#there was so much there to explore!!! and yet!!!

[spiddermen]

deltarune - world egg theory

anyone else think it's weird that we never see anything outside of hometown? there's no pictures of the outside world, the camera never pans out, and the sole road outside of town is blocked. the obvious reason for this is that we never need to leave the town, but i think there might be more to it than that. what if the reason we can't leave is because there's actually nothing outside of hometown?

so. we all know deltarune isn't real. as such, the world of deltarune isn't real - there's nothing to it outside of the parts we see. this is true for every game, of course, but i think in deltarune, it might be true in-universe as well. think about it - nobody can use the internet, we don't see anybody enter or leave the town, and we can't contact asriel. what if the reason for this is because there's literally nothing outside of hometown? if there's nothing there, there'd be no roads to follow, no internet to connect to, no phones to call. but why?

in the universe of deltarune, gaster is a stand-in for the game's devs. he's the one who revealed it on twitter, posts about it every time a new chapter comes out, and even calls it "my deltarune". it's likely that this world is literally his creation - a small, fictional world, an experiment that he's created. the entire world seems to be designed around his story, seeing as the religion the town follows is literally the story of deltarune; and in the church, one of the prophecy screens says "THE STORY OF THIS WORLD. <DELTARUNE.>", explicitly calling the entire world deltarune. if he made this world, why would he waste time and effort making pointless, extraneous content that nobody will ever see? why make anything outside of hometown at all?

i think this is how dess disappeared. normally, nobody inside the town perceives that anything's wrong. (if you've watched utena or the madoka movie, you'll know what i mean.) kris, dess, noelle, and asriel liked to go exploring in the forest around the graveyard and the bunker, but they shouldn't have been able to break out of bounds and escape hometown. that is... until they followed the pointed tail.

in a secret room in the second church world, you can find an organ philosopher that says a bunch of scrambled text. once unscrambled, it reads "lost where the forest would grow, the children followed the pointed tail." in another prophecy room and the game files, you can find this pointed tail, and see that it's made of circles - much like the cats in noelle's cat petterz game. this circular, pointed tail likely belongs to the FRIEND cat, an enigmatic entity that rarely appears in the game, yet seems to exist on the same layer as the title screen UI and the gonermaker. it's a creature that, by that virtue, would know that deltarune is just a game, and that the world of hometown is fake. it would be able to guide dess, kris, and noelle to the true end of the world, where dess would be able to get "lost where the forest would grow" - the place it would have grown, if the world was real.

but why? well, we know that gaster sees this world as his experiment, something he has control over. there might be something he's trying to find here, something he wants to discover. i think that thing he's researching is probably hope, and determination. by making a fake world with a emotional story and lovable characters, he'll make us all get attached to it. we'll defeat the enemies, progress the story, and hope for the character's well being. when he sees us trying to defeat the knight, he cheers us on, because he sees that hope shining in us, and knows that his theory might just be right. once we're invested enough, determined enough, hopeful enough, that's when his deltarune will be complete, and he'll achieve... well, i'm not really sure! i think it's a little too early to predict his real plan, but i think that our hope and determination are a big part of it. like he said in the chapter 2 release teaser, deltarune glows brightly from our hope.

what about asriel? isn't he at college? yeah, but... how do we know that's real? in the game files, that college and asriel both don't exist. i think that in-universe, he probably isn't being "rendered", in a manner of speaking. if he needs to show up in the story, files related to him will be added, and he'll be there just when he's needed. in the meantime, his personal story only exists in our minds, and that's good enough for the world of deltarune.

isn't that a really depressing ending? being told that everyone isn't real? maybe! i feel like there's a few different ways this could resolve, but i've got no clue what toby dreamed up that made him so determined to make this game. but i've got two opinions on possible outcomes, one for the normal route and one for the alt route.

on the normal route - i think the resolution will revolve around the idea that in your mind, fictional characters are just as real as you treat them. sure, they're not "real" so to speak, but we care about them! we're emotionally impacted by them, we cry and laugh and hope for their future. they might not be real, but their emotions and feelings are real through us, the players. the world of deltarune doesn't end just because the code stops running - it keeps existing in the mind of everyone who's played it. gerson says that the next pages are blank, ready to be filled in by the youth, and we just need to pick up the pen of hope and keep making it. susie's hoped-for eternity will live on in our hearts - as long as we don't forget.

on the alt route - the alt route is reached by completely disregarding the idea that these characters are real. we don't care about their feelings - sure, we do a little bit, but all we want is to find everything. in mantle, we become strong by destroying everything and everyone, and once we've reached our full power, we're able to destroy the trees. in the second area of mantle, you destroy some very hometown-colored trees, progress down a path for a little bit, and then find a door... that leads to an endless, empty black abyss. i think this is foreshadowing the alt route's eventual message - if you treat the characters as fake, disregard their emotions and what they want, and just treat the game as something to find content in, you'll be faced with the fact that it really is fake. you've stopped yourself from being immersed by allowing yourself to treat the characters as nothing more than sprites and dialogue, and in response, that's all the game becomes - a fake world with nothing on the other side.

[angelx]

Get Even - Chapter 4

word count: 2.2K

cw: frat prez!katsuki x fem art student!reader, mention of light consensual sexual exploration, loss of innocence (consensual), light power dynamics, angst, emotional manipulation, betrayal, deception revealed, verbal confrontation, emotional fallout, heartbreak, desperation, minor character being an accidental snitch

Three weeks. That’s how long it took.

He could’ve ended the game then—hand over the receipts, claim the win, drive off in his beloved Porsche with the smug satisfaction of victory. But Katsuki Bakugou wasn’t thinking about bets anymore. Not when you were sleeping in his bed, tangled in his sheets, soft skin flushed and vulnerable beneath his calloused hands.

You were always there now. In his room, curled into his side. At his place, stealing clothes you’d never return. Even in the quiet hours while he worked on his mechanical engineering assignments, you were there—sitting cross-legged on his bed, scribbling ideas for your next art project, occasionally sketching him in your sketchbook when your mind wandered elsewhere. The same guy who cornered you at a frat party last month, with a cocky smirk now pressed a kiss to your cheek when you said goodnight, traced circles on your knee while driving, held your hand like it was his lifeline.

And he was always around now.

Studio drop-offs. Post-class pastry runs. Sitting beside you as you finished a charcoal draft while he cranked out engineering formulas, muttering to himself and reaching blindly for the drink you'd gotten him.

It wasn’t official. No one said it out loud. But you were his, and Katsuki didn’t correct anyone who looked at you that way.

He should've walked away. After all, he’d already "won"—in less than a month, no less. But every time he looked at you—really looked—that old smugness cracked, and something softer bled through.

Something guilty. Something real. But you didn’t know that yet.

What you did know was that your body didn’t feel like a stranger’s anymore. Not with the way Katsuki touched you, taught you. Whispered encouragements when you were shy about asking for more. He’d started slow, guiding you through your own pleasure like you were something sacred. He taught you everything.

But the more he gave you, the more you wanted. Craved. Demanded.

It started with soft kisses that turned filthy. With your fingers buried in his hair, your thighs trembling. He would whisper in your ear, telling you how good you were doing, how much he needed you.

Then you changed. bolder. Hungrier. Katsuki taught you everything. Patiently. Obsessively. How to arch your back and press your hips against his to feel just right. How to use your hands, slow and deliberate. How to kiss like a promise and moan like a prayer. How to open your mouth for him—eager, breathless, desperate.

And now? You whispered back, filthier. You learned how to tease him. Torment him. You bit his lip when he teased, you whispered filthy things in his ear that made his cock twitch under his jeans. You’d ride him slow and steady just to watch his composure crack. You’d rake your nails down his chest, then soothe it with kisses, grinning when he gritted his teeth and growled your name. You started talking him through it like he used to do to you—telling him how good he felt, how hard he made you come, how you’d never get enough of him.

One night, you edged him. Pushed him to the brink with your mouth and your hands and your voice, and stopped—just before he could fall. You looked up at him with those wide eyes, lashes wet, lips swollen, your tongue tracing the corner of your mouth like the fucking menace you were becoming. And Katsuki just stared down at you, jaw slack, chest heaving, one hand tangled in your hair like he didn’t know whether to pull you in or push you away before he lost his mind.

He’d created a monster—a pretty little succubus that lived to ruin him. And he was so okay with it.

“Fuck,” he gasped one night, sweat slick between your bodies. “You’re a fuckin’ succubus, y’know that?”

You giggled, all sugar and mischief, brushing your fingers down his abs, and Katsuki was gone. Under your spell. Addicted.

He should’ve stopped. Should’ve told you the truth. But how could he? You smiled at him like he built you a second sun. And maybe… maybe he wanted to be loved like that. Even if it was built on a lie.

The days blurred sweetly after that night.

It wasn’t love—no one dared to say it out loud—but whatever it was, it bled into everything. The way he kissed you like he needed it. The way you leaned into him like he was home. You were always near now, a fixture in his space and mind—wearing his hoodies, curling up on his lap while he worked on a thermodynamics worksheet he half-understood, sneaking bites of his snacks like you had the right.

He still hadn’t told you the truth.

And sometimes, when you smiled too wide or kissed him just because, that guilt threatened to crack open in his chest. But he stuffed it down. Kept pretending. Because pretending felt good. It felt real.

Then came the night of yet another Sigma Vex party.

You didn’t even argue this time. When he offered to pick you up, you said yes. When he threw his varsity jacket over your shoulders before walking into the frat house, you smiled at him so sweetly that his teeth could rot. And when the music thrummed through the walls and neon lights painted your skin, you didn’t leave his side once.

It was like the rest of the world didn’t exist.

You sat curled in his lap on one of the leather couches, your legs draped across his like it was the most natural thing. He had one arm slung over your waist, thumb stroking absent-minded circles into your hip. Your head leaned against his shoulder, warm and light and so real it made his breath catch.

He didn’t care that his brothers watched. Didn’t give a damn about their smirks or side-eyes. You were his. Whether it was fake, temporary, or tangled in lies—right now, it felt true.

You brushed your lips against his jaw. “Need another drink?”

He gave a lazy hum. “Only if you’re gettin’ one too.”

“I’ll be right back,” you teased, slipping off his lap with a soft smile, the weight of you leaving his legs like losing warmth.

And then you were gone—just for a minute. It wasn’t a big deal. You’d come back, sit in his lap again, maybe he'd sneak you into the upstairs bedroom later. That’s what he thought.

But the universe had other plans.

You slipped into the kitchen, fingers curling around two red cups. The music was duller here, muffled behind thick walls. The party felt far away. You poured the drinks without thinking, still smiling to yourself.

Then a presence stumbled up beside you, reeking of cheap tequila and sweat.

“Heyyyy, you're kinda hooot” the guy slurred, squinting. “You’re from the art department, right?”

You turned slightly, confused but polite. “Yeah?”

He blinked. His eyes lit up like he’d just solved a math problem with crayons. “Wait. Wait, wait—you’re that girl. From the last party! Holy shit.”

You froze.

He grinned like this was the funniest thing in the world. “Prez actually did it. I can’t fuckin’ believe it.”

You frowned, your stomach dipping. “...Did what?”

“Oh, y’know—the bet. Back when you ran outta the first party like your ass was on fire? He was gonna lose that fancy-ass Porsche if he didn’t hit it by midterms. But he did! He won! Got in there fast, too—less than a month!”

Your hands shook. Your mouth went dry. The words didn’t compute at first. They sat there, echoing, buzzing around your brain like static. But they didn’t make sense.

“What… bet?” you asked, the words catching in your throat.

Before he could dig the hole any deeper, Kaminari appeared in the doorway like a lifeline. “Oi! Kimura. Shut. Up.”

But Kimura didn’t notice the sharp edge in his tone. “What? I’m just sayin’—it’s crazy, right? Prez really went all in. Said he’d make her beg for it—”

The drink slipped from your hand and crashed to the floor. The silence was immediate.

Kimura blinked. You stood there, the world around you slipping sideways. Kaminari’s jaw was tight, his eyes full of panic, like someone just pulled the fire alarm and everyone else kept dancing.

“Oh, shit-” Kimura muttered. “I fucked up.”

Your vision blurred.

There was a bet. There was a bet. You were the punchline. The game.

And suddenly, every sweet thing he ever did, every kiss, every look, every whispered promise—it all felt like poison sinking into your skin.

He played you. He chose to. And worst of all—you had no idea how much of it had ever been real.

You didn’t mean to storm out like that. But your legs are already moving, fueled by instinct. By betrayal. By the cold slap of reality that hit you like a freight train in that fucking kitchen. The hallway blurs. Laughter and music fade behind you. The buzz of the party becomes background noise to the pounding of your heart.

And then—You pass the living room. He’s still there.

Katsuki sits on that stupid black leather couch like he owns the room, like he owns the night. But when his gaze catches yours—when he sees the fire in your eyes, the betrayal carved into every line of your face—his whole world tilts.

His body tenses. He knows. No, you knew.

And you don’t even stop. You don’t scream. You don’t cry. You just walk past him like he’s nothing—like he never meant anything. And that? That hits harder than any slap could’ve. You slam open the front door.

“Wait—!” his voice tears through the air like thunder.

Then footsteps. Fast. Heavy. You don’t even get two steps into the driveway before he catches up. A warm hand wraps around your wrist, desperate, trembling with panic.

“Baby, wait—let me explain—please—”

You stop. And then you snap. You whirl around, eyes blazing like wildfire, and rip your arm from his grip. The motion is sharp. Violent. Final.

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

Your voice splits the night. He stares at you—shell-shocked. He’s never heard you yell like that. Never seen you this raw. This hurt. You’re trembling. Not from fear. From fury. From heartbreak. Your voice cracks but you don’t fall apart. You refuse to fall apart in front of him. Not him. Not now.

“You think you could play me?” you breathe, voice shaking as tears finally sting your eyes. “You think you could lie to my face, touch me however you want, make me feel things—only to laugh about it later with your frat brothers?”

He tries to speak—his mouth opens, closes again like he’s drowning. “No—no, that’s not—baby, I didn’t mean—”

“Don’t,” you cut him off. “Don’t call me that. You don’t get to call me that.”

"After everything... You did all of this for what? To get back at me for rejecting you once? What? Your shitty pride and reputation got the better of you?"

And then the tears start. Hot and slow, streaking your cheeks without permission. You’re not sobbing. You’re not even making a sound. You just look at him like he set fire to everything you’ve ever built.

Like you don’t recognize him anymore.

Like you wish you never met him.

“Was taking my virginity also part of your bet?” You asked him, but he couldn't give you an answer.

It was impossible for you to believe at this point. “Don’t fucking follow me,” you whisper. Your voice is hoarse now. Wrecked. “Just… don’t.”

You turn. You leave. And this time, he doesn’t stop you. He stays there on the pavement, frozen, winded like you just punched him straight in the chest. Because watching you walk away like that—seeing the light go out in your eyes when you looked at him—hurts more than anything else ever has.

Later that night…

Katsuki sat on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, phone clenched in his hand like it was the only thing anchoring him to this damn world. His thumb hovered over your contact—again.

Call Ended.Missed Call (30).

He tried again. Straight to voicemail.

“Fuck,” he whispered, dragging a hand through his hair, chest rising and falling with a panic that refused to quiet. He keeps on spamming your phone with messages you won't even see.

baby, pleaselet me explainplease answer my callsfuck, i'm sorry. i didn’t mean it like this please baby let me explain i didn’t mean for this to happenbaby, please answer the call

Delivered. Delivered. Delivered.

Your phone sat abandoned on your nightstand—screen facedown, volume turned off. You didn’t even glance at it.

You were curled up in bed, blanket pulled over your head like it could shield you from the ache in your chest. Your pillow was already wet with tears. Your fists were balled against your chest, throat raw from sobbing until your voice gave out.

You weren’t ignoring him. You were just too heartbroken to care.

And in that silence, Katsuki was left to sit alone in his room, fingers clenched around his phone, jaw tight, heart sinking lower with every minute you didn’t pick up.

You didn’t need to say a single word.

Your silence screamed louder than anything else ever could.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈ -ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Part 5 is in the making! will be finished and posted as soon as possible!

Check the full series here: Get Even

check out my other works here!: MHA MASTERLIST

EMERGENCY WRITING COMMISSION OPEN

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[angelsforthenight]

professor!caitlyn would just be oh so unruly. so sickly unprofessional that you'd get all queasy from all the butterflies she's given you. who knew there'd be a professor like that in your prestigious, victorian-esque university?

content warning (18+): SOME PROPER FREAKY SHIT, written porn under the cut, professor/student taboo, age-gap, s&m: spanking, power play, dom!caitlyn, sub!reader, degrading, praising.

you were extra bad on purpose today: putting your feet up on the desk so she'd be able to catch a glimpse of your underwear, smacking your gum as loudly as possible whilst blabbing loudly to your friends. caitlyn really had enough of your blatant pleas for attention. it was frankly rather embarrassing seeing you act like a child whilst everybody else was serious about getting work done and building their futures.

which is precisely why caitlyn decides to take a more... hm, let's say, vintage route. she believes these kids today have just got too much smoke up their ass and need to be brought down a notch — to endure the same punishment she had to go through in her days.

so here you are, in all your shame yet perverse glory, bent over the desk whilst she smacks your ass with a ruler again, and again. simultaneously forcing you to repeatedly write down on your notebook 'i will not be a bad girl.'

you've written the sentence three times so far, and each time you're done, caitlyn smacks you with the ruler harder. you flinch and a whimper punches out of your throat, the pen threatening to rip the flimsy paper apart.

'another.' caitlyn commands, her deep voice reverberating through your very core. it's getting harder and harder to write, but you force yourself to scribble the same sentence again. there it goes, smack! and you drop your pen, your head unable to hold itself up anymore.

but alas, caitlyn does not let you remain like that for long: yanking you back up by the hair and smacking you harder.

'keep writing.' her voice is firmer, sharper. your fingers shake, handwriting getting messier and messier within each turn. cait coos in mock-pity, her fingers resting its onslaught and settling in gentle rubbing instead, purposely close to your pussy that is pathetically, pathetically wet right now.

your thighs tremble in anticipation whilst caitlyn explores you with her fingers. a violent shudder rips through you when you feel the tip of her fingers stretch the edge of your cheeks so she can get a better look at your now see-through underwear.

'what disappoints me the most is how you find this arousing. what a sick girl.' she tuts, moving your panties aside and shamelessly smacking the raw flesh. you yelp, a weak 'i'm sorry' somehow leaving your lips. a passionate alone-time with professor kiramman will leave you like that fortunately unfortunately.

you hear the sweet sound of caitlyn's chuckle behind you. 'good pet. that's all i wanted to hear.'

only then does she allow you to properly get off: slim, nimble fingers easing into your sopping heat like a landslide: three fingers at a time. she whistles at how well you take them, whilst you writhe and mewl in pleasure: fingers scrabbling at the desk and knocking over a few papers.

caitlyn sucks in a breath, as she leans in real close and whispers sweet little endearing terms into your ear, ones like 'i wish you could see how well she's taking me' and 'you seem like you're enjoying it, hmm?' whilst you can only moan and drool out your words in response.

such sweet punishment, and if it's always going to end like this then you can't help but fleetingly think what other things you can do to get on caitlyn's bad side again.

note: today i watched bloodsisters (1995), a lesbian documentary about s&m and got seriously inspired, i recommend you guys to watch it! it's really good ( ∩´͈ ᐜ `͈∩) this is sauurrrr freaky i hope it's not too controversial or anything lolololol

[thetrasha]

He Smells Like...

feat. ZORO, BROOK, LAW, ACE, SHANKS, MIHAWK, CROCODILE

ZORO

…agarwood/jinko/oud, patchouli and black amber.

MOOD: masculine, traditional and earthy

Zoro smells like a forgotten temple that has been taken over by nature. A structure so imposing that the vines running along its architectural design seem insignificant in comparison, but every cut into the finely cut stone tells a story, every blemish reminds the visitor of years of pain. Nonetheless, the temple is still here, having overcome every invasion.

Just like Zoro, who piles other people’s burdens onto his own… just to protect them. He offers security, and only accepts sincere gratitude as payment, nothing else. He cannot change the world, but he would die trying if it came down to it – for his beliefs, his friends… and for you. You care for that abandoned temple of his like a priestess would, never once thinking of leaving it be. Really, you… are his saviour. You wouldn't let him succumb to the elements.

BROOK

…tea leaves, rain and cashmere.

MOOD: unisex, nostalgic and deep

Most people would say that they find the smell of rain comforting, but most people would also much prefer a sunny day. The scent is a circumstance of life – or the absence of it, depending on who you might ask. Standing next to Brook, thus, reminds you of… simpler times, times where happiness was so palpable and so real, more easily within your grasp, when the pressure of life didn’t get to you yet. It doesn’t surprise you at all that he naturally mirrors his soul’s gloom despite having such a joyous and accessibly kind personality.

Brook is beyond glad that you were at peace with his being. He doesn’t quite believe you when you tell him that he doesn’t smell like death at all, but he’d take the compliment with a hearty chuckle. He trusts your judgement more than he trusts his own. Besides, how can he turn you down when you look at him like he's all you've ever dreamt of?

LAW

…books, common sage and lavender.

MOOD: unisex, herbaceous and comforting

Tranquil and calm with a sharp minty tang that vaguely reminds you of medicinal properties, that’s how you’d describe it. It’s so soothing that it might even make some people deliriously sleepy – but again, deeply refreshing. It’s also a bit of an ancient smell, fitting for his old soul that’s been through so much. For someone so disturbed by himself, you think it’s delightful what a calming effect he has on others. Always the voice of reason, always ready to utter a wise word…

So you nurture him when he’s had enough for the day, the week, the entire year. When the noise gets to be too much for him, you enter the room with a fresh cup of tea or coffee – just how he likes it – and talk to him about happier things, things that take his mind off of his demons. Now you’ll never miss that steady presence in your life, just like how he will never miss yours, for you have each other now.

ACE

…common jasmine, honeydew melon and smoke.

MOOD: feminine, light and delicate with musky undertones

A scent that reminiscent of heady spring nights that end up around a barely glimmering bonfire. A marking of new beginnings and scorched earth alike – Ace smells cheerful, innocent and floral with a hint of depth to it, like a secret that’s never been lifted, a cry nobody ever bore witness to… Well, until you came along. You always thought the smoke was the strongest note within that concoction and not just because he ate the Flame Flame Fruit, no, because… still waters, ironically, are very deep. At first, you didn’t detect that smoky musk at all, yet once he’s let you in, the smoke overpowered the lighter, more cheerful parts. He was an enigma worth exploring, worthy of being seen and being offered a shoulder to lean on. He’d never thought that crying in your arms would appease the flames within him, but… well, he didn’t think he’d ever love someone this truthfully either.

Every spring follows a dark winter.

SHANKS

…rum, cedarwood and raspberry.

MOOD: masculine, balsamic and playful

It’s a surprisingly grounding scent. He smells like an adventure and feels very warm and approachable because of it. How funny that Shanks – Shanks! – smells approachable when he’s prone to burying his problems and keeping his heart under lock and key. He’s so… so silly, so fun, so him, but he’s also quite the introspective thinker who craves harmony and everlasting peace. Very well aware of his legacy and the laid-back nature he projects to ease other people’s worries, he tries not to think about the missing arm, the loss of strength that came with it, the phantom pain, the… problems; he tries to forget that he’s almost lost an eye, and that it all amounted to nothing. The world is still rotten, evil still runs rampant… it makes him chuckle wistfully. You’re always there to catch him when the mood turns sombre, holding him close and telling this living legend that he’s done well, that you’re proud of him and that his sacrifices changed the world.

If he’s balsam for the soul, you’re his much needed anchor.

MIHAWK

…black lily, sandalwood and wine.

MOOD: feminine, mysterious and elegant

Very much a complex, sophisticated scent. Nothing ever seems like it is on its surface level, and you have to dig deep to perceive the base note, because Mihawk doesn’t let people in on his... life most of the time. He’s fleeting and evasive, rarely ever blossoming. He keeps people at an arm’s length, deeming most people liability, or shooing them away because they'd they just annoy him… but somehow, you stuck with him.

You’ve seen the good, the bad and the ugly, but let him keep his air of secrecy, never pried once. Your own independence kept you busy. He... appreciates it. Like a good red wine, his trust needs time to age properly. Once he’s decided to keep you, though, there’s no going back. The slow burn has erupted into an open fire and his loyalty is indeed forever. He’s your sword and shield, and you are his heart.

CROCODILE

…tobacco, leather and burnt amber.

MOOD: masculine, domineering and warm

Crocodile smells like he could take over any room, that deep aroma keeps dominating the senses. The spiciness of the tobacco has permanently seeped into his luxurious clothes, and every cigar lit between his fingers just adds to the sensation. It’s a rich scent that is truly inevitable, just like he is. His frame is imposing, his intimidating appearance undeniable and yet, and yet… there’s this warmth in there, something leathery, something raw. You often interpret it as anger – anger at the world, at himself, at friends and foes alike… it’s easy to stoke the flames, but you’ve come to realise that Crocodile has never once been unreasonable in his anger.

His dismissiveness would be almost impressive if it weren’t for his other side; possessive, domineering… irrational. For a man of his calibre, he sure seems to have a problem with you trying to sever your ties to him by finding a job with a better work and life balance... He claims that he cannot find anyone who could do your job, but you knew that that’s a horrible lie.

Neither of you acknowledge what's happening out of pride.

[flqwerjo]

─── 𝑻𝑜𝑜 𝑴𝑢𝑐ℎ ?

˚.❀𝑷𝐴𝐼𝑅𝐼𝑁𝐺 ─── Bf!Riki x Reader

˚.❀𝑺𝑌𝑁𝑂𝑃𝑆𝐼𝑆 ─── your boyfriend is just so big :(

˚.❀𝑮𝐸𝑁𝑅𝐸/𝐶𝑊 ─── smut drabble(mdni), belly bulge, size difference/reader implied smaller than him , unrealistic fictional smut (!!), first time having sex together, size kink, protected sex ˚.❀𝑾𝑂𝑅𝐷 𝐶𝑂𝑈𝑁𝑇 ─── 0.9k

                               𝒄ℎ𝑒𝑐𝑘 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑜𝑢𝑡ᵎᵎ (˶˃⤙˂˶)

Today was the night , the night you and your lovely , caring boyfriend were going to try and have sex again. Yes , again. The two of you had been dating for around 4 months , having promised to each other to take things slow — that already failed within the first month when just kissing turned into a heated make out session . Your boyfriend was just too irresistible and his kisses always had you yearning for more , plus , he was a very good kisser. You soon figured out that he wasn't only good with kissing your upper lips , but your other lips too.

Yes , again , the two of you had promised to take things slow — but some promises were just meant to be broken. Around the second month mark , the two of you decided to slowly explore each other's bodies to see what the other likes and doesn't like — in the sexual aspect , now he knows your body like the back of his hand.

But there was one promise the two of you stayed to without breaking it — having sex together when the both of you were ready for it and wanted it. You were ready and so was he , he just forgot how much smaller you were than him and so did you — you were barely able to handle two of his fingers at once when he fingered you for the first time :(

You've tried once , twice, even thrice — but it never worked whenever he tried to put his cock past your tight hole , the furthest he had managed to go was the tip of his cock barely inside you.

"Are you sure Princess ? We can try another time , I can just eat you out again if you want ?", the palm of his hand was warm against your cheek as he gently caressed it , his eyes focused on your face instead of your pussy that was hovering right above his cock. It was one of those times again where the two of you tried to have sex , try to fit his cock inside of your tight little pussy — you were starting to get frustrated , you really wanted him , no , you needed him.

So , you've decided to try and be on top. "No.. I want to try again...", you mumbled under your breath as you grabbed the base of his cock , his eyes closing upon feeling your touch on it before he opened them again to look at you , his eyes studying the expression on your face — you were so frustrated that your eyebrows were furrowed , lips formed in a little pout. Your boyfriend didn't spend at least an hour stretching your pussy out with his fingers and making you cum a couple times with his tongue just for it to not work again.

You lowered your hips a little until the head of his cock was pressing against your entrance , rubbing the tip between your sticky folds to lubricate his latex covered cock with your arousal before you took a deep breath and pressed his tip against your entrance. You bit your bottom lip slightly as the small burn started to make its appearance , the head of his cock slowly stretching your hole as it pushed inside of you. The stretch was bearable and the pain hadn't hit you yet so you kept going until the head of his cock has disappeared inside of you.

Riki's eyes were watching you like a hawk , his breath hitching when he saw the tip of his cock slowly go inside of your tight heat. Your hands rested on his chest now to brace yourself as you continued to lower yourself down , a quiet wince out of pain leaving your lips as the stretch was starting to burn and sting the more you took of him.

"Almost there Princess... you got half of me inside you..", Riki encouraged as he put his hands on top of yours , rubbing his thumbs into the back of your hands gently. And you kept going , your nails scratching his chest slightly as you finally bottomed out , a whimper coming from you as you felt just how deep he was pressing inside of you. "You did it Angel... did such a good job for me", Riki mumbled as he gently grabbed the back of your head and pulled your head down to him so he could kiss your forehead gently."It's so... big...", you breathed out , your voice breathless and trembling as your words came out as a whisper.

His other hand grabbed your waist just to hold you , slowly caressing from your waist to your stomach which made him pause in his tracks. You didn't pay much attention to it and slowly started to move your hips as you got used to the stinging pain that slowly started to feel good the more you moved — rolling your hips back and forth before you leaned over and placed your hands next to his head as you slowly started to lift your hips up and down.

Your movements confirmed what he was feeling , the low moan of a curse vibrating in his chest. "Fuck... angel , I can feel myself inside you whenever you move... I'm all the way up to your stomach", his words made you pause and move back , hands resting on top of his thighs so you could take a look at your belly and there it was — the subtle bulge showing through your belly and fuck , it was just making you wetter and feel more aroused , the feeling of arousal was mutual for Riki. He had to collect all the self restraint in his body to not slam your hips up and down just to see his own fucking cock move inside of you.

"Fuck.... cover my eyes , If I'll keep watching you ride my cock like you own it and watch myself move inside of you , I'll cum too early."

[crusty-chronicles]

Sick and Tired (Of You)

Synopsis: In which our reader falls ill at the worst possible time. Unfortunately for Law, it's up to him to take care of you. Or alternatively: Trauma dumping with The Surgeon of Death. Can be read separately from Part 1, but it adds context.

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You stare in utter disbelief at the sight in front of you. Your eye twitches just a little because what the hell??? Luffy, on the other hand, is thrilled. He’s pointing excitedly while saying it's ‘so cool’ and ‘it’s the best thing he's ever seen.’ He's of course talking about Bartolomeo’s ship. A ship that had him as its figurehead and scattered mementos of the crew on deck.

It's almost scary how much effort was put into it. If Bartolomeo hadn't proven himself to be a trustworthy ally, you would've assumed he was five seconds away from kidnapping your brother. You still wouldn't have put it past him. 

You think you and Franky could have built something half decent to sail on instead. But you have no time and honestly, you don't have the materials for that either. Even if you did, the cyborg was more than impressed by the craftsmanship to be convinced otherwise.

You're snapped out of your thoughts when Luffy starts pulling on your arm.

“C'mon! Let's go explore!”

You give in despite the fatigue coursing through your veins. Somehow you find yourselves in some kind of shrine room. (As if the obsession couldn't get any weirder.) Every single one of the crew’s wanted posters were on display. To your surprise, so was the first one you'd gotten after Fishman Island.

Your scythe is poised to attack. The top half of your face is shrouded in darkness from the cloak you'd worn. A red glint reflects off your pupils. You figured Garp must've had a heart attack when he saw it. Officially, all his grandkids had grown up to spite the world government.

A shame considering he'd had the highest hopes for you.

Just as you were about to leave the room, someone came in with new posters. All your bounties had been upgraded. You took yours from the stack.

The Reaper Y/n

300 Million Berries. 

You'd almost say you were proud. Except for the fact your face was clearly visible this time. Bloodied and strained, but yours all the same. You glance towards your bounty once more. 300 million felt a little overkill for the small part you played in Dressrosa. 

“Why's mine so high?” You ask aloud, failing to notice the presence peeking over your shoulder.

“You were up there with us fighting Doflamingo. I'm surprised it's not higher.” Law answers.

You supposed he had a point. Though you didn't appreciate your bounty skyrocketing the second your face was revealed. It only gave people an incentive to recognize you. 

You were about to respond but stopped noticing his attention was elsewhere. Law was staring out longingly towards Dressrosa. As if he was leaving something behind. Perhaps he was. The burden of what had been weighing him down. 

“You doing okay?” You asked.

He tenses. You're far too observant for your own good. He wants to tell you to leave it alone. Leave him alone. But things are different now. He knows you're not trying to pry into what happened. You just wanted to know how he was doing mentally. 

Not great if he was being honest. The true battle had only just begun. But he doesn't want to get into it right now. 

“It's personal,” he settles on.

You give a small hum, not pushing any further. 

“I see. Did you accomplish what you wanted in Dressrosa?”

You're careful with your words. Choosing them in a way that opens the door if he wants to talk. He’s not sure he trusts you that much yet. But he's getting there. 

He'd succeeded in carrying out his plan, sure. The factory was destroyed, the production of SMILE had ceased, and Doflamingo was defeated. He'd gotten his revenge, but what came next was still unclear. 

“Yeah. Did you get closure?” He asked in reference to you and Sabo.

The revolutionary left in good spirits while you and Luffy were sleeping. Tearing off a piece of his vivre card before mussing up your hair. Law assumed you two were on better terms now. 

“Yeah. We're good. It's nice to know I still have someone to depend on,” you admit.

You always talk about your brothers with such fondness. So when the opportunity presents itself to take Strawhat down a peg, he goes for it. 

“Strawhat’s not dependable?” 

You feign a glare before giving his shoulder a light shove. A smile tugs at the corner of his lips. He likes this. Ragging on someone who'd been the bane of his existence for months. It was short-lived, however, as you answer the question honestly.

“He's my little brother. I’d never ask him for favors like that. It's kinda like passing a baton. I carry Luffy’s baggage and Sabo carries mine.”

For whatever reason, it intrigues him. The dynamic you'd set up all those years ago was similar yet different to his own.

“Who carries his?” 

“Don't know. Perks of not being the oldest anymore.” You shrug off.

He looks at you with a baffled expression. He never pegged you as the type to be crass. Your grin quickly lets him know you're joking.

“But we're there for him if he needs us,” you reiterate.

“It's just some weird kind of obligation, you know? Not to let the younger ones deal with the oldest’s problems.”

“I get that.” He said quietly.

Because he'd had a little sister too. Law remembers trying to do what was best for her. To reassure her that everything was going to be okay. Even when he knew it wasn't.

Talking to you was validating somewhat. He wishes he could've done more for his family. Warn them somehow. But he knows there's just some things out of people's control. Flevance, Cora, things he couldn't have done anything about. It's easier to see when someone like you is constantly reminding him.

Someone who knows it's okay to falter as long as you can get back up. 

—---------------------------------

You do your best to get comfortable in the women's quarters. The only other ones here were Robin and Baby 5. It's no different than rooming on the Sunny. But you can't sleep. Your head is pounding, and you can feel yourself more exhausted than ever. 

Perhaps the new setting has you feeling uneasy. A part of you knows that isn't the case. You'd slept just fine at the Revolutionaries’ hideout. Something else has you restless. You remember your first nights on the Sunny being similar. 

When you joined Luffy's crew, you weren't too fond of sleeping in a room with strangers. Nami and Robin were as welcoming as they could be, but you weren't comfortable sharing a space with them yet. So you sought out Luffy. The first week or two you’d slept together like when you were kids. 

Was it the most comfortable? 

Hell no. The hammock screamed in protests at the weight of two people. And more often than not, Luffy ended up smothering you. 

But you'd grown up with all the snoring and drooling. You'd grown up fighting over blankets and pillows. The little kicks and shoves for space. It was familiar.

It was home.

You debate heading into the men's quarters for that reason. Luffy wouldn't mind, but you didn't want to scare anyone in the morning. Your comfort or the rest of the crewmates’? You knew you'd regret it in the morning, nevertheless you decide to get some fresh air instead. 

The ship’s a lot more quiet without Bartolomeo and his crew fanboying over Luffy. It does wonders to soothe the throbbing of your head. Your eyes trail up towards the stars. You should've brought your scythe out to fiddle with. Tonight would have been a good night to work on something until your hands were sore and purple. 

You never could sit still for long.

You return your attention back to the deck. There's someone by the railing. The hat on their head clues you in on who it is. It's almost funny how often you find yourself in this situation. You figured he must've been tired of your presence. Yet he's never outwardly expressed genuine disdain for it.

“Couldn't sleep either?” You ask once you're close enough.

“How can I? Have you seen this ship?” Law grumbles out.

You laugh at his bitterness. It couldn't have been easy seeing reminders of Luffy everywhere. Unable to escape him after putting up with the Strawhats for months. Although he does have a point.

“And I thought I was Luffy's biggest fan,” you agreed.

It was a little unnerving to be one upped by some pirate. A whole goddamn ship dedicated to him? The most you did was have his wanted poster up in your room. Though you supposed your affection was on the saner side of things.

“So did I.” Law comments.

Blunt as ever. But you can see a flicker of amusement in his eyes. 

“Hey! I don't talk about him that much.” You defended.

“You were actively praising him during his fight with Fujitora.”

So maybe you did coo a little when Luffy started announcing his hits before he attacked. Wanting the fairest fight he could get from the vice admiral. That didn't mean you couldn't shut up about him. 

“Because he's a good person. Am I not allowed to be proud of my own brother?”

“Not around me you're not.”

Your eyes narrow in mock animosity. You didn't think you were that annoying about Luffy. Not more annoying than Ace had been. Though you know not to take anything too personally with Law. You're starting to get better at reading his true emotions. You supposed growing up with an emotionally constipated Ace had helped.

“You act tough, but I know he's growing on you.” You point out.

Law scoffs, but he doesn't deny it. At least not out loud. Fond of the idiot who constantly ruined his plans? Absolutely not. Luffy was trustworthy is all. Nothing more.

“You shouldn't lean too close to the railing. I can swim, but not in stormy waters,” you warn. 

“I won't fall in.” Nevertheless, Law steps back closer to where you are.

You noticed he did that a lot. Pretending to be disinterested and distant to those around him, when really he was paying attention and taking everything in. He's the type that doesn't like asking for help. Even when he obviously needs it. Guarded to a fault. 

“You can't sleep?” He asks.

“I've been trying for the past few hours. Guess my thoughts are too active. Why do you ask?”

“Well, if you're gonna be making something with the Cyborg tomorrow, I'd rather it not blow up because you weren't focused.”

“Aww, you care?” You teased.

He looked away from you, muttering out curses as he tried to hide the heat creeping up his neck. 

“You're such a pain.”

The smile on your face is playful. It only makes his face burn brighter. Your head feels a little better now. Although you could still feel something was off with you. Your eyes catch sight of the couch in the center of the deck.

It's tempting. 

Given the week you've had, it doesn't take much convincing for you to approach it.

“You wanna sit and talk?” You offer.

“I don't have a choice. You're gonna nag me either way.”

There he goes again. Acting like you were holding him hostage when he was already following behind you. It'd be frustrating if it weren't so familiar to you.

“Careful. I might think you mean that and go bother someone else. I'm sure Barto will love my attention.” 

For the first time in a while, Law gave a genuine scowl. Adjusting the hat on his head with a soured expression. 

“You wouldn't last five seconds with that idiot.”

You wondered what sparked his change in mood. You knew Bartolomeo could be a lot, but he wasn't that bad. Surely the mere mention of his name wouldn't have set Law off. There was something else you said that made him uncomfortable. 

“Got me there. He's a nice guy, but I couldn't handle someone kissing my ass every time I spoke. I like a little disagreement every now and then,” you said before plopping down on the couch.

The cushions are comfortable against your back. You think it might be enough to lull you to sleep. But the presence next to you encourages you to stay awake. He’s still keeping a sizable distance away from you. Despite it, Law's usually stiff posture is lax. 

You take a second to observe him. The circles under his eyes rival yours. From what you gathered, he tended to overwork himself. It couldn't have been easy to be both the doctor and captain of your own ship. (Luffy barely acted like the captain of his own ship)

You catch sight of his hat next. Spotted and plush. Although time had made it less fuzzy and more matted. Almost like the texture of an old stuffed animal. It's aged. 

“Your hat looks well loved,” you blurt out before you can stop it.

He raises a brow at you.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Nothing bad. Just means you've been holding onto it for a while. Is it a reminder?” You ask. 

You used to be so jealous of Sabo and Luffy's hats. Then Ace became a little traitor and got himself one too. They all had something special from home. Something that meant an awful lot to them. Luffy's strawhat was significantly more worn down than Law’s. No thanks to him getting it stabbed over and over. You remember forcing yourself to learn how to weave just to keep it together.

You wonder if that spotted hat went through similar treatment. Stitching up any holes made. Hand washing it to prevent further wear and tear. Taking great care to preserve it throughout the years. 

Reflexively, Law reaches up towards his hat. Gripping the top in thought. His mind is flooded by bitter memories. A time he cannot return to no matter how much he wanted to. He thinks you're too observant for your own good.

But you know when to leave things alone.

It's…easier talking to you. He doesn't have to elaborate on one worded answers. And you talk. A lot. He probably knows more about you than your entire crew. You're so open that it's disarming. 

He wanted to dislike you just like the rest of the Strawhats. Find you annoying and overwhelming. But he couldn't. He hates how he notices the little things about you. How your smile is so bright. How like all the rest of your friends you have some quirk. Eyes spacing apart when you're getting scolded. And maybe he does find it a little funny when you do that to make Luffy behave. 

“I've got my eye on you.”

He hates that you're so goddamn nice without meaning to. How hard you tried to make him comfortable on the Sunny. Making sure the cook made food he could actually eat. Borrowing some of Robin’s books so he wouldn't be bored. Making fun of Caesar just to get him to smirk. 

Then there was Dressrosa.

You fought so hard for him and he doesn't understand why. When he was trying to terminate the alliance after he'd gotten caught, you'd snapped at him. Swiping the key to his cuffs from Luffy's shaking hands.

“Oh shut up! You don't get to quit now when our whole crew is doing whatever they can to help! So suck it up or I swear I'll rip those piercings right out of your ears!”

Looking back on it now, he was grateful. 

He doesn't know why, but just this once he'd return your openness. (To get you off his back if nothing else.)

“It’s the last thing I have from my hometown. There's been some alterations over the years, but nothing major.” He explains.

You give a hum of acknowledgement.

A comfortable silence settles between you before you disrupt it.

“Where did you grow up?”

It's a dreaded question that has him tensing. Repeating what happened is reliving it. The despair. The helplessness. The all consuming fire that left nothing behind. And still Law debates telling you. 

You're more patient than he gives you credit for. Through all the snide remarks, you stayed. You waited and took the time to get to know him through this short-lived alliance. 

It’s what ultimately gets him to tell you.

“North Blue. Our town was called Flevance.”

What were the chances you heard of it? Pretty damn high judging by the brief look of recognition on your face. It wasn't for the reasons he might think. You weren't somebody interested in history. You sure as hell weren't old enough to know what was going on during that time either. No, it was much simpler than that. 

You remember looking for possible materials for your scythe when you were younger. In your search, you stumbled upon the town of Flevance. It was known for being an ethereal shade of white and produced a special mineral called Amber Lead. A mineral so gorgeous and versatile, it became the town's main export.

You thought the metal would have made for a beautiful blade. But when you tried to acquire some, you learned about what happened to the town.

Of course the world government was involved somehow. 

You know Law doesn't want your pity, so you won't give it. That doesn't mean you can't be bitter about your own situation.

“The navy sucks ass. Why fix things when you can just get rid of them?” You say sarcastically.

Get rid of people like they were nothing. Enslave them, burn them, starve them. It didn't matter in the end. Lives were trash when they didn't serve a purpose in the World Government's eyes.

Law shares in your sentiment somewhat. But then he remembers people like Corazon exist. People who try to do the right thing. It wasn't so much the people who were corrupt, but the system they served under.

“Not all of them are bad.” He disagreed, more relaxed now that he knew you wouldn't push for answers. You never did.

“No, not all of them.” You conceded.

Garp had saved you. He was supposed to turn a blind eye and return you where you belonged. Instead he took you in. He gave you a home. A second chance. You'd never forget everything he did for you.

You can feel your eyes start to droop. It looks like sleep might find you after all. You shift a little closer to Law. Knees lightly touching. He doesn't move away. 

You notice he'd brought his sword out with him. You reach for it, thoughts too sluggish to catch up to your actions. You grab the hilt, and besides a baffled expression, he doesn't make a move to stop you. 

You trace the blade with your finger once it's been unsheathed. Pushing down slightly to test its sharpness. He lets you. You're a weapons master. A damn good one if that scythe of yours was anything to go by. So he trusts you with Kikoku. You were more than qualified to observe it.

Your eyes scan analytically for any imperfections. Something that might potentially hinder its attack potential. He's seen you do similar to Zoro's swords. Making sure the blades weren't dull before testing out their weight. 

With Kikoku, you shift your attention down to the leather wrapped around the hilt. Your thumb soothes over the worn down material. You frown in disapproval.

“You're gonna need to re-wrap this. If it continues to flake off in pieces it won't have any grip left.”

Your hands were always busy, he noticed. If you weren't bothering him, you were with the cyborg making something. Fixing up the sniper’s slingshot, adjusting cannons for the ship, even testing out new additions for your own weapon. Rarely were your hands idle.

He thinks you could rival Vegapunk if you tried hard enough.

He'd never seen anything like your scythe before. A detachable blade that magnetized and repelled itself from the hilt. The hilt itself parted halfway down, allowing the top to shoot forward on a sea prism stone chain. 

A shame your talents were wasted on Strawhat's crew.

You continue to fiddle with Kikoku. Your touch is careful yet firm. You know exactly what you're doing. He moves closer to you. The silence is comfortable, but it begins to make him think. 

He wouldn't be here if it wasn't for Luffy. For the entire Strawhat crew. You all were about to enter a war with an Emperor, and still Luffy didn't ask for anything in return. 

You're both infuriating.

He doesn't want to feel like he owes you anything…so he breaks the silence.

“You wanted to know why I chose Doflamingo right?” 

It was something you asked when he first came on board the Sunny. He doesn't want to second guess his decision, so he forces himself to continue speaking. Not waiting to see your reaction.

“He killed someone very important to me. I wanted to avenge him.”

He won't go into specifics. He wasn't ready for that. But you deserved to know why he dragged your little brother down with him. 

“I won't lie, I was using Strawhat at first. He was supposed to be a diversion so I could carry out my mission.”

Being honest wouldn’t do him any favors. He can feel the way you tense up. Your hands rigid on his sword. 

“But I wasn't strong enough by myself. It's only thanks to his intervention that we won,” Law admits.

Then more quietly he adds-

“I am grateful for his help…Yours too.”

The look in your eyes is soft. Encouraging. It has his face burning. He realizes you're closer than before. He can feel the warmth radiate from your skin. Shoulders almost touching so you can tease and prod at him. 

“I'm glad. Alliances should be built on trust. There's nobody more true to his world than Luffy. You really lucked out.”

It was clear to anyone with eyes you loved Luffy more than anything. A fact that does annoy him from time to time,

“There you go praising him again.”

You further invade his personal space with a tired grin.

“Jealous? Fine then, I'll give you your props too. I think you're a good guy. You say a lot of things you don't mean, but you're dependable.” It's genuine, but because you're you, you take the opportunity to mess with him.

“You only let me get shot once.”

Law’s quick to defend himself with a scowl.

“I wasn't expecting you to throw yourself on top of me!”

“Because you had a plan?” You say teasingly.

“I did and you being a selfless idiot wasn't a part of it.”

You do your best to stifle your laughter.

“The hell are you smiling for?”

“Was selfless supposed to be an insult?”

He doesn't like the way you're making him feel right now. It's foreign. Like his heart is hammering away in his chest. Your smirk is evil. And it makes his face burn. 

“Shut up!”

You're so close that you're practically leaning on him. A tired smile on your face. It's as if you don't understand the definition of personal space. Then you go to rest your head on his shoulder. 

He should push you off. He'd only end up in another compromising position with you. Probably get laughed at in the morning by everybody else. He should've Shambled you back to your cabin. 

But your eyes have already closed and your breathing had slowed. You're curled up into his side, and he wonders when you got so close in the first place. Why he let you get that close. 

His expression softens slightly, though the red on his face doesn't disappear.

“Get some rest Y/n-ya.”

It slips out without him noticing. The tell that shows he's fond of someone. He'd never admit it aloud, but you'd been just lucid enough to hear it. As long as one of you got some sleep, he supposed things could've been worse.

But you can't stay out like this. His pride would never allow it. So he picks you up in his arms. A familiar sight. When you don't stir, he begins the dreaded walk of shame towards your cabin. (Carrying you to bed in a room where people could see him.) He's praying the other two women are asleep.

He should know by now that things never go the way he plans. 

As he pushes the door open, both women shoot up and stare at him. This is the second time you put him in this position. (The second time he allowed himself to walk right into it.) 

Robin has a knowing look on her face. A flicker of amusement in her eyes.

“Oh? So that's where she went.”

Law wants the ground to swallow him whole. He really should've used Shambles.

“Awww, she needs you!” Baby 5 coos.

“Shut up!”

The heat on his face spreads to his ears and neck. He stiffens when you adjust yourself in his arms. Both women giggle at the sight. He forces himself to commit to what he started. Rushing as quick as he can to get out of there. It's less than coordinated when he half drops you, half places you onto the bed.

He swears this is the last time he'll let you fall asleep on him. 

But then it happens again. And again. Every night on Bartolomeo’s accursed ship until the last of the other crews have departed. You sit, you talk, and it's nice. He'd go as far as to say he enjoyed your company. 

He gets sloppy one night. Falling asleep right alongside you. He woke up warm and disoriented to a familiar ‘shishishishi!’ He did in fact Shamble the both of you away when he was cognizant enough. He was just glad Luffy was more focused on making fun of you rather than him. 

It wasn't long before the ship reached Zou. The fatigue you'd been feeling amplified ten-fold along the way. The pounding of your head becoming unbearable.  Your chest started to feel tight, too. You tell yourself it's fine. You can hold off until Chopper checks it out. Though realistically you should've asked the doctor right next to you.

You reunite with the rest of the crew, minus Sanji. A plan is made to get him back from Whole Cake Island, one you could barely keep up with. Everything's getting hazy again. You would've asked Chopper for help like you planned, but he was too busy taking care of the minks. You didn't want to add anything else on to his plate. Especially when he was in charge of taking care of the two rulers. 

So you force your discomfort down. Even when the Minks throw a feast in the Strawhats’ honor, you don't indulge. The loud cheers and whoops reverberate through your skull. Your smile very much forced. You figured you looked okay enough if nobody had questioned your strained expression. (If you were being honest with yourself, they were probably all drunk off their asses.)

You do get a small burst of energy upon seeing CatViper, your love for fluffy animals temporarily overriding your fatigue.

“COME HERE SWEET BOI!!!”

You practically tackle down the cat mink. Squishing his cheeks and ruffling his fur to your heart's content. 

“Aren't you just a big sweetie?” You cooed.

And much to everyone's surprise, he starts purring. You pepper kisses across his face, unabashedly nuzzling your cheek against his.

“Yes you are! You're just a little sweetheart. Mwuah!”

“Y/n! That's one of the rulers! Let him go!” Nami scolded.

“Hmm? Oh my bad.” You begrudgingly release him, offering up a small 'sorry.'

“It's fine. You're just filled with energy, aren't you-gara?” CatViper waves off.

“Runs in the family.” You gesture to behind you where Luffy's stuffing his face with whatever he can get his hands on.

The next day is torturous. You struggle to just get on your feet. Following sluggishly behind towards the Road ponyglyph. Apparently, there were four in total, and it just so happened Big Mom’s territory had one.

You'd be able to kill two birds with one stone.

Or at least, that was the plan. But as you prepared to depart for the rescue mission, it hits you full force. Everything comes crashing down and your legs can't hold you anymore. Your head feels like it's underwater. Searing to the touch. You can't make out what anyone is saying as your body hits the floor.

You were sure people were crowding around you. A faint call of your name before you lose consciousness. 

Law would deny the concern he felt seeing you collapse on the ground. How Strawhat reacted immediately and rushed to your side. Picking you up on his lap and trying to get a response from you. Your breathing was labored. Skin flushed and sweaty with fever. 

And maybe he did notice how something was off with you last night. How you didn't seem to be drinking as much as you had after Dressrosa. How your smiles seemed a little more forced. How you'd been lagging behind all morning.

You were sick at the worst possible time. 

He could tell Luffy knew that as well. Brow furrowed in thought about what to do. Chopper would be able to treat you just fine on the ship. But that wasn't the issue. Your sickly state made you an easy target. The rescue team needed to be completely focused in Big Mom's territory. Bringing you would be a risk they could not afford to take. 

The next qualified person to look after you was Law.  But before he could suggest it, Luffy's bowing down his head.

“Please. Could you take care of Y/n for me? You're a doctor right? You'll be able to make her better.”

He wasn't asking as a concerned captain. And this went further than what the terms of their alliance dictated. He was asking as your brother for Law’s help. 

Law would have done it anyway. But something about the respect Strawhat showed made him want to prove himself. His unwavering trust.

“She'll be fine with me. Just focus on rescuing Blackleg.” He assured.

It’d been a few days since then. And while Law didn't appreciate being treated as an escort by the Samurai and half of Strawhat's crew, he'd deal with it. The sooner they made it to Wano, the better. At least the more sane members had stayed behind. 

You shifted slightly on your bed. In order to minimize the spread of your illness, you'd been quarantined from the others. Key word: others. While it would have been wise to set you up in the med bay, he needed to monitor your condition closely. See if your state improved or if he needed to make stronger medicine. Thus, you ended up in his quarters. 

You were still out cold. All of your medication being administered in the form of a vaccine. It was easier than having to worry about you choking on a serum. If one of your crewmates wanted to see you, he made them wear a mask before entering. (Funnily enough, the swordsman was the one who visited you the most.)

Law stepped out for a moment to check in with his crew. It was just his luck that was when you finally woke up. You struggled to focus your vision. You were in an unfamiliar room. It was too clean to be on the Sunny. Too organized. Slowly, you forced yourself up for a better look.

There was a desk in the corner, messy papers scattered on top of it. You could faintly see vials of something as well. Flush against the wall was a small bookshelf. Although it looked like it mostly held comics. 

Next to the bed was a nightstand. There was a fresh glass of water and today's news. Maybe there was something about Luffy in there. You didn't know how long you'd been out for. Anything could've happened.

So you reached for the newspaper, eyes scanning for anything on him. Your curious expression dropped into one of terror. 

No.

This couldn't be happening.

You refused to believe it.

You pushed yourself as hard as you could to stand. Barely taking two steps before your legs gave out once more. You cursed your sickly state. With no other choice, you forced yourself to crawl towards the door.

“Luffy….I gotta…He needs to know.” You weakly called out. 

Your entire body felt like it was made of lead. It screamed out in protests against the strain you were putting it through. Heart hammering away in a frantic fear. 

You tried calling out again, but the person you were looking for was different.

“Law….I need you.”

Your voice was too quiet for anyone to hear. Yet still you persisted. Your vision going in and out. You'd barely reached the door before it swung open. A familiar pair of shoes entered your spotty sight.

Law gaped down at you in surprise. Sputtering over himself before lecturing you.

“You idiot! Why the hell did you try to get up!?!”

You feel a spark of relief. He was here. But then that feeling of dread consumes you once more. Your breathing turns erratic. Trying to wheeze out a response.

Law picks you up carefully. Placing you down on your bed before going to check your vitals. You clutch his arm tightly, effectively stopping his movements. Your grip is weak. Feeble. He could easily shrug you off. Instead he stays by your side to hear what you say.

“I have to…tell…Luffy.” You manage to get out.

“Tell him what?”

In your other hand is the crumpled up newspaper. He takes it from you and reads the headline.

Revolutionary Headquarters Found And Destroyed.

Oh. He looks back to your hyperventilating state. He double checks the paper again to make sure he didn’t miss anything. When he doesn’t find what he’s looking for, his body relaxes slightly.

“You’re worried about your brother, right? He’s okay. There weren’t any casualties listed.”

It does little to soothe you. You fight him to sit up.

“I have to-”

“You need to rest or you won’t get better.” He cuts off. Using one hand to shove you back down. Still, you struggle.

He thinks of what could possibly calm you down. An idea shrikes him, though it's not a very good one. He leaves the room for brief moment. Returning with a transponder snail in hand.

“Here. I don’t know if he’s reached Big Mom’s territory yet, but you can try to give him a call.”

You take the snail from him with shaky hands. 

He doesn't know why he's trying so hard to soothe your nerves. He was sure he'd never gone out of his way like this before. He thinks should have knocked you out with anesthesia instead. 

You wait with baited breath as the transponder snail rings. Luffy's voice quickly fills the room.

“Hey Traffy!!!!!” He greets. 

“Not Trafalgar,” you correct.

“Y/n? You're awake!?!”

“Mhm.”

You'd become less frantic talking to Luffy. His voice calming you down in an instant. (Maybe Law did feel a little bitter at the fact.)

“Did…Did you see the paper this morning?” You struggled to get out.

“Yeah. Is that why you're calling?”

The lack of worry in his tone soothed the rapid beating of your heart. You were able to have some clarity through your muddled mind. Perhaps you'd been overreacting. You just didn't want to believe you'd lost Sabo after getting him back. 

“I got scared,” you admit.

There's a beat of silence as Luffy processes your words. Then the snail jumps to life once more. 

“You know Sabo. He's fine. He better be fine. Besides, his name wasn't even listed. You think the World Government would've passed up on an opportunity like that?”

You sink back down onto the bed beneath you. A relieved sigh escaping your lips. Since when was Luffy the one comforting you?

“No. It'd probably be their cover page.”

You can hear him let out a laugh. The sound relaxing you completely.

“See? Nothing to worry about. You just focus on getting better.” 

“I will. Please take care of yourself.”

“Don't worry about me. Love you!”

The transponder snail’s *Cluh-ick* rang out. 

A warm grin spread out across your face. Your eyes once again weighed down by fatigue. You know it's far too late for him to hear you. Nevertheless, you repeat those three words back.

“Love you too.”

You offer up the snail back to Law before you adjust yourself back into the mattress. You offer up a quiet ‘Thanks,’ burying yourself under the blankets. You fall into an easy sleep.

Law observes you with a small frown. You're stubborn. Sick with who knows what, yet you force yourself to crawl towards your brother. Even if you know you won't get far. It would've been easier to say he didn't know where you were coming from. To deny sympathizing with you somewhat. 

But he can't.

You and Strawhat are attached by the hip. It must've been difficult to send him off into enemy territory by himself. Up until a few weeks ago, he'd been your entire life. ‘He’s all I have left,’ you'd said. Despite that not being true anymore, you'd still be on edge until he came back safely. 

Law remembered the first time he saw you. It'd been for Luffy’s benefit then, too. It was a few minutes after he'd had a total meltdown and went on a rampage. A ship was approaching the island.

Red Hair’s ship.

Law was immediately on edge alongside the lingering Kuja pirates. The ship stopped just outside of their reach. Then a small boat departed and Red Hair's ship began to retreat. The figure drew closer and closer until they could make out details.

Your hood was draped around your shoulders. You wore a determined expression, undeterred by a potential scuffle. 

“A woman?” One of the Kuja commented. 

“Should we still shoot?” Another asked.

“Let's let her pass.”

You were either familiar with their customs or warned about them. Allowing them to see you were a woman was a smart choice. They were less likely to stop you. And you didn't appear to be a marine either.

You made land, walking with measured steps. Your hands raised to show you mean no harm. The Kuja still have their spears raised in apprehension. You open your mouth to speak, but it snaps shut at a shrill wail. 

Luffy's still on his rampage. Kicking, punching, screaming. All things that would reopen his wounds and lead to his death. The color drains from your face, a horrified expression overtaking it.

You waste no time running as fast as you can towards him. 

“LUFFY!”

Law assumed you were one of his crew mates. Perhaps a new one. But something about your cry felt more primal. More emotional. 

The forest went quiet. 

No further tantrum from Strawhat.

Law wouldn't see you again for another two years. Until Punk Hazard. You were by Luffy's side, watching curiously at the chaos around you. There was a protective air around you. Holding a hand out to stop Luffy from moving forward.

But there's immediate recognition when Strawhat sees him. Walking over and greeting him like they were friends. (Which Law is quick to correct.) You looked back and forth between the two. Your expression shifting from cautious to relieved. Then it was grateful. 

It wasn't long before Luffy took off with Zoro and Robin in tow. But you lagged behind. A warm smile spread across your face. Bright and welcoming. Before Law could process what was happening, you bowed your head down.

“Thank you for taking care of my br- my captain.” you corrected yourself.

You stood straight up, meeting his eyes this time.

“I'm forever grateful for your help.”

And that was it. You turned around to follow after Luffy once more. You'd stunned him. He was a pirate. He didn't help Strawhat out of the goodness of his heart.

So why did you look at him like he did? 

Like he'd just saved your entire world.

In hindsight, he kinda did. You tried to keep you and Luffy's familial ties a secret in the beginning. It was a good call after what happened to Fire-Fist. But you let it slip anyways.

Having the knowledge now that you'd been crying out in anguish to your brother, it puts into perspective your impulsive behavior. So just this once…Law decides to excuse your recklessness. 

He makes a move to leave, and as if sensing it, your peaceful expression sours. You're not too far asleep to disregard his presence. Yet you're too sick to see through the clouded haze. Completely unaware of the words slurring from your mouth.

“Ace, please don't leave me.”

It makes him freeze. Maybe there was something about his presence that reminded you of Ace. Or you'd just wanted your brother when you were at your lowest. Perhaps he was the one who took care of you when you were sick. It made sense. If the other one was out of the picture and Luffy was busy being Luffy, that only left one other person. 

He wants to correct you. 

He should correct you.

But you're not all there. His words would just fall on deaf ears. And in spite of himself, Law's pulling up a chair to sit next to your bed. He doesn't think he's ever spoken so softly towards someone. 

“I'm not going anywhere. Just get your rest.”

The way a dopey smile spread across your face has his heart beating. He's heard you talk about Ace before. And every time it was like you were singing his praises. Like everything he'd ever touched turned to gold. 

You tried to keep everything down, but there were cracks in your facade. The way you clung onto Luffy, your screaming match with the Revolutionary, and the way you subconsciously yearned for Ace’s presence. You still missed your brother. Still mourned for him. No matter how much time passed.

And Law understood. 

Some nights….he missed Corazon’s comfort.

—---------------------------------------

You got somewhat better a few days later. However, you entered what Sabo and Ace had called your ‘loopy’ state. Where you acted like a distressed toddler and refused to cooperate on anything. Whining and complaining just because you could. 

Like now, rejecting any and all food you knew wasn't Sanji’s.  

“C’mon! You need to eat!”

“No! I don't want it! Sanji makes his food with love.”

And poor Law was the one who had to put up with it. Getting increasingly irritated the more difficult you made his job. For what felt like the hundredth time, he lifted a spoonful of soup towards your mouth.

“I don't care what he makes his food with! Eat or else!”

The soup was green in appearance. It was filled with things that would get your immune system back on track. Unfortunately, that didn't make it the most appetizing meal. The smell certainly didn't help either.

Unable to handle confrontation in this state, you forced your eyes in different directions to avoid Law’s gaze.

“Stop yelling at me!!!”

He sputtered in complete disbelief, almost dropping the bowl he was holding. You were acting like a pissy toddler, and he was not a fan.

“You look at me with both eyes when I'm talking to you!” Law angrily scolded. 

You ignore him, stubbornly keeping your eyes in different directions. And as soon as he tries to move into your line of sight, you switch them around. It continues to go on for a few minutes, neither of you aware the door had been left open.

“Well, what do we have here?” A voice called out.

Zoro stood in the doorway with a smirk. You stopped your struggle with Law to focus your eyes on him. You flashed him a pleading look.

“Your crewmate is acting like a child. And mask, Swordsman.” Law instructs. 

Zoro lets out a scoff, grumbling about his ‘strong immune system.’ Nevertheless, he makes sure his face is covered before pressing forward.

“Am not! You want me to put GREEN soup in my body! It looks like some witch's brew!” You argued.

“Because it has herbs that are supposed to make you better!”

It was an unspoken rule that when Luffy was gone, it was Zoro's responsibility as first mate to step up. In turn, that meant looking after you (Which was discussed between them when you first joined). Your health and safety were entrusted to him, along with the rest of the crew’s. You wanted to be stubborn? Fine. Have it your way. 

He pushed himself between you and Law, grabbing the bowl with scary enthusiasm. 

“Don't worry, I got this. Captain wants you to get better, so you're gonna get better!”

There's no time for you to react before he's prying your mouth open with one hand and tipping the bowl back into your throat with the other. The result? Your sputter, practically drowning from the sudden intake of liquid. You give feeble pushes against his chest.

“Quit struggling! You're being a big baby!” He chastises while forcing the soup down your throat.

It's instinctive really. How Law lifts his hand up and quickly Shambles you into his arms. He's carrying you in one arm like you're some frightened dog.

“Stop badgering my patient!”

Zoro points an accusing finger at him.

“You're too soft. You gotta force her or she won't go for it.”

Before Law can argue, yet another one of your crewmates enters. Your eyes light up upon seeing Robin. Scrambling out of Law's grip and hiding behind her with surprising agility. 

“ROBIN!!!!!!! THEY'RE BEING SO MEAN TO ME!!!!” You tattle like a child.

“Is that so?” She coos.

You nod your head frantically.

“Law's trying to make me eat poison and Zoro’s trying to drown me!”

“We can't have that now can we.” There's a gentle smile on her face as she gives your head a pat.

And for a moment you think you're saved. Until Robin is using her powers to hold you down and pry your mouth open.

“Now Zoro!” 

Law thinks he must be going crazy. You're flailing your arms wildly, doing your best to form words. Then there's Zoro, an almost evil glint in his eye as he approaches you with the bowl once more. 

The commotion catches the attention of both crews and the samurai. Usopp and Franky are near the front, preparing to step in if the other two needed it. Law's own crew looks on in fascination at your stubborn display. Having never seen someone on board refuse treatment.

“Quit spitting it out!!! Swallow all of it or else!”

You give a feeble reach towards the sky before giving up. Falling completely limp while Zoro continues to pour the soup until it's all gone. 

“You sure you didn't kill her? She looks kinda lifeless.” Usopp commented.

A twitch of your finger has him screaming.

It's times like this that really show you and Luffy are cut from the same cloth.

All this damn trouble…And Law still needs to administer your vaccine. As soon as you see the needle, you manage to wrangle your way out of Robin's grip and make a dash for the door. Your antics are wearing him thin. (If he didn't like you so much, he would've cut off your legs to keep you still.)

“Shambles!”

You plop right back into the room. You scramble to get up again, but Zoro tackles you down. Followed by Franky and Usopp. Robin uses her devil fruit to add on to the weight.

“NOOOO! NO! I REFUSE!” 

All four of them are on top of you, and still you have some leeway. Moving inch by inch. The only way to get you complacent is to distract you. So, the cyborg takes it upon himself to try first. 

“Look it's a ninja!” He releases an arm to point at Raizo.

You stop your movements, glancing towards the ninja. A blank look overtakes your face. Head tilting to the side.

“He's so lame.”

“EXCUSE YOU!!!!” Franky exclaims in disbelief.

“HOW DARE YOU!!! NINJAS ARE WAY COOL!” Usopp backs up.

“His head isn't proportional to his body.” You sniffle.

Raizo’s head snaps up at that, glaring at you from your place on the floor.

“WHY YOU!!!!!”

And just when they thought you might stop struggling, you start up again. You managed to get another inch. 

“Look at the cool robot!” Zoro prompts, gesturing for Franky to do something.

“Yeah, look at the robot.” Robin directs your head to the left.

Being put in the spot, Franky clicks his nose. His hair changes from one style to the next. You watch in silence, face progressively getting more distraught. 

“That’s not a cool robot. That's Franky.”

He collapsed onto the ground in despair.

“I'm...not cool?”

Noticing one less person on top of you, you take the opportunity to free yourself. Starting up a sprint back out the door. Law had to think fast on his feet. His eyes met Bepo’s and he remembered your love for animals. He didn't want to throw one of his crewmates under the bus, but he had no choice.

“Look, it's Bepo!” He points out.

All at once you stopped. Turning around eerily slow. In an instant, you were on the mink. Arms wrapping around his neck while you pressed your cheek against his.

“MY SWEET ANGEL!!!!!”

“CAPTAIN!” He shrieks.

You're thoroughly distracted now. Scrunching up the fur on Bepo’s face and squishing his cheeks with a coo. He looks hopefully at Law as he approaches. The hope soon dies when he sees Law take one of your arms. Dabbing a spot with alcohol before positioning the needle.

You don't even react as it goes in. Giving your full attention to the polar bear mink. Your crew high fives each other in the background. You’re all insane, he decides. When the last of the medication has exited the syringe, he lets you go. 

You're still snuggling with poor Bepo, who looks like he's a second away from passing out. Law Shambles you into his arm again, and you're surprisingly docile.

“Good…Now everyone out!”

The next day is less chaotic, but you still refuse to eat. Your head turning away as soon as the spoon meets your lips. 

“Don't start,” Law warns.

“You can't just shovel scalding soup into my mouth. It burns, Trafalgar.” You defend.

He rolled his eyes.

“You’re infuriating,” he mumbled.

Against his better judgement, he scoops up a spoonful and blows on it. Just when he thinks you can't humiliate him further, you manage to lower the bar. It's a good thing the door to his cabin is locked.

“Happy now?”

You take a sip and pull away with a scowl on your face.

“It tastes like shit.”

“You better eat it or I'll get Zoro!”

“NOOOO! I'M SORRY! I'LL BE GOOD I PROMISE!”

He continued to feed you until it was all gone. He doesn't like the way it makes him feel. The domesticity of it. He was just fulfilling his duties as your doctor was all. Strawhat trusted him to make you better, so you were gonna get better. There was nothing else to it. You were his patient, and he needed to see it through.

—-----------------------------------------------

A day or two goes by and you start to feel more like yourself. Your loopy phase gone for the time being. Your body still feels like lead, but it's manageable. Your nose is thankfully less stuffy. Though the pounding of your head doesn't cease.

You're snapped from your thoughts by a quiet snoring. Law’s knocked out on his desk. Body slumped forward at an awkward angle with a pen still in his hand. You realize you must've been staying in his room all this time.

You couldn't help but feel bad for taking up his bed. He already didn't have the best sleep schedule. Putting up with you sure as hell wasn't doing any favors. You wish you could make things easier for him, but you're the furthest thing from a doctor.

You push yourself up from the bed, not taking a second to think about what you're doing. You make your way towards the front of the room, stopping right next to the desk. You use what little strength you have to lift up Law. 

He doesn't stir as you half carry, half drag him over to the bed. He must've worked himself out cold. You put him down, taking the hat off his head and placing it on the nightstand. At the very least, you could make sure he got one decent night of sleep.

You sit on the floor next to him, taking a breather from the strain you put yourself through. You catch sight of the shelf you noticed on your first day. If you were gonna be up, might as well entertain yourself. 

—-------------------------------

Law awoke in a surprisingly comfortable position. The ache in his back wasn't as prominent as before. He could have sworn he passed out on his desk, but the surface he was resting on wasn't the familiar wood. This was his bed.

He shoots up despite his body's protests. Scanning the room for you and fearing the worst (that you'd snuck away to avoid treatment again). He lets out a small sigh of relief seeing you next to the bed. 

You're crouched over reading. It's not just any book though. It's a Sora comic. Law feels his heart drop. He practically fights the covers to get to you. Falling face first onto the floor. His face burns as he tries to snatch the comic from you. 

“Sora the Sea Warrior, huh?” You comment while holding it out of his reach.

He makes another grab towards you, fingers skimming the pages before you pull it back.

“You can't just go through my stuff because you're sick.” He scolds.

You pay it no mind though, continuing to read where you left off. 

“I think it's pretty interesting. We didn't really grow up with comics in Foosha Village. We were more of the outdoorsy kind of kids. And Luffy and Ace hated using their brains.”

Law places a hand on his temple in exasperation. Not only had you touched his stuff (which he wouldn't have minded under different circumstances), you'd forced yourself out of bed again. He can see the circles under your eyes. Who knows how long you'd been up.

“You shouldn't be out of bed yet.” He relents, giving up on retrieving the comic from you.

“C'mon, I'm getting to a really good part. It's giving me ideas for new weapons. I mean, the tech is pretty advanced for something that came out years ago. You expect me not to attempt gravity boots?”

“I expect you to do what you're told. Get back to bed.”

You wave him off.

“It's fine. You need it more than me. Besides, I gotta know what happens next. I'm rooting for Germa by the way.”

“Bed. Now.” He ordered.

You look up with a pout.

“Then we have to share. I don't want you developing scoliosis in that chair.”

He flashes you an unimpressed look.

“I'm being serious. I'm not gonna let you sleep in a chair.”

He disregards your concern, lifting you up and placing you down on the bed. He takes his beloved comic, putting it right next to his hat. You make grabby gestures at him when he straightens up. He's immediately reminded of a spoiled brat. 

“Cuddle me? You know high body temperature helps fight sickness.” You teased, although there's some sincerity in your tone. 

“You're delusional.”

Law's too tired to argue with you. What are the chances he gives in and things go wrong? (High given your track record). You've already fallen asleep on him dozens of times by now. This wasn’t any different, right?

“Will you behave if I sleep on the bed?” He questions.

“Define ‘behave’.”

“Y/n-ya!”

“Fine! I won't get up anymore.”

You offer up your pinkie to seal the promise. He swats your hand down and goes to the opposite side of the bed. He lays down, giving into the drowsiness coursing through his body.

“Keep to your side. My immune system is strong, but if you cough directly into my lungs I might catch your disease.” He warns.

You let out a laugh that borders on a cough.

“Sure Germa boy.”

Against all odds, and what must be the universe's impression of a joke, Law woke up with your face against his chest. Arms wrapped tightly around you as his heart steadily picked up pace. 

—-------------------------------------------

You're finally well enough to be out of Law’s supervision. It was perfect timing too. Any day now you’d reach Wano. In the meantime, you put all your attention into perfecting your weapons.

“Palpitations!”

Pressurized air shot out from your glove. The force of the blast spearing through the ocean’s surface. Waves rose up on each side before crashing back down. You pulled at your scalp and let out a cry of frustration.

“Ugh!!! Not far enough!”

Some of Law’s crew had gathered to watch you. You were the first one up on deck when the sub surfaced. Their interest was effectively piqued seeing you progressively get more and more disheveled after each attempt. Your latest one doing the most damage, but seemingly making you the most agitated. 

“What do you mean not far enough!?! You practically parted the ocean!” Penguin argued. 

“And I'm saying it's still not good enough. It's supposed to reach that boulder.”

You pointed out in the distance to a huge mountain-like rock. You continued to mutter out curses about how the blast wasn't even close.

“Not just reach, but completely obliterate it and then some. Instead I get a puny blast of air that feels more like a gentle breeze. It sucks.”

You threw off your gloves in frustration, mussing up your hair to calm yourself. Another Heart Pirate, Shachi, looked over your shoulder at your discarded gloves. 

“You can't bottle up that much pressure in such a confined space.” He tried to explain, but you were a stubborn one. 

“Wanna bet?” You asked, a cruel grin spreading across your face. 

None the wiser to your plotting, he took you up on it. Figuring you didn't stand a chance. 

“I bet your freaky scythe.”

The grin on your face widened. Hook line and sinker.

“I bet your hat.”

The two of you shook on it. Having an incentive now, you got right back to work. You bothered Franky for any tools he might have. Shachi was feeling confident until Usopp approached him.

“You're done for.” The sniper informed.

“Says who?”

“Because Franky bet Y/n once she couldn't walk on water.”

Okay? Surely you weren't able to manage that, right? 

“What she'd do?”

“Made boots with a sea prism stone heel that repealed water. She added a little blaster for extra propulsion. Franky lost his favorite shirt that day.” Usopp said, putting a hand over his heart for dramatic effect.

This did not bode well for him.

“So there's a chance?”

“A good one, yes.”

It took you six hours. You came back on deck with bulkier gloves. Two circular mechanisms on each palm. There was a triumphant glint in your eye as you approached the railing. The boulder you were aiming for was barely visible now, but you weren't phased by it. If anything, you seemed more confident. 

“Palpitations!”

The sub rocked slightly from the force of the blast. The sea parted a sizable distance, gigantic waves spiking towards the sky. The boulder you'd been aiming for was demolished. Debris and ocean spray raining down.

“WOOHOO! LET'S GOOOOO!” You cheered, taking a lap around the deck.

You returned to your spot and held out your hand expectantly.

“Pay up!”

Begrudgingly, Shachi handed over his hat. More impressed than upset at the situation. You put it on your head and continued with your day, much to Penguin and Bepo’s delight. They took every opportunity to tease their friend.

You returned the orca hat about an hour later.

“Here you go.”

Shachi stared at you in utter bewilderment.

“What?!? That's it!?!”

“Yeah? I'm not evil. I just wanted to teach you a lesson.” You said nonchalantly.

“Wrong! You are evil. Unspeakably so.” He clutched his hat close to his chest with a glare.

You wondered how someone as high strung as Law ended up with crewmates the exact opposite of him. Playful and not always the brightest. But they supported each other no matter what.

—-------------------------------

You end up bunking with Robin and the only other woman on board: Ikkaku. You felt more comfortable than when you'd been on Bartolomeo's ship. The setting wasn't as chaotic. 

Save for the teasing they were both putting you through.

It started off as a playful question from Ikkaku. ‘How was it being captain’s favorite for three weeks?’ To which you adamantly denied. It would've been left at that had Robin not spoken up.

“I’m sure it wasn't much different from being on Bartolomeo's ship. They talked and fell asleep together every night.” 

Your jaw dropped in horror while the woman next to you let out a laugh.

“No way!”

“ROBIN!” You shrieked.

“And he always carried her into the cabin. It was so sweet how he tucked her in bed.” She elaborated.

You tried and failed to suffocate yourself with a pillow. Wanting to get out of this conversation any way you could. Ikkaku nudged your shoulder lightly.

“I thought it was strange how he quarantined her in his cabin. But knowing they spent so much time together, it makes sense. He probably got used to her company at night.”

You wanted the earth to swallow you whole.

“You don't have to sleep here if you don't want to. I'm sure Traffy’s waiting for you.” Robin added.

“Thank god Nami’s not here.” You said while burying your face in your hands.

Your torment didn't last long, thankfully. It had gotten late. Your companions for the night falling into a peaceful slumber. A quiet settled over the sub. You strained your ears for footsteps, voices, anything that would've meant another person was up.

There was nothing.

You get up slowly from your bed. You slip out of the cabin quietly and make your way towards the kitchen. You’d almost forgotten what today was. Being in and out of consciousness had warped your sense of time. 

You find what you're looking for in one of the top cabinets. A bottle of sake and two cups. You hold the bottle firmly in your hand, searching for a secluded place. You didn't want to bother anyone should they wake up. 

Tonight was special, after all.

You ended up in the library. It was decently away from the men and women’s quarters. You wouldn't disturb anyone from here. It was way bigger than the one on the Sunny. Filled with medical textbooks, you're sure. The Polar Tang was organized and neat. Whereas the Sunny was cluttered and chaotic. A representation of the two captains. 

You sat down and poured out two cups of sake. One you took in your hand. The other you left untouched. You took a deep breath before speaking.

“Happy birthday Ace. Here's to a short but merry life.”

You clinked your cup against the other one.

“Luffy's doing okay. I'm sure he probably told you already, but I thought I should too.”

You figured Luffy was up to the same thing as you right now. He'd kept up with this tradition even after you all separated, much to your surprise. He wasn't a fan of drinking, but this was always the exception.

“We met Sabo again…I, uh, I got really mad at him. The same way I got mad at you,” you admitted. 

You'd managed to calm Luffy down enough for him to rest. He'd put too much strain on his body. You couldn't blame him though. You were doing the same thing.

“LIAR!” You punched down onto the forest floor as hard as you could.

“YOU LIAR! YOU LIED! YOU LIED! YOU LIED!” You began pounding into the ground, knuckles becoming bloody. 

“HOW COULD YOU JUST LEAVE US! YOU SAID YOU'D NEVER DIE!” Your wail echoed throughout the clearing. Desperate, hurt, and betrayed.

You willed the painful memory to disappear, forcing yourself to talk through it. 

“But he's here now, and I'm so grateful for it. You don't have to worry about us anymore.”

You and Luffy weren't alone anymore. 

“I miss you everyday. I wish I could say I'm doing fine too, but I'm not. Not yet at least.”

Luffy held onto you like a lifeline, sobbing hysterically into your chest. It was all he could do besides hurting himself. He wanted you to shield him from the awful truth. That he'd lost both his crew and brother in less than a week. 

“We're gonna be okay, Luffy.” you said, hugging him tighter.

He shook against you.

“How do you know?”

“I'll make things okay. Don't worry baby brother, I've got you.” 

You'd be strong enough for the both of you.

“Not until this Wano business is over and I know nothing can stop Luffy.” You assured.

“I'll be able to smile then and say ‘Screw a normal life, my brother's gonna be King of the Pirates.’ Like we always knew he could do.”

You lifted up your cup of sake.

“But for now, here's to you. The man who lived with no regrets.”

You downed it, feeling a familiar burn slide down your throat. You failed to notice the approaching footsteps. It was almost funny how often you found each other. 

“Sake? This late? You just got better, you shouldn't be drinking,” Law chastised.

You wondered if he ever slept. Then again, you stayed up just as often. 

“I wasn't drinking. I was just… it's a tradition we do. Me and Luffy,” you explained. 

He gave you an expectant look, prompting you to elaborate.

“After the three of us thought Sabo was gone, I suggested we still celebrate his birthday. We'd exchange cups of sake like when we first became siblings.”

Dadan was always pissed when a bottle of her sake went missing. But she never stopped you guys. If you didn't know better, you would've thought she left the bottles within your reach on purpose. 

“Then Ace set sail, so me and Luffy celebrated his birthday too. We figured we might not all be together anymore, but that didn't mean we had to let distance keep us apart.”

It didn't mean you had to stop loving each other.

“I kept up with the tradition after Luffy left too. I didn't know he still did it until we were stuck on Amazon Lilly.”

Law looked between you and the full cup on the floor, connecting the dots as you spoke.

“Today is Ace’s birthday,” you said softly. 

As your doctor, he wanted to tell you not to drink. That you needed a few more days for the virus to completely leave your system. But on a human level, he couldn't ask that of you. You were in an incredibly vulnerable state. This tradition meant a lot to you. It was personal. He could, however, make sure you didn't overdo it. 

“I’ll give you your privacy. Just limit yourself, okay?”

A playful smirk broke out across your face. 

“I'm not mourning a death. I'm celebrating his life.”

And to his surprise, you patted the spot next to you.

“C’mon, sit down with me.” You encouraged.

It seemed all his nights since joining Strawhat consisted of your presence. Mostly due to your insistence. And like a fool he let you get close everytime. He’d become used to you. To your openness. 

“You won't leave me alone if I don't.” He gave in. 

He was acting like you'd go chasing him down if he said no. Though the lack of hesitance responding to you said otherwise. He sat down next to you as if he belonged there. So sure and relaxed in his actions.

“Like you aren't looking for an excuse to take a break,” you teased.

Law didn't deny it, watching as you refilled your cup of sake. He couldn't help but freeze. He'd never done this before. There were no remains from Flevance to grieve, and he had to get a grip on his emotions the night Corazon died. Was there supposed to be a moment of silence? Or was he expected to say something? 

“You know, Ace spat on Luffy when they first met.” You said unprompted.

“Huh???” Law let out a noise of complete and utter confusion.

You laughed at the bewildered expression on his face before continuing on. 

“He was such a little stinker. Tried to plan his death with Sabo too.”

You never failed to catch him off guard. He supposed you and Luffy were alike in that regard. Saying what was on your mind without a second thought. It always worked in your favor though. 

“Fire-Fist? The one you talk about like he's some saint?” Law questioned skeptically.

“I never said he was a saint. I said he was a good big brother. But he had to grow into that role. He was such a standoffish kid.” You explained.

You remember him being guarded when you first met. Luffy had won him over already, but you -you were still new. He never went as far as spitting on you (he wouldn't dare knowing that Garp had an especially soft spot for you), but he tried his hardest to shoo you away. 

When you fixed up the trap door to their treasure, he'd made some comment about how they didn't need your help. You didn't pay it any mind at the time. You hadn't fixed the door because you wanted to help. You fixed it because you were bored. 

But then Luffy began to follow you around. And neither Sabo nor Ace could stop him from seeking you out. It was inevitable you'd be integrated into their circle. Sabo had been the one to warm up quicker. Asking you to fix up old pistols and jewelry to trade in. All the while Ace made snide remarks about how you'd be better off in the kitchen with Dadan. 

He knocked it off when he realized how hard you were working yourself. Hands swollen and bordering on purple. Yet you never complained. Working well into the night and bringing back a sizeable amount of money the next day. He never apologized, but he stopped treating you like a burden. 

You never let him live it down. Not even death would save him from the second hand embarrassment of his past actions. 

“Hear me! I'm still not over you saying a woman's job was to cook and clean! Beat that attitude out of you, didn't I?” You said while shaking a fist up to the sky. 

“It's not like he can hear you.” It slipped out before Law could stop it. 

He stiffened, worrying he said the wrong thing for a second. But then you tilted your head back with a mischievous smirk. 

“No, but I hope I disturb his peace wherever he is.”

You offer him the cup of sake in your hand, beckoning him to join in on whatever this was. He takes a second to process it. What were you doing to him? Making him second guess himself on the smallest of things. Making him yearn.

He accepts the cup from you. You reach out and grab the other one on the floor. He sends you a questioning look. You meet it head on with a blank expression. 

“Dead men tell no tales. They also can't drink.”

It almost makes him laugh, whereas you giggle openly. Once again, you somehow end up closer. You clink your cup against his and down a second shot. The atmosphere is surprisingly light. A much needed breather for what was to come. But then you go and say something that has his heart dropping. 

“Is there someone you want to celebrate tonight? I'm sure Ace wouldn't mind sharing the spotlight.”

His hand tightens around the cup. You always did this. Tried your best to make him comfortable in your presence. And now you were trying to make him feel welcomed on his own ship. Your presence warm and encouraging.

The words fell so casually from your lips. As if he hadn't intruded on something precious to you. You were mourning, despite what you said. And being as observant as you were, you wanted to give him the opportunity to mourn with you. To talk about what had weighed him down since childhood. 

“You don't have to say anything. Just remembering is enough.” You add.

You don't have to talk, but if you need a moment, take it. 

He closes his eyes in thought. You observe him from the corner of your eye. His posture is stiff. Like he's holding back. Wanting to say something but stopping himself. Then he downs the cup of sake in one go. 

You don't know what baggage he's carrying, but you know trying to keep it down just makes it worse. Being vulnerable was scary…But facing everything alone was worse.  

It was why your tradition meant so much to you. You didn't have to suffer alone just because Ace was gone. As long as you remembered, you'd forever carry a part of him with you. You'd carried that same sentiment when you thought you lost Sabo, too. 

Live a life of freedom.

Live with no regrets. 

Maybe Law doesn't want to relive those memories. But if it helped, you'd share yours. The most vulnerable part of you for the most vulnerable part of him.

“If I show you something, you promise you won't tell anybody?” You ask.

He raises a brow at the question. 

“Not even Strawhat-ya?”

There it goes again, that small term of endearment. The silent hope that doofus would make it back from Whole Cake Island. You don't comment on it.

“Not even Luffy,” you affirm.

Something not even Strawhat was supposed to know about. What in the world could you possibly be hiding from him? What made you decide to tell Law instead? Why did your trust suddenly mean so much to him?

“I promise.”

With that confirmation, you turn so your back is facing him. You reach down and pull your shirt over your head. On your left shoulder were three heart tattoos clumped together. One broken down the middle. There's faint scarring between the spaces of the ink.

“For the longest time, I didn't know how to cover it up…The mark of the celestial dragon.” You said softly. Not angrily or bitterly, but accepting of what happened.

It feels like the air was sucked from his lungs. 

“I got the idea from Ace when he came back to visit. I remember telling him he was starting to look like a thug with all his tattoos.” You continued, this time with fondness. 

—------------------------------------

You hadn't seen Ace for over a year. Suffice to say you were not happy with him. You'd seen the papers. ‘Portgas D. Ace: 2nd Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates.’ And you'd seen the new tattoos he’d gotten. Specifically the ASCE one. So you jumped on his back when he made port. Doing your best to get him into a headlock.

He nearly toppled over from surprise before trying to pry your arm off his neck.

“You're gonna kill me,” he choked out.

You only tightened your grip, unfazed when he used his devil fruit to slip away. He reappeared as a mass of flames next to you. It did nothing to deter you from scolding him.

“You set out to sea for two years, and you come back looking like a degenerate.”

“Whitebeard's mark is a right of passage.” He defended. 

You grabbed his arm and pointed at the inked lettering.

“You misspelled your own name, you idiot.”

“I had a good reason.”

“Being drunk isn't a good reason.” you chastised.

He pulled his arm from you with a glare. 

“The letters stand for something,” he explained.

“A is obviously for me. S was for Sabo. C is for Luffy, because he's always been a little crybaby. And E is for Whitebeard because he's given me so much.”

It’s surprisingly sweet. You thought about calling him a sap to tease him, but you realized there was no marking for you. No reminder representing your importance in his life. You'd be lying if you said it didn't bother you. Though not enough to believe you mattered any less. Still, you make it a point to hold the fact over his head. 

“So what I'm hearing is you don't love me?”

Ace lets out an offended noise, trailing close behind you as you start walking away. 

“That’s not true! Everything you've ever given me I show off with pride. Those are my reminders of you. Striker? My knife? I take them everywhere I go. They're as much a part of me as my tattoos.”

You stop, turning around with an unimpressed expression.

“Not enough. You've gotta tattoo my name across your forehead.”

“You wish!”

“Big bold letters!” You shout behind you as you continue to walk away.

“You think I don't love you? Really? Well how's this for love!?!”

You let out a shriek as you feel his arms wrap around you. He picks you up to swing and you began kicking your legs. 

“NOOOO! LET GO OF ME!!! YOU'RE ALL SWEATY AND GROSS!”

All you get is an evil laugh in return, squirming feebly in his grasp. 

“Only if you take it back.”

You pause in your movements. For a moment he thinks you'll relent. But you've always been petty. So you start up your struggling once more.

“NEVER!!!”

Eventually you both settle down, opting to catch up on all of Ace’s adventures while you ate. Meeting Shanks, challenging Whitebeard, Wano. All of it had you on the edge of your seat. You couldn't have been happier for the life he'd made for himself. 

“You’ve gotta grab me a slab of sea prism stone when you go back to Wano.” You pleaded.

“You're asking a devil fruit user to bring you sea prism stone?” Ace questioned.

“And? Are you saying you can't power through it? Didn't know Fire-Fist Ace was so weak.”

You put extra emphasis on his new title. He pinched your cheek in retaliation, returning the favor.

“Very funny Reaper.”

The title you used in the black market to sell your weapons. You could feel the atmosphere shift after he said it. Becoming more somber. 

“You know this isn't exactly the life I wanted for you.” Ace nudged your shoulder playfully, though his words were sincere.

“Is that so?” You didn't know how to properly respond to his confession. 

“You already know how I feel about you selling weapons on the black market. I can't control your choices. But that's not what I wanna talk about.”

You started your business because it was the safer alternative. You could remain anonymous, avoiding direct contact with pirates and marines alike. After everything you went through, you wanted quiet. You didn't want the branding on your back to ruin your life further.

“I know you're smart. I know you're always careful. I trust you. But you know a peaceful life doesn't mean an isolated one.”

Ace understood why you wanted to remain in the shadows, but that didn't mean you had to go through life alone. You deserved more than that. 

“I want you to surround yourself with people you trust. To have good friends. I want you to go out and love your life. Not stay cooped up in your workshop.”

“Ace?” You called out. 

“You don't have to join Whitebeard's crew. Just promise me you'll let yourself be happy.”

He gave you an encouraging smile, reaching over to muss up your hair. Your heart swells at the action. His words make the weight on your shoulders a little more bearable. You don't know what you'd do without his support. Who you'd be if he hadn't stepped up for you and Luffy. 

You catch sight of Whitebeard's mark on his back. It stands out against his skin. Big and prominent. It gives you an idea.

“Could I ask you a favor?”

“Always.” He responded without hesitation.

“I want….I want to cover up the branding. Have something else scar over.”

Use Ace’s powers to scorch a new mark on your skin. He's not too keen on the idea. He had good control over his devil fruit, but there was always a chance something went wrong. He'd never be able to forgive himself if something happened to you.

“I don't wanna hurt you.”

“I'll finally be free. I won't have to hide anymore.” You reason. 

“What if I mess up?”

“If it destroys the government’s claim on me, I'll love it no matter what. Your mistake will be my greatest treasure.” 

He should've been the one assuring you. But like always, you make things better for everyone else. You take what's broken and fix it. 

“Yeah? No regrets?” He double checks. 

You shook your head.

“Alright then. Let's set you free.”

It's funny in a way, how all the tension vanished from you at once. You turned around and lifted up your shirt. He's immediately reminded of the first time you showed him. The way his stomach twisted upon seeing it. His reaction is no different now. Your voice snaps him from his thoughts.

“I'm trusting you with the design. You better make sure your handwriting isn't ugly or I'll kick your ass.” You tried to lighten the mood.

It works, if only for a moment.

“Keep being mean to me and I'll draw a dick on your back.”

“You'd die, and I'd make it painful.”

Flowers would've been a safe bet, but he wanted the mark to be special. For it to mean something to you when you looked at it. A skull was his second guess, but he wanted you to be sure before he did anything. 

“At least give me an idea of what you want.” He prompted.

“I want something that reminds me of the three of you. Kinda like the one you have on your arm,” you suggest. 

He took a second to think about it. All the while he's glaring at the branding on your shoulder. It makes him sick to think about what you'd gone through. What those bastards did not only to civilians, but to children. You weren't somebody's property to be disposed of on a whim. 

You were a person. Living, breathing, and feeling. Despite everything, you never lost your spirit. You never let them take your good heart. You pushed forward and proved them wrong by thriving. 

He's able to settle on the design. 

“It's gonna hurt really bad for a second, but it'll be worth it.” He warned.

“You've got something in mind?”

“Yeah. I think you'll like it.”

He raises the temperature on his pointer. It's hot enough that it's glowing red, but not searing enough to spark a flame. He presses it down against your shoulder lightly. The bulk of the branding he covers up first. You both grow nauseous at the sizzling of your flesh.

One mark for Luffy.

Ace makes another one just above it. You grit your teeth at the pain, becoming lightheaded. 

One for him.

Right next to his, he puts one more mark, breaking it down the middle.

One for Sabo.

“You good?” He questions once he's done. 

“I feel like I'm gonna faint.” You responded.

He wants to give your shoulder a reassuring squeeze, but he knows better. Any more strain and you probably would pass out. He opts for verbally comforting you instead. 

“It's all right. It's over now. You wanna see it?” He offers.

You find it in you to nod. 

He searches your workbench for a mirror. Shouting triumphantly once he's found it. He angles it to show you his handy work. 

Three hearts with one broken down the middle. It makes you want to cry. No longer the branding of a slave. No longer tainted by the worst the world had to offer. You were free. 

“You can get it inked up after it heals.” Ace informs. 

You don't say anything and it has him second guessing his choice. But then you turn to him with a shaky smile. You don't bother to wipe to tears from your eyes. 

“Thank you.” It was quiet, then you repeated it louder.

“Thank you for being born. Thank you for being in my life! Thank you for being my brother!”

Each iteration becoming more and more like a sob. Yet you're still smiling. Your eyes are filled with unwavering affection and gratitude for him. He can think of nothing else to say except-

“Love you too.”

—------------------------------

“Ace was the only one who knew. I never told Luffy because I figured he shouldn't have to see the worst in people. I didn't tell Sabo either because he was a noble. He'd probably feel like I should hate him.” You explained as you pulled down your shirt.

Law could do nothing but sit in silence, trying to process the situation. The rawness of it.

Who did you think you were? Being so trusting and vulnerable just because? Like being Luffy's ally made you friends all of a sudden. You and that damn brother of yours, acting like this alliance was more than just a means to an end. What were you trying to gain from this? There has to be a reason. 

“Why are you trusting me with this? I don't understand.” He questioned skeptically.

“I trust you because you look like you need it.” There was no hesitation when you spoke.

“You're always by yourself. Like there's a weight on your shoulders. You keep everything in because being vulnerable means reliving the hurt. But maybe knowing someone's there to listen makes it hurt less.”

He didn't want your pity, going to argue but realizing that's not what you're trying to give.

“Your person? The one you've been fighting so hard for? They wouldn't have wanted you to be alone.”

“Law's finally free now!”

Fuck it.

You were here.

You were safe.

You were offering to lighten his burdens.

He takes the bottle from you with shaky hands. Looking down at the empty cup of sake with a somber expression. He decides to take a swig from the bottle before offering it back to you. 

“The man who I owe everything to…His name was Donquixote Rosinante.”

The alcohol helps, but he thinks it's who you are as a whole that makes him open up. You bared the most tender parts of you. It's only fair he do the same. Your trust comforts him more than it should. 

He recounts stories from his childhood. The good and bad. He confides in the hopelessness he felt. How everyone except Corazon turned their backs on him. And you listen. You don't cower in fear or repulsion when he mentions Amber Lead Disease. You don't change the way you look at him. With soft reassurance.

He tells you about Corazon and his kindness. The man who gave up his life so Law could live his. He apologizes for his selfishness in getting Luffy involved with Dressrosa. Promising after Wano they'd be done. You don't want the alliance to be done.

The bottle of sake is passed between you two. You reward his openness with stories of your own childhood. Everything you could remember from before Garp made the decision to take you with him. The blind obedience you'd been forced to unlearn. The long sleepless nights filled with screams and pleas from the other slaves. 

And you talk about the after.

Your new life with Ace, Sabo, and Luffy. Your brothers who you loved more than anything, along with the mountain bandits who raised you. 

Law does the same. He tells you about how he cured himself. The way he steadily built himself up again and found a new family. His crew. All the trials and tribulations it took to get this far. 

It's not long before the bottle of sake is empty. You’ve both become drunk messes. Neither of you can see straight, but the atmosphere feels much lighter. By now, you're trading the sweeter sides of your childhoods. A game of sorts to make the other laugh. 

“Corazon couldn't go a day without lighting himself on fire.”

“Me and Luffy acted like children of a divorce when Ace and Sabo argued.”

The two of you look at each other, drunken grins breaking out on your faces as you fight back laughter. You break first. Giggling so hard there's tears. Law’s laugh is more silent, hiding behind his hand so you wouldn't see. 

All at once, you stand up on wobbly legs. You gesture for him to follow as you stumble out the door. In a similar state of intoxication, Law trails after you in confusion.

“Y/n-ya, where are you going,” he slurred out.

You cackle as you bump into a wall. Waiting for Law to catch up to you.

“I'm gonna make me a PBJ sandwich.” The look in your eyes is so pure, it makes his heart ache. 

He realizes you were standing in front of the kitchen’s entrance. A scowl makes its way to his face. 

“I hate bread.”

You look cartoonishly shocked by the information. 

“You hate bread????? So like, just peanut butter and jam on a plate then???”

“Why the fuck would I eat peanut butter and jelly on a plate?”

“I don't know. There's not a simple midnight snack I can make without bread!” Your eyes threaten to go in different directions.

“Just make me some rice balls.” He suggests.

“Do I look like Sanji?” you ask sarcastically.

Law drags a hand down his face in frustration. 

“You're such a pain. Fine, I'll do it.”

You watch as he begins to gather the ingredients. He keeps tripping over his feet, making more noise than usual. He lines everything up on the counter before starting to put the ingredients together. You peer over his shoulder with scrutiny. 

“You gotta make them with love or they'll taste bad.” You warn. 

He nudges you away. His movements are haphazard and clumsy. Rushing through the process out of spite. 

“NO! You're making them with hate!!!!” You shriek. 

“Because you keep annoying me!!! Quit breathing down my neck!”

You push him back, stealing the cup of rice and holding it out of reach. 

“Move! Just tell me what to do and I'll make them.”

“So now someone wants to cook?”

“Because you're making them with hate!!!!! Watch, there's gonna be a huge difference.”

He grumbles, but there's no further protest. You move as carefully as someone drunk off their ass could, listening to Law's instructions. When it comes time to shape the rice balls, you make them into hearts. There's extra care when you display them.

“Made with love,” you coo. 

He takes one from you with a roll of his eyes. There was in fact a huge difference compared to what they usually tasted like. Somehow more flavorful. But he'd never tell you. Not even with the hopeful expression on your face. 

“They still taste like they're made with ‘hate’ Y/n-ya,” he teased. 

You don't remember when it changed. How he went from calling you Reaper, to Y/n. If saying your name meant respect or fondness. And now he added the extra -ya at the end. You're sure Law didn't realize it either. Or rather, he didn't think it was worth acknowledging. 

You realize he's smiling at you. Not the usual one he gave where it looked like he was plotting a murder. This one is genuine. It's warm. You can feel your face heat up at the sight.

Happiness looked good on him.

Your eyes trail to his lips while he talks. You can feel your heart hammer away in your chest. And when he looks at you with affection, you want. 

“Can I kiss you?” You slur out without thinking. 

His cheeks go a bright red. Looking down at you with an expression that's scared and unsure.

“Why?” he asks in complete disbelief. 

“You make my heart do things.” You try to explain.

“You make mine do worse things.” He counters.

You make him feel wanted. Loved. All the sweet things he never thought he'd get to experience. It's scary because he truly can't fathom why you think he's someone worth having feelings for. What about him was there to love?

You notice the storm going on inside his head. So you cup his cheeks, guiding his eyes to meet yours. His breath catches in his lungs. Your touch is intimate, sparking up that feeling of yearning he tried to squash down. 

“Will you let me kiss you?” Your tone is impossibly soft. 

You're just making the alliance more complicated, he tries to reason. Law should say no with the little clarity he has left. Put a stop to what had just barely begun. 

“Yes.”

You move slowly, giving him time to back out in case he didn't truly want this. But he leans towards you instead, trying to meet halfway. You press your lips softly to his. The yearning in his chest swells. He presses back into you, reaching up to cradle your head. It's addicting. Consequence be damned, you both deserved a moment of happiness. 

Near the entrance to the kitchen, a horrified Bepo puts a paw to his mouth in shock. He backs away slowly from the sight.

--------------------------------------------------------------------

An: I can't help but write lore in my stories 😔. Y'all aren't ready for Wano. (It's just crack. Reader and Kid will be beefing for comedic relief) But for now☝️☝️☝️ I return to my HxH hole. 

If y'all wanna be tagged, just let me know. Although, this will probably only be one chapter longer when i get to it. Unless 🤔🤔🤔

TAGS: @historygeekqueen

[skzficdump]

Seven Minutes in Heaven

paring: lee know x fem!reader

gender: smut

word count: 1.5 k (1458)

warnings: dominant Lee Know, sex with out proteccion (dont), creampie, dirty talk,praise/humiliation mix, semi-public sex, oral sex (male and fem reciving), overstimulation, multiple orgasms

Bangchan | Changbin | Lee Know | Hyunjin | Han | Felix | Seungmin | Jeongin

You're in a small but luxurious room with your best friend Minho. The door closes behind you, and you find yourselves alone. The room is decorated with candles and rose petals, creating an intimate and sensual atmosphere. Your friends have locked you in here to tease you, but you don't know that Lino has other plans.

Minho approaches you with a wicked smile. "Come on, Y/N, don't act so shy. You know you've always wanted this." He gently pushes you against the wall and whispers in your ear, "I'm going to make you cum so many times you'll forget why you were nervous."

He kisses you hard, his hands exploring your body with a confidence that leaves you breathless. "You're mine for the next seven minutes, and I intend to enjoy every second of it." He lifts your skirt and caresses your ass, squeezing hard. "This ass is perfect. I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll scream my name."

He turns you around and bends you over the bed, slowly pulling down your panties. "Look how wet you are. You knew this was coming, right?" He enters you with one finger, then two, moving them in and out as he whispers in your ear. "I'm going to make you cum like this, and then I'll fuck you like the whore you are."

You came on his fingers, your body shaking with pleasure. Minho laughs, "Good girl. But this is just the beginning." He unbuttons his pants and pulls out his cock, hard and ready. "Now, let's see how many more times I can make you cum."

He throws you down on the bed and positions himself between your legs, entering you in one thrust. "Fuck, you're so tight. I love how you feel." He starts moving, his thrusts strong and rhythmic. "Tell me how much you like it, slut. Tell me how much you like me fucking you."

You feel possessed, your body responding to his with wild desire. "I love it, Min. I love the way you fuck me." Your words turn him on even more, and his thrusts become more frantic. He pins both of your hands above your head with one of his, dominating you completely. "Don't move, slut. Let me take control."

With his other hand, he caresses your body, squeezing your breasts and pinching your nipples until you scream with pleasure and pain. "You're mine, Y/N. Every part of you belongs to me right now." He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as he continues fucking you hard.

"I'm going to cum inside you, and you want me to, don't you? You want my hot cum filling you up." He whispers, his voice husky with desire. "Tell me yes, slut. Tell me you want my cum."

"Yes, Min. I want your cum. Fill me up, please." And with a grunt, he cums inside you, his body shaking with pleasure. He lets go of your hands and pulls out his hard cock again.

But Minho isn't done with you. He flips you over and puts you on all fours, lifting your ass for better access. "Now I'm going to fuck you like this. I want to see that perfect ass while I enter you."

He thrusts into you from behind, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Fuck, what a view. Your ass is perfect, and your pussy squeezes me like a glove." His thrusts are deep and rhythmic, each one making you cry out in pleasure.

"Touch yourself, slut. I want you to cum while I fuck you." You obey, reaching between your legs and stroking your clit as he enters you. It's not long before you cum again, your body shaking with ecstasy.

Minho laughs, "Good girl. But I'm not done yet." He flips you over and sits you on his lap, thrusting into you again. "Now, ride my cock. I want to see you move on top of me."

You move up and down, your hands on his chest for support. Minho watches you with desire, his hands on your hips guiding your movements. "You're so fucking beautiful, Y/N. I love watching you like this, lost in pleasure."

He kisses you deeply, his tongue exploring your mouth as you move on top of him. You can feel another orgasm building, and you know this time it will be intense. "Lee, I'm going to cum again," you whisper, your voice breathless.

"Do it, slut. Cum for me. I want to feel your pussy squeeze me when you cum." And with a scream, you cum, your body shaking with ecstasy as you move on top of him.

Minho holds you tightly, his thrusts from below becoming faster and more desperate, and before he can cum inside you again, he pulls out his cock.

Minho, with a wicked smile, gently pushes you down, indicating that you should kneel in front of him. "Now, it's my turn to enjoy you," he says, his voice filled with lust. You kneel obediently, looking at his cock, still hard and glistening with your juices.

Minho grabs your hair, gently tugging so you look into his eyes. "I'm going to fuck your mouth now, and I want you to swallow every drop of me." You nod, opening your mouth to receive him. He penetrates your mouth with his cock, moving slowly at first, giving you time to adjust to his size.

"Mmm," you moan, the sound vibrating around his cock, making his eyes close in pleasure. "That's a good slut," he murmurs, beginning to move his hips faster, fucking your mouth harder.

Your head bobs back and forth as he enters you, your hands gripping his thighs for balance. You can feel his cock swelling in your mouth, knowing he's close. "I'm going to cum. Swallow it all," he commands, and with a grunt, he releases his hot load into your mouth.

You swallow every drop, feeling his cum slide down your throat, savoring his essence. Minho looks at you with a mixture of satisfaction and lust, stroking your hair as you recover. "You're a good whore, Y/N. You've given me just what I needed."

He lifts you up and kisses you deeply, tasting your mouth, which still carries his scent. "But I'm not done with you, I warned you that I was going to take advantage of every minute with you," he whispers, his hands beginning to explore your body again. "I'm going to make you cum one more time before the night is over."

He gently pushes you onto the bed, placing you on your back. He kneels between your legs, parting them wide for full access. "Look how wet you are again. Your pussy is ready for me," he says, his voice husky with desire.

Lee Know leans down and kisses the inside of your thighs, moving slowly toward your center. You can feel his hot breath on your skin, making your body shudder with anticipation. He licks you gently, his tongue exploring your folds with a delicacy that contrasts with the intensity of his previous thrusts.

"You taste so fucking good," he murmurs against your skin, his voice vibrating through you, sending waves of pleasure straight to your core. He licks you again, this time with more pressure, his tongue finding your clit and circling it slowly.

"Min," you moan, your body arching into his touch. "Yes, right there. Don't stop."

He laughs softly, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "I have no intention of stopping, slut. I'm going to make you cum so hard you'll forget your own name."

He increases the pressure and speed, his tongue working on your clit as he inserts two fingers inside you, curling them to hit that special spot inside you. Your hips move involuntarily, fucking his fingers as you bring yourself closer and closer to the edge.

"You're so fucking sensitive," he says, his voice filled with admiration and lust. "I love how your body responds to mine. It's like you were made for me."

With a scream, you cum, your body shaking and convulsing as pleasure washes over you. Minho doesn't stop, continuing his assault on your clit and fucking you with his fingers as you ride the waves of your orgasm.

You drop your head back onto the mattress, panting and sweating. Lee Know hugs you, stroking your hair. "It was amazing, Y/N." He smiles at you, and in that moment, you know you've been completely his.

The door opens and your friends walk in, laughing and teasing. But you and Minho know the truth: you've shared something special, something they'll never understand. And with a secret smile, you part, knowing this moment will always be yours.

[canastadisastrous]

reading mattfoggy as a karen enjoyer is an experience. where is she… where is my girl…

[neutron-stars-collision]

You know what would be nice? If Nicola solo stans got off their high horses and stopped treating indie productions like a lowly job, highlighting the fact that in their mind Luke has fucked up his career.

Because if that were the case, then half of actors/directors would be out of business.

[saintagron]

strangers in the night .

an. the best type of young love is between older women cw. strangers to lovers. retired business owner!reader, business owner!ambessa. vetting disguised as flirting... which turns into actual flirting. sneaking off like teenagers (because love makes us all young again). age gap; reader is in their early 30s, ambessa is in her mid 50s.

The Christmas Gala, once a ironically-named event held in your small, two-floor office space, had evolved. Greatly. No longer were you organizing the simultaneous potluck or hiding Secret Santa lists—you weren’t even organizing it at all. Despite the hefty royalty checks you cashed and the occasional memo sent your way, you’d pulled out of business and sunk into leisure. 

So now, along with the company’s—corporation’s, to be precise, as of a few years ago—rapid proliferation, the Gala, in turn, had snowballed and grown to fit its name. No longer were your five employees shuttered into the break room, no. Now a river of investors, your successors, and upper management floods a grand venue once a year, to chat and consort each other and wheedle deals over seemingly unending champagne. 

What was once an ugly sweater contest had turned into black tie, suits fitted and dresses ankle length. Heels are high and cufflinks are shiny, speaking to each person’s apparent wealth and influence. You, yourself, also look the part; dressing up is uncontrollably enticing, no matter if it’s your first or fiftieth time. 

Pearls round your shoulders, clinging to the satin that plunges shallowly at your chest and pools low at the bottom of your spine. Each shift of your shoulders etches shadows and reveals highlights, making you an unending piece of art. Whether it be the dimples that sit low on your back or the shallow lines of your shoulder blades, they reflect beautifully in the venue’s glittering lights. 

You’re greeted as you enter, but thankfully most understand your desire for observational solitude. The high, curving ceilings are a better greeting—silent, beautiful, glimmering. They meet at a point in the center of the room, the domed glass segmented and exposing the sky’s winking stars. Their light calls you, and it’s more welcome than anything that you’ve ever heard audibly. You tear your eyes away, though. Stargazing can come later, when your task is wrapped up in a tight bow. 

Deal-making is not your job anymore—you’ve left that to your successors. Yet, every once and a while, they come to you with a plea. Unintentionally, you’ve become their “vetter.” They send you to speak with potential business partners, often without educating them on the company’s history and your part in it. An unaware person is an honest one, and your judgement has always been the sound law of the land. 

Tonight you have another mark. It feels like a shot of lightning, thinking about it. You accept a glass of champagne but don’t sip, buzzing with too much energy. Perhaps it reflects badly on your life’s level of excitement that a faux-investigation, reminiscent of a 90’s spy film, is enough to make you fuzzy with adrenaline. Ah, well. Tonight isn’t the night to scrutinize yourself—instead, it’s time to investigate another.

You spot her from across the room, and it makes you stop. Pictures pale to the way the bare light makes her glimmer, smooth and dark and defined. Initially it looks as if she’s in a dress, the crimson fabric loose at the legs, until she moves and reveals the pantsuit’s disconnect. The golden accents shine just as her skin does, each shift of her restless stance revealing new divots for your gaze to explore. 

Her eyes flicker towards you. They don’t meet, but it’s much too close for comfort. You relieve yourself of your drink, placing the untouched flute on a passing tray, and tug your CMO into a dance. She laughs against your hair as she obliges, curling her hand in yours and resting the other at your waist.

(She used to be so small—not in stature but in confidence. It’s sweet that she leads, after so many years of you taking up that role.)

ᰔ

Miss Medarda is popular. You watch her while you’re drawn, pulled, and guided through dances—reveling in the orchestra’s swell, as well as her subtle glances. She’s swarmed by people, most dwarfed by her height and beautiful musculature. They vie for her attention like minnows around a scrap, tugging helplessly in so many directions she does not move at all. 

You’ll never tear through the swarm. But your gaze will. 

You allow it to drift lazily, naturally towards her. The slower dance, spins less vertigo-inducing, grants ample time to meet her eyes. She glimpses you. You meet it. Unintentionally, there’s a quirk to your lips—not meant as a challenge, but merely an instinct of politeness and a show of mild amusement. But she takes it as such, meets the challenge, even though you’re an unknown from across a crowded room. You can see it in the sudden, subtle clench of her jaw. 

She joins the dancing crowd not soon after, seemingly drawn in by a slightly-drunk, over-eager business partner. They hold her clumsily through the song, and you can see every wince as they stumble over her feet. Every time you glimpse her again you’re laughing silently, smile so wide she can spy the white gleam of your canines. 

Thankfully for her feet’s wellbeing, the next dance is one that incorporates switching partners. She maneuvers closer and closer to you, even as you spin on the arms of others. It’s predatory in its intensity—even with other men and women in front of you, all you can pay attention to is the burning of her gaze at the back of your head. 

She’s coming for you. 

It’s stupidly thrilling. It feels like a spy movie—you the secret, mysterious operative and her, the intense, almost-desperate government agent. Your heartbeat picks up every time you’re passed off, wondering if you’ll be scooped up at the next switch. 

The song rises to its crescendo. The flutes guide the melody, high and melodic, the rest of the woodwinds following after; the strings follow suit, rumbling bass and cello supporting the croon of the violas and violins. It climbs higher and higher, the breathtaking sound amplified by the hall’s high ceilings and far-reaching walls. You’re already breathless when she scoops you up, driven more by your heart, the muscle beating in the music’s rhythm, than by your own mind. You can’t help but laugh, the sound falling warmly between you; your hands curl around her shoulders, they roll under your palms.

“Why are you watching me?” She rumbles, low and unintentionally curious. The words are pressed into your cheek—she leans down to kiss the skin like she’s a friend. Femme fatales curled together. Who needs a James Bond or a Jason Bourne?

However, there’s no high stakes to the question, unlike in the movies. Revealing your identity wouldn’t be a detriment. But that’s not what you’re here for, and so you charm your way through a lie. It doesn’t matter if she believes you, really. It’s all just a bit of fun now. 

“Because you’re beautiful.” You breathe, low and drawn out, hopelessly enamoured against her dark cheek. The skin is oh so soft, luminous and flush to your own. And her fragrance—oh, how wonderful she smelt up close. A hint of something spicy, sharp, before it melted along your tongue like tangy cherry and a morning rose. 

Your breath hitches, because how could it not. 

She chuckles; lets her hand venture further down your back. It presses, large and warm, into the base of your spine. 

“You’re too blatant to be malevolent.” She murmurs, and drops her head like she wishes to nose at your hairline—lingering just far enough that you can feel the cool brush of every inhale and the slow release of every exhale. “But I don’t think you’re telling me the whole truth, either.” 

You exhale then—one slow, delicate, shaky breath. And then again, another breath, this one half-laughter. You’ve laughed more tonight than you have in the past month. It’s the full-body type that makes your cheeks hurt and your chest burn, not the half-hearted sort of chuckle you give to an almost-funny joke. It’s wonderful. Your eyes squeeze shut with the gentle force of it. “I guess I’m transparent.” You murmur, pressing your own hands into her spine. This isn’t the first time you’re grateful her pantsuit is backless, and it surely won’t be the last. The skin at her spine, thinly covering the most defined muscles you think you’ve ever had the pleasure to lay your hands on, is as warm as the rest of her. Those muscles ripple under your fingers—every shift, you feel; every movement is cataloged and marked with your prints. 

It’s quite distracting.

She spins you, then; you go turning past who was probably your next partner, their hands decidedly empty of either you or her. Their wide expression makes you feel guilty for about half of a second before she’s breathing against your ear again and nope, you’re totally willing to do another rotation with her. 

“So, who are you, then?” She hums, the barest quirk of her brow following. A lie sparks across your tongue—one of the many aliases you’ve used brimming—but it fizzles and dies under her gaze. Something in it says that she’ll know. So you give her your name then, the words only loud enough for her. 

She gives no reaction. There’s not even a shift in her gaze. But you know she’s heard of you. Just like everyone’s heard of her. 

“Ambessa Medarda.” She offers in return, as if anyone here—or in the business world you soar above—doesn’t know who she is.

“Pleasure.” You murmur. It’s the most genuine thing you’ve said all evening. It’s not surprising—she’s warm and flirtatious, a natural conversationalist who’s not overwhelming. She appeals to your withdrawn sensibilities, not borne naturally but created through your lax early retirement. So when she smiles just a hint and starts to (not-so-subtly) ease you off the dance floor, you go with her. 

ᰔ

The first thing you realize when you breach the perimeter is that it was warm in the venue. It wasn’t clear when you were in there, but the rescinding heat and subsequent brushing chill is enough to make your shoulders tense. 

“Cold?” She hums, passing over a flute of champagne—two of them dwarfed by her hands, one in each palm. You didn’t even see her grab it. 

You hum a denial, accepting the drink. The venue’s set on a beautiful piece of land—sprawling, manicured fields of grass intercut with intimate gardens. It’s always been a dream of yours to see it at night, ever since you first came here as a child. The light pollution that covers most other places is gone, especially further out on the grounds. If all the electricity went out, you’re sure you could see galaxies long forgotten. 

Your heart pulls you again, guides your feet—not your head. She trails after you, curiously quiet, intelligent enough to read the silence and enamoured enough to sink into it. 

The grass is cool, slightly misty. The sprinklers had long since gone off, leaving just a gentle sheen of water; it’s barely enough to wet your skin. You ease down to sit in it, the short, even stalks skimming your wrists and curving gently at your ankles. She sinks down next to you as you take your first sip of champagne all night, letting her long legs splay out and the crimson fabric of her pantsuit separate. Your wrist tilts, offering your flute at a subtle angle, and she bumps her own against it with a gentle tink. 

“I’m not made for that anymore.” The idea has been growing in your mind for a long while. You once relished in it—in the networking. In meeting people, growing your business, and fighting to keep your principles cemented at the forefront of it.

Now you’re just tired of it. Perhaps it’s retirement (the one you swore was just a break) seeping into your bones, or maybe the ache for connections outside of coworkers, subordinates, and business partners caught up for you. 

All you know is it’s not for you anymore.

There’s no sure reason why you’re sharing this with her of all people; it’s well known she’s made for this. Groomed since birth, now an eternally cemented figure. The businesswoman of the generation before you. In the years where you were struggling to scrape together salaries and your own rent, she was already there—and she’s outlasted you.

(Rumor says she’s never taken a day off. You think they’re so bullshit, but… sometimes you wonder.)

“I’m not sure you ever were.” She responds, champagne swirling in her glass. She’s never quite still. As if noticing your gaze, she takes a sip. Wets her lips, and then continues. “But you did very, very well, in a world not made for you.”

Your eyes tighten for just a second—not suspicious, but scrutinizing. She knows who you are, obviously, if not your face than your name. But everyone knows your name. She seems to know you. 

So of course you ask. Burning curiosity was one of the things that got you so far, after all. Among other things. 

“How do you know me? We’ve never met before.” She takes another sip from her flute, red lip printing on the rim. 

“...I saw you present at a conference once. I’ve been keeping track ever since.” She may be unabashed and honest, but the words make your face hot. 

“That was—” you huff, mentally searching through the years. When was the last time you presented—?

“Seven years ago. You were just getting off the ground.” Her tone is even. Soothing in its smoothness, but overwhelmingly calm. Especially with the information she’s divulging—speaking as if it’s nothing more than an itinerary. 

Your mind spins. Seven years. 

“Why?” Is all that comes to mind—bubbling on your tongue worse than the champagne.

“My children have never been as ruthless as I… thought they needed to be.” The words ease out—slow, controlled. As if admitting her misstep was a challenge. She turns to gaze at you, open hand coming to cover your own. “You gave me hope. That they, too, could succeed in this cruel world.”

You let the moment simmer. Watching her gaze deepen is a pleasure—the quietness allowing you to really observe her. 

“...did you just attempt to flirt by comparing me to your children?” She blanches, and then bites back a laugh when she spots your wry grin. Her teeth bare with the effort, but the lines in her cheeks sink in regardless. 

“You’re evil. So very evil.” Her laughter is soft. Who else gets to say they saw her laugh like this? It’s a privilege you tuck close to your chest. 

“Why didn’t you talk to me that day?” That question makes her quiet. 

“...you were so young.” Your head tilts, an eyebrow raising. You’re old and experienced enough to spot a half-truth—with enough younger cousins to know, instinctively, the tone they carry. 

Her lips press together, caging the confession. But under your gaze, she relents. “...and very pretty. I was… different, then. I had just lost my husband. I knew I couldn’t resist, and that you’d get pulled into my grief. I wanted to let you bloom, unimpeded by anything.” 

“It would have been very controversial.” You quip.

“Completely.” Her lips twitch. 

“A scandal. At least your children are a… well. One of them is younger than me.” Comes your hum, your lips pursing. 

“That… really wouldn’t have helped, I don’t think.” She huffs—but she’s smiling. 

“...I would have been into it.” That makes you both break, falling into laughter. The motion pulls you into each other, the humor like a vortex. Her shoulder bumps yours, and your hand curls purposefully into hers. It’s heart-pounding, juvenile.

“You’re a character.” You’ve spent enough time around older people—both socially and in the business—to know that means you’ve got attitude, but I like it. It makes you beam. 

The silence settles comfortably, your cheeks aching when your smile slowly melts into something softer. 

“I always wanted to see the stars here.” You confess, eyes tilting up towards the midnight-smeared horizon. The sky isn’t black, here, the darkest color still carrying a tint of blue or purple, the colors only further illuminated by every bright star. “I loved this place when I was a child… but they closed the grounds at night. Even before the sunset.”

“It really is wonderful.” She hums, the sound rumbling from the back of her throat and coated with understanding. “This is my first time here; I’ve never been one for historic buildings. I’d rather frequent the war museums, or stroll through the parks. Old, rich houses are beautiful… but they’re empty of people.”

War museums.

“Your father was a veteran, wasn’t he?” You question, suddenly reminded of it; you’d learned it years ago from some stray magazine article, bored and half-asleep in some waiting room. Thank you, Vogue, for having insightful interviewers.

“Yes, yes he was.” Her huff is surprised, a subtle raise of her brow following your question. “And I’m the only one who’s been watching?”

You can’t help the grin that splits your face. “You’re everywhere. Whether you like it or not.” 

She laughs brightly. You can feel her breath rush, warmly contrasting against the cool night air, against your hairline, and instantly you’re aware of how close she’s pressed. Through the conversation you’d both migrated close, until your shoulders hover just an inch apart. 

The flush that settles over your entire body is juvenile. It feels nostalgic and foreign all at once, the feeling an old memory—like the lightness you felt at prom, heels digging into your ankles and dress heavy as you danced. The pain and happiness, joined, had all diminished into sparse reflections you had to grasp at. This feeling was no different, yet now it was back with a vengeance. 

“...god, you make me feel young again.” You scoff, temple pressing to her solid shoulder. 

“Isn’t that my line?” She teases, but her smile is soft. “I’m supposed to be revitalized by a younger lover, not the other way around.” 

“I’m already retired. We could argue that I’m older in spirit.” Your words make her laugh again—a quiet thing, exhaled over your hairline. 

“Sure.”

You sit there, side by side, twined for a while. It’s not clear how much, the moon’s shifts your only gauge. When someone comes to find you it’s already peaked, heading down towards the horizon, yet still with a while to go. 

The house’s doors have never been quiet; oiled and maintained, yet the sound of age still echoed when they opened. Music and quiet conversation spills out over you the few seconds it’s open. 

“Miss Medarda? You have—” Their breath stutters, before they regain momentum. “—um. You have people looking for you; the night’s winding down and they’d like to talk once more before it ends.”

She grumbles something unintelligible, but moves to rise. You catch her forearm, stopping her halfway.

“One second.” You slip your hand into the dress’s pocket, tugging out an old relic—a business card. It’s an old habit, but you still find yourself sliding a few of them into whatever pocket, purse, or bag you have that day. You procrastinated cancelling the continuous orders for too long, and now you’ve got about a million. But you’re thankful for that in situations like this. “Take my card.” 

“...you’re asking me to call you?” She hums, looking mildly amused and wholly appreciative. “Why not?” You quip back, brow raised subtly. Two can play at that, hm?

“...I’ll be in touch.”

ᰔ

They call you then, the next morning, after you’d completely forgotten why you were actually at the gala. 

“We couldn’t find you before we left. What’d you think?” Your successor’s voice crackles over the line, half-groggy. 

“Too much whiskey?” You tease instead, biting your lip to suppress laughter. You’re not successful in the slightest. “Shut up, please. The sooner you answer the sooner we can both go back to nursing our hangovers.” They groan, and it makes you give up on holding back your mirth.

“Okay, okay.” You hum, still exhaling chuckles. “She was wonderful. I think she’d be a good partner.”

They breathe out, relief palpable even through the phone. “I was hoping she’d be good. She’s a wonderful businesswoman; she’d be a great asset.”

“Mhm.” Your phone vibrates against your ear. When you pull it back, you’re met with an unknown number. “I’ve got to go, okay? But let me know how it goes.”

You hang up before they can respond, perhaps too quickly. But there’s only one person who would be calling you right now.

“Hello?”

“Good morning.” She hums, sounding much more awake than you. “How are you?”

“...I’ve got good news for you, actually.”

© saintagron, 2025.

[numbuh666]

Coward

Minors/ageless blogs DNI

Paring: sukuna x fem!reader

Summary: Between fighting curses and facing execution, you’ve taken to exploring your long abandoned bucket list which includes… masturbation. Easy right? Unfortunately for you, saying is much easier than doing and your squeamishness has you turning to certain someone to take matter into his…or rather your own hand.

Content: virgin! reader, reader is Sukuna's vessel, fingering! , f! masturbation!, degradation, pet names (brat), edging, orgasm!denial, is it considered loss of virginity if you’re possessed???

A/N: i unalived myself at least 5 times writing this. what the hell. Also posted on AO3. Username is AngelBunny666

“What the fuck am I even supposed to do with this thing?! How is it even supposed to fit?!” you exclaimed, examining the sparkly pink vibrator you had just unwrapped.

In your eyes, it looked like a weapon of mass destruction. Way too girthy, way too long, and way too scary despite its cutesy appearance. Do women seriously just stick this in their pussies like it’s nothing? How bad would it hurt? What if you end up sticking it in an awkward position and end up doing irreversible damage to yourself?

“Ugh! I can‘t do this,” you grumble with a sigh of frustration as you toss the god forsaken toy back in its box and shove it in a drawer.

Turning off the light and flopping your bed, you pull out your phone to go update your rather lengthy bucket list. Of all the crazy ideas you’ve put on there, getting over your squeamishness toward masturbation and sex should’ve been one of the easier ones.

You honestly had no idea why you prioritized this enough to put it on a list anyway. Sure you had horny thoughts every so often and felt like your libido was normal, but it’s not like something you felt like you needed. In your ideal situation, you would’ve liked to find someone you loved and trusted enough to share that vulnerable part of yourself with.

Then again, ever since becoming a full-time sorcerer you haven’t had much time to really focus on really anything. That is of course, until you somehow ended up swallowing a cursed object by accident and became a vessel for the dreaded King of Curses. Next thing you knew, you were being sentenced to death by the higher ups, (They can fucking try), but apparently your friend Satoru had some plan up his sleeve that he wouldn’t elaborate to you yet to get out of this.

Every day since then, you’ve been trying to do everything you can that’s on your bucket list that started off as more of a joke then something to be taken seriously. Despite the dire consequences of being Sukuna’s vessel, you couldn’t but be a little grateful for the opportunity to get out more when you weren’t busy chasing down cursed spirits.

“Tch, I knew you were pathetic, but this has to be a new low,” the bane of your existence spoke, forming a mouth on your right cheek.

You tried to ignore him. The last thing you needed was Sukuna’s opinion on your lack of experience, let alone anything.

“Putting on a brave face for those petty spirits you struggle to squash, yet a toy is where you draw the line?“

“Fuck off, before I shove it down your throat.”

“You know that won’t work, brat.”

He had a point, and you had quite a few broken wired earphones you used to tune him out to prove it.

“Well whatever! This is none of your concern anyway, so just shut up so I can go to sleep!” you shouted, resisting the instinct to pull the pillow over your head.

“No, I don’t think I will. I’ll be trapped in this body for who knows how long, so enjoying your suffering will make good use of my time.”

“You must be really bored if you seriously think taunting me about this is enough to hurt me.”

“Yet, you're still talking.“

Why were you even wasting time arguing with this asshole? Most of the time it was easy to not take him too seriously, yet there was something about him watching you struggle with your lack of experience that got under your skin.

You tried to shut your eyes to get some sleep again, but he just kept going.

“So, that’s it then, just gonna cower away from it? How disappointing, I was hoping for a little show.” he drawled. “Besides, I’m also finding it rather irksome having to feel the effect of your pathetic human sensitivities.”

You crack an eye open. “What?”

“Are you forgetting we share this vessel you idiot? You don’t think I feel every tremor, every flutter in your belly,” he whispered sensually in your ear, making you shiver. “Every throb between your legs at the sound of my voice?”

You could feel your face getting hot. “So what? That’s not my problem.” It was bad enough that you both were sharing the same skin, but for him to have access to your emotions and insecurities left you feeling vulnerable.

It had brought you even more shame to see how bad of an effect he had on you, despite how dangerous he was. You could only blame your lust addled mine for these feelings, right? Lots of people do crazy things when they’re horny, of course...they end up regretting it afterwards.

“I was only suggesting a solution.”

“Which is….?”

“End this pathetic display and let me take control.” he states flatly.

For a moment there was silence, then there was the sound of your hysteric laughter filling the room. “Letting you take over so you can go on a murder spree right after getting me off?” The absurdity of this proposal made you feel like you were talking to a different person.

“Oh, I definitely would if given the chance if your ability to suppress me weren’t such a nuisance.”

“Either way, I really don’t care. Why should I even give in to your demands?

“Then I’ll just sit back and mock you at every turn, and make sure you don’t get a lick of sleep.”

If you were capable of kicking his ass, you’d force yourself into his domain right now. He knows it too, that there’s not much you can do against him while he lounges in your body like he pays rent.

At the same time though, you really weren’t getting anywhere. It seemed like every time you told yourself you'd push through it, you end up fumbling. Not to mention him witnessing this made things worse.

“Fine,” you begrudgingly agreed. “I’ll let you use only my arm if it’ll shut you up.“

“Was that so hard?”

“You seem confident for someone who’s been gathering dust for a thousand years. Are you sure you’re even functioning?”

“Is that a challenge, woman?”

Never in a million years would you have expected the most dangerous sorcerer in history to be teasing your folds and having your mind spinning like crazy. Head laid back against your pillow with your eyes glued to the ceiling, you were finding it harder and harder to control your breathing and prevent yourself from making other sounds.

“Falling apart already I see?” you felt Sukuna chuckle softly against your ear, his grin stretching across your cheek. “If I had known you would react like this, I would’ve turned you into my little plaything a long time ago.”

Your middle finger continued to make circular motions against your slickening entrance, occasionally applying a bit of pressure that causes you to flinch every so often. It almost annoyed you the way your body touched itself with such confidence despite the muddling of your brain.

Slow. Precise. Deliberate.

Just as you were growing comfortable to the sensation, you suddenly tensed up when you felt the pad of your finger lightly brush over your clit, causing a small, high-pitched yelp to escape your lips.

“Can’t say I’m surprised about how easy this is, considering how useless you are.” he pinched it teasingly, making you cry out at sudden rush of pain

He takes his sweet time tracing the outline of your clit with your fingertip, lightly rolling it under his touch with such cruelty. A messy burst of wetness flowed down your thighs as you let out a whine, pussy desperate and clenching around nothing.

“You’re disgusting.” he continued to berate you. “Letting me use you like this.” Your finger collected the sticky substance as it moved closer to your slick hole.

It was aching and pulsating rapidly at this point, as if it was begging for release.

“Such a fucking needy brat.”

Before you could respond, a clawed finger dragged along your entrance before roughly pushing inside. You let out a soft cry before you could instinctively clamp your free hand over your mouth.

“Agh—fu- wait a minute! This feels too sudden!” you rasp, your free hand shooting out to subdue the other as you feel Sukuna’s nail skim against your gummy walls.

“You should be thankful I even bothered to play with this dripping pussy of yours,” your other finger casually flicked your bud. “but you’re welcome to continue your pathetic attempt if you so wish.”

“No no, it’s just—,”

“Then shut up and take it.”

Slowly, he started to pump his finger in and out of you, grazing against all you sensitive spots with such agonizing. Your back arched as the pleasure of this sensation sent sparks throughout your nerves.

“What a shame. I wonder what your precious friends would think if they saw you like this?” he purred softly in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “How wet you are for a curse.”

His words combined with the feeling of your walls reluctantly letting him in deeper was having your mind in a constant battle of guilt and pleasure. As if to further gouge in your morality, he slipped a second finger inside you, savoring the sounds of your pretty moans as your possessed digits as he continued his pace.

“You’re so unbelievably stupid if you seriously thought you’d be able to take any dick. You can’t even handle your own fingers.” Sukuna laughs lowly, picking up his pace and letting your arousal coat your fingers as you get wetter and wetter.

“Just keep—going…..please…,”

“What makes you think you can order me round, brat?” he growled

What followed after was a sharp pinch to your clit. You jerked slightly, letting out a hiss of pain as your back arched.

“Begging like a desperate whore that doesn’t know her place.” His thrusts were quick and relentless making your body jolt with every push. “If I had my own body you’d be severely punished for your insolence.” he hissed in your ear.

Despite his harsh words, the way your fingers were pumping into you seemed to be telling a different story. Knowing him, it most likely brought him intense glee to see someone that was a pain in his ass was left squirming and sputtering.

And God, you fucking hated him even more now for this. As your body continues to betray you, you silently curse yourself for somehow letting the king of curses of all people seduce you like this. However, it was a fleeting thought as you felt your release building up in your core.

“S-Sukuna…..gonna—so close,” you whimpered, grinding into your fingers. At this point, nothing else mattered to you except the peak that you desperately reached for. Much to your dismay however, your fingers suddenly retracted, leaving you feeling empty.

“Wha-why did you stop?!” you cried out, trying to take back control over your tattooed hand to force it back in. In response, you felt something warm and slick licking a stripe between your thighs.

You didn’t even need to look to know that he had summoned one of those damn maws on the palm of your hand. It was almost disgusting, the way he lapped at your throbbing pussy with that vile mouth like it was his last meal. Your mind was pretty much gone at this point, the only thing you can think of is wanting more.

“Been waiting months for a chance to taste you.” the feeling of his breath tickled you as he murmured softly into your cunt. To emphasize his words, he resumed lapping at the juices leaking from you before moving to suck on your clit. “I can’t wait to get out of here and finally take you.”

“And I bet you’d like that wouldn’t you? To become my pet? It’s not like you’re good for much else.”

The sounds of your breathy moans and wet noises fill the room. Every hitched breath laced with barely contained craving and vulnerability. In the pool of your belly, you could feel your release building up again. Your legs shaking uncontrollably as he continued to swirl his tongue around your sensitive bundle of nerves. The nails of your free hand digging into the sheets, you braced yourself to succumb to loss of your dignity.

“Actually I change my mind,” you more than felt rather than heard him. “I don’t think a worm like you deserves it”

His words felt like a splash of ice cold water. “A-are you actually fucking serious right now…?” you whispered, your voice hoarse.

“I think I might drag this on for a while and see how much you beg for it,” he continued playfully. “Besides, you did mention you were trying to sleep.”

You were left too stunned to speak as you boiled with rage—your pride shredded, your body left empty again.

“Anyway, you bore me now.” he doesn’t wait for my response. “You’re welcome to continue on your own if you need it so much.”

With that, the marking on your arms vanished, and you were left lying there stewing in your own thoughts—eager for the day of your so you can project your cramps onto him.

a/n: I haven’t made a fanfic in years and it’s my first time dabbling in smut, so sorry if it was rough. I’m going back to drawing now.

Do not copy/repost my work.

[heartepub]

i am back again w annotations of annotations bc i am Unhinged™ but also bc i would gladly dedicate sonnets to the way you write, and to have this gift for a piece so close to my heart makes me so unbearably fragile

it's always, always an honor for my work, especially sito, to be loved so well :")) without further ado

"love of seungkwan's life" being a defining characteristic struck me so hard on the second read through. it's so simply stated and i think that makes it all the more powerful.

i screeched in your dms already but my god . the screenplay as a choice of medium was intentional on my part, as an exploration between seungkwan's memorializing and/or fictionalizing, so for this to be pointed out just made the thought of this screenplay possibly being seungkwan's POV, his writing/narration hit me like a brick

the undercurrent of hope!!!! the UNDERCURRENT OF HOPE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

i sound like a broken record when i bring marcel up again every time hope enters the discussion but when i tell you i adore how he frames hope as the struggle against despair amid trials......not necessarily to hope for something, but simply to hope, as an unconditional act of trust in the world and in people

this entire fic reminds me SO MUCH of below excerpt from george sand's letter to gustave flaubert.

"i dont know where i get the courage…let us love each other to the end." goodbye world you absolutely nailed it......this is like . a foil to this post that haunts my waking hours every few months (SAVING THE LINK TO THE FULL THING BTW)

i love the way this line kind of just slips in. the same way it slips out of seungkwan's mouth -- it's so natural. he doesn't say it to be heard it's literally a thought SO full of tenderness it barely makes it past his lips.

they are so in LOVE. no matter what, they remain so in love.

im so in love w how you pick these up.......hana :((((

memory and loss live side by side. […] nothing’s linear, yet it all makes sense […] the soil metaphor too... it’s almost easier for seungkwan to focus on that harshness than the ache of being alone. the contrast with the next cut being to the WEDDING […]

memory and loss live side by side!!!! ily.... (THEY ARE IN LOVE.......DESPITE DESPITE DESPITE)

it's so interesting to me that each person picks up on different things to focus on—kae (perhaps influenced by lrpd being in the wild like . a week before sito lol) annotated a lot of the apocalyptic-adjacent worldbuilding/script/memorializing aspects (comm major u/studioeisa ily) and you dug your fingers deep into the affective elements/responses of the writing, and the themes and nonlinearity of sito.

while writing sito, i was reading a swim in the pond in the rain by george saunders—and was struck by him saying that the most basic thing to keep in mind while writing was that each word/sentence/scene should make your reader want to read the next one. he also described emotion (i think) as a pail that's passed from scene to scene, and the challenge is to not make it spill when attention is refocused (e.g. a new scene). and while it's easy to just shuffle scenes around, i think presenting things nonchronologically makes that carryover even more challenging, in its own way. so I'm so ridiculously happy to have the sequence of scenes be complimented

not as a clear, sharp thing, but as ghosts, soft and a little mysterious. the past is both vivid and blurry at the same time, so full of warmth but also unreachable […] [cabinet filled with infinities] as a beautiful painful contrast between the finality forced on them and endless possibility of what they could have had

^ this w your pointing out the interactions of memory and loss, of "the memory of someone not just as a collection of facts or images, but as a living presence shaped by how we hold them in memory and how we remember them aloud to those around us" i think forms such a core for people who have experienced loss. and there's so much weight to it, and a burden that things are forgotten, or changed, even when held in memory—not everyone has a gift like the hours of footage. a lot of times moments are left in the slipperiness of memory and recall (it is a delicate burden indeed; delicate yet staggeringly heavy)

YOU INTERPRETING IT AS A METAPHOR FOR WHAT THEY COULD HAVE HAD OHHH IM SO SICK.......the poetic imagery of dreams when made alive in spaces of intimacy, etc.....

i knew it was coming the first time, and i definitely knew it was coming the second time. it doesn't make a difference.

out of context orpheus and eurydice/greek tragedy storytelling quote found (YOU QUOTING ILIAD.....successful assassination attempt)

love itself guides the lens, making every smile and every look and every cut proof that this person was here, real and deeply known.

RAHHHH the camera guided by love :((((( that scene w vernon is my favorite in the fic honestly (and if we're talking about the ambiguity between real/edited/fractured scenes and memories i think that scene is the most real in my mind)—there is much solace in thinking about how any memorialization (and to an extent, inevitable fictionalization) done by seungkwan will always be done with love at the center of it all

he carries the grief. he holds in careful hands: memory folding into muscle memory. and it's so accurate to how grief truly is. you walk with it. you carry it like seungkwan does: in your breath, in your bones. it leaves you wrecked, but never empty.

memory folding into muscle memory is an insane thing to write jsyk . you walk with grief!!!!! grief is the final translation of love!!! even as love transforms into grief it will not be love lost, only overflowing. as long as there will be love, there will be grief......

it's the kind of poem that understands exactly what this fic understands: that brief, beautiful lives are not diminished by their brevity. that something can be strange and sad and still full of love.

i love that poem so much. it is so dear to me, and your explanation of its beauty, and where it and sito intersect, is just so lovely (a lil pachinko "history has forgotten us but no matter" coded too).

sito is my baby, the fic whose shadow i would gladly stand under, the imperfect work i would still not mind being remembered by. and im just so so happy that the risk of placing vulnerability and trust in the people who read it pays off every so often, in the form of annotations like these. :") endlessly, endlessly grateful, always, to you and the love you've gifted me with (mwuah)

something in the orange

summary. remembrance is also reconstruction. reconstruction presupposes loss. a meditation on memory, narrative, and grief. and, of course, love. pairing. boo seungkwan x gn!reader genre/tags. ANGST, (semi-graphic) major character death, interstellar au-ish (just the blight), non-linear narrative, blurred fiction and reality if you squint (sorry I reread goodbye eri while writing), unbeta’d (mistakes are my own) wc. 5k suggested listening. love wins all, iu // 消費期限, seventeen // triassic love song, paris paloma // eight, iu prod. & ft. suga // yawn, seventeen // something in the orange, zach bryan (or niall's cover)

notes. midnight in korea now; happy birthday Seungkwannie! this is very experimental, and admittedly i'm not fully satisfied w it, but I didn't know how to change it atp. sorry boo, it's your birthday but i give you pain. as always, reblogs are appreciated and come say hi if you're so inclined 🫶🏼

D-17 EXT. SEOUL TRAIN STATION – KOREA – DAWN The sun rises over the ruins of Seoul Station. The air is clear of smoke and fog. A shot of the sun peeking over the heap of steel, glass, and cement that once served as the station’s framing. The train tracks run to the far horizon, to the left and right of the frame. Pan to YOU (young-looking though age is ambiguous, former writer, love of SEUNGKWAN’S life) squinting at an old, battered map of Korea’s train lines, and a compass. You’re wearing battered jeans that are slightly too big, boots, and a sturdy leather jacket. Behind the camera, SEUNGKWAN (male, young-sounding though age is ambiguous, former video producer) narrates.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         BOO-log number 529. We’re now figuring out how to get to Mokpo. Neither of us are any good with directions, but my partner decided that we could try following train lines since the none of them are running anyway. You look up at the sound of his voice, noticing the camera.

                YOU             (exasperated, but fond)         Kwan-ah, are you filming again? We have 30 batteries, but not all of them might be working. You might need to save battery and memory if you want to video the view of Jeju Island.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         It’s okay, I really just wanted to record us before we start. Once we’re walking, I won’t use the camera as much. And I have twenty other SD Cards!                 YOU             (not surprised)         Okay, we’ll definitely figure something out for the batteries, then.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Now— Seungkwan’s voice changes to a more formal tone, as though he were imitating a newscaster.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         What are your thoughts as we start our newest adventure? The camera catches your grin. You follow along, changing your tone to an impression of those backpackers in TV documentaries.                  YOU         Um, I’m excited to see Jeju-do, even from afar, because it’s part of Seungkwannie, and we had our honeymoon there. As long as we’re careful, I know we can do it. If we’re lucky, we may even find someone who can bring us across. Beat. You look ever so slightly awkward in front of the camera.                 YOU (CONT’D) Wait, here, give me the camera. I’ll record you this time. The footage shakes, briefly showing a tiled floor, then train tracks, before panning to a blurry face. The camera shakes for a moment before the image comes into focus, revealing a beautiful young man with dark hair. Seungkwan does a better job at the “interviewer voice”, but you’re no slouch either.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         So, Seungkwan-ssi, what are your thoughts as we embark on a new adventure?                 SEUNGKWAN             (genuine)         I think it’s about to be wonderful.

D–2183

When the Blight started, both you and Seungkwan were in high school. Though only having known you since that start of your third year, you’ve quickly wormed his way into his life—visiting his house, having dinners with your family, and he even managed to force you into joining the badminton club with him.

Bees now officially extinct, the news proclaims, an effect of the ravaging of nearly all plant life. Asia in particular has suffered; the widespread rice shortages due to it becoming impossible to grow resulted in widespread famine. The extinction of plants used for feed, made food prices across the board skyrocket. Corn, it seems, is the only crop that can resist the Blight—and the rest of the world now has to adjust its staple food to mimic the old Americas.

“Seungkwan.” You prod his ribs.

“Mm?”

“What would you do if the world ends tomorrow?”

“Marry you.” You laugh, until you realize he isn’t joking.

“What?” Your voice pitches to an incredulous squeak.

“Marry you,” he repeats.

“Why, though?”

“I always wanted to get married,” Seungkwan replies, after a moment of pondering. “And if the world ends tomorrow, as of today you’d be my best candidate for marriage.” 

For a moment, you just look at him, eyes tracing over his features. Your steady gaze makes him shift, uncomfortable, wondering if he said something wrong. Eventually, you shrug, though there’s a twinkle in your eye as you quirk a smile at him.

“While I don’t support shotgun marriages, I’d make an exception for you and the end of the world.”

His breath catches, heart stuttering as he tries to parse your answer in his head. “Wha—you—”

“Come on, Seungkwan, don’t dish it if you can’t take it,” you groan, flopping sideways to plop your head against the armrest. Your legs tilt as you do, your foot brushing against his calf. He tries not to jolt at the contact.

“I’m sorry!” He pouts, trying to calm the uneven fluttering of his heart. You laugh, shifting your lean in the opposite direction, so your head lands on his lap. Despite having done it a thousand times before, he traces softly the way your hair falls, admiring the way its color contrasts with the color of his pants.

(Looking back, he’ll think about how that day changed things, even just by a little bit; how his gazes grew longer, noticing more how the sunsets glowed against your face as you walked home together every day, painting you golden. How you’d both gotten used to creative ways of shelter when mild dust storms come, thanking your luck each time that you had gotten home before it truly began.

He’ll think about how, a year from that day, he kissed you as he walked you home for the last time before you enter your separate colleges, swallowing the teasing took you long enough from your lips as he finished his shaky confession. 

He’ll think of how you exchanged second buttons like those characters from that anime you liked did, and the quiet promises to make things work even as the world seems to turn more barren than both of you can follow.

He’ll think of how three years from then, he gets on one knee, to your tearful yes and salty kisses. Your small marriage, with just your families, batchmates, and some professors, followed by a beautiful honeymoon in Jeju. Despite it all.

None of these decisions had anything to do with the end of the world, but you and Seungkwan made them, nonetheless.)

D-9 INT. A TENT – A TRAIN STATION SOMEWHERE BETWEEN SEOUL AND MOKPO – NIGHT The footage is grainy due to the lack of proper lighting; the camera shakes as Seungkwan seems to be trying to balance it on something. The tent is quite cramped; the inside is sparse, with only two sleeping bags and your knapsacks—Seungkwan’s with two camping pans attached with a carabiner.  The leather jacket you were wearing is now resting on one of the bags. You have both swapped your sturdy day pants for more comfortable, albeit worn, sweatpants. Out of context, it looks like a vlog filmed by two campers on a hike. The camera steadies as Seungkwan moves away. He moves to sit beside you. There is an easy intimacy as you thread your fingers together, almost mindlessly.                 SEUNGKWAN         BOO-log number 531. We passed by a sign that said Nonsan. That means we’re probably halfway there.                 YOU         We made progress better than expected, didn’t we? I estimated at least two weeks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (nodding, excited)         I thought the train tracks would have been ruined, since the stations are, but they’re surprisingly reliable.                 YOU         It’s true; of course there were times when we had to find our way around the tracks, or climb above anything that fell down over it, or go through some cornfields, but mostly, it seems we’ve been lucky.                 SEUNGKWAN         By the way—everyone, it looks like we’re in a tent in the middle of nowhere, doesn’t it? Don’t be fooled, we set this up in a convenience store.                 YOU             (laughing)         You ruined it! Now we can’t be funky backpackers with a tent on the train tracks.                 SEUNGKWAN             (playfully lecturing)         It’s good to be truthful, you know. What if kids watch this someday? We have to be good moral people.                 YOU             (with the remnants of a laugh)         Okay, okay. We set this up in the Seven Eleven inside one of the train stations. Abandoned, obviously. We made it in right before the dust storm hit.                 SEUNGKWAN         Another good news today is that we managed to barter something for food.                 YOU         Yeah. This one engineer or something—I think he’s a veteran? But we saw him tinkering on his porch and offered a trade, his corn for our cables, and now we have dinner.                 SEUNGKWAN             (joking)         It’s not jokbal, but it’ll do, I suppose.                 YOU             (groaning)         Oh my God, what I’d give for some jokbal right now. With bossam. And soju. SEUNGKWAN         I’ll be dreaming of that tonight.                 YOU         Anyway, everyone, we’ll end the log here, so we have enough batteries for a nice long BOO-log at Mokpo. Both you and Seungkwan wave your corn (dinner) at the camera. You reach forward, covering the lens with your palm. The clip ends.

D–20

Seungkwan walks around the house. He’s doing his last checks, checking between what’s in his bag and what’s in the rooms to parse if he’s missed anything—batteries, your wallets, matches, passports, birth certificates, first aid kit, water bottles, toothbrushes, all the canned food in the pantry, the sturdiest kitchen knife you both owned (wrapped in two layers of cloth), the Swiss knife he was gifted a few years back, flashlights, a whistle, and all the carabiners and hard cash you had were already packed.

He finds you in your shared bedroom. There are a bunch of wires there, evidently cut from various appliances. You’ve wrapped the cables as neatly as you could manage. On the bed, you’ve laid all your dry-fit shirts and the sturdiest pairs of pants you both have. Then, from the dresser, you’ve collected the most expensive jewelry the both of you own—well, all of them, but you separated the expensive ones in another pile. He points to the latter.

“What’s that for?”

“If cash fails, maybe gold won’t. I don’t know, just in case the currency collapses. But they’re worth bringing all the same.” Also, you hold out copies of both your health insurances. He opens his knapsack and quickly stuffs them in the same place as your other documents.

“Last resort kindling?” Seungkwan offers, showing the cluster of documents in his compartment. The remark draws a quick breath of a laugh from you.

“Probably.”

“How about the wires?”

“You never know when we’ll need some emergency engineer bullshit; plus, if it comes to it, the wires will probably be better barter material. Before you ask,” you hold up one hand, “I edited a zombie novel a few years back. But if that kid was pulling out of his ass, we’re fucked.”

Despite your disclaimer, the no-nonsense, matter-of-fact way you’re handling the situation makes something settle in him, as though all he needed was an anchor amid the chaos. He pulls you close, placing a kiss to your temple. The tension in your body melts as you press against him. For a moment, Seungkwan just holds you. A temporary anchor before you need to move.

Turning to him, you offer a quick peck to his lips before holding up his trusted camera bag, worn as it is. “Bring it,” you tell him firmly. “We need a little bit of happiness. Get all the SD cards you have, too. In case we just never leave Mokpo. It’s small enough to stuff in our pockets.”

Seungkwan can’t help it; he grabs your face and kisses you. The camera bag sits between you awkwardly, but he doesn’t care. He savors this, the familiar taste of it, the contours of your face that his hands have long since memorized. You pull away, but not before kissing his lips again, then his nose. He’ll never quite get used to the way you look at him, as though there is something new to love each time.

“We’re gonna be okay, my heart.”

D-4 EXT – A LONG STRETCH OF BEACH – MOKPO, SOUTH KOREA – SUNSET The camera captures a breathtaking sunset. The sky is a wash of oranges and pinks, the clouds purple yet lined in the light of the sun. Mokpo is on the southwest side of Korea; the view of the sunset is particularly beautiful, as the sun sinks down into the sea. There are faint silhouettes of islands both near and far from the shore. The waters are tranquil, and there are no sounds except for the steady wash of the waves on the shore.

The shot slowly pans to you. Your expression is tranquil, despite the dirt and tears across your clothes.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (soft, so soft you don’t hear)         Pretty.                 YOU             (clueless)         Hm?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Nothing. Can you see Jeju Island from here?

He already knows where it is.                 YOU             (laughing softly, a little sad)         To be honest, I don’t know which piece of land I’m seeing is Jeju. A finger appears at the edge of the screen.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         There, that’s Jeju. Right behind the blob that looks like a hat.                 YOU             (squinting)         Oh! Right, that’s what it looks like. Beat.                 YOU (CONT’D) The view is beautiful. It’s been so long since I’ve seen the sea. Seungkwan hums the opening to Tears of Mokpo. You don’t recognize it until he softly begins to sing the opening lyrics.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (singing)         사공의 뱃노래 가물거리면…                 YOU             (laughing outright)         That doesn’t have anything to do with Jeju! He sings louder just to spite you. You playfully roll your eyes. Bending down, you unlace your boots and take off your socks, sinking your bare feet into the sand with barely-concealed relish. Seungkwan stops singing as he knows what you’re about to do.                 SEUNGKWAN         Careful; don’t step on anything sharp. As you move forward, the camera follows you. It is revealed that the beach is not so picturesque. The sea seems to have dried up some, and even here, bits and bobs of life float on the surface and linger in the sand.

There are the usual culprits: plastic bags, empty cans of alcohol and soda, and snack wrappers. Yet visible also on the camera are the following: bullet shells, shrapnel, a chair leg, a ragged pillow, and a cracked desktop monitor. As all this is visible, the camera centers on you laughing, splashing in the saltwater and enjoying the breeze in your hair.                 YOU             (calling; audio faint)         Seungkwannie! Come here! A beat. The camera zooms in on your face.                 YOU         Kwan-ah, come on! Hurry up!                 SEUNGKWAN             (proximity makes his voice loud)         Okay! A rustle. The camera is laid down, cloth (Seungkwan’s jacket) obscuring part of the footage. After a nudge, the cloth disappears from frame. Another figure, barefoot, joins you.

D–119

Jeju has officially been declared abandoned, lost for some other country to use as farmland. The radio announced the treaty ratification today. Seungkwan is a spectre around the house, listless and heartbroken. 

Months ago, when the conflict began to escalate in earnest, he began whatever arrangements he could to ensure his family was safe, moving them as near to the farming areas as he could manage and encouraging them to share whatever techniques they knew could help former cities now learning how to farm. The news does not make the sharp pang of grief dull any less.

He is at the age when he is to receive a conscription notice; Korea has since shifted its system to split soldiers into those who will either fight on the front lines of the Resource Wars, or serve by tilling the land and ensuring that there is enough corn for the population, however dwindling. There is no guarantee on which one he is to get, even if he did register himself as head of household (and should hypothetically be assigned the latter), but he is due to receive news in a few months’ time.

The promise of the notice hangs over both your heads. In the mornings, you spend ten more minutes just looking at him, as though you were memorizing the shapes and contours of his features. At night, he curls into you more tightly than before; once you’d have complained that it was too hot, now, you simply wrap your arms around him and let him sink his face into your hair.

“Hey, Seungkwannie.”

“Mm?”

“Let’s go on a trip.” The hand mindlessly running through your hair falters. 

He pulls away, looking at you with a furrowed brow. You keep your head low, pressed against his chest. “What?”

“Let’s go south. Yeosu, Mokpo, whatever, just near the beach, as close as possible to Jeju. Just…just see it, even from afar.” At his silence, you barrel on. “If we walk enough, we can make it in two weeks—a week if we can hitch a ride with one of those crop trucks or something—and then just another two weeks back, if we don’t settle in Mokpo outright.” 

“Food—”

“I can pack us as much as I can. We’ll need to ration, and possibly trade, but we can do it. The treaty is in place, and it’s most dangerous up north right now. Going south isn’t as big of a risk, and the weather has been looking good lately.” Finally looking up, you cup his cheek, tracing the skin with your thumb. He presses his lips to your wrist.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to, my heart. I just thought you might want to say goodbye.”

“I…” he falters. It’s tempting. Unbearably so, despite the nagging at the back of his head that it would be better to leave it at that, keep his memory limited to the days you spent there dodging dust storms and falling in love. He doesn’t know how much it’s changed. How much the ocean might have even dried up. He doesn’t know if he can stomach to see it. “Give me a few days to think about it?”

“Of course. All the time you need.”

D+29

Seungkwan’s life has been demarcated into two. Before, and after. He goes through the motions of the government-run fields: waking up, clocking in, eating breakfast, tilling the soil, weeding, lunch, the occasional drills in case they were still expected to fight, transporting corn from one warehouse to another, dinner, sleep. Repeat.

Not a lot of people are here; many prefer to till fields they own, or collectively own; for once, agrarian reform straightened itself out at the start of the Blight. Yet with the dwindling population—slowly withering family trees—those lands acquired by the government grew.

Sometimes, Seungkwan thinks of home. He was lucky enough that the head of the center, Seungcheol, was kind enough to register his name as part of the deployed cadets under his supervision, despite the incomplete paperwork he had when he stumbled into his field, frail and dehydrated from lack of food and water.

Home remains now only in his memory, and in every replay of the Christmases he captured on camera. The soil is more unforgiving than before; it distracts from the loneliness.

EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The wedding is humbly decorated with dried corn leaves fashioned into flowers, as there are no real ones anymore (none within the budget, anyway). Guests came as they are, though everyone has made an effort to clean up more than usual. It is currently the reception, and the speakers are playing a quick beat. The guests are dancing, laughing, and cheering, though their movements are blurry and almost smeared onscreen (step-printing effect). In the middle of it, you stand, the only still figure in the frame. You’re smiling softly to someone behind the camera, very clearly in love. Cut to Seungkwan, in a similar position, the guests around him dancing as but blurs. He is wearing a similar expression. He begins to walk forward.

You meet in the middle, still the only clear figures on-camera, and begin to dance.  As though the dance were a spell, the surroundings cut to: INT. A MEDIUM-SIZED LIVING ROOM – NIGHT EXT. SEOUL STATION, IN RUINS – DAY INT. YOUR TENT (MAGICALLY ENLARGED) – NIGHT EXT. LONG STRETCH OF BEACH (UNPOLLUTED) – MOKPO – SUNSET Hold this image for a moment. The sea laps at your ankles. The bottom of both your garments brushes against the saltwater, but neither of you seem to notice. Both you and Seungkwan close the gap to meet in a tender kiss. Suddenly, cheers. You part, and are back to: EXT. A SMALL FIELD, WEDDING VENUE – DAY The newly-married couple smiles and waves. The bottoms of their garments are damp.

D+167

It seems surreal to have all the batteries he wants, and even a computer where he can replay all his footage—more than 4000 hours’ worth of it. It took a few months of work to earn enough credits and rank to access it, but Seungkwan pursued the goal with single-minded purpose. There is enough electricity in this center to run a few computers, and Seungkwan is its most regular customer, painstakingly going through each clip on the dozens of SD cards he has.

For footage so far back, from when you had just been married, there are parts where he no longer remembers what happened after the clips end. They remain in his memory as but colored ghosts, warm-tinged with nostalgia. Cabinets that would never be opened again, now filled, in his dreams, with infinities.

The house of his memories blurs with the house of his oneirism. In both, he subsists on sleep and daydreams. But memory will betray; it won’t tell him if the house he remembers has been altered by each remembrance. So he watches his videos. He walks through his house, now only alive in film and reconstructed by memory. He sees himself and he sees you, in all the different iterations you both were. Wonders if he could stitch both into narrative. Wonders if he could even bear to cut any scenes. He’s never thought about the violence of that act until now.

Inventories do not just catalogue possession; they also measure the potential of loss. It was a quote from one of your writing workshops, discussed over a late dinner. You could still afford some meat then; Seungkwan had saved just enough for a small slab of cured pork, which you would cut tiny pieces from for both of you to enjoy before bed.

He has five minutes left of his designated slot with the computer.

Seungkwan watches, and he catalogues.

D=0

Seungkwan only remembers in flashes—a gunshot. A scream. It’s only when he replays that moment in his mind that he realizes it was his voice. Barely a thud as your body is cushioned by the corn leaves. Dark red liquid, somehow both grainy and slippery on his hands as he drags you into the thick of the field, away from the path, trying desperately to stem the blood while minimizing your trail. Until finally, he collapses, feet unable to bring him a step further.

More flashes—your eyes, only ever kind. Even at your last moments. The way you hold his hand and place it over the pocket you keep his SD cards, as though reminding him one last time. The way your eyes search his face, first desperate, and then resigned. The way he leaned in when you opened your mouth, to hear your final words, only to feel the ghost of chapped lips brush against his ear. The gush of blood that dribbles past your mouth that tells him you’re gone.

(The Resource Wars felt like more a backdrop than anything else; you had come this far without any altercation. Yet even as you screamed that you were not thieves, just travellers, the gunshot rang. 

The cornfields weep with him as he leaves you behind, SD cards clutched in his bloody hand.)

D–4

TIME CUT TO: It is twilight, now. The camera is trained on the horizon. The sun has fully set, and night is beginning to settle in the sky. Only the barest hints of orange remain. The footage has already become slightly grainy due to the lighting. Neither you nor Seungkwan are on the camera. Instead, voices are heard while the darkness arrives. It is not evident whether the footage was taken accidentally, or on purpose.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (softly)         I’m glad we came. Really, even if we couldn’t get to Jeju. I’m glad. I’m glad it’s with you.                 YOU (O.S.)             (just as softly)         I’m glad too, my heart. You filmed the whole sunset, didn’t you? Start to finish?                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Yeah. Yesterday and today. I have so much footage that I don’t know what to do with.

Breath.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S., CONT’D)         Actually, that goes for all the BOO-logs. Even the ones from high school and college.                 YOU (O.S.)             (surprised)         You never tried editing them?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         I have, but what then? There are hardly any theaters now. Nowhere else to post. And electricity is expensive.                 YOU (O.S.)         Okay, but if we both die, what do you think’s gonna happen to this camera? Seungkwan is many things; a prideful badminton player (before the Wars stopped sports events), a videographer, casual vlogger, and a corn field worker. You are also many things; an editor (before your company closed from too little employees), author, copywriter, and occasional tiller.

Both of you still enjoy nurturing sparks of creativity when they come.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm. someone picks it up and it gets immortalized in a post-war museum. And our videos will be a special feature.                 YOU (O.S.)         Oooh. And the war museum would be on a spaceship, with funky gravity and new plants and meat the astronauts domesticated from a different planet.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         And there’s a new jokbal. Call that out of this world delicious.                 YOU         Stop! Despite the terrible joke, you both laugh, then let the conversation drift into comfortable silence. The sun has fully set. Nothing much can be discerned visually from the footage.                 YOU (O.S., CONT’D)         Hey, Seungkwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Mm?                 YOU (O.S.)         If you had the chance, like computers and steady electricity, would you edit all the BOO-logs into a short film?                  SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)             (skeptical, but thinks about it seriously)         What would the plot even be? A married couple traveling to Mokpo, dodging dust storms and chasing each other through cornfields? Watching the stars at night?                 YOU (O.S.)             (earnest)         Yeah! Or, y’know, make it semi-autobiographic, like two lovers wanting to visit where they first had their honeymoon. Or maybe I’m sick and you want to take me to the sea one last time? The footage earlier could fit with that storyline.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Don’t even say that!                 YOU (O.S.)             (laughing softly, apologetic)         Sorry, sorry. But if you do make a short film, I want to be the first to see it. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you work.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         What about you, then? Would you write a book about us?                 YOU (O.S.)         Oh, definitely. And you’d be the first to read it. The footage cuts.

D+182

Seungkwan replays the footage. Beside him, Vernon fiddles with a pen.

“What do you think about making this a short film?” Seungkwan asks. 

Vernon stops. 

Seungkwan may be their newest addition, but the rest of the crew has grown protective. He brings light to their conversations, effortless in his ability to entertain and bring laughter. Mingyu asks him of his favorite foods, especially the ones he misses from Jeju, even if recreating them is near impossible. Seungcheol reprimands anyone who tries to bully him into giving up his share of rations. Junhui has begun to joke more, noticing how Seungkwan seems to be particularly into his humor. 

Yet everyone recognizes the sadness that still clings to his heels.

Vernon looks, for a long moment, at the monitor, frozen with a picture of a smiling face he’s never known—never personally, only ever through the screen and Seungkwan’s stories, always shared in quiet whispers in the privacy of his room.

He knows, though. Knows that this person was real. They loved, and were loved. It speaks in how the camera follows whoever is in the frame. The cuts of certain clips, as though either the person behind the camera joined their partner or had a moment that could not be captured in film. Most of all, it was the way whoever was in the frame would, without fail, smile at the person behind it. 

“I think,” he replies, choosing his words deliberately, “that you are in a unique position to dictate how someone is to be remembered by those who never knew them. And…” he hesitates, wondering if two months of these quiet conversations is still too little to be so candid with his friend, especially when talking of loss.

So, so much loss.

Seungkwan answers that question for him. “It’s okay, Vernon-ah.”

“…Well, I just wanted to say that it’s a burden to bear, is all.”

EXT – A CORNFIELD UNDER THE STARS – NIGHTTIME The stars have emerged, visible in all their glory. After the start of the Blight, when the population began to dwindle, electricity and many other resources became scarce. Much of the light pollution that was once a problem has disappeared. Brilliant dots twinkle overhead. To you and Seungkwan, it could pass for the Milky Way. The POV seems to be at a low point; stalks of corn are visible at the edges of the frame. Yet the stars are bright, captured exceedingly well.

You’re softly speaking aloud Laura Gilpin’s The Two-Headed Calf. It was one of the poems you memorized in college, as a creative writing major. YOU (O.S.)             (as though from far away)         Tomorrow when the farm boys find this freak of nature, they will wrap his body in newspaper and carry him to the museum.

But tonight he is alive and in the north field with his mother. It is a perfect summer evening: the moon rising over the orchard, the wind in the grass. And as he stares into the sky, there are twice as many stars as usual. Long beat.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         Twice as many stars as usual…let’s look up together.                 YOU (O.S.)         I see the stars, my heart, but I’m tired…

A breath hangs in the air. Some rustle of cloth, as though someone had adjusted so you fit together. A soft sigh.                 YOU (O.S.) Good night, Seungkwannie.                 SEUNGKWAN (O.S.)         …Good night, darling. End.

note. are the screenplay bits from the short film? the raw sd card clips? his memories? distorted memories? guess we'll never know. nonlinear bc grief is nonlinear. pls tell me your thoughts (even/esp if u didn't get the story lol) take care of yourselves always <3 EDIT: here are annotations of this fic for anyone willing to indulge 1.1k of my meta

[daddynovaks]

Daddy’s girl

casey novak x fem!reader

warnings: smut, daddy kink (i guess?), idk what to put here this is all just for funsies AND i wanted to write this for a while sooo enjoy my loves!!

“daddy please…feels s-so good” you begged in a small voice, your eyes flashed open and your face started to get hot. she stopped and looked at you, a twinkle in her eyes. “did you just call me daddy?” she questioned, a smile gracing her features.

you huffed in frustration and you started to feel embarrassed again. “yes, but just ignore it. don’t stop please” you whined, leaning up on your elbows. casey smirked and rubbed the inside of your thighs with her hands.

“please what, princess?” she raised an eyebrow, her voice deeper and more raspy than usual, yet more demanding. her fingers are still inside you.

you could easily tell she was teasing you, but you knew by the look in her eyes she definitely wanted to explore that kink of yours. (it’s actually more hers but still)

“please, daddy” you said, tilting your head to the side slightly, licking your lips. casey growled and leaned down, keeping her eyes on yours. she then replaced her fingers with her mouth and licked a stripe from your entrance to your clit. you gasped at the action and the feeling of her finally paying attention to your nerdy clit.

you fell into your back as she continued to lick and suck your clit, her hands squeezing your thighs slightly. your hand quickly flew into her hair as she shook her head back and forth, her tongue moving fast, “oh fuck, yes daddy!” you squealed, your hips grinding into her mouth.

casey pulled away and shoved your hips back down onto the bed. “you gotta be a good girl for daddy, okay? keep your hips down, understood baby?” she asked, and you nodded and had to admit, casey was hardly ever dominant in this way but when she was with you it gets you feeling all kinds of hot.

as the night went on you’d only cum a total of 5 times only by casey using her mouth on you. your skin was sticky with sweat, and your thighs were trembling and you could feel your wetness dripping onto the sheets.

casey hummed as she ate you out, her hips grinding onto the bed, she licked your clit and you hissed at how sensitive it was now. “daddy i-i can’t take anymore” “it’s t-too much.” you swallowed, silently begging her to stop, but did you want her to? god no.

she pulled away with a obscene noise “but daddy loves making you cum, sweetheart.” she bit the inside of your thigh, her eyes locked onto yours. you whined and shook your head, starting to feel dizzy. “n-no more, please” you sighed as casey moved to hover above you.

“hmm alright, baby, but tomorrow, you’re gonna let daddy fuck that pretty pussy if yours. got it?” she said as she kissed the top of your head softly.

i actually wrote this because diane found out i call casey (her) daddy lolll anywayyyy!

ALSO if you want me to write strap casey fics please lmk! (i was gonna anyways)

[owepossum]

I'm really looking forward to how you'll write post river Vander, to see him when he's finally done one of his most regrettable actions yet and finally becoming someone who DOES work to control his anger more

Question though; Is Vander, right now in Devotions, less interested in controlling his rage because he has Benzo/Connol/Felicia and Silco there to help him snap out of it? Or is it more of a thing where he just looses himself, no matter what?

He’s a fascinating character for sure, so many arcane characters are lovely and grey to explore.

Re young Vander, I don’t think it’s a lack of willingness. I think it’s more a combo of pressures growing up and being constantly valued / lauded *for* his physicality and violence. So much so that it’s becoming a defining thing for him and his self worth. This has led to a lack of incentive to actually be LESS physical.

They’re also so young! I think they haven’t ever had the chance to really grow up or see different role models. So it’s a mix (as such things often are).

This is why I expressly showed Silco encouraging the violence (since it’s usually performed on his behalf / a protective thing) but it does mean the boundaries of emotional expression are so blurry and difficult.

Dealing with anger / negative emotions takes practice. And if practice reinforces that violence is the answer, it’s hard to change that. It’s reflexive :(

I’m in a lot of pain rn in RL so this kinda incoherent haha but I hope it makes a little sense. In short, toxic masculinity hurts men as well as women (and everyone in between).

[michanvalentine]

Astarion’s quotes that make my heart race!

Ok, maybe you’d expect something extremely romantic—but that’s not quite it. Or at least, not just that. There are moments when this vampire spawn truly drives me crazy—and not in a sexy way. Let’s just say that part is the cherry on top! But let’s not waste any more time…

"You deserve something real. I want us to become something real." Can we talk about this? This is the very first time Astarion truly opens up. Willingly. Officially. Even at the risk of being kicked out of the group, even at the risk of being told to fuck off—because yes, everything he did before was purely out of self-preservation. He used Tav/Durge and paid for the favor with his own body. And yet, he takes a risk. He puts everything on the line—even the very mechanisms that have protected him for centuries, allowing him to keep going without stopping, without thinking, without letting himself get emotionally involved. Because if he hadn’t dissociated, it would have hurt too much. But this time? He’s done pretending. This time, he really wants to try. He wants to take a chance—for the one person who managed to crack through his armor, who lowered his defenses. He wants to be real and experience something real, for the first time in over 200 years—with everything that comes with it. For someone who has always worn a mask, this is a massive, deeply important concept. Especially because, as I said, this confession goes against everything he’s ever believed—about love, about sex, about relationships. It goes beyond control. Beyond using emotions and feelings as weapons. Beyond self-preservation, which is what pushed him to act like a piece of shit so many times throughout Act 1. Here, Astarion takes a step away from selfishness and toward altruism—toward the other, beyond himself—and spits out the truth. He shows himself, stripped bare and flawed, and braces for the consequences. He takes responsibility for what he’s done. He makes himself vulnerable. And that’s an even more powerful, meaningful act when you remember just how hard that is for someone like him—someone who’s made fear his primary driving force for so long.

“This is a gift, you know. Thank you. I won’t forget it.” What can I say? It begins in Act One and ends at the conclusion of the Pale Elf’s quest in the “good” ending. The callback is incredibly powerful—revisiting the concept of the gift shows just how much he’s grown, how he’s come to genuinely appreciate what is offered to him. Even when it’s not what he expected, or what he claimed to desire. And in this case, we’re talking about trust. He is grateful for the trust he’s been given. Just like in the bite scene, where those words are first spoken. Trust in him as a person, not a monster. Trust in his qualities—the ones lying beneath the bitter, hardened, sarcastic façade. Trust in his potential. In the depth of his soul, where something much more profound is hidden. Something more delicate and vulnerable, too. And trust—or rather, certainty—that all of this has immense value and is worth nurturing. And for this, for the opportunity he’s given to finally explore that side of himself in his future, he is grateful. He considers it a gift. And that’s something that quite literally melts me.

“I did it. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.” I’ve never experienced it in my playthroughs—I always freed the vampire spawn. Except for one time when I damned them, lol. But here, you can clearly see Astarion's growth and sensitivity. Not only that, but it also emerges in a context that doesn’t involve Tav/Durge, the safe harbor who has accompanied him on his journey so far. Instead, it involves the Gur tribe, with whom Astarion has a history that’s nothing short of turbulent: the law enacted against them, his own death, the kidnapping of the children. All violent and terrible events that left a mark on him—marked by hatred, anger, and shame. In this scene, there’s everything: forgiveness, reconciliation, redemption, leaving the past behind, and facing the future with a stronger, more determined spirit. Here, Astarion opens his mind and heart to someone he once despised, hated, and hurt. He acknowledges and embraces their pain, grief, even their resentment, and does so with compassion and newfound maturity. What else can I say but that I’m so proud of this mischievous little bastard?

“Even I deserve something better.” This is a moment I absolutely adore. I never cheated on Astarion with Mizora—just to be clear—I’ve only watched the cutscenes on YouTube. The she-devil just doesn’t do it for me, unfortunately for her. Lol. If I have to throw myself at someone with horns, I’d much rather pick Wyll or Karlach! <3 But back to why this scene makes my heart race… This is where you can see all of Astarion’s growth. All of it. This isn’t about jealousy—he makes that clear right away. We know very well that the spawn isn’t against open relationships; he’s even open to including Halsin in the mix. This is about betraying the trust of your partner—something he’s only just begun to claim for himself. To trust someone, and in turn, to be worthy of their trust. It’s a deep and incredibly important concept. If Tav/Durge attacks him with the idea that he would’ve been the first to jump into such situations and betray others, Astarion quickly replies that maybe, once, yes, he would have. But things change. People change. Another powerful concept. And the most beautiful part of all this is when spawn Astarion chooses to leave Tav/Durge, because he finally has enough self-respect and strength not only to keep going on his own, but to fight for himself. To say “No, thank you.” He’s no longer willing to settle, to bend, to swallow the bitter pill—even if that means parting from the person he loves more than anyone else in the world. Because yes, damn it, he deserves something better than that! And because, in that moment—just as he himself says—Tav represents everything he’s trying to escape from in order to become better: someone who only thinks about themselves, without caring about the consequences or who gets hurt along the way. Simply beautiful. Especially when compared to the tragic words of Ascended Astarion, who—when Tav/Durge suggests they had a bad night and regret it—responds by telling them not to dwell on it and to just focus on the next conquest. He doesn’t face anything. He runs. And deludes himself that next time, it’ll be better.

“You. I want you.” Okay, this is where my heart just can’t take it. Awwww. I mean—finally, after everything we’ve been through in the game, after all those times we’ve asked him “What do you want?” and all the times he wasn’t able to answer… At last, Astarion gives voice to his own desires and replies: “You.” Not power. Not control. The relationship. That deep connection with another person, without any more doubts, masks, roles (master, slave, vampire, human), or ulterior motives. Pure and simple, from one soul to another. It’s a conscious and free choice. From someone who, not that long ago, couldn’t even put a name to what he had with Tav/Durge—“What are we, to you?” “I don’t know. But isn’t it nice not knowing?”—I think he’s now fully realized how warm, comforting, and fulfilling it is to know. To be able to give a name to what binds him to another. And the “I love you” that follows not only warms our hearts—it shows us just how far this small, desperate vampire spawn has come. He’s achieved the unthinkable: reclaiming his shattered identity, freeing himself from the curse of vampirism—not physically, but spiritually—and rediscovering his right to be, to choose, to express himself, and to feel something real. But most of all, he’s found the ability to recognize it and name it, without fearing the consequences anymore.

I think there are more, but I’ll stop here for now. Every single line from Astarion deserves to be analyzed, if you ask me! I have a feeling my next list will be about the Astarion quotes that piss me off. Lol

[palmolli]

SKSW ZELINK IS MY ROMAN EMPIRE!!!!

So I've already made a post like this, but like... sksw Zelink makes me violently ill. But like in a good way. They are an existential NIGHTMARE. And they drive me ABAOLUTKEKEY INSANE.

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH

Here's basically how I view it:

Zelda was supposed to be the main character. Not Link. Link was basically just the love interest in her story. It's the Legend of Zelda, not Link, lol. In the game itself, Link was never supposed to fight Demise, he wasn't even supposed to be the one to use the triforce. Hylia reincarnated into a mortal for the sole reason of using the power of the Triforce against Demise's wrath. Link was only supposed to be a fallback plan. Yet they both fell for each other.

Imagine being Link. Your best friend in the whole wide world goes missing one day. She was basically all you had. You saw it happen and you couldn't do anything about it. You keep replaying the scene in your head over and over again, wishing you could've just caught her hand. But you couldn't. Then you learn she's still alive. There's still hope to get the one light in your life back. You don't hesitate to take up the sword. Losing your best friend is more horrifying than whatever awaits you on the surface. You follow her through old temples, slaying beasts left and right, and when you finally catch up to her, her words break your heart and explode your brain. She's really a goddess reborn. And you, nothing but her chosen hero. You still love her, and it hurts.

Imagine being Zelda. You've just fallen from the world you once knew. You're lost and confused. Only guided by a mysterious yet familiar stranger. You're told you're not who you thought you were. The life you were so familiar with shatters before your eyes. The girl you thought you were shatters with it. A piece of that life follows you down. Turns out he was just a pawn in your game. You used the person you love. But he doesn't care. He's willing to shed blood for your sake. Whether it's his or another's. It scares you. You don't exactly know why. Maybe it's because he was the only familiar thing in this new world, but now he's changed. He's no longer that lazy boy you had to drag out of his bed since you were just kids. He's no longer the boy you had to speak up for because he was too shy to do so with his own voice. You still love him, and it hurts.

PLEEEAAAZESSEEE AAUUUUUUGHHHH, I NEED TO SQUEEZE THEM LIKE DOG TOYS NOOOWWWWWW.

LIKE SERIOUSLY, BARELY ANYONE TALKS ABOUT THE ACTUAL DEPTHS OF THEIR RELATIONSHIP. EVERY EDIT OF THEM JUST TURNS INTO "ahaha, we get reincarnated to love each other in every lifetime!!! Teehee!!"

NO. SHUT UP!!!!! It is SO much more than that to me. The COMPLEXITIES. The CONFLICT. THE EXISTENTIAL DREAD.

They're the only Link and Zelda pair aware of the cycle. They were the very first. They planted the seed for what eventually grew into Hyrule. They lived and died with the knowledge that their people would never know peace. They are essentially the Adam and Eve of Hylian lore. That has never been explored in the Zelda canon, and it pisses me off sm.

ALSOOOO the very idea of once being a GOD in a past life and having the memories of one... it's almost incomprehensible. Same with dating said used to be God. If you try too hard to wrap your head around it, it'll unravel your mind. That is genuinely some kinda form of existential horror or something. Arrrrghhhhhhhh... they make me so violent...

Also... Zelda's soul is still divine. Link's isn't. What happens to them after death? Do NOT reply with "Oh, they get reincarnated as the other future Zeldas and Links!" Because... there's literally in game evidence of two Zeldas and two Links existing at once, which wouldn't be possible if they were the same person reincarnated. One. Botw Zelda and the Hylia statues. Two. The hero's shade and tp Link??? THREE. The og Zelda and the adventure of Link Zelda.

Hylia still exists after Skyward Sword... but where's her Link? Did he pass on and leave her behind? I genuinely don't think he would do that. I think Hylia's ghost is sealed away in the Sacred Realm, because the golden three thought she was too weak to exist in the normal realm. Separating her from her Link. He still lingers, somewhere... but she can't find him. Though she sees his face in every child that wields the blade he had cherished so dearly. She sees his face in every single one of their daughters that shares her name.

I think I could go on for hours, actually. I am so NOT normal about them.