#Me sobbing about all my tiny ships

[jasontoddsdarling]

perihelion

— pairing: red hood x female reader

— words: 2,9k

— tags: smut 18+, naked female clothed male, cunnilingus (jason is a pussy eater and i meant it here), size differences*, size kink, rough sex, vaginal sex, belly bulge, overstimulation, creampie, fluff at the end

*❗content warning: repeated (and i meant repeated) descriptions about their size differences, so proceed with caution! it's going to be excessive lol so if it's not your cup of tea you can skip this one :)

"Red." 

She whimpers pathetically, eyes blurry with unshed tears as she looks down at the man situated in between her wide open thighs.

Red Hood's tongue delves into her pussy, eating her out like a man starving. Maybe he is. Because it's been… what? Thirty minutes? And he hasn't stopped. Not even for stretching his massive body or something. Not for one second, even.

His lips keep making out with her cunt. 

She's overly sensitive. 

But by hearing her mewling his name it spurs him on, for he's sucking her clit hard with a low groan.

Her hips shot high. She will probably reach the ceiling of her room if Red Hood's hands on her hips aren't holding her down.

"Red! Ohmygodohmygodohmygod!"

She sobs, orgasm wrecking her body like a ship against gigantic waves. Tears falling down her face in rivulets, dampening her soft pink pillowcase.

She can hear Red Hood shuffling now, by the sound of the fabric of her bedding against his clothes.

"You said you want to take my cock whole and not just half to three quarters," he says, voice hoarse, "I should prepare you thoroughly to make that possible. And multiple orgasms seem to prepare your tiny pretty pussy better indeed."

He proves his point by sweeping his fingers around her pussy opening, gathering her arousal.

"Look at this."

He's showing his shiny fingers to her. 

"Look at you gushing for me. All for me, isn't that true, princess?"

"Yes, Red. All for you."

Red Hood smiles, eyes glittering with wickedness and blown wide with lust behind his mask.

Red Hood quickly works, removing his belt and thigh holsters and dragging his trousers and briefs down above his knees.

He positions his leaking fat cock on her entrance, moving it up and down that at some point the angry red tip catches inside her.

She jerks at that, letting out a gasp. Her body always seems to forget how big he is compared to her.

Red Hood doesn't seem to notice because now he's placing his cock on her entire mound, his tip rests right above her navel. She shudders at the image both of them create. 

He is so massive. It should make her feel wary or something, she thinks, but she just feels that she's being taken care of and protected by this masked vigilante. A man that's capable of eradicating crime without mercy in Gotham streets is also able to worship her body and make her feel safe whenever she's with him, making her feel so wanted.

See, her thoughts have wandered into deeper territory she doesn't wish to visit—at least not right now anyway, when the man above her is about to be balls deep inside of her.

She directs her mind to the present.

Red Hood rubs his cock on her pussy, slathering the underside with her arousal from the orgasms he has drawn from her. 

"I'm not doing my job well if you're able to leave me alone and busy with your thoughts."

"Huh?"

She doesn't think Red Hood realizes that, she's pretty sure she was just lost in her mind for some milliseconds.

Red Hood removes himself from the top of her. She is about to protest but he swiftly sits on his haunches and pumps his cock with his precum and the wet underside of his cock from her arousal, slathering the moistures all over his cock.

Before knowing it, he has positioned himself back above her body.

She knows if hypothetically there's a mirror on her ceiling, she's only able to see his broad shoulders and toned body on the reflection—maybe her thighs if she opened them wide but that's it—because this massive man just simply covers her smaller torso with his. And she likes it more than she ever should.

Red Hood eases his tip inside of her and she feels the relief of having a part of him in her.

She closes her eyes as he keeps feeding her pussy with his cock. 

She can feel the slight pleasant ache that indicates he's working himself deep inside of her. He's probably almost all in now, she thinks.

But when she opens her eyes he's only about halfway inside.

Red Hood's expression indicates that he's holding back, pleasure written all over his face. 

But he is nothing if not relentless, keep pushing hips and drawing back, trying to ease the process. He keeps stuffing her with the rest of his cock centimeter by centimeter.

When he's like four fifths inside her, he groans her name.

"Princess. You're–" he groans, "you're always so tight. But I think this is the tightest you've ever been." 

She preens at his dirty talk. 

"It's you that is so big, Red. Why are you so big, so so big."

Tears gathered in her eyes at the sensation of his fat cock almost fully nestled inside of her. She has never felt like this, so full and whole. And he hasn't even all the way in.

And it's true. He's very considerable, and definitely the biggest one she has ever taken. The first time they're doing this—it was two months after he was wounded in her fire escape and kept visiting her weekly since then, just hanging out and mindlessly talking with her after his patrol—Red Hood was only able to put one third of his cock inside of her because he was afraid he was going to break her, even though she was begging him to just put the rest of it inside. Afterwards he was making it up to her by eating her out until she couldn't feel her thighs because of how he was holding her down so she couldn't squirm away from his ministrations.

Red Hood growls in her ear, cupping her tit and harshly playing with her nipple.

"You're flattering me so much, my sun."

My sun. Her nickname from him after learning the meaning of her name. It makes her feel buzzing that has nothing to do with him currently working his cock to be buried deep inside of her body.

Red Hood swaps his fingers with his hot mouth, his teeth pulling at her peaked brown nipple. 

"Ah!"

Red Hood puts his forehead on hers.

His minty breath fanning her hair as he stuffs the rest of his cock while also keeps distracting her from the stretch by circling her areola with her tongue and sucking on her nipple and globe of tit—leaving hickeys, switching between right to left.

Until he accomplishes the thing that she has wanted since the first time they slept together: the entirety of his fat cock inside of her pussy.

"Redredredredoh."

She feels intense stretch and pleasure she has never felt before, feeling his cock stretch her and the length of it reach a part inside her no one has ever been able to go. 

She feels so incredibly full.

"That's it. It's all in. You take all of my cock. Your tiny cunt is able to swallow all of me."

Red Hood kisses the rivulets that sliding down her cheek away, licking them clean.

She squeezes her inner muscles at the praises and the gesture and he groans, deep rumbles of sound from his chest.

She can feel every ridge of his cock, his veins rubbing deliciously against her walls. 

She has to bite her lips to contain her mewls.

"We're a tight fit. You're so good for me, so perfect."

She moans at his praises. 

Curious, she looks down at the part where they're joined.

A tiny gasp leaves her at the sight. 

Her lower stomach has a bulge from his cock residing inside.

Red Hood touches the indentation on her lower stomach, pressing on where his cock is nestled deep in her. 

"Look where I am inside of you."

He says as he keeps the pressure on her skin.

"You're–you're so deep."

She breathes out, seeing the proof of how different their bodies are—how big, how massive he is compared to her regular size, sending minds into so many directions.

He caresses the bump with his hand like it's the first time he has ever witnessed this. 

"It's the first time I have ever left something like this."

He says as if he knows what she's thinking about. 

"You're so beautiful like this."

She whimpers, her blown wide dark brown eyes seeing his beautiful rugged face above her. Even though he's always with his mask, his beauty has never been able to be obscured by it.

Red Hood kisses her deep, his mask digging on her face. His arms beside her head are strained, holding his body from crushing her smaller one.

His kiss is bruising, his teeth scraping against her upper and lower lips equally. He swipes his tongue, demanding an entrance to her mouth that she immediately grants. His tongue swipes hers, their saliva strings connected and messy between their lips.

Red Hood starts to move his hips, drawing his cock in and out of her in an experimental thrust, his fingers rubbing on her engorged clit. She lets out a pleasurable sigh.

Seeing her body has adjusted to the feel of his entire length intruding her slick walls, he repeats the motion much quicker and she screams at how her throbbing pussy being speared over and over again by his thick cock, always managed to be balls deep and bottoming out inside of her tight cunt everytime.

Her hand tugs on the silky strands of his dark hair.

"You're created for me, made for taking my cock nice and whole."

Red Hood says each word in between each of his deep thrusts. He grunts on her ears, the sounds making her cunt gushing. 

Her eyes roll to the back of her head by the carnal pleasure of his heavy thrusts and his dirty praises. 

She sobs on his shoulder, long black hair wildly fanning on her soft pink pillow and her bed.

But instead of telling him to slow down, she tells him, "Harder, please. Give your all."

Red Hood always obliges her, she doesn't have to ask him twice. That's what he wants as well, but he wanted to build up the pleasure. But her asking him to do so without his initiative, it just spurs him on.

He plows her cunt roughly, the drags of his thick cock and its ridges sets her nerves on fire. She accepts the pleasure borderline on oversensitivity gladly. She takes them all like a champ. Partly because it's a hassle to thrust up her hips against his powerful one but also because she wants this, badly. 

Beads of his sweats rolling down his cheeks, dropping on his light stubble and dropping on her tits. He swipes it away, fondling her tits and squeezing them. He pinches the erect peak and then closes his mouth on one of them, biting it hard. She cries, an orgasm tearing out of her by him, again for the nth time tonight.

"Red, you're so big, so deep. So deep." 

She babbles the only words she can only think of at this time. 

Her mind is completely blank with the way his cock keeps making space inside of her deeper and deeper as if it's still possible. 

"So big, oh God. Big. So thick… my tiny cunt." 

She looks like she's delirious with the height he brings her, the words that will make her hide her face with her hands if she ever remembers she ever speaks of them. 

His chest rumbles at her mindless dirty praises to him, his eyes almost rolling to the back of his head, his sacks drawn tighter, preparing to blow his massive loads. 

If she keeps praising him like this with the cute and ethereal blissed out face of hers, messy but glowing black hair tangling on his fingers, and glistening skin of hers, he isn't sure he's able to hold on longer. He has been holding his orgasm since he was eating her out hours ago.

"Where do you want me, angel?"

Red Hood asks, grunting and panting above her. 

"Inside, please. Please cum inside of me, Red."

Red Hood growls at her consent and then draws his hips for the last time sending a deep, deep harsh thrust—that will send her head knocking against her headboard if he isn't currently clutching her hips to the point of bruising—until he's fully sheathed and bottoming out inside of her, the deepest he has been tonight, both of them sure—then losing himself in the height of his powerful climax.

A bodily shudder goes through her, her teary screams of pleasure are sure audible for her nearest neighbors.

Red Hood chants her name as his hot, thick white cum flows inside of her cunt, flooding her insides.

It's so much, too much. 

The streams of his hot cum is somehow a relief but also making her oversensitive. She doesn't think anyone is able to give that much of cum in one climax, but she thinks—as her mind cleared by her most powerful peak tonight—he must have been holding his orgasm since he ate her out hours ago. 

God knows if she were in his place—giving him blowjob multiple times until he climaxes—she wouldn't be able to hold hers and would probably orgasm alongside him with his cock deep in her throat. She shudders at her imaginative thought, not entirely against it—but Red Hood sure is, he likes the act of giving more than receiving.

She squirms because he hasn't stopped pumping his seed inside of her—balls still half drawn tight—but he shushes her and flicks her clit to calm her down from oversensitivity. 

She's just there, lying blissfully where the broad shouldered man above her cooing at her and praising her for doing so good for him and but she's in between wakefulness and sleep. She feels it when his cock sends the last spurts of his cum inside of her, but he doesn't move until he has softened in her, then carefully pulled out of her.

Red Hood is lying down beside her, hasn't drawn his pants and briefs up. 

He can feel the heavy stare of eyes in between her thighs, so she looks down on her body too.

Their combined fluids are a sticky white mess between her thighs, the blob of it peeking out from between her folds—not to mention the rest of his massive load inside of her cunt that probably will dribble down if she is as much as sitting down, she can't imagine if she tries to stand or walk, if she's able to in the first place, which she thinks she doesn't. 

The man beside her has wrecked her pussy with his cock and taken her ability to stand for at least until this morning, the feeling of it will definitely last for a week though.

As if senses that she needs to clean up but can't, he stands, drawing his pants and briefs up without zipping the former—probably for easy clean up—and walking to her bathroom. He's there for two minutes—she checks her bedside clock—and then comes back with his pants zipped up, hair much tidier, and a wet, warm soft towel on his hand.

He sits on the edge of the bed, cleaning the stickiness on her thighs and the white blob of cum that peeking out from her labia—the latter carefully because he knows she is overstimulated after everything—and then goes back to the bathroom to deposit it in her basket of dirty clothes.

When he's back again, she's slightly moving her body up—still laying down, though—holding her stuffed animal in her naked form in between the shallow valley of her tits, the sight making him smile. He sits at the side of the bed, drawing her blanket up until it covers her navel. 

He reaches for a bottle of water she has on her nightstand. Opening the cap, he offers it to her and because her head is only leveled up by her pillows at the back of her head and neck, some of it spills down her torso and slightly dampened her stuffie. 

"Pengu!"

"Pengu is okay, she's a penguin."

He retorts before drinking the rest of the water. 

She gives him her playful stink eyes, but says nothing and tries to rub the water with her blanket, even though it's obvious has been absorbed by the material of her stuffed animal.

She is still drying Pengu, so it surprises him when she asks, "Are you going to go, soon?"

"Do you want me to?"

He usually goes right after cleaning up, no hard feelings and anything.

But something is different in the air today, and he doesn't want to examine it further, but he knows he wants to stay here at least for some more hours.

"No."

She still hasn't looked at him, holding Pengu to her chest, so he pinches her chin up and kisses her.

"Okay, I will stay. Maybe until you sleep?"

She nods at him, her little smile is everything to him.

He lies down beside her, heads on the stack of her fluffy soft pink pillows that smells so her—peony and lychee scented perfume she wears—clothes intact and all, just without his belt and holster that are lying on her bedroom floor, but that's his problem for later. 

For now, he caresses her hair and holds his head close to his chest until she falls asleep.

mariea's notes: wow, you made it here! technically, this fic is crossposted from my ao3 account, i wrote it in september 2023. slightly modified. and i mind slight. you can head to my account (link on my pinned) if you're curious about the change i made lol. anyway thanks for reading <3

[minminyoonjii]

Drip Drop [Chanlix/Fem! Reader]

❤️Ultimate Masterlist

💜Rules and Guidelines

💙Series Masterlist

🕯Summary: Felix felt horrible for pinning over his best friend's girl. Who knew that the couple would love to let him join.

🌹CW

Free Use|First Sandwich On Small Chair To Second Sandwich On Couch|Crying|Multiple Orgasms|Confession|Threesome! MMF|Praise Kink|Chan's Cock In Lix & Lix's Cock In You|Wet & Messy|Oviposition Mentioned |Hard Dom! Bang Chan|Pervy Sub! Lee Felix|Pervy! Reader|Riding|Sandwich Threesome|Dom Drop|Fingering|Anal Plug|Anal Sex|Daddy Kink|Begging|Teasing|Exhibitionist|Pussy Plug|Creampie|Sub Space|Head Pets|Aftercare

💌 This is a work of fiction, I by all means don't force ship anyone. They have the right to love whomever they want.

🍄Wordcount: 1.9K

"Mate you got a minute?" Felix asked, fidgeting his fingers nervously. Chan raised an eyebrow, "Yeah. Always got time for you, bud," he said, sitting in a chair facing him. Felix felt his lips wobble, "Please don't be mad at me, Hyung. I truly don't know how it got this bad," he said, tears welling in his eyes. Worry built in Chan's chest, "Hey, hey. Look at me, yeah? I will never be mad at you. You trust me don't you?" He reassured, rubbing Felix's bouncing knee. 

Felix sniffled, "I trust you. Trust you so much, Hyung," he hiccuped, burying his face into his palms. You raised an eyebrow, tilting your chin at Chan as a silent gesture. "I don't know?" He mouthed, pulling Felix towards his chest. Soft whimpers escaped past Felix's lips, "I'm so sorry, Hyung," he sniffled, gripping the hem of Chan's shirt. "Baby, I don't know what you're apologizing for," Chan said, rubbing Felix's back. His mind imagines the worst. A frown etched on your lips at the potential news Felix was about to tell. 

Felix released a shuddered breath, "Hyung, I think I like like your girlfriend," he said, petrified of Chan's reaction. You bit down on your bottom lip, trying your hardest not to burst into giggles at the endearing statement. Chan clenched his jaw, looking away from your stupid expression. Felix felt his heart sink when Chan looked away from him, broken sobs started to spill from his lips. Chan's eyes widened, "Lixie," he cooed, wiping Felix's tears. "Why are you sobbing, hm? I'm not mad," he added. 

Felix blinked away his tears, "Hyung's not mad?" He asked, his voice cracking in the process. Chan chuckled, "No bub, I'm not," he reassured, tucking Felix's hair behind his ears. "But you looked away from me," Felix whined, not believing Chan's words. Chan bit back a smirk, "Lixie, you're not the first to admit they like my girlfriend," he purred, his voice turning sensual. Felix squirmed at the change, "I'm not?" He asked, blood rushing up his cheeks to his ears. 

"That's right, you're not. Now tell me, Lixie. What would you do to my girlfriend?" Chan asked, tracing circles on Felix's inner thigh. Your jaw dropped at Chan's question. Things were getting too steamy for you just to stand there and watch, you kneeled behind the couch and peeked between the pillows. Felix felt his heart pound within his chest, "I shouldn't answer that," he said, hiding his flushed face. Chan chuckled, "I don't bite, bub. Just tell me the truth," he said, giving you a quick side glance. 

Felix chewed on his bottom lip, "I want to feel her warm cunt around my cock, Hyung. Want to feel my cockhead rub against her cervix," he admitted, hearing his heartbeat within his ears. Chan gently tugged down Felix's waistband, "Keep talking, bub. Don't stop until I tell you," he said, lightly grazing Felix's boxers. "Hah, ah, I want to use an ovipositor on her. Want to watch her tiny cunt get filled with eggs, Chris," he said, gripping Chan's shirt. "Dirty little boy," Chan said, his voice getting breathy. 

Felix whimpered at the arousal buzzing through his body. You pressed your thighs together, craving for any friction your throbbing cunt could get. Chan huffed, needing you involved in the scene, "Little one, come here," he commanded, nosing Felix's neck. You stood up on wobbly knees, "Yes, Daddy?" you said, your cheeks flustered from arousal. Felix flinched within Chan's hold, embarrassment enveloping his thoughts. 

Chan smirked, "Tell me, baby girl. Would you like to be pumped with eggs?" he asked, cupping Felix's pulsing bulge. A low moan echoed within the room. "Of course, Daddy but I have something else in mind," you suggested, stripping off your clothes. Chan whistled at the sight of your body, "And what's that?" he asked, subtly shifting Felix's face towards you. "I want Daddy to pound Lixie while I ride on top," you said, loving the power trip Felix's flustered cheeks gave. "Wait, wait. I wasn't expecting this," Felix said, conflicted by his inner morale. 

Chan trailed his hands down Felix's side, "Baby, you can step out if it's too much," he said, hoping they didn't scare him away. You covered your bare body as best as you could, "Sorry, if this seems forceful," you mumbled, tearing up at the sheer embarrassment. Felix's eyes widened, "No! I mean, I want this. I really do," he exclaimed, knowing he'd regret pushing you away when an opportunity was given to him. 

Chan kissed Felix's temple, "Reassure her, bub. Tell her you want her," he whispered, blowing into Felix's ear. "Please, I want you," Felix whimpered, opening his arms hoping you'd come closer. Your eyes dilated, "You promise?" You asked, making your way in front of him. Felix giggled, wrapping his arms around your bare waist, "I promise," he said, pampering kisses on your pretty tummy. Chan cooed, stripping off Felix's pants and boxers in one go, "Isn't he pretty, princess?" he teased, knowing you have a thing for pretty, glossy cocks. 

You nodded your head, cunt throbbing to be filled with the pretty cock in front of you. Chan reached between Felix's inner thighs, and his breath hitched when he felt a familiar jewel, "Is this a plug, dirty boy?" he asked, gently thrusting the toy in and out of Felix's clenching rim. "Ah, hah, hah. I just wanted to fuck feel good, Hyung," Felix gasped, his mind clouding from the gentle thrusts. You whined from the lack of attention, "Daddy," you sulked, aching for Chan to allow you. 

"Hang on, silly girl. So impatient," Chan chuckled, stripping off his pants. His cock tucked between the crevice of Felix's ass. "Hyung, please," Felix whined, his ribbed walls clenching hard around the warm metal plug spreading his hole apart. Chan rolled his eyes, "Another impatient baby," he teased, smirking when he tugged the plug out to its widest girth. Loving the way Felix gasped and whimpered at the pressure. You moaned at the sight, arousal dripping down the sides of your inner thighs. 

Chan tossed the plug aside and lifted Felix by his waist, "Take a deep breath, baby," he said, sinking Felix down his cock like a sex doll. "Fuck, fuck, fuck," Felix thrashed, the pain and pleasure of the stretch melted his mind to a puddle. Chan groaned into his ear, the veins on his arms protruded as he tried not to buck his hips up. "So big, Hyung!" Felix sobbed, his drool leaking down the sides of his lips. You whined at the neglect, "Daddy, I want to touch. Wan’ kiss Lixie. Please," you begged, pleading for Chan's permission. 

"Go ahead," Chan said, his voice gravelly as he slowly pushed Felix down to the base of his cock. You pecked Felix’s lips before licking his bottom lip, begging for access. Felix whined at your gesture, parting his lips for you. His eyelids fluttered shut when you deepened the kiss. You pulled back and sucked on his bottom lip, craving more and more of his delicious moans. “Hhgh, hah,” Felix mewled, wrapping his arms around your waist, and pulling you closer.

Chan groaned, his cock twitching within Felix's clenching hole, "You’re so fucking warm around me, baby. Fuck" he said, gritting his teeth. You straddled your weight on Felix’s lap, trying to get as comfortable as possible with your limited space. Felix slumped his head into the crook of your neck, “Please, ride me,” he whimpered, marking your shoulder with hickeys. You lifted your hips, aligning Felix's leaking cockhead against your dripping hole and sank down. 

"Hah, ah, ah, fuck!" Felix cried, the warmth of your cunt and Chan's throbbing girth pressing against his swollen prostate drove him wild. You whimpered at the stretch, his cock curled perfectly against your squishy walls. Chan growled against Felix's shoulder, his mind getting hazy from the fluttering grip surrounding his cock. “Get up and lay back on the couch, princess,” Chan instructed, having another position in mind. 

You sulked but laid back as told. “Sink you cock back into her, Lix,” Chan commanded, sitting up. “O-okay,” Felix slurred, plopping onto you with grace. He lifted his hips, aligning his throbbing cockhead back within your ribbed walls, “So hot, hah,” Felix mewled, nosing your neck. Chan shifted your calves around Felix’s waist, “Deep breaths, okay,” he cooed, easing his cock into Felix’s tight rim in one smooth thrust.

Both Felix and you whined into each other's hold. "Daddy, fuck too fast!" you cried, digging your nails into Felix’s back. Felix babbled against your neck, his cock and prostate receiving the most intense pleasure in their lifetime. "Take it, fucking take it," Chan panted, his hips striking against Felix's ass. Your body spasm, orgasm tethering at the edge, "Fuck, hah, I'm cumming," you wailed, clenching hard around Felix's sensitive cock as your orgasm broke. 

Felix's jaw slacked open, his body trembling between the both of you, "Cumming, cumming," he babbled, his back arching when he came deep within your cervix. Chan hissed at the clench, goosebumps prickling on his skin, "Shit, hah, ah," he gasped, letting out a shaking breath as he came, coating Felix's ribbed walls white. Felix's thighs quivered from the aftershocks, and his anal canal fluttered around Chan’s cock, “Mmh,” he hummed, nipping your jaw.

Chan huffed out a breath, his palm smacking against Felix's plump ass, "Such good toys," he praised, stroking your hair with adoration. You laid pliant, your walls snug and filled. Chan cooed at your expression and carefully eased his tender cock from Felix's gapping rim, "What a fucking sight," he chuckled, gently lifting Felix's sensitive body off you. "Daddy," you whined, clenching weakly around the chill air. 

Chan cooed, easing your favourite plug deep into your cunt, "Daddy knows, princess," he said, rubbing your pretty tummy. Felix's mind sank into subspace, his eyes glossy with post-clarity. Chan chuckled, lifting him, "You did so well, bub," he said, pampering kisses all over Felix's face. Felix mewled at the affection, his mind happy and content with the love he was receiving. 

Chan carefully laid Felix into the tub, "Stay," he said, before leaving to get you. "Daddy," you beamed, happily nuzzling into his arms. Chan chuckled, "Yes, princess. Daddy's here," he said, laying you next to Felix. You squinted your eyes when you noticed a frown on Chan's lips, "Daddy sad?" You asked, concern evident on your face. Chan gulped back his vulnerability and said, "Daddy's okay, baby girl. Let Daddy clean you both up, yeah?" He said scrubbing your backs with soap. 

You felt something wrong with his answer and nuzzled his knee, "Daddy did good, Made us feel really really good," you whispered, wanting him to know. Tears split down Chan's cheeks, making you panic, "Daddy okay? Don't cry," you sniffled, sad because he was sad. Chan sniffled a chuckle, hugging you close, "You know daddy loves you very much, don't you princess?" He asked, his hands trembling behind your back. You nodded, caring less that your damp body was drenching his shirt. 

Chan exhaled a shaky breath, "Good girl. You're my good girl," he said, pampering kisses on your face. Felix soaked in his subspace, barely aware of his surroundings. You kissed Chan's cheeks, "Daddy, we need to help Lixie too," you said, nuzzling Felix's cheek. Chan cooed, "You're right, princess. Let's help Lixie feel comfy," he said, stroking Felix's hair. "Thank you for everything, princess," Chan whispered, needing to get this off his chest.  You beamed with your precious little smile, "You're welcome, Daddy," you said, melting into Chan's through hands as he coaxed you both out of subspace. Felix giggled out of nowhere, "Thanks for reading," he whispered, cuddling closer to you.

[pandora-writes-one-piece]

congrats on 100 followers! :) id like to request kidd + his so getting hurt while protecting him

Hello Anon!! Thank you so much for this wonderful request! I am so deeply in love with Kid and this little drabble almost wrote itself. I love my chaotic Captain! Also, since you didn't specify gender, I kept it gender neutral, I hope it's alright! And I hope you like this, I had a blast writting it! ❤️

Source for pic

My Personal Hell

Word Count: 2093

Tags: gn!reader; Cursing; LOTS of cursing; SFW; Frustration; Care; Comfort; Love; Fluff; Annoyance; one use of the word cock! Tiny angst?

Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.

Summary: You protect Kid during a Marine attack and end up pretty hurt. He has a very weird way to show his concern and affection towards you.

Tag List: @rosidaze @beachaddict48 @armiliadawn

Notes: Gosh, anyone knows who's the doctor for the Kid's Pirates? Damn this information eluded me!! 😓 I'm sorry!

|Masterlist|

“Fucking reckless idiot! Stupid irresponsible! Fuck!”

You could hear the loud crashes and breaking sounds coming from just outside the infirmary door. Even though it was closed. 

“Could've gotten killed! What the fuck’s wrong with that fucking head?!”

More crashes, wood splintering, metal bending, glass shattering. You were still bordering between consciousness and the sweet limbo of unconsciousness, but his voice was unmistakable. 

And if it wasn't, all the swearing gave him away. 

“How long has he been at it?” Your voice sounds hoarse and raspy, scratching and itching against your throat. Grunting you open and close your eyelids, trying to adjust your vision to the brightness of the white lights. “Fuck, that's bright.”

“Since he brought you in, sweetheart. Now lay still or you'll open up the stitches. And they were a bitch to close, too.”

You stay still, chewing on your lower lip hard enough to draw blood so you can stifle your pained grunts as the Doc finishes up the last stitches. 

“Like, what the fuck! Who am I?” More crashing noises can be heard and the unmistakable creak of more metal bending. “I'm Eustass Fucking Kid! The fucking Captain of this fucking ship, with a fucking 3 billion berry bounty! I don't fucking die!”

You sigh, exasperation adding to your growing pain. “Any chance I can get more drugs, Doc?” You ask, a slight edge to your voice as the vein in your forehead trembles and pops with stress. 

“No can do. You’ve already had enough. Maybe if Heat brings you some of his stash, though, but no chemicals!” The Doc sternly advises and you huff, puffing your cheeks and prolonging the breath to try and distract yourself from the sounds of chaos and apocalypse that are happening just outside the door. 

“I fucking know what I'm fucking doing!” Kid yells. 

You keep nodding your head, counting from one to ten, from ten to one, odd numbers only, even numbers next… Until you've had enough. 

“Fuck this, I’m gonna yell at him.” You let out through your clenched teeth. 

“Don't yell at him, honey.” The Doc advises in a singsong voice. 

“I don't jump straight into fucking danger! I'm not a fucking idiot!” Kid's roar is unmistakable. The man's pissed. 

“Weeeell… I don't know about that. Agree to disagree?” Only Killer would have the balls to answer that savagely to a disgruntled Kid. 

“Piss off ya fucking wanker!”

“I'm gonna yell at him.” You repeat, taking a deep breath and getting ready for it. 

“Don't do it.” The Doc says again, eyes already closing and scrunching in anticipation. 

“I'm gonna!” Arching your torso to try and raise yourself up sends an unbearable jolt of pain through your sternum, chest, belly and back, all at once, and you plop back down, arms hugging your form as you grunt, moan and sob in pain and desperation. Your hands punch the mattress a few times and you bite hard on your lower lip, chewing away the pain to stop sobs and moans of agony. 

“I told ya, honey. Bullet wounds are fucking painful.”

The door doesn't just open: it crashes open, almost falling out of its hinges with the force it was thrown open. 

“What the fuck is going on here?”

“Who here saw this coming?” The Doc asks, a big open smile and hand raised in the air, looking over the shoulder at Killer, whose muffled snickers can be heard behind his mask.

“Oh, fuck you, Kid!” You sputter with another grunt and moan. “Shove your fucking Haki up your ass! You can hear me groan and moan but you can't hear me yell: ‘Watch out, the fucking bullets are made of fucking seastone?’ You fucking blockhead, I-... OUCH!”

You cry out as a sharp pain travels all over your torso, leaving you breathless and panting. 

“Brat, I could hear ya moaning with my head underwater and corks in my ears.” His voice lowers in tone, but not in arrogance. “My fucking cock twitches every time you make that sound!”

A vicious grunt leaves your lips as you're more annoyed that you actually found his retort both funny and endearing, than at himself. 

“Fucking pig!” You mumble between pursed lips. 

“Doc, ya done?” He asks gruffly. 

“Yeah, all patched up. Unless something opens up the stitches again. Like screaming, or trying to forcefully get up! Which I don't recommend!” You roll your eyes to the back of your head at the accusations and, though you're itching to cross your arms over your chest in a defiant gesture, you don't, because you know it'll hurt like a bitch. 

“Good. Leave then.” Kid scratches the chair against the floor purposefully - because he knows it pisses you off - until it's right next to your head, flips it and sits with his legs spread, his arms resting on the back of the chair, a terrifying smile pulling his lips back and revealing a sharp set of canines. “I need to have a few words with my brat.”

It's not quite fear you're feeling. You respect Kid as your captain. Very much. But you don't fear him. He huffs and puffs and barks and growls but very rarely bites. 

Fear is what you felt when he was almost hit by a hail of bullets. When those Marines got cocky and thought they could take down the great Eustass Captain Kid. They weren't counting on you jumping in the way to protect your man at all costs. 

Yes, even at the expense of your life. 

You love Kid more than life itself. Even if he's as stubborn as a mule, as edged as a knife and, as hot-headed as a raging fire. So you regret nothing. 

Lies. Perhaps you regret trying to yell at him just now. You could've avoided this conversation. 

Killer and the Doc leave the infirmary and close the door behind them - after Killer places it back or its hinges - and you look at the ceiling, trying to avoid Kid’s intense, piercing gaze. 

When he speaks, his voice is levelled - which is very rare for him. “This is the last time ya-...”

“Don't tell me what to do!” You snap, your head whipping towards him, and wince to hide the pain. 

“Tough shit! I'm yar fucking captain! Don't like it? Jump overboard!” His hands grip the chair so hard that the metal bends and the indents of his fingers are permanently marked on it. “This was your last field mission.” His words are laced with authority and leave no room for contest. 

“You can't do that!” Your voice turns into a whine, accompanied by a pout and a trembling of your lower lip, and you can only blame this childish behaviour on the drugs. 

“Fucking watch me!” Kid growls as his canines appear, giving him a very feral look as his orange eyes pierce yours, daring you to defy his orders. 

The silence that envelops you both is stifling and suffocating. It weighs down on you and presses harder than the sting of bullets. You love exploring new islands. You thrive on the joy and exhilaration of a fight. Kid knows that. And that's why this is your punishment. 

After some moments of intense, fiery gazing, you break. Your eyes downcast as a stubborn tear escapes the corner of your eye, leaving a shiny trail of wetness on your skin. “Fuck you, Kid.” Your voice is barely a whisper. “I saved your fucking life.”

You can almost feel the tension in the room dissipate. The lights seem brighter and the air stops being charged with intense magnetism as Kid relaxes his posture. His shoulders sag and his head falls forward in a defeated position he wouldn't let just anyone see. 

“I know ya did. And ya almost died. So if I can do anything to avoid that, I will. Because there's no way ya’ll die before I do. No fucking way.” 

You fight but there's no way to stop the tears from flowing now. You know how he felt. Like his heart was out of his chest, being ripped to shreds in front of him and a feeling of dread and helplessness suffocating him. You felt that as well. Before you made the split-second decision to jump. 

And, fuck, you'd do it again. 

“They were seastone bullets, Kid. You'd never have made it out alive. I don't regret anything.”

The way his smile turned cocky in an instant made you weak in the knees. This unhinged side of Kid aroused you to no end. “I would've survived, brat. I can't get killed. Much less by wimpy fucking Marines.”

His laugh roars around the room but you don't find it amusing at all. This cockiness of his, although fucking sexy, will get him killed someday. 

“Go to hell, Kid.”

You reply, eyes closing, trying to dry the flood of tears. Fists clenched against the sheets to stop the trembling and lips pursed to keep the sobs at bay. 

Until his big, calloused hand finds yours and he squeezes it, showing a very rare gentleness. 

“Already been, brat. When ya were bleeding out in my arms, unresponsive and dying. That was my hell. And I'll relive it ‘till the day I fucking die.”

You finally look up to meet his gaze. His eyes look shiny - though still dry - and there's no hint of his cocky grin anymore. In its stead, there's a pained grimace. An ugly twist of his usual scowl that you find you hate. You never want to see him look like this again. 

“I'm sorry.” You finally utter. “Not for doing what I did - I would do it again! - but for the way my actions made you feel.” Turning your hand up, you entwine your fingers with his, your hand much smaller against his. 

Kid lets out a deep sigh and as his chest deflates you notice he's still wearing blood-stained clothes. He must've been pacing in front of the infirmary door since you were brought in, just like the Doc said. “Scoot.” He tells you while getting up. 

“I can't.” You whine. “If I move, everything hurts. I was shot five times, Kid.”

“Five fucking times? Fucking Killer! He said it was only two shots! Fucker!” You stifle a chuckle and hold back your comment about how he could have easily spotted the five bullet holes in your shirt because you're pretty sure he was too busy trying to keep you alive to worry about counting bullet holes. 

He keeps cursing as he gets up, gently lifting you as he settles in the bed, curling you into his lap against his chest, making sure you're comfortable and not straining any wounds. 

You're pretty sure the Doc is going to bite Kid's head off if they see both of you in this position, even if he's the captain, but you feel so safe, comfortable and secure that you couldn't care less. 

“Kid, you can't forbid me to go out of the ship.” Your tone is almost pleading as you don't know for sure if he was being serious or not with his earlier threats. 

“I know, brat. Ya love to create chaos, don't ya?”

Turning your head slowly up, you bury your nose against his neck, your fingers digging into his shirt, bringing him closer. Inhaling deeply, you take in his scent. Sweat, sea salt, rust and metal. It brings as many tears to your eyes as it brings serenity and peace. Kid's your home. 

“You know I do.”

“But ya can't be jumping in front of bullets anymore. Or I'll strap ya to my back with those baby fabric things and ya have to be dangling on my back for the whole outing.”

The image brings tears to your eyes as you burst out laughing. Kid laughs with you, the sound of your laugh as sweet on his ears as his is on yours. 

“That's a deal, Cap. But you need to listen to me. And stop being a foolish daredevil! You're not invincible, Kid. Don't act like you are.”

He reaches down and plants a soft peck against your head. “Aye, aye. It's a deal, brat.”

The soft rise and fall of his chest make the perfect lullaby and the drugs the Doc gave you are the perfect concoction to bring sleep to your tired bones as your eyes start to close and flutter. 

“I'm glad you're alive, Kid.” You whisper, words slurred and dragged between sleepy breaths.

“I'm glad you're alive, brat. I wouldn't know how to live without you.”

[alexa-fika]

Can you create a story about Mihawk's son who gets injured or kidnapped ?

More Mihawk please 🙏

( sorry for the grammar or spelling mistakes am not good at English )

A/N: Again, I don't know. if this is good, but you guys are popping off with Midnight Lessons so maybe this is up to your tastes? Thank you for the request Anon! Feel free to drop by my ask box to requests or simply to say hi!

Also don't worry English is also not my first language!

Dividers by @/saradika

Papa to the rescue ( Mihawk x male!reader)

Sniffles and stifled sobs could be heard in a cold, dark cell of a ship sailing somewhere on the East Blue.

“Shut up, you damn brat!” Growls Don Krieg.

Glaring at the child, he walks toward the cell, a smirk suddenly replacing his sneer.

“Do you know why you are here, you little twerp?

He sniffles, shaking his head

“Oh my my, aren’t we scared? A shame your papa can’t come and save you; what a disappointment.”

Krieg laughs mockingly and looks toward the small child.

“It’s because of him that you are here, brat so that I can finally have revenge on that bastard! It will be perfect for breaking down your stubborn, cocky father. I bet having to see his little boy die will make the bastard come around, kneeling in front of me and begging for mercy. Or he’s too much of a coward. Either way, win-win for me.”

“Papa wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh no, you misunderstand. Your papa won’t see you die. He’ll see you in agony, a slow, excruciating death by starvation or a beating, a torture that will make you beg for death. All by my hands, too.”

“He wouldn’t bow down to you! “

Krieg grips the small boy by the collar and picks him up to his eye level. His dark scowl is met by the red face of the boy, tears filling his eyes.

“He will, little brat.” His voice is low, threatening.

“Or you die.”

“He won’t! Because he will slash you! You can’t beat papa.”

Krieg’s grip tightens at the mention of Mihawk, his sneer returning in full force.

He growls out a sharp response as a fire of rage sparked in his eyes, his hands tightening around the kid’s neck.

“I will! And he will beg me for mercy before you die in front of him!”

He said, dropping Reader to the ground.

It all happened in an instant; Reader’s mind could barely keep up with what happened in the next few minutes.

He remembered that screams started coming from upstairs. He remembered Kreig turning towards the dungeon entrance, equally confused about the sudden chaos that had erupted from upstairs.

The next thing that happened Reader could remember clearly, as the familiar silhouette of their father came down the stairs into the dungeon.

“Papa!” They cheer as he closes in to the cell Reader was in and towards Don Krieg, who stands in front of it

Krieg made quick work of the cell lock, running inside and grabbing the kid, putting them in a chokehold, and holding a gun to his neck.

“So you finally show yourself, you bastard! Better start kneeling, or you can say goodbye to the brat,” he cackles.

Reader is quick to dig their tiny teeth into Don Krieg’s hand, taking advantage as he winces and slightly lessens his hold to raise his head to headbutt him, quickly running to his dad the moment Don Krieg let go of him to hold their bleeding nose.

His head snaps back as the young man headbutts him; Krieg grunts in pain. A burst of blood spurts down from his nose

He scoffs,

“Damn brat!”

“You’re not going anywhere!” he growls, pointing his gun towards the child and taking the shot.

The next few seconds, although hard to keep up with, Reader was quick to understand what had just happened as his father now stood in front of him, Yoru unsheathed and a sliced bullet landing on each side of Reader.

“Reader. Wait upstairs,” his words curt, but one could hear the aggravation in his tone.

Reader nods, running upstairs to wait for his dad; he does not have to wait long, however, as Mihawk joins him no more than a minute later.

He gently picks him up and jumps onto his small raft.

“Are you hurt?”

The child looks up at him, his eyes watering.

“I’m okay ’cause Papa is here,” he says, hugging him tightly.

“Good,” he says as he puts a hand around the child and smiles.

“I’ll make sure it stays that way,” setting his course back to Karai Barai Island.

“How did you find me?”

“Do not worry about that.”

They smile, a slight idea as to who aided his father in finding him.

“Im glad you found me, Papa; I was scared,”

It’s okay, son,” he says, rubbing his head.

“Let us get you to bed.”

Reader nods, watching dazed as the splashing waves soon turn into flowing grass and soon into the familiar floors as they arrive at their headquarters, soon arriving at their own room as Mihawk gently lays Reader down on the bed.

“Can you stay with me tonight, Papa?”

“I will only stay for a short while; there are things I must attend to.” He responds, sitting down on a chair next to his son

Reader smiles, staring at his father as he slowly lulls himself to sleep after a long and terrifying day.

Despite his words, Mihawk could be seen sitting down next to his son all night; of course, no member of Crossguild would ever comment on this, and neither would they ever comment on the soft look he had on his face as he stared at his son, finally home safe

What do you guys think? Was it as good as Midnight Lessons or kinda, eh? Please let me know so I know what I can improve on next time! Do we like child! reader more than the romantic pieces? Who's next?

[fillinforlater]

Loathing Love: Lavish Lies (Part 4)

Male Reader x Kwon Eunbi + Kang Hyewon x Jo Yuri

Length: 9060 words

Tags: emotional drama, smut, cheating, alcohol, rage, anger issues, bisexuality, girl x girl relationship, girl x girl action, threesome, literal breeding, mating press, face sitting, squirting, clit play, dirty talk, the dumbest, most improbable sex ever, this is NOT real life, very dark ending

TW: includes topics like cheating, alcohol, sex and death

Inspiration: "Look at Me" by XXXTENTACION, Hyewon x Yuri best ship, gay power couple; this had to be released in Pride Mont (glad I could make it lol), also @capslocked ; @iznsfw, I'm sorry.

(A/N: THE FINALE of my L4 Series. It's finally here. The promise is fulfilled. I hope you get the ending and don't hate me. It's all fiction.)

“Look at me, fuck on me / Look at me, fuck on me / Look at me, fuck on me.”

Volume decreased by eighty percent. You don’t need someone screaming in your ears right now. It only makes you want to scream back. The poor guy has been dead for almost five years now, he doesn’t really deserve it. If you’re honest to yourself, he feels way too on point. Better turn the radio off entirely.

His voice still resonates in your mind, as you get out of the car. Combined with Hyewon’s and Yuri’s moans, they form an inglorious, deadly symphony to fuel your hatred. Visuals of you screaming, scratching, beating fragile, pale skin pop up in your mind. This wave of emotions, it’s crashing in on you like a tsunami. Sadly, it doesn’t bury you. It only makes you angrier.

Push open the door and Eunbi gasps. She kneels on the living room floor, right next to the carpet. Her clothes are in tatters, her knees covered in bruises, but worst of all, her face is ruined with scratches, blood and runny mascara. It looks like someone already did the things you imagined in your head: beat her up and left her whimpering on the floor. The punishment for someone who cheats and lies.

Grab Eunbi’s lifeless arm and pull it up. Your fiance begins to cry, she begs not with words but with her eyes. The way she shakes her head is in honest fear. The potential strikes scare her, how your palm will meet her face over and over again in a loveless, hurt beating.

But you sigh.

"I can't," you squeeze out, voice cracking with every word. "I hate seeing you like this. You deserve to be thrown out and beg for money on the street. But I can't, I—"

You pull Eunbi into a hug. Her small frame melts into your arms, her feet unable to support her. She is like a wet sack, surprisingly heavy. You're barely able to drag her to the couch and watch her whimper and cry, face hidden behind her elbow.

"I still love you, Eunbi.

"Let's try again."

"Y-yes," she sobs and tightly grabs your shirt.

"Let's marry, Eunbi."

"Y-yes, th-thank you."

#

The proposal might have been a mess, but the marriage was not. Everything was meticulously planned, and even the tiniest details went perfectly. No one knew of Eunbi's affair, and you kept it this way. 

Even after your marriage, your luck did not run out. Everything was working out. Two promotions in a year, a new, bigger house, two cars, a part time job for Eunbi that she really enjoys. Talking about Eunbi, she became attentive, caring, adoring, loving to the point where your wound began to heal.

Eight months into your marriage, you became an actor.

No, not the type that moves to Hollywood, swims in money and earns fame with every new movie. The type who has to act all day every day. You have to pretend that it's all fine, smile at everyone, always say the right things—

Acting is lying. You lie to them, because you cannot live with her lying to you.

Eunbi does not know about the abundance of security cameras you installed around and inside the house. They are tiny, but very modern and always connected to your phone for constant surveillance of your expensive home.

Not a single criminal has tried to enter your home—but multiple other 'criminals' entered something else.

At first, it was one guy. Tall, handsome, expensive suit. Eunbi greeted him with a smile. You watched the footage quite confused. The two of them sat down in the living room and talked for a bit. It looked like he tried to sell her something, but it also looked fake, like they were—

Role playing.

A minute later, Eunbi's arms and feet were wrapped around him as he drilled his cock deep inside her cunt. There was no sound, but you could see her moan and scream as he went faster.

Three weeks later, another guy. He seemed to not like role playing. Eunbi opened the door and his tongue was in her mouth immediately. They fucked all over the kitchen, on every damn counter. At least this guy was somewhat attractive.

Things got horrible after this. Guy after guy walked into your home and fucked your wife. Hole after hole, day after day. Whenever you were at work and she wasn't, a cock was inside her. One time, someone seemed to comment on her hair and the next day she went to dye it blonde. 

That was also the day you decided to not touch her anymore. You stay at work longer, until late at night. Work frees your mind a little, and soon they will promote you to the second highest position. 500k after taxes, seemingly infinite money, yet you still weep and down whiskey each night watching guys go to town on her.

Today, two guys arrived together. They spit roasted her on the bed, which was already covered in her juices and sweat from another guy an hour before. 

The video flashes before your dead eyes. You drop another piece of ice into the glass, watch the auburn whiskey sway and cool. Down it goes as Eunbi gets ready to take a cock up her loose asshole. For the first time, you look at the new guy who groans as Eunbi takes his cock.

His smug grin. It's the same motherfucker, the one you caught with Eunbi a bit over a year ago. 

For the first time, you stop your mindless staring at the screen. You pause the security footage as rage builds up at this stupid expression on this stupid face. Without hesitation, you reach for the glass and repeatedly smash it into the screen. It breaks in violent sparks and the room goes fully dark. 

You tear the screen off the wall, the same way you tear out the self-pity in your sorrow-filled heart. A violent kick sends the monitor into the computer and the thousand dollar set-up is reduced to broken scrap metals and torn wires.

The entire office is suddenly so dark and silent. Not that you were watching with sound, but the vivid pictures produced enough sounds in your head. It's all gone now, together with the dirty light displaying dirty pleasure. 

Don't lie to yourself; this was stupid. But as much as it was stupid, it was also necessary and it felt so right. Even though your favorite whiskey glass fell victim to your rampage, you don't regret it. You need more of this.

Throughout the entire night, you continue to mess up your workplace. You stuff bins and trash cans with everything in your office: Semi-important documents, plants, cables, liquor, chairs and especially all the unnecessary, lavish accessoires you gathered here for some reason. At dawn, the only thing that remains is a table, a chair, a laptop with a charger and a bottle of water. A frugal set-up, but more than enough for your job.

At 6:30 am, you arrive at home and jump right into bed, next to your snoring wife. With a quick glance you check her hand; the ruby embellished gold ring sparkles at her finger. A real, absurdly expensive piece of jewelry on a fake piece of shit, you think but smile nonetheless. There is some irony about it that you can't pin down yet, but you'll look for it a bit more.

#

A knock at your door. 

"Come on in," you say without looking up from your screen. It's probably the intern again, asking for help or another task. To your surprise, it's someone far more important.

"Still feels weird, when you remember what this room used to look like." A man, two decades older than you and a decade more work experience in this company carefully scoots into your office and wanders around it. "It's surprisingly vast."

You close your laptop when the man does not watch. It's out of respect, but for some reason, you do not fear him anymore. His name is Sakimoto, member of the board of directors and chairman of the staff council. Usually, there is only one reason for him to come into your office himself—and it's not a good one.

"How can I help you, Mr. Sakimoto?" you say with an insincere smile.

"Tell me," he responds, eyes wide in either insanity or genuine interest, hard to tell with someone like him. "Why did you throw it all away? It looks like a cell."

"It—to be honest, I—

"Well that's the point. None of the stuff is helpful in any way, even worse, it's distracting, unnecessary bullshit that keeps me from focusing. I don't need it, I don't want it anymore."

Sakimoto nods at your words, his expression never changing, not even at the use of your obscene slip. Maybe being a psychopath is a job requirement for Sakimoto's position. You can't bear to look at his slight smile and wide orbs any longer.

"Intriguing," he finally says and turns towards your door again. "You'll be at the board meeting tonight, 8pm flat."

"Yes, Sir," you calmly say, something grinding on your nerves as Sakimoto leaves without saying goodbye or closing the door. That's it, career over.

#

They’re gonna fire me, fuck.

This thought knocks on your mind the entire day, only getting stronger with every step you take towards the meeting room. Someone must have noticed your indefensible, erratic behavior, but how? Everyone was gone that night like they all are every night. You made sure of it by checking the nearby offices of your subordinates and co-workers. You even made sure to stuff all your furniture and electronics down to the bottom of the waste containers.

Maybe the board had a meeting and someone heard something? Fuck, that can’t be it, can it?

Deep breaths, calm breaths. If they know what happened, your fate is decided. You have enough money anyways. Other companies will still take you. You’re gonna be okay, this is just a small hit, a dent in the fast, unstoppable car that is you. If you’re honest, it’s a lot easier when you don’t care about the passenger or who she is fucking.

Bang the door thrice with confidence. The silence behind it becomes even more quiet, until someone urges you to enter in a strict, booming voice.

“You are a bit early,” the CEO says from the far end of the long table, his back to the setting sun visible through large windows behind him. The other board members look at you, some with a perfect poker face as if they are in serious business talks, others seem amused, maybe even a little tipsy, but what surprises you the most are those who look at you in anger and fear as if you were the grim reaper, coming for their souls.

“Better than being too late,” you respond with charme, your calm heart picking up in pace. 

“That is true!” the vice-CEO shouts and most board members fall into a short fit of laughter. They seem so odd, maybe they are making fun of you before forcing you to sign the resignation. You can already see the stack of paper in the CEO’s hand.

“Enough of this nonsense,” the CEO shouts. The laughs evaporate instantly, yet somehow, the positive vibes remain. The vice-CEO is grinning at you, even the CEO himself cracks a smile. He gets up from his chair, the paper firmly in both of his hands, and walks around the table towards you. Your feet seem to grow roots as he stops before you.

“Congratulations, Mr. Kwon,” he says cheerfully and hands you an—

“Official Invitation to the Board of Directors,” you read out loud in utter disbelief. 

“Mr. Kwon, why do you sound so shocked?” someone in the back asks and the CEO nods towards them with a sly grin.

“I did not inform him about our vote last week. Even Mr. Sakimoto only told him to be here today.

“Mr. Kwon, do you accept our invitation? You will be the thirteenth member, as Mr. Muentrich-Schleuser will resign next month. We all think that you are physically and mentally capable, have the pedigree and skill and most importantly, the outstanding drive to push this company forward. The growth in your department has been unmatched the past few months.”

The smooth, freshly printed piece of paper is in your hand. The other members gradually rise from their seats, all looking at you intently. They seemed so much bigger, when you entered the room, but now they are just like you. All you have to do is take the CEO’s stretched out hand, and you’ll be atop a mountain you never even dreamed of reaching. 

“D-do I have any other choice?” you say cooly, only your stutter betrays your facade. A couple of chuckles, the CEO looks at the ceiling and pretends to think.

“Well, you can’t go back to your apartment, as your successor has already been chosen. You could be transferred to Japan and lead the department there. It’d be the same pay as here but—”

He leans closer to whisper.

“—you’d have to pay more taxes there.

“What will it be, Mr. Kwon?”

#

You find yourself on the road again. Somehow, fate has you connected to your car. Whenever something big happened or is about to happen, you find yourself sitting in it, music blasting loud and numbing everything out. Tonight however, you purposefully turn the radio off and drive carefully. 

Let me celebrate somewhere; but where?

You won’t go home to your wife of course. She is more than undeserving to celebrate this moment with you. Most of your other friends and relatives are either asleep already or would ask stupid questions about Eunbi and why she isn’t celebrating alongside you. No, you need someone to not ask you about anything and just parties the night away.

Ah fuck it; strangers will do.

Park your car at the side of the road, don’t care for a ticket, hell, don’t give a fuck if someone decides to steal it. It’s used and you can easily buy a new one tomorrow if you want to. You wander down the street, busy with party-goers, drunk, high or both, some are a lot more focused and carry their drunk, high or both friends home. You loosen your tie, no need to look formally if everyone around you doesn’t either.

Suddenly, a familiar sight, a wooden structure with warm lights and that unmistakable smell. It’s almost nostalgic, magnetic, unavoidable, you just have to walk in there. As you grab the handle of the door and see the long, smooth, wooden counter, it hits you.

Oh my God.

“Oh, wow, haven’t seen you here in forever,” the bartender says when he sees you. His face hasn’t changed, his smile is the same, but you need a few moments to really recognize him again.

He takes a step back and smirks, firm grasp on a bottle of tequila.

“Well, yes, it has,” you respond and walk up to him. “It has easily been a year since my last visit, how the fuck do you remember me?”

“I have this tendency to remember people, especially because you were the last man to ever take her backstage.”

He winks and you throw your head back. Time flies, it really does, yet you find yourself sitting on the exact same stool on a very similar night with the same bartender. Even your wife is still a whore, fucking the same guys, probably right now as well. 

“So I take it that Hyewon is not coming here anymore?” you sigh and point at an expensive bottle of wine. The bartender swiftly uncorks it.

“I did not say that. She is just a lot more, let’s call it, picky. Okay, you know what?”

With an elegant pour he fills you a glass and places the dark ruby liquid on the counter before continuing.

“You can ask her yourself. She’ll be on stage in a couple minutes.”

A waft of wine hits your nostrils, but it’s a lot weaker than the words coming from his mouth. The thought of Hyewon blows you away, stronger than any liquor, no matter how high the amount of alcohol or the years it has matured. Hyewon, the kind stranger, the hot stranger, the stranger to fuck your stress out. Hyewon, the crazy friend, the bisexual friend, the let's-have-a-bar-backstage- threesome-with-this-hot-singer-friend. She was a big reason why you got over Eunbi cheating on you—but it has sadly not led you to the brightest of futures.

Maybe I should have stayed with her.

Take a sip of the wine. It’s delicious, celebratory, a drink for victors who have gained status and wealth beyond imagination, and you are now part of that group. At least you feel like it, even as the bar gets flooded with more and more people from all walks of life. Some look as well-dressed as you are, others clearly struggle to make ends meet in some months, but they're all here for the same thing.

Wait, what is Hyewon going to do on stage? Is she going to sing?

As you still wonder and savor the wine, one of the waitresses moves from light switch to light switch and slowly but surely fills the room in darkness. The crowd goes quiet as tension rises. Everyone is excited for sure, but none of them reach the level of thrill you feel when the spotlight illuminates the stage and a beautifully dressed woman appears behind the curtain.

Resounding cheers, applause, the occasional toast around you, inside you, but all you can do is watch in awe. Hyewon looks angelic, on one hand illegally beautiful, on the other illegally hot. Something about her is distant yet warm, unreachable yet magnetic, strangulating for the heart yet easy for the lunges—she is oxygen, or even better—the breathable air of heaven.

Hyewon.

Confidence in her stance which silences the crowd again, confidence in her hands which raise the mic to her glossy lips, most importantly, confidence in her voice as she starts the song with a powerful low note that almost throws you off the stool. 

It shouldn’t be such a shock. Hyewon’s voice is mesmerizing, you should have noticed it when she spoke to you or at least when she moaned, but only now you see the full beauty of it. It’s befitting of her, and you will enjoy every second of it. She carries this song gracefully, giving it a special touch that will keep the listeners yearning for a studio version, which would be an efficient side hustle for her.

Wait, what if Hyewon becomes a musician, with songs on the radio and the first glimmers of fame? What if she is already quite popular, an underground artist on the rise, from covering songs to writing her own? What if there is a whole story happening in her life that you missed entirely, just because you stuck to your whore-wife and mind-numbing job? This fear of having missed out on something this big and beautiful, maybe even life itself, shakes your heart with a strong aching, until—

Another voice. The first verse, the pre-chorus, the build-up, it all leads to another voice coming in with unbridled power and passion. It cannot be contained in the way it booms through the speakers and puts goosebumps on every single person in this room. You’re included in this list, but when you recognize the voice and see the woman step out on stage, those goosebumps turn to a full-on rush of nostalgic emotions. 

Back then, her singing was the catalyst for an unforgettable night. Unexpectedly wild, a lot of fun, but the stinging arrow of envy made things bitter-sweet for you. Watching the two of them be so close, intimate and loving had you yearning for more than just enraged sex. You wanted this too, and there was a time where Eunbi provided it. But the veil has been lifted. There is no love, just despair.

Yuri.

It’s certainly a touching thing, seeing that Hyewon and Yuri are still close friends, connected through the language of music. Apparently they were always here, right in this inconspicuous bar, pulling the stress out of people with nothing but their voices, which combine at the end of the second verse and rush ahead into the chorus. It’s an invasion of your ears, low and high, soft and powerful, caring and overwhelming. 

This performance is greatness, the best of what humanity has to offer—and you feel like the embodiment of an embittered, wasted life.

#

Yuri hits the final note with such perfection that the first few people have already jumped up from their seats and cheered without holding back. Thunderous applause is an understatement to how hard everyone claps their hands or stomps the ground. They’re shaking the entire bar, which has the bartender holding onto some of the bottles with a worried smile. You on the other hand are glued to your seat in deep regret. Not enough to make you cry, but enough to keep you from giving the two angels what they deserve. 

Take a look at your wine. It has been untouched in your glass for a while now and it’d be a waste to throw it away just because you’re facing the cold, harsh truth again. What even is true at this point? Not the stuff you promise your customers and certainly not your relationship. Fuck it, take a large sip.

“They are awesome,” the bartender gasps. “They should finally do this professionally, this stage is too small for them.”

“Yeah,” you answer with a weak smile. “Imagine an entire stadium full of people being this ecstatic. The world would hear it.”

“Well, I tried my best convincing them,” he says and looks right next to you with a sly grin. “Maybe you have more success than I did.”

Time freezes when you feel the familiar busty body around your own. You did not see Hyewon launching herself at you, don't realize what's happening until she starts talking.

"Oh my God, it has been so long! Wait, is it really you?"

"Hyewon, I, uhm, yeah. I'm me."

"It's so crazy to see you again! How are you, how is life?"

"Well, it's—"

Hyewon squeezes your body tighter. She pouts when you look down at her until you finally get it. Return the embrace and Hyewon squeals in happiness.

"You don't have to say anything," she coos softly. "I'm just happy to see you again."

"Likewise," you respond with a sigh.

You could stand around like this for eternity. Hyewon's deep breaths and her steadily decreasing heart rate start to heal you from within. The pain and suffering caused by Eunbi's constant cheating, it doesn't matter right now. You deserve a break from the mess that is your life—you feel like you can celebrate your promotion for real now.

"Hyewon, I—no, you. You were wonderful on stage. Your singing, it blew me away."

As you gush about her performance, Hyewon blushes and disconnects the hug. You notice that she has this heavenly aura around her, like she is spraying sparks of love and happiness that try to ignite everyone around her. No wonder that she had this excellent stage presence during her duet.

"Thank you so much—

"Oh, babe~ I'm here~"

You jump at Hyewon's sudden call, which is not directed at you of course. Before your eyes can search for the person Hyewon just called babe, they have already arrived. Delicate fingers entwined with Hyewon's, they both go for a quick peck on the lips.

"Yu-Yuri?" 

Your shriek makes the duo—the couple?—look at you with wide eyes, glossy and full of love for life—for each other? There is still too much to process for your brain, it can't handle another input. 

"Hey, is everything alright?" Yuri asks with concern in her voice and a caring hand on your elbow.

"Ye-yeah, ju-just not up to date at all. Are you two like… a thing?"

Hyewon has this bright smile on her face. She wraps an arm around Yuri's hip and the younger girl leans her head on her collarbone. Yuri raises a hand up to your face. There is a simple silver ring on it, and you see her eyes scintillate when she shows you it.

"We married two months ago," Hyewon giggles. "So much has happened since we met last time. I can’t really sum it up."

"Don't feel forced to explain yourself," you respond with an awkward laugh. "We had a short stint a while back, I only saw you falling for each other—

beyond that, our lives have happened far apart. But not going to lie, I'd love to hear your story if you're down for it."

Hyewon and Yuri share a glance and then start to laugh for seemingly no reason. It turns into a full fit that suddenly has you in a tight, three way hug. 

"We'd love to," Yuri says when she catches her breath again. "After all, you somewhat got us together. I told Hye that we should try to invite you to the marriage."

"Nah, it's good. How about I pay for the first round of drinks because of your amazing performance and then for the second round 'cuz I got a big promotion today."

"What if I want a third round though?" Hyewon asks jokingly.

"Babe, you can never handle three rounds," Yuri responds with sass and pulls the two of you to a nearby table.

"Looks like you just qualified yourself to pay for the third round then, Yuri."

#

"Like I said," Yuri babbles, her pitch high as the love story reaches its conclusion. "Hye was so scared to tell her father, but I had already bought the rings and planned the dresses, the cake—her mom was literally involved in everything—so on a Saturday night I poured her a third tequila shot—look how done she is after only two!"

Yuri points at her wife, whose head rests on her shoulder with heavy eyes and a rosy hue on her cheeks. Hyewon is in a drunk-dazed heaven, smiling stupidly, while trying to disagree with sounds that almost sound like words.

"Anyways, she was loose and so I dragged her over, we told him and—it was a stressful minute, I tell you that—after a minute he hugged us wordlessly. We kinda had no idea what it meant but during the wedding he looked happy, at peace basically."

"Okay, wow that is—"

Even your tenth reaction to Hyewon and Yuri's story, from threesome over dating to coming out to marriage, is cut short, this time by Hyewon groaning out a functioning sentence from her lip stick and alcohol covered lips.

"Babe, you, you forgot the part where, when you had to quit your job then."

"Oh, I'd love to hear about that too!" you quickly add, reminiscing about their amazing vocal performance. "Why did you decide to only sing for a living?"

Yuri puts on a sad smile as she strokes Hyewon's hair. Her gaze rests upon her empty glass, her orbs turn glassy for a moment then she shakes her head as if to shrug off what's bothering her.

"That's just about, you know, my former job. When I quit because we wanted to focus on music, some were angry because they thought I abandoned the team for childish dreams while others were… not so supportive of us. Ah, just forget it, it's fine."

"Sorry you had to go through it and sorry for bringing it up," you quickly apologize.

"Jeez, I said it's fine, don—"

"Let me make it up to you with a third round and the promise to meet the two of you here again."

Raise your hand to call the waiter while Yuri searches for something in Hyewon's pocket, but the older keeps nuzzling closer and closer as she dozes off. When the drinks arrive, Yuri slips you a phone.

"Put in your numbern" she whispers. "I bet she'll want to hear more from you too."

"Thank you. I assume you don't want to hear from me then?" you chuckle.

"That's right!" Yuri shouts and lifts her glass on high, so the entire bar can hear her. "I'm only here for the drinks. Cheers!"

#

Even the greatest party needs to come to an end at some point. 3am is when you pay for the drinks and call a cab. You barely find your way up the drive way into your house, which is not that bad, because now you don’t need to go sleep in the same bed as Eunbi and instead have the couch for you alone. It has never been so cozy.

Speaking of Eunbi, her acting is almost great. She apparently was so worried about you last night, and all the other nights the last couple of months. Now she found you on the couch, an obvious hangover by the way you scrunch your forehead. She puts her hand on your shoulder, rubbing it in circles, playing the worried wife like it’s in her script. 

“No, this looks wrong, I swear,” you try to laugh it off but Eunbi is just getting closer. God, you can smell all the other people on her. It’s like she showered in a dozen different men’s perfume and deodorant just to taunt you. Ignore the mocking, you’re above this. 

“Then what is it supposed to look like, babe?” Eunbi asks, her eyes wide and shimmering. “I’m willing to believe you, but you have to tell me why you got so wasted.”

“Well, I…” 

It’s best to mix the lie with some truth to the point where you might believe it yourself.

“I, surprisingly, got a great promotion, and we went out partying for a long ti—”

“Oh my God, babe, that’s awesome!”

Out of nowhere, Eunbi casts aside all her concern and launches herself atop of you. You immediately tense up. Feeling the incredible curves of her body has never felt so wrong, so traumatic. Groan and put a palm to your temple to signal her your distress, but she continues to bounce on your lap. 

“All your heart work paid off, I’m so proud!” she shouts gleefully, her arms tight around your throat in what looks like a loving embrace but feels a lot more like someone strangling you. “I almost thought you were out there getting addicted to whiskey every night.”

And you are addicted to men, Eunbi.

Addicted to sex, to being unloyal, to being creamed by other men.

You are the addict, you heartbreaking bitch.

But the words don’t come out. They run circles in your head while Eunbi’s clothed entrance rubs circles over your not-growing, not-aroused dick. You’re not going to surrender to her fuckable body, instead gently pushing her sides and groaning unduly. 

“Yeah, no, this was a one time thing. I should sober up, my head fucking hurts.”

“Should I get you some water and painkillers?” Eunbi asks and gets off of your lap to jog to the kitchen.

“Yes, please—”

—and then get out of my life.

#

The following months brought some drastic changes. Not only is your work harder, it’s also not optional anymore. You started to put up better numbers because of your overtime work, which was due to Eunbi. Now, you can’t escape it anymore. Working from 6am to 10pm is normal, hell, on some days you wish you could sleep three hours. 

But everytime you look at your new bank account—can’t let Eunbi have all the access—it all seems worth it. The pay is ungodly, you have way too much money. Even after taxes and buying two new cars to not look ‘broke’ next to all the other board members, you still have no clue what to do with all of it. Two or three more years, and you could retire wealthy beyond belief. Begs the question why these people usually don’t and continue working.

Another change to your life comes through Hyewon and Yuri. By themselves, they installed a new social life in your life. At least two times per month, the three of you meet up in a bar. You get to know new people, entirely different from you, but also basically the same. Everyone is tired from work, so it’s time to drink and party. You almost forgot how good it feels to have a variety of friends—from those that are perfect for loose parties to those that deeply care about you. 

Hyewon is the best of those friends. Nothing about your brief yet intense past seems to stick on her. She is chill around you, goofy and not at all awkward. Yuri is quite similar, though a bit more extravagant and flamboyant, which makes them the absolute gay-power couple. They just click, it’s perfect, young love. 

“Reminds me of myself.” Your lips betray you.

“What?” Hyewon shouts back, over the obnoxiously loud bass of the rock band on stage.

“Ah, nothing. Just a little envious~” you respond with fake annoyance and raise your glass for a toast. Hyewon hesitates, very out of character.

“Nah, I’m not toasting your glass before you tell me what you mean,” Hyewon says and stares into your soul with her drunk, teary eyes. Maybe she is not that drunk? Maybe you can finally open up about it?

“Really, it’s nothing.”

“Nuh-uh, tell me outside.”

And with that, Hyewon walks out the front door, you in tow as your tie becomes completely undone and your shirt is a mess. Outside you do not find privacy, just a lot of strangers talking, laughing, smoking. This time you pull Hyewon further down the street next to your parked Porsche, where it’s less likely for someone to hear you.

“Now you gotta… tell me,” Hyewon babbles.

“You are drunk, you’re not gonna remember it anyways.”

“Nuh-uh,” she says again, hitting your chest with her long, painted nails. “You need to spill it now, I’ll remember. Like I remember you only asking about me and Yuri and never talking about yourself.”

She’s spot on. You never wanted to talk about it. Eunbi’s name is pain, you don’t need to make the newfound pleasure and joy in your life go away because of her. This cheating whore—she should just go away at this point.

“You remember why we met?” you carefully ask Hyewon, testing if she is capable of understanding even though she is under heavy influence.

“Yes, your girl cheated on you.”

“Guess what: I married that girl.”

“Oh,” Hyewon says and after some delay smiles brightly. “So you talked it out and things got better? That’s why you didn’t come back, right?”

“Let’s just say that,” you gulp and your hands form fists. “Some people don’t change.”

“Fuck,” Hyewon’s pointy heels hit the sidewalk hard. “I’m sorry about that. Was it a bad divorce?”

“Huh? She still lives with you? In the same house? You share the same bed?”

“I—I did not divorce her.”

“I-I did not say that!”

“But it’s true!” Hyewon steps closer and grabs your collar. “I can see it in your eyes, you can’t let go. You hate her, but you can’t throw her away, although she deserves it.”

You want to grab Hyewon’s wrist, push her to the side and run away shouting words of denial that you are stronger than this, that she is wrong, that she doesn’t get it. However, Hyewon doesn’t deserve it—even worse, she is absolutely right.

“Yes,” you whisper.

“Yes,” she whispers and lets go. The two of you lean onto the Porsche in silence, watching customers of the bar pass by without worries, without hate, without defeat. The liquor has done wonders, turning a negative week positive. The same can’t be said about you. You feel exposed, utterly defeated by Hyewon’s words. 

“Fuck you,” you groan, face hidden in hands. “Fuck you for being right, Hyewon.”

“Sorry, but you had to hear it,” she responds and pats your back. “You need to tear her out of your life, like a terribly written chapter in a book or like awful lyrics that you wrote while high on midnight wine and sex.

“You get me?”

“I think.”

“Good.”

The world might not be good at this moment, yet Hyewon’s reassurance, her slow pats on your shoulder, her strong posture in her stunning red dress and the loving, tipsy smile on her beaming face are enough to show you the light of a better world.

“What about you?” you suddenly ask, wiping away tears you did not weep. “Something you’re hiding or keeping down?”

Hyewon looks away, her smile filling with a hint of agony, though nothing of her stunning beauty fades.

“You got me there. It’s something that’s been bugging me for maybe half a year. I know I shouldn’t but—I can’t get away from the thought, you know?”

“I would know if you would tell me,” you say playfully. Now it’s your turn to massage her shoulder, give reassurance, though you don’t know if you have any.

“It’s just that I—

“I want to have a child—my child. I love Yuri more than anything, I will never regret choosing her and only her, but this longing… it does not go away.”

“And adopting is not an option? S-sorry if that was insensitive…”

“No, it’s fine. I just want to be pregnant and raise my child together with her. You know what, forget that. It has to remain a dream.”

Suddenly, a friend of both you and Hyewon sprints out of the bar and looks around in dramatic panic until he finds the two of you. He takes leaps towards you, almost lands face first on the concrete before catching his small frame and coming to a halt.

“Hyewon,” he gasps out in between huffs and puffs. “Yuri is—she is so full, completely—you know?”

“That girl,” Hyewon sighs.

#

You return home on the same night. Your chat with Hyewon sucked out all the power the liquor usually has over you. It means that you are able to think about her words and take her seriously, but you’ll also have to live with Eunbi laying next to you, smelling like foreign sweat and cum again. You could choose the couch, but you haven’t gotten around to having it replaced with a couch where it’s better to sleep on. 

The moment you open the main door, you hear screams coming from the bedroom. Deja Vu, not the subtle kind, more like a fucking train running you over. You still remember the one time she did it almost two years ago where you caught her. This is basically the same. The same sounds, the same gut wrenching punch to your gut, hell, even the groans by the guy sound the same—

Could it be?

Eunbi, in her brand new bikini, rides the same fucking guy from back then while he has his disgusting, greedy hands all over her skin, spanking it and making her scream even louder. 

Like a silent assassin, you sneak towards the slightly ajar bedroom door. Dimmed lights illuminate the room which is filled by the smell of sex and the repetitive sounds of skin on skin. You take out your phone and use it as a mirror to catch a glimpse of what’s happening.

“You like that, you whore?” he growls at her, smiling stupidly dazed.

“Yes, oh God! Hit my tits!”

“I swear to God, your husband must be such a faggot for not immediately fucking you in that outfit. You look like a fucking breeding cow!”

“Yes, I’m cumming!”

“He can’t make you cum!”

The guy squeezes, then twists Eunbi’s breasts as she trembles, screams and squirts to an absolutely ridiculous level, one that even pornography can ot reach. She lets herself fall forward and the guy finishes inside her after a couple of thrusts. His rancid cum leaks out from every corner of Eunbi’s loose pussy. 

You almost throw up. You hurry towards the front door and hide in the back of your car. There is rage, embarrassment, pain—you can’t confront her, hell, you can’t even confront him when he leaves the house like a king, the sun slowly rising in the background. 

Your mind is empty, empty to the point it’s completely clear. You wait for Eunbi to fall asleep, then collect all the camera’s you have installed and throw them in a public trash bin. Afterwards, you clean up the house, dusting off as quietly as possible while also collecting dirty clothes to wash them (there is fucking leftover cum on some of her clothes and towels).

Lastly, you lay down next to her for a second and check if she has cleaned herself properly. 

This fucking whore, I—

“Honey, sorry for not making it last night,” you shout, pretending to come home at 5am. Eunbi shrieks and shoots up, still dressed in the brown bikini, still cum oozing from her cunt. She tries to hide herself underneath a blanket.

“Ba-babe, tha-that’s totally fine,” she responds nervously, looking very puzzled because of your tired yet bright smile.

“I saw you cleaned the house, it looks wonderful!” you compliment her.

“I, uhm.”

“Hey, even the washing machine is running—and did you bring out the trash already?”

“Well, I—”

“God, you look so hot in that bikini,” you lean down to her and cup her bountiful breasts. “I could devour you right now. Did you really wear it just for me?”

“I—

Eunbi hesitates, turns away for a second to look out of the window. She is thinking about it, clearly. This is where her final redemption can start, the way to salvation is to reveal all of her sin, the only way she can come back is to…

“I’m glad you noticed, babe,” she says with the fakest of smiles. “And yes, I would only wear this for you. B-but I’m not feeling it right now, you understand?”

You nod.

“I love you, Eunbi.”

You lying devil.

#

How did you end up here?

“Are you sure about this, Yuri?”

“Yes, do you really want this, babe?”

Yuri folds her arms and raises both her eyebrows.

“How many times do I have to tell you? Yes, I want this!”

With all doubts seemingly out of the way, the three of you make your way to the bedroom. Hyewon’s and Yuri’s apartment is small, but very cozy, the perfect place to live a relaxed, problem free life. 

But they decided to get you involved. You’re a problem here. Sure, you might have helped at starting their relationship in the first place, but now you’re here for chaos. 

Hyewon sinks onto the sheets first, Yuri’s fingers entangled with hers. Your fingers find the hem of Hyewon’s short dress. The angelic garment feels incredible, pure even in your hand and so you only hike it up with care, deeply in awe of what you’re about to see.

Meanwhile, Hyewon is a lot less pedantic and awestruck. She yanks Yuri closer, shortly fiddles with the button of her jeans and then quickly starts to undress her wife. The denim is quickly gone and before Hyewon can attack the white lace panties, Yuri shoves her lover's face into them. 

“Use your precious tongue, honey~”

Oops, you almost started to stare for too long. Better continue your hike up Hyewon’s beautiful, bountiful legs to her holy sanctuary, covered by the same lace she so greedily licks and nibbles on. Your digits hook into the white fabric and slowly pull it down, making Hyewon melt further into Yuri’s pussy. 

“You’re getting so excited, huh~?” Yuri teases and pats Hyewon’s head. The older girl nods while you start to fold her dress to finally see her wet, shaven cunt. You can smell the excitement, the arousal, the anticipation of what is about to happen to her. Now you consider yourself lucky to not have slept with anyone, which potentially avoided any and all STDs. 

It lets you create trouble.

#

How did you end up here?

It’s two days after Hyewon officially asked you to impregnate her. Tomorrow she will ask her wife in what you can only imagine will be the most stressful talk in her entire life. Today however, is not tomorrow. Today is the day you got your STD test back. Hyewon wanted you to take it for if things go her way and Yuri actually agrees to this chaotic proposal.

To no surprise, the results are negative. After all, you haven’t touched Eunbi in forever and by the way she lets seemingly everyone cum inside her, you wouldn’t be surprised if she caught anything. In the end, that was not enough however. You needed to make sure.

A bottle of champagne, neatly placed on the living room table. You put some decorations around it. Eunbi will appear here any minute, you told her you have a surprise waiting, something that will make her speechless, breathless even. 

“Hey, honey,” Eunbi announces her return, grocery bags in hands. “What is it you wanted to tell me?”

“Eunbi, I—the reason why I even took a day off is—nah, come on over! Let’s raise a glass first, shall we!”

The glasses are already filled, well prepared. Eunbi seems utterly perplexed. “Champagne in the middle of the day? Honey, what are you planning~?”

Trouble, bitch.

#

“Oh, yes, eat me, Hye, eat me.”

Yuri has started to tear off her t-shirt, the top underneath as well, to sit on Hyewon’s face completely naked. You on the other hand have only fished out your hard cock, which the incredible display of passion and erotic has surely made harder than ever. The straps of Hyewon’s dress have also started to fall down her shoulders. Finally, the chaos is coming together.

“The two of you are so hot,” you compliment and lean towards them. 

“I know,” Yuri responds in between moans and grinds her soaking pussy more and more on Hyewon’s mouth. “Your mouth is so pretty, so go-good.”

“Hyewon, are you ready?” you ask the woman below you, her nipples peeking out from her dress, her legs spread wide and invitingly and her pussy twitching when you rub up and down her labia. 

Hyewon finds her way out from in between Yuri’s thighs and rests her head back against her lover’s tight stomach. Deep breaths and eyes of absolute need signal you that yes, she is more than ready. The same goes for Yuri, who is on the one hand very fixated on rubbing and drooling all over Hyewon’s collarbone, while her eyes are focused on your cock.

“Watch him closely,” Yuri whispers. “He is going to give you our child.”

With that, you push inside of Hyewon’s awaiting pussy.

#

“What are we celebrating? Did you get another promotion?”

Eunbi looks genuinely curious. Strange, she hasn’t asked about your work at any previous point in time, unless it was about when you would be home. Keep the sarcasm to yourself, you don't want to spoil the actual surprise.

"Oh, sweety," you laugh with full bass. "No more promotions needed, we are set for life. Which is why I bought a new house!"

"No, you didn't!" Eunbi shouts and almost drops the glass.

"Careful, careful, don't spill it."

"Oh my God, you are crazy. Where is this house? Still in Korea or…"

You raise your glass towards her and smirk.

"I'll only tell you if you would do me the honor."

Eunbi reciprocates the smirk.

"Of course, darling."

The two of you set the glasses to your lips. Your eyes are wide open, your heart beats in an uncontrollable flurry as you watch Eunbi down the champagne quickly, almost in one go. You're quick to follow, while a new wind of fresh air fills your nostrils.

This should not feel this good.

#

"Ah!"

Hyewon screeches when you pierce her tight pussy open. She clings onto her wife's thighs, gripping them tightly while blurting her initial, high-pitched moans straight into the pussy above her.

"You take it so well, baby," Yuri groans and rubs Hyewon's breasts with the sweaty palms of her hands. "Squeeze him dry."

Place both hands on Hyewon’s hips and begin to slowly pump into the woman, your cock stretching her walls, filling her whole. When Yuri suddenly starts to play with the small, hidden clit above the entrance, Hyewon becomes noticebly wetter, to the point where you hear the wet sounds of her arousal. It spreads around her crotch, your crotch, her legs, your legs, the bed’s legs, until everything is a glorious mess.

“Oh, I can feel him inside you, baby,” Yuri husks as her hand roams Hyewon’s abdomen. She has gotten off her lover's face and is now gazing at it, her eyes lustful, demanding for Hyewon to be bred. “Soon, I’ll feel something else knock from inside.”

“Yu-Yuri, I’m getting close!” Hyewon screeches, her fingers wrapping around your wrists as you grip her pale body tighter and tighter as she gets tighter and tighter. “I’m about to—”

“Don’t hold back,” Yuri demands and her hand slips down to Hyewon’s clit again and rubs furiously. “I want to see you cum, cum as you finally receive this gift.”

Well, there goes the last shadow of a doubt that Yuri might have something against this crazy idea. Turns out she is even more insane than you or Hyewon. She gets off on you pounding, dominating her wife and she does the same, finally choking Hyewon’s throat gently while bringing her to a loud, splashing orgasm. From the corner of her eye, you see her urging you to not cum yet. 

If she just knew how hard this is with Hyewon wringing all over your lubricated, diamond-like cock. Her pussy sucks you in, takes your breath away, yet you are able to make Yuri’s wish come true. Just close your eyes and imagine something normal is happening, a walk in the park, a nice summer breeze, the beautiful green of the leaves—

“You are so hot, baby, eat me~”

Yuri climbs on top of Hyewon’s face again, her subtle ass turned towards you as she slams her pussy on Hyewon’s panting mouth and rubs herself all over the most flushed, most perfect features to ever graze the earth. Hyewon is barely able to stick out her tongue to tickle Yuri’s clit and it’s so endearing, you just have to make it more difficult for her.

Fold Hyewon. It's as easy as folding a piece of paper. Hyewon’s feet dangle in the air, her toes curl frantically, trying to reach the ceiling to find grip, but she is helpless. At first she lost control over her body due to the mind-blowing orgasm, now it’s because Yuri and you use her as you please. Hyewon is a tool for pleasure and she couldn’t feel more pleasure.

“Your tongue, baby, put it in—ah!” Yuri’s climax was predictable. Her small frame trembles throughout, her adorable butt is right in front of you. You take a risk and fold Hyewon further, your lips now right on Yuri’s cheek. Your lick right across it. “N-not you! B-but don’t stop now!”

So you continue. Your tongue travels all over Yuri’s cheeks, an adventure almost as good as the adventure your cock takes inside Hyewon, exploring every single place inside her scorching cunt. You eventually end up in Yuri’s butt, twirling your tongue, getting her addictive taste on your tastebuds. Sadly, you’re unable to go all out on Hyewon in the meantime, so she scrapes your shoulders, probably feeling neglected. When you look down however, she opens her mouth wide and begs in the most adorable, lewd voice:

“Share?”

You drool right into the awaiting Hyewon, transferring the taste of her wife’s asshole, but it’s not enough, you need to dive into her lips and force her tongue around in her mouth. There is no other option, you need to melt into Hyewon to give her the perfect child, a child conceived under the most ridiculous, feverish and unexplainable circumstances possible.

Yuri’s nails dig in your neck.

“Enough fun. Give her your fucking cum!”

Open your eyes a final time to find Hyewon, fucked silly, sweat, tears, girl cum all over her face and hair, eyes barely open, mouth barely closed—why is she more perfect, the messier she gets? You thrust deeply a couple of times and with a final sprint, you finish the race, with Hyewon bred and Yuri rubbing her clit in a daze. 

“Don’t pull out yet,” she babbles. “I need to—fuck—I need to get the plug first.”

#

“It needs to look like champagne, untraceable, no weird smells or anything.

“Yes, I know that that is fucking elaborate and costly, I don’t care.

“Do you want to be on the board or not? I thought so.

“We have a deal then.

“Hm? No, her death does not need to be quick.”

Infact, I want it to be as long and painful as possible.

# 20 years later #

You open the window and watch the wind splash water against the shore of Malta. This view alone is worth thirty million euros apparently—you’re inclined to agree. The blue of the ocean meets the white stones, it’s a perfect match. No matter how rough the wind comes and goes, no matter how high the sea levels may rise, these two will never betray each other.

A knock on your front door. The way she knocks is unmistakable. Ever since moving to this long forgotten, barely reachable island, you have never felt the need to hurry about anything. It’s all calm and quiet out here—you’d need to go back to Korea for your life to be busy again. But if you’d go back again, your need to see her would be too big.

You couldn’t do that to her mothers.

“Hello, dear Godfather,” the beautiful girl says with a smile and playfully bows her head.

“Hello, dear Godchild,” you return the smile and the bow. “Didn’t your mother teach you how to properly bow?”

“Which one?” she asks, not able to contain her laughter. “The one that sings or the one that sings?”

“It’s nice to see you again, Minju.”

I missed you, my daughter.

(A/N: I hope you all had a happy june/Pride month!)

[cuubism]

Hope for the Future

~2k, Dreamling, 1589 era, post-Eleanor's death, dream conversations and revelations. cw death in childbirth

Dream and Hob meet at Eleanor's deathbed, in a fashion.

--

Ages ago I wrote Patron Saint, a fic about Hob's friendship with Death. For a while I wanted to write a companion piece from Dream's POV since Dreamling is a background ship in that fic but their trajectory is different from canon. But lbr it's been 2 years and I haven't done that-- early on, though, I did write one scene from Dream's POV because I wanted to flesh out a potential moment that Death mulls on in Patron Saint, when she was visiting Hob after Eleanor and the baby died:

“So many babies die,” Hob says. “Mothers, too, I—” he runs a hand through greasy, disheveled hair. “Do you think it will be better in the future? Because I haven’t seen that much improved. Not in my time.” “I imagine so, yes,” Death says. Dream would be able to answer this question for him better. Dream would be able to tell him what doctors might be imagining solutions to the problem, what midwives were dreaming of new ways to care for their charges. Hope for the future is Dream’s business, whether he accepts it or not. She wishes Dream were here. She has a strong feeling Hob would find even his stoic pretense at apathy comforting. Caring for others is strange like that.

Anyway I wanted that scene, I wrote that scene, I didn't write anything else to flesh out a companion piece but I think it stands on its own and can be understood even without reading the original fic.

--

Dream would assert that he did not care about Hob Gadling. He was not interested in Hob Gadling, beyond a passing curiosity in his approach to humanity, sated every hundred years. He was certainly not thinking about Hob Gadling, or his wife and small child and knighthood and other life goals he’d managed to accrue in this century. 

And yet, as he felt a particularly vicious nightmare go for Hob in his sleep, not long after their last meeting, he took note. 

He wasn’t sure why he took note. Perhaps because Hob had been on such a disgusting high last they’d met, it seemed strange for this to happen now. Perhaps because he knew this nightmare particularly well, had crafted it from deep in his own soul, as he so rarely did.

He followed the thread of the nightmare. 

Hob was running. Both from and after something at once. A darkness chased him. And another darkness retreated from him.

“Wait!” he yelled, reaching for it. Smoke slipped through his hands. Hob heaved for breath, stumbling to a stop as he ran out of air. He leaned on his knees, panting and coughing. “Wait,” he sobbed, but the darkness did not wait.

The other wave of darkness caught him, knocking him off his feet so he sprawled on the ground, hands scraping on the dirt. It didn’t attack him, just hovered over him like a blanket of fog, blocking the meager light. 

“You weren’t supposed to go,” Hob said into the darkness. It didn’t reply.

It was not an unreasonable nightmare for a father to have, Dream knew well enough. But the sharpness of those dark shadows – this nightmare was not pure fiction. It was drawing more from memory than he’d thought.

“Enough of this drama,” he commanded the nightmare. “Show me the truth of things.”

The scene of darkness faded to reveal an ordinary, if well-appointed bedroom. An air of sickness hovered, and death also – Dream could feel the echo of his sister near. 

A sickly woman, heavily pregnant, lay in the bed, and it was she that Dream knew was calling Death forth. She, and the tiny baby cradled in her womb, not quite ready to be born, and now would never be.

And Hob – not dying, he couldn’t, but he looked about as close to it as a man could come. Ashen, shaky, trembling.

“I love you,” he was saying, kissing Eleanor’s hand. “You know?”

This was still a dream, and this had all already occurred, Dream knew. There was nothing he could do here, not that he would. He turned to go, feeling stiff and cold in a way he decidedly did not like, when Hob looked up, and saw him.

Dream had not meant to be seen.

“My friend,” said Hob, surprise temporarily wiping the grief from his features. “You’re here.”

“I… am,” Dream conceded, and, drawn in despite himself, sat in a chair beside Hob. 

“I’m grateful for it,” said Hob. Dream didn’t know what he could possibly be providing that Hob was grateful for. Then, “There’s no hope, is there? I mean. I don’t know why I’d think you would know.”

Dream looked at the mother and baby before him. Hob had called him friend. A friend, he thought, would tell Hob that there was always hope. But that was not what Dream believed.

“I do not think so,” he said. “I am… sorry.”

Hob sighed. He was still holding Eleanor’s hand. “I have to tell you, I– whatever I might’ve said to you at our last meeting, I’m struggling to feel any of it right now.”

“That is understandable.” More understandable, Dream thought, than his declaration of Life is rich! that Dream had found so hard to swallow.

“I’ve known others who’ve lost wives, children,” Hob said, and Dream looked down. Hob would have no way of knowing who those others might have included. “But I guess I always thought, not me, never me, never my Eleanor. Not until she was old and gray, anyway. But I guess everyone thinks that, don’t they?”

“Perhaps.” Dream thought he himself had always known the cost would come due. Destiny might have said that was one of the reasons it did come due. You make your own end. But that would not help Hob.

“It’s got to get better,” Hob asserted. “It’s got to. It’s got to stop some day, doesn’t it? All these children, and mothers dying.”

The instinct to sneer at his optimism jumped up Dream’s throat, but he managed to bite it off. He did not want to be… cruel, he realized, to someone who was suffering. Especially within a dream; dreamers’ minds were not for him to subject to his own feelings.

“In Guangzhou,” he started slowly, the dreams coming to him like a light rainfall, “there is a doctor who has just crafted a new medicine to ease pain during childbirth. She has been dreaming of it for years. In Oyo, a healer is learning to tell earlier and earlier when a pregnancy is troubled, that they might intervene in time. A few months more, and they will have it. And down the street, here in London, a midwife is just planting the seeds for the hospital she will open to help unwed mothers with nowhere to turn.”

Hob stared at him. He seemed to be holding his breath.

“Dreamers abound,” Dream said, “but it takes time for their work to come to fruition.”

Hob continued to watch him. Something shifted in his eyes, as he looked at Dream. Dream wasn’t certain he liked it. 

“You know everything, don’t you?” Hob said.

“Not everything.”

“You know all of that,” Hob mused, “all these things that are happening. And… you still come to ask me if I wish to live?”

Dream bristled, and Hob raised his hands in surrender. “Never mind, never mind, forget I said anything. You’re entitled to your own feelings on the matter. Thank you, for those stories. It helps. Truly. And I’m glad that I’ll get to see it. One day.”

“‘One day,’” Dream echoed. “‘One day’ is a time when no children die and no famine walks the earth, when soldiers break their swords before the fight, and later bread with their enemies. One day is always one step into the future, Hob Gadling. Ever-moving.”

“Aye,” said Hob. “That’s the point.” 

Dream frowned. What pleasure could be derived from wanting and wanting, and never having, he could not fathom. He had crafted nightmares thus. What hope to find in hope itself continually being dashed?

“I look forward to seeing you every century, you know that?” Hob added. “No matter what else happens. Bad days, or good ones.”

Dream kept frowning, unsure of the connection.

“It’s important to have those things,” Hob said. He squeezed Eleanor’s still hand. “Even now. Especially now.” 

In Dream’s own… aftermath… he could not imagine finding comfort in anything. What help could some nebulous future date possibly be?

“If that is what helps you,” he said. 

Hob cast him a look like he just knew that Dream didn’t get it, and it rankled. But there was no true criticism in that look. Hob looked at him with an unfathomable fondness, always.

He turned back to Eleanor, just gazing at her face with an expression Dream found difficult to witness in its softness. Were this the waking world, she would have certainly passed by now. But moments could freeze indefinitely in the Dreaming.

“Do you think I’ll forget her?” Hob asked quietly, still looking at his wife. “The details of her face, I mean? Her voice? What she smelled like? My memory’s far from perfect, and there’s a lot of time for it to fade.”

Dream knew without having to actively make the vow to himself that he would be sending frequent dreams Hob’s way to ensure he did not. He should not do so. He should not interfere. 

But.

“There are some things one does not forget,” he said.

Hob swiped at his eyes. He was crying now. “S’pose you’re right.”

If Dream was any sort of friend – and he was not sure that he was, though Hob had declared him so – he would end this dream now and spare Hob any further torment of reliving this memory. 

Instead, he sat beside him, far longer than he intended. Sat in silence, listened to Hob’s breaths, his sniffles as he cried, the subtle movements of continued life. He stayed in this sea of human endings and sickness and grief. With Hob. Something unnameable sitting heavier and heavier within him. And more than once he told himself to rise and to end the dream, and he did not. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” Hob finally said, when much time had passed and they still sat side-by-side. And it was this that finally reminded Dream that he should not be.

“I should leave you,” he said, standing abruptly. “This dream is–”

“Wait.” Hob took his hand. Dream should– Dream should yank it away in offense. He should take his leave of Hob instantly for the familiarity, the daring. 

He did not. He merely stood frozen as Hob pressed his hand between both of his own. His touch was very warm.

“Keep all those things in mind,” Hob said. His eyes still glittered with tears, but his words were steady. “Those infinite things you know about the world. Wherever you’re going.”

“I have much in mind at all times,” Dream told him. Hob had no idea how much. 

Hob smiled at him sadly. “I’m sure. Just think about it, okay? Those doctors in those faraway places. Alright?”

Dream studied him, but gleaned no additional information from it. “Very well,” he said at last.

Hob squeezed his hand once more, then let him go.

A friend might comfort him again, in these circumstances. But Dream was not certain it was necessary. He could see in Hob, even now, the spine of a man who would not break, even when he was so far down.

It was… curious.

Hob bid him farewell, eyes just crinkling at the corners. “Until we meet again, dear stranger.”

Dream stepped back into the comforting arms of the Dreaming proper, discomfited by the moment in a way he could not quite pin down, and by his own willingness to stay and engage in it at all. To involve himself in Hob’s life in a way he had not intended. 

“Until then, Hob Gadling,” he said, letting the scene dissolve around them, “this dream is over.”

[captain-mj]

I really hope this isn't too weird... I saw a tweet recently talking about a trope of "Just the tip" porn where they promise they won't put it all the way in and then do.

Completely understand if this isn't something you're comfortable with! But I'd love a SoapGhost version (if you are cool, I might ask for other ships too)

Consent is dubious. Consent is shy. Consent is in the other room but they can kinda hear it.

Ghost was just fine with their current sex life. He gave Soap a blowjob or a handjob anytime Soap got hard. He'd think he'd would be happy about that. Unlimited pleasure with no need to give anything back.

But Soap was not. He was constantly begging Ghost to let him please him too. Ghost always brushed it off or insisted not right now.

Ghost was well aware if he actually told Soap no, he'd stop. He'd be upset, maybe a tiny bit of pouting, but he'd stop. Still, he let the little game continue.

Soap stopped mentioning it for a while. Funnily enough, he never sought Ghost out. If he really thought about it, all of their sexual encounters were initiated and started by Ghost. Ghost just didn't get off.

Soap had his fingers dug into Ghost's hair, panting and whimpering as he tried not to come yet while Ghost mused. His fingers were working him open.

In all honestly, he hadn't had sex in years. After Roba, he barely had a will to touch himself, let alone allow anyone else to touch him and see him so vulnerable. It took him this long to be able to do this. In his opinion Soap should be grateful instead of greedy.

Though, that wasn't fair. Soap hadn't even seen Ghost fully undressed.

Johnny sobbed as he came, throwing his head back. Ghost kept his legs open so he could keep going for another minute before puling away.

Soap groaned softly and his hips jerked. He looked down just fast enough to watch Ghost swallow.

"Fuck, Simon. Finally going to let me return the favor?"

"Nah." Ghost stood up.

Soap looked a tiny bit defeated before looking at the bulge in Ghost's pants. Quietly, he leaned forward, mouthing at him. "Don't you want something?"

Ghost felt his cock twitch. It was a pretty picture. But he grabbed his mohawk and yanked his head away. "Maybe later."

Soap made a sinful fucking sound. He ran his tongue along the bulge in Ghost's pants. "Thank you so much, Si." Ghost wanted to think it was his excellent head giving that he was thinking him for but it was instead the idea of later.

He just didn't get the big deal.

Ghost finally gave in though. As he always did when it was something Soap wanted. He found himself surprisingly less comfortable than he expected, but he only gave off confidence, refusing to have Soap seeing him anything but. The idea of Soap finding him weak was nauseating. He didn't want to mess up.

Soap didn't know yet that Ghost was going to give in that, so he started up on it. "If we did fuck, who would top and who would bottom?"

"Don't know."

"Guess we'll have to go by dick size. You know, its completely fine if you're smaller than me. Won't think any less of you." Ghost could tell it was supposed to be a joke but also reassurance. He rolled his eyes as he looked through his drawers for new boxers for Soap.

Soap sighed. "Simon, come on. It's not fair."

"To me?" Ghost unzipped his pants, being silent so he wouldn't know.

"To me! I like helping. I don't get why you're...." Soap trailed off. "ah..."

Ghost was big. He was well aware. Judging by the look on Soap's face, Johnny hadn't thought of that yet. "There. I'd top."

Soap nodded. "I can... use my hand?"

"Where did all that bravado go? Huh? Suddenly get nervous?"

Soap laughed nervously, proving Ghost's words. "Listen.... sure I can't top?"

"Your rules." Ghost started to fix his pants again, going back to his original idea of finger Soap until he came from that. He could let Soap think about it for a few da-

"Wait... I could blow you?"

"Soap, need you speaking the next few days. I've seen the way you handle fingers." Ghost rolled his shoulders. "We don't have to do this."

Soap groaned. "You have too much self control when it comes to sex."

"I get you off and then we can move on."

Soap swallowed and looked at Ghost's cock again. Ghost could see the wheels in his brain moving. He chewed his lip and it was already clear he wouldn't let this go until he got Ghost off.

"What if I promise to just put the tip in?" Ghost asked, curious on if he'd even go for it.

Soap thought about it. He wanted to please Ghost so much. "Yeah. Just the tip. Promise just the tip?"

Ghost laughed. "Yes. Just the tip. I promise." He doubted he'd have that big of an issue with it.

Soap was already prepped which is perfect. He laid back down and let Ghost get on top of him. Slowly, Ghost positioned himself. At this point, he was praying to himself that he wouldn't come immediately. It was definitely a possibility. Gently, he started to push in, feeling the tight walls around his cock.

Ghost hear the whine that came out of him and his eyes rolled back. It felt so good. He forgot how good it felt.

Soap groaned and clenched hard. "Fuck. You're so big. Feel nice?"

Ghost bit his lip to try to shut up and just nodded. This was so much better than he remembered. Soap always wanted more... It wouldn't hurt.

"Ghost? Wha-"

Ghost pushed in more, moaning properly. He whimpered. "Don't make me pull out, fuck, please don't make me pull out."

Soap panted. "Fuck, fucking hell. You're so big. How do you even...." He clenched hard and gasped for air. "I don't think I can fit it."

Ghost started to rock his hips. This is what he had been telling Soap no over? He started to work himself in deeper as Soap continued making sinful noises.

"Si, Simon, Simon." Soap bit his pillow and let Ghost keep going. He started to thrust in with no abandon, hearing Soap's noises being swallowed.

Ghost kept pushing. He knew Soap would tell him to stop if he actually wanted to. That's how they worked.

Ghost moaned when he finally bottomed out. "Fucking hell, Johnny." He panted softly as he started to fuck him. He never wanted to pull out. "Thank you. Thank you so much."

Soap arched his back and let him keep going. Ghost heard, and felt, him come around him. He finished and came inside him.

Soap fell into the sheets and whimpered as Ghost pulled out. His hole gaped and Ghost groaned.

"Sorry."

Soap panted softly. "Don't worry about it. You can do it again, any time. I promise."

Ghost nodded and groped his ass. "I didn't mean to be so rough with you."

Soap moaned and pushed back against him. "Felt so good. So good." He relaxed into the pillows. "You got off right?"

"Yes, Johnny. Sorry for not asking."

"I loved it. Don't even worry."

[mytheoristavenue]

Day 8-

OP Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader - Winter Proposal

Summary: While walking through a snowy farmer's market, Sanji asks you an important question.

Warning: pure fluff, very short/rushed

You smiled to yourself, inhaling the aroma coming off of the disposable cup of hot chocolate in your hands. The foam dish warmed your fingertips as you took a sip, waiting for Sanji to finish up at a fish stand. Just then, he glanced back up to see you waiting, and cut his interaction with the fisherman short, before tucking what he'd ought into a wicker basket.

"Sorry, I just had to," he said sheepishly. "I haven't seen this kinda stuff since I left the East Blue. It was one our signature dishes on the Baratie, you're gonna love it-" You could hardly keep track of him when he got like this, rambling on about food and ingredients and the different was they can be used.

"I'm sure I will," you giggled. "I love anything you make."

Sanji suddenly fell nearly silent as his stare fell downcast. "I know you do..." he muttered under his breath. The truth was, you weren't a very picky eater, he could serve you rotten salad with wilted lettuce and you'd eat it. You were never wasteful or gluttonous like other people he knew. If he ever made something experimental that nobody liked, he could always count on you to give him a five star rating.

"What's the matter?" you asked, tilting your head and stepping in front of him, forcing your face into his line of sight.

"Oh, nothing." he dismissed with a melancholic smile.

"Come on, Sanji," you pressed. "Obviously something's bothering you! You're all quiet now."

"I guess I just have something on my mind is all..." he trailed, brushing passed you to continue on the path again.

"Well, out with it!" you pouted, pulling on his sleeve, making him stop again.

"It's not the right time." he insisted, pulling you along.

"The right time for what?" you whined, beginning to become impatient with him.

"You're not going to let it go, are you?" he finally asked, giving you a glimmer of hope. You shook your head persistently, prompting him to sigh and dig into his pocket. "Just remember, if this isn't perfect, you forced it out of me." he teased, sinking to his left knee. Gazing up at you with that sweet, charming smile of his, he offered you a ring. It was a simple silver band, speckled with tiny diamonds and a teardrop-shaped sapphire as the centerpiece.

Tears immediately began rolling down your cheeks as you slapped your palm to your lips in disbelief. "S-Sanji..."

"You've always been my biggest fan, (Y/N). My taste tester when I'm unsure, my sous chef when I need help, and when nobody else likes my food, I know you do. You're my biggest support and I want you by my side forever."

"S-Sanji..." you sniffled, cheeks blushed and snowflakes catching on your hair. "I don't know what to say..."

"Say yes..." he beamed, tears pricking his eyes as he grabbed your left hand and slid the ring onto your finger. "Please bel amour?"

Finally catching up with the world around you, you quickly nodded your head, sobbing as you fell to your knees with him. "Yes, a million times, yes!" you cried into his chest. "I'd love to!"

"Thank you mon tresor," Sanji sighed, pulling you closer, not caring about the market goers passing you by. "C'mon, let's finish the shopping and get back tot he ship. I'm gonna make you somehting extra special."

[cozage]

The Daughter's Return: Part 5

Parting Ways

Part 1 | Part 6 | Table of Contents | Read this on A03

Characters: Ace x reader WordCount: 3.1k CW: alcohol, drunk reader, one quick drunken kiss

Whitey’s arm around you made it a little difficult to start the day. You had been awake for thirty minutes now, but you couldn’t bring yourself to move in fear of waking her up. She had been kind enough to let you sleep with her last night, the last thing you wanted to do was interrupt her rest even more. 

“Y/N?” Whitey’s groggy voice broke through the silence, and you felt her shift.

“Morning,” you replied. “Sleep well?”

“Surprisingly, yes.” Whitey laughed. “You’d think two people in this tiny bed would make it hard to sleep. But it wasn’t bad. But why’d you end up here anyway?”

“I spilled beer all over my bed.” You had been thinking of a lie since you woke up, and it came effortlessly now. 

Whitey gave a laugh at that and sat up in the bed. “Believe it or not, I’m actually really glad that happened.”

“Oh yeah?” you gave her a perplexed look. “Why’s that?”

She gave a nervous laugh and rubbed at her face. It was clear she had something to tell you, but she seemed to be working up the courage to do so. 

You sat up, concerned at alert. “Whitey? Everything okay?”

“I was going to tell you,” Whitey said. Her voice was thick, like she might start crying. “I swear I meant to tell you the moment you got back, but things started happening so fast.”

“Whitey, tell me,” you insisted. “What’s wrong?”

“Look, don’t be mad, okay?”

“Whitey. Tell me.”

“I’m getting my own ship,” she said. “Becoming a Subordinate Captain. A few of us are getting our own crews. I’ve got a group of about 20 people.”

Your mouth fell open in shock. You weren’t sure what you expected Whitey to tell you, but you it wasn’t this. The two of you had dreams when you were younger about having your own pirate crew, but you had grown out of those dreams. You had just assumed she had as well.

“When are you leaving?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. 

Tears welled in her eyes. “Three days. We’re supposed to land on an island with a shipyard, and pops is giving us ships to send us on our way.”

Three days. That was all you had left with her. Your chest ached at the thought of not seeing her every day again. You had missed her the most while you had been in Wano. 

“I really want this,” she said. “Need this, even. I’ve been talking with pops about it for a month or two, but I told him I wanted to wait until you got back before I left.”

“Where will you go?” you asked. You could feel a lump rising in your throat. 

“Pops assigned me to protect a few islands back in Paradise with Brew and Epoida, so we’ll-”

“Brew and Epoida are leaving too?” you asked. You couldn’t help it now, your eyes started to water. 

Whitey’s eyes got wide as she realized what she had just done. 

“So everyone is just leaving?” you asked, tears starting to spill out now. You wiped them away, angry at yourself for getting so emotional. 

“A lot has changed since you left,” Whitey said softly. Her hand reached out to comfort you, but you smacked it away. 

“But we swore to stick together!” you said. You could feel your face growing hot, the magma churning beneath your skin. 

“You can come with us,” Whitey offered. “You can join my crew.”

“I can’t,” you squeaked out. Even if your best friends were leaving, your family was still aboard the Moby Dick. You couldn’t abandon them. 

“Look, Y/N, I know you feel like you have an obligation to your dad, but loyalty-”

“You don’t know anything about loyalty, Whitey,” you hissed, jumping up from the bed and storming out of the room. 

You weren’t sure where your feet were taking you until you were at his door. Your fist slammed against the wooden door as tears fell from your eyes. The door opened a few moments later, and you didn’t even try to make yourself look presentable. 

What a poor sight you must’ve been to Portgas D. Ace. You were standing there, sniffling and sobbing. You were still in your pajamas and hadn’t even bothered to brush your hair. Tears were running down your cheeks, and your eyes had to be red and puffy at this point. 

And yet, when Ace saw you, he only looked at you with concern. He quickly scanned your body, looking for any signs of injury. 

“Are you okay?” he asked, scanning your face. “Did someone hurt you?”

“Did you know?” you choked out, wiping the tears from your cheeks. 

“Know about what?” he asked. 

“Whitey,” you sobbed.

Ace sighed, running his hand through his hair, and he shut the door behind you so you could cry in public. 

“The division commanders voted on the subordinate captains about a month ago. I knew her name was on the list.”

 “You knew she was leaving and you didn’t tell me.”

Ace’s face was full of pain. “It wasn’t my news to share.”

You punched his chest. You heard him gasp in surprise, but you didn’t care. You punched him again. You wanted him to fight back, to yell at you, to do something. But he just stood there and took it. So you punched him harder. 

“Stop it.” Ace flinched as your punches grew hotter. But you were so angry, you couldn’t stop. You punched him again. 

Ace grabbed your wrist. “Y/N, stop,” he said more firmly. 

You used your free hand and kept punching his chest until he grabbed that one too. You started squirming, trying to fight him, until he pulled you into his chest and wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you in an embrace. 

You stopped fighting then, and he held you as you cried into his chest. His hand rubbed your back, trying to soothe you. 

“It’s not fair,” you cried.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered. “It’ll be okay, I promise.”

You weren’t sure how long you stayed there, but you didn’t pull away until you had stopped crying and your breath had steadied.

You wiped any remnants of tears from your cheeks. “That was embarrassing,” you sniffled, your voice still thick. 

“You’re allowed to be upset,” Ace said. He grabbed a tissue and held it out for you. 

“I just don’t want her to go.” Your vision started to blur again, and you blinked a few times to clear your eyes. 

“It’s been her dream for a long time.”

You sniffed and wiped your eyes with the tissue. Ace was right. Whitey had always wanted to be a captain, ever since she joined the Whitebeard Pirates 7 years ago. 

“It’s not like you’ll never see her again,” Ace continued. “Pops has always worked closely with his subordinate captains. I’m sure she’ll still be around. And you can still talk to her on the transponder snail.”

“We should have a going away party,” you said softly.

“Try to say that with a little more enthusiasm, maybe?”

His comment made you laugh, and he smiled in return. 

You sighed. “I need to apologize to her.”

“Probably.”

You turned to go find Whitey, already trying to think of what you’d say to her. As you opened the door, you realized you should say something else to Ace before you left. 

“Ace?” You turned back to him as you walked out. “Thanks for letting me beat you up.”

Ace gave a cheeky smile. “Anytime, love.”

Love. That’s what he had called you. Love. You had left before he had a chance to see your reaction, but you could feel your body steaming, and the air smelled of burnt hair. Your burnt hair. He was a smooth bastard, and you hated that you loved it. But now wasn’t the time to focus on your stupid commander. You had to apologize to Whitey. 

You found Whitey in your bunkhouse, packing up her things. When she realized it was you, she froze, trying to decide what she should say or do. 

You decided for her. You rushed to her, wrapping her in a hug. “I’m sorry,” you said, blinking away fresh tears. “I’m so happy that you get to live your dream.”

“No, I’m sorry!” Whitey cried. “That was a really shitty way to tell you.”

“It’s okay, I promise.” you pulled away from her and wiped at your eyes. “I was just being selfish. God, I’m going to miss you, Whitey.”

“I’m going to miss you!” She was wiping tears from her own face as well. “I wish this was easier.”

“We’re going to have a goodbye party,” you said. “For you and all the other new subordinate captains.”

Whitey laughed and returned to packing her suitcase. “One of your parties is the last thing we need,” she said.

“I have two days to plan it.” You smiled mischievously. “Prepare yourself.”

“Y/N!” Whitey called after you as you bolted out the room. “Don’t go over the top!”

The next two days went by in a whirlwind. You spent your days begging and bargaining crew members for booze, ordering the chefs to make the most decadent meals, and hanging decorations you had made. 

When a strategist plans a party, they think of everything. Which is why your parties were always so notorious for getting out of hand. You thought of drinking games, picked out the perfect musicians, and always had a backstock of alcohol. You hadn’t planned a party in years, but it’s clear that it’s reputation had lived on while you were gone. 

As the sun was setting, the deck was so crowded with people that it was hard to move around. You were always touching someone, and it became almost claustrophobic to stand. You chose to leave the main deck area and headed towards the bow of the ship, trying desperately to escape the crowds. You found a spot where you could stand without touching someone else, and leaned against the railing to watch the sunset, enjoying your drinking. 

“Hey!” Whitey called, stumbling over to you. She was already drunk, though that was partially your fault. One tankard of ale did a lot more to her than it did to you. “Come back to the party!”

“I will. Just enjoying the sunset for a moment.”

Whitey pouted. “You plan this whole big party and you’re not even enjoying yourself.”

You smirked, staring at the sea. If you looked at Whitey, you were fairly certian you would break out into tears. “Are you enjoying yourself?”

“Of course! But you should have fun too!”

It was kind of hard to enjoy yourself when your best friend was leaving. You had been diligent in pushing that fact out of your brain, but now as you watched the sunset, you realized this would be the last one you’d share with Whitey for a long time. 

“Can we just be sad while we watch the sunset?” you asked, tears starting to rise.

Whitey wrapped her arm around you and leaned her head on your shoulder. “I’m kind of scared to be a captain,” she admitted, her eyes watching the sun slowly sink behind the water. 

“New people, new horizons,” she said. “What if I make the wrong call? I won’t have Pops to back me up. It’s scary to think that I’m going to be alone.”

“You won’t be alone, though. You’ve got a lot of good, trustworthy people to back you up.”

“Yeah.” Whitey didn’t say anything more until the sun was almost gone from view. “You’ve got good people here too. Make sure you don’t isolate yourself. Do stuff with them. Have fun. Okay?”

“Alright.” You wiped the tears from your cheeks and finished off the rest of the ale in your tankard. “Let’s party.”

“Yeah!” Whitey cheered. She grabbed your hand and pulled you back to the party. People had seemed to spread out a bit more now, and it was easier to breathe and move around. 

Shots of liquor were your least favorite way to get drunk, but it was the fastest. Still, you found yourself questioning the choices that led you to this moment, where you were lined up facing five large shot glasses of rum. You had already won the game once, and you could feel the alcohol starting to flow through your veins.

“Whitey, are you trying to make me puke?”

Whitey stuck her tongue out at you. “Did your time abroad soften you?” she taunted. 

“Whitey-”

“Who will challenge her?!?” Whitey declared, holding up your arm as if you had just won a boxing match. 

You looked around the crowd and found Ace and Marco, watching your predicament with smirks. You shook your head and mouthed “Save me” to them, but they only laughed at your misfortune. 

“I’ll do it!” a voice called out, someone shuffling through the crowd. 

“A challenger has appeared!” Whitey yelled, dropping your arm and allowing your to return to your station. 

A young man appeared, one you didn’t recognize. If you had to guess, he was about your age, maybe a little older. He had red hair and piercing blue eyes that were full of rebellion and spunk. He was cocky too, because he looked at you and winked, and you almost looked away from him in embarrassment. 

He was handsome, you had to admit. You weren’t sure how you had missed his presence since you had gotten back. He seemed a bit too over the top for your liking, but he was the kind of guy who would make a good drinking buddy. 

“Uzzo,” he said, holding out his hand. 

You took it, giving it a firm shake. You opened your mouth to introduce yourself, but he cut you off. 

“Don’t worry, darling.” He brought your hand up to his lips and kissed your skin, shocking you into silence. “I know who you are.”

You quickly yanked your hand away, trying to push down the bubbling feeling you were getting in your stomach. 

“You know the rules folks, first to finish all five shots wins!”

“What do I get if I win?” Uzzo asked, looking at you mischievously. 

You rolled your eyes, tired of this long introduction. You wanted to get drunk already. “Bragging rights. Now get ready.”

Uzzo frowned, humming in disappointment. “How about a kiss instead?”

You laughed in his face. “Ask me again if you win.”

He smirked, satisfied with your response. You both readied yourself, and then looked to Whitey.

“Ready, Set, Go!” she cried, throwing her hand up in the air to start the race.

You were winning until the fourth cup. You heard Ace laugh from the crowd, and your concentration broke as your eyes searched for him. He was there, laughing with Marco. His arm was wrapped around a girl’s shoulder, and you could feel your stomach churning with envy at him being so close to someone else. 

You barely started your fifth cup by the time Uzzo finished. He watched you down the fifth cup as the crowd cheered for his victory. 

“So,” he said, watching you place down your last cup. “How about that-”

You didn’t wait for him to finish. You grabbed his shirt and pulled him across the table, your lips smashing into his. You could hear the crowd freeze mid applause, everyone surprised by your actions. But you made out with this stranger in front of a crowd, not caring who saw. A piece of you even hoped certain people would see you. 

Blame it on alcohol, blame it on jealousy, blame it on wanting to wipe that smug look off his face. It didn’t matter why you did it. You didn’t even like it all that much. You had kissed several boys before this one. He wasn’t anything special. 

You finally pulled away, and saw you had succeeded in your goal. His cocky grin was replaced with shocked, widened eyes. You could see the crowd watching you, and you resisted the urge to look over at Marco and Ace. 

“Congrats on your win,” you said. You gave him a quick wink and turned and walked away without another word.

“Holy shit,” Uzzo murmured behind you, and the entire crowd erupted into cheers once more. At least you looked confident, even if you didn’t feel that way.

You went to find a keg of beer, needing to wash down all the rum you had just consumed. The ten double-shots you had just taken were starting to catch up. Fast. 

“You are quite the graceful loser,” Marco said, taking your cup from your hand and filling it up at the keg. 

“Marco! I haven’t seen you in forever!”

“It’s only been two days.”

You clutched your chest overdramatically. “So long. It’s been so painful.”

Marco chuckled. “You’re very drunk.”

You took your drink back from him, nodding enthusiastically. “Blame Whitey.”

“Looks like she’s having a good time at least,” Marco said, his eyes watching your friend. “You threw a good party.”

“Hey Marco, I couldn’t find-” Ace stopped talking when he realized you were standing with his fellow commander. 

“Ace,” you said, your lip pouting out at his name. 

“You take over keg duty, I’ll go look,” Marco said, quickly passing the spout to Ace and bolting away. 

“Hey! Marco!” Ace called after him, but Marco was already gone. 

There was an awkward silence that hung in the air. If you were sober, you would’ve let it hang there. But drunk you was a lot more chatty.

“Are you enjoying the party?” you asked, looking at Ace. 

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine?! Rude!” you scoffed. “I worked hard on this party!”

“Then you should go enjoy it,” Ace snapped. “Don’t you have a boyfriend to entertain?”

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You rubbed your tankard against your cheek, giggling. “Just booze.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Ace mumbled, grabbing a guy's drink and refilling it for him. 

Your eye twitched. “What’s your problem?” 

“Nothing.” He was managing to look everywhere else on the ship but at you.

You scowled and stepped in front of him to block his view. You could feel your skin growing hot with your anger. “If you have a problem with-”

“Hey!” Marco cheered, and you turned to see him. “Come on! We're playing Commanders and Strategists up on the roof of the Captain’s Quarters!”

You squealed in excitement, already forgetting your squabble with Ace. Whitey’s reminder rang in your ears. You refused to isolate yourself. You had always loved Commanders and Strategists, so you took off towards the roof of the Captain’s Quarters, eager to see what kind of trouble you could get into next. 

tags! @taeyoge @teiza @tojislawyer @trafalgardnami @bloopbopsblog @dancingnewcat @dxestyi @flooofity (if you'd like to be included in the tag list, just comment or send me a message!)

[naomihatake]

In search of freedom (Ch. 6)

6. Where are you when I need you the most?

⠀⠀➺ fic masterlist

⠀⠀➺ Chapter 5 ; Chapter 6 ; Chapter 7

⠀⠀⠀⠀She's been searching for freedom her entire life and everytime she thought it was laying right in front of her eyes, she was mistaken. She was running around the East Blue, seeking herself and her dreams, meeting people she never forgot. No matter how much she traveled, she could only catch a glimpse of peace before realizing everything would crumble at her feet.

⠀⠀⠀⠀Maybe it was destiny that brought her on that ship with three strangers — foolishly, that's what she tried to believe when the moon shined beautifully and hope settled in her chest, squeezed by the same ribcage where feelings were blooming.

Pairing: female!reader x OPLA Zoro Roronoa

Warnings for this chapter: angst, graphic depictions of deaths and fatal wounds, vomiting, self-harm, brief suicidal mention, canon-typical violence. (proceed with caution since it's getting a tiny bit gore)

Word count: 9,1 k (I'm proud of myself tbh)

Theme song: fic spotify playlist (click on the link)

A/N: I'm sorry for appearing with a new chapter 9 days later and I hope the wait was worth it. I dropped more details about the Witch's past in this chapter and some interesting interactions with her other crewmates. The next week I'm free, which means there's a chance I might most two charters until next Sunday <3.

I'm always open for opinions and comments. Whatever you want to tell me, just do it, even all you feel like doing is leaving a heart in my comments or inbox. Every interaction is appreciated and thank you so much for sticking to this story till now <3

The reader is referred to as "Witch" because I have no intentions of using "Y/N".

A warm palm touched her shoulder and squeezed reassuringly, but with no effect. The witch turned her head towards Luffy, her glassy eyes betraying her. It made their captain frown with worry. The sound of her real name slipping from between his lips stung worse than expected. 

"It'll be alright," he smiled. "Zoro is a strong swordsman."

With horror painting her features, she shook her head and placed her shaking hand over his, gripping gently. 

"You don't get it, Luffy, do you?" her voice came out like a whisper. "It's not just any dwell and that man isn't just any swordsman. I've seen plenty of people dying in front of my eyes, the crew I used to be part of, they didn't hold a chance against—"

She sank her teeth in her lower lip and looked up, blinking away the tears. Her breath was shaking and the grip on Luffy's hand got tighter. Slowly, she inhaled deeply, body trembling as her lungs swallowed the morning cold breeze. 

Both Usopp and Luffy were frowning, listening intently to her words. 

"This won't end well," she concluded. "He willingly got himself in danger. Zoro is nothing but some prey for Mihawk."

Luffy's sympathetic gaze didn't help her, it didn't ease her worries as he hoped. Her panic was fed by each single thought passing through her head, by each memory making a nest in the present. 

"I've met one single Warlord in my entire life and he destroyed half of the strongest crew I ever knew at that time. I know who they are, I know their tactics, I know they're not to play with."

Both of her hands were clasped around Luffy's shoulder, turbulent eyes meeting his. The tips of her nails dug lightly in his skin, but he didn't wince or move. 

"Yes, we are strong, but still not strong enough for them," the witch intentionally lowered her voice so it wouldn't crack into sobs. "Please tell me you know I didn't argue with him because I like to. Please tell me you get what I mean, Luffy. I'm scared."

She was barely aware of her admission, but it was hard to hold back. The witch wasn't a scaredy-cat, she didn't run away, pride filled her being all too well to ever lose a battle, be it against herself or others. That time, however, she was scared out of her mind for the swordsman. 

Luffy gave her the sweetest smile she's seen in ages and squeezed her shoulder again. "He will be alright." 

She let her head tilt forward, hands falling back to her sides. His faith was greater than her fears, but he couldn't erase the panic settling in her bones. 

"You have no clue how much I wish you were right." 

It hurt. Her chest hurt and something was crawling up her throat, differently than back in Syrup Village. It made her feel nauseous, it bubbled in her stomach and gripped at her neck, it constricted her lungs and air punctured their tissue. 

Zoro just walked out of the galley exactly when the sun could be barely seen rising up from the waters. The bandana was wrapped around his head and his earrings chimed like a melody, making her head turn towards him. 

The same horrified gaze from hours ago was stuck on him and yet he chose to ignore her, passing by without even casting a glance. 

She stood there when Usopp, Luffy and Zoro walked by, her back turned to them. The witch had to collect the pieces of her broken heart before daring to glance at a list fight on the swordsman's side. Mihawk was already waiting for them right in front of the restaurant. 

She couldn't watch another dear person die. Not again. 

Her fingers dug painfully into her palms, until her nails left crescent marks on the skin, until it hurt so badly the tears in her eyes couldn't fall. Their synchronized steps beat like drums, just like her heart. 

Everything was blurred out. She didn't dare look until she heard swords clashing. Like a snap, her head turned. 

Mihawk stopped Zoro's attack with one small knife. 

He had no chance against the warlord, just like she guessed. 

No, she thought. I can't be pessimistic now. Maybe at least he'll get out alive—

But pirates don't just let their dwell partners live, the other side of her conscience commented. 

Each one of Zoro's attacks were either stopped or dodged so easily by Mihawk, who seemed like he was playing rather than fighting. He was so light on his feet, body moving like a feather between Zoro's blades. 

The warlord sent her green-haired crewmate flying back with a mere push of his knife when he blocked yet another one of his attacks. When Zoro got back to his feet and rushed towards him, Mihawk continued dodging each one of his attacks. 

The witch could only hear a muffled conversation from a distance. She didn't even notice when Nami passed by her until she saw orange strands of hair bouncing in her vision. 

The navigator didn't come from the restaurant, as she should've since she searched for a drink — or that's what she said. She walked from the other side of the dock. Her hands trembled by her side and she walked slowly, fearfully, her body so stiff, until she stopped behind Luffy. 

The witch focused for so long on Nami, her gaze fell on Zoro only when the right side of his chest was penetrated by Mihawk's knife. 

Air got stuck in her throat and time stopped in its tracks. Her feet were stuck right where they were and she couldn't move an inch. 

Zoro, his name lingered in her thoughts, the sound of it along with the sweet chiming of his golden earrings. 

Time stretched like an elastic. Seconds passed by at an agonizingly slow pace, as if the Universe itself decided to torture her with that image. 

Swords. Corpses. Blood. Fear. 

The witch let out a shaky breath while she trembled like a leaf in the breeze. 

Zoro made a step back, the knife slipping away from his flesh. With a few other steps, he fell to his knees, with his swords digging into the wooden battens to keep himself steady. 

Mihawk curled his fingers around the hilt of the sword on his back. 

It seemed like he decided to end it all right then and there. 

The witch didn't know if it was her imagination when Zoro seemed to glance towards her for a brief moment. All she knew was that her heart sank into her stomach and she could hear the audible cracks of her soul. The green-haired man took his white sword, placing it in between his teeth. 

His gaze moved back to Mihawk so quickly she could barely register it. Her stomach turned upside down and her chest tightened when she saw Zoro rotating his other two swords faster than the brain was able to comprehend. 

Mihawk and Zoro jumped into the attack at the same time. She didn't know if their swords collided or not. 

Zoro fell to his knees again, panting. The swords in his hands crumbled into pieces all the way to the hilt, right in the middle of the runes the witch drew hours ago on the blades. His Wado Ichimoji fell from between his teeth. 

He didn't stop there. Of course that fucking idiot didn't stop. He used the white sword to get up, resting his weight into it until he finally stood straight again, turning to Mihawk. Carefully, he sheathed his Wado Ichimoji. 

With his arms held in the air and hands curled into fists, Zoro didn't let go of his word as he proudly admitted:

"Wounds on the back are a swordsman's greatest shame."

The warlord said one word the witch didn't hear and then, with a swift motion, his sword cut deeply through Zoro's chest. 

The green-haired man fell on his back, eliciting a shout of his name from Luffy. 

Zoro. 

His name was all the witch could hear while she rushed to his side, tears blurring her vision, tears she couldn't afford to show. 

Just like he did a few moments ago, the witch got to her knees, eyes focused on the t-shirt getting soaked in Zoro's blood. 

"Fucking dammit," she spoke in a hoarse voice, hands trembling. 

He was bleeding heavily, the dark blue nuance of his shirt replaced by dark crimson. The wound started from under his left clavicle and curved through his chest, all the way to the right side of his ribs. Without a second thought, the witch took off her unbuttoned shirt and folded it, just to press the material on his large wound. 

"Monkey D. Luffy," Mihawk said. "what's your goal?" 

"I'm going to become the King of the Pirates," Luffy responded through gritted teeth. 

The witch's burning gaze raised to the warlord who stood tall meters away, putting his sword back in place on his back. Her fingers ached to touch her revolvers and shoot holes through that man until she's satisfied, until the monster lurking in the depths of her soul had its blood thirst quenched. However, her hands remained pressed against her shirt, trying her best to stop Zoro's bleeding. 

She's always been revengeful when people dear to her heart were harmed. Revenge she never denied, a trait of hers she's accepted long ago. 

"That's a much more treacherous path than even defeating me. This world could use a few more wild cards."

"Go fuck yourself," the witch let out with wrath burning in her eyes. 

She clenched her jaw and her eyebrows knitted together into a deep frown. Anger filled each corner of her being, blinding her almost all the way up, filling her to the brim. 

One more drop and she would lash out. 

Zoro's safety was more important than her rage and she was completely aware of that. The wounded swordsman was the only reason why she stood still by his side. 

"It's too soon for him to die," and with that, Mihawk's gaze fell back on the green-haired man. "Roronoa Zoro, grow strong and come find me. I'll be waiting."

Fucker, the witch's thought wasn't voiced out that time while the warlord walked away. 

"Luffy," Zoro spoke in such a soft voice. 

The witch and Luffy immediately looked back at him. He was struggling to breathe properly, that mere motion probably making his entire body ache painfully. 

"If I fail to become the world's greatest swordsman," he faintly spoke, barely able to open up his eyes. After some greedy gulps of air, he continued: "you'll be disappointed. Right?" 

With a shaky breath, Luffy smiled at him as tears gathered in his eyes. 

"You could never fail me." 

The witch could feel her body shake when she realized the swordsman's life was hanging on a thread. 

"Never again. From now… until I beat him," Zoro continued talking in between panting. 

The witch wished she could tell him something, anything, but all she could do was continue pressing her shirt over his wound. Looking at him in that state made her heart squeeze in the cage made of ribs, wishing she could be in his place and take his pain away. 

With trembling hands, he somehow managed to draw his Wado Ichimoji out of its scabbard, holding it up as he looked up at the blue sky. 

"To become the greatest swordsman… I will never lose again!" he let out with a shaky breath, voice scratching at the witch's eardrums. 

One of her hands curled around his shoulder and squeezed firmly, intending to bring his attention to her only for a second. 

"I'm sorry about what I said, alright?" she gulped down hard, her voice cracking. "You need to live, yeah? I know you'll become the greatest. I'm sorry, Zoro, I'm sorry." 

She was sorry for lashing out at him. If they were to part ways in that moment, then she'd rather make sure he never believed she was mad at him, that she didn't hate him even for a second. It was a feeling her heart wasn't capable of harboring towards him — never him. She would've ripped her ribcage open and given him her heart if she could. 

The witch could only hope his tired and pained self heard her words, even as his eyes closed immediately after his arm dropped to his side along with the sword. 

"You better stay alive," she whispered while looking down at him. 

Her words became muffled from his perspective. All he heard was his name being spoken multiple times by Luffy and Usopp. 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

The witch has been sitting on the floor of her shared room with Nami for a while now, ever since the navigator started reading. Zoro laid unconsciously on her bed, bandages wrapped around his torso. For a long time, she didn't even dare look at him. 

She will be eternally grateful for Zeff's help — the chef cook of Baratie who snitched Zoro up and told them to do whatever was necessary to keep him alive, be it telling stories or singing sea shanties. 

Despite the fact that Zoro's wound wasn't bleeding anymore, her heart still screamed at her. 

With knees pulled up to her chest and her forehead resting in between them, she wrapped her arms around her stomach, subconsciously protecting herself from God-knows-what. She couldn't sleep either, despite listening to Nami's alluring voice as she read from a book. 

The bandage on her upper arm was worn out and it's been longer than a day since Zoro wrapped it. It was dirty with blood from the time when she intentionally squeezed it before sobs could leave her lips. 

Nami stopped reading, but the witch didn't register the lack of sounds surrounding her until she heard a voice. She didn't bother to raise her head, keeping her eyes closed as she responded:

"Can you say that again? Sorry, I wasn't paying attention." 

"Pull yourself together," Nami whispered. 

The witch knew that if she'd look up, she'd see a scolding or maybe a worried pair of blue eyes staring at her. 

"I will when the situation asks for it," plainly, she dismissed the navigator. "Until then, I couldn't give less of a fuck."

She was aware of her position, of how small she looked, curled like a ball against the wall, hugging herself and praying to every God she knew that the swordsman would wake up. It was pathetic, but there was no wiser way to hide her overwhelming pain. Wrapping around herself sounded like the most helpful option. 

"There are a few things you two should talk about when he wakes up," Nami closed the book with a small thud. 

"I'd tell anyone anything if I knew he'd wake up," this time, her voice trembled lightly. 

The witch swallowed the lump in her throat that's been sitting there uncomfortably for hours, with no positive effect. The only way to even her breathing was by holding the air in her lungs for a few seconds and letting it all go with a long exhale. 

"Nami."

Only then, the witch raised her head. She looked deplorable, with disheveled hair and sunken eyes, dark circles under them from the lack of sleep. Her chapped lips were red because she ripped the skin off with her nails again. There was no sign of life on her face. 

Obviously, she's had better days. Everyone did, probably. 

"Maybe it's because I'm sorrow-drunk and can't bring myself to hide it anymore, but I have to tell you something."

She's been debating on whether or not she shall tell Nami about her suspicions ever since she pulled out those two cards out of the tarot deck. 

"I know you're hiding something, but you can't hide it from me."

The truth has been spoken. With her heart beating loudly in her eardrums and threatening to break her ribs, she continued. 

"I know. You're planning betrayal."

The navigator's eyes widened as panic flooded in her soul. The orange haired woman had no clue where all this came from, didn't know how fuck she found out about that, when and why—

"I didn't tell anyone."

"Aren't you getting ahead of yourself?" came out Nami's sharp response. 

"I never expected you to admit it, if I am to be honest."

The witch rubbed her palms over her face and sighed heavily, as if a weight was pressed on top of her body. 

"I also know there's more to the story. I don't know what or who you're protecting yourself from, I have no clue exactly why you're doing all this, but there's one thing I know for sure: the world is sitting on your shoulders, yet you refuse letting us help you carry it."

Nami stiffened in her chair. Her back straightened and her empty gaze pushed the witch out of her thoughts. 

"Are you jumping to conclusions because of some stupid cards?"

"They definitely know more than me."

"Did you read you should treat your paranoia in there too?"

"While I admit there are times when I have crippling anxiety," the witch calmly stated, "I'm one hundred percent sure this isn't just a fairy tale. It's your choice to tell me or continue to keep it for yourself."

"But?" her voice lowered dangerously close to snapping. 

"But we're not your enemies, Nami, and you know that well."

Not an answer the navigator expected, definitely. 

"Zoro is unconscious on the bed and you're talking in metaphors — have you all gotten insane on this ship?" 

"If I did, it was long before stepping on The Going Merry," the witch let out a stiffled laugh. 

She dropped her forehead on her knees again, squeezing herself tighter in the embrace. The witch wasn't any less panicked than Nami, since opening up such a discussion scared her deeply. It was better than hiding and lying, though, and it felt less guilty. 

"Why did you tell me this?" Nami asked with a whisper. "Be it right or wrong, why would you?" 

"You don't deserve to be lied to, Nami. It makes me feel bad — hiding this from you made me feel like garbage from the start."

Even then, a gram of her guilt vanished. 

"You're weirdly honest. You're aware this will haunt you one day, aren't you?" 

"It's been haunting me since I got born," a sour smile painted the witch's face. 

"The devil must've put some kind of curse on you." 

"I only believe in evil spirits, sorry."

She didn't know where that soft laugh came from. Maybe it was her way of copying with the anxiety, with the pain. All she knew was that she hoped Nami wouldn't hide from them forever. 

"Is there anything else you want to accuse me of?"

Faster than Usopp's snapping, Nami was once again serious, and the witch didn't have to look at her to figure it out. 

"I never accused you. I know I'm right, but I'm not aware of the entire truth. You, on the other side, are aware of your own reality and I believe in your judgment. I hope you'll make the wisest decision and I'm saying this from the bottom of my heart." 

"That's rich coming from someone so suspicious."

She's always been that way, the witch had to admit it. It wasn't only anxiety or tarot readings, there were times when she was straight up acting and thinking like a paranoid and it was cutting years off her life. Worrying and thinking over and over again, being hyper aware of everyone's actions, including her own. 

Nami resumed her reading, her voice strained this time, as if she forced herself to talk out loud. Each syllable sounded rougher than the other, but that didn't stop the navigator from telling that story. 

The witch wasn't paying attention, instead focusing on the moments spent with all of them, just like last night, when they were all eating and teasing each other. She needed to talk to Zoro, to tell him again that she's sorry. 

Maybe he didn't hear me clearly before he fell unconscious, she wondered. She moved one of her arms and curled her fingers around the wound on her bicep. It stung good. If it could stop the stream of tears threatening to fall, then it was good, no matter how much it hurt, how the pain sunk deep into her bones, making her flinch. 

There was something she wanted to clear out with Nami, but before the witch could speak, approaching steps made her mouth close shut. The presence felt light once her senses registered it, like a sparkling piece of hope — Luffy. She remained like a statue, breathing so slowly it was barely obvious she was still alive. 

"Why did the king have to kill him?" he asked innocently. 

He was referring to Nami's telling. 

Without even having to glance up at him, the witch knew he was feeling unwell. There was no light in his voice and he sounded unsure of himself, so disoriented. 

"Sometimes, when you are in charge, you have to make the tough decisions," she muttered between gritted teeth. 

The witch knew where this conversation was heading. 

"Why does everybody keep saying that?" 

Luffy's voice desperately tried to reach out to the orange-haired woman.

Judging from the creaking of the chair, Nami got up from her seat as she spoke:

"Because you could've saved Zoro. He didn't have to fight Mihawk, but you let it happen. "

A few seconds of silence filled the room with thick tension. 

"Look at her," Nami pointed with her chin towards the witch. "It looks like if he goes, she goes too. If one of us crumbles, everyone does. Look at us, at how we're handling it, at how Zoro does or, better said, how he doesn't handle it."

The witch couldn't understand why she was suddenly part of their conversation or why Nami took her side and tried to protect her from some unknown entity.  Probably, she really looked worse than she thought. A sense of relief patched up one of the countless wounds under her skin when she figured out the navigator said all those things because she cared.

At the very same time, she knew Nami's words must've made Luffy suffer greatly, pushing her to raise her head and give her friends her entire attention.

"Nami," the witch intervened gently. 

"You're in no place to talk," she cut her off quickly, her eyes like turbulent seas. "We're all a mess and it's all because of his stupid decision. But he could've been stopped," Nami turned her head to Luffy again. 

"Nami, stop it," the witch furrowed her eyebrows. "Fighting will do no good. We've argued enough last night, there's no need for that anymore."

Nami was panicked and stressed out of her mind as well. Everything gave her away: the trembling hands, the shaking voice, tone close to breaking in a million pieces with each word, even the tears that gathered in her eyes. However, no drop rolled down her cheek. 

"Tell me, Luffy," Nami vehemently continued with a tensed expression. "Would you see him like this? He might die."

Stop saying that, please, the witch thought as she took in another breath. He knows. Everyone knows. Please, stop saying he'll die because I might believe it too. I want to believe in him, not in whatever life changing lesson the universe gave me. 

"And I'd do anything to save him," Luffy whispered with a tender smile on his face. 

Me too. I'd rip my heart out of my chest and give it to him. I'd rip off my flesh and put it on his wounds. I'd die if I knew my life would be given to him. 

"Anything," Luffy continued. "Except stand in the way of his dream." 

God fucking dammit. 

"We all have dreams, but we outgrow them," Nami clenched her teeth after she spoke. 

"Is that really what you think?" Luffy's smile held so much hope. "Don't you have a dream?" 

"Yeah. Right now, is for Zoro to not die in my bed," the navigator let out in a strangled voice. 

"Isn't there something that you want? Something more," the straw hat whispered. "More than anything else in this world."

When the witch looked at Nami, it was obvious she was on the verge of tearing up, her nostrils flaring. Her eyes were already bloodshot. 

"Not everyone gets to follow their dreams."

Nami didn't wait for any of them to respond before she walked out of the room. The witch got to her feet and tried to catch the navigator's hand in hers, but she wasn't fast enough. All she could do was glance at Luffy and place both of her palms on his shoulders, just like he did at the crack of dawn. 

He looked at the witch with a hopeful and equally worried gaze. 

"I know you meant the best when you encouraged him to follow his dream, Luffy," the witch squeezed his shoulders. "It's alright. Nami knows that as well. She's worried, like all of us. We all said hurtful things to each other lately."

His lips trembled when he attempted to say something, but he didn't dare to anymore. Instead, he searched for reassurance. 

Was he in the wrong? Did Zoro get hurt because of him?

"It's not your fault," the witch continued with a tiny smile on her face. "I promise you. Everything led up to this. It couldn't have been avoided, unfortunately. No one could've stopped Zoro — you know he's a stubborn asshole."

Luffy scoffed. 

"You know I'm right."

"I do," the straw hat nodded shily. "I think…" he gulped down, looking at his feet. "Maybe I can clean his sword for when he'll wake up."

"I'm sure he would be grateful about it. I'll stay here a bit longer."

She didn't let go of Luffy's shoulders until he moved away. Just to ease her concern, he smiled faintly at her before leaving the room. 

Looking down at the unconscious pirate hunter, the witch couldn't believe her eyes. She gulped, not even daring to grasp at his hand, scared he'd break even because of a feather-like touch. She took in a deep breath and closed her eyes for a few seconds, opening them again only to see the same man in the exact same position. 

She was scared for him, for his life. She didn't want to be a nuisance and stop him from doing what he believed would bring him happiness. Or maybe that word was too much — but winning against Dracule Mihawk would've made him proud, it would've fulfilled a promise he made to someone long ago. She didn't know who was at the other end of the promise, but he seemed to be a man of his word, so trying to stop him turned her into a selfish person. 

Her eyes were locked on his face, brushing with the back of her hand some small droplets of sweat on his forehead. She was worried out of her mind, now regretting she didn't do more to stop him, to make him change his mind when he was maybe too drunk to think twice. 

"Be careful, Zoro," the witch told him back then, her gaze betraying the worry crippling through her entire being. 

She was right. He should've been more careful. He should've been less reckless, should've listened to Nami and her, even if Luffy encouraged him to chase his dream. Was it really worth it? 

Once again, she sighed. She was selfish, greedy, it was wrong to think that his dream wasn't worth the entire world. Heck, even she would do anything for him, just to see him open his eyes again, just to hear another bored or witty remark coming from between his lips.

Instead, he was silent and still, only the slow movement of his chest visible as he breathed. It was the only thing that managed to bring her an ounce of comfort.

At least he was alive, she continued telling herself. 

It was clawing at her heart, messing with it, her thoughts roaming around, jumping one on top of another. She was overthinking again, the worst habit she could've had — or that's what she silently believed for years. 

The witch should've fought with him to death back then, when he was stubborn enough to throw Nami's words at her while they argued. Maybe it would've made him change his mind. As she continued looking at him, she worthlessly tried to take some of the blame for what happened. 

Hidden under his bandages, the same wound made the woman standing by his side believe she saw the Death Reaper, even if he was the one unconscious on a bed. 

Carefully, she sat down next to him, without taking her eyes off of him even for a moment. 

"You're kind of worrying us all, y'know? Luffy is in denial of your possible death and Nami seems restless. Usopp is too silent for his usual self," she whispered. 

Her first instinct was to touch him, but her fingertips hovered above his hand. She didn't know if it would've been right to seek the warmth of his skin while he wasn't even awake. All the witch could do was hope that deep down in his soul, he felt and heard all of them. 

"I'm worried too. No. Worried is an understatement. I'm terrified," the words trembled as they left her lips, the same chopped lips she sank her teeth into. "I'd rather have you call me an idiot," she chuckled sourly. 

With slow and careful gestures, she gathered enough courage to caress his hand with her fingers, feeling small cuts here and there. He was still warm, which eased a few of her worries. 

She made a long pause, staring at the seemingly lifeless man she would give her life for.  

"Remember when we drank together on the deck, two nights ago?" 

A fragile smile appeared on her face at the reminder of that night. She stole the last drop of his bottle before he could finish it with a grin, playfully nudging at his ribs. He failed to threaten her about how she owes him something for that. He was handling his liquor better than her and yet, he couldn't hide his smirk or the sparkle in his eyes. 

That night, bottles later, the witch got dizzy and tipsy. At first, she almost fell into a sea of melancholy after she shared pieces of her with Zoro. She doesn't remember how, but he got her laughing way too easy with his remarks and some silly stories. 

"You're flushed already," he pointed out back then. 

"You're kinda rosy in the cheeks as well, swordsman." 

At that time she damned the alcohol for the soft gaze she had when she looked at him. Her eyes were sparkling with adoration when they danced on his face, peace sinking in her very bones in his presence. She shouldn't have drank. It was so obvious that she had a soft spot for him, that he had a special place in her heart not even a month after they met. 

And who was at fault for her drunken state that night? Roronoa Zoro, obviously. He was at fault when she giggled and talked too much about too many things at once, so much more passion in her words than usual — was that even possible? he thought to himself. She always had a light and warm way of talking, her voice many times giving away her feelings. 

A promise was a promise, even if she didn't wholeheartedly accept it from the beginning. She surrendered quickly and told him that yes, she owes him something, maybe a secret. 

The witch remembered everything the next day, but acted like her memory had faded. The realization hit her hard the next morning, when she figured out her irrational fear of sharing secrets. She shouldn't have made that promise, so she played dumb, as if the conversation they had was forgotten about. 

"Maybe it's not exactly a secret, but I like it when you call me by my name."

Maybe he hears me. 

"I didn't hear my name being spoken for a long time. It makes me emotional every time, with no exception."

You're a crybaby, he should've said. 

Her hand fully settled on top of his while the witch continued to slowly rub her fingertips into his skin, trying to bring herself back to earth even if her thoughts were sailing through unfortunate memories. 

"I wasn't called by my name for years after my father became a pirate," she continued the story that started during their drinking night. "He aimed to become an Admiral and he was part of the Navy Forces for half of his life. For a long time, he thought he could do better than his comrades and hoped he could change the corruption that took place in the Government and the Marines. Insane, right?" she let out a sour chuckle. "An Admiral becoming a pirate. Everyone called him insane."

Once again, she smiled at the faint memories of her father's warm smile. There were details she didn't mention that night on the deck, like the status of her father in the Navy. 

"I didn't reach ten yet when he left. He considered it would've been dangerous to stay with us and, if I am to be honest, mom would've kicked him out of their home."

Their home, because that place was never her home. 

"Calling me by my name would've meant he still has ties with me and someone might've taken advantage of that."

Nine years ago, the witch was a child who only learnt how to use a kitchen knife for cutting vegetables. That child has been stripped of her innocence a few years later. 

"A few times a year he would visit me. He would hide from the Marines, while I would hide from my mom. I still remember how he was so much happier. He looked younger, like he was living his teenage years and not his thirties. Except for a few days I'd stay with him and his crew, he was roaming around the seas. He never judged a single soul, believing it wasn't his job to do so, even if he would protect anyone who needed help. He changed the meaning of a pirate in a good way."

She turned her head towards the window, watching the blue sky mingling with the sea and the port of Baratie where people were walking on the wooden battens. 

"He was caught by the Marines while he visited me and killed in the center of the city," her voice lowered to a gentle whisper, just like the breeze coming from the open window and giving her goosebumps. 

She remembers that moment all too clearly, eyebrows knitting together as she squeezed Zoro's hand lightly, hoping it would bring some comfort to her shattered heart. 

A life that felt like an eternity already made her believe her name was like damnation for anyone who said it. A few syllables being spoken and you'd be cursed to die one way or another, since her mother refused to call by the name her father chose when she saw light for the first time. Her father and his crew were the only ones calling her name so dearly, with honey latched onto their voices, treating her like a daughter. 

She was someone's daughter when she was with them. And now, by Luffy's side, she was someone's friend. 

"I don't want to watch you die too," only then she looked at him again. "Don't die on me. Don't leave us alone."

There was determination in her tone, mingling with pain and sorrow. Half of her believed in him the same way she believed the sea was blue and that leaves were green. The other half drowned in anguish. 

Zoro seemed almost serene, despite the small frown that never left his face. She took in a deep breath and moved her hand away from his, only to lean over and rest her elbows on her knees. 

She needed some fresh air. 

The witch got up and left the room in a hurry, before tears would've slipped down her cheeks. She pushed it all aside, holding it in, since there was no time to weep at anyone's grave. Zoro was still breathing, even if half dead. 

He will get better. He had to. 

She walked into the galley. Standing up in front of the table was Sanji, wearing only his white and blue checkered shirt, the black jacket suit abandoned on the armrest of the couch. He was cutting some vegetables, skillfully holding the knife. 

On the cushions sat Luffy, cleaning Zoro's white sword, just like he said. Meanwhile, Usopp was the one to notice her first, leaning with his hands prompted onto the wooden table. Nami couldn't be spotted anywhere. 

The sound of her own name almost made her flinch. The witch blinked quickly, looking at Usopp. Both Sanji and Luffy looked at her then. The latter had some deep puppy eyes — her heart aches at that look alone. 

"How is he?" 

"Unconscious," she breathed out softly.

She let out a sigh and ran her fingers through her hair, her eyebrows pulled together. 

"I suppose you haven't eaten anything since yesterday," Sanji smiled gently. "Anything I could make for you?" 

"I appreciate it, really, but I don't have an appetite," she dismissed him with a faint smile of her own. 

"You could use some energy, you know," Usopp mumbled. 

"You, Luffy? What would you like to eat?" Sanji got back to chopping the vegetables. 

"I'm not hungry right now. You could make something for Zoro. He'll surely be hungry when he wakes up!" 

Their captain still had hope bubbling in his chest and it was the only thing keeping them all afloat. 

However, the witch couldn't bear to think about it anymore. She spotted her shirt hanging on a nail in the wall, close to the couch. With a quick gesture, she grabbed at it, intending to put it on herself until the heavy scent of blood filled her senses the second time that day—

The shirt was soaked in Zoro's blood from the time when she used it to stop the bleeding of his wound. Nausea crawled up her throat and she unintentionally dropped the piece of cloth when she became aware of the sickness settling deeply in the pitch of her stomach. 

Fuck, fuck, fuck. 

With a hand covering her mouth, she rushed out of the galley, on the deck, the doors shutting harshly behind her. She leaned over the railing as the acidic taste made its way up her throat and on her tongue. 

A disgusting sensation, truly. 

She's seen blood before, she saw countless corpses laying at her feet, but nothing could compare with the vision of a dear person giving their last breath. She couldn't believe she vomited because of blood, such a normal occurrence in her life.

But it wasn't just any kind of blood — it was Zoro's and it sunk into the material of her own shirt. 

She will have to throw it away. There's no way in hell she would manage to ever wear that again, even if it would be clean and smelling like lavender.

Tears clung to her eyelashes when she opened her eyes again, looking down into the sea. She was breathing heavily and she regretted swallowing her own saliva, as the awful taste lingered in her mouth unpleasantly. 

Warm fingers touched her shoulder and before she saw whose hand it was, there was a glass of water being shoved towards her. When she glanced up, she saw the blonde waiter. 

"Thank you, Sanji," she took the glass from his hand, sipping slowly as the gentle weight on her shoulder disappeared. 

"If I knew such a beautiful lady was waiting for me to wake up, I would've opened my eyes much sooner."

The waiter — who could apparently also cook like a professional — said that in a somewhat flirtatious tone. Also, there was compassion lingering in his honeyed voice. 

"If Zoro would hear you, he would've thrown you overboard."

Nami. 

The witch didn't even notice her on the deck until that moment, her head snapping towards the navigator, her eyes sparkling with hope as she gripped at the glass in between her fingers. Nami was a few meters away from her, with her back facing the sea and her hands curled around the railing. 

The witch has seen Nami's expression countless times when she looked in the mirror after a crying fit. The same bloodshot eyes and puffy eyes, the red tip of her nose and the husky voice. 

"I don't remember you having sea sickness," Nami pried into her soul. 

The witch looked towards the water at the bottom of her glass, ashamed of her own reaction. 

"Because I don't have sea sickness," the witch whispered weakly, basically admitting her vulnerable state. 

She was more than just thankful Sanji chose not to elaborate on the reason behind her reaction. There was still acid sitting on her tongue, even after she gulped down the last droplets of water from her glass. 

"Where are you heading to?" 

The witch noticed when Nami straightened her back and walked away, towards the dock. 

"Maybe I can find another drink at the restaurant," Nami waved the back of her hand at the witch. 

That sounded very familiar to a lie for some reason, but was it the witch's place to comment? 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

Familiar fear made its way through her body, scratching underneath the skin, whispering in her ear like a mantra the same phrase her mother has always told her: "there's nothing you can do about it, so accept it." 

Those words always unsettled the young witch deeply. She heard that voice everytime she hid in a room with the books her grandmother left behind, pages filled with tarot and palmistry, the promise of real magic, different from the fairy tales. It sounded and felt palpable, her eyes sparkling. Those books were her treasure, a future filled with freedom. 

The same words were being shouted in her ears by the ghosts when her body stiffened in its spot. She wanted to scream while the man who was her father was dragged away by Marines, this time on the port of Baratie, not in her hometown. 

The deafening yell she wanted to let out was silent. Her lips didn't even part and her awareness slipped away as she continued to see blood pooling at her father's feet, his signature royal blue coat painted in crimson. As if her vocal chords broke before she opened her mouth, no sound left her lips. 

"He deserved it," sounded so clear in her ear, as if her mother stood right beside her, watching the same scene unfolding over and over again.

No, no, I can't let him die! I need to do something! Please, dad, you can't—

The man who stood proudly was dying, his body decomposing right before her eyes. A sickening view, as the skin melted off the meat, leaving only bones and tendons behind, covered by heavy clothes, two empty holes in his cranium instead of beautiful sparkling eyes. Blood dried on the white bones and sunk into the material of his coat and it flowed towards her, to the tips of her boots—

"Luffy! Arlong is here and he's after you, we have to leave now!" 

The witch gasped loudly, her eyes snapping open. Nami, who just entered, was panting heavily, fingers gripping at the edge of the doorframe. 

Who's Arlong? 

She noticed Luffy who just got up from the chair he was sitting on, right by Zoro's side. Usopp had his fingers curled around one of the ropes holding the bed in the room hanging in the air. 

There were no dead corpses around. Gosh, that nightmare was scary as hell. Her heart still drummed in her eardrums, blood rushing through her veins at an alarming pace. 

She managed to get on her feet, her palm glued to the wall to support herself. 

"Where do you think you're going, Luffy?"

Nami was panicked. Her fear grew steadily, just like fire, and she was on the edge of cussing out that entire bunch of confident idiots. 

"We can't let Arlong hurt people just because of us. He might kill everyone if we don't step in."

Luffy was rarely so serious, but the situation asked for it. However, the navigator was anything but happy with his suicidal decision. 

The witch turned her head towards the unconscious swordsman. She took in a deep breath, calming the waters threatening to destroy her mind. Then, her warm gaze raised back to the navigator who squeezed the map in between her trembling fingers. 

"You'll stay here and protect the ship, Nami," Luffy smiled reassuringly. "I trust you."

The orange haired woman searched for a different reaction from the witch, but received the same determination. 

"Have you all grown insane?" she whispered in horror. 

The witch made slow steps towards her and engulfed her in a warm hug, wrapping her arms around the navigator's body. She squeezed her gently, resting her chin on Nami's shoulder. 

"Something is troubling you greatly. Don't lie to me," the witch whispered in her ear softly. "You've got something in your head and you're pushing all of us away. We trust you, even if it'll bring us our death."

That's what scared Nami the most. 

The witch parted just to look into Nami's troubled blue eyes. 

"We'll be alright. We have to be. We'll figure it out together."

She had no clue how much Nami wanted to believe her, but it was impossible to do so. The navigator knew better what danger awaits them in Baratie now that Arlong appeared, that monster—. 

Right. That's what pirates were: monsters. So why did the ones in front of her look like friends instead of demons stealing her life away? 

The witch squeezed her shoulders and smiled so warmly, so calmly, different from the agitation they would face. 

For one second only, Nami dared to believe. Then, it crumbled to her feet when Luffy and the witch left her room with one glance back at Zoro. 

•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•┈┈┈•

The witch found herself in the restaurant once again. Her fingers gripped tightly at the gun she held, finding comfort in the familiar weight settled in her hand. On purpose, she stood behind the other three men, sharp eyes scanning her surroundings carefully. They were lucky they chose to enter from the first floor, since she could easily hide. 

She wasn't hiding for the reasons some would think of. The witch intentionally stood on the side, analyzing the situation. First of all, she had to find the smallest opportunity to find a weak spot for that fishman. From her spot, still glued to the wall and hidden from everyone's eyes, she focuses on Luffy's conversation with Arlong. 

"I expected someone… bigger," Arlong commented with a wide grin, sharp teeth on full display. 

He could definitely be classified as scary, but the witch didn't want to admit that to herself. Was he dangerous? Of course. 

"Me too," Luffy commented. 

Alright, maybe Luffy had far more confidence than she thought, since he dared to make fun of that fishman, angering him. It wasn't enough that Luffy was hunted down by Arlong, he had to make him angry as well—

What was she scared of? 

She took in a deep breath and a few seconds were enough for her heartbeat to beat at a normal pace. The witch didn't have enough time to worry about consequences, she had to find their weakness quickly and act on it. 

While her focus slipped from them, Luffy was already walking down one of the two pairs of stairs meeting up at the first floor of the restaurant. Arlong threatened the straw hat about something and the first thing she heard was the deafening sound of a shotgun. 

The same sound was followed by a soft chiming filling the silence. 

Her chest tightened since no groan of pain could be heard from anyone. When she glanced at the people downstairs, she saw Zeff — the cook who stitched Zoro up — with a gun pointed at Arlong. However, the fishman only turned his head back and cocked an eyebrow at the cook. 

The bullet was most probably what caused that chiming sound. It seemed like fishmen's scales were bulletproof. 

Fucking great. Her long range fighting style wasn't to her advantage. 

An ounce of fear uncomfortably gnawed at her courage. The witch hated that helpless sensation, as if there was no escape, as if that was her dead end. 

Her fingers gripped tighter around her gun, until the skin turned yellow. 

I can't chicken out now. I don't have the luxury of turning my back against a fight in such a critical situation. 

She swallowed the lump in her throat after she bit so hard onto her lower lip she tasted copper on her tongue. 

Everyone has a weakness, right? Fishmen must have one as well. 

On the floor below, Luffy threw his stretchy arms at Arlong, with his hands curled into fists. Zeff was harshly thrown into a table that broke down, making Sanji jump into action as well. Usopp was the only one that remained upstairs, uselessly hiding behind the decorative wrought iron railing — he could be easily seen. 

Crouching down to Usopp's level, the witch slowly walked towards him with the gun still in her hand. When his eyes fell on her, he blinked like a confused owl. 

"Guns don't work!" he whisper-shouted at her, horror painting his features. 

With a sigh, she grinned cheekily. 

"Are you running, scaredy-cat?" she taunted him with an arched eyebrow. 

"Are you insane?" he frowned when she was a few inches away from him. "You can't seriously believe your gun is gonna do any damage to those monsters." 

Glancing down between the iron bars of the railing, the witch spotted other two fishmen getting up from their table. So there were three in total. 

With an unusually serious tone, she stared into Usopp's eyes, determination oozing out of her. 

"You can't run now, Usopp. I hope you're aware of that."

"Even you hesitated for a second!" 

His nervous demeanor and his over-thinking habits got the best of him at that moment. He was equally scared and amazed by the witch's courage. 

"That was before I realized there's no going back. Usopp," she lowered her tone, fingers gripping at his shirt to bring him down from the clouds. "If you choose to run away, you will never become a brave warrior of the seas. Do you hear yourself? We're not running anywhere. We have to fight if we don't want to leave Luffy and Sanji to deal with the fishmen on their own." 

She wasn't exactly good at motivational speeches, but that seemed to shake his soul well enough. 

"Now help me find out their soft spots so we can bring those idiots down before they destroy this entire restaurant and eat us alive." 

Bullets couldn't penetrate their scales. She didn't know if blades could work any better either. Also, Arlong alone had the highest bounty in the East Blue, not his friends. He was most probably much stronger than them. 

If she could bring down at least one of the other two fishman, it was also a win. 

Then, an idea popped into her head. 

Their eyes. 

They didn't have anything protecting their eyes except for the fact that they were sunk into their faces. With her aim, she had a chance to shoot one of them. She had to take advantage of the fact that no one knew she was there and making a plan. 

Taking in a deep breath, the witch placed the gun between the iron bars and aimed at the fishman with ridiculously big lips. She wasn't exactly that far away, but she had to concentrate. One single miss and everything would go down, since her presence would be obvious and her hand to hand fighting skills weren't that well developed against raw strength. 

She waited patiently, Usopp still by her side. Once the fishman stood still, turned towards her, she pulled the trigger of her gun. 

The bullet struck his eye and he groaned in pain, receiving a proud smile from the witch who quickly hid behind a table from upstairs, dragging Usopp with her. Her heartbeat was so fast in her ears it could leave her deaf. 

She had to pull herself together. 

"You've got good aim," Usopp's voice trembled. 

"Thanks," she breathed out heavily, eyes closing for a second. 

There was an entire tornado in her soul. The witch knew there was no place for running away, but she was equally aware of her disadvantage against fishmen who fight with their fists. 

Zoro would've loved the thrill of this fight. 

But he wasn't there to joke about her being a scared little lady. 

And Nami wasn't there to yell into her face and tell her to wake the fuck up and help her find a better plan. 

Before she had a chance to notice, Usopp was crawling down the stairs on the left once an idea popped into his head, or that was what the witch thought. 

She felt a certain presence walking up the stairs on her right and her eyes widened. The other fishman spotted her.

"Here you were, wench," he spoke with a growl. 

She didn't have enough time to scramble to her feet before a rough hand wrapped around her neck and lifted her up in the air, pushing her against the wall. She could barely even groan when her breathing was restricted by the awfully strong grip the fishman had on her throat. 

Her gun fell from her hand and hit the floor with a weak sound. 

Uselessly, her fingers grabbed at the muscled blue arm holding her up, feet a few inches away from the floor. Compared to him, her grip was weak, insignificant. 

The witch was never the type to necessarily wish to live, but she certainly didn't want to die in that moment, when others' lives were hanging on a thread. 

Also, she didn't want that ugly fucking fishman with big lips to be the last sight before she closed her eyes forever. 

Dammit. 

Tag list: @emelia07 @dimplewonie @tfamidoingwithmylife @murnsondock @the-skys-musical-echo @conspiracy-crows @hallow33nz @ramae17 @gaslysainz @bunntsu @katt58 @katiemrty @hopefulrascalstatesmantoad @freyademartel @boofy1998 @ponyboys-sunsets @melsunshine @loveyluv7 @waddlingwanderer @jesssssmaybankk @nadlx33333 @yoong1c0re @untoldshortsofthefandoms @mizzy-pop

[coffeeadict61]

Humans Are Weird: Female Rage

Report: #298

Topic: Female Rage

Rage: Violent or uncontrollable anger.

I have studied the human race for months now but today is the day I have learned to fear them. Forget their unpredictable bodies, or overly complex inventions, or the horrific moments that crowd their history. It was only today I feared for my life in the presence of a human being.

I often record anger in incident reports and the like, but women make up a very tiny proportion of that. They tend to "keep their cool" ( a human turn of phrase) better than men on average. This doesn't seem to be a natural attribute but more of a learned survival mechanism against violence and abuse. It only seems to break the surface in grief or after years of trauma. But the new astrophysics intern Colette [Last Name Redacted] showed me a new human emotion. Rage.

Our ships astrophysics department was partnering with our engineering department to design a small weapons craft to protect us from the "space pirates" or looters we keep encountering. I had created a bond of "friendship" with little Colette, I suppose little doesn't fit. She is above average height and slightly underweight, (she is having trouble adjusting to our menu due to "texture issues" which I need to educate myself on). Moving forward. She came to speak to me on a very serious matter a week ago exactly while I was on my daily rounds. This was the reason I was behind schedule, she has, and I quote, "little legs" in comparison to mine. Colette spoke of the weapons project she had been assigned too. She spoke at length about her supervisors who wouldn't listen to her. She had discovered a bug in the engine system. A four that looked like a nine or something of that nature, and believed it to put the test pilots in danger. She requested that I ask management to promote her so that her voice would be listened too. I tried to calm her worries but she was insistent so I told her I'd try to bring it up in the next meeting. That meeting was yesterday. In the six days between our conversation and my turn to give my reports for the management council, I had talked myself out of my promise. I figured that her superiors knew best and she was just ambitious and maybe she didn't see what she thought she saw. Regardless, it is the biggest regret I carry.

The test flight launched today. The entire crew was given an hour additional break to watch. Colette tried to prevent the launch, arguing with the head scientists, trying to show them test she ran digitally, but they had security pull her back. She came to find me, asking if I spoke to management. I didn't answer. The announcer counted down in human numerals.

10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 LAUNCH

I breathed a sigh of relief as the craft glided safely away, but Colette didn't, she didn't move an inch. The projects leader gave instructions through a radio. The experimental engines roared to life. Then, a moment of silence. Before the entire space craft was engulfed in a cloud of fire and gas. The silent explosion shook the floor beneath us as gasps and screams gave it a voice. The entire crew was killed. Many of them, friends or family of the onlookers. The onboard medic, the project leader's son and Colette's young husband. She collapsed to the ground sobbing, unable to stand on her shaking legs. I couldn't get her to move. I didn't try very hard.

Security swarmed the crowd, pushing them back from the windows and herding the grieving crowd to the different living areas. Many had to be carried. I carried Colette.

Hours later, after an emergency meeting and a meal, everyone was in bed. All but the council, security, the engineering department,and the astrophysics department. We sat in heavy silence as the project leader explained the error that lead to this tragedy. I studied him closely. No tears, just a stone cold face and a tremor in his hands. Suddenly the doors crashed open as Colette burst in. She wasn't grieving now. Colette grabbed the microphone from the leader's hand and threw it at the wall. It went straight through. Then she spoke. Shaking slightly, controlled rage gave the impression of bullets falling from her mouth with each syllable. "Murderers. You are all murderers." No one moved as we took on the weight of her statements. She spoke again but this time it was wasn't controlled. This time her rage wasn't an undertone but the message. This time she screamed it in a voice that echoed around the room and shook with each new sob.

"I TOLD YOU! I FING TOLD YOU THEY WOULD DIE! WHY DIDN'T YOU LISTEN TO ME?! HOW COULD YOU KILL THEM LIKE THAT?! IT'S YOUR FING FAULT!"

She broke anything within reach. A mug, "THEY WERE YOUR TEAM!" a chair, "WHY DIDN'T YOU PROTECT THEM?" a table, "YOUR OWN SON AND YOU STAND HERE CALLING IT AN ACCIDENT!" her voice. "IF YOU HAD BELIEVED ME AND MY EVIDENCE INSTEAD OF PLAYING F***ING POLITICS…"

She stopped. She stopped screaming, stopped crying, stopped expressing her pain. She bottled it up and wiped her face with her sweaters sleeve. She just stared at him. Taking deep breaths as he shook under her gaze. "Why didn't you listen to him? To me?" He fought back his tears and straightened his jacket. "Abe knew the risks-" Colette stepped forward and punched him hard, his nose making an audible crunch. Blood stained her knuckles as she hit him again and again. Finally I got up and grabbed her around her middle, pulling her off before she went to far. The leader whimpered and leaned on a table as she fought to get to him. To tear him apart. Finally she just stood rigidity holding onto me. "Never say his name again. You aren't his father. You're a murderer and you never deserved Abraham." She spit at his feet.

"Coward."

I pulled her out of the meeting hall, locked her in her quarters, and stood guard. I relive her plea for me to approach the council on her behalf. I cannot deny my part in the crew's death and doubt I'll ever forgive myself. Colette will surely never forgive me either.

In conclusion, I advise the guilty professionals and researchers transferred and tried. Both for the safety of our crew and themselves. Their professional licenses should be revoked no matter the outcome of their individual trials. We also need to form a mental health department and start providing dietary options for all diets and sensitivities. I also advise (though I recognize my lack of authority on the matter) that crewmember Colette [Last Name Redacted] be released of all charges and assigned a personal therapist of her choosing. As for the other loved ones of our lost crew, they should also receive support options and memorials for their lost and any other requests we can fulfil. I pray we never have a similar story to tell the next generation.

Human Observer #5743

[kit-williams]

To be held in your arms...

Male Lead: Roland Female Lead: Universe/AU: Warhammer 40k/Yandere Space Marines Canon Status: Yes

Note: This is for everyone who requested for a prompt about Roland holding his child in his arms for the first time. Baby is going to be referred in the gender neutral as I got even amount of prompts for him holding a little boy as well as a little girl. I'll explore more of it after fluffuary.

Also thank you everyone for being so kind over this fluffuary!

He missed it and he knew it but little could pull Roland away from the front lines. While he wanted to be there for her... if he didn't go the danger that could eventually come back to the ship would certain kill her. His job was to keep his Bäckerin safe... and their new kinder. The extra hours out of the tight corridors of the heretical vessel... the rites of blessing... the rites of removing his armor... the prayers after... it all was pushed to the front of his mind to stave off the disappointment.

It was well into her sleep cycle when he can finally go and see her. The midwife leading him to the room she was now in as she goes over the medical details that he knows his Bäckerin will recount in far less of a clinical manner. The door opens silently as he feels so large in such a small room... the midwife coming over to wake her up...

"Why wake her?" He lets it slip out of his mouth.

"Feeding time." The older woman says as his Bäckerin groans looking at her glumly and exhausted.

"Just five more..." She pleads.

"And then your babe will be five more closer to dying. Come now this is the most important part." The midwife says with some warmth in her voice.

He stands there quietly as it smells like cleaning fluids and blood... it smells like her blood... hidden under the sheets and covers as she just opens the gown and presses the wriggling flesh to her breast. "Please little one latch." His Bäckerin tiredly sobs.

Part of him twitches as he watches his beloved being moved roughly as well as his child. But he can smell something... underneath the sterile smell. "There just a bit of a stubborn one. Oh you have a visitor my dear."

"I do? Who?" She says so very out of it still and the midwife just points over to him as his Bäckerin looks over her shoulder at him with those large owlish eyes surprised that in her exhausted state she didn't hear him or see him.

"I'll be back in a bit to make sure everything is fine." The midwife states as she pets her head affectionately before leaving the room.

"Roland." His Bäckerin says smiling and utterly tired.

"Bäckerin... I'm..." He shuffles awkwardly as he's not exactly sorry he missed the birth to keep her safe but.

"No need dear... there is always next time." She says smiling. "Come here... they won't bite... not for several months." She says laughing softly.

They looked so tiny... so fragile... so new... he reached a hand out before pulling back not trusting himself but he runs a finger across their back as they nurse from Bäckerin.

"I haven't named them yet... I wanted to wait for you and well I've been a bit out of it from how long it took... and the pain meds... and just... everything. " Bäckerin says with her usual carefree way of talking with him perhaps even more relaxed in tone and nature. "Take your shirt off."

He looked to his Bäckerin confused, "Bäckerin are you sure you're not still on the effects of pain medication?" Roland said with a slight joke in his voice.

"Oh most certainly I am but just do it. Its for the baby's sake. And sit down maybe lean back a bit."

"I don't see-"

"Just trust me."

Roland normally was hardly concerned about others seeing him in lack of attire... he relished his Bäckerin seeing him like this but he was heavily reminded by the midwife before she went into labor and the Chaplain that Bäckerin could not have sex for at minimum a month perhaps even two. But he sat there shirtless just watching her wobble to her feet as she rolled the medica bassinet over, "Hold me."

"Always." Roland replies just putting a hand on her side as she picked up the bundle from the bassinet.

Their eyes look so big on their small head... he remembers all the things that the midwife told him were normal and not to be mistaken as being an aberration. He watches her eyes look at his chest for an area that didn't have a port and then she laid their child on his chest.

His hearts stilled for a moment as he could feel their tiny heartbeating against their chest... they lacked a smell... besides being covered in blood and other fluids... he held his breath as this... this was their child. His eyes focused on their small little nails... he could hear their small inhales... he feels his cheeks wet as there they were... finally here.

"Hello there little one..." He says softly... in a fearful whisper as he breathes life to the next few words, "Ich bin dein Vater... oder Papa." His hearts hurt at the sudden swelling of feeling for this tiny little human that was not even a day old yet.

Roland turned his head and rested it against her side as her fingers ran through his hair with a warm smile looking down at the crying man, "Thank you.... thank you Bäckerin for giving me this."

"Well thank you for making it all happen. It takes two of us to make this." He feels her kiss his head as she uses the time he takes having the baby rest on his chest to sleep as the fear Roland had for the tiny mortal creature they made evaporated in an instant... what was the weird wriggling fleshy thing was their baby... far too soon to say what features are from whom... but he didn't care as he loved them. Just as he loved his Bäckerin and he hoped to love more while he had his time with her.

Fluffuary TagList: @bispecsual @the-californicationist @egrets-not-regrets @libraryshadow @bleedingichorhearts @liar-anubiass-blog

[daydreaming-en-pointe]

╰┈➤ i won’t sleep till you’re safe inside.

Pairing: Pavitr Prabhakar x Sister!Reader (platonic obviously)

Type: Fanfic - Fluff -> Angst

Word count: 8.5k (🫢🤯)

Warnings: NOT CANON-COMPLIANT! (I’ll make a list of everything that’s probably not canon but is for this fic) colour-coordinated dialogues to make it easier to understand who’s talking, starts out fluffy but evolves into angst, cussing, reader is desi, usage of Hindi (translations given, except for the Sheila Ki Jawani song), hahaha culturedumping & projection go hand in hand 😭

Some Goldenmodel (is that their official ship name??) too! (pls they’re literally so cute 🫠🫠)

A/N: Basically where Pavi loses his sister instead of Gayathri :D

The numbers at the top of every section indicate Pavitr and the reader’s age respectively (reader is older than Pavi) :)

Andddd the Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar hc continues 😁

Probably (Definitely) Non-Canon List:

-reader’s existence basically since she’s the daughter of Maya Aunty and Uncle Bhim (so she’s not technically his sister she’s his cousin but close enough!)

-I actually have NO idea how Pavi’s parents died or anything abt them so I’m basically making stuff up hehe

-Reader also gets the scholarship to Mumbattan that Pavitr got, but for a different subject

-kinda waffling on Bhim’s death since I’ve never actually read the comic where he died so idk much of anything

-Reader helps Pavi make his webshooters (kinda)

-Pav may be a teensy bit ooc I apologize for that

-there’s probably a lot more but none I can pinpoint specifically right now

(this is the song that Pav sings btw)

title inspo:

Will you call me to tell me you’re alright?

Cause I worry about you the whole night

Don’t repeat my mistakes

I won’t sleep till you’re safe inside

(Safe Inside, James Arthur)

——— ———

4 & 6.

“Didi!”

You stifled a giggle, peeking out from behind the tree you were hiding behind to see the tiny boy scrambling over rocks and protruding tree roots, his eyes squinted in concentration as he searched for you.

“Come out, come out wherever you- ai!” He cut himself off with a sharp squeal of surprise, stumbling backwards as you leaped out and bared your teeth like the demonic rakshasas that seem to lunge right off the pages of your mother’s - Pavitr’s aunt’s - mythology books.

“Not fair,” Pavitr complained, glaring up at you and crossing his arms. His nose scrunched at the injustice and you laughed, sticking your tongue out at him and ruffling his hair.

“Totally fair.”

“Nahin! Pura cheating! Didi, tum hamesha dhokha deti ho!” (No! Fully cheating! You always cheat!)

“Oy, Pavi, main kaise dhokha de rahi hai? What nonsense you’re talking.” (How am I cheating?)

“I’m telling Maya Aunty that you’re being mean to me.”

“Wait-”

“Arrey, both of you stop squabbling and come up here,” Maya Aunty’s voice carried down into the lawn from the veranda as she poked her head out of the kitchen. “I made gajar ka halwa. Come eat before Bhim gets back and finishes everything.”

Pavitr’s eyes lit up at the mention of the carrot dessert, all earlier frustrations forgotten for the moment. “Race you!” He turned and darted across the lawn, his hair bobbing as he kicked up clouds of dirt under his shoes.

“Pavi, how is this fair?!”

——— ———

6 & 8.

“Didi! Checkmate! I win!”

“Ai, Pavi, that’s not… chess doesn’t work like…” He turned to you with big, shining eyes, grinning from ear to ear because he thought he had won. You trailed off with a resigned sigh, not having the heart to tell him that he had just got his own king killed.

“Wow, Pavi, you’re getting so good at this! You’re a natural!” You ruffled his hair affectionately, despite his protests and attempts to fight you off.

“Y/N! Yahaan aao!” (Come here)

You immediately perked up, eyebrows drawing together as you heard your mother’s voice, only… something was off. She sounded like she was holding back tears, the beginnings of a raw sob lingering in her throat.

“Haan, Amma? Kya hua?” (Yes? What happened?) (Amma/Maa just means mother)

She sat hunched next to the balcony, a phone in her slack grip. Your father - Pavitr’s Uncle Bhim - knelt with his back to you, holding her and rubbing her shoulders comfortingly. Tears fell from her eyes and the only sounds that split the air were her jagged heaves between soft sniffles.

“Amma? Papa, what happened to Amma?” Unease twisted in your stomach, knitting your eyebrows closer together as you moved forward and grasped your mother’s hand.

Your father turned to look at you and you inhaled sharply.

That was the first time you had ever seen your father cry.

“Pavitr’s parents were involved in an accident,” He struggled to keep his tone even for you.

“An accident? You mean…”

“Yes, beta. They’re… they’re gone.”

Your breath hitched and you backed away slightly, steadying yourself against the wall behind you.

You didn’t know much about what happened - and it would probably stay like that since you were ‘too young to bother yourself with the worries of the adult world - but you knew one thing for sure.

This is going to break Pavi.

I can’t let that happen.

You heard soft patters of bare feet on the marble floors and looked up just as Pavitr’s dark hair disappeared to the side of the doorframe.

Not trusting yourself to speak without breaking down mid-speech, you got up and left without a word, patting your mother’s hand sympathetically on the way.

You found Pavitr sitting against the tree you used to play hide and seek around. He pulled his knees to his chest, resting his forehead on his kneecaps and raising his head when you approached. “What happened, Didi?”

You grasped at words that would help convey it, but to no avail. How could you tell a 6 year old - one who was essentially a brother to you now - that his parents had died?

You had two ways out.

…I should tell him.

“Pavi… Maya Aunty will explain, but… basically, you’re going to be spending a lot more time with us - with me. How does that sound?”

Pavitr grinned, his eyes shining - and of course he had to look like a trusting puppy. Of course it had to make you feel guilty the moment those words, a romanticized version of the truth, left your lips.

“That sounds awesome,” He said happily, half-turning to wrap his arms snugly around your waist in a hug. “We’ll have so much fun! You can finally teach me how to play kancha and lagori like you’ve been wanting to! Right, Didi?”

“…yeah. You’re right.” You leaned down to kiss the top of his head as he nestled comfortably against your side, the strands of hair tickling your chin as you rested your head on his. You felt tears starting to well up as the depth of the situation hit you at full force.

Kaayar. Coward.

——— ———

9 & 11.

“Didi!”

You looked up from your schoolwork as Pavitr burst into your room. “What’s going on?”

“Maya Aunty said there’s some sort of… scholarship? They said we have to go to Mumbattan!” Your eyes shot wide open and you pushed your chair back from your desk to follow him into the kitchen. What scholarship? Mumbattan?

Maya Aunty had told you both that she had submitted samples of your writing and a few of Pavitr’s blueprints for futuristic designs he had come up with for various robotics competitions, but… you never thought the entry would ever amount to anything.

“Amma, Papa, yeh sach hai? Did we get a scholarship to Mumbattan?” (Is this true?)

“Haan, beta.” Your mother looked slightly tired, weary - but ultimately happy. The happiest you had seen her in quite a while. Your father patted your head affectionately, a large smile on his face. “Well done, both of you. Mere champions.” (My champions)

The moment dissipated like it was never there in the first place when Maya Aunty’s eyebrows scrunched together with worry once more as she turned to Uncle Bhim. “Arrey, Bhim. Hum kaise kharch uthayenge? Mumbattan mei, woh kiraaya-” (How will we afford this? The rent in Mumbattan-)

The moment you heard those words, you let out a soft exhale and took Pavitr’s hand, gently tugging on it and leading him away from the ‘adult’ conversation. By now, you were almost conditioned to do your best to avoid conversations that always got your parents stressed out and sometimes led to frustrated breakdowns which simmered into tearful apologies and doubtful plans.

“Let’s go play kancha, Pavi. I’ll even let you start this time.”

You ran out onto the lawn with him, your hand holding onto his smaller one tightly as if you could protect him from all the harm and sadness and worry that the world had to offer.

——— ———

11 & 13.

“Didi!”

“Don’t didi me. You agreed to this, remember? You brought this upon yourself,” You said between giggles that got increasingly louder at how ridiculous he looked.

Maya Aunty and Bhim Uncle were both out buying groceries, and Pavitr was so bored that he accepted your challenge to see who could balance more than five stones on their forehead. And if he lost, you would get to do his hair and makeup.

That was why he was currently sitting in front of you, bright pink eyeshadow on both his eyelids and wearing the brightest red lipstick you could find. He winced in pain, loudly protesting every two seconds as you tried to put his wavy hair into a Dutch braid. He had let it grow out over the past few months, and at the rate he was going, if he left it for even a little while more it’d be longer than yours.

“You need a haircut, Pavi. I think you might be getting split ends…” You couldn’t help but chuckle at the expression of pure horror that crossed his face at your words, which quickly turned to annoyance. “Shut up, you’re just saying that because you’re jealous- ow!”

“Whoops.”

“You did that on purpose.”

“Did not.” You looped a rubber band onto the ends of the braid, finally finishing and tilting your head to critically examine your handiwork. “There, you’re all done.”

Pavitr glanced at his reflection in the compact mirror you offered him. “Wait, I don’t look that bad. I can pull this off pretty well, actually.”

“Sure you can, sweetie. Let’s do your nails now.”

“You’re the absolute worst.”

——— ———

12 & 14.

“Didi! Rise and shine!”

You groaned softly, turning over onto your side. “Get out.”

“Aww, that’s so sweet and definitely not a prime example of you being mean to your younger brother. Seriously though, we have to get going soon for school.” He expertly dodged the spare pillow you threw at him, deciding to kneel by your bedside and stare you in the eyes like some psychotic cat.

“Not everyone’s a morning person, Pavi. Besides, it’s 6 in the damn morning. Come back in another hour.”

Pavitr didn’t respond, just started humming a tune and tapping out a familiar beat on your bedside table, using two pencils from your desk’s mug of stationery as makeshift drumsticks.

“I know you want it but you’re never gonna get it, tere haath kabhi na aani…”

Your eyes shot open as you recognized the song. “No, Pavi, I swear to God-”

“Maane na maane koi duniya yeh saari, mere ishq ki hai deewani…” Stifling laughter, he backed out of range before you could smack some sense into him with another pillow.

“Pavitr! Stop!” You chucked a pillow at him, sitting up and staring at him in utter astonishment at his song choices.

“Kisi aur ki mujhko zaroorat kya, main toh khud se pyaar jataun! What’s my name, what’s my name, what’s my name…?”

“Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, if you don’t stop singing that song right now-” You lunged forward, trying to grab him and muffle the lyrics of the Bollywood song he was singing - granted, he wasn’t a terrible singer, and in fact he could sing in Hindi quite well, but out of every song he could’ve chosen… this? “By the way, you missed a few lines, but that’s not the point! Stop it!”

“My name is Sheila! Sheila ki jawani! I’m too sexy for you, mei tere hath na aani-”

Chaos ensued in the next few seconds. Pavitr, who had been running around your room doing whatever choreography he could remember from the scene with that particular song in the movie you had both watched, tripped on the fallen pillow and fell flat on his face.

You had been chasing him around and tripped over him, rolling over and landing beside him. Luckily, you managed to break your fall with your palms.

“How’d the ground taste, hmm?” You asked, offering a hand to help him up.

“You’re mean,” Pavitr complained, taking your hand and pulling himself up. You fixed his slightly ruffled hair, a little surprised at how soft it was. Was he already going through the phase of being obsessed with how he looked?

“Yeah, well. You’re in my room at 6 am singing one of the sluttiest Bollywood songs you know, so… you’ll live, buttercup.” You gave his head a rough pat, turning to reluctantly make your bed - might as well, since you were already awake - as he hovered over your shoulder with a grin.

“But hey, it did get you up, didn’t it?”

——— ———

13 & 15.

“Didi! Where are you? I need to tell you something!”

“…I don’t understand. What are you saying?” You felt so paralyzed that you didn’t even register your brother’s voice. Instead you stared at the person you thought was your boyfriend, dangerously quiet. The calm before the storm. He shifted uncomfortably, fiddling with his sleeve and clearing his throat.

“Um, I think we should break up. I’ve kind of been… seeing another girl. Shreya.”

You were careful to keep your expression neutral, crossing your arms to prevent you from worrying at your nails. “For how long?”

“Uh, I-”

“How. Long. It’s a simple question.”

“Five months.”

“Son of a bitch.” You kept your voice low, sweeping a hand towards the door. “The exit’s there. Leave.”

“Listen, I’m really-”

“Get out. I’m serious. Get the fuck out of here before I make you do so.”

He stopped and stared at you for a few seconds, realizing just how angry you were.

“Okay. Well, it was… good seeing you, I guess. I hope you-”

“Didi?”

This time you heard Pavitr call you, soft hesitancy in his voice that carried into the room from the other side of the door. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah, Pavi, I’m fine. You can come in.” You covered the cracks in the screens of overly pleasant tones that you layered over your voice so as to make sure he didn’t worry.

He quickly entered your room, and from the way he glared daggers at your now-ex-boyfriend you assumed he had heard everything - or at least, a large chunk of the conversation.

“Hey there, buddy.”

He had the nerve to smile and hold his knuckles out for a fist bump. Truth be told, you felt a sort of bitter satisfaction when Pavitr just glared up at him and didn’t bother lifting his hand to return it.

“Fuck off.”

“What?”

His eyes widened slightly and traveled from the harsh scowl fixed on Pavitr’s face to your dangerously calm demeanour.

“You heard him, didn’t you?”

“I… yeah. I’m going. See you around.”

You followed him with your eyes as he inched toward the door, shutting it behind him.

The moment he left, your unbothered façade cracked and splintered into pieces. You moved yourself to sit on your bed, slipping the covers over your legs. “Thank you,” You murmured to Pavitr, closing your eyes so he wouldn’t see the tears threatening to spill. He came over to sit beside you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders.

“Mat rouoh didi. Hum ek movie dekhenge?” (Don’t cry didi. Wanna watch a movie?)

“Haan, please. As long as it’s not Tees Maar Khan, I am not watching that again with you. I’ve had enough of that Sheila ki Jawani. Wait, Pavi, you said you wanted to tell me something?”

“…that’s not important right now, don’t worry about it.”

You didn’t notice him anxiously trying to peel off the edge of the blanket that was stubbornly sticking to the pads of fingers.

——— ———

A week later.

It had happened so suddenly. No one seemed to know anything.

Well, except the fact that your father had died somehow.

I know we fought a lot more in… in the end, but I love you. I always have and I always will, Papa. You made me who I am today, you taught me to know my own worth and accept no less. Believe me, I think about it every day. If you were here I’d tell you.

You wished you could say that out loud, to offer everyone present a window into your thoughts to prove you weren’t just an angsty teenager - or a family disappointment, which a few aunties seemed to believe by the way they were whispering and shooting overly sympathetic looks your way which were quickly followed up by hushed giggles.

But instead you kept your head down and used what little energy you could muster to give a nod of acknowledgement every time a distant relative - even ones you hadn’t seen since you were a baby - popped up in your face to console you.

“Where’s Pavitr? Did he come to the antyesti?” You jumped; you hadn’t noticed your mother hovering beside you until she laid a light hand on your shoulder. She seemed to move around like a spectre; dressed completely in a simple white salwaar kameez with a long white shawl wrapped around her in such a way that it obscured both her arms and her hair, along with part of her face.

“No, I don’t think so - at least, I haven’t seen him.” You looked over her shoulder at the priests starting to get everything prepared for the ceremony and searched the crowds of vaguely familiar people.

Where the hell is he?

Getting the priests to agree to Pavitr - who wasn’t exactly Bhim’s son but the closest thing to it - leading the rituals was hard enough. But then again, it wasn’t like they had much of a choice, did they? You couldn’t exactly do it - the rituals of an antyesti were to be performed by the eldest son. Or the priests themselves, if he couldn’t do it for any reason. Never a woman.

You and Maya Aunty weren’t allowed to do anything except watch and pray.

And now if Pavitr didn’t show up in time-

Thwip! Thwip!

You frowned and shook your head slightly, wondering what the source of that noise was. Oh, well, probably just a pesky mosquito buzzing in your ear.

“Didi, Maya Aunty, I am so, so sorry that I’m late. Did they start already?” You jumped again in surprise - what was it with people sneaking up behind you today? You took in Pavitr’s crisp white dhoti and neatly styled hair, and for a second you couldn’t decide whether to hug him or punch him in the face.

“I’ll tell you everything later, didi. Pinky promise,” Pavitr murmured to you, offering his pinky to you. You linked your little finger with his, looking into his eyes as concern bubbled up to mix with the hurricane of emotions already clamouring for attention in your brain.

He had horrible bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept properly in a week. And when you gently squeezed his pinky, his breath hitched as if he was in pain and he drew his hand back after a few seconds. You blinked in confusion, getting a brief glimpse of painful-looking faint purple splotches all along his hand and the underside of his arm. They looked like bruises that had been poorly covered up by foundation that was almost three shades too light for his skin, but before you could say anything he turned to make his way through the crowd.

“Pavi-” You started to ask what was going on, what happened, what was wrong, but he just shook his head, angling his chin toward the priests waiting patiently for him.

“Badh mein, didi. Antyesti ke badh.” (Later. After the antyesti)

——— ———

After the ceremony.

“Pavitr Prabhakar, if you don’t tell me what’s going on-” You came face-to-face with one of your more distant aunties, who immediately lit up excitedly in a way that was probably not suited for a cremation ceremony as soon as she recognized you.

“Arrey, beta! You’ve grown so much! How old are you now? You still sing, no? Kya aapne college ke bare socha hain?” (Have you thought/started thinking about college?)

“Haha… hi, aunty… no, aunty… no, I haven’t thought about college yet… have you seen Pavitr anywhere? I need to find him and it’s really urgent but… oh, uh… yes, of course, I would love to catch up over chai sometime. Sure, we should plan that - oh, sorry, bye! Tell my mother that I’ve gone to look for Pavitr, okay? Thank you!”

Seizing the opportunity that presented itself in the form of another aunty who came waddling over to greet the first one, you squeezed through the crowd of people in sarees and dupattas, some milling about and some dispersing, all accompanied by the almost suffocating smell of jasmine. God, did everyone use the same horrible perfume?

Luckily for you, the antyesti was held fairly close to your house - on a large terrace that was only about a 15 minute walk away.

You got to the front door and fumbled with the set of keys in your pocket for a second, your fingers shaking slightly as the shock and grief began to set in. Adrenaline could only take you so far, it seemed.

“Pavi? Pavi, I’m home, where-”

You opened the door to your room and inhaled sharply at the sight that lay before you. Pavitr leaned against your bed, sitting on the floor with his knees hugged close to his chest, chin resting on his kneecaps. His eyes were squeezed shut, eyelashes fluttering as tears slipped out one after another from underneath them.

“Pavi…? Oh, Pavi, mera chhoti bhai, kya hua? Kisi ne… tumhein chot pahunchaee?” (My little brother, what happened? Did… someone hurt you?) You scooted closer to Pavitr, wrapping an arm around his shoulders and drawing him into your side. He buried his face in your shoulder, tears soaking through the thin fabric of the kurta you were wearing.

“Shh. Sab theek ho jayega. Mujhe batao, Pavi. Kya hua?” (Everything’s okay. Tell me, what happened?)

“I’m Spider-Man.”

You blinked in surprise. Out of all the possible explanations he could have offered you, that was certainly not on your list. “Spider-Man? Matlab… the superhero?” (Matlab means meaning)

The hero had emerged only a week ago. Wearing an intricately patterned mask that left his wavy hair loose at the top, a blue-and-red spandex suit and blue dhoti pants on top of them, he was basically impossible to ignore. You had seen some key similarities between Spider-Man and Pav’s hair, but you had always just assumed it was related to how boys cut their hair like their idols sometimes.

“Chacha died because of Spider-Man. Because of me. He got caught in the crossfire and I couldn’t reach him in time and-” Pavitr’s words spilled together in a panicked haze, blurring each syllable and tripping over letters in an attempt to get them out before he could break again. (Chacha is another word for uncle)

You shifted to face him, wrapping him in a tight hug. “Shaant ho jao. Main yahaan hoon. Main kaheen nahin ja raha hoon.” (Calm down. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere)

“I can’t-” His breath quickened as his whole body started to heave with dry sobs. “Please just… just listen to me. This is what I wanted to tell you last week. I’m Spider-Man.”

He mistook your silence as a sign of disbelief and carried on speaking, trying to convince you. “There were these bullies I was running from, and I tripped and fell into a tree hollow and there was this yogi who said he’d give me the powers of a spider to fight the evil in this world, and I didn’t know it would turn out like this so I accepted and-”

“I believe you.”

That caught him off guard. He pulled back to look at you, his eyes wide. “You do?”

“Of course. You think I haven’t noticed you sticking to everything? You almost ripped the couch’s upholstery clean off because you weren’t paying attention.” You gently swiped your thumb near the corner of his eye, wiping away the tear that was at risk of spilling out. “It’s okay, Pavi. Let’s.. talk about something else for the moment.”

As much as you wanted answers - how exactly had your father died? Which sick, twisted, psychotic ‘villain’ killed him? - you knew when to stop pushing Pavitr and now was definitely that time. Tears still shone in the corners of his brown eyes, not quite ready to fall but not small enough to be blinked away.

“Spiderwebs!”

“What?”

“You need spiderwebs, naa? So you can swing like a spider instead of leaping around and relying on sticking to whatever surface you can reach. Ooh, it’d be so cool if you could shoot them from your hands and lasso bad guys and when they fight back you go dishoom dishoom.” (dishoom is basically just a sound effect for beating someone up 😭 usually punching someone)

“… you mean webshooters?” Pavitr watched your emphatic display of just what dishoom dishoom meant to you with a mildly concerned look on his face before he took a folded up piece of paper out of his pocket and smoothed it out. It was filled with designs for some sort of gadget, the sharp, jagged pencil lines highlighting every feature and listing possible building processes.

“I’ve done some research and I’ve got everything, so I know how to make it. But I need something that can contract if I wrap a web around it… kind of like a yo-yo? But it also has to fit on my wrist so that it’s easy for me to angle where I want the web to go.” He absentmindedly tapped the pencil against the silver bangle you were wearing. The soft clinks gave you an idea and you quickly got up, going to your dresser and rummaging around in the drawers.

“Wait, I think I might have something that’ll work…”

Your fingers closed around what you were looking for and you fished it out. You held two large golden cuffs in your hands, but they weren’t regular heavy cuffs. The top and bottom were actually two separate pieces, joined together in the middle by a stretchy piece of white nylon that went all the way around.

Just looking at it made your heart ache a little as all the memories associated with the simple accessory came flooding back.

Your father had given it to you a few Diwalis ago, when you were throwing a tantrum about having to wear the large bangles to go to with the itchy salwar you had on - against your wishes, of course. But your mother warned you that her mother was a stickler for traditions and insisted on everyone wearing the most colourful ethnic wear you all had, including Pavi.

Your father had slid one of the cuffs onto your right wrist, laughing gently at your surprise look when you discovered how light they were, a stark contrast to the gold bangles that weighed down your other wrist.

“Compromise paaya, hain na?” (We’ve found a compromise, right?)

“Haan, papa.”

Now, more than eight years later, you held one of the last things you had left to keep your father’s memory alive.

And what better way to honour him than to use his kaadas to fight evil and protect the city?

“Use these.”

Pavitr looked up and immediately shook his head, gently pushing away your outstretched hands. “No, didi, I can’t- this is what Uncle gave you-”

“I know. He gave them to me as a gift. And now I’m passing them down to you. Please, Pavi. Take them.” You took his hands, pressing the kaadas into his palms and closing his fingers over them.

Something in your tone made him search your gaze for a few seconds before giving in and bringing the cuffs up to his eyes, testing out the nylon middle. “Wait, this is perfect. If I can just…”

He reached into the depths of one of your drawers and pulled out a small device that looked like it had some sort of fluid sloshing around in its… fuel container, maybe? You furrowed your brow in surprise. “Has that always been there? In my cupboard?”

“Well, yeah. Can’t have Maya Aunty accidentally pulling it out of mine, can we?” He gave you a grin. “Besides, you have so many things stuffed into that one drawer that it’s basically impossible to find.”

He attached the device to the inside of the cuff with a small click and slipped it onto his wrist.

Thwip! Thwip!

With two tiny flicks of his wrist, he had shot two webs to the ceiling and was now hanging upside down, a satisfied grin on his face.

“Well, this is working pretty well-”

Thud.

“Don’t you dare,” Pavitr warned you as he winced and rubbed the spot where he had fallen on his backside.

“I will not laugh. I will not laugh. I will not-”

You couldn’t help but burst into giggles at his mildly pathetic sad-puppy expression as he sat dejectedly on the floor after falling from the ceiling.

“So, uh… the web strength may need some work.”

“Everybody, this is Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar, Mumbattan’s Spider-Man.” You pretend to speak into an imaginary microphone, gesturing animatedly towards Pav as he lay on the floor.

“Oh, sure, announce it to the whole world, why don’t you,” He grumbled, reluctantly pulling himself to his feet.

You gave him an overly sweet smile, leaning over to mess up his hair. “Never. I’m gonna take this secret with me to my grave.”

——— ———

14 & 16.

6 months really went by quickly.

6 months of monthly poojas to honour your deceased father. 6 months of Pavitr being Spider-Man. And also…

“Didi! Why isn’t my hair staying down?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, maybe because that bad guy threw you into an electricity tower? Pavi, why are you dressing up all of a sudden anyway?” You sat on the floor of your room as you skeptically watched him brush out his hair. He had insisted that your mirror was big enough and ‘had the best lighting’.

He stayed silent, though you could see him scrunch his nose a little in embarrassment. The realization hit you and you let out a loud - maybe overly dramatic - gasp.

“Oh my god! You have a date!”

“…maybe. So?”

“So that means I get to meet and terrorize them! You know, sibling stuff!”

Pavitr froze for a split second, a small smile starting to form in the corner of his mouth at the last part. Siblings. In all honesty, didn’t that word describe the bond you both shared almost perfectly? Siblings - not by blood, but by something so much bigger than either of you could’ve imagined.

“Absolutely not. Gayatri’s-”

“Gayatri? Is she Punjabi? Ooh, is she pretty? Is she really badass and cool and-”

“She’s a model,” Pavitr interrupted, smoothing down his hair and glaring at you. “And this isn’t my first date with her. Just for the record.”

“Wow, and she’s your age? Damn, Pavi, you managed to pull a model! I’m so proud of you right now.”

“I will strangle you if you don’t stop talking,” Pavitr grumbled, punching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not saying anything bad!”

“Sure you ar-” Pavitr stopped mid-sentence and stiffened, craning his neck and glancing out the window over his shoulder like a cat that had heard something strange. “Wait, someone’s here. Gotta go!”

He dashed into the bathroom and came out two seconds later, fully decked out in his spider suit and mask.

“Don’t get your ass kicked!” You called out as he nose-dived out the window.

“Ha, ha! Very funny!”

——— ———

10 minutes later.

“Pavitr, what the hell?!” You leaped backwards as a strange sort of alien materialized in your room for a split second before they disappeared into a black hole-like void, followed by a… Spider-Man? Not Pav. This one was taller and his suit was red and black, and oh God, was he bleeding from his armpits?

You were tempted to offer him a few cotton wipes and something to clean the wound but he disappeared in after the weird teleporting alien before you could ask.

Pavitr came crashing in through your window, landing on the floor and glancing around. “What? I thought they came here-”

“Really?! Now you show up? I’ve just had some sort of cow-man and a new Spider-Man teleport into my room through a pit and-” You stopped short as another Spider-Man landed on the floor. Except… Spider-Woman? She wore a suit in the shape of a white-and-black ballet leotard and had a hood with web designs on the inside.

“Pavitr, is… this Gayatri?” You tried to wrap your head around the fact that there were three different types of Spider-People and a cow on the wrong side of evolution who had just phased through your house. “Oh, hi, Gayatri, I’ve heard so much about you. Pavi thinks you’re really classy and cool and you’re the prettiest girl alive and-”

Pavitr webbed a pillow and swung it into your face before you could finish, temporarily shutting you up. “Didi, this… this isn’t Gayatri.” Despite his face being covered by his mask, you could tell from his tone that he was embarrassed out of his wits. “This is, uh… this is Gwen. She’s a Spider-Woman. Look, it’s hard to explain, but they’re all from different universes and I think the New Guy’s in love with Gwen, so we gotta go save their romance before it shatters. Bye!”

He leaped out the window again, followed by Gwen - who was stuttering and tripping over her words trying to form a plausible denial for his last statement.

Never a dull day in Mumbattan, I guess.

——— ———

5 minutes after that ordeal.

“Arrey, your chai is getting cold. Drink fast, no?”

“Haan, Amma. Ek second.” (One second) You moved away from where you were hovering near the window. As much as Pavitr reassured you that he was okay, that being Spider-Man was easy now - you still remembered having to disinfect wounds and ice bruises and watch him hiss and crinkle his face up in pain every time you wiped a tissue soaked in Dettol along his cuts.

Maybe those were only fairly harmless flesh wounds, but what kept you up at night was the worry that one day it might turn into something worse.

“I’m drinking it,” You said defensively and sat down as Maya Aunty lifted an eyebrow at you over her own mug. Just as you sat down the whole ground seemed to shake, a horrible din filling the air, screams and the sound of rubble falling mingling together in the cacophony.

“Oh, someone blew down Alchemax,” said Maya Aunty once the noise died down. With a small shake of her head, she casually returned to her chai as if this sort of thing happened almost every day.

“What an idiot.” You glanced out the window, squinting into the distance and widening your eyes as your eyes snagged on a flash of vibrant fabric flying through the air, just barely visible through the pieces of flying rubble.

Oh, fuck, that’s my idiot.

——— ———

You figured the easiest and fastest way to get near Alchemax was to take the bus. After all, those bus drivers had basically decided long ago that they were above the rules of the traffic. They honestly didn’t give a damn about the speed limits and you respected that.

“Hi, Y/N!” You turned at your name, tilting your head curiously because you didn’t recognise the voice.

You found yourself looking at someone who looked oddly familiar, you just couldn’t place it - until you glanced briefly out the window and saw a Zomato billboard. Of course if had to be her, how else would she know your name?

“Oh, are you Gayatri? Hi! It’s so nice to meet you, I’ve heard so much about you from Pavi.”

“Aww, that’s sweet, and likewi-“

The bus swerved sharply and you, Gayatri and more than half of the people who weren’t holding onto the railings were slammed against the back window before the bus started to tilt forward. You blinked away stars for a few seconds as the wind was knocked out of you.

When you regained your vision you let out a yelp of surprise. Someone yelled “Fuck!” right next to you, followed by a string of unrepeatable Marathi cusswords - while also listing out gods and praying to them that they’d make it out alive - and you could understand why.

Some dumbass - or maybe a large piece of rubble - had ripped a hole in the middle of the fucking Mumbattan Bridge. The whole bus was falling right into that hole, and unfortunately the bus driver’s magical ability to fly straight over potholes seemed to have evaded him right now, judging by the fact that he was currently contributing to the chorus of terrified screams.

“Hold on!” Gayatri caught your forearm right as your grip on the flimsy side railing was loosening and pulled you up to latch onto the railing at the back. Good lord, was this girl strong. You decided right then and there that you definitely liked her.

You saw Pavitr stop mid-swing and turn around, his mask’s eyes widening as he saw both of you pounding relentlessly on the back bus window in the hopes that it would break in time.

He shot a web that stuck to the back of the bus, tipping it almost vertically as he held onto one of the bridge supports. His eyes narrowed with effort as he struggled to hold onto the deceptively delicate-looking silky tendrils.

You silently thanked whatever higher power existed for the time when Pavitr fell from the ceiling 6 months ago. If that hadn’t happened, you and the other people on this bus would’ve been flattened on the ground by now. Don’t look down, don’t look down, don’t look down.

Pavitr glanced behind him, his shoulders falling slightly in shock. The web holding onto the bus stretched and dipped, threatening to snap any second. He wrapped the silken web around the support, trying to bring it up.

You and Gayatri were just barely hanging on, your entire bodies dangling down with gravity as you held onto the railing for dear life.

Suddenly something changed. Another web attached itself to the bus and pulled you onto the bridge. Another Spider-Man, possibly?

You let out the breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding as the bus levelled itself on solid ground again. Gayatri gave you a weak smile, grasping your hand and pulling you straight into the throng of people rushing to exit the bus.

The moment she stepped outside Pavitr wrapped her in a hug, eliciting a surprised squeak from Gayatri.

“Are you okay? I was so worried-” He realized his mistake mid-sentence, drawing back from her and patting her shoulders with both hands, unsure whether to cross his arms or rest them on his hips. “Uh, you seem like a nice young woman who I do not know…”

Gayatri chuckled softly and looked past him. “Papa!”

“Gayatri!”

She ran at him and he wrapped his arms around her tightly. Seeing their bond warmed your heart but also made it ache slightly with the acceptance that that could never happen to you with your own father.

“Real smooth, Pavi,” You grinned at your brother, who grumbled something under his breath and closed the distance to crush you in a hug.

“Shush, didi. I just saved your ass.”

“Yeah, I suppose you did.” You ruffled his hair affectionately and pulled back, smiling at the growing shouts of ‘dhanyavadh, makhdi-bhaiya!’. (Thank you, Spider-Guy!)

“Amma’s going to kill you, by the way. She thinks you snuck out to go to some p-”

You let out a soft mmph as you collided with possibly the boniest person you had ever had the misfortune of bumping into. You were pretty sure you had just got stabbed in seven different places by various joints.

“Sorry, I didn’t-” You paused as you looked up, taking in spikes, a leather vest, pins, a guitar, and mask eyes which looked like running mascara.

“Holy shit, you’re really cool.”

The Spider-Man variant blinked in surprise and let out a laugh. “Why, thank you, poppet. I try. Pisses the fascists off so much that they call me Spider-Punk.”

You heard the twang of a well-known (almost infamous, at least in Mumbattan) accent and glanced at Pavitr. “He’s British,” He confirmed, giving Hobie a high-five.

“Well, I don’t care. He looks awesome.”

“Oi, Pav, I like this one.” He gave you an appreciative fist-bump, and you lifted your eyebrows at the sheer size difference between both of your hands.

“That’s my sister.”

“Makes sense. But you know I didn’t mean it like that. She seems cool is all.”

“Wait. If you’re British, can you do us a favour and steal back the Kohinoor? Please?”

“I’ll try my best, but I can’t make any promises. Fuckin’ Sweeney*, I doubt they even know where it’s kept.” (*Sweeney/Sweeney Todd - Cockney rhyming slang for Flying Squad [the police])

You nodded along politely with a smile like you actually understood even one word of that sentence. “Well, okay, in that case-”

You turned and almost burst out laughing. Pavitr looked like he was on the losing end of a staring contest, his hand almost engulfed in Inspector Singh’s much bigger one. Gayatri stood behind him, looking between them in awe. “I’ve never seen him so emotional.”

“Excellent job.”

Your bother just gave a nod, but knowing Pavitr he was internally over the moon and would hold that simple statement close to his heart, insisting that his girlfriend’s dad “loved him”.

“Man-like Miles, my guy!” Hobie grabbed the red and black Spider-Man - Miles’ - shoulders and shook him excitedly, punching him lightly as the people of Mumbattan started cheering.

You were about to join in when something happened. Well, not happened, really, but… something felt off somehow. You had read something once that said a person’s hair stands on end as a warning when lightning’s about to strike. You imagined that’d feel like you you were feeling right now. And you could hear whistling… was that sound just your ears being weird?

The cheers died down suddenly and you turned around too late. One of those portal-holes, slicing through the air like a deadly frisbee, slammed into you and knocked you inside in such a way that you got teleported straight off the side of the bridge. You scrabbled for the supports, but to no avail as you sailed right past them.

You heard Pavitr’s panicked yell, the sounds of confused and worried chatter bubbling among the ground, and the air rushing around in your ears as you free-fell.

You can’t save me, you realized as you saw Pavitr dive off the bridge, reaching out his wrist in preparation of shooting a web. You won’t get here in time. You focused on mouthing the next few words that came to your mind, because if you were going to die and leave your brother you would do so by reminding him that he was - and always would be - loved. Pavi, I’m sorry. I love you. I always will.

Your stomach dropped and your head spun - but by some mercy you didn’t feel the final impact.

——— ———

Pavitr’s POV.

“No, no no no- please, please no-”

Pavi, I’m sorry.

I love you.

Six words. Six words which shouldn’t be used in the same sentence. Those two sets separately, sure, but in very different scenarios.

Those would not be the last words you said to him. They couldn’t be.

Time seemed to slow down, making his movements sluggish and hazy. He stretched his wrist out till it ached, silk erupting from his - no, your - kaada. Come on, come on…

The silk shot toward you and for a second he thought it would reach in time.

Then he heard a crash and watched you fall straight through the flimsy tin roof of an abandoned warehouse. “No!”

He landed after you, shooting a web at a street lamp and pulling up to break the built-up momentum at the last second. Kicking down the warehouse door, he rushed over to your limp form, sprawled across a few empty crates in the dimly lit space.

“Nonono you have to stay with me, please don’t go, I can’t-” Pavitr swallowed hard as he picked you up and set you down with your back against the wall, holding up your jaw so your head didn’t fall forward. He snapped his fingers in front of your face two, three times - no response.

He could feel his vision starting to blur, heart practically causing an earthquake as he shakily put his finger to the pulse point on your neck.

Nothing.

“No,” He whispered into the still air, as if that would be able to revive someone who was so much more than just a cousin. You were his sister, his closest and most annoying friend, his anchor. You were supposed to be a constant in his life. If you were gone… what would go next?

He wasn’t sure how long he sat there, cradling your lifeless body in his arms. But after a little while Hobie dropped in through the hole in the ceiling, and Miles and Gwen came in through the door. He didn’t understand anything they were saying. Pavitr felt like he was underwater, the cold, murky silence filling his ears and bleeding into his brain.

Someone else, much bigger than him tried to drag him away. Someone wearing a beige police uniform and a turban. He kicked and fought, screaming at them that they didn’t understand, he couldn’t leave you, this wasn’t how it was supposed to end. That you were going to wake up soon. You were only unconscious, after all. You had to wake up sometime.

You had to, right?

Pavitr watched as you were placed on a stretcher, a white cloth laid over your body. He slumped in the hands of whoever was struggling to drag him away as all his hopes of you waking up splintered into a million pieces. Pieces that he would step on and trip over and they would cut his skin a billion times. Little tiny paper cuts. Paper cut after paper cut, till he bled out.

Through whatever shocked haze his brain was forcing itself into, he knew that something inside him had broken. Duct tape could fix it. Duct tape could fix anything. Was this metaphor for something? His brain really needed to slow down, he couldn’t keep up with what was and what wasn’t fixable with a single roll of duct tape.

He pictured his heart, the muscles and blood vessels torn clean through in the centre, forming a hole in the shape of you. Did it stop beating? It felt like it stopped beating. Was there a way to check if he was still alive? He hoped he was. Though there didn’t feel like much reason to be. Not anymore, at least.

Oh. Maya Aunty. Someone would have to tell Maya Aunty. No, he would have to tell Maya Aunty.

Two funerals in the span of 6 months. Two core members of the family gone.

Twin flames burning warm and bright, always lighting up the entire place with their own unique luminosities, until they couldn’t anymore. The wicks were extinguished and the candles melted into stumps before their time.

The Spot knew exactly what he was doing, Pavitr realized. Because he might as well have set fire to his entire home.

——— ———

15 & still 16.

Pavitr Bhim Prabhakar was many things.

He was Mumbattan’s Spider-Man. He was Maya Aunty’s nephew. He was Gayatri’s boyfriend. He honoured his dead parents with his last name. He carried the legacy of his dead uncle with his middle name alone.

Most of all, he carried the memory of his sister in every scar that he got that day.

Suddenly every moment you had spent with him seemed too little. Even just one of your hugs would take away some of the pain.

Keep them in your heart, they’re watching over you. Recall the memories you made with them.

What did that even mean in this case? You had gone too soon. Dead, cremated at 16. You weren’t even an adult. And what hurt the most was that everything - from your room to your belongings - was exactly how you left it.

It had been almost 3 months and he still hadn’t let anyone change anything in your room. The messy duvet could stay messy. And the pillow that was thrown at the foot of the bed had taken up permanent residence there.

The room smelled like vanilla and honeycomb. And it would stay that way for as long as he could help it. If someone rearranged anything, would that part of you disappear from this house? He didn’t want to find out.

Everything that made this room yours would stay there, it had to. The way you meticulously arranged every makeup and hair product by height, colour and serial order on your chest of drawers. The way your cupboards always smelled of cotton candy because of an essence diffuser your friend had given you.

Gayatri, Miles, Gwen and Hobie had all tried their best to help him, and Margo had even dropped in a few times and offered to play video games with him. And admittedly, he was in a much better frame of mind than how he was only a little while ago.

He sat on the floor, hugging his legs loosely to his chest and clutching a mug of chai in one hand. Pavitr couldn’t say anything even if he wanted to; the altogether lack of the owner of this room made the silence even more oppressive and suffocating.

He stretched his legs out slowly, refusing to let his mind wander. Focus on the wallpaper. Focus on the sound of traffic. Focus on the chai. Focus on anything except the posters, the pillows, the way that it felt like time itself was holding its breath inside this room.

Pavitr’s leg brushed something hidden underneath the rug in front of him. Frowning slightly in confusion, he leaned forward to peer underneath the fuzzy square of fabric - finding nothing but a small notebook and a pen.

He pulled it out and, upon recognizing it, drew in a surprised inhale. The leather-bound cover was dusty and worn out. The label that read Bhim Prabhakar in neatly printed handwriting had been scratched out, jagged words cutting across the paper like tiny knife strokes. His heart squeezed when he read the word written in the second handwriting.

Y/N.

Of course he remembered this book, how could he not? On days when you had noticed he felt sad, you tore out two lined pages of paper and made him write down what was bothering him in a letter.

“Here, Pavi. Write it to anyone you want, and fill it out with everything bad that happened today. You don’t have to send it to them, don’t worry. I’ll even do it with you.”

He still remembered the first time he had done that activity with you. You both sat back-to-back, scribbling down all the ‘yucky feelings’, as you had put it once. Pavitr had finished his letter and surprised you by addressing it to you, twisting around to hand you the folded piece of paper.

You hadn’t addressed your letter yet, so you wrote his name on the top in big block letters.

To: Pavitr Prabhakar.

Because it was a very official document, you had explained solemnly.

And when you took a look at how he had mentioned you, you had lunged forward and trapped him in a bone-crushing hug.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

He felt tears well up slightly as he recalled the amount of times he went and wordlessly sat at the edge of your bed, pointing to the leather journal. And you would pull out two pages, hand him a pen, and sit back-to-back on the floor. Every time, without fail.

Pavitr opened the book, running a hand along the pages of handwritten letters that were unevenly glued or stapled in. Some were tearing at the edges, others had chai-stains or ink splotches.

He carefully pulled out a page - only one this time - and picked up a pen from the mug of stationery on your bedside table.

Pausing to think for a second, he tested the pen on the bottom of the page. Then moved the tip to the first line.

Dear Y/N,

Pavitr stopped and narrowed his eyes at that. It felt strange, almost alien for some reason. A foreign word on these pages.

He tapped his pen on the page as he got an idea. He scratched out the two words he had written, addressing it to someone with a different yet more familiar title, at least to him.

To: The Best Didi In The World.

I know very little about the antyesti process so if anything’s wrong don’t hesitate to correct me! <3

Glossary:

Antyesti - Antyesti literally means "last sacrifice" or "final auspicious ceremony", and refers to the funeral rites for the dead in Hinduism, which usually involves cremation of the body. This rite of passage is the last samskara in a series of traditional life cycle samskaras that start from conception in Hindu tradition.

Saree/Sari - A saree is a garment consisting of a length of cotton or silk elaborately draped around the body, traditionally worn by women from South Asia. It is usually worn with a blouse that exposes part of the midriff, but blouse styles can vary.

Dupatta - A length of material worn arranged in one or two folds over the chest and thrown back around the shoulders, typically with a salwar kameez or a kurta, worn by women from South Asia. (Srry guys u have to look up those two definitions if ur curious,, it’s better to see how it looks rather than read a description anyway)

Kancha - Kancha is played by using marbles. It is popular in small Indian cities and villages, among small boys only as a gully sport. It is rarely played by girls. The participant has to hit the marble kept in a circle. If he hits the target properly, he wins. The winner gets the kancha (maybe kanche is the plural form? idk) of the other participant boys.

Lagori/Pithoo/Seven Stones - Lagori is a traditional game from the Indian subcontinent. It involves a pile of stones and a ball.

A member of one team (the seekers) throws a ball at a pile of stones to knock them over. The seekers then try to restore the pile of stones while staying safe from the opposing team's (the hitters’) throws. The hitters' objective is to hit the seekers with the ball before they can reconstruct the stone pile. If the ball touches a seeker, that seeker is out and the team which the seeker came from continues, without the seeker. A seeker can always safeguard themselves by touching an opposite team member before the ball hits the seeker.

@hobiebrownismygod @l0starl @therealloopylupin2099 @vhstown

[zedleaked]

I have a couple of things

One, I love your art style! It's so cute and scrunkly, I hold it in my hands gently,,, /pos

Two, if this is okay to ask, what is your opinion on gokumota? They're my favorite ship, so I'm curious about what you think about it! :o

I THINK THEY ARE LOVELY.... himbo 4 himbo fr....

they are both scientists that are often perceived as dumb by their classmates... methinks they would bond over talking about bugs and space respectively...

from what little I remember from Kaito's free time events I remember the stories he told were a bit off the walls but I think Gonta would love listening to them,,,! Maybe use them as an inspiration too!! -and in turn Kaito listens to Gonta's rambles about becoming a gentleman and encouraging him,, Kaito is like Gonta's hype man in a way...

also when I think they'd do a lot of stargazing and whatever together,, especially cause in-game Gonta tends to point out the stars a lot,, like,,, Kaito tells him about all the constellations and shows them to him,, and the next time they go outside at night together Gonta tries to look for them!!!

plus... Purple and Green... best colour combo of all time.

my brain is flip flopping between viewing them as besties or romantically involved [probably the aromantic in me kicking in] but either way I think they are wonderful...

gives me the same feelings as Cats & Piranhas [Ryoma & Himiko friendship] cause they're both similar [Gonta and Kaito being optimistic scientists who are viewed as idiots sometimes,, and Ryoma and Himiko being both tiny and had important people leave their lives,,, and they probably have undiagnosed depression...] but not really having much significant interactions... sobs...

I have not thought about this ship [or even their friendship] before but looking more into it,,, its actually so cute and silly,, you have opened my eyes,,

[foap-enjoyer]

Fic idea COD

This isn't something I can see myself writing but it's an idea that's been stuck in my head for a few days. If you wanna use it, feel free!

~

OG Team Force 141, 2009.

Soap and Price are the only ones still alive. They're still working, still doing their thing in the military, but they're tired, and sad (Of course they're sad, their friends are dead).

Which all comes crashing down when they find out Ghost- yeah, their Ghost, who died an unspecified amount of time prior, has a kid. A kid that even Ghost didn't know about. Be it from one-night-stand or past lover, nobody knows the answer.

Not even said kid, whose been dumped at the gates of their barracks. Dirty, barely clothed, and waddling around cluelessly with a thumb in their mouth without a care in the world.

Cue Soap and Price learning to heal while becoming unexpected dads (In a non-ship way, platonic/family bond) (In my tiny brain Soap loved Ghost, even if he never said anything, and having this moment in his life to honour his friend is something he won't take for granted).

~

This is hurting my brain. Someone help me.

Like I said, if you wanna use this as inspiration, please do, don't have to credit me, I sure as hell am not writing this train-wreck of a depressingly cute fic. My heart already hurts just thinking about it, I'd be sobbing five words in.

[34saveme34]

yall expecting anything interesting from this week's episode?

like. I've been thinking n like I wish I could stop that

because in a sense, the series has been.... very unrpredictable

in like, a bad way

I'm not even saying they're telling bad stories but that it all just goes weirdly and some choices they make are.... odd? yeah, odd

like I guess it's odd they don't use their cast better

or that Melony's whole personality is just Axol (god awful thing I'm about to say but maybe it would've been better for her if she died in revelations so we wouldn't have to see her character reduced to this so badly. like I'm not even kidding)

or making 4 seem so god damn evil then immediately backpedalling on that with the "it's an act" and I'll say it again, if they wanted to make a good story about it being an ACT, they should've shown more signs, even if tiny, they should've shown more. Like you could try and explain this shit away if you want but just think about it, before A Night at SMG4's, what did you believe? Did you believe he was becoming evil or did you believe it was an act? What made more sense to you? It's odd and unpredictable

the also weird ass ignoring of 3 drinking away his problems, it appearing TWICE

and like, that's been a storyline that was going for a while, I even pointed out that like, lately episodes that were all capital had something to do with him failing with it

but no uh, suddenly it's good after that shitty night at 4's shitty ass episode I still hate it for what it did for the story

like, what did that episode even do for it? Anything? NO

NO, and DON'T F U C K I N lie to me, you know that shit didn't happen either

and I'm done lying to myself about it

there was NO indication it actually helped

all it did was drive Puzzles away, but my man had nothing to do with the caf��, at least not to our knowledge which would be really negligent if they didn't tell us that he actually did

like, there's no reason for why it would get better, there's just nothing

and I knooooooooow I should enjoy the show for what it is and stop complaining because I'm gonna sound like a reddit user on r/smg4 but also like

I AM the complainer, I interpret things and discuss them, I'm all about it, I love discussing possibilities and have a lot of joy out of it

hell I also like crack ideas that sometimes. stem out of desperation

like me when I said, Idk if it was on the blog but me when I said it would be silly if 3 was drinking away his feelings for 4 perhaps in those silly little scenes

but like, nah, team's not brave enough

like what I noticed is that the ship is probably not becoming canon

but not because there wouldn't be a reason to, or they couldn't work out a narrative, in FACT it would be REALLY easy, even just today I thought of a way, in fact all of us think of ways so many times, Sever the Ties was also me thinking of a way, that would've been a narratively nice way to get them together and also show they care for each other

but yeah, I think they're not becoming canon because the writers are scared of doing more than jokes with them, I think what they wanted with them was just 2 homoerotic dudes having silly moments that can be laughed at, almost like they. can't take them seriously (trash friends-esque episodes, please comes back.......... sobbing)

which, aight, I guess

NOT QUEERBAITING THOUGH!!!! QUEER BAITING ISN'T ABOUT HINTS, IT'S ABOUT PROMISES!!!! THEY AREN'T QUEERBAITING US!!!!!!!!!!! THEY DIDN'T SAY ANYTHING ABOUT GETTING THEM TOGETHER!!!!!!!!!

so yea I'm, not jaded with the show, I'm really not, I still like a lot of things about it and can't wait to see what they cook up this week

and even like, episodes I hate have good moments, not even a question, I can enjoy them (besides the endings)

I just yknow, I like to complain and I KNOW I'm not the only one

you don't need to like, agree with me, you can like botched storylines, I just like complain about said storylines even if I like some parts of it