summary: The backstory to Zenin!Reader prior to enrolling at Tokyo Jujutsu High and meeting the S trio, a glimpse into her beginnings.
content ♡.°୭ - fem!reader, reader with established curse technique, light angst, Zenin clan, clan politics, misogyny, talks of arranged marriage, Reader and Naoya are like non-immediate cousins, no use of “y/n” because Reader’s name is stylized with “♥︎”, wc of 6.4k
September 1989
The faint cries of an infant echoed through the halls of the Zenin estate as the night surrendered to the first blush of dawn. Outside, the late summer air was cool, carrying with it the earthy scent of an earlier rain. The sky was a muted canvas of soft pinks and blues, as though the world itself held its breath in reverence to the new life making its entrance.
In one of the estate’s private wings, a young woman lie on a futon, her breath uneven but her expression calm despite the labor she had endured. Beads of sweat glistened across her forehead, and her typically flawless hair was now loose and disheveled, framing her face in dark strands. She looked down at the newborn cradled in her arms, her eyes softening as she took in every detail. The tiny fingers curling reflexively inward, the delicate rise and fall of her daughter’s chest, the first hints of hair still damp against her head.
“She’s perfect,” she whispered, her voice trembling with emotion.
Her much older husband stood nearby, his arms crossed and his face unreadable, though his eyes betrayed a glimmer of pride as they rested on his wife and child. He had remained stoic throughout the birth, as expected of a Zenin patriarch, but now he stepped closer, kneeling beside his wife to get a better look at his newborn daughter.
“She’s small,” he said, his tone neutral, though his hand reached out to gently brush the baby’s cheek nonetheless.
She shot him a tired but pointed look. “She’s strong,” she corrected, her voice firm despite her exhaustion. “I felt it.”
He raised an eyebrow, his gaze shifting back to the baby. “You’re sure?”
She nodded, “I could feel her cursed energy even before she was born. It’s potent, more than I expected.”
The baby stirred in her arms, letting out a soft cry that made her mother’s heart ache with a protective fierceness she hadn’t anticipated. She held her closer, her lips softly brushing against the baby’s forehead. “{♥︎},” she murmured. “That will be her name.”
Her husband considered the name for a moment before giving a slight nod. “It suits her.”
The midwife, who had been quietly tending to the room, stepped forward. “Would you like me to take her for a moment, Mito-san?”
“No,” Mito said firmly, pulling her daughter closer. “She stays with me.”
The midwife bowed and retreated without another word, sensing the intensity of the bond already forming between mother and child.
Her husband wordlessly lingered over the pair for a few more minutes, taking in the sight of his completed family before stiffly rising to his feet with a grunt. He casually clasped his hands behind his back before he spoke.
“You were in labor for ten hours, you need to regain your strength.” He turned to make his leave, but continued to speak. “I will have one of the servants prepare you a meal, expect it shortly.” With that, he exited the room.
With the sound of the shutting shoji screen door, the mother and child were now left alone. Releasing a sigh, Mito brought up her fingers to gently stroke her baby’s cheek. “Your father may not show it, but he loves you very dearly.” she assured her daughter, despite her not comprehending yet.
The infant’s tiny hand reached out, her fingers curling around Mito’s thumb with a surprising grip. The gesture brought a genuine smile to her mother’s lips that caused her eyes to squint. A rare softness breaking through her usually composed demeanor.
“You will serve the clan well,” Mito said softly, her voice filled with both determination and love. “But you will also know kindness. I will make sure of it.”
Outside, the morning sun climbed higher, bathing the estate in golden light. Within the walls that housed the Zenin Clan, a new life had begun—a life that would one day carry the weight of tradition, duty, and perhaps something more. For now, though, the newborn slept soundly in her mother’s arms, unaware of the expectations that would one day shape her destiny.
.
The Zenin clan: A prestigious, traditional family of sorcerers. Highly respected in the Jujutsu world as a powerful force, they are the second of the three top clans in all of Japan.
If asked who they were to an outsider, this likely would be the instinctive answer given. However, the alternative perspectives ring much different.
If asked to a Zenin, they are a clan of honor. A force to be reconned with, an entity to be feared. A clan filled with only the greatest sorcerers and techniques to ever walk the Earth, something to behold in both awe and envy. The top sorcerer family in all the land.
If asked to you, they were a family of stuck up snobs who didn’t know how to smile. A clan that took itself far too seriously.
October 1995
You sat on the edge of a soft cushion in your room, your legs swinging nervously above the polished hardwood floor. The late morning sun filtered through the delicate shoji screens, casting golden patterns across the room that gave it a calming ambiance. The smell of cherry blossoms still lingered faintly in the air from the rigorous bath you had just been given. It left your skin feeling just as soft as the day you entered this world, just as intended.
Your mother knelt behind you, tending to your hair with nothing short of practiced precision. Mito’s hands were gentle but firm, her touch deliberate as she worked through each section and removed any lingering knots.
“Hold still, {♥︎},” Mito said, her voice calm but also leaving no room for argument.
You tried your best to sit still, but your small fingers fidgeted with the hem of your kimono. You couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Today wasn’t a normal day, it was “special”. You and your parents were being summoned by the Clan Head for (from your perspective) an impromptu meeting. Your mother had explained the meeting in vague terms, using words such as important and tradition, but no matter how much you asked, you never felt like you were getting a straight enough answer.
“Why do I have to go?” you finally asked. Your eyes glancing up at your mother’s reflection in the mirror before you.
Mito paused for a moment, her hand hovering mid-air before resuming its careful work. “Because this is a necessary step,” she said, her tone measured. “Our clan values tradition, and today you will show them that you belong.”
“Belong where?” you pressed, furrowing your little brows.
“In their future,” Mito said softly, her gaze meeting yours in the mirror.
There she was, being vague again.
The weight of those words made your stomach tighten. What was that supposed to mean? “I don’t want to,” you mumbled, looking down.
Mito set the comb aside and turned you to face her directly. “Listen to me, {♥︎},” she said, her tone firm but not unkind. “This is not about what you want. It is about duty, about ensuring your place in this world. Do you understand?”
You nodded reluctantly, though you weren’t sure you truly did understand.
Satisfied, Mito reached for a silk ribbon, pale lavender to complement your light blue kimono. She tied it neatly around the base of your hair, forming a simple but elegant bow.
“You look beautiful,” Mito complimented dreamily, smoothing the fabric of your kimono.
You glanced at your reflection again. Your kimono was exquisite, the delicate crane motif embroidered in silver thread glinting faintly in the sunlight. Your hair was immaculate, the ribbon adding a touch of softness to your already youthful appearance. But you still felt so out of place, like a doll dressed up for display.
“Do you think they’ll like me?” you asked quietly.
Mito’s expression softened, and for a brief moment, the strict façade she often wore melted away. She placed her hands on your shoulders and smiled. “What matters is that you are proud of who you are,” she said. “And today, you will show them your worthiness, not just your beauty.”
You nodded, the words giving you a small sense of reassurance.
A sharp knock on the door interrupted the moment. Your father Ozai’s voice came from the hallway. “It’s time,”
Mito rose gracefully, extending a hand to you. “Come, {♥︎}. Walk with your back straight and your head high.” she firmly instructed.
You hesitated for just a moment before taking your mother’s hand. Together, you walked out of the room, the sound of your soft footsteps echoing in the quiet corridor.
As you all approached the main hall, you felt your heart pounding in your chest. You tightened your grip on your mother’s hand, drawing strength from her calm presence. Whatever awaited you on the other side of the doors, you would face it.
But as your father slid the doors open, revealing the imposing figures of Naobito Zenin as well as his wife and his son, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were stepping into something you truly didn’t grasp.
”I must thank you for summoning us, Naobito-sama. It is truly an honor.” Ozai stated, bowing at ninety degrees. Mito mirrored her husband, and you quickly followed suit.
Naobito grunted in acknowledgment, and with a nod of his head he spoke. “Punctual, you’re right on time. Sit,” He directed his hand at the opposite side of the large, rectangular low sitting table the three were sat at. Dark wood, and they each had a hot cup of tea sitting in front of them. Or, at least, his wife and son did. His cup lacked the steam theirs produced, which led you to believe his must’ve grown cold.
With a dainty hand on your back, you were guided to the table by your mother and the three of you sat down as instructed. You sat down seiza just as your mother instructed you to; the only proper way for a young lady. The room was imposing, its walls adorned with tapestries depicting the clan’s storied history, and the air smelled faintly of incense. You were only six, but even at your young age, you understood the importance this moment must have held.
Your parents sat on either side of you. Your father sat across from Naobito and wore his usual unreadable expression, while your mother radiated an air of quiet elegance with her hands resting lightly in her lap.
Naobito’s calculated eyes zeroed in on you and, despite the discomfort that shivered through your skin, you didn’t flinch. Beside him, the boy fidgeted in his seat. His dark hair was neatly combed and his expensive silk haori was spotless, but his restless energy betrayed his discomfort. He was smaller than you, with sharp eyes that darted around the room like a trapped animal.
“Good posture,” Naobito remarked from his seat. His tone was approving, though his smile was thin and cold. “At least the girl knows how to sit properly.”
He waved a hand, and immediately two servant women who were stood off to the side quickly prepared to serve you the same tea. One swiftly served you empty cups, while the other filled them from an oriental teapot.
Naobito’s gaze lingered on her for a moment longer before he turned to the boy. “Naoya, sit up straight.”
The boy immediately stopped fidgeting, sitting up with exaggerated stiffness. He shot you a glare, as if silently blaming you for his father’s scolding.
“She’s too quiet,” Naoya muttered under his breath.
“She knows how to be respectful,” Mito said, her tone light but firm.
Naoya made a face but said nothing else.
You dared a glance at your parents. Your father sat silently to your left, his expression unreadable as always, while your mother sat to your right, her hands folded primly in her lap. The tension in the room was suffocating.
Naobito leaned forward, his piercing gaze settling once again on you. “This is your daughter, Ozai? Mito? She’s small for her age.”
“She is,” Ozai replied calmly, his tone betraying no hint of offense. “But, she’s sharp. She’s manifested a strong technique, and already showing promise in controlling cursed energy.”
“And obedient,” Mito added with a serene smile. “She knows her place, you’d never have to worry about a thing with this one.” she said proudly.
Naobito grunted in approval. “Good. She’ll need to be disciplined if she’s going to be a good wife.”
The words hit you like a blow, though you kept your expression carefully neutral. You had no idea what Naobito meant (or at least hoped your growing suspicion was wrong), but the heavy silence that followed made your stomach twist.
That silence was suddenly broken by a high pitched voice filled with outrage. “Wife?” Naoya piped up, his confusion quickly giving way to indignation. “Her?!”
“Yes, her,” Naobito said sharply. “You’ll be betrothed when you’re older. This is important if you’re to succeed me one day. You’ll learn to appreciate it in time.”
“But she’s boring!” Naoya whined, pointing at you like you weren’t sitting right there. “She hasn’t even said anything!”
Your cheeks burned, growing frustrated, but you didn’t look up. Your mother’s hand rested lightly on your shoulder, a silent warning for you to keep your composure.
“Better she be quiet and observant than loud and foolish,” Mito said, her voice smooth as silk.
Naoya glared at her, then at you, clearly trying to come up with a retort but finding none. Instead, he turned to his father. “Why can’t I marry someone…cooler?”
Naobito’s eyes narrowed dangerously. “Because I said you’ll marry her. She’s exactly what you need: a disciplined girl with a powerful cursed technique. As for now, you’d do well to learn from her.”
The boy, clearly not liking that answer, slapped the table. The vibrations caused ripples to flow their filled tea cups. “What is she supposed to—“
“Silence, Naoya!” Naobito snapped, his patience clearly wearing thin. “I refuse to repeat myself, you’ll do as you’re told. Both of you will.”
Your gaze flickered toward Naoya. His face was twisted into a scowl, his small hands balled into fists. He looked like he wanted to argue, but even at five years old he knew better than to challenge his father. So he remained silent, just as he was ordered to do.
On your end, your stomach churned. You wanted to speak up, to say something—anything—but you couldn’t. Not under the weight of Naobito’s gaze, not with your parents sitting so still beside you.
“You may speak, {♥︎}.” her father said suddenly, his voice calm but firm.
You hesitated, unsure of what to say. Your mother’s hand tightened slightly on your shoulder, a subtle reminder to choose your words carefully.
“I…I’ll do what’s expected of me,” Is what you finally decided on, your voice steady despite the knot growing in your chest.
Naobito’s thin smile returned, “Good. A proper Zenin woman knows her role. You’ll serve this family well, girl.” Naoya muttered something about you being boring and weak, but Naobito simply chose to ignore him this time.
You nodded, though the words felt like chains wrapping around you. Your heart sank. You were too young to fully understand what marriage even meant, but you knew enough to feel the weight of it—a bond you had no choice in, a future decided for you before you could even grasp it.
The meeting concluded shortly after, but the weight of the arrangement lingered. As you followed your parents out of the hall, you felt Naoya’s glare on your back, sharp and accusing.
Outside, Mito knelt before you, brushing a thumb across your cheek. “You did well, my dear.” she praised softly.
You looked up at your mother, searching for some hint of reassurance in her expression. “Do I really have to marry him…?”
Mito’s smile faltered, but she recovered quickly, her hand gently cupping your cheek. “This is the way of the clan,” she said just as gently. “You’ll understand one day.” She hoped that would put it to rest, but little did she realize that was the issue.
You didn’t think you would ever understand.
Your legs felt heavy, as if every step carried the weight of the entire meeting. Your father walked ahead, his posture rigid, while your mother held your hand, the grip firm but comforting. The silence between you all was deafening until you reached the secluded path leading back to your quarters. There, Mito stopped and knelt beside you, resting a hand atop your head
Feeling your unease, she reassured: “You’re going to be perfect once you grow up,” Her voice was soft, but purposeful.
You looked up at her, your shimmering with unspoken questions. “I don’t think I wanna do that…” your voice held a hit of disbelief, that didn’t go unnoticed by your parents.
Ozai, who had been silent up until now, turned back to face you. His sharp features remained unreadable, but his tone was steady. “That is what has been decided, independent of what you want.”
“But he doesn’t like me,” you said, your voice trembling slightly. You remembered the way Naoya had looked at you—like you were some sort of burden, something he didn’t want to be tied to.
Mito’s expression softened, and she placed both hands on your small shoulders. “That does not matter, {♥︎}. What matters is that you conducted yourself with the grace and dignity of a proper Zenin maiden. The clan values strength, and today you showed them that you are more than capable of fulfilling your role.”
“But why does it have to be me?” you asked, your voice rising slightly. “Why do I have to marry someone I don’t even know?”
“Because it is your duty,” Ozai interjected firmly, his gaze cold but not cruel. “Our family is powerful, and that power must be maintained. Naobito sees your potential, your cursed technique. This arrangement will secure your place and strengthen the clan.”
Your small fists clenched at your sides. “I don’t care about any of that! I don’t want to marry him!”
Mito’s grip on your shoulders tightened ever so slightly, grounding you. “Enough,” she said, her voice calm but still commanding. “I know this is difficult to understand now, but this is the way of the world we live in. You are strong, child. Stronger than you realize. And strength means doing what is necessary, even when it is not what you want.”
Your lips trembled, but you hurriedly bit down on the urge to cry. Crying would only prove Naoya right, that you were boring and weak. You refused to give him—or anyone for that matter—the satisfaction.
Your mother seemed to sense the storm brewing within you and pulled you into a gentle embrace. “You are my daughter,” Mito murmured, her voice softening. “And you will rise above this, just as I did. Trust me, {♥︎}. You have a path to walk, and I will be with you every step of the way.”
You hesitated before burying your face in her mother’s shoulder, taking in the faint scent of jasmine. For a moment, you allowed yourself to feel small, to lean on the warmth of your mother’s presence.
Ozai stood silently a few steps away, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Finally, he spoke, his voice low. “You did well today. You have the strength of a true Zenin, remember that.”
You pulled back from your mother’s embrace and looked up at your father. His words, though brief, carried a weight that settled heavily in your chest.
“Come,” Mito said, taking your hand once more. “You have had a long day. Let us get you some rest.”
As you continued to walk back to your quarters, your mind churned with thoughts you didn’t know how to process. You thought about Naoya’s scowl, his words, and the way his father had spoken as if you were nothing more than a piece on a chessboard. As if you hadn’t even been in the room, as if you hadn’t been sitting on the other side of the same table.
Like you were less than a person.
As you reached your quarters, Mito knelt once more to help you remove your outer kimono. “You were very brave today,” she said softly. “I am proud of you.”
You looked at your mother, searching her face for any hint of regret or doubt. But Mito’s gaze was steady, her smile gentle.
“Rest now,” your mother said, brushing a hand over your hair. “Tomorrow, we will start preparing you for what lies ahead.”
You nodded quietly, though your mind was far from quiet. As you lie down that night, staring at the intricate patterns on the ceiling, you resolved that if you were to be tied to this fate, you would not let it break you.
July 2000
The Zenin training grounds were empty save for you and Naoya. The late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the stone floor, and the air was heavy with the scent of dust and sweat.
You gripped your bō tightly, your knuckles straining as you watched Naoya pace in front of you like a predator circling its prey. At ten years old, he was shorter than you but already carried himself with the cocky arrogance of someone who believed themselves otherworldly.
“Come on, {♥︎},” he taunted, spinning his wooden sword lazily in his hand. “You’re not scared, are you? Or are you going to back out like a good little housewife?”
Your jaw tightened. Five years of being betrothed to Naoya had taught you one thing: he would never miss an opportunity to remind you of the cage you were trapped in.
“I’m not scared,” you said coolly, raising your bō. “I just don’t want to waste my time beating you again.”
Naoya froze mid-step, his smirk vanishing. “What did you say?”
“You heard me,” you replied, letting your bō rest against your shoulder. “Last time we sparred, you were on the ground crying before I even broke a sweat.”
Naoya’s face turned red, and he gripped his sword tighter. “That was a fluke!” he snapped, “You got lucky!”
“Luck had nothing to do with it,” you scoffed, your voice steady. “You’re reckless, and you rely too much on brute strength. That’s why you lost.”
Naoya’s temper snapped. With a shout, he charged at you, his wooden sword swinging wildly.
You were ready. You stepped to the side, using your bō to deflect his strike. The impact reverberated through your arms, but you didn’t let it slow you down. Pivoting on your heel, you brought the bō around in a wide arc, aiming for his legs.
Naoya jumped back just in time, his expression twisting into a scowl. “Stop running away!” he shouted, lunging at you again.
“I’m not running,” you said calmly, ducking under his swing. You jabbed the end of your bō at his side, forcing him to retreat. “I’m outsmarting you.”
Naoya growled in frustration, attacking with renewed vigor. His strikes were faster now, more precise, but your training and instincts kept you one step ahead. You danced around him, your movements light and controlled, each strike of your bō carefully placed to keep him off balance.
Finally, Naoya overextended. You saw your opening and took it, sweeping his legs out from under him with a quick strike to his shins. He hit the ground hard, his sword clattering out of his hand.
Before he could recover, you planted the end of your bō onto his chest, pinning him to the ground.
“Yield,” you said, your voice firm but not unkind.
Naoya glared up at you, his face a mix of anger and humiliation. For a moment you thought he might argue, but then he let out a frustrated sigh. “Fine,” he muttered. “I yield…”
You stepped back, lowering your bō. You offered him a hand, but he simply slapped it away, pushing himself to his feet on his own with a scowl.
“You’re such a show-off,” he muttered, brushing the dust off his clothes.
“And you’re a sore loser,” you shot back, though there was no malice in your tone.
Naoya opened his mouth to retort but was interrupted by a familiar voice.
“Not bad, girl.” Naobito said, stepping into the training grounds. A bottle of sake swished in his hand with his strides, and his sharp eyes appraised you with the same cold, calculation that you had come to expect. “You’re improving.”
“Thank you, Naobito-sama,” you said, bowing her head respectfully.
Naobito turned to Naoya, his expression darkening. “And you,” he said sharply. “You’re gettin’ sloppy. Letting a girl beat you? Pathetic.”
Naoya’s fists clenched at his sides, his head bowing under the weight of his father’s disapproval. You felt a pang of sympathy for him, though it was fleeting and you didn’t dare show it.
“Again,” Naobito commanded, before taking a swig of his alcohol. “And this time, don’t embarrass yourself.”
Naoya’s eyes flicked to you, and they burned with renewed determination. “Fine,” he said, grabbing his sword. “Let’s go again.”
You sighed, lifting your bō into position. As much as you disliked these constant sparring matches, you knew better than to argue with Naobito.
The clan made it clear what your position in this family was: to be married to the future Clan Head and provide him strong heirs. Nothing more, nothing less. However, they still had appearances to keep up, so a small detour was to be made.
The Zenin naturally prided themselves on the idea of producing the greatest sorcerers in the Jujutsu world, as it reflected well on them as a whole. With your inherited technique being that of Hypergravity, much deliberation was made on what the next decade or so of your life would consist of. That was what directly led to the decision of eventually enrolling you into Tokyo Metropolitan Curse Technical College, or simply Tokyo Jujutsu High. Though, this had been far from an on the spot decision. The deliberation had been filled, more or less, with mixed responses.
Some of the far more conservative members of the clan argued that your education would prove to be ultimately useless, and that all of your focus should remain solely on fulfilling your familial duties. Others were quick to point out that enrollment at the school, with a technique such as yours (that had their name attached, no less), would serve as further evidence of their status and natural superiority. Despite you being female (and thus, your technique “wasted” on you), your attendance would reflect well on the Zenin name. So, a middle ground had been formed.
Begrudgingly, you would be allowed to attend Jujutsu Tech for high school on the condition you hone your skills to their impossible standard. You had to show nothing but the absolute best while enrolled in order to maintain the clan’s reputation, and ultimately return to serve their interests following graduation. Though, during enrollment your clan duties were to still hold precedence over your schooling—as these were naturally the long term plans set in place for you.
This had resulted in your meticulous, grueling training from age six up to now. You practically had to train herself to exhaustion everyday with no complaints, and no visible disgust. You even remembered, fresh as ever, the day your father showed you the disciplinary pit for the very first time.
A room filled with cursed spirits grade 2 and below, locked away behind a large, heavy door. They were a variety of grotesque shapes and sizes. Some lacked actual eyes in their misshaped heads, while others appeared to have far more than what was deemed necessary. Their teeth protruded from their faces and saliva pooled from their mouths at the sight of you, the pit looked like that of a petri dish swarmed with bacteria.
You remembered clutching your father’s haori and trembling in crippling fear as many swiped up at you both from their location down below. They were far enough down to not pose a real threat from your position, but still close enough to genuinely worry you at the time. One had arms that appeared so long, you was utterly convinced it would snatch you straight off of where you stood.
“This is the Disciplinary Pit,” you remembered Ozai telling you, not even a hint of comfort in his voice despite the terror clearly radiating off of you. “It is where the children who disappoint us go, to be taught a proper lesson.”
He had glanced down at you. But, all he would’ve seen was you looking down at that pit to hell with wide, teary eyes. “You are no exception, you will do as you are told and show the clan the results they desire. Otherwise, you will be thrown down here with no hesitation.”
At the time, you remembered being in complete disbelief at the prospect of actually being thrown down there with those beasts. You were especially crushed that your father—while not exactly known for warmth—seemed okay with you being thrown in that pit should the need ever arise. However, looking back on it with proper hindsight, it seemed right up the clan’s alley. When it came to perfection and grooming their young into powerful sorcerers, the Zenin Clan truly knew no bounds.
The worst part was you did genuinely aspire to be a sorcerer, but not in the temporary/governing way the clan wished to impose it on you.
Even worse that, you had no real say in the matter as always.
Febuary 2005
The Zenin estate loomed like a fortress against the morning sky, its high walls casting long shadows over the narrow cobblestone paths. You sat cross-legged in the garden, the coolness of the dewy grass pressing against your fingertips. The faint chirping of birds barely masked the hum of activity beyond the hedges: servants rushing, relatives arguing, your parents’ voices cutting sharp and clear over the rest.
“You have to show results, {♥︎}.” your father had said the night before, his tone low but insistent. “No one respects a failure in this family.”
Failure. You traced the word into the dirt, your brows furrowing. That was all you ever seemed to be to them—a weight they couldn’t shake, an investment that hadn’t yielded the correct returns. No matter how hard you trained, how many hours you spent refining your cursed technique, the whispers in the halls always remained the same. That you’re too soft. Too slow. Too kind.
Kindness had no place in the Zenin Clan.
A soft rustle broke your thoughts. You glanced up to find your cousin Naoya standing a few feet away, his smirk already firmly in place.
“Daydreaming again?” he sneered, crossing his arms. “You’ll never make it into Jujutsu Tech if you keep playing around like this.”
You metaphorically bit your tongue, refusing to rise to the bait. Naoya’s presence was a constant thorn in your side, but his words carried an irritating truth. Today was the last day of your training evaluation. If you failed to impress the elders, they wouldn’t just revoke your entry into Jujutsu Tech—they’d write you off completely.
“Get lost, Naoya,” you sighed, standing up and brushing dirt from your hands.
“Make me,”
Your eyes narrowed, and the familiar tug of your cursed energy thrummed beneath your skin. The weight around you shifted ever so slightly, the gravity in the air bending to your will. For a brief moment, Naoya’s smirk faltered as his feet left the ground, his body floating awkwardly above the grass.
“Put me down, now!”
You let the energy snap, and Naoya dropped unceremoniously onto his back with a grunt. You couldn’t help the small, satisfied smirk that tugged at your lips.
“Better get used to that feeling,” you said as she walked past him. “You’re not the only one who knows how to fly.”
The walk to the training grounds was shorter than you expected, but your heart pounded with every step. Your parents were already waiting, along with several elders seated in a neat row. Your mother’s sharp gaze caught yours immediately.
“Don’t disappoint us, {♥︎}.” your mother said, her voice like a blade.
You nodded, stepping into the center of the field after retrieving a wooden bō from one of the weapon cabinets. Stood in the center of the training grounds with the wooden bō staff in your hands, its polished surface gleaming faintly, the familiar weight grounded you as you faced the elders’ cold, expectant stares.
You closed your own eyes, took a deep breath, and let the world around you fade.
This was your moment. If you failed here, there would be no second chances.
Your father stood off to the side, arms crossed, his gaze unreadable. Your mother, however, watched with a smile that never reached her eyes.
“Your cursed technique is a tool,” you recounted your father telling you countless times. “But a weapon like that won’t save you in close combat. Your hands, your body—your bō—they’ll do the real work.”
“Begin,” one of the elders barked, breaking your thoughts.
Your grip on the bō tightened as three cursed energy-enhanced training dolls lumbered onto the field. Their jointed limbs moved with unnatural speed, their hollow eyes locked onto you.
The first doll lunged, its claws aimed straight for your chest. You sidestepped, your body light as air as you shifted your gravitational pull to avoid its attack. Spinning on your heel, you let the momentum carry your bō in a sweeping arc. The weapon struck the doll’s side with a satisfying crack, sending it sprawling.
The second doll attacked before you could recover. You planted the end of the bō into the ground, using it as leverage to vault over the doll’s swinging claws. Midair, you reversed your gravity back, pulling yourself sharply downward and slamming the bō onto its head with crushing force. The impact reverberated through your arms, and the doll collapsed to its knees.
“Not bad,” one of the elders muttered, though his tone lacked any real praise.
“Good control,” a separate of them muttered.
“Still too slow,” another countered.
The third doll came at you from behind. You spun your bō behind you without looking, the weapon’s length catching the doll across its midsection and sending it stumbling. Before it could recover, you thrust the staff forward, forcing it back with a series of quick, controlled strikes.
When all three dolls regrouped, you shifted tactics. You planted the bō in the ground and let your cursed energy ripple outward. Gravity twisted around you, pulling the dolls to their knees as the ground beneath them seemed to grow impossibly heavy.
With a sharp tug, you reversed the pull, sending the dolls careening into the air. They twisted helplessly, their limbs flailing as they floated above you. You gripped the bō tightly, leaping upward as your gravity reversal carried you toward them. Your movements were fluid, the bō an extension of your body as you struck each doll midair with precise, devastating blows.
The dolls crashed to the ground in a heap, motionless.
You landed lightly on your feet, spinning the bō in your hands before resting it against your shoulder. Your breathing was labored, but you kept your expression neutral as you turned toward the elders.
“Decent,” one of them said, though his tone was dismissive. “But you rely too heavily on your cursed technique to create openings. Your movements lack precision.”
“She hesitated before finishing the second doll,” another added. “Hesitation will get you killed.”
Your jaw tightened. You had dispatched all three of your opponents efficiently, yet their words left you feeling as if you’d failed. You had won, hadn’t you? Why did it always feel like that wasn’t enough?
“{♥︎},” your father said, silencing the murmurs. He approached you, his gaze stern. “You have made progress, but progress is not enough. The world beyond this estate will not forgive your mistakes.”
Your mother stepped forward then, her voice soft but no less cutting. “Do better, {♥︎}. You carry the weight of this family’s reputation.”
You lowered your gaze, gripping the bō until it made your hand ache. You wanted to argue, to say that you had done well, but you knew it would be useless. In the Zenin Clan, success wasn’t measured by personal triumphs—it was measured by the absence of criticism.
“Dismissed,” you father said curtly.
You bowed stiffly and turned to leave, your bō still resting against your shoulder.
Later that evening, you sat in your room, staring at the bō propped against the wall. Your shoulder ached from the impact of your strikes, and the bandage on your arm itched beneath your shirt. On your desk lay the open acceptance letter from Tokyo Jujutsu High.
You’d done what they asked. You’d trained until your palms were red and raw, mastered your cursed technique the best your age allowed, and perfected your bōjutsu skills. Yet no matter how much you accomplished, it was never enough.
A knock on the door pulled you from you thoughts.
“Enter,” you said.
The door opened, and Naoya leaned against the frame, his smirk already in place. “Heard you didn’t make a complete fool of yourself today,” he said, “Guess that’s progress.”
“Go away, Naoya,” you muttered, turning back to your desk.
He ignored you, stepping into the room. “You know, Jujutsu Tech isn’t going to coddle you like this place does. If you mess up out there, they won’t care about your family name—or your fancy tricks.”
“I’ll be fine,” you said sharply, refusing to look at him.
“Sure you will,” Naoya said with a laugh. He started to leave but paused in the doorway. “Just don’t embarrass the clan, alright? I’d hate to see you come crawling back here like some wounded animal.” he sarcastically mocked, feeling as if he made his mark prior to exiting.
The door clicked shut, and you exhaled slowly. You turned your gaze back to the bō. It was a reminder of your training, your strength, and the burden of the Zenin name.
For the first time in your life, you were leaving the estate, stepping into a world where your name meant nothing.
This was your chance to prove you were more than just a tool for your family.
But freedom, you realized, would come with its own weight of expectations.
wc: ~3.4k | cw: smut, misogyny, power imbalance, arranged marriage, heavy degradation, dub-con/non-con elements, fingering, loss of virginity, heavy breeding kink/impregnation talk
summary: as the only daughter of a powerful jujutsu sorcerer family, you are betrothed to the next head of the zen'in clan. and on the night of the wedding, he expects an heir to be made.
ˏˋ°•*⁀➷
BEING A MEMBER of one of the strongest jujutsu sorcerer families had its perks.
If you were a man, that is.
You, however, had the misfortune of being born a girl into the (L/N) family—and now that you had finally turned eighteen, life was only going to grow harder.
Your father had passed from a terminal illness just months shy of your milestone birthday. His dying wish—that you marry into another powerful sorcerer family. And you knew exactly which one he had in mind.
The Zen'in clan.
Arguably the greatest in Japan.
But you'd heard the stories—the cruel, unforgiving truth of what being a woman in that family meant.
So, naturally, you rejected the idea. You refused to marry into a clan built on misogyny and control. Your father had respected that choice while he lived.
But now that he was gone, your eldest brother—the new head of the (L/N) family, had taken matters into his own hands.
To him, this was a ripe opportunity to forge an alliance with the most influential family in the country. And despite your pleas to look elsewhere, he had already arranged a meeting between you and the Zen'in heir.
Naoya Zen'in.
A man so cruel and arrogant that you shivered at the sound of his name. You couldn't mask the fear that came with preparing to meet your potential husband.
Several maids gathered around as they did your makeup and styled your (h/c) hair with heirloom ornaments passed down through generations. Your brother's sharp voice cut through the room as he lectured you.
"Remember, (Y/N). It's important that you behave while meeting Naoya. He despises disobedient women. Step out of line once and you'll screw this up for our entire clan," His dark eyes narrowed, "So don't you dare bring shame to us...or to our late father."
Father.
The mention of him stung. He was the one who'd first proposed the idea, and because you loved and respected that righteous man, your brother knew invoking his name would keep you obedient.
This wasn't for your brother. Not for your family. And certainly not for you.
This was for him.
You remained silent during the long journey to the Zen'in Estate, refusing to meet your brother's gaze or respond to his repeated reminders about proper behavior. Out of spite, you ignored him.
Never had you imagined yourself in this position. Your father—former head of the (L/N) clan had believed in modern values. He let you make your own choices, encouraged you to practice jujutsu, and even dreamed of you becoming a professional sorcerer.
But that life was gone now. Your brother did not share those beliefs and neither did the Zen'ins.
You were expected to be proper. Obedient. A silent wife rather than a thinking, feeling person.
"We're here, (Y/N)," Your brother's monotonous tone snapped you from your thoughts. He stepped out of the car, his glare cold and sharp, "If you embarrass me today, I'll ensure your removal from this family."
The threat rang true, and you felt it like a weight pressing against your ribs. You had to make a good impression or else.
He led you to the grand entrance of the Zen'in estate and knocked gently. The door opened to reveal a sea of servants and maids, their smiles polite yet pitying. They didn't need to say a word. You could see it in their eyes—the silent sympathy for the woman soon to be bound to Naoya Zen'in.
You kept your head low until the sound of heavy footsteps echoed through the hall. You stiffened, heart stuttering as you looked up to meet the man himself.
Your brother's grin was crooked, off-putting as he extended a hand to the blonde, "Naoya, it's a pleasure. I've brought my dearest little sister—(Y/N)."
Naoya's sharp gaze trailed over you, assessing. The traditional kimono concealed most of your body, but he could tell you were built with soft curves and sturdy hips—perfect, in his mind, for bearing children. That was all that mattered to him.
He didn't care who you were. To Naoya, women were objects—vessels to serve, breed, and obey.
You bowed low, forcing the words out with trembling lips, "Naoya-sama...it's an honor to meet you."
He scoffed, amused by your submission but pleased all the same, "You will always address me as Naoya-sama. Understand?"
You nodded quickly, "Yes, Naoya-sama."
"Good. Now, walk with me, (Y/N). If this will be your home, you should know every inch of it."
You followed three steps behind him, as instructed. Your brother's earlier warning echoed in your head—a woman should always walk behind a man. You could sense Naoya's smug satisfaction even without seeing his face.
As the tour ended, your brother took the lead again, eager to finalize the arrangement, "So, Naoya...what do you think of my sister? She's quite a gem, isn't she?"
Naoya's hum was low, dismissive, "I suppose...she is adequate enough."
Relief and dread twisted in your chest. Adequate was all he needed.
Your brother's grin widened, pride swelling, "Excellent, Naoya! When shall we hold the wedding?"
Naoya turned, bored already, "The sooner the better. I don't have time to waste."
"Then a week from today," Your brother said quickly, "That should give us time to prepare. How does that sound, (Y/N)?"
You forced a smile, "Wonderful. I cannot wait to marry you, Naoya-sama."
A low, satisfied breath left him. You could hear the smirk in his voice, "As you should. I'll be the one to finally make your meaningless life worth something."
The words hit harder than they should have. You felt stripped bare.
Maybe he was right. Maybe your life had been meaningless—no accomplishments, no freedom, no choices of your own. Not even your husband.
You watched him walk away and murmured, "Is my life really meaningless, Jiro?"
Your brother didn't hesitate, "Not anymore. You have purpose now, dear sister."
If this was your purpose, you decided, then you'd fulfill it. Because having a purpose—no matter how cruel, was better than having none.
The week passed quickly, a blur of preparation. Your mother ensured every detail was flawless. Your skin, your hair, your voice, your manners—everything molded to perfection.
When the wedding day came, you told yourself you were ready. Ready to serve your purpose.
The ceremony was small, attended only by close family members from both clans. You stood beside Naoya in your white silk kimono, hands trembling. Despite everything, you couldn't deny how handsome he was—sharp, golden, impossibly refined. A man crafted to intimidate.
Naoya felt much the same, though he'd never admit it aloud. You were beautiful. Untouched. His.
The ceremony was brief—a sake exchange, the rings, the bow. Naoya hesitated, loathing the gesture of lowering himself to anyone, but tradition demanded it.
When it ended, he immediately drifted toward his male relatives, leaving you behind as they praised his new bride—your body, your beauty, your worth. You endured their stares in silence, your stomach churning.
"Well done, sister," Your brother said, appearing at your side. Despite everything, his voice carried pride, "Father would've been proud."
"I hope so," You murmured, unsure if it was true.
He smiled faintly, "Now that you're part of the Zen'in family, you're no longer our responsibility. If any problems arise, take them up with your husband. We won't interfere."
Just like that, your ownership was transferred. You were property now.
You nodded, tired and hollow. As the crowd dwindled and the reception emptied, you prayed for the night to end.
But then Naoya appeared, standing before you with that same predatory smirk and half-lidded eyes full of something dark.
"Did you enjoy our lovely wedding?"
"Yes, Naoya-sama," You replied quickly, your hands trembling, "Did you?"
"Of course not. What kind of idiotic question is that?"
Your breath caught, "M-My apologies. I won't—"
"How about you just be quiet?" He interrupted, stepping closer until his breath ghosted against your ear, "Do me a favor, will you?"
You froze, "Anything for you, Naoya-sama."
A low laugh rolled from his chest, "Your kimono...take it off."
Your (e/c) eyes widened at his command, uncertain if you'd heard him correctly—or if you were imagining things.
"H-Here? What if somebody sees—"
"Do as I say," His voice cut through yours, sharp and unforgiving. The faint amusement from earlier vanished from his face, "Don't make me ask twice."
Reluctantly, you obeyed. With trembling hands, you began to undo the layers of white silk, each movement hesitant and uneven. The fabric slid from your shoulders and pooled at your feet with a soft whisper, the sound far too loud in the silence between you.
Cool air brushed against your exposed skin, and you couldn't stop the shiver that ran down your spine. Naoya's smirk returned, slow and wicked, as his gaze swept over you—arms instinctively folded across your chest, legs pressed together in an attempt to hide yourself.
Pathetic, yet perfect in his eyes.
He took in every inch of you, admiration twisted with possession. A body untouched, flawless—fit for him to ruin, fit to bear his bloodline.
"Don't be so shy now, (Y/N)..." He drawled, voice dripping with mock sweetness, "I'm your husband, remember? Your body belongs to me."
His hungry gaze and stern tone made you force yourself to relax; dropping your arms down to your side hesitantly, you earned a groan from the man who stood only a few feet away, gawking at the reveal of your nude chest.
"Much better...such a good girl you are for listening," He slowly began to approach you, the energy he radiated—something sinister, "Shall I reward you for your obedience?"
"Reward me how, Naoya-sama?"
His hands tugged at the waistband of his hakama as he shot you the most bone-chilling smile, "Lay down and find out,” His head tilted with curiosity, "Unless, of course, you'd prefer to stand."
"N-no, Naoya-sama."
Your bare feet padded softly against the tatami mat as you moved to the center of the room, your movements measured, deliberate. The mats were cool beneath your skin, and a shiver traced its way up your spine as you lowered yourself to the floor.
You lay back, your elbows digging slightly into the firm weave, the unfamiliar position making your breath hitch. You settled onto your back, your knees bent and pressed together, a final, instinctual shield against the raw vulnerability of the moment.
He let out a quiet, humorless chuckle, the sound echoing slightly in the sparsely furnished room. He closed the distance, a predator stalking its prey, and knelt over you. His shadow fell across your body, a cool blanket in the warm room.
He didn't touch you—not yet.
He just looked, a slow, possessive sweep of his eyes that made your skin prickle, "Look at you," He murmured, his voice a low rumble, "So compliant. It's almost...disappointing. I was told you had some fire in you. That you were a sorcerer."
He leaned down, his face hovering just above yours, his warm breath fanning across your cheek, "But right now? You're just a hole, waiting to be filled. That's your real purpose, isn't it?"
You squeezed your eyes shut, a single, hot tear escaping and tracing a path toward your temple. You couldn't let him see you break, not completely. But the words were whips, flaying away the last of your composure.
Your father's belief in you, your own dreams of becoming a sorcerer—it all felt like a childish fantasy now, crushed under the weight of this man's contempt.
"I asked you a question," He snapped, his patience wearing thin. He reached out, not with a strike, but with a surprisingly gentle touch, his thumb wiping away the tear you hadn't managed to hide.
The gesture was more demeaning than any blow could have been, "Answer me. This is your purpose, isn't it? To be bred by me. To carry my children."
The word bred sent a jolt through you, primal and horrifying. It was so clinical, so devoid of any hint of affection. It stripped you of your name, your history, your very self, reducing you to livestock.
And yet—a dark, traitorous heat bloomed low in your belly. A deep, biological pulse that shamed you to your very core.
Your body, it seemed, was a traitor.
"Y-Yes, Naoya-sama," You choked out, the words tasting like ash in your mouth.
A triumphant smirk twisted his lips, "Good. See? Even your pathetic body knows its place."
He finally let his hands roam, a rough, assessing touch that skipped over any pretense of intimacy. His fingers traced your collarbones, dipped into the hollow of your throat, then moved down to cup your breasts, not with a lover's caress but with a connoisseur's appraisal.
He kneaded the soft flesh, his thumbs brushing over your nipples, which tightened instantly at the contact, "Good," He grunted, sounding satisfied, "Responsive. Firm. Perfect for nursing a strong Zen'in heir."
Your back arched slightly off the floor, a gasp tearing from your lips before you could stop it. The shame was a physical thing, a burning in your cheeks and a tightening in your chest.
But the pleasure—the pleasure was an undeniable current running beneath it, a sickening thrum of arousal that made your thighs clench.
You hated him. You hated this.
But you couldn't hate the way your body was reacting.
It was a betrayal of the highest order.
Naoya noticed, of course. He noticed everything. His eyes glinted with a perverse delight, "Oh? What's this?" He slid one hand down your stomach, fingers tracing the line of your hips before dipping between your legs. You flinched, trying to press your thighs together, but he was already there, his fingers parting you with practiced ease.
A low, rich chuckle vibrated in his chest, "So wet for me already. Just from a little touching and some honest words." He slid a finger through your slick folds, circling your entrance teasingly, "You want this, don't you? You want to be treated like the broodmare you were born to be."
"I do," You shamefully whispered.
"I knew it," He purred, plunging a single finger inside you without warning. Your walls clenched around him, a loathsome, welcoming gesture.
He worked it in and out slowly, deliberately, watching your face contort with the war between your mind and your body, "Your cunt is begging for it. Begging for my cock—for my seed."
He added a second finger, stretching you, and a choked moan escaped you, "This greedy little hole is already swallowing me.”
He leaned down, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, his voice a low, venomous promise, "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. I'm going to fill you up so completely that you'll feel me for days. I'm going to fuck a baby into you tonight, (Y/N). And you're going to thank me for it."
He withdrew his fingers, leaving you achingly empty. For a moment, you felt a flicker of relief, which was instantly extinguished by the sight of him pushing down his own hakama. He was hard, impressively so, the tip already beading with moisture. He took himself in hand, stroking slowly as he stared down at you, spread out like an offering on the floor.
"Look at me," He commanded.
You forced your eyes open, your gaze locking with his. The sheer arrogance in his expression was suffocating. He saw you as nothing more than a tool, a pretty vessel for his legacy.
"Keep your eyes on me while I take what's mine," He ordered, positioning himself at your entrance. He notched the head of his cock against you, pressing forward just enough to make you gasp, "I want to see the exact moment you understand that this is all you're good for."
With one brutal thrust, he buried himself to the hilt.
A sharp cry tore from your throat, a pained, ragged sound. He was big, and the sudden, unrelenting stretch burned. There was no gentleness, no preamble. He simply took—his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise as he began to move.
"Fuck," He grunted, setting a punishing rhythm, "So tight. So perfect," His eyes were locked on yours, a predator watching its prey's final moments.
He angled his hips, hitting a spot deep inside you that sent a jolt of electric pleasure shooting through your veins, temporarily overriding the pain. Your body bowed, a wanton moan spilling from your lips.
"There it is," He smirked, all smug satisfaction, "Found it. Your body is so honest. It knows it was made for this. Made to take my cock and milk it dry.”
He drove into you harder, deeper, each slap of skin against skin echoing in the quiet room, "You're going to look so beautiful, swollen with my child. Everyone will see you and know who you belong to. Who owns you."
The words were a poison, but the feeling blooming in your core was an antidote you didn't expect. The pain was melting into a deep, throbbing ache of pleasure. With every harsh thrust, a coil of heat tightened in your belly, pulling you taut.
You hated him. You hated how he was stripping you down and degrading you.
But God, you loved what he was doing to your body.
This shameful realization was more devastating than any insult he could hurl. Your hips began to move instinctively, tentatively at first, then with more confidence, rising to meet his thrusts. A soft, needy whimper escaped your throat, and you saw the flicker of triumph in Naoya's eyes.
"That's it," He panted, his movements becoming more erratic, "Move for me. Show me how much you want this. Show me how badly you want my cum filling you up."
His filthy words were the final push you needed. The coil inside you snapped, and pleasure crashed over you in a blinding wave. Your back arched off the tatami mats, a silent scream tearing from your lungs as your inner walls clenched and fluttered around him. It was intense, overwhelming, a shattering release that left you trembling and breathless.
Naoya groaned as your orgasm pulsed around him, "Fuck—yes. Milk my cock, you little slut," He snarled, driving into you with a few final, brutal thrusts before stilling. He buried himself deep, and a hot, thick flood filled you, a tangible proof of his claim.
He stayed there for a long moment, his weight pressing you into the floor, his breath hot against your neck as he pulsed inside you.
And then, he finally pulled out, leaving you feeling achingly empty and slick with his release. He knelt beside you, watching as a trickle of his cum seeped out of you onto the mats.
"Look at the mess you've made," He said, his voice condescending. But then, a genuine, slow smile spread across his face, one of pure, unadulterated delight, "But...I have to say, I'm impressed. You're a better fuck than I anticipated. And you enjoyed it. You really did, you shameless whore."
You couldn't meet his gaze, your cheeks burning with a mixture of humiliation and the lingering aftershocks of pleasure.
You had enjoyed it. You had enjoyed being used, degraded, and claimed.
There was something fundamentally wrong with you.
"Don't look so horrified," He chuckled, reaching out to pat your cheek in a gesture of mock affection, "It's a good thing. It'll make breeding you so much more enjoyable. Now—"
He stood, casually refastening his hakama, "—Get up and clean this mess. Then go to my chambers and wait for me. We're not done tonight. Not until I'm certain a Zen'in is growing in that belly of yours."
You lay there for a moment, trying to gather your shattered dignity. Your body ached, a sweet reminder of the pleasure and pain he had inflicted. You slowly sat up, your movements stiff, and reached for a discarded piece of your kimono to clean the floor.
As you knelt there, wiping away the evidence of your surrender, you caught a glimpse of your reflection in a darkened screen.
You saw a stranger—a woman with flushed cheeks, swollen lips, and eyes that held a newfound, terrifying understanding.
This was your purpose now. This was your life.
And a small, treasonous part of you couldn't wait for what came next.
content ⸝⸝ (seperate) clingy ! zoro roronoa + monkey d. luffy + portgas d. ace x fem ! reader , fluff , ≈ 500 words per drabble
಄ zoro roronoa (takes place during egghead)
─── zoro can’t sleep without you.
as strange as it sounds, he can’t drift off until you’re in his arms, pressed against his chest. this even applies to his daily naps, no matter how short they might be. he yawned, stretching his arms behind his head before leaning back against the ship’s dock. the two of you were supposed to be guarding it—alongside brook—while the rest of the crew was with the vegapunks.
“[first name],” he called out just as brook had poured you a glass of tea.
you turned immediately at the sound of your name. “yes, zoro—?” you responded, already recognizing his usual sleeping posture. “i’ll be there in a second. just let me finish this tea… ooh! hot, hot.” you blew on the steam before taking another sip.
he grunted and sat up. “drink quickly, or i won’t be able to sleep.”
you rolled your eyes playfully. “yes, you will. you can’t sleep without me anyway.”
he frowned, knowing you were right. clicking his tongue, he walked over to where you were sitting at the table near the edge of the ship. he sat on the floor beside your chair and leaned against it—somehow managing not to tip it over.
“you’re going to fall asleep like that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“you’re taking too long,” he explained, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. “i had to improvise.”
you took another sip and started stroking his hair with your fingers. “alright then. when i finish this, i’ll come lay beside you.” you assumed zoro had drifted off shortly after, lulled by your gentle touch and soft movements. surely, with your fingers running through his hair, he should be asleep in no time.
well, you thought.
you finished the glass brook had poured for you and left it on the table for him or sanji to clean later. you settled beside zoro, making yourself comfortable, only to see his eye open. you flinched. “you’re still awake?!”
he uncrossed his arms and laid back on the deck. “i’ve been this whole time. my arms are empty.”
you sighed and scooted closer until you were lying on top of him, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist. “okay, okay,” you whispered. “go to sleep now.”
and just like that, roronoa zoro fell asleep without any trouble.
“yohohoho—oh.” brook paused mid-step, taking a few steps back as he realized what was happening. “what if i join in on the cuddling? wouldn’t that be a great surprise yohoho—!”
still asleep, zoro suddenly tossed a sword in brook’s direction. it landed with a thud, piercing straight through the ship’s wall.
“HOW DID HE DO THAT?!”
಄ monkey d. luffy
─── everyone but luffy can see the way he treats you differently from everyone else. no matter how many times his own crew called him out for his behavior toward you, he would brush it off and insist he did the same with everybody else—even though that wasn’t entirely true. wherever you went, luffy was always down to tag along, just to make sure you had a companion—even if it wasn’t strictly necessary.
he knew you were as strong as the rest of the straw hats. but for some reason, he never wanted to leave your side. during battles, he would suggest you—mostly just you—to come with him. and when you swallowed nervously, knowing you were about to face the toughest enemies on the seas, he would reassure you, promising he would keep you safe, no matter what.
and he was right. always.
when night fell, he had walk down the ship until he reached your room.
knock! knock!
by now, it was practically a daily routine. he would show up and ask if he could spend the night with you because he had had a ‘bad dream.’ (you still weren’t sure if that was true or not.) if you refused, he would latch onto you until you gave in. there was no point in rejecting your captain’s nightly request.
you opened the door, and he sprang forward, hugging you tightly. you stumbled backward. “what kind of nightmare did you have this time?” you asked, trying to peel him off, but it was useless.
he giggled, looking you in the eye. “none! i just want to be here.”
the door was still open—anyone could walk by and see what the captain and his crewmate were up to. but everyone knew luffy slept in your room by now. it wasn’t a secret.
“okay…?” you raised a brow. “go sleep on the couch—”
“can i sleep on your bed this time?”
“…you want me to take the couch instead?”
“we can both lay on the bed together!” his big grin was impossible to resist.
you didn’t enjoy seeing luffy frown, so you sighed and led him over to your bed. “...alright.”
you didn’t realize your bed wasn’t really big enough for two people. you had your back turned to luffy, facing the opposite direction. you exhaled, trying to sleep—until you felt a rubbery hand grab your shoulder. you shifted, turning to face your captain. his face appeared right in front of yours, your noses almost touching. you nearly fell off the bed, but his hand kept you from doing so.
“yes, luffy?” you swallowed, feeling heat crawl up your neck.
“i have a feeling you’re going to fall,” he said. “want me to hold you so you don’t?” he blinked innocently, silently hoping you would say yes.
you sweat-dropped at him. “i mean… sure.”
his arm wrapped around you in an instant. “good night, [first name]!”
“night.”
and with the door still open, sanji, chopper, and robin walked by, heading to grab a glass of water. when they passed your room, they paused.
sanji’s mouth dropped. “WHAT?!”
chopper loudly shushed him. “shhh! you’ll wake them up!”
robin smiled warmly. she didn’t say anything. but she did think one thing.
“so cute.”
಄ portgas d. ace
─── you never quite knew if portgas d. ace’s clinginess was something you adored or simply tolerated in your relationship. there was no denying you loved his affection—you craved it—but there were moments when it tipped into something harder to manage. the crew on whitebeard’s ship knew to disappear the second the two of you were in the same space, keen to avoid ‘interrupting something.’ however… whitebeard himself remained unaware of the unspoken rule.
“ace… would you let go? i’m trying to fix this tear in the top.” you pleaded, prying at his arms wrapped around you. his bare chest pressed against your back, his chin nestled in the crook of your neck, and frustration flickered under your skin. “i can’t even move my arms..!” you huffed, finally voicing the issue.
only then did he loosen his hold, though his head stayed tucked close. “thank you.” you breathed out, picking up the sewing materials again to mend the large hole in the shirt you wore. but your relief lasted all of a minute before his arms were wrapped around you once more.
“ace—!”
“it’s not enough.” he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder.
you turned your head to face him. “what’s not enough?”
“i need to be in your skin.” he admitted, pulling you even closer.
you sighed, no longer bothering to resist. “is this not close enough for you?”
“nope.” the word vibrated against your skin as he shook his head. dropping the sewing materials again, you surrendered to his hold—like you always did. it was just one of the many times ace had derailed your plans, prioritizing his need for your attention above everything else.
“did you already wash up?” he asked, inhaling deeply at your neck. “you always smell good.”
“no, i was going to take a bath after fixing this.” you said, gesturing to the shirt on the floor. he didn’t so much as glance at it—nor did he care that he was the reason for your delay.
“fix it later, or have pops do it himself.” he yawned. “why don’t we bathe together?”
“i don’t trust pops with my equipment—seriously?” you blinked, realizing what he had suggested. “i swear, you’re getting clingier every day.”
“how could i not?” he grinned, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze. “everyone should know you’re mine.”
“i think they already do.” you muttered under your breath. with a reluctant sigh, you finally untangled yourself from his grip. “fine. get the bath ready.”
“i wanna get it ready with you—”
“you’re so needy!”
authors note. first post after 100 yearssss i hope you guys enjoyed :))) FIRST ACE WORK I'VE DONE LESSGOOOO pls request so my master-list isn't filled with old and poorly written pieces...😞
One Piece Men + reacting to sulky!reader (drabbles)
- ❝your s/o makes a mistake resulting you to sulk. How will they react to that? ❞
˚₊‧꒰ა Tags ໒꒱ ‧₊˚: Fluff, banters, and reader being sassy if not somewhat bratty, suggestive themes; SFW. Reader is she/her. 𓂃۶ৎ wc: 600 per each seperate fic.
₊˚ʚ Characters/status: Rob Lucci, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Roronoa Zoro, (established relationship ˖ ໒꒱)
❝ ᝰ.ᐟ note: Hi. I vanished. And I had this one in my drafts for a good while, I was gonna post this when my wound infection was done and gone but yk what, i’ll post this now and try and get back into writing. IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. You guys don’t hate me... right? 🥹 Based on this request! I hope you will enjoy this gorgeous @vixeybabe <3❞
Rob Lucci
You’re sat on the plush of your vanity chair doing what not—brushing your hair, doing your nails, fixing your skin care—anything but acknowledging the man leaning against the door frame behind you.
His arms crossed and gaze piercing your back. Expression a scowl but you don’t care.
Rob’s been staring at you for the past few minutes and he can keep staring.
He agreed to take you out for shopping — but work came up, and that always came first.
Which you can understand; he’s a Government agent, you knew what kind of man you chose to entangle yourself with but then, when he came back — the topic of shopping came up once more and he had commented on your spending habits, calling it childish. Impulsive. And entirely impractical.
Since, there’s been silence.
Since, there’s been scowls and frowns and a lot of ‘hmph’ on your end.
The times when Lucci is home, you usually spent it tugging at his side, anything to be close to him before he vanishes to do Government business but now?
You don’t have any interest in his presence other than silence.
Which, he should be comfortable with.
Which, he should be unbothered with.
Which, he shouldn’t find himself silently stalking you from room to room like a robotic ghost sizing up his next prey.
And the thing is,
Lucci just…. Stands there.
Arms crossed. Expression dead serious and posture so straight you’d mistake him for a coat stand and not your lover.
But you ignore him.
You undress in complete silence as you get ready for bed — skimming into your sleepwear, not once glancing his way as you methodically get in bed. Back turned.
Lucci doesn’t move.
Doesn’t say anything.
just goes to sit on the edge of the bed, on your side.
His weight dipping down the mattress, but you don’t turn to face him.
Minutes goes.
Moments passes.
Clock keeps ticking.
Until he breaks the suffocation—not because he resigns defeat but because it annoys him. Must you be so prideful? Must you be so high maintenance and bratty?
“How long are you planning to keep up with this.”
You don’t answer. In fact, his stupid comment resolves your pettiness even further.
He glances to your figure, back still turned. He blinks, looking away. “I already said I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, you’re being petty.”
A pause.
“You hate me.” You mumble and he snaps his gaze to you, giving you a hard look.
“I’m not entertaining this childish endeavour.”
“You want me to die.” You pull your blanket tighter around yourself and you hear him click his tongue.
He manoeuvres over you, looming above you, forcing you to turn on your back and face him but you cover your eyes with your hands.
Not wanting to see him.
He grits his teeth.
His knee goes in between your legs as he takes a hold of your wrists, trying to pry your hands off your face as soft as a killing machine possibly could.
“Look at me.” His tone is commanding and you squeeze your eyes shut as he forces your wrists apart. Bracing them between your head.
“If you won’t open your eyes I'll punish you, and you won’t like it.”
You refuse.
And he leans in, kissing your neck.
Making you flinch.
You stutter out his name “h-hey!”
His tactic worked because now you’re staring at him, bashful and half-into it.
He looks up to you, face coming close to yours. So close you can feel his breath on your cheeks. Controlled. Steady. Everything yours isn’t.
His voice goes husky, “We can keep going, or you can keep sulking.”
You push your knee into his abdomen, heart thrumming. “You’re mean.”
“I’m practical.”
“You said my closet was overflowing!”
“Which it is.”
You try and push him off with your leg but he’s completely unbothered, leaning back down to kiss your forehead.
And it catches you off guard, your squirming halting — and his thick lips curves into a smile. Small, hidden, and entirely cocky.
and as you burn, he goes back to your neck.
“This is so unfair—“ you hitch your breath when you feel him making a hickey.
You can sulk all you want, but he’ll wring you back in, one way or another.
Summary: In the end, Rob did keep to his word, taking you out for shopping. Holding your bags. Following you silently around as you empty out his wallet. And you’re smiling. Talking. Giddy and playful. He wont admit it, but it’s a look that suits you far more.
Sir Crocodile
You were laying flat on the sofa. Head buried in the cushions. Sulking.
Sir Crocodile promised to spend time with you last evening — you had fixed tea, blankets, cancelled your dinner date with your friend only for him to never arrive.
Not because of work, not because of Buggy and his stupidity, not because he had business to take care of, no.
He simply forgot.
Forgot.
That word made you wince.
And since he’s been trying to make up for it.
Bouquets of flowers, gifts piling up your room, the new dress you’ve been looking at and that perfume you’ve ran out of — everything and anything but being at home and spend time with you.
Like he said he would.
Which is why you do not acknowledge him looking down at you laying on the sofa, his brows pinched and hair slightly loose.
“… Really. You’re still sulking. I find you in the same spot since I left this morning.”
You do not answer him, just sink even deeper into the cushions.
He takes a smoke, and goes down to sit next to you. “Will you force me to sleep on the couch again tonight?” his voice is gruff, eyes skimming over your figure, fingers tracing your calf only for you to flinch and withdraw.
Still not willing to talk.
Crocodile gives out a low guttural sigh, smoke slithering through his nose as if resigning. “You understand that creating a comfortable life suited to your palate doesn’t come easy with time to dawdle and play house. If I could, I’d spend every waking moment with you.” With that, he crushes his cigar into the ashtray. His eyes growing weary and you tense.
“You promised me.” you mumble.
Crocodile snaps his gaze to you, brows easing.
“And then you forgot.” You dig yourself so deep into the cushions you swear dent marks will appear on your face afterwards. “So that means I'm worth nothing to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous now—“ he catches his tongue when you shift your head.
Truly — you can be such a brat.
You feel a large hand wrap itself around your ribcage, the hooked forearm anchoring you up and pressing you against his chest.
His very sturdy, and very firm chest.
Warmth radiating into your spine.
Burning you up.
Sir Crocodile leans in, voice hot on your ear is rugged, coarse and low; the tone he has when he wants to please you, coerce you, make you his entirely as if you haven’t surrendered every part of yourself to him.
“Want a kiss?”
His voice so close your ear twitches.
You grab onto his forearm. Adverting your gaze. “And then what? you’ll just forget about me again.”
Crocodile’s lips skims your earlobe, not kissing it, not landing his mouth on it—but a caress, a tease.
“Forget about you? How can I when you’re all I think about?”
Your face starts burning. “Liar.”
And he kisses you on the cheek.
You repeat yourself, “Liar, liar, liar—“
And he keeps pecking you, kissing you again and again, kissing you until you’re willing to share the bed with him
Which is also, the reason you went to sleep so late.
Summary: He stayed home the day after. Not as a sorry, not as an apology but to remind you—you’re his lady, and she does not get to be neglected.
Trafalgar D. Water Law
You had entered an art competition.
You spent hours on the canvas with meticulous details and adjusted techniques, not one single brushstroke was made with mistake, but now with the deadline closing in, you find the canvas spilled with a dark, brown stain.
Coffee.
And Law is present at the crime scene, empty mug rolling across the floor, his hands stuffed with napkins.
That’s the story why you’re chopping the vegetables with such force, such pace, Law thinks he might be next.
He stands by the door frame, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he goes for a fourth attempt in dealing with this situation.
“Babe,” his tone is careful, “how long will you ignore me for?”
It’s been three hours. And you might go for another four.
Law grumbles something.
“Is there anything I can do to make it up for you?”
You don’t face him. Knife not stopping. “It’s fine.”
Law presses down his lips, that’s what you’ve responded with for the past 10 minutes. A new approach is needed.
He inches near, arms wrapping around your waist as he leans down, lips grazing your temple.
“I’m sorry, yeah? Why don’t we go out to eat tomorrow? On me.”
You blink. “Everything is always on you.”
He holds a smile, “We’re going to the mall afterwards, check.” Law comes close, kissing the side of your face, and you don’t answer. Only grumble.
And he wraps his arms around you tighter, forcing your chopping to come to a halt.
“I’m sorry.” the apology came out far softer than you’d ever think Law could manage to replicate — like a hush, a hum, a crumbled love letter no one was supposed to read; and maybe, just maybe, you can let yourself ease.
“You’re not forgiven.”
Law lands his face on your shoulder. Taking in your scent. Feel his lips place on the nape of your neck. Forcing a shudder.
“Doting me won’t save you.” You say, and another kiss on your neck is made. And your shoulders tenses, composure trembling.
“That’s fine,” his voice is low against your skin as if he’s sinking into the tone of your anger, the strain of your heart — hoarding it all for himself. “I want it either way.”
His arms bundle up over your chest and your knife clatters from your grip as he starts to pepper kisses on your back, shoulder and spine.
What a greedy, selfish, jerk.
Summary: dinner arrived a little bit later than planned—but whatever the case, Law was right where he wanted to be.
Donquixote Doflamingo
Doffy has a temper — sure, you know of it — witnessed it, seen it in full display and all of that is cruel and horrible.
That’s why you didn’t press it when he forgot your six month anniversary.
In the end, small trivial details of such needs are expected to be eluded to a man like him. He does not find it in himself to romance it.
You knew that, of course.
Still.
You dressed up.
Wore your favourite pair of heels and bought a new dress and did your hair.
Maybe there would have been a surprise.
Something.
Anything.
But Donquixote Doflamingo is a man as fine as he is casual, you knew that, so why does it hurt when you see him lounging by the pool; Family members laughing and playing, skimpy men and women fawning over him and colourful cocktails with parasols stuck to its shave and liquor spill down his chin?
He sees you, and grins.
That mocking, stupid, devilish grin that a teenage boy wears when he sees a girl he wants to bully.
But you turn.
And the smile falters.
You’re sitting by the edge of your bed, fiddling with the tiny envelope you prepared for him.
Confessions, admiration, inside jokes and corny heart doodles — you have half the mind to rip it to shreds — only for the door to creak open.
For once, there is no extra flair, his posture somewhat straight, hands in his pocket, and there are no hints of a smile or a scowl or fury — for once, he is serious. And you do not look his way.
“Baby,” He drags out, walking closer, “What’s the matter huh? You left me all alone there, I’ve never felt so neglected in my life before.” He stands before you, larger hands going to your face. “not in the mood today? You sure are dressed up,” He tilts his head. Thumbs and fingers tracing your edges, until he stops.
Watching you. Observing you.
A silence in your figure.
“what’s this? Is my little dove sad?”
You blink. Letter crumpling in your hand. “I’m fine.” your voice is dismissive, eyes not meeting.
You’re guarded. Frustrated, and a little bit… pouty?
It clicks for him then — Comfort. To let him close, near and vulnerable, you require comfort.
“Who do I need to kill?”
That’s when you look at him, cringing, but beneath the shadow of his sunglasses, you spot it; hunger, possession, amusement and murder.
Of course, that’s just how he’s always been.
So you take his hands off of you and slam your head against the mattress.
“You’re the worst.”
A brow of his goes up, “so?”
You squeeze the envelope in your fist, pulling a pillow over your head.
“Forget it. Just die.”
What.
A corner of his lip jerks up, a brow twitches. “What was that—“
“It doesn’t matter!” You dig your face into the mattress and Doflamingo has had enough of your nonsense. He grabs you by the elbows; you relent and he forces you onto your back, clasping your wrist as he makes you look at him.
“Doesn’t matter, hah? You want me to die, hah?” His knee goes between your legs, his weight dipping the mattress, and you seethe. Eyes squeezing shut.
“It’s you who does—“
He slams your wrists in between your head, and the way he looms over you feels a lot like a predator snarling his teeth at his prey — and maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you are.
“You’re too pretty to talk so much shit,” he squeezes your wrists, overpowering you. “but go on, tell me, what could possibly upset my pet like this, hm? I’m beyond interested to hear your verdict—“
You force a kick with your knee into his abdomen and he doesn’t flinch. Just shuts up.
“You forgot about our six month anniversary.” Your cheeks burn, “Why am I even dating you. You suck.”
And he blinks.
Once. Twice.
Before snorting, and burst out in laughter.
Hold on your wrists loosening as he brings his lips to your cheek.
His weight slumping over you.
“And here I thought someone needed to die. Awh, poor poor baby, she got herself all dressed up only to find nothing.” He kisses your cheek and you push at him, hit and kick and pull on him to get off of you.
“Get off—“
And he kisses you again, and again, and again and again. Your cheek, nose, neck and jaw, and it’s horrible, because the more he kisses, the more you calm
Sunmary: Safe to say, Donquixote Doflamingo has his own (effective) way of comforting. The rest of the day, he drops all other schedules and appointments just to take you out — dinner, walks, shopping and whatever else that could please your mind. After all, who else but him has the right to spoil you?
Roronoa Zoro
You both made it to a relatively empty stall.
A passing comment, a foolish one — Zoro was gulping down a new brew of sake, the expensive kind, and it went down his throat in one go.
Liquor dripping down his chin.
Adam’s apple bopping.
“Phew!” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a glee on his face, “Man… that’s better than sex.”
You blink, whatever you were drinking, you stopped, and glanced to him.
Eye twitching.
And Zoro is completely oblivious. “Oi! chief! Get me another one—“
“—Better,” you cut him off and he looks to you, “than sex?”
“uh—“
You slammed your cup down, and got up.
“Er, I, babe, cmon it’s not like that—“
You start walking off, not giving him a chance to explain himself and Zoro flies to his feet, stool clattering to the ground.
“H-hey, it was a joke, a stupid one, yeah, so babe, cmon—“
Your stomping grows harder. “No, don’t worry, why don’t you order another one since it’s sooo good?”
He catches your shoulder and you slap his hand off of you. Zoro grits his teeth, watching you fume across the street.
Damn it.
Him and his big mouth.
But curse it all if he’s just going to let you stomp off.
He marches after you, “Look, I’m sorry ‘kay? My big mouth ran on its own, y’know it ain’t true so—“
You stop.
You turn.
You cross your arms.
“So?”
“So… I’m sorry?”
You roll your eyes and turn. Moving on.
And he’s had enough.
You feel your feet sweep off the ground.
“H-hey—“ and you’re hoisted over his shoulder, his larger palm above your spine.
“What do you think you’re doing!? Get off of me, you jerk—“
You bang on his shoulder, slam against his back, “Don’t ignore me!”
He does.
And everyone is watching as he crosses the streets with you howling how he’s a degenerate, a low life loser and that Sanji was right about him being a moss haired brute.
You keep shouting, berating and insult his name as Zoro brings you to a more private area by the back alley, he sets you down and you try to move past him but the tall man won’t let you.
You scowl at him. “Move.”
Zoro crosses his arms, brows creasing as he looks down at you. “How long are you gonna keep this up? I’ve said my apologies.” He says and you tip your head to the side, not breaking eye contact. “For as long as I want.”
“Yeah?” He unfolds his arms and takes a step forward, forcing you to step back.
“As long as you want huh. How long is that?” He says and you keep walking back. “Why don’t you ask for another drink? Might give you an answer.” you retort.
Zoro comes closer, and you hit a wall behind you.
“Get out of my way. Jerk.” You say, but you cannot meet his gaze.
He’s close now. Too close.
Close enough to feel his heat, sense his cologne.
He places his wrist above your head—cornering you.
And you burn.
“A joke.” His voice low, his face leaning in as if for a kiss and on instinct—you pout.
How stupid, how desperate.
Because he stops right there.
Right before he lands his mouth onto yours.
A smirk etching on his face.
“You want a kiss? I thought you weren’t done sulking—“
Your splayed hands across the wall clumps into fists, hitting his shoulder. “Shut up—“
And he kisses you. Harder, firmer, pushing into you as if to make you know your place and he kisses you again, and again.
Kissing you until he’s sick of your bullshit.
Summary: It really was a joke, you understand that after your session with him behind the alleyway.
a/n: took inspo for Zoro's part with Sypha's and Trevor's banter from Castlevania AHEM
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CHAPTER 5: REVERIE
Summary: You are a noble from Goa Kingdom, yearning of freedom from the system. Outlook III, your father send you to Mary Geoise to participate on the marriage mart. His order are simple, to find a secure match as the way to get access for your family to become Celestial Dragon. You've never wanted this, but you caught the attention of certain red haired figure. What would you do about it?
Trope: Enemies to Lovers
Warning: All characters are legal, age gap, angst, dark romance, jealousy, mention of slavery, shitty celestial dragons behavior, shitty parents, NSFW, sex, suggestive contents, saint charlos, abuse of power, use of alcohol, cruelty, use of gun, use of illegal substance, sexual harassment, misogynist society, mention of prostitution, out of character, more tag will be added.
Truth does not always arrive bearing good news worthy of celebration. Not every truth is capable of bringing smiles, relief, or the comforting hope people long to hear. More often than not, it comes as something heavy, shocking, even painful. It has the power to shatter hopes carefully built over time, dismantle convictions once held with unwavering certainty, or force into the light the very reality one has desperately tried to avoid.
Yet the truth remains the truth. It does not change simply because it is bitter or difficult to accept. There are moments when reality stands in stark contrast to one's deepest wishes and expectations, and it is in those moments that the truth demands the courage to be accepted for what it is. There is no choice but to face it, even when the heart refuses and the mind searches endlessly for reasons to deny it.
It may leave behind scars that never fully fade or disappointments that cut deeper than words can express. Even so, the truth will always hold far greater worth than a lie that offers nothing more than fleeting comfort. For only by accepting reality as it is can one learn, grow, and continue moving forward with a clearer understanding of both life—and oneself.
Truth may not always be beautiful, but it will always bring people closer to reality.
The World Economic Journal was nothing like the gossip-filled pages of the St. N.I. Gazette, a publication that had long thrived on whispers, rumors, and speculation with little regard for whether any of it was true. While the gossip paper delighted its readers with sensationalized stories crafted to capture attention, The World Economic Journal sought to document real events unfolding across the globe, from shifts in the global economy and the ever-changing landscape of international trade to industrial developments and government policies that shaped the lives of millions.
Yet like many other publications The World Economic Journal was not entirely free from vested interests. Some of its articles had been carefully polished, arranged, and presented in ways that gradually stripped away their objectivity. Facts that should have stood on their own were framed through carefully chosen perspectives, selectively presented or emphasized in ways that favored particular individuals or organizations. As a result, what was intended to inform the public could just as easily become a tool for shaping public opinion.
In certain editions observant readers could easily notice how some events were dramatized far beyond their actual significance, while others that failed to support the desired narrative were buried in the corner of a page or omitted altogether. Information that should have served as a means of understanding reality was at times transformed into an instrument of propaganda, carefully designed to influence the way society perceived the world.
It had been about a month since you first read the shocking headline printed across the newspaper a bulletin reporting an incident in a kingdom that was all too familiar to you. Though time had continued to move forward and countless new stories had filled the issues that followed, that particular article remained etched vividly in your mind. Every sentence you had read seemed to have carved itself into your memory refusing to fade no matter how much time had passed.
DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO DEFEATED. THE THRONE OF DRESSROSA RESTORED TO ITS RIGHTFUL KING.
The headline stretched boldly across the front page printed in large heavy letters as if determined to ensure that no reader could possibly overlook it. Even after an entire month you could still recall every word with perfect clarity.
You were not disappointed that the pirate had finally been brought down for what he had done to Dressrosa. The peace he had offered had been nothing more than an illusion maintained through absolute control, silence, and oppression. A level of manipulation so masterful that you had never imagined a single person could wield it. Only now did you truly understand how Donquixote Doflamingo had earned the secret title of the ‘Heavenly Demon’ a name so few had known before the tragedy unfolded.
And the realization left you feeling painfully foolish.
Because you had come dangerously close to falling under his spell.
It was something you hated to admit, but perhaps you should have listened to what Shamrock had told you at the ballroom that night. What had the former Celestial Dragon done after being cast out of Mary Geoise? How had a pirate managed to become the king of a country that had never been his birthplace or home?
Doflamingo's defeat in the kingdom he had stolen forced you to see the world differently. It was no longer as simple as right and wrong, black and white. Reality was far more complicated than you had wanted to believe.
The names of those involved in bringing down the tyrant were printed just as prominently beneath the article.The Straw Hat Pirates, The Heart Pirates, even the Revolutionary Army had reportedly taken part in the incident.
Monkey D. Luffy.
Trafalgar Law.
But among them was one name that struck you harder than all the others. A name you knew better than your own, The name of someone who had once grown up by your side.
Sabo.
Your younger brother.
The boy whom everyone had believed to be dead for so many years.
You had only just learned that Sabo had been alive all this time and that he now stood as the Revolutionary Army's second-in-command. That revelation had come hand in hand with the truth behind Doflamingo's reign in Dressrosa, yet it was Sabo's survival that consumed your thoughts above all else.
His death had long since become an undeniable reality in your heart. A painful truth you had mourned, accepted, and eventually learned to live with. Never, not even once, had you imagined that another truth had been hidden beneath that tragedy, one so impossible to foresee.
He was no longer the gap-toothed little boy who loved to fart and sneak away from home in favor of wandering through Gray Terminal or the mountains. He had grown into a young man with a heart ablaze, dedicating his life to leading a revolution against a corrupt government. Time had reshaped him into someone entirely different, forging a mature man from the reckless child you once knew. You could scarcely find any trace of the innocent boy who had laughed, played, and grown up beside you.
At first you barely recognized him. His features had matured, his blond hair had grown longer, and a scar now crossed one of his eyes, a mark whose story you could only wonder about. Yet despite all those changes some things had remained exactly the same. Your brother was still chasing freedom, only now he was no longer seeking it for himself alone because he was also fighting to reclaim it for those who had been stripped of theirs.
For the past month, you had searched relentlessly for answers to the questions that refused to leave your mind. You couldn't risk making a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings about the Revolutionary Army, nor could you pin articles across your wall and connect them with strings like a seasoned detective. You were living at the very heart of the World Government's civilization, a place where even the slightest hint of sympathy toward rebellion was enough to invite suspicion. Even so in whatever ways you could you kept searching for the truth.
How had Sabo ended up joining the Revolutionary Army?
Had he really been alive all this time?
Had he deliberately faked his death all those years ago?
Why were you only learning the truth now?
Where was your little brother at this very moment?
"Today's newspaper is awful. Not a single article about the Great King of Goa. The least they could have done was dedicate a special feature to my outstanding outfit at the Reverie."
The complaint shattered the silence that had settled over the sitting room. For the past several minutes, the only sounds had been the rustling of turning newspaper pages and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. The voice belonged to the young man seated not far from you.
He was reading today's edition of The World Economic Journal, though ‘reading’ was perhaps too generous a word. He seemed far more interested in finding something to complain about than in the news itself. Leaning lazily against the back of his chair he let the newspaper fall onto his lap before clicking his tongue in obvious dissatisfaction.
You did not even have to look up to know what expression he was wearing. A pout, a hint of irritation and above all the unmistakable look of someone convinced he had not received the attention he deserved. Some habits never changed no matter how many titles a person accumulated. It was still hard to believe that the young man sulking over his absence from the front page was none other than the rightful King of the Goa Kingdom.
Sterry, the adopted younger brother who had suddenly entered your life and Sabo's, was never there to brighten your childhood. Instead he left behind nothing but unpleasant memories. You had long since lost count of how many times he had bullied and tormented the two of you. As if that were not enough the shameless brat constantly ran to Outlook and Didit to report every little thing you or Sabo did despite being no better himself. He truly was the most insufferable adopted brother imaginable.
After his father-in-law died under mysterious circumstances, the crown princess ascended the throne and made Sterry her king. Now he had come to Mary Geoise to attend the Reverie, the grand summit held every four years where rulers from every corner of the world gathered. You silently prayed that the people of the Goa Kingdom would be granted patience and resilience, because their fate now rested in the hands of your arrogant, big-headed adopted brother.
"There are far more important things in the news than your clothes. Just accept reality." You remarked casually as you turned another page of the newspaper, discreetly searching for any article that mentioned the Revolutionary Army.
At your words, Sterry placed a hand over the left side of his chest as though your remark had pierced his heart. "Sister, you are so cruel."
You frowned. You had never liked the way he called you sister in that forced tone. The words always sounded awkward coming from him, completely devoid of the warmth and affection that should naturally exist between siblings.
Perhaps it was cruel and unfair but to you there had only ever been one younger brother, and you had no idea where he was now. Sabo was your one and only brother, not merely because you shared the same blood but because the bond between the two of you was one Sterry could never hope to have with you.
The latest report concerning the Revolutionary Army stated that one of the Blackbeard Pirates' senior officers had discovered the location of their headquarters. However, by the time a full-scale assault was launched, every member of the organization had already vanished without a trace. It was as though the entire Revolutionary Army had disappeared from the face of the earth, and that was exactly what they had intended.
Another voice called out to you from the other side of the sitting room. "Sister-in-law, Father said you're taking us horseback riding."
You looked up to find Sarie staring at you with the lifeless expression of a porcelain doll, fluttering her long eyelashes. She was Sterry's wife, the former princess-now-a-queen whose status had made it possible for that boy to become the king of a country. Sarie carried herself with remarkable grace and spoke with gentle refinement, yet beneath that elegant exterior lay an arrogance that rivaled her husband's. She conducted herself as though the world itself existed to grant her special treatment.
The couple had stopped by the residence your parents were renting during the grand gathering of rulers from nations affiliated with the World Government. You were not entirely sure how the Reverie's schedule worked. Perhaps the lengthy meetings were on a short break, or perhaps the two of them had simply decided to skip them like children playing truant from school.
You had never agreed to take them sightseeing but Outlook insisted that you spend time with the married couple. Perhaps he believed that being together would bring all of you closer and somehow turn this fractured relationship into a harmonious family. Unfortunately the idea was nothing but a nuisance. Both of them carried themselves with such overwhelming arrogance that it seemed they had never once set foot on the ground.
"Let me change my clothes first." You folded the newspaper in your hands and set it on the table before rose from your chair.
The three of you had been riding through the city for nearly an hour. In truth, it should have been an enjoyable outing. The cool breeze drifting between rows of magnificent stone buildings and the lively streets filled with people coming and going should have made the journey pleasant enough. Instead, every passing minute seemed to stretch endlessly, as though the ride would never come to an end.
You would have enjoyed it if you had been riding in secret instead... like the very first time you met Doflamingo.
Ah, forget about that man whose mask had finally fallen away.
Sterry had insisted on riding beside you, which only made you want this excursion to end even sooner. As for Sarie, she was not even riding her own horse. She sat gracefully behind her husband, her arms wrapped around him like a newlywed enjoying a honeymoon. Keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead you silently counted down what remained of your patience resisting the urge to tell them to get a room instead of flaunting their affection in front of you.
This time you were not wearing your usual blouse and trousers but a riding habit designed for noblewomen complete with a long flowing skirt. You had never been particularly fond of wearing these kind of dresses while riding. They restricted the freedom of movement you were accustomed to and valued. From a distance, the dark purple skirt billowed with every stride of your horse resembling gentle waves rolling across the ground.
Each step of the horse sent the heavy layers of fabric swaying around your legs, serving as yet another reminder that, for women, appearance was often considered more important than comfort. If a strong gust of wind were to catch the dark purple skirt, it would be all too easy for it to expose more of you than propriety allowed.
Perched elegantly atop your head was a small riding hat in the same shade of purple. Its understated decoration lent it an aristocratic charm without appearing overly extravagant. Your hair had been neatly arranged and carefully pinned in place to keep it tidy throughout the ride. A pair of dark gloves covered your hands, improving your grip on the reins while protecting your skin from the constant friction.
The Reverie had now entered its fourth day. The once-seasonal gathering had transformed the heart of the city into an even livelier place than usual, crowded with kings, queens, and members of royal families from every corner of the world. Although the main proceedings were held within the majestic Pangaea Castle, a fortress that seemed as though it could stand for eternity, many of its distinguished guests often sought a breath of fresh air by taking leisurely walks or riding through the city, just as you were doing now alongside the King and Queen of Goa.
Sterry guided his chestnut Arabian horse with a level of skill that genuinely surprised you. In the middle of the ride, he suddenly exclaimed, "I had the opportunity to take the oath before the Empty Throne yesterday."
"Oh, really?" you replied without even looking at the King of Goa. "What was it like?"
"I could not really tell," he admitted. "But the moment I looked at the Empty Throne... something inside me urged me to sit upon it, to sit at the very center of the world."
Your adopted brother had just confessed to a desire that should never have crossed anyone's mind. His words made you pull sharply on the reins bringing your horse to an abrupt halt as you struggled to process what you had just heard.
"Have you lost your mind?" you demanded. "The throne was left empty for a reason. No one is ever meant to sit on it."
Your sudden stop forced Sterry to rein in his own horse as well. Yet instead of showing the slightest concern, he casually declared that he wanted to become the King of the World and stand at the very top of the world's hierarchy.
The idea of a King of the World was terrifying. It would mean placing the fate of every living soul into the hands of a single absolute authority. That was precisely why no one person was ever meant to rule over all others. No one could truly comprehend how dangerous ambition became once someone started believing they deserved to stand above the entire world.
"Oh, come on," he muttered with an easy shrug. "It is not that big of a deal." He spoke as though he had not confessed his desire to become the ruler of the entire world only moments earlier.
All you could do was let out a weary sigh and silently pray that you would not end up caught in trouble because of your adopted brother's thoughtless remarks. Trying to explain just how dangerous and consequential such an ambition would be if it ever became public knowledge sounded utterly exhausting. In the end, you chose to remain silent refusing to entertain the conversation any further.
The brief exchange was interrupted when Sarie's attention drifted toward the rows of elegant shops lining the street. Her eyes were instantly captivated by the dazzling display of luxury. Fashion boutiques, jewelry stores, accessory shops, and countless other elegant storefronts stretched before her, a paradise for any woman with a taste for fine things. The queen announced that she wanted to go shopping and add a few more pieces to her ever-growing wardrobe, and as expected Sterry could never bring himself to refuse his wife.
Sarie invited you to join them suggesting that the two of you could browse together, exchange opinions on fashion and perhaps even share a few beauty tips. You declined politely explaining that you had no particular need for new dresses or jewelry at the moment.
With that the two of them wandered off together eager to buy everything that caught their eyes. At last you had some time to yourself without having to suppress your nausea at the sight of them openly doting on each other in public.
Raven took the opportunity to stroll toward a nearby fountain. The Friesian stallion seemed just as tempted by the gentle sound of flowing water, unable to ignore his growing thirst. He took a few measured steps closer before lowering his head intending to take a drink.
"Whoa, easy buddy," you said, giving the reins a gentle tug. "I do not think you should be drinking from there."
Ignoring your protest Raven continued drinking without pause. With a quiet sigh, you swung yourself down from the saddle so he could quench his thirst more comfortably. While your horse drank his fill you settled on the edge of the fountain.
Crystal-clear water flowed endlessly from the carved stone centerpiece, its gentle murmur easing a little of the exhaustion left behind by what had felt like an endlessly long ride. Resting both hands on the fountain's edge, you allowed your gaze to wander across the bustling town square. The weather was unusually mild. Thick clouds shielded the city from the harsh sunlight while not even the slightest breeze stirred the air, leaving the atmosphere strangely dry.
The unusual weather for this time of year kept you from noticing the hooded figure seated only a short distance away. Clad in an ivory-white cloak that concealed their face, the stranger quietly took a place on the edge of the fountain beside you. While they observed your every movement in silence, completely unnoticed by you, your attention remained fixed on the lively square before you.
Horse-drawn carriages rumbled across the cobblestone streets, their wheels turning rapidly as though their passengers were racing against time. Servants hurried past carrying wooden crates and rolled-up documents. On the opposite side of the street, nobles wandered at an unhurried pace, dressed in their finest attire. They exchanged soft laughter and lighthearted conversation as if there were not a single concern in the world worthy of disturbing their peace.
Yet another sight unfolded before your eyes, one so cruel that merely witnessing it made your stomach churn. Who else could it be but the Celestial Dragons? They treated their slaves with utter contempt, yanking violently on the chains that bound them, reducing human beings to something that even animals did not deserve to become. One particularly despicable noble mercilessly lashed his servant with a whip in broad daylight, inflicting pain and humiliation under the guise of discipline.
The heart of the city laid bare a striking contrast between luxury and oppression. Your heart could scarcely endure such cruelty, yet you lacked the power to change the very system that allowed it to exist. Unable to bear the sight any longer, you turned your face away, refusing to watch the merciless acts of those who believed themselves to be gods.
"You have become one of them, Sister."
The voice came out of nowhere like a quiet whisper reminding you of your sins and failures.
Your eyes widened at the unfamiliar address. For a split second, you questioned whether you had heard it correctly, your body stiffening as you instinctively rose to your feet. You turned from side to side searching for the source of the voice, but there was no one who seemed even remotely suspicious. Everyone was occupied with their own affairs. No one appeared interested enough to speak to you.
You tried to recall the voice instead, It belonged to a young man.There was a strange calmness in it, as though its owner was neither angry nor mocking you. He had simply... stated a fact. And that single word ‘Sister’ made your chest tighten. There were only two people who had ever called you that. And of the two only one came to mind.
Sabo.
Your little brother who had disappeared years ago and had recently shaken the world by becoming one of the leading figures of the Revolutionary Army.
Was he here?
Was he watching you quietly condemning you for growing too comfortable surrounded by luxury?
But if that were true...What was he doing in Mary Geoise?
And where was your little brother now?
You blinked several times and drew a slow breath, but the unease had already settled in without invitation. It clouded your thoughts, making it difficult to think clearly. Before you realized it, you had frozen in place. Though you remained standing your legs felt weak as if gravity itself refused to keep you grounded refused to acknowledge you, because you now belonged to the celestial far above the earth and forever beyond anyone's reach.
And that was exactly what you feared.
You feared the day you would look into a mirror and no longer be able to tell yourself apart from the very people you had always despised. The kind who believed the ground beneath their feet was too lowly to touch. The kind who called other human beings inferior creatures and treated them as nothing more than property. Who else could they be but the Celestial Dragons, those who fancied themselves gods?
Those words did more than strike you, they sent an icy chill crawling down your spine. They were not merely an accusation. They felt almost like a label that had been placed upon you. Was it true? Had coming here and living among them slowly eroded your humanity?
No.
You rejected the thought almost immediately.
You still possessed the same heart and humanity you always had. If you had truly become one of them, the scene you had witnessed moments ago would not have disturbed you in the slightest. You would not have felt compelled to look away because you could no longer bear to watch. The truth was far more painful because you simply lacked the strength and the courage to do anything about it.
With a quiet sigh you lowered yourself back onto the marble edge of the fountain replaying every decision you had made since arriving here. Coming to Mary Geoise had indeed been a mistake, just as you had declared to Shamrock that day. You should never have allowed yourself to grow comfortable in this place. But even if you were powerless, what could you possibly do?
You couldn't have been lost in your thoughts for very long, yet by the time you looked up, the sun had already begun its slow descent toward the west, marking the end of midday. Its light remained bright and steady, not yet softened into the golden hues of evening, while a thin veil of clouds continued to shield the city from its full intensity.
Beside you Raven remained faithfully at your side. Though left untethered, the Friesian showed no intention of wandering off standing quietly as if he understood you needed the silence.
Your thoughts were abruptly shattered by the sound of panicked screams. People were shouting and running. Chaos had erupted.
The soothing murmur of the fountain that had accompanied your thoughts only moments before was swallowed whole by the deafening uproar spilling in from the main avenue. Everyone fled in blind panic, scattering in every direction like a swarm of disturbed insects. It made no difference whether they were Celestial Dragons, nobles, servants, or slaves.
They all ran, some stumbled to the ground in their desperation only to be trampled beneath the stampede of terrified feet. The earth beneath you suddenly trembled as thousands of people surged through the streets creating what felt like a small earthquake atop the Red Line.
Then came the explosions.
The thunderous blasts echoed from somewhere in the distance, sounding unmistakably like heavy artillery being fired. Thick black smoke rose into the sky from the direction of the detonations, billowing upward in massive columns born from fire and cannon smoke. One explosion followed another until they became far too numerous to count.
You had no idea what had happened to transform the peaceful atmosphere into complete pandemonium. Perhaps the Reverie had fallen into an unforeseen state of anarchy. But you were nowhere near Pangaea Castle where the conference was being held. Even Raven who had remained calm until now sensed that something was terribly wrong. The stallion tossed his head and let out a restless whinny urging you to act.
"What on earth is happening?" you murmured to yourself, knowing full well no answer would come.
There was no time to wonder because every second wasted could mean the difference between life and death. You quickly swung yourself back into the saddle, determined to leave before the chaos spread any farther. Yet your first instinct was not to flee, It was to find Sterry and Sarie. No matter how little affection you had for them, they were still your brother and your sister-in-law and finding them was the right thing to do..
You pulled on the reins turning Raven toward the main avenue where you had last seen them. The stallion skillfully wove through the panicked crowds. You could only hope no one would be hurt by his powerful stride as people scattered in every direction.
You searched every row of shops, calling out Sterry's and Sarie's names again and again, but no answer came. Perhaps your voice was swallowed by the thunder of explosions and the screams echoing through the streets. Or perhaps they had already fled abandoning the area in a desperate attempt to save themselves. The lack of any sign of them only deepened your panic. But panic would accomplish nothing.
Drawing a slow, steady breath, you forced yourself to remain calm as Raven carried you farther down the streets. Your eyes darted from one side to the other, taking in the frantic scene unfolding around you. People were running or riding on horseback in the opposite direction as though you alone were traveling the wrong way heading toward the very danger everyone else was desperately trying to escape.
And they were right.
The farther you rode, the thicker the smoke became, dark clouds billowing upward as the source of the fires drew ever closer. Then came the sharp crack of gunfire. The sound rang through your ears making you flinch. As if that were not enough you noticed that the walls of several buildings had been defaced with hastily painted graffiti. A single word had been scrawled across the stone in bold and unmistakable letters.
REVOLUTION.
Now you understand. This isn't a random riot or an ordinary act of crime. It is a declaration, a direct challenge to the system that rules this place. And one group has chosen to fight back. Reverie has been thrown into unprecedented chaos, and this uprising marks the beginning of a great change.
"Miss."
A woman's voice called out to you. You thought she was addressing you, yet the voice came from the sky, which was anything but ordinary. You gently pulled on your horse's reins, bringing Raven to a halt, then looked up to confirm what you had heard. High above, a female knight was riding what looked like a giant bird made entirely of bandages—an utterly bizarre sight.
The short-haired knight guided her bandage bird into a shallow dive until it hovered at roughly the same altitude as you. As she drew closer, you noticed that her eyes were heterochromatic. Her right eye was a brilliant blue, as radiant as the sea beneath the midday sun, while her left eye burned a deep crimson resembling glowing embers stirred by the wind. The striking contrast between them made her appearance even more captivating.
She studied you from head to toe as she spoke, her gaze even sweeping over Raven. "Why are you heading toward the center of the disturbance instead of evacuating?"
You blinked several times, trying to gather the right words despite the anxiety gnawing at your mind. "I am looking for my brother and his wife." Your voice came out slightly louder than you had intended, as though trying to rise above the surrounding clamor.
"What is really happening?" you asked, voicing the question that had been weighing on your mind.
"The Revolutionary Army has launched an assault on Mary Geoise and declared war on the World Government," she replied, her voice calm and unwavering. "The Admirals are dealing with them as we speak."
So your suspicions had been correct. The Revolutionaries had shaken the Red Line, the colossal continent that stood firm as it encircled the world. In the distance, you could see the white flag bearing the blue emblem of the World Government engulfed in flames atop one of the towering spires. Flocks of birds scattered across the sky while thick columns of smoke billowed upward, fleeing the chaos on instinct, driven by nothing more than the will to survive.
The heterochromatic girl continued, "Head south. It is safer there. Everyone is evacuating, and you should do the same."
You had little choice but to follow her instructions. There was no point in charging into the heart of the battlefield when you couldn't even defend yourself if the worst were to happen. Besides if your brother and his wife had been evacuated successfully they were most likely heading south as well.
You gave a small nod. "I understand."
Without wasting another moment, you turned your Friesian horse around and urged Raven into a gallop in the opposite direction. The rhythmic pounding of Raven's hooves against the ground rang out more clearly now that the explosions and the clamor of battle had faded into the distance.
You glanced back over your shoulder hoping to catch another glimpse of the knight who had approached you, but she was already gone. Perhaps she had taken to the skies once more on her strange winged mount.
This incident would change countless lives, including yours.
────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ────────୨ৎ───
Your body trembled as the air in the room seeped into your bones. This was not the kind of cold that could be chased away with a roaring fireplace or a cup of hot chocolate. It was damp, suffocating, and deeply unpleasant. The concrete walls surrounding you seemed to have trapped the chill for years, only to reflect it back without mercy.
The interrogation room had been designed to strip away any sense of safety or comfort, replacing it with lingering psychological torment. Anyone confined within these walls would eventually break, confessing to every crime they had committed. Even the innocent would rather admit to accusations they had never committed than endure another moment in this room.
Your wrists were shackled to a steel table as cold as the room itself. The iron handcuffs bit mercilessly into your skin, leaving behind a constant ache that reminded you you were not here of your own free will. You shifted in your seat searching for a more comfortable position, but the soft rattle of the chains immediately crushed that hope.
The wrists that had once been adorned with elegant dance cards and bracelets crafted from gold and silver were now bound by rough iron cuffs that sent icy sensations coursing through your veins. You felt less like a noblewoman and more like a dangerous criminal awaiting judgment. Your single braid had fallen into disarray and you wore nothing but your nightgown covered by a thin robe having been dragged here in the middle of the night.
You had no idea how long you had been here. Minutes and hours had blurred together, stripped of all meaning inside this windowless room. At the very least, however, more than half a day had passed since your arrest.
You were not the only one taken into custody. Outlook, Didit, Sterry, and Sarie had all been arrested under the same charges. You had no idea where they were now, but you assumed they were being interrogated in separate rooms.
You still did not fully understand why your family had been arrested without warning.
"Once again, I will ask you the same question." His voice was calm, but edged with impatience. "What is your relationship with the second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army?"
Sitting across from you was a tall man with ginger hair whose age was difficult to determine. He leaned back lazily in his chair resting both boots on the steel table where your shackled hands lay helplessly. The gesture was deliberately disrespectful as though reminding you of exactly where you stood. Saint Shepherd Sommers had been interrogating you for what felt like hours. He kept asking the same question over and over, as if repeating it enough times would somehow force a different answer from your lips.
"I already told you," you replied, your voice hoarse from thirst. Not a single drop of water had passed your lips since your arrest. You had long since lost your appetite but the thirst was impossible to ignore. "I did not even know Sabo was still alive until the news of the Dressrosa incident."
"And you expect me to believe that?" His voice dripped with mockery and disdain. "What kind of family does not even know where one of its own is, let alone that he is become a revolutionary?"
His words felt like a jab at your family's fractured relationships. Although you cared little for the opinions of others, there was still something painful about hearing it spoken aloud.
As if that were not enough, Sommers continued. "You infiltrated the Holy Land under the pretense of attending the marriage market, then passed valuable intelligence to the Revolutionary Army."
"That is not true," you answered firmly. It was the truth, and you refused to let him twist it into anything else.
"Then explain this." Sommers leaned forward slightly. "When the Revolutionary Army attacked Mary Geoise, why did Gunko catch you heading straight toward the chaos? Unless....you were one of them."
The accusation struck you like a splash of boiling water to the face. "'Looking for your brother, you said? You mean Sabo-the Revolutionary?." A faint mocking smile tugged at his lips.
"I was talking about my adoptive younger brother, Sterry," you answered without hesitation. "And I also said I was looking for his wife." Back then, your innocent explanation had seemed harmless. You had never imagined it would come back to haunt you like this.
There was nothing you could do except remain seated in the cold steel chair and endure it. Their accusations were built on little more than speculation. Just because one person had in their eyes committed an unforgivable offense did not mean that everyone connected to them was guilty as well.
You let out a slow breath forcing yourself to stay calm. You had lost count of how many times this conversation had repeated itself. The same questions. The same answers. It was as though they believed exhaustion, thirst, and the relentless passage of time would eventually force you to tell them what they wanted to hear.
The problem was simple.
You were not lying.
Your gaze drifted to the large mirror on the wall to your right, its surface reflecting your exhausted figure. Only then did you realize how disheveled you had become since your imprisonment. Your braid had loosened, your clothes were wrinkled and fatigue was written plainly across your face.
But your appearance was the least of your concerns, all you wanted was to leave this place. You were certain it was a two-way mirror. Someone, or perhaps several people had to be standing behind it watching your every move without ever being seen. They observed every breath you took, every restless twitch of your shackled fingers, every fleeting hint of hesitation that crossed your face. Even your silence was probably being dissected for meaning. You tore your gaze away from the mirror and lowered your head.
As you had suspected Saint Figarland Shamrock was standing behind the two-way mirror, silently watching everything unfold without your knowledge.
He watched your interrogation with a piercing gaze, missing none of the details he deemed worth committing to memory. Standing silently with his arms folded across his chest, he allowed the interrogator to carry out his duty while he remained a quiet observer, evaluating every one of your responses with cold detachment.
Although the God Knight knew the true reason behind your arrest, he made no move to intervene, choosing instead to remain a silent witness.
His expression was as unreadable as ever—calm, composed, and utterly devoid of emotion. No one could discern what lay behind those impassive features, not even his own father. Standing beside him, Garling observed the interrogation just as intently. Neither man could tell whether Shamrock was beginning to believe your words or whether his suspicions had only deepened.
"That noble girl" the middle-aged man with crescent-shaped hair said, turning to his son. "After everything that has happened, what are you going to do with her?"
Shamrock did not answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the other side of the two-way mirror, watching your every movement without so much as a blink as though he were counting each breath you drew and every exhale that followed.
"If it turns out she is a member of the Revolutionary Army" Garling continued, casting a sidelong glance at his son, "or if she learned of the Great One's existence through her brother, then you already know what the Five Elders will do, don't you?"
"Once Sommers is finished, I will interrogate her myself," the red-haired man said flatly.
It was not an answer to the Supreme Commander's question.
Rather than commenting on your possible fate or the Elders' decision, he simply shifted the conversation to the next step he intended to take, leaving his father's question hanging in the air without acknowledgment.
Garling spoke again. "I am sure you have read that gossip column. And we both know that whatever is written there reflects the will of the Great One."
Not a flicker crossed Shamrock's face. No surprise, no hesitation. He accepted the statement as though it were a truth he had long since come to terms with.
He knew exactly who St. N.I. really was.
Behind that identity concealed beneath layers of mystery, only a select few knew the truth. Shamrock was one of them.
He understood that the gossip column the public dismissed as cheap entertainment was, in reality, something far more terrifying. Every sentence printed within it was not mere rumor. They were manifestations of the Supreme One's will. And more frightening still that will was almost never wrong.
Meanwhile, Sommers continued bombarding you with the same questions you had grown tired of answering. The relentless interrogation felt no less cruel than physical torture used to force confessions from the accused. But no matter how many times he asked, your answer remained the same. You were innocent and you were telling the truth.
"Is it not a rather strange coincidence?" he said. "The Revolutionary Army, which usually operates from the shadows, suddenly launches an open assault against the World Government during the Reverie at the exact time your entire family happens to be gathered in Mary Geoise."
"How would I know the answer to that?"
The man rose from his chair and strode toward you, a smug grin spreading across his face. Without asking for permission or offering so much as a warning, he reached out and hooked a finger beneath your chin forcing your lowered gaze to meet his.
"Listen carefully, woman." His voice dripped with contempt. "Just because Shamrock has shown a little interest in you does not mean you can escape the consequences."
Your jaw tightened. With a look of undisguised disgust, you jerked your head to the side wrenching your chin free from his grasp. The nerve of him to touch you as though you were nothing more than a puppet instead of a human being. He acted with such arrogance because his position gave him the power to do so.
Although your breathing still trembled and the bitter cold continued to seep into your body, you met his gaze with unwavering eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you truly broken. "This has nothing to do with him."
From the other side of the two-way mirror, the Commander had seen and heard everything with perfect clarity. He had watched Sommers try to wear down your resolve, only to find you standing your ground, meeting the interrogator's gaze with open disdain. After this he would likely have a word with his subordinate. Sommers had gone too far especially the moment he dared to lay a finger on you.
Eventually, it seemed Sommers had run out of questions. Without another word he left the room not even bothering to write down your statement. The entire interrogation suddenly felt meaningless. That you realized had been his intention all along. To crush your hope until surrender became your only option. Only after he had disappeared from sight did you finally allow yourself to lean back against the interrogation chair's icy backrest.
Unfortunately the brief moment of relief did not last. The door opened once again and Saint Figarland Shamrock stepped into the room. The instant he crossed the threshold, the familiar tension settled over you. It felt as though the temperature had dropped several more degrees making the already frigid room even more suffocating.
Every encounter with him left you with the same unsettling feeling. His gaze always made it seem as though he were dissecting you without a blade. He never needed to raise his voice or make threats. His mere presence was enough to fill the room with invisible pressure. And this time you were certain he intended to use that pressure to extract the answers he wanted.
Shamrock carried several files in his right hand. He placed them neatly on the table separating the two of you before taking the seat opposite yours. His back remained perfectly straight, both hands resting atop the stack of documents he had just set down. Slowly, his eyes lifted until they met yours.
Your muscles stiffened instinctively. Whether you wanted to or not you found yourself sitting up straighter as well despite having only just managed to rest against the chair moments earlier.
Of all the God Knights why did it have to be him?
A guard clad in armor entered behind him, carrying a sandwich and a glass of water. He set them down on the table before silently leaving the room without a single word. You could not deny it, the glass of water sitting in front of you seemed almost to whisper your name tempting you to take even a single sip.
"Fifteen hours without food is something most people can endure. But without water..." Shamrock's firm voice broke the silence.
He gestured toward the meal, inviting you to eat and drink. You remained silent, instead you deliberately turned your head away until your eyes settled on a spider's web tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
"Or are you afraid we have poisoned it?" he continued. "I would not stoop that low."
There was no trace of mockery in his voice yet neither did it sound like reassurance. To be honest the thought had never crossed your mind. But the moment he mentioned it, the possibility of being poisoned by the World Government suddenly became disturbingly plausible.
You swallowed hard, not only to suppress your thirst but also to ease the raw discomfort in your throat, which felt as though shards of glass were lodged inside it. You hesitated first, should you accept it or refuse?
The crystal-clear water shimmered inside the glass exactly as it should, while the sandwich filled with meat and vegetables looked perfectly ordinary. Nothing about either of them seemed suspicious, and somehow that only made your hesitation worse. Your body pleaded for a single sip of water, while every instinct screamed at you to stay on your guard. Both choices felt equally wrong, even though the decision rested entirely with you. In the end you gave in and listened to your body.
Carefully, you lifted the glass and took a long drink, the cool water washing away the dryness in your throat. It was even more relieving than you had imagined, like discovering an oasis in the middle of a vast desert despite the freezing air that filled the room. The sandwich, however, remained untouched. Your appetite had disappeared the moment you were arrested.
Shamrock watched as you struggled to lift the glass with your wrists still bound together. The iron cuffs encircled them so tightly that the skin beneath had become raw and red. Hidden beneath his cloak he unconsciously brushed his thumb against the key resting in an inner pocket, reassuring himself that it was still there. The key to your freedom, but it was one he had no intention of using. Not yet at least.
His gaze settled on your exhausted face once more. Your lips were cracked from dehydration, your complexion had grown even paler and yet you still clung stubbornly to your dignity despite the miserable state you were in. Something within him recoiled at the sight of you like this. Something he could not explain. The thought surfaced so suddenly that the Commander dismissed it at once. Emotions were distractions nothing more than obstacles that clouded judgment.
"Shall we begin?"
At his words, you steeled yourself once again for the same questions you had answered countless times already. The very thought of repeating them made you sick. "Let us get this over with."
The red-haired man opened the file before him, turning one page after another with neat, measured movements. The soft rustle of paper became the only sound in the room. The documents most likely contained everything about you and your family. How ironic, every detail of your life had been condensed into a stack of papers transformed into evidence to be used against you.
Shamrock began his interrogation "The family of Baron Outlook III, You have a rather... unusual family."
He flipped to another page. "The King of Goa Kingdom. The second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army. And then you."
You frowned then asked. "What are you implying? That I have not accomplished anything compared to my brothers?"
"I never said that." His ruby-red eyes remained fixed on the rows of words and numbers covering the documents before him. "Becoming a rebel is not an accomplishment."
"Listen," you said, your patience wearing thin. "You can ask me the same question a hundred more times, and my answer won't change. Twelve years ago the ship Sabo sailed on when he left home sank after it was bombarded by a Celestial Dragon. I saw it with my own eyes. I watched his ship burn before it slowly disappeared beneath the sea."
You recounted the memory from your own perspective explaining how vividly your brother's death had been etched into your mind. It was also the reason your hatred for the Celestial Dragons had taken root so deeply. Learning that Sabo had survived had changed nothing. Your hatred remained.
"So that is why you hate us?" he asked.
"That is only a small part of it, My Lord." Your answer came without the slightest trace of hesitation.
Silence settled between the two of you for a moment before Shamrock finally broke it.
"And since learning about what happened in Dressrosa, you have never had any contact with him?" he asked. "Or perhaps tried to find out where he was?"
Your mind immediately drifted back to that brief moment during the Reverie. Someone had called you sister, someone who had condemned you as one of those bastard Celestial Dragons. You were certain it had been Sabo and no one else. But did that count as contact? Should you tell Shamrock about that encounter?
"No."
You chose to deny it. The last thing you wanted was to make this interrogation even longer than it already was. If they learned that you had interacted with one of the Revolutionary Army's highest-ranking members they would never let the matter rest.
The Commander studied your face for the slightest hint of hesitation searching for even the smallest crack in your composure. His expression remained calm yet intensely attentive. He watched how your gaze held steady, how your shoulders rose and fell with each measured breath, and how your shackled fingers tensed ever so slightly before relaxing again.
"If that is the case then perhaps you can explain this." he said while pulling several neatly organized documents from the file
Before you even had the chance to lean forward and read them he continued. " A copy of a bank statement from Line Bank.The ownership of this account is highly questionable."
He slid the papers across the table. His ruby eyes lifted to meet yours. "The account is registered under Sabo's name. But according to the transaction records the person who has been consistently depositing money into that account is you."
The room fell silent once more. Shamrock slowly slid the file across the table until it rested between the two of you, allowing you to see its contents. Inside was a meticulous record of dates, transaction amounts, and even security camera footage showing you making cash deposits. Every transaction had been carefully documented, backed by evidence you hadn't even known existed.
You fell silent for a moment, struggling to process the evidence laid out before your eyes while searching for the right words to explain just how complicated your situation truly was.
"How—"
"Were you involved in financing the Revolutionary Army?"
Before you could explain yourself the accusation was hurled at you, striking like a knife. Your eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
"What? No! I was not-"
"The sums being deposited were far from insignificant," he interrupted again. "They are comparable to the average bounty of the Worst Generation. Perhaps it's a trivial amount compared to your father's fortune, but regardless of the total it is enough to establish your involvement with that organization."
"That money-"
"Besides where could you possibly have gotten that kind of money without lifting a finger to work?" The Commander cut you again, His sharp gaze remained fixed on you.
"So? Are you finally going to tell me where your income came from?"
"How am I supposed to answer if you keep interrupting me?"
For the first time since the interrogation had begun, your voice rose. It was not born solely from anger, but from the frustration that had been building since the very beginning. Every time you tried to explain yourself, another question cut you off before you could finish.
After interrupting you time and again Shamrock finally fell silent giving you the chance to answer his questions. Who would have thought that your attempt to secure financial independence would one day entangle you in something far more serious?
"Listen. Aristocratic women are not allowed to accumulate wealth under their own names. In the end every asset falls under the family's supervision. Even the money I earned myself was never truly mine."
"I used my late brother’s identity to open a bank account, one that would allow me to achieve financial independence. It has nothing to do with funding any revolutionary organization. Back then I did not even know she was still alive."
After listening carefully he pulled a pen from his pocket and jotted something down in a notebook. Perhaps he was recording your statement as part of verifying your innocence. "Even so that still does not answer my last question." he said without looking up to you.
"The gifts I received from prospective suitors from the time I was seventeen until now" you answered without hesitation. "Most of them were jewelry, gemstones, and precious metals of considerable value. I sold them."
The red-haired man paused in the middle of writing. His hand froze above the notebook page. The ink no longer flowed. The tip of the pen hovered only a few centimeters above the paper, as if its owner had suddenly lost the words he intended to write.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the notebook and looked at you with his crimson eyes. His expression remained unchanged, but this time there was an unusual pause before he finally spoke.
"Including the jewelry I gave you when I visited you?"
You did not need much time to understand what he meant.
"Yes."
The answer left your lips without hesitation, because to you, that jewelry had never carried any sentimental value. Just like the other gifts that came from your prospective suitors, it was nothing more than one of the many valuable items you eventually sold. The silence that followed lasted longer than it should have.
Shamrock's gaze remained fixed on you, while the pen in his hand continued to hover above the unfinished page. His face showed no change whatsoever still expressionless and composed and that was precisely what made you uneasy. Unconsciously questions began to form in your mind.
Had you accidentally offended him by selling the gift he gave you?
Did that item hold a far greater value in his eyes?
A family heirloom, perhaps?
Was he angry?
It was difficult to tell.
All you could do was watch as he released a quiet breath. Even though you tried to read his expression or the subtle movement of his jaw that might betray his emotions, you struggled to determine what was truly going through his mind. Either he was exceptionally skilled at suppressing his feelings or it genuinely did not bother him at all. Hopefully it was the latter and fate was still on your side.
“I see" His response was brief.
Shamrock continued the interrogation with another question. "As Sommers stated, the Revolutionary Army's assault on the Holy Land coincided with the Reverie and the marriage season during which your entire family happened to be in Mary Geoise."
"And that is somehow our fault?" Your voice was flat, though the exhaustion had begun to seep into every word.
"It reinforces our suspicion that your family conspired with the revolutionary Sabo" he replied matter-of-factly.
"Simply because we are related by blood and happened to be in the same place when the attack occurred?" You answered while subtly adjusting your posture in the chair.
Instead of answering he countered with another question, his jaw tightening. "If you were in my position would you simply ignore that chain of facts?"
"Facts?" You almost laughed, not because anything was amusing, but because you could not believe what you had just heard. A dry chuckle nearly escaped your lips before you swallowed it back.
“Those are not facts. They are nothing more than utterly absurd accusations." You slowly shook your head and leaned back against the chair. The handcuffs around your wrists clinked softly with the movement, briefly breaking the silence.
Your gaze never wavered. "If that is your logic, then every king, queen, and noble who attended the Reverie should also be under suspicion. They were all in Mary Geoise when the Revolutionary Army attacked."
"Out of all of them your family remains our prime suspect."
Hearing the same accusation repeated over and over again was enough to make you nearly give up trying to reason with him. You were about to open your mouth to deny it once more but Shamrock continued before you had the chance.
"The consequences could be severe. The Elders are considering expelling your entire family from Mary Geoise."
You showed neither panic nor fear. In fact you did not hesitate for a moment before responding to the prospect of your exile. After all you had never wanted to remain in this place. "Then I will return to the Goa Kingdom."
"But I do not want you to leave." The words slipped from his lips so quietly that they sounded like a whisper never meant to be heard.
As much as it startled you, that words seemed to startle Shamrock even more. Such unguarded honesty was unlike him. A brief awkward silence settled between you filling a void that should never have existed.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" You frowned in confusion unable to make sense of what he had just said.
Shamrock fell silent. His expression remained as calm as ever, yet beneath that composed exterior, his mind had gone completely blank. Those words were not something a commander should ever say to his prisoner nor were they something he had intended to say. All his life he had been accustomed to weighing every word before speaking.
This time however, his mouth had moved a step ahead of his thoughts. "I should not have said something unrelated to the interrogation."
"So that was a personal statement?" You looked at him searchingly.
"Yes." The answer came without denial, without justification—just a single word. Somehow, that only made the room feel even quieter.
You had not expected him to admit it.
The commander and you remained seated in silence, facing one another from opposite sides of the table. The air inside the interrogation room felt increasingly suffocating despite the damp chill that clung to it. It was as though dozens of people were crowded inside, fighting over the last traces of oxygen, when in reality, only the two of you were there.
Your gaze eventually fell to your lap, your head lowering as though you could no longer bring yourself to meet the eyes burning with restrained longing. You could feel the intensity of that emotion ever since his confession. Perhaps it had been there from the very first time you met, but your hatred had blinded you to it.
"Why do not you want me to leave?" Now it was your turn to ask something personal. Your voice matched the quiet, almost whispered tone his confession had carried moments earlier.
Shamrock swiftly slipped back into the composed demeanor of a commander after allowing his personal feelings to surface in the middle of his duty. The abrupt change caught you slightly off guard. "Have you ever heard of the 'Native Hunting Competition'?"
You had never heard of it, but the name alone sounded cruel and inhuman. "That is monstrous. How could—"
"Once every three years, we select an island for an event exactly as its name suggests. And because the Goa Kingdom has strong ties to the Revolutionary Army it has become one of the leading candidates to host that festival
Your eyes widened once again. For several long seconds, you could only stare at Shamrock unable to utter a single word. You searched desperately for any sign that he was toying with you yet you found none. His expression was rigid and utterly serious, nothing like the fleeting vulnerability that had accompanied his personal confession.
Horror slowly crept across your face, not because the threat was directed at you, but because it was aimed at everyone living in your homeland. Innocent people who knew nothing about the revolution would become its victims.
"On what grounds?" You struggled to defend your homeland.
"The leader and the second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army both come from there-"
Before Shamrock could finish you cut him off. "Just because of that? Once again, you are using a completely unreasonable justification."
"Rose, listen-" Once again his words were interrupted by you.
"You can not do that to the Goa Kingdom. Dawn Island is under Vice Admiral Garp's protection, and he won't stand by while someone threatens the peace of our homeland."
"The protection he provides only extends to pirate attacks. It won't be enough if the order comes from someone whose authority far surpasses his own." The commander explained patiently, doing his best not to lose his temper despite your stubborn refusal to accept his reasoning.
"So, was it your decision to hold the Native Hunting Competition on Dawn Island?"
At your question, the red-haired man answered without hesitation. "I do not possess that kind of authority."
"Then it was the Elders' decision?"
This time he gave no answer. He could not tell you that there was another existence, someone whose authority stood even above the Elders who had decided the fate of your homeland. Someone he served as a loyal soldier of the Holy Land, bound by an oath he could never break.
Turning his gaze away, Shamrock avoided looking at the confusion and ignorance written across your face. He was certain that if he looked at you for even a moment longer, pity would cloud his judgment until he could no longer remain impartial.
And as a commander he could not allow anything to interfere with his duty.
Especially not the woman who had occupied his thoughts day and night, and who now stood accused of an act of high treason.
"The reason you do not want me to return home is because you do not want me to become one of the victims of the massacre. Is that right?" You asked another questio as though you were the one interrogating him instead of the other way around.
The man sitting across from you drew a quiet breath before finally giving a small nod. "That is right."
"I thought you despised me after what I did to you. After I unknowingly possesed you day and night." You frowned slightly unable to keep the trace of sarcasm from your voice. "If I left and gone, would not that make things easier for you?"
Shamrock mirrored your expression of confusion almost perfectly. "Who told you that?"
You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came out, because you had no proper answer to his question. It had only been an assumption you had drawn on your own, not the whole truth. So you forced yourself to close your mouth again.
The truth was, not letting you leave was his way of caring for you- something he could not and was not used to, expressing aloud. From anyone else's perspective it all sounded selfish. Yet behind every action that felt so suffocating, there was always a fear he had never managed to voice.
As though he already knew the fate written into the story between him and you, while yourself had no clue at all.
The young Figarland was truly never good with words. He never knew how to express concern without sounding commanding, or how to show care without seeming too intrusive. So all that remained were actions and those actions were often misunderstood.
"Listen, many innocent people will become victims. They don't even know anything, nor do they have any connection to the Revolutionary Army. Why should an entire population be punished just because one or two people you’ve labeled as criminals were born in the same land as them?" You went on trying to stand on the side of what was right even if the consequences would only harm you.
Meanwhile Shamrock listened carefully to your attempt at defense like a judge recording every word spoken by a defense attorney. As though every decision rested in his hands when in reality it did not.
"In other words, are you willing to do anything to save your kingdom and its people?" he asked you again.
"If there is something I can do, then I will consider it." There was a strong resolve in your voice, the determination to do what was right.
The commander wasted no time acting. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out a sheet of paper folded neatly into thirds. You recognized it immediately. It was none other than a copy of the St. N.I. gossip newspaper- the publication whose every word seemed capable of swaying the entirety of Mary Geoise.
"Your favorite columnist has shared their thoughts on all of this." He handed the paper to you silently indicating that you should read it yourself. Of course your curiosity got the better of you.
With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, you accepted the newspaper. Your eyes immediately fell upon the column whose byline was so familiar to you, the pen name you searched for every time a new issue was published. The mysterious writer whose articles had an uncanny ability to peel away every layer of a person until nothing but the truth remained.
How had this enigmatic columnist described the scandal that had ensnared you?
How thoroughly had your reputation been ruined in the eyes of the public?
And how mercilessly had they judged you?
You wanted answers to every one of those questions as quickly as possible. There was no reason to waste time reading the other gossip columns. Your eyes raced across the page searching for the first paragraph that mentioned your name and the events of the Reverie.
To be honest, this author is far too stunned to speak (write).
This may very well be the biggest and most devastating scandal of the season.
A scandal involving treason, terrorism, and sweeping change carried out in the name of reform.
Because our very own diamond is suspected of having close ties to one of the Revolution's most prominent figures, a man determined to challenge the World Government.
Someone who had long been admired as the very embodiment of perfection.
A woman whose every step was praised, whose every smile inspired admiration, and whose every public appearance was believed to be beyond reproach.
Yet beneath that blinding brilliance...
There may have always been darkness.
By the time this edition reaches the hands of my dear readers, Miss Y/N will already be undergoing an official investigation to uncover the truth.
Is she a spy who infiltrated Mary Geoise through marriage season under the guise of a prospective bride?
Or merely an ordinary young woman who became entangled in something far beyond her control?
Which side does this lovely young lady truly stand on?
Ally or enemy?
One thing, however is certain.
The Goa Kingdom will never be the same again.
The Elders are currently considering designating it as the next site of the Native Hunting Festival, the three-yearly event held by the Celestial Dragons.
Their reasoning?
It is the birthplace of certain individuals who seek the destruction of the World Government.
Consider it a punishment.
For a land that gave rise to troubles it never should have.
The contents of this edition echoed almost exactly what Shamrock had already told you. So what was the point of reading it when you already knew everything it contained? You were just about to fold the newspaper shut and complain about wasting your time when the very next paragraph left you speechless.
Perhaps this author can offer you a way forward, Miss Rose.
After all my opinion may very well become part of the Elders' deliberations.
That is the weight my pen carries.
So if you are willing, read the following very carefully.
You already know that the bridge has collapsed, and the only path left to you is the stairs, if you understand what I mean.
In other words if you were to marry a man of high standing from an honorable family, the Elders would think twice before bringing ruin upon your homeland.
After all this is still the marriage season, my dear.
And that is the only solution this author can offer you.
Marry Saint Figarland Shamrock...
...and Dawn Island will be spared from becoming a second God Valley.
Now the fate of an entire kingdom rests in your hands.
And we shall all await your answer.
Especially the Commander.
"What in the world is this?" The words nearly came out as a curse.
All color had drained from your face leaving only a ghostly pallor behind. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the newspaper, as though the ink printed across its pages weighed far more than paper ever should. You even found yourself reading the passage twice, just to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you.
Your chest rose and fell as you struggled to steady a breath that had suddenly become painfully shallow. What kind of twisted game was this? How could your fate be turned into a wager and the destiny of an entire kingdom made into the price of that gamble?
You lifted your eyes toward the man sitting across from you searching for any hint of his reaction.Yet you found nothing, only the same composed calm that had become his defining expression that you despised. How could someone remain so calm when another person had just written his fate for him?
Note: Hello there, beautiful people 🖤 my bad habit is after i post the new chapter i will disappear for quite some time (sorry), but here i am. I really want to include Sabo on this story since the prolog but i don't really know the continuation of his role in the future, so i guess we will see how it goes. Thank you so much for your notes and support🖤
Summary: Dressrosa is in the past, but Law is still not okay. He’s been ignoring you, he doesn’t want to celebrate and he still hasn’t let himself feel. When you check on him and he finally breaks in front of you, your feelings for each other can’t be hidden anymore.
Notes: This small series continues and now we’re at the aftermath of Dressrosa!! I think I will do one last part on Zou after this and then I’ll move on to other one-shots unrelated to this dynamic (still very much hurt/comfort though, that’s my jam).
TW: Mentions of death and of Law not planning to live past Dressrosa :(
The past few days on Bartolomeo’s ship have been filled with chaos and celebration. Everyone drinks and cheers for the victory on Dressrosa, and even the most serious members of your crew - like Zoro - can’t keep the smile off their faces. Bartolomeo has been extremely kind to all of you, offering food, drinks and shelter. You took your time to thank him and drink with him, and you even signed your wanted poster for him with a smiley face and a little heart. He had hung the paper that said “to our biggest fan :)” with tears running down his face, and even if it was a little weird to have someone freaking out over you like that, you can’t deny the admiration was nice.
You wanted to enjoy the celebration fully, yet there was something stopping you. Law hadn’t really been around the past few days. Not only had he not been around you, he had not been around anyone. He had kept to himself during the celebration and had quickly scurried away to his room if someone approached him. Bartolomeo had plenty of space on his ship, so Law hadn’t been sleeping in your room like he did on the Sunny. And you missed him. You had grown accustomed to his presence next to you in bed, even if he never said anything or if his sleeping issue woke you up from time to time. You wondered if he missed you too, or if he was happy to finally have his privacy back. It hurt a little, that he was ignoring you after everything you had been through together in Dressrosa. You thought you got past that barrier, with how he had hugged you and confided his fear to you during the fight against Doflamingo. Still, you had underestimated how deep the scars left from his past ran, how deep the damage that had been done to him was. Your hurt over his behavior was overshadowed only by your worry. Law hadn’t let himself truly feel what had happened since you left the island. You couldn’t imagine fulfilling your life’s purpose, bringing an end to the circle of suffering that man had imposed, and then being totally okay. You wished Law would just let himself cry it out, it was healthy. But in his mind, it was weak.
———
After the fifth day of celebrating and drinking during which Law had hidden away in his quarters, you had enough. You grabbed a glass of water and some food, and headed to his room. You knocked on the door, and heard shuffling on the other side.
Law peeked out the door, his eyes widening and then softening when he saw it was you on the other side.
“Y/N-ya?”
He asked, he seemed to really not expect anyone to come looking for him.
“Hey Law…”
You spoke gently.
“What are you doing here? You should be celebrating with the others…”
He spoke, looking down shyly. He had understood you were there for him, and he already felt bad for making you miss the party.
“No, the others are getting boring… and it’s not really a celebration if you’re not there…” You smiled softly. Law’s cheeks turned a soft pink-ish color and he cleared his throat.
“I don’t like celebrations… they’re loud”
Your eyes softened.
“Truly, Y/N-ya… I don’t want to ruin your mood…”
“Law, you won’t ruin anything… if you want to be alone then I’ll go, but I would like to keep you company…”
Law hesitated. He tried with all his might to send you away, tried to push away the feeling that he wanted you to stay with him and save him from his thoughts.
“Law?” - You called out softly as you saw him space out - “Is everything okay?”
“Y-yes… I’m just not feeling up to being around too many people now…” He muttered.
“No, not just tonight… you have been avoiding me since we left Dressrosa, and I would like to know what’s going on in your mind…”
Law’s breath caught in his chest. You had noticed. Of course you had.
Wordlessly, he stepped aside, letting you in his room. He didn’t want to risk anyone else in the hallway listening.
“It’s just… it was a lot” He managed to get out.
“I know…” - Your eyes softened, and you sat on the bed. You should have asked for permission, but you felt like sleeping in the same bed for days had sort of gotten you past that point - “Come here…”
You patted the spot next to you. Law swallowed thickly, then sat next to you. His heart was already starting to race, and he could feel his self control already starting to crumble.
You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. Your thumb traced the shape of his tattoo like you had done before.
“It’s okay to not be okay after what happened… it was terrifying for everyone, and I had never even met Doflamingo before…”
You started in a soft voice. Law gripped his hat tight with his hand, pulling it down to cover his eyes. You could see him biting his lip.
Your words had already started making him break. Poor thing, he must have been hanging on by a thread.
“Law, sweetie…” The nickname escaped before you could register it, and you saw Law tense up.
“You don’t have to be strong, okay? It’s all over…” - You squeezed his hand - “You’re free now”
And those words completely shattered him. It was the same thing Corazon had said to him. «You’re free Law, there is nothing holding you back anymore». Who had told you that? Why did you just sound like him? No, it was impossible. You couldn’t have known. Maybe this was a sick joke of fate, to give him someone like Corazon just to take them away from him again. Or maybe there was no trick at all, you were just kind. You are kind. Cora was kind. He had found someone kind once again.
You watched as Law covered his eyes with his arm, and a sob made him double over. You knew he had to let it out sooner or later, and a part of you was happy that you had managed to get him to do that. But still, it broke your heart nonetheless.
Law seemed so small, his frame shaking with choked sobs. You scooted closer, a hand rested on his back, and then you slowly tugged him closer. You brought him to you, not pushing him, just a soft invitation. A little bit of resistance would have been enough to let you understand he didn’t want to be touched, yet Law followed your hand pliantly until he was tucked against your chest. You wrapped both your arms around his back, keeping him safely hidden in your embrace. And then he cried. He cried for everything that happened to him and he cried because it was finally all over. He cried because he hadn’t planned to survive this, and now he was lost. He cried because he wished Cora could be there to hold him, and because he still had someone to hold. He had you.
“I know. I’ve got you…” - You cooed, gently caressing his back - “You did so well. Everything is over now”
His sobs got a little bit louder and he held you like he was afraid you would slip away if he loosened his grip for just a second.
You stayed like that until he could breathe again, just running your fingers through his hair.
“W-what do I do now?” His voice came out small and broken, after he had managed to calm down enough to speak.
“What do you mean?” You asked gently, wanting to know how to approach this. You looked down to your chest, his teary eyes meeting yours.
“This was my purpose… I lived for- for this…” - He sniffled - “I didn’t- I didn’t think I would have-“
His voice broke again. The words too heavy to say out loud. Your eyes softened. You knew where this was going.
“Say it…” You spoke soflty. He needed to say it, to get it out.
“I hadn’t planned to make it out alive…” Law finally admitted it and now his chest felt lighter. You felt your heart crack at his words. You could have lost him, and he was okay with that. But it wasn’t your place to judge, you knew that.
“I am so glad you did, Law… you have no idea… I am so glad you are still here”
Your voice choked up, you blinked back tears. You cupped Law’s cheeks, tilting up his face.
“Why?”
He asked. He seemed so vulnerable, like your words could either break him or put him together.
“Because you’re important to me”
“Because we’re friends?” He tried smiling, but it was still shaky, vulnerable.
“Maybe because we’re more…”
You had said it. What you had felt for him since the beginning. Because he was about to slip away, and you felt like if you didn’t say it now, you may have never gotten the chance.
Law looked up like he had been struck. His heart raced in his chest, his eyes meeting yours. You looked at him, and he was so beautiful. His eyes still teary but now filled with wonder, his cheeks flushed and his lips half open.
“You- you mean that?” He stuttered.
“I mean every word. I like you, Trafalgar Law”
Law didn’t answer. He couldn’t. But he instinctively leaned closer and closer to your face. His lips brushed against yours, shy, vulnerable. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, as you looked into his eyes. He had never looked so beautiful, so human.
“May I kiss you?” You asked, just above a whisper. Law just nodded, words still escaping him. And then your lips met. It was shy, gentle, and you tried to convey all the love and care you felt for him in that kiss. It was clear he was a little inexperienced, but he followed your lead as you guided him.
When you needed air, you pulled away, his face still held gently in your hands.
“I-I was hoping you’d do that…” He stuttered. His cheeks still flushed.
“I have been wanting to do that for a long time” - You smiled - “You could have just asked…”
A few minutes had passed, and now Law was snuggled against your chest. You had offered him the glass of water you had brought, and now you were just fidgeting with his fingers, his hand held in yours.
“Y/N-ya?”
He spoke, voice so soft that he seemed afraid to disturb the moment.
“mmh?”
“I feel lost…” He admitted, looking down at his lap.
“I-I don’t know what to do now that… this is over”
You brought his hand to your lips and kissed it gently.
“Now you live, Law…”
“I’m afraid…” - He started, trying to keep his voice from breaking again - “I’m afraid I don’t know how to live without the need for revenge…”
Your eyes softened.
“You don’t have to know now… I’ll help you figure it out”
“You will?”
“I promise”
“What if the world has broken me too much to be loved?”
The sincerity and vulnerability in Law’s question broke your heart, and you tilted up his chin so he would look at you.
“You are not broken. You are not the angry, vengeful person you think you are. You have a crew that loves you, and the fact that you didn’t bring them with you means that you love them too. You have people who would show up for you whenever you need them. You have me, now. You have always lived with love surrounding you, Law…”
Your words almost made him tear up again, and he held you close again.
“What are we now?” He asked, voice muffled against your chest.
“We’re together. However you want to call this, I am not leaving you”
“I am not good at this… I-I have never-“ - Law trailed off - “It won’t be easy”
“Good” - You smiled - “Easy is boring”
He looked up at you. A small, surprised huff of laughter escaping his control.
“You’re an idiot”
“I’m your idiot now” You smiled warmly.
“Yes. Yes, you are” He rolled his eyes, amused.
You leaned your head against his shoulder, linking your arm with his.
“So… would you like to go celebrate now?”
“Maybe tomorrow… it’s still too loud today” He answers shyly.
“Of course” You smiled. You didn’t need anything else to accept. God, he needed time to get used to this.
“Y/N-ya?”
“Yes, love?”
His heart skipped a beat.
“Can I tell you about Cora?”
“I would be honored to listen…”
You answered, meaningfully.
The night passed with Law telling you everything about his past, like he had promised before arriving in Dressrosa. You stayed there through the tears, through the memories. You gave him water, squeezed his hands and wiped his cheeks when it got too much to remember. Your heart broke for him, and you promised to yourself that no one would ever hurt him like that again. After the story was over, Law had fallen asleep in your arms. Safe, heart light for the first time in years. Now everything was truly over, and he could begin to live.
One Piece old men being jealous of Reader being hit on-H/C
Gender neutral reader Mihawk, Shanks and Crocodile. Fluff
Note: Reader is only hit on my men with Mihawk because there are no women on Shanks crew.
Note: p/n = pronouns
Mihawk
-Mihawk is far from happy about this development, but he trusts you enough to stay out of it
-Since you live on the island with him you lightly tagged along with Mihawk when he went to visit Shanks
-One of the Red Haired pirates noticed your apearance and delightful personality, choosing to directly ignore Mihawk standing a few steps away
-At first the man was complimenting you, like alot. You thanked him and tried to change the conversation but the man reached out to trace his hand through your hair. Big no no!
-Mihawks jaw tightned and without saying a word, he comes over to grab the mans wrist mid air
-The man squeels but Mihawk only tightned his grip.
-You roll your eyes before taking your boyfriend/husbands hand and pulling him away
-The two of you end up in a secluded area of the woods near by the camp
-"I could have handled that myself" you said
-"I know..." he replied. No explenation
-you cant help but giggle at his obvious jealousy and poked his chest teasingly
-"Your jealous" you said
-"No"
-"So can we go back and eat?"
-"No"...
Shanks
-Shanks is used to people trying shooting their shot with you.
-As a member of the Red Haires pirates you offen go drinking with the crew at pubs. Pubs with drunk people...
-Shanks had just gotten up to get another round of drinks when a strager sat down beside you
-"Hey pretty thing" clearly drunk
-You explained you where waiting for your boyfriend/husband to come back but the person didnt seem to care
-"Why dont you come over and-" the person stopped dead in there tracks was when Shanks came out of no where and pulled you into a kiss.
-"problem love?" He asked, deliberetly ignoring the person. You smiled and shook your head and he kissed your forehead.
-"pfft, whatever" the person got up and left
-you smirk and deside to tease him a little... "hey you just ruined a perfectly good date!"
-Shanks looks at you for a few seconds before pulling you inches away from his face "you know im the only person you want"
-You giggle before replying "your not wrong, but seeing you so jealous is so cute"
Crocodile
-No. Just no.
-Crocodile is prepared to full on murder anyone who looks at you wrong.
-At a fancy restaurant Croc took you to for a date night (he actualy owns the place), a waiter/ess tried to slip you their number on a napkin
-When you looked at the napkin your eyes widned in surprise
-Crocodile noticed this and took it to see what surpised you
-Man is he pissed
-Crocodile calls the waiter/ess over. You gulp
-"You really think your worthy of my partner?" You could hear the anger coated in a calm tone
-When the waiter/ess didnt reply (visibly scared) Crocodile got up but you quickly intervined, running over to him and grabbing his hand.
-"lets just go" you pleaded
-Crocodile clenched his jaw, but he cant say no to you so he followed you out
-that evening Crocodile is especaly clingy, coming from someone who is not verry affectionate its a rare occasion, enjoy it
-despite your efforts, he never told you to waiter/ess didnt wake up the next day...
A/N: how was it??? Its my first post so im kinda nervous... hope you enjoyed! :D
