#on me is what would make it worth it.. which not having to dwell for weeks about what to price something would do that

[propertyofwicked]

SECRETS - LN

lando x fewtrell!reader (cos who doesn't love a bit of brother's best friend?).

no content warnings for this part. pls lemme know what u think of this pls and thank u.

previous part -> next part

masterlist the playlist

y/n was a bit of an enigma in the fewtrell family. yes, she’d grown up karting with her older brother and his best friend, but it wasn’t a career for her. not like it was for max, who took his love of karting to championships and content creation and especially not like lando, who made it all the way to F1.

no, y/n fewtrell wanted a career, for now at least anyway. which leads us to now, she’s sat in a second year lecture, not listening to a single word as a slew of messages from her brother almost vibrate her phone off the desk.

she didn’t really need to think about it at all, of course she’d be there. whilst she had no interest in her actually involvement, she loved motor sports, and loved supporting lando. the amount of times she’d been recognised in her uni towns sports bar, watching the F1, was getting concerning. not to mention the time she’d finished a 10 hour shift and somehow fell asleep in said sports bar, made worse and more recognisable to lando fans by the quadrant hoodie and LN4 beanie - max had not let her live it down since the moment the photo came on his twitter feed. it just seemed odd that lando all of a sudden wanted, no, needed her presence - after all, he'd had minimal contact with her for almost a year.

but, she weighed up in her head, getting to see lando was somewhat of a reward. yes spending the day with her brother would be good, although she could sense her summer would potentially be spent with him anyway. but lando, what could she say about lando. he was always around growing up, and yes admittedly there had been a few moments shared in her early adulthood that would indicate something more but it always remained unspoken. lingering touches here and there, the night they spent dancing together in a club, though written off as drunk friendliness, and most notably an interrupted moment where he whispered “max would kill me if he knew the truth”. y/n never got to find out what the truth was, as max himself came barrelling into the room, equally as drunk as everyone else at the gathering. from that night on, she barely saw or heard from lando, well, until now supposedly.

ultimately, y/n decided that dwelling on what could’ve been, whilst lando jets off around the world, was simply not worth it. she focused on her studies, and began declining offers to watch lando race on the other side of the world. y/n fewtrell was a strong independent woman who did not need the validation from her brothers best friend.

didn’t mean she didn’t enjoy it.

as predicted, the academic year ended and y/n found herself moving a bag of clothes into max’s spare room. people started spotting her in the background of streams again, fans excited to see the fewtrell’s back together and in full force - y/n now adorning a lovely bruise down the side of her arm from where max had shoved her too hard off a chair and onto the floor. sore losers run in the family.

“MAX! that hurt,” y/n whined from her new found position on the floor.

“oh did it,” max asks mockingly, “sucks to be you i guess” he adds with a shrug, although letting her use his arm to pull herself back up.

he moved back to playing his game when a text popped up on her phone making her giggle.

“what? what are you laughing at?”

“lando said “push him back”. lando,” y/n said, looking at the camera, “if i could, i would - but i quite like having somewhere to live and my own personal chauffeur,” she laughed, max laughing with her.

a month later she was in the passenger seat of max’s car, him pulling in to park outside the silverstone track. it was hours before the public would show up, so she instantly spotted the curly haired man. yes, the bright orange jumper was like a bat signal for lando, but y/n’s eyes were immediately drawn to him naturally. max had just about pulled the handbrake on when lando bounded over to the car, pulled the passenger door open and lunged himself around y/n.

“you came! it’s been too long since ive had my little lucky charm in my garage,” he says, looking directly into her eyes. a red flush runs up her cheeks, hoping that the boys will put it down to the loss of air conditioning. any awkwardness she had anticipated between the two dissolved almost instantly.

“i know, i’m sorry. i should just drop out of uni and follow you around the world, i know. forgive me,” she jokes holding her hands up, and lando quirks an eyebrow up, as if saying “you should”.

“don’t do that, y/n. one of the fewtrell’s needs to be properly educated,” max jokes, ”besides, not having his lucky charm around all the time keeps his ego in check.” lando chuckles in response, finally moving to stand fully out of the car and allowing y/n and max to climb out and join him.

“so, home race in 2 days - how you feelin’ mate?” max asked lando, raising his hand to do one of those bro hand grabs. they continued talking, y/n trailing just behind them as they walked into the building and around to the mclaren area. it was always a spectacle, coming to races. the teams, the drivers, the media, the celebrations - it was somewhat overwhelming. it was weird to see the place so empty, then again, it was 7am on FP1 day so the only people walking around were the odd driver and mechanics.

they continued to walk through the paddock, y/n just listening to the boys discussing an upcoming quadrant project, eventually reaching his drivers room. the sofa looked so inviting, especially to the girl who was dragged kicking and screaming out of bed at 5am. whilst lando distracted max, showing him his helmet for the home race, y/n crawled over to the sofa, curled up in a corner and shut her eyes.

“y/n? you good?” lando asked, after clocking her new found position.

“shut up.”

“ouch.”

“she threatened to rip my eyeballs out and shove them down my throat this morning when i tried to get her up. being told to shut up is nothing,” max laughed, ruffling the top of his sisters head and messing up her hair, “she just likes her sleep.”

“yes, she does, please let her have it,” y/n mumbles bluntly, met with chuckles from the boys.

“we’re gonna get breakfast. ill bring you back something if you want to stay here?” lando asks, her eyes perking up at the thought of food.

“yes please,” she says, with a soft smile directed towards him.

-

“next time, me and you are getting separate hotel rooms,” y/n groaned, rolling around the sofa of her hotel room trying to get comfortable.

“next time, tell me you want to come with me early enough for me to book you a separate hotel room, y/n,” her brother grumbled back.

“i’m gonna see if there’s a gym here. i need to tire myself out if i’m going to sleep on this…thing,” she said, poking at the solid leather of the sofa.

max didn’t respond to his sister, instead he rolled over to face the door and shut his eyes. y/n grabbed her key card and her shoes, and walked out the door, happy to be away from her brother. she loved him, she really did, but after spending the entire day in lando’s small driver room with him - she really just needed some brother-free air.

she barely reached the lift at the end of the hallway when she got a text, diverting her entire plans for that evening.

i’m bored. come on a drive with me?

going on a late night drive with lando was not out of the ordinary, but usually max was there. had he sent max the same message? either way, she responded with a quick yes and thumbs up.

cool. im outside btw. hurry up.

have you just turned up assuming i was going to say yes?

was i wrong?

shut up im coming down now

[actuallyjustabiscuit]

I’ve been dissecting Ragatha’s character with surgical tools because I am not the least bit normal about this damn doll, and something that I’ve gathered upon rewatch is how much responsibility Ragatha has been taking for Pomni’s first day. Prepare for another character analysis about everyone’s favorite confirmed girl failure

Useless Lesbian jokes aside, it’s so interesting to me how much Ragatha cares about Pomni liking her. To the point where she believes Pomni’s terrible awful no good very bad first day has some relevance to how she thinks Pomni thinks of her.

At first I thought this was just the result of her people pleasing tendencies that needs everyone to like her for her to have any degree of self worth (no I’m not projecting, shut up), but she doesn’t seem to be this pushy about getting along with anyone else.

Another possible reason for this behavior was that she just wants to make the newcomer feel as comfortable and welcomed as possible to lessen the blow of being trapped, and she’s doing such a bad job of it that it’s making her think less of herself for failing. But here she’s specifically talking about the “horrible experience” of having to deal with Kaufmo’s abstraction.

Here Ragatha is literally writhing in pain from glitching after getting her ass handed to her by Kaufmo and she briefly stops Pomni from leaving to get the help she needs to apologize to her about having a bad first day.

Honestly, Pomni’s awkward response to this was hella fitting.

Like, Jesus Christ, Ragatha. Priorities girl.

When I first watched this, I thought her little apology fell under the same category as someone apologizing for hearing bad news, (y’know like a “I’m sorry your dog died” kinda thing) said in a way to express sympathy over a bad situation. But in episode 2, it really feels like she actually blames herself for what happened.

and I think I know why.

It was Ragatha’s idea to go see Kaufmo in the first place and introduce Pomni to him. We know that she honestly believes that participating in the adventures are essential to persevering a person’s sanity. And yet she didn’t suggest to play along with the game Caine left for them. Instead, she thought it would be nice to check up on a friend who was suspiciously absent. And was, according to what Kinger told them before they left, slipping off the deep end.

I know hindsight is 20/20, but these should have been major red flags for her that Kaufmo may not have been alright and they should’ve all probably stayed away. And I think she realized that too late, which is what might’ve led to that awkward apology to Pomni in the hallway.

Kinger is right to reassure Ragatha that Pomni doesn’t blame her for what happened (which is why she thought Ragatha was being weird for apologizing in the first place), but I imagine Ragatha is the type of person who can’t help but dwell on the “should’ve, would’ve, could’ve”s of life. So it makes sense that she would continue to take things personally. And I bet it got even worse after

…yeah. That.

Of course, I don’t think Ragatha could’ve known that was gonna be the outcome. But she was very wary when Pomni suggested it, loudly wondering if that was even “allowed”. But she went along with it cuz it made Pomni happy.

Whelp.

Yeah this woman’s self esteem so about to go into the negatives. Which is why I’m really hoping for a good heart-to-heart between these two. Cuz they both really need it. Ragatha especially.

I think it would really help her to know Pomni wouldn’t want her to feel like less than nothing.

[itsprashimusic]

Maybe Leave The Cooking To Me

Summary - You love to cook, and Lando loves to help, but this time it goes sideways.

Pairings - Lando Norris x fem!Reader

Warnings - minor injury, reader has good relationship with parents, reader is same age as Lando, fluffy.

W/C - 1.4k

A/N - my first fic for f1 lets gooo Happy reading<3

Navigation

 It was the end of a triple header meaning that now you had a break you were craving. The Monday meetings were done with, you and Lando were on the flight back to your Monaco apartment. The exhaustion caught up with you and the both of you were out within seconds of your heads hitting your pillows. 

It was now a Tuesday night. There was some music playing in the living room, Lando was somewhere in the house, and you were in the kitchen. You wouldn’t call yourself a chef, but you loved to cook and learn new recipes. Travelling the world with Lando made it so that you would not get to cook very often, so when you did get to cook you would take the chance.

You sat on the counter contemplating what to cook. Before you shifted to Monaco your mom had written out a recipe book for you with all different kinds of recipes which she had found and curated to your and your family's taste and liking. So you sat on the counter, reading through the fat book.

"Babe, what do you wanna eat?" you yelled to Lando, your eyes still focused on the book. You didn't get a reply, but 5 seconds later he walked into the kitchen. "I'm not really sure," he said while walking up to you. He walked in between your legs and tilted the book in your hands so that he could read it.

"Oo, how about spaghetti? You always say how you wanted to make it." He said and pointed to it. "By that I meant making it from scratch. It is too late to do that." you reply and turn the page.

"Then just boil the spaghetti we have and make the sauce." The excitement in your eyes when you heard him say that made him chuckle. You got off the counter and began rummaging around the kitchen looking for all the ingredients. "Red sauce?" "Red sauce" he confirms. You get out the tomatoes, chillies, garlic, herbs and spices while Lando takes out the spaghetti.

You give him the simple task of watching the pasta boil and reminding you when it was 20 minutes. He dutifully did his task and even drained the water and left the spaghetti in the colander. It was getting late and the two of you were growing hungrier, but knew that the food would be worth the wait.

While waiting for the boiled tomatoes to cool you were cutting some onions and garlic. "Can you get the grinder out?" you asked Lando. He was a bit deep in thought, so only hummed before retrieving the asked for item. "What are you thinking about?" "I could've overtaken Russel at turn 14." he said.

"Baby, it's ok," you abandoned the half cut onions and wiped your hands. You walked over to Lando and gently made him look at you, "Could you have done something then? Yes. Can you do anything about it now? No. It's no use dwelling on something that can't be changed. The best you can make of it, is to be aware of it and try and avoid repeating it in the future. Hmm?" you hummed at the end with a nod. Lando looked at you and nodded along.

To get his mind off of the last race you got him to make good use of his muscles and crush some dried chillies. The cooking went on. You peeled the tomatoes, put them in the grinder and set up the wok on the stove. Lando was slicing some pieces of soft chicken which he wanted you to add in the sauce.

The sauce was half ready when you turned the gas off and went to the sink to wash your hands. "Is it done?" he asked you. 'No' you told him and dried your hands, "It still has some chunks which didn't get ground." This is where your casual Tuesday night took a turn.

Lando, being the muppet he is who can't cook, poured the chunky liquid into the grinder bowl, covered it and put it on the machine. You then faced him and saw what he did. But you did not have enough time to tell him to not do what he was about to do.

He turned the knob and within less than a second the hot tomato sauce spewed out of the bowl and all over you, Lando and your cosy kitchen.

You would expect that a formula 1 driver's quick reflexes would not just be limited to when they are driving. But if you saw the scene inside Lando and his girlfriend's kitchen on a Tuesday night after a triple header, you would be greeted with quite the opposite. The once clean kitchen was now covered in red food. You and Lando were covered in near-boiling hot pasta sauce.

When the sauce spewed out, Lando's first reaction was to let out a slightly high-pitched scream and you quickly turned the loud nightmare-like-sounding machine off. Neither of you said anything, you just looked around the kitchen, taking in the mess, processing what happened, and slowly registering the pain you felt where the sauce lay on your bare skin.

Thankfully most of the spilt sauce got on your t-shirts and not on either of your faces, but some did reach your arms. Lando was the first to say something "Ow, that hurts, that's-that's starting to burn, ouch." Without wasting much time, you grabbed his arm and took him to the bathroom. You turned the shower on, "keep your arm under the water. Do. Not. Move."

You went to the sink and shed your tomato-covered top and left it there. You got Lando to do the same and then joined him by putting your own, now slightly burnt, arms under the spray of cold water. "Baby, why did you start the grinder with a hot liquid inside of it?" you asked him, your voice soft and full of concern, "I'm not mad, just wanna know why."

"You said you had to grind it." His voice sounded broken, you wanted to hug him tight and never let go. "Lan, you have to wait till it has cooled down. The steam inside created pressure which caused the lid to pop open and the sauce to scatter everywhere." He just gave a quiet 'oh' in response.

"How much of your arm got burnt?" you asked and he showed you the parts which hurt. You left the bathroom and came back with two handkerchiefs and ice packs. With the help of rubber bands you secured the ice packs to his forearms. "Where are you going?" he asked when the two of you changed your clothes.

"To clean the kitchen and salvage whatever is left of the sauce."

"Let me help, please."

How could you say no to that face he was making? After some back and forth he got you to also attach an ice pack to your forearm. you grumbled but nevertheless allowed him to take care of you.

You both clean in silence. He cleaned the counter, cupboards and the grinder while you cleaned up the floor where most of the sauce got. 10 minutes later the now salvaged sauce was on the gas with the chicken in and almost ready to eat.

Lando got out two plates and served you both some spaghetti. Your stomach rumbled, which made him giggle. The two of you quickly began laughing. Some people process and handle things by crying, some yell, some throw things around the house and some just sit in silence and wallow and wither away. But you had a different way of coping with emotions and stress. By laughing. That was one thing you and your boyfriend had in common. You both would laugh to process things.

It was kind of the reason the two of you got together in the first place.

Soon the sauce was ready and was severed. You both took your plates and forks and sat on the couch, something ready to play on the TV. The ice packs had come off by then, but Lando insisted on wrapping the cold napkin around the red part of your hand which was not covered in ice earlier.

He finished wrapping your arm and you leaned forward to kiss his nose. Before you could reach though, his lips caught yours in a short but sweet kiss. You both ate your spaghetti and watched what was playing on the TV, occasionally making comments about it here and there.

"Babe"

"Yea?"

"Next time, maybe leave cooking to me?"

"I’m with you a 100 percent on that one" 

A/N - this fic came to be because I read a lando fic where reader was eating chicken pasta and decided to cook spaghetti for the first time and ended up burning myself(dw i'm fine, the burn was very minor)

Hope you enjoyed reading<3

[lemonlover1110]

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

Satoru Gojo

[Chapter 8] Unanswered Questions

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Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f!Reader

Discord +18 - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Satoru never thought that he’d be in this spot. He’s watching the woman he once loved or– His feelings are all over the place right now. He just knows that you’re treating him like a complete stranger. Although he can’t be mad since he asked for professionalism… You just treat him like you absolutely have no clue about him. Like you didn’t grow up together.

He can’t be mad. He asked for it. He tries not to think about it but he can’t stop. His eighteen-year-old self would be kicking himself if he knew about this reality. He really thought at eighteen that at this point of his life he’d be married… Which he is, but not with you. You were supposed to be together with a kid by this point, but now you’re playing secretary, one that acts as if you don’t know anything about him. Basic things about him seem to have slipped your mind.

He tries not to dwell on it… He doesn’t love you. At least not how he did five years ago. He’ll always have a soft spot for you, after all, you are his first love. He can’t help but wonder how life would be if he was married to you right at this moment.

“Mr. Gojo, I’m leaving.” You have to repeat yourself because Satoru is out of it. You walked in and he didn’t notice you, and he didn’t hear your voice the first time. His eyebrows raise, looking at his watch before nodding. You begin to walk away and he’s watching you.

“Actually–” He begins, making you stop. You turn to look at him, “Would you like joining me for dinner?”

“What for?” You respond. You’ve been working together for two weeks, and as much as you wish to say that you’ve grown close, you really haven’t. Satoru bites down on his lip, and he ends up shrugging. “I would rather not. Sayo is really sweet… But your mother isn’t exactly–”

“Why did you go to her? What happened to your studies?” He asks. Those questions bug his mind. When he left you, he thought that you’d be fine at the very least. You were studying to be so much more than what you are now.

“Not everyone is born with a golden spoon in their mouth. A lot came up in one moment and I couldn’t afford to study. It wasn’t because I decided that working for your mother was worth it.” You answer, leaving out the obvious details. Satoru slowly nods his head, and he clears his throat before speaking again,

“Well… I was asking you to dinner alone. There’s a new restaurant just around the corner and I don’t want to try it out alone.” He says, and you titl your head.

“What for? We have nothing to talk about, it’d just be awkward.” You respond, and his finger begins to tap against the hardwood desk. You try to smile at him but it comes off as insincere. “Thanks for the offer.”

“Are you sure? There’s a lot for us to unload… And since we’re working together, I think it’s best we get along.” He answers, and his hand begins to shake. He hides it under the desk so you can’t view it. The confident Satoru that he usually is isn’t all that confident now.

“I think it’s best if we don’t. That’s too personal considering we’re just working together.” You respond. He doesn’t have an idea but it seems that you’re desperate to leave, and it hurts him. Back then you would’ve jumped at the opportunity of having dinner together since you barely had any time to spare.

“It’ll just be for a short while.” He insists. He’s used to getting his way, he did grow up spoiled. He’s not stopping until you finally agree.

“Look, Satoru, I know you want to continue whatever you had with the previous secretary, and let me tell you this– I’ll remember our past for a minute or so. I’ve had you, and I don’t want you anymore. I have no idea what you have in mind but it’s not going to work with me.” You tell him, and he’s taken back by your response, but of course, he really wasn’t expecting much different. “Just let me go back home, I have a cat that’s waiting for me.”

“Why is this stupid cat so fucking important? I just want to talk.” He responds. He stands up from his chair. “It’s just dinner, the cat can fucking wait for an hour or so. There’s so much to talk about.”

“I’m the one that has a lot of questions that need to be answered, and I don’t want to hear it. I just want to go home, Satoru! Just leave me alone.” You slightly raise your voice, clearly annoyed. You just want to go home and see your son. “We have nothing to talk about. We must keep it professional.”

“You’ve grown so pathetic… Really, over a cat?” He pushes it, and it makes your blood boil. He’s simply just confused. He swore you were a dog person, but he guesses you’ve changed.

“Are you jealous over a fucking cat?” You question in disbelief. His jaw clenches, and he tries to take a deep breath. You have to remind him, “The fact gets priority over you. He always will. At least Ren didn’t fucking leave me and got married two months after you asked for a fucking break!”

“I–” Satoru can’t find the right words to say. Blood flows everywhere and Satoru’s face is flushed. He’s not sure what to say to that. “I had my reasons.”

“Then I have my reasons to not have dinner with you. If you’d excuse me, Mr. Gojo, I have to go home.”

Satoru’s mind feels as if it goes a thousand miles per hour. He’s thinking about you. You’re right, you’re rightfully upset but he’s so irritated with the fact that you’d rather spend the night with a fucking cat than have dinner with him. It’s on him– He knows it’s on him but he’s not thinking like that. 

“Hey, Satoru. How was work?” Sayo asks when she spots her husband. He’s not really in the mood… His feelings toward Sayo are weird. Sometimes he thinks he loves her, sometimes he can’t stand her. Tonight is one of those nights where he can’t stand her. He can’t even stand to look at her. “Everything okay?”

“Everything’s fine. Where’s my mother?” He responds, and she shrugs. Of course she doesn’t know, Sayo and his mother don’t really get along that well, at least that’s what it looks like. Sayo is about to ask a question but he walks past her, completely ignoring her. He goes straight to his mother’s bedroom, and he presses his ear against the door, and once he hears her footsteps, he barges into the room. She’s startled, her hand going over her heart before she looks at her son who clearly isn’t happy.

“Satoru? You look mad, everything okay?” His mother sounds genuinely concerned.

“Why the hell did you hire her? I thought you couldn’t stand her. At one point you were begging for me to break up with her.” Satoru asks, and he tries to keep his cool, to not lose control, but it’s hard. It’s so fucking hard. “You’re just fucking with me.”

“She needed a job, I couldn’t just–”

“You do it with everyone else! Why do you suddenly care about her?” Satoru cuts her off, and maybe he could’ve worded it differently. He doesn’t want you to be jobless, and as you’re right, he was born with a golden spoon in his mouth, he doesn’t understand your struggles and he doesn’t want to leave you without a job just because he’s… Mad at you. “Why did you put her as my secretary? Couldn’t you just leave her with Shoko?”

“You needed someone and she was available.” She answers, but that’s not good enough. She must have an ulterior motive, even if it’s his mother. She’s cold hearted enough to hurt him, and it’s so upsetting to think about because that’s his mother. “I don’t see the big problem… What’s wrong?”

“I was planning on getting married to her! And this is the stunt you pull?” He’s raising his voice, and his mother doesn’t like the tone that he’s picked up. Her arms are crossed and she raises a brow. 

“Don’t talk to me like that.” She tells him, causing him to roll his eyes. “You’re in my house.”

“I’ll be moving out soon! And I’ll get a new secretary.” Satoru responds, causing her to scoff. The arrangement that’s happening isn’t permanent either way, the moment that Satoru finds a new secretary, you’ll go back to Shoko. They’re throwing you around as if you were a ball of sorts. 

“What the hell did she do to you… Why are you so upset?” His mother asks, curious as to why he barged into her room. He hasn’t cared up until now. Satoru shakes his head and scratches the back of his neck, too embarrassed to admit anything. He just doesn’t know how to handle this rejection.

“I just don’t get it. You were so set on us being apart and you do this?” Satoru’s voice is laced with disappointment. He’s never really counted on his parents for any type of support, they were always absent. He counted on you for a big part of his life and when he didn’t have you, he only had his mother. He hoped that he could finally count on her for once in his life, but he can’t. He wants to fall to his knees and cry because he doesn’t understand why his mother is doing this to him.

“Satoru, you wouldn’t understand.” She says. 

“You did this to me, don’t you forget.” He points his finger at her before he walks away. He doesn’t understand why he’s on the verge of tears. His own mother is making him work with a woman that he once loved– Or loves… He still can’t figure it out. Seeing you every day is bringing back his old emotions, and he doesn’t know if he’s actually in love with you or not. 

“Everything okay, Sato–” Sayo begins as Satoru walks past him, and she can’t even finish her sentence before he’s gone. He doesn’t care to stop, stomping away from the place. 

She slowly blinks, watching her husband walk away. She ends up shrugging before leaving to do something else.

[hyperfixiation-station]

Welcome Home

Based off this post by @simon-rileys :))

Pairing: GhostxReader

Summary: Picking Ghost up from the airport after 3 month long mission with your 4-year-old daughter. What could possibly go wrong?

I did write this on my phone, so please please please let me know if there are any errors. And, as always, no beta!

"Layla!" You say sternly, "stop running around, you're going to get hurt." Your 4-year-old daughter completely ignores you, just giggles and keeps running in circles around the baggage claim.

You sigh and shake your head, grinning ruefully. You can't blame her for her excitement. After all, she's going to see her dad after 3 longs months away. You'd be running around too if your body could manage it. Your heart rate quickens in anticipation at the thought, and you bounce up and down for a moment before getting winded and going back to monitoring Layla.

You watch her little braids with pink bows at the end flop up and down as she runs, zig zagging every which way. Oh well. As long as she is in your sights you can't get too upset. You shake your head as she squeals again, barely dodging an old man as she makes another lap, her chubby little legs never running out of energy

Where she gets it from, you'll never know. You certainly don't have that much energy. Especially not now. You laugh to yourself, looking down at where the small but obvious bulge in your stomach is, the sign of life that you have so carefully hidden with one of Simon's hoodies. Your hand strays to your pocket to touch the ultrasound photos, the ones you got a week ago when you went to find out the gender. You run your finger nervously along the edge of the photos, equal parts excited and anxious to tell Simon you are pregnant again.

You still remember telling him when you were pregnant with Layla. He'd been home at the time, and you had been absolutely terrified. You weren't even married at the time, and had never spoken about wanting kids. You almost had a breakdown when you handed him the positive pregnancy test and he just stared at it in silence. That was, until he looked up at you with a genuine smile and tears in his eyes and asked you to marry him. He didn't even have a ring.

Distantly you hear your daughter shriek, snapping you out of the memory. Your head shoots up, eyes wide and searching for her little form. You rake your eyes over the room, but you see no sign of a brunette in a little pink dress.

"Layla!" You cry, hurrying towards where you heard her voice, at the junction where the wrong terminal meets the baggage claim, "Layla, stay where I can see you!" She doesn't respond, and your heart rate picks up as you start to list off the worst-case scenarios.

"Layla!"

Ghost steps off the escalator, lips twitching under his mask. He had gone the roundabout way, take an extra 15 minutes to walk all the way to the other terminal, just so he could surprise his girls.

Gods he can't wait to see them. Yes, 3 months was really not that long compared to some of his other deployments, but to him, anytime spent away from his family felt like torture.

He never thought he would end up like this, a wife and a kid and a figurative white picket fence. It had always been in the cards for him to die alone. Or at least, he thought it was. And then you forced your way into his life, gave him something to fight for, gave him something worth living for. And gods how he loved you.

He hears a familiar giggle and freezes, snapping out of his reverie. He trains his eyes on the end of the hall, watching the crowd for you and Layla. Sure enough, a little pink ball of destruction comes hurtling around the corner, running full-speed for him. He drops his duffle bag to the ground, and waits for you to show, brow furrowing when you don't follow behind her.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it though, as his daughter appears before him in all her pink, glittery glory.

"Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!" She shrieks, launching herself at him. He wraps his arms around her, and hold her tight to his chest inhaling deeply. He can feel her small shoulders shaking, can hear her sniffing, can feel her tears on his neck. Guilt overwhelms him for a moment, self-hatred overpowering him for making her cry. Its gone in an instant, his frown vanishing as Layla places a sloppy kiss on his eyebrow, his cheeks are still covered by a mask.

"Daddy!" She squeals again, burrowing her face in his chest. "I mithed you!" Tears prick his eyes at the sound of her voice. He forgot how much he missed her adorable little lisp.

"I missed y' too, baby girl." He presses his forhead to hers for a moment before looking up, his eyes scanning the hallway for you, frowning again when your still not in sight. "Wh're's y'r mother?"

"She was being thlow tho I lef' her." She informs him, grinning happily as she plays with his dog tags, her head resting against his shoulder. He grins, closing his eyes for a moment as he savors the feeling of his daughter in his arms.

"She's slow, huh?" Ghost huffs, shaking his head at his daughter's antics, "well then le's go meet 'er."

Layla grabs at his face, shaking her head rapidly, looking a serious as an over-excited 4-year-old can manage.

"She has an 'uprise for you." She informs him solemnly. He tries nto to laugh, knowing shes trying to be very serious, but fails. She frowns, squeezing his face with her chubby little hands.

"I'th no' funny." She says crossly, " Mommy 'as an 'uprise for you."

"A surprise?"

"Yeth." She looks around, eyeing the strangers in the terminal before leaning next to his ear, "I'm not appothed t' thay nothin', but-" she breaks off into peals of laughter as Ghost covers her mouth with his free hand.

"If mommy says you're not supposed t', then y'r not sup-" He pauses, hearing your frantic voice echoing from around the corner, "y' didn't tell y'r mother where y' were goin', did ya now baby girl?"

She at least has the decency to look ashamed, hiding her face in his jacket as she shakes her head. He laughs softly and shifts, bending to pick up his duffle bag with his free arm. His daughter clings to his neck, her head buried in his chest as he moves down the hallway, heading toward your panicky voice.

"Layla where did yo-"

"I've got 'er luv, dontcha worry." You freeze in your tracks as Simon rounds the corner, your daughter in his arms. You stare at him wide-eyed, drinking in the sight of him af6er so many months apart. He's in a hoodie and jeans, a black mask covering the lower portion of his face. His dogs tags are out, Layla twirling them in her fingers. He looks exhausted and scruffy, his clothes dirty and torn, but you could care less. Just the sight of him alive and well is enough to make you cry.

He drops his bag to the ground and kicks it out of the way, opening his free arm to you. Tears well in your eyes as you launch yourself at him, wrapping you arms around him and Layla. His arm wraps around you and yoi feel him lean bacm, pulling you slightly off the ground, gently swinging you side to side before setting you down.

You stand in his embrace for a minute, face pressed into his side, savoring the feeling of being in his arms again. Your shoulders begin to shake, tears slipping from your eyes as you inhale deeply, the scent of him like manna to your soul. You let out a small sob and tighten your grip, digging your fingers into his side. You stand like that for a few minutes, a little family reunion in the middle fo the hallway, you sobbing silently while Simon rests his chin on your head, Layla's heel digging into your ribs. You pull back a moment later, rubbing a hand across your eyes as you inhale shakily.

"I missed you Si'." You laugh wetly, looking up at him. He doesn't say anything, just grabs you and pulls you in again, your head resting on his chest. Your daughter's chubby hand moves to rest on your head, her fingers twisting your hair into painful knots. You don't notice, to focused on trying not to cry again.

"I missed y' too luv." He murmurs after a minute, his chest rumbling beneath your forehead. He holds you for a few more seconds before stepping back, his eyes suspiciously shiny. "Now Layla says y' have a surprise f'r me?"

"That I do, dove." You sniff, rubbing your nose with the the back of your hand. You look down, biting your lip nervously as you take another step back. You slip your hand into your pocket, fingers closing around the little bundle of photos.

"Y'gonna expla-" His voice trails off as you pull the pictures from your pocket, handing them out to him. You watch as he gently sets Layla down and takes a slow step forward, his movements almost reverent. He takes the photos from your waiting hand, his eyes growing wet as he studies the photos of the 4 month old baby you have growing inside you. He can't read them, but he knows what they represent. After all, he has one of Layla's ultrasound photos in the pocket of his vest.

"Is this-are you…"

"Yes." You laugh, your voice thick, "we're having a baby boy. In April."

He laughs, a rare, genuine one, and sweeps you up in his arms, spinning you around in a circle. He sets you back down but doesn't let go. His hands slide down to your waist as he leans forward, pressing his forehead against yours. His eyes close as your arms wrap around his neck, and he exhales shakily, the warm air making your eyes flutter. You stand like that for what feels like ages, forehead-to-forehead, just breathing in the other's presence.

"Mommy!" You are brought back to the real world by your daughter, who is standing with her hand on her hips and glaring at you, "Th'op hogging daddy to yourthelf! I wanna turn!"

You chortle softly, stepping back from Simon. He huffs and shakes his head, giving you a very 'she gets this from you' type look. He scoops her up as she squeals, positioning her on his hip. He crouches and grabs his bag, hoisting it on his shoulder before grabbing your hand amd interlacing fingers. You step forward, tugging him behind you as you lead him out of the airport and back home.

"Was it a good surprise?" You murmur as you walk to the car.

"Very, luv."

"I'm glad. How would you feel if I tell you we're having twins?"

So here it is, a month later than promised @simon-rileys @dwkfan , sorry 'bout that

Lemme know what you think :)

[nariism]

ink to paper — k. ayato

mutual/oblivious pining + "don't look at me that way."

synopsis. yes, he thinks. what would he do without you? well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. and he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

wc. ~1.2k

— for @kruinka and @ph-xntasy / @yuellii 🫶 | event masterlist ✉️

You've cut his apples into petit rabbits today.

The ink at the end of Ayato's brush has soaked through his page at least three times since he started scribing, big globs of black ruining what could have been a beautiful sequence. And the culprits for distracting him taunt him with their little red ears.

In fact, they've been sitting for so long that the flesh of the fruit is starting to brown. How long has he been unproductively glancing up and down between his paper and his breakfast? 

He had told you that they were in season as a passing comment the last time he saw you—nothing more than a throwaway line to make conversation. Yet here you are, showing up at his table with a tray of his usual breakfast and something extra. Something hand-crafted and too cute for him to even fathom putting into his mouth.

It seemed that you had a special place in your memory for him. He could bring up the smallest wish and it would show up on his desk the next day.

It was your job to know him inside and out, after all. Your sole duty as his scheduler. Even so, you made time to do things outside of your job description if only to please him. You always looked so happy to see him, too. He's starting to wonder if you have a crush on him.

He glances at his clock. While he is busy with work, what harm would a few minutes do if he were to be a little distracted?

Kamisato Ayato cannot cook.

He remembers fondly the only time he had ever demonstrated his kitchen skills to you. After unpacking his favourite tempura from Uyuu restaurant, he proceeded to line the shrimp up on a plate and decorate it.

You found humour in his apparent lack of expertise in the kitchen, chalking it up to his spoiled upbringing. He hadn't believed you then, thinking that you were being too harsh as well as too distracted by the melody of your laugh to bother dwelling on it. But now he's here, trying to do something as simple as cutting apples and failing miserably.

What spurred him on to do this in the first place is beyond him. Maybe he thought that the smile on your face when you saw his efforts would be worth all the trouble, or perhaps he was seeking your approval since he admired your ever-growing list of skills.

From servant to sparring partner to cook to personal scheduler, you were quickly making yourself a regular part of his day. He envied your adaptability, having little opportunity as a noble to try.

He figured this would be a chance to start. To learn, if it were to make you happy or proud.

Oh dear. Who knew cutting apples was such a daunting task?

Ayato thought this would be simple—cut some apples into cute shapes, make you smile, perhaps keep you around a bit longer to discuss it than you would usually stay. (Lately, he's been craving to hear your voice more and more.)

But this blade is tiny, unlike his hefty sword. It's too nimble for his fingers, and he's sure he has nicked himself at least a dozen times by now.

If you were here, you'd probably scold him for being so careless. And you'd set aside time in your busy day to help him, he's sure. It's in your nature to be kind which makes him miss you all the more.

Just as he's about to give up and call it quits, the door slides open.

Archons. He's been so engrossed in his woes that he had forgotten it was almost time for your scheduled meeting to go over his other plans for the week.

The scraps of peel and sloppily shaped apple slices are so incriminating that he doesn't even bother hiding it. You both stare at each other from across the table, completely unblinking and still.

"Um..." You strain out, clearly attempting to hide your amusement. "Hello."

He coughs awkwardly, placing down the paring knife and trying to uphold as much dignity as he possibly can.

"Hello," he greets, unable to meet your gaze anymore. "My apologies. Our meeting slipped my mind."

You gently pluck a rabbit from the plate, rotating it around in your fingers to get a better look. They're sloppy, for sure, with jagged edges and tiny slits where you know his knife slipped. And they don't even resemble anything remotely close to rabbits in the first place, more like blocky V-shaped thingamabobs.

You glance up and down between the rabbit and the man behind it, who looks strangely flustered considering his usually calm temperament.

"Don't look at me that way," he says quietly, wooden end of the blade gently knocking against the table as he deflates.

"Are these... bunnies?" You ask him in bewilderment.

"They are... supposed to be rabbits, yes."

Complete silence fills the room until Ayato feels as if he can't breathe. Coupled with the way your eyes are scrutinizing his attempts, he wants nothing more than to melt away.

And then you laugh. You can't stop laughing, it seems. Doubled over onto the table and fighting for air between giggles.

He can't help the softening of his expression, the warmth in his chest. If this is all it took to get you to smile like that, then who cares how embarrassing it is that he can't even cut fruit correctly?

You round the table, plopping down next to him. Oh no. He can't control his racing heart when you're leaning in so close to him, so close that he can feel the rumble of your laughter in his own body.

With your shoulders pressed together, body resting comfortably against his, you take the blade and slice of apple from his hands.

"I'll show you how," you offer. He watches intently as you make the first shallow slits through the peel, then gently slide the knife across the top. Too busy admiring your skillful hands, he almost instantly blurts out:

"Can you please show me again?"

You look at him funny, brows pinched but a smile still seeping across your face. You show him another time, expertly cutting another slice. And another. And another.

Unconsciously, or perhaps following the quiet voice in his heart, his head falls atop yours. You sink into him, allowing him to rest against you without complaint.

"Hm, am I your personal comforter now?"

"I suppose you are."

"You know, if you actually pay attention you might be able to make your own breakfast."

"Mm..." He hums when your hands don't stop moving despite your words. Instead, you laugh again. And again, there's the ever familiar thrum of his heart.

"Oh, dear Commissioner. What would you do without me?"

Yes, he thinks. What would he do without you?

Well, his schedule would be a mess, for one. He's far too busy to keep track of it all on top of his other work. And he wouldn't know how to cut bunny ears into his apples, either.

He would rather you keep him company anyway, bunnies and all.

© ALABOADOA 2023 — please do not translate or post my works to other platforms.

[in-class-daydreams]

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x Utahime!Reader Synopsis: Ever wonder when Gojo first started rocking the undercut? Notes: A Just Between Us Universe drabble

“You’re laughing.”

“I’m not.”

“You promised not to laugh!”

“I’m not, Satoru!” 

Gojo sat at your vanity, having just teleported into your bedroom and scaring the living daylights out of you. Your red hakama pants were stained with tea you spilled when he startled  you during tea ceremony practice, and you just know your grandmother will scold you for the red mark forming where the hot liquid touched your skin.

She’ll surely give you an earful for “staining” your skin with such an injury, and said earful would inevitably be no less than twenty minutes, so, needless to say, you were unsympathetic to Gojo’s plight. You stood - definitely laughing - between his legs and examined his absolutely ruined hair. You’d warned him that tying his tying his bandages so tight was going to be problematic, but he’d brushed you off completely, stating that it would be bothersome if it fell off.

“It’s not that bad, is it?” He spins around to look into your vanity mirror in despair. His white locks were pointing in all different directions - some flat, some straight out, and you’d spare him by not telling him so, but you think it’s thinning in some places. It looks as if the hair had been crushed under that makeshift blindfold for months, but knowing Gojo, he had to have taken it off to shower at least, well, at least once in that time.

“It’s bad,” you deadpan. You try to smooth down an errant tuft only for it to spring back up.

 He yanks at handfuls of his hair in despair. “This is the part where you comfort me and say I still look great!”

You shrug. “I’m no liar.”

With a fake and overdramatic sob, Gojo flops face-first onto the table. “I see no point in living if I can’t be beautiful.”

Rolling your eyes, you reach into your drawer and pull out your hair kit. “Your” is a relative term, seeing as the maids mostly do your styling, but it’s still used on you, so it counts.

“Do you trust me?” you tease, fully intending to proceed with your plan regardless. 

To your surprise, Gojo relaxes into your touch when you run a hand through his hair.

“Yeah,” he replies.

You’re thankful that he closes his eyes when you pause and take in his carefree attitude. Well, he’d always been carefree, but you almost preferred that he shoot you a teasing remark or something he knows will get on your nerves. He said he trusted you, and he meant it. You didn’t want to think about the hundred things that that implied.

The best you have is one of those manual clippers that look like some medieval torture device, but the Clan Elders insisted that too much electricity would ruin your complexion, so your room has no socket to plug in an electric clipper. After going without one your whole life though, you make quick work of measuring out how much hair you want to take off and get to it. Even as he hears the metal parts scraping together, Gojo doesn’t even flinch. You’re surprised that someone with as many enemies as him could relax near anyone.

Surely it’s because he has confidence in his infinity, to which–

Your pinky brushes the nape of his neck and you realize with a start that he’s turned off his infinity entirely. For you. You’re certain he has the precision to only let you touch his hair, but that’s not what’s happening here.

Rather than dwell on it and accidentally delude yourself into thinking this was anything special - more likely he just didn’t consider you a threat - you make short work of his hair and rub a hand along the rough part of his new undercut.

Gojo opens his eyes and takes in his new look.

“Well, Howl?” you tease. “Is life worth living again?”

He feels the prickly hair and drags his hand through the transition into his normal, longer locks.

“It’s different,” he says. “What do you think?”

There’s about a dozen smart remarks you can make right about now, but you don’t feel inclined towards any of them. Maybe it’s the fact that he was honest with you that you reply with honesty in return.

“You look handsome,” you say softly. He makes eye contact with you in the mirror and he looks at you curiously. Like he’s debating on whether or not to say something. You make a decision for him. “But you know that,” you add on. Whatever it is, he can say it when he’s ready.

Gojo smiles boyishly. Most people don’t notice that Gojo doesn’t actually smile often. He smirks, laughs, pouts, grins, and a whole host of smile-adjacent expressions, but it’s rare for him to smile softly. Genuinely.

“It’s different, hearing it from you,” he replies.

“I’m sure you hear you’re handsome all the time.”

“Not from you.”

You chuckle nervously. “Does that matter?”

Gojo turns around in his seat. He doesn’t reach out for you, but lets his knees brush against you. He still hasn’t turned on his infinity. The untouchable Satoru Gojo, it seems, wishes he could be touchable again.

~

Thank you for reading! If you liked this drabble, check out my other works! [Link]

[galebrainrot2024]

GalexFemYou Boat Scene 18+

Summary: FemReaderxGale NSFW 18+ on the boat in the astral plane after you and Gale discuss the crown. Tried to be a little slower and tender in this one. Done at the request of another, thank you for the idea! :) Content: Explicit and slow piv sex, Minors DNI!

Master List | Read on Ao3

“I don’t think I deserve you at times - I told you of my ambitions, the likes of which many would baulk at - and yet, you remain at my side. Permit me to show you something, please? Indulge me - a little boat voyage, that’s all.” 

Despite your hesitation, you obliged - Gale meant more than words could express and you knew you’d do whatever you needed to help him see that. 

“Astra navigabimus.” As he uttered the words, you felt your consciousness and body shift, pulling away from the material plane and cast elsewhere. It was jarring and surreal, yet you kept your eyes shut, trusting Gale implicitly. 

“Few mortals ever glimpse what you’re about to see,” Gale said in a husky, quiet voice as his warm hand engulfed yours. “Don’t be alarmed, I’m here with you. Open your eyes.” 

You inhaled, the air around you a chilled mist. Goosebumps undulated across your skin as your eyes fluttered open, absorbing the impossible swirls of purple and blue iridescence that surrounded you. As you drift on the small wooden boat, your fingers lithely traced the air, trying to capture the gossamer fog. 

You turned to Gale, his face bright and the impossible colors swirled in his dark eyes. “The outer planes… this is where gods dwell. Where they observe us from afar. Where they make play things of us.” He frowned, gesturing to the skies, “They would keep all of this from us - the power, the possibilities. They only want us to serve them, pray to them… die for them. What if we didn’t need them and welded their power instead to help ourselves in all the ways they refuse to?” Gale’s voice was thick with anticipation and delirium, “I could make that happen. I could make this illusion a reality… with you by my side.” 

You froze, gripped by the possibility of what he offered. You’d be lying if you said the thought wasn’t tantalizing… yet, as he sat here before you, pleading and desperate for approval, you knew that Gale - the man before you - was enough. He would always be enough. When was the last time he’d been told that?

Had he ever been told? 

“I don’t need the stars, Gale,” you laced your fingers with his and brought his palm to your lips, brushing them against the skin. “I have you.” 

Your romantic gesture fell on deaf ears as Gale insisted: “Then have me, but have the best, possible version of me. The tadpole, the orb, these threats to our existence, the gods could aid us if they wished and instead they cower behind Ao. With the power of the crown, any foe would be rendered impotent, any obstacle dwarfed by our might.” Gale sighed, clutching your hands like a penitent seeking redemption. “I used to believe Mystra was worth dying for. I was wrong. You showed me how much I have to live for. With you, I forget my goddess.” Your heart thrummed violently, threatening to jump from your throat and your body instinctively began to scoot forward, craving him. “I love you. Tell me you feel the same, that you want what I want… please..” Gale’s voice broke and you leaned forward, cupping his face in your hands and rested your forehead to his. 

“I love you for the man you are,” you said, brushing your lips tenderly to his and he shuddered, emitting a gentle groan. Your knees were flush to his and you moved forward, chasing the adrenaline that flowed through your veins like a raging river. 

“Think of what I offer, the vastness of eternity, the Weave at our fingertips… you’d really prefer me as I am?” Gale looked into your eyes, the dark pools beseeching earnestly for your truth. Could you mean it? 

“You’re everything I need you to be,” you murmured before allowing your fingers to twine into his hair, pulling him close as your lips captured his. His gentle moan ignited the blaze within you and you feel the heat between your thighs stir. 

Gale returned your kiss passionately, hungrily, a man starved with disbelief that mortality would be enough. “I hope you’re right. Godly power I can live without but you - you’re everything.” His hands ran up your thighs, brushing against the soft skin and teasingly trailed closer to the source of your desire. “You put the stars to shame… let’s sit here awhile, I want to drink you in.” He brushed his tongue across your lower lip before he sought entrance, your tongues gliding together in the familiar wonton dance. He tasted faintly of earl gray and something rich - perhaps a lingering flavor of the nights meal. 

Your bodies entangled with familiarity, and you felt Gale’s smirk widen against your lips. He pulled back for a moment to caress your cheek and rested his forehead to yours, “Would you be opposed to staying here a bit longer?” He murmured as his fingers traced the edge of your shirt, tickling your torso beneath. You shivered, feeling the electricity burn and you whimpered as his cool hands pulled the shirt over your head. He licked his lips as his eyes consumed you, his pupils blown wide with desire, his cheeks flushed a dark pink. You shook your head, the bitter mist shrouding you as heat swelled in your center. 

Gale leaned forward, his lips brushing against the freckles that littered your shoulder and your hands trailed under his shirt, lifting. He obliged, leaning backward as you slowly pulled his shirt off. Typically, Gale and you would ravage one another if given the opportunity. 

Tonight, though, felt different. You craved him tenderly, wanting each moment to be a standalone symphony. You traced the orb, how its tendrils licked up his neck and brought your lips to the pattern. He sighed, pulling you closer to him and the seats of the boat seemed to de-materialize as you and Gale stared at one another, admiring. 

A plush blanket appeared beneath you and you rose a brow curiously as your fingers ran over the sensual fabric. Gale wrapped his arms around your torso to pull you into his lap. Your legs circled his waist and you cupped his face in yours, allowing your lips to meet in a supple, painfully slow kiss. You moaned as his tongue sought yours, as he slipped it into your mouth greedily, your hips rolling against his for friction. You felt the girth between his thighs stir as your hips rocked and you pressed yourself tighter to him as the kiss deepened. The carnal need grew, rooted in your core as the lustful dance began. 

Gale’s lithe fingers hooked into the waist of your pants and you gasped, the iciness of his touch juxtaposing the primal heat pooling within you. He took his time unlacing your pants before pushing them unhurriedly down. His eyes flick down to your clothed sex and you heard him intake his breath sharply. Gale leaned forward, kissing you lecherously. Each move of his tongue was precise and painfully slow, and you felt your body begin to squirm impatiently. You felt him grin against your lips as he cupped your chin and pulled your face closer to his as his tongue indulged. 

Your fingers clumsily worked to remove his trousers and he chuckled, “Let me lend you a hand,” he said as his fingers grazed yours. He shook out of the pants and your eyes widened as you admired the firm tent pressed against his underwear. He guided your hand, slipping it beneath his underwear and he groaned as your fingers wrapped around his arousal. He was warm, firm and you felt a surge of dripping arousal soak your underwear. He groaned as your hand circled him and began to deftly pump, matching his agonizingly steady pace. His fingers sought entrance between the cloth of your undergarments and sex and trailed along your inner thigh, right where the seam met your skin. 

You mewled, grinding your hips against his, feeling his erection glide against your covered arousal. Your hand worked quicker before his hand covered yours, his breath hot and quiet as he murmured, “Let’s take our time tonight…” Your body was desperate, wanted to move with a vicious urgency yet Gale continued with such excruciating gentleness. A light brush would likely be enough to send you off the cliff. 

His fingers found their way beneath your underwear and you squirmed, seeking him and friction. He chuckled darkly before slipping his fingers away, “The more impatient you are, the longer I’ll wait…” he teased and you leaned forward, biting into his neck. The sinful noise that fell from his lips sent another wave of arousal through you. 

“Gale, please,” you begged, your wetness seeping from your underwear and onto his, leaving evidence of your need. Gale traced your lips with his fingers and you shivered, licking the fingers before you before pulling them into your mouth. Gale groaned, his hips bucking upwards into you as you sucked on his fingers. “Touch me,” you whimpered against his fingers and he brought his slick hand into your underwear. 

“Rather needy tonight,” Gale teased again and he moaned as his fingers slipped between your folds, “Gods, how divine… how eager you are for me…” as he slid his fingers between your thighs you rolled your hips, whimpering again. His thumb circled your clit, the movements unrushed despite your protests. Gale kissed you again as you gripped his shaft, encircling him as you toyed with him, wanting to feel him inside of you. Gale, as if reading your mind, said, “Have you been patient enough?” 

You shook your head, moving your hips, deprived of his fingers. You felt him slip a few into you then, stretching you slowly and massaging you. The sudden entrance made you shudder violently and your arms wrapped around his neck, your fingers pressing into his back as you moaned. You nestled your face in the crook of his neck, biting down to stifle your unholy sounds. 

“No need to suppress yourself,” Gale murmured, pushing your hair back as he thrusted his fingers harder into you, forcing your body to tighten around him with arousal. “I want to hear you,” he demanded, pressing deeper into you and against the deepest source of your arousal. You cried out and bit down on his neck again. 

You lifted your hips, bringing them down onto his fingers and you mumbled against his neck, “I need you, I need more…” 

“Woe be it from me to deny you…” he murmured, pushing your underwear off your body and did the same to himself. He held himself for a moment, stabilizing as you brought your hips over his erection. Your hands gripped his shoulders and you gazed into his lustful, brown pools and felt him fill you. Your mouth watered as you brought yourself down deliberately only allowing the tip of him in. 

He whimpered, thrusting his hips up and you pulled back, smirking. “Why the rush?” You retorted and he growled, surrendering to you. You rolled your hips before bringing yourself fully over him, allowing him to stretch you full and welcomed him into your slick cunt. You both moaned as he filled you and he thrusted into you aggressively, gripping your hips. Your lips brush against his neck, his jaw, until your tongues are tangled again and he drove into you. Your bodies moved of their own accord now, both of you desperate for release and pleasure, the sensations overwhelming. Every fiber of your being thrummed with sin and you moved quicker, pulling him deeper into you and clenching around his erection. He moaned as you did, gripping your waist tighter, using his other hand to pull your hair back and kiss you. Sweat began to cover you both as your movements became carnal, needy - your breathing jagged and unsteady as you felt yourself swell with bliss and ecstasy. 

“I….” Gale moaned, the kiss sloppy and wet, “I… please…” his voice was raspy and deep as he thrusted violently into you and you cried out, begging for more, needing more. Abruptly he flipped you over so you were on your stomach, he hovering over you and pulled your hair back to kiss you. You moaned as you felt him enter you again from behind, your hips rolling backward to bring him further into you. He held your hair to steady himself, the pain from the pull overstimulating as he filled you. Your mouth was full of hot saliva and you whimpered as he grew more urgent, your bodies moving together in a steady, unholy rhythm. He pushed so hard against you that you felt a sharp pain and cried out, enough that he paused for a moment to whisper into your ear, “Are you alright?” And you nod, delirious from the pleasure, and you heard him whisper, “Come for me, then.” 

You press your face into the blanket and muffle your cries as he pumps deeper, harder, and his hand wraps in front of you for his thumb to circle your clit. It’s too much. You writhed and every cell in your body seized, tensing in preperation until you heard him groan gutturally, his hot climax filling you as your own climax roiled through you. The unadulterated bliss that pulsed through you was divine, both of your bodies moving in shared harmony, in your shared symphony of pleasure. Gale collapsed onto you, his lips pressing to your ear and neck as he murmured praises, how much he loved you, how much he adored you and when your breath returned to you, you rolled onto your back, cupping his face in your hands. “Mortality has its perks..” You murmured, your eyes fluttering shut as you smirked. 

Gale laughed, pulling you tighter to his chest, kissing your forehead. You settled into a comfortable silence, allowing the boat to rock you as you both marveled at how lucky you both were to have one another. “I can’t wait to explore your body a thousand more ways… eternity wouldn’t be enough for me.” 

[theobsidianpage]

Something wicked this way comes...

20 moody writing prompts compiled from William Shakespeare's Macbeth: [I would love for you to tag me if you post any writing pulled from or inspired by this list, so I can read all of your amazing work! <3]

Image: Karl Bryullov, The Last Day of Pompeii (detail), 1830–3.

"Stars, hide your fires; Let not light see my black and deep desires."

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak knits up the o'er wrought heart and bids it break."

"What's done cannot be undone."

"Look like the innocent flower, but be the serpent under it."

"I have no words; My voice is in my sword."

"Confusion now hath made his masterpiece."

"Better to be with the dead, whom we, to gain our peace, have sent to peace, than on the torture of the mind to lie in restless ecstasy."

"The love that follows us sometime is our trouble, which still we thank as love."

"Angels are bright still, though the brightest fell."

"The night is long that never finds the day."

"Your cause of sorrow must not be measured by his worth, for then it hath no end."

"There is nothing serious in morality."

"Tis safer to be that which we destroy than by destruction dwell in doubtful joy."

"Sometimes when we are labelled, when we are branded, our brand becomes our calling."

"...who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?"

"I have supped full with horrors."

"...oftentimes, to win us to our harm, the Instruments of Darkness tell us truths, win us with honest trifles, to betray us in deepest consequence."

"No, not even fit to live..."

"...I remember now I am in this earthly world, where to do harm is often laudable, to do good sometime accounted dangerous folly."

"Who could refrain, that had a heart to love, and in that heart courage to make love known?"

[featherstorm2004]

Nana Shimura's guilt

Ok, so I'm sure plenty of people have noticed that in the latest chapter Nana has been insisting that Izuku must kill Shigaraki and that he's a wall that Izuku doesn't have to climb over. And I want to discus that as whilst I certainly don't agree with her, I find her reasons for such a perspective to be fascinating.

But let's begin with a trend I've noticed in any chapters where Nana and the vestiges talk about Shigaraki, and that's the fact that despite originally agreeing to go along with Izuku's wish to save Shigaraki they constantly refer to him as an 'it' or a 'thing' more often describing him as something less then human. And whilst it may not be surprising for the others to refer to him this way, it is incredibly disturbing that Nana his own grandmother seems the most determined to remove Shigaraki's humanity.

In fact it appears to be a theme that anyone who had a personal stake in how Shigaraki came to be are the one's most determined to ignore any sign of personhood inside him. This can be seen with Grand Torino, who despite having come to the realisation that his and Nana's decision was a mistake, seems to double down and tries to convince Izuku that killing Tomura is the better option; hell, literally the moment Shigaraki's identity is reviled he is the one to convince All Might that he isn't worth saving and that no matter his bloodline he's still a villain.

And he says this with full confidence despite the fact All For One outright told them both that he deliberately groomed Shigaraki to hate All Might and only chose him to mess with his enemy.

Even All Might chose to give up on Shigaraki very quickly and hasn't even thought about him since he found out, which is honestly really sad because of all people he should have been the one who cared the most, especially since he knows one of the only reasons All For One chose to mess with Shigaraki was to hurt him.

Which brings me back to Nanna and why she is acting the way she is and honestly, it's most likely due to a number of reasons and guilt is likely the most prominent one. After all it was her choices which led to Kotaro becoming traumatised and despising hero's, and it was because she was a wielder of One For All that her family/Tenko was targeted. Now I'm not saying it's Nana's fault Kotaro became an abuser, after all he was a grown man who was more than responsible for the way he handled his trauma however, that doesn't erase the fact that she was the root of his hatred which he passed down onto his son.

Not to mention she knows that the main reason Tenko was targeted was for revenge against her for defying All For One, so not only dose she have to deal with the fact that her son abused his child to near insanity but also her mortal enemy, who killed her, her master and tried to kill her student also groomed her grandchild to hate her, hero's and to become his next vessel.

That a lot of guilt for anyone to be burdened with and whilst it isn't directly her fault, the birth of Shigaraki is a result of the legacy she left behind.

And she obviously can't cope with that because if she did, it would basically invalidate every sacrifice she made for the sake of protecting One For All, so what dose she do? Well she makes a very human mistake and choses to ignore it. After all if Shigaraki is just a monster, a creature beyond human understanding then she doesn't have to face the guilt, "it was out of my hands, what could I have done?" "there's no point in dwelling on what could have been".

Ironically it's the same response All For One had regarding his own humanity. Essentially she's taking the responsibility out of her hands in order to protect herself because if she dose acknowledge it, it would essentially be an ego death for her and well humans are naturally programmed to protect ourselves at all costs. It's not nice but it's the truth, which honestly makes someone like Izuku stand out more.

Izuku has no reason to sympathies with Shigaraki, he has no idea what he's gone through or the history behind his creation but despite that he is the only person on the hero's side who has NEVER ignored him. Hell, even back in the mall scene where Shigaraki practically had him a gun point he still took the time to listen to him and give him a proper answer to his question and clearly what Shigaraki said meant something to him as he ask's All Might about it later.

It's clear that ever since these two have met that for some reason, whether it be the legacies they both carry or the fact that Izuku is just an innately empathetic person, these two have shared a connection. It's like Izuku and Shigaraki said, it's almost like fate has brought them together and we'll just have to see however that played out.

However, it's abundantly clear that whatever might happen between the two of them for Shigaraki to be truly be saved Nana and by extension all others who have kindly rejected Shigaraki will have to eventually accept that he is in fact human. They cannot keep pushing things under the rug because Izuku won't let them.

[calder]

 Fallout 3 was originally in development at Black Isle Studios, codenamed Van Buren, but it was cancelled when Bethesda bought the IP.

 At one point, designer John Deiley was creating an area called the Nursery, a Noah's Ark-like location which housed pre-war fauna.

 He planned to have Pagans and Wiccans take up residence here, but Chris Avellone allegedly said no, banning them outright.

scream

not to dwell on the dev tension of this too much -- it's very exciting to find such a strong link between V29 and occultism

would really love to pick this guys brain

edit oh my god. yeah cool we can "disprove" the headline of this anecdote by identifying the cult in the van buren design doc. i can also read the top of the article. wanna unpack this?

"He said, 'You are not to bring Paganism or Wiccanism or anything into the game,'" Deiley recounts. "I said, 'Well, Chris, what do you think happened to these people when the bombs went off? Did every one of them just vanish from the face of the Earth? When you consider the whole purpose of the Nursery, wouldn't they make the perfect tenants and tenders?' [He said,] 'I've made my decision' and just turned around and walked off."

@ChrisAvellone: There was a faction you could join, do quests for, and potentially lead in Van Buren that was a pagan faction (Daughters of Hecate). Might have bad info from source?

Deiley said 'he pointedly told me i wasn't allowed to develop this faction descending from pre-war pagans' avellone defended himself by saying 'but i made my own faction which could be called post war pagans'

deiley is describing a thing that happened. the oral history of fallout is richer for this detail & the impulse to entirely deny the reality of his account by calling another van buren faction pagan is an unflattering defensive technicality

these two men worked on eight video games together. they stood in a room together and one of them shit on the other one's creativity repeatedly. his defense is 'he described it imperfectly; i proceeded to do that idea myself'

i just wanted to learn more about the creativity of this furtive fallout vet.

the accusation that someone 'banned paganism from a fallout game' is not remarkable or meaningful enough on its own to be worth negating. we know for a fact deiley was responsible for talking deathclaws and chris avellone killed them and publicly made hostile jokes about it. he complained about deiley's idea (which he already killed) for being hippie shit for a quarter of a century.

WOULD THIS MAN SHIT ON AN IDEA????????

"I’ve always hated aliens in Fallout, for example, and as I’ve often told Tim Cain, I was pretty fucking pissed off he thought including ghosts in Fallout was a good idea. It’s like you’re opening the goddamn door to the spirit world in a post-apoc game, and that’s a whole separate aesthetic detour in a franchise that’s already been placed in danger of losing its direction by being given to a bunch of newbs.” -Avellone, recounting the first time he worked on a fallout game

someone described how avellone stomped on their idea and the rebuttal is that he implemented a similar one elsewhere

it is embarrassing that he responded this way

[drunkwhenimadethis]

I was confessing my absurd fears to my bf with things along the lines of being betrayed or him finding other women sexually attractive and asked if he had any similar fears. He said he did, and it was that I was only with him for his money. Essentially: I am a gold digger. I have always refused monetary gifts and him paying for things. However I’ve been staying with him for three months after he got me kicked out of my last rooming house because Im in college and couldn’t find a place quick enough, and was extremely adamant about it but he insisted. We’ve been together for almost a year. He said that the thought of me using him for money is recurring, but he’s unemployed and his parents pay for everything besides his groceries. What do I make of this? It’s really offput me that he thinks of me this way

Disclaimer I love to remember that the English “advice” comes from the Latin “videre” to see so if I give you this advice it is not a prescription, it is only my way of looking at things in this moment

I think one thing I would like to point out is that you wrote: “It was that I was only with him for his money. Essentially: I am a gold digger.” There are a million ways of interpreting a single statement made by someone that we care about, and since so much of life creation begins with storytelling in the mind, you want to be quite meticulous about the interpretations that you align with and carry forward. I don’t think that “Essentially: I am a gold digger” makes the most sense logically nor in terms of experiencing what you want, which I assume is love, commitment, trust, and closeness

Why essentially are you a gold digger? Did he say that or did he say that he has an absurd fear that you might be with him for reasons other than who he himself is? “Money” —the word—and its associations make us react emotionally and indignantly “How dare you!!!!” but he said the same thing that you said, he shared the fear he has that maybe he alone is not enough for you

When you shared that you’re fearful of him being attracted to other women, did he say that essentially you are calling him a dishonest whore with no dick discipline? Would that make sense to you if he reacted that way or would you feel like hmm, this man is really making my fears about himself?

Your fears are yours and yours alone

I am guilty of wanting the perfect words or actions to assuage me but it never works out that way. You need to go into yourself and pour love on your fears and kill them

He can tell you everything you want to hear and then what happens when he’s out of sight?

What happens if he has to leave the country? What happens if you can’t have eyes on him?

Are we doomed to constantly revert back to fear?

See yourself as the only one 

Don’t entertain competition in your mind

Don’t dwell on these fears. Your subconscious can’t reason with you

Remove the negative imaginary conversations—not only are they a waste of time, they are by nature of reality active forces 

Be happy for him that his family takes care of him, not everyone gets that and it’s good

Imagine he will take care of you like his family taught him to. Imagine sturdiness and dependability. Imagine better than what you know

Wish him the best on his job search, remove safety-seeking in the form of judgment

You are deserving and you’re allowed to accept gifts from your boyfriend. Work on this asap, I think there's something in you that just doesn't feel worth it and you can't outrun that and nobody can appease that for long

And don't tell yourself that he got you kicked out of your last rooming house, even if it seems true. If you can choose any belief and create life with it, since you’re creating even when you’re not consciously aware that you’re doing so, why don’t you choose something that serves you both more? Why not tell yourself that the universe is conspiring to bring you closer to each other?

Loving and fearless! Avanti!

“The beautiful idea you awaken in yourself shall not fail to arouse its affinity in others.”

[suzukiblu]

Silver, glory or shatter?

Jon had a great childhood right up until he had a horrible one, which is something he tries not to dwell too much on.

It's also something that's a little harder not to dwell on than usual while standing in front of the only other Kryptonian-human hybrid he's ever met, who's twelve years old if he's a day.

Literally. Literally this kid is both twelve years old and also just a day, because Jon and Jay and Damian apparently walked right into the middle of this weird cloning scheme that no one in Cadmus wants to explain the purpose of to them.

So, like, that's not screamingly suspicious or anything.

"Hi, kid," Jon tries. The baby clone wearing his dad's twelve year-old face just stares up at him from the bottom of the shattered remnants of the cloning tube that Jon maaaaaybe shouldn't have punched quite so hard.

"We could eliminate the staff and destroy the evidence," Damian suggests from where he's standing by the nearest computer with Jay, which is not actually the kind of thing that Damian suggests anymore. Like, ever. It makes Jon more than a little bit concerned about what's on that computer.

"Less murder in the plan, please," he requests, not quite able to take his eyes off the kid with, again, his dad's face. And also Ultraman's face. But he tries to concentrate on the "Dad" part of that observation, for obvious reasons. "Although I'm still open to destruction."

"Any witness to the clone's existence is a threat to its autonomy and survival," Damian says as the staff members tied up in the corner all look very, very nervous. "Frankly the only compelling argument not to execute these contemptible excuses for sapient life is the risk of inciting trauma in the clone. I recommend covering its eyes at a minimum, depending on its currently developed powerset and any potential X-ray vision or enhanced senses that it may possess."

"Not to encourage Nightwing's less Batman-approved instincts, buuuuut I just read, like . . . everything they were planning to do to this kid once they cracked that cloning tube," Jay says, eyeing the computer screen very, very darkly. "So we are treading a bit dangerously close to 'how many lives are worth this kid's freedom?', and to be honest the math does not support the assholes in the lab coats in this particular equation."

"That doesn't make sense," the clone says as he gets to his feet in the tube and starts distractedly pulling off the genuinely alarming amount of machinery hooked up to him, looking puzzled. "The staff would be way harder to replace than me. They're, like, real people."

. . . Jon reconsiders the merits of the murder plan. Just, like . . . just a little bit. Just a touch.

[coraniaid]

🔥 on fuffy's dynamic? or anything fuffy related

I think most Fuffy shippers – me included for sure – have a habit of making Faith seem a bit too … well, nice.

Don’t get me wrong: I like Faith a lot.  Not just as a character – and she is one of my favorite characters on the show, even if she only appears in less than two dozen episodes – but on a personal level too I have a lot of empathy for her.  I think she has a pretty rough deal in life.  I think she’s very badly let down by a lot of people, both before and after becoming a Slayer.  I think the narrative itself is often far less sympathetic to her than it is to other characters. I think she’s pretty miserably unhappy most of the time, and I think her redemption arc is genuinely very good, even with the little we see of her post-Sanctuary.

That said, it feels to me that a lot of Fuffy fanfiction is written by people who have decided, whether consciously or not, that the “real” Faith is the Faith we see awkwardly asking Buffy if she wants to go the dance with her in Homecoming since she already has the tickets, or showing up on Buffy's doorstep in Amends with some crappy Christmas presents, still not quite able to admit there was never any “big party” she could have gone to instead, however obvious it is at this point, and somehow managing to make a million different heartbreaking microexpressions when Buffy says she’s glad to see her. 

Yes, I like those moments too – I like them a lot – and I think that they are definitely indicative of a real aspect of Faith, one she tries hard to keep hidden most of the time.  But I think it’s an injustice to her character to make that the sum total of her personality.  If this were all there was to Faith’s character, she wouldn’t be half as compelling.

What about the Faith who, however troubled she looked at first, manages to shrug off the fact her new boss is planning to have Willow murdered when he tells her he’s also bought her a Playstation?  What about the Faith who attacks Joyce, ties her up and threatens to kill her?  What about the Faith who fantasies about stabbing Willow and taunts Tara by telling her how much Willow used to love Oz?  What about the Faith who, right from her first appearance, is perhaps a little bit too into beating up vampires and killing demons?  What about the Faith who threatens to torture Buffy, who tries to kill Angel, who definitely does torture Wesley and who kills Professor Worth while he begs for his life?  What about the Faith who probably was going to kill Xander? What about what Faith does to Buffy in Who Are You?

I’m not saying all Fuffy authors should exclusively write angst-ridden enemies-to-lovers in which for the first 100,000 words Faith really does seem to revel in being able to kill things without consequences even as she lets her obsession with Buffy Summers lead her into actively and deliberately trying to hurt her or bring her down to her level. (Though it would perhaps be nice if some of it was like this!)  I don’t have any moral objection if people would rather write fluff in which Faith and Buffy have an awkward first kiss at the Homecoming Dance, or AUs in which Faith never sides with the Mayor, or post-canon fic which takes for granted the fact that Faith is now redeemed and happily devoted to Buffy (it would make me a bit of a hypocrite if I did, since I’ve written all of these things).

But the sort of Fuffy writing and meta that I most enjoy, even if it doesn’t dwell on Faith’s worst moments or if it takes place in a continuity where they conveniently haven’t happened, always treats Faith as somebody who could do those things, if the circumstances were just a little bit different.  Always recognizes her as somebody who does have a lot of barely-suppressed anger in her, who is more likely to listen to an authority figure who tells her what she wants to hear than one who doesn’t, who is more than a little bit jealous of Buffy’s life, who does think, deep down, that being a Slayer makes her better than other people.

To me, that’s the appeal of Faith as a character and also of her relationship with Buffy. The two things are kind of inseparable.  Faith is a reflection of a lot of Buffy’s own worst impulses; she’s somebody that Buffy could have been if things had turned out differently (and if Buffy hadn’t had a certain inner strength and self-belief that Faith, for all her posturing, doesn’t quite ever have herself).  She’s the Buffy we’ll see hints of throughout Season 6, the Buffy we saw in Season 2’s When She Was Bad, the Buffy we see in Season 3’s The Wish. And, as a reflection of Buffy, she has some of Buffy’s strengths as well as exaggerated versions of some of Buffy’s flaws.  She’s not uncomplicatedly Evil, even at her worst, but she does a lot of things that are very hard to forgive, and she enjoys doing some of them more than some people like to admit.

I think if somebody’s going to try to write Fuffy, and get both Buffy and Faith right, that’s something they need to remember.  Let Faith have some jagged edges.  Let her be a little bit dangerous.  Let her be a little bit cruel. Let her be a little bit self-destructive.  Put simply: let her be Faith.

[herofics]

hi! I love your works SO MUCH and I’ve had this certain idea in my head for DAYS😭 a gn!reader with Megumi and Gojo (separate) who’s cursed technique causes them to just be always tired. I really just don’t have the motivation to write this for myself because ONE I’m not very good at writing and TWO I like seeing others perspectives on ideas

Anyway, thanks! Have a good day and take as much time as you need on this😊

A/N: Thank you so much! I decided to do a scenario for Gojo and HCs for Megumi, because I didn’t feel like writing scenarios for both. This is basically just fluff and the character taking care of the reader. I've also got this post you might want to check out about a tired reader

~Gojo Satoru~

Gojo was gone for a couple of days again, and you had just come home from a mission too. His sleeping schedule was abysmal, since he slept between missions, but he never seemed to be tired, always all bright-eyed and bushy tailed. You, on the other hand, had probably not woken up refreshed for a single day in the past 13 years, ever since you started to first use your cursed technique. You were perpetually tired and sometimes even fatigued.

You’d learned to manage on your own, even on the really tired days. Though there had been a few times you’d almost caused a fire, because you’d sat down and fallen asleep while cooking, and something had burned. You had also fallen asleep in the bath a couple of times, and slipped underwater, which of course was a horrible way to wake up.

It was easier when Gojo was home, you knew nothing bad would happen, even if you happened to fall asleep or were too tired to do something. You always tried to make it as much of a fair split as possible, but sometimes you just couldn’t manage, so when he was home, he did his part and a bit more too. 

Gojo missed you, and he was looking forward to seeing you again. Even though it had only been a couple of days since you saw each other, it always felt like it had been too long. He was almost home, and he was basically skipping half the stairs up to your shared dwelling, he was so excited to see you.

He knew you would probably be asleep, since you had texted him you had also come back from a mission a few hours ago. So when he got to the front door, he slid the key into the lock and opened it quietly. He slipped into the house and closed the door behind him. He looked around and found you sitting on the living room couch, barely staying awake.

“Whatcha doing up?” he smiled as you finally noticed him.

“I wanted to stay awake till you came home, I missed you” you smiled back at him tiredly.

“Was it worth it?” Gojo smirked.

“For this view? Eh, I guess…” you joked.

“How about now?” Gojo said, unbuttoning his jacket while walking towards you.

“I really hope you’re doing that so you can take a shower and come to bed with me” you said, still smiling tiredly.

“Duh, what else could it be for?” Gojo rolled his eyes dramatically.

“Now that I think about it, I should probably take a shower too” you noted.

“Shall we then?” Gojo offered his hand to you.

You took his hand and followed him to the bathroom. You both took your clothes off and stepped into the shower. You just stood under the warm water, dozing off a little bit, before Gojo tapped your shoulder.

“My turn?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, sorry” you muttered as you moved away from under the water and grabbed a bottle of shampoo.

“Do you want me to wash your hair?” Gojo inquired as he turned the water hotter.

“Yes please” you yawned, and handed him the shampoo bottle.

Gojo stood partly under the hot water as he squeezed some shampoo onto his hand and started massaging your scalp as you stood in front of him.

It felt so nice to have someone else wash your hair. It was so relaxing, and you felt like you were melting under his fingers. You were getting so sleepy at the same time, which just made you lean back against his chest.

“Rinse yourself off and go to bed, doll. You’re about to fall over” Gojo said gently as he finished with your hair.

“Probably a good idea” you muttered tiredly as Gojo moved away from the shower so you could get the shampoo out of your hair.

You rinsed yourself off and stepped out of the shower, wrapping yourself in a big towel. You brushed your teeth and went to put some clothes on as Gojo continued his shower. You laid down, wanting to stay up until he came to bed with you, but it was getting so hard to keep your eyes open.

When Gojo came out of the bathroom, a towel around his waist, while drying his hair. He noticed you were already asleep on the bed. He couldn’t help but smile a little. Even though your cursed technique had such an annoying side effect, you’d managed to deal with it pretty well. He just wished he could be with you more, so you didn’t have to always deal with everything yourself, but it wasn’t really realistic. He had so many missions, so many responsibilities with teaching and mentoring the next generation.

Gojo threw in some underwear and a t-shirt and climbed into bed with you. He pulled the covers over you and himself and pulled you close. You snuggled to his chest and he placed a kiss on your forehead. It felt so good to have you in his arms, you fit there so perfectly, it was a pity this wasn’t a more common occurrence. Sometimes you wouldn’t get a chance to do this for weeks, because you just passed each other like ships in the night. Being a sorcerer was enough of a pain in the ass as it was, you really didn’t need these side effects too. He just wished he could do something about it. He would do just about anything if it helped you.

~Fushiguro Megumi~

•He’s never seen someone sleep as much as you

•Of course, there are other aspects to your tiredness, such as difficulty to focus and being irritable

•Megumi is pretty good at dealing with you when you’re annoyed, he just mostly shrugs it off if you happen to snap at him and you talk it out when you’re in a better mood

•Megumi also tries his best to help you manage your tiredness and the stuff that comes with it

•You don’t just fall asleep in the middle of a battle, but you often can’t stay awake in the car afterwards and just lean on Megumi’s shoulder and fall asleep

•You’re also sometimes just too tired to do things, like clean your dorm room or go to eat in the cafeteria, so Megumi just brings you something you can eat when you wake up, in case you wake up when the cafeteria isn’t open

•You can sometimes become really reckless when you haven’t had enough sleep, because your critical thinking skills decline

•Megumi sometimes has to save your butt, and so do Itadori and Kugisaki, but you do the same for them when you’re in a better state and they need it

•Thought those two requirements don’t coincide that often

[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. 

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