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2b4st4r · 20 days ago

Note

I see your requests are open so id like to request something! So im a little nervous going back to work next week after being out for a month due to surgery. Could i maybe get Marco, Shanks, and/or Ace helping reader readjust with going back to normal crew life after being out with an injury? Fluff if possible! Thank you!

Rekindled Fire

Ace x reader

words: 5,604

warnings: descriptions of violence , use of y/n, F!reader.

━°⌜ 赤い糸 ⌟°━

The clash of steel rang in your ears, a symphony of destruction you'd grown intimately familiar with. Sweat stung your eyes, but you didn't dare blink, your gaze locked on the chaotic maelstrom of the battlefield. This wasn't just another skirmish; this was a brutal, no-holds-barred brawl against the notorious Black Tide Pirates, a crew as relentless as the very waves they sailed. Their captain, "Barnacle" Barty, a hulking brute with a hook for a hand and a sneer permanently etched onto his scarred face, was a force to be reckoned with. Your trusted cutlass, Seasplitter, felt like an extension of your arm, its familiar weight a comfort as you parried a vicious blow from a burly Black Tide first mate, his weapon a crude, spiked club that whistled dangerously close to your ear.

Around you, the Whitebeard Pirates fought with their usual ferocity. Jozu, a shimmering diamond, tore through their ranks, leaving a trail of stunned and bruised enemies. Vista's graceful swordplay was a deadly dance, cutting down foes with elegant precision. But your focus was narrow, your world shrinking to the space between you and your current opponent, and the reassuring, fiery presence beside you.

Ace.

He was a whirlwind of flames, each punch a scorching inferno that sent Black Tide pirates scattering. His signature "Fire Fist" erupted, incinerating a cluster of enemies who dared to get too close. A surge of warmth, not from the heat of his Devil Fruit but from the sheer comfort of his proximity, washed over you. You moved in sync, a deadly pas de deux amidst the chaos. When he needed an opening, you created it. When you were pressed, his flames were there, a blazing shield.

Suddenly, a massive shadow loomed over you. Barnacle Barty himself. His single eye, glinting with malice, fixed on you. "So, the Whitebeard witch," he rasped, his voice like grinding stone. "Heard you're quite the handful. Let's see if those pretty eyes can still see after I'm done with you."

Before you could react, his massive hook swung in a wide arc, aiming for your head. Time seemed to slow. You twisted, Seasplitter coming up to block, but the force of the blow was tremendous. Your arm screamed in protest, and you skidded back, your boots digging trenches in the splintered deck. Just as Barty prepared to follow up, a wall of fire erupted between you, forcing him back with a roar of frustration.

"Leave her alone, Barty!" Ace's voice, usually laced with an easygoing warmth, was now a low growl, filled with barely contained fury. His body was wreathed in crackling flames, his eyes burning with an intensity that mirrored the inferno within him. You felt a fierce protectiveness bloom in your chest, even as you rubbed your aching arm. He was always there, your fiery anchor in the storm.

Barty sneered, "Ah, the brat. Still playing hero, are we? You think you can stop the Black Tide?"

"I don't think," Ace retorted, his fists igniting, "I know."

You knew what was coming. Ace, when truly angered, was a force of nature. But Barty was no pushover. This wasn't going to be a quick fight. You adjusted your grip on Seasplitter, your breath coming in short, sharp gasps. This was your life, this exhilarating dance with death, side-by-side with the man you loved, surrounded by your family. The stakes were high, the air thick with tension and the smell of gunpowder and salt. The roar of the ocean, the cries of battle, it all faded into a dull thrum as you prepared to jump back into the fray, ready to protect your crew, ready to protect him, no matter the cost.

Your decision was instantaneous, a primal instinct overriding all else. Barty, fueled by rage and the promise of a decisive blow, brought his hook down with terrifying speed towards Ace, who, despite his fiery prowess, was momentarily caught off guard, a split-second opening in his defense. There was no time to think, no room for hesitation.

You lunged.

The world blurred, the cacophony of battle fading to a distant hum. All that mattered was the space between Barty's lethal hook and Ace's unshielded form. You pushed Ace with all your might, a desperate, forceful shove that sent him stumbling out of the direct path of the attack.

Then, an agonizing, searing pain blossomed in your side. The hook, meant for Ace, found its mark in you instead. It wasn't a clean cut; it was a brutal, tearing rip through flesh and muscle, a searing brand that felt as though molten iron had been plunged into your body. A choked gasp escaped your lips, raw and involuntary, as your vision swam. The impact spun you around, sending you crashing to the splintered deck, Seasplitter clattering uselessly from your numb fingers.

The world tilted, painted in shades of blinding white and an encroaching darkness. The scent of your own blood, metallic and sickeningly warm, filled your nostrils. You heard Ace's roar, a guttural sound of pure anguish and fury, echoing in the hazy distance. He was there, suddenly, kneeling beside you, his hands hovering, unsure how to help, his face a mask of horrified disbelief. His usual fiery aura flickered, diminished by the shock.

"Y/N!" His voice was raw, laced with a torment that tore at your heart more than the wound itself. He gripped your hand, his touch oddly gentle, yet trembling.

Through the haze, you could see Barty, his face contorted in a sneer of triumph, already preparing for another strike, this time aiming for Ace, who was still reeling from the shock of your sacrifice. But Ace, seeing the renewed threat, erupted. His body became a supernova, flames licking hungrily at the air, his eyes blazing with an intensity you had rarely witnessed, an unholy inferno born of despair and vengeance.

You wanted to tell him to be careful, to not be reckless, but the words wouldn't form. Your breath hitched, each inhale a fresh wave of agony. The deck beneath you felt cold, hard, unyielding. The battle raged on, a distant, muffled roar, but your world had shrunk to this small, agonizing space, illuminated by the desperate fire in Ace's eyes. You could only watch, helpless, as your sacrifice ignited a storm within him.

Ace was a blur of righteous fury, his Hiken erupting with a force that sent Barnacle Barty reeling back, momentarily stunned. The air crackled with the sheer heat of Ace's anger, and the Black Tide pirates surrounding them instinctively retreated, their faces pale with fear. They knew that rage. They knew what it meant to cross a Whitebeard commander, especially one who had just witnessed a loved one fall.

But Ace’s focus was already off Barty. He was by your side in an instant, his fiery aura still simmering but his hands now surprisingly gentle as he tried to assess the damage. He tore a strip from his own shirt, pressing it against the gaping wound in your side, trying to staunch the gushing blood. Your vision was tunneling, the edges darkening, but you could hear the frantic shouts of your crewmates.

"Doctor! Get the doctor!" someone yelled, and the words barely registered through the fog of pain.

Suddenly, a familiar figure appeared, his lean frame moving with an urgency you rarely saw from him. It was Marco, the First Division Commander, his usual calm demeanor replaced by a look of grim determination. He was the crew's doctor, his Phoenix Devil Fruit abilities granting him extraordinary healing powers, but even he couldn't fix everything with just a touch.

He knelt beside you, his bright blue flames flickering around his hands as he gently pushed Ace's makeshift bandage aside. A sharp intake of breath from Marco confirmed your worst fears. "This is bad, yoi," he muttered, his voice unusually strained. "The hook went deep, caught something vital. We need to get her to the medical bay, now."

Ace scooped you up with a tenderness that belied his usual boisterous nature, holding you close to his chest as he sprinted towards the lower decks of the Moby Dick. The battle above still raged, but for Ace, nothing else mattered. You could feel the warmth of his body, the frantic beat of his heart against your back, and it was the only thing keeping the encroaching darkness at bay.

The medical bay was a flurry of controlled chaos. Nurses, usually tending to less severe injuries, moved with frantic efficiency, preparing instruments. Marco barked orders, his voice sharp and clear despite the urgency. He had shed his usual jacket, his arms bare, revealing the strength that belied his often relaxed posture.

He looked at you, his gaze piercing through the pain-induced haze. "We need to operate, Y/N. The wound is severe. I can stabilize you, but it's going to be a long shot. There's internal bleeding, and a major artery might be compromised."

You wanted to nod, to tell him you trusted him, but even that small movement sent a fresh wave of agony through you. You could only manage a weak squeeze of Ace's hand, which he still held tightly. His face was pale, drawn, a stark contrast to his usual vibrant self. He looked at Marco, desperation etched across his features.

"Do whatever it takes, Marco," Ace pleaded, his voice hoarse. "Anything."

Marco nodded, his expression resolute. "We'll do our best, yoi. But... it's going to be touch and go. It’s a very serious injury. She’ll need all her strength to pull through this."

As they prepared for the surgery, the last thing you saw before the world dissolved into blackness was Ace's face, hovering above yours, his eyes filled with a raw, agonizing fear you'd never seen before, and a single tear tracing a path through the grime on his cheek.

The world returned to you in fragments, a mosaic of muffled sounds and hazy sensations. The rhythmic creak of timbers, the distant roar of the ocean, the soft murmur of voices – all slowly coalesced into a fragile reality. You felt a dull ache, a persistent throb that was a constant reminder of the gaping void in your memory. It was as if you had been adrift in a vast, dark sea, and now, slowly, you were being pulled back to shore.

The surgery, you would later learn, had been a brutal dance with death. Marco, with his steady hands and keen medical mind, had fought tooth and nail for your life. The internal bleeding was extensive, the damage to the major artery severe. He’d worked for what felt like an eternity, his blue flames a constant, flickering beacon in the operating theater, sealing wounds and cauterizing torn tissue. He'd poured every ounce of his Phoenix Devil Fruit's restorative power into you, pushing his own limits to the brink. It had been a desperate race against time, a battle you were losing until the very last moment. Your life had hung by the thinnest of threads, a testament to Marco’s skill and the sheer will of your body to survive.

Slowly, carefully, you opened your eyes. The infirmary of the Moby Dick was exactly as you remembered it, familiar in its clinical warmth. Sunlight, filtered through a porthole, cast a gentle glow on the crisp white sheets pulled up to your chest. The air smelled of antiseptics and something faintly sweet, perhaps a medicinal herb. You tried to shift, but a sharp tug in your side stopped you, a stark reminder of the massive bandage covering your torso. It felt tight, oppressive, but also reassuringly protective.

You were alive.

A wave of profound relief, so intense it almost brought tears to your eyes, washed over you. You had survived. The fight, the pain, the terrifying darkness – it was over. For now. Your gaze drifted around the room. Empty beds, neatly made, lined the walls. A small, familiar figure was slumped in a chair beside your bed, his head resting on the mattress, his spiky black hair a chaotic mess.

It was Ace.

He was fast asleep, his chest rising and falling in slow, steady breaths. Even in slumber, a faint trace of exhaustion lingered on his face, a testament to the ordeal he had endured. A bandage, neatly wrapped, was visible on his left forearm – a minor injury, you realized, in comparison to yours. He must have stayed here, watched over you, for who knew how long. A warmth spread through your chest, eclipsing the physical discomfort. A silent testament to his love, a comfort deeper than any medicine.

A soft groan escaped your lips as you tried to shift, the sound barely audible, but it was enough. Ace’s head snapped up, his eyes, usually blazing with life, now wide with a dazed, disoriented look that quickly transformed into pure, unadulterated relief.

“Y/N?” he breathed, his voice rough with sleep and emotion. He scrambled to his feet, nearly tripping over the chair, and was instantly by your side, his hand gently covering yours. His touch was hesitant, as if you were made of glass. “You’re awake. Thank the heavens, you’re awake.”

A small, weak smile touched your lips. “Hey, you big dummy,” you whispered, your voice raspy. “Did you really think I’d kick the bucket that easily?”

He let out a shaky laugh, a sound that was half-sob, and leaned down, pressing his forehead against yours. You could feel the tremor in his body, the sheer exhaustion and worry he’d been carrying. “Don’t you ever do that again,” he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin. “Don’t you ever scare me like that again.”

Before you could respond, the infirmary door slid open with a soft swish, and Marco stepped in, a medical chart in his hand. His gaze immediately fell on you, and a rare, genuine smile broke through his usual stoicism.

“Good to see you awake, yoi,” he said, his voice calm but with an underlying current of relief. He walked over to the bed, pulling up a chair on the opposite side from Ace. “You gave us quite a scare. It was a close call, kid. Very close.”

He began to check your vitals, his fingers light and practiced on your wrist, his eyes scanning the monitors beside the bed. Ace, still holding your hand, watched Marco with an intensity that could burn holes in steel.

“How is she, Marco?” Ace asked, his voice tight with a lingering anxiety.

Marco finished his assessment, then straightened up. “Stable. All vitals are strong, given the trauma. You’re incredibly lucky, Y/N. The hook went deep, perforated your peritoneum, and came dangerously close to your kidney. But we managed to stop the bleeding and repair the damage.” He tapped the chart. “You lost a lot of blood, and you’ll be on a strict recovery regimen for a while, but you’re going to pull through, yoi.”

He looked directly at you, his blue eyes serious. “You’ll be weak for a bit, and that wound will take time to heal. No fighting, no strenuous activity for at least a month, possibly more. We’ll keep you here in the infirmary for a few weeks to monitor for infection and ensure proper healing. We’re not taking any chances.”

You managed a small nod, relief washing over you in waves. You were alive. You would recover. And Ace was right here.

The first few days were a blur of pain, exhaustion, and the constant hum of the ship. Your world was confined to the infirmary bed, punctuated by Marco's regular visits. He was a meticulous doctor, his assessments thorough and his instructions clear. He’d check your bandages, listen to your breathing, and prod gently around the wound, always with a reassuring, "Looking good, yoi," even when your own body screamed otherwise. Ace was a near-constant presence, rarely leaving your side unless it was for a quick, essential duty. He'd bring you broth, read to you from tattered adventure novels, and simply sit there, holding your hand, his quiet strength a palpable comfort.

Your first real failure came on Day Five. Marco decided it was time for you to try and sit up. The simple act felt monumental. You braced yourself, pushing with your arms, but a searing pain ripped through your side, making you gasp and collapse back onto the pillows. Shame washed over you. Ace was instantly there, his face etched with worry. "Easy, easy," he soothed, gently pushing a strand of hair from your face. Marco just nodded, unperturbed. "It's a big incision, yoi. Your core muscles are still healing. Don't push it. We'll try again tomorrow." It was a small setback, but in that moment, it felt like an insurmountable obstacle.

Small Victories

The next day, with Ace propping you up and Marco supervising, you managed to sit upright for a full minute, your teeth gritted against the protest of your wound. It was a tiny victory, but a victory nonetheless. Each day brought small, incremental improvements. Soon, you were shuffling a few steps to the bathroom, then taking short walks around the infirmary, clinging to Ace's arm like a lifeline. The feeling of your feet on solid ground, even just for a moment, was a sweet taste of freedom.

One afternoon, about two weeks after the surgery, Marco brought you a light training dummy. "Time to start building that strength back, yoi," he said. You scoffed. "You want me to fight that?"

He just raised an eyebrow. "Just gentle movements. Focus on your stance, your balance. Don't engage the core too much yet."

Your first attempts were pathetic. Your arms felt like lead, your movements sluggish and uncoordinated. You tried a simple parry, and a sharp jolt of pain reminded you of the internal stitches. You wanted to scream in frustration. Ace, watching from a nearby chair, looked like he was biting his tongue to keep from rushing over.

"Again," Marco instructed calmly. "Slowly. Focus on the form, not the power."

You gritted your teeth and tried again. And again. And again. You failed to hold a stance without wobbling. You stumbled when trying a simple lunge. But with each attempt, the movements became a fraction smoother, the pain a tiny bit less jarring. You focused on the muscle memory, on the years of training that were embedded deep within you.

A Glimmer of Hope

Then came the day you truly felt a shift. It was three weeks post-op. Marco had cleared you for slightly more active, but still gentle, exercises. You were practicing a series of slow, deliberate sword forms with Seasplitter, its familiar weight now comforting rather than cumbersome. You moved through a sequence, focusing on breathing, on balance, on controlling the slight tremble in your limbs. As you brought the blade down in a controlled, fluid arc, there was no sharp pain, just a dull ache. You completed the sequence, breathing heavily, but feeling a surge of satisfaction.

Marco, who had been observing from the doorway, gave a rare, genuine nod of approval. "Good, yoi," he said, pushing off the doorframe. "That's progress. Significant progress."

Ace, who had been leaning against the wall, watching your every move, straightened up, a wide, relieved grin spreading across his face. "Told you she's tough," he boasted to Marco, then winked at you. "You'll be kicking ass again in no time, Y/N."

You smiled back, a real, unforced smile. You still had a long way to go. The scar tissue would ache for months, and your full strength wouldn't return overnight. But you had faced down death, endured the pain, and pushed through the frustration. You were getting stronger, day by day, with your family by your side. The open sea called, and soon, you would be ready to answer.

The day finally arrived, a crisp morning bathed in the golden light of the rising sun. It had been two long months since you’d last felt the bracing wind on your face outside the infirmary, two months since you’d heard the true, unadulterated roar of the Grand Line from the open deck. Marco, after a final, thorough check-up, had given you the all-clear, with the stern caveat to still be mindful of your limits. "No heroics just yet, yoi," he'd warned, a rare glimmer of concern in his eyes.

You stood before the full-length mirror in your cabin, pulling on your familiar pirate attire. The fabric felt foreign after weeks of soft infirmary gowns, but also wonderfully normal. Your cutlass, Seasplitter, hung at your hip, its weight a comforting, familiar presence. You traced the faint, reddish line of the scar peeking from beneath your shirt – a permanent reminder of how close you’d come. A wave of nerves, cold and unsettling, washed over you.

You'd fought countless battles, faced down monstrous beasts and formidable foes without a flicker of fear. But this was different. This was the fear of being less than. The fear of not being able to keep up, of being a burden, of failing the crew, of failing Ace. Your hands trembled slightly as you buckled your belt.

Ace found you just like that, leaning against the doorframe, a soft smile on his face. "Ready to rejoin the chaos, Y/N?" he asked, his voice laced with his usual easygoing charm. But then he saw the subtle tension in your shoulders, the slight tremor in your hands. His smile softened, and he pushed off the frame, moving to stand behind you. He wrapped his arms gently around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder.

"Hey," he murmured, his voice a low rumble against your ear. "What's wrong? You're usually busting down the door to get out there."

You leaned back into his warmth, drawing strength from his embrace. "I don't know, Ace," you confessed, your voice barely a whisper. "I'm... nervous. What if I'm not ready? What if I'm too slow, too weak? What if I can't pull my weight? What if I get in your way?"

He squeezed you gently. "You think I'd let you get in my way? Never. And you're not weak, Y/N. You faced down death and spat in its eye. You think a few weeks off deck is going to change that? Marco said you're cleared, and if Marco says it, it's gospel. Besides," he chuckled, a warm breath against your neck, "you've been driving him crazy with your endless questions about when you could get back to sparring. He practically begged me to take you off his hands."

He turned you gently in his arms so you were facing him. His eyes, usually so full of fire, were soft, reassuring. "Look at me. You're a Whitebeard Pirate, one of the best. You're my partner. We're a team, always have been. And if you're feeling a little rusty, we'll knock that rust off together. I'll be right there, every step of the way. Just like you were there for me." He paused, his thumb gently stroking the curve of your cheek. "You saved my life, Y/N. You think I'm going to let anything happen to you out there now?"

His words, simple and heartfelt, were a balm to your frayed nerves. The warmth of his touch, the unwavering trust in his eyes, slowly chased away the chill of doubt. You took a deep breath, the salty air of the ship filling your lungs. He was right. You weren't alone. You never had been.

"Okay," you said, a genuine smile finally breaking through. "Okay. Let's go."

With renewed resolve, you stepped out of the cabin, Ace's hand finding yours. The familiar sounds of the bustling deck, the laughter of your crewmates, the distant cry of gulls – it all enveloped you, a warm embrace. You were back.

Stepping onto the main deck of the Moby Dick was like breathing fresh air for the first time in months. The salty spray of the ocean instantly invigorated you, chasing away the last vestiges of infirmary stuffiness. The familiar rumble of the ship beneath your feet was a comforting rhythm, a heartbeat you’d sorely missed. Your eyes, accustomed to the muted light of the medical bay, drank in the vibrant chaos of daily crew life.

Thatch was bellowing orders in the galley, the aroma of a hearty breakfast already wafting tantalizingly through the air. You caught a glimpse of Jozu, his diamond form gleaming as he effortlessly lifted a massive crate, while Vista’s laughter drifted from a group gathered near the mast. It was all so wonderfully, gloriously normal.

As you and Ace walked hand-in-hand, heads began to turn. Smiles, wide and genuine, broke out across familiar faces. Hands waved. "Y/N!" someone shouted, and then a chorus of welcomes erupted. "She's back!" "Lookin' good, Y/N!"

Your initial nervousness began to melt away, replaced by a surge of warmth and belonging. These were your people, your family.

Pops, massive and imposing even in his seated position, boomed with laughter from his usual spot. "Looks like my troublesome daughter decided to rejoin us, huh?" he rumbled, a fond smile on his face. You grinned back, feeling a lightness in your chest you hadn't experienced in weeks.

Ace, still holding your hand, steered you towards the bustling galley. "First order of business: getting some proper food into you that isn't bland infirmary slop," he declared, pulling out a chair at a table already laden with plates of eggs, bacon, and freshly baked bread.

You spent the morning simply being. You ate, laughing at Thatch's boisterous stories, feeling the easy camaraderie of your brothers and sisters in arms. Later, you sat with some of the younger recruits, listening to their tales of recent adventures, offering advice, and feeling the familiar pull of mentorship. You still felt a slight stiffness in your side, a dull ache that served as a constant reminder, but it was manageable, easily pushed to the background by the sheer joy of being back.

The real test came in the afternoon. Ace, true to his word, found you. "Ready to knock off some of that rust?" he asked, a playful glint in his eyes, gesturing towards a less-crowded part of the deck.

You grinned, a challenge blooming in your chest. "Lead the way, firecracker."

He started you slow, just as Marco had instructed. Gentle sparring with staves, focusing on footwork and balance. Your first few moves were clumsy, your timing off, and you stumbled more than once. Ace, ever patient, simply adjusted his own movements to match yours, offering quiet corrections. "Too much power in that swing, remember your core," he'd say, or "Shift your weight, like this."

Then came the moment you felt the old rhythm return. You ducked under a feint from Ace, pivoted, and brought your staff up in a clean, swift block that met his with a satisfying thwack. Your movements were fluid, precise, and for the first time since the surgery, you felt your muscles respond with the familiar strength you'd always commanded. Ace grinned, a flash of genuine surprise and pride on his face. "There it is!" he exclaimed. "Welcome back, Y/N!"

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, you stood on the deck, a comfortable fatigue settling into your bones. You were back in your element, back with your family. The road to full recovery was still ahead, but you knew, with a certainty that settled deep in your heart, that you wouldn't walk it alone.

Life aboard the Moby Dick quickly resumed its familiar rhythm, and you found yourself seamlessly re-integrating into the sprawling family that was the Whitebeard Pirates. The initial aches and stiffness from your injury slowly faded into a dull background throb, a constant, low-level reminder of your near-fatal encounter.

Back in the Fray

The first time you were truly tested came a week later during a routine patrol. A smaller, rogue pirate crew, emboldened by rumors of Whitebeard’s commanders being temporarily indisposed (no doubt thanks to the Black Tide Pirates spreading misinformation), dared to make a move on a supply convoy under Whitebeard’s protection.

You found yourself on the front lines again, Seasplitter a familiar weight in your hand. The sounds of battle – the clang of steel, the shouts, the impact of blows – were no longer a distant echo of trauma but a vibrant, immediate reality. Your movements weren't as reckless as before, a newfound caution guiding your parries and thrusts. You moved with deliberate precision, valuing efficiency over flashy displays. You remembered Marco’s words, "No heroics just yet."

Mid-skirmish, a hulking pirate swung a heavy axe towards your head. Your instincts screamed to dodge, but your recovering core muscles protested. Instead, you pivoted sharply, letting the axe’s momentum carry it past you, then countered with a swift, clean strike to the pirate's arm. It wasn't the powerful, sweeping blow you might have delivered before, but it was effective, disarming him instantly. Ace, who was scorching a group of enemies nearby, glanced over, a proud grin flashing across his face. You caught his eye, and a silent understanding passed between you – you were still a formidable fighter, just a smarter one now.

Camaraderie and Comfort

Evenings on the Moby Dick were often filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of mugs. You found yourself drawn to these gatherings on deck, no longer retreating to the quiet solitude of the infirmary. One night, while sharing a bottle of sake with Thatch and Vista, the conversation turned to the infamous Black Tide Pirates.

"Heard Barty's still spitting mad about the beating we gave him," Thatch chuckled, taking a long swig. "And even more so about his little 'victory' being short-lived, with you up and about, Y/N."

You raised your mug, a wry smile on your face. "He'll get no sympathy from me. Some lessons need to be taught more than once."

Vista, ever the elegant swordsman, nodded approvingly. "Indeed. Your recovery has been remarkable. Many would not have made it back to the deck so swiftly."

You felt a blush rise to your cheeks, grateful for their unspoken acknowledgment of your struggle and recovery. It was moments like these, surrounded by your brothers, feeling their acceptance and respect, that truly solidified your return.

Later, you often found yourself on deck with Ace, leaning against the railing, watching the stars blaze across the endless sea. He'd tell you about the latest islands they'd visited while you were recovering, or recount some new, ridiculous prank Thatch had pulled. Sometimes, you'd just stand in comfortable silence, his arm slung around your shoulders, the gentle sway of the ship beneath you.

One night, he squeezed your shoulder. "You know," he murmured, his voice soft, "it feels right, having you back here. The ship just wasn't the same without you."

You leaned into him, feeling the steady beat of his heart. "It feels right to be back," you agreed, the vast, star-dusted ocean stretching out before you. You were a Whitebeard Pirate, a frontline fighter, and a survivor. And you were home.

Life on the Grand Line, however, rarely allowed for prolonged periods of peace. Just as you were settling back into the rhythm of daily life, a new, ominous shadow began to creep across the horizon. Whispers, then outright reports, began to filter through the pirate grapevine: the World Government was making an unprecedented push into a notoriously volatile stretch of sea, an area known for its independent pirate strongholds and treacherous currents – an area the Whitebeard Pirates frequently navigated.

One blustery morning, a lookout’s shout pierced the usual deck chatter. "Marine ships! Bearing down on us!"

The announcement sent a ripple of tension, quickly followed by a surge of readiness, through the crew. This wasn’t a rogue pirate skirmish; this was the World Government, a direct confrontation with the might of their naval forces. As the Marine battleships, sleek and imposing, emerged from the mist, their cannons already swiveling to target the Moby Dick, a grim determination settled over the deck.

Whitebeard’s booming laugh cut through the rising tension. "Hah! Looks like the old man's still got their attention, eh?" He rose from his captain's chair, his massive figure casting a long shadow over the deck. "Alright, my sons! My daughters! Show these dogs of the government what happens when they cross the Whitebeard Pirates!"

You felt the familiar thrill of battle, the adrenaline coursing through your veins, but this time, it was tempered with a sharpened awareness. Your hand instinctively went to Seasplitter's hilt. Beside you, Ace ignited, his fists already flaring with hungry flames. He glanced at you, a familiar fiery grin on his face, but his eyes held a deeper, more serious resolve.

"Ready, Y/N?" he asked, his voice low, a promise and a challenge rolled into one.

You met his gaze, the vast, unforgiving ocean stretching out behind him, the imposing Marine fleet ahead. The scar on your side gave a phantom throb, a quiet reminder of battles past, but it no longer felt like a weakness. It was a testament to your resilience, a symbol of your survival. You had faced death and returned stronger.

"Always," you replied, your voice firm, a fierce light in your eyes. "Let's show them what a Whitebeard Pirate can do."

As the first cannonballs screamed through the air, heading straight for the Moby Dick, you and Ace charged forward, side by side, a united front against the encroaching tide of the World Government. The fight for survival, for freedom, and for family had truly begun anew.

#one piece x reader #one piece #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #reader insert #ace x y/n #ace x you #ace x reader #portgas d ace #whitebeard pirates

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caffeinewitchcraft · 1 year ago

Text

The Hero and Hope 4/5

Okaaaay, so there's 5 parts instead of 4! I realized that the last part was over 6k words, so we're splitting it into two! The last part will still be posted next Friday, so this will keep us on track!

Summary: The picnic has an uninvited guest that you're uniquely suited to greet.

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(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

“Didn’t think I’d see anyone able to catch Marie,” the Lord says, brows raised. His golden eyes track Isla across the garden and he whistles when she jumps to tag his former knight. “That was not within the capabilities of a Villager.”

Ivan scans the crowd around them. Most of the townsfolk are too far away to eavesdrop and the ones close enough to potentially hear are engaged in their own conversations. “Careful, Brennan. If the Director hears you speculate…”

“Yes, the Director,” Lord Brennan sighs. He brings his teacup to his lips, but doesn’t drink. He contemplates Director Sarah where she crouches with a glass of water near Annie. “You know this is the first time we’ve met?”

It’d been a fight to get Sarah to agree to today at all. Ivan chooses his words carefully. “Your predecessor did not have the sort of…kind interest you do.”

The former Lord’s interest Sarah shared with them was a lot more horrifying. There’s a reason that Isla at only fifteen years old is the eldest at the orphanage.

“That’s one way to put it,” Lord Brennan agrees. He settles back into his seat and sighs in satisfaction. He watches the children gradually grow tired of their game and drift towards the dessert table. He grins when the townsfolk naturally make room for them, a few of them even fetching treats from the center of the table for the littler ones. “See my people together? It was very good of me to lure you and Marie to my territory.”

“You gave us a castle,” Ivan says. They weren’t so much lured as bludgeoned with generosity. Some days it feels like they blinked and ended up standing amongst fine silk and filigree.

“It’s a manor as far as paperwork goes,” Lord Brennan says.

“It has buttresses.”

“A very fortified manor.” Lord Brennan finally sips his tea and sighs again. “This tea is from our fields, isn’t it?”

“Yes, my lord.”

“It’s delicious.” The full canopies of the trees enveloping the estate rustle in the wind. The sun shines warmly overhead. Lord Brennan takes another drink. Delicious. “The land’s come a long way since we ousted my father, hasn’t it? Plentiful harvests, an established trade route, a new school. If it weren’t for the demons, my work would be done.”

“I would prefer you had no work then,” Ivan says dryly.

“Me too.” Lord Brennan sets his tea aside and rubs his eyes. “Any updates?”

“None,” Ivan admits, frustration leaking through his words. His face is still amiable and the disconnect between his tone and his visage is jarring. “We investigated the wolf tracks in the woods and only found carnage. No signs of the demons themselves.”

“So they are demons?”

“Regular wolves wouldn’t be able to evade a squadron of your knights, my lord.”

“Neither would demon wolves,” Lord Brennan says. He rubs his chin, brow furrowing. “I don’t like what that implies. Any sign of larger foes?”

Ivan doesn’t want to discuss this here. Marie’s eyes are on him, sensing his rising distress. He smiles and waves to her. “Besides the horned rabbit migration?”

“Is it a migration?”

“Isla saw five within the first four weeks of summer,” Ivan says.

The Lord’s attention falls on the teenager. She’s patiently letting one of the other children – Hera? The one who’d curtsied to him like a little noble – weave flowers into her braid. He tries to imagine her fighting a horned rabbit and his lips thin. “I’ll call for reinforcements from the capital.”

“Marie and I can—”

Lord Brennan waves Ivan off. “No, no, I’ve asked too much of you already. Aren’t the two of you too busy in your retirement already? I thought you’d be settled with a child by now.”

“It’s not good to rush these things,” Ivan says as he has the last three times Lord Brennan has asked. This time it’s Ivan who sighs. “It took Marie and I a good few months to win Director Sarah over after our misstep.”

“Asking about Destinies, was it?”

“Implying we’d value any child less for not being a knight like us,” Ivan corrects.

“There seem to be a lot of unusual Destinies in the orphanage,” Lord Brennan says. He’s not an Identifier but he’s got a good eye. Though no one can know for sure until a child either develops their mark or comes into their power at fifteen, he’s seen more than a few signs of a Scholar, a Guardian, and a Teacher. Once again he finds his gaze being drawn back to Isla. She’s got a child under each arm and is running from Marie again, the game having resumed after their snack break. “That one is a Guard, at least. Nobody else would have physical abilities like that.”

Ivan ignores the Lord’s comment. “It’s been worthwhile getting to know them all.” His smile turns a little more genuine. “They’re all good kids.”

“Surely you and Marie have an inkling of who’ll be a good fit?” When Ivan doesn’t reply, the Lord clicks his tongue. “You can’t choose all of them.”

Ivan’s voice is a study in nonchalance. “Can’t we?”

Lord Brennan opens his mouth only for no words to come out. At length, he has to laugh. His knights do like to keep busy. “You’d need a castle.”

“You did give us one, my lord.”

“I suppose I did.”

The two men lapse into a pleasant silence. It is good to see the townsfolk this cheerful. This town is the furthest from Lord Brennan’s own castle and he rarely has a chance to visit. The first time he had had been very different. The people still bore the wounds of winter in gouged cheeks and brittle smiles. Now he sees the glow of health everywhere he looks.

He contemplates the Director once again. She’d been the only one back then to not seem pleased to see him ride in on his white horse. Even now he can feel the chill of her scrutiny as she stood defensively between him and the orphanage. None of that chill is present today. Her smile is as sweet as his tea while she tends to a scrape the little Scholar sustained in this round of tag. “Ms. Sarah is very pretty, isn’t she?”

“I know we can’t adopt them all,” Ivan blurts out. He doesn’t seem to have heard Lord Brennan. His gaze is turned towards his own inner conflict which is why he also doesn’t notice the blush dusting the Lord’s cheeks. “It wouldn’t be fair to them. Marie and I decided to adopt a child who would benefit from what little we can offer. Military arts and luck.”

“I don’t think you’re being fair,” Lord Brennan says with raised brows. “You and Marie offer a lot more than a Knight’s experience. Haven’t you shown that already in your actions?” He’s not aware of everything his former knights have done, but he’s heard plenty from the children today. He didn’t think Marie had the patience to teach anyone how to read.

Ivan’s hands fist. “It’s not enough, it’s not—the little boy. Josiah. He’s so smart. I don’t even know where to start with him and even Marie says that he’ll soon outpace her—”

“Well,” Lord Brennan says, “Neither of you are Teachers, true, but there is a school for that--”

“And Annie wants to know why bread rises and why the sun sets and how many seconds are in a day—”

“All kids are curious—”

“Hera staged a whole theater production for my birthday and all we could do was clap—”

Is he missing something? “Isn’t that what you’re supposed to do?”

“We don’t know any actors or directors to introduce her to!” Ivan cries out. He quickly lowers his voice, but can’t hide the stress around his eyes. “What could we give to a child like her? Like any of them? Marie and I are out of our depth. It would be so much simpler if one was a Knight!”

The Lord tentatively offers, “If Isla’s a Guard--?”

Ivan gives a cry of distress that he barely capture in the palm of his hand. “Isla! That girl feels like my daughter already, but…she’s been through so much. She doesn’t need a father who teaches her how to fight or a mother who teaches her how to withstand a siege! She deserves to never have to fight again. What could we offer her? What could we possibly give to her she hasn’t already learned on her own?”

A light goes on in the Lord’s head. He takes in the festivities with new eyes. The town’s Baker, Blacksmith, Teacher… His friends have invited every possible parent they could in hopes of providing for the children in ways they felt incapable of doing themselves. As noble as that was…“Ivan, being a parent goes beyond the skills you can give a child. It’s more than fostering talent or an offering an apprenticeship. It’s—”

A horse’s scream drowns out the Lord’s next words.

Ivan is in front of Lord Brennan with his sword drawn before the horses and their blood-splattered riders even round the side of the castle.

-----.

You throw Annie and Josiah behind you the moment you hear the sound of hooves galloping towards the manor.

“Isla, what—” Josiah starts to ask and then cuts himself off as the innkeepers and their entourage burst into the party.

You smell blood before your eyes register the terrible red staining their fine clothing.

“ORCS!” Mr. Innkeeper screams over the frightened snorts of his horse. He stumbles down from his mount and staggers towards the Lord. “They overtook our carriage—please, my wife, she’s hurt—”

Mrs. Inkeeper is holding her side and seemingly barely holding onto the saddle horn. “Our guards won’t be enough to hold them off—”

“Inside,” Sarah hisses into your ear. She points after Hera who’s already shepherding the younger kids into the building. “Now.”

“—an army—”

“—fast—”

“—waiting for us—”

You move faster than you’ve allowed yourself since you arrived. This is no time to take care in hiding your abilities; there are roars coming from the forest unlike anything you’ve ever heard before. Your senses seem to dial up with your heartrate and you can hear the clash of steel against rock and flesh. You scoop Annie into your arms and leap after Josiah and Sarah.

Mr. Dallen’s face is pale as he ushers you all into the manor. He holds the door open for the townsfolk. The hall fills with the sounds of panic and sobs as fear washes through you like a tidal wave. There have never been orcs south of the mountains, there have never been demons bigger than a horned rabbit in the last twenty years, even when the Winter froze the river—

Mr. Dallen waves down Marie as she sprints to the large doorway. You think that he’s going to pull her inside to safety, but instead he thrusts her bow into her outstretched hands.

“Do not open these doors,” she commands. Behind her the knights are assembling into a formation, their Lord at the center. Ivan stands before them all, barking orders to ready their spears as the trees in front of them begin to sway. Marie pulls a dagger from under her skirts and slices the bottom half of her dress clean off. She kicks it away from her feet as she talks. “Take everyone to the basement—”

“Ma’am, the escape tunnel still isn’t cleared of debris—”

Marie swears so violently that half the townsfolk gasp. She grabs Mr. Dallen by the shoulder, her eyes flicking back and forth between him and her husband. “Then we will draw them away. The moment you think you can, run to the wagon. Get the children to—” She bites her lip. You can see the devastating truth flash through her mind. There isn’t anywhere to go. “Damnit. Bar the door and arm everyone you can.”

Mr. Dallen’s lips are bloodless as he nods. “My lady.”

Marie turns to everyone. Her voice is unlike anything you’ve heard come from her lips; it’s harsh and barking. A commander giving orders much like Ivan is doing outside. “Listen, everyone. We are in danger. Our best estimate is that 25 orcs are marching on the manor. There is no guarantee of survival. The moment this door is breached, it will mean the knights have failed. You must be prepared to fight. Do you understand?”

Twenty-five? Your hands ball into fists and your breath catches in your throat. You’ve heard of entire villages being wiped out by three.

“Then we’ll fight with the knights,” the Baker says. He pushes away from the center of the group and marches to the wall. He pulls down the crossed axes, keeps one, tosses the other to the Blacksmith. She catches it easily. “You’ll need everyone who can hold a weapon.”

Marie never voices her protest. You can see the strain of holding it back in her tense shoulders and her poignant silence. At long last, she nods. “You’re right. Stay behind the knights. They know how to handle the frontline better than you.”

There’s a flurry after that. The townsfolk divide in half. Those unable to fight slide back as those who can start scavenging for weapons. Mr. Dallen grimly pulls two long daggers from under his coat while pointing your neighbors to decorative swords, to ornamental spears, to the heavy coatrack just inside the parlor.

Grimly, you stride past Sarah, ignoring her hiss and darting hands. You can leave the weapons to the villagers, there’s a large knife on the dessert table you can use—

Marie slams a hand against your chest. You stagger back at the weight of the blow, breath knocked from your lungs. You’re more stunned than hurt as you gape at her.

“Children stay here,” Marie says. Her eyes narrow. “No exceptions.”

“But I’m—”

“We don’t have time to argue!” She pushes you further back, clearing the doorway for the armed villagers to run outside towards the knights. “You’re strong Isla, but this isn’t your fight. Stay here. Guard the door.”

The winter wind howls in your mind. You splutter. “But I—”

Marie spins away from you. “Director Sarah.”

Sarah’s arms slide around your shoulders. “Yes, lady.”

The closing of the door feels like a blow in itself. You stare sightlessly at the unyielding wood as your emotions rage. How could she? You’re strong, you can do more, you can help, you’re the one who kept everyone from starving—

“We need to barricade the windows,” Director Sarah is saying to the townsfolk. Half of them gaze at her uncomprehendingly. Her hands slide from your shoulders slowly, as if testing that you aren’t going to leap outside. When you don’t move, she lets go entirely. “Isla, move the furniture. Hera and Josiah, find something to tie it down with.”

You move on autopilot. There are other hands alongside yours as you push the sofa and armchairs in front of the windows, the townsfolk coming together to defend the manor. Hera darts between you all and pulls the curtains closed, reclaiming the curtain ties to use as rope. She’s got a grim determination in her eyes that looks uncomfortably familiar.

Your attention is on the noise outside. The orcs are slow, but loud. The roars change to squeals and bellows of challenge. Branches break and there’s a terrifying, splintering crash as a tree falls. Metal rings as the knights raise their shields. You can see it all in your mind’s eye, the knights in a defensive line across the length of the garden, the Lord securely in their center. Ivan is shouting about this being what they’ve trained for, that there are more of them than there are orcs, that this city won’t fall—

And the Lord is speaking too, quickly and quietly to Marie. The escape tunnel? Damnit, I should have sent more men—

It will be fine, Marie says. Her bow sings as she holds it ready and you know the way her muscles flex and her eyes narrow from experience. We won’t let a single one of those monsters past us. We won’t--

The knights bellow alongside the orcs. Your heart leaps and your focus is jarred. You’re standing in front of the door again, your hands balled at your sides. Everyone can hear the battle now and the townsfolk scream when the orcs’ battle cries shake the manor.

“Quiet!” Is that your voice? It is. Your eyes slide to the frightened faces behind you. “You’ll distract the knights.”

Sarah steps up alongside you. “And let the orcs know exactly where we are.”

The villagers quiet into aborted whimpers and muffled sobs.

The battle rages, louder and louder. Are orcs big? They sound big. When you close your eyes you can hear the way their feet pummel the earth. Do they have weapons? Metal clashes. A knight screams that their hides are too thick. The Lord shouts back to aim for their eyes. A table splinters, a bow sings, there’s a liquid gasp—

BOOM!

You slam your hands against the door, muscles straining as another blow lands against it. The wood convulses under your hands and the lock creaks. The villagers scream.

“No,” someone whispers. “No, they found us.”

You’re eight and the snow spirits are howling for blood. Your shoulders ache with the effort to hold the door against the wind. The cold is biting at your fingertips and there is an old hope dying in your chest--

Small hands slam against the door next to yours. Hera is snarling and swearing, Josiah is crying. Sarah is telling the kids not to worry, Isla and Hera and Josiah won’t let them in –

They’re here. You’re not alone.

“GET AWAY FROM THERE!”

The orc’s bellow isn’t nearly as loud as Ivan’s roar.

The blow you’re bracing for never comes. Ivan goads the orc to follow him, to leave the manor alone, to eat the man readily available to him—

It does not sound like the knights are winning now.

“My Lord!” Marie’s voice is strained.

“Do not fall back, they’ll corner us—”

“Who is that? Who is—”

The crack under the door lights with a sickly purple. The smell of ozone seeps into the manor. For a moment there is a silence so complete you think you’ve been struck. What was that? Magic? You’ve never seen magic before--

Screams rocket across the field. The Blacksmith’s screams. The Baker’s screams. Marie’s rage-filled howls.

“DEMON KING!”

Your Destiny burns.

---.

(part 1) (part 2) (part 3)

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

Thanks for reading! If you'd like read the last part of Isla a week early, please consider supporting me on Patreon(X)!

#my writing #the hero and hope #fantasy writing #writeblr

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tarotwithavi · 1 year ago

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You have been blessed

What blessings are coming into your life/headed your way? How will they make you feel?

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

How to choose a pile?

Close your eyes and take a deep breath and ask the angels to show you the right pile for you and open your eyes. The first pile that catches your attention is the right pile for you.

Masterlist

Paid services

I have been scammed recently and am now in urgent need of money. Any help you can offer would be greatly appreciated.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 1

This might not be the blessing that you imagined, but this will be something that you actually need in your life. You will finally realize who is actually your friend and who is your foe. This is a blessing in disguise, so at first you may think, "Why is everything going downwards all of a sudden?" But after some time, you'll understand why it all happened.

If you have been having trouble finding a suitable career path for you, you no longer have to worry about this because I see that in the upcoming 2-3 months, you will be offered a job opportunity that will be the most suitable for you.

Some of you will get accepted into your dream college/university. Some of you may even get a full scholarship. If you have not applied to your dream college because of self-doubt, this is your chance to do so. You'll get a positive response.

One of your long-forgotten wishes is going to come true, and I got a vision of somebody dancing around in happiness, so this could be you.

Some of you will be receiving or giving someone a really precious gift. I see some gold jewellery.

July could be an important month for you.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 2

(some of you may resonate with pile 1)

Something that you have been working on for a really long time is going to come to fruition; you will finally get the rewards of your hard work. I feel like this is something that you started around 2020-2021.

Some of you will get to meet one of your online friends, or you could be invited to a celebration where some of your own friends will be present, and you will get to reunite with your old friends.

Achievement and success are the keywords for your next 4 months. Something that you have done at the beginning of this year will start giving you results now.

I see that some of you are manifesting your dream relationship, so you could meet your person within the next 3 to 4 weeks, and some could meet them within 3 to 4 months.

I do see that you guys have struggled a lot, and you guys have been through a lot of difficult situations, but I want you to know that the most difficult part is over, and things will start getting better from now on. You will no longer have to worry about your finances because I do see that you will be getting a lot of opportunities to make money.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

Pile 3

Somebody new is going to enter your life soon. This could be in the form of a pet or a baby because I do see that somebody could be giving birth soon, either you or somebody around you.

If you have been trying to conceive, you may get pregnant.

Some of you will get to travel to your dream place. This could be a place that you have always wanted to visit, and I feel like this could be a short trip. I am not seeing international travel, but this is a trip that will heal your soul.

I also see you having a lot of fun with your friends or family. Someone's birthday could be coming up, or you may get invited to someone's wedding. Either way, you will have a lot of fun, and you will meet really important people there or people that will have a significant role in your life in the future.

Some of you may have broken up recently, and you may be dealing with heartache right now, but I want you to know that this was also a reason, and you will meet somebody who will love you better and treat you better.

You are attracting a lot of good luck and good news. I also see some paperwork getting resolved or you getting results in your favor. You'll feel really blessed in the upcoming months that you may cry out tears of joy.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

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matsookawa · 4 months ago

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Title: How Exciting

Pairing: Dracule Mihawk x fem!reader

Word Count: 1,033

Summary: Mihawk's wife has some life-altering news that has him on the edge of his seat in an emergency Cross Guild meeting.

Note: This was a request.

Despite having the last fifteen years as proof that her husband would move Heaven and Earth if it meant she was happy, the fear settling into her stomach is making that knowledge difficult to hold on to. She sits at a table in the conference room, her husband on the other end. It’s silent and [Y/N] has chosen to remain expressionless. It’s a blessing and curse to have a partner who can read every minute thing your body does, but right now it’s a curse. She can feel his eyes burning into her, yet hers remain locked on a one-inch scuff next to her hand where she’s been tapping her finger for the past five minutes. It’s the only indication of her nervousness, a trait not common in the typically steadfast woman.

The man, Dracule Mihawk, opens his mouth to inquire about her behavior and why she called an emergency meeting. Before a sound comes out, the conference room doors slam open. [Y/N]’s hand slaps down on the table and Mihawk is somewhat grateful he does not have to continue enduring the endless tapping. What he is not grateful for is the clown taking a seat at the table next to his wife, while their glorified accountant with a hook-hand sits on her other side. His eyes narrow and he leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “What is this?”

[Y/N] takes a deep breath and clasps her hands on the table. Crocodile and Buggy look to her, clearly waiting for her to speak first. Mihawk immediately fears the worst. ‘Is she…. leaving me?’ His heart jumps into his throat at the thought. “I’m not leaving you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” He breathes a tiny sigh of relief. “Buggy and Croc are only here as witnesses in case of legal retaliation.”

“What are you referring to, [Y/N]?” He is utterly confused and she decides it’s best to put him out of his misery. She locks him in with a hard gaze. The one she usually reserves for foes, however he can see her clench her jaw and hesitate. “There’s a bit of a… situation. One that has the potential to change things going forward.” Crocodile and Buggy’s sights set on Mihawk. His mind is a maze with each direction leading him to a horrible conclusion as to what this all must be about. ‘She is termin-‘ “I’m not terminally ill, Dracule.” He hears the clown mumble a “How do you do that?” under his breath. Mihawk decides the best option is to wait until she’s ready. After exactly thirty-six ticks of the wall clock, [Y/N] speaks.

“I’m seven weeks pregnant.”

His breathing stops, yet he remains narrow-eyed and if [Y/N] didn’t know him so well, it would intimidate her. It’s fortunate she can hold her own against anyone, even him. “And I know you do not want children. You made that very clear. So, I’ve called this meeting to announce my resignation as a member and negotiate the division of our marital assets. Buggy and Crocodile can sign as witnesses of the decision and I’ll file this with the local court.”

Mihawk sits up straight, his brain now catching up. “You think so little of me that one off-hand comment I made fifteen years ago means that your only option when you’re with child is divorce.” It’s not a question. [Y/N] swallows hard, her confident façade beginning to fall. “You have too many responsibilities. To the Cross Guild, to Zoro-“ “[Y/N].”

His chair scrapes as he stands. He rounds the table and Buggy slides his chair out of the way to make space for Mihawk to kneel beside her. Her breaths become deep and trembling and she struggles to hold his steely gaze. “I clearly have failed as a husband if that is your belief. Have I not made my unwavering fidelity and devotion to you clear? Do you not understand that every morning before you wake is spent pondering how I got so lucky to find a partner who not only understands every facet of who I am, but doesn’t seek to change it?” She has a white-knuckle grip on the armrest of her chair and tears brim her eyes at his words. He lays a hand over hers. “[Y/N], I was not in a place all those years ago to have a child. I was young and had no ambition until you came along. We’re now two of the strongest warlords on the four seas. Between your intelligence and my strength, we can handle a child.”

Tears fall over her cheeks and a choked sob escapes her. “I just didn’t want to force you into this, Dracule.” Mihawk sighs through his nose and closes his eyes for a moment. They open once more and settle on her. “I love you, [Y/N]. I am in this just as much as you are.” The woman emits a loud cry and throws her arms around him, allowing herself to slide out of the chair. He’s able to catch her and hold her in his lap. She cries into his shirt and he looks up to his associates. “You two can leave. There is nothing to witness.”

Crocodile takes a puff of his cigar and nods towards the door. This cues Buggy to stand, the hook-handed man doing the same. “We can discuss the new arrangements in due time, Mihawk. Enjoy the pregnancy while it lasts. You’ll miss it later.” Said man is tempted to ask why Crocodile sounds particularly forlorn, but lets it go as he exits. They’re close, but not that close.

[Y/N] pulls her face away from his shoulder and wipes her face with the back of her hand. She’s finished crying, but can’t help but still feel a little daunted by the entire situation. She swallows hard and looks at him while he softly gazes at her and pushes some tear-ridden strands of hair behind her hair. “You’re sure you’re up for this? It’s going to be exhausting, unrelenting, and terrifying, Dracule.” A soft smile pulls at his lips and he holds the side of her face in his hand.

“Then it will be our most exciting adventure yet.”

Note: I have a headcanon that Buggy actually does know when to keep quiet. I've also always had this idea of Crocodile having a past lover, but their relationship ending in tragedy. Feel free to request more info or a fic on that. I write more than just Mihawk, ya know.

#flo's fics #dracule mihawk imagine #dracule mihawk x reader #mihawk x reader #mihawk imagine #opla mihawk imagine #opla mihawk x reader #opla dracule mihawk imagine #opla dracule mihawk x reader #how exciting #requested

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sulkingheichou012 · 3 months ago

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Into the Dungeon with You (Sequel)

Pairing: Jinwoo x Reader

Genre: RomCom, Action, Smut

Warning: Description of violence and profanity.

Summary: Jinwoo frowned as a new system notification appeared before him.

[Special Reward Successfully Claimed.]

Author's Note: Hey, I’m back! My mind has been all over the place these past few weeks—traveling like Doctor Strange—trying to come up with a fun idea for you all.

This one’s pretty long, so I had to split it into two parts (thanks, Tumblr sigh).

Anyway, enjoy, Y/N! And hang in there for the cliffhanger! 😆

If you want to be tagged, just drop a comment below!

Echoes of Fate (2)

As the void twisted and collapsed, the battlefield revealed itself.

They stood upon an endless abyss, the ground pulsing as if alive, throbbing with an unnatural rhythm. Above them stretched a sky devoid of stars, a void shifting and writhing like a living thing—watching. Waiting.

And then, she appeared.

From the depths of nothingness, a towering figure emerged, her form flickering between existence and oblivion. She was neither whole nor shattered, a silhouette of fractured light and shifting darkness, as if she were a lingering memory of something long lost.

A crown of twisted shadows rested atop her head, and her eyes—sultry yet soulless, filled with echoes of past lives—locked onto Jinwoo with unsettling familiarity.

The Monarch of Echoes.

A deep, guttural snarl tore through the silence. Fenrir, his massive frame tensed, golden eyes burning with hatred, lowered his stance like a predator facing an old foe.

“So it’s you, wretch,” he growled, voice laced with the weight of ancient enmity. “I should have erased you long ago.”

The Monarch of Echoes smirked, her form shifting like smoke caught between dimensions.

“Oh? The Primordial Hunger,” she mused, her tone taunting. “Once a Devourer of All, feared across the realms… and now?” Her gaze flickered to Jinwoo before returning to Fenrir with condescension. “A mere pet of a Monarch.”

Her smirk widened. “How the mighty have fallen.”

Fenrir bared his fangs, his growl deep and threatening. Y/N gripped her scythe tighter, the tension crackling like a storm waiting to break.

Then, the Monarch’s gaze slid to Jinwoo, and something changed.

Her lips curled, not with mockery, but with something deeper. Amusement. Recognition. Fascination.

“Ah… the Shadow Monarch.” Her voice caressed his title, lingering over it like a lover’s whisper. She stepped forward, the darkness rippling around her as if bending to her will. “You look just like him.”

Her tone softened, almost wistful. “Your predecessor, Ashborn… He was magnificent.” A slow sigh escaped her lips, reverent and longing. “A true king. A warrior beyond compare. I admired him deeply.”

Then, as if the warmth in her voice had been a fleeting illusion, her attention shifted.

To Y/N.

And just like that, the air grew cold.

The Monarch of Echoes stared at her, expression turning from curiosity to disdain.

“But you…” Her voice lost all its previous reverence, dripping instead with thinly veiled contempt. “What are you?”

A weight pressed down on Y/N, heavy and suffocating, like something unseen was peeling her apart, searching for answers she herself didn’t have.

The Monarch studied her like one might observe a defect in a masterpiece—something misplaced, something that did not belong.

Then, understanding dawned.

Her smirk returned, sharper than before.

“Ah,” she murmured, voice like silk woven with malice. “I see now.”

She took another step forward, her presence warping the very space around her.

“A flaw. An anomaly. A mistake in the grand design.”

She tilted her head, eyes glinting with amusement.

“How delightful.”

And then—her voice a whisper of cruel intent—

“Shall I erase you next?”

Y/N’ breath hitched.

This bitch.

A sharp pain exploded in her head.

Y/N barely registered the way her knees buckled beneath her, her body sinking to the ground as if the world itself had collapsed around her. A blinding ache tore through her skull, violent and merciless, as if something—someone—was forcefully ripping memories away.

Fragments of thoughts flickered and faded before she could grasp them. Her past, her present—shattering like fragile glass.

Jinwoo was at her side in an instant, his presence grounding even as her mind threatened to unravel. His voice was distant, yet sharp with concern.

His glare snapped back to the Monarch of Echoes, dark and lethal.

The Monarch of Echoes laughed. A sultry, knowing sound—amused, fascinated, utterly delighted by what was happening to Y/N.

Y/N trembled, hands clutching at her head as the pain pulsed through her skull, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. Her mind was unraveling, slipping through her fingers like grains of sand.

She could hear Jinwoo’s voice—distant, warped, like an echo calling from the depths of an abyss.

“Y/N.”

His voice was urgent, sharp with concern. "Y/N, look at me."

But the words barely reached her. They scattered in the fog of her mind, distorted beyond recognition.

Memories flickered and faded.

Her name. His name. The battlefield. The reason they were here.

Everything was slipping away.

And still, the Monarch of Echoes watched, eyes glinting with cruel amusement.

Fenrir’s snarl tore through the tension. His golden eyes never left the Monarch as he spoke.

“She’s erasing her,” Fenrir growled, his voice dark and edged with fury.

Jinwoo stiffened. His grip on Y/N tightened.

“What?” His voice was low, dangerous.

Fenrir’s fur bristled, the weight of his ancient knowledge lacing his words with grim certainty.

“The Monarch of Echoes does not kill the body,” he explained, his tone thick with disgust. “She devours what makes you real.”

Jinwoo’s fingers curled into fists.

“She’s consuming her memories,” Fenrir continued. “The essence of who she is.” His gaze flickered to Y/N, who was barely holding on. “If this continues, there will be nothing left. She won’t be Y/N. She won’t be anything.”

Jinwoo’s blood ran cold.

A slow, taunting chuckle pulled his attention back to the Monarch.

“How insightful,” she mused, clearly entertained. “You truly are a relic of the old world, Primordial Hunger. It’s a shame you’re wasted as a mere shadow.”

She tilted her head, watching Y/N with the curiosity of a predator toying with its prey.

“I wonder,” she continued, stepping closer. “What will she become once everything is stripped away? Will she scream? Will she fight? Or…” Her eyes gleamed. “Will she simply fade?”

Jinwoo’s killing intent surged like a tidal wave.

He stepped in front of Y/N, his shadows writhing, the very air around him vibrating with power.

“Touch her,” he said, his voice low and seething, “and I’ll show you what it means to truly disappear.”

The Monarch of Echoes only smiled.

The moment Jinwoo’s killing intent surged, the battlefield trembled. Shadows pooled beneath his feet, stretching outward like an abyss preparing to swallow the world whole. His fingers twitched, itching to summon his blade, to end the being before him.

But the Monarch of Echoes merely smirked.

She lifted a single hand, palm open.

And the void responded.

A deep, guttural wail echoed through the abyss—a sound drenched in sorrow, in torment. The darkness behind the Monarch twisted, convulsed, and then—they came.

Figures began to rise.

At first, they were nothing more than flickers of light and shadow, distorted echoes of warriors long lost. But as they took shape, their forms solidified—tattered armor, broken weapons, hollow eyes filled with eternal grief.

The Fallen.

Jinwoo’s gaze darkened.

The Monarch of Echoes let out a soft chuckle, lifting her chin as she observed her army.

"Do you recognize them, Shadow Monarch?" she purred. "These are the warriors who perished in the great war… the ones your predecessor could not save."

Jinwoo’s grip on his dagger tightened.

"They were strong once," she continued, stepping forward, her voice laced with mock sympathy. "But in the end, they were nothing more than casualties. Forgotten. Cast aside. And now?" Her smile deepened. "They serve me."

At her command, the Fallen charged.

Jinwoo moved in an instant.

He vanished—a blur of darkness—reappearing in the midst of the rushing horde. Arcs of black lightning crackled around his dagger as he swung, carving through the first wave like paper.

The moment his blade met the Fallen, their forms shattered, dispersing into fragments of light—only for them to reform immediately, rising again as if death held no meaning.

Jinwoo’s eyes narrowed.

Behind him, Fenrir let out a thunderous roar.

Golden light exploded from his body as he lunged forward, his claws slicing through three of the Fallen in a single motion. But just like before, they reformed.

"Useless," the Monarch of Echoes taunted. "You cannot kill what is already dead."

Jinwoo’s response was swift.

He shadow teleported, reappearing directly in front of her, his blade aimed straight for her throat.

But she merely smiled.

CLANG!

A massive halberd intercepted his strike.

A warrior in jagged, spectral armor—an ancient king, long lost to time—stood between him and the Monarch, his empty eyes glowing with remnants of willpower.

Jinwoo clicked his tongue.

"Tch"

More of them.

From the darkness, a dozen more elite warriors emerged. Knights, warlords, forgotten rulers—all chained to the Monarch’s will.

Jinwoo’s gaze flickered toward Y/N, who was still struggling, her body trembling from the memory theft.

Time was running out.

His jaw tightened. Fine.

If these bastards wouldn’t stay dead—

Then he would do something far worse.

He lifted a hand.

And shadows erupted.

The ground beneath them split open, and from its depths, an army unlike any other rose.

Igris.

Beru.

Bellion.

And thousands more.

Jinwoo’s Shadow Legion materialized in full force, each warrior’s presence crushing against the void like an impending storm.

The Monarch of Echoes’ smirk wavered.

Jinwoo pointed his dagger at her, his voice low and deadly.

"If you want to play with the dead," he said, his gaze cold and merciless, "then let’s see whose army lasts longer."

The battle began.

The battlefield was a storm of endless shadows and echoes.

Jinwoo’s army clashed against the Fallen, the sheer force of their battle shaking the void itself.

Igris danced through the battlefield in a blur of crimson and black, his sword carving through enemy after enemy—only for them to reform seconds later.

Beru shrieked, his claws raking through the spectral warriors, his speed and precision overwhelming—but they would not stay down.

Bellion swung his massive blade, a single strike cleaving through dozens, yet the Monarch of Echoes merely laughed, and her army rose again and again.

And Jinwoo—

He moved like a storm, shadow teleporting across the battlefield, cutting through waves of enemies, his blade unstoppable. But no matter how many he struck down, they never stayed dead.

The Monarch of Echoes stood at the center of it all, untouched, untouchable.

She never needed to move.

With a wave of her hand, the Fallen obeyed.

With a whisper, reality twisted.

And with a single thought, she rained death.

Spears of voidlight shot through the air, piercing through even Jinwoo’s strongest shadows, tearing holes into the ranks of his legion.

She had the upper hand.

She did not need to fight—she only needed to outlast.

And Jinwoo could feel it.

His mana was draining.

Too many summons. Too much power being used.

His breathing was heavier now, his grip on his blade tightening as the frustration built.

He couldn’t reach her.

Every time he tried, more Fallen rose in his way, forcing him back into the endless battle.

And then—

Y/N stopped breathing.

Jinwoo’s entire world froze.

In the chaos of battle, amidst the endless war, he had been calling her name—over and over—but she had not answered.

And now—

She was too calm.

Too still.

Her body, once trembling in pain, now sat eerily motionless.

Her chest did not rise.

Her eyes—once filled with warmth and stubborn fire—were now empty, vacant, hollow.

Jinwoo forgot to breathe.

“Y/N…?”

No response.

His blood turned to ice.

No.

Not again.

His vision blurred, but it was not from exhaustion.

It was from the rage.

The grief.

The void had taken his son.

And now—

Now it wanted to take her, too.

The Monarch of Echoes watched his expression shift—watched as frustration turned to something primal. Smiled.

Jinwoo slowly turned his gaze toward her.

Something in the air changed.

His shadows—his very presence—grew heavier.

The battlefield shuddered.

The Monarch of Echoes… blinked.

For the first time—she felt it.

The shift in him.

She had taken everything.

And now—

She had nothing left to take.

Jinwoo moved.

Jinwoo moved like a tempest, every strike of his blade splitting the air, tearing through the endless echoes that refused to stay down. His patience had run out.

He needed to end this.

His shadows surged like a tidal wave, swallowing the Fallen whole, but no matter how many he cut down, they rose again.

He shadow teleported—again and again—trying to break through, trying to reach her. But the Monarch of Echoes remained protected, untouched, her horde acting as an unbreakable barrier between them.

And she was watching him. Amused.

The way Jinwoo desperately tried to push forward, the way he carved through armies without hesitation, the way his rage poured from every strike—

It sent shivers down her spine.

Her fingers traced the air, her lips parting as she exhaled, heat spreading through her body.

“Ahh…”

Her legs pressed together as she trembled. The Shadow Monarch was magnificent.

He wanted her gone so badly.

The sheer focus in his eyes, the hatred, the determination to kill her and only her—

It made her breath hitch.

She bit her lip, her face flushed, her body betraying her as she let out an unrestrained moan.

“More…” she whispered, her hands clutching at her arms as her legs felt weak. “More… fight harder… come for me, Shadow Monarch…”

Jinwoo’s eyes blazed with raw fury.

He heard her.

He didn’t care.

If anything, her reaction only made his disgust grow stronger.

His mana surged.

The ground beneath him cracked as he pushed forward again, dagger raised high, his rage taking form in the shadows roaring around him.

But he still couldn’t reach her.

The battle was endless.

His mana was draining.

His time was running out.

And behind him—

Y/N still hadn’t moved.

Meanwhile,

Everything felt distant.

Y/N stood in the void of her mind, her thoughts a fragmented mess.

Where… am I?

She could hear voices—whispers at first, then growing louder.

She turned her head.

Flashes of light, waves of power crashing together—

An endless battle unfolded before her, yet she felt nothing.

Her gaze drifted over the scene.

A massive wolf tore through platoons of echoes with terrifying precision.

A knight of crimson and black moved at impossible speeds, his blade clashing against spectral warlords.

A towering warrior of gold and black stood like an immovable force, majesty and might radiating from his very presence.

They were familiar.

And yet—

She didn’t remember why.

Her eyes slowly moved upward.

Two figures clashed above it all.

A man.

A woman.

The man…

Handsome. Deadly. His very presence a force of nature.

Heavy. Overwhelming.

Her gaze lingered on him for only a moment before shifting to the woman.

And then—

The fog in her mind twisted.

That smile.

That mocking, arrogant, disgusting smile.

Something inside her snapped.

…I want to wipe it off her face.

Her hollow eyes narrowed.

She didn’t know why.

She didn’t know what this feeling was.

But it consumed her.

Slowly, unsteadily, she stood up.

Her legs trembled.

Her body felt weak.

Her scythe—

It lay on the ground, forgotten.

She didn’t even recognize it as hers.

She had no weapon.

She had no plan.

But then—

She moved.

—In an instant.

Before anyone could react—before the Monarch of Echoes could even blink—

Y/N was behind her.

—And she kicked her.

HARD.

CRACK.

The sound echoed like thunder.

The Monarch of Echoes’ eyes widened in pure shock as her body launched through the air, smashing into the abyssal wall.

Silence.

Everything—stopped.

The battlefield froze.

All eyes turned.

Jinwoo, who had been ready to strike again, halted.

His rage momentarily flickered as his gaze locked onto her.

Y/N stood in the center of it all.

Her posture was loose, almost uncaring.

Her breathing was slow. Too calm.

Her eyes—

Empty.

But behind that emptiness…

Was killing intent.

Focused. Unrelenting.

And it was only for that woman.

Jinwoo exhaled, his fingers tightening around his dagger.

“…Y/N.”

She didn’t turn.

She didn’t react.

Her entire existence was locked onto the Monarch of Echoes—

The woman who had dared to smile.

This bitch.

The Monarch of Echoes—

For the first time—

Had no words.

"Eh?"

The Monarch of Echoes barely registered what had happened.

One moment, she had been basking in her own amusement, watching Jinwoo struggle to reach her. The next—

She was airborne.

Her body spun uncontrollably before slamming into the abyssal wall with a sickening CRACK.

Disgrace.

A Monarch. She, a Monarch! Had just been kicked like trash.

Her limbs twitched as she tried to push herself up, utter disbelief clouding her mind.

She turned her head—furious, humiliated, stunned.

And then, she saw him.

Jinwoo.

The Shadow Monarch.

Surprised.

Just as shocked as she was.

Her lips parted slightly in realization.

No… not him.

Her eyes flicked lower—

To the real cause of her humiliation.

Y/N.

She stood there—not like prey, but like a predator.

Walking towards her.

Slow. Unyielding. Unstoppable.

Her empty gaze locked onto her like a hunter eyeing wounded prey.

And in that moment—

The Monarch of Echoes felt something she hadn’t felt in millennia.

Fear.

A disgrace. A mistake. An anomaly.

That’s what she had called her.

And yet, here she was—

Moving like death incarnate.

Her breath hitched as rage consumed her fear.

This filth.

This thing.

This anomaly had dared to lay a hand on her.

Her fingers trembled, then curled into a fist.

Her expression twisted in fury.

"KILL HER!"

Her voice thundered through the battlefield as her protectors rushed forward, spectral warriors and wraiths descending upon Y/N like an unrelenting storm.

She unleashed her power.

The air shattered as void energy lashed out—an overwhelming force that should have crushed Y/N where she stood.

But before they could even touch her—

Y/N moved.

She didn’t dodge.

She didn’t need to.

She cut through them.

Not with a weapon—

With her bare hands.

A wraith lunged—she crushed its skull.

A spectral knight swung its blade—she ripped its arm off and slammed it into the ground.

A swarm of void creatures screeched—she grabbed one by the throat and used it to bludgeon the others.

Brutal.

Merciless.

Unstoppable.

Each movement was precise. Efficient.

She didn’t waste energy. She didn’t hesitate.

She simply tore through them.

Shadows and echoes alike froze at the sheer savagery.

Even Jinwoo, in the midst of battle, paused.

This wasn’t the usual Y/N.

This wasn’t the playful, awkward girl who always fumbled her way through fights.

This was something else.

This was pure instinct.

And it was terrifying.

Then—

Y/N disappeared.

And before the Monarch of Echoes could react—

Her hair was yanked back.

The Monarch of Echoes gasped, her head snapping back as her body was forcibly pulled.

Y/N’ fingers tightened in her hair—a vice grip that didn’t waver.

Then—

Slam.

The Monarch’s body crashed into the ground.

Dark energy cracked beneath her on impact.

Before she could even process the pain—

Slam.

She was dragged across the battlefield.

Like a ragdoll.

Like nothing.

Y/N didn’t stop.

She hauled her across the abyss, slamming her into every surface, every wall, every jagged edge of the void.

BAM. BAM. BAM.

The Monarch of Echoes screamed, her power surging to break free—

But Y/N didn't let go.

She wouldn’t let go.

Not until there was nothing left.

Not until that smile was gone.

And for the first time—

The Monarch of Echoes realized something horrifying.

She wasn’t the predator.

She was the prey.

Once again—

The Monarch of Echoes was airborne.

Her body whipped through the abyss, hurtling like a shattered doll, her once-elegant form now nothing more than a crumpled mess.

The battlefield, once roaring with battle, had fallen into silence.

Not just silence—fear.

The echoes, the warriors of the void, the lingering remnants of those trapped in this forsaken realm—

All stopped.

Some stared in amusement, others in horror.

Some stepped back.

Some stumbled.

Some simply stood paralyzed as the brutality of the Shadow Monarch’s Queen unfolded before them.

The fearsome, untouched Monarch of Echoes was nothing more than a ragdoll in the hands of the anomaly.

And then—

She was sent flying straight toward Jinwoo.

Jinwoo, already stepping forward, readied his stance.

This was it.

He was done playing.

He was going to end this now.

His mana surged, his grip tightening—his killing intent sharpened—

But before he could even strike—

BOOM!

A force crashed into him—hard.

Jinwoo’s body stumbled backward, his footing breaking as he was shoved aside.

By her.

By Y/N.

The moment he looked up—

She was already there.

Already in position.

Her empty eyes locked onto the Monarch of Echoes.

And before the fallen Monarch could even scream—

Y/N caught her.

Fingers tightening in her hair.

Then—

SLAM.

The Echoing Queen’s face was driven straight into the abyssal ground.

The sound of bone and flesh colliding with unyielding darkness rippled through the battlefield.

The void trembled.

A deep indentation formed beneath the impact.

The Monarch of Echoes twitched, her fingers clawing at the ground in sheer desperation.

Her mind was a blur of agony and humiliation.

And then—

A voice.

Cold.

Emotionless.

A voice that should have been familiar, yet held no recognition of him.

Jinwoo, still regaining his balance, froze.

Y/N’ side-eyed him.

Eyes devoid of warmth.

Devoid of love.

Devoid of him.

And then—

She spoke.

"This bitch is mine."

Jinwoo’s breath hitched.

His heart—sank.

Because in that moment—

She didn’t recognize him.

Not a single emotion flickered within them—only the quiet resolve of execution.

The Monarch of Echoes trembled beneath her grip, her once-taunting smirk now nothing but a twisted, bloodied grimace.

She couldn’t move.

She couldn’t speak.

She could only watch as the anomaly—no, the nightmare—

Y/N lifted her hand.

Aiming directly for the Monarch’s stomach, she thrust her hand forward.

The Monarch gasped.

A strangled, broken sound.

Y/N’ fingers sank into flesh— deeper, deeper—until they reached something familiar.

Something warm.

Something calling for her.

A golden glow.

Pulsing.

Faint, but persistent.

Her breath hitched.

The battlefield, the echoes, the fighting—all of it faded into the background.

Because this—this was different.

This was important.

Y/N’ fingers curled around the golden light, and the moment she did—

A memory surfaced.

Not her own.

But his.

—"Mama!"

Her body tensed.

A voice.

A voice that sent a sharp, painful pulse through her chest—

A voice that shook something loose.

A memory she couldn’t fully grasp.

Her grip tightened.

The Monarch of Echoes choked, trying to cling to what remained of herself.

"Y-You…" she croaked, voice raw, bleeding. "You… cannot take that…"

But Y/N wasn't listening.

Her body moved on instinct.

And in one sharp motion—

She ripped the golden orb from the Monarch’s body.

The Monarch screamed.

A soul-shattering wail, an echo of sheer agony that rang through the abyss like the death cry of a dying god.

Her form shuddered.

Her body cracked.

And then—

She began to disintegrate.

The once-mighty Monarch of Echoes—

was fading.

Y/N, still holding the golden orb, finally looked at it.

And then—

It called to her again.

This time, a whisper.

A soft, desperate whisper.

"Mama… come get me."

Her breath hitched.

And then—

Her fingers tightened around the light.

Jinwoo stood frozen, watching it unfold before him.

Y/N, standing amidst the crumbling remains of the Monarch of Echoes, held the golden orb close to her chest.

The battlefield was silent.

The echoes had stopped.

The shadows had stilled.

And then—

A single, broken sob escaped from Y/N.

Her fingers trembled as they clutched the orb tighter, her body curling around it protectively, as if shielding it from the world.

Tears slipped from her hollow, empty eyes.

She didn’t understand.

She didn’t remember.

But it hurt.

It hurt in a way she couldn’t describe—

A pain so raw, so deep, that it threatened to tear her apart.

Jinwoo couldn’t take it anymore.

In the next breath, he was there.

Arms wrapping around her.

Holding her close.

Y/N shuddered, her sobs growing louder as she buried her face into his chest, her body shaking violently.

Jinwoo’s grip tightened around both her and the orb, his own breath unsteady.

He felt it.

The overwhelming grief.

The ache of something missing.

Something precious.

Something irreplaceable.

And yet, despite the pain—

Despite the sorrow that clawed at his chest—

He whispered.

“It’s okay, Y/N.”

His voice was soft, soothing, as if speaking to a fragile, broken piece of his heart.

“I’m here.”

Her fingers clutched the fabric of his clothes, as if instinctively seeking an anchor.

Jinwoo gently pressed his forehead against hers, his own eyes burning.

His Y/N.

His wife.

Even when she couldn’t remember him, she still cried in his arms.

Still reached for him.

And then—

A pulse.

A soft, gentle warmth.

From the orb, nestled between them.

It glowed.

Not just with golden light—

But with life.

Calling for them.

Reaching for them.

Y/N gasped, lifting her head slightly.

The warmth enveloped her, seeping into her bones.

It felt…

Safe.

Familiar.

Jinwoo exhaled, pressing his palm over the orb, over her hands, as if trying to keep the warmth from slipping away.

And then—

A voice.

A small, faint echo.

But this time—

Clearer.

“Mama… Papa… I'm here.”

Y/N’ breath hitched.

And for the first time—

She remembered.

Y/N' wide, tear-streaked eyes snapped to Jinwoo, trembling hands clutching the golden orb.

“Did you hear that?” she whispered, voice raw with desperation.

Jinwoo’s breath caught.

His heart pounded in his chest.

It wasn’t just her.

He heard it too.

A voice. Small, faint—but real.

His son.

Their Suho.

Y/N squeezed his hands, her grip tightening over his, pleading with her eyes.

“Jinwoo, tell me you heard it. Please!” Her voice cracked, her breath uneven as she clung to him, as if afraid this was all a cruel illusion.

Jinwoo nodded, his thumb brushing over her trembling fingers.

“I heard him.”

A choked sob escaped Y/N' lips.

She pressed the orb against her chest, holding it as if her life depended on it.

“Help me…” She looked up at him, her empty, lost expression slowly filling with something else.

Hope.

“Help me free our baby.”

Jinwoo felt his chest tighten.

He wanted to.

He had to.

But how?

His fingers hovered over the golden light, shadows crackling at his fingertips. His mana was dangerously low. His body screamed for rest, but—

His family needed him.

Y/N needed him.

His son needed him.

Then—

It hit him.

Jinwoo’s eyes widened.

The Soulbound Fate.

A hidden trait that had awakened when he stepped into the Abyss of the Well of Beginnings.

Bound by three lives.

A fate interwoven across realms.

Jinwoo stared at the orb in realization.

This wasn’t just an imprisonment—it was a severance.

Something had tried to cut Suho away from them, from existence itself.

But it failed.

Because Suho was never meant to be erased.

Because they were bound.

Jinwoo’s grip on Y/N’ hands tightened.

“I know how to bring him back.”

Y/N’ breath hitched.

“We will bring him back.” His dark eyes bore into hers, strong, certain, unyielding.

For a moment, she couldn’t speak.

Then, slowly, tears welled in her eyes.

Jinwoo’s grip tightened.

Together—they called upon the bond that defied fate itself.

Shadows surged, golden light flared.

The battlefield shook.

Jinwoo and Y/N poured everything into the connection that should have never been severed.

Their mana, their souls—their very existence intertwined.

The golden orb shuddered.

A heartbeat.

Then—

A pulse of warmth.

A child's voice—clear, bright, calling out to them.

“Mommy… Daddy…”

The world exploded in light.

A golden surge rippled outward, warping the battlefield, shattering the remnants of the void that had tried to swallow their son.

Jinwoo and Y/N held on, their fingers entwined over the glowing orb, their shadows and mana twisting together in a storm of power.

Then—

A small, warm hand pressed against theirs.

Y/N’ breath caught.

Her fingers trembled, not from exhaustion, but from disbelief.

“M-Mommy…?”

A fragile, gentle voice reached her ears—one that made her very soul ache in recognition.

She gasped.

Jinwoo’s hands clenched over hers as the golden light flared brighter, brighter—until it burst.

And there, within the fading radiance…

A small figure emerged.

A boy, no older than four, with dark tousled hair that gleamed under the golden glow. His large, familiar eyes—black with flecks of gold—blinked up at them, filled with confusion… and warmth.

His tiny hands reached out.

One to Jinwoo.

One to Y/N.

“Mommy? Daddy?”

Y/N broke.

A sharp, shuddering sob tore from her chest.

She fell to her knees, pulling the child into her trembling arms—cradling him, holding him as if he’d slip away again.

“Suho…”

Jinwoo sank beside them, his arms wrapping around them both, securing them in his warmth. His face was buried in Suho’s soft, dark hair, his grip tight—as if grounding himself in the reality of this moment.

Their son was here.

Alive.

Real.

Suho blinked, confused at first, then giggled softly.

“Mommy, you’re crying a lot…” he whispered, small hands patting Y/N’ cheeks.

Y/N let out a broken laugh, tears falling freely.

“Of course I am, baby…” she sniffled, pressing her forehead against his. “You were gone… we thought—we thought we lost you.”

Jinwoo exhaled slowly, pressing a kiss to Suho’s head.

“You’re safe now. We’ve got you.”

Suho blinked, then suddenly grinned—so bright, so pure, just like the child they remembered.

“I knew you’d find me!” He beamed, his small hands clutching at their clothes. “I was waiting! I kept calling and calling—‘Mommy! Daddy! Come get me!’ And you did!”

Y/N let out a choked laugh, nodding as more tears fell.

“We heard you, baby… You were brave…”

Jinwoo held them both tighter.

The battlefield was silent.

The echoes, the warriors, even the very remnants of the void—all bore witness.

The family that should have been shattered…

Was whole once more.

Jinwoo’s gaze lowered.

The lifeless body of the Female Monarch lay before him, her once-arrogant smirk erased in disgrace.

A gaping hole where her chest had been.

Her blood soaked the ground, pooling beneath her broken form. Her once-proud presence—nothing more than a corpse.

Jinwoo turned to Y/N.

She stood there, calm, her expression unreadable. Not trembling. Not shaken.

Yet—

He could tell. She was dizzy.

The weight of everything pressed against her, but her resolve did not waver.

Then—

One by one, the shadows knelt.

A silent acknowledgment.

Igris, his crimson armor gleaming, lowered his head in deep reverence.

Beru folded his wings, clawed hands pressed to the ground.

Bellion, the Grand Marshal, bowed without hesitation—his golden eyes reflecting nothing but respect.

Even Fenrir—the Devourer of All—let out a low, rumbling growl before lowering his mighty head.

They had all witnessed it.

The wrath.

The ferocity.

The absolute dominance of their queen.

Only the lost echoes remained standing—

The warriors of the past. Trapped in the void. Shackled in eternity, waiting for release.

Jinwoo's expression hardened.

Ashborn had failed to free them.

But he would not.

“You have been lost for long enough,” Jinwoo declared, extending his hand.

The darkness of the Shadow Monarch surged—engulfing the echoes.

A silent command.

A second chance.

One by one, the warriors of the past kneeled.

Their souls freed.

And then—

“D-Daddy!”

Jinwoo turned.

Suho.

His son's wide golden eyes sparkled with pure awe, his tiny hands clinging to Y/N.

“That was… so cool!”

Jinwoo froze.

For a moment—

He saw something else.

A flash of memory.

A different battlefield.

A different time.

Y/N— The ‘clueless woman’ he claimed as a ‘special reward’ in dungeon.

Standing before him, eyes shining in amazement.

Saying the exact same thing.

Jinwoo’s lips slowly curled into an amused smile.

“Heh… you really are our son.”

A deep chuckle rumbled from his chest.

Of course.

<< Echoes of Fate (1) | Echoes of Fate (3 - Ending) >>

Tag requests: @kisssleeping; @catsf0rlife707; @aorifukuzawa; @joannthebish; @ojog404; @tanspostsblog; @snowy-violet; @o-qi-shisme; @sleepyamaya; @harrystylesfan2686; @night-shadowblood-writes2; @weaponxgames; @bubera974; @moonlightsof; @limerenceisserenity; @mashiromochi; @its-carlerrr; @kuramiachan; @purplehazzes; @leviackerman2030; @estrnrea;

#jinwoo sung x reader #jinwoo x reader #solo leveling jinwoo #sung jinwoo #jinwoo #solo leveling #x reader

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soulless-bex · 6 months ago

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the JL is dealing with an all-hands-on-deck kind of magical threat. most of everyone is doing damage control and evacuation of civilians as they wait for the magical-leaning members of the JL to figure out a way to deal with the Big Bad of the week.

so you have the JL Dark sitting in a room with the big bad Bat who insisted he needed to be present to oversee their planning (unsurprising, since he’s a known paranoid bastard and never knows when to take a step back) and for some reason, the Red Hood, who refused to provide a reason for his presence (surprising, since he’s usually not one to back down from a fight, verbal or otherwise)

the JL Dark is getting kind of desperate because every time they get a new idea, someone else has to shut it down because it’s either too dangerous, too destructive, they don’t have the resources or it’s not worth the risk. eventually, Constantine admits (laments, really, but he’s never gonna admit that) that they don’t have a way to defeat their foe and that they’ll probably need to go on the hunt for some magical artifact to assist them, and who’s to say how long that’s gonna take?

that’s when the Red Hood pipes up for the first time since he imposed his presence on them, and asks just how evil the Big Bad is.

when it’s confirmed that it’s evil evil, the Red Hood leaves the room without a word

within the next hour, the Big Bad is defeated. the Red Hood passes out before anyone can get an answer out of him. and he goes off the map again before they can corner him once he recovers

#all caste jason todd #give my man his magic soul swords back #let him be cryptic about it #and technically he’s rightful about his secret keeping #since he got the All Blades from a super secret order of secretive monks #jason todd headcanon #all blades #all caste #jason todd #batfamily #justice league #justice league dark

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bones4thecats · 1 year ago

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Having Children With Their Fem! S/O

Characters: Aku, Father, Vilgax and Lord Garmadon Inspired By: Random Thoughts A/N: I know that a couple of these characters either don't like kids or just feel basically nothing for them, but this is just something I had to write! ⚠️ Spoilers/Trigger Warnings for: Operation Zero and the Lego Ninjago Series and mentions of abandonment and divorce ⚠️

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»—————————————-　 Aku 　—————————————-««

👹 Aku prided himself on being a heartless being made of consistent darkness. But, when it came to you, his longtime wife who was created by a similar amount of energy, he was fairly fair

👹 He has always been focused on furthering his rule of the pathetic mortals in which he despised to the point where it led to him having seven girls with a woman called the High Priestess, though it was with his magic, he did not do anything disgusting in his opinion with her

👹 Despite knowing he felt nothing towards the woman and only viewed the girls as his personal soldiers, you couldn't help but feel inferior to the Priestess, she has done something that you possibly never could with Aku. Though, you did treat the girls as your own, since their mother seemingly could care less

👹 The one thing that made Aku think of having children with you was seeing you pick up a small group of baby aliens from a clan that wished to be relocated to Earth and begin to tickle them with one of your long claw-shaped fingers

👹 As the aliens left after hearing their conditions of living on his and your planet, Aku looked to you and motioned for you both to return to your personal chambers, which you did willingly and without fear

"My yang, I noticed how you looked at those young Vadaquians with a... warm and wholesome stare. That is completely unlike the lovingly evil woman I married and pledged loyalty too. So, if I may question, what is your issue?"

👹 You sighed and lowered your shoulders before shifting into a tortoise and hiding yourself inside of your shell before announcing it was dumb and he could just not bother himself with your issues

"Y/N, you're my wife of hundreds of years. I decided myself if I wanted to handle your thoughts and worries when I laid that shadow-bonding ring around your finger. Now, what is it your worried about?"

"It's just... you know the girls. I just... I want something like that."

"And that can be arranged with swift ease."

"Wait- really? You'd do that for me?"

"I would do anything for the woman who allows me to feel something other than hatred."

»--•--«

👹 And that he did. Just 9 months after the events of Samurai Jack's return and renewing the top-hunted foe to be the time-traveled man, you welcomed a young boy, whom Aku named Oni

👹 You smiled and lightly ran your hands against the baby's long trio set of horns that matched his fathers as his large pure-white eyes opened with tiny specks of white fire erupting from them. When it came to appearance, he took after his father, though your color scheme popped more than the Shogun of Sorrow's

"Ah, there is my little boy and woman!"

"And there is my stubborn husband."

"Hey now! Don't get me wrong, I wanted to be here for the special event, but I needed to get that Samurai fool out of my way again. He almost found the portal back to his time, and if he does..."

"Oni doesn't live..."

"Correct. This is all for him, and us, and I suppose his sisters and their mother."

👹 Chuckling as your baby began to shift his way to his father, the demonic being allow him to sit on his horns, giggling as he acted like the man he has observed for the past few weeks over the small portal that showed him and Jack's fight, but mainly him

"He will be the perfect next generational heir, don't you think?"

"Yes. I do, Aku."

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»———————-　Benedict 'Father' Wigglestein　———————-««

🔥 It was no secret that your husband was far from a child-guy. He constantly provided evidence that he hated kids beyond any kind of recognition. He even hated the children that you two were forced to adopt

🔥 When Benedict married you, he laid it out plain as day that he never planned on having children, and you wholeheartedly accepted that

🔥 But, ever since the Delightful Children from Down the Lane joined your family and therefore home, you began to crave having an actual family. One not bounded by a Delightfulization-Chamber, but by blood and the love you two shared for one another

🔥 And while it was easy to think this all without saying it out-loud, even beginning to wonder about how he would reply was enough to make you want to curl up into a ball and stay there forever

🔥 Thankfully the sound of a five-way synchronized knock allowed you to be free of your thoughts. And you merely sat up from your desk and called to the children to come on inside

"Good afternoon, Mother. Father wishes your presence in his office."

🔥 You smiled at the kids and gave them each a pat on their heads before allowing them to walk to their rooms and get ready for bed. Once each of their doors closed you grabbed your husband's notebook, suspecting that was what he needed

🔥 He has a bad habit of leaving stuff in your room. Honestly he needs a better sleep schedule (not me scolding him when I barely sleep😐)

🔥 While the door to his office opened, you took a deep breath and readied yourself, hoping that his day wasn't filled with a ton of disappointments. You may be his wife, but his anger was something not even you could escape

🔥 You noticed that there was a lack of anything on fire, so, you took the chance to make some small chit-chat while your husband worked away on some papers and beckoned with his hand for you to hand him his notes

"My dear, I've been wondering how your day's been."

"It's been decent, better than normal thankfully."

"Well... there is one thing I've been meaning to speak to you about, if you don't mind-"

"If the children have done something, I swear to-"

"No! No, no! The children have done perfectly well since the last incident. It's just... oh nevermind, it's nothing that important."

🔥 Benedict went from staring intently at his paperwork to looking at your seemingly guilt-ridden face and his yellow eyes narrowed, which was prominent from the darkness of his suit

"Y/N, everything you say is important to me. Well, as long as it has nothing to do with random cravings, because those have been getting worse and worse over the past few days."

"Yeah, about that..."

"I mean, you're acting like how Monty would call and describe his wife when she was pregnant with his boy."

🔥 Oh this was pointless. Reaching into the pocket of your black hoodie that Ben gifted you for your birthday just days prior, you pulled out a small box and laid it down in front of him

"What's this for?"

"Just- open it, please."

"Is this a... pregnancy test? Oh sweet sasperilla, you're pregnant?! But I- we..."

"I understand that you aren't fond of children, so we don't have to have them if you don't want to."

"Do... you want the child?"

"I would prefer to give them a shot at life than to not."

"Then... okay. We can have the child... if you want too. This shouldn't only be my choice, it should also be yours. I may hate children to a degree but, I cannot hate you and your choices."

"Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah. Now, if it's a boy, can we name it Benedict Wigglestein III?"

"No."

»--•--«

🔥 The sound of the collected family in the hospital's main room rung freely as the members of the Uno Family and the Wigglestein Family all wondered how you were doing in the delivery room. Ever since your screams stopped, Monty couldn't help but fear you were hurt to the point of possible surgery

🔥 All of a sudden, his brother walked out of the doors with a mixture of both traumatized and happiness written on his face, though it was mainly in his eyes

"Ben? How's Y/N and the baby?"

"I... I have twins..."

"Wait- twins?! Aw! A boy and a girl?"

🔥 Monty smiled at his wife before ushering his brother back into your room and patting his shoulder in assurance. And he couldn't help but chuckle as his brother walked into the room where you and your children no doubt were

🔥 He couldn't be anymore proud of him

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»—————————————-　Vilgax　—————————————-««

🐙 While living for many years as a Warlord was something that many only viewed your husband as being, it was his closest allies and people that saw who he was outside of his work; a loyal and caring husband

🐙 As a member of the Chimera Sui Generis species, training for battle was a big part of your childhood. And when you first met your future spouse by training to be top-servers of your planet, he was smitten

🐙 Overtime you witnessed the destruction and new colonization of planets. And since you serves as his right-hand, Vilgax and you would see many types of families, the most common being fathers, mothers and their children

🐙 And seeing the male and female members of the army grow and expand with their families adding more members, you couldn't help but wonder; would this ever happen for you and Vilgax?

🐙 Normally he was busy with his work, so getting a decent time to speak one-on-one with your husband was hard. Nonetheless trying to talk about something so important to both you and your lives together

🐙 You were beginning to lose faith in actually talking to him, but when one of Vilgax's best men came inside of the control room you turned around and recognized him to be the one who always guarded the emergency medic and doctor's zone of the ship

"What is it you need, Soldier Axiomar?"

"Doctor Xiliv has requested her for a quick check-up, since she has been complaining of some stomach issues as of late."

"Alright. Would you like me to accompany you, Y/N?"

"I think I'll be alright... really."

🐙 Giving you a kiss on the forehead, Vilgax focused back on the coordinates of their way to Earth. You just nodded to Axiomar as he lead you to the medical room where Xiliv was waiting

🐙 Deep inside as you sat on the frequently cleaned chair, you knew what the Doctor and Medic were going to say

"Your highness, it appears that you- well."

"I know."

"Do you want us to tell Lord Vilgax or not?"

"He'll find out either way, but I'll tell him, it just makes it easier for me."

"Understood."

🐙 As the large alien walked through the halls to his and your shared quarters, he wondered why you had been acting far more nervous and weary throughout the rest of the day. Maybe you had some kind of illness?

🐙 The sound of the doors opening and closing behind your form made you spin around quick. And Vilgax merely chuckled, from calm and composed to having their guard-up in no time. You really were a soldier by heart

"Y/N. What is it you needed to speak about? It better not be something I cannot fix. Because that would be near impossible. I would destroy the galaxy for you."

"It's no illness. Unless you consider a child an illness."

"Pardon, a what?"

»--•--«

🐙 Despite his initial hesitation in being a father and raising a young Chimera Sui Generis, but after gaining advice from some of his closest allies, some would say friends, he gained the extra bravery to face the next step in life with you

🐙 He stood beside your bed as you chuckled at the sight of your baby girl. Long tentacles in the shape of elongated human hair, a small, pink wrap being around her as her tiny red eyes blinked while giggles rang through the room

"She's beautiful."

"Just like you, love."

"What should we name her?" Doctor Xiliv asked.

"How about Shaviv? It means ray of life."

"It's perfect."

••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●••●•

»»——————————-　 Lord Garmadon 　——————————-««

🌋 This guy has never seen himself as an ideal parent. I mean, he literally was bitten by a serpent that made him an evil tyrant in the end and he didn't take a part in his son growing up due to his unfortunate incident

🌋 And while he praises himself on not being the man he once was before, there was always a lingering bit in his heart that stayed away from being corrupted. A piece of the old Garmadon in there. Hidden away

🌋 Over time he switched from evil to good, and that was how he met you

🌋 You were the sister of Ray, the previous Master of Fire before Kai took up the mantle. Growing up with Ray meant you were also trained in the art of being a ninja, though it was with the element of light that you controlled and not fire

🌋 Over the time of them being missing, you raised your niece, Nya, and nephew, Kai, and helped Garmadon's brother, Wu, train them and their friends. And as the serpent-bitten male grew into darker habits, you remained a beckon that he couldn't help but admire

🌋 Once he redeemed himself and helped fight against many enemies alongside you and the kids, he began to get close to both you and your old friend/next-door neighbor, Vinny Folson. And let's just say that the closeness evolved beyond simple friendship

🌋 While Misako was reluctant to accept Garmadon had another lover, she noticed just how caring you were and she began to bond with you with her ex-husband and son. In fact, she was the one to ask if you two were planning on taking the next step from just marriage to having children, much to you and his fluster

🌋 After the incident of the question with Misako. Garmadon told Vinny that you two would be out for a few days and that if he needed something, he could call. And as you two began to travel to a remote and well-taken-care-of cabin just outside of Ninjago, he began to let out a small amount of chit-chat

"Hey, Y/N... I have a question."

"What is it?"

"With what Misako said yesterday... at dinner. I was wondering if- you know."

"If I wanted kids?"

"Yeah... and I understand if you wouldn't! I'm not the best guy to have children with, just ask my ex-wife."

"Garmadon!"

🌋 Spinning his head to look at you, Garmadon watched you with observant eyes as you smiled gently and held his hand with one of yours and his face with the other. And he smiled as you nodded, small tears pricking his eyes as you laid your forehead upon one another's

»--•--«

🌋 The sound of cries erupting from a woman's hands made the people sitting in the waiting room look up in surprise and slight glee. Seven of the large group looked at the nurse and she took them all back, warning them that you would probably need some space

"Is that..."

"It is. Everyone, meet Nisshoku."

"Aw! I have a nephew now! Let's go!"

"Shut it, Ray."

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ynnie631 · 5 months ago

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𝐭𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐝 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐞

not proofread - suggestive content - whipped! Diluc - implied/slight yandere reader - shitty writing

~ 1,295 w.c

Adelinde usually comes back late at night, bringing home a duffel bag which she places inside the basement. You ponder over the sweet yet revolting smell, but no one nor the owner himself was allowed to enter said basement. Adelinde made sure of it… for whatever reason.

The moon was high, illuminating your worn out frame, subjected to a week of your lover's absence. Diluc Ragnvindr, a man of honor and composure: Steady, composed, and the utmost reliable in all scenarios, be it your needs, the guild's quests, or mora for a fundraiser to orphaned children.

A man that was previously Monstadt's bachelor, one that was sought after by every lady in Monstadt, including distant nations... ranging from wealthy aristocrats to commoners alike. From his looks alone— a sharp jawline, slanted-lidded eyes that strike even the fiercest of foes, red hair so bold and vivid that Snezhnaya itself would tremble at the mere sight, his mere presence, from the sheer absurdity his tale had weaved— his deep, alluring but gruff voice. Unintentionally sultry, leaving you weak with a mere word, a phrase if you try hard enough.

But nothing ever compares to his sculpted greek-esque bod.

Scars would trail beneath his chemise—leaving one to imagine how much he's endured. You'd wonder if your nails would leave a lasting mark, engraving him next to the victories he won over was something carnal, a desire you wished to fulfill— muscles bulging out, as if to threaten and rip the fabric in half. But most of all, the hair that traveled inches above his slacks, and by god, his waist— God forbid he sways those hips of his... You'd rather swallow pride and dignity if it meant that you could sling your hand possessively, curling and kneading his tarnished flesh— His curved and slender, yet brawny stature unraveled a knot of lust that surpassed even the most depraved urges of men.

You are no better than man, that you know of... You scoff at the thought, why would you ever be better with a man like Diluc Ragnvindr?

A man that was previously Monstadt's bachelor, his ring finger that once was barren, now lay with a silver white ring inscribed with the insignia of his clan's symbol, a red garnet in the center. One that matched your own, along with a few twists that accommodate your desired result.

A man that was previously Monstadt's bachelor, one sought after, is yours. Betrothed and wed to you.

"His spouse, his partner, now and forevermore." His vow entirely. And you plan to keep it that way; A loyal testament to the passion you harbor for him: Convoluted and never-ending, twisted in the sense of mania, obsession, and delusion.

He had the power to break you, tear you into pieces if he so pleases... and you'd willingly come back. He'd make you beg, on your knees if he wills it, and you'd swiftly agree. It honestly scares you, how much you'd do for him, your husband; your partner forevermore.

You sigh, staring wistfully at the vast array of grapes in the courtyard. Longing for your lover's embrace, his warm presence, his touch... It was overwhelming. Achingly so. A week without him felt like a decade.

You miss him, want him, need him back in the estate. It can never be the same without hi— creak!

A door shuts near the hallway, you pay no mind to it.

Footsteps echo farther from your room.

You curl beneath the sheets, exhaustion weighing heavy, grasping and clutching the warm blanket that smelled like him: Eucalyptus with grape, a hint of clary sage and olibanum, verbena lingering from it all. By archons… you’ve missed him. So, so much.

Creak! Light peaks through the dimly–lit room. A rustle here, a rustle there… you yawn internally, Adelinde was at her cleaning yet again…

The bed dips, "My love, my dear." a voice calls, it's warm and pleasant, gruff and deep; Your pleas were answered, internally thanking the gods who listened.

"Diluc..." you scramble, engulfing his sturdy frame with a yearning hug. His arms encase you instinctively, casting his warm and loving presence. You need him— "I've missed you." you whisper, voice a soft yet fleeting timbre.

He answers with a needy kiss, pouring the love and longing he harbored after a week without you. A week without your presence, your touch, your voice— a week without you. It was cruel, achingly so.

His business trip to Liyue had gone smoothly: gaining new contracts with varying suppliers and willing buyers, forging new allies that promised him their own aid to sudden emergencies. Diluc was glad for the successful endeavor, but archons, he missed you.

The silver ring would glint as he rubs and flexes his fingers, reminding him of home— his duty as your husband, your partner forevermore— worry and concern etched across his features as the meeting drones on and on. He’d wonder, are you safe? Do you miss him like he does? Do you wait for him in bed, suppressing the need and desire to venture in Liyue? Do you lie awake at night, worrying yet adoring him in all his glory?

Thoughts like this consumed him. Keeping him in a daze of endless worry and yearning to flee back, back to you.

Diluc loved you so much: in every waking hour, he’d rise and imagine your morning voice. The slight rasp and slur as you greet him a sweet good morning, wrapping your arms around him in a lazy hug. Cuddling, and warming his ever heating cheeks. In every passing second, he’d shower and imagine your tender kiss. Your soft lips, as you caress his waist, rubbing and tracing the scars embedded deep within his skin. Whispering sweet nothings to his ear as your fingers trail lower and lower, that once sweet and warm tone, turned seductive, sultry. Enticing both him and you in a sway of flushed cheeks and erotic moans. You’d urge him deeper, faster, entangling both his and your hands, silver rings glinting in the dimly lit room.

And oh, he realizes, as he struggles to replicate the same warmth, the same grip. He whines and grunts, hips stuttering, thrusting in and out of his calloused hand. It isn’t the same, he’d complain, lips parting to chant your heavenly name. It isn’t the same without you.

He’d spend the week— in every passing hour, every passing second— in great turmoil. Thoughts of you tantalizing him in a deeper hole of desperate ruts, pleading for your presence to magically appear beside him, taking care of his raging boner, and whispering sweet nothings to his ear.

Diluc Ragnvindr, a man of supposed composure: steady, composed, and utmost reliable; Diluc Ragnvindr, the most stoic and ever so collected bachelor of Monstadt, completely crumbles and unravels by your mere touch— the mere thought of you and he’s gone— A kiss to the lips, one that was supposedly innocent left him breathless. Wanting, needing, and urging you for more.

“Please… please…” he’d plead, eyes withholding the desperation, the longing, his yearning: softly grasping your hand with trembling fingers, a lovesick expression etching deep within his features.

You gulp, splaying a hand over his clothed chest. He shudders, gasping at the contact, “take the lead for me.” You imagined yourself begging for him, on your knees if he wills it… and yet— pushing you back to the sheets, he wasted no time in taking off his chemise, revealing his greek–esque bod, nipples perked and flushed in pink, a pretty shade of pink, you’d jest.

He grinds his crotch against your thigh, and he whines, heaving ragged breaths, “please, please— take the lead for me, my love.”

And who are you to deny your own husband?

☰ 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐬...

Dividers belongs to @hyuneskkami

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diodellet · 8 months ago

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try wishing for it: magical girl au (scarabia x gn!reader)

inspired by @ceruleancattail's magical girl au and @yan-lorkai's yandere genie fic. note: i also imagine scarabia's mascot form to look like this. title is ripped from tohma's magical girl eudaemonics. content warnings: -yandere (if you squint, since scarabia's taking the role of kyubey in this fic. references of manipulation and general moral grayness.) -fic uses "magical girl" but means it in a gender-neutral sense (reader is referred to with they/them pronouns) word count: 2.7k words

Being a magical girl means gaining the power to do virtually anything you can dream of.

The first time you defeat a wraith, you stare in awe at your hands, breathing heavily from sheer excitement rather than exertion. With one final roar, the beast falls to the ground, before dissolving into black smoke.

“Woah, you did it! You really took it down!” Kalim barrels into you, gushing praise after praise. “See, Jamil? I told you they were going to be powerful!”

Jamil is more mindful of you, instead floating over to land on your other shoulder. “Nice job.”

“You’re a natural!” Kalim’s bouncing with joy in your palm, waving his little stubby arms. “You probably won’t even need to use your three wishes!”

Right, there was that. In the case that you were against an overwhelmingly powerful foe, you could draw on your familiars’ magic—a ‘wish,’ they called it.

“Don’t jinx them, Kalim.”

“...What happens if I asked for more wishes?”

“It doesn’t work like that.” The stitches of Jamil’s plush smile don’t change, but there’s a note of something foreboding in his words. “Though, you don’t seem like the type to squander them. Don’t worry about it too much.” Despite their cartoonish appearance, your familiars’ words and warnings carried a grave weight

Your gaze drifts to the slain wraith. All that remains is the tarnished metal collar that hung around its neck, until it too crumbles into dust.

There’s something hauntingly beautiful in that faint shimmer of gold as it gets blown away by the wind.

Being a magical girl means toting around two innocuous round plushies of your familiars to class.

With your new double life, you get two new companions following you around. It means bearing Kalim’s excited chattering as you take notes, dealing with Jamil’s snide teasing as your classmates point out your new bag charms.

What you don’t expect is to see the two of them sitting in your living room the next morning, clad in your school’s uniform.

“Good mor—oof!” Your book bag collides with Kalim’s chest and you use the momentum to drag him and Jamil by the elbow out of your house, ignoring your dad’s concerned calls with a loud “I’m heading out!”

You didn’t get the memo that being able to transform was part of their repertoire as magical familiars, but you should’ve expected this. Between Kalim’s thousand-kilowatt smile and Jamil’s calculating gaze, you very much prefer them as small round plushies.

(It’s strange that your schoolmates and teachers don’t question the two new additions to the class, but you appreciate that your cover wasn’t blown with this curveball. You suspect it might have to do with the red glow in Jamil’s eyes. You decide to question them at the end of the class day.)

“It’d be better if one of you stayed as a plushie.”

“Then that means it would be Jamil since he’s better at keeping attention off of us.”

“By that logic, they’re talking about you, Kalim.” Is it you or is that a hint of a smile on Jamil’s lips?

“Oh.” Kalim’s expression falls into a pout. “But I like attending classes with you!”

He probably wouldn’t like it as much during exams week. “I wouldn’t be able to keep a low profile if people noticed you…guys following me around.”

“Aw, I guess so…Thanks for treating us to ice cream, though!”

You offer to buy them another one, just to make their one and only day at school special. You start heading towards another freezer, there’s a special lottery on these soda popsicles.

Jamil’s attention turns toward the counter. He’d been eyeing the person at the cashier. “Wait, something seems—”

And that’s all the warning he can give before a group of wraiths crashes through the convenience store wall. Ending up in a sprawled mess of tangled limbs was not ideal. It’s settled, you definitely preferred them in their plushie forms.

Being a magical girl means getting woken up by Kalim in the middle of the night to patrol the city.

As a hand-sized plush ball, he’s already pretty strong. But under the cover of night, he can shed his disguise and drag accompany you around to see you deliver justice to evildoers.

Your drowsiness fades away as you leap from rooftop to rooftop, dispatching fledgeling wraiths hiding in narrow alleyways, stopping drunken confrontations, watching over lone pedestrians traversing through seedier parts of the city.

“There’s another one, it’s a low-ranking wraith!”

“I’ve got it!” Magic gathers around your weapon, bathing it in golden light as you swing and cleave the monster into two.

It didn’t even get a fighting chance to writhe or fight back. All it can do is dissipate into nothing.

Which is for the best.

“That was so quick!” Kalim bounds over to you as your weapon fades out of view. “You’re getting better and better at fighting!”

“Well, you did say it was a weak one…” You tug at the collar of your outfit. His praise feels like staring into the glare of the sun, straight on. “I’m probably not that much better than those other magical girls before me.”

“Still! It doesn’t make you any less amazing—Are you hurt anywhere?” Kalim starts looking you over for any injuries that he might have missed.

Too close. “Not a scratch. Come on, let’s head home.”

Though you should’ve expected things would go sideways at some point, that the night would bring untold horrors instead of passing peacefully. In a mix of your carelessness and Kalim’s overexcitement, an avian-like wraith appears and catches you both offguard, talons closing around his midsection and carrying him into the sky, each powerful beat of its wings taking him farther and farther away from you.

Adrenaline surges through you and the asphalt of the sidewalk cracks underneath your soles as you leap to the sky in pursuit. “Kalim!” Just before you can close the distance, he screams at you to get back, making you falter. A long shadow whips through the air—a prehensile tail of sorts—preventing you from approaching.

Switching tactics, you aim for its wings. Better to bring it to the ground.

(Miraculously, Kalim got the cue to turn into his plushie form to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. You manage to catch him before the both of you crash. Though, Kalim’s awed gushing was probably going to give you a sunburn.)

Being a magical girl means Jamil takes your healthcare into his own hands, sometimes.

“It’s the sleep deprivation.”

“No, it’s not.” A coughing fit strikes you at that moment, betraying the extent of your sickness.

“It’s because you’re overexerting yourself with your ‘nightly escapades.’”

“Fine—so what if I am? Isn’t that what I’m supposed to do? To protect helpless people day and night?”

“Obviously, not at the cost of your own wellbeing!”

You didn’t think you would ever end up in this kind of situation, being yelled at by a floating plush ball while confined to your bed of messy blankets and used tissues.

The angry heat in your face is making your headache worse, makes you see gray for a moment before you could fire back.

“...I’m sorry,” you spit without an ounce of penance.

Jamil sighs. “Well. There’s no use in pressing the matter any further.” Just before he disappears, he tells you to get some rest.

Easier said than done.

The minutes inch by agonizingly slow. Your room is so silent, magnifying the buzz of your own thoughts. Up until this point, your life became a whirlwind of academics, extracurriculars, and fighting evil monsters. But at this moment of standstill, you can’t help but come to the realization that he was right. With your rashness, you basically incapacitated yourself. Sure, your familiars were also capable magic users. Sure, they could hold off wraiths from doing any major damage, but the thought that this entire situation could have been avoided, that this was entirely your fault—

A tear slips down your cheek, then more and more, until you’re quietly sobbing, frustrated, into your palms.

The mattress of your bed dips with the added weight of another person. “Mom—”

Jamil shushes you. “Drink this first.” You hear the rustle of plastic—did he go to the pharmacy?—and feel him press two tablets into your hand. As you swallow them, he hands you a glass of water. His other hand rests against your sweat-covered back, thumb rubbing soothing circles into your skin.

(It is a stark contrast to his rough words from earlier.)

“I thought you…” They probably had other magical fighters to watch over, didn’t they?

It’s probably the fever messing with your senses, but there’s an uncharacteristic softness in Jamil’s voice. “Shh. No more of that, now.”

“...then why?” Were you really the only one?

“Just focus on getting better.”

“But—”

“Your mom’s making soup for dinner, she will come to check on you in an hour. I’ll stay with you until then. Rest.”

His words are not enough to placate your worries fully, but there’s a soft glow of red in his irises that makes you acquiesce and close your eyes, all while clutching onto Jamil’s wrist.

Being a magical girl means thinking up new ways to explain your many conversations “to yourself.”

Your parents are easy, it’s just the angst of youth. But your siblings are a little more difficult to convince. In addition to your moments of listlessness, they can hear your frantic back and forth pacing and the thump of you throwing your plushies against the paper-thin walls of your room. It can only mean one thing—

“Get out! I’m not having romance issues!” You slam the door behind your sibling’s cackles.

Your familiars remain still, seated on your bed until the sound of footsteps is sufficiently out of earshot.

“Are you really seeing someone?” Kalim pipes up.

“No!” You bury your face into your hands. “I—How would I have the time for that?”

“Besides,” Jamil chimes in, “we’re the only ones who’ve been accompanying them. Unless—”

Your body moves of its own accord, snatching Jamil with both hands and giving him a threatening squeeze, an unspoken ‘don’t you dare finish that sentence’ left hanging in mid-air.

When he stays quiet, your death grip lightens up. Just a little bit. A heavy exhale leaves your frame. “Look, for all that we’ve gone through—”

(A part of you is hesitant to admit it but, having gained them as new companions made your journey as a magical girl feel less daunting. You felt safe knowing that you could rely on them to watch your back, in spite of the close calls you’ve had.

As for whether or not you’d started looking at them differently, well, you’d need more time to think on it. There. End of conversation.)

“I guess… I’m glad I met you. The both of you,” you finished lamely.

The silence that followed was deafening. For once, you’d wished their plushie forms could emote more instead of giving you that placid smile.

With a pop! and shower of golden sparks, Kalim’s arms close around you in a tight hug. A bright grin splitting his cheeks. “I’m happy we’re friends too!”

“Stop squeezing me!” Jamil grits out.

Being a magical girl means double checking your word choice, especially for any quips and retorts.

The first time you transformed, you commented offhandedly about your footwear and Jamil made a little adjustment to your attire.

With a snap of his fingers, a golden bangle clasps around your ankle. Lightweight, no doubt it would look beautiful when the light hits it at the right angle, but—

A frown pulls at your lips.

“Would you like another one? Just for some…symmetry,” Jamil suggests.

You decide better against responding to that.

“Think of it as a gift from me and Kalim.”

Was this something they bestowed to every magical fighter they took under their wing? “...Some gift this is.”

“Relax, you still have three wishes left. I won’t trick you into wasting them.”

Well, that diminished most of your initial doubt. “How can I be sure of that?” you question.

Jamil’s head tilts to the side, appraising you with an eerily-observant gaze. “All you have to do is ask. Anything that your heart desires, anything your mind can conceive.”

You don’t like how his eyes are trained on you, making you feel small. You pick at an imaginary speck of dirt on your top, straighten out the already-impeccable fabric.

A thick silence falls over the both of you.

“...Will you—will you both ask me if I’m sure, before granting my wish?” It’s such a stupid thing to worry about, to fuss over the intricacies of your arrangement as Magical Girl and Familiar.

“Of course.” Jamil gives you a smile. “Shall we head to where Kalim is?”

“Yeah.” Your weapon appears in your hand with a flash of gold. “Let’s destroy that wraith’s nest.”

(More than desires you want fulfilled, there are anxieties you want quelled, fears you want silenced. Miracles to the myriad of unfortunate catastrophes that plagued your home—the flawed world that you lived in. So what if you contained untold power at your fingertips? You were only one person tasked with the protection of hundreds. At the peak of your distress—in the midst of sirens and flashing lights—you call for Jamil and utter your first wish through choked sobs.)

Being a magical girl means not relying on your powers, sometimes.

The trapped kitten gives another pitiful wail, thrashing against your grip as you clamber down the tree. In holding onto it tightly, you earn a set of angry-red scratch marks along the backs of your hands before reaching solid ground. The kitten bounds away with a final hiss.

“Why didn’t you transform?” Kalim asks.

You shrug, running a finger over one of the scratches. “I guess it’s ’cause I didn’t wanna mess up the outfit.”

“What do you mean?”

Bashful, your gaze ducks to your shoes, worn from years of use but sturdily hanging on. “It’s just, lately, the wraiths have been getting more and more powerful. And I…” Feel weak? Pressured? Alright, maybe you were still hung up over leaving a little crater at a major intersection, but it was either that or letting the ursine wraith lay waste to the nearby shopping center. There wasn’t any time to dwell on those shortcomings.

(But your mind liked to circle back to it. Was there any more you could do? Why couldn’t you do more?)

They warned you about this, that at some point, you would end up facing more destructive wraiths. That you would have to choose among innocents.

He takes your injured hands. “You can always make a wish.” Kalim’s healing magic washes over you, cool and gentle, like a stream of water. You watch the scratches slowly close up until they become nothing more than a set of faint white lines. “That’s what me and Jamil are for.”

“That’s true…”

“Anything you want.” Kalim repeats. “I’ll make it happen.”

It’s those simple words— and the sight of him cradling your hands in his palms—that grant you the courage to speak your next words, your second wish.

Being a magical girl means weighing your soul against the lives of people, friends and strangers alike.

“Come on, you have to get up.” Tears are streaming down Kalim’s cheeks, his hands hover by your prone and bloodied form, unsure of which wounds to heal.

Wearily, you gaze cranes upwards as if every bit of movement caused pain throughout your body.

Jamil has witnessed this scenario a thousand times. He keeps a stoic face. “Are you just going to let them destroy everything?”

“...I can’t let them…”

“You’re hurting yourself! Jamil, you have to do something!”

“It’s not my choice to make.”

When in the face of an unstoppable threat—a horde of chimeran wraiths that will lay waste to your home, will you make that final third wish and trust in them?

Jamil knows how you’ll answer. Rather than using them as quick and easy schemes, your first two wishes were—in some way—made for the good of others around you. For someone who won’t even know or care about that small bit of kindness. At the core of every human is a desperate self-preservation instinct that pushes them to make a final wish. And like clockwork, you will follow like the rest of the magical girls that they created. It’s a strategy that has benefited him and Kalim. And he has been fervently waiting for this moment, for a powerful one like you to—

“I’m...not giving up…!”

Or not?

His lips curl into a smile. “Then give them hell.”

They can wait this out. Compared to their infinite lifespan, your emotional fortitude was only a drop in the ocean.

a/n: aaaa thanks @jessamine-rose for betaing this fic with ur fresh eyes. this au rlly gave me brainworms of the feral variety, i think i liked leaving most of the details ambiguous and free to interpretation, but i might come up with a separate author's note post about worldbuilding bits i couldnt fit in? eh we'll see! i hope yall enjoyed reading this! edit: author's note can be found here! tagging some jamilnatics: @viperwhispered @twstgo @just-a-little-silly @mama-m1na @crystallizsch @sillystr1ngs (lmk if you wanna join the taglist for jamil writing in the replies)

#dellet-writings #jamil viper x reader #kalim al asim x reader #scarabia x reader #twst x reader #twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #twst #jamil viper #kalim al asim #gn!reader #yandere kalim al asim #yandere jamil viper

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