letting out the loudest moan of the night, high and unbridled and full of pleasured desperation. Benny practically ripped the string from his hands to turn around and get a better look, watching with wide eyes as Frankie started to come with his cock completely untouched.
It was truly a sight to behold. His three friends stood frozen with their eyes glued to Frankie's cock as it bobbed and twitched of it's own accord, slapped repeatedly against his own stomach and dipped into his belly button. They watched as thick ropes of cum began to spill from his weeping tip, painting his stomach and chest, his chin, the floor. His balls shivered and tightened, more spurting out again and again as he writhed and shook on his knees, making the most pathetic little sounds as his eyes rolled.
Four loads now.
They were all in shock. They'd known he could do it, had felt him come in his pants untouched more than enough times at that point to know it was possible for him. But Christ, they'd never seen anything like it.
The room went silent as Frankie caught his breath, as he came down from his untouched orgasm and his loud outburst. They all watched as his cock continued to twitch with aftershocks, Benny letting out a soft groan when a little more cum dribbled from the tip. And then it was over.
More silence, save for Frankie's gasps and whimpers. And then Will took a step forward.
"Thank you, Fish," he told him earnestly, patting him on the shoulder and squeezing it gently, "That was... fuck. Thank you. You're fuckin' incredible."
Frankie looked up at him through fluttering lashes and nodded with a small smile, and then Will disappeared back to the bunks.
Benny was next. He got down on Frankie's level and came face to face with him, a grin on his face, "You're so pretty, Frank," he told him softly, "And you did so good. S'at what you needed?" Frankie nodded and Benny ruffled his hair a little bit, "Thanks, man. Thank you. We're gonna kill it tomorrow."
He followed his brother back to the bunks, leaving just Frankie and Santi alone together. Just like Benny had, Santi kneeled down to meet Frankie at eye level, picking up his cap along the way and carefully placing it on top of Frankie's head with a smile.
"Did I do good?" Frankie asked him softly, voice hoarse.
Santiago smiled even wider, pulled the cap down a bit further and murmured, "Si, Francisco. Perfecto."
A sleepy and sated grin lit up Frankie's cum-coated face. He could still feel everything, the thick layer of spend on his cheeks and chest, his slowly softening cock, the ache in his jaw - and he loved all of it. It felt right. So fucking right.
"Can you take a picture?" he suddenly asked, eyes alight, "Of me? Like this? I wanna... I wanna keep it. To remember it."
Santi's eyes softened even more, hand coming up to gently stroke Frankie's bare shoulder, "I can do that."
Santi grabbed the polaroid camera, held it front of his face and peered down at Frankie with a fond smile as his friend looked up at him softly, tiredly. "Show me those eyes, Francisco," he murmured, and Frankie halted the fluttering of his lashes to give the camera his ultimate fucked-out expression, a smile playing at his lips. The camera flashed and Santi pulled out the developed picture, waving it in the air as he settled back down in front of Frankie.
"Look at all this," he murmured softly, reaching up to gently thumb a bit of the cum on Frankie's face and scoop it carefully into his friend's mouth. Frankie sucked Santi's thumb with ease, sleepy and docile.
"S'yours," Frankie breathed when Santi pulled it back out.
Santi raised an eyebrow, "Mine?"
"What you just put in my mouth," Frankie clarified with a flush to his cheeks, "That was yours."
"You can tell?"
Frankie nodded with a soft chuckle, "Yeah, I can tell you all apart."
And if that wasn't the hottest thing Santiago had ever heard in his life.
Getting up from the floor was a bit of a task, but Santi helped him every step of the way. He lead Frankie to the showers where he let him lean against the wall, let him bask in the warmth of the hot water and the feeling of soap and shampoo as Santi worshipped him in a different way, a new way. Pressed kisses to his temples and his forehead, took his time lathering Frankie's arms and legs, gently cleaned his coated face and spent cock. And when he was done, Santi wrapped him in a towel and brought him back to his bunk, laid beside him and kissed him slow and deep until it felt like all that existed was just the two of them, nobody else.
He'd placed the polaroid in Frankie's bedside table and stroked his hair, murmured those familiar soft and gentle praises as he drifted to sleep.
Needless to say, their first mission was a success.
You're lying down with him now. It's well past midnight, moonlight streaming in through your bare-bones new bedroom as you peer at him quietly from under your lashes. He looks tired - he's been talking for over an hour now.
"There's more," he murmurs, eyes drooping, "More happened after that, a lot more, but I-"
"You've told me more than enough," you whisper, "You've been so honest, Frankie." Your thumb comes up to stroke his cheek, your mouth turning up slightly at the corners when his eyes start to close, "Thank you for telling me about that."
He hums, breathes deeply as sleep slowly starts to find him. You can't help but stare at him, watch his face turn peaceful, the lines in the corners of his eyes smoothing out, his full lips relaxing into a natural frown. He's so beautiful. He's so.... good.
You think of him back then, the way he probably used to be. So unsure, so new to the real world and so close to facing things he'd never anticipated. You picture him lying in his bunk with Will above him, Santi and Benny beside him, Tom somewhere else, somewhere distant - it makes sense now. It all makes sense.
And now he's lying in his own bed, in his own house, years later - with you. You, the only thing you think has really made sense to him for a long time, the only thing that's helped him overcome some of life's worst obstacles, the pain and the trauma from the shit he's dealt with throughout his life.
But despite all of this, despite the past few years you've spent together, you suddenly can't help but wonder where he'd be right now if you hadn't met.
Would he be in Santiago's bed?
You slip out from under the blankets and grab your phone from your nightstand, making sure to turn out the light before heading to the kitchen. Your nostrils are met with the smell of fresh paint and leftover chow mein as you flick on the overhead and settle yourself on one of the stools at the kitchen island.
Unsure exactly why, you unlock your phone and scroll through your contacts, biting your lip as you search for Santiago's name. When you finally find it, you tap on it, feeling something odd sink in your heart when you see the lack of messages. You've never texted him? Not even once? You lean back and try to think of the last time you even had a conversation alone with him without Frankie or the others there, just a one-on-one interaction... and you come up blank.
He'd been such a huge part of Frankie's life. And still is now - still sees him on weekends, goes to games and bars, came over to the old apartment for drinks and dinner pretty regularly. He's been there for Frankie in ways you never could have imagined or guessed, took care of him and comforted him, would probably take a bullet for him - hell, he actually might've for all you know.
You look back down at your phone and stare at the blank space where words should be, feel that guilt from earlier rise in your chest and make a home in the form of a lump in your throat.
You start typing out a message.
#frankie morales fic#frankie morales smut#frankie morales x triple frontier boys#PPCUGiftExchange2024#frankie morales x reader#*
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🐟Midnight's DCA MerMay🐟
It's that time again, but now it's for May! So let's just jump right into it;
Requests
I will have 16 slots available for requests. Length will be the same as previous events with 1000-2000 words allocated to each
Requests can be anything (again)! Just ask that they relate to mermaids/mermay in some way, be that directly or indirectly and of course DCA-related.
As most know I am an X reader writer, but as long as my general request rules are followed, I don't mind writing for ocs, canon, etc.
fair warning though for the above, I am not familar at all with TSAMS and if you DO have a specific au, I will do my BEST to be accurate but cannot guarentee beyond that
For those who don't know my rules, no nsfw (suggestive is fine!), and if you want something specific, be specific. Besides that, it's fair game, request what you want!
Potential Issues & Schedule
If there is overlap between request ideas, they will be combined in some manner of speaking (if possible). If needed, I will reach out to you about adjusting ideas or the likes, though I don't forsee this happening. This would occur if for example, someone wants gift shopping with Sun with their oc, and someone else wants the same thing with a reader-insert. Whoever requested second would be who I reach out to.
Requests will be posted starting on May 1st & ending on the 31st! I will likely post every other day, with the fic I'm writing suplementing in between ^^
I will be starting writing as soon as I get the first request, as I have a busy month or so prior to May SO, requests will be open from today (April 13th) until next week April 20th, or until I get 16 unique requests.
To keep things organized, please request in the comments of this post. This also helps to potentially keep from overlap in requests, as you'll be able to see what else has already been requested. If you request in my ask box or such it'll make things a bit more difficult, so please avoid that.
HOWEVER, there is one exception to the above, which is if you wish to request anonymously, which is completely fine to do! But please only request in my ask box if you want to be anonymous. If overlap happens in that case, then y'all may just get two responses with similar vibes on the same day (essentially a bonus lol)
Sharing & More
Please feel free to share this post around, and request if you want to! Once I hit 16 unique ones I'll reblog this post with the announcement that requests are closed, so make sure to double check they aren't closed already prior to requesting!
I'll also post updates every couple of days regarding the status of total requests as well ^_^
Everything related to this will be under the tag #MM dca MerMay
These should be uploaded to ao3 when posted here, so you'll be able to read there if you prefer!
Shout out to the artists and beta-readers helping out with this event! It's a big help and adds to the fun so very excited to get to cooking with these and see what y'all get up to with them ^^ (if you're interested in joining in on this here's a final call to reach out and I'll invite you to the discord server :D)
General update things from me
As I said in my update post I am, very busy, things have picked up in my research so I'm in crunch mode to get done asap so i can graduate
I've been writing tho! Several things I'm waiting to share until I clean them up a bit but once mermay gets started i don't forsee another dry spell for a bit at least
Been working on a bit of everything, CS and HS both sit at the back of my mind but I just haven't had the time to really sit down and write for them both given theyre more in-depth with plot and such, will be getting back to them once im able to though I promiseee
I'm down a thumb rn due to a run in with a mandolin (the cutting tool not the instrument) but I will survive! not being able to draw sucks tho >_<
Excited to see the requests, bye for now!
Tags for those who enjoy my writing (if you'd like added, just let me know!)
@scarletcowboy @beemyhuneybee @fishm0ther @deviouscrackers @elsajoyagent8 @luckyyyduckyyy @zenkaiankoku @jogimote @local-shrub @milosmantis @robinette-green @everlightreader @sinister-sincerely @starredeclipse @dangerva @juukai @crystalmagpie447 @mothgutz236 @lizyxml @divinit3a @amarynthian-chronicles @crystalfay @that-one-unknown-artist @rosescarletful @buzzy-bee @hazelthebat @nightriverart
#dca fandom#fnaf dca#fnaf sun#fnaf moon#dca fic#fnaf daycare attendant#sundrop#moondrop#MM dca mermay#writing requests#i forgot to post this yesterday like i said i would oops#to be fair#busy saturday#BUT it's here now#the story is coming along nicely#big things there#will make a formal post for it over the next couple of weeks and such probably
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