#your claws are dull and useless | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

annievrse · 7 months ago

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It Only Hurts This Much Right Now / Act I

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

Labyrinth Series Masterlist

— Scene 1 —

“Run! Now!”

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

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

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

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

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

“Who are you?”

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

“Kid, leave the poor girl alone.”

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

Kid? Where had you heard that name before?

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

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

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

“Come with me.”

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

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

“M-my crew, they’re gone.”

“Gone?”

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

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

“Hey.”

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

“Who?”

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

“Fuck.”

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

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

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

— Scene 2 —

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

“Oh good, you’re awake.”

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

Trafalgar Law.

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

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

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

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

“Best try not to touch it.”

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

“Wanna tell me your name?”

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

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

“My ship, the Polar Tang.”

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

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

Nodding, your eyes sting at the memory.

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

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

“Believe me, you did.”

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

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

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

“Drop me off at the next port.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Two days.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Bepo…”

“I’m a navigator.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod and reluctantly drop your hands by your sides.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He’s a doctor?”

Bepo nods. “And a surgeon.”

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

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

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

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

“Done. Let’s go.”

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

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

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

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

“—and this is the kitchen.”

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

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

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

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

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

You take it graciously, thanking him for the snack.

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

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

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

Shachi shrugs and returns to his own rice ball.

“I’m here too,” A large man mumbles.

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

You nod, finishing your rice ball.

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

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

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

“I’m leaving soon.”

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

The thought makes you cringe.

He stops before the final door and opens it.

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

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

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

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

You should put a bell on him.

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

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

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

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

— Scene 3 —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“When you’re on my sub, you wear it.”

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

“You’re on my ship.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your face softens at the finality of his tone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When did they get there?

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“Come in.”

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

“How’re you feeling?”

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

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

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

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

Trafalgar eyes you warily. “Okay…”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Goodnight, Trafalgar.”

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

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

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

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

You can’t help but believe him.

— Scene 4 —

Bepo looks at you oddly from across the table.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Bepo gasps. “Ignore him.”

You give him a small smile.

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

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

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

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

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

He sighs. “Do you need anything?”

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

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

“Are you always this melodramatic?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You ate a Devil Fruit.”

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

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

You swallow thickly. “No.”

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

“No?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Scene 5 ��

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

PORTGAS D. ACE TO BE PUBLICLY EXECUTED

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

“Miss?”

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

No, no, no.

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

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

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

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

Trafalgar is nowhere to be found.

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

The Polar Tang is empty.

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

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

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

— Scene 6 —

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

You groan when you hear his voice.

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

War?

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

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

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

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

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

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

EATH

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

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

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

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

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

“What’s wrong? Is it your wound?”

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

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

“Rival? Ace is a rival?”

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

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

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

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

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

“You could be useful.”

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

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

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

“Right now? Yes.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“The Sew-Sew Fruit.”

“Sew-Sew Fruit…”

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

“You suffocated me, that’s—”

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

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

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

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

“I don’t care.”

“I’m sorry.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Op-Op…”

“So, what does yours do?”

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

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

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

“And I now see why yours is so high.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” The bear sighs. “Are you okay?”

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

Bepo smiles before speaking to Trafalgar. “Captain.”

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

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

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

Bepo nods and quickly leaves.

“We’re retrieving him?”

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

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

“That’s sweet.”

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

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

— Scene 7 —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. “Care about me, huh?”

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

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

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

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

“Are we there?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jean-Bart, quick, they’re coming.”

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

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

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

“Prepare for surgery!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your heart skips a beat. Ace.

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

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

Your mouth falls open. “But, Trafalgar—”

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

His words make you feel sick. “Hey—”

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

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

“Bepo—”

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

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

“You have to; he’ll be just fine.”

“But—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Bepo!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You guys okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Penguin watch Bepo leave, his legs wobbly.

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

“Should be fine, thanks.”

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

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

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

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

— Scene 8 —

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, you hope Bepo got his fresh air.

—

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

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

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

“A woman!”

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

Smiling awkwardly, you wave back, glancing at Trafalgar.

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

“Amazon Lily.”

“Okay…” You drop your arm. “Why?”

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

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

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

Boa Hancock. “The Warlord?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Hancock.”

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

“Why are we circling the island?”

“Men are forbidden on the island.”

“What?”

“Luffy is the exception.”

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

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

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

“Docking!” Penguin yells.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You feel comfortable here.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

She gasps. “So, you know Luffy?”

“He’s my captain.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Whatcha doing out here?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Good.”

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

“I—”

“Excuse me.”

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

“Has Luffy regained consciousness?”

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

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

“Marguerite! Hurry up!”

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

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

“His spirit, huh?”

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

“I see you’ve made yourself comfortable.”

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

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

“Then stay.”

“What?” You ask, startled.

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

“I’m going wherever Luffy goes.”

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

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

“Why would you—”

“Luffy! Calm down!”

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

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

“Luffy…”

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

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

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

“Ace.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Quick! He’s down!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You must get to your captain.

— Scene 9 —

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

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

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

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

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

Jinbe quickens his pace. “This way.”

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

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

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

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

“We’re close, quickly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Luffy…” You mutter.

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

Jinbe sighs. “I’m afraid so.”

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

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

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

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

“Wha— How? Did you see Ace, too?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Luffy—”

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

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

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

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

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

“Please don’t make me force you.”

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

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

“I can’t—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— Scene 10 —

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

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

“Hey, sleepyhead.”

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

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

“What?” You shake your head.

“Straw Hat. Pack it up.”

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

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

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

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

“You can’t. We have to get stronger.”

“I don’t understand.”

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

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

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

“Meet me back at Sabaody in two years.”

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

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

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

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

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

“Luffy!”

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

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

“I have a plan.”

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

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

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

Get stronger.

“Are you out of your mind?”

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

Get stronger.

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

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

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

Get stronger.

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

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

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

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

Trafalgar clicks his tongue. “Expected.”

“Captain, maybe she should eat…”

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

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

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

He sounds like Luffy.

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

“Me?” He acts like it offends him.

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

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

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

“Traffy, huh?” Bepo snorts.

Trafalgar runs his tongue over his teeth.

“Please?” You smile.

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

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

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

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

“Maybe one day I’ll persuade him.”

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

You quirk an eyebrow at him.

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

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

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

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

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

Bepo makes a surprised sound. “No way…”

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

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

“Snap out of it, idiot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He definitely wants you on his submarine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

#trafalgar d water law x reader #trafalgar law x reader #trafalgar d law x reader #trafalgar law #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #one piece #labyrinth series #— ann writes!

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sasheemo · 7 months ago

Text

Knock Knot

Pairing: Alpha!Agatha x Omega!Reader

Summary: In the height of your heat, you find yourself at the mercy of the one Alpha you could never resist.

Tags: Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega Dynamics, Smut, Knotting, Breeding Kink, Porn Without Plot, First Omegaverse Attempt

Word count: 4.3k

A/N: Well ngl, this is a twist I didn’t see coming. Up until two weeks ago, I never would’ve imagined myself writing Omegaverse smut, but apparently, the universe (aka all the lovely humans that voted in the poll) had other plans. So, here I am, delivering what you asked for!

This is my first attempt at the genre, so I’d love to hear your thoughts! Be nice, though—or don’t, I can take it. If this goes over well, who knows? I might just write more. Enjoy! 💜

MASTERLIST

Read on AO3

You had underestimated your heat.

You should have known better. This isn’t your first time, but it’s unlike anything you’ve ever endured. The faint hum in your belly started four days ago, a subtle, manageable thrum—or so you thought.

By the second day, the ache became unbearable. The suppressants you decided to rely on seem to be useless, failing to dull the relentless fire spreading through your core. Your scent has saturated your home, thick and cloying, clinging to every surface. No amount of pacing or distraction able to smother the inferno roaring inside you.

You’ve done everything to stay hidden—locked every door, shut every window tight, and isolated yourself in the living room, far from prying eyes. But the ache isn’t a dull pulse anymore. It’s a living, breathing thing, clawing at you with every passing moment. It’s not just release your body craves. It’s an Alpha.

And not just any Alpha.

The thought alone sends a fresh wave of heat rolling through you. Her scent haunts your senses, rich and spiced, lingering even in memory. Agatha Harkness isn’t just commanding, she’s overwhelming, the kind of Alpha who can ruin you with a single glance. You’ve crossed paths at coven meetings and social gatherings, but you’ve always avoided her sharp, knowing eyes.

She has a way of looking at you that makes you feel stripped bare, vulnerable. And you hate her for it. You hate how small she makes you feel. But now, with your body betraying you, she’s all you can think about.

The knock comes softly at first, almost hesitant, but it slices through the quiet house like a thunderclap. You stop mid-step, your frantic pacing halted as the sound reverberates through the air. Your pulse pounds in your ears, drowning out the oppressive silence that had been your only companion for days.

Another knock follows, firmer this time. “Open the door.” a voice calls, equally smooth and firm, its authority impossible to ignore.

Agatha.

Your breath catches, panic blooming in your chest as her scent seeps through the door, heady and intoxicating even from outside. You press your back against the wall, trying to ground yourself, but it’s no use.

“I know you’re in there, Omega.” she calls again, her tone silk-wrapped steel. “Don’t make me break this door down.”

Her words send a shiver down your spine, your hands trembling as instinct overpowers logic. Before you can stop yourself, you’re gripping the handle, the cool metal slick under your palm. The door creaks open, and there she is.

Agatha stands in the doorway, her icy blue eyes locking onto yours like a predator sizing up its prey. Her presence fills the space instantly, her scent flooding your senses with an unbearable intensity. Her lips curl into an alluring smile, dark and confident.

“Did you really think you could hide from me?” she asks, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation.

You step back instinctively, your pulse hammering in your chest.

“I… I didn’t—” The words stick in your throat, faltering under the weight of her gaze.

“You didn’t what?” she cuts in, kicking the door shut behind her with a resounding thud. “Didn’t think I’d notice?” Her eyes rake over you, lingering on your flushed cheeks and trembling thighs. “Your scent’s been calling to me for hours, Omega. I could smell you from down the street.”

Your knees wobble, heat pooling low in your belly as her words sink in. “You shouldn’t be here…” you say, though your voice holds no conviction.

Her smirk widens as she takes another step forward, deliberate and unhurried.

“Oh, but I should.” she murmurs, her tone laced with amusement. “Look at you. You’re drowning in your own heat. Did you really think you could handle this on your own?”

“I just—I didn’t think you would—” you stammer shaking your head, retreating another step as her scent wraps around you like a vice.

“But I do.” she interjects, tilting her head slightly as she studies you. Her eyes gleam with something dark, something that makes your stomach twist in knots. “I’ve been waiting for this. And now, you’re mine to handle.”

You swallow hard, panic and desperation clawing at your chest. “I don’t… Agatha, I can’t—”

“You can’t what?” she cuts in once again, the sound of her steps making your heart stutter as she closes the distance between you. “Admit you need me? Tell me, little Omega, should I leave?”

The words hang in the air, heavy and suffocating. You open your mouth to speak, but no sound comes out. The truth feels uncomfortable, but so does the thought of her walking away.

“That’s what I thought.” she says, her smirk sharpening as she her presence presses against you, her scent overwhelming, and you stumble backward.

Your thighs hit the edge of the couch, and the sudden shift in balance forces you to sink onto the cushions, your hands instinctively clutching the armrest to steady yourself. The air between you thickens as Agatha steps closer, her legs brushing against yours.

Her gaze sweeps over you, dark and assessing, the weight of it alone making your breath hitch. Slowly, she leans in, saturating every corner of your awareness. Her hand rises to cup your cheek, her thumb brushing the curve of your jaw with an almost maddening slowness.

“You’re such a mess, Omega.” she murmurs, her voice low and rough, just above a whisper. Her fingers trace the line of your jaw, trailing down to the sensitive skin of your neck. “So soft. So warm. Just sitting here, waiting for me to make it better.”

Your breath stutters as her other hand settles firmly on your thigh, her grip possessive. Her thumb starts to draw slow, soothing circles, the sensation igniting a fresh wave of heat low in your belly. You whimper despite yourself, and her lips curl into a satisfied grin.

She leans closer, her nose brushing against your temple, then lower, tracing the line of your cheek as her fingers tighten their hold.

“This is where you belong.” she murmurs, her lips ghosting over the corner of your mouth. “Right here. Under me.”

Your thighs tremble beneath her touch, your body betraying you completely as her knee presses between your legs with unrelenting firmness, urging them wider, allowing her to take her rightful place between them.

Her closeness makes your instincts take over, and your head tilts back, exposing the delicate, vulnerable curve of your throat to her predatory gaze.

She doesn’t waste the invitation. Her teeth graze your earlobe first, then drag lower, scraping against your pulse point as you shudder. Her grip tightens on your thigh, grounding you, holding you exactly where she wants you. When her lips finally press against the curve of your neck, the sensation sends a jolt through you, your gasp echoing softly in the still air.

“Fuck, you smell divine.” she murmurs against your skin, her voice tinged with reverence. Her tongue flicks out, tasting the salty sheen of sweat on your skin, and you whimper, the sound breaking into soft, frustrated whines that only seem to spur her on.

“Say it.” she commands, her voice firm, dripping with authority. “Tell me what you want.”

Your breath hitches as both her hands come to rest on your hips, her grip firm and unrelenting, sending a clear message that resistance is not an option.

“I can’t do this alone, Agatha…” you gasp, your voice cracking as your head falls back against the couch.

Her eyes roam over your features, their intensity pinning you in place.

“That’s not enough.” she scoffs, her fingers digging into your hips with a possessive pressure that makes your breath hitch. “If you want me, Omega, you’re going to have to beg like you mean it.”

Shame flares hot in your cheeks, but it’s quickly overshadowed by the smoldering heat coiling deep within you. Your body trembles as the words burst from your lips, raw and unfiltered.

“Please, Agatha, fill me.” you gasp, your voice cracking as your hips shift against her grip, desperate for relief. “I need you to fuck me until I can’t think, until I can’t even stand.”

Her smirk falters, her pupils dilating as she leans in closer, her breath hot against your lips.

“Keep going.” she murmurs, her voice rough and dripping with hunger. “Let me hear how desperate you really are.”

Your body arches into her as the heat claws at your senses.

“I want you to knot me so hard I feel it for days.” you sob, your hands clutching at her shirt as the words rush out of you, like a river surging past its banks, drowning everything in its path. “I want to feel every inch of you, every thrust. I want you to fill me so completely it drips out of me every time I move.”

Her growl comes immediately, vibrating deep in her chest as her lips skim along your jaw, hot and possessive. One hand slides lower, her touch purposeful, searing.

“Fuck, Omega.” she hisses. “You’re so pretty when you beg.”

You don’t stop. You can’t stop. Her words fuel you, each one stoking the fire in your core, her need blending seamlessly with your own, leaving no room for restraint.

“Please, breed me.” you plead, your voice trembling as tears begin to blur your vision. “I want you to keep going until I’m so full of you I can’t take it anymore.”

Her grip on your hips tightens instantly at your words, her nails carving crescent marks into your skin as her chest rises and falls in ragged, heaving breaths.

“You want me to breed you?” she snarls, her voice low and feral. “You want everyone to know that pretty cunt of yours belongs to me? That you belong to me?”

“Yes!” you cry, your gaze locking onto hers with unflinching intensity. Desire blazes in your eyes, bold and shameless now, challenging her to claim everything you’re offering. “I’ll take everything, Agatha. All of you. I’ll be yours.”

The last shred of her control snaps.

“Prove it to me, Omega. Every. Last. Word.” she growls against your lips, her voice shaking with the weight of her need.

You don’t even have time to process her words before her lips crash against yours, fierce and unyielding. Her tongue claims yours immediately, delving deep as if she’s devouring every ounce of your desperation. The kiss is all hunger and possession, leaving no room for gentleness. And you wouldn’t have it any other way.

Her teeth graze your lower lip before sinking in just enough to draw a sharp gasp from you. The sting sends a shiver racing down your spine, your breath hitching as her hands begin to roam your body with deliberate intent. One slips beneath your top, her fingers brushing against heated skin as she drags the fabric upward.

“Arms up.” she commands, her voice velvety, demanding obedience without question.

You obey instinctively, trembling as she pulls the fabric over your head and tosses it aside without a second thought.

Her eyes take on an even deeper shade as they sweep over your exposed skin, lingering shamelessly on the curve of your breasts. Her lips part slightly, her tongue darting out to wet them as if savoring the sight, and the way her gaze tracks your every breath makes your chest heave even harder under her scrutiny.

“You’re just… perfect.” she murmurs, her voice a hushed reverence laced with hunger.

One hand ghosts over your skin before pinching a sensitive nipple between her fingers, catching you off guard with the sharp jolt of sensation. The other trails downward with intent, her fingers brushing against the waistband of your pants as a wicked smirk tugs at her lips.

“Agatha” you whimper, your voice trembling as your hands pull more insistently at the fabric of her shirt. “Please, I—”

The words die in your throat as her hand slips lower, cupping you through the damp fabric of your underwear. The pressure makes you cry out, your hips bucking against her palm.

“Look at you…” she murmurs, her voice thick with smug satisfaction, the edge of mockery sharpening her words as her fingers press harder, the friction sending sparks through your body. “So wet, so needy… you’ve been aching for this for days, haven’t you?”

You nod frantically, your teeth sinking into your trembling lower lip in a futile attempt to stifle the lustful sounds spilling from your throat. Your eyes are glassy with unspoken pleas, the sheer effort to contain yourself only makes your surrender all the more obvious.

She chuckles darkly, her lips trailing down your neck to your collarbone.

“Poor little Omega.” she murmurs against your skin, her teeth grazing the sensitive flesh. “But I’m here now, and you’re finally going to get what you need.”

Her hands move quickly, tugging your pants and underwear down in one fluid motion, leaving you completely bare beneath her. The cool air against your heated skin makes you shiver, but it’s nothing compared to the intensity of her gaze as she takes you in.

“You have no idea what you do to me…” she says softly, her voice filled with quiet awe as her hands slide up your thighs, spreading them apart.

A loud moan tears from your lips, your cheeks burning as her fingers trail boldly against your slick heat, exploring your folds with an almost cruel precision, testing and teasing until your breath comes in shallow, broken pants.

“Gods” she groans, her voice rough and strained as she pushes two fingers inside you. The stretch pulls a sharp gasp from your lips, the burn of it melting into a rush of pleasure that has your thighs trembling. Your body clenches around her instinctively, and the sound she makes is a primal, dangerous growl.

She sets a slow, unrelenting rhythm, each thrust dragging a broken moan from your throat as pressure builds deep in your core.

“Your body’s screaming for me to fill you.” she whispers, her words dripping with anticipation, almost lost in thought, as if she’s speaking more to herself than to you. There’s a raw wonder in her eyes as her fingers curl deeper, savoring the way your walls tighten around her, imagining how much more you’ll give her.

“F-fuck, Agatha! Please, please I can’t take it anymore!” you cry, your hips bucking against her hand.

Agatha doesn’t waste another second. She pulls her fingers away suddenly, leaving you whining and gasping for relief. With feral growl, she grabs your thighs and pulls you forward, dragging your hips to the very edge of the couch. Her strength leaves you breathless, the suddenness of her movements forcing a sharp gasp from your lips.

“You’re going to take every inch of me.” she snarls, her voice rough and dripping with authority. “Every inch, every thrust, until you can’t think about anything but how good it feels to be mine.”

Her words make you shudder, your head tipping back as your eyes flutter shut, her fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs with a bruising grip that promises vivid reminders on your skin for days to come.

“Look at me.” she orders, her grip tightening further as if daring you to disobey.

Your eyes snap open, meeting hers, dark and wild with need. It doesn’t look like she’s going to let you get away with anything less than complete submission.

“That’s better.” she growls, her voice edged with control as her lips curl into predatory grin. “Now, keep your eyes on me while I ruin you.”

She doesn’t bother undressing fully, her movements urgent and almost frantic as her fingers fumble with the clasp of her pants. She impatiently tugs them down just enough to free herself, the fabric pooling loosely around her hips. The sheer tension in her body is palpable, every motion speaking to a need barely held in check.

The sight of her hard cock steals the air from your lungs. Thick and flushed, a bead of precum glistens at the tip, catching the dim light as she wraps a firm hand around herself, stroking once to spread the slickness.

The way she towers over you, every part of her commanding and unapologetically Alpha, leaves you trembling in anticipation.

“Spread those legs wider.” she orders, her tone resolute, demanding. “I want to see all of you. Don’t you dare hide from me.”

You obey, trembling as her tip brushes against your entrance, teasingly sliding through the slickness that coats you. Her cock glides up and down your folds, unhurried, pausing just long enough to make you ache for more. She taps it lightly against your clit, drawing a sharp gasp from your lips, before sliding lower, the head pressing briefly against your entrance only to retreat again, trailing back up with maddening slowness.

The deliberate rhythm has you squirming beneath her, every teasing stroke sending shivers through your body. Her cock catches on every ridge, every sensitive spot, heightening the unbearable tension with each pass.

When she finally aligns herself, her tip presses firmly, and with one slow, unyielding push, she begins to sink in, the stretch immediate and all-consuming, setting every nerve in your body alight.

“Fuck” she groans, her voice thick as her hips roll forward, driving herself deeper. “So warm… so fucking tight. You were made for this, made for me.”

You cry out, your nails digging into the couch cushions as she fills you completely, the heat overwhelming as your body struggles to accommodate her.

“That’s it.” she growls, her hands sliding up to grip your hips. “Take all of it. I want you to feel how deep I am, how fucking good it feels to be full of me.”

She picks up her pace, and the sound of her hips colliding with yours echoes through the room, harsh and rhythmic, mingling with the wet, obscene noises that accompany every thrust.

“You hear that?” she asks, her voice dripping with satisfaction as her nails bite into your skin. “That sound—that’s what it means to belong to me.”

“Ag—oh, fuck!” you whimper, your voice cracking as your head falls back, your body trembling under her assault.

“Say it!” she snaps, her teeth grazing your jaw before biting down hard enough to make you gasp. “Say my fucking name.”

“Agatha!” you cry, your voice pitching higher as her hips drive forward with a ferocity that leaves you gasping for air. Each thrust buries her deeper, the growing swell of her knot pressing insistently against your entrance, stretching you further with every punishing movement.

The sheer intensity of it sends a fresh wave of arousal pooling between your thighs, the undeniable slickness amplifying the pleasure that teeters dangerously on the edge of unbearable.

“Scream it louder, Omega! I want the whole fucking street to hear who owns you.” she growls, her voice a low rumble as her lips find your neck, sucking hard enough to leave a mark.

You sob her name, your nails clawing at her back as she shifts her angle, the new position sending a jolt of pleasure so intense that stars dance behind your eyes.

“You’re taking me so well, like you were made for my cock. Like you were made to be mine.” she groans, her thrusts becoming messier, rougher. Her hips slam into yours mercilessly as her hands slide to the back of your knees, pinning you in place.

“I’m yours, Agatha. Only yours.” you cry, your body arching into hers, chasing the heat that coils tighter and tighter in your core.

Her left hand slides between your bodies, her fingers finding the most sensitive part of you as she circles it with brutal precision. The wet slap of skin against skin grows louder, the sound mixing with your cries and her deep, guttural groans.

The added pressure on your throbbing clit sends a jolt through your entire body, making your walls flutter and clench around her cock. Her rhythm starts to falter, thrusts turning erratic as her groans deepen into primal, animalistic grunts, vibrating against your neck as her need consumes her.

The knot at her base swells even more, pressing insistently at your entrance, stretching you impossibly wide. The sensation is overwhelming, the perfect mix of pleasure and pain, and you can’t take it anymore.

Your voice, breathless and desperate, breaks through her haze, each word drenched in urgency.

“Oh fuck, yes! Give it to me, Agatha.” you plead, your hands clutching at her shoulders as your gaze locks onto hers, unflinching and shameless. “I need you to fill me up, please.”

The words obliterate the last fragile threads of her restraint. Agatha’s body seizes above you, her hips snapping forward in one final, devastating thrust that buries her completely inside you.

The knot locks into place, stretching you to your limit as she comes with a deep, feral growl. Her cock pulses inside you, thick and hot, each wave of her release filling you so completely it feels like it could spill over.

And the sudden fullness, combined with the steady friction on your clit, triggers something deep inside you. The sensation is intoxicating, unbearable in its intensity, and it sends your body spiraling out of control. You cry out as your climax washes over you, violent and unrestrained, your walls squeezing around her, greedily milking her until there’s nothing left to give.

“Fuck!” Agatha snarls, her voice shaking as your body reacts to her. Her hands grip your waist tightly, her fingers digging into your skin as she rides out the intensity of her own release, her hips jerking involuntarily with each pulse. “That’s it. That’s my good Omega.”

Your hips roll instinctively against hers, desperate to take everything she’s giving you. Her cock, her knot, her cum, her words, her growls—it’s all so overwhelming, you feel like you might pass out from the sheer intensity of it.

“You feel that?” she murmurs against your ear, her voice weak and wrecked, yet still dripping with dominance. “That’s me, filling you. Breeding you. And you’re taking it so perfectly.

Her words push you even higher. Your moans break into breathless cries, and your vision blurs, a single tear slipping down your cheek as the overwhelming sensation consumes you entirely, leaving you trembling and undone beneath her.

Agatha keens softly, her lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your neck as her body finally stills.

“You’re mine.” she whispers, her voice gentler now as her knot remains locked inside you, keeping her warmth exactly where it belongs.

The aftershocks ripple through you both, your body still clenching around her knot as you collapse back against the couch. Her hands roam over your thighs, soothing and grounding, as her lips press a lingering kiss to your temple.

You remain still for a few minutes, basking in the lingering haze of passion as the intensity of the moment refuses to fade. Agatha’s knot starts to soften, each slow shift of her hips pulling a satisfied whine from her lips as she moves, her careful withdrawal drawing a wince from you at the residual stretch.

The slick, wet sensation of her release slipping free leaves you shivering, a warm gush spilling from your core and pooling beneath you in a sinful mess.

Agatha leans back slightly, her gaze sharp and intense as she takes in the sight of you—completely wrecked, your chest heaving, your skin flushed, and her cum dripping from you. A satisfied smirk curls her lips, and she reaches out, her fingers dragging lazily through the mess she’s made.

“Look at you.” she murmurs, her voice rough with satisfaction. “So pretty. So fucking full.”

You flinch at the overstimulation, your body twitching under her touch, but you’re too spent to move away. Despite yourself, your thighs clench involuntarily, a traitorous reaction that doesn’t escape her notice. She chuckles darkly, an indulgent sound dripping with pride, as if savoring the proof of how thoroughly she’s unraveled you.

Her fingers glide higher, smearing the evidence of her claim over your inner thighs. Her half-lidded eyes lock onto yours, and the insatiable lust simmering just beneath the surface makes your throat go dry.

“That’s mine, Omega.” she murmurs, her voice low and reverent, each word rolling over you like a caress. “Every single drop.”

Her hand lingers, tracing the sticky trail she’s left behind, and she leans down, her lips brushing a firm kiss to the curve of your hip.

“Could watch you like this all night.” she purrs, her tone dripping with admiration. “My perfect, ruined little Omega.”

A soft, pleading sound escapes your throat as your hand snakes down to grip her wrist. The longing in your gaze is undeniable, your swollen lips parting as if to say something, but no words come. Instead, you tug her toward you with surprising force, crashing your lips against hers in a kiss that’s nothing short of a necessity. It’s gentle, yet fervent, your teeth grazing her bottom lip as your nails dig into her skin.

For a moment, Agatha freezes, her surprise palpable. Then, as if spurred by instinct, she returns the kiss with equal fervor, her tongue sweeping past your lips to claim you all over again.

Her hand slides up to cradle the back of your head, angling you deeper into the kiss as she presses her body closer, her dominance bleeding through even in her response.

When she finally pulls back, her mouth remains slightly parted, her breath coming in shallow, uneven draws as she gazes down at you. Her eyes glint with wicked promise, and her lips glisten with the remnants of your kiss.

“Rest now.” she mutters, her voice softer than you’ve ever heard it, yet still carrying the weight of her authority. “You’ll need your strength… I’m nowhere near done with you.”

#agatha harkness x reader #agatha harkness x female reader #agatha harkness x you #agatha x y/n #agatha x you #agatha x reader #agatha harkness #agatha all along #agatha all along fanfic #aaa #aaa fanfic #agatha coven of chaos #agatha harkness fanfic #alpha agatha harkness #omegaverse

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gremlingottoosilly · 11 months ago

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Monster!König finding indoor(?) Cat!Reader (Scottish fold?) in the Infirmary for arthritis, and or a wound from the battlefield (they weren't supposed to be on)

Poor thing. Your type of pet cat hybrids were bred specifically to be cute - and utterly useless in real fights. You have limb problems, you have trouble with movement, and your adorable folded ears and soft features are making you a target for any monster who wants to take you in as a breeder. Even though you're a feline with a set of claws and canines, you were stripped to the barest of fighting instinct - your claws cut down, your teeth barely able to break through the tough skin of the stronger hybrids. Such a poor excuse for a predator, it's no wonder you got injured. Konig just surprised you even snook into battle - usually, the monsters are very careful about the breeding stock. A helpless thing like you should be kept in the safety of the barracks, bound to some high-ranking officer who could treat you right. Fuck you full of kittens, use you as a pretty little wife and bring you food so you won't have to use your dull claws and poor legs to hunt. But, oh, it seems like there was a mistake. Poor thing, it's a wonder you even survived for that long - with the joint problems that most of the Scottish folds have, you could have been gravely injured in battle months ago. Oh, but he kinda likes that little fighting tingle in your eyes. You'd make for a good breeding mate - biting when needed, and all soft cuddled and little kisses whenever he would find you in heat and need of a dozen eggs stuffed in your pussy. You don't recognize him, you don't even know who that is - a mistake on your part, not knowing your colonel - but you will know him very closely in a few weeks after he takes you with him. Oh, you're not allowed on the field anymore, obviously. He will have the best doctor watch over your joints and help you with any pain you might feel, but you're definitely not leaving his quarters for a long time. If you're good, he will let you walk around the base with a collar on - and a little bell, adorned with some fancy ribbons, so you won't get lost anymore. don't worry, pretty kitty, he will make sure to take care of you. Whether you like it or not.

#cod #konig x reader #konig #yandere konig #cod x reader #yandere cod #monster!konig #tw: monster fucking

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someweirdoreblogger · 2 months ago

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Burning Spice Cookie's victory lights up Earthbread in a passionate ring of fire; a festival of firework and chaotic combustion. An immortal blaze of glory in a forest of ashen salt and sugar. He cackles arrogance, like a child, while Golden Cheese Cookie can only accept she's far too weak to protect the laat piece of her sealed heart, jamless and soaked in grief.

The audcity of this forsaked monster frightens just as much as it astonishes her. He erased her history, ripped her wings in bloody triumph, and burnt to crisps her determination and ambitions. Yet still, he further taunts her by dancing on the grave of her people, steals from her the sorrowful peace and seldom.

Even then, and now still, Burning Spice Cookie mocks her uselessness by claiming her most prized treasure-

You.

"Don’t dull so soon, prisoner o' mine, the fun has only just begun! Our guest of honor just arrived!"

Just when Golden Cheese Cookie thinks her most prized possession is safe and sound in the hands of her trusted comrades, He comes forth and steals.

"Can't you look at her? Is it that hard to witness her failure to protect what used to be hers?"

He never stops laughing at those below his feet, below his heavenly pedestal as a Herald of Change.

"Aren't you curious as to what it looks like to lose everything you devoted your entire existence to preserve, only to lose it all to the tides of change?"

Burning Spice Cookie awaits no response from the golden Queen of a broken era. Burning Spice Cookie is a relentless, gluttonous beast. Peeling her treasure apart, layer by layer, the Beast of Destruction tastes the delicious flavor of potent fear on his sharp tongue.

The lion cornered the gazelle, claws ready to tear into the hide of its chosen prey. The viper coils around the vitals of a rodent in a tightening spring of force and pressure.

A hearty growl escapes him in a quake of control and power. Wicked heat, pleasure follows the frozen goosebumps he leaves in the wake of a curious, hungry mouth on you.

Pure delight ignites his heart and spirit. He effortlessly holds a truly lively prey in his countless arms at the mercy of his will. The gleeful flames in his eyes danced in a mindless drove of thrill and focus. Gold teeth will graze your crust, his laughter infectious as his lips abandon your bare flesh, flaunting you upon his infernal throne like you were merely a thing to gloat about.

A sharp claw teases the chain secured around your neck, and an opposing stray cuffed hand slowly tangles a piece of your hair, twisting and twirling.

Another naked palm holds your head in place, completely at his mercy. Hot coals sizzle, a raging-hot burst of passion scorches the timidity, vulnerability will be punished, his power shall warn you.

His digits diligently drag a mockery of a comforting stroke underneath your chin, caressing careful line after line. While yet another eager hand doodles countless shapes on your opposite hip, curious as one could be.

Thick fingers dwarf your size, squeezing and prying like thorns, threatening to mark their symbol into your dough, no space for doubt whilst in favor of Burning Spice Cookie.

#mypost #self insert #cookie run kingdom #x reader #cookie run #burning spice cookie #burning spice crk #burning spice #burning spice cookie x reader #cookie run x reader #cookie run kingdom x reader #reader insert #tw kidnapping #tw forced compliance #tw abuse #tw imprisonment #tw destructive behavior #tw biting #tw bite

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meadowfics · 4 months ago

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babygirl

romantic!cho hyun ju x f!reader

platonic!kim jun-hee x f!reader

warnings: childbirth, descriptions of childbirth, death, heavy angst, major character(s) death, depression, adoption(?)

the flickering bathroom lights stung your eyes, the harsh colors reflecting off the cracked tiles. pink, blue, yellow…too bright for a place so dark.

all of the oxygen available reeked of blood and sweat, thick with the scent of death that clung to your skin like a second layer. myung-gi’s dead body still felt present in your mind, even if it was gone now.

even if his blood had already soaked into the tiles, mixing with the filth beneath.

jun-hee’s screams shattered the silence. the woman’s hands clawed at the slippery floor, sweat glistening off her pale skin. she was shaking, her body betraying her, contractions ripping through her frame with violent force.

“not here, not in this fucking place,” you whispered, voice cracking as you pressed your hands against her trembling knees, trying to keep her steady.

“i-i can’t.. fuck y/n, it hurts,” jun-hee sobbed, her head thrown back against the wall.

jun-hee’s face was pale, lips tinged blue.

you swallowed down the bile rising in your throat. there was no time to break, no time to fall apart.

“i know, jun-hee. i know. i’m sorry but you need to push. we don’t have time.”

hyun-ju was pacing behind you, her hands shaking.

“y/n, i—what do we do? i can’t—”

“hyun-ju, i need you here! go sit behind her now!” your voice echoed, harsh and trembling. you didn’t have the strength to be soft, not when jun-hee was bleeding out right in front of you.

hyun-ju flinched but dropped to her knees behind jun-hee, pressing her hand gently against jun-hee’s damp forehead.

“you can do this, jun-hee. we’re here, okay? just focus on breathing and on y/n.”

you pulled off your jacket, spreading it out on the filthy floor, your hands stained red already. you had nothing…no sterile tools, no medical supplies…just your clothes and a dinner knife you’d pocketed earlier, now the only thing sharp enough to cut the umbilical cord that will come with the baby.

“okay, jun-hee. when the next contraction hits, you push, alright? as hard as you can.”

jun-hee eyes fluttered shut, tears streaking down her face.

“myung-gi… he should be here.”

your heart cracked at the mention of your brother’s name.

“i know. however, you’re strong, jun-hee. you can do this for him…for your baby.”

another contraction tore through her body, and she screamed, pushing with what little strength she had left. blood pooled between her legs, too much, seeping into your pants, into your skin, into your hands. you tried not to focus on it, but it was everywhere.

“you’re doing so good,” you lied, voice trembling as you reached down, feeling the baby’s head crowning.

“just a little more, jun-hee. she’s almost here.”

“i-i can’t—” her body convulsed, the effort draining her, but she kept going. you guided the baby out, hands slippery with blood, praying you wouldn’t drop her.

there she was.

a tiny, fragile body, slick with blood and fluids, silent.

“she’s not crying!!! y/n, she’s not…” hyun-ju’s voice was panicked, bordering on hysteria.

you flipped the baby gently, patting her back hard, once, twice… until a shrill cry pierced the air. you gasped, tears spilling freely as the baby wailed in your arms.

“she’s okay,” you sobbed, wrapping the crying newborn in your jacket.

“she’s okay, jun-hee.”

suddenly, jun-hee’s head lolled to the side, her body going limp.

“NO NO, jun-hee, stay with me!” hyun-ju was screaming now, her hands pressing against jun-hee’s cheeks, trying to keep her awake.

you cut the umbilical cord quickly with shaking hands, the knife slick and dull but sharp enough. your clothes were soaked, heavy with blood, your shirt sticking to your skin as you ripped it off, placing it beneath jun-hee’s body, trying to slow the bleeding, but it was useless.

“is–is she okay?” jun-hee weekly spoke, her eyes half open as she looked at her baby on your arms.

“she’s perfect. a girl, jun-hee. you have a daughter.” your voice broke as you knelt beside her, cradling the crying baby in your arms, but your eyes never left jun-hee’s dying face.

the mother’s eyelids fluttered weakly, her pupils glassy as they struggled to focus on you. blood pooled beneath her, sticky and warm, soaking into the floor and into your hands as you pressed them desperately against her side, trying to stop the bleeding.

it was useless. too much was already gone and nothing here can save her.

“is… is she okay?” jun-hee’s repeats. maybe for reassurance? you had no clue.

maybe for reassurance that she can pass on knowing her daughter would be okay..

“she’s okay. she’s so strong, jun-hee. she’s crying, she’s—” your throat closed up, the lie tasting bitter on your tongue.

the truth was the baby was fragile, too fragile for this world. you couldn’t tell jun-hee that. not now.

jun-hee’s lips trembled into a faint smile, her face pale, her skin cold beneath your bloodied hands.

“my baby… my babygirl… my so-yi…”

jun-hee’s fingers twitched, reaching out weakly, but she was too far gone to even touch her daughter.

“you did it, jun-hee. you brought her into the world. she’s beautiful. she’s safe,” you choked out, your tears spilling freely, blurring her fading features.

player 222’s eyes met yours one last time, glassy but filled with something softer.

gratitude, maybe, or love.

“take care of her… both of you… please…”

“we will. i swear it,” you promised, your voice cracking, the weight of her words sinking into your chest like a stone.

jun-hee’s breath hitched, her body trembling violently before going still.

the mother’s eyes stayed open, but the life behind them was gone. she closed them, feeling tired of fighting the blood loss.

“no jun-hee, don’t do that! stay with me!” you screamed, shaking her limp body, your hands slipping on the blood coating her skin.

“you can’t leave! please! jun-hee, open your eyes!”

she didn’t.

jun-hee’s body lay still, her final words lingering in the air as your sobs echoed through the hollow bathroom.

hyun-ju collapsed beside you, her own sobs raw and broken.

“she’s gone,” she whispered, but you couldn’t accept it.

you gripped jun-hee’s face, your bloodied hands framing her cheeks.

“you were supposed to make it. you were supposed to raise her. this isn’t how it was supposed to happen!”

your cries grew louder, your whole body shaking as the weight of her death hit you fully. so-yi’s soft whimpers filled the silence, grounding you even as your world shattered around you.

“i can’t do this without you,” you whispered to jun-hee’s lifeless body, your tears dripping onto her pale skin.

hyun-ju collapsed against the wall, sobbing into her hands as jun-hee’s body was limp against her. you let the baby rest gently on your jacket, wrapping her as tightly as you could, before pulling off your joggers, leaving yourself in nothing but your undergarments.

you placed the baby onto the makeshift bedding of your clothes, ensuring she was safe before crawling back to jun-hee.

your hands were stained red, covered in your best friend’s blood, your nails chipped and broken. you pressed your forehead against jun-hee’s still-warm skin, sobs wracking your body.

“i’m so fucking sorry. i tried…i really tried!!”

hyun-ju moved beside you, her tears falling freely as she whispered, “she’s gone.”

you both sat there for what felt like hours, the baby’s soft cries the only sound cutting through the suffocating silence.

outside, the vote was happening. you knew they’d vote to leave.

its only gi hun and dae-ho left outside. the games were over.

however, it didn’t feel like it ended at all for you and hyun-ju.

the sound of the loudspeaker blared through the cracks in the bathroom walls, cutting through the suffocating silence.

“player 222, eliminated.”

jun-hee.

you felt the words pierce through you like a blade. your bestfriend’s name, your niece’s mother, reduced to a number, spoken without care or acknowledgment of the life she had just given… and the life she had just lost.

the tiny wails from so-yi echoed louder than the announcement. you blinked through the tears clouding your vision, your body trembling as you lifted the fragile bundle back into your arms.

your jacket barely kept her warm, but it was all you had. so-yi’s tiny fingers curled against the rough fabric, her skin so soft, so new, untouched by the horrors around her.

she is covered in jun-hee’s contents, proof that her mother was alive just minutes ago.

“we need to go,” hyun-ju murmured, voice hoarse, though her body remained frozen beside jun-hee’s lifeless form.

the ex-sergeant's tear-stained face was pale, eyes wide with disbelief as if she was still hoping jun-hee might wake up.

“i… i can’t leave her,” you whispered, your hand gently brushing a piece of hair away from jun-hee’s bloodied forehead.

hyun-ju crouched next to you, placing a shaky hand on your shoulder.

“we have to. they’re waiting outside… and so-yi… she needs help outside of this place now!”

you closed your eyes tightly, willing yourself to move, to breathe. every part of you wanted to stay there, in that dystopian nightmare of a bathroom, beside jun-hee, refusing to accept that she was gone.

then so-yi whimpered again, and you realized she was the only thing left of jun-hee, her tiny life, entrusted to you.

“okay,” you breathed, more to yourself than anyone else.

you gently laid jun-hee’s body down, pulling her joggers up as if she didn’t just give birth. you covered her as best as you could with what was left of your shirt.

it wasn’t enough. nothing ever would be.

the walk back to the dorms felt endless. hyun-ju stayed close behind you, her body tense, eyes scanning every corner as though someone might jump out and take the baby from you. hyun-ju’s protective nature flared now more than ever, especially with the fragile life you carried.

your own body shook violently, still wearing only your white sports bra and the green joggers that stuck to your legs from dried blood. your bare feet ached against the cold, dirty floors, but you didn’t stop, not when so-yi whimpered softly in your arms.

the dorm doors loomed ahead, metallic and cold. you pushed them open with your shoulder, the heavy metal creaking loudly as you stepped inside.

every eye in the room turned toward you.

gi-hun stood first, mouth slightly agape, the small group of remaining players behind him. he and dae-ho were frozen in place. the sight of you, half-naked, covered in blood, carrying a newborn, was too much for any of them to process.

“what…?” gi-hun’s voice trailed off as the loudspeaker echoed again.

“voting complete. the majority has chosen to leave the game. the prize money will be divided equally among remaining players.”

at the exact moment the words ended, so-yi let out another wail, her tiny lungs filling the vast room.

you stood there, barely breathing, tears spilling freely again. your arms clutched the baby tighter, feeling her warmth against your blood-soaked skin.

“jun-hee… she’s gone t-t-too, isn’t she?” dae-ho asked quietly, though the answer was painfully clear.

you nodded slowly, your throat too tight to speak.

gi-hun stepped forward, his face softening, filled with horror and grief.

“is the baby—”

“she’s okay,” you croaked, voice cracking as the words left your mouth.

“jun-hee… she named her so-yi before she… before she…”

your knees buckled under you, but hyun-ju caught you just in time, her arms wrapping around both you and the baby, grounding you when everything else felt like it was falling apart.

“we need to get out of here,” hyun-ju whispered, but you could barely register her words.

the next moments blurred together… the masked guards appeared, herding everyone out.

they didn’t take so-yi from you. no one did. no one could’ve.

when you were finally shoved into a van, blindfolded, you still clung to so-yi, feeling her tiny heartbeat against your chest. hyun-ju sat beside you blindfolded too, her hand gripping your thigh tightly, the only anchor you had left.

“they’ll… they’ll throw us back out into the world now,” hyun-ju murmured, her voice barely audible over the hum of the van engine.

you nodded, though it didn’t feel real.

“we have the money,” she added, squeezing your leg.

“we’ll be okay.”

the thought of the blood on your skin, the blood still drying between your fingers from jun-hee — it screamed that nothing was okay. not really.

the van jerked to a stop. rough hands pulled you out, but they didn’t take so-yi. they never did.

“step out,” a guard grunted.

you climbed out, barefoot and shivering, still blindfolded, so-yi crying softly against your chest. you felt hyun-ju’s presence behind you… solid, unwavering.

after… the van drove off, the sound fading into the distance, leaving you in the middle of nowhere.

you ripped the blindfold off, blinking against the gray sky. the streets were empty. cold wind brushed against your exposed skin, but so-yi’s warmth in your arms kept you focused.

hyun-ju stepped closer, brushing a tear from your cheek.

“we’re out. we made it.”

you broke then, sobs wracking your body.

“she’s gone, hyun-ju. jun-hee is gone. myung-gi didn’t make it, so-yi has no parents!!”

hyun-ju didn’t say anything. instead, she cupped your face gently, her own tears falling freely.

“but so-yi… she’s here, and we’re going to take care of her…. just like jun-hee wanted.”

you looked down at the baby, her tiny face scrunched as she cried, her hands waving weakly.

“she’s ours now,” you whispered, voice trembling.

“she’s really ours.”

hyun-ju wrapped her arms around both of you, holding you tight.

you had so-yi, and she was all you had left of jun-hee.

masterlist

#cho hyun ju x reader #squid game #squid game fanfic #squid game s2 #kim jun hee #squid game season 2 #squid game x y/n #squid game x you #squid game x reader #meadowfics #multifandom account #kim junhee #kang dae ho #kim jun hee x reader #myung gi #myung gi x reader

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monsterfuckerconfessions · 2 years ago

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You are the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; when a mix of common folk and soldiers drag you from your bed you are already resigned to whatever fate they have chosen for you. You are dragged out in your sheer silk nightwear and forced to your knees in the mud of the main road. Glancing up you see the figures opposite, the enemy, the great hulking orcs your husband angered. Above you, you hear frantic talking - frantic, useless. None of you speak their tongue.

Finally, in desperation, you crawl forward and bow your head, pulling your hair aside to bare your neck. Surely that cannot be misunderstood. You are willing to give your life for peace. The townspeople are hardly going to let you live either way.

(You are the chieftain of an orc clan reluctantly drawn into this skirmish as a matter of honour, and when the humans drag out a small, helpless one of their own and offer it you hesitate. It is dressed in silk and wears jewels at its neck and throat, which means it is important. As grotesque as the practice is to you, your sense of pride, you know they often exchange hostages between themselves. You glance at your second, who visibly rolls her eyes but nods. Any excuse to go home.)

The orcs do not kill you there and then, but take you; you cannot tell yet if that is a mercy or a misfortune. You are bound at the wrists and ankles and flung over an orc soldier's shoulder like a sack of grain, and passed between many of them during the journey. In their own language they joke and laugh as they pass you over, sometimes pinching at the bare skin of your thigh where your clothes have hitched up.

At their camp you are deposited in the tent of the chieftain. You have heard rumours of what they do with captives, and between being ravaged until broken or eaten alive you do not know what to hope for. You merely lie there, limp and trembling slightly, until you hear the sound of someone entering. The hulking orc chieftain looks at you, tusked face unreadable, then drags you upright by a fistful of your hair to briefly press a flask to your lips. When you have gulped nearly all the water he drops you, grunts and leaves. He does not return to the tent the entire night. You know this, because the low buzzing terror in the back of your mind doesn't let you sleep.

(You hardly know what to do with the little thing. Your comrades say it is easy to carry but odd, it is full grown by the look of it but doesn't struggle at all or even try to bargain in its babbling little language. Maybe it is unwell. You order it placed in your tent and give it water yourself, but it shows no more signs of life, dull-eyed and staring at nothing. You decide to let it sleep and go back outside to drink until you pass out under the stars and the warm summer skies.)

On the second night you are taken to a river before camp, and following the example of those around you, you wash yourself; as you return to the riverbank you find your clothes gone. The orcs watch you, even the smallest of them half-again your size. You swallow your fear and walk naked back to the chieftain's tent. Once there you lower yourself to your hands and knees on the bedroll, bare skin still damp from the water. You cannot stop him from taking you, but perhaps it will hurt less or be over faster if you comply.

The orcs chieftain makes a brief, almost hissing sound at the sight of you, but does not leave this time. Their hand brushes across your back and you can feel their claws retracting. They touch and inspect you like a prize hound and you keep your eyes to the ground, tears of shame welling up. Then he presses two large, blunt fingers inside you, and you brace yourself. He fingerfucks you lazily for a minute or so before suddenly growling something you don't understand and turning you on your back, so you scramble to reposition yourself and hold your legs wide. He cradles your face in both his hands as he slowly sinks his swollen cock into you, larger than you think you could ever take and stretching you painfully yet unable to look away from his face. Your husband used to force you to look at him like this only when he wanted to watch you cry, so you brace yourself for the firm hold to turn into hard slaps that leave your ears ringing.

(The little thing washes with the others and you are approaching the tent with an armful of fabric in what you hope is close to their size when you are hit with the unexpected sight of them uncovered in your tent, positioned as any orc begging to be bred would be. You have to smother a gasp and restrain yourself; it has been too long, and little thing's fragile shape and delicate features are somehow all the more appealing for their strangeness. But you were raised well, taught that all parties must agree before partners bed each other; you don't know their tongue to ask them. You seek permission from their body language instead, first touching their back, the curve of their ass and leg, then with tentative fingers in their soft tight little hole. They do not flinch or try to flee, and they wetten for your fingers. Surely you can continue? Forgetting yourself you ask out loud.)

You wait to be hit. It doesn't happen. You wait to used rough and hurt inside; it doesn't happen either.

The looming figure of the great orc warrior above you moves with an almost incongruous care, pressing into you slowly and then simply resting there until your body becomes accustomed enough to his huge cock that he can start to move without tearing you. It's almost as if his gaze on your face is tracking the small hitched breaths or softening of your expression to know when he can begin to carefully thrust. Yet that makes no sense to you. Men have never used you so gentle, why would a savage orc do so?

He is big enough it does hurt some little but that sensation is soon overwhelmed by another, unfamiliar and disorienting; a low heat building your abdomen, a curl of pleasure that makes you whimper. Another growl comes in response, so you try to quieten, but his expression - it is so hard to read, so different, but he does not look angry.

(You are confused and troubled, but the tight heat of the little thing is so perfect around your cock. They are acting like a new prospective mate, taking your body like a mate would, but when you watch their face to try and find the answers you'd normally seek out loud there is something missing. You fuck them very gently, as such delicate pretty things should be treated, and forget yourself enough to apologise out loud when they whimper. You promise them in words they don't know that you want to make them feel good, you will stop if they struggle even once, that they are safe with you.)

The orc chief finishes with a single deep thrust and you can feel your abdomen swell with how filled you are, a little of their cum already beginning to leak down your thighs. He pulls away and you instinctively curl in on yourself, protective - the sound he makes in response is urgent but more distressed than angry. He paws at you to uncurl, look at him again; as you tilt your face up and force your body to relax he huffs and lowers his great head between your legs. Before you can even process it his rough tongue is on you, and you can feel the smooth dangerous weight of his tusks against your inner thighs. The rush of banked pleasure is equally unexpected, as he coaxes a climax from you that leaves you shaking. Afterward you are gathered up like a doll in his arms, and for the first time in three days actually believe you may be safe. Very, very, tentatively, you reach for his face and pause halfway in question.

(The little thing flinches only afterwards, but it does flinch and you immediately fight back a rush of guilt and worry. Rank be damned, the clan will not stand for taking any person unwilling, even a human one. You try to comfort them with small touches, check their face for signs of what's wrong. They are unreadable. You check between their legs and can tell they did not quite find pleasure yet, so quickly duck your head to correct it. Perhaps that is what was wrong, because when their body responds they do not flinch away from being held close. They even reach for your face, and after you nod encouragingly they trace their tiny fingers over the ridges of your skin and kiss nervously at the smooth curve of your tusk. You thrill, but say nothing; maybe they have no idea what an intimate gesture that is. You just happily nestle close.)

You were the young, newly-widowed spouse of the foolish and disliked noble who started this devastating war at the border; now, it seems, you are claimed by the warrior chief who bested him and the bedmate of a mighty orc who is gentler with you than said husband ever was and - slightly endearingly - buries his face in the crook of your neck with a low rumbling sound not unlike a purr when sleepy and post-coital.

#monsterfucker confessions

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midnight-bay-if · 6 months ago

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Hi! :3

What if MC had to break up and marry that new person? Maybe it was blackmail, maybe it was political threat or something. So, for many years MC had to live with this lie and abandon the person they truly love? But somehow RO gets to know about it??

(It took me a long time to figure out how to answer this; I hope these are okay!)

S: They hear the rumour through the grapevine; a coerced marriage, heartbreak, fear, all leading to sombre acceptance. It's everything their parents wanted for them, but somehow the fate has become yours. It all balls up inside them; the anger, the hurt, the sadness for you... it's overwhelming. Why would you choose to settle? Why would you not come to them for help? These are questions they are desperate to ask but can do nothing until they have looked you in the eye and seen the answers that lie within. This time, they promise, they will not look away.

Too many years wasted already, they refuse to waste a second more. Now, they will do what they do best; concoct a plan, arrange a meeting, coerce their way to your side. Nothing is off the table. They are prepared to bet it all to see you returned to a life of happiness.

They made a promise to you, after all.

Rain: S tried to protect them from any news of you, knowing how much it hurt. But once they hear the truth, it tears them up inside. Had the roles been reversed, would they have done the same? The thought they might have shames them. They do not blame you. Your desire to protect was just one of the beautiful shades of your mosiac they fell in love with. So much of their colour dulled when they lost you. They fear the same may have happened to you. They want it back; they want you back.

So, they will find you. They will stand firm, steady. If you tell them you are unhappy, if they see it within you, nothing in this world could prevent them from pulling you free. Even if it means dragging the ugliest parts of themselves from the deepest dredges they drowned back to the surface, they will. For you.

Taj: Taj doesn't remember the exact moments that followed being told the news, only that the room was turned over, furniture clawed into, and ornaments shattered on the ground. Their heart thunders against their ribs; their bones rattle with the uncontained fury as their hands shake. Anything is preferable to the stinging sensation of tears they desperately try to abate.

They are pissed at you. How could you decide this all on your own? Why? Did you think they would feel sorry for you? Not even a little bit. You should have come to them, trusted them. Did you think your act of self-sacrifice would ease your fuckin' ego? Well, since you took the choice from them, they will take it from you. They will find you. Get you back. Pull you into their arms, and never fuckin' let go.

Your spouse is going to feel every ounce of pain they suffered without you.

N: How you continue to surprise them is a mystery all on its own. They never believed you were the type to just roll over. They still refuse to believe it. It would be easier for them to think you had truly changed your heart and fallen for another who wasn't riddled with their cruelty. But no. You had given yourself over to someone just as cruel. It infuriates them, the rage tearing in their gut, burning through the magical disguise they once wore so easily.

Who did you think you were protecting? Clearly not yourself.

Well, perhaps they will find out why while squeezing the life out of your spouse; they can explain it all through the gurgles of their death rattle. As far as they are concerned, the demon they buried for you deserves some play time.

Umbra: They do not hesitate. All the pain, the discomfort, the fear; they shove it all down, pushing their body past its limits to find you, to reach you. They never should have let you go. They should have been there. It's all their fault. Useless. Pathetic. Worthless.

It's been a long time since they thought to press a dagger to a man's throat without your say so, but they regret not doing so the moment your spouse thought to snatch you away. They wanted to be the person you saw in them; they did. But in the end, they were always this. If you tell them to stop, they will consider it. They promise.

But they would be lying to themselves if the thought of letting their hand "slip" wasn't ever so sweet. They may be a monster, but so are those who dared force this on you.

#ask answer #taj #umbra knight #nazu raumon #naera raumon #simon selby #rain #simone selby #interactive fiction

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astarioffsimpmain · 8 months ago

Note

Could I perhaps request hcs for Astarion and/or Halsin with a reader who is prone to getting wrist and ankle injuries (and they are a fool who reinjures themselves often, mainly due to overestimating how healed they are but also giving the excuse of "I was bored! What was I supposed to do?") Thanks!

Hello, anon!! Sorry it took so long to post this! I did both to make up for it (and it got reaaaaal long lmao); I hope that's alright. <3 Thank you for the lovely request!!

~ ~ ~

Astarion

You had chosen to come with them, despite everyone's protests. Shadowheart was concerned that you had not fully healed, and due to her suspicion, Lae'zel was convinced you would be a liability.

Astarion feigned apathy, of course, but it was the increasingly more frequent glances he was tossing back in your direction as you went that gave him away

You were a fairly casual traveler anyway, preferring to lurk in the middle or the back of the group as you walked, providing directions when the group came to an impasse. It was no doubt you were their leader, however, for every head turned to you when any kind of decision or uncertainty arose

But today was an exceptionally slow day, even for you. You plodded along behind the others, a sharp eye but dull reflexes; you were the only one who couldn't tell. Only when the group was surprised by a batch of newly spawned gnolls, did you come to realize just how grave a mistake you had made.

You tugged the bow from your back and reached for an arrow; once you had the bowstring pulled taut, you noticed the ache in your left wrist. You tried to ignore it as you slung arrow after arrow to the shelf on the bow, but your aim was failing you, and two gnolls already had their sights set on you; so when a sudden, sharp pain in your wrist sent your next arrow flying harmlessly above one of the gnoll's heads, it set its teeth and grinned at you as if to say, "I've got you now," and charged you, the other one following close behind

Gasping, you reached for your sword; pain - red hot pain. You cried out as it blinded you and looked around for your companions; all busy, all pre-occupied. You had to get to one of them; had to get away - you were useless like this. You were going to die.

Suddenly, a flash of white came across your vision; blades and metal and teeth planted itself in front of you. "Star?"

"You idiot!" he seethed as he slashed at the gnolls, their dagger-like claws slicing the elf's pale skin. In a flash, the one nearest him was down, bleeding a sticky red over the ground, and the moment he saw an opening, Astarion lunged at the second, sinking his fangs into its neck. It writhed, clawing at the armor on his back, before falling limp.

He took several more measured gulps before letting the body drop unceremoniously and rounding on you, his red eyes feral and gleaming. "You almost died, you absolute fool!" he screeched and you shrunk away from him, having never seen his anger directed at you this vehemently before. "You were told to stay in camp, but nooo! You had to come out here and endanger your life, again! Gods! And what, exactly, do you think we would have done were our leader to die, hm? Gale, the ticking time bomb, can't very well lead us, nor could Wyll, the Blade of I-have-a-devil-on-my-shoulder-Frontiers! If you go down, we all go down, and I can't go down! Not like this..."

"Astarion," Karlach's voice sounded behind you and she laid a heavy, comforting hand on your shoulder as your eyes filled with guilty tears. "They've heard enough." Astarion huffed and turned away, and the five of you treaded back to camp, nursing battle wounds, guilt, and hurt feelings.

Thankfully, Gale had readied a warm soup in your absence, and he handed you a bowl with a gentle smile upon your return - gods, you must have truly looked awful. You took it with a quiet "thank you" and sat down close to the fire, curling inwards, hoping no one would look your way. Astarion was right, you had endangered everyone due to your foolishness. Even now, you nursed your left wrist, letting the bowl's weight fall on your right instead. You groaned softly, knowing you would have to return to Shadowheart and have her repair it - once again - to the state it was in before today. You would have to bear her frustrated gaze, and you were just not certain you could right now.

After slurping down most of the soup, you returned the bowl to Gale and made for your own tent - you figured you would not be welcome in Astarion's tonight. You curled your hand up to your chest to keep gravity from causing even more swelling, and ducked inside.

You nearly lost your footing when you looked up and saw Astarion, with a sour expression on his face, sitting on your bedroll, mixing a green-ish, gooey liquid in a bowl. A single step forward explained his scrunched up nose - it smelled awful. "Star?" you asked quietly, putting your right hand over your nose and mouth.

"Only you would have me sitting here mixing this gods-awful concoction instead of sleeping," he fussed, mixing harder.

"W-what are you talking about? I came to my tent because I figured you'd rather be alone in yours," you replied, muffled by your sleeve.

"I almost lost you today and you think I'd rather be alone?" he griped, and you softened almost immediately, tears springing to your eyes. "This is a salve the druid recommended. It will help with the swelling. Just think! If you were a vampire, you wouldn't swell. Wouldn't that be swell." He was muttering angrily, but all of his bluster had expired. His eyebrows, that had previously been knitted together, were now curved up in desperation as he continued mixing.

You kneeled down in front of him and gently laid your hands over his. "It's mixed, Star," you said quietly, and he looked up at you, his eyes round and misty. You guided his hands to set the bowl on the table beside you, then curled your fingers around his. "I'm so sorry," you whispered. "Everything you said was right; I endangered everyone today, for a really stupid reason. I just feel-" you paused, choking on your words as your throat tightened with unshared emotions. "I feel so useless staying behind."

Before you could process what was happening, you were being pulled into Astarion's chest, his arms winding so tightly around your back that you almost couldn't breathe; but gods it felt so good. Your arms were around his neck in an instant and you breathed in his perfume and the lingering salt from battle. You let the tears fall down your face in earnest as you buried it in his shoulder.

"My darling," he whispered. "You are never useless, no matter where you are. You've done so much for all of us - for me - already. Gods damn it, you couldn't be useless if you tried."

Halsin

You had been ordered to rest in camp by the others after a taking a nasty fall on the cliffside. You had unfortunately stepped in an obscured burrow hole, and your foot had dropped through, leaving the rest of your body to twist at an unnatural angle as you fell to the earth. For a week, you had not been able to walk on it at all, limping around on the makeshift supports that Halsin had carved for you from a nearby fallen tree.

But it had been three weeks since then, and you were moving around with much more agility now, walking without any supports, and even doing your turns with the laundry in the nearby lake. You wanted to return to aiding your companions on your journey, but no one else thought you were ready to return.

As frustrating as it was, you understood where they were coming from - they weren't certain you were fully healed and did not want a liability in battle. You wouldn't either. But with little to do at camp, you were left bored and restless, always aimlessly walking about looking for something to do.

That something presented itself when Scratch and Bite*, the owlbear cub you rescued awhile back from the goblin camp, came bounding up to you, a ball in Scratch's mouth. You smiled, excited at the prospect of eluding your boredom for a little while, and cast Speak with Animals on yourself. "Are you both as bored as I am?" you asked them once the spell took hold.

Scratch dropped the ball. "I noticed you were unsettled, friend," he said. "Perhaps this will give you something to do without straining your foot."

"Ball, throw; chase!" Bite jumped around excitedly.

"Aww, you guys are the best," you exclaimed, touched by their kind gesture. You picked up the ball and turned it over in your hand a couple of times before turning to aim across camp at where Wyll sat in front of his tent. "Are you ready? Let's get Wyll involved!" Scratch and Bite wiggled their butts, ready to chase, and you launched the ball in Wyll's direction.

It bounced directly in front of him and soared over his head, bonking against one of his horns and turning in the other direction. Wyll's head snapped up, found the ball, then turned to you with a mischievous twinkle in his eye. You slapped your hand over your mouth to keep from guffawing. "Sorry, Wyll!"

"Oh, you will be," he replied, but here was no malice to be found in his words as he set his book aside and rose, slapping his knee a couple times until Scratch returned the ball to him. "You'd better be quick, Tav; you don't have horns to protect your head!" Wyll laughed before hurling the ball in your direction. You squealed with glee and raised your hands to catch it, the ball landing smoothly in your hands.

"Get him back, Bite!" you cackled, throwing the ball towards the owlbear cub, and he raced after it, lodging it in his beak before running at Wyll at near-top speed.

"Whoa!" Wyll yelled in surprise and dove out of the way as the cub barreled past him, turning on a dime to keep from destroying Wyll's tent. "That has to be some kind of penalty in this game!" he laughed, on all fours in the dirt.

"And what game would that be, exactly, Wyll?" you tittered as the cub returned the ball to you.

"Aren't we playing catch?" Wyll asked, dusting his hands off and returning to his feet.

"Hells if I know!" you shouted playfully and turned, tossing the ball towards Gale instead.

When it bounced off of the hefty tome in the wizard's hands, startling him so much that he leveled backwards, you and Wyll collapsed into fits of giggles. Several moments later, Gale was in front of you, holding the ball in his hand with a stern expression on his face. "Was this your doing, Tav?" he asked.

"It was," you breathed, wiping the tears from your eyes as you recovered. "I'm so sorry, Gale, I didn't mean to hit your book. I was aiming for your shoe." More devolved cackling ensued from Wyll several feet away. "I wanted you to join in." you giggled, wiping your other eye.

"Well then," Gale said, his face still solemn, but his eyes telling a different story. "You should have just asked." He threw his hands up in a shrug.

"Gale," you said, observing the wizard's now empty hands. "Where's the ball?"

"Hmm," he faux-pondered. "What an excellent question, Tav. I wonder..."

Your question was answered seconds later as it whizzed by your head from somewhere behind you and you gasped in shock, slinging yourself around to find a blue mage hand waving at you colloquially. "Gale!" you screeched, laughing as Scratch took off running.

"I should have known you wouldn't play fair!" Wyll called, already jogging to a new spot.

"You absolutely should have," Gale affirmed, and took a spot further away from you. "How about we elevate this a little?" He suggested slyly and muttered an incantation. A ball appeared in your hands and another in Wyll's. "Two are illusions, the ones you have there. Only one really matters. You know the difference now, but after Scratch and Bite have a go at them? Well,"

"What does the winner get?" you asked.

"Mm," Gale pondered for a moment, but Wyll interjected.

"Laundry done by the two losers for three weeks."

"Done." you answered swiftly.

Gale was slower to answer, but conceded. "Alright, done."

"Let's get started."

The camp was in chaos for the next half hour, Scratch and Bite no longer the only ones diving for the little leather balls. You couldn't remember the last time you'd had so much fun, but it all came crashing down when you jumped off of your bad foot to dive for the ball. You let out a scream of pain as your fingers closed around the ball, and you landed in the dirt with a heavy thud.

"Tav?!" Gale called, knowing immediately that something was amiss. Wyll wasn't long to realize after him, trotting up to you with a worried expression on his face.

"I-" you groaned, pulling your ankle close to inspect it. "I went down on it; my bad ankle. Oh, gods."

"Mystra's finger, I had forgotten about your ankle. Oh, Tav, this is my fault, I greatly apologize," Gale stuttered, and reached towards you. "Please, allow me to help you get to a nice resting spot so that we can get it elevated."

"I assumed you were better, this is on me as well. I am so sorry, Tav. Gale, I'll help."

You accepted both Gale and Wyll's help and they moved you to an empty bedroll by the unlit fire, lowering you down onto the pillows. Gale rushed to his tent and returned with several more to prop under your knee and foot. You cringed, not only at the pain but at the thought of having to explain to Halsin what you had done. He had been healing you little by little over the course of the last three weeks, checking in on you so diligently each time to make sure you would be ready to return to your journey as swiftly as possible, and this was how you had rewarded him. You laid your head in your hands in shame and waited for the inevitable.

The remainder of your companions returned several hours later, and you hadn't moved from your place. You almost didn't dare to look up when the druid stopped before you, but you took a quick glance at his tired expression and nearly cried. He had obviously been through the ringer today, and certainly didn't need your foolishness to contend with.

"What happened here?" he asked gruffly, exhaustion creeping through each word.

Gale and Wyll were by your side in an instant, as if they had both been waiting for this moment as tensely as you had. "Wyll and I were playing fetch with Scratch and Bite, and I tossed the ball too close to them. They tried to jump aside, and twisted their ankle again."

Halsin looked at Gale skeptically, but the wizard held a firm expression. Even so, you couldn't take it; they couldn't take the fall for you.

"Gale, it's okay," you said quietly, and his head swiveled to you, his expression falling. "I can't let the two of you take the fall for me. I was foolish, I should have known better." You turned to Halsin, whose suspicious eyes now fell on you. "We were all playing fetch with Scratch and Bite. I instigated it, and I jumped on my bad foot to catch the ball and landed wrong. I'm so sorry, Halsin. I took your healing for granted. I will make the herb salves and heal it on my own this time." You looked guiltily down at your swelling ankle, new discoloration already seeping through the skin.

No one said a word, and the silence from Halsin was deafening. You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, unable to look at him again, but also unable to leave.

You gasped when you felt large hands reach under your knees and around your back and lift you into the air. Your eyes flew open and you looked up at Halsin, who had pulled you to his chest and was wordlessly carrying you towards his tent. The guilt only grew and infected the rest of your chest cavity, hollowing you with an ache you knew it would take awhile to get rid of.

The druid laid you down on the pillows in his tent and arranged a few under your leg and foot, then turned away from you to begin mixing more of the same salve he had been using on you before. You were silent. You didn't dare speak. You had never seen Halsin so quiet before. You were anxious. Halsin was the last person you ever wanted upset with you; he was kind, gentle, caring, and so very patient. You had fallen for him, and now you had taken his craft and his time for granted, like an unruly child.

You watched quietly as he applied the salve on your bruising ankle, not meeting your eyes, then exited the tent without a word. You clutched your other knee to your chest and laid your head down on it, knowing his silence was what you deserved. You fell into a semi-sleep in that position, relaxing as well as you could without moving.

Next thing you knew, you were awoken by movement just outside the mouth of the tent, and you stiffened, your eyes not opening properly. It was still dark, that much you could tell, and whatever was outside the tent flap was large. You glanced around for a dagger, a club, something. But before you found anything of use, a brilliant light flashed and the shadow of a creature became the shadow of a man before your eyes. You sighed in relief. Halsin.

A massive hand pulled the tent flap up and you met his eyes in the dark. You stared at one another for several agonizing moments before you muttered softly, "I'm sorry."

He sighed, his other hand passing over his face. "I know," he said quietly, pushing further into the tent until his entire hulking body rested beside you. "Sometimes I forget how young you are; how young all of you are. You are human, you have far less time than elves. You were taught to make the most of it. Humans are raised on seizing the moment, not any manner of patience; because you must be."

"I took you for granted, Halsin, and you are the last person I would want to let down." You laced your fingers in front of your knee and laid your chin back down on it. "It doesn't matter that I'm a human. I could die tomorrow and it wouldn't matter. I-"

"Do not ever speak of yourself that way." Halsin said, suddenly insistent. "It would matter a great deal if you were to perish, to any of us; it would matter an even greater deal to me." He exhaled and his hand passed across his face again. "I care a great deal about you, my heart; perhaps too great."

You swore in that moment that your heart stopped beating. "Halsin," you whispered breathlessly. "Are you-?"

"You cannot tell me that you haven't noticed how I favor you," he said softly. "My care is two-fold in regards to you."

"I-" a tear escaped your eye and Halsin reached for you immediately, brushing it away and cupping your cheek in his hand. "I care for you too, Halsin; so much." A tear fell down your other cheek, and the druid's other hand came to rest there, as if it would pain him to see any of your tears be wasted on the earth - a fine irony for the man before you.

"One day in my short lifespan, perhaps I'll deserve you," you huffed a quiet laugh, attempting to dispel the tension, but Halsin was having none of it. He surged forward instead, pressing his warm lips against your own and lacing his fingers into your hair, dragging himself as close to you as he could without hurting you. His kiss was like fire, consuming you from the inside out, and you wound your arms around his neck, curling your fingers into his braids as he took your bottom lip between his teeth and tugged ever so slightly.

"My heart," he muttered raggedly after releasing your lips. "You already do."

*Inspiration for the Owlbear Cub being named "Bite" here!

fin

Tagging, Darlings: @micropoe10 @knightofmight01 @fanon-and-canon @just-a-refrigerator

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion ancunin #astarion #astarion x tav #astarion x gn reader #astarion x reader #astarion x gn tav #halsin #halsin silverbough #daddy halsin #halsin bg3 #astarion bg3 #halsin x tav #halsin x reader #halsin x gn tav #halsin x gn reader

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dreaminofdixon · 3 months ago

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Five.

A little...saucier than it has been? Nothing serious, just Merle being a perv for a minute. :) Read at your own risk.

The table’s splintered edge dug into my forehead as I pressed down harder, eyes screwed shut, a ragged groan spilling out. Two days since that damn run—tripping over my own feet when the walkers attacked, the world spinning ever since. Nausea churned in my gut like sour bile, dizziness blurring the edges of my vision, and a bone-deep exhaustion pinned me in place. I was a mess, and I hated it.

“How you holdin’ up, sweetheart?”

Carol’s voice cut through the fog, soft but steady, a lifeline in the haze.

I peeled my head up, wincing as the morning sun sliced through the canopy, stabbing my eyes. “Could definitely be better,” I muttered, lips twisting into a pout that felt childish even to me.

“You take anything yet?” She tilted her head, gray-streaked hair catching the light.

I shook my head—stupid move. The world lurched, and I dropped my forehead back to the table with a dull thud, chasing the faint relief of pressure against the throbbing. Back when migraines were my worst enemy, I’d bury my face in couch cushions, waiting out the pain. Now, with walkers lurking beyond the trees and a camp full of people I barely trusted, this was as close as I got to comfort.

“Lemme grab you somethin’,” Carol said, her tone warm but no-nonsense. “Can you stomach black coffee? Caffeine’ll help.”

“Mm-hmm,” I mumbled, voice muffled against the wood.

“I’ll be back.”

“Thanks,” I rasped as her footsteps crunched away over the pine needles.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating. I’d been stuck at camp for days while the others went out—Daryl stalking the woods with his crossbow, the rest scavenging what little this dead world had left. Recovery was a luxury I didn’t take for granted, but the itch was growing—that restless need to move, to prove I wasn’t useless. If this headache would just loosen its grip, maybe I could slip out to the stream, wash off the grime and the shame of needing to be saved.

The table shifted, wood creaking under new weight. I lifted my head, slow and heavy.

“Thanks, Car—”

It wasn’t her.

Daryl loomed there, all sharp angles and quiet menace, his broad frame filling the space. His crossbow leaned against the bench, bolts fanned out beside it, and his hands—rough, scarred, steady—slid two pills across the table. I scooped them up, popped them in my mouth, and grabbed the dented tin mug he’d set down. The coffee hit like a punch—bitter, tepid, gritty with grounds—and I gagged it down, face twisting as it settled sour on my tongue.

“Shoulda said it ain’t hot,” he grunted, voice low and coarse, like he’d chewed it up and spit it out.

I stared at him, the taste still clawing at my throat. “I like iced coffee,” I said, forcing a weak laugh that came out more like a wheeze. “But that… damn.” A shudder rippled through me, and I hugged my arms tighter around my chest.

He made a sound—half a snort, half a hum—and his eyes flicked up, catching mine for a split second before dropping away. That was Daryl: always watching, never lingering, a wall of leather and silence I couldn’t crack. My pulse stuttered, heat creeping up my neck despite the chill. I hated how he got under my skin, how I noticed the flex of his jaw, the way his hair fell over those piercing eyes. He hated me—I was sure of it. Every clipped word, every cold glance screamed it. Still, my stupid heart kept tripping over itself.

“Carol’s off doin’ laundry,” he said after a beat, jerking his chin toward the camp. “Figured you’d pass out ‘fore she got back.”

I picked at a splinter on the table, forcing a faint smile. “Nice to know you think so highly of me.”

He didn’t answer, just leaned back, arms crossing over his chest. The silence stretched thin and sharp, prickling with everything I couldn’t say. I swallowed hard, the pills and coffee sitting like lead in my stomach. He wasn’t soft like Carol, wasn’t kind—but he was here, and that gnawed at me, a flicker of something I didn’t dare name.

Grabbing my knife from the table, I stood, ignoring the faint spin in my head. “I’m goin’ to the creek,” I said, more to myself than him. “Need to clear my head.”

His jaw tightened, a shadow crossing his face. “You’re still half-dead from that fall. Ain’t smart.”

“I’m fine,” I shot back, bristling. “I don’t need you hovering.”

“Didn’t say I was.” He stood, snatching his crossbow with a fluid flick of his wrist, slinging it over his shoulder. “Just sayin’ you’re dumb as hell if you think you’re good.”

Anger flared, hot and quick, but I bit it back. He wasn’t wrong—the dizziness lingered, a predator waiting to pounce—but I’d rather choke than admit it. Not to him. I turned toward the treeline, knife in hand, and started walking.

The creek was a sliver of peace, cool air kissing my skin as I kicked off my boots and sank onto the muddy bank. Water lapped at my bare feet, icy and sharp, sending goosebumps racing up my legs. I grinned despite myself, leaning back on my palms, head tipping up to the sky. Eyes closed, I sucked in the crisp, pine-laced air, letting it steady me.

But my mind wouldn’t settle. It kept dragging me back to that run—me sprawled on the ground, vision blurry, and Daryl hauling me up, his grip firm but his eyes… soft, just for a heartbeat. I’d replayed it too many times, clinging to that flicker like it meant something. It didn’t. He hated me—had to. Every grunt, every sidelong glare told me so. Fantasizing about him was a fool’s game, but God, it was safe. Safer than wanting anything real in this broken world.

I bit the inside of my cheek, staring into the rippling water. Maybe that was the trick—keep it locked in my head, where he couldn’t reject me. I hadn’t touched anyone in years, not since long before the dead started walking. Choice, mostly. What was the point? A quick tumble to shake off the loneliness? Daryl wouldn’t even want that—he barely tolerated me. I’d seen how he was with Carol, quiet and thoughtful, a gentleness he’d never spare for me. Maybe they had something. Maybe not. Ed was too overbearing, and Sophia kept her busy.

Still, it stung to imagine.

Stop it. I hugged my knees to my chest, resting my forehead on them. This group was my shot—safety, survival, a future. I couldn’t screw it up pining over someone who’d rather see me gone. Especially not Daryl. Losing him as an ally would be worse than any walker bite.

A twig snapped behind me, sharp and sudden. My heart slammed into my ribs as my knife flashed into my hand.

“Fuck—Daryl!”

He stood there, crossbow slung low, shadows pooling under his eyes. His gaze dropped to my bare feet, then dragged back up, slow and assessing. His expression gave away nothing, but the tension radiating off him made my pulse skip.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, barely audible.

I exhaled hard, sheathing the blade, dragging a hand over my face. “What are you doing out here?”

“Huntin’.” His voice was low, rough. He jerked his chin toward the woods, but his eyes didn’t leave me.

“What the hell you doin’ alone?”

“Trying to ditch this headache.” I shrugged, aiming for casual, but my voice wobbled.

His face shifted—just a fraction, a softening at the edges. “How you feelin’?”

“Been better,” I admitted, rubbing my temple. “Headaches, nausea, dizziness… concussion bullshit. My own fault, though. Should’ve watched my damn step.”

“Mm.” He nodded, slow and deliberate, but his eyes lingered on the bruise at my temple a little too long. His jaw flexed. “You shouldn’t be out here alone.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but a rustle in the brush made us both tense. Daryl’s hand went to his crossbow. My stomach sank.

Merle.

He swaggered out, grin wide and greasy, eyes glinting with trouble.

“Well, lookie here…” His voice slithered over me, oily and thick. “Little miss priss all by her lonesome.”

I stiffened, bracing against the tree behind me. Merle was a walking infection—crude, leering, everything Daryl wasn’t. Every word out of his mouth dripped with sleaze, and I’d dodged his advances more times than I could count. Typical. The one guy I’d rather see rot was the one showing interest.

“Where you goin’, darlin’?” He stepped closer, boots crunching the dirt.

“Away from you,” I snapped, lacing my boots tighter.

“Aw, now why you gotta be like that?” He chuckled, low and dirty. “Playin’ hard to get?”

I shot him a glare, one brow cocked. “Not interested in whatever you’re carrying, Merle. I’m not that desperate.”

“Ooh-hoo!” He cackled, turning to Daryl. “She’s got fire, baby brother. Gets me all riled up. Lucky for her, I got a whole pharmacy in my pocket—cure what ails ya.”

“Gag me,” I muttered, instantly regretting it.

“With pleasure, sugar.” His grin widened, predatory.

“Merle.” Daryl’s voice cut through, flat and cold, but there was an edge to it—something tight, coiled.

Merle’s smile sharpened. “Relax, baby brother. Just havin’ a little fun.” His eyes flicked toward me, crawling over my legs, my chest. “Girl like this? Waste not, want not, right?”

Daryl’s shoulders stiffened, a muscle ticking in his jaw. His eyes darkened—stormy, dangerous.

“Come on, now,” Merle pressed, eyes lighting up like he’d struck gold. “What about it, huh? A little threesome? You, me, and this fine piece right here. That’s what you want, ain’t it, sweetheart?”

Daryl’s head snapped toward him, and for a second—just a second—something violent flickered behind his eyes.

“Only if you aren’t in it,” I shot back, rubbing my temple as the headache pulsed anew.

Merle laughed, that sharp, ugly bark. “Oh-ho, you wound me, sweetheart.”

I stood, brushing dirt from my knees. Daryl’s gaze followed me as I slid the knife back into my belt.

“I’m heading back,” I said, voice flat.

He nodded, mouth tight.

I turned toward the path, boots crunching through the undergrowth. Behind me, Merle’s laugh echoed through the trees—sharp and ugly. But it wasn’t the sound of Merle’s voice that lingered.

It was Daryl’s silence.

****

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winxanity-ii · 8 days ago

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⌜Godly Things | Chapter 63 Chapter 63 | rising dread⌟

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When the world returned, it did so in pieces.

First, a dull ache stirred behind your eyes—like a bruise blooming beneath your skull, spreading outward until your head felt wrapped in wool. Your tongue felt thick, useless. You could still taste it—ambrosia. Or maybe the memory of it. Sweet, and strange, and far too golden to belong to anything mortal.

You groaned softly, dragging your arm over your face as your lashes blinked against the light. Your limbs were heavy. Everything felt... wrong. Not painful. Just out of sync. Like someone had unraveled you during sleep and only half-stitched you back together.

Gods. What time was it?

The room was a faint golden, the sunlight streaming in. You shifted, your throat scratchy, breath catching on the stale air as you pushed up with trembling arms.

The sheets tangled around your legs like seaweed, and for a moment, you sat there—head bowed, elbows on your knees, palms pressed to your temples—trying to remember where your body ended and the dream began.

Then, somewhere distant, something thumped.

Scratch.

You froze.

The sound came again. Sharp. Soft. At the door.

Scratch. Scratch.

Your breath caught.

It wasn't a knock. It wasn't a call. Just the soft, persistent scrape of something dragging claws against wood.

Your hands fumbled over the edge of the bed, palms dragging against the worn wood of the frame. Another thump. Closer now. Followed by a low, urgent whine. The sound clawed at your ears, insistent and high-pitched—like someone was crying just outside the door.

Scratch. Scratch.

You stumbled to your feet, bare legs shaky beneath the thin shift you didn't remember putting on. Your balance wavered with every step, hand catching a nearby table just to stay upright. Your head felt fogged, stuffed with cotton and the scent of sun-warmed stone. Your throat burned.

Everything still felt off. Slanted. Wrong.

You padded slowly to the door, heartbeat thudding unevenly, one hand lifting to brace against the frame.

The scratching stopped.

You reached for the handle, opening the door, and before you could do anything else, you were immediately shoved back.

A yelp tore from your throat as something large and heavy slammed into your chest, knocking you clean off your feet. You hit the floor with an undignified "Oof," the breath rushing from your lungs as limbs flailed—then—

A whine. Wet. Familiar.

And fur.

A large mass of it.

"—Lady?" you gasped, voice hoarse, eyes wide as your vision spun and finally locked onto the shape pinning you down.

The beast whined again, high and frantic, tail thudding against the floor like a drumbeat. Her massive paws were braced on either side of your ribs, her weight settled firmly across your thighs. She sniffed your neck—desperate, huffing—before she licked your chin in one long, sticky swipe.

"Okay—ugh, okay! I'm okay—Lady, I'm okay—," you choked, laughing through a cough, squirming as she nuzzled under your jaw. "I'm alive, you slobbering beast—"

She let out another high-pitched whine, half-growl, half-sob, her entire body trembling with urgency. Her fur was warm against your skin, thick and sweet-smelling—woodsmoke and grass and something distinctly hers.

The warmth seeped into your skin, then deeper—into your chest, your stomach, your hands still curled in her coat like you might come apart without something to grip.

For a while, neither of you moved. Just the sound of her breathing, fast and huffing, and your heart thudding in time. It slowed eventually. Not all at once, but in pieces—like a storm breaking apart into wind and drizzle.

"Okay," you murmured. "Okay, girl. I got you."

It still felt weird, talking out loud again. Like your voice didn't quite fit in your throat yet. But Lady answered with another lick, this one slower—like a mother grooming a cub. Then another, her nose nudging your cheek as if to confirm you were real.

Your arms wrapped around her neck instinctively, fingers fisting tight in her coat.

The ache in your chest, the tremble in your bones, the chill you hadn't even realized had sunk into your skin—all of it cracked open and poured out in that moment. Because here she was.

Lady. Whole. Warm. Safe.

And suddenly, the weight of everything—Olympus, ambrosia, Hyacinthus, the kiss, the ache of wanting what wasn't yours—none of it mattered.

Because now, you were on the floor in Ithaca.

Barefoot. Breathless.

And finally, finally, not alone.

You stayed like that for a while—flat on your back, breath shallow beneath the heavy rise and fall of her chest as Lady continued her frantic inspection. She sniffed your cheek, your neck, your hair—breath huffing hot against your ear like she still didn't trust that you were real yet.

You let her.

Your hands moved up instinctively, sliding through the thick fur around her shoulders. She was warm. Solid. The kind of warmth you couldn't fake. Not in dreams. Not in Olympus. The kind of warmth that pressed its weight into your ribs and made your throat ache.

"Hey, hey," you whispered softly, smoothing your hand down her back. "I'm here, okay? I'm back. I'm not going anywhere."

It took a few more long breaths before her trembling started to ease. Her whining quieted, little by little, and her tongue flicked over your chin one last time before she finally shifted—her massive body lowering carefully until she wasn't pinning you anymore. She flopped heavily across your legs, paws draped over your thighs like she intended to anchor you to the floor. Her weight made it hard to breathe, but you didn't ask her to move.

You just let out a breath you hadn't realized you were holding, sinking both hands into the dense fur along her spine. She was still breathing fast, but the edge had dulled now—her panic draining into something softer, like relief finally catching up to her.

"I know," you murmured, voice breaking a little. "I know. I'm sorry."

Your fingers rubbed slow circles into her coat, thumb tracing the ridge of her spine the way you always did when she needed comfort. The words came easy now, small and hoarse.

"I shouldn't have left you like that," you whispered. "I didn't plan to, I swear. It just all happened so fast. The prophecy... Apollo... the feast... everything. And you—" Your throat tightened again as you buried your face into the thick fur of her shoulder. "You weren't there. And I couldn't even ask for you."

Lady huffed against your thigh, as if answering.

"I'm sorry," you whispered again, barely breathing.

The room was quiet except for her breathing and the occasional soft snuffle as she nosed at your side, her head heavy in your lap now. You sat there, letting your hands roam up and down her fur, grounding yourself in the feel of her. She smelled like earth and salt and—faintly—like someone had fed her well in your absence. That same faint sweet tang of honeyed meats and roasted fish clung to her fur.

It made you smile, soft and tired.

Your palm slid up along her thick neck, fingers brushing along the edge of her jaw. Then, without really meaning to, you cupped her broad muzzle in both hands, lifting her head slightly so you could meet her gaze.

Gods, she really was big.

You squinted, blinking through the haze still lingering behind your eyes. Her head felt heavier than you remembered, her shoulders broader beneath your fingers.

"You—" you blinked again, trying to steady your voice. "You've gotten... bigger... haven't you?"

Lady blinked back at you with wide, unbothered eyes, her tail thumping once against the floor like she didn't see the problem.

Your thumbs rubbed along her jaw, testing the heft of it. "No, seriously, Lady. I think you've grown."

The words hung there for a moment—half question, half observation—as if waiting for some divine explanation to drop down and confirm it. Had Olympus done something? Some strange side-effect of being gone? A surge of power or favor or—

You snorted, shaking your head with a breathy laugh.

"Or," you said aloud, raising a brow at her, "maybe you just ate everything in sight while I was gone. Hmm?"

Lady's tail wagged harder this time.

"Of course you did," you chuckled, gently releasing her muzzle as you ruffled behind her ears. "Took full advantage while I wasn't here to stop you, didn't you? Bet everyone spoiled you rotten."

Her tongue lolled out slightly in that dopey way she did when she was pleased with herself, and you couldn't help but laugh again—soft and watery.

"Greedy little beast," you whispered fondly.

You stayed like that, sitting cross-legged on the cold stone floor, Lady's weight draped heavy across your lap like a living blanket, her massive head resting against your stomach. You rubbed slow, absent circles into her fur, letting the steady rise and fall of her breathing ease the last tight knots in your chest.

Because gods, for the first time in what felt like days, you didn't have to think. Not about Apollo. Not about Olympus. Not about gods or gardens or kisses that left you burning in the wrong ways.

Right now it was just you.

And her.

And that was enough.

Your fingers slowed in her fur, just resting now, palm against her side, letting the silence wrap around you like a blanket. The weight of her head in your lap, the steady sound of her breathing—it soothed something raw in your chest. The world could've ended outside these walls and you still wouldn't have moved. Not yet.

But your mind, traitorous as always, couldn't stay still.

You glanced down at Lady's soft ear as your fingers rubbed gently behind it. Your voice broke the quiet before you could stop it, soft and almost like you were talking to yourself.

"...Did they know?" you whispered. "Did anyone even notice I was gone?"

Lady huffed, as if answering. You smiled faintly, but your stomach twisted a little.

"I mean... it was pretty quick, wasn't it?" you continued quietly. "One moment I was at Port Telonia, and then—poof." Your hand waved limply in the air, like mimicking the memory might make it feel less strange. "He took me."

The words hung there, sharp and stupid and true.

"Apollo just... took me."

Your fingers tightened briefly in her fur, and Lady let out a soft rumble against your stomach. You didn't realize how shaky your breath had gotten until you sighed and tried to steady it.

"Gods... Eben must've lost his mind," you mumbled, pressing your cheek lightly against Lady's soft head. "The crew. The others. I just—disappeared. They probably thought I drowned. Or got taken by pirates. Or something worse."

You rubbed slow circles against her back, your voice thinning as you spoke. "Poor Eben. He probably thinks I'm lost at sea. Bet Lady—you probably scared everyone half to death too, didn't you?"

Lady's tail thumped once in agreement.

You let out a breathy, tired laugh. "But... I'm here now." Your voice softened, trying to convince yourself as much as her. "That's what matters. I made it back."

Your gaze drifted around the dimly lit room, mind hazy as you tried to piece together how much time had really passed. The sun still sat high in the sky, the palace oddly still.

"...Couldn't have been more than a few hours," you guessed aloud, lips pulling into a crooked half-smile. "Maybe a day. Two at most. Three would be pushing it, honestly."

You winced slightly, realizing even hearing yourself say it out loud made it sound insane. Like all of Olympus had been some long, strange fever dream stretched across a blink.

You let your fingers scratch lazily down Lady's spine, your voice softening again.

"Didn't even make it to Lyraethos after all that..." you muttered, the words slipping out quieter now. "Got halfway there. One last job. That was supposed to be the plan, right?"

You chuckled once—small and bitter—as you tipped your head back against the door.

"I was supposed to finish the trip. See Lyraethos for myself; see my origins. Finally." You sighed. "And now.. I don't even know if we were close."

Lady shifted slightly, nuzzling against your ribs with a soft whine.

You smiled at her again, softer this time. "I guess things happen for a reason, huh?" you whispered. "That's what the queen always say."

Your hand slipped gently beneath her chin, lifting her heavy head slightly so you could scratch behind her jaw the way she liked. Lady closed her eyes, melting into the touch, her breathing slowing with a content little snuffle.

"I just hope... it was a good reason."

You leaned your head against hers, closing your eyes for a long moment. It made you want to stay there forever, locked in that small, safe bubble where nothing could touch you. No gods. No songs. No stars that didn't belong to you.

Then your stomach let out an embarrassingly loud rumble.

It wasn't just a little growl—it was a full, hollow groan that echoed off the stone walls like a small animal trying to escape your ribs. Your eyes snapped open. Lady lifted her head slightly, ears twitching, and gave you a pointed look. If a giant beast could look judgmental, she absolutely did.

You groaned, pressing a hand to your belly. "Oh, come on," you muttered, cheeks burning. "Don't look at me like that."

Lady's head tilted further, her big eyes narrowing with that unblinking stare. Judging.

"I was fed!" you defended, voice pitching up slightly. "I mean... I ate. Technically. Just..." You rubbed at your face, wincing. "Mostly fruit. And honey. And... more honey. And those weird little cakes that melt after two bites. I don't even know what half of it was."

Her ears twitched again.

"Gods," you sighed, chuckling weakly. "I swear I was fed. I just... didn't exactly eat real food."

Lady snorted, a warm puff of breath against your lap, before dropping her head back down with a soft, dismissive huff.

"Yeah, yeah," you smiled, rubbing behind her ear. "I know. I'll fix it."

You gently patted her head and pushed yourself upright, stretching your legs carefully so you didn't disturb her too much. She reluctantly let you go, rolling onto her side with a low, satisfied groan like she'd just claimed the entire floor as her bed now.

You stood slowly, your knees popping as you stretched your arms overhead. The faint chill of the room hit you the moment you moved away from Lady's warmth. "Bread and meat sound good? Or you aiming higher—roast duck? Leftover lamb?"

She barked once.

You snorted as if you understood her. "Noted."

You got dressed without thinking. Without really noticing the way your hands moved—slipping out of the shift, pulling open drawers, picking up the pieces of your old life.

Ithacan clothes.

Simple. Familiar. Real.

The loose linen tunic settled over your shoulders like a memory. The sash tied tight around your waist the way you always did it—crooked, but comfortable. The sandals slid easily onto your feet, rough leather worn just enough to feel like they belonged to you.

You hadn't realized how much you missed the weight of it—cloth meant for working, for moving, for living. Not spun gold meant for display. It made your skin ache in a way nothing golden ever could.

This was real. Tangible. Yours.

And yet—

You stared at yourself for a moment. Just a flicker in the brass mirror above the washbasin. There was nothing different about your reflection. No divine glow. No prophecy stitched into your skin. Just you. Eyes a little too tired. Shoulders tight. Mouth set in a line that didn't quite remember how to soften.

With a sigh, you tore your gaze away. "Alright," you whispered to Lady, who peeked up at you with lazy eyes. "Let's see if I can sneak something from the kitchens before anyone notices I'm back."

Lady let out a soft chuff, but didn't move. She was content to sprawl for now.

As you pulled open the door and stepped into the corridor, your steps light and careful, you told yourself it would be simple enough. Quick. In and out. A snack before dinner.

But even as your feet carried you forward, your mind drifted.

Gods, you didn't want to run into anyone. Not now. Not yet.

Not Telemachus.

Not the King.

Not the Queen.

Not Callias or Kieran or Lysandra or Asta—not any of them.

Because you didn't know how to look at them yet. Not after what you'd learned. Not after hearing the truth.

The thought made your chest pull tight, your mouth go dry all over again. Throat tightening, your steps quickened.

How were you supposed to sit at their table again? Laugh? Smile? Pretend like nothing had changed? They all still saw you as you—the same girl who grew up among them, who fetched water, who shared bread and wine and sun-warmed afternoons in the palace courtyard.

But you weren't that girl, were you?

You never really had been.

You weren't supposed to exist. Not really. Not in the way they thought. You were born because a god needed something. Because a god reached down and rewrote a gap that was never meant to be filled.

And yet... you loved them. You loved them all. That made it worse.

Because every moment with them—every memory—it was real to you.

But was it real?

Or had Apollo written even that?

Your hands curled into fists at your sides as you moved, your sandals whispering across the stone.

You didn't have the answer. You weren't even sure you wanted it.

For now, you just kept walking. Moving on autopilot, letting your feet lead you through the quiet halls, past flickering lamps and empty corners, toward the kitchens tucked near the back of the palace.

You just needed food.

Something simple.

Something real.

Because food was easier than facing anyone. Hunger simpler than grief. And sneaking a crust of bread would be less ruinous than meeting Telemachus' gaze and wondering whether he'd still love you if he knew the truth.

You kept walking, breath steady but shallow. The quiet halls of the palace felt heavier somehow, but not hostile. Just... expectant. Watching. Like every curve of marble had been listening in on your thoughts since you'd returned.

The knowledge didn't stab as sharply now. It didn't knock you breathless like it did when you first staggered out of that alley back in Port Telonia, reeling from Eione's vision. No, that wound had dulled. Muted, almost.

You thought of Hephaestus. Of his forge, his words. How you were forged... not made. The memory sat heavy but steady in your chest. Like cooled metal. It still hummed, but it didn't burn.

Your existence wasn't born right. You were a nearly-forgotten breath, an almost-child snatched from the edge of death and filled with someone else's need. But you existed. That was enough. Sometimes.

But even as you told yourself that, those small, traitorous whispers found the cracks. They always did. The quiet little truths that squirmed into the back of your mind like insects burrowing beneath a doorframe.

You weren't meant to be born.

You weren't written in the stars. You were written in the margins.

Would he—

You swallowed hard, picking up your pace.

You hated how easily your mind still circled back to Telemachus. To how his voice would sound if he knew. To how his face might falter if he learned what you truly were—a patch stitched into someone else's grief. A rewrite. A second draft.

Would he still look at you like he did? Like you were something worth staying for? Or would that warmth flicker, just slightly, beneath the weight of everything you couldn't control?

You pressed your palm briefly against your stomach as you turned the next hall, steadying yourself. No. Linger too long on that, and you'd spiral. And spiraling solved nothing. Hephaestus had taught you that much.

"You keep going."

So you did.

You let the ache sit where it was, not fighting it, not feeding it. Letting it live there for now like a dull companion. You could carry it. You'd learned that too.

Because even if the prophecy wasn't truly yours... this moment still was. Your footsteps. Your breathing. The quiet echo of the kitchens drawing closer. The smell of baking bread.

Something real.

And gods, wasn't that enough?

For now, it had to be.

You breathed out slow, letting the weight settle, picturing Lady's ridiculous excitement when you'd return with something better than the usual scraps. She deserved a small feast, you decided. If you could sneak a heel of bread, maybe a bit of cheese—if the cooks had left anything out—she'd practically explode with joy. You smiled faintly at the thought.

And then you nearly collided into someone.

You gasped, pulling up short just as a young servant girl rounded the corner from the opposite direction, head down, arms heavy with a basket overflowing with linens. The corner of the woven rim caught against her hip as she stumbled, and with a soft yelp, the whole thing tipped forward. Folded cloth tumbled out in a messy spill across the polished floor.

"Ah—gods, sorry!" you blurted, already dropping to your knees to help as the girl cursed under her breath, scrambling after the fallen linens.

"No, no—my fault!" she said quickly, her voice light, a little breathless. "Should've watched where I was going, honestly." She laughed softly as she gathered a handful of the cloth back into her basket, hands working fast.

You smiled a bit at her ease, relieved it hadn't turned into some grand apology dance. "Here—let me help," you offered, scooping up a few loose bundles and stacking them carefully. The girl gave a grateful nod, her eyes still focused on her task.

But then—she looked up.

And the moment her gaze met yours, everything shifted.

Her cheerful expression froze. The little smile still caught on her lips faded, slipping like sand between her teeth. Her face blanked entirely—no recognition, no words—just wide, silent alarm blooming in her eyes.

You saw it hit her.

First her lips parted in a sharp little inhale—like the sight of you had punched the air right out of her.

Then her eyes stretched wider, filling with something very near horror.

She staggered back a half-step, one trembling hand flying up to her mouth as the basket rocked dangerously on her hip. You saw her throat bob as she swallowed hard.

"By the gods..." she breathed, her voice thin, high, cracking halfway through the whisper.

The word barely left her lips before she lurched backward, nearly tripping over her own feet. The bundle of cloths slipped sideways, but she didn't even bother catching them this time. She shook her head, backing away like you might reach for her.

You opened your mouth, startled, half-ready to call out—but she was already scurrying down the hallway, the soft slap of her sandals echoing in the still corridor as she disappeared around the corner.

And then... silence.

You stood there, staring after her, your hands still awkwardly clutching the last bundle of folded cloths.

For a brief moment, you almost called after her. But your tongue sat heavy behind your teeth, and the words never came.

Instead, your stomach let out a loud, traitorous growl.

You blinked. Then exhaled, forcing a dry little chuckle as you glanced down at your middle.

"Well," you muttered under your breath, more to yourself than anyone. "That's... probably not something I should think too hard about right now."

And so, you shoved it—gently but firmly—to the back of your head.

One problem at a time.

Right now? Food first.

You carefully tucked the last bundle of linens back into the basket, straightened yourself, and carried on toward the kitchen, like nothing had happened.

Your footsteps were softer now, cautious. The walls narrowed as you moved deeper into the palace's belly, and the faint scent of flour and stewed herbs curled in the air. You could hear the kitchen more clearly up ahead—small sounds first: the clatter of wooden spoons, soft hum of knives chopping, the low, wordless chatter of cooks too focused on work to waste energy on gossip.

Almost there.

You rounded another quiet corridor, pulling a breath through your nose, letting the noise ahead steady you. You could almost picture it—Lady already pacing your room by now, tail twitching, waiting for her prize.

But then—

A voice sliced through the air.

Not loud. Not even meant for you.

But sharp enough to make your heart jump to your throat.

"Ugh," it scoffed, dry and biting. "Honestly—cheap bedding. Coarse as sackcloth. They expect royalty to sleep like merchants now, it seems."

You froze.

The words landed like a slap against your spine, and for a second, your whole body stiffened—heartbeat quickening, mouth dry.

No. No, not now. Not her.

You hadn't even realized you'd passed another side passage—a small alcove branching off the main hallway—and your feet moved before your brain caught up. You stumbled a step backward, flattening yourself against the cool stone, back pressed to the wall like it might swallow you whole.

You squeezed your eyes shut for a breath, pulse pounding fast against your ribs. But then—curiosity. Stupid, reckless curiosity clawed its way forward.

Slowly, breath held tight, you turned your head and risked a peek around the edge of the threshold.

The corridor opened into a small alcove—almost like a hidden garden tucked between the palace walls. Light filtered down through an open roof, thin beams of afternoon sun slicing across potted greenery and patches of pale marble. The leaves shifted gently in the still air, making everything look too peaceful for how sharp your nerves felt.

And there, seated right in the center of it all, like it was her private little stage, was Andriea.

She lounged delicately on a carved bench, long fingers poised gracefully around a painted teacup, her silk-draped figure practically glowing beneath the shafts of sunlight. At her feet, two young women—Bronte servants, probably—sat with their heads lowered, one pouring more tea, the other folding a fresh wrap of lavender-scented cloth.

Andriea didn't even glance at them as she spoke, her voice still honey-sweet, but sharp-edged.

"They think tossing a few sprigs of myrrh into the bathwater makes up for stone sheets," she continued, shaking her head with mock pity. "I swear, the standards in Ithaca doesn't even meet the worst of Bronte." She exhaled through her nose—short, dainty.

You stood frozen for a breath, pressing yourself tighter to the cold stone. Part of you screamed to leave. Just turn, keep walking. She was the last person you wanted inside your head today.

Andreia had a way of souring everything she touched, especially your mood. The kitchen was only a few more steps away. You could already smell the faint traces of bread and stew in the distance—just go.

But then—just as your foot shifted, her voice floated out again. Light. Casual. And razor sharp.

"Speaking of standards..."" Andreia purred, swirling her tea. "I suppose it's fitting, in a way. Matches him perfectly."

The servants tittered like birds in a gilded cage.

Your stomach twisted. You already knew who she was speaking of, even before the name left her lips—Telemachus.

One of the younger maids, emboldened by Andreia's mood, let out a giggle that turned a little too sharp. "Oh—but my lady! The little nickname you've given him. 'Machus,' was it? So sweet."

More giggles. Sharp ones. The kind that made your teeth clench.

Andreia scoffed—soft and airy, as if it physically amused her. "Yes. Machus," she repeated, drawing the name out, letting it curl sweetly from her lips like honey laced with vinegar. "Though I suppose that's only half of it."

She set down her cup with a soft clink and waved her hand. "Machus the Meek." The words dripped with syrupy mockery.

Andreia leaned back, perfectly composed, her tone feather-light and cruel. "It suits him, doesn't it? His father rules with blood. And Telemachus? Well... let's just say there's a softness to him. A certain... gentleness," she crooned, her smile sharpening at the corners. "No bite. No command. The kind of man who prefers reciting lessons at his mother's feet rather than holding court."

The words stabbed right through you. Your chest tightened, bile rising beneath your ribs as the nickname echoed in your head.

Machus.

You remembered Penelope's voice once explaining it gently, how Andreia had made it sound harmless back then. Playful. And yet now—now you heard the venom in it clear as glass.

Mocking not only his quiet kindness—but his failure to ever measure up to the weight of his father's name.

And your stomach turned again.

But Andreia wasn't finished. Of course she wasn't.

She let her fingers trace the rim of her teacup, voice lowering just enough for the cruelty to simmer beneath the surface. "He's grown now, isn't he? Lived to see twent-one winters. And yet still... no grand voyage. No monsters slain. No songs sung in distant ports." Her lips pulled into a thin, mocking smile. "One might think the son of Odysseus would've managed something more... remarkable by now."

The words stung. And still she went on.

"But perhaps he's content here," she sighed, as though musing to herself. "A little island. A little title. A mother's skirts to hide beneath, and enough loyal servants to keep him feeling important." She clicked her tongue softly. "Yes... perhaps that's enough for Machus the Meek."

The servants snorted behind their hands, trying—and failing—not to burst into laughter.

Your blood roared.

The heat hit you so fast you barely noticed your breath coming short. Your fingers twitched against the stone as a hot, bitter spike curled up your throat.

Before your mind could even catch up, your feet moved. You stepped out from behind the wall, through the threshold. No more hiding.

Your voice left your mouth cold and even—quieter than you expected, but heavy enough to slice through the easy laughter like a knife. "Strange," you said. "You speak of standards... but I wonder, Lady Andreia—how would the Queen feel hearing you speak like this? About her son."

The air in the alcove snapped taut.

The servants froze mid-giggle, their eyes wide, mouths clamping shut so fast you heard one of them audibly swallow. Andreia's head whipped toward you, her posture stiffening in an instant.

Her eyes found yours. The playful shine in them flickered, replaced by something sharper. Defensive. A brief, flash of calculation passed behind her gaze as she absorbed the fact that you were standing there. That you'd heard everything.

She held your stare, delicate hands folding in her lap as if to feign calm. But the tightness around her jaw betrayed the faint, curling thread of panic lacing through her spine.

The food? Completely forgotten. The kitchen? Gone from your mind.

There was only this. You. Her. And the weight of your words, hanging like a stone between you.

But instead of scrambling—grasping for excuses, like you half-expected—Andreia did something else.

She smiled.

Not kindly. Not warmly. That sharp little curl of her lips—like a cat who'd only been startled for a moment before remembering it still had claws.

"Oh," she breathed with a light scoff, waving a dismissive hand as though your very presence were an annoying insect flitting too close to her tea. "You're still breathing." She tilted her head slightly, voice dripping with false sweetness. "What a pity."

Your stomach twisted. But she wasn't done.

"I truly hadn't bothered to ask what became of you," she went on, her tone breezy, condescending. "Imagine my surprise. I was quite certain... certain types of girls don't return once they go missing."

The servants exchanged glances, one nervously biting the inside of her cheek. The other kept her eyes down, though you noticed the small tremor in her hand as she gripped the edge of the tea tray.

Andreia leaned back with a delicate exhale, confidence rolling off her like cheap perfume. "But if you're so intent on breathing," she added, voice flattening, "then I suggest you hurry along, little mouse." She gestured lazily toward the corridor behind you. "Before you trip over your own relevance again."

Her gaze dropped, dragging along your form as if you were nothing but a stain she'd chosen to ignore. "You wouldn't want to waste what precious little luck you've been given."

The servants tittered again—hesitant at first, then emboldened by their mistress' ease.

And gods, the heat rising in your chest was thick. But you held your ground.

You held her gaze.

Because this—this—was what she wanted: to see you flinch. To shrink you back into the shadows. To remind you that to her, you were still beneath her tablecloth gossip.

But not today.

Not after everything.

You took another step forward, your sandals brushing over the smooth stone, closing the distance between you. The little alcove felt smaller now, though it was not your body shrinking.

It was hers.

Or at least, it would be.

You let your voice cut through the air, calm but edged. "Why?" you asked. "Why go through all this? Why even come to Ithaca? Stay for so long?" Your voice dipped lower. "Why play with his heart... if you didn't really care for him?"

The servants stilled at your words, eyes wide—but not surprised. No, not surprised. They simply stared, waiting, like this was a conversation they had already heard before in quieter corners.

Andreia didn't blink.

Instead, she exhaled a soft little hum, like you had asked something so terribly beneath her. She shifted in her chair, reclining slightly, and reached out for one of the delicate pastries on the tray. A neatly folded, honey-soaked little thing—far too sweet, far too careful.

She took a bite, chewed, swallowed. Then spoke, as if bored.

"Oh, please." Her voice was light, clipped, as if correcting a child. "Do you honestly believe I came here for him?" She waved one hand lazily, like flicking away a bad scent. "Telemachus? That fumbling, fragile child?"

Andreia let out a breathy, amused laugh. "Gods, what a silly little story everyone spun, didn't they? The visiting princess, and the quiet island prince—how quaint. And I didn't have to do much either." She popped another bit of pastry into her mouth before continuing, voice coated in mock pity. "No, dear. I was never here for him."

Her eyes gleamed, cold and sharp.

"I came for his father."

The words landed with a weight you didn't expect. Your breath caught. You could only stare.

Andreia's lips curved higher, pleased by your silence. She savored it.

"Odysseus is the power here. The name. The mind. The history." She leaned forward slightly, voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. "Do you think I would waste myself on some awkward boy still pretending he'll ever live up to his father's shadow?"

The servants barely moved at her feet. Their faces were blank, untouched by surprise, as though they'd heard these confessions before—many times, perhaps. Maybe whispered with more venom behind closed doors, when there were no ears but theirs.

Andreia's eyes roamed lazily over the stone floor, then back to you. "No," she sighed, almost sweetly. "I will become what his father needs. A comfort. A match. A woman worth the history he carries." She tilted her head, mocking kindness. "And when Queen Penelope's mourning ends—and she grows tired, or old, or simply disappears—I will be right where I need to be."

She lifted her cup, sipped delicately.

"A king deserves someone who understands power. Not... innocence."

Her gaze settled back on you, pointed. Measured. Daring you to speak.

But for a moment, you couldn't.

You were speechless.

Not from shock—not entirely. No, some bitter part of you had always sensed that something about Andreia's presence had never been about Telemachus. But to hear it spoken aloud, so easily, so carelessly—it churned in your chest like something rotten.

And the servants? Still silent. Still blank-faced. Still obedient.

Your breath caught, horror bubbling up your throat like bile before you even realized the word slipping out of your mouth. "That's—" you whispered, voice shaking, "that's treason."

The word hung between you like a crack of thunder. A line drawn.

At that, Andreia's lashes fluttered—slow and deliberate—as if your little outburst bored her more than offended. Then her lips curved again, sharper this time. Colder.

"Treason?" she scoffed, drawing out the word like it tasted sweet on her tongue. "Spare me your righteous little outrage, will you? It's exhausting."

Her servants snickered softly behind her. Like hyenas circling. Like they knew you didn't stand where you thought you did.

Andreia straightened, smoothing the silk along her thighs as if ridding herself of invisible dust. "You speak as if we all have the same starting point. As if we're all given the same... opportunities." Her voice dipped into something syrupy, laced with venom. "Not everyone has the fortune of stumbling into proximity to royalty like you did, dear."

Your jaw tightened.

She tilted her head. "Oh yes. The poor little servant girl, plucked from her lowly station. Caught the Queen's eye. Earned the prince's favor. Sang the right song. All by luck." She sneered. "Must be nice. Never having to work for it. Not really."

Your fists clenched at your sides, nails biting into your palms.

Andreia rolled her eyes with a sharp exhale. "At least I had a plan. A real one. And yet—" she clicked her tongue, voice hardening, "my idiot of a brother couldn't follow a single thread of it."

Her eyes flashed with something ugly.

You barely breathed.

"Do you think this was how it was meant to play out?" she went on bitterly. "Andros was supposed to come to Ithaca as a suitor. He was supposed to win Penelope's hand. Marry her. Take her throne. And with Ithaca finally tethered to Bronte through him—I could have found my own husband, on my own terms, and built the life I deserved."

The bite in her words was raw now, bubbling with something sharper than jealousy. Resentment. Frustration. And underneath it all—a fury born from years of wanting.

"But no." She let out a dry, humorless laugh. "The fool couldn't even hold a simple conversation with the Queen, let alone court her in all the years he was here. Completely useless." She waved her hand dismissively, as though brushing off the weight of her brother's fate. "He ruined everything."

You swallowed hard, stomach twisting.

"But then," Andreia breathed, voice softening as her gaze drifted—far-off now. Distant. Dreaming. "The news of Odysseus' return soon reached Bronte." Her green eyes shone with a strange light, something almost fevered beneath the poise. "And everything changed."

Her fingers began to drum softly against her teacup, slow at first—barely a tap—but it quickened as the words rolled out of her like a script she had rehearsed in her head countless times. Her gaze unfocused, lost somewhere far beyond Ithaca's walls, far across the sea where her ambition lived and bloomed.

"At that point, it didn't matter that Andros succeeded. Or that he failed. Or even that he was dead," she added with a careless lift of her shoulder. "Because the moment word spread that Odysseus had returned alive—that was all I needed."

Her voice turned soft, reverent, like she was whispering a prayer to some imagined future. "A man like that. A man who faced gods and monsters and came home with his name still sung—he deserves a new beginning, doesn't he?" She blinked slowly, lips curling faintly. "Not a tired, weeping woman who has done nothing but cry for twenty years and grow old in her grief."

Your throat tightened.

Andreia's smile grew—wide, sweet, but twisted beneath the lace of her words. "No, someone like Odysseus needs someone young. Beautiful. Fertile." She dragged the word out, tasting it like ripe fruit between her teeth. "Someone who could give him strong heirs. Sons. New heroes to bear his name. Not just the one meek, trembling boy who cowers beneath his father's shadow."

She didn't say Telemachus' name.

She didn't have to.

You swallowed hard as her voice softened again, feathering into something that almost sounded tender if not for the rot beneath it. "I could give him that," she whispered. "I could give him sons worthy of his bloodline. Not a half-formed prince who clings to the Queen's skirts like a child too scared to grow into his name."

Your breath caught, the sharp sting of her words shoot through your chest like splinters, hot and biting. Your mouth moved before your mind could catch it—fast, breathless, burning.

"You're wrong." Your voice came sharper than you intended, loud enough that the servants flinched. "You don't know him. Telemachus is strong—stronger than anyone gives him credit for. He—he stayed. When everyone else left, when gods tore this house apart, he stayed. He carries more weight than any boy his age should—"

But Andreia cut you off with a wave of her hand, lips curling in a sneer. "Oh, spare me."

Her eyes glinted like polished glass. "Your version of strong? That's pitiful. Laughable. You think because he weeps quietly into his hands when no one's watching that it makes him noble? You think because he knows how to smile sweetly for the Queen that it makes him brave?"

Her head tilted, voice thick with condescension. "No. That's your weakness talking. That's the kind of strength that makes men like him nothing but... harmless. A soft boy playing at being a man, waiting for someone else to command him."

You could feel your nails biting into your palms, fingers curling so tight they trembled. But she was still speaking, still driving the blade in.

"And I'm not the only one who sees it, you know." Her tone dropped to something syrupy, cruel. "Do you think the other kingdoms don't whisper about it? About the boy who let strangers storm his father's halls? About how easily another man could've taken his crown—how one of those suitors nearly did? How the great Odysseus returned only to find his son unable to hold the throne on his own?"

The servants giggled again, barely hiding it this time. You wanted to scream. To shove them all back.

Andreia leaned forward slightly now, eyes half-lidded, as if savoring the disgust twisting on your face. "No matter how many times he sharpens a blade or tightens his shoulders, they still call him Odysseus' shadow. A child grown in the shade, clinging to a legacy too large to fill."

Her smirk deepened. "But I suppose you can't see that, can you?" She tittered, mock-sweet. "Not when you're so very in love with him."

Your heart stuttered at the words. It was the way she said it—like it was embarrassing. Like loving him was something childish. As if your affection for him was a weakness no different than the ones she accused him of carrying.

But gods—you weren't embarrassed. You weren't ashamed.

You were furious.

But you tried to hold it steady, your voice coming slow, tight, trembling around the edges. "Gods... you're so... audacious."

Andreia only smiled, like your anger was something soft she could press between her fingers.

You exhaled hard, swallowing the burn crawling up your throat. "But, I suppose it runs in the family, doesn't it? You and your brother. Both so desperate to climb higher than you belong."

Her smile didn't falter, but her fingers paused in their tapping on the cup.

Your chest heaved slightly, breath stuttering as the words tumbled out. "I haven't even spoken about it, you know. About the lyre you broke. The one the Queen gave me."

Your voice caught, but you forced it forward. "You destroyed it. Snapped the strings, left it like it meant nothing. And I said nothing."

The weight of your next words pressed against your ribs, bitter on your tongue. "Even when it wasn't just the lyre. Even when I had every reason to believe you set me up, allowing Melanion to renact his revenge. When you were the reason I was hur—" Your breathshuddered. "When you were the reason I died."

A beat.

Your throat tightened. "And yet... still I said nothing."

Your jaw clenched hard. "I thought... maybe if I stayed quiet, if I didn't make trouble, it would stop. That you'd tire of it."

You swallowed down the lump building there, voice lowering almost to a whisper. "Maybe this is my own karma. For letting it go on this long."

Andreia let out a sharp, cruel laugh—bright and cold like shattering glass. She leaned forward now, chin resting lightly in her palm, her lashes lowering into a slow, deliberate blink.

"Why didn't you?" she purred, voice curling like smoke. "You should've. Truly. You should've screamed, accused, dragged me to the Queen herself. How different things would be right now."

Her lips pulled into a slow smirk, voice dropping even softer, as though savoring it. "It would've been... so very peaceful by now. Don't you think?"

The servants giggled behind her like vultures circling, but you barely heard them.

Because she was right.

The words landed sharp in your chest, and you fell silent. The fury burned there—tight and helpless—because you could've. You should've. And instead you held your tongue, over and over, praying she'd disappear if you just ignored her long enough.

And all it had done was give her space.

Space to twist the knife deeper.

And gods, it burned.

Because that's what your silence had done. All the times you swallowed your anger, all the times you bit your tongue and turned the other way—it had given her room to scheme. To crawl deeper into the palace, to flash her smiles at the court, to whisper her poison into every ear willing to listen. To believe that she could go so far—so far—as to think she could replace Penelope herself.

The thought made your stomach twist sharper than before. The image of Andreia standing where the Queen now sat—where you had stood beside, loyal and small—made your chest tighten.

And then she spoke again, mistaking your silence for surrender.

"Hmm," Andreia hummed lightly, brushing invisible dust from her sleeve as she slowly rose from her seat. She took her time, adjusting the folds of her gown with dainty precision before beginning to stroll toward you. Calm. Unbothered. Circling like a cat who knew you couldn't bite.

Her voice dripped with sweetness. "You know..." she mused, drawing closer, "I suppose you and dear Telemachus really are a perfect fit for one another."

You stiffened.

She stopped just beside you, tilting her head like she was simply sharing a harmless little observation.

"Spineless little things, the both of you," she purred. "Letting everyone else make your choices. Letting others fight your battles while you cling to scraps of affection like children too afraid to step into the world properly."

She clicked her tongue softly. "A match made—"

"You don't know anything about him!"

The words snapped from your throat before she could finish, sharp and hot.

Her head jerked slightly in surprise, but the smile stayed on her lips.

You took a step forward, anger finally pushing through the tightness in your chest. "You continue to speak as if you've ever understood him. As if you've ever earned the right to judge him."

Andreia's brows lifted, amused.

You didn't stop.

"You would be lucky—honored—if he ever so much as glanced your way. If you ever knew what it meant to be loved by someone like him. Someone good. Someone who cares."

Your breath trembled, but the heat only grew behind it. "And as for me—" you exhaled hard, "I'm starting to get sick of your boldness."

Your voice cracked slightly, but you didn't care. You let the words spit out like venom. "You parade yourself through these halls like you're untouchable. Like the gods themselves would crown you for being clever enough to slither into other people's lives."

Andreia's smile twitched—tightening, sharpening—but she still said nothing, letting you speak, letting you bare your teeth at last.

You leaned forward slightly, voice low. "But you forget something. You're a guest here. One who's already on thin ice with more than just me."

For a moment, you both stood there. Face to face. Breath heavy.

Her green eyes glittered in the sunlight filtering down from the sunroof, but her smirk didn't waver.

Instead, her expression slowly shifted—flattening, darkening. The false amusement drained from her face like water from a cracked jar. And when she spoke again, her voice was cold. Icy.

"Are you daft?" she sneered. "How many times must I say it? I could not care less for your precious little prince."

She stepped closer.

One sharp heel after another, closing the distance between you. You instinctively leaned back, shoulders brushing against the cold stone pillar behind you, but she followed, closing the gap—crowding you. Cornering you.

Her smile dropped completely now—thin-lipped, tense, brittle.

"I have no interest in fumbling boys with no legend to their names. That's not the kind of man I came here for." She tilted her head slightly, voice dipping lower, the threat curling like a snake between her teeth. :But you—you need to stop getting in my way."

The air between you grew thick.

"You think I cared that you nestled yourself beneath Penelope's skirts? That you sang your little songs for her court? No. I let you have that. Even when they let you trail after the prince like some starry-eyed puppy—I still let you have that."

She stepped closer, eyes narrowing.

"But then you dared to stand near him."

Her voice softened, almost reverent.

"Odysseus."

The name left her lips like a prayer—bitter and sharp.

"A man I was bred to stand beside. A man worthy of my blood. And yet you—" she scoffed, her tone dripping— "you, a servant girl. You let them drag you into rooms where you don't belong. You speak where you should kneel. You breathe where you should bow."

Her chest rose with each breath, her pale fingers twitching faintly at her sides before she folded them behind her back, like she was holding something inside that might snap loose if she let it.

"I refuse to be sent back home like some useless bargaining piece." Her tone sharpened, face twisting into something crueler. "Do you have any idea what waits for me there? What the world expects of girls like me?"

Her green eyes burned now—not with the usual venom, but with something raw, something that slipped out between her teeth before she could stop it.

"My parents are already preparing the offers. My name will be passed around banquet halls like a fresh-cut lamb, bartered to the highest bidder. And for what? To be bent over by some spineless, soft-bellied old fart and forced to birth his heirs, one after another, until my body breaks."

Her voice cracked, but she didn't soften.

Her breath grew faster, eyes sharp and glassy. "When they left me locked in the temple overnight at five—when the oil lamps burned down and the rats scurried in—I learned quickly what little girls are worth."

You swallowed.

"And my mother?" she laughed bitterly. "She only looked at me when I bled. When the bruises showed. That's when she smiled."

For a moment—just a moment—the bravado slipped. You saw the edge of something beneath it all. Fear. Rage. Desperation. A hollow that no crown or favor could fill.

But then, just as fast—it was gone. Snatched back behind that sneer, behind the poison-laced calm.

"So no," she spat, standing tall now, voice steady again. "I won't return to that. I won't. I will not be tossed aside like some worthless little girl who failed to grab what she could."

Her voice dipped lower, venomous. "I'm not like you. I won't sit quiet, waiting for others to decide my life."

For a flicker—a split second—something in you almost softened. A small, unwelcome pang of sympathy rose, catching in your throat. You saw it—the desperation beneath her venom, the way her words bled raw beneath the layers of pride. But—

No.

No, you wouldn't let that sway you. Not now.

Whatever pain she carried, it didn't excuse this. It didn't excuse what she was doing—what she planned to do. To steal Penelope's place. To shatter Telemachus beneath it. To worm herself into the throne like a parasite beneath silk.

Unforgivable.

"That's no excuse," you said sharply, voice tight but steady, forcing your breath past the twisting knot in your gut. "Whatever you've suffered—it doesn't give you the right to tear down people who've done nothing to you."

Andreia scoffed—sharp, bitter. She stepped even closer, forcing you back into the shadow of the pillar once more, her green eyes glinting with something sickly sweet.

"Who's going to stop me?" she whispered. "You?"

You swallowed hard, chest fluttering.

"I will." You steadied your voice. "If I have to—I will."

For a moment, silence.

And then—Andreia smiled. Slow. Spreading across her face like spoiled honey, sharp around the edges. She leaned forward, her breath brushing against your cheek as she purred,

"Try me, Divine Liasion."

Her hand lifted, fingertips ghosting along your shoulder—up the side of your throat, trailing slow and deliberate beneath your jawline, as if testing just how far she could push.

The touch wasn't rough. It was worse. It was careful. Intimate in the wrong kind of way. Like she wanted you to flinch. Like she wanted to see you squirm.

Your whole body stiffened, heat rising fast in your chest.

Snarling, you slapped her hand away with a sharp shove, teeth clenched, voice raw as you hissed, "Don't touch me."

She didn't move back. But her grin twitched wider, satisfied with your reaction, like she'd gotten exactly what she wanted.

You stepped away—spinning toward the exit, pulse pounding hard enough that you felt it in your fingertips. But before you crossed the threshold, you threw one last glare over your shoulder.

"You'll regret this."

Andreia only gave a lazy shrug, her voice dripping with mocking ease. "You can try to make me. But I won't."

The words followed you as you left. Heavy. Poisoned. But you didn't slow.

Not this time.

A/N: HAPPY JUNETEENTH!!! Ahhhh!!! 🥰🥰🥰 ngl y'all idk how to respond sometimes 😭😭 like i'll be on a comment tryna type something and be like "nahhh that’s too much" then panic bc it feels too short so i just end up closing my laptop 💀💀 atp i'm abt to just start leaving lil hearts when i can't get a coherent sentence together. it's either that or i hit y'all with a "thx baby/lovely" and every time i feel like it sounds dry through text but i promise i'm over here awwwwing fr when i say it 😭 sooo... how was the chappie? 😭 y'all happy to be home? 👀 OH ALSO... yeah. andriea was scheming this whole time lolololo. when i say this was hard/but fun — it was HARD/but fun 😭😭 like it’s one thing to write several coherent storylines, but it’s another thing entirely to slowly line them up and reveal the pieces that were brewing behind the scenes lolol. we’re getting there y'all 🥹 thank you for being so patient with my chaotic updating schedule, truly. i tried to make this one extra chunky (8k!) as a lil peace offering 🫶🏽 and i also have a small Telemachus short story coming soon!! wanna go back to my roots a bit — a little comedy/crack fic lololol. idk if i ever mentioned it but i actually dabble in other genres too — the more serious/angsty stuff just kinda started happening to me as i went 😭😭see you next update ily 🩷🩷

also i've been blessed with more fanart, hehehe ❤️❤️❤️ (email: [email protected] | tumblr: winaxity-ii) also because wattpad/tumblr is being a meanie, i can't show 18+ drawings on here, even if edited 😭😭 but don't worry i shall still sing my praises! but good news! i have them available on archiveofourown (ao3) and have my account/books to where guests can see so you guys don't have to make an account ❤️❤️ also, if you haven't seen my last update/PSA i'm no longer doing personalized notes under each art i receive the way i used to do them, i'll now post them with credits, and when given the chance come back and post my thanks/what i love about them! this way, i can share my babies and also still keep grinding/writing, thx for being understanding lovelies ❤️❤️❤️

from toasted-for3v3r

[ANDREIA AND MC]

from akiosilverbangs

[HERMES AND MC]

from simp_0207

[THERMES REDESIGN]

[STATUE!MC W/ THE GODS ANIMAL MOTIFS]

[THYESSA (FEM!DIONYSUS)]

from alexv2012

[MC BREAKTHROUGH]

from masermess

[MOODBOARD (TELEMACHUS]

[MOODBOARD (MC)]

from blys4ckk

[MC AND TELEMACHUS]

from alina

[MC THINKING OF TELEMACHUS]

[MC--CENTER OF EVERYONE'S UNIVERSE]

from gurmadi

[MC DESIGN]

from Annoyedwriter72 (Kethalyna72)

[MC DESIGN]

from alucardswifeyy

[MC (CHERUB VER.)]

[APOLLO GIVING MC KISSES (CHERUB VS.)]

[APOLLO CARESSING MC FACE]

[APOLLO AND MC KISSING]

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