Vibe: fantasy AU, monster romance, werewolf AU, childhood friends to lovers, hidden identity, slow burn, secret romance, noble x maid, full moon meetings, loyal protector, forbidden love, mutual devotion, stolen moments 🐺🌕🌲❤️✨
For: @supercutiestar
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The forest smelled of rain. You always felt that after a full moon, it breathed differently than during the rest of the month. The trees were quieter, the wind gentler, and everything around seemed to be waiting for something it couldn’t quite name.
That was why you had gone back there. You were ten years old, and your parents would have likely scolded you if they knew you were wandering alone after dark. But you weren't afraid.
To you, those woods had never been scary. Just lonely. A basket swung in your hand, packed with a piece of roast meat, a bit of bread, and an apple you had secretly snatched from the kitchen. You stopped in a small clearing.
“I’m here,” you whispered to yourself.
You didn't expect an answer. There never was one, only a faint rustling of the ferns.
“I know you can hear me,” you smiled.
From the shadows, a large red wolf slowly emerged. His fur was a deep copper shade that almost glowed in the moonlight. He was bigger than any wolf you could have ever imagined.
When you first met him, you’d almost panicked, but he had never hurt you. Ever since, you returned every full moon. And so did he.
“Hi,” you smiled, sitting down in the grass as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
The wolf stood still for a moment, then slowly approached. He never moved too fast.
“I brought you more this time.” You set the meat on the ground.
The wolf sat down. He looked at you first, only then did he start eating.
“You really do have good manners,” you chuckled.
He tilted his head. You laughed so loudly that a few birds fluttered out of the treetops.
“You know what? I should give you a name,” you giggled. The wolf didn't even twitch an ear. “I can’t just keep calling you 'little wolf' forever.” You trailed off, lost in thought.
Your gaze drifted over his coat. In the moonlight, it looked like autumn leaves, glistening like rubies, even if you’d never actually seen one in person.
“Ruby,” you finally said. The wolf stared at you. “Do you like it?”
He took a step closer. You reached out your hand. He hesitated for a heartbeat, then gently pressed his snout against your palm.
“Then it’s settled,” you smiled softly. “Your name is Ruby.”
From that moment on, he was no longer just a wolf from the forest. He was Ruby. Your Ruby.
Months slipped by. Then years. Every full moon, you returned to the exact same spot.
You told him everything. How you’d fought with a friend. That you’d learned how to bake pies. That you’d fallen out of an apple tree. That you’d gotten your very first book and devoured it twice in a single week.
Ruby never spoke. He just listened. Sometimes he’d rest his head in your lap, other times he’d stretch out beside you and close his eyes while you read aloud.
Occasionally, you felt as though he understood every single word. It was silly, you knew that. Yet you still caught yourself asking for his advice.
“Do you think I should go to the capital?” you asked him. Silence.
“Thanks a lot for the advice,” you laughed. The wolf merely huffed. “Figures.”
You laid back in the grass beside him, the full moon blazing above. Ruby shifted until you were leaning against his side. He was comfortably warm.
“You know…” you whispered. “I’m glad I have you.”
The wolf slowly raised his head and licked your cheek.
“Ew! Ruby!” You burst out laughing, nearly rolling off the clearing.
And for the very first time in all those years, you failed to notice the way he looked at you a look no ordinary wolf would ever give a human. As if he were storing your every word deep within his memory.
Seven Years Later
The palace was everything the forest was not. Cold, quiet, flawless.
Every step taken by the servants had its place. Every word was spoken in hushed tones. Every mistake was punished with a look that stung far worse than a beating.
Ever since moving here, you felt like you had to relearn everything from scratch.
“Don’t stop,” an older maid called out without slowing her pace. “And never make eye contact with the nobility.”
“Yes,” you nodded, tightening your grip on the tray holding the porcelain tea set.
The corridors were endless, adorned with portraits of prominent families set in gilded frames that gleamed under tall windows. Beneath your feet lay a carpet so soft it swallowed every step. You felt small and entirely out of place.
“This way,” the maid instructed, pushing open a tall door. “Take the tea to young Master Figarland’s study.”
You nodded. You knew who he was, though you had never seen him in person. Carefully, you stepped inside.
The room was vast, lined with shelves of books and maps. By a tall window stood a man with his back turned to you. He had long red hair tied low at the nape of his neck and a dark cloak draped over his shoulders. He didn't even turn around.
“Leave it on the desk,” he commanded calmly. You obeyed.
Just as you set the cup onto the saucer, a faint clinking sound echoed. Your fingers slipped slightly, but luckily you broke nothing and spilled no tea.
“I’m sorry,” you gasped hastily.
The man turned around slowly. For a second, the entire world ground to a halt. You had never seen anyone with eyes so striking.
They were cold and sharp, the kind that could silence a person with a single glance. And yet… a strange sensation washed over you. As if you had seen them somewhere before… No. That was absurd.
“Please forgive my clumsiness.” You bowed your head.
He remained silent for a long time. Too long. You bowed once more and turned to leave.
“Wait,” he called out suddenly.
“Yes, my lord?” You paused, caught off guard. Silence stretched between you once more.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Y/N, my lord.” Surprised, you glanced back. His expression remained unreadable as he observed you in silence.
“You may go,” he said at last.
You stepped out of the study, the heavy door closing softly behind you. You finally let out a breath in the hallway.
“Well, he was pleasant…” you muttered to yourself.
You had no idea that behind the closed door, he continued to stare at the spot where you had stood just moments ago. Shamrock didn't move an inch.
He couldn't be mistaken. That voice. That scent. Exactly the same as all those years ago. A forest after rain. Wet grass. Apples tucked into a basket. It was you. After all this time.
His fingers gripped the edge of the desk so tightly his knuckles turned white. He wasn't supposed to meet you again. Not like this. And certainly not here.
For the rest of the day, an odd feeling clung to you, as if someone were watching you. Every time you turned around, the corridor was empty. Yet still…
When you returned to your cramped servant’s quarters that evening, a bright red apple sat on the window sill.
No one in the kitchen had been handing out fruit today. Frowning, you glanced around.
“That’s odd…” you muttered.
Picking it up, a soft smile tugged at your lips. It reminded you of Ruby. You couldn't help but wonder if he would show up at the clearing again tonight.
Tonight was a full moon, the first since you had moved to the palace. You had been restless all day, deaf to the servants' chatter and oblivious to how many times your name was called. Your thoughts kept drifting back to one thing: Ruby.
You didn't know if he would still remember you, if he still frequented the clearing, or if he was even still alive.
The moment night fell and your duties ended, you slipped quietly out of the palace. The forest had barely changed over the years. The same scent. The same trees. The same clearing. Only you had changed.
Reaching the center, you placed a small parcel on a flat stone, a piece of roast meat and a red apple.
“I’m here,” you whispered, just like you used to.
Only the rustling leaves answered. “I guess you don't come here anymore, do you?” You offered a bittersweet smile.
You sat down in the grass. Minutes ticked by, perhaps an hour. The moon rose high above the canopy.
Just as you gathered yourself to leave, a twig snapped behind you. You whipped around. Slowly emerging from the dark was a massive red wolf.
“…Ruby,” you beamed. Before you even realized it, you were running toward him, throwing your arms around his massive neck so tightly he froze in surprise.
“You’re alive…” You laughed, even as your eyes burned with tears. “I thought I’d never see you again.”
Ruby slowly lowered his head, pressing his snout against your shoulder, just like he always did.
You closed your eyes, and suddenly, all those missing years dissolved. It was as if no time had passed at all.
“I missed you so much…” you whispered. The wolf gently licked your cheek.
“You’re still doing that!” You burst into laughter through your tears.
You sat side by side for hours. You told him about the palace, about your service, and about that cold young nobleman who looked at you as if he knew you.
“You know, it’s strange,” you murmured, stroking Ruby’s fur. “Sometimes he reminds me of you.”
The wolf flinched almost imperceptibly.
“Silly, right?” You smiled softly. “You’re much sweeter.”
The night slipped away too fast. You hadn't noticed the moon beginning to sink beneath the horizon.
Ruby suddenly snapped his head up, his entire body tense.
“What’s wrong?” you asked, worried, as if he could answer.
He took a step back. Then another. A low, pained growl rumbled from his throat.
“Ruby?” You took a step toward him.
Suddenly, he collapsed onto the ground, his whole body trembling violently.
“Ruby!” You dropped to your knees beside him, panicked, desperate to help.
But under your hands, his fur began to fade. His paws shifted, bones cracked, and his frame lengthened.
You scrambled back in horror. Before your very eyes, something impossible was taking place. The giant red wolf was… disappearing.
When everything went quiet, a man lay on the cold ground. Naked, breathing heavily, long red hair veil-like over his face.
For a few seconds, you couldn't move. No. This… this couldn't be…
The man slowly opened his eyes. The exact same eyes. The same calm gaze, only now, there was no wild caution in them, only uncertainty.
“…Y/N.”
For the first time, you heard Ruby’s voice. You couldn't believe your own ears.
“Lord… Figarland…?” Your heart clenched painfully.
“My name is Shamrock.” He closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded very slowly.
The silence between you was almost unbearable. You stared at his face, his red hair, and then back into the eyes you had known since childhood.
Suddenly, everything clicked. Why he had asked for your name at the palace. Why he had looked at you so strangely.
“You…” Your voice cracked. “You were Ruby the whole time?”
“Yes.” Shamrock offered a faint smile a gentle expression you had never seen on him at the palace.
Without a second thought, you took two fast steps forward and threw your arms around him, just as you had embraced the giant red wolf moments before. He froze for a second, then carefully wrapped his arms around you in return.
“I knew it…” you whispered into his shoulder. “I knew I hadn't lost you.”
Shamrock closed his eyes. After all those years, he finally didn't have to pretend to be someone else. With you, he was simply himself. And you were holding him just like you did when you were children.
They said the commander of the Figarland house had no heart. That he never smiled, and that he never let anyone get close.
Every time you heard it, you had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from laughing. If only they knew.
To the outside world, you were just a maid. When you passed him in the grand hallways, you bowed your head politely.
“Lord Shamrock,” you greeted respectfully.
He wouldn't even look at you, merely giving a curt nod as he kept walking. The rest of the staff thought nothing of it, he was cold to everyone.
No one suspected that the moment he rounded the corner, his footsteps hesitated. No one knew he had to suppress the urge to turn back and look at you. Or that you only smiled when there was no one left to see it.
You met where the world wouldn't think to look. Not just in the old clearing, but sometimes in the abandoned library on the top floor of the palace, deserted for years. Other times in the greenhouse, where white flowers bloomed at night, their heavy fragrance overwhelming everything else.
Sometimes, you would simply slip out onto the ramparts. Within minutes, he would materialize beside you. You never heard his footsteps, he was just suddenly there.
“You shouldn't be here,” he said quietly.
“Neither should you,” you whispered back.
He said nothing to that, simply wrapping his cloak around your shoulders to shield you from the draft.
That was how your meetings went. No grand promises. No dramatic confessions. Just quiet. Two pairs of hands resting against stone railings, and the shared knowledge that a few stolen minutes were worth every day of pretense.
On full moons, you continued returning to the forest. Only now, you didn't have to wait. You knew he would come.
Ruby always arrived before you even had a chance to put your basket down. He was still the same.
And you were no longer surprised when, after a few hours, the red wolf was replaced by Shamrock sitting beside you, his back resting against an old oak tree as you laid your head on his shoulder.
“It’s strange…” you whispered one night. “I love you in both forms.”
Shamrock let out a soft, low chuckle, a sound known only to the forest.
“Good,” he murmured, lacing his fingers through yours. “Because I’m no longer sure which one is truly mine.”
One winter night, it began to snow. You were sitting in the greenhouse, hidden among tall, leafy plants.
Outside, patrols marched by. All it took was one person opening a door, one moment of bad timing.
“If anyone ever found out…” you began softly.
“I know.” Shamrock pressed his index finger to your lips.
“They could strip you of your title,” you whispered. He remained silent. “And me…” You couldn't bring yourself to finish the sentence.
“They would kill you,” he finished for you, his tone devoid of emotion, stating it as a cold, hard fact.
“I’m sorry,” you murmured, lowering your gaze.
Shamrock gently took you by the chin, forcing you to look him in the eye.
“Never apologize for loving me,” he said firmly.
Your breath hitched. In all these months, it was the first time he had said it out loud. No hesitation. No masks.
“I love you,” he repeated softly. “And if I had to choose all over again… I still would have run into the woods that day.”
Tears spilled over your cheeks, and you kissed him a brief, tender kiss, as if the gesture belonged only to the night.
By morning, you parted ways in opposite directions. In the palace corridor, you bowed to him just like always.
“Good morning, Lord Shamrock,” you said respectfully. True to form, he didn't look at you.
“Good morning,” he replied, his voice cold, flawless, and distant.
As he disappeared around the corner, you closed your hand around a small silver pendant shaped like a wolf’s paw. He had slipped it into your palm moments ago as he passed by.
Nobody had noticed a thing. You smiled silently.
Some loves belonged to the sun. Yours belonged to the moon. And as long as the full moon rose above the forest, you both knew you would always find your way back to each other.
Autumn was slowly creeping into the gardens. The leaves on the trees had already lost their deep green hue, and a gentle breeze was shaking them down onto the stone paths, where they rustled softly underfoot. The air was crisp, but the sun still managed to warm the old stone walls and benches for a few hours a day.
It was your favorite place. You used to run here to hide from the noise of the world, a book in your hand and a cup of tea that had long since gone cold anyway.
That was the day you first caught sight of him. A small, dark little coil was resting on a low stone wall.
At first, you thought it was a fallen branch. Then, the little bundle shifted ever so slightly. A snake. Small, barely longer than your forearm.
His scales were a strange, deep wine color that shimmered almost black in the sunlight. His head was tucked beneath a few coils of his own body, as if trying to preserve the last scraps of warmth.
You paused. Most people would have taken a step back. You just let out a quiet sigh.
"Aren't you a little one..." you said softly.
The snake slowly lifted his head. A pair of narrow golden eyes locked onto yours. He didn't move. He just watched you. He was unusual. He didn't look terrified, more like... exhausted.
You crouched down a few paces away, far enough so he wouldn't feel cornered.
"Don't worry. I won't hurt you," you said, as if he could actually understand you. Naturally, you didn't expect a reply.
You just watched for a moment as his sides rose and fell with his faint, slow breathing.
The wind picked up. Instinctively, the snake curled himself even tighter.
"Ah, so that's it..." you murmured. He was cold.
You looked around, then unwrapped your scarf. You didn't drop it directly on him, instead, you draped it beside him over the sun-warmed stone, leaving the choice to him.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," you smiled.
Slowly, you stood up. Before leaving, you turned to look back one last time. The small serpent head stretched forward. A parted tongue quickly flicked out to taste the air. Then, his tiny body carefully slid onto the soft fabric.
"Keep it until tomorrow, then," you smiled to yourself.
The next day, you returned, not because you expected him to still be there, but simply out of curiosity to see if he had made it somewhere safe.
The scarf lay folded in the exact spot you had left it. And on it, he was fast asleep.
This time he was stretched out to his full length, resting his head on a rolled-up edge of the fabric as if it were a pillow.
When he heard your footsteps, his eyes fluttered open. He didn't move, merely keeping his gaze on you.
"Good morning," you offered the snake a smile.
You sat down on the bench, pulled out your book, and began to read, occasionally glancing his way.
After a few minutes, you noticed he was no longer on the scarf. He had slithered closer, just a few inches.
The next day, a few inches more. And the day after that, closer still. He never tried to touch you, he simply found a spot where the same patch of sunlight hit him as it did you.
Nearly a week went by. The mornings grew steadily colder. You sat on the bench wrapped tightly in your coat, your book resting on your knees.
Today, the little snake was shivering more than usual. You watched him for a moment before letting out a soft sigh.
"Come on then." You extended your hand. "Over here."
You expected him to bolt. He didn't. For a few long seconds, he just stared motionlessly at your palm. Then, slowly, he slithered over. His body was icy, so cold that you couldn't suppress a shudder.
"Jesus... you're completely frozen," you muttered, carefully lifting him up.
He didn't flinch. He didn't hiss. He simply flicked his split tongue over your fingers a few times, as if memorizing your scent.
And then something happened that made you laugh. Without a moment's hesitation, he climbed up your sleeve, crossed your shoulder, and vanished beneath the open collar of your coat.
"Hey..." You paused. The cold scales brushed against your bare skin for a brief second.
Then, the small snake curled comfortably around your neck, tucked beneath your coat where it was pleasantly warm. A quiet, almost blissful exhale followed.
"So this was your plan all along?" you asked.
No answer, just the sense that he was no longer trembling. You smiled and reopened your book.
"Fine. But only until you warm up," you conceded.
The snake remained completely still. If you hadn't felt the gentle pressure of his body around your neck, you might have forgotten he was there at all.
Inside that tiny serpent body, however, a very different dialogue was taking place: This is beneath me. I am a commander. I should not be carried around inside someone else's coat.
And yet, he didn't budge. Because for the first time in days, he wasn't cold.
The following day brought a light drizzle, just a fine mist, almost imperceptible, but enough to keep everyone indoors.
Yet, you went out anyway. You couldn't quite explain why yourself. Maybe you had just grown accustomed to the quiet of the place. Maybe you wanted to make sure the little snake had found shelter.
When you reached the old bench, he wasn't there. Not on the wall, nor under the bushes where he usually basked.
"Smart move today, huh..." You smiled to yourself.
You turned to leave when you felt a light tickle at your ankle. Looking down, you saw the familiar dark little head peeking out from beneath a wet leaf.
"Ah." You squatted down. "So that's where you were hiding."
The small snake slowly slithered out. This time he seemed even slower than usual, his movements sluggish and almost sleepy.
"You really don't like this weather, do you?" you smiled gently.
His split tongue briefly tasted the air before he slithered right up to your boot. He stopped there, as if waiting.
"Alright, up you go," you chuckled.
You held out your hand, and he didn't hesitate for a second. He climbed up your palm, around your wrist, and up your sleeve until he was under your coat, as if he had been doing it his whole life.
"You've gotten quite spoiled, haven't you?" you wheezed softly.
Under your sweater, you felt him curl around your waist. Within minutes, the icy scales began to absorb your warmth.
From that day on, it became a strange little ritual. You would arrive at the garden and take a seat on the bench. Within a few minutes, the small snake would appear out of nowhere.
Sometimes from a tree canopy, other times from beneath the stones, once he even emerged from a flowerbed, as though he were growing right alongside the roses.
He never showed himself to anyone else. Only to you. And every single time, he ended up tucked away beneath your coat.
"You know..." You sighed one day, closing your book. "I should give you a name." The snake opened one eye. "I can't just keep calling you 'hey you.'" You pondered for a moment.
"How about... Shadow?" you asked. No reaction. "No? What about Scaley?"
The tiny head immediately poked out from your collar. The look he gave you was surprisingly... insulted.
"Alright, alright! Never mind. No names then," you burst out laughing.
The snake huffed as loudly as a snake possibly could before disappearing back under your sweater.
"Was it really that bad?" you giggled. This time, he didn't even bother peeking out.
In truth, he was struggling with everything he had not to shift right then and there. Scaley? If he had possessed a human face, he would have been scowling.
He was one of the most dangerous men of his kind. A commander. A warrior. And this woman wanted to name him... Scaley.
Humiliating. Absolutely humiliating. Yet, the next day, he came back all the same.
A few days later, the temperature dropped so sharply that the sun failed to appear even after noon. You sat bundled up in your thick coat, warming your hands against a mug of tea.
"Guess you're not coming today," you whispered. "It's too cold."
Nearly an hour passed, and just as you began to gather your things to leave, something dropped from the branch directly above you. Instinctively, you flinched. The small snake landed right in your lap, lying completely motionless. His body felt like ice.
"Hey..." You touched him gently, but he didn't react. "This isn't good."
Without thinking, you unbuttoned your coat, took him in both hands, and pressed him close.
"Come here," you murmured. This time he didn't even try to climb on his own, he simply let himself be lifted.
You slipped him under your sweater, right against your side where the heat was strongest.
"There you go," you whispered, stroking the fabric over the spot where he rested. "I'm not letting you go anywhere until you warm up," you said, hurrying inside toward the warmth.
The moment you slammed the door behind you, you stoked the fireplace. The flames crackled, and heat slowly began to diffuse through the room.
You sat on the floor directly in front of the fire and carefully pulled the little snake out from under your sweater. He lay limp in your palms.
"Please..." you whispered. "Don't die."
You didn't know why the thought hurt so much. He was just a snake, after all. You had only known him for a few weeks. And yet...
Tears began to slip down your cheeks. One fell onto his cold scales, then another. In that instant, his body shuddered violently.
"What...?" startled, you gasped.
The scales flickered with a faint crimson light. The small serpent body began to lengthen, to expand, growing too large for your hands to hold.
A sharp hiss filled the room. Instinctively, you scrambled backward as the light coalesced into a tall silhouette before you.
A human chest emerged. Broad shoulders. Long arms. Below the waist, however, instead of legs, stretched a massive serpentine tail whose scales carried the exact deep red hue of the small snake you had spent weeks carrying under your coat.
The man collapsed to the ground, breathing heavily. Long red hair fell over his face. Fine scales glinted at his temples and along his neck, and his pointed ears twitched slightly.
When he lifted his head, your eyes met a familiar pair of golden orbs, the very same eyes that had watched you from the stone wall for weeks. Only now, they were human. Almost. The narrow pupils still belonged to a predator.
Long, venomous fangs glinted between his parted lips, and for a split second, a split tongue flicked out to taste the air. He closed his eyes for a moment.
"...Warmth." His voice was deep, raspy, and unexpectedly calm.
You could only stare at him, your brain refusing to process what you were seeing.
"You..." you breathed out. "You are..."
"Not a snake," he answered before you could finish the sentence.
He braced one hand against the floor, clearly struggling to remain conscious.
"A Naga," he explained.
Silence settled over the room, making the crackle of the fireplace sound unnaturally loud.
"All this time..." you whispered. "All this time, you were..."
"Yes," he nodded, making no attempt to deny it. He simply lacked the strength.
For several long seconds, you just stared at each other. Then, you took a slow breath.
"So..." You shifted a little closer. "You're the one I named Scaley."
His expression remained stony, though the tip of his tail twitched ever so slightly.
"...Yes," he answered, his voice strained.
"I'm sorry." You had to cover your mouth to keep from laughing out loud.
"No," his voice was quiet. "You are not forgiven."
At that, you laughed out loud, the sound filling the entire room.
"It is not funny," the man in front of you let out a weary sigh.
"Oh, but it is," you wiped a tear from your cheek. "You came to me for weeks just to keep warm, and you didn't even bother to mention you could speak?"
"There was no need," he snapped.
"No need?" You raised an eyebrow.
"No," he replied, tasting the air once more before fixing his gaze on you. "Trust is earned through observation," he said at last.
"And did I earn it?" you asked.
He fell silent for a long moment.
"Yes," he nodded.
For the first time, you noticed he was shivering, despite the fire, despite the heat. He was completely exhausted. Without a word, you draped a blanket over his shoulders.
He blinked, looking as though he didn't quite understand why.
"You're still cold," you said casually, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
"...Yes," he said, caught off guard.
"Then move closer to the hearth," you coaxed.
He didn't. Instead, his long tail slowly slid toward you, coming to a halt just inches from your feet. He waited, asking without uttering a single word.
You smiled, reached out, and gently stroked the cool scales.
"Come here," you smiled softly.
He let out a breath, and this time, moved closer without hesitation. The massive tail coiled around you far more gently than you would have expected from someone capable of crushing you with a single squeeze. He rested his forehead against your shoulder and closed his eyes for several long seconds.
"Thank you." They were the first two words he hadn't spoken out of self-preservation. After a moment, he spoke again. "My name is... Shamrock."
"Well, it's nice to meet you, Shamrock." You looked up at him.
For the very first time since his transformation, a faint, almost imperceptible smile touched his face. It was barely visible, but it was real.
ok, I know I'm really annoying with all my ideas and that I still haven't written any fanfics 😭, but I don't know why I can't seem to finish writing them, I'm sorry.
This one is One Piece x Fem!Reader (I need to start writing more for gender-neutral readers, sorry.)
I've been thinking about this idea for weeks now that I'm caught up on the manga. And it's Reader who is reincarnated into a family of Celestial Dragons. You've been reincarnating in a child, your family is trying to train you to become a Knight of God when you grow up; you come up with a plan to escape when Fisher Tiger frees the slaves, etc.
You HATE the Celestial Dragons; you can't stand them; you can't bear to see the injustices they commit; you can't stand how privileged they are; and you can't believe that you're now lumped in with them.
In an attempt to make you a counterpart to Shanks, I thought that a slave would be the one to give you a scar on your eye that's identical to the redhead's—the only difference being that it was on your right eye. And when that slave rebels, they kill him right in front of you—the first time you’ve ever seen someone killed with your own eyes—and it changes you forever. Your greatest desire now is the downfall of the world government and the extinction of the Celestial Dragons, but since you’re only between 5 and 7 years old, there’s nothing you can do.
Here's what sparked this idea: I imagined Reader and Shamrock in a father-daughter relationship—a sort of "found family" that Reader doesn't reciprocate. It's a complicated relationship.
Shamrock finds you entertaining; he thinks your silences—which he associates with shyness—are funny, and he’s amused by your expressions of displeasure or indifference when he tells you his stories (he assumes they’re because you hate commoners and doesn’t realize that you hate his actions). He invites you to go for walks, to eat mer together, and has even become your sword-fighting instructor in his spare time. The other Celestial Dragons assume he wants you as his future wife or that he’s practicing for when he becomes a father. No one realizes that, to him, you’re already like a daughter and that he’s reconsidering whether to ask your family to let him take care of you in exchange for a reward.
Another thing I thought of is that Reader might have a Devil Fruit that gives her powers like MeiMei's Cursed Technique. I imagine that your mom, for example, secretly gives you a devil's fruit and you learn to see through the eyes of crows that you can create, or I don't know. But yeah, you have some crows in various places around Mary Geoise, so you know things.
When Shanks arrives on Mary Geoise, he spends time with Shamrock—which also means spending time with you—and he does realize that you don't like Shamrock. (But he also realizes that, in a way, you care about him, and that you've come to see him as a sort of father figure.)
Shanks isn't all that surprised that you're asking him to take you away from Mary Geoise right after he freed Fisher Tiger, and he doesn't refuse either. Even though you're just a little girl, you seem to know exactly what you want.
So you end up on an island, find people to keep training with because you already have a plan, and blah blah blah.
Shamrock is DEVASTATED by your disappearance—more devastated than your own family.
He’s searched for you far and wide but can’t find you, and suddenly his duties as a Knight of God have increased, leaving him no time to keep looking for you. But he hopes you’re okay and that you haven’t left him of your own accord; he can’t help but think you’ve been kidnapped.
The rest of the Celestial Dragons secretly believe that you have betrayed them and that you are a disgrace to your family, but they don't dare say it out loud.
When you were 19, you met the Straw Hats in Jaya. You weren't sure if they'd let you join them, but at least you could get to know them and let them know they could count on you as an ally. At the time, you didn't realize that simply showing Luffy that you believed in his dream, that you were interested in adventures, and that you also believed in the sky island was enough for him to decide he wanted you on the crew (not to mention that you looked strong).
It’s also worth mentioning that at that time, you had mastered swordplay, Observation Haki, and a little bit of Armor Haki, although you sometimes forget to activate it on your sword. Fun fact: Your sword has a red hilt; you chose it subconsciously because it reminded you of Shamrock’s hair.
Let’s also say that you can fight hand-to-hand and that you’re quite agile—you move like a gymnast. This is because you knew you couldn’t always rely on a weapon, and also partly for fun.
You fit right in with the crew; you find a family in them, and they become your best friends. You never tell them where you’re from or about your family—you only talk to them about the people who trained you (I’m thinking of a couple, where each one taught you different things; they even told you that someday you might be able to use Conqueror’s Haki, but they couldn’t teach you, so you decided that someday you’d find someone to teach you—or at least explain how it works—since you don’t remember those little details from the anime/manga).
My reasoning for why you have Conqueror's Haki is that you were reincarnated for two reasons: to help overthrow the Celestial Dragons and the World Government, and to make Luffy the Pirate King. 😛
Well, then it occurred to me that during the time skip, you trained to strengthen your Conqueror's Haki (which you awakened sometime between Water 7 and Sabaody) and to better master your Armor Haki, although it did cross my mind that you continued to train physically to increase your speed and strength as well 🤔.
When the crew reunites, there's a change in both Sanji's and your bounty posters—now both include your last name, and you're both wanted Only Alive.
But for some strange reason, your last name isn't the same as your Celestial Dragon family's; the last name listed in the bounty poster is "Figarland."
Obviously, this horrifies you, because if your family was already bad enough, being labeled a Figarland now is literally hell. You had to explain to your crew that you have absolutely nothing to do with that last name and that it must be a mistake.
(Just a quick note to say that I forgot to mention that your role in the Straw Hat crew is to be the informant—since, with your crows, you see and hear everything. Luffy and you agreed that unless he or someone else asks, you won’t say anything so as not to spoil the surprises of the adventures. You’ve also realized that the One Piece universe has adapted to you without changing the main story.)
Well, Shamrock convinced your family to turn you in in exchange for a reward, and he convinced his father to let him change your wanted poster. You're officially Shamrock's daughter, and nobody's objecting to it, lol.
He discovered that the crows that were secretly circling Mary Geoise when you were still young were yours, since they disappeared along with you, and because there are reports from marines about out-of-control crows attacking them—and it just so happens that you and your crew are involved.
So I imagine that on Elbaf, Shamrock isn't surprised to see a raven following him—in fact, he finds it amusing. You don’t warn anyone about the presence of the Knights of God—you already knew they were coming and you know their plans, but you don’t know how revealing their presence so early might affect things. In any case, you’d only be bringing the fight forward prematurely. So while you accompany Zoro, Luffy, and Nami to find the key that will free Loki, you’re also keeping a close eye on the intruders’ every move.
And that's where this ends because, even though I'm up to date with the manga, I don't feel like continuing with this—since Shamrock hasn't shown up again, and I don't want to speculate.
BONUS:
-Shanks talked about you with Gaban and Rayleigh, because he had even begun to doubt his decision to help you escape. So Rayleigh and Gaban recognized you when they saw you based on Shanks' description, but they didn't give you away as a Celestial Dragon.
-Luffy, Robin, and Zoro already suspect that you’re a Celestial Dragon, but they haven’t said anything. They know you’re not a bad person and that, besides, you’re not at all proud of your past or your family; you’re trying to erase that part of your life, and they’re going to respect that. Luffy suspects it because Rayleigh hinted at it. Zoro noticed your unease at Sabaody, and Robin has actually already confirmed it based on the last name on your bounty poster—though she does believe you when you say that’s not your real last name.
-When Shanks happens to see your bounty after seeing Luffy’s, and realizes that you now have the same last name as him, he begins to wonder if you’re his sister and he just didn’t realize it all those years ago. Then he remembers how fatherly Shamrock was toward you and that you had a different last name and a different family, and he feels sorry for you because he can now assume that Shamrock is behind this and that you’re doomed—since this means you’re now officially part of the Figarland family, against your will😔.
-In Dressrosa, Sabo asked you about your last name. The Revolutionary Army had known for a long time that you were a Celestial Dragon, but they were certain that your family wasn’t the Figarland family. You had to explain to him that you didn’t know why they’d put that last name on your bounty poster, and you had to swear to him that you wouldn’t betray Luffy. You told him that you wanted to bring down the World Government and the Celestial Dragons, and that you’d chosen to side with Luffy to do that. He laughed and told you that you didn’t seem to be the only one.
OMG FINALLY I'VE BEEN ABLE TO GET THIS OFF MY CHEST 😭😭😭😭
Actually, there's a lot more to it, but this is the basic idea. If I ever decide to explore it further in writing, it'll be in a fanfic, but as always, I'M NOT PROMISING ANYTHING
You had been a paramedic for several years. In that time, you’d seen things that would haunt most people for the rest of their lives. Car crashes. Heart attacks. Drownings. Severe burns. People who were already beyond saving.
But you had never broken down. At least, that’s what you thought.
"Auntie!" Little Anna ran to meet you the moment you stepped into her mother’s apartment. She was wearing a unicorn T-shirt, her hair was in twin pigtails, and she was clutching a plush bunny she’d refused to let go of since practically the day she was born.
"Look how much you've grown!" You laughed, lifting her up into your arms.
"Mommy says I'm a big girl now," the girl giggled.
"You certainly are," you nodded.
Her mother had been your best friend since high school. When Anna was born, you automatically became her aunt. Not by blood, but by heart.
You babysat her. Took her to the playground. Bought her ice cream, even though her mom always told you not to buy her two scoops. Anna adored you. And you adored her just as much.
That night, you were on the night shift. It was quieter than usual. You and your colleagues were sitting at the station, drinking your third cup of coffee, and someone had just brought in donuts.
"I bet nothing else happens tonight," one of your coworkers declared.
"Don't say it out loud," another sighed. The moment the words left his mouth, the siren wailed.
A call. Car accident. Passenger vehicle. Possible entrapment.
You all scrambled into the ambulance. The engine roared, and within seconds, you were tearing through the city, lights flashing.
The dispatcher relayed more information over the radio. Two injured. One adult female. One child. You gripped the strap of your medical bag a little tighter.
A child. You hated pediatric calls. You had never gotten used to them.
The ambulance slammed to a halt. You jumped out. Then, you froze. You recognized the car. Blue, with a small unicorn sticker on the back window. Your best friend’s car.
"No..." You gasped before you started running.
You didn't want to believe it. You couldn't. Shards of glass littered the asphalt. Firefighters were cutting away the door. Your friend was conscious.
She was crying. Screaming. But you barely registered her. Your gaze drifted to the back seat. A tiny body. Pigtails. The bunny.
"Ani..." Your voice broke.
"Y/N!" your colleague shouted. "Focus! We have a job to do!"
You forced yourself to move. You dropped to your knees beside her. Checked her breathing. Pulse. Nothing.
"Starting CPR!" you yelled.
Your hands moved on autopilot. Compressions, breaths, epinephrine, monitor, meds... Everything right. Everything exactly by the book.
Except the monitor kept emitting that endless, flatline tone. One more time. Again.
Finally, a hand rested on your shoulder.
"Stop," your colleague's voice said.
You didn't know who said it. You just stared at the tiny hand that would never squeeze yours again. At the plush bunny, stained with blood. And at the pigtails you had braided for her yourself just three days ago.
The world around you went quiet. Completely. As if someone had turned off the sound. And something inside you broke that day.
Three months had passed since the accident. Three months without a single decent night's sleep. You would only drift off close to dawn.
And whenever you did manage to close your eyes, you always found yourself back on that road. You heard the sirens. Smelled the gasoline. Saw the blood on your gloves. And then...
"Auntie..." you heard her voice.
You woke up screaming. Again. The alarm clock on the nightstand read 3:17 AM. The exact same time every night.
You didn't bother trying to lie back down. You just sat on the floor beside the bed, resting your head against the mattress. You wouldn't be able to sleep anyway.
The psychologist called it Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder.
You called it hell. You couldn't walk past a playground. The sound of an ambulance siren made you shake. When you found yourself next to the stuffed animal aisle in a store, you felt physically sick. And every time you caught a glimpse of a little girl with pigtails... you had to look away.
"Y/N?" Your name was called. You lifted your head. Your supervisor was standing in the doorway of the locker room. "Got a minute?" He nodded toward his office.
You nodded back. You didn't even have to ask why. Over the past few weeks, you had completely frozen up during several calls. Once, you started crying before you even arrived on scene. Another time, you couldn't bring yourself to step out of the ambulance. And yesterday... yesterday you had fainted.
"You know I'm not trying to punish you," your supervisor sighed. You remained silent. "But I can't let you work another shift." Those words hurt more than you expected. "Just for a little while," he continued softly. "You need to pull yourself together."
"I'm fine." You lied. You both knew it.
"No, you're not," he shook his head gently.
You sat at home alone. Your uniform hung over the back of a chair. For the first time in years, you weren't allowed to put it on.
Your phone lay beside you. A message from Anna’s mom lit up the screen. You didn't open it. You didn't have the courage. You felt that if you read a single word from her, you would fall apart completely.
The doorbell rang. You didn't want to get up. Eventually, you dragged yourself to the door anyway.
Three of your colleagues were standing outside. No one said a word. One held a paper bag. Another had a box of pastries. The third simply wrapped you in a silent hug.
That was all it took. You broke down in tears. This time, you didn't try to stop them. You just let them hold you.
You sat in the living room for a long time. No one tried to cheer you up. No one uttered the phrase "it'll get better." They were just there.
As they started to get up to leave, your coworker handed you the paper bag.
"It's silly," he laughed awkwardly. "Well, actually, we all chipped in for it."
Confused, you looked inside. A teddy bear was lying at the bottom. It had dark crimson fur. It was wearing a long black cloak with red details, embroidered with a four-leaf clover.
"The antique shop owner claimed it helps people who can't sleep," one of your colleagues shrugged. "It's probably nonsense."
"But... we figured..." another began. "...if it helps you sleep for even just one night..."
"...it would be worth it," the third finished.
You ran your thumb over the soft, crimson fur. You didn't believe in magical stuffed animals. You barely believed in anything anymore.
But when the door clicked shut behind them and silence reclaimed the apartment, you pressed the bear to your chest.
It felt surprisingly warm. And for the first time in a long while, you felt... like you weren't completely alone.
You didn't expect a miracle that night. Just another awakening with a scream. Another night spent sitting against the bed, watching the dawn slowly break outside the window.
You placed the red teddy bear next to your pillow. You patted its head.
"Well... good night," you muttered ironically. Then you turned off the lamp.
Sleep came unexpectedly fast. At first, you felt only a pleasant warmth. Then a stillness settled around you.
And then... a siren. You jolted. You were back. Rain drummed against the roof of the ambulance. Emergency lights stained the wet asphalt blue and red. The air smelled of gasoline and smoke.
No. Please, no... You started running. Just like back then. Your feet sank into the glass shards. Your knees shook.
"Anna..." You gasped.
You saw her. She was lying on a stretcher. Motionless. The bunny had fallen from her tiny hand.
"No... no..." you sobbed.
You fell to your knees beside her. You started preparing for CPR. Except this time, your hands wouldn't move at all. They felt heavy. Like lead.
You heard an eerie, childlike laughter. Then crying. Then the long, unbroken flatline tone of the monitor.
The road began to distort. The asphalt cracked open. Thick smoke started pouring from the black fissures.
Dark figures emerged from the fog. They had no faces. Just long, black arms, and their laughter sent shivers down your spine.
One of them grabbed Anna. Another reached for you.
"It's your fault," a voice echoed from all sides. "If you had been faster... If you had been better... She could have lived."
"Stop it..." You covered your ears.
"You killed her," the voices taunted mockingly.
"No!" you screamed and bolted. But the road had no end.
No matter which way you ran, you always ended up right back at the overturned car. The figures pressed closer. More and more of them appeared. They stretched their hands out toward you.
One almost touched you. Suddenly, a metallic clink echoed. The nightmares froze.
Everything around you went dead silent. A tall figure slowly emerged from the thick smoke.
A long black cloak with red trim hung from his shoulders, swaying gently in the wind. Crimson hair, golden eyes, and a sword gripped in his hand.
He didn't run. Taking just a single step was enough. The nightmares instinctively recoiled. For the first time in months, they were the ones afraid. The man stopped between you and them. He didn't even look at them.
"Leave." His voice was calm but commanding. He didn't raise it, yet it thundered through the entire landscape.
The dark entities hesitated. Then, one lunged forward. The man drew his sword in one fluid motion. A soft whistle sliced through the air.
The shadow dissolved into sparks. Another followed, and another. Every single strike was precise. No wasted movement. As if he had fought this battle a thousand times before.
Within seconds, not a single nightmare remained on the road. Only the rain and the silence.
Slowly, he sheathed his sword. Only then did he turn to face you.
"Are you hurt?" he asked solemnly.
"No..." You shook your head in confusion.
He remained quiet, walking over to you. He knelt down so he was at eye level with you.
"This place has kept you prisoner for a long time," he murmured.
"I can't leave," you swallowed hard.
"I know," he nodded.
"I still see her," your voice broke. "I still hear the monitor..." Tears began to stream down your face. "I did everything right..." You took a deep breath. "So why did she die?"
He didn't answer. He just offered you his hand. You stared at it for several long seconds. You didn't know why, but it felt familiar. Finally, you cautiously took it.
His palm was warm. Sturdy. He gently pulled you to your feet.
"What's... what's your name?" you asked.
For a moment, a barely perceptible smile touched his eyes before he revealed his name. But it felt as though it vanished instantly, like mist in the morning sun.
"From this moment on, you won't be alone here anymore." He looked around the empty road.
For the first time in a very long time, you believed it. And for the first time since the accident, you stopped being afraid in your dream.
The following nights were different. You still dreamed of the accident. You still heard the sirens. You still woke up with your heart pounding.
But he was always there, too. You never had to look back. You just knew he was standing somewhere nearby.
The moment the nightmares began to emerge from the fog, the familiar metallic clink of his sword would ring out. And everything went quiet.
Soon, you stopped fearing sleep. You even began to look forward to the evening. Not because you wanted to see the accident again, but because you knew he would come.
Sometimes you just sat together in silence on the cliffs above a roaring sea. Other times he took you to an old stone castle that overlooked endless forests.
He didn't ask questions. He didn't force you to talk. He was just with you. Remarkably, that was enough.
"You're calmer today," he said without looking at you.
You were sitting on a stone wall, watching the sunset. The protector stood leaning against a tree a few paces away.
"Really?" You looked at him.
"It's the first time today you haven't been looking over your shoulder," he nodded.
"Do I do that?" You frowned.
"Always." He stepped closer. "Since the moment we met."
That caught you off guard. You had never realized it. He sat down beside you.
"You're always waiting for something to happen," he said, looking at you.
"Because something always does happen." The answer came before you could even think about it.
"Then look around," he said after a pause.
You listened. The treetops swayed around you. The grass rustled in the wind. In the distance, birds were singing. Nothing more.
"What do you see?" he asked.
"A forest," you said.
"And?" he prompted.
"Peace." For the first time in ages, you smiled. Just a tiny bit.
"Exactly." A look of satisfaction appeared in his golden eyes.
The psychologist was the first to notice the change.
"Are you sleeping better?" she smiled at you.
"Yes," you nodded.
"Nightmares?" she asked.
"They're still there." You paused. "But they aren't as frequent."
"That's good." The psychologist smiled gently. She had no idea how right she was.
After a few more weeks, you stood before the emergency services building once again. Your uniform suddenly felt heavier than before. Your palms were sweaty. Your heart was racing.
"If I can't handle this..." you muttered to yourself.
"You can," a familiar voice whispered.
Startled, you spun around. No one was standing there. Only the red teddy bear peeked out from your half-open backpack. You could have sworn... you had left him at home.
The first shift was quiet. The second one, not so much.
"We have a call!" the commander's voice rang out.
Automatically, you bolted. This time, you sat rigidly in the ambulance. Your hands were shaking, until your colleague placed his hand on your shoulder.
"Are you with us?" he asked.
"Yeah." You took a deep breath.
You drove out. Fortunately, it wasn't a call involving a child. An elderly man had fallen down the stairs. Treatment. Transport. Routine.
When you returned to the station, your supervisor called you aside.
"Good job," he praised you. You looked at him in disbelief. "I mean it." He placed a hand on your shoulder. "Welcome back."
"You should smile more," the protector said one night. In your dream, you were sitting on the shore of a lake. He sat beside you.
"Says the one who almost never smiles," you ventured to tease him for the first time.
"I do smile," he raised an eyebrow in surprise.
"Once a month," you chuckled.
"Twice," he replied completely seriously.
"Liar," you smirked.
He looked at you. And then... he actually smiled. It wasn't a wide grin. Just a slight upward tug of the corners of his mouth. But it completely transformed his face.
"So you can do it..." You breathed.
"Just not in front of everyone," he admitted.
Your heart fluttered strangely. You hadn't even noticed that during the conversation, you had sat much closer. Your shoulders were lightly touching.
For a moment, you just watched the lake's surface in silence. Then, you carefully rested your head on his shoulder. He stiffened. Just for an instant. Then you felt him relax. He draped his cloak over your shoulders to keep you warm.
"Thank you..." you whispered.
"For what?" he asked.
"For not leaving me alone."
He lowered his gaze. His fingers gently found your hand, intertwining his fingers with yours.
"That was my duty," he replied.
"No," you shook your head. "That was your choice." You looked up at him.
Silence hung between you for several long seconds. Then, his thumb gently brushed the back of your hand.
"And I don't regret my choice," he answered with surprising softness.
This time, you smiled. For real. And you didn't even notice that for the first time, not a single nightmare appeared around you.
Nearly a month had passed since your return to work. You had learned how to respond to calls again. You laughed with your colleagues again. You wore your uniform with pride again.
The nightmares had almost vanished. Only your protector remained. Every single night.
"Call! Motor vehicle accident! Head-on collision between two passenger vehicles! Possible entrapment! One child!"
Your heart stopped. A child. Your entire body froze. For a moment, you couldn't take a single step.
"Y/N!" Your colleague grabbed your shoulder. "Are you coming?"
"...Yes," you swallowed.
Sirens cut through the city once more. Just like back then. Your hands shook so violently that you had to press them between your knees.
No. This time will be different. It has to be. The ambulance stopped. You jumped out. And immediately, the familiar smell of gasoline hit you. Smoke. Rain. Screams.
For a fraction of a second, you stopped breathing. You were back there. On that road. You saw Anna.
"Auntie..." You heard her voice.
"Y/N!" your colleague yelled at you.
But his voice sounded as if it were coming from a great distance. Your knees buckled. You began to tremble. You couldn't move. You couldn't breathe. No... Not again...
Suddenly, you felt a firm hand on your shoulder.
"Look at me." You recognized the voice instantly.
Slowly, you turned. You couldn't believe your eyes. He was standing there. No dream. Real.
"Shamrock...?" the name escaped your lips.
"Breathe." His expression was calm.
"I... I can't..." you shook.
"You can." He placed both hands on your shoulders. "Look only at me."
You did. Not at the overturned car. Not at the blood. Only at him.
"Inhale," he commanded.
You complied. For the first time in long seconds, air rushed into your lungs.
"Exhale," he said again. Slowly, you began to calm down. "This is not that day," he whispered. "This is not Anna."
You looked past him. Only now did you notice that the small child was sitting a few yards away from the crash, cradled in the arms of a firefighter. The child was crying. But conscious. Alive.
"See?" he said more gently.
"Yes..." You nodded.
"Then go." Shamrock gave your hand a gentle squeeze. You looked at him, bewildered. "They need you."
You glanced back. Your team was already fighting for the life of the trapped driver. Without you.
"I..." You breathed hesitantly.
"You can do this," he said with absolute certainty. "I believe in you."
No one had said those words to you since the day Anna died. He squeezed your hand one last time. Then he stepped aside.
You ran. This time, you didn't stop. You knelt beside the injured man.
"Get the spine board ready!" you said, and just like that, you were back with your crew.
"Oxygen!" a colleague yelled. "BP is dropping!"
Your hands worked. Confidently. Precisely. Just like before. Only this time, you weren't afraid anymore.
A few hours later, you were leaning against the ambulance. The call had ended well. The driver survived. The child did, too. Your supervisor walked up and handed you a paper cup of coffee.
"I'm proud of you," he smiled at you warmly.
"Thank you." You just gave a tired smile.
"By the way..." He looked around. "Who was that guy who was calming you down before we started?"
"What guy?" You frowned.
"The tall redhead. Pretty good-looking fellow." He pointed toward the road. "I thought he was with the fire department."
Your heart leapt. So... he wasn't just a figment of your imagination. You ran in that direction. But no one was standing there. Only the wind played with the leaves.
You didn't get home until late that evening. You were exhausted. But for the first time in a long while, you were happy.
"Shamrock?" you called out softly.
No answer. You walked into the bedroom. And you froze. The bed was empty. The red teddy bear was nowhere to be found. In its place lay his folded black cloak. You took it in your hands.
"So it's true..." Before you could finish the sentence, you felt someone's presence behind you.
"Are you looking for me?" a familiar voice spoke.
Slowly, you turned. He was standing there. Real. Taller than you remembered him in your dreams. His hands were folded behind his back, and he wore that calm expression of his. Only his golden eyes looked at you much more tenderly than ever before.
"This time, I couldn't stay just in your dreams," he said with surprising gentleness.
"So... it was all real?" you breathed, your voice trembling.
"From the very first night," he nodded.
You took an uncertain step toward him. Then a second. Finally, you stopped right in front of him.
"Thank you," you said softly.
"You don't have to," he smiled. For real this time.
"I do." Your voice cracked. "You saved me."
Shamrock shook his head. Slowly, he raised his hand and stroked your cheek.
"No, I only reminded you how strong you have been all along," he said softly.
Tears stung your eyes. You threw your arms around him. This time, he hugged you back instantly. Tightly. You buried your face in his chest, and for the first time in many months, you felt truly safe.
"So... will you stay with me?" you whispered.
"Always," he answered without a moment's hesitation. "By day." His hand brushed down your back. "By night." He pulled you a little closer. "And every single time you need me."
You closed your eyes. This time, not to run from nightmares. But because, at last, you didn't have to be afraid to fall asleep again.
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
A/N: Smut chapter
Chapter 28: I Love You
Shamrock’s room was dark when you entered.
The bed stood at the center of it, large and dark, four carved posts disappearing into the canopy.
You stopped just inside the door.
Behind you, Shamrock closed it.
The latch clicked into place.
No reception. No guests. No servants waiting beyond the walls.
Only the locked door, the weight of your dress, and Shamrock standing behind you.
His hand settled at your waist.
You looked into the mirror and found him watching you over your shoulder. His wedding suit was still immaculate. His red hair hung loose down his back. His face remained composed.
His eyes did not.
They moved over you in the reflection.
The veil had been removed after the reception, but your hair was still held beneath what felt like half the metal in Mary Geoise.
Shamrock lifted one hand to the back of your head.
“May I?”
“Yes.”
The first pin slid free beneath his fingers.
He placed it on the table beside you.
Then another.
A piece of hair slipped down the side of your neck.
Shamrock’s eyes followed it. His mouth touched the skin beneath your ear.
Air left your lungs in a quiet rush.
His hand paused in your hair.
His lips moved against your neck, barely a kiss at first, as though he was deciding where to begin.
Then his mouth pressed warmer.
Slower.
Your eyes closed.
Another pin came loose.
He continued removing them while his mouth travelled down the side of your neck to the place where it met your shoulder.
You tipped your head before you thought better of it.
He noticed.
“Already?”
Your eyes opened.
You should have had an answer.
Something sharp.
Nothing came.
The almost-smile appeared before he pulled the final pins free.
Your hair fell over your shoulders and down your back.
Shamrock set them aside.
For a moment, he only looked.
Your face warmed. “You are staring.”
“Yes.”
His hands entered your hair and gathered it away from your neck.
“At my wife.”
The word went through you low and hot.
He kissed the skin he had uncovered, then your shoulder, then the top of your spine where the dress closed high against you.
“You looked beautiful today,” he said.
You swallowed and turned in his arms.
The train pulled around your legs. Shamrock caught your waist before you could stumble over your own wedding gown on your wedding night, which would have been too humiliating to survive.
Your fingers found the front of his jacket.
“Your turn.”
His gaze lowered to your hands.
You pushed the jacket from his shoulders. His shirt remained tucked neatly into his pants.
You set both hands on his chest.
Shamrock’s muscles tightened beneath your palms.
You slid your hands down his chest, over the buttons of his shirt, until your fingers reached the waistband of his pants. You slipped your fingers under the hem and pulled it free.
Shamrock watched without speaking.
You flattened your palms against his bare stomach beneath it and drew them slowly upward.
His breathing changed.
“You enjoy testing me.”
“A little.”
“Tonight is not the night for it.”
You looked up at him. “No?”
His eyes darkened.
That was all the warning you received.
His hand closed around your waist and pulled you against him.
His mouth came down over yours.
There was no audience to restrain him now. No reason to keep the kiss measured or proper.
One arm locked around your back while his other hand found the buttons along your gown.
The first slipped free beneath his fingers.
Then the next.
You reached for his shoulders. Shamrock opened your mouth beneath his, holding you close while he worked his way down the line of fastenings.
You pulled away to breathe.
He followed, kissing the corner of your mouth, your jaw, the pulse beneath your ear.
Another button opened.
“You are very slow,” you whispered.
His mouth pressed against your throat.
“I warned you.”
A faint smile touched his lips before he turned you in his arms.
Your back met his chest.
Shamrock swept your hair over one shoulder and continued down the row of buttons. His knuckles brushed your spine each time the gown loosened beneath his hands.
His mouth followed.
The back of your neck.
Your shoulder.
The space between your shoulder blades.
By the time the final fastening opened, your breathing had gone uneven.
The gown loosened around you.
Shamrock’s hands settled at your shoulders.
“Still with me?”
“Yes.”
Only then did he push the dress down your arms.
The silk caught briefly at your elbows, then your wrists. He drew it over your hips, following its descent with both hands until the gown fell around your feet.
You stood before him in your bridal underthings, stockings, and loose hair.
Shamrock stepped around you.
He did not touch you.
He took you in slowly, and your arms started to fold before you stopped yourself.
His attention returned to your face.
“No.”
He caught your wrist and drew your arm back to your side.
“You are my wife.”
Shamrock lifted your hand and pressed his mouth to the inside of your wrist.
“But you were wanted before that.”
The words went through you cleanly.
Your eyes stung.
Absolutely unacceptable.
You looked at him.
At the open collar of his shirt. The tension across his shoulders. The restraint that still held him apart from you because he was waiting to see whether you would hide.
So you let your arms fall.
Shamrock’s expression tightened.
His gaze lowered again.
This time, you let him look.
He bent without warning and lifted you from the floor. A startled sound left you. Your arms went around his shoulders.
“Warn a person.”
“You would have argued.”
“I might still.”
“You can argue from the bed.”
He carried you across the room and lowered you onto the mattress.
The bed dipped beneath your weight.
Shamrock moved your hair from beneath your shoulder, then drew your legs free of the silk tangled around your ankles.
You watched him straighten at the edge of the bed.
His shirt was wrinkled from your hands. His hair hung down his back. The lamp caught the hard line of his face as his gaze moved over you again.
Then his hand closed around your ankle.
His thumb stroked the inside of it before he bent and pressed his mouth just above the strap of your shoe.
You stared down at him. “What are you doing?”
His eyes lifted.
“Taking my time.”
Oh.
He removed the shoe.
Then the other.
His mouth followed the line of your leg over the silk stocking, kissing your ankle first, then the inside of your calf.
One hand slid beneath your knee and raised your leg as he moved higher.
Your fingers gathered in the sheet.
He reached the top of the stocking.
Instead of removing it, he pressed his mouth to the narrow strip of bare skin above it.
Your breathing faltered.
Shamrock felt the movement of your leg beneath his hand.
He looked at you once before opening your knees.
Your face heated.
“You like having me at your mercy.”
His eyes lifted to yours.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No attempt to soften it.
He settled between your legs and kissed the inside of one thigh.
Then the other.
Your body tightened in anticipation.
His mouth moved higher.
You shifted toward him before you could stop yourself.
Shamrock’s hands closed around your thighs.
“Stay open.”
The order was quiet.
The effect was not.
His mouth pressed against you through the thin lace.
A sound escaped you.
Small. Helpless.
Shamrock stopped. His eyes found yours.
“That sound,” he said. “I want to hear it again.”
Before you could answer, his mouth returned to you through the lace. His fingers traced slow circles where your thighs met your hips.
Your head fell back against the pillow.
He was deliberate.
Too deliberate.
He held you still while his mouth moved over the thin fabric, giving you enough pressure to make your hips rise and never enough to satisfy the ache building beneath your skin.
“Shamrock.”
He lifted his head.
His hair had fallen across your thighs. His mouth hovered close enough that his breath warmed the damp lace between them.
“Ask.”
You stared at him.
He looked completely in control.
“Please.”
His fingers hooked beneath the sides of your underwear.
“Please what?”
You tightened your grip on the sheet.
“Touch me.”
“I am touching you.”
A frustrated sound broke from your throat.
The corner of his mouth lifted.
Terrible man.
He drew the lace down your hips slowly, watching your face the entire time. When he stopped with it caught above your knees, you swallowed what remained of your pride.
“Please give me more.”
That changed him.
Shamrock pulled the lace the rest of the way down your legs and dropped it beside the bed.
His hands returned to your thighs and opened them wider.
Then his mouth found you without anything between you.
Your back lifted from the mattress.
Shamrock caught your hips and pulled you closer.
He did not tease now.
His mouth moved over you with steady pressure while his hands kept your thighs open. When your fingers entered his hair, he pressed closer and flicked his tongue over your clit.
You pulled.
A rough sound vibrated against you.
The sensation went through you so sharply that your hips jerked beneath his hands.
Shamrock lifted his head only far enough to speak.
“Again.”
You barely understood him.
Then you saw the tension in his jaw.
You pushed your fingers deeper into his hair and pulled. His eyes closed.
When his mouth returned to you, the last of his gentleness went with it.
You cried out.
“Good,” he said against you. “Do not hide from me now.”
You could not have obeyed even if you tried.
Every sound came more easily than the last.
His name.
Broken breaths.
Pleas that lost their shape as soon as they left your mouth.
Shamrock kept your thighs apart when they tried to close around him.
One finger pressed inside you.
Your hips lifted.
He pushed deeper, curling it while his tongue traced firm circles around your clit.
Then he added a second.
Your heel dragged over the bedding.
“Shamrock.”
He looked up and waited.
You hated him for knowing exactly what you were trying not to say.
“Please don’t stop.”
His eyes darkened.
Then his mouth lowered again.
This time, he gave you no room to escape from it.
His fingers continued moving inside you while his mouth worked over your clit. Your body tensed beneath him. Your hand twisted hard in his hair, and the sheets dragged beneath your other fist as your orgasm broke through you all at once.
His name left you sharp and helpless.
Shamrock held you through it.
He did not move away while your body shook beneath his hands. His mouth softened against you, drawing the pleasure out until you pushed weakly at his shoulder.
Only then did he withdraw his fingers and rise over you.
His lips touched the inside of your thigh.
Your stomach.
The curve beneath your ribs.
By the time he reached your mouth, you were still struggling for breath.
He kissed you slowly.
You slid both hands beneath his shirt.
Shamrock’s breath hitched when your nails dragged over his back.
You pushed the fabric upward.
He caught the hem and stripped it over his head, throwing it somewhere beyond the bed. The light moved over his chest and shoulders, over the scars.
For a moment, you forgot how to speak.
Shamrock noticed.
His mouth curved.
You loved him.
The realization came hard enough to erase whatever sharp response you might have given him.
Your smile faded.
His expression changed with it.
“What?”
You touched his face.
Your hand trembled slightly against his cheek.
“I love you.”
Shamrock stopped and closed his eyes. When he looked at you again, the severity had fallen away.
He lowered his forehead to yours.
“I love you.”
Your breath left you.
His hand slid into your hair and held you there while his mouth found yours again.
You reached between your bodies. Your fingers found the fastening of his trousers.
Shamrock did not stop you.
The first fastening opened beneath your hand.
Then the next.
His breathing roughened against your mouth.
When your hand moved beneath the loosened fabric, his arm locked beside your head.
You looked up.
His jaw was tight.
The control you had spent the night testing was beginning to fracture.
Good.
You wanted to see it break.
“I need you inside me,” you whispered.
Shamrock’s body locked above yours.
His hand closed around your wrist, not pulling it away, only holding on.
His gaze lifted to yours.
“Say it again.”
Your pulse jumped beneath his fingers.
“I need you.”
His nostrils flared.
You closed your hand around his hard cock and watched the tension travel through his body.
Then you gave him the word you knew would finish what you had started.
“Husband.”
His mouth came down over yours.
The kiss drove you into the mattress.
There was nothing patient in him now.
His hands moved quickly.
He reached for the top of one stocking and dragged it down your leg, taking the garter with it. You kicked it free while he stripped the other away.
You reached for his pants.
The two of you worked against each other, mouths meeting between hurried movements and failed fastenings until Shamrock caught your hands and finished removing them himself.
Then there was nothing left between you.
He moved over you.
The weight of him settled between your thighs. One hand slid beneath your knee and opened you wider around his hips.
For a moment, he held himself there. His face was close to yours. His hair fell around you, shutting out the rest of the room.
His eyes searched your face.
You reached for his free hand and laced your fingers through his.
“Yes.”
Shamrock positioned himself against you and pressed forward. The stretch forced your mouth open.
He entered you slowly, stopping when your body tightened around him. His forehead lowered beside yours, every muscle rigid with restraint.
He gave you time.
You did not want time.
You rolled your hips toward him. “More.”
His gaze fixed on yours.
Then he pushed deeper, and when your hand pulled on his shoulder, he understood.
He drove the rest of the way inside you.
A cry left you.
His hand tightened around yours. For several breaths, neither of you moved.
He remained buried inside you while your body adjusted around him. His mouth pressed against your temple. His breathing came hard and uneven.
Then you shifted your hips beneath him.
Shamrock pulled back and thrust into you again.
The mattress moved beneath your shoulders.
He started slowly.
His hand remained locked with yours beside your head while the other grabbed your hip hard enough to bruise.
He drew almost all the way out before thrusting back in, making you feel every inch of him.
The weight of his body held you beneath him while his hips moved between your thighs. Each thrust stretched you around him and pushed you higher against the sheets.
When you lifted your hips to meet him, his breathing turned uneven.
You did it again.
His control slipped.
The next thrust drove harder.
Your legs wrapped around his waist.
Shamrock released your hand and slid both hands beneath your hips, lifting you into the next thrust.
You cried out against his shoulder.
He said your name.
Low.
Rough.
You held him tighter.
He snapped his hips forward again.
The bed struck the wall.
Once.
Then again.
Shamrock’s eyes met yours. You tightened around him deliberately.
His mouth parted.
The composure left his face for one brief, beautiful moment.
“Shamrock.”
A rough sound left him.
You wanted it again.
You brought your mouth close to his ear.
“My love.”
His next thrust reached deeper.
Your cry broke against his shoulder.
Shamrock lowered your hips back to the mattress, then caught one thigh and lifted it higher against his side.
Your fingers clenched against his back.
“There?” he asked.
You could barely answer.
“Yes.”
He drove into you again.
Your head fell back.
“Oh, God.”
Shamrock held your leg in place and set a harder rhythm, each movement dragging another sound from you.
You clung to his shoulders while his mouth moved down the side of your throat and stayed there.
Your body began to tighten again.
Too quickly.
Too sharply.
“Shamrock.”
He heard the warning in your voice.
His hand left your thigh and slid between your bodies. His fingers found your clit and made your entire body jerk.
“No,” you gasped.
“Yes.”
You caught his wrist, though you did not pull it away.
“I can’t.”
“You can.”
His fingers moved in time with the thrust of his hips.
The room blurred around you.
“Please.”
Shamrock lifted his face from your neck.
His eyes stayed on yours.
“Please what?”
You made a desperate sound.
He did not relent.
“Tell me.”
Your nails sank into his shoulders.
“Please make me come.”
His hand moved with more urgency.
Your second orgasm hit.
Your body seized around him, drawing a harsh sound from his throat. You came with his name in your mouth and your arms locked around his shoulders.
Shamrock did not look away.
He watched every second of it.
“That’s it,” he said, his voice unsteady now. “I have you.”
You clung to him, trembling. Then, softer and utterly ruined, you whispered, “Come for me, husband.”
Shamrock broke.
His arm locked around your waist and pulled you against him as he drove deep.
A rough sound left him against your throat as he spilled himself inside you. His hips moved once more before his body shuddered over yours.
Then he buried his face against your shoulder and held you there.
For a while, neither of you moved.
You lay beneath him, breathing hard, one hand still buried in his hair.
Shamrock’s mouth touched your shoulder. Then the side of your throat. He lifted his head. His face was no longer controlled.
You liked that more than was wise.
His thumb moved along your cheek.
“Are you all right?”
You blinked up at him.
Then, because you were still yourself even after all that, you said, “I understand now why wives have separate rooms.”
He stared at you.
Then he laughed.
Quiet. Low.
Real.
The sound moved through you more gently than anything else had that night. Shamrock lowered his forehead to yours.
“I love you,” he said.
Then he kissed you again. Soft this time.
When he withdrew and shifted onto his side, you winced despite yourself.
His hand settled immediately at your hip.
“Careful,” he murmured.
“You might have considered that earlier.”
“You told me not to stop.”
“That does not mean I surrender the right to complain.”
His mouth curved.
He pulled you against him until your cheek rested over his heart and his arm curved around your back.
You felt tired.
Warm.
Sore in places you would think about tomorrow and pretend not to.
Long Forgotten Fairytale, Chapter 17 (Soft Yan Shamrock x Reader, NSFW, angst and fluff, canon divergent / adjacent, WIP)
18+ MDNI | on Ao3 | the other chapters
Shamrock POV
Shamrock watched you flee from the room and his presence. In your hand you carried the present you had once been so happy to receive, now reduced to a detestable burden you could scarcely wait for him to remove from you. Shamrock waited a moment in silence as your footsteps receded quickly down the hallway. Once he ensured you were not returning, Shamrock walked in long strides back to the small side table.
He grabbed his full wine glass and hurled it against the wall. The splattering of red looked so much like blood dripping, but the effect was not nearly as satisfying.
Shamrock was not mad or irritated at you, not exactly. He didn’t blame you for any of your reactions, not even when you were hostile towards him. But it was so goddamn frustrating to be finally within arm’s reach of you, to be ensured that you were safe and happy, and be completely forsaken. If only he was able to convince you that he was on your side, that you had loved him once like he loved you now.
Shamrock had never been told no or disregarded so often in his life, and he wasn't one to make it habit. Shamrock would wait until you were ready for more of a relationship with him, but in all of his day dreaming over the years apart, he hadn’t accounted for the level of frustration he would be experiencing. It would take time, he knew that, but godsdamned it he wanted you now.
Taking off your necklace had brought back memories, and mixed emotions along with it. He hadn’t wanted you to wear a slave collar either, but there was no mincing words about its purpose. Shamrock hadn’t worn his matching necklace for fear that you’d get the wrong idea, but it seemed like no matter what he did he only drove you away further. He remembered the joy with which he first received the necklace, how proud he was to have something fine to give you. He often wanted to spoil you but there weren’t a lot of ways to give you nicer treatment without raising suspicion from Father.
What was he to tell you about the necklace? He couldn’t lie to you, that would break the foundation of the tiny relationship that he had with you. But every truth was so painful in broad daylight, nothing like it had been on Marie Geoise. Shamrock hoped he was making the right decision by forcing you to spend time with him every day. There wasn’t a way around it, he didn’t think you’d spend time with him willingly otherwise. His hand continued to be forced and he was fucking sick of it.
Even with his small private lapse, Shamrock was thankful for his control over his emotions while you were with him. When you had panicked, so had he. He hadn’t seen you that scared in a very long time, and it wasn’t something he wished to ever see again. His first impulse had been to hold you closely and help you regulate your breathing like he had so long ago. But that wasn’t possible, and not only because he didn’t want Dragon revoking Shamrock’s access to you. You weren’t ready for that kind of touch yet, and especially not from him. He knew that for a fact, he’d been watching you.
Shamrock had silently been observing you going about your day when he wasn’t with you. After all, Dragon had stipulated that he could only spend an hour in your company per day, not that Shamrock couldn’t watch you when he wasn’t with you. It was almost a role reversal from your earlier years – now he was the one watching silently from the shadows, observing your every move.
Shamrock could admit to himself that he was jealous of the affection you showed to others. He watched you joke with Ginny and uptight Kuma (he knew that Buccaneer was up to something), he watched you laugh with Iva, and he even watched you bicker with Shanks. You were friends to many, friendly to all, and yet…no one really touched you. There were no friendly hugs, no high fives, not even a casual hand holding. You were connected to so many, and yet still alone. Shamrock didn’t presume to think that it was because you were waiting for him, but he wondered if the loneliness pricked at you like it did to him. Did it keep you up at night?
Shamrock stood upright, no longer able to sit and relax. His blood was pumping and his angry energy needed to be directed somewhere. Shamrock flung open the door to the library and strode down the hallways of whatever decrepit building he was in. He wasn’t watching where he was walking, his mind completely focused on his interactions with you. His body and mind were both in motion, though they were disjointed.
Eventually Shamrock looked up and found himself in front of Shanks’ door. Shamrock frowned, he hadn’t meant to meet with his brother. Shanks would undoubtedly annoy him at this juncture and he was in no mood for his brother’s foolery. Shamrock scowled and turned, but the door opened before he could make a quick getaway.
“Shammy! How was your–”
“I already warned you. Do not call me that,” Shamrock hissed, his mood already souring even further. Shanks gave Shamrock a quick once over and frowned.
“Uh oh. Not good then. Come on in, it’s just me here,” Shanks offered, pushing the door to his room open wide.
“I am in no mood,” Shamrock stated plainly. His own room was down the hall but Shamrock wasn’t in the mood for resting either. He wanted to destroy something, but that didn’t seem a viable option on Baltigo. Shamrock would have to find something else to quell his emotional turmoil.
“C’mon, you can tell me about it. I got strong booze too. Stole it from Beckman,” he said proudly with a waggle of his eyebrows. Now that was appealing.
“Are you not the Captain? Can you not just demand the alcohol?” Shamrock asked, pushing his way into the room. Sure he had wine before but a stiff drink would aid tremendously in the moment.
“Course I could. But it’s his, you can’t take things that belong to other people. C’mon, we’ve talked about this,” Shanks reprimanded his brother.
“You did take what belongs to Beckman,” Shamrock pointed out.
“Yeah, but that’s different than demanding it. Everyone knows booze tastes better when it’s stolen, duh,” Shanks scoffed with a roll of his eyes. Shamrock sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. Only the prospect of Beckman’s alcohol made this experience worth continuing. Shanks crossed the small, clean room over to the singular dresser. On top there was a large bottle of dark looking alcohol and one cup. Shanks poured a generous amount and brought the cup over.
“So what went wrong?” Shanks prompted, handing the glass over to his brother. Shamrock sat on the untidy bed, rubbing his forehead before reaching for the glass.
“Nothing,” he said tersely before taking a sip. Thank god for Beckman, Shamrock thought to himself. The liquor was actually tolerable for once rather than the disinfectant that Shanks usually had on hand.
“If nothing went wrong you wouldn’t be sitting here, looking like you lost a limb,” Shanks replied, plopping down next to Shamrock. Shamrock drank again.
“Too soon?” Shanks asked, pushing his hair off his forehead.
“I don’t care about my arm. That’s done and gone,” he replied, scoffing as Shanks pried the glass out of his hand.
“Hey! Share! We only have one cup,” Shanks griped before gulping back some of the liquor. Shamrock stood and walked over to the dresser, opting to grab the bottle instead.
“So what happened? Can’t be that bad,” Shanks offered as Shamrock leaned against the dresser.
“Clover ran away at the end of our time together,” Shamrock answered, swirling the liquor in the bottle.
“Ouch. Any idea why?” Shanks asked, giving his brother a sympathetic look.
“I took off the necklace she wears, at her behest.”
“OK, that doesn’t sound too–”
“After I told her only I was able to remove it and it was her former slave collar,” Shamrock answered in full. Shanks hit his forehead with the heel of his hand.
“Why would you lead with that?!” Shanks asked, throwing his arm in the air.
“I didn’t,” Shamrock hissed back before taking another swig. “I asked her other questions first, obviously. That was where the conversation took us.”
“What did you ask her?” Shanks wondered, giving his brother a strange look.
“Rather surface level questions. Her favorite color, her favorite book, things of that nature,” Shamrock replied.
“Oh my fucking – why?! Why would you ask that?!” Shanks implored, his mouth hanging open.
“Oh, my mistake. Should I have asked her if she remembered watching me slaughtering her fellow slaves on the training grounds? If she remembers those who sought to kill her all because she was kind towards me? The time I spit in her face? If she regrets ever meeting me? If she blames me for abandoning her to Dracule and her consequent abduction by Crocodile?” Shamrock asked acerbically.
“I guess not…you spit in her face…?” Shanks asked with his eyebrows hiked. Shamrock ignored the comment, already in his feelings.
“I asked some bland questions to get the conversation flowing. I did want to know the answers, though. I want to know everything about her, but she is not interested in sharing at the moment,” Shamrock answered quietly. Shanks was thankfully silent for a moment, before snapping his fingers and pointing a finger out the window.
“Oh, speaking of Mihawk, he’s gonna be here soon. Like, probably tomorrow,” Shanks stated matter-of-factly.
“How do you know? Do you have his contact? His vivre paper?” Shamrock replied, cocking a brow. Even with all his Celestial Dragon connections, Dracule was a challenge to locate.
“No. I’ve had a persistent boner for about a day, pointing in his direction. It's never been wrong before –”
“Shut. Up.” Shamrock said, closing his eyes for a moment. Though, if Shanks was correct it was good information to know Mihawk was drawing nearer. He had much to…discuss with the swordsman. And then he could relay the information to you at tomorrow’s meeting, giving you a heads up about the likely confrontation. Though the method of delivery was beyond disgusting, the information was hopefully correct.
“Did you at least open your shirt like I told you to?” Shanks asked, pointing to his own, which had one button done at his navel.
“I did,” Shamrock answered with pursed lips.
“Did it help?” Shanks asked with a raised eyebrow. Shamrock took a large swig from the bottle.
“She looked,” he replied tersely. Shanks laughed and clapped his hands once.
“Told you! Everyone loves an open shirt,” Shanks said, nodding to himself. Shamrock didn’t mind talking to Shanks at this juncture, but he could endure no more. He didn’t want Shanks’ ribbing or merriment, he wanted to stew in his failure.
“Leave me to my devices,” Shamrock spat back.
“You’re in my room!” Shanks replied incredulously, pushing his stupid straw hat off his head.
“I did not ask for your advice!” Shamrock spat at his brother. Shanks frowned and set his cup on the floor. Shanks slowly advanced towards Shamrock, his ire fully on display. Shamrock returned Shanks’ look with a glare of his own – he was not going to be intimidated by his younger brother. Shamrock drew himself up to his full height, which matched his brother’s exactly. Shamrock braced for a fight, some kind of lowly brawl most likely.
But Shamrock’s eyes went wide as Shanks didn’t try to injure him – but wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck, pulling Shamrock in for a tight hug. Shamrock stiffened, blinking several times in rapid succession as Shanks continued the embrace. What in the world was happening?
“I’m sorry, Shamrock. I know this is hard for you,” Shanks said softly, still gripping Shamrock. Shamrock’s first instinct was to push Shanks away, but the warmth of his brother combined with his kind words was rather… comforting.
“And I know Clover isn’t making this any easier on you because she doesn’t know the whole story. Hell, I don’t know the whole story. If you ever feel like sharing, you can always talk to me,” Shanks said, giving his brother an even tighter embrace for a moment before easing up. Shamrock didn’t know what to do – he’d never been hugged by a family member. He settled on loosely wrapping his arm around Shanks, tapping his brother’s shoulder with his fingertips. Is that what was supposed to be done?
“Until then, I’m here for you. I thought maybe you’d want to talk and laugh, but I don’t think you’re that kinda guy right now,” Shanks murmured, before releasing Shamrock from his hold. Shanks had a tender expression on his face, almost like the one he’d worn when they had met for the first time. When Shamrock saw it for the first time, he immediately felt the need to shatter the mood, to make Shanks feel as low as Shamrock felt him to be.
But now?
“Yes, hrm….very well, Shanks,” Shamrock said, giving his brother a curt bow. Shamrock seldom felt the need to bow in his former life, and the fact that he was doing so was a sign of tremendous respect. He hopes Shanks understood the gesture. Shanks beamed back at his brother, a smile Shamrock was sure would never grace his own face.
“Awww. You never call me by my name!” Shanks said, reaching over to pinch Shamrock’s cheek. Shamrock slapped his hand away with a scoff.
“Can’t blame a guy for trying. Anyway, I think you should tell her how you really feel. I’d say try to be less rigid, less formal. It might help,” Shanks suggested.
“Less myself then?” Shamrock inquired wryly. Shanks shook his head.
“No, no. Not that. Just less…controlled. Let her see how you’re feeling, Clover might respond in kind. If she knows you’re being vulnerable, she might be more open herself,” Shanks continued. Shamrock considered the unsolicited advice. Vulnerable wasn’t something he had ever been before. Such a weakness got you killed in Marie Geosie.
“I’ll try.”
Your POV
You approached Shamrock as he sat by the cliff, the cool sea breeze wafting gently through his long red hair. For once he looked relaxed, his shoulders sloped elegantly as he lay on his side. Normally he looked like he was posing when you met, but now he seemed to be in true repose. One of his long legs was stretched out as he stretched out leaning on his elbow. He still looked incredible, no matter what you thought about him. Even now, his long fingers toyed with a blade of grass, making him look effortlessly sexy. Damn it.
Shamrock didn’t turn around with your approach, but you guessed he knew you were coming. If he was Shanks’ equal, it was likely that he had observation and armament haki. Not only that, but Titus bounded ahead of you, slinking underneath Shamrock’s arm to get more pets. Clearly, Titus had a positive recollection of Shamrock. You, of course, didn’t remember why. Maybe you’d ask about Titus today, start on neutral ground.
You were a little more composed this afternoon than you had been on the previous day. The conversation you had around the necklace had rattled you for hours. You couldn’t even look at it once you got back to your room, putting it in your top drawer. There was some thought in your mind about getting rid of it entirely, but that was short lived. It had brought you comfort before you knew what it was, and frankly, it was worth a lot of money. You might want to sell it one day – without telling the buyer that only Shamrock could unlock it.
But once you calmed down, you’d thought endlessly about Shamrock. You weren’t fond of him by any means, but some of the information he’d relayed the previous day had given you pause. It hadn’t occurred to you that Shamrock wasn’t the one to buy you, or that he didn’t want you. You hadn’t really thought about anything beyond yourself, how everything had happened to you. Shamrock might be a shitty Celestial Dragon, but maybe not everything had been under his control either.
Clearly, some kind of relationship had transpired between you after that time, and you needed to find out what it was. You didn’t have to like Shamrock, but maybe you could be a little more careful with the way you talked to him. Something had happened between the time that you were acquired for him and the time you woke up on Kuraigana. And only Shamrock could tell you what that was.
“Hey Shamrock,” you said, treading on the soft grass. He leaned his head back and gave you a small smile as he scratched Titus’ ears. Shamrock looked tired, his face drawn like he hadn’t slept all night. Not that you cared, but it was a change from his normally perfect face.
“Good afternoon, Clover,” he responded, picking his head back up to stare at the cliffs. He wasn’t ignoring you, but he also wasn’t laser focused on you like he had been. It was a welcome change to not feel like you were being observed, but you weren’t sure what spurred it. Maybe Shamrock was deeper than you gave him credit for. Or maybe he was just trying his luck at a different angle. He sat up, his rumpled open shirt only adding to his allure. Double damn it.
You sat down near him, sitting with your legs crossed as you faced the same direction. It was quiet between you, the sounds of waves crashing against the rocky coast coming in every few seconds. But unlike two days prior, you weren’t seething or testing him. Instead the silence was almost pleasant. Still, it was time to get things moving.
“You’re wasting your time with me,” you pointed out, plucking a blade of grass from the ground.
“No time with you is wasted. And I thought I was not to chat with you, per your own request,” he said mildly, flicking his hair off his shoulder. You shrugged, ripping the blade of grass into two.
“I thought we could ask each other questions again,” you said, looking at him out of the corner of your eye. Your nose wrinkled as you noticed a gem twinkling on a chain about his neck.
“Is that mine?” you asked, pointing to his neck. “Did you go in my room!?” you exclaimed. If he had, any goodwill that you had been harboring towards Shamrock would go out the window, as Shamrock himself would be tossed off the cliff. Shamrock shook his head.
“It seems you are starting with the questions –”
“Hey, that wasn’t a question –”
“It was. It was two, actually. Would you like the answer?”
“Now that’s one question for you,” you stated petulantly, crossing your arms. Shamrock’s eyes crinkled at the corners slightly. Was he…happy?
“You are still in my debt. But I will answer,” he replied, the small smile returning. You rolled your eyes but didn’t react.
“No, I did not enter your room. This is my necklace. I had a matching set made, though mine is not enchanted,” he said, tugging on the chain for a moment.
“I thought you said it was a slave collar,” you said, squinting at the gem. Now that you looked closely, it wasn’t exactly the same. His gem was larger, the chain longer.
“Mhm. Yes, of sorts. A collar of devotion,” he replied enigmatically. You flushed at his words, the implication quite strong. An urge rose to run away, to rid yourself of this man, but you squashed it. You were a woman of your word, and you told Dragon that you’d be sitting with Shamrock for an hour. So you’d sit no matter how much Shamrock made you squirm.
“Why’d you wear it now?” you asked, trying to shift the subject slightly.
“That’s three questions. Let me ask one first,” Shamrock requested, turning to face you. You swallowed thickly, unsure what he was going to ask. He had asked rather surface level questions the previous day, for which you were thankful, but you weren’t sure that was going to be the case today.
“Did you suffer on Kuraigana?” he asked, his heavily bagged eyes poring over you. You shook your head.
“No. Kuraigana was lonely, but I did not suffer. I had everything that I needed to survive,” you replied honestly. You downplayed how depressing and lifeless it was there, but that wasn’t what he was really asking. Shamrock nodded his head slightly, as if steadying himself with your answer.
“Dracule is likely to reach Baltigo tomorrow,” Shamrock stated. A scowl crossed your lips – you hadn’t forgotten how Mihawk had betrayed you. He’d known all along where you were from and he had lied to your face, along with Shanks. Part of you wanted to take the high road and ignore Mihawk completely, but the low road looked ever so appealing as well.
“How do you know?” you asked, scrunching your nose. Mihawk was notoriously difficult to track, how did Shamrock have such private information? Shamrock frowned and rolled his eyes.
“Shanks told me. I do not know how he knows. No more questions about Dracule,” he said in a huff. You quirked an eyebrow as Shamrock adjusted his position. That was strange.
“So why did you wear the necklace today?” you repeated. There was something special about the necklace, you were sure of it. Hopefully this wouldn’t be as deep of a subject as the previous one.
“It contains a select few of your memories. I thought you might want to see them,” he explained, turning the chain so the latch was in the front. You gasped, your hand covering your mouth. You absently got on your knees and turned to face him completely.
“Can I – oh my god,” you said, your heart pattering.Your vision was exclusively on his open chest, on the gem that might have answers you’d been so desperately seeking. Shamrock held up his hand, as if to give you pause.
“The memories are from your perspective, but I am in them,” Shamrock said, voice steady as ever. “I would like to make clear a few facets of our relationship prior to you viewing them. May we do away with the question format for the time being?” he asked. You nodded fervently, eager to see what had been taken from you.
“What was our relationship?” you asked, trying to get at the heart of the matter. Shamrock took a deep breath, exhaling through his nose.
“As I said, you were my slave. You were bought for me as a personal attendant of sorts when we were both children. Soon thereafter you became my tutor –”
“Tutor? In what? Is that why I can read?” you asked incredulously. “Sorry, please keep going.” Shamrock hummed but didn’t chide you.
“You tutored me in mathematics, primarily. You’re much quicker and smarter than I in such matters,” he said, his eyes sliding over to you. “And no, that is not why you are literate. Mathematics came easily to you. I taught you to read myself,” Shamrock said, his eyes staring off into the distance.
“You’re lying. No Celestial Dragon would teach a slave to read,” you hissed, scared that Shamrock wasn’t telling the truth. How could he be? Everyone knew Dragons kept their slaves illiterate.
“I am not. I have never once lied to you,” Shamrock reminded you. “I taught you using the same book you brought from Kuraigana.” You slumped over, your head in your hands as tears welled in your eyes. This was a lot of information to take in. Was everything in your life tied to Shamrock? Even the book you so loved was from your past with Shamrock. Was there any part of yourself that was separate, that was just your own?
“Why are you doing this? What do you want from me?” you whispered. Your head was pounding and you wanted to lay down, but even more you wanted information. Shamrock was quiet for a few moments, watching the clouds above.
“We were very close for a very long time. I cared for you deeply, as much as a monster like me is able to care for another. I want…I want a relationship with you again. No matter the form it takes,” he said simply.
“I’m not that person anymore!” you yelled, tears pricking at your eyes. “The person you knew then is gone and she’s never coming back! I won’t – I can’t go back to that!” you screamed as a tear ran down your cheek.
“I wouldn’t want you to. You are free now, a new life ahead of you. We are free now,” Shamrock said lightly, touching the stump of his arm.
“So why can’t you leave m-me b-be?!” you stuttered, your tears falling freely now. You swiped at them angrily, upset with yourself. Upset at Shamrock. Upset at Dragon. Upset at the world for forcing this reality on you.
“It is a selfish desire to know you once more. And I am a selfish man.” Shamrock said simply. You hadn’t planned on bolting again, but this was too much. You scrambled to your feet, ready to tell Dragon what Shamrock said, how twisted and ugly he was. You never wanted to see this vile, disgusting, narcissistic…
“Please,” Shamrock whispered, grabbing your hand with his larger one. Your head whipped to him, ready to scream at him once more. But now Shamrock was on his knees before you, one of the strongest men in the world bowing to you in supplication. You looked at him, unsure what was happening. Was this the same haughty Shamrock as moments before? The face he made was like Shamrock in your bedroom memory -- tender, loving, reverent. Which was the real Shamrock?
“Please, Clover. Please listen to me. I cannot lose you again, please,” he begged, his voice cracking. A tear ran down his own cheek as he spoke, his cool facade finally cracking. Shamrock wasn’t to touch you, yet you didn’t remove your hand from his own. You were mesmerized by his plain words, his simple prayer slipping from his lips.
“I cannot – there is so much that happened between us. Please give me the chance to explain it all. I would have you in my life, Clover, in any way I can manage it. Hate me if you wish, do with me as you please. I will be your servant, your slave, your dog, whatever you desire. No matter what you do, I cannot stray from you. I am nothing without you.”
Notes:
Yes, Shammy is OOC but cmon it’s fun. Who doesn't want Shamrock on his knees??
The reader is a Celestial Dragon, married and with an excellent reputation in Mary Geoise, but she cheats on her husband with other men, whether they’re nobles, servants, or the like. However, she’s obsessed with Figarland Shamrock and does crazy things to try to spend a night of passion with him.
