[fluentmoviequoter]

The First Hair Bender

Pairing: platonic!gaang x fem!water tribe!reader (+ implies future Zuko x fem!r)

Summary: Team Avatar has enough to worry about without taking time to fix their hair before and after every fight. That's where you come in, but it's not quite the same as it used to be.

Warnings/Word Count: r is a nonbender from the southern water tribe, banter, fluff, r braids everybody's hair (Aang gets left out :( ). takes place between the comics and the movie, no spoilers. pic credit. 2.2k+ words

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The first time you reached for Zuko's hair, you didn’t think about it. Didn’t think about how he might react or what assumptions he’d make about your intentions. Growing up in the southern water tribe, you had never been in a position to hesitate to touch another person.

Even when you reached for Zuko that night, Sokka’s arm had been tossed lazily over your shoulder. He was rambling about a new invention he was working on when you noticed a dried leaf in Zuko’s hair, just out of his reach. Without thought, you stepped forward and extended your arm to remove it. Zuko turned before you could and wrapped his warm fingers around your wrist.

“What are you doing?” he demanded.

“There’s a leaf in your hair,” you replied easily. “Hold still.”

Zuko hadn’t released you. But he did hold still, watching with tensed muscles as you used your other hand to brush the debris from his hair.

“Thanks,” he muttered. “But don’t think this means you can braid my hair now. I’m not Katara.”

Katara muttered something while you smiled at Zuko. Sokka never brought the occurrence up again, though he began to carry two spare hair ties. It was like he knew something you didn’t.

10 Years Later

“Wow,” you muse, squinting in the bright Republic City sunlight. “Trying something new with your hair?”

Toph spins on the ball of her foot and drops in front of you. With her back to you, she blocks the light and presents her tangled hair to you. 

“Yes?” you press, wondering if she’ll ever say please or thank you again. Not that you care if she deserts her manners — you grew up with Sokka. And she’s the world’s greatest earth bender. 

“Aang made me reinforce the foundation of the new air temple,” she sighs. “My power isn’t for free labor!”

Humming, you gather her hair in one hand as you reach into the bag beside you in search of a comb. 

“Me next?” Sokka asks from behind you. 

“Toph can’t see where the tangles start, Katara’s arms get tired from bending… What’s your excuse for having someone else do your ponytail?” you question. 

“My arms get tired too!”

“Well, if Sokka isn’t next… does that mean I am?” someone else interjects. 

You laugh, Toph snorts, and Sokka sighs. Aang crosses his ankles and sinks easily to the ground. He smiles at you, then taps a scar on your arm. 

“You okay?” he checks. 

You detangle a section of Toph’s hair before answering, “Great. How’s the temple and the exploring going?”

“He’s doing too much of the exploring,” Katara murmurs, standing behind Aang with her hand cupped over her brows against the sun. “Why are you sitting outside?”

“I found her here, not my idea,” Toph defends. She raises her hands to show her innocence. 

“I’m next,” Sokka tells Katara. 

“Do your own hair,” she responds. “But do it quickly. The Order of the White Lotus invited us to dinner.”

“Tell Piandao hi for me,” you request. Toph holds her hair in place atop her head while you pin it in place, then earth bends to push herself up. 

“She said we’re going to dinner,” Sokka repeats. He reaches down, takes your hand, and pulls you to your feet. “Team Avatar.”

“Since when does that include me?” you wonder.

“You were supposed to be with us when we found Aang!” Sokka reminds you. “And you made him his first homemade meal after he came out of the ice!”

“Which he hated!” you point out. “And it’s your fault I wasn’t with you! Your snow shovel contraption buried me in the snow and Gran Gran told me I had to stay warm!”

“I didn’t hate it,” Aang offers quietly, ever aware of your feelings. “It was just… different.”

“Shouldn’t we be leaving?” someone else interjects.

You, Sokka, and Aang turn toward Zuko the moment he begins speaking. He looks tired, his royal robe exchanged for a simpler red and gold tunic and his hair tied back out of his face. 

“She won’t come with!” Sokka exclaims, gesturing toward you with both arms. 

Zuko’s brow lifts as he looks at you. “Why not?” 

You shrug, suddenly unable to think of an excuse. You were in the air temple with the others when Zuko joined the team, so arguing that you aren’t part of this team seems unlikely to work. 

“My uncle would like to see you,” he adds. 

“Iroh!” Aang yells at Sokka. “Why didn’t we think of using him?”

Within minutes, you’re all seated in Appa’s saddle and leaving Republic City for Ba Sing Se.  Toph has Sokka’s arm in her grasp, Katara and Aang are whispering, and you and Zuko are sitting beside one another with your eyes closed against the setting sun. 

“Is he still talking?” Zuko checks softly. 

Cracking an eye open, you confirm that Sokka is still telling a story with much enthusiasm and animation. Zuko sighs and links his hands against his stomach. 

“Hey, hold still,” you murmur, shifting closer to him.

“Right. I was planning to jump.”

You tap your knuckles against his arm, then pull a loose strand of hair away from his face. Sitting up, you twist his hair gently until you find the fraying red thread you noticed before. Only when you stop touching him does he turn his face toward you and open his eyes. 

“What?” you check. 

Zuko’s lips quirk up, and then Sokka announces that you’ve arrived in Ba Sing Se.

“So,” Katara hums as you comb her windblown hair in Iroh's tea shop. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“It?” you repeat, setting the comb aside to brush your fingers through her hair and part it.

“You’re playing dumb? Really?”

“I don’t know what we’re talking about either,” Aang interrupts. He’s resting his chin on crossed arms, watching Katara as you twist a section of her hair.

“Me next!” Sokka yells. “I’d like to try a braided ponytail.”

“Get in line, Sokka,” Zuko calls from the back of the Jasmine Dragon.

“I miss when I was the only one getting my hair braided,” Toph sighs.

“You guys focus on saving the world,” you hum. “I’ll make sure your hair looks good while you do it.”

“What?” Zuko asks over his cup of tea.

“You tell me,” Iroh hums.

“Nothing.”

“She doesn’t seem like nothing.”

Zuko huffs a laugh as he sets his cup down. “We’re on the same team, Uncle.”

“Which seems to be the entirety of the problem. You and the Avatar are friends, no?”

Without thinking, Zuko’s gaze strays to you. You’re nodding along to a conversation between Sokka and Piandao, sharing a look with the master when Sokka lifts an arm to demonstrate something.

Suddenly, a shadow crosses over the sky. You lift your chin to view it, then turn toward Zuko. He doesn’t have to ask. He’s by your side before you manage to draw Sokka’s attention away from his story.

“Go get Katara,” Zuko tells him.

“For what?” Sokka wonders.

“A fight,” you murmur. “One that I don’t think Aang is anticipating.”

“Perhaps the Avatar should anticipate fights everywhere he goes,” Piandao deadpans. “Seeing as they find him so easily.”

“Uh oh,” you whisper before Zuko circles his right leg behind his left and raises an arm to block an errant flame.

“Aang!” he yells. “I think it’s for you!”

When the fight ends, Zuko is lowered to one knee, panting for breath. Katara and Aang are balancing on the edge of a cracking roof, and Sokka is straightening a wheel on his new moving platform.

“Are you alright?” Zuko checks when you step out of a nearby alley.

“I’m fine,” you assure him. “You?”

“One time,” he sighs. “I’m waiting for Aang to visit somewhere one time that doesn’t end in a fight.”

“Hey, I didn’t start it!” Aang calls from above you.

Zuko rolls his eyes and gathers his hair in one hand to lift it off his neck.

“Want some help?” you offer.

He drops his hair and nods, straightening so you can reach him. Since your first visit to the palace after he became fire lord, you’ve begun asking Zuko before you touch him. You straightened his headpiece in the courtyard once, then overheard people talking about your so-called carelessness and overstepping for the remainder of your stay. It seemed that being careful was no substitute for being mindful.

“Sorry,” you whisper when your fingertips brush the edge of his scar.

“I have a present for you!” Sokka singsongs. He slides to a stop beside you and elbows you lightly in the ribs.

“For me or to me?” you question suspiciously.

Sokka ignores your question and gestures for you to finish fixing Zuko’s hair. In all his years of fighting, he’s yet to find a way to secure it so that it stays in place. Perhaps that has been your place in Team Avatar all along — pre- and post-fight hairstylist.

Katara and Aang join you, Sokka, and Zuko in the street. Katara narrows her eyes at Sokka, then shrugs. Aang taps your shoulder twice before asking if you’re safe.

You look at Zuko’s hair as you slide the pin into his headpiece. For years now, you’ve lingered around Zuko when the team is all together. He’s the only one who doesn’t act like you need to be protected, like you can’t take care of yourself when things get hard. He’s saved your life more than once but never brings it up. He simply does it because he’s good.

“Presenting…” Sokka begins. He pulls a thin plastic tube from his pocket and announces, “The Air Clip! Get it? Like hair clip but air because of air bending. Oh, and the construction of this clip has an extra piece that squeezes the hair, like pushing the air out—”

“Let me see it,” Katara interrupts, extending her hand toward her brother.

“Why is it blue?” Zuko wonders. He stands then, his shoulder pressed to your side.

“Have something against blue?” Aang asks. “You liked it before.”

“No, let me guess,” Toph interjects. She has a cookie in her hand as she posits, “It clashes with the red?”

“No,” you and Zuko answer together. Only you add, “He looks good in anything.”

“Oh,” Toph utters. She waves toward you and asks, “Is that new?”

“No,” Sokka and Katara reply.

“Is what new?” Aang checks, tipping his head.

“Who wants to be the lucky first user of the Air Clip?” Sokka asks after he snatches it back from Katara.

“Any new inventions I can try?” Aang asks hopefully.

Sokka thinks for a moment, then nods. “South Pole. Next week?”

“Sure!”

“Give me the clip, Sokka,” Zuko mutters.

Sokka hisses excitedly, then passes it. Zuko hands it directly to you, then lowers to one knee.

“Oh,” Aang sighs. He nods at Katara and asks, “Toph meant the—”

“Yes,” she interrupts, rubbing his back. “That’s what she meant.”

“Oh, Twinkle Toes,” Toph sighs. “It’s a good thing Katara puts up with you, and you didn’t have to try to get a date.”

Aang doesn’t really listen past Katara’s name, and you’re too focused on twisting Zuko’s hair in the clip to come to his defense.

The sky above Ba Sing Se is black, stars sparkling far above the walls of the city. You’re lying on a plush bed, staring out the window to see the city and the night above. Until someone knocks quietly on your door, at least.

“Yes?” you call.

“It’s me,” Zuko says.

“Come in,” you invite, shifting to sit up.

Zuko enters, closes the door behind him, and lowers to sit beside you.

“It’s stuck,” he murmurs.

“Huh?”

“The clip Sokka made. I can’t get it out.”

“Oh. Hold still.”

Covering your mouth, you stifle a laugh at his predicament. Then you shift onto your knees and tap your fingers along the clip in his hair.

“Does it bother you?” you wonder.

“The clip being stuck?” Zuko clarifies.

“No. Uh, I mean me touching your hair.”

“Why would it bother me?”

Your only response is a shrug. You can understand that Zuko might not want to be touched after all he’s endured. Maybe that’s what the women in the fire nation meant. Or maybe they were jealous Zuko allowed you close enough.

“It’ doesn’t,” Zuko adds.

“Good,” you hum, struggling to unclasp the bottom of the clip. “Bad news… this is really stuck.”

Zuko leans backward, pressing some of his weight against you. “Figure it out.”

“Why is everyone so quiet?” Toph asks, holding yet another cookie when she enters the Jasmine Dragon.

“We are admiring Zuko’s hair,” Iroh admits.

“Please stop,” Zuko groans, his voice muffled.

“Why are you talking like that?” Toph wonders. She focuses on the floor, then smirks. “Oh.”

“Hey, where’s the clip?” Sokka whines.

Zuko presses his chin harder against your shoulder, hiding his smile.

“It broke,” you admit. “Sorry, Sokka.”

“I’ll get started on version two,” he decides. “Uh, Katara, you want try this one?”

Katara pinches one of her ‘hair loopies’ worriedly and suggests, “Maybe you try it?”

“You’d betray your own brother’s invention to have her braid your hair too?” Sokka exclaims, pointing at you with both hands.

Zuko pinches the end of the braid you did last night. He’d fallen asleep with your hands in his hair. Perhaps the fire lord is the one member of Team Avatar who asks you to do his hair for more than convenience. If you’d asked Iroh, he could have told you that years ago.

[sakur4ii]

ok, I know I'm really annoying with all my ideas and that I still haven't written any fanfics 😭, but I don't know why I can't seem to finish writing them, I'm sorry.

This one is One Piece x Fem!Reader (I need to start writing more for gender-neutral readers, sorry.)

I've been thinking about this idea for weeks now that I'm caught up on the manga. And it's Reader who is reincarnated into a family of Celestial Dragons. You've been reincarnating in a child, your family is trying to train you to become a Knight of God when you grow up; you come up with a plan to escape when Fisher Tiger frees the slaves, etc.

You HATE the Celestial Dragons; you can't stand them; you can't bear to see the injustices they commit; you can't stand how privileged they are; and you can't believe that you're now lumped in with them.

In an attempt to make you a counterpart to Shanks, I thought that a slave would be the one to give you a scar on your eye that's identical to the redhead's—the only difference being that it was on your right eye. And when that slave rebels, they kill him right in front of you—the first time you’ve ever seen someone killed with your own eyes—and it changes you forever. Your greatest desire now is the downfall of the world government and the extinction of the Celestial Dragons, but since you’re only between 5 and 7 years old, there’s nothing you can do.

Here's what sparked this idea: I imagined Reader and Shamrock in a father-daughter relationship—a sort of "found family" that Reader doesn't reciprocate. It's a complicated relationship.

Shamrock finds you entertaining; he thinks your silences—which he associates with shyness—are funny, and he’s amused by your expressions of displeasure or indifference when he tells you his stories (he assumes they’re because you hate commoners and doesn’t realize that you hate his actions). He invites you to go for walks, to eat mer together, and has even become your sword-fighting instructor in his spare time. The other Celestial Dragons assume he wants you as his future wife or that he’s practicing for when he becomes a father. No one realizes that, to him, you’re already like a daughter and that he’s reconsidering whether to ask your family to let him take care of you in exchange for a reward.

Another thing I thought of is that Reader might have a Devil Fruit that gives her powers like MeiMei's Cursed Technique. I imagine that your mom, for example, secretly gives you a devil's fruit and you learn to see through the eyes of crows that you can create, or I don't know. But yeah, you have some crows in various places around Mary Geoise, so you know things.

When Shanks arrives on Mary Geoise, he spends time with Shamrock—which also means spending time with you—and he does realize that you don't like Shamrock. (But he also realizes that, in a way, you care about him, and that you've come to see him as a sort of father figure.)

Shanks isn't all that surprised that you're asking him to take you away from Mary Geoise right after he freed Fisher Tiger, and he doesn't refuse either. Even though you're just a little girl, you seem to know exactly what you want.

So you end up on an island, find people to keep training with because you already have a plan, and blah blah blah.

Shamrock is DEVASTATED by your disappearance—more devastated than your own family.

He’s searched for you far and wide but can’t find you, and suddenly his duties as a Knight of God have increased, leaving him no time to keep looking for you. But he hopes you’re okay and that you haven’t left him of your own accord; he can’t help but think you’ve been kidnapped.

The rest of the Celestial Dragons secretly believe that you have betrayed them and that you are a disgrace to your family, but they don't dare say it out loud.

When you were 19, you met the Straw Hats in Jaya. You weren't sure if they'd let you join them, but at least you could get to know them and let them know they could count on you as an ally. At the time, you didn't realize that simply showing Luffy that you believed in his dream, that you were interested in adventures, and that you also believed in the sky island was enough for him to decide he wanted you on the crew (not to mention that you looked strong).

It’s also worth mentioning that at that time, you had mastered swordplay, Observation Haki, and a little bit of Armor Haki, although you sometimes forget to activate it on your sword. Fun fact: Your sword has a red hilt; you chose it subconsciously because it reminded you of Shamrock’s hair.

Let’s also say that you can fight hand-to-hand and that you’re quite agile—you move like a gymnast. This is because you knew you couldn’t always rely on a weapon, and also partly for fun.

You fit right in with the crew; you find a family in them, and they become your best friends. You never tell them where you’re from or about your family—you only talk to them about the people who trained you (I’m thinking of a couple, where each one taught you different things; they even told you that someday you might be able to use Conqueror’s Haki, but they couldn’t teach you, so you decided that someday you’d find someone to teach you—or at least explain how it works—since you don’t remember those little details from the anime/manga).

My reasoning for why you have Conqueror's Haki is that you were reincarnated for two reasons: to help overthrow the Celestial Dragons and the World Government, and to make Luffy the Pirate King. 😛

Well, then it occurred to me that during the time skip, you trained to strengthen your Conqueror's Haki (which you awakened sometime between Water 7 and Sabaody) and to better master your Armor Haki, although it did cross my mind that you continued to train physically to increase your speed and strength as well 🤔.

When the crew reunites, there's a change in both Sanji's and your bounty posters—now both include your last name, and you're both wanted Only Alive.

But for some strange reason, your last name isn't the same as your Celestial Dragon family's; the last name listed in the bounty poster is "Figarland."

Obviously, this horrifies you, because if your family was already bad enough, being labeled a Figarland now is literally hell. You had to explain to your crew that you have absolutely nothing to do with that last name and that it must be a mistake.

(Just a quick note to say that I forgot to mention that your role in the Straw Hat crew is to be the informant—since, with your crows, you see and hear everything. Luffy and you agreed that unless he or someone else asks, you won’t say anything so as not to spoil the surprises of the adventures. You’ve also realized that the One Piece universe has adapted to you without changing the main story.)

Well, Shamrock convinced your family to turn you in in exchange for a reward, and he convinced his father to let him change your wanted poster. You're officially Shamrock's daughter, and nobody's objecting to it, lol.

He discovered that the crows that were secretly circling Mary Geoise when you were still young were yours, since they disappeared along with you, and because there are reports from marines about out-of-control crows attacking them—and it just so happens that you and your crew are involved.

So I imagine that on Elbaf, Shamrock isn't surprised to see a raven following him—in fact, he finds it amusing. You don’t warn anyone about the presence of the Knights of God—you already knew they were coming and you know their plans, but you don’t know how revealing their presence so early might affect things. In any case, you’d only be bringing the fight forward prematurely. So while you accompany Zoro, Luffy, and Nami to find the key that will free Loki, you’re also keeping a close eye on the intruders’ every move.

And that's where this ends because, even though I'm up to date with the manga, I don't feel like continuing with this—since Shamrock hasn't shown up again, and I don't want to speculate.

BONUS:

-Shanks talked about you with Gaban and Rayleigh, because he had even begun to doubt his decision to help you escape. So Rayleigh and Gaban recognized you when they saw you based on Shanks' description, but they didn't give you away as a Celestial Dragon.

-Luffy, Robin, and Zoro already suspect that you’re a Celestial Dragon, but they haven’t said anything. They know you’re not a bad person and that, besides, you’re not at all proud of your past or your family; you’re trying to erase that part of your life, and they’re going to respect that. Luffy suspects it because Rayleigh hinted at it. Zoro noticed your unease at Sabaody, and Robin has actually already confirmed it based on the last name on your bounty poster—though she does believe you when you say that’s not your real last name.

-When Shanks happens to see your bounty after seeing Luffy’s, and realizes that you now have the same last name as him, he begins to wonder if you’re his sister and he just didn’t realize it all those years ago. Then he remembers how fatherly Shamrock was toward you and that you had a different last name and a different family, and he feels sorry for you because he can now assume that Shamrock is behind this and that you’re doomed—since this means you’re now officially part of the Figarland family, against your will😔.

-In Dressrosa, Sabo asked you about your last name. The Revolutionary Army had known for a long time that you were a Celestial Dragon, but they were certain that your family wasn’t the Figarland family. You had to explain to him that you didn’t know why they’d put that last name on your bounty poster, and you had to swear to him that you wouldn’t betray Luffy. You told him that you wanted to bring down the World Government and the Celestial Dragons, and that you’d chosen to side with Luffy to do that. He laughed and told you that you didn’t seem to be the only one.

OMG FINALLY I'VE BEEN ABLE TO GET THIS OFF MY CHEST 😭😭😭😭

Actually, there's a lot more to it, but this is the basic idea. If I ever decide to explore it further in writing, it'll be in a fanfic, but as always, I'M NOT PROMISING ANYTHING

[liahcharms]

under your spell 🗝

The Victorian-style house looked a bit creepy, but rather cute. Very pinkish. Perfectly serene for your remote job and longing for silence. And everything would be wonderful if not for this little weird doll that looks like you and a small door in the living room, leading to... nowhere? And what about those two guys who lived here sixty years ago?

˖𖦹 ݁˖ pairing: Satosugu x F!Reader

˖𖦹 ݁˖ content/warnigs: ꒰ Coraline AU :: yandere :: stalking :: Satoru and Suguru have buttons for eyes :: they desperately want you to stay :: horror :: hope it will be a bit creepy :: obsessive behaviours :: possessive behaviour :: dark romance :: heavy smut :: manipulation :: death :: demons :: use of some Coraline conspiracy theories ꒱

˖𖦹 ݁˖ notes: The first chapter will be posted on June 22! And on that day I will also post my main summerween, slasher collection <3

taglist open, only a few slots

Check my other summerween collection! ˖𖦹 ݁˖

──── do you wish to open the door? 🗝

˖𖦹 ݁˖ chapter one ˖𖦹 ݁˖ chapter four

˖𖦹 ݁˖ chapter two ˖𖦹 ݁˖ chapter five

˖𖦹 ݁˖ chapter three

©liahcharms all rights reserved. Do not copy, plagiarise, feed AI, translate or modify my works.

My dearest townsfolk! You have no idea how excited I am for this series! It is a part of my Summerween collection, but since my main collection focuses on slashers, I decided to post the Coraline separately!

art by by K05062688 - twitter button divider by @saradika-graphics

[sugurugetoshairbrush]

💬 reddit

← ⬤  r/relationship_advice • 16 hr. ago       

      1mjust-agirl02

I found out my (22F) sneaky link (25M) is a cult leader. Am I enabling him if we keep hooking up?

First-time poster here. I’ll try to keep this brief. A few months ago, I was going through a rough patch. I’d just moved to the city from a tiny countryside town—a major life change. Sure, it came with perks: a good job, a decent apartment, and better nightlife. But I felt… disconnected. No matter what I did, I couldn’t shake the gnawing loneliness. The more I tried to adapt, the more isolated I felt.

I’ve always been a model citizen—quiet, diligent, never stepping out of line. But in the city, my days dragged, my nights felt darker, and I was slipping into depression. I couldn’t pinpoint why, but everything around me seemed coated in this heavy, negative energy.

That’s when I started frequenting a local bar. It was small, dimly lit, and blissfully cheap. The kind of place where people drank alone to nurse their sorrows. I guess I fit right in.

The bartender knew my order. The regulars were predictable: the middle-aged lady with crimped hair, the clean-cut businessman with tired eyes. I even started to find comfort in the routine. Until he walked in.

It was a random Wednesday at 5 PM. He was tall, with long black hair tied back neatly except for two loose strands framing his sharp, bronze-toned face. Dressed in a plain black sweatsuit, he looked effortlessly suave, even with a grim expression. Our eyes met, for a moment, his stern demeanor softened, replaced by something that felt like intrigue. Without hesitation, he made his way over, settling beside me like it had been his plan all along. He ordered whiskey—straight—and downed it in one smooth gulp.

“You didn’t even flinch,” I blurted, unable to stop myself. “Impressive—or concerning.”

He smirked, devilish and confident. “You don’t even know.”

That was the start. We chatted. Or rather, we danced around anything personal, just sharing vague feelings and flirting between drinks. He had this magnetic sorrow about him, like we were kindred spirits.

The night carried on, the drinks kept coming, and somehow, he kept getting closer. Our knees bumped beneath the booth. He was attractive in that quiet, alluring way—charming. That distant look in his eyes, as though he’d seen too much too soon, only added to his appeal.

I think we both needed a distraction. I laughed at his teasing, swatting playfully at his chest. His dark eyes lingered, and when I fumbled with my glass, he reached over, swiping his thumb across my lips.

What came next was a blur: heated kisses stolen in a dingy bar bathroom, his coarse hands gripping my waist and sliding to the back of my neck. The kiss was messy, whiskey burning on his tongue as it slid against mine. We stumbled back to my apartment in a haze, barely making it inside.

The second the door swung shut, he had me off my feet. My lock hung unlatched as he threw me onto the bed, the impact knocking my head lightly against the headboard. His hands were everywhere—rough and deliberate. My blouse fell open, my slacks tangled around my ankles as he pushed me face-down on the mattress. I heard the shuffle of his sweats coming off, the warmth of his spit trailing down my skin.

He’s big. I struggled to take him, fluttering and gasping as he pressed inside. His hand yanked my head back, forcing me to look. Between the bunched fabric of his sweatshirt held in his teeth and the tense, toned muscles of his abdomen, the sight was utterly debauched. The sounds—slick, lewd—filled the room. By the end, my sheets were damp, my chest marked with his teeth and hands, and I had my first noise complaint from my neighbors.

I thought that would be it. A one-time thing.

But then, the next Wednesday, he was at the bar again.

Now sober, I finally got a good look at him—and somehow, he was even more devastatingly handsome. His sharp features softened by the loose claw clip holding back his hair.

Our dynamic stayed the same: casual conversation, teasing touches, and nights that left me trembling. He was addictive. Every time, his grip was firm, possessive—his habit of squeezing my throat just as my climax approached pushed me to the edge. It had me teetering between bliss and unconsciousness, choking out strangled moans as he drove into me, relentless. It felt like a punishment. It felt like everything I hadn’t realized I’d been missing.

If I were to indulge myself, I’d admit I liked him best when sobriety started creeping back into him. He had this way of reading my body like a map, tracing every nerve and exploiting it until I was trembling, breathless, undone. Sometimes, as he finished—his hair spilling over my face like a curtain—I’d let the lines blur. I’d tell him how good he was, how deeply I felt him, how pretty he looked. And for a fleeting moment, he’d soften, his rhythm slowing, kissing me with an almost tender deliberation.

Weeks later, I got a text and an address:

“Want to see you. Be here at 11. Side door, past the gate.”

Curiosity got the better of me, and I showed up. His house was bigger than I’d expected—too luxurious for someone his age. On the way to his room, I passed a door slightly ajar. Inside, I glimpsed pink walls and a boy band poster. My stomach dropped. Was he married? Did he have kids?

I confronted him immediately. Sitting nervously on his bed, sandwiched between his toned thighs, I listened as he explained. He’d been raising his two orphaned cousins for years. His voice softened as he talked about them—their favorite shows, their quirks, their hobbies. I’d never seen him like this before. The care and pride he showed for them stood in stark contrast to the man I knew intimately.

That night was different. When I came, hard and breathless, his lips brushed mine, our eyes locked, fingers intertwined beside my head. For the first time, I thought I was starting to understand him.

But everything changed soon after.

At work, I passed a bulletin board I usually ignored. For some reason, that day I stopped. A flyer caught my eye—his face stared back at me.

In the photo, he was dressed in a golden kasaya draped over black yukata robes, his serene smile paired with an outstretched arm in a regal, inviting pose. The caption called him a “Buddhist priest” and a “divine leader” of some obscure spiritual group.

Confused, I Googled it. Turns out, it wasn’t just a spiritual group. It was a full-blown cult. The photos showed worshippers kneeling before him, their faces aglow with reverence, calling him a godlike figure.

I couldn’t resist. That evening, I went to the event listed on the flyer, held at a local temple. I slipped into a seat in the back, close to the door. Watching him lead the ritual felt surreal. There he was—calm, composed, draped in robes—like he hadn’t had me screaming into my pillow just days ago.

Then, I saw him lay his hands on a sobbing woman kneeling at his feet. Her cries turned into praises as she clung to him, trembling. It was… chilling.

I barely had a chance to settle in before I felt the need to leave. I thought about ending things right then and there—but I hesitated. Now I’m torn. On one hand, he’s the best I’ve ever had—dominant, attentive, and downright divine in bed. On the other hand… he’s a cult leader.

If I keep seeing him, am I complicit in whatever shady things his group does? Or am I overthinking it—can I keep pretending I know nothing?

Advice is welcome. Don’t hold back.

( ↑  734  ↓ ) ( 🗨️ 1K ) ( ୨୧ ) ( ↳ Share )

⬤ toge-talks-shit  MOD  • 14h ago • 

This is the wildest shit I've read all day. My prayers go out to you, OP—but your hookup might be answering them LOL. Fr though, the cult stuff sounds creepy. Not worth it. ↑  1.5K  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ blue-eyes-savelives  • 11h ago • 

OP, message me privately. Did he ever mention old regrets, breakups, or friends? Plz answer. T-T ↑  425  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ k-nam_mister73  • 9h ago • 

Delete his number. You should’ve ceased all contact a long time ago. ↑  344  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

⬤ nobarabara_yaps  • 2h ago • 

He sounds hot. See it through. Gatekeep, Gaslight, Girlboss. ↑  109  ↓ 🗨️ Reply ∘∘∘

[anzaifanpage]

Yutamaki. Absolutely not proof read. Tw: terrible 2am writing and bad pacing.

3.6k

Maki’s boyfriend hates your guts.

You’ve known maki for about 3 years now. Aside from nobara and kirara, she was your closet friend.

Maki was a no nonsense kind of person, and you were full said nonsense, she tolerated you at first. Before discovering that that was simply who you were.

You were smart and at the top of your classes, occasionally tutoring maki,who was far from dumb, but it was your excuse to get close to her.

You’d had an on going crush on maki. It was something no one had ever noticed either. Being open and direct about your feelings wasn’t something you were akin to.

No one noticed, no one asked..Is what you’d like to say..

Maki getting a boyfriend was a shock to you. You both had some friends-but ultimately maki had her own group and you had yours.

And from what nobara said her and her boyfriend had what she called “on going tension” and it was ultimately “inevitable they’d end up together”

Sitting in your free period in the study hall you sat with your head on your hand. You tried not to express disdain towards the situation. But it was hard.

Apparently the boys name was Yuta okkotsu. You’d only seen a glimpse of him because he happened to be in one of your classes. Your brows furrowed.

“Hey dummy, I thought I’d find you here” ears already accustomed to the harsh greeting you glanced up.

Maki’s yellow eyes trailed over to you as she sat down across from where you sat.

“Hey maki..” a grumble escaped from your lips exposing your grumpy mood.

“Why are you in here? I thought we were gonna meet in the film room.” She said looking at you casually.

“Yeah I was but gojo decided to dump homework on us last minute” You huffed. “He does this and then takes a week off for no reason”

“I’m already annoyed, I didn’t do his last assignment-actually I don’t think anyone did” Maki pointed out. Gojo was a terrible teacher.

“I think I’m the only one who did it, I helped toge with it yesterday” you said flipping a page in your text book. “I can help you today if you’r free.

Maki’s smile was warm and full of gratitude- rare and exclusive to the snarky grins she usually gave.

“Thanks, I’m free today at 6” she said before standing up. You had to bite your tongue to stop yourself from smiling.

“You just came over here to use me for your assignment huh” you teased as she turned to you rolling her eyes.

“Well duh” she joked.

“Hey!”

The rest of the day went on as it did. You were always happy to see maki and sleep over at her dorm.

She managed to make things fun. Especially when it was you here and nobara playing a crazy game of uno.

How ever she failed to mention her boyfriend would be making a surprise entry.

With your bag slung over your shoulders you gave the same three knocks to her door.

It opened and instead of being greeted by maki it was a slightly familiar boy with black locs and dark circles under his eyes.

“..” you said nothing as you cocked a brow. And he said nothing either. He was giving you the nastiest look ever.

Convinced you were confused you turned your feet to walk away. “Sorry wrong dorm-“

“You’re last name right,Maki’s friend?” His voice spoke. It was low and soft-also creepy in your opinion.

“Yeah? What of it..?” You replied ruder than how you hoped it’d sound.

“She’s in the bathroom right now, she told me to let you in.” His statement was short- and plain. Lacking and friendliness in your perspective.

“Oh…thanks..” you said stepping in. You placed your bag down before taking your shoes off. The routine you had unintentionally set every time you came over.

Seeing big white sneakers there also made you annoyed. They must’ve been his considering the size. And ontop of that they were in YOUR spot.

Already harboring hatred for the boy you set your shoes on the other side near maki’s own before sitting on your usual spot.

As you were preparing and scattering the books you heard maki’s door steps echoing on the wooden floors.

“Hey dummy” she greeted assuming her regular spot across from you.

“Hey stupid” you snickered. “I had to send a cheat sheet to nobara so I’m late” you said ready to work.

“She’s helpless”

“Yup”

A moment passed by before maki’s attention snapped to the boy standing not to far away.

“Yuta come on, you’re not gonna get the answers if you stand there” maki said as the boy perked up.

His foot steps pattered as he sat down next to maki. And already this had you 10 shades of fucked up.

Firstly she never said her boyfriend would be here-and third she expected you to tutor him too?!

“I hope you don’t mind.. it’s short notice but yuta needs help too. And since Fushiguros helping the others I figured you could help” maki said.

And dam maki for making you seem so reliable.

“Yeah that’s no problem” internally you were fuming. You had to scold yourself for the out of character emotions flooding through you.

You started off with the joint tutoring session. Your face was only focused on maki’s own. She didn’t notice your glances as her brows were furrowed already not understanding the lesson.

“How is d the answer?” She said. It’d only been 10 minutes.

“You don’t know the word ambiguous..?” You questioned. She didn’t reply.

“Anyways if you can’t find the definition you use the sentence before and after. Or atleast that’s what they taught me when I was little. It means it can have multiple meanings.

“Maki let out a small “oh” before jotting it down.

When you happen to glance over at okkotsu his eyes were already on yours. They were so…dead? It was like he was glaring at you.

“Uhm did…you get that?” You asked him

“Yeah I did” he said before jotting it down.

He must’ve caught on to how you were looking at maki. And instantly put the prices together. Because after this day. Things were never the same

A bright new day during passing periods. Digging in your stickered up locker to find your next period classes books was when you were thinking.

He must’ve been trying to intimidate you or something. He was oddly stoic. You hardly knew him but he creeped you out.

“Psh..weirdo..” you mumbled closing your locker. only to jump seeing said boy closing his own. And since when was his locker next to yours??!!

He glanced at you for a moment before his lips twitched. The bell rung prompting him to turn around and leave.

Oh yeah you hated his guts.

Weeks passed.By then you were certain the feelings were mutual. So you tried avoiding hanging out with maki whenever he was around.

To no avail because maki dragged you out anyways. And you couldn’t say no to her.

Leading to now. You were out at a food court. It had a bunch of everything. Toge would come here with you often so you knew the menu pretty well.

And for what ever reason… maki sat next to you and not her dreadful boyfriend. A score in your book honestly.

“What are you guys getting?” She spoke up. She was always the first to spark up the conversation when it was the three of you.

“Probably a burger and fries, they have good fries here” you said pointing to the menu.

“I’ll probably just get some sushi.” Okkotsu mumbled. “We can share” he said smiling at maki who only blushed in response.

You only made a fake gagging noise making her shove your shoulder. “You two are gross” you teased making her roll her eyes.

“Yeah? Well your just mad your single” she said getting up to go order before you could speak making you roll your eyes yourself.

“Stupid..” you said before huffing to blow a strand of hair out of your face. Your situation was laughable. I mean who would wanna third wheel their crush and their partner?

“How long have you and maki been friends?” Okkotsu asked suddenly to break the awkward silence. You had a half mind to ignore the boy-but you wouldn’t gain anything from it.

“A little over 3 years.” You said not looking at him. Only suddenly focused on your device.

“Oh..that’s nice..” He said. His tone was off and you immediately took it as shade.

What you didn’t notice was his flushed cheeks. As he looked at you. All you felt was his hard stare.

Maki returned eventually. And this time nothing could really break the awkward silence.

That was until the food arrived.

Maki and yuta chatted back and forth about other topics. School, clubs, Yuji and toge stealing lollipops from shokos office.

It made you sick how happy they were, or how cute of a couple they were. You had no real reason to be sour about them.

“Yaga should fire Gojo honestly” maki said as she opened her mouth to let Yuta feed her some sushi. With a smile on his face.

“Then we wouldn’t get an extra free period” Yuta chuckled.

“It’s not worth everyone having a 60..” she said before wiping her mouth.

Yutas eyes trailed over to you. Though. You were munching on your own meal as you scrolled on your phone. Bored out of your mind.

Being on your phone made you miss the nod maki gave yuta.

“Last name?” He spoke making you cock a brow.

“Hm?”

“You can have some too if you’d like” he said holding up his chop sticks offering.

Was he fucking with you?

“No thanks- actually I have to use the bathroom” you said excusing yourself as you stood up grabbing your phone to make your way to the restroom.

Yuta’s shoulders sulked. “She really doesn’t like me..”

“Oh shush- Name doesn’t dislike anyone. She doesn’t know you yet” maki said leaning on her hand.

“She seems to be fond of you though..” he said making her blush.” Yeah I know. It’s so painfully obvious..”

“Dummy…”

Your absolute last straw was being paired up with okkotsu for a history project of all things.

You even begged Gojo to change your partner.

“I can’t do that the list is already finalized!” He said turning his chair around being dramatic. You’d begged him after class to change your partner. You’d rather anyone else.

“But I don’t even know him, what if I said he makes me feel unsafe-then you’d have to change it!” You proclaimed making him let out a sigh.

“You hardly even know Yuta. What you got something against him?” Gojo said. Typical. Always in students business..

“Yes infact I do. That should be enough to change my partner!!” You said waving your hands in the air.

“Nope! Sowwy!!” Gojo said popping the p. God dam he was annoying.

You could only sulk and whine as if god cursed you himself.

You were unaware of said boy who was outside the classroom. Listening in. His Expression falling a bit.

1 Week later and it was time to start the project. You hadn’t talked to maki in about 2 weeks. You’d actually taken your time to duck and avoid her.

Short texts, short conversations. It was what you needed to clear your mind. You didn’t know why you were being this salty- friends with feelings could always just be friends. But something about yuta being in the picture..it just didn’t seem right.

Here you were in your dorm. On the floor as you both silently worked on your project.

Okkotsu was hot gluing the structure together while your fingers mindlessly typed out the information to be printed. Ignoring the horrible typos.

All you could think about was yuta and how his presence was suffocating you in a way. You could feel his eyes on you every now and then.

And frankly you were growing tired of it.

Snapping to look at him you cocked a brow. “Is there something on my face?” You asked a bit hardly.

“Huh? U-uh no! You…you look fine!” He said turning red. His expression of embarrassment. It was the most emotion you saw from him.

“So stop staring at me.” You said turning back to your laptop.

“R-right..sorry..” he mumbled.

Since when was he so expressive. You always thought he was so expressionles.

You felt guilty, as now you were the one staring at him. After just yelling at him for doing just that..

His eyes were..actually blue. They weren’t the dull grey you thought they were. You’d never looked at him for too long.

His tongue peaked between his lips as he focused on not burning himself with the hot glue gun.

After about 3 hours of typing and cutting and uploading and cleaning and god knows what else you two were finished.

You had decided to be polite and give him a drink for his efforts. He thanked you before chugging it down like a weirdo with a sigh.

Maybe you’d misunderstood him. You just couldn’t bring your friendship to be marred by him.

“Hey okkotsu” you spoke out to the boy laying like an idiot flushed out over your carpet.

“Hm?” His gaze falling to you.

“Sorry for being a bit rude to you earlier..and all the times before that.. I just wasn’t use to having someone else around that isn’t my good friends..” you apologized admitting your immaturity.

He didn’t speak at first only sitting up to look at you. He cracked a wobbly smile before starting to giggle.

Okay now you hate him all over again.

“I’m saying sorry and your laughing?!” You said chucking a glue stick at him making him wince still laughing.

“I’m sorry! It’s just that….” He said before his eyes softened. They were so full of life.. “I’m glad you don’t hate me now” he revealed.

“I don’t recall saying I liked you” you teased just to watch his expression fall

You understand the appeal now, why maki liked him so much. Well sort of. Looks wise anyways. His pale flushed cheeks and his big doe eyes.

He looked so submissive…

“Relax im joking you dork” you said.

“Oh..” he let out a breathe of relief.

And just like that all tension was gone from the room. It was nice. And now you wouldn’t mind third wheeling.

Or so you thought.

Maki had invited you over for a sleep over. With you AND yuta. When she had texted it to you while in class you could only cock a brow.

Holon that’s too fast mamaz

You’d only just got comfortable with yuta about a month or so ago. So a sleep over..with a boy…? Uhm.

But you came anyways. Because of course you did.

They decided they would binge watch Tokyo ghoul for the sleep over. It was pretty okay for the most part.

Popcorn, candy, drinks, cards, and for some reason you smushed between yuta and maki.

But now you were focused. You were both playing an intense game off Mortal Kombat on the tv. Fingers tapping fast against the controller. Typical you’d be wiping the floor with maki. But with how close yuta was with you right now you couldn’t focus.

“Come on dummy, pay attention” maki said, not against shit talking.

“Suck my dick” you replied squinting at the screen.

“Wow you guys are so..competitive..” yuta chuckled out.

“MILENA WINS! FATALITY”

“Dam your more trash than usual” maki said turning to you with her signature grin.

“I beat you every time we play this game. Please” eye twitching in annoyance as you tried not to be a sore loser. “Your just less pathetic today”

“Okay than rematch” maki said turning back to the screen choosing milena. And you chose kitana. duh.

You missed the way yuta blushed his eyes trailing your face.

Yeah and for what ever reason you lost again making you grit your teeth in annoyance as maki smirked at you.

“Jeez you really suck”

“Fuck off”

You were unaware of the reactions being drawn out from you. It was so subtle that it was hard for you to pick up on. You were just too salty over the game to notice.

After that you guys played a movie. It was some romance slop yuta had chosen. You only side eyed him.

30 minutes into the movie you felt a weight on your shoulders. Feeling fluffs of hair tickle your neck your eyes narrowed.

He was laying on you, so casually at. What’s up with him? You only assume he was being friendly. Even if his friendliness made your heard flutter.

Then it was maki’s turn to get touchy. Her arm wrapped around your waist casually. It’s as if they were plotting this. None of their heads turned away from the screen.

“You guys scared of a romance movie or something?” You joked trying to downplay the situation.

“If I was would you hold me?” Yuta asked. His head turned. His question directly in your ear making you feel the heat of his breath.

You shivered. Feeling your face turn a shade of red…

“I guess…?” You said. there was no time to process it as maki’s hand ran up and down your thigh.

“Ignore him” maki said snickering at your reaction.

“You can always let me hold you instead..” she said lowly.

“Okay like seriously what’s going on…” you asked pausing the movie. “Yer being weird.” You bluntly said.

“Isn’t it obvious by now??!!” Maki said suddenly annoyed which made you annoyed.

“Hah? You can just be cheesy with me then say that!”

“You’re unbelievable..” she scoffed crossing her arms. Now being stubborn. Despite the dim room you could see her flushed face.

“Oh yeah so fuck me for not being psychic..” you sourly mumbled.

You only turned to yuta to see if he had a vague idea on what was wrong with her-despite he himself also being the problem.

But as you turned you only felt soft lips on your own. His lips were so soft. As quickly as he kissed you he was quick to pull away.

He was nervous. That much apparent as he blinked and looked away apologetically.

You could only blink multiple times blushing as the reality set it.

“Yuta!” Maki said making the boy shrink. “You can’t kiss MY best friend first!”

“Huh!! You-you said I could!” He argued.

..?

“I’m so fucking confused..” you said sitting in front of them.

“It should be obvious that I like you name..” maki said making your jaw drop.

“WE like you..” Yuta corrected making your jaw hang to the floor.

“Oh….yeah?” You said glitching.

“Yeah I’ve liked you for a while. It’s obvious you like me to. And so does yuta..” maki explained.

You looked at them both for confirmation they went fucking with you. And they were serious.

So serious that now here you guys were stripped in maki’s bed aggressively feeling one another.

Your hand was squeezing Yuta’s chest as he whimpered into your mouth. Letting you do what ever to him with no complaints.

He was whining already in your mouth as you shoved your tongue down his throat. He tasted just like the ring pop he were eating earlier. So cute.

As you pulled away to push him. Onto the bed you glanced at maki who was taking her glasses off.

“What do you normally do?” You said straddling yuta. You were clearly no stranger to sex it.

“I dunno, it depends on how I feel. I usually tie him up and ride him” maki said. Yuta’s hips softly rolled up. Letting out a breath to ease the embarrassment.

You two were talking about it so casually, he was already so turned on.

“Freaky” you commented making her smile. “Get me the rope” you said. You were already so demanding. Maki would be crazy to say she wasn’t turned on by this.

“I-if you tie me…I can’t touch you..” Yuta mumbled looking at you as he held your soft hips. Fingers and hands running across your ass and waist to commit everything to memory like he’d done maki.

“Well that’s to bad yuta..” you cooed as he only held you tighter.

Maki handed you the pink..ribbon? Making you turn to her. “I thought you said you tie him up”

“Exactly, rope is to harsh I use ribbon.” Maki proudly stated. Making you sweat drop.

“Weirdo..”

You tied yuta up anyways, restraining him. His hands behind his back now as he squirmed a bit.

“I’ve never seen him so worked up before” maki said palming him a bit.. before removing his underwear.

“Why so shy? You weren’t this shy when you kissed me..” you said grabbing his leaky dick making his breathe hitch.

“Name..” he shuddered feeling maki’s hands sneak behind him to squeeze his pecs. He was so close already.

“Go ahead. Tell her you want her to ride you” maki said kissing his neck. With her biting him and you staring into his eyes he could only turn even more red.

“P-please…ride me..?” He begged

You smiled. “You’re so pathetic yuta..”

That was all it took before he busted a load onto your hand and somewhat your lower stomach making him shrink in embarrassment even more.

You had a feeling you’d like yuta a lot more now.

——

Uhm shitty cliffhanger? Or somthing. It’s 2am as I’m writing this and I’m running out of ideas. Yuta maki won the poll but I’ll still write for second winner.

Let me know if I should finish bc this shit was long as hellll.

[lawfem]

THE SUN LOVES THE SEA

❝Hiding your devil fruit from everyone is the only rule. Unless it's your crush.❞

PAIRING: Monkey D. Luffy ╱ fem!reader

TAGS: fluff, angst, the timeline starts at Thriller Bark and contains spoilers up to Egghead

WORDS COUNT: 13k

LOU'S NOTES: Hi! English is not my first language, so let me know if you see any mistake, I would be very grateful <3

The sea obeyed your voice.

Its waters danced and whispered just for you, caressing your feet and soothing your pains, thrilling your soul with its gentle mirages that carried you back home. Pleased to embrace you in its waves once more. Pleased with your return.

The sea waited for you for centuries. Patient. Longing. Tearful.

No soul had been born who could tame its ferocity. The times were divine, rushing to shore without coinciding with him could be a catastrophe. So it forced itself to endure. To tolerate the pain. To tolerate the desire to see him again.

It remained hidden under the wing of a specific family, protected by them on a remote island in Grand Line, for centuries without being disturbed. They passed the word down from parents to children, grandparents to grandchildren. That devil fruit, kept in a locked chest, with its peculiar conch shell shape that glowed in shades of blue and light blue, was not to be consumed.

The fruit would choose its bearer. Like no other, it would sing to attract whoever it desired, until it made them carry an unknown destiny. Anyone who coveted it wrongly would be punished.

And everyone learned to respect it.

You had always been curious. Why was your family the only one who knew about its existence and could take care of it, when there were so many others on the island? Why couldn't anyone else even get close enough to appreciate it? What was known about that devil fruit was passed on by word of mouth. Your aunt had told you about its appearance during a festival in the village, while dancing with laughter, one jump after another, to the rhythm of "don, don, don, don", but she didn't know if it was real either. Someone else had told her about it.

Your grandmother wouldn't let anyone near the old temple on the highest hill on the island. The task of caring for it was relegated to a few women in the family, those who had the gift of hearing. Hearing what? You thought it was nonsense. How could anyone hear a fruit? As a child, you couldn't make sense of it.

But curiosity kept you awake.

And you understood everything at the age of seven.

A festival to an ancient god was being celebrated in the village. Sitting on a bench —a tree trunk cut down by your father—, you admired those present. There it was again. That rhythm. That dance. It was fun, it was playful, it was free. The huge smiles on their faces were something that only that dance could give.

The dance of Nika.

They did it once a month, as if trying to call him, intending him to join in the fun if he saw them, and something inside you told you that this god would do just that. He would join them with a huge laugh. And the party would never end.

But what was happening here was more than just a party. It was a plea. The people of your village and your family believed that he would return to save them. And someone important would come with him.

You shook your head from side to side, playing with the fabric of your white dress when you heard it.

A melancholic voice sang melodies that pressed on your heart. You were too young to understand the longing behind that song, the pain of loss. Its slowness differed from the joy in Nika's rhythm.

You covered your ears, not wanting to hear any more. But it was calling you. It was making you get up from your seat against your will.

Under the watchful gaze of your grandmother, whom you could not see through the sea of people, you made your way towards the forest. The old woman heard the crying in that song, more intense than ever. It was different from what it always whispered to her. Now it was crying out for you.

You followed the path with a grimace. It was lit by small golden lanterns shaped like flowers. Despite your fear of being scolded for entering the forbidden area, you couldn't help but follow that voice. Its broken song gradually changed, becoming a little more cheerful. Enough so as not to break your heart. You wondered if this is what the song of the sirens sounded like, the ones you read about in your book, the ones who lived on gyojin island.

You stopped in front of the temple. How many minutes had it taken you to climb the hill? You had lost track of time while enveloped in those melodies.

Seeing it up close took your breath away. Tall marble pillars surrounded by ivy stood before you. A glass dome revealed the interior of the place, making your blood run cold.

A golden statue of a woman stood in the middle, surrounded by water. Would you sink if you approached it? Or would it be shallow, free to walk towards it? That woman looked up at the sky with her back to you, her arms outstretched, her fingers curved as if touching something.

Was she singing? Could a statue sing? Or was it...? You searched with your eyes until you found it. A chest rested at her feet, surrounded by vines. As if it had never been touched before.

But something in that voice asked you to. Something in that woman's position begged you for something.

You dipped your tiny feet into the water and a sigh of relief escaped from within you when the water only reached your hips. For an adult, it would reach their knees or lower.

You walked across the slimy ground covered in seaweed, pouting in disgust. Your grandmother protected this place, but it seemed she didn't clean it, given its condition.

The singing grew softer as you got closer. The moonlight made the statue look more beautiful, but its golden colour would shine brighter in the sun.

When you reached its feet, which were in front of your face, you raised your hands to the vines, pulling them off one by one. The chest, once freed, looked old. Conveniently, a key lay beside it. You shook your head in confusion. No one had stolen it in centuries, and you had made it there without anyone stopping you. What were they afraid of? It was silly to fear a fruit. Surely it had some foolish power, like the men on the reward posters that arrived every week. There were a few incredible powers, but there were also fruits that seemed bad to you.

You inserted the key into the lock, opening the chest carefully so as not to break it. You widened your eyes in amazement when you saw it. It shone in shades of blue and light blue, shaped like a seashell. So this was what the devil's fruit looked like. You took it in your hands, not knowing that you were being allowed to do so. Not knowing that your destiny was being forged.

Standing by the island's beach, with the celebration behind her, your grandmother smiled softly. The clock was ticking again.

He had already been born and consumed his fruit, and he had chosen you at the same time to accompany him.

With the sudden violence of the sea that night, the people dancing merrily and a little girl spitting in a temple alone, the old woman welcomed the goddess of the sea.

The "Hito Hito no Mi, model: Naia" had chosen its bearer.

Your growth since that night had been quite an adventure. Your grandmother had told you things, like the name of the fruit and where it came from. The reason why your family had protected it for generations and generations finally had an answer. You were direct descendants of Naia, but the goddess was jealous and refused to choose a woman before the time. You didn't know who she was waiting for, and the old woman didn't have a concrete answer. Only old beliefs that had been instilled in her, which she couldn't vouch for as being true.

But if you were there, in front of her, surrounded by fish that seemed to be talking to you, then there was a chance that he was also in another sea.

The longer you lived in the village, the more miracles happened. The famine ceased with the increasing abundance of fish. Your unconscious attracted large fish and beasts from the Grand Line, which were hunted to feed the villagers. They ate through tears, thanking the sun god for his help, without knowing who was really responsible.

Ships began to stop there. After four years, your voice began to attract sailors, bounty hunters, and pirates. With their visits, the families around you were able to support themselves. The imminent improvement in the standard of living among these villagers caught the attention of the world government. An island was rising and should not remain outside their hands, living according to their laws. Abiding by the rules was the best they could do.

However, no one could accept it. The hatred in their hearts consumed them alive. These people were not the kind who wanted to be protected by the marine or receive the light of the world government by paying tribute. No. These people had their beliefs, beliefs that those above despised. Beliefs for which they would seek to silence them.

Your grandmother knew that your devil fruit would bring trouble. If the legends were true, the search for your existence would be relentless.

A woman with the ability to control the sea was an aberration to everyone who admired her. A forbidden existence hidden like a myth.

But myths had an origin and, in turn, someone who tried to destroy them.

As a very young girl, you had no control over the sea. The strong emotions he was unaccustomed to sent him into a frenzy. Your cries stirred up hurricanes, impossible to stop until your heart was calm again. Your anger violently shook the waves, your sudden outbursts calling forth tsunamis.

Their frequency was not something that the world government —who kept their eyes on the island that was suddenly making a name for itself— could ignore. Marines disguised as sailors or ordinary tourists came and went, reporting what they saw. Was that island changing its magnetic field? After centuries of maintaining the same one? Or was something beyond their control happening?

It was after a huge earthquake and a subsequent tsunami, one that was out of the ordinary, with waves so big that they flooded the coast and left the island without a port, that your grandmother made the decision to expel you. CP0 began prowling the area when you were seventeen. They walked around looking at all the women, with instructions to pay special attention to the youngest ones.

Any who showed abnormalities. Any who seemed to interact unnaturally with the sea. Any who talked to fish.

The one who could be the woman the five elders wanted desperately.

Your grandmother, your aunt, and your mother did everything in their power. Sooner or later, those government agents would find the temple to the goddess Naia, confirming the suspicions of the celestial dragons. That temple, that golden statue facing the sun, was the only one in the world.

Those who knew her believed she had died, leaving no trace of her passage through life, a woman who would never set foot in such a rotten place again. But there she was, laughing in their faces, always hidden, always waiting for the right moment to return.

The three women in your family knew that news of such magnitude would not sit well. Everyone was in danger, not just you. And they were willing to face them as long as they could be reunited.

Your mother pulled you by the hand, all of them covering their mouths to stifle their tired gasps. The forest was the village's domain, illuminated in every corner, trees marked to indicate the paths back home. Your aunt carried a bag of clothes and your grandmother led the way.

They came upon a flooded coastline. Four villagers were holding onto tree trunks, pulling on ropes tied to the boat to keep it steady. They had placed two barrels of provisions inside. You looked at everyone in alarm, not knowing what to say, not wanting to leave.

This island was your home. Everyone had watched you grow up. Why did you have to leave everything behind? Just because of an ancient legend that no one knew was real?

The old woman placed her hands on your cheeks after your aunt had wrapped the bag around your body.

"You must flee, child." She whispered.

You shook your head, frightened. Yes, your devil fruit seemed to control the sea, but you had never sailed. You had never gone out into the world. And you would not be going out onto a calm sea. You lived in Grand Line, and out there were fearsome pirates, the yonko sailed those waters.

"It's for your own good. And for the good of the world." She tucked your hair behind your ear with trembling hands. "One day you'll understand."

"I don't want to go." You whispered, looking at your mother pleadingly.

"It is Naia's will." Your grandmother called your attention again. "You, Y/N, must continue living."

Naia, that mythical goddess again. What did it matter if you were her chosen one for something you couldn't understand?

"Lie. Don't talk about your devil fruit. Don't reveal it to anyone. That way you can survive." Your mother's words squeezed your heart.

"Don't worry about us, we'll be fine." Your aunt said with a smile.

"Destiny will bring the two of you together." Murmured the older woman.

Her kisses on your forehead, the calm sea as the villagers lifted you onto the boat, their hands waving in the distance, your uncontrollable crying.

You didn't know how long you had cried as the small boat sailed on its own course. The sea remained calm around you as it carried you as far away as possible from your native island. An island where government agents searched relentlessly for a young woman who fit the description, interrogating and silently murdering those who refused to cooperate.

At some point, your eyes closed after crying for so long, each tear altering the sea around your island, unknowingly embracing the lifeless bodies of many girls you called your friends, as well as those of adults and elderly women. Among them, your family.

All protecting a goddess who would help a new dawn arrive.

Usopp prepared his bait, ready to catch something. They hadn't put anything in the aquarium for days. Luffy had put another shark in, and it had eaten all the fish, leaving them without provisions, without meat. Their captain was more unbearable than ever, and he had only gone a day and a half without eating meat.

He cast his line, humming his song as he tapped his feet. The sun burned his skin, and the sea seemed particularly calm that day. Would he catch anything if no fish came near the worms he had stolen from Robin's garden?

Zoro left his weight on the ground, opening the window of the crow's nest.

"Oi, there's something shining in the water." He announced.

Usopp raised his fishing rod, looking for his binoculars. Nami and Robin put down their magazines and books and stood up.

"Something shiny? Treasure?" Nami asked, smiling.

"I want to see!" Luffy shouted, opening the kitchen door. His rubber arms stretched out to the deck railing, throwing himself towards it to get there faster.

Robin smiled as she watched him jump up and down excitedly. Soon the others arrived, crowding around the railing. Chopper was lifted up by Zoro, who sat him on his shoulder so he could see better. Sanji stood next to them, smoking.

"We have to catch it!" Said Luffy.

"Oi, Luffy, wait." Usopp murmured, placing a hand on his shoulder. "First we need to see what it is from a distance."

"We can always throw it back into the sea." Added Robin.

"You're so scary!" Shouted Usopp.

"Luffy, bring that shiny thing over here." Ordered Nami to the rubber boy, looking excitedly at the glint in the distance.

The captain's arms stretched out as far as they could, pulling the small boat towards the Sunny Go at a speed that the sea offered no resistance to. Refusing to protect her from him.

"I see barrels!" Chopper shouted.

"Super!" Franky celebrated.

"Will they have food? I hope it's in good condition." Said Sanji.

"I hope it's treasure..." Nami said dreamily, clasping her hands together with a huge smile.

"I hope it doesn't kill us." Usopp lamented, thinking it was a trap.

"We can always throw it back into the sea." Robin repeated.

Luffy blinked, tilting his head to one side. Inside the boat was a girl, sleeping as if she weren't in the Grand Line. He pressed his lips together when he noticed the trail of tears on her cheeks. Her eyelashes were still wet, as if she had never stopped crying, even in her dreams.

"Chopper, we have to help her."

The seriousness in his tone alerted the crew. They looked closely, the sun no longer dazzling their eyes, revealing the figure trembling as she hugged a bag.

"We have to get her on board!" The crew's doctor ran to Franky after Zoro brought him down.

They all worked together without asking any questions yet.

There was a girl in their infirmary. A girl who had suddenly appeared amid those treacherous waters, sleeping as if she didn't care about the danger of her actions. A girl who was burning with fever while the little reindeer placed damp cloths on her forehead.

Sanji made tea for everyone while they waited for news from the doctor, curious about her identity.

"I checked her belongings. There was nothing with her name on it. Just clothes and food." Robin commented.

Nami tucked a strand of her short hair behind her ear and sighed.

"All we can do is wait for her to wake up."

"How did she survive?" Murmured Zoro, leaning against the kitchen wall with his arms crossed.

"It's a mystery. Falling asleep in Grand Line with all the pirates around who could have killed her..." Robin shook her head.

"Lucky we found her." Nami acknowledged.

Sanji was holding back, but the soft smile on his face and the multiple turns he made while serving tea told everyone how happy he was with the presence of another woman in the crew. The swordsman insulted him under his breath, earning himself a kick, and then starting a fight.

Everyone ignored them, accustomed to their behaviour. As the hours passed, uncertainty grew among those present. They continued with their activities while you were being treated. All that remained was to wait for you to wake up and tell them about yourself.

You opened your eyes slightly, looking around in confusion. It wasn't your boat. There was no captivating sky above you. There were no waves rocking your body to calm your crying.

You sat up a little on the examination table, leaning on one elbow. The two lamps that illuminated the area provided good lighting. On your left were two small shelves with bottles, their labels showing you the names of their contents. Medicines. Looking to your right, a single desk stood with more medical instruments. Laboratory tubes with different coloured caps, a stone mortar, many books and posters with drawings, from lungs to bones.

But what caught your attention most was the creature sitting in the chair. It looked like a stuffed animal. You had never seen anything like it on your home island.

"Oh! You're awake!" A shrill voice startled you.

Did that stuffed animal talk?

"What are you?" You asked, raising your eyebrows. "Can you talk? Where am I?"

"I'm the doctor for this crew." He climbed onto a stool next to you to examine you.

You seemed to be feeling better. Sanji could prepare something to boost your strength.

"A pirate crew?" You whispered fearfully.

The worst-case scenario was being captured by pirates. You mentally berated yourself for not being more careful. For falling asleep. For not begging harder to stay at home.

"Wait here." Said the little one, adjusting his tiny doctor’s coat as he left what looked like the infirmary.

You found him cute, but you weren’t going to admit it. You had to escape, not succumb to this creature. You found your sandals next to the examination table and put them on. You climbed down, making as little noise as possible, and opened the door again. You found yourself on the deck, its grass making you gasp, but you covered your mouth so as not to be discovered.

You had to survive. You had to hide. That's what your grandmother would have wanted. Your mother. Your aunt. They had all given you the chance to live. You just hoped they were all right.

You ran towards the deck in search of your boat, but growled when you didn't see it.

"Wait! Don't jump!" A female voice shouted behind you.

You turned around fearfully. A beautiful woman with short orange hair was approaching you slowly, careful not to scare you any more.

"I'm Nami. The navigator of this crew." She introduced herself with a sweet smile.

"Am I on a pirate ship?"

"We're not like other pirates." The woman assured you.

"We're good!" Shouted the doctor behind her. "And you shouldn't be out of bed. You could get sick again."

"My angel, allow this cook to be your slave and treat you like the princess you are." Said a man crouching in front of you with a bowl of soup. It smelled good. Did he say slave?

You blinked in confusion.

"Why don't you become my slave and, as your first order, jump off the ship?" Said a man with green hair and two katanas at his waist.

The blond's eyebrow twitched and he turned towards the swordsman, kicking him.

"You're going to scare her." Said a melodious voice. A woman with black hair and bangs looked at you with a sweet gaze.

"You're not going to kill us, are you?" Asked a man with a long nose hiding behind the black-haired girl.

"I thought you were going to kill me."

"Usopp is afraid of cockroaches. You could kill him with that before he tries anything." Teased the orange-haired girl.

"Oi, Nami, why are you telling her that!?"

You watched them interact for a few minutes. They were... funny. Like a little family. They didn't look like the pirates you read about in your books or in the newspaper. The dreaded Rocks D. Xebec, the mighty Whitebeard, the youngest yonko Shanks. They were all intimidating, with powerful crews, but these pirates were strange.

You smiled softly, unaware of the gaze of a certain rubber boy sitting on the lion's head.

His eyes, curious about the girl in front of him, tried to find something he had seen before. Some trace of those tears that soaked your cheeks, as if the pain you carried was greater than you wanted to show. What you hid inside you would one day explode, but until then, until you let him see it, he only wanted one thing from you.

"Join my crew!" He shouted from above. "That way you won't have to go on that little boat."

You looked up, and the air around you seemed unreachable, forbidding you to have it as you lost yourself in that smile, so bright as it melted into the setting sun.

It wasn't like you to trust so quickly. It wasn't like you to wander around with your eyes closed, without trying to figure out other people's intentions. But nothing in his gaze, in their gazes, showed you any hostility or malice. That young man who stood above everyone else as their captain had a calming aura. As if everyone would be fine by his side. As if even the greatest dangers could not disturb them with him by their side.

You knew you could have refused that day. Sailed alone until you found another island. But wherever you went, you would carry the danger with you.

And along with them, you discovered that the danger was represented by their captain.

On your first day after agreeing to join, everyone introduced themselves to you. The doctor was called Chopper, a cute blue-nosed reindeer who loved telling you medical facts, eating cotton candy, and hated the heat. He knew a lot about medicinal herbs and had an incredible dream.

The beautiful black-haired woman was Nico Robin, wanted by the World Government for being the only survivor of Ohara. She was an archaeologist and her knowledge of everything dazzled you. They told you that they had defied the World Government to save her life, and your heart beat faster.

If they knew that CP0 was after you, would they fight for you? Could you be that important to them?

The navigator, Nami, had been part of the crew from the beginning. She liked to buy pretty clothes and treasures. But what fascinated you most was her knowledge of the weather, her ability to anticipate the sea. You didn't need to announce the whispers of those waters if she could interpret them.

The long-nosed guy, Usopp, served as a sniper. His weapon confused you, forcing you to shut your mouth when you saw him use it. He never missed a single shot, always hitting the target. Nami and Robin would bet, and the short-haired girl always won because she trusted him.

The green-haired man was Roronoa Zoro, who had earned a reputation as a pirate hunter. He was serious and slept a lot, but when he laughed, he laughed heartily. He also had a strange obsession with annoying the blond man. The cook with the weird phrases and compliments, Sanji. His meals were a delicacy, and he had taken the time to ask you what your favourite was so he could make it and make you smile.

The man who only wore swimming trunks was the ship's carpenter, Franky. He had built the Sunny Go, and you considered it a work of art. You complimented the aquarium, and the area would possibly become your favourite.

And the captain, Monkey D. Luffy. That boy with his silly rubber devil fruit that made you smile. He was cheerful, playful, and funny. If everyone was here, he must be someone trustworthy.

Everything about him caught your attention.

As the days passed, you allowed yourself to feel comfortable around them. Perhaps this wasn't what your grandmother would have preferred, but if these people were enemies of the world government, then there was no safer place for you and your true identity.

No one could find a faceless girl with forbidden abilities, let alone imagine that she was now a pirate.

You told them what you could about yourself. Saying your name or talking about where you were born was not a challenge. These people did not judge you or pry into your past, not if it did not directly affect them. You discovered that they tolerated being mocked, but they did not tolerate anyone talking to or touching their friends. It was a silent respect for one another, a fondness that went beyond understanding. They were friends, they were where they needed to be. Where they belonged.

And just as everyone had their role in the crew, you couldn't really find yours.

They didn't force you to learn how to fight like an expert, but they wanted to teach you the basics so you could defend yourself.

You couldn't reveal the truth about your devil fruit. You had only mentioned that you had one, but you didn't know its powers. You had never used it to attack, as you had never been forced or needed to do so. You had never seen what it limited you to and what it promised you. With the "Hito Hito no Mi, model: Naia", you could only hear fish and sea creatures. And there was something else. Something you had discovered that embraced you in your darkest moments.

The addition of Brook —a skeleton who played various instruments and sang, which almost gave you a heart attack when you saw him— helped a lot to maintain a façade. His devil fruit had worked after he died. Everyone assumed that yours would awaken when the time was right.

Living day to day, joke after joke, disaster after disaster, was relaxing you.

You played with water pistols with everyone, shared clothes with Nami and Robin (and at night you spoiled each other with face masks and massages), you laughed at Sanji and Zoro's fights, rejected the cook's attempts to take you on a date, played guessing games about what was inside Chopper's laboratory tubes to make him smile, gave Brook ideas for songs while you drank tea together, joined in Franky and Usopp's shooting competitions, betting on who would hit the target. Always trusting the sniper, winning berries that you shared with Nami.

Luffy taught you your little training sessions to learn how to defend yourself. More than once he found you staring at him blankly, thinking you didn't understand how to throw a good punch, when in reality you were just mesmerised. Enchanted by his joy. By his smile. By his disposition. By his beauty.

"You have to bring one arm back and then push with the other! Like this!" He said, frowning in concentration.

Nami and Robin watched them, both leaning against the railing on the upper floor, outside the room the three of you shared.

"Luffy always gets like this when he decides to take on a pupil..." Sighed the navigator. "Luffy, Y/N isn't a kung fu dugong!"

The rubber boy looked at you.

"You're not going to make it?" He lamented, lowering his arms. "Zoro! Lend her one of your katanas!"

"No way." Muttered the swordsman without opening his eyes, trying to sleep.

Preparing your mind and body to improve your defence, those weak blows you used to deliver, was something you never imagined you would have to do when you lived in your village. Keeping up with your captain and the crew's cook was torture. Kicks to the head, hips, legs. Punches to the chin, stomach, nose. They were trying to teach you something you could use in a complex situation, if you didn't have time to hide. Which seemed silly to you.

Luffy's dream was to become the pirate king.

A noble dream. A dream for the brave.

He talked to you about freedom, about how the freest man in the world would be the one who became the pirate king, and you listened to him. He would sit next to you after training, when Sanji left them alone to prepare a snack at sunset. The rubber boy talked about everything and nothing. The words flowed from him as if from an inexhaustible source.

In a short time, you got to know his older brother, Ace, who, impressively, was the commander of Whitebeard's second division. A certain Dadan who raised them both alongside some mountain bandits. A young woman named Makino who always brought them clothes and taught them manners. His grandfather Garp, who served as a vice admiral in the marine and always wanted to force him to join. The yonko Shanks, who was the original owner of his straw hat, with whom he had a mission to return it when he surpassed him. And his brother Sabo, who died as a child and whom he missed madly.

Luffy talked and talked, filling your silences, smiling at you when you said something. Patiently waiting for you to talk about yourself. Eagerly waiting for you to open up. For your freedom by his side. Because that was what he wanted most for his friends. For them to be free.

But what chance of freedom could he give them if he was suffering so much?

His reality hit him like cold water. He was there, and yet he wasn't.

His world was falling apart.

He had lost them all in Sabaody. He believed he was strong, he believed he could overcome anything with enough courage, with enough confidence. If he had them by his side, he could overcome anything that came his way. He would fight for his dream, for the dreams of his friends, for the dreams of the people he met along the way.

He would do everything possible to put a smile on their faces.

So why were they determined to take his smile away? Why did they make them disappear before his eyes? Why did they let him smile broadly when he saved his brother, only to force him to hold him in his arms as he whispered his last words? Why did they have to kill Ace? Why?

Luffy was devastated. Those who were present when he awoke heard his cries of agony in the jungle. His pleas for Ace. His questions about his whereabouts.

He banged his body against the trees. His head against the rocks. He cried uncontrollably, asking, begging, pleading. A soft "thank you for loving me" repeated over and over in his mind, breaking him as he hugged himself.

It was Jinbe who pulled him out of the constant spiral his thoughts were caught up in. The doubts that gnawed at him were stagnating. Luffy wanted to be strong. He wanted to be strong enough not to lose anyone else. He wanted to be strong enough to carry his brother's will with him so that one day he could look up at the sky and smile at him, showing him that he had succeeded. He had become the king of pirates.

The news of Whitebeard's and his commander's deaths spread around the world. It received positive reactions from those who feared them and had been harmed by them. Fear spread throughout the territories that had been protected by this powerful crew. But those who suffered the most were the small family who had raised and watched these brothers grow up in Foosha.

Holding the newspaper in your hands, you read and reread the news. Just like everyone else in the crew, you wanted to be by his side. You could feel where he was. The sea whispered it to you, and you were impulsive. You never measured your actions. You never said enough to yourself. So you stole a small boat on that desolate island where you had ended up after their separation in Sabaody.

You let the sea guide you without a log pose, leading you to your captain. After a few days, you ignored the new newspaper announcing that Luffy had returned to the scene of the tragedy. Two years. You would all be reunited in two years. But you couldn't not go to his side.

You wanted to give him something to hold on to. Something that would give him calm and strength while everyone waited for their reunion.

The sea beasts cleared your path and escorted you somewhere. It took you three days to reach a jungle island. You got off your boat, nervously smoothing your white shirt. You trusted the sea. It wouldn't be wrong. But if Luffy was in this place, how would you get to him without being killed by one of those beasts growling in the distance? Sanji had taught you a few kicks, and your captain a few punches, but you were still weak.

This island was covered in vegetation. The trees stood proudly, as tall as if they were competing with each other to be the first to reach the sunlight. The plants with strange leaves were striking, to the point that something in your mind told you not to touch them. And in the distance, threatening to erupt, you could see three volcanoes.

You entered the jungle, startled by the sound of quick, heavy footsteps running towards you. You looked to your side and your scream echoed through the trees.

A larger-than-normal tiger was approaching you, baring fangs as long as your arm. You froze in fear, falling to the grass as you closed your eyes when it lunged to bite.

"Young lady? I don't know how you got here, but this is no place for beautiful girls."

You opened your eyes when death did not come, and instead there was an elderly man adjusting his glasses in front of you, smiling sideways. The tiger lay between you both, unconscious.

"Old man Rayleigh! Where are you?"

The speed with which you stood up impressed the man in front of you, whose name was Rayleigh. Rayleigh? You looked at him again. He closed his eyes, a gentle smile on his face, crossing his arms. You had read about him. You had read everything about the pirate king and his crew.

"Huh? Y/N?" You looked behind the dark king and there he was. Your captain, completely bandaged, looking at you in surprise. "Y/N!"

His movements were, all in all, normal. He didn't use his powers as he ran towards you and wrapped you in his arms. He seemed to be careful with his body, and he certainly needed to be.

"What are you doing here? How did you get here? How are the others? We were supposed to meet in two years!" His excited voice as he pulled your body close to his using what little strength he had devastated you.

You hugged him back, careful not to disturb any areas where the injury was more severe. You felt a slight tremor in his body as he asked a thousand questions, not giving you time to answer.

Rayleigh watched the two of you thoughtfully, Jinbe joining him at his side, having felt a sudden calling.

"I came by boat." You whispered.

"The little boat? That's dangerous." Said Luffy.

"Young lady, you crossed the Calm Belt and overcame all those sea beasts in a simple boat? You must be very strong." Rayleigh inquired.

"It's not that." Jinbe wanted to say, but the words reached no one but you in your mind.

Your eyes quickly found him, and he smiled at you.

"Oi, Y/N, Y/N, are you going to stay?" Luffy asked with a huge smile, capturing your full attention.

"No. I'd be interrupting whatever is going on here."

"You need to train, you're still weak." He teased.

"I'm not!" You complained.

But you were. The right-hand man of the Pirate King and the first son of the sea smiled amusedly. One, knowing the whole story. And the other, having grown up with a legend.

The sun and the sea belonged to each other. And the sun and the sea were unknowingly facing each other.

"If you don't mind, I have a proposal for you, miss Y/N." Said the gyojin.

Luffy and you stopped arguing and looked at him.

"I would like to train you in gyojin karate."

"Gyojin karate? I'm bad with my fists." You muttered, embarrassed.

"That would be great, Jinbe!" Said Luffy, picking his nose. "But doesn't it only work with gyojin? Will she turn into a mermaid?"

"She'll make it work better than anyone else." Said Rayleigh, walking towards a campfire. "I'll give you a month to talk and for Luffy to recover. Then you'll leave with Jinbe. Is that alright with both of you?"

Luffy nodded, dragging you by the hand towards the campfire.

In a month, he and you grew closer. You discovered all kinds of beetles, a hobby of his that you loved. You made them fight, betting on which one would win, groaning in frustration when you lost. You could never beat him when he had the advantage of knowledge over you.

You fought over the food Rayleigh hunted, receiving teasing from the adult who quickly grew fond of you. In his eyes, you were a sweet girl who needed to bring out that hidden strength. Jinbe only scolded Luffy when he bit your hand before you could take some meat.

It caught your attention how in the mornings your captain was a cheerful boy, giving a huge smile to anyone, but at night he would break down. You slept separately. Rayleigh used to cover him with his cape, and Jinbe covered you with his. But when no one was looking, when they went to the island's shore to talk in private, Luffy would move.

He sought refuge in your arms. He didn't ask for permission. He didn't ask questions. He didn't speak. All you felt were his bandaged arms wrapped around your waist and his face against your chest. If tears wet your shirt and silent sobs shook his body, you said nothing. You stroked his hair silently until he fell asleep, and only after making sure he was, did you sleep yourself.

It was the morning after a nightmare woke him up that you made your decision.

You had done this three or four times in your life. You weren't sure you could do it, but that was the only reason you had visited Rusukaina.

On the shore, you took off your sandals and put your feet in the water. The weakness of seawater, which must bother all users of the devil's fruit, never bothered you. When they said it was an anomaly, this was why.

You stretched your hand out over the water and it rose just ten centimetres. You clenched it into a fist and opened it again. Fifteen centimetres. You closed it again and the water fell, splashing as it formed a puddle. A puddle in the sea. The water was mirrored, confirming your success.

"How can you be there if you ate a devil fruit?"

You looked up, frightened.

Luffy looked at you confused, his head tilted to one side and his lips pursed.

"You didn't eat one then?"

"Luffy..."

"I saw you lift the water."

"It must have been your imagination." You said, smiling nervously.

"No. Earlier on the Sunny Go, I saw you attract the fish. I thought it was Camie, but Camie doesn't eat her friends."

You remained silent.

"It must be great to be able to swim with a devil fruit!" He laughed as he approached you. "What were you doing with the water? Something like fium and splash!"

You scratched the back of your neck while the bandaged boy moved his hands in exaggerated movements. That was just how he was. And you were becoming more attached to him than usual. The way he explained things with the sounds they made made you smile.

"If I tell you, it will be a secret between us."

"Are you going to show me your treasure?" He asked, his eyes sparkling.

"Something like that."

You took his hand, pulling him close to you. You both looked out at the puddle in the sea, so much like a mirror.

With the end of the month and the promise to meet again in two years, you parted ways. The truth about your devil fruit was kept by your captain, who smiled happily at learning more about you. Happy at how little by little you were opening up to them. To him.

He begged you for different tricks with water, bursting into laughter when the sea water weakened him. He understood why Jinbe had to be the one to train you, eager to know how strong you would be in two years. He was saddened when, at night, he no longer had your warmth by his side and your caresses on his hair to soothe his pain and trauma.

But he took refuge in your gift.

That puddle you had created in the sea was trapped in a seashell. You had taught him how to take the enchanted water out and put it back in, with no limit on its use.

He believed it was the best thing in the world after his hat, his brothers, and his crew.

His lonely nights were filled with laughter by the sea. Laughter that had previously only existed in his memories, but which he could now hear and see. The puddle formed mirages, reflecting his memories.

He saw Ace. He saw Sabo. He saw the three of them running through Mount Colubo. Hunting, playing, fighting. He cried at everything he witnessed. Just hearing his brothers being happy, Sabo counting the points in their training sessions, Ace teasing him for being weak, his taunts at seeing his older brother embarrassed when receiving compliments from Makino. It all made his heart ache.

The two years passed more quickly than the crew had expected. The strength they had all gained, their new skills and their new appearances were something to be appreciated.

Your training with Jinbe on a remote island in order to hide your identity had been laborious. You were good at gyojin karate. Your devil fruit responded to you with ease now. You could defend yourself and attack without relying on others, but the adult had told you that you still had a long way to go. The Hito Hito no Mi would not stop there. You still had to awaken it. You still had to learn more with it, without limiting yourself. You could do anything you could imagine with enough determination.

You smiled amusedly when you saw Nami sitting at the bar, drinking alone. You approached her from behind, hugging her and whispering in her ear.

"Are you free tonight?"

The woman, now with long hair, shuddered when she recognised the voice and turned around with a smile.

"Y/N!" Her arms wrapped around you in a big hug. "It's been so long! You look amazing!"

"You look beautiful, Nami." You said, sitting down next to her with a smile.

"Ladies, would you like me to buy you a drink?"

You both turned towards the voice with disinterest, your expressions instantly changing when you recognised it. Usopp was smiling, looking more confident than ever. Nami and you rushed to hug him, starting to talk about everything the three of you had done in those two years. You talked a little about your training, saying that you were now good at karate, proud of your attacks.

As the minutes passed, you met up with the others again.

The Sunny Go was still in the same place you left it, without a single scratch. Seeing most of the crew filled your heart with joy. Those people who had welcomed you with open arms two years ago were finally in front of you again.

Franky whistled and complimented the beautiful women in front of him. His appearance had changed a lot since the past, but he was approached by Usopp, who looked at him excitedly and asked all sorts of questions. Chopper, wearing a new hat and looking cuter than ever, jumped around and hugged Robin excitedly. He had missed everyone dearly. Robin, more beautiful than ever with her long hair, talked about her days with the Revolutionary Army.

Everyone looked healthy, but above all, they looked happy. Happy to be back where they belonged.

But someone was missing.

And just thinking about seeing him again made your heart race wildly inside your chest, wanting to escape.

"I can't wait to see how much Luffy has changed since last time!" Usopp exclaimed with a smile from ear to ear. "I'm so excited to see him!"

"Me too." Said Robin.

You nodded silently, smiling fondly. When the assumption was made that he might have gotten himself into trouble, Chopper offered to go find the three remaining members. The moment the little one left, an irreplaceable presence fell from above.

Brook had left behind his life as a world-renowned musician to return to his beloved friends. They all welcomed him with smiles.

"And I thought you couldn't get any more beautiful…" Commented the skeleton, looking at the three women. "Well… Two years have passed."

He sat down on a barrel and a few strings of his guitar resonated in the air.

"Would you all be so kind and show me your panties?"

"No way!"

Nami kicked him away, while Robin and you laughed.

"Oi! Guys!"

You looked up just as his voice reached your ears. Your big smile matched those of the others, but the sparkle in your eyes hid the longing in your heart, those feelings that had blossomed when you spent a month together, completely alone, sleeping in each other's arms every night. Those feelings you tried to fight, repeating in your mind like a mantra that they would pass if you didn't see him, breaking down when you dreamed of his smile or when you thought of his reaction to seeing you again.

You stayed behind the others with a sudden blush on your cheeks.

You had never seen him without his multiple bandages. And now there he was, stepping onto the deck of the Sunny Go while greeting everyone, wearing an open red shirt that revealed that huge scar.

Luffy had gained muscle. He looked stronger. More confident. And yet, you could see that he was the same as always, that his strength and confidence were centred on the people around him.

The rubber boy looked for you, smiling when he saw you.

Neither of you spoke, at least not out loud, pretending that nothing had happened between you.

The journey to Fishman Island had been quite an adventure. Seeing the underwater world left you speechless. Holding onto the railing, you admired the different schools of fish that surrounded the ship from time to time, circling twice before swimming away. You wanted to reach out and feel them against your skin, but that would have exposed you. The sea water did not weaken you, and the crew knew you had an “unused” devil fruit.

"I think they're greeting you." You looked to your side, to that warm presence.

Luffy was looking at a school of pink fish that had come up to your face to look at you from the other side of the bubble.

"Yes?" You said, amused.

"We could eat them."

"Don't even think about it." You scolded him.

"But you're not a mermaid!"

"But they talk to me. They're friends."

"Friends aren't for eating." He muttered, pressing his lips together.

You giggled admiringly at the little pout he made as his stomach growled. That soft sound from you disturbed the sea animals around the Sunny Go, who were happily swirling around.

"Are there always so many fish? How cool!" Said Usopp, standing next to you.

You snuggled up to Luffy a little, pretending not to know anything. Luffy moved his mouth into a pout to one side, also pretending not to know.

"You're bad at lying." You whispered.

"I'm not." He whispered back.

You laughed, leaving him with Usopp.

Fishman Island was a dreamlike place. Your devil fruit seemed comfortable there, and the mermaids and gyojin looked at you excitedly.

The powerful goddess of the sea, Naia, stood before them.

The legend told for generations spoke of how she was always accompanied by a man. A clingy man who never left her side. A playful man who always made her laugh. A selfish man who never refrained from looking at her with love and wanting her for himself.

That man was the sun god.

They said that when they separated, the goddess cried so much that her tears disturbed the sea. The catastrophe caused by the forced breakup of their love made her sleep for centuries. And at some point, when the sun rose again, she would wake up.

Mothers and children never stopped talking about how they, the inhabitants of Fishman Island, would be the first to recognise her. After all, Naia was a kind of mother to that race.

Everyone wondered who the man accompanying you would be.

Nami and Robin watched amused as the little mermen, mermaids, and gyojin children clung to you shamelessly, asking you to play with them. You had no idea how to refuse. Throughout the banquet, you were here and there, performing water tricks hidden from your crew, entertaining the little ones who were excited by the slightest thing you did.

Jinbe, happy to see your progress and how you were doing in the water, smiled as he drank his sake.

Everyone was having a good time. Everyone except for a rubber boy who occasionally remembered that you weren't by his side and, capriciously, pouted. He calmed down again when they gave him meat, enjoying the party.

You sat down next to him, exhausted. You didn't know what other tricks to do for those children. You took a sip of sake, on the verge of spitting it out when another gyojin child came up in front of you.

"Oi, kids, she's mine for now." Said Luffy, frowning and taking a bite of meat.

You blushed, trying to drink the sake faster. Robin raised an eyebrow at his words, giving the orange-haired woman beside her an inquiring look. They both knew how possessive the rubber boy could be. His hat and his friends were equally important to him. But that phrase… That tone was different.

The impact his words could have on one's life or day was foreign to Luffy. Noticing that what he unconsciously said brought a revolution was not something he cared about.

He continued as if nothing had happened.

And so, his normal behaviour over the following days came as no surprise to anyone. The navigator and the archaeologist watched you both closely, knowing that there was something else going on between you.

Even though your captain sat next to you at breakfast, fighting with you over the portions you hadn't eaten yet (something he would do with anyone), there was something strange about it. The natural way you would slap his hand and growl at him. The way he would bite your hand hard, making you cry out. They did not remember the two of you being so close before Sabaody, two years ago.

You had not had time to develop such a friendship.

And it did not seem like a simple friendship.

One night, when you hadn't yet come to your room to sleep with them, they talked.

"Seriously, if those two are a couple and they didn't tell us..." Whispered Nami.

"I don't think they are. In fact, I think that's where they're headed." Robin refuted.

"If Luffy feels something for her, he won't notice." Growled the navigator, burying her face in her pillow.

The black-haired woman smiled as she sat on her own bed.

"We just have to give them time." She murmured.

"We have to keep an eye on them."

"Without interfering." Robin concluded.

Island after island you visited in the future, day after day that passed, both women decided to give you privacy, paying attention only during dinners. As if reviewing the day, looking for some sign of progress.

It was amid the heat of the flames and the volcanoes about to erupt in Punk Hazard that Robin noticed the first detail: Luffy talked to you like he didn't talk to anyone else.

The heat was unbearable, you could barely stand that kind of hell, ignoring that your captain now looked like a centaur and shouted excitedly that he liked having four legs. If you looked closer, you noticed that the ones at the back, which had just been attached, were barely working. They flew through the air because Luffy's legs did all the work.

You wiped the sweat from your forehead for the fourth time when the smiling boy approached you. He leaned over to you, whispering in your ear.

"Why don't you make something like a sphere of water and hydrate yourself?"

"I can't. There's no source of water nearby." You whispered.

"Your sweat."

You parted your lips, not believing what he had said. Use your sweat? And why was he looking at you like that? With his brow slightly furrowed, as if he had said the most serious, intelligent and obvious thing in the world. You smiled amusedly, patting his shoulder.

Robin noticed it again when all of you arrived on the other side of the lake, where the island became wintry. The small group was shivering from the cold, freezing after falling into the water. The archaeologist sighed as she felt her body warm up, turning to check that everyone was okay, raising her eyebrows briefly in surprise.

Her captain was wrapping a coat around your body, as if it were a practised movement. Neither of you knew that Luffy had actually watched others do this and wanted to try it himself.

Because that's what people who loved someone else did, right? Give them a coat so they would never be cold. Rayleigh had done it for him when they trained together. Hancock had lent him hers to get to Sabaody.

In his mind, if you cared about someone, you should give them a coat.

Although he knew very well why he only wanted to give it to you.

During the banquet, when you walked away to comfort Chopper, who was frightened by Trafalgar Law, the two women sat down to exchange information. Nami hadn't seen anything unusual, so she was surprised to hear about her captain's actions towards you.

The navigator became frustrated when she couldn't stay in Dressrosa, feeling like she was missing out on everything. Robin promised to keep her informed when they met again.

And so she did.

You had signed up with him for the coliseum tournament, wearing one of the many gladiator outfits. Luckily, you had been placed in a different block from Luffy, saving you from a difficult fate. It wasn't time for your competition yet when Zoro came looking for the two of you.

The urgency with which you began searching for the exit made you anxious. Outside, it would soon be chaos, but the thought of Luffy abandoning one of the few physical reminders he had of his brother made your heart ache. You wished you could get it for him, but he had forbidden you to do so. If he left, you would go with him.

You stopped in your tracks for a few seconds when you realised there was nowhere to escape. Encountering Bartolomeo and Bellamy only confirmed your suspicions. It was all a trap and you were trapped in the coliseum, only he knew the way out.

"Luffy senpai, what will happen to the Mera Mera no Mi?" Asked the green-haired man, staring at the wall.

"The lives of my comrades are more important."

You bit your lower lip. A physical reminder of Ace that he couldn't have. A physical reminder that would give him a glimpse of his time in the world, something that would show him that he was there. You could stay in the coliseum without any problems. Win it, take it away in its chest, keep it safe, and run away with it until you could give it to Luffy...

Luffy tugged on your little finger without looking at you to pull you out of your thoughts. Bartolomeo talked non-stop, still facing the wall, about how he had always planned to win it for him. Because he admired him. He admired the whole crew and would do anything for any of you, but especially for the young man next to you.

You turned to look back when approaching footsteps interrupted you. You frowned at the man. He was dressed like a noble would be. And he wore a custom hat.

"I won't let you keep the Mera Mera no Mi, Straw Hat Luffy."

"What are you talking about, idiot?" Bartolomeo growled, walking towards him. "I don't know who you think you are, but to you he is Luffy senpai. Respect him!"

The green-haired man continued talking, trying to intimidate him, but that man was not fazed. He was calm, not taking his eyes off the boy you loved. You began to frown.

"I've known all that for a long time." Said the man, pushing Bartolomeo away.

You stood in front of Luffy, trying to protect him when he started to approach. Your right hand took a familiar gyojin karate stance, and something in the blond's gaze seemed to sparkle in recognition. The rubber boy stood in front of you again, hating that you were protecting him.

But what happened next was something neither of you were prepared for. You stepped aside, your lower lip trembling, unable to interrupt them.

You could only watch your rubber boy crying as he hugged him. His sobs were loud, letting out more than he had allowed himself to do at your side. He apologised. He repeated to the blond that everything was fine and that he shouldn't apologise. The older one thanked him for staying alive.

And you were broken, thanking whoever for this joy in his life.

Living two years of his life believing that he had lost his two older brothers must have been the greatest torture.

In Zou, despite the situation they had to face in Big Mom's territory, Nami and Robin made a space for themselves.

"So, his brother is the second in command of the Revolutionary Army?" The navigator whispered.

Robin nodded. She had kept that secret for two years.

"Sabo noticed something too."

"What?"

"I don't know what happened between the three of them, but when Luffy and Y/N were sleeping after the battle..."

"Separately?" Whispered Nami.

"Yes and no. Luffy was in bed and Y/N was holding his hand, sitting on the floor."

The navigator nodded thoughtfully, waiting for her to continue.

"Sabo said he liked his little brother's girlfriend."

Nami's eyes widened in surprise.

As if Zoro and Franky hadn't heard the revolutionary's conversation too. Now you had two more pairs of eyes watching you from afar.

As night fell, you yawned relaxed in bed. You couldn't be at peace for long. Your stomach churned at the thought of Luffy going to the territory of a yonko without you. It calmed you to think that the friends he was going with were good and trustworthy. Bringing Sanji back was essential.

You couldn't imagine your days without him in the kitchen, occupying every corner and filling the room with his twists and compliments.

The blanket was lifted carefully and arms wrapped around your waist.

"Luffy?" You whispered.

"Mhm."

Your heart skipped a beat. Should you put one hand on his hair and the other on his back like you used to? Should you tell him to go back to his room? To his bed? And not feel his warmth. Not feel his heartbeat. Not comfort him in silence. Since you saw each other again, you hadn't slept together.

"Y/N?" He whispered, resting his chin on your chest. "You must stroke my hair."

His demanding tone, trapped in a pout, made you giggle. He relaxed under your touch. He hadn’t wanted to bother you when you saw each other again, but he had missed this. Your fingers in his hair, the gentle circles traced on his back, waking up without you leaving him.

You had stolen his heart in a month, and he wasn't doing anything about it.

"Sorry." He murmured, his cheek resting on your chest. His tone didn't seem to regret whatever he was regretting in the slightest.

"Why are you apologising?"

"I gave Sabo your gift. The seashell." He whispered without looking at you. "I thought he would need it more than I did."

You smiled, resisting the urge to kiss his forehead.

"It’s okay. I can make you another one if you want."

Luffy didn't say what he was thinking. He knew you would make those magical pools for him if he asked, without needing a seashell. Next time, he wanted to show you everything he had to show.

But that would have to wait.

Wano was unlike anything you had ever seen before.

The suffering of the people in this village made your blood boil. Poor people had nothing to eat, and their water was contaminated. Seeing them live dehydrated, with sick children and rumbling stomachs, pushed you to your limit.

Hiding your identity would be difficult in this country. They needed you, so you allowed yourself to do something in secret. The gentle touch of your hands began to purify the water of the river of Ebisu, the pollution seeping into your bones. You didn't mention it to anyone, it was an experiment. You wanted to know your limits.

The flowing water was clean, perfect for the children, elderly and adults in the area. It was the little you could do while enduring the pollution. You had to find a way to expel it from within you without causing havoc. Throwing it away and contaminating plants, the land for future crops or the sea itself disgusted you.

But maybe, enduring it was your mistake.

Perhaps if you had gone against your principles and stopped trusting Luffy's words, those that promised to save this country, you would not be suffering now. But it was impossible for you not to do so. It was impossible for you not to trust him. You knew he would succeed, because he never lied. He worked hard for what he set out to do.

He was like sunshine in the lives of those who knew him.

You tolerated the contamination in your bones during the battles in Onigashima, but weeks had passed since you received it and your body began to take its toll at the worst possible moment.

You could only hear Nami and Usopp's screams when you stood in front of them. The three of you had a little girl with you. Otama was Luffy's adoration, and putting her in danger was something you would never forgive yourself for. The powers of your devil fruit did not respond in time to counter the threatening attack of the yonko Big Mom, an attack that was aimed at your friends.

The "heavenly fire" struck your body, its impact propelling it and slamming it against the walls. That homie, Prometheus, pushed your body wall to wall, breaking them one by one as if he were on a mission. As if he wanted to kill someone from the straw hat crew.

You spat out a little blood when the fire became more intense. It was burning your torso and arms. If you moved your fingers slightly, you didn't have the strength to call on the sea water, nor to send Prometheus backwards.

A song reached your ears. You opened your eyes slightly, meeting the gaze of the homie, so threatening and sinister. You smiled slightly, knowing you would be safe.

That soft intonation, almost as if a mother were tucking her beloved child into bed, could not be heard by anyone else present on Onigashima. Naia's song was exclusively for you, only heard on special occasions. The first time you heard it, you consumed her fruit. And this time, everything was a mystery.

"Y/N!"

Was that cry from Usopp or Nami? You couldn't see them. You could only watch Prometheus rage at your smile.

A gasp escaped from within you as the force of his attack tripled. The other homies joined him, Hera and Napoleon, carrying you through the hard rock wall.

A beep stunned your ears.

Your body fell from a height impossible to calculate. The abyss drew you into its darkness, and you could do nothing but embrace it.

The severity of your injuries left you with no strength to scream. To call for help. To call out to anyone.

Luffy, your friends, the people of Wano who trusted you. Was this your end? Was this Naia's will, for which you had been expelled from your native island? Did you really have to die like this?

The water engulfed you as you hit hard, sinking you to the depths.

"Announcement to all of Onigashima!"

Bao Huang's shout echoed in every corner. The fighting didn't stop, but everyone was paying attention. Something had changed.

"A member of the straw hat crew has been defeated!"

Usopp growled, wiping away his tears in despair. He felt useless. He should have taken the attack, not let you cover him. He couldn't do anything because of the fear. He couldn't do anything to stop you from falling. Nami hugged Otama, sobbing hard, apologising to Luffy over and over again even though her captain wasn't in front of them. How could she explain to him that she let the woman he loved be killed right in front of his eyes? Everyone's friend? Another straw hat.

"Y/N has been killed by Big Mom-sama!"

At different points on Onigashima, the crew was moved. Different reactions crossed their faces. Anger, sadness, regret. Some, like Chopper and Brook, shouted through their tears that you couldn't have died. That Bao Huang was lying. Others, like Zoro and Sanji, silently continued to fight. You were just as stubborn as Luffy, whatever had happened to you, you wouldn't stop there. Jinbe stopped dead in his tracks as Robin hugged Chopper, looking for something to hold on to before her thoughts consumed her mind.

Luffy's heart scratched at his chest as he was forced to hold back.

He wanted to run to the edge of the terrace. He wanted to look down. He felt the need for his longing to become one with the sea despite his inability to swim. And he felt you. The soft beating of your heart, how weak your pulse was, and how calm the waves were. Could you drown if you were the sea itself? Could your wounds condemn your soul to an irreversible fate?

He clenched his fists, unflinching. One mistake, one moment of weakness, would end everyone's life.

For some strange reason, the news from Bao Huang did not affect him like it did the others, who were crying incessantly.

Luffy trusted you, even when his observation haki could no longer sense your heartbeat.

You had spent a month together. You had slept together. You had shared and fought over food. You had cared for his mind and his nightmares without him asking. You had listened to his whole story and his dreams, while opening up about yours only to him. You had been one of the reasons he was standing there today, fighting.

He trusted you. He trusted that you would be okay.

If your origin was the sea, then you would return to it. And the sea would do its thing to bring you back.

Because you belonged by his side, in a silent agreement that neither of you would break.

In the depths, hundreds of fish and sea creatures surrounded your lifeless body, giving you space, shy to be near their goddess. Your outstretched arms allowed them to see you. The burns on your torso and neck continued to bleed, despite the water's attempts to soothe them. The pollution tolerated for weeks drained away little by little, oozing from your body until it gathered into a sphere.

"Nika, you've got yours!"

"Oi, Luffy! That's my food!"

The voices, clearly reproachful, echoed among those present under the sea.

"Naia! Come jump!"

"Y/N, let's play something!"

A heartbeat.

"Nika, stop moving, you're annoying."

"Luffy, I can't sleep if you move around so much. Go to your bed."

Another heartbeat.

"Naia is mean."

"Y/N is mean, she wouldn't let me eat her food."

Fire ravaged Onigashima. Everyone began to gather in one place, desperately searching for a solution. The captain of the straw hat pirates continued to fight Kaido, filling the atmosphere with anxiety. No member of the alliance wanted to hear any more bad news.

"Even if Straw Hat-ya wins, we'll all die in the fire." Said the captain of the heart pirates. "We have to find a way to put it out."

Nami took a few steps towards the centre, standing next to Marco as some surfaces began to give way.

The sudden tremor in the floor frightened everyone. Several fell to the floor, breathing heavily amid the flames and two powerful presences fighting on the terrace. The navigator held Otama tightly in front of her.

"An earthquake? How is that possible up here?" She said, confused.

"This isn't normal. Something's happening." Robin drew some minks towards the centre with her powers.

"Is Straw Hat provoking it?" Kid growled.

"No..." Law said. "He's still fighting Kaido."

"I sense another presence-yoi."

"It’s not Luffy or Kaido? What’s going on? Robin!" Chopper hugged the archaeologist, crying.

"There’s something in the sea!"

The scream of one of the beast pirates alarmed their opponents, with Law being the first to look into the hole you had made in the wall before dying. His crew had been on the Polar Tang at the moment you fell, but according to their reports, it was impossible to reach your body. A blue sphere surrounded you and the sea beasts threatened to attack them. They could have killed his friends, but something was holding them back. The waves battered his submarine, sending it away every time it approached where you were supposed to be.

One by one, they took clumsy steps to look through the hole, at a considerable distance, afraid of falling. Most of the straw hats did not want to see what was left after your death. The pain in their hearts could not be revealed, and their tears could not be shed. Not until it was all over.

The waves crashed into each other with fury, their directions unnatural. Not even the weather in the New World could explain something like that. Nami left Otama next to a sleeping Zoro, holding onto the wall to get a closer look.

"The water is receding." She whispered. "Everyone, stay in the centre!"

"Oi, oi, Nami, the waves can't reach up here, why are you worried?" Asked Usopp.

"Because of that thing that's taking shape."

The metres receded by the sea rose up in a wave. A wave almost two thousand metres high, immovable. And in its centre, there was a figure. A woman created from water, rivalling a giant in size.

"We won't get out of here alive." Cried Usopp.

"Robin-chan, Nami-swan, I'll protect you."

"Sanji! Me too!" Chopper whimpered.

"She looks like..." Law whispered.

"That's Y/N!" Jinbe shouted.

The entire crew's eyes widened before they began screaming and crying.

"Monster!" Usopp exclaimed upon seeing the figure.

"What is that thing, it's scary!" Nami cried.

"Y/N-chan had that kind of power all along?" Sanji shouted, leaning further out of the hole.

"I'm glad she's alive, yohoho!"

"It's a super miracle!" Franky sobbed.

"What a peculiar shape..." Robin murmured thoughtfully. "Do you know anything about it, Jinbe-san?"

The gyojin smiled broadly.

Naia had returned.

"I would recommend everyone stand in the centre and hold each other. Y/N is going to do something."

You cupped the water in your hands. Just as you had practised for two years, you had no reason to be nervous. Your body felt healthy and light as you became the sea itself. The burns would still be there once you broke this form, but now it was enough. Jinbe had trained you relentlessly so that you could achieve his hikishio ipponzeoi.

You prepared your attack and, without hesitation, half the sea was thrown towards Onigashima.

The flood was unprecedented.

The fire was completely extinguished. The devil fruit users weakened. The few gyojin who were there saved everyone from being swept away by the waves. Nami carried Otama, Usopp saved Robin, Sanji held Zoro, Franky grabbed Brook, and Jinbe put Chopper on his shoulder. Everyone in the crew smiled as they looked out to sea, where your figure stood in all its grandeur and splendour. To say they were surprised would be an understatement. They had so much to ask you. Two wanted to apologise for everything you had been through. A certain swordsman would seek you out to train when he woke up and heard the news. The archaeologist wanted to know everything about your devil fruit and its rarity.

You were something that transcended the unnatural.

"Shishishi!"

You looked up at the island's roof. Luffy, in a strange white form, floated in the air, reclining with his arms behind his head. His beautiful pink eyes looked at you fondly. And amid all that radiant happiness, you could see tears threatening to escape.

"Thank you for coming back, Y/N."

The land of Wano made headlines worldwide. The bounty posters were updated. The crew now belonged to a yonko, straw hat Luffy.

It made you happy to see how he was getting closer and closer to fulfilling his dream. And, in turn, how you were now one of the members with the highest bounty.

You held the poster in front of your face, grimacing from time to time as you felt Chopper's hooves on your burns, applying an ointment that he claimed was excellent. You would be left with scars on your neck and chest, but you couldn't dream of leaving that country without a scratch. You didn't regret defending your friends.

Although Nami and Usopp never left your side, the sniper crying and hugging you every time you passed by him, and the navigator offering you berries (something she wouldn't normally do with anyone) and multiple strokes on your hair.

You paid attention to your photo on the poster. It was you, from head to toe, every little detail, every tiny imperfection, but all loved by the sea. The sea goddess you had awakened had been captured and everyone admired her. For some she was terrifying, for others magical.

You smiled dumbly. You couldn't always use such a powerful attack, but being immortalised like this was nice. You traced the numbers with your index finger, curious about the insane sum.

Why was your head suddenly worth 1,000,000,000 berries? You had only died, come back to life, and extinguished the fire on Onigashima. Perhaps you had also purified all the water in Wano, and Trafalgar Law had used his devil fruit to remove the pollution from inside you. But that was not something others could know.

You never got a straight answer to that.

Egghead was about to be a disaster. CP0 was on the island with clear instructions. Your boots echoed on the floor as you stepped aside to wait for Luffy. You were supposed to take him back to Labophase, but he was more interested in facing an old enemy he had encountered again.

You looked up, entranced. His Gear 5 was mind-blowing. Everything he could do with his devil fruit, the ease with which his brain came up with new ideas, it all made you laugh. Not to mention the floor, which now made you bounce.

Vegapunk hurried over to the monitors.

"Have the white and blue warriors appeared yet?" He asked, his eyes shining as he caught sight of Luffy laughing. "Tell me about those transformations. The white one from Straw Hat and the young girl on her wanted poster."

"We don't know, to be honest." Said Nami. "Luffy's is the Gomu Gomu no Mi, but Y/N's is unknown to us."

The scientist pressed his lips together, holding back a smile.

"There is no fruit with that name in the devil fruit encyclopaedia!"

The crew gasped, unable to comprehend.

"What? That's impossible!" Exclaimed the navigator.

"Luffy always says gomu gomu when he attacks." Added Usopp.

"Look how beautiful he is! I'm sure she is too!" Rambled Vegapunk, raising his hands. "It's fate! I didn't expect to meet them like this."

"If you know anything, tell us. Y/N-chan doesn't talk much about herself." Sanji requested.

"What happened to those two?" Franky asked, approaching the screen to look at the two of you.

Luffy was still floating there laughing, and you looked at him with a sparkle in your eyes.

"They look like gods."

The cook choked on his own words, unable to believe it.

"Luffy a god? He's an idiot!" He shouted. "Y/N-chan is a goddess, that's true."

Robin looked at Vegapunk in surprise.

"Are you saying that those appearances we saw are those of gods?"

"Yes." Said the scientist, his expression turning serious. "The warrior of liberation. He who plays the fool and brings smiles to all. The sun god, Nika!"

The few crew members present were surprised. The answers that no one else could give them were in the brain of this man who stared at the screen excitedly. Eager to talk. Eager to educate the world.

"And the goddess he loves, the one capable of punishing everyone for him. The goddess of the sea, Naia."

Nami shook her head, approaching Vegapunk.

"Nika and Naia? I've never heard those names."

"Of course not. Their names were erased from history." The scientist said abruptly. "Nika and Naia were inseparable."

The revealed legend left them speechless. In the end, the archaeologist was right.

It was best not to interfere.

The sun god felt a deep longing for the sea. Seeing it every day made him feel free, and he wanted to reach it more than anything else. Then, one day, he met its goddess. He thought she would help him help. If he could make people laugh, then she could give them freedom.

Naia was closed off, only willing to care for those she loved: the gyojin, the mermaids, the mermen. Opening the doors of her heart to let Nika in went against her principles. He knew how to make her laugh effortlessly with a joke or a silly expression. He fought with her over food, hitting him every time he wanted to eat a fish. He invited her to have fun jumping with his friends. He asked her to do water tricks for him.

Falling in love with each other was natural. Nika always admired her foolishly, his gaze never leaving her. He loved her loudly with his actions. He loved her silently with his words.

Naia always looked up, because he loved to float. He shone in a way that only he could. Her love was protective, ensuring that he never lost his smile. That he never shed a single tear.

For him, she was freedom. And for her, he was.

Someone feared their powers together, the ease with which people became attached to and trusted them, asking them for things they could give them. So, under false pretences, he murdered the sun god.

The two lovers agreed to meet again when destiny required it. When the time came. First, Nika would return, accompanied by a man who shared his ideals of freedom. Then, Naia would notice him. Her living love.

That devil fruit that had eluded the world government for centuries, and that devil fruit that was believed to be non-existent, would wait to be reincarnated.

Nika would choose who would bring a new dawn to the world, and Naia would take into her sweet arms the one who would support him on his journey. A mystical love, a destined love. Unconsciously, their successors would love each other just as they had.

Because their souls resonated. Their souls yearned for each other. Their souls waited.

And that statue that had been looking —alone, hidden from everyone with its arms outstretched— at the sun for centuries, would finally be able to feel his skin under her fingers once again.

© lawfem 2025 | don't copy, steal or feed my work to ai

[moonlitmarginsink]

If Not Fate, Then This

Benn Beckman X Reader Soulmate AU

Ch.1-What Was Pulled From The Water

CH.1 CH.2 CH.3 CH.4 CH.5 CH.6 CH.7 CH.8

I Masterlist

Summary: You're picked up from the wreckage of a destroyed marine ship. An accidental stowaway. First introductions get off to a rough start.

Warnings: Depictions of violence, injury, mentions of starvation and abuse

_______________________________________

The Red Force cut through the water like a blade, sails full and snapping in the wind. The path ahead was clear, course charted and set as the crew milled about doing their own work. It had been a quiet day so far, the ship so far out at sea that not even gulls flew overhead leaving them in a world of peace as waves lapped against the hull of the ship. Shanks and Beckman stood at the railing, conversation light as they discussed their plans of where to head next as the crisp air kept his lulling Captain awake. It wouldn’t be long before the red-haired man would be found in his normal spot for this time of day, taking his afternoon nap in full bask of the high sun.

All in all a quiet day.

That was what set Beckman on edge first as nothing with this group stayed peaceful for long. He stood near the rail, rifle resting against his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. The last ship they had seen had passed three days ago. It had been small, hardly worth the effort with little more than basic provisions aboard coming back from a delivery route. He thought he had heard something earlier off in the distance, a loud roar like a thunder clap in a storm, but nothing seemed to come of it.

Then from high above in the crows nest Yasopp’s voice rang out.

“Ship ahead! Marine flags!”

Heads turned, a sense of excitement building among the crew at the prospect of a fight. Something to break up the monotony that they had fallen into. It was like blood in the water with them, especially when they had gone too long without anything to keep them occupied. Any Marines this far out should be more than capable of putting up at least a decent fight. Even Beckman himself found his pulse quickening at the words.

But that excitement quickly turned into confusion as they approached, plums of smoke becoming more visible as smoke cut through the air.

All Marine ships generally followed the same formations. Practical, predictable, but reliable. That's nothing like what they found here as they got closer. There was no formation. No movement or even cannon fire. No flag flying proudly With the stark symbol of the World Government proudly displayed. Only the wreckage of a single ship.

By the time they drew closer, it became clear the Marine ship was already destroyed. Its hull was split, half-sunk with only the front quarter left even remotely intact, debris scattered across the sea like bones after a storm. What wasn't already burned or splintered was charred and blackened. A number of uniforms floated by in the water, though Beckman didn’t give them too much mind. No chance they were alive. He was instead focused on what little remained. Anything that was potentially salvageable as his eyes scan the wreckage.

Snake let out a long, low whistle.

“Looks like someone got here before us. Seems they really did a number.”

Hongo snorted, gesturing to the scared marks along the sinking hull. “More like the fools didn't know how to properly keep their gunpowder.”

Floating planks, broken masts and torn sails lay in the water around them. Easy picking, even if he wished they had been able to put a bit more effort into getting them.

“Wait,” Lime muttered, leaning further over the railing as he and the rest of the crew joined their captain and first mate. “Do you hear that?”

They strained to hear anything, starting to think that he had only been imagining it, before a faint sound reached their ears.

Shouting. The buzzing of multiple voices overlapping each other, becoming increasingly clear the further they drifted. So it seemed there were survivors after all. Beckman’s gaze sharpened, eyes honing in on movement as they passed the ship into view of more wreckage.

There, on a massive slab of drifting wood, figures were dancing about. Fighting. Three Marines clung desperately to the splintered platform, soaked and exhausted even as they moved about the edge in pursuit of another who seemed to be filtering from one side to another in an attempt to avoid the treading militants. They themself looked a bit more rough for wear, barely steady on their feet as the wood floated rock back and forth.

A fist slammed into one Marine’s jaw. A foot drove into another’s ribs, kicking him away as he attempted to climb aboard. The third tried to grab them, only to get shoved back so hard he didn’t come back up for a few moments.

The crew stared, all previous thoughts of fighting and bloodlust put on hold, now replaced with a sort of amused confusion. Beckman leaned forward slightly, watching with interest. They weren’t just winning, they were calculating. Every movement was efficient. No wasted energy or panic. Just raw, stubborn survival. Then he saw it. Metal flashed in the sunlight.

Cuffs.

Heavy, reinforced Marine restraints locked around the fighter’s wrists. A hindrance of course, but not one they seemed to pay too close attention to as one of the men boarded the float while the figure was occupied on the other side. He saw one of the men board the float with the clear intention of ambushing them only to have the chains of the cuffs wrapped round his own neck the next moment. The figure quickly pivoted using momentum to toss him over their shoulder and back into the ocean with the others.

“They’re cuffed.” Beckman murmured to himself.

That earned a few startled looks, everyone now leaning over the railing to try and get a better look.

“Seriously?” Shanks laughed, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he squinted.

“Then how the hell-“

The question went unanswered as the shouting of the Marines increased, the battle reaching its crescendo. -------------------- “Get them off!” one of the Marines, eyes filled with fury even as his voice spoke with desperation, rough from choking on smoke and saltwater.

It was exhausting running back and forth across the small platform of wood but there was little else you could do. Not when you were stuck in the middle of the ocean. Thinking back it hadn't been the best idea you had ever had for an escape plan, but there was little else to do. Not when they would be rendezvousing with the larger fleet in just a few short hours. Drastic times called for drastic measures. Even if you had died it would still be better than whatever they had planned for you once you were taken into custody. It wouldn’t be painless. You had been assured of that at the very least.

It seemed your remaining captors had grown tired of the game of chicken you played. No longer were they trying to climb aboard, and it was only too late that you realized what their new plan of action was. Instead they leaned, putting their full weight onto one end of the drift. The massive slab tilted slowly under their combined weight, falling to your knees as the wood ground beneath you shifted. You froze trying to decide your next move to keep out of their hands. No doubt they would simply try to drown you if they caught you in the water. An easy feat with their combined strength and your current restrictions.

With a final shove the platform tipped completely. But instead of falling down towards the awaiting hands of the Marines as they had expected, you instead turned and with all the force you could muster ran up the opposite side, using the elevated end to push off and gain as much air as you could, traveling a good dozen feet before splashing into the water.

Waves surged as debris bobbed around you, a maze of potential concussions. You stayed under for as long as you could, kicking your feet and keeping your arms close to your body in an attempt to counter the weight that held them down. You were forced to come up for air, lungs burning. As soon as you broke the surface shouts chased after you and the sound of splashing could be heard quickly approaching.

“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath.

You swam desperately, unevenly. Driven by pure instinct. You didn't look back, only forward as your eyes darted about and then attempted to look for anything that could help you. You were no weak swimmer by any means but the cuffs metal was heavy. It was all you could do to keep your head above water, the salt of which burned your nose and lungs as you unintentionally swallowed mouthful after a wave passed overhead.

There was little left apart from small pieces of driftwood. Nothing as sizable as the small ship you planned to claim for yourself after the explosion. You might have been able to manage on that if not for your unexpected guest getting in the way and allowing the small vessel to be dragged away by the current. They must have been on the far side of the ship, just as you were to have survived the explosion.

A dozen feet away, half-hidden among floating debris, a battered barrel rocked gently on the waves. The kind that the cook would keep in the kitchen to hold spices. Watertight. Just what you needed. You quickly changed course, legs disturbing the water behind you in a flurry of bubbles as you propelled yourself towards the barrel.

You drag yourself up, coughing violently and eyes burning, water soaking your clothes and weighing you down. Every muscle screams in protest. Your arms shake as you cling to the rim before collapsing against the barrel.

Your vision swims, chest burning from all the water you had inhaled, lungs feeling like they’re on fire. Everything hurts, from your ears to ankles. You should probably be more alarmed at the lack of feeling in your toes but can’t muster the energy. The water was cold after all, and it seemed your fingers were inclined to suffer the same fate. But there is no time for respite now.

‘Move!’ you scold yourself, hearing the approaching sound of others in the water. Their splashing was anything but elegant, slapping through the water like bulls in their haste to catch up.

You crawl, slow and painfully up the side of the barrel. The lid is heavy, nearly impossible to open as your nails sink into the seal, barely managing to separate it from the bottom as the shouting grows louder, and half-fall inside. There’s not much left in it thankfully. Just a few oranges that squish under your weight as you curl inward, gasping and throwing up water. It burns as it emerges from both your nose and mouth, collecting in puddles at your knees.

You can still feel the warmth of the sun coming in from the top as a large wave sloshes over the edge. With the last of your strength, you reach up and pull the lid shut.

‘Thunk’

Darkness. Only the sound of your own ragged breathing in the confines of the wooden walls. Your hands shake with adrenaline, the dull thrum of fear coursing through your body fighting to stay on the surface. Not a moment later you hear banging on the outside but find it in yourself to muster the energy to care. Certainly not enough to notice when the voices shout out in surprise, screams quickly cut to silence.

Inside the barrel, everything blurs. Your own little sarcophagus of wood and tar. Passively you recognize that’s what it will be. Nobody friendly passes this far out. The Marines already had plans to kill you and pirates weren’t known for playing passenger ship.

You would float endlessly, no land in sight. Buried at sea. Or maybe a Sea Beast would find you before then, swallowing the barrel whole in a single snap with its razor teeth. Maybe by then you will already be gone, spared the fate of being dissolved in stomach acid.

Darkness presses in from all sides. The air is damp, stale, and heavy with the smell of salt, citrus, and old wood. Every breath feels like work in the stuffy space. You barely notice when the barrel bumps against something.

Then again.

Voices filter through the wood, muffled and distorted, like you’re underwater all over again. You only catch a few words, head swimming and the sound muffled by the well-insulated wood.

“-over there.”

“Watch it! Don’t let it hit the hull.”

A thud, followed by a rattling shake that leaves you keening as your body is jostled about.

The barrel scrapes against something solid and the distinct feeling of bobbing around in the water disappears as gravity is reintroduced.

You flinch weakly, fingers twitching against the inside of the wood, too tired and empty to move. Instead you drift in and out, uncertain of what is real and what isn’t. Hell, maybe you’re already dead for all you know. The Marines would get what they wanted even from their own watery grave.

Sometimes you hear footsteps. Sometimes laughter and shouting. Another time, something metallic clinks nearby. At some point, the barrel is lifted and your world is tilted sideways as your stomach lurches.

You groan softly, the sound barely more than breath, before sinking back into the haze. _______________________________ You’re not sure how long passes.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

Time has no meaning anymore. Only exhaustion. Only the dull ache in your wrists where the cuffs rub raw against your skin. You’re barely aware of anything when light explodes behind your closed eyes. Fresh air rushes in as the lid creaks open.

A shout is what finally draws you from the final dregs of sleep. Not your own. One deeper and full of surprise. It sends adrenaline coursing through your body, sore joints creaking in protest as your muscles second the complaint, trying to stand. The lid is off preventing you from giving yourself a concussion but the surprise and panic only leads you to knock over the barrel.

It's a scramble as you half tumble to the floor. The shouting has stopped only to be replaced by a string of curses as you look up.

A pair of goggles peer back at you, their owner a stout, rotund man that stares as if he’s seen a ghost. The lid remains firmly in his grasp, held in front as if a shield from a monster. It wouldn’t be hard to believe you looked like one. Weeks at sea with only a damp towel thrown your way every once in a while to clean. Even you could smell yourself after the first few days, and your captors only seemed to relish in your miserable state.

It wasn’t blindingly bright, which you were thankful for, but the oil lamps along the wall gave enough light for you to surmise you were in a kitchen of some sort, crates of preserves stacked around and a pot of something that smelled heavenly bubbling on the stove. There was definitely something with shrimp boiling away in a sea of spices.

That must make this guy the chef. Not too dangerous, you thought to yourself. He looked sturdy as most sea-fairing hands did but chances were you could outrun him if need be. That was until you glanced back to see him pulling a gun from his waistband.

Fuck.

Jerking back, wood by your leg shattered in a million pieces as the ear-splitting scream of the gun sounded. The second nicked your ear as you spun, still on the ground, getting your feet beneath you and stumbling away. A ringing follows, leaving you off balance for a moment longer than necessary. Already you can feel the warmth of liquid iron trickling down your neck.

The obstacle of the barrel only gave you a few moments to get ahead but already you could hear him yelling behind you for others. If the gun wasn’t enough to draw attention then that sure was. Another shot rings off, barely managing to duck in time for it to burst through the wall next to you.

The wood was warm underfoot as you tore through the dim halls, unsure as to where to go but unable to stop for a second as you heard more shouting and footsteps behind you. It was clear you were on a ship judging by the sway, and nothing else would have been able to find you where you were. That means another daring escape. Hopefully this time there was at least a lifeboat that you could swipe.

Then, up ahead, you spotted a concentration of light.

The exit.

You burst through the doorway and onto the open deck, blinking as sunlight floods your vision. Wind whips through your hair, salt stinging your skin. The sky is a deep blue, nearly blending into the ocean as the sun approaches its descent over the horizon. A few stars have managed to wiggle their way out from between clouds, barely visible.

There's no doubt that you're on a ship now if there ever was one before. Sails snap in the wind and though you don't get a good look at it, you catch a glimpse of a Jolly Roger painted across them. They flow in the wind gleefully. A sharp contrast to the rattling metal of your chains.

Pirates. Of course it had to be pirates. Only marginally better than Marines. At least they didn't have as much of a personal grudge. Your death would be swift if they caught you. Maybe they would just toss you back overboard.

Lifeboat. Lifeboat. Where’s the-

Off to the side, you spot the familiar pulley system that tells of a boat docked to the side of a ship. It's small enough that you should be able to outmaneuver them even if they are hot on your trail. For half a second, hope flares in your chest for just a moment before another shout calls out.

“They’re out here!”

Your heart drops as a man steps in your path. Boots thunder behind you. Voices overlap in a flurry of confusion and chaos. You veer left, sprinting past stacked crates and coiled ropes, mind racing. A shape lunges into your path, larger and burly with a pair of sunglasses and a mean snarl.

“Gotcha!”

You barely stop in time, skidding between his legs just a fraction of a moment before they snap shut like a steel trap. It's pure instinct that's driving you now as you run. With your previous escape plan cut off you pivot, racing to come up with something new. Not the easiest task as you duck around bodies that seemed to come from everywhere.

The stairs to the upper deck loom ahead, free from obstacles. Not ideal, but maybe still enough to give you time to think of a new plan.

You take them two at a time even as your legs protest, still sore from the cramped space you had just been freed of, the taste of freedom already on your lips only to jolt to a halt as a figure appears on the top step. His cloak billows in the wind, red hair blazing in the light of the setting sun and making it appear as if he’s on fire. His face shows no concern at your sudden appearance. If anything, he seems relaxed. Almost amused even as the grin of a predator greets you.

He stands blocking your escape like he’s been waiting there the whole time. His eyes quickly survey your stance, taking you in from head to toe and lingering on the cuffs that still hold your hands together, identifying you as being wanted by someone and likely with a price to be paid for your delivery. An easy cashin.

“Well now,” he says cheerfully. “You’re fast.”

Your stomach twists in dread at the aura around him. You can be reckless, sure, but you're not stupid. Everything about him screams danger, your body refusing to get an inch closer.

Spinning on heel you nearly trip over yourself in haste to get away only to be greeted with a blond man just four steps down. You can’t make it back the way you came up, and the way forward is now blocked.

So you jump.

You grab the banister and throw your weight sideways, sliding down it in a blur. Polished wood scrapes against your clothes as you pray to not get a massive splinter. Sparks of pain shoot through your ribs at the action but you push it away, a problem for a later you.

Hands reach for you, twisting mid-slide, barely avoiding the blonde’s grip. His fingers graze your wrist, missing by millimeters as you feel his skin brush against yours.

You hit the deck hard with a force that nearly had you blacking out from the pain, roll, and scramble back to your feet. The tumble has you dizzy and breathless yet you still move onward, calculating the quickest way to make it through the maze of bodies that have emerged on the deck. Not as many as there had been on the Marine ship but enough to still give you pause in your current state, less than optimal to fight.

Laughter. Warm, loud, and full of joy that feels out of place for the situation, erupts above the chaos. You glance up to see the red-haired man casually leaning against the banister, hips cocked out as he leans over the railing, tears in his eyes from laughing.

“Oh, I like this one,” he says, voice carrying easily over the noise. His eyes lock on to you, pinning you to the deck with his sharp gaze.

“Looks like we’ve got a rat scurrying about, men!”

You don’t hear the shot go off, only feel it hitting its target and nailing you in the shoulder, sending you careening backwards. Your mind calculates the trajectory, spotting a man up in the crows nest, still holding the smoking gun as his eyes gleam with satisfaction.

The crew roars in response as your blood spills. Cheers, whistles, and boots pounding as they spread out, forming a circle and closing in like a pack of wolves.

Your chest heaves, eyes frantically darting every which way looking for even the smallest of gaps. Your wrists ache inside the cuffs and you wonder how many you can bash with them before you're taken down. At least one surely. Maybe two if you’re lucky.

Every path is blocked. Even if you weren’t cuffed it wouldn’t look good. Each and every one of them look rough and mean with an air that would have you stepping aside to avoid them at any port. Teeth grinding together, a low growl escapes you as you survey, looking for a weak link. It’s then that one breaks away from the group. He’s big, just as they all are. Broad shoulders and large hands that easily fit around the stock of the gun he carries. The same hands raise as if he's surrendering. Or more likely, calming a wild animal.

Dark eyes, sharp as any blade, are fixed on you, his casual stance telling how much of a threat he thinks you to be.

“Stop running.” he says, calm, almost tired. You don’t move, frozen like a hare as even the sea seems to watch the exchange.

“You’ve got nowhere to go out here.” He's not being mean. There's no malice or condescension in his voice. No arrogant bluster. Only a stark candor to his words that has your shoulders slumping under the weight as you pant.

He seems to take it as a sign of surrender as he reaches for you, and all you can imagine is them wrapping around your neck with ease, squeezing until there’s nothing left. You don’t think. You react, planting your foot and doing a full three-sixty, driving the heel of your unshoed foot as hard as you can with a frustrated huff. The weight of the cuffs gives you a bit more momentum with their counter balance, adding just a touch of extra umph.

You kick, hard, and are rewarded with the give of flesh to bone. He may be a wall of solid muscle, but there’s one place all men are vulnerable.

There’s a split second of stunned silence.

“Hngh!”

The man stumbles back with a sharp gasp, crashing into a crate as it splinters under his weight. The rest of the group seems equally as stunned. Even the man up top watches with wide eyes, mouth agape as if he can hardly believe what he just witnessed.

“Did she just-”

You don’t wait to hear the rest, making a break for the opening left by the giant. It’s another mad dash. Not toward the sides or back below deck, but straight for the front of the ship. The only place that there’s not an obscene amount of people at.

Wind slams into you as you sprint past ropes and rigging, heart pounding so hard it hurts. The bow looms ahead, the massive carved figurehead standing like a guardian, snarling at the sea as if daring it to rise to the challenge.

A dragon. Its wooden jaws are open wide, frozen in a roar ready to devour. It likely strikes fear into the hearts of all who approach. A foreboding omen of destruction, to wreak havoc just as its flesh and blood counterparts do in the skies.

You don’t hesitate to scramble up the railing, hands slipping on smooth wood only made that much more so by the spray of water as it hits the hull, and wedge yourself into the hollow of its mouth. Your back presses against the curved interior, knees tucked tight to your chest. It’s a tight squeeze, one you can barely manage, but force your body to contort anyways.

Hidden from prying eyes, yet trapped once again all the same. You’ve managed to get away for the moment but at what cost? There was nowhere to go from here, forced to the edge of the only solid space in sight. Wood presses against bruises as you lean further back in the mouth of the carving, staring at nothing but open ocean as far as the eye can see. You recognize your safe haven for why it truly is. A dead end.

You feel sick, head pounding and stomach churning at the situation you’ve put yourself in. The waves themselves seem to taunt you, crashing against the hull and spraying a light mist across your skin before receding. If you were to fall in it would be quick to swallow you whole. If not by its own force then the undertow of the ship heading on at a respectable pace.

Boots thud closer, their vibrations traveling through the wood of the ship as they approach. There seems to be their own internal scuffle, cursing as you can hear them debating on how to get you out that doesn’t involve damaging the ship.

”You’re all overthinking this.” A voice huffs, followed by footsteps that stop just above. A shadow falls over the water from where they stand, moving against the stillness of the others.

A hand reaches down. Not as big as the other man's but it’s as callous and resolute, bent and clawed as it grabs.

“C’mon, don’t make this hard-”

Panic explodes in your chest as they brush your arm, fingers groping. No thinking. Just survival. Your hands won’t do much from where they’re gripping one of the many teeth in order to stay balanced, feet braced against the lower jaws to push you as far back as possible. Instead you lunge forward and bite as hard as you can, imagining the hand instead as a leg of meat, stomach grumbling at the thought.

Teeth sink into skin, jaw locking in the space between thumb and pointer finger. The flimsy webbing gives way easily as you bite. The man yelps, jerking back with a curse. You taste copper. Sharp, metallic, disgusting.

For half a second a stupid, distant thought flickers through your mind wondering if the man had any diseases he could pass through the liquid dripping from your lip. The thought makes your stomach twist but there's not much to do now. Not like you had very many other options.

You spit instinctively, pressing yourself farther into the dragon’s mouth, trembling.

“Dammit, they bit me!”

“Seriously? Are they feral or something?”

The rest seem to hesitate. No one wants to be the next to try. Good. You’ll take the whole hand next time.

A sharp whistle cuts through the air, drawing the attention of the group. You watch as their shadows disappear, one lingering longer than the others and leaving you in fear that they’ll try again, before slipping away.

There’s the muttering of voices far away, too distant to pick up what they're saying no matter how much you strain to hear with your one good ear, the other now flooded with your own blood as you shake your head to rid yourself of it. Your shoulder aches as well, the wound streaming with its own steady production of crimson that stains your clothes.

Too soon the steps return as you press further back. There’s only one this time it seems. One was all they would need in your current state, weakened and light headed. No grabbing hands or peaking faces. Only a deep, vaguely familiar voice.

”You’ve got nowhere to go. Come out now and Captain will show some grace.”

You snort, suspiciously something that sounds like a laugh, eliciting a sigh from the figure above. The wood whines, leading away from you and back towards the main body of the ship.

”Fine. Have it your way.”

And with that they retreat once again, leaving you alone, stuck on the front of a pirate ship and heavily bleeding, rethinking your life choices. You sit alone, staring out to the endless ocean in front of you, the faint scent of citrus clinging to your knees from where they had crushed oranges to a pulp in the barrel. Not enough to get a taste from, but enough to remind you of the burning pain in your stomach. _____________________________ Sunlight glitters off the endless blue sea, sails full and steady, the Red Force cutting smoothly through the water. It should be a peaceful afternoon. A time for them to relax a bit before that hit rougher waters, yet true ease escapes them. Not when half the crew keeps sneaking glances toward the bow, where the massive dragon figurehead has become the most closely monitored spot on the entire ship. Shanks leans against the railing, arm folded loosely across his chest, lazily watching the horizon. His attention occasionally flirts to the dragon’s open mouth. Beckman stands beside him, rifle resting against his shoulder, a figure of relaxation that does nothing to betray the alertness that holds him.

“Had to chew the guys out again.” Beckman mutters. “They’re gonna forget how to swab the deck at this rate.”

Shanks exhales quietly through his nose, stretching like a cat, head tilting to catch more of the sun.

“Hard to blame them.”

They both glance forward. Still no movement from the highlighted location. No shifting. No sound. Nothing but a shadow inside the carved jaws. They could almost believe that you had died if not for one detail.

Beckman adjusts his grip on the rifle, moving to light his cigarette. He takes a heavy drag, watching the end burn just a moment longer than normal.

“She tried something.”

Shanks hums, gaze drifting to where their latest addition still lay hidden. “Yeah?”

“Early morning.” Beckman says. “Slipped out just before the sun was up. Grabbed some rope that was lying around. Took spare fabric from the repair supplies.”

Shanks’ eyebrow lifts slightly.

“Resourceful.”

“Almost got away with it too.” Beckman continues. “Then Yasopp spotted her. Chased her halfway across the deck yelling like the world was ending. Woke up half the crew. Of course he didn’t manage to catch her, saying something about how he was worried about getting bit.”

“I was wondering what that was,” Shanks says, grinning. “Thought someone fell overboard.”

Beckman shakes his head, taking another drag of his cigarette.

“Captain, why don’t we just force them out?”

They could wrangle you out of the space even if it would be a pain to do without some damage to the ship. Shanks turns to him, an amused twinkle in his eye that promises trouble.

“Force them out?” he repeats. “Where’s the fun in that?”

Beckman raises an eyebrow. “Fun?”

“C’mon,” Shanks says, waving his hand. “The lads already placed their bets. First time in weeks we’ve had decent entertainment. Besides, they’re not much of a threat to us.”

Then, thoughtfully, he adds with a hum.

“Well. Maybe to your future progeny.”

Beckman doesn’t even have time to respond before Shanks glances towards his waist, still sore and tender. Still very much aware of where that kick had landed.

He clicks his tongue. “Gotta admit I didn’t see that one coming.”

Beckman’s lips twitch despite himself.

True, you weren’t much of a threat. Not to seasoned pirates like them. And yet that was exactly how you’d managed to catch them off guard.

“She’s got a fire to her, that’s for sure.”

“I thought that’s how you liked them.” Shanks teases.

“Aye, but a bit less bloody. Limejuice is trying to get out of anything to do with chores. Claims the girl has rabies or something and he needs at least a week to recuperate. Hongo says he’s just being dramatic.”

Shanks straightens slowly, gaze drifting away from the bow and toward the distant horizon. The sky stretches wide and flawless. A perfect blue that no gem could ever compare to. Not a cloud in sight to cover the warmth from above as a steady breeze blows in their favor. The kind of weather sailors pray for.

He stares at it for a long moment, then speaks quietly, almost more to himself than Beckman.

“I’ve got a feeling there’s a storm coming.”

Beckman follows his gaze, studying the sky, not seeing anything wrong. But he also knows better than to doubt his captain.

The ship sails on and inside the dragon’s mouth, hidden in shadow, you keep holding out.

For now. _________________________________ The storm doesn’t come gently. It crashes down on the ship like the sky itself is trying to break it apart, ripping and screaming as it tears at everything it can get its hands on, rocking the ship violently. Rain lashes against the wood. Wind screams through the rigging. Waves slam into the hull so hard you’re sure at any moment it’s going to split in two. Shouts from the crew can be heard as they maneuver the waters. Lighting streaks the sky like claws threatening to tear you from hiding.

Inside the dragon’s mouth, you cling to the curved wood with numb fingers. Everything is soaked. Your clothes. Your hair. Your skin. Your thoughts. It’s all drenched to the point it stiffens, hardened by salt and wear.

Half the time, you’re choking, or more so gagging as you all but vomit what feels like buckets of saltwater. At this point you may as well be a fishman with how much water is in your lungs. You lose track of when you’re breathing and when you’re drowning. Lose track of where you are. Who you are. If this is even real. At some point you’re pretty sure you black out. It seems there’s no end to it. There’s no way for you to keep time with what’s happening. By the time the flow slows and your stomach isn’t rolling with the ship the sun is dipping back below the horizon, providing only a few rays to recover with.

Sometime later- minutes, hours, you don’t know for sure- you slip. It’s a stupid mistake. One you would have never made at any other time. But you’re just so exhausted, fading in and out of consciousness.

Your foot slides on slick wood, grip failing as your body pitches forward. Suddenly, you’re falling.

You tumble out of the dragon’s mouth, body pitching forward into open air. The ocean rushes forward, still dark and churning, its maw open to consume you.

Your arms snap back above your head, tearing a howl from you at the pain of the sudden stop as it feels as if you’re being torn apart at the joints.

The rope. The one you’d tied around your cuffs and anchored inside the figurehead fearing you would nod off in the middle of the night and roll out of your hiding space. Good to know it had been worth the risk of your little venture.

It jerks you back violently, not an ounce of give to its material, the cuffs just as unforgiving in their hold around your hands as they tear further into the skin, grinding against bone. The fabric acts as only a slight buffer, stuffed as much as it could between your skin and the cold metal.

Your shoulders scream, wrist burning. You dangle there, just below the maw of the beast, swaying back and forth helplessly in the wind. For one horrible second you think this will be the end of you, and they’ll just leave your corpse there to rot. A new macabre decoration.

What’s even more terrifying is a part of you doesn’t care. You’re crying now, unable to tell when it even started. You cry every amount you never let yourself cry before in the weeks of your capture. Tears of months saved up now reaching a damn and breaking at facing the grim morality of your death. Not even with the Marines had you felt it so closely. But with the water nipping at your heals, broken physically and emotionally, you allowed yourself the one mercy of crying.

Then voices cut through the storm.

“Holy hell! Look at that!”

“Are you kidding me?!”

Above the lingering thunder you hear laughter. Jeers and taunts that dry your self-loathing. The smoldering embers from before burn back to life with a blazing fury, anger and bitterness fueling you in place of sorrow to drag you down further.

With a raw, broken scream, you force your body to move, feeling the muscles tear in protest as your lungs burn from tears and the salty air.

You drag yourself inch by inch back toward the opening, nails scraping uselessly against soaked wood. Vaguely you register the sound of cheering, but it’s pushed to the back of your mind. Instead you focus on the pain.

Nothing but pain.

But you make it. Gasping and clawing, with tear tracks still burning down your face, you perform the most difficult pull-up of your life, collapsing back inside the dragon’s mouth in a shaking heap, sobbing quietly as the storm rages on.

By nightfall, the sea finally calms. Enough that you no longer have to worry about falling in but now fear falling asleep so deeply you don’t realize that you do. For safety you add another knot in the rope, this one linking under the tongue of the dragon and around your waist.

Stars peek through torn clouds as the ship settles into a gentle, exhausted sway. Absent-mindedly you begin to chart them in your head, trying to get a better sense of direction. To try and make out where you may be going. It’s sad that you were never as good at it as your father. He would know what to do right now. There’s nothing you wish more than to hear him whispering pointers to you, walking through everything step by step. It’ll never happen again, but a part of you likes to hope. To dream.

Footsteps approach. Careful. Quiet.

“They still in there?”

Another voice murmurs, “Go check.”

A shadow leans into the dragon’s mouth, candlelight flickering above.

A face appears.

“Hey, uh, you alive in-”

Your foot shoots out, smashing into his face with all the remaining strength you have left.

The man yelps as he stumbles backward, arms flailing uselessly as he drops. The splash of water is followed by a beat of silence, a respectful pause, before laughter breaks out, explosive and uncontrollable.

“Did you see that?”

“She kicked him! And after being beat half to death by that storm!”

A moment later a soaked, sputtering pirate hauls himself back up the side of the ship, coughing and laughing along with his crewmates. Even he’s grinning as he takes their jeers in stride. Beckman, watching from the shadows, exhales slowly, half amused, half amazed. His mind drifts to you in the figurehead, trying to imagine what it’s like. Bruised and broken, exhausted from your struggle yet still fighting with every bone in your body. Still surviving despite everything. As much of a ruckus as you’ve caused he can’t help but admire your grit.

That night, while everyone sleeps and the wood creaks, you fail to notice an approaching figure, too half out of it to even care, head lolling back and forth with the waves, eyes fixed on the sky above. There’s a shift of movement that has you tensing, only to pause as a shadow is dropped down, the wind blowing it back into your hiding spot before you can react.

It's fabric. Not the soaked, freezing kind that you wear. Instead it's warm, thick, blocking the chill of the night. Despite yourself, you soon find it wrapped around your shoulders, cocooning you like a hug. Something you so desperately needed. One you would have gladly taken from your mother, bracing against the sweet perfume she insisted on using to apparently emulate a candy shop. A scent you would do anything to inhale greedily once again rather than damp wood and regret. ______________________________ No one on the ship can quite believe it. A week spent curled inside the dragon’s mouth. Seven days of salt, wind, hunger, and pain. Of stubborn, silent refusal. By the fifth day, the crew’s betting on when you’ll come out slows.

By the sixth, they start worrying.

By the seventh, Beckman takes over.

He approaches slowly, steps loud and announcing as he walks, rifle left behind. He wasn’t worried about needing it. Last time had been pure luck and his own foolish overconfidence, and you were in no better condition at this point.

“Hey,” he calls out, standing a few feet from the figurehead.

No answer.

He takes it as an invitation, walking further out, feeling the gazes of the others on his back to which he pointedly ignores them. In his hand he carries a cinched bag, some scraps from breakfast tossed inside. He had hardly been able to stomach his own that morning after the latest mention of you from the night lookout proved no movement. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much. He had seen plenty of people die. Been the cause of many deaths. Yet the thought of yours set him on edge for a reason he couldn't quite grasp. One that he didn't want to dig any deeper into.

“I’ve got some food here for you. Don’t bite me.”

Carefully, he lowers a small bundle tied to a rope. A water skin. Dried meat and bread with just a bit of honey smear on top and toasted in the oven. He could have tossed in some dried fruit, but that would have to be an earned reward.

It swings gently in the air with the wind like bait on a rope, ready to drag in whatever bites. You don’t reach for it.

Beckman exhales through his nose as he pinched his brow. Figures.

“The Marines weren’t generous with rations,” he says calmly, voice low and steady. “I know that. You must be pretty hungry.”

Still nothing. He softens his tone to the ones he would use when tempting the alley cats in the docks they’d find themselves in. The only rational company he could find sometimes.

“You come out of there, and we’ll get you looked at. I promise our doc, Hongo, doesn’t bite.”

He pauses before adding, “Much.”

Silence. The food remains untouched, still hanging. Beckman hesitates. Then, slowly, he steps closer.

“Alright,” he mutters. “I’m gonna take a look. No sudden moves, yeah?”

He crouches carefully, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. Well, he thinks to himself, it’s not too far off.

He bends down, peering between teeth and the figurehead’s shadow just enough to see inside, prepared for claws and teeth, maybe another kick. The only upside to this position is that you can’t reach his groin, still a bit sore from your last meeting as a phantom pain runs through him.

Beckman hadn’t gotten the best look at you in your initial run through the ship, hardly standing still and the low light of the setting sun casting shadows. He had expected to find you crouched and growling, eyes wild and ready to strike, huddled into your hiding space like an animal with nowhere to go. Cuts and bruises are to be expected, a little worse for wear as you brave the elements and in your own scuffle.

What he finds is worse, eyes widening at the sight before him as his breath stutters.

The inside of the dragon’s mouth is stained dark. Old, dried blood mixing with flecks of newer crimson, smeared along the carved wood like the beast has actually swallowed you whole. Almost as if it’s been feeding on you. Your back is pressed against the curve of the carving as far back into the mouth as you can get, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around yourself.

You look empty.

The makeshift bandage around your shoulder where Yasopp’s shot clipped you is soaked through, fabric dark and stiff with old blood. You tried to treat it yourself. Or at least the best you could in the situation.

His coat is the only thing that looks relatively unharmed, but even then a few blooms of red soak into the fabric, wounds reopening each time the ship hits a rough wave and your body adjusts with it, scabs cracking and splitting at the action.

Your cheeks are hollow, skin dry and lips cracked to the point they bleed. They’re a sickly shade of blue, standing out that much more against the skin that hadn’t looked much better the last time he saw you. Blood cakes the entire side of your face where it hasn’t been washed away and he notes a missing chunk in your upper lobe.

Your eyes lift slowly to meet his. They’re dull, ringed with dark, heavy shadows. No fire or defiance that had been there just a week ago, gazing at him in a way that had sent chills down his spine. Just exhaustion. Like every ounce of energy has been wrung out of you and what remains left to hang.

Your wrists are worse. They look raw even from where he stands, bruises lining the skin that’s not red or split open. Even with strips of fabric stuffed beneath the cuffs the metal has eaten into your skin. Dried blood cakes your hands making it look as if you’re wearing gloves of red.

You don’t move, barely even breathe as he notes the shallow rise and fall of your chest. You just look at him. And that somehow hits harder than any kick ever could. It would have been more of a comfort if he had to dodge a rouge fist, even if you had spit at him. But your mouth is dry despite the water that surrounds you, tasting of chalk and copper.

Beckman’s jaw tightens.

“Shit.”

He straightens slightly, keeping his voice low, almost a whisper.

“Hey. You’re starving.”

No denial.

“You need food,” he continues. “Water. Real rest.”

Nothing.

“You can’t stay in there.”

Your gaze flickers to the dangling bundle he holds out, then back to him. The scent of warm bread and honey has begun to leak out into the air, drawing like a siren’s call.

A part of him wonders if you could even open the drawstrings with the way your body trembles. Slowly, he opens the bag and draws out a piece of bread. You scooch further back as his hand approaches, eyes wary as he sets it down just before your feet. He leans back, pulling himself back up top and leaving you with just the food.

It’s a trap. That’s what your instincts tell you. That he’s waiting just beyond the edge ready to swipe you up at a moment's notice. But you were so hungry. Teeth marls littered the wood around you, half convinced you would be able to satiate your hunger with the meager scraps you could get from it. You only succeeded in making your mouth bleed from the splinters.

You hesitate, listening for the faintest sound of his presence, before warily snatching the morsel as hunger winning over logic. The bread is warm and soft, sticky with honey that glistens in the light, baked to a perfect golden hue. It still holds the warmth of the oven.

Your fingers tremble as you hold it. From either hunger of nerves you don’t know. For a second you just stare at it, not quite convinced it’s real. Many times before now you had imagined such food only to wake up before you could even sink your teeth in, nothing but a dream that left you hungry and wanting.

Your stomach twists painfully. It’s been so long since you’ve smelled anything like this. Had bread that was stale and needed to be sucked on just to be chewable. You take a tiny bite. Barely more than a nibble, teeth sinking into the crust and are immediately rewarded with an explosion of flavor.

Sweet. So sweet it hurts and threatens to lock your jaw. Your eyes widen as you breathe out a shaky, broken sound. Something between a laugh and a sob as your mouth fills with saliva. You chew slowly, each bite feeling unreal. Your hands start shaking harder so you take another bite to distract yourself. A little bigger this time.

Crumbs fall onto your lap as honey drips down your fingers. You don’t care, licking it off in desperation not to waste a single drop even if the flavor is tinged by dirt and blood, the sweetness singing on your tongue above all else.

Tears blur your vision before you even realize they’re coming, sliding down your cheeks and dripping onto the bread. You try to stop but can’t focus on both stemming their flow and eating, choosing the latter.

Above you Beckman doesn’t say a word. He simply sits letting you eat in peace. By the time you finish your fingers are sticky, lips are glossy with honey, breathing a bit more even. You stare at the empty spot in your hands, craving more so much it physically hurts, the bite doing little more than fan the fuel of hunger.

Your dignity screams at you even as your lips move. Feeling like a dog begging for scraps at the table.

“More?” you whisper, barely audible even to your own ears and coming out as more of a croak than anything, throat sore from how long it’s been since you’ve voluntarily spoken.

Even with its shaky tone Beckman is nearly knocked back when he hears it, curling around the cracks of his mind and prompting him to follow your question as if it’s a command, already reaching for it. “Yeah,” he says gently. “There’s more.”

Slowly but surely he feeds you the rest of the contents, watching you consume them ravenously. When that’s done he passes the water skin to which you gulp down in only a few mouthfuls. Whipping your face, your eyes flick to the bag, tongue darting out to clean up the crumbs around your lips.

He notices, seizing the chance.

“I’ll give you more,” he says. “Better stuff. Warm food. Whatever you want if we have it.”

You swallow, still wary.

“No one touches you. Not unless you hit first that is.” he promises, a condition proposed for both your benefits. Thinking back, you hadn’t attacked until provoked, and he had a feeling you weren’t so quick to direct confrontation.

A long moment passes and Beckman thinks you might just curl back in on yourself and ignore him.

Then you shift. Just a little.

The cold is not forgiving, infiltrating the smallest of cracks and expanding them until they turn into something deeper and far more dangerous, destabilizing the entirety. At that moment, you feel yourself crack just a bit. Enough for your resistance to crumble. You had never truly experienced the cold before. Not like this, concocted by lashing layers of wind and water.

Your body trembles as you inch forward, movement slow and unsteady, like you’re afraid you’ll shatter if you go too fast, legs trembling as you bring them underneath you.

Beckman reaches out instinctively, pausing just before he reaches you. He leaves his hand hanging there, an open invitation.

You hesitate for just a moment, your mother’s warning ringing in your mind once again before throwing all caution to the wind. Your fingers barely manage to brush his before your legs give out, tilting forward. He catches you easily, large hand wrapping around your forearm and steadying you.

You’re light. Too light.

He frowns as there’s a bit of resistance, spotting the rope keeping you in place with knots he recognizes both the shape and quality of. With his free hand he grips the rope tied to your cuffs and waist, snapping them effortlessly. Almost like they were never there at all. A part of you almost laughs.

A week of clinging to that stupid rope and he breaks it with one hand.

Beckman shifts you carefully, brows furrowing at the way you whimper when he pulls you up, knowing there’s more injuries than what he’s seeing.

For the first time since the Marines took you, you don’t fight. Instead you simply sigh, leaning into his side as your feet touch something solid for the first time in days. The deck is anything but dry land but it's stable enough to give you the confidence to take one shaky step after another, eyes fixed firmly on the ground before you. The coat, still wrapped around your shoulders, provides you a bit more decency than the tattered fabric you wear as it drags behind you, length fitting of a much taller person.

You look up and take in his face properly for the first time.

There’s deep lines under his eyes, which are dark like a rolling storm as he stares straight ahead. Black hair is flecked with grey at the temples telling of his age, or maybe stress. The sun catches his face nicely giving him a warm glow of someone in good health. His gait is smooth and even, hardly a jostle as he helps you along, one hand on your waist and the other holding your elbow as you hobble along. He would have been tempted to pick you up if he didn’t think you would try to squirm away.

He’s warm like the sun in a way that has you seeking him out, leaning just a bit more into him. The warm rays hadn’t been able to reach you so far back in the mouth, only getting a few of the last streams as the sun hung low on the horizon. Sometime on the fourth day the cold had morphed from pain to a consuming numbness, a reflection of your inner turmoil. He feels nice even as his hand brushes your ribs in a way that has you flinching, but even as you walk you remain wary, knowing a flame can burn just as easily as warm.

Beckman walks back across the main deck, ignoring the looks of the others. Shanks stares from the second deck, a wide grin on his face.

“That’s a man Beckman.”

He only huffs, knowing Shanks would want to speak with you. Before then, you needed a bit of care to properly even think about anything else.

Nobody would describe Beckman as anything even remotely adjacent to soft, yet it's the only way to explain his actions as he walks at your pace, taking half steps. He’s a pirate. Far from a gentleman. But Shanks is right in that you are not a threat to them in your current state, and to treat you with anything but a softened touch might truly break you. His mind drifts back to the alley cats, remembering how they would fight tooth and nail against anything they perceived as a threat. You only had to learn the right approach and they would allow you to pet them.

Food was always a good start.

[lizardboiii]

REGRESSIONS OF A CRAZY VILLAINESS

꒰ ft. Figarland Shamrock x Villainess! Reader

꒰ synopsis: Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, you regressed to the night of the heroine's social debut. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, you failed to escape the gruesome ending of the doomed villainess.

To hell with earning the reverse harem's favor. If they wanted a crazy villainess so badly — you'd give them one. After so many deaths, the mind is bound to break eventually.

│cw: 18+, NSFW, violent themes, dubious morality, attempted suicide, vague suicidal references, manhwa/light novel AU, regression

│wc: 2.7k

│chapters: I II III

│notes: My take on a manhwa/light novel villainess regression for One Piece! Divider credits to @dollywons and @uzmacchiato

│AO3 Link!

"I have a feeling you got everything you wanted, And you’re not wasting time stuck here like me, You’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened, The world ended when it happened to me."

・❥・

│Chapter I: We Hug Now

It was suffocating.

The leering eyes of prideful men who used status like currency and women like trophies. Their syrupy perfume clashed nauseatingly. It was more than enough to drown the opulent chamber in staged fragrances, snuffing out the metallic scent of abundant bills stuffed in silk pockets.

Every firm handshake or bashfully unfurled fan was calculated with poised intent. Miss a silent social cue, and the entire throng smelled blood. 

New power was desperate to topple the preexisting order. Painted lips whispered. Narrow eyes stalked. Alliances weren’t forged in friendship; it was merely a front to provide those in the lowest levels of high society a measly gifted stepping stone.

The entire facade disgusted you.

Breaking away from the colossal column that kept you concealed, you brazenly entered the depths of the mingling inner court. 

Head high.

Lips curled.

The chill of the polished marbled floor beneath your bare feet sent a shiver down your spine. 

Immediately, the waltzing socialites failed to conceal their contempt. They scattered like mice. Their slim heels clacked sharply against the palace’s decadent flooring, ushered by their courtiers to the edge of the ballroom. Their venomous glares, dripping with malice, drilled into your sudden promenade.

You paid the trivial stares little attention, swaying your hips gently to the soft melodies of the live orchestra. Your figure contorted gracefully as you danced across the grand hall. Rolling from the tips of your toes to the back of your heels, you sauntered leisurely. And for a brief moment — it was as if the entire ballroom wasn’t watching your every move.

“I can’t believe Saint Buccaneer allows that girl to dress in those obscene garbs.”

You hummed absentmindedly to yourself. The thin, almost see-through, draping of your cream dress clung lewdly to your skin. Your arms and shoulders remained scandalously bare save for the fluttering sheer scarf resting loosely on the pits of your elbows. 

The glimmering gold of your thin necklace seemed to cover more of your bosom than the deep square cut of your neckline. It exposed the smooth canvas of your supple skin, daring those bold enough to gawk.

“Poor Saint July, to have a sister so vulgar must be unbearable.”

Then, amid the gossiping throng — you spotted her.

Hair pinker than bubblegum, cheeks rosied with practiced innocence, Camilla Eckhart played the part of benevolent heroine as if it were child’s play.

She walked elegantly, arms joyously linked with your father, down the palace’s wide entrance stairs. Behind her, your older brother, July, held the train of her extravagant yet modest gown. He grinned widely. Even those in the back of the crowd could see the pride that radiated from his proper form.

When she finally breached the end of the Persian-clad stairs, it was your younger brother, Briar, who took her hand tenderly. Outfits coordinated. Expressions gentle. They reeked of uncontested familial affection. 

It made you want to gut her.

Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, you regressed to the night of her social debut. Nine hundred and ninety-nine times, her crystal blue eyes dripped with satisfaction as the Five Elders condemned you to death.

Now, on your thousandth regression, something in you finally seemed to…snap.

You used to fight tooth and nail for your pitiful life. Your fingers clawed desperately at straws, cracking and popping off your nailbeds as you clung to dwindling hope. Just maybe this once, someone would stay by your side. One single person would choose you over your bastard half-sister. 

Then finally, this unbearable loneliness would come to an end.

But time and time again, those you trusted turned their backs on you. Each and every one of them, Saint or slave, left you for dead. 

Oh, poor Saint Camilla.

Sweet Camilla.

This time around, she wouldn’t have to rely on honey-laced lies. Her voice no longer had to force a dainty crack. Nor did her eyes have to spill rehearsed tears. If she was so adamant on spinning tales of your cruelty, you’d ensure she’d be graced with real ones. 

After all, big sisters are meant to spoil their juniors.

Snatching a glass of red wine from one of the many roaming waitresses, you swirled the liquid curiously. The glass’s contents swished against its rim dangerously close. Yet, you weren’t focusing on keeping the refreshment contained. 

Your eyes remained fixated on your warped reflection in the ruby intoxicant. It was strange. Your face remained the same shape. Your hair was still its normal length. And your eyes are a familiar color. Yet, try as you might, you couldn’t recognize the woman who stared back. How revolting.

You threw the filled glass to the floor.

The distinct sound of glass shattering echoed across twinkling chandeliers and floral-engulfed walls. It hung in the air like a warning. Haughty guests flinched. Gloved hands paused before moving to cover makeup-caked faces. As if you committed treason, the entire court gaped at the ruby-stained ground garnished with sparkling shards.

Immediately, your eyes flung to the House of Eckhart for a reaction. What met your frenzied gaze brought a mocking smirk to your glossy lips. Your father — your egregiously idiotic father — had finally let his indifferent mask slip.

The blood and bone you shared, each one stood in complete and utter disbelief. The first Eckhart daughter no longer existed.

What remained was vile. Twisted. Obscene.

You were no longer you.

All that was left was The Villainess.

Gently taking the fabric of your dress into your painted fingers, you curtseyed as if finishing a play.

“Happy birthday.”

 Your wild eyes bore into Camilla’s stunned expression.

“My sweet sister.”

The eerie silence of the ballroom didn’t last for long. Abruptly, tongues twisted in wrath. A wave of gossip surged across the crowd’s frontlines. Pointed nails jabbed. Social climbers gasped dramatically. The handful of older money in their midst tilted up their chins in distaste, their birthright superiority leaked from condescending glances. 

Though your tantrum had garnered their attention, their revulsion seemed to linger on your counterparts. Gods who can’t even control their own kin are weak. Their blood must be diluted with the common trash from below Mariejois. How dare the impure enter the sacred Pangaea Castle? 

You couldn’t help the twisted smile that etched itself onto your face. Of course, they were trash. They made you.

“Y/n Eckhart!” Your father’s snarl broke through the wicked chatter, “What is the meaning of this?!”

“Whatever do you mean, father?” You ghosted across the empty space separating you, “I only mean to congratulate my precious younger sister on her debut. But first—”

Ripping a bottle of wine free from a nameless slave, you popped the cork free, “A toast to Saint Camilla, the jewel of the House of Eckhart. Regardless of her,” You snorted, “Whore mother.”

The lip of the jade bottle found your mouth despite the angered protests of your patriarch. The alcohol burned down your throat, warming up the pit of your stomach. There was nothing wrong with a bit of liquid courage. Especially for what you're about to do.

“That’s enough!” July pushed forward from behind your father, haphazardly pulling the bottle from your lips.

You laughed at your elder brother’s livid reaction. Wiping your mouth clean with your free wrist, you grinned up at him, “Oh? And here I thought you, of all people, would love to celebrate Cammy?”

You shoved his chest away, “Too bad it’s illegal to fuck your sister? Am I right?”

Gasps rang out through the crowd at your vulgar words. Though the majority must have assumed you were only attempting to attack the God Knight’s pride, it couldn't be further from the truth. 

In fact, later tonight, your father would announce Camilla wasn’t even blood-related to your prestigious family. She had been abandoned by another celestial dragon who had impregnated a slave. Your father had only taken her in due to her striking resemblance to his first love. 

It was sickening. 

Your father parented a young girl who looked vaguely like the first woman he loved, and your older brother wasted no time attempting to court her after finding out.

“Sister, please,” Camilla’s tender tone seemingly relaxed the tension building between your shared flesh.

A laugh bubbled from your throat, “Oh no, sweet Camilla, am I ruining this night for you? Oh, you poor thing.” You tsked, “How could I be so reckless?”

Moving to stand in front of the pink-haired beauty, you stared down at her with malice, “I haven’t even gotten to make it worse.”

The bottle in your hand tilted before anyone could stop it. Time had all but slowed. You could only watch in delight as your wrist bent unnaturally. The men surrounding you were glued to their spots, unable to process the sight before them. Ruby wine spilt maliciously atop Camilla’s head, soaking her carefully pinned hair and seeping into the silver of her baby blue dress. 

For a moment, no one moved, not even Camilla. It was as if the entire court could not believe the scene unfolding. Then, with a well-timed shriek, Camilla hid her head in her hands, releasing deliberate tears.

July was on you in an instant. 

Violently dragging you away from the ballroom, he snapped orders to Briar, “Take Cammy to a spare room to freshen up. I’ll handle this.”

This.

Not ‘you’. 

Not ‘Y/n’.

Just ‘This’.

You couldn’t help the maniacal laughter that spilled from your lips. He couldn’t even bear to say your name!

A God’s Knight, for Christ’s sake, was afraid to say the name of his own sister.

My god, how did you manage to bite your tongue for so long before?

Eventually, July threw your form against one of the corridor’s walls. His face reddened in anger. You could almost feel the hatred that leaked from his soul. Dark and depraved.

Maybe this is how this regression ends. It wouldn’t be the first time July took matters into his own hands.

“What’s the matter, brother?” You pushed up from the wall, regaining your balance, “Are you scared?”

July turned up his nose, “Scared? I am a knight of God.” He sneered down at you, “You are nothing.”

You rolled your eyes, “You treat nothing like a big deal. Look at you, practically dragging me out of the room like I'm some sort of vile beast. If you’re not scared,” You huffed as you shook your head, “Maybe you really are just stupid.”

“Wicked woman!” July pointed a finger into your chest, “You will not return to Cammy’s celebration.”

Taking a deep breath, July slowly backed away from you. His brawny hands quickly straightened the rumpled jacket of his soft blue suit. The pressed linen easily regained its structured shape, returning July to his proper outward appearance.

“I shall call a carriage for your departure.”

You waved him off, “Don’t bother. I’ll make myself scarce.”

July’s violet eyes searched your own for lies. Instead of hidden motives, he was simply met with steel resolve. The brunette shook his head in distaste.

“Do as you please.”

Turning his back to you, July called over his shoulder, “But if you interfere with the night any further—consider your life null.”

You watched as July’s back disappeared from the hall, his broad form stalking back to one of the ball’s sealed entrances. You couldn't help the gasp of air that immediately left your throat. Knees turned to jelly, you sunk to the floor in a panicked frenzy.

It was an all familiar terror—whether you liked it or not.

July had etched himself into your brain, forcibly sparking fear into your body at the mere sound of his voice. Though your mind transcended to simple ignorance, your body still remembers. Your neck still aches.

When you weren’t executed by the Commander of the Knights of God, it was July who took over. He was far more sadistic. His blade didn’t sever your neck in one clean slice like Figarland Shamrock. No—he enjoyed watching your throat bubble from the jagged cut. Savored the way your hands clawed at the gore, attempting to mitigate the bleeding.

Though it was a rare occurrence, you’d rather bite off your tongue than let July murder you once again.

Maybe that’s why your trembling form stumbled its way onto one of the palace’s many terraces. 

The wind whipped harshly against your face, tussling your hair. Your half-updo had swiftly been undone by the careless treatment. Loose strands now swayed mindlessly on their own, engulfing the air around your head.

Pulling yourself up onto the stone railing, your feet pressed firmly into the unsteady balustrade. Yet, you didn’t dare to focus on the way your bare skin slipped against slick moss. Instead, you opened your arms wide. The loose silk of your dress billowed against the cool wind, tangling with your spread limbs.

Nearby, a distant hoot caught your attention. Though far, the distinct silhouette of an owl soared across the star-speckled sky. Its wings sliced past the pale moon, taking the bird higher in the sky.

You slowly closed your eyes. Then, as if conjured from nothing, a serene, unnaturally tranquil feeling erupted from the warped depths of your mind. 

Would it really be so bad to cut this life short?

“Though the night suits you, my lady, I don’t believe I desire to see you jump into it.”

Your eyes snapped open at the baritone voice. Turning your head cautiously, you looked at the stranger behind you with little interest. 

As if there was someone who actually cared if you fell to your death.

Abruptly, the apathy on your face flickered. Rather than a wandering socialite searching for another taste of drama, you were met with an all too familiar form.

Eyes darker than wine. Hair richer than rubies. The massive man leaned against one of the open French door frames, absentmindedly soaking in your almost ethereal presence.

Figarland Shamrock.

You swallowed hard, forcing back the bile that attempted to escape from your throat. Why was Figarland Shamrock, Commander of the God Knights, standing before you without an unsheathed sword?

“Come,” Shamrock took a step forward, offering his gloved hand, “Let us return to the ball.”

You scoffed at his invitation, “May I ask why, Your Grace? Is it more enjoyable to cut off my head with an audience?”

For a brief moment, Shamrock’s brows furrowed in confusion. Then, as if his countenance never moved an inch, his irritatingly handsome face returned to his neutral stoic expression.

“Truth be told, you put on quite a show earlier, my lady. However—”

You flinched when Shamrock’s hulking form disappeared for a brief second. In an instant, his thick hands wrapped securely around your waist. The sudden action felt foreign. Almost wrong. Never in your thousand regressions had someone held you so…tenderly.

Twirling you down from the ledge, Shamrock gently placed your feet on the checkered stone flooring. Yet, the towering man made no effort to remove his heated grip from your waist.

“If a little spilled wine is grounds for execution, my head would have long left my body.”

You frowned, “I can do a lot more than waste a bit of wine.”

Shrugging off his grip, you quickly stepped back from the redhead. Instinctively, your arms moved to cover your body. The sultry dress you adorned for the evening suddenly felt far more revealing when in front of a seasoned knight. If not for the dim candle lighting, you were certain the heat in your cheeks had turned your face a soft rosy pink.

Shamrock’s eyes watched your actions in amusement, “Looking for trouble?”

You forced a feeble smirk, “Begging for it.”

The older man leaned against the railing you previously stood upon. Bulky arms crossed, his crimson eyes did not attempt to hide the way they raked over your smaller form.

“Oh? And why’s that?”

In full honesty, you weren’t exactly sure why you were still interacting with the man. He was dangerous. Sinfully so. Regression after regression, he put you down like a sick dog. There was no reason to entertain your soon-to-be executioner. No matter how seductive they may be.

But something in you liked the thought of taunting him. If you weren’t allowed to live, at least you’d get the last laugh.

“In a few days’ time,” You held his intense gaze, “I’ll give you something worth killing me over.”

Shamrock lifted a brow, “And who said I wanted to?”

Flashes of your previous lives whirred across your field of vision. 

Blistering chains.

A leerful sneer.

And a blade named Cerberus.

“It’s not a matter of desire,” You turned your back on him, exiting the secluded balcony.

“It's duty.”

・❥・

[blueaxolote]

But I'm gonna be honest. We need a story where neglected reader is adopted by Talia and Ra’s al Ghul. Like, how funny would it be if, after Damian comes to the mansion, Talia shows up for a mother and son date, but her little gremlin totally stands her up.

She isn’t mad, just disappointed that her son is buying into Bruce’s dramatics. She respects that he can’t kill criminals, but he completely loses his mind because her family does. She should have known he was like all Americans... preaching respect until it doesn’t fit his standards.

She’s about to leave when she sees Bruce’s daughter—the civilian one, the one her beloved left outside his inner circle.

Her reserve is for two people, and two people will go.

"Child, come. We are going to have dinner."

"What?"

"And then we are going to the opera to see Madame Butterfly."

"I’m sold."

Reader had asked for tickets, but Bruce forgot.

Talia was ready to be tolerant, but she ends up setting another date and calling her beloved’s daughter almost every week.

She loves Damian, but she finds herself enjoying being a mom’s girl very much. Damian’s sister has a sensitivity her son lacks.

Some of Talia’s old clothes end up in her dresser. When summer comes, Talia invites her to Nepal; her beloved thinks she’s going to a summer camp, but Talia starts training their daughter. She can bear that she’s a civilian, but not that she’s defenseless.

Still, they take time to do a mini tour all around Asia, tasting local cuisine and shopping for clothes that actually fit her daughter.

Ra’s is curious but not really interested at first.

"So you are the detective’s runt."

"Unwanted, you mean."

"And that doesn’t bother you?" he asks, intrigued.

"I’ve decided my best vengeance is being unbothered by it."

He smiles briefly.

"What would the detective say if he knew you lingered with my daughter?"

"Sir, if you want a video reaction when he finds out, just pay me."

He sends her $10,000 when she ends up sending him high-resolution footage.

To everyone’s confusion—except Talia—Ra’s al Ghul acts like a normal grandpa when he’s around reader.

When Damian finds out, he accuses her of trying to steal his position as heir (he knows he’s already lost it, but he’s jealous). She looks at him like he’s dumb.

"Why would I be the heir when I’m the favorite grandchild?" she asks. "The heir thing is just some game gramps plays for fun. Why would he need one when he’s basically immortal with no plans of dying?"

That pretty much silences Damian for a long time.

No one understands their relationship. She’s welcome to join the League of Assassins, but it’s okay if she doesn’t, they still want her around.

And you know how messed up it is that Ra’s knows more about Bruce’s daughter than the detective himself? Ra’s al Ghul enjoys very much throwing it in his face.

[fluentmoviequoter]

What He's Supposed to Be

Pairing: platonic!TO!Tim Bradford x fem!rookie!reader

Summary: Tim knows that your past took something from you. When you come to work bruised and bandaged after dinner with your dad, he becomes something more than a TO.

Warnings/Word Count: familial/platonic pairing, depiction of parent-to-child abuse, injuries, fluff, hurt/comfort. 1.1k+ words, requested by anon

Directory | T.B. Masterlist | Request Info | Taglist

“So, what’s the verdict?” Angela asks, leaning over her desk.

“Guilty,” Tim answers without looking up. “Always guilty.”

Angela sighs, then snaps directly in front of Tim’s nose.

“She’s fine,” he murmurs then. “She’s a rookie. Like every rookie before her.”

“Timothy!” Angela exclaims, straightening. “You like her!”

“What part of anything I just said led you to that assumption?”

“It’s called deductive reasoning. Were they teaching that in the academy way back when you joined?”

“Did you seriously just make an age joke? Should we look at your ID?”

“Excuse me?” you interrupt, standing a few feet away with your backpack pulled over your shoulders. You rock back on your heels until Officer Bradford turns toward you. “I just wanted to say thank you for being patient with me today, and I’m looking forward to improving.”

“That’s really nice,” Angela muses.

“What did I tell you, boot?” Tim sighs.

“Oh, right.” You straighten your shoulders and correct, “Night, sir.”

“Don’t do that,” Angela tells you. “He’s trying to intimidate you.”

“No, I’m trying to protect you,” Tim admits, setting his paper aside and looking at you with his hands on his hips. “You can’t be this nice to everyone. Life isn’t all bubbles and butterflies and not everyone wants you to say please and thank you.”

“I understand,” you reply, nodding once. “Thanks, Officer Bradford.”

You wave to a fellow rookie on your way out, hold the door for Smitty, and yield to a parking car that doesn’t have the right of way. Tim pinches his eyes closed, exhaling a long breath.

“I’ll ask one more time,” Angela says. “What’s the verdict?”

“She has too much compassion, empathy,” Tim answers.

“Not always a bad thing.”

“It is when it’s the result of something someone took from you,” Tim snaps. “She… She needs more than a T.O.”

“Ah, I see.” Angela taps the desk, mumbling, “Congrats on the puppy.”

“Not a puppy!” Tim calls over his shoulder. “And don’t let her be so nice to Smitty!”

Three weeks into being a rookie, you get invited to dinner at your dad’s house. You consider simply saying no or lying and saying that you have to work a late shift. But you get nauseous at the thought, so you promise to be there.

“What’s wrong?” Tim asks from the driver’s seat.

“Huh? Oh, no- nothing, sir,” you reply carefully. “Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. If you want to talk, there are plenty of people you can talk to. Say the word.”

“It’s nothing,” you assure him. “Was just thinking.”

Three hours later, sitting at your dad’s table, you realize that your own father has never asked What’s wrong? But Tim Bradford — your T.O., your superior officer — did.

“Look at me!” your dad demands, bringing his fist down on the table. “You are hopeless!”

“I’m not,” you argue without thinking. It’s been years since you last spoke back to him. The kindness, the sunny disposition that you cling so tightly to is a defense mechanism, an attempt to stay on everyone’s good side so you never end up here ever again.

“Give up before you embarrass yourself,” he scoffs. “Or worse, us.”

You look down at your hands, whisper, “Like you’ve ever noticed what I do,” and don’t see him move before his ring scrapes across your cheek.

The moment you step out of the locker room the morning after dinner with your dad, Tim steps in front of you.

“Grey’s office,” he says flatly. “Now.”

You nod, swallowing as you lead him through the glass door. Tim closes it behind himself, then perches on the desk and crosses his arms, his gaze fixed on the bandage covering your cheekbone.

“Whenever you’re ready,” he invites.

“I’m sorry?” you ask, lifting your eyes and immediately regretting it.

“Whenever you’re ready, tell me what happened.”

“It’s not relevant to the job,” you admit.

“Everything is relevant to the job. You fall down the stairs after work; you can’t chase someone the next day. So, talk.”

Looking at your shoes again, you link your fingers together. “I, uh, I went to my dad’s last night. He invited me over for dinner, which was weird. I couldn’t find the courage to say no, so I went.”

Tim drags his hand over his jaw. “You’re too nice, kid.”

“Kid?” you repeat with a smile. “What happened to boot?”

“We’re talking about you. What happened at dinner?”

You hesitate. If you don’t tell your T.O., he might decide you’re untrustworthy. At the same time, there’s a chance that Tim might be asking as more than a police officer.

“He reminded me of how much of a disappointment I am,” you say softly. “Tried to convince me to drop out of the program… Didn’t like that I talked back.”

“You?” Tim asks, shifting forward as he drops his arms.

“Me what?”

“You talked back? What could you have possibly said that made him- wait, did he hit you?”

Your lack of answer is enough for Tim. He pushes off the desk, careful as he peels the bandage away from your cheek to survey the damage done by your father.

“Don’t go over there again,” Tim says, straightening the bandage.

“I- What am I supposed to do, say no to my dad?”

“Yes. Because he’s a terrible person.”

“How would you know? This could’ve been a fluke.”

“I know,” Tim insists. “I can see the damage he did before last night.”

“How-”

“I have some of the same scars. Look, dads are supposed to be a lot — confidants, teachers, protectors. But some of them- some of them suck. Yours does. Mine did, too. At some point, you have to admit to yourself that he won’ t be any of those things for you, no matter how nice you try to be.”

“Then where do I go for all that?” you question. Brushing your fingers over your bandage, you remember, “Sorry, this isn’t appropriate for the station.”

Tim pushes your hand away from the bandage, sighing as he re-adheres the corner you pulled at. “You can come to me,” he offers. “Yes, I’m your T.O., but I care about you beyond the uniform, okay?”

Pressing your lips together to hide your smile, you nod. “Thank you.”

“Let’s get back out there,” Tim decides, stepping back.

“Yes, sir.” You’re a step behind him when you ask, “Could I call you Pops?”

“Not if you want to keep your job.”

“Understood.”

Tim stops by the door, meeting your eyes to promise, “I’m here, okay?”

You nod, and his jaw tightens before he demands, “And get that cheek checked.” He hesitates, then asks, “Your dad have the same last name as you?”

“Yeah. Why do you ask?”

He nudges you toward the garage and murmurs, “No reason.”

[theflowersoughtbythecrimsonrain]

✧ ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕨𝕤 𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕟 ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕪 ✧

Batfam x Batsis Miraculous Holder.

Masterlist

Chapter 2: Plagg and the fresh start

 Chapter 2.1: A Fresh Start 

The sky over Paris was a brilliant, unblemished blue—a sharp, almost jarring contrast to the perpetual bruised-purple clouds of Gotham.

When the plane touched down at Charles de Gaulle Airport, the sudden absence of tension in your shoulders was almost physical. For the first time in months, there were no flashing cameras blocking your exit, no reporters shoving microphones into your face to ask how it felt to lose a brother, and no looming shadow of the Bat waiting to drag you into a damp cave. You slipped through the terminal seamlessly. Here, you weren't a Gotham heiress or a tragic headline. You were just another face in the crowd.

A private car arranged by Alfred was waiting outside to take you to your new home. As the vehicle glided away from the airport and onto the highway, you pulled out your phone. The screen was blissfully clear of missed calls from Dick or cryptic alerts from the Bat-computer. You dialled a familiar, private number.

It rang exactly twice before a crisp, reassuring voice answered.

 "Miss [Name], I trust your flight across the Atlantic was agreeable?"

"I landed safely, Alfred," you said, leaning your head back against the leather seat. "No press at the gate. No one followed me. It’s... quiet."

There was a brief pause on the line, the kind of quiet that meant Alfred was letting out a rare, relieved sigh. 

"Extremely gratifying to hear, my dear. The apartment should be fully prepared for your arrival. I took the liberty of stocking the pantry with a few familiar comforts, though I expect you will find the local culinary options quite superior to Gotham's takeaway."

"Thank you, Alfred. For everything," you murmured, watching the Parisian suburbs give way to classic, elegant architecture. "How is... Dad?"

"Master Bruce has thrown himself entirely into his work,"

 Alfred replied, his tone shifting into that guarded, sorrowful register he used whenever the cave demanded too much. "As expected as always. But you must not worry about the manor now. Your only assignment is to breathe, Miss. Enjoy the distance."

"I will. Talk to you soon, Alfred."

After disconnecting, you watched the city unfold through the window

The car eventually pulled up to a modest, beautiful apartment building in a quiet arrondissement. It was miles away from the crushing grandiosity of Wayne Manor. Inside, the rooms were sunlit, simple, and entirely yours.

Once your bags were unpacked, the walls started to feel a bit too still, so you decided to explore. Walking down the Parisian streets felt like stepping into another dimension. In Gotham, you walked with your head down, your hand close to a concealed weapon, constantly scanning dark alleyways. Here, people sat outside at cafes, laughing over espresso in the middle of the afternoon.

You tracked the route to your new school, Collège Françoise Dupont. It was a beautiful historic building, lively and completely open compared to the private academies Bruce usually favoured.

On your way back, a rich, buttery aroma caught your attention, drawing you toward a bakery with a striking black-and-white facade, Tom & Sabine Boulangerie Patisserie. Intrigued, you stepped inside, the little bell above the door chiming merrily.

 A warm, friendly woman with indigo hair behind the counter greeted you with a bright smile. You bought a small box of fresh pastries—the flakiest, most perfectly golden croissants and colourful macarons you had ever seen.

Stepping back out into the afternoon air, you cradled the bakery box carefully in one arm. You had only gone a block when your Gotham instincts, honed by years of hyper-vigilance, flared.

An elderly man in a bright red Hawaiian shirt was stepping off the curb, leaning heavily on a cane. He was completely oblivious to a heavy delivery truck rushing around the corner, its brakes screeching too late.

 To make matters worse, the jolt of his sudden movement caused a small bag of traditional hard candies he was holding to slip from his hand, sending the sweets flying into the air.

Your brain didn't need to process a choice; your muscle memory simply took over.

In one fluid motion, you lunged forward. You hooked your free arm securely around the old man's torso, pivoting your weight and pulling him firmly back onto the sidewalk just as the truck roared past, its horn blaring a split second after the danger had passed.

At the same time, your eyes tracked the trajectory of the airborne sweets. With a quick, precise sweep of your hand, you managed to intercept the falling bag mid-air, catching it cleanly along with your bakery box without crushing a single pastry.

You landed solidly on your feet, completely balanced, your breathing even.

"Whoa there," you muttered, ensuring the man had his footing before slowly letting go. "Careful. Drivers around here are almost as reckless as the ones back home."

The old man blinked up at you, remarkably composed for someone who had just looked a grill plate in the face. His sharp, unusually wise eyes swept over your stance, taking in the perfect defensive posture you had instinctively assumed. He smiled gently. "Merci, mon enfant," he murmured, his voice rich and steady. "A remarkably sharp reflex for someone so young."

You shrugged your shoulders, shifting the weight of your backpack. The praise made you slightly uncomfortable; back in Gotham, reacting like that wasn't a choice; it was a survival mechanism. 

"Just paying attention, mister. It's nothing. really. Anyone would have done the same thing if they saw the truck coming," you said, breathing out a small breath as you held out his property. "Here, you dropped these. Caught them before they hit the dirt."

The man looked at the bag of candies in your hand, then up at your bakery box. "You have exceptional coordination, young lady. Most people would have panicked, or perhaps saved themselves. But you saved me and salvaged the sweets. You move like someone who has spent a great deal of time preparing for the unexpected."

Your eyes narrowed slightly, a tiny flicker of internal caution waking up. You wondered for a split second if he was looking at you too closely, or if he somehow recognised you. But looking at his wrinkled face and the simple, faded pattern of his shirt, you let the suspicion drop. He was just an observant local.

‘I mean, a Hawaiian shirt in Paris? really? In a city known for its fashion? Even the Joker fits in better—even if it was a tacky purple suit, eug…’

"I just don't like seeing people get hurt," you replied, your tone shifting back to a casual, flat drone. "Paris is supposed to be a beautiful city. It'd be a shame to ruin your day over a distracted driver." 

You popped open your own bakery box, offering it toward him. "Here. A bit of sugar helps with the adrenaline. Take one."

The elderly man let out a soft, delighted chuckle that crinkled the corners of his eyes. "A very pragmatic and generous outlook. Paris is a beautiful city, but it can be quite unpredictable.” 

He reached into the box, taking a macaron with a polite nod. “It requires people who are willing to watch over it from time to time."

He gave you a formal, respectful bow of his head. "Merci encore, Miss. Please take care on your walk. The streets here can be full of surprises."

"You too, sir. Watch the crosswalks," you said, giving him a small, parting nod.

You watched him turn and walk away, his cane tapping a steady, rhythmic beat against the stone walkway until he disappeared around the corner toward the Seine. 

You closed your bakery box and pulled your jacket tighter against the slight afternoon breeze, a faint, cynical smirk touching your lips. If Bruce had been here, he would have spent the next twenty minutes lecturing you about situational awareness and the dangers of exposing your physical conditioning to random civilians.

But Bruce wasn't here. And for the first time in your life, you didn't have to listen to a lecture. You turned the corner, heading back to your apartment, completely unaware of the tiny, ornate wooden box that had just been slipped into your backpack.

Beta read by: @sakur4ii homie: @foolishcube (cause my man needs to be here)

Divider credits: @saradika-graphics , @sisterlucifergraphics.

@d4rkf10w3r , @badatbowling , @thatonegaykid-lutz , @xeylieex , @dearmariancountmein

@juni1peer , @animatesiti , @intergalacticranger , @rivolex , @icelatte-tea

@officialkatzline , @steadyclarityparadox , @somebodyrandom-613 , @cookiepersona , @whognuthis ,

For those who need to be tagged, do mention it. I have yet to create a separate taglist post [as I have seen others create it]. I am just learning about Tumblr. I am new here, so forgive me if my Tumblr etiquette is not proper.

I will also add my followers to that tag list post as well, so I request you guys to be patient with me for that. My inbox is open for y'all ✨ I would love to answer any questions you guys have for me.

THANK YOU GUYS, FOR YOUR LIKES AND 33 FOLLOWERS!! I AM SOO HAPPY THAT I GOT THIS MUCH ATTENTION FROM THE FANDOM. 🎉🫰❤️ THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR YOUR LOVE, SUPPORT, AND REBLOGS.

I really appreciate your attention.

[theflowersoughtbythecrimsonrain]

✧ ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕨𝕤 𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕟 ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕪 ✧

Batfam x Batsis Miraculous Holder.

Masterlist

Chapter 1: The Breaking Point.

The manor had never been this quiet.

Not after patrols. Not after arguments. Not even after funerals.

The silence that settled over Wayne Manor after Jason's death felt wrong. Heavy. Like the entire house had forgotten how to breathe.

You hated it. You hated the silence. You hated the pitying looks. You hated the flowers. Most of all, you hated that everyone kept saying the same thing: "We're sorry for your loss."

 Each time you heard those words, your insides twisted. After a while, you stopped feeling anything. The words bounced off you, empty and meaningless, until you couldn't tell if you felt more angry or numb. It was as if each condolence pushed you further away from everyone else, building a wall you couldn't break through.

As if Jason had been a lost pet. As if your brother hadn't been ripped out of your life. As if a sentence could somehow make that acceptable.

The funeral had ended three days ago. Three days. Seventy-two hours. Four thousand three hundred and twenty minutes. You knew because you couldn't stop counting. Every second felt like another betrayal. The world kept moving. The sun still rose. People still laughed. Cars still drove through Gotham's streets.

And Jason was still dead.

You sat curled up on the window seat in your bedroom, staring out at the rain. The city beyond the glass was grey and blurry. Gotham looked miserable. Good. It deserved to be.

A knock sounded at your door. You didn't answer, but the door opened anyway. Alfred stepped inside carrying a tray. Tea. Cookies. A small sandwich. You almost laughed. He was still trying to make sure you ate.

"Master Bruce is concerned."

You looked away. "Then he can come be concerned himself."

Alfred's expression softened. "Miss [Name]—"

"Don't." The word came out sharper than intended, and you immediately felt guilty. Not because Alfred deserved it, but because he didn't. Alfred was the only person in this entire house who seemed to remember you existed.

The old butler placed the tray on a nearby table.

 "You should eat."

"I'm not hungry."

"You said that yesterday."

"And?"

"And you were lying yesterday as well."

A tiny smile threatened to appear. Almost. But not quite. The smile died before it reached your lips, just like everything else lately.

Alfred sighed. "You know Master Jason would be quite insufferable about this."

That hurt. The mention of Jason always hurt. But this time it hurt differently, because you could practically hear him. 

                                            “Eat the damn cookie.”

You swallowed hard. The room suddenly felt smaller, and Alfred quietly left. You were grateful. The second the door clicked shut, your composure shattered. You buried your face in your hands, and the tears came anyway.

They always did.

The reporters started appearing the next morning. At first, there were only a few, but by lunchtime, there were dozens, and by evening, they were camping outside the gates. You watched them from the security monitors. Like vultures. Waiting and always waiting.

One station ran a segment discussing the "Tragic Loss of Gotham's Favourite Son." Another replayed footage of Jason at charity events. At galas. At public appearances. Smiling. Laughing. Alive.

You switched the television off. Immediately. The silence returned, and it wasn't any better.

The next day, you tried leaving the manor. That turned out to be a mistake. The second your car exited the gates, cameras appeared. 

Flash. Flash. Flash. 

Questions followed—relentless, cruel, hungry.

"Miss Wayne!"

"How are you coping?"

"Do you have a statement?"

"Was Jason struggling before his death?"

"Is it true he was receiving counselling?"

The driver accelerated, and you stared straight ahead. Your hands trembled. The questions blurred together. You wanted to scream, but instead you remained silent.

 Because Wayne's children didn't make scenes.

 Wayne's children smiled.

 Wayne's children endured. 

Wayne's children suffered gracefully.

You hated being a Wayne.

The first training session happened that night. The cave felt colder than usual. Bruce stood in the centre of the training area, waiting. You hadn't trained in nearly two weeks, not since Jason died. Part of you hoped he'd forgotten. That hope lasted approximately three seconds.

"You're late."

You glanced at the clock. You weren't. The realisation made something bitter settle in your stomach. Bruce tossed you a practice staff, and you caught it automatically—years of muscle memory.

"Again."

No greeting. No "How are you?" No mention of Jason. Just training. Again. Always training.

The staff struck your arm, and pain exploded through your shoulder. You hissed, but Bruce didn't stop. Didn't slow down. Didn't apologise.

"Again."

The next hit caught your side. Then your leg. Then your wrist. Each strike was precise, controlled, and brutal. You knew what he was doing. He was scared. Jason died, and now Bruce was trying to make sure nobody else did. But knowing the reason didn't make it hurt less.

The session lasted three hours. Three exhausting hours. By the end, your arms shook from fatigue, sweat soaked your shirt, and your lungs burned. Bruce finally lowered his weapon.

"You're getting sloppy."

Something inside you snapped. Sloppy? You stared at him—really stared. At the dark circles under his eyes. At the exhaustion, he thought nobody noticed. At the grief he refused to acknowledge. At the man who had somehow become a stranger.

"My brother died."

The words echoed through the cave. Bruce froze.

"I know."

You laughed—a horrible, cold, sharp, humourless sound. "Do you?"

His jaw tightened. Neither of you spoke. The silence stretched until finally you turned away. You couldn't do this. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

You called Dick three times that week. No answer. Five texts. Nothing. Two voicemails. Still nothing.

At first, you told yourself he was busy. Then you told yourself he was grieving. Then you ran out of excuses. The worst part wasn't the silence. It was the hope. Every time your phone buzzed, your heart jumped. Every notification, every vibration, every sound made you think.

Maybe it's Dick.

It never was.

A few days later, Tim Drake arrived. You recognised him immediately. You'd seen him around before—a kid, smart, observant, and far too interested in Batman and Robin. You knew who he was before anyone explained. The red and green costumes sitting in the cave made that obvious.

Robin. A new Robin. Already.

You stared at the costume, then at Bruce, then at Dick. Nobody said anything. The rage hit so suddenly it left you dizzy. Not because you blamed Tim—you didn't. The kid looked terrified, lost, and completely overwhelmed—but seeing another Robin standing where Jason should have been felt like someone had ripped open a wound and poured salt and chilli inside.

It burned you both inside and out.

‘How could they?’ your mind went off on a tangent. Thinking more than what you could process, you were thinking.

The emotions hit you like a crowbar. Crushing and breaking every bit of rational thought you could have had.

You left before anyone could stop you. Nobody followed.

The call finally came four days later.

You answered before the first ring could even finish.

"Dick?"

For a second, there was only the hollow hum of long-distance static. Then, a quiet, heavy exhale.

"Hey."

Just one word, and you hated how the tight knot in your chest instantly loosened. You hated how relieved you felt.

"Where the hell have you been?"Another pause stretched between you, thick and suffocating.

"Dick, talk to me."

"I didn't know what to say to you," he whispered. His voice was completely stripped of his usual charm—flat, exhausted, and sounding entirely hollowed out.

"So you just didn't say anything?"

Anger surged through you, hot and sharp, burning away the relief. "I kept calling you. For weeks."

"I know."

"You didn't come to the funeral, Dick! You didn't answer my texts. I didn't know if you were on a mission, or if..." Your voice cracked, the raw truth slipping out before you could stop it. "I thought you were gone, too. I thought I lost both of you."

Dick inhaled sharply on the other end of the line. The silence that followed was deafening, and a sudden wave of regret hit you. You didn't regret it because it was a lie; you regretted it because it was the absolute truth, and it carried the weight of a physical blow.

When he finally spoke, his voice was tight, barely above a whisper. "I'm sorry. I just... I couldn't face you. I thought you'd look at me and..." He trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

He thought you would blame him for not being there to save Jason. You squeezed your eyes shut, leaning your head against the cool glass of the window.

The apology felt entirely meaningless—too late, too small, too fragile to fix the cracks in the house.

"I miss him," you confessed, the words breaking softly in the quiet room."I know," Dick murmured.

For the first time since the news broke, he didn't sound like Nightwing, or Gotham's golden child, or the distant hero on the monitor. He just sounded like your older brother. And somehow, that made the pain infinitely worse, because it reminded you exactly of the family you used to be before everything shattered.

The media became unbearable. 

Every outing turned into an interrogation. 

Every appearance became a spectacle. 

One reporter actually asked whether Jason's death would affect Wayne Enterprises' stock prices. 

You nearly punched that asshole in the face—years of etiquette lessons stopped you. Barely.

The asshole will never be able to eat the same way ever again with his broken jaw.

The next morning, your face appeared on three magazine covers. 

One headline read: 

WAYNE HEIRESS STRUGGLES AFTER TRAGEDY.

 You threw the magazine across the room.

Another training session. Then another. Then another.

Bruce pushed harder every time. Longer hours, more drills, more combat, more expectations. 

Less conversation, less warmth, less everything. 

You realised something terrifying.

Training had become the only way Bruce knew how to express love, and right now, it was suffocating you.

Winter arrived, and the first snow fell over Gotham. Jason loved snow; you hated it now. Every memory felt like a knife—every joke, every smile, every stupid nickname. Everything reminded you of him. 

To you—the grief never got smaller; you just got more tired.

The argument happened three days before Christmas. You barely remembered how it started—something about training, something about curfews, something about Bruce insisting you needed more protection.

"You can't keep doing this."

Bruce looked up. "Doing what?"

"This." You gestured wildly. "Treating me like I'm made of glass."

"I'm trying to keep you safe."

"I'm not Jason."

The second the words left your mouth, you wished you could take them back. Bruce flinched—actually flinched, as you'd struck him. Neither of you moved. Neither of you spoke. The cave suddenly felt impossibly large.

‘I'm sorry.’ The apology never came.

Bruce looked away. "You should get some rest."

That was it. Conversation over. Just like always. You walked away before he could see you crying.

Two days later, Alfred knocked on your bedroom door.

 You expected tea, maybe cookies, the warm comfort he always extended—telling everything is alright,  or possibly another gentle attempt at making sure you hadn't completely stopped functioning. 

Instead, he carried an envelope.

You frowned. "What is it?"

Alfred stepped inside.

 For a moment, he looked strangely nervous, which was unsettling because Alfred never looked nervous. 

He handed you the envelope, and you opened it.

Inside was a plane ticket. You stared, then stared harder, then checked again.

Paris, France. A one-way ticket.

Your breath caught. "What?"

Alfred smiled softly. "An opportunity."

You looked up, confused. "What kind of opportunity?"

"The sort involving distance."

Your heart started pounding—slowly, carefully, like something waking up after a long sleep. "Alfred..."

"A public school in Paris has accepted your transfer."

You blinked once, twice, unable to process the words. "A transfer?"

"The arrangements have already been made."

Your hands trembled. Paris. Another country, another city. Away. Far away.

"So Bruce is just letting me leave?"

Alfred's smile turned sad. "It took some convincing."

That sounded more accurate. You looked back at the ticket. 

Paris. 

The word felt unreal, impossible, beautiful, and terrifying all at once.

"You want me gone?" The question slipped out quietly.

Alfred immediately crossed the room. "No." His answer came instantly, fiercely. "No, my dear."

Emotion clogged your throat. "You all seem happier without me lately."

Alfred's expression broke your heart because it looked so genuinely pained. "That isn't true."

"It feels true."

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. Then, Alfred gently rested a hand on your shoulder. "Master Bruce loves you."

You laughed weakly. "Could've fooled me."

"He is grieving."

"So am I."

"Yes." The simple acknowledgement nearly made you cry, because finally, someone said it. Not Bruce Wayne's daughter. Not a Wayne heiress. Not Gotham royalty. Just a girl grieving her brother.

Alfred squeezed your shoulder. "You deserve a chance to breathe."

The words shattered something inside you because Gotham hadn't let you breathe in months. The media, the expectations, the grief, the training, the loneliness—everything felt like it was crushing you. And suddenly, there was a door. An escape. A way out.

You looked down at the ticket. Paris. A new city, a new life, and a chance to become someone other than the girl everyone pitied.

The tears finally came, quietly and slowly. Alfred pulled you into a hug, and for the first time since Jason died, you allowed yourself to believe that maybe surviving wasn't impossible. Maybe healing existed. Maybe there was still something waiting for you beyond Gotham's endless shadows.

Outside, snow drifted across the manor grounds. Inside, a plane ticket rested in your trembling hands.

And somewhere beyond the ocean, Paris waited.

Beta read by: @sakur4ii

Divider credits

@saradika-graphics

TAG LIST:

@foolishcube my homie (⁠◕⁠ᴗ⁠◕⁠✿⁠)

@d4rkf10w3r , @badatbowling , @thatonegaykid-lutz , @xeylieex ,

@dearmariancountmein , @juni1peer , @animatesiti , @intergalacticranger

I tried tagging most of the people who liked my post about writing about the story. I couldn't tag a few. Please let me know if you'd prefer not to be tagged.

[theflowersoughtbythecrimsonrain]

✧ ℂ𝕝𝕒𝕨𝕤 𝕆𝕦𝕥 𝕚𝕟 ℂ𝕣𝕚𝕞𝕖 𝔸𝕝𝕝𝕖𝕪 ✧

Batfam x Batsis Miraculous Holder.

Masterlist

ARC 1: The Flight and the Ring (The Backstory)

Chapter 1: The Breaking Point. (complete)

Chapter 2: Plagg and the Fresh Start. (in progress)

Chapter 3: The New Dynamic Duo.

Chapter 4: Developing Feelings.

ARC 2: The Fall of the Monarch 

ARC 3: The Gotham Reunion (The Present Day)

ARC 4: The Akuma of Arkham

And more to come ヾ(⌐■_■)ノ♪

Original Drabble/Idea by @sakur4ii. (Also my beta reader.) The original drabble 'here'

DIVIDER CREDITS

@curtainhshsh @chrisssiren @rmstitanics @junabuggy

Let me know if I have had any tags for the fandom. What do you mean there is no Mr Bug tag?

[tiredhoeoclock]

lucy chen and tim bradford but in a "i have a girlfriend and a boyfriend and theyre also boyfriend-girlfriend" type of way. no one can argue w me its pride month 😁

[sakur4ii]

I'm obsessed with playing as Batgirl in Gotham Knights she's so beautiful. I love you Barbara Gordon

[sakur4ii]

I have another idea, but I haven't really thought it through yet lol. I'm winging it as I go.

Batfam x Batsis, specifically Bruce Wayne and Batsis. (out of character? maybe) Bad English probably

A couple of weeks ago (probably a month ago, but who keeps track of time? I certainly don't)I saw a quote that reminded me of Bruce Wayne—I don't know why (I do actually).

"God gives daughters to womanizers" It sounds more epic in Spanish (it doesn't).

Well, I was thinking about Bruce Wayne, who’s at the peak of his game when it comes to picking up women, etc. And then one day, you show up at his doorstep—a 5-year-old—with a paternity test that confirms he’s your biological father. No one ever found out who your mother is, but that doesn’t matter.

The thing is, Bruce is never neglectful toward you (or at least not on purpose) but it’s true that he acts more like an older brother than a father; I don’t know how to explain it. What I mean is, Bruce is young—let's say his only child so far has been Dick Grayson, which means you'd be the second kid he's had—and his only role model as a father is Alfred, because he didn't get to spend enough time with his own father.

So, from the outside, your relationship with your father is like that of an older brother and his little sister. But it doesn't matter; Alfred has experience... sort of.

As you grow up, the people around you realize that you’re maturing too quickly for your age, and out of concern and caution, Bruce decides you should have monthly sessions with a psychologist—but let’s be honest, it was your art teacher who suggested it.

This way, you can talk about your relationship with your family, how you cope with certain situations, work on your emotions and how to express them, self-esteem... there are actually a lot of things to work on as you go through adolescence.

But if there's one thing you really wouldn't change, it's your relationship with your father; even if he struggles to take on that role, you enjoy your dynamic with him.

Your dynamic is based mainly on sarcasm; you both enjoy teasing each other. He’s taught you to be a detective, and you’ve figured out the rest on your own. You always know when something’s wrong with him, and you always manage to get him to talk to you and let it all out.

Bruce is obviously quick to pick up on your moods and body language, and he always makes sure to set aside time for you. He’s learned how to bring up any difficult topics that need to be discussed—even if they might upset you—without upsetting you. And if he does end up upsetting you, he’s learned to apologize (it’s been hard for him, but he can’t stand it when his daughter and confidante stops talking to him).

If he spends too much time being Batman and hasn't seen you in weeks, he'll try to make up for it by buying you something, but in the end, you have to make him spend some quality time with you.

(Is this too much out of character? It’s been a while since I’ve read anything about Batman, and sometimes I mix up his personality with other characters. Sorry if that’s the case—that’s why I usually just drop the idea and walk away, lol.)

I imagine that when it comes to galas, parties, and any other events he has to attend as Brucie Wayne, he always chooses you to accompany him—unlike his other children, you're the only one who doesn't cause a scene.

But the real reason is that Alfred taught you everything about etiquette, posture, speech, and all that rich-people stuff, and you’re really good at hiding your disgust. So it’s easy to criticize other rich people with you around—and fun, too. You make such witty comments that sometimes it’s hard to tell if you’re insulting or complimenting someone.

Whenever I think of a reader who isn't a vigilante, I picture her working as a private investigator. I don't know, I love detectives, and I think that role really suits you here. :P

So when one of your cases crosses paths with Batman—not Bruce, Batman—it’s funny, because you’re always teasing your dad, and he can’t come up with a witty comeback without jeopardizing his identity. Jason is the one who enjoys these moments the most.

But let's go back to the part where Brice Wayne was a womanizer, and you were still just a little girl.

Once at a gala, a beautiful but overly flashy and extravagant woman approached your father. Even though you were young, you could tell perfectly well that this woman wanted to take advantage of your father; she started flirting with him and practically threw herself at him. You spent the whole time watching her with a raised eyebrow and a look of disgust.

On the one hand, your father kept talking to her to save face; on the other hand, he couldn't help but notice that she was pretty. So you decided to step in in the best way possible.

"Dad, is this woman going to be my new mom, too? Does that mean I'll have four moms?"

Your father looked at you in disbelief, unable to utter a single word, while the woman apologized and left, horrified at the very idea of becoming a mother—and to make matters worse, his fourth girlfriend. Maybe she wanted to take advantage of you, Dad, but that woman has her dignity too... I guess.

The truth is, you were a real turn-off to most of the women who approached Bruce. Few were willing to put up with you out of true love for your father (or out of a genuine need for money).

God gives daughters to womanizers. Barbara and Stephanie aren't his daughters, nor does he consider them as such, but it's true that both girls have found a place in his heart, in his sons' hearts, and in his family. He doesn't consider them his daughters, but sometimes they act like they are, especially when they're with you. There's probably an article out there about Bruce Wayne and his three secret daughters or something like that.

And let's not even get started on Cassandra—he really does consider her a daughter. At first, it seemed like you and Cass weren't going to get along; you two had nothing in common. But to his surprise, you have a way with people, because you and Cass are definitely very close. You're the human, normal part of the family, and you have a lot to teach everyone. Cassandra learned a lot from you—even how to get into mischief.(?

You're the one who keeps everyone grounded, and while everyone thought Dick was the one they turned to when they needed to talk, you're undoubtedly the person even Dick himself chooses when he needs someone who understands him. Because somehow you always understand everyone, you always know what to say, and there's something about you that makes it easier for others to open up.

Even Damian, who has a hard time opening up to others. Even Duke, who is the newest addition to the family.

But don't worry, it's not a one-sided thing—you always know who to turn to when you need help, and depending on the problem, you go to different people. But in a way, your father is always the safest bet and the person you find it easiest to open up to.

[sakur4ii]

Batfam x Female Reader (Platonic)||Fantasy Medieval AU ☝️

Disclaimer: I don't know much about the Middle Ages—it's been a long time since I've looked into that topic, and I'm not studying it anymore, lol—but this is fantasy, okay? Nothing is based on real events. Bad English probably.

Since Bruce Wayne became the King of Gotham Kingdom, a lot has changed—especially the laws. For example, wages have gone up, women can go to school and become knights, and the same-sex marriage law was even passed recently. But there is one thing that hasn't changed yet:

Magic is still forbidden. You’re no longer sentenced to death for being a magician or a sorcerer, but you are banished from the Kingdom. It's interesting: many other kingdoms have embraced magic and have made advances in medicine, technology, and other fields thanks to it, yet King Bruce is convinced he can make progress without magic. And he's succeeding.

Unfortunately, you're a user of magic—specifically, a witch. You found out when you were 11.

You and your mother had to move to the outskirts of the kingdom to hide your “gift,” as your mother likes to call it. It was a hasty but necessary decision; only God knows what might have happened if you’d been discovered—back then, magic was still punishable by death.

But you still remember the time you spent living in the village near the royal castle. Your mother was one of the many servants there, and you would sometimes go with her to work.

You remember seeing the king's children from a distance. You remember the three children, who look so much alike that no one would guess they're actually adopted.

Richard John Grayson/Wayne, a boy who lived in a traveling circus, was very young when his parents were killed in an accident during one of their performances. He was about 15 years old when you were still visiting the castle.

Jason Peter Todd/Wayne was an orphan who lived in a town known as Crime Alley; King Bruce adopted him after catching him stealing the wheels from his carriage. He was about 13 or 14 years old.

Timothy Jackson Drake/Wayne, the son of nobles, met King Bruce after insisting that he wanted to become a knight; his parents were murdered a few years after you moved away—You know, Bruce adopted him after that. He was 10 or 11 years old.

Then you heard rumors about Barbara, the daughter of the captain of the knights, who became captain of the female knights. You also heard about the daughter of a criminal who became a knight and arrested her own father(Steph), and about the daughter of murderers who was adopted by the king and placed under the guardianship of the knight Barbara(Cass).

Now that you're 17 and have better control over your magic, you allow yourself to get closer to the castle.

You take on various jobs. Sometimes you help the blacksmith, other times you go fishing, and most of the time you learn about alchemy and medicine with your mother’s help. Anything that earns you gold coins.

King Bruce is hosting a ball open to the entire kingdom to celebrate his biological son’s (and heir to the throne) 12th birthday. Do you think it’s a good idea for you to go? What will you do if someone tries to assassinate Prince Damian right in front of you?

Maybe we'll find out the answer if I stick with this idea and write the fanfic, but I'm NOT making any promises.😛