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content ⸝⸝ (seperate) clingy ! zoro roronoa + monkey d. luffy + portgas d. ace x fem ! reader , fluff , ≈ 500 words per drabble
಄ zoro roronoa (takes place during egghead)
─── zoro can’t sleep without you.
as strange as it sounds, he can’t drift off until you’re in his arms, pressed against his chest. this even applies to his daily naps, no matter how short they might be. he yawned, stretching his arms behind his head before leaning back against the ship’s dock. the two of you were supposed to be guarding it—alongside brook—while the rest of the crew was with the vegapunks.
“[first name],” he called out just as brook had poured you a glass of tea.
you turned immediately at the sound of your name. “yes, zoro—?” you responded, already recognizing his usual sleeping posture. “i’ll be there in a second. just let me finish this tea… ooh! hot, hot.” you blew on the steam before taking another sip.
he grunted and sat up. “drink quickly, or i won’t be able to sleep.”
you rolled your eyes playfully. “yes, you will. you can’t sleep without me anyway.”
he frowned, knowing you were right. clicking his tongue, he walked over to where you were sitting at the table near the edge of the ship. he sat on the floor beside your chair and leaned against it—somehow managing not to tip it over.
“you’re going to fall asleep like that?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.
“you’re taking too long,” he explained, crossing his arms and shutting his eyes. “i had to improvise.”
you took another sip and started stroking his hair with your fingers. “alright then. when i finish this, i’ll come lay beside you.” you assumed zoro had drifted off shortly after, lulled by your gentle touch and soft movements. surely, with your fingers running through his hair, he should be asleep in no time.
well, you thought.
you finished the glass brook had poured for you and left it on the table for him or sanji to clean later. you settled beside zoro, making yourself comfortable, only to see his eye open. you flinched. “you’re still awake?!”
he uncrossed his arms and laid back on the deck. “i’ve been this whole time. my arms are empty.”
you sighed and scooted closer until you were lying on top of him, your head resting on his chest as his arms wrapped around your waist. “okay, okay,” you whispered. “go to sleep now.”
and just like that, roronoa zoro fell asleep without any trouble.
“yohohoho—oh.” brook paused mid-step, taking a few steps back as he realized what was happening. “what if i join in on the cuddling? wouldn’t that be a great surprise yohoho—!”
still asleep, zoro suddenly tossed a sword in brook’s direction. it landed with a thud, piercing straight through the ship’s wall.
“HOW DID HE DO THAT?!”
಄ monkey d. luffy
─── everyone but luffy can see the way he treats you differently from everyone else. no matter how many times his own crew called him out for his behavior toward you, he would brush it off and insist he did the same with everybody else—even though that wasn’t entirely true. wherever you went, luffy was always down to tag along, just to make sure you had a companion—even if it wasn’t strictly necessary.
he knew you were as strong as the rest of the straw hats. but for some reason, he never wanted to leave your side. during battles, he would suggest you—mostly just you—to come with him. and when you swallowed nervously, knowing you were about to face the toughest enemies on the seas, he would reassure you, promising he would keep you safe, no matter what.
and he was right. always.
when night fell, he had walk down the ship until he reached your room.
knock! knock!
by now, it was practically a daily routine. he would show up and ask if he could spend the night with you because he had had a ‘bad dream.’ (you still weren’t sure if that was true or not.) if you refused, he would latch onto you until you gave in. there was no point in rejecting your captain’s nightly request.
you opened the door, and he sprang forward, hugging you tightly. you stumbled backward. “what kind of nightmare did you have this time?” you asked, trying to peel him off, but it was useless.
he giggled, looking you in the eye. “none! i just want to be here.”
the door was still open—anyone could walk by and see what the captain and his crewmate were up to. but everyone knew luffy slept in your room by now. it wasn’t a secret.
“okay…?” you raised a brow. “go sleep on the couch—”
“can i sleep on your bed this time?”
“…you want me to take the couch instead?”
“we can both lay on the bed together!” his big grin was impossible to resist.
you didn’t enjoy seeing luffy frown, so you sighed and led him over to your bed. “...alright.”
you didn’t realize your bed wasn’t really big enough for two people. you had your back turned to luffy, facing the opposite direction. you exhaled, trying to sleep—until you felt a rubbery hand grab your shoulder. you shifted, turning to face your captain. his face appeared right in front of yours, your noses almost touching. you nearly fell off the bed, but his hand kept you from doing so.
“yes, luffy?” you swallowed, feeling heat crawl up your neck.
“i have a feeling you’re going to fall,” he said. “want me to hold you so you don’t?” he blinked innocently, silently hoping you would say yes.
you sweat-dropped at him. “i mean… sure.”
his arm wrapped around you in an instant. “good night, [first name]!”
“night.”
and with the door still open, sanji, chopper, and robin walked by, heading to grab a glass of water. when they passed your room, they paused.
sanji’s mouth dropped. “WHAT?!”
chopper loudly shushed him. “shhh! you’ll wake them up!”
robin smiled warmly. she didn’t say anything. but she did think one thing.
“so cute.”
಄ portgas d. ace
─── you never quite knew if portgas d. ace’s clinginess was something you adored or simply tolerated in your relationship. there was no denying you loved his affection—you craved it—but there were moments when it tipped into something harder to manage. the crew on whitebeard’s ship knew to disappear the second the two of you were in the same space, keen to avoid ‘interrupting something.’ however… whitebeard himself remained unaware of the unspoken rule.
“ace… would you let go? i’m trying to fix this tear in the top.” you pleaded, prying at his arms wrapped around you. his bare chest pressed against your back, his chin nestled in the crook of your neck, and frustration flickered under your skin. “i can’t even move my arms..!” you huffed, finally voicing the issue.
only then did he loosen his hold, though his head stayed tucked close. “thank you.” you breathed out, picking up the sewing materials again to mend the large hole in the shirt you wore. but your relief lasted all of a minute before his arms were wrapped around you once more.
“ace—!”
“it’s not enough.” he murmured, his voice muffled against your shoulder.
you turned your head to face him. “what’s not enough?”
“i need to be in your skin.” he admitted, pulling you even closer.
you sighed, no longer bothering to resist. “is this not close enough for you?”
“nope.” the word vibrated against your skin as he shook his head. dropping the sewing materials again, you surrendered to his hold—like you always did. it was just one of the many times ace had derailed your plans, prioritizing his need for your attention above everything else.
“did you already wash up?” he asked, inhaling deeply at your neck. “you always smell good.”
“no, i was going to take a bath after fixing this.” you said, gesturing to the shirt on the floor. he didn’t so much as glance at it—nor did he care that he was the reason for your delay.
“fix it later, or have pops do it himself.” he yawned. “why don’t we bathe together?”
“i don’t trust pops with my equipment—seriously?” you blinked, realizing what he had suggested. “i swear, you’re getting clingier every day.”
“how could i not?” he grinned, lifting his head just enough to meet your gaze. “everyone should know you’re mine.”
“i think they already do.” you muttered under your breath. with a reluctant sigh, you finally untangled yourself from his grip. “fine. get the bath ready.”
“i wanna get it ready with you—”
“you’re so needy!”
authors note. first post after 100 yearssss i hope you guys enjoyed :))) FIRST ACE WORK I'VE DONE LESSGOOOO pls request so my master-list isn't filled with old and poorly written pieces...😞
One Piece Men + reacting to sulky!reader (drabbles)
- ❝your s/o makes a mistake resulting you to sulk. How will they react to that? ❞
˚₊‧꒰ა Tags ໒꒱ ‧₊˚: Fluff, banters, and reader being sassy if not somewhat bratty, suggestive themes; SFW. Reader is she/her. 𓂃۶ৎ wc: 600 per each seperate fic.
₊˚ʚ Characters/status: Rob Lucci, Sir Crocodile, Trafalgar D. Water Law, Donquixote Doflamingo, Roronoa Zoro, (established relationship ˖ ໒꒱)
❝ ᝰ.ᐟ note: Hi. I vanished. And I had this one in my drafts for a good while, I was gonna post this when my wound infection was done and gone but yk what, i’ll post this now and try and get back into writing. IM SO SORRY FOR THE LONG WAIT. You guys don’t hate me... right? 🥹 Based on this request! I hope you will enjoy this gorgeous @vixeybabe <3❞
Rob Lucci
You’re sat on the plush of your vanity chair doing what not—brushing your hair, doing your nails, fixing your skin care—anything but acknowledging the man leaning against the door frame behind you.
His arms crossed and gaze piercing your back. Expression a scowl but you don’t care.
Rob’s been staring at you for the past few minutes and he can keep staring.
He agreed to take you out for shopping — but work came up, and that always came first.
Which you can understand; he’s a Government agent, you knew what kind of man you chose to entangle yourself with but then, when he came back — the topic of shopping came up once more and he had commented on your spending habits, calling it childish. Impulsive. And entirely impractical.
Since, there’s been silence.
Since, there’s been scowls and frowns and a lot of ‘hmph’ on your end.
The times when Lucci is home, you usually spent it tugging at his side, anything to be close to him before he vanishes to do Government business but now?
You don’t have any interest in his presence other than silence.
Which, he should be comfortable with.
Which, he should be unbothered with.
Which, he shouldn’t find himself silently stalking you from room to room like a robotic ghost sizing up his next prey.
And the thing is,
Lucci just…. Stands there.
Arms crossed. Expression dead serious and posture so straight you’d mistake him for a coat stand and not your lover.
But you ignore him.
You undress in complete silence as you get ready for bed — skimming into your sleepwear, not once glancing his way as you methodically get in bed. Back turned.
Lucci doesn’t move.
Doesn’t say anything.
just goes to sit on the edge of the bed, on your side.
His weight dipping down the mattress, but you don’t turn to face him.
Minutes goes.
Moments passes.
Clock keeps ticking.
Until he breaks the suffocation—not because he resigns defeat but because it annoys him. Must you be so prideful? Must you be so high maintenance and bratty?
“How long are you planning to keep up with this.”
You don’t answer. In fact, his stupid comment resolves your pettiness even further.
He glances to your figure, back still turned. He blinks, looking away. “I already said I’ll take you shopping tomorrow, you’re being petty.”
A pause.
“You hate me.” You mumble and he snaps his gaze to you, giving you a hard look.
“I’m not entertaining this childish endeavour.”
“You want me to die.” You pull your blanket tighter around yourself and you hear him click his tongue.
He manoeuvres over you, looming above you, forcing you to turn on your back and face him but you cover your eyes with your hands.
Not wanting to see him.
He grits his teeth.
His knee goes in between your legs as he takes a hold of your wrists, trying to pry your hands off your face as soft as a killing machine possibly could.
“Look at me.” His tone is commanding and you squeeze your eyes shut as he forces your wrists apart. Bracing them between your head.
“If you won’t open your eyes I'll punish you, and you won’t like it.”
You refuse.
And he leans in, kissing your neck.
Making you flinch.
You stutter out his name “h-hey!”
His tactic worked because now you’re staring at him, bashful and half-into it.
He looks up to you, face coming close to yours. So close you can feel his breath on your cheeks. Controlled. Steady. Everything yours isn’t.
His voice goes husky, “We can keep going, or you can keep sulking.”
You push your knee into his abdomen, heart thrumming. “You’re mean.”
“I’m practical.”
“You said my closet was overflowing!”
“Which it is.”
You try and push him off with your leg but he’s completely unbothered, leaning back down to kiss your forehead.
And it catches you off guard, your squirming halting — and his thick lips curves into a smile. Small, hidden, and entirely cocky.
and as you burn, he goes back to your neck.
“This is so unfair—“ you hitch your breath when you feel him making a hickey.
You can sulk all you want, but he’ll wring you back in, one way or another.
Summary: In the end, Rob did keep to his word, taking you out for shopping. Holding your bags. Following you silently around as you empty out his wallet. And you’re smiling. Talking. Giddy and playful. He wont admit it, but it’s a look that suits you far more.
Sir Crocodile
You were laying flat on the sofa. Head buried in the cushions. Sulking.
Sir Crocodile promised to spend time with you last evening — you had fixed tea, blankets, cancelled your dinner date with your friend only for him to never arrive.
Not because of work, not because of Buggy and his stupidity, not because he had business to take care of, no.
He simply forgot.
Forgot.
That word made you wince.
And since he’s been trying to make up for it.
Bouquets of flowers, gifts piling up your room, the new dress you’ve been looking at and that perfume you’ve ran out of — everything and anything but being at home and spend time with you.
Like he said he would.
Which is why you do not acknowledge him looking down at you laying on the sofa, his brows pinched and hair slightly loose.
“… Really. You’re still sulking. I find you in the same spot since I left this morning.”
You do not answer him, just sink even deeper into the cushions.
He takes a smoke, and goes down to sit next to you. “Will you force me to sleep on the couch again tonight?” his voice is gruff, eyes skimming over your figure, fingers tracing your calf only for you to flinch and withdraw.
Still not willing to talk.
Crocodile gives out a low guttural sigh, smoke slithering through his nose as if resigning. “You understand that creating a comfortable life suited to your palate doesn’t come easy with time to dawdle and play house. If I could, I’d spend every waking moment with you.” With that, he crushes his cigar into the ashtray. His eyes growing weary and you tense.
“You promised me.” you mumble.
Crocodile snaps his gaze to you, brows easing.
“And then you forgot.” You dig yourself so deep into the cushions you swear dent marks will appear on your face afterwards. “So that means I'm worth nothing to you.”
“Don’t be ridiculous now—“ he catches his tongue when you shift your head.
Truly — you can be such a brat.
You feel a large hand wrap itself around your ribcage, the hooked forearm anchoring you up and pressing you against his chest.
His very sturdy, and very firm chest.
Warmth radiating into your spine.
Burning you up.
Sir Crocodile leans in, voice hot on your ear is rugged, coarse and low; the tone he has when he wants to please you, coerce you, make you his entirely as if you haven’t surrendered every part of yourself to him.
“Want a kiss?”
His voice so close your ear twitches.
You grab onto his forearm. Adverting your gaze. “And then what? you’ll just forget about me again.”
Crocodile’s lips skims your earlobe, not kissing it, not landing his mouth on it—but a caress, a tease.
“Forget about you? How can I when you’re all I think about?”
Your face starts burning. “Liar.”
And he kisses you on the cheek.
You repeat yourself, “Liar, liar, liar—“
And he keeps pecking you, kissing you again and again, kissing you until you’re willing to share the bed with him
Which is also, the reason you went to sleep so late.
Summary: He stayed home the day after. Not as a sorry, not as an apology but to remind you—you’re his lady, and she does not get to be neglected.
Trafalgar D. Water Law
You had entered an art competition.
You spent hours on the canvas with meticulous details and adjusted techniques, not one single brushstroke was made with mistake, but now with the deadline closing in, you find the canvas spilled with a dark, brown stain.
Coffee.
And Law is present at the crime scene, empty mug rolling across the floor, his hands stuffed with napkins.
That’s the story why you’re chopping the vegetables with such force, such pace, Law thinks he might be next.
He stands by the door frame, hand rubbing the back of his neck as he goes for a fourth attempt in dealing with this situation.
“Babe,” his tone is careful, “how long will you ignore me for?”
It’s been three hours. And you might go for another four.
Law grumbles something.
“Is there anything I can do to make it up for you?”
You don’t face him. Knife not stopping. “It’s fine.”
Law presses down his lips, that’s what you’ve responded with for the past 10 minutes. A new approach is needed.
He inches near, arms wrapping around your waist as he leans down, lips grazing your temple.
“I’m sorry, yeah? Why don’t we go out to eat tomorrow? On me.”
You blink. “Everything is always on you.”
He holds a smile, “We’re going to the mall afterwards, check.” Law comes close, kissing the side of your face, and you don’t answer. Only grumble.
And he wraps his arms around you tighter, forcing your chopping to come to a halt.
“I’m sorry.” the apology came out far softer than you’d ever think Law could manage to replicate — like a hush, a hum, a crumbled love letter no one was supposed to read; and maybe, just maybe, you can let yourself ease.
“You’re not forgiven.”
Law lands his face on your shoulder. Taking in your scent. Feel his lips place on the nape of your neck. Forcing a shudder.
“Doting me won’t save you.” You say, and another kiss on your neck is made. And your shoulders tenses, composure trembling.
“That’s fine,” his voice is low against your skin as if he’s sinking into the tone of your anger, the strain of your heart — hoarding it all for himself. “I want it either way.”
His arms bundle up over your chest and your knife clatters from your grip as he starts to pepper kisses on your back, shoulder and spine.
What a greedy, selfish, jerk.
Summary: dinner arrived a little bit later than planned—but whatever the case, Law was right where he wanted to be.
Donquixote Doflamingo
Doffy has a temper — sure, you know of it — witnessed it, seen it in full display and all of that is cruel and horrible.
That’s why you didn’t press it when he forgot your six month anniversary.
In the end, small trivial details of such needs are expected to be eluded to a man like him. He does not find it in himself to romance it.
You knew that, of course.
Still.
You dressed up.
Wore your favourite pair of heels and bought a new dress and did your hair.
Maybe there would have been a surprise.
Something.
Anything.
But Donquixote Doflamingo is a man as fine as he is casual, you knew that, so why does it hurt when you see him lounging by the pool; Family members laughing and playing, skimpy men and women fawning over him and colourful cocktails with parasols stuck to its shave and liquor spill down his chin?
He sees you, and grins.
That mocking, stupid, devilish grin that a teenage boy wears when he sees a girl he wants to bully.
But you turn.
And the smile falters.
You’re sitting by the edge of your bed, fiddling with the tiny envelope you prepared for him.
Confessions, admiration, inside jokes and corny heart doodles — you have half the mind to rip it to shreds — only for the door to creak open.
For once, there is no extra flair, his posture somewhat straight, hands in his pocket, and there are no hints of a smile or a scowl or fury — for once, he is serious. And you do not look his way.
“Baby,” He drags out, walking closer, “What’s the matter huh? You left me all alone there, I’ve never felt so neglected in my life before.” He stands before you, larger hands going to your face. “not in the mood today? You sure are dressed up,” He tilts his head. Thumbs and fingers tracing your edges, until he stops.
Watching you. Observing you.
A silence in your figure.
“what’s this? Is my little dove sad?”
You blink. Letter crumpling in your hand. “I’m fine.” your voice is dismissive, eyes not meeting.
You’re guarded. Frustrated, and a little bit… pouty?
It clicks for him then — Comfort. To let him close, near and vulnerable, you require comfort.
“Who do I need to kill?”
That’s when you look at him, cringing, but beneath the shadow of his sunglasses, you spot it; hunger, possession, amusement and murder.
Of course, that’s just how he’s always been.
So you take his hands off of you and slam your head against the mattress.
“You’re the worst.”
A brow of his goes up, “so?”
You squeeze the envelope in your fist, pulling a pillow over your head.
“Forget it. Just die.”
What.
A corner of his lip jerks up, a brow twitches. “What was that—“
“It doesn’t matter!” You dig your face into the mattress and Doflamingo has had enough of your nonsense. He grabs you by the elbows; you relent and he forces you onto your back, clasping your wrist as he makes you look at him.
“Doesn’t matter, hah? You want me to die, hah?” His knee goes between your legs, his weight dipping the mattress, and you seethe. Eyes squeezing shut.
“It’s you who does—“
He slams your wrists in between your head, and the way he looms over you feels a lot like a predator snarling his teeth at his prey — and maybe, just maybe, that’s exactly what you are.
“You’re too pretty to talk so much shit,” he squeezes your wrists, overpowering you. “but go on, tell me, what could possibly upset my pet like this, hm? I’m beyond interested to hear your verdict—“
You force a kick with your knee into his abdomen and he doesn’t flinch. Just shuts up.
“You forgot about our six month anniversary.” Your cheeks burn, “Why am I even dating you. You suck.”
And he blinks.
Once. Twice.
Before snorting, and burst out in laughter.
Hold on your wrists loosening as he brings his lips to your cheek.
His weight slumping over you.
“And here I thought someone needed to die. Awh, poor poor baby, she got herself all dressed up only to find nothing.” He kisses your cheek and you push at him, hit and kick and pull on him to get off of you.
“Get off—“
And he kisses you again, and again, and again and again. Your cheek, nose, neck and jaw, and it’s horrible, because the more he kisses, the more you calm
Sunmary: Safe to say, Donquixote Doflamingo has his own (effective) way of comforting. The rest of the day, he drops all other schedules and appointments just to take you out — dinner, walks, shopping and whatever else that could please your mind. After all, who else but him has the right to spoil you?
Roronoa Zoro
You both made it to a relatively empty stall.
A passing comment, a foolish one — Zoro was gulping down a new brew of sake, the expensive kind, and it went down his throat in one go.
Liquor dripping down his chin.
Adam’s apple bopping.
“Phew!” He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a glee on his face, “Man… that’s better than sex.”
You blink, whatever you were drinking, you stopped, and glanced to him.
Eye twitching.
And Zoro is completely oblivious. “Oi! chief! Get me another one—“
“—Better,” you cut him off and he looks to you, “than sex?”
“uh—“
You slammed your cup down, and got up.
“Er, I, babe, cmon it’s not like that—“
You start walking off, not giving him a chance to explain himself and Zoro flies to his feet, stool clattering to the ground.
“H-hey, it was a joke, a stupid one, yeah, so babe, cmon—“
Your stomping grows harder. “No, don’t worry, why don’t you order another one since it’s sooo good?”
He catches your shoulder and you slap his hand off of you. Zoro grits his teeth, watching you fume across the street.
Damn it.
Him and his big mouth.
But curse it all if he’s just going to let you stomp off.
He marches after you, “Look, I’m sorry ‘kay? My big mouth ran on its own, y’know it ain’t true so—“
You stop.
You turn.
You cross your arms.
“So?”
“So… I’m sorry?”
You roll your eyes and turn. Moving on.
And he’s had enough.
You feel your feet sweep off the ground.
“H-hey—“ and you’re hoisted over his shoulder, his larger palm above your spine.
“What do you think you’re doing!? Get off of me, you jerk—“
You bang on his shoulder, slam against his back, “Don’t ignore me!”
He does.
And everyone is watching as he crosses the streets with you howling how he’s a degenerate, a low life loser and that Sanji was right about him being a moss haired brute.
You keep shouting, berating and insult his name as Zoro brings you to a more private area by the back alley, he sets you down and you try to move past him but the tall man won’t let you.
You scowl at him. “Move.”
Zoro crosses his arms, brows creasing as he looks down at you. “How long are you gonna keep this up? I’ve said my apologies.” He says and you tip your head to the side, not breaking eye contact. “For as long as I want.”
“Yeah?” He unfolds his arms and takes a step forward, forcing you to step back.
“As long as you want huh. How long is that?” He says and you keep walking back. “Why don’t you ask for another drink? Might give you an answer.” you retort.
Zoro comes closer, and you hit a wall behind you.
“Get out of my way. Jerk.” You say, but you cannot meet his gaze.
He’s close now. Too close.
Close enough to feel his heat, sense his cologne.
He places his wrist above your head—cornering you.
And you burn.
“A joke.” His voice low, his face leaning in as if for a kiss and on instinct—you pout.
How stupid, how desperate.
Because he stops right there.
Right before he lands his mouth onto yours.
A smirk etching on his face.
“You want a kiss? I thought you weren’t done sulking—“
Your splayed hands across the wall clumps into fists, hitting his shoulder. “Shut up—“
And he kisses you. Harder, firmer, pushing into you as if to make you know your place and he kisses you again, and again.
Kissing you until he’s sick of your bullshit.
Summary: It really was a joke, you understand that after your session with him behind the alleyway.
a/n: took inspo for Zoro's part with Sypha's and Trevor's banter from Castlevania AHEM
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CHAPTER 5: REVERIE
Summary: You are a noble from Goa Kingdom, yearning of freedom from the system. Outlook III, your father send you to Mary Geoise to participate on the marriage mart. His order are simple, to find a secure match as the way to get access for your family to become Celestial Dragon. You've never wanted this, but you caught the attention of certain red haired figure. What would you do about it?
Trope: Enemies to Lovers
Warning: All characters are legal, age gap, angst, dark romance, jealousy, mention of slavery, shitty celestial dragons behavior, shitty parents, NSFW, sex, suggestive contents, saint charlos, abuse of power, use of alcohol, cruelty, use of gun, use of illegal substance, sexual harassment, misogynist society, mention of prostitution, out of character, more tag will be added.
Truth does not always arrive bearing good news worthy of celebration. Not every truth is capable of bringing smiles, relief, or the comforting hope people long to hear. More often than not, it comes as something heavy, shocking, even painful. It has the power to shatter hopes carefully built over time, dismantle convictions once held with unwavering certainty, or force into the light the very reality one has desperately tried to avoid.
Yet the truth remains the truth. It does not change simply because it is bitter or difficult to accept. There are moments when reality stands in stark contrast to one's deepest wishes and expectations, and it is in those moments that the truth demands the courage to be accepted for what it is. There is no choice but to face it, even when the heart refuses and the mind searches endlessly for reasons to deny it.
It may leave behind scars that never fully fade or disappointments that cut deeper than words can express. Even so, the truth will always hold far greater worth than a lie that offers nothing more than fleeting comfort. For only by accepting reality as it is can one learn, grow, and continue moving forward with a clearer understanding of both life—and oneself.
Truth may not always be beautiful, but it will always bring people closer to reality.
The World Economic Journal was nothing like the gossip-filled pages of the St. N.I. Gazette, a publication that had long thrived on whispers, rumors, and speculation with little regard for whether any of it was true. While the gossip paper delighted its readers with sensationalized stories crafted to capture attention, The World Economic Journal sought to document real events unfolding across the globe, from shifts in the global economy and the ever-changing landscape of international trade to industrial developments and government policies that shaped the lives of millions.
Yet like many other publications The World Economic Journal was not entirely free from vested interests. Some of its articles had been carefully polished, arranged, and presented in ways that gradually stripped away their objectivity. Facts that should have stood on their own were framed through carefully chosen perspectives, selectively presented or emphasized in ways that favored particular individuals or organizations. As a result, what was intended to inform the public could just as easily become a tool for shaping public opinion.
In certain editions observant readers could easily notice how some events were dramatized far beyond their actual significance, while others that failed to support the desired narrative were buried in the corner of a page or omitted altogether. Information that should have served as a means of understanding reality was at times transformed into an instrument of propaganda, carefully designed to influence the way society perceived the world.
It had been about a month since you first read the shocking headline printed across the newspaper a bulletin reporting an incident in a kingdom that was all too familiar to you. Though time had continued to move forward and countless new stories had filled the issues that followed, that particular article remained etched vividly in your mind. Every sentence you had read seemed to have carved itself into your memory refusing to fade no matter how much time had passed.
DONQUIXOTE DOFLAMINGO DEFEATED. THE THRONE OF DRESSROSA RESTORED TO ITS RIGHTFUL KING.
The headline stretched boldly across the front page printed in large heavy letters as if determined to ensure that no reader could possibly overlook it. Even after an entire month you could still recall every word with perfect clarity.
You were not disappointed that the pirate had finally been brought down for what he had done to Dressrosa. The peace he had offered had been nothing more than an illusion maintained through absolute control, silence, and oppression. A level of manipulation so masterful that you had never imagined a single person could wield it. Only now did you truly understand how Donquixote Doflamingo had earned the secret title of the ‘Heavenly Demon’ a name so few had known before the tragedy unfolded.
And the realization left you feeling painfully foolish.
Because you had come dangerously close to falling under his spell.
It was something you hated to admit, but perhaps you should have listened to what Shamrock had told you at the ballroom that night. What had the former Celestial Dragon done after being cast out of Mary Geoise? How had a pirate managed to become the king of a country that had never been his birthplace or home?
Doflamingo's defeat in the kingdom he had stolen forced you to see the world differently. It was no longer as simple as right and wrong, black and white. Reality was far more complicated than you had wanted to believe.
The names of those involved in bringing down the tyrant were printed just as prominently beneath the article.The Straw Hat Pirates, The Heart Pirates, even the Revolutionary Army had reportedly taken part in the incident.
Monkey D. Luffy.
Trafalgar Law.
But among them was one name that struck you harder than all the others. A name you knew better than your own, The name of someone who had once grown up by your side.
Sabo.
Your younger brother.
The boy whom everyone had believed to be dead for so many years.
You had only just learned that Sabo had been alive all this time and that he now stood as the Revolutionary Army's second-in-command. That revelation had come hand in hand with the truth behind Doflamingo's reign in Dressrosa, yet it was Sabo's survival that consumed your thoughts above all else.
His death had long since become an undeniable reality in your heart. A painful truth you had mourned, accepted, and eventually learned to live with. Never, not even once, had you imagined that another truth had been hidden beneath that tragedy, one so impossible to foresee.
He was no longer the gap-toothed little boy who loved to fart and sneak away from home in favor of wandering through Gray Terminal or the mountains. He had grown into a young man with a heart ablaze, dedicating his life to leading a revolution against a corrupt government. Time had reshaped him into someone entirely different, forging a mature man from the reckless child you once knew. You could scarcely find any trace of the innocent boy who had laughed, played, and grown up beside you.
At first you barely recognized him. His features had matured, his blond hair had grown longer, and a scar now crossed one of his eyes, a mark whose story you could only wonder about. Yet despite all those changes some things had remained exactly the same. Your brother was still chasing freedom, only now he was no longer seeking it for himself alone because he was also fighting to reclaim it for those who had been stripped of theirs.
For the past month, you had searched relentlessly for answers to the questions that refused to leave your mind. You couldn't risk making a scrapbook filled with newspaper clippings about the Revolutionary Army, nor could you pin articles across your wall and connect them with strings like a seasoned detective. You were living at the very heart of the World Government's civilization, a place where even the slightest hint of sympathy toward rebellion was enough to invite suspicion. Even so in whatever ways you could you kept searching for the truth.
How had Sabo ended up joining the Revolutionary Army?
Had he really been alive all this time?
Had he deliberately faked his death all those years ago?
Why were you only learning the truth now?
Where was your little brother at this very moment?
"Today's newspaper is awful. Not a single article about the Great King of Goa. The least they could have done was dedicate a special feature to my outstanding outfit at the Reverie."
The complaint shattered the silence that had settled over the sitting room. For the past several minutes, the only sounds had been the rustling of turning newspaper pages and the steady ticking of the clock on the wall. The voice belonged to the young man seated not far from you.
He was reading today's edition of The World Economic Journal, though ‘reading’ was perhaps too generous a word. He seemed far more interested in finding something to complain about than in the news itself. Leaning lazily against the back of his chair he let the newspaper fall onto his lap before clicking his tongue in obvious dissatisfaction.
You did not even have to look up to know what expression he was wearing. A pout, a hint of irritation and above all the unmistakable look of someone convinced he had not received the attention he deserved. Some habits never changed no matter how many titles a person accumulated. It was still hard to believe that the young man sulking over his absence from the front page was none other than the rightful King of the Goa Kingdom.
Sterry, the adopted younger brother who had suddenly entered your life and Sabo's, was never there to brighten your childhood. Instead he left behind nothing but unpleasant memories. You had long since lost count of how many times he had bullied and tormented the two of you. As if that were not enough the shameless brat constantly ran to Outlook and Didit to report every little thing you or Sabo did despite being no better himself. He truly was the most insufferable adopted brother imaginable.
After his father-in-law died under mysterious circumstances, the crown princess ascended the throne and made Sterry her king. Now he had come to Mary Geoise to attend the Reverie, the grand summit held every four years where rulers from every corner of the world gathered. You silently prayed that the people of the Goa Kingdom would be granted patience and resilience, because their fate now rested in the hands of your arrogant, big-headed adopted brother.
"There are far more important things in the news than your clothes. Just accept reality." You remarked casually as you turned another page of the newspaper, discreetly searching for any article that mentioned the Revolutionary Army.
At your words, Sterry placed a hand over the left side of his chest as though your remark had pierced his heart. "Sister, you are so cruel."
You frowned. You had never liked the way he called you sister in that forced tone. The words always sounded awkward coming from him, completely devoid of the warmth and affection that should naturally exist between siblings.
Perhaps it was cruel and unfair but to you there had only ever been one younger brother, and you had no idea where he was now. Sabo was your one and only brother, not merely because you shared the same blood but because the bond between the two of you was one Sterry could never hope to have with you.
The latest report concerning the Revolutionary Army stated that one of the Blackbeard Pirates' senior officers had discovered the location of their headquarters. However, by the time a full-scale assault was launched, every member of the organization had already vanished without a trace. It was as though the entire Revolutionary Army had disappeared from the face of the earth, and that was exactly what they had intended.
Another voice called out to you from the other side of the sitting room. "Sister-in-law, Father said you're taking us horseback riding."
You looked up to find Sarie staring at you with the lifeless expression of a porcelain doll, fluttering her long eyelashes. She was Sterry's wife, the former princess-now-a-queen whose status had made it possible for that boy to become the king of a country. Sarie carried herself with remarkable grace and spoke with gentle refinement, yet beneath that elegant exterior lay an arrogance that rivaled her husband's. She conducted herself as though the world itself existed to grant her special treatment.
The couple had stopped by the residence your parents were renting during the grand gathering of rulers from nations affiliated with the World Government. You were not entirely sure how the Reverie's schedule worked. Perhaps the lengthy meetings were on a short break, or perhaps the two of them had simply decided to skip them like children playing truant from school.
You had never agreed to take them sightseeing but Outlook insisted that you spend time with the married couple. Perhaps he believed that being together would bring all of you closer and somehow turn this fractured relationship into a harmonious family. Unfortunately the idea was nothing but a nuisance. Both of them carried themselves with such overwhelming arrogance that it seemed they had never once set foot on the ground.
"Let me change my clothes first." You folded the newspaper in your hands and set it on the table before rose from your chair.
The three of you had been riding through the city for nearly an hour. In truth, it should have been an enjoyable outing. The cool breeze drifting between rows of magnificent stone buildings and the lively streets filled with people coming and going should have made the journey pleasant enough. Instead, every passing minute seemed to stretch endlessly, as though the ride would never come to an end.
You would have enjoyed it if you had been riding in secret instead... like the very first time you met Doflamingo.
Ah, forget about that man whose mask had finally fallen away.
Sterry had insisted on riding beside you, which only made you want this excursion to end even sooner. As for Sarie, she was not even riding her own horse. She sat gracefully behind her husband, her arms wrapped around him like a newlywed enjoying a honeymoon. Keeping your gaze fixed straight ahead you silently counted down what remained of your patience resisting the urge to tell them to get a room instead of flaunting their affection in front of you.
This time you were not wearing your usual blouse and trousers but a riding habit designed for noblewomen complete with a long flowing skirt. You had never been particularly fond of wearing these kind of dresses while riding. They restricted the freedom of movement you were accustomed to and valued. From a distance, the dark purple skirt billowed with every stride of your horse resembling gentle waves rolling across the ground.
Each step of the horse sent the heavy layers of fabric swaying around your legs, serving as yet another reminder that, for women, appearance was often considered more important than comfort. If a strong gust of wind were to catch the dark purple skirt, it would be all too easy for it to expose more of you than propriety allowed.
Perched elegantly atop your head was a small riding hat in the same shade of purple. Its understated decoration lent it an aristocratic charm without appearing overly extravagant. Your hair had been neatly arranged and carefully pinned in place to keep it tidy throughout the ride. A pair of dark gloves covered your hands, improving your grip on the reins while protecting your skin from the constant friction.
The Reverie had now entered its fourth day. The once-seasonal gathering had transformed the heart of the city into an even livelier place than usual, crowded with kings, queens, and members of royal families from every corner of the world. Although the main proceedings were held within the majestic Pangaea Castle, a fortress that seemed as though it could stand for eternity, many of its distinguished guests often sought a breath of fresh air by taking leisurely walks or riding through the city, just as you were doing now alongside the King and Queen of Goa.
Sterry guided his chestnut Arabian horse with a level of skill that genuinely surprised you. In the middle of the ride, he suddenly exclaimed, "I had the opportunity to take the oath before the Empty Throne yesterday."
"Oh, really?" you replied without even looking at the King of Goa. "What was it like?"
"I could not really tell," he admitted. "But the moment I looked at the Empty Throne... something inside me urged me to sit upon it, to sit at the very center of the world."
Your adopted brother had just confessed to a desire that should never have crossed anyone's mind. His words made you pull sharply on the reins bringing your horse to an abrupt halt as you struggled to process what you had just heard.
"Have you lost your mind?" you demanded. "The throne was left empty for a reason. No one is ever meant to sit on it."
Your sudden stop forced Sterry to rein in his own horse as well. Yet instead of showing the slightest concern, he casually declared that he wanted to become the King of the World and stand at the very top of the world's hierarchy.
The idea of a King of the World was terrifying. It would mean placing the fate of every living soul into the hands of a single absolute authority. That was precisely why no one person was ever meant to rule over all others. No one could truly comprehend how dangerous ambition became once someone started believing they deserved to stand above the entire world.
"Oh, come on," he muttered with an easy shrug. "It is not that big of a deal." He spoke as though he had not confessed his desire to become the ruler of the entire world only moments earlier.
All you could do was let out a weary sigh and silently pray that you would not end up caught in trouble because of your adopted brother's thoughtless remarks. Trying to explain just how dangerous and consequential such an ambition would be if it ever became public knowledge sounded utterly exhausting. In the end, you chose to remain silent refusing to entertain the conversation any further.
The brief exchange was interrupted when Sarie's attention drifted toward the rows of elegant shops lining the street. Her eyes were instantly captivated by the dazzling display of luxury. Fashion boutiques, jewelry stores, accessory shops, and countless other elegant storefronts stretched before her, a paradise for any woman with a taste for fine things. The queen announced that she wanted to go shopping and add a few more pieces to her ever-growing wardrobe, and as expected Sterry could never bring himself to refuse his wife.
Sarie invited you to join them suggesting that the two of you could browse together, exchange opinions on fashion and perhaps even share a few beauty tips. You declined politely explaining that you had no particular need for new dresses or jewelry at the moment.
With that the two of them wandered off together eager to buy everything that caught their eyes. At last you had some time to yourself without having to suppress your nausea at the sight of them openly doting on each other in public.
Raven took the opportunity to stroll toward a nearby fountain. The Friesian stallion seemed just as tempted by the gentle sound of flowing water, unable to ignore his growing thirst. He took a few measured steps closer before lowering his head intending to take a drink.
"Whoa, easy buddy," you said, giving the reins a gentle tug. "I do not think you should be drinking from there."
Ignoring your protest Raven continued drinking without pause. With a quiet sigh, you swung yourself down from the saddle so he could quench his thirst more comfortably. While your horse drank his fill you settled on the edge of the fountain.
Crystal-clear water flowed endlessly from the carved stone centerpiece, its gentle murmur easing a little of the exhaustion left behind by what had felt like an endlessly long ride. Resting both hands on the fountain's edge, you allowed your gaze to wander across the bustling town square. The weather was unusually mild. Thick clouds shielded the city from the harsh sunlight while not even the slightest breeze stirred the air, leaving the atmosphere strangely dry.
The unusual weather for this time of year kept you from noticing the hooded figure seated only a short distance away. Clad in an ivory-white cloak that concealed their face, the stranger quietly took a place on the edge of the fountain beside you. While they observed your every movement in silence, completely unnoticed by you, your attention remained fixed on the lively square before you.
Horse-drawn carriages rumbled across the cobblestone streets, their wheels turning rapidly as though their passengers were racing against time. Servants hurried past carrying wooden crates and rolled-up documents. On the opposite side of the street, nobles wandered at an unhurried pace, dressed in their finest attire. They exchanged soft laughter and lighthearted conversation as if there were not a single concern in the world worthy of disturbing their peace.
Yet another sight unfolded before your eyes, one so cruel that merely witnessing it made your stomach churn. Who else could it be but the Celestial Dragons? They treated their slaves with utter contempt, yanking violently on the chains that bound them, reducing human beings to something that even animals did not deserve to become. One particularly despicable noble mercilessly lashed his servant with a whip in broad daylight, inflicting pain and humiliation under the guise of discipline.
The heart of the city laid bare a striking contrast between luxury and oppression. Your heart could scarcely endure such cruelty, yet you lacked the power to change the very system that allowed it to exist. Unable to bear the sight any longer, you turned your face away, refusing to watch the merciless acts of those who believed themselves to be gods.
"You have become one of them, Sister."
The voice came out of nowhere like a quiet whisper reminding you of your sins and failures.
Your eyes widened at the unfamiliar address. For a split second, you questioned whether you had heard it correctly, your body stiffening as you instinctively rose to your feet. You turned from side to side searching for the source of the voice, but there was no one who seemed even remotely suspicious. Everyone was occupied with their own affairs. No one appeared interested enough to speak to you.
You tried to recall the voice instead, It belonged to a young man.There was a strange calmness in it, as though its owner was neither angry nor mocking you. He had simply... stated a fact. And that single word ‘Sister’ made your chest tighten. There were only two people who had ever called you that. And of the two only one came to mind.
Sabo.
Your little brother who had disappeared years ago and had recently shaken the world by becoming one of the leading figures of the Revolutionary Army.
Was he here?
Was he watching you quietly condemning you for growing too comfortable surrounded by luxury?
But if that were true...What was he doing in Mary Geoise?
And where was your little brother now?
You blinked several times and drew a slow breath, but the unease had already settled in without invitation. It clouded your thoughts, making it difficult to think clearly. Before you realized it, you had frozen in place. Though you remained standing your legs felt weak as if gravity itself refused to keep you grounded refused to acknowledge you, because you now belonged to the celestial far above the earth and forever beyond anyone's reach.
And that was exactly what you feared.
You feared the day you would look into a mirror and no longer be able to tell yourself apart from the very people you had always despised. The kind who believed the ground beneath their feet was too lowly to touch. The kind who called other human beings inferior creatures and treated them as nothing more than property. Who else could they be but the Celestial Dragons, those who fancied themselves gods?
Those words did more than strike you, they sent an icy chill crawling down your spine. They were not merely an accusation. They felt almost like a label that had been placed upon you. Was it true? Had coming here and living among them slowly eroded your humanity?
No.
You rejected the thought almost immediately.
You still possessed the same heart and humanity you always had. If you had truly become one of them, the scene you had witnessed moments ago would not have disturbed you in the slightest. You would not have felt compelled to look away because you could no longer bear to watch. The truth was far more painful because you simply lacked the strength and the courage to do anything about it.
With a quiet sigh you lowered yourself back onto the marble edge of the fountain replaying every decision you had made since arriving here. Coming to Mary Geoise had indeed been a mistake, just as you had declared to Shamrock that day. You should never have allowed yourself to grow comfortable in this place. But even if you were powerless, what could you possibly do?
You couldn't have been lost in your thoughts for very long, yet by the time you looked up, the sun had already begun its slow descent toward the west, marking the end of midday. Its light remained bright and steady, not yet softened into the golden hues of evening, while a thin veil of clouds continued to shield the city from its full intensity.
Beside you Raven remained faithfully at your side. Though left untethered, the Friesian showed no intention of wandering off standing quietly as if he understood you needed the silence.
Your thoughts were abruptly shattered by the sound of panicked screams. People were shouting and running. Chaos had erupted.
The soothing murmur of the fountain that had accompanied your thoughts only moments before was swallowed whole by the deafening uproar spilling in from the main avenue. Everyone fled in blind panic, scattering in every direction like a swarm of disturbed insects. It made no difference whether they were Celestial Dragons, nobles, servants, or slaves.
They all ran, some stumbled to the ground in their desperation only to be trampled beneath the stampede of terrified feet. The earth beneath you suddenly trembled as thousands of people surged through the streets creating what felt like a small earthquake atop the Red Line.
Then came the explosions.
The thunderous blasts echoed from somewhere in the distance, sounding unmistakably like heavy artillery being fired. Thick black smoke rose into the sky from the direction of the detonations, billowing upward in massive columns born from fire and cannon smoke. One explosion followed another until they became far too numerous to count.
You had no idea what had happened to transform the peaceful atmosphere into complete pandemonium. Perhaps the Reverie had fallen into an unforeseen state of anarchy. But you were nowhere near Pangaea Castle where the conference was being held. Even Raven who had remained calm until now sensed that something was terribly wrong. The stallion tossed his head and let out a restless whinny urging you to act.
"What on earth is happening?" you murmured to yourself, knowing full well no answer would come.
There was no time to wonder because every second wasted could mean the difference between life and death. You quickly swung yourself back into the saddle, determined to leave before the chaos spread any farther. Yet your first instinct was not to flee, It was to find Sterry and Sarie. No matter how little affection you had for them, they were still your brother and your sister-in-law and finding them was the right thing to do..
You pulled on the reins turning Raven toward the main avenue where you had last seen them. The stallion skillfully wove through the panicked crowds. You could only hope no one would be hurt by his powerful stride as people scattered in every direction.
You searched every row of shops, calling out Sterry's and Sarie's names again and again, but no answer came. Perhaps your voice was swallowed by the thunder of explosions and the screams echoing through the streets. Or perhaps they had already fled abandoning the area in a desperate attempt to save themselves. The lack of any sign of them only deepened your panic. But panic would accomplish nothing.
Drawing a slow, steady breath, you forced yourself to remain calm as Raven carried you farther down the streets. Your eyes darted from one side to the other, taking in the frantic scene unfolding around you. People were running or riding on horseback in the opposite direction as though you alone were traveling the wrong way heading toward the very danger everyone else was desperately trying to escape.
And they were right.
The farther you rode, the thicker the smoke became, dark clouds billowing upward as the source of the fires drew ever closer. Then came the sharp crack of gunfire. The sound rang through your ears making you flinch. As if that were not enough you noticed that the walls of several buildings had been defaced with hastily painted graffiti. A single word had been scrawled across the stone in bold and unmistakable letters.
REVOLUTION.
Now you understand. This isn't a random riot or an ordinary act of crime. It is a declaration, a direct challenge to the system that rules this place. And one group has chosen to fight back. Reverie has been thrown into unprecedented chaos, and this uprising marks the beginning of a great change.
"Miss."
A woman's voice called out to you. You thought she was addressing you, yet the voice came from the sky, which was anything but ordinary. You gently pulled on your horse's reins, bringing Raven to a halt, then looked up to confirm what you had heard. High above, a female knight was riding what looked like a giant bird made entirely of bandages—an utterly bizarre sight.
The short-haired knight guided her bandage bird into a shallow dive until it hovered at roughly the same altitude as you. As she drew closer, you noticed that her eyes were heterochromatic. Her right eye was a brilliant blue, as radiant as the sea beneath the midday sun, while her left eye burned a deep crimson resembling glowing embers stirred by the wind. The striking contrast between them made her appearance even more captivating.
She studied you from head to toe as she spoke, her gaze even sweeping over Raven. "Why are you heading toward the center of the disturbance instead of evacuating?"
You blinked several times, trying to gather the right words despite the anxiety gnawing at your mind. "I am looking for my brother and his wife." Your voice came out slightly louder than you had intended, as though trying to rise above the surrounding clamor.
"What is really happening?" you asked, voicing the question that had been weighing on your mind.
"The Revolutionary Army has launched an assault on Mary Geoise and declared war on the World Government," she replied, her voice calm and unwavering. "The Admirals are dealing with them as we speak."
So your suspicions had been correct. The Revolutionaries had shaken the Red Line, the colossal continent that stood firm as it encircled the world. In the distance, you could see the white flag bearing the blue emblem of the World Government engulfed in flames atop one of the towering spires. Flocks of birds scattered across the sky while thick columns of smoke billowed upward, fleeing the chaos on instinct, driven by nothing more than the will to survive.
The heterochromatic girl continued, "Head south. It is safer there. Everyone is evacuating, and you should do the same."
You had little choice but to follow her instructions. There was no point in charging into the heart of the battlefield when you couldn't even defend yourself if the worst were to happen. Besides if your brother and his wife had been evacuated successfully they were most likely heading south as well.
You gave a small nod. "I understand."
Without wasting another moment, you turned your Friesian horse around and urged Raven into a gallop in the opposite direction. The rhythmic pounding of Raven's hooves against the ground rang out more clearly now that the explosions and the clamor of battle had faded into the distance.
You glanced back over your shoulder hoping to catch another glimpse of the knight who had approached you, but she was already gone. Perhaps she had taken to the skies once more on her strange winged mount.
This incident would change countless lives, including yours.
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Your body trembled as the air in the room seeped into your bones. This was not the kind of cold that could be chased away with a roaring fireplace or a cup of hot chocolate. It was damp, suffocating, and deeply unpleasant. The concrete walls surrounding you seemed to have trapped the chill for years, only to reflect it back without mercy.
The interrogation room had been designed to strip away any sense of safety or comfort, replacing it with lingering psychological torment. Anyone confined within these walls would eventually break, confessing to every crime they had committed. Even the innocent would rather admit to accusations they had never committed than endure another moment in this room.
Your wrists were shackled to a steel table as cold as the room itself. The iron handcuffs bit mercilessly into your skin, leaving behind a constant ache that reminded you you were not here of your own free will. You shifted in your seat searching for a more comfortable position, but the soft rattle of the chains immediately crushed that hope.
The wrists that had once been adorned with elegant dance cards and bracelets crafted from gold and silver were now bound by rough iron cuffs that sent icy sensations coursing through your veins. You felt less like a noblewoman and more like a dangerous criminal awaiting judgment. Your single braid had fallen into disarray and you wore nothing but your nightgown covered by a thin robe having been dragged here in the middle of the night.
You had no idea how long you had been here. Minutes and hours had blurred together, stripped of all meaning inside this windowless room. At the very least, however, more than half a day had passed since your arrest.
You were not the only one taken into custody. Outlook, Didit, Sterry, and Sarie had all been arrested under the same charges. You had no idea where they were now, but you assumed they were being interrogated in separate rooms.
You still did not fully understand why your family had been arrested without warning.
"Once again, I will ask you the same question." His voice was calm, but edged with impatience. "What is your relationship with the second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army?"
Sitting across from you was a tall man with ginger hair whose age was difficult to determine. He leaned back lazily in his chair resting both boots on the steel table where your shackled hands lay helplessly. The gesture was deliberately disrespectful as though reminding you of exactly where you stood. Saint Shepherd Sommers had been interrogating you for what felt like hours. He kept asking the same question over and over, as if repeating it enough times would somehow force a different answer from your lips.
"I already told you," you replied, your voice hoarse from thirst. Not a single drop of water had passed your lips since your arrest. You had long since lost your appetite but the thirst was impossible to ignore. "I did not even know Sabo was still alive until the news of the Dressrosa incident."
"And you expect me to believe that?" His voice dripped with mockery and disdain. "What kind of family does not even know where one of its own is, let alone that he is become a revolutionary?"
His words felt like a jab at your family's fractured relationships. Although you cared little for the opinions of others, there was still something painful about hearing it spoken aloud.
As if that were not enough, Sommers continued. "You infiltrated the Holy Land under the pretense of attending the marriage market, then passed valuable intelligence to the Revolutionary Army."
"That is not true," you answered firmly. It was the truth, and you refused to let him twist it into anything else.
"Then explain this." Sommers leaned forward slightly. "When the Revolutionary Army attacked Mary Geoise, why did Gunko catch you heading straight toward the chaos? Unless....you were one of them."
The accusation struck you like a splash of boiling water to the face. "'Looking for your brother, you said? You mean Sabo-the Revolutionary?." A faint mocking smile tugged at his lips.
"I was talking about my adoptive younger brother, Sterry," you answered without hesitation. "And I also said I was looking for his wife." Back then, your innocent explanation had seemed harmless. You had never imagined it would come back to haunt you like this.
There was nothing you could do except remain seated in the cold steel chair and endure it. Their accusations were built on little more than speculation. Just because one person had in their eyes committed an unforgivable offense did not mean that everyone connected to them was guilty as well.
You let out a slow breath forcing yourself to stay calm. You had lost count of how many times this conversation had repeated itself. The same questions. The same answers. It was as though they believed exhaustion, thirst, and the relentless passage of time would eventually force you to tell them what they wanted to hear.
The problem was simple.
You were not lying.
Your gaze drifted to the large mirror on the wall to your right, its surface reflecting your exhausted figure. Only then did you realize how disheveled you had become since your imprisonment. Your braid had loosened, your clothes were wrinkled and fatigue was written plainly across your face.
But your appearance was the least of your concerns, all you wanted was to leave this place. You were certain it was a two-way mirror. Someone, or perhaps several people had to be standing behind it watching your every move without ever being seen. They observed every breath you took, every restless twitch of your shackled fingers, every fleeting hint of hesitation that crossed your face. Even your silence was probably being dissected for meaning. You tore your gaze away from the mirror and lowered your head.
As you had suspected Saint Figarland Shamrock was standing behind the two-way mirror, silently watching everything unfold without your knowledge.
He watched your interrogation with a piercing gaze, missing none of the details he deemed worth committing to memory. Standing silently with his arms folded across his chest, he allowed the interrogator to carry out his duty while he remained a quiet observer, evaluating every one of your responses with cold detachment.
Although the God Knight knew the true reason behind your arrest, he made no move to intervene, choosing instead to remain a silent witness.
His expression was as unreadable as ever—calm, composed, and utterly devoid of emotion. No one could discern what lay behind those impassive features, not even his own father. Standing beside him, Garling observed the interrogation just as intently. Neither man could tell whether Shamrock was beginning to believe your words or whether his suspicions had only deepened.
"That noble girl" the middle-aged man with crescent-shaped hair said, turning to his son. "After everything that has happened, what are you going to do with her?"
Shamrock did not answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the other side of the two-way mirror, watching your every movement without so much as a blink as though he were counting each breath you drew and every exhale that followed.
"If it turns out she is a member of the Revolutionary Army" Garling continued, casting a sidelong glance at his son, "or if she learned of the Great One's existence through her brother, then you already know what the Five Elders will do, don't you?"
"Once Sommers is finished, I will interrogate her myself," the red-haired man said flatly.
It was not an answer to the Supreme Commander's question.
Rather than commenting on your possible fate or the Elders' decision, he simply shifted the conversation to the next step he intended to take, leaving his father's question hanging in the air without acknowledgment.
Garling spoke again. "I am sure you have read that gossip column. And we both know that whatever is written there reflects the will of the Great One."
Not a flicker crossed Shamrock's face. No surprise, no hesitation. He accepted the statement as though it were a truth he had long since come to terms with.
He knew exactly who St. N.I. really was.
Behind that identity concealed beneath layers of mystery, only a select few knew the truth. Shamrock was one of them.
He understood that the gossip column the public dismissed as cheap entertainment was, in reality, something far more terrifying. Every sentence printed within it was not mere rumor. They were manifestations of the Supreme One's will. And more frightening still that will was almost never wrong.
Meanwhile, Sommers continued bombarding you with the same questions you had grown tired of answering. The relentless interrogation felt no less cruel than physical torture used to force confessions from the accused. But no matter how many times he asked, your answer remained the same. You were innocent and you were telling the truth.
"Is it not a rather strange coincidence?" he said. "The Revolutionary Army, which usually operates from the shadows, suddenly launches an open assault against the World Government during the Reverie at the exact time your entire family happens to be gathered in Mary Geoise."
"How would I know the answer to that?"
The man rose from his chair and strode toward you, a smug grin spreading across his face. Without asking for permission or offering so much as a warning, he reached out and hooked a finger beneath your chin forcing your lowered gaze to meet his.
"Listen carefully, woman." His voice dripped with contempt. "Just because Shamrock has shown a little interest in you does not mean you can escape the consequences."
Your jaw tightened. With a look of undisguised disgust, you jerked your head to the side wrenching your chin free from his grasp. The nerve of him to touch you as though you were nothing more than a puppet instead of a human being. He acted with such arrogance because his position gave him the power to do so.
Although your breathing still trembled and the bitter cold continued to seep into your body, you met his gaze with unwavering eyes, refusing to give him the satisfaction of seeing you truly broken. "This has nothing to do with him."
From the other side of the two-way mirror, the Commander had seen and heard everything with perfect clarity. He had watched Sommers try to wear down your resolve, only to find you standing your ground, meeting the interrogator's gaze with open disdain. After this he would likely have a word with his subordinate. Sommers had gone too far especially the moment he dared to lay a finger on you.
Eventually, it seemed Sommers had run out of questions. Without another word he left the room not even bothering to write down your statement. The entire interrogation suddenly felt meaningless. That you realized had been his intention all along. To crush your hope until surrender became your only option. Only after he had disappeared from sight did you finally allow yourself to lean back against the interrogation chair's icy backrest.
Unfortunately the brief moment of relief did not last. The door opened once again and Saint Figarland Shamrock stepped into the room. The instant he crossed the threshold, the familiar tension settled over you. It felt as though the temperature had dropped several more degrees making the already frigid room even more suffocating.
Every encounter with him left you with the same unsettling feeling. His gaze always made it seem as though he were dissecting you without a blade. He never needed to raise his voice or make threats. His mere presence was enough to fill the room with invisible pressure. And this time you were certain he intended to use that pressure to extract the answers he wanted.
Shamrock carried several files in his right hand. He placed them neatly on the table separating the two of you before taking the seat opposite yours. His back remained perfectly straight, both hands resting atop the stack of documents he had just set down. Slowly, his eyes lifted until they met yours.
Your muscles stiffened instinctively. Whether you wanted to or not you found yourself sitting up straighter as well despite having only just managed to rest against the chair moments earlier.
Of all the God Knights why did it have to be him?
A guard clad in armor entered behind him, carrying a sandwich and a glass of water. He set them down on the table before silently leaving the room without a single word. You could not deny it, the glass of water sitting in front of you seemed almost to whisper your name tempting you to take even a single sip.
"Fifteen hours without food is something most people can endure. But without water..." Shamrock's firm voice broke the silence.
He gestured toward the meal, inviting you to eat and drink. You remained silent, instead you deliberately turned your head away until your eyes settled on a spider's web tucked into the corner of the ceiling.
"Or are you afraid we have poisoned it?" he continued. "I would not stoop that low."
There was no trace of mockery in his voice yet neither did it sound like reassurance. To be honest the thought had never crossed your mind. But the moment he mentioned it, the possibility of being poisoned by the World Government suddenly became disturbingly plausible.
You swallowed hard, not only to suppress your thirst but also to ease the raw discomfort in your throat, which felt as though shards of glass were lodged inside it. You hesitated first, should you accept it or refuse?
The crystal-clear water shimmered inside the glass exactly as it should, while the sandwich filled with meat and vegetables looked perfectly ordinary. Nothing about either of them seemed suspicious, and somehow that only made your hesitation worse. Your body pleaded for a single sip of water, while every instinct screamed at you to stay on your guard. Both choices felt equally wrong, even though the decision rested entirely with you. In the end you gave in and listened to your body.
Carefully, you lifted the glass and took a long drink, the cool water washing away the dryness in your throat. It was even more relieving than you had imagined, like discovering an oasis in the middle of a vast desert despite the freezing air that filled the room. The sandwich, however, remained untouched. Your appetite had disappeared the moment you were arrested.
Shamrock watched as you struggled to lift the glass with your wrists still bound together. The iron cuffs encircled them so tightly that the skin beneath had become raw and red. Hidden beneath his cloak he unconsciously brushed his thumb against the key resting in an inner pocket, reassuring himself that it was still there. The key to your freedom, but it was one he had no intention of using. Not yet at least.
His gaze settled on your exhausted face once more. Your lips were cracked from dehydration, your complexion had grown even paler and yet you still clung stubbornly to your dignity despite the miserable state you were in. Something within him recoiled at the sight of you like this. Something he could not explain. The thought surfaced so suddenly that the Commander dismissed it at once. Emotions were distractions nothing more than obstacles that clouded judgment.
"Shall we begin?"
At his words, you steeled yourself once again for the same questions you had answered countless times already. The very thought of repeating them made you sick. "Let us get this over with."
The red-haired man opened the file before him, turning one page after another with neat, measured movements. The soft rustle of paper became the only sound in the room. The documents most likely contained everything about you and your family. How ironic, every detail of your life had been condensed into a stack of papers transformed into evidence to be used against you.
Shamrock began his interrogation "The family of Baron Outlook III, You have a rather... unusual family."
He flipped to another page. "The King of Goa Kingdom. The second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army. And then you."
You frowned then asked. "What are you implying? That I have not accomplished anything compared to my brothers?"
"I never said that." His ruby-red eyes remained fixed on the rows of words and numbers covering the documents before him. "Becoming a rebel is not an accomplishment."
"Listen," you said, your patience wearing thin. "You can ask me the same question a hundred more times, and my answer won't change. Twelve years ago the ship Sabo sailed on when he left home sank after it was bombarded by a Celestial Dragon. I saw it with my own eyes. I watched his ship burn before it slowly disappeared beneath the sea."
You recounted the memory from your own perspective explaining how vividly your brother's death had been etched into your mind. It was also the reason your hatred for the Celestial Dragons had taken root so deeply. Learning that Sabo had survived had changed nothing. Your hatred remained.
"So that is why you hate us?" he asked.
"That is only a small part of it, My Lord." Your answer came without the slightest trace of hesitation.
Silence settled between the two of you for a moment before Shamrock finally broke it.
"And since learning about what happened in Dressrosa, you have never had any contact with him?" he asked. "Or perhaps tried to find out where he was?"
Your mind immediately drifted back to that brief moment during the Reverie. Someone had called you sister, someone who had condemned you as one of those bastard Celestial Dragons. You were certain it had been Sabo and no one else. But did that count as contact? Should you tell Shamrock about that encounter?
"No."
You chose to deny it. The last thing you wanted was to make this interrogation even longer than it already was. If they learned that you had interacted with one of the Revolutionary Army's highest-ranking members they would never let the matter rest.
The Commander studied your face for the slightest hint of hesitation searching for even the smallest crack in your composure. His expression remained calm yet intensely attentive. He watched how your gaze held steady, how your shoulders rose and fell with each measured breath, and how your shackled fingers tensed ever so slightly before relaxing again.
"If that is the case then perhaps you can explain this." he said while pulling several neatly organized documents from the file
Before you even had the chance to lean forward and read them he continued. " A copy of a bank statement from Line Bank.The ownership of this account is highly questionable."
He slid the papers across the table. His ruby eyes lifted to meet yours. "The account is registered under Sabo's name. But according to the transaction records the person who has been consistently depositing money into that account is you."
The room fell silent once more. Shamrock slowly slid the file across the table until it rested between the two of you, allowing you to see its contents. Inside was a meticulous record of dates, transaction amounts, and even security camera footage showing you making cash deposits. Every transaction had been carefully documented, backed by evidence you hadn't even known existed.
You fell silent for a moment, struggling to process the evidence laid out before your eyes while searching for the right words to explain just how complicated your situation truly was.
"How—"
"Were you involved in financing the Revolutionary Army?"
Before you could explain yourself the accusation was hurled at you, striking like a knife. Your eyes widened in shock and disbelief.
"What? No! I was not-"
"The sums being deposited were far from insignificant," he interrupted again. "They are comparable to the average bounty of the Worst Generation. Perhaps it's a trivial amount compared to your father's fortune, but regardless of the total it is enough to establish your involvement with that organization."
"That money-"
"Besides where could you possibly have gotten that kind of money without lifting a finger to work?" The Commander cut you again, His sharp gaze remained fixed on you.
"So? Are you finally going to tell me where your income came from?"
"How am I supposed to answer if you keep interrupting me?"
For the first time since the interrogation had begun, your voice rose. It was not born solely from anger, but from the frustration that had been building since the very beginning. Every time you tried to explain yourself, another question cut you off before you could finish.
After interrupting you time and again Shamrock finally fell silent giving you the chance to answer his questions. Who would have thought that your attempt to secure financial independence would one day entangle you in something far more serious?
"Listen. Aristocratic women are not allowed to accumulate wealth under their own names. In the end every asset falls under the family's supervision. Even the money I earned myself was never truly mine."
"I used my late brother’s identity to open a bank account, one that would allow me to achieve financial independence. It has nothing to do with funding any revolutionary organization. Back then I did not even know she was still alive."
After listening carefully he pulled a pen from his pocket and jotted something down in a notebook. Perhaps he was recording your statement as part of verifying your innocence. "Even so that still does not answer my last question." he said without looking up to you.
"The gifts I received from prospective suitors from the time I was seventeen until now" you answered without hesitation. "Most of them were jewelry, gemstones, and precious metals of considerable value. I sold them."
The red-haired man paused in the middle of writing. His hand froze above the notebook page. The ink no longer flowed. The tip of the pen hovered only a few centimeters above the paper, as if its owner had suddenly lost the words he intended to write.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze from the notebook and looked at you with his crimson eyes. His expression remained unchanged, but this time there was an unusual pause before he finally spoke.
"Including the jewelry I gave you when I visited you?"
You did not need much time to understand what he meant.
"Yes."
The answer left your lips without hesitation, because to you, that jewelry had never carried any sentimental value. Just like the other gifts that came from your prospective suitors, it was nothing more than one of the many valuable items you eventually sold. The silence that followed lasted longer than it should have.
Shamrock's gaze remained fixed on you, while the pen in his hand continued to hover above the unfinished page. His face showed no change whatsoever still expressionless and composed and that was precisely what made you uneasy. Unconsciously questions began to form in your mind.
Had you accidentally offended him by selling the gift he gave you?
Did that item hold a far greater value in his eyes?
A family heirloom, perhaps?
Was he angry?
It was difficult to tell.
All you could do was watch as he released a quiet breath. Even though you tried to read his expression or the subtle movement of his jaw that might betray his emotions, you struggled to determine what was truly going through his mind. Either he was exceptionally skilled at suppressing his feelings or it genuinely did not bother him at all. Hopefully it was the latter and fate was still on your side.
“I see" His response was brief.
Shamrock continued the interrogation with another question. "As Sommers stated, the Revolutionary Army's assault on the Holy Land coincided with the Reverie and the marriage season during which your entire family happened to be in Mary Geoise."
"And that is somehow our fault?" Your voice was flat, though the exhaustion had begun to seep into every word.
"It reinforces our suspicion that your family conspired with the revolutionary Sabo" he replied matter-of-factly.
"Simply because we are related by blood and happened to be in the same place when the attack occurred?" You answered while subtly adjusting your posture in the chair.
Instead of answering he countered with another question, his jaw tightening. "If you were in my position would you simply ignore that chain of facts?"
"Facts?" You almost laughed, not because anything was amusing, but because you could not believe what you had just heard. A dry chuckle nearly escaped your lips before you swallowed it back.
“Those are not facts. They are nothing more than utterly absurd accusations." You slowly shook your head and leaned back against the chair. The handcuffs around your wrists clinked softly with the movement, briefly breaking the silence.
Your gaze never wavered. "If that is your logic, then every king, queen, and noble who attended the Reverie should also be under suspicion. They were all in Mary Geoise when the Revolutionary Army attacked."
"Out of all of them your family remains our prime suspect."
Hearing the same accusation repeated over and over again was enough to make you nearly give up trying to reason with him. You were about to open your mouth to deny it once more but Shamrock continued before you had the chance.
"The consequences could be severe. The Elders are considering expelling your entire family from Mary Geoise."
You showed neither panic nor fear. In fact you did not hesitate for a moment before responding to the prospect of your exile. After all you had never wanted to remain in this place. "Then I will return to the Goa Kingdom."
"But I do not want you to leave." The words slipped from his lips so quietly that they sounded like a whisper never meant to be heard.
As much as it startled you, that words seemed to startle Shamrock even more. Such unguarded honesty was unlike him. A brief awkward silence settled between you filling a void that should never have existed.
"And what is that supposed to mean?" You frowned in confusion unable to make sense of what he had just said.
Shamrock fell silent. His expression remained as calm as ever, yet beneath that composed exterior, his mind had gone completely blank. Those words were not something a commander should ever say to his prisoner nor were they something he had intended to say. All his life he had been accustomed to weighing every word before speaking.
This time however, his mouth had moved a step ahead of his thoughts. "I should not have said something unrelated to the interrogation."
"So that was a personal statement?" You looked at him searchingly.
"Yes." The answer came without denial, without justification—just a single word. Somehow, that only made the room feel even quieter.
You had not expected him to admit it.
The commander and you remained seated in silence, facing one another from opposite sides of the table. The air inside the interrogation room felt increasingly suffocating despite the damp chill that clung to it. It was as though dozens of people were crowded inside, fighting over the last traces of oxygen, when in reality, only the two of you were there.
Your gaze eventually fell to your lap, your head lowering as though you could no longer bring yourself to meet the eyes burning with restrained longing. You could feel the intensity of that emotion ever since his confession. Perhaps it had been there from the very first time you met, but your hatred had blinded you to it.
"Why do not you want me to leave?" Now it was your turn to ask something personal. Your voice matched the quiet, almost whispered tone his confession had carried moments earlier.
Shamrock swiftly slipped back into the composed demeanor of a commander after allowing his personal feelings to surface in the middle of his duty. The abrupt change caught you slightly off guard. "Have you ever heard of the 'Native Hunting Competition'?"
You had never heard of it, but the name alone sounded cruel and inhuman. "That is monstrous. How could—"
"Once every three years, we select an island for an event exactly as its name suggests. And because the Goa Kingdom has strong ties to the Revolutionary Army it has become one of the leading candidates to host that festival
Your eyes widened once again. For several long seconds, you could only stare at Shamrock unable to utter a single word. You searched desperately for any sign that he was toying with you yet you found none. His expression was rigid and utterly serious, nothing like the fleeting vulnerability that had accompanied his personal confession.
Horror slowly crept across your face, not because the threat was directed at you, but because it was aimed at everyone living in your homeland. Innocent people who knew nothing about the revolution would become its victims.
"On what grounds?" You struggled to defend your homeland.
"The leader and the second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army both come from there-"
Before Shamrock could finish you cut him off. "Just because of that? Once again, you are using a completely unreasonable justification."
"Rose, listen-" Once again his words were interrupted by you.
"You can not do that to the Goa Kingdom. Dawn Island is under Vice Admiral Garp's protection, and he won't stand by while someone threatens the peace of our homeland."
"The protection he provides only extends to pirate attacks. It won't be enough if the order comes from someone whose authority far surpasses his own." The commander explained patiently, doing his best not to lose his temper despite your stubborn refusal to accept his reasoning.
"So, was it your decision to hold the Native Hunting Competition on Dawn Island?"
At your question, the red-haired man answered without hesitation. "I do not possess that kind of authority."
"Then it was the Elders' decision?"
This time he gave no answer. He could not tell you that there was another existence, someone whose authority stood even above the Elders who had decided the fate of your homeland. Someone he served as a loyal soldier of the Holy Land, bound by an oath he could never break.
Turning his gaze away, Shamrock avoided looking at the confusion and ignorance written across your face. He was certain that if he looked at you for even a moment longer, pity would cloud his judgment until he could no longer remain impartial.
And as a commander he could not allow anything to interfere with his duty.
Especially not the woman who had occupied his thoughts day and night, and who now stood accused of an act of high treason.
"The reason you do not want me to return home is because you do not want me to become one of the victims of the massacre. Is that right?" You asked another questio as though you were the one interrogating him instead of the other way around.
The man sitting across from you drew a quiet breath before finally giving a small nod. "That is right."
"I thought you despised me after what I did to you. After I unknowingly possesed you day and night." You frowned slightly unable to keep the trace of sarcasm from your voice. "If I left and gone, would not that make things easier for you?"
Shamrock mirrored your expression of confusion almost perfectly. "Who told you that?"
You opened your mouth to answer, but no sound came out, because you had no proper answer to his question. It had only been an assumption you had drawn on your own, not the whole truth. So you forced yourself to close your mouth again.
The truth was, not letting you leave was his way of caring for you- something he could not and was not used to, expressing aloud. From anyone else's perspective it all sounded selfish. Yet behind every action that felt so suffocating, there was always a fear he had never managed to voice.
As though he already knew the fate written into the story between him and you, while yourself had no clue at all.
The young Figarland was truly never good with words. He never knew how to express concern without sounding commanding, or how to show care without seeming too intrusive. So all that remained were actions and those actions were often misunderstood.
"Listen, many innocent people will become victims. They don't even know anything, nor do they have any connection to the Revolutionary Army. Why should an entire population be punished just because one or two people you’ve labeled as criminals were born in the same land as them?" You went on trying to stand on the side of what was right even if the consequences would only harm you.
Meanwhile Shamrock listened carefully to your attempt at defense like a judge recording every word spoken by a defense attorney. As though every decision rested in his hands when in reality it did not.
"In other words, are you willing to do anything to save your kingdom and its people?" he asked you again.
"If there is something I can do, then I will consider it." There was a strong resolve in your voice, the determination to do what was right.
The commander wasted no time acting. Reaching inside his coat, he pulled out a sheet of paper folded neatly into thirds. You recognized it immediately. It was none other than a copy of the St. N.I. gossip newspaper- the publication whose every word seemed capable of swaying the entirety of Mary Geoise.
"Your favorite columnist has shared their thoughts on all of this." He handed the paper to you silently indicating that you should read it yourself. Of course your curiosity got the better of you.
With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, you accepted the newspaper. Your eyes immediately fell upon the column whose byline was so familiar to you, the pen name you searched for every time a new issue was published. The mysterious writer whose articles had an uncanny ability to peel away every layer of a person until nothing but the truth remained.
How had this enigmatic columnist described the scandal that had ensnared you?
How thoroughly had your reputation been ruined in the eyes of the public?
And how mercilessly had they judged you?
You wanted answers to every one of those questions as quickly as possible. There was no reason to waste time reading the other gossip columns. Your eyes raced across the page searching for the first paragraph that mentioned your name and the events of the Reverie.
To be honest, this author is far too stunned to speak (write).
This may very well be the biggest and most devastating scandal of the season.
A scandal involving treason, terrorism, and sweeping change carried out in the name of reform.
Because our very own diamond is suspected of having close ties to one of the Revolution's most prominent figures, a man determined to challenge the World Government.
Someone who had long been admired as the very embodiment of perfection.
A woman whose every step was praised, whose every smile inspired admiration, and whose every public appearance was believed to be beyond reproach.
Yet beneath that blinding brilliance...
There may have always been darkness.
By the time this edition reaches the hands of my dear readers, Miss Y/N will already be undergoing an official investigation to uncover the truth.
Is she a spy who infiltrated Mary Geoise through marriage season under the guise of a prospective bride?
Or merely an ordinary young woman who became entangled in something far beyond her control?
Which side does this lovely young lady truly stand on?
Ally or enemy?
One thing, however is certain.
The Goa Kingdom will never be the same again.
The Elders are currently considering designating it as the next site of the Native Hunting Festival, the three-yearly event held by the Celestial Dragons.
Their reasoning?
It is the birthplace of certain individuals who seek the destruction of the World Government.
Consider it a punishment.
For a land that gave rise to troubles it never should have.
The contents of this edition echoed almost exactly what Shamrock had already told you. So what was the point of reading it when you already knew everything it contained? You were just about to fold the newspaper shut and complain about wasting your time when the very next paragraph left you speechless.
Perhaps this author can offer you a way forward, Miss Rose.
After all my opinion may very well become part of the Elders' deliberations.
That is the weight my pen carries.
So if you are willing, read the following very carefully.
You already know that the bridge has collapsed, and the only path left to you is the stairs, if you understand what I mean.
In other words if you were to marry a man of high standing from an honorable family, the Elders would think twice before bringing ruin upon your homeland.
After all this is still the marriage season, my dear.
And that is the only solution this author can offer you.
Marry Saint Figarland Shamrock...
...and Dawn Island will be spared from becoming a second God Valley.
Now the fate of an entire kingdom rests in your hands.
And we shall all await your answer.
Especially the Commander.
"What in the world is this?" The words nearly came out as a curse.
All color had drained from your face leaving only a ghostly pallor behind. Your fingers trembled as they gripped the newspaper, as though the ink printed across its pages weighed far more than paper ever should. You even found yourself reading the passage twice, just to make sure your eyes were not deceiving you.
Your chest rose and fell as you struggled to steady a breath that had suddenly become painfully shallow. What kind of twisted game was this? How could your fate be turned into a wager and the destiny of an entire kingdom made into the price of that gamble?
You lifted your eyes toward the man sitting across from you searching for any hint of his reaction.Yet you found nothing, only the same composed calm that had become his defining expression that you despised. How could someone remain so calm when another person had just written his fate for him?
Note: Hello there, beautiful people 🖤 my bad habit is after i post the new chapter i will disappear for quite some time (sorry), but here i am. I really want to include Sabo on this story since the prolog but i don't really know the continuation of his role in the future, so i guess we will see how it goes. Thank you so much for your notes and support🖤
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Summary: Dressrosa is in the past, but Law is still not okay. He’s been ignoring you, he doesn’t want to celebrate and he still hasn’t let himself feel. When you check on him and he finally breaks in front of you, your feelings for each other can’t be hidden anymore.
Notes: This small series continues and now we’re at the aftermath of Dressrosa!! I think I will do one last part on Zou after this and then I’ll move on to other one-shots unrelated to this dynamic (still very much hurt/comfort though, that’s my jam).
TW: Mentions of death and of Law not planning to live past Dressrosa :(
The past few days on Bartolomeo’s ship have been filled with chaos and celebration. Everyone drinks and cheers for the victory on Dressrosa, and even the most serious members of your crew - like Zoro - can’t keep the smile off their faces. Bartolomeo has been extremely kind to all of you, offering food, drinks and shelter. You took your time to thank him and drink with him, and you even signed your wanted poster for him with a smiley face and a little heart. He had hung the paper that said “to our biggest fan :)” with tears running down his face, and even if it was a little weird to have someone freaking out over you like that, you can’t deny the admiration was nice.
You wanted to enjoy the celebration fully, yet there was something stopping you. Law hadn’t really been around the past few days. Not only had he not been around you, he had not been around anyone. He had kept to himself during the celebration and had quickly scurried away to his room if someone approached him. Bartolomeo had plenty of space on his ship, so Law hadn’t been sleeping in your room like he did on the Sunny. And you missed him. You had grown accustomed to his presence next to you in bed, even if he never said anything or if his sleeping issue woke you up from time to time. You wondered if he missed you too, or if he was happy to finally have his privacy back. It hurt a little, that he was ignoring you after everything you had been through together in Dressrosa. You thought you got past that barrier, with how he had hugged you and confided his fear to you during the fight against Doflamingo. Still, you had underestimated how deep the scars left from his past ran, how deep the damage that had been done to him was. Your hurt over his behavior was overshadowed only by your worry. Law hadn’t let himself truly feel what had happened since you left the island. You couldn’t imagine fulfilling your life’s purpose, bringing an end to the circle of suffering that man had imposed, and then being totally okay. You wished Law would just let himself cry it out, it was healthy. But in his mind, it was weak.
———
After the fifth day of celebrating and drinking during which Law had hidden away in his quarters, you had enough. You grabbed a glass of water and some food, and headed to his room. You knocked on the door, and heard shuffling on the other side.
Law peeked out the door, his eyes widening and then softening when he saw it was you on the other side.
“Y/N-ya?”
He asked, he seemed to really not expect anyone to come looking for him.
“Hey Law…”
You spoke gently.
“What are you doing here? You should be celebrating with the others…”
He spoke, looking down shyly. He had understood you were there for him, and he already felt bad for making you miss the party.
“No, the others are getting boring… and it’s not really a celebration if you’re not there…” You smiled softly. Law’s cheeks turned a soft pink-ish color and he cleared his throat.
“I don’t like celebrations… they’re loud”
Your eyes softened.
“Truly, Y/N-ya… I don’t want to ruin your mood…”
“Law, you won’t ruin anything… if you want to be alone then I’ll go, but I would like to keep you company…”
Law hesitated. He tried with all his might to send you away, tried to push away the feeling that he wanted you to stay with him and save him from his thoughts.
“Law?” - You called out softly as you saw him space out - “Is everything okay?”
“Y-yes… I’m just not feeling up to being around too many people now…” He muttered.
“No, not just tonight… you have been avoiding me since we left Dressrosa, and I would like to know what’s going on in your mind…”
Law’s breath caught in his chest. You had noticed. Of course you had.
Wordlessly, he stepped aside, letting you in his room. He didn’t want to risk anyone else in the hallway listening.
“It’s just… it was a lot” He managed to get out.
“I know…” - Your eyes softened, and you sat on the bed. You should have asked for permission, but you felt like sleeping in the same bed for days had sort of gotten you past that point - “Come here…”
You patted the spot next to you. Law swallowed thickly, then sat next to you. His heart was already starting to race, and he could feel his self control already starting to crumble.
You reached out, gently taking his hand in yours. Your thumb traced the shape of his tattoo like you had done before.
“It’s okay to not be okay after what happened… it was terrifying for everyone, and I had never even met Doflamingo before…”
You started in a soft voice. Law gripped his hat tight with his hand, pulling it down to cover his eyes. You could see him biting his lip.
Your words had already started making him break. Poor thing, he must have been hanging on by a thread.
“Law, sweetie…” The nickname escaped before you could register it, and you saw Law tense up.
“You don’t have to be strong, okay? It’s all over…” - You squeezed his hand - “You’re free now”
And those words completely shattered him. It was the same thing Corazon had said to him. «You’re free Law, there is nothing holding you back anymore». Who had told you that? Why did you just sound like him? No, it was impossible. You couldn’t have known. Maybe this was a sick joke of fate, to give him someone like Corazon just to take them away from him again. Or maybe there was no trick at all, you were just kind. You are kind. Cora was kind. He had found someone kind once again.
You watched as Law covered his eyes with his arm, and a sob made him double over. You knew he had to let it out sooner or later, and a part of you was happy that you had managed to get him to do that. But still, it broke your heart nonetheless.
Law seemed so small, his frame shaking with choked sobs. You scooted closer, a hand rested on his back, and then you slowly tugged him closer. You brought him to you, not pushing him, just a soft invitation. A little bit of resistance would have been enough to let you understand he didn’t want to be touched, yet Law followed your hand pliantly until he was tucked against your chest. You wrapped both your arms around his back, keeping him safely hidden in your embrace. And then he cried. He cried for everything that happened to him and he cried because it was finally all over. He cried because he hadn’t planned to survive this, and now he was lost. He cried because he wished Cora could be there to hold him, and because he still had someone to hold. He had you.
“I know. I’ve got you…” - You cooed, gently caressing his back - “You did so well. Everything is over now”
His sobs got a little bit louder and he held you like he was afraid you would slip away if he loosened his grip for just a second.
You stayed like that until he could breathe again, just running your fingers through his hair.
“W-what do I do now?” His voice came out small and broken, after he had managed to calm down enough to speak.
“What do you mean?” You asked gently, wanting to know how to approach this. You looked down to your chest, his teary eyes meeting yours.
“This was my purpose… I lived for- for this…” - He sniffled - “I didn’t- I didn’t think I would have-“
His voice broke again. The words too heavy to say out loud. Your eyes softened. You knew where this was going.
“Say it…” You spoke soflty. He needed to say it, to get it out.
“I hadn’t planned to make it out alive…” Law finally admitted it and now his chest felt lighter. You felt your heart crack at his words. You could have lost him, and he was okay with that. But it wasn’t your place to judge, you knew that.
“I am so glad you did, Law… you have no idea… I am so glad you are still here”
Your voice choked up, you blinked back tears. You cupped Law’s cheeks, tilting up his face.
“Why?”
He asked. He seemed so vulnerable, like your words could either break him or put him together.
“Because you’re important to me”
“Because we’re friends?” He tried smiling, but it was still shaky, vulnerable.
“Maybe because we’re more…”
You had said it. What you had felt for him since the beginning. Because he was about to slip away, and you felt like if you didn’t say it now, you may have never gotten the chance.
Law looked up like he had been struck. His heart raced in his chest, his eyes meeting yours. You looked at him, and he was so beautiful. His eyes still teary but now filled with wonder, his cheeks flushed and his lips half open.
“You- you mean that?” He stuttered.
“I mean every word. I like you, Trafalgar Law”
Law didn’t answer. He couldn’t. But he instinctively leaned closer and closer to your face. His lips brushed against yours, shy, vulnerable. Your thumb brushed over his bottom lip, as you looked into his eyes. He had never looked so beautiful, so human.
“May I kiss you?” You asked, just above a whisper. Law just nodded, words still escaping him. And then your lips met. It was shy, gentle, and you tried to convey all the love and care you felt for him in that kiss. It was clear he was a little inexperienced, but he followed your lead as you guided him.
When you needed air, you pulled away, his face still held gently in your hands.
“I-I was hoping you’d do that…” He stuttered. His cheeks still flushed.
“I have been wanting to do that for a long time” - You smiled - “You could have just asked…”
A few minutes had passed, and now Law was snuggled against your chest. You had offered him the glass of water you had brought, and now you were just fidgeting with his fingers, his hand held in yours.
“Y/N-ya?”
He spoke, voice so soft that he seemed afraid to disturb the moment.
“mmh?”
“I feel lost…” He admitted, looking down at his lap.
“I-I don’t know what to do now that… this is over”
You brought his hand to your lips and kissed it gently.
“Now you live, Law…”
“I’m afraid…” - He started, trying to keep his voice from breaking again - “I’m afraid I don’t know how to live without the need for revenge…”
Your eyes softened.
“You don’t have to know now… I’ll help you figure it out”
“You will?”
“I promise”
“What if the world has broken me too much to be loved?”
The sincerity and vulnerability in Law’s question broke your heart, and you tilted up his chin so he would look at you.
“You are not broken. You are not the angry, vengeful person you think you are. You have a crew that loves you, and the fact that you didn’t bring them with you means that you love them too. You have people who would show up for you whenever you need them. You have me, now. You have always lived with love surrounding you, Law…”
Your words almost made him tear up again, and he held you close again.
“What are we now?” He asked, voice muffled against your chest.
“We’re together. However you want to call this, I am not leaving you”
“I am not good at this… I-I have never-“ - Law trailed off - “It won’t be easy”
“Good” - You smiled - “Easy is boring”
He looked up at you. A small, surprised huff of laughter escaping his control.
“You’re an idiot”
“I’m your idiot now” You smiled warmly.
“Yes. Yes, you are” He rolled his eyes, amused.
You leaned your head against his shoulder, linking your arm with his.
“So… would you like to go celebrate now?”
“Maybe tomorrow… it’s still too loud today” He answers shyly.
“Of course” You smiled. You didn’t need anything else to accept. God, he needed time to get used to this.
“Y/N-ya?”
“Yes, love?”
His heart skipped a beat.
“Can I tell you about Cora?”
“I would be honored to listen…”
You answered, meaningfully.
The night passed with Law telling you everything about his past, like he had promised before arriving in Dressrosa. You stayed there through the tears, through the memories. You gave him water, squeezed his hands and wiped his cheeks when it got too much to remember. Your heart broke for him, and you promised to yourself that no one would ever hurt him like that again. After the story was over, Law had fallen asleep in your arms. Safe, heart light for the first time in years. Now everything was truly over, and he could begin to live.
One Piece old men being jealous of Reader being hit on-H/C
Gender neutral reader Mihawk, Shanks and Crocodile. Fluff
Note: Reader is only hit on my men with Mihawk because there are no women on Shanks crew.
Note: p/n = pronouns
Mihawk
-Mihawk is far from happy about this development, but he trusts you enough to stay out of it
-Since you live on the island with him you lightly tagged along with Mihawk when he went to visit Shanks
-One of the Red Haired pirates noticed your apearance and delightful personality, choosing to directly ignore Mihawk standing a few steps away
-At first the man was complimenting you, like alot. You thanked him and tried to change the conversation but the man reached out to trace his hand through your hair. Big no no!
-Mihawks jaw tightned and without saying a word, he comes over to grab the mans wrist mid air
-The man squeels but Mihawk only tightned his grip.
-You roll your eyes before taking your boyfriend/husbands hand and pulling him away
-The two of you end up in a secluded area of the woods near by the camp
-"I could have handled that myself" you said
-"I know..." he replied. No explenation
-you cant help but giggle at his obvious jealousy and poked his chest teasingly
-"Your jealous" you said
-"No"
-"So can we go back and eat?"
-"No"...
Shanks
-Shanks is used to people trying shooting their shot with you.
-As a member of the Red Haires pirates you offen go drinking with the crew at pubs. Pubs with drunk people...
-Shanks had just gotten up to get another round of drinks when a strager sat down beside you
-"Hey pretty thing" clearly drunk
-You explained you where waiting for your boyfriend/husband to come back but the person didnt seem to care
-"Why dont you come over and-" the person stopped dead in there tracks was when Shanks came out of no where and pulled you into a kiss.
-"problem love?" He asked, deliberetly ignoring the person. You smiled and shook your head and he kissed your forehead.
-"pfft, whatever" the person got up and left
-you smirk and deside to tease him a little... "hey you just ruined a perfectly good date!"
-Shanks looks at you for a few seconds before pulling you inches away from his face "you know im the only person you want"
-You giggle before replying "your not wrong, but seeing you so jealous is so cute"
Crocodile
-No. Just no.
-Crocodile is prepared to full on murder anyone who looks at you wrong.
-At a fancy restaurant Croc took you to for a date night (he actualy owns the place), a waiter/ess tried to slip you their number on a napkin
-When you looked at the napkin your eyes widned in surprise
-Crocodile noticed this and took it to see what surpised you
-Man is he pissed
-Crocodile calls the waiter/ess over. You gulp
-"You really think your worthy of my partner?" You could hear the anger coated in a calm tone
-When the waiter/ess didnt reply (visibly scared) Crocodile got up but you quickly intervined, running over to him and grabbing his hand.
-"lets just go" you pleaded
-Crocodile clenched his jaw, but he cant say no to you so he followed you out
-that evening Crocodile is especaly clingy, coming from someone who is not verry affectionate its a rare occasion, enjoy it
-despite your efforts, he never told you to waiter/ess didnt wake up the next day...
A/N: how was it??? Its my first post so im kinda nervous... hope you enjoyed! :D
Summary: Everyone aboard the Polar Tang knows you draw. Landscapes. Islands. The crew. But after all, every artist has a favorite subject. Law certainly doesn’t have a clue… until one forgotten sketchbook changes everything.
A\N: I loved writing this!! 🥹 Thank you so much for the request, I hope I did it justice and that you enjoy it. Lyyy
Word count: about 6.3k
Contains: artist!reader, friends to lovers, established relationship, domestic fluff, mutual pining, slow burn, Law being the prettiest muse imaginable, anatomy references, crew shenanigans, very lovesick Law.
Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n a few times, reader draws Law shirtless for anatomy studies (non-explicit), mentions of tattoos, lots of fluff.
From the occasional oil painting to the countless sketches and drawings chronicling your adventures, the Heart Pirates had always known you were the artistic sort.
It had been your combat skills that first caught the captain’s attention and earned you an invitation to join the crew, yet it didn’t take long aboard the Polar Tang for everyone to discover that your talents extended far beyond the battlefield, reaching into all manner of creative pursuits.
More often than not, your drawings had a documentary quality to them, quiet observational pieces you worked on whenever you found a spare moment between steering the submarine, carrying out missions, or exploring the countless islands you visited.
Your sketchbook was practically an extension of yourself, tucked beneath your arm wherever you went, ready to preserve whichever moments happened to strike you as the most charming or interesting.
Within the quiet comfort of life aboard the submarine, away from responsibilities, you immortalized little moments for yourself.
Bepo laughing so hard he could barely catch his breath. Penguin and Shachi bickering over something neither of them would remember five minutes later. Law reading. Shachi asleep with a book draped across his face. Law nursing yet another cup of coffee. Ikkaku playing cards with Jean Bart. Law performing surgery. Bepo napping on the deck. Law fighting to keep his sleepy head from dropping onto his desk.
You had even drawn the Polar Tang itself from nearly every conceivable angle.
Looking back, you probably should have noticed just how often one particular man in a spotted hat kept finding his way onto those pages.
You never did.
It simply seemed natural that he would be there, considering he was the person you spent the most time with, constantly helping him organize paperwork in his office.
Even then, your drawings had been beautiful, but there was a certain distance to them. You simply captured the scenes unfolding before your eyes, nothing more. Everyone knew that.
Sometimes the captain would even ask whether you had finished a particular sketch, taking it into his hands and studying every detail despite how embarrassingly self-conscious it made you to have him inspect your work so carefully.
As time passed, though you never consciously noticed it yourself, he began appearing more and more often.
Then again, why wouldn’t he? The two of you spent so much time together that his presence had quietly become part of your everyday life. No matter where you went, he somehow ended up there too.
Even if you stumbled upon a vast meadow bursting with wildflowers on some distant island and wandered off to paint it in peaceful solitude, your grumpy doctor of a captain would inevitably appear not long afterward, muttering that he failed to understand what was supposedly so fascinating about flowers in the first place.
“Spring is coming. I feel sorry for those who don’t think that’s important…”
He would roll his eyes, mumbling something about you being far too much of a romantic, yet settle down beside you anyway, quietly watching you work.
You really did have perfectly reasonable explanations for your drawings. Honest.
Whenever you decided to practice drawing hands, you somehow ended up filling half a sketchbook with studies of Law’s from every possible angle and position.
“He’s got the most defined bones out of everyone,” you would explain. “Besides, the tattoos create great shadows.”
If your sketchbook happened to contain studies of his hoodie or his hat, it was only because you were practicing different fabric textures.
Obviously.
And if you happened to be studying facial expressions, then of course it only made sense to have half a dozen sketches of him frowning over paperwork, followed by another ten or so of him smiling faintly while reading one of his comics from various positions.
Everything was perfectly logical.
Perfectly easy to explain.
Which was precisely why Bepo’s reaction made so little sense one afternoon as the two of you lounged around together while he absentmindedly flipped through one of your filled sketchbooks.
“There’s… a lot of Captain in here,” he observed.
You merely shrugged, taking another sip of your coffee.
“There’s everyone.”
He turned another page.
“He’s in this one too… And here… This one’s him as well.”
“Coincidence,” you replied, dunking a biscuit into your coffee. “I draw everyone. We probably just spent more time together that day, so I ended up sketching him a little more.”
The polar bear said nothing.
Silently, he counted thirty-two drawings of Law…
…and two of Penguin.
You only began questioning the state of your own emotions when you noticed that one of your sketchbooks was nearly full, yet didn’t contain a single drawing of anyone else from the crew.
There were still the usual everyday sketches of Law scattered throughout its pages, of course, but now they were joined by an ever-growing collection dedicated almost entirely to his tattoos.
Heat spread across your cheeks at the mere thought of wanting a better look at them. Up close. Close enough to faithfully capture every intricate line, even the ones hidden beneath his clothes.
Somewhere along the way, you’d forgotten that those pages had originally begun as anatomy studies.
Now they were filled with careful observations of the muscles in his arms and chest, how each tattoo stretched and shifted ever so slightly as he moved.
You had even asked him not to move once while trying to capture a particular angle.
“Hold still.”
Law didn’t so much as glance up from the medical journal in his hands.
“…Why?”
“Your forearm tattoo curves weirdly when you rotate your wrist.”
Too absorbed in his reading to question it, he simply extended his arm toward you without another word, letting you do… whatever it was you were doing.
It wasn’t until nearly ten minutes later that he realized you’d been staring at him the entire time.
Your mind drifted back to all the afternoons spent watching him from the opposite side of the office, your heart racing as you quietly melted at the sight of him getting irritated over paperwork that refused to add up.
Without realizing it, you had filled pages with sketches of his furrowed brows, his slightly pursed lips, the faint puff of his cheeks whenever he grew annoyed, somehow ending up with eleven different versions of that expression alone.
Then there were the shadows his eyelashes cast across his cheeks.
The subtle curve of his lips whenever a smile escaped him.
His eyes.
His eyes in every imaginable expression: irritation, concentration, curiosity, happiness.
Oh God.
I’m in love with our grumpy captain.
The doctor of the Heart Pirates found himself increasingly confused by your recent behavior.
He would never admit it aloud, but he was worried.
For the past several days, although you still spent your usual hours working beside him in the office, you had begun avoiding him whenever you could.
You still sorted mountains of paperwork as diligently as ever, only now you always wore your headphones, leaving little room for conversation. Whenever he asked you something, you’d slip one earbud out just long enough to answer before immediately putting it back in. Sometimes you didn’t even hear him the first time.
He never commented on it.
Everyone had days when silence was preferable to the noise of other people.
God knew he had more of those than anyone.
Still, your company had always been one of the few he genuinely enjoyed, and he couldn’t shake the quiet hope that perhaps tomorrow you’d be a little more willing to talk to him again.
It felt strange in other ways too.
Whenever he found enough free time to join the crew for an evening card game, you were no longer sitting beside him as his partner.
Instead of exchanging knowing smiles and whispering advice over your next move, you now found yourself across the table beside Shachi, laughing every time he stubbornly ignored your suggestions and confidently played exactly the wrong card.
A faint pang of jealousy, one he would sooner die than acknowledge, settled somewhere deep inside his chest as he caught himself glancing in your direction throughout the evening.
Across the table, Bepo seemed equally distracted, nervously darting his gaze between the two of you while absentmindedly throwing random cards onto the pile.
Law had always claimed he enjoyed card games.
The truth was, his favorite part had never been the cards.
It had simply been sitting beside you.
Faced with the alternative, he couldn’t help but admit to himself that he would’ve rather skipped the game altogether.
The following afternoon, after excusing yourself from the office for half an hour to go listen to Penguin’s newest collection of music he’d picked up on the last island, the submarine’s brooding captain remained behind to finish his paperwork.
Or rather…
He sat with his pen hovering uselessly above the page, wondering whether he’d done something over the past few days to upset you.
Perhaps he’d been too cold.
Perhaps you’d finally grown tired of trying to get through to him and decided the more entertaining members of the crew were simply better company.
Regret quietly settled over him. He should’ve asked you to go somewhere together on the next island. Just the two of you.
Now charismatic Penguin had probably charmed you with his music collection…
…and who knew when you’d come back to him…
His spiraling thoughts were interrupted by an unusually cheerful polar bear entering the office with a steaming cup of green tea.
“Captain, where’s Y/N?”
“What does that have to do with me?” Law answered with mild irritation. “She can spend her time however she wants.”
After a brief pause, he muttered,
“As long as she gets back soon enough to finish this documentation, she can spend time with whoever she wants for as long as she wants.”
Bepo pretended not to hear the second half.
Still smiling to himself, he set the cup beside Law, who acknowledged it with a quiet nod of thanks.
“Hmm… Y/N really is a wonderful artist, isn’t she?”
Silence.
“As you know… she draws everyone on the crew.”
“Hm.”
“You have the most pages, though.”
“…What?”
“Not fair,” Bepo chuckled as he walked out of the office. “You’re one lucky guy.”
He left behind one thoroughly bewildered captain.
Later that day, the two of you were updating the submarine’s library. Law stood atop a ladder placing the newly acquired books onto the shelves while you handed them up one by one, carefully recording each addition.
Every so often your fingers brushed against his.
Each fleeting touch sent an unwelcome current racing through both of you, one you silently agreed to ignore. You’d pretend to examine the bookshelves with great interest while embarrassment painted your cheeks, and the tips of his ears.
This angle is really not helping my increasingly ridiculous crush, you thought, looking up at your captain from almost directly below.
From there, the sharp line of his nose seemed even more striking, and you found yourself watching the slow rise and fall of his long eyelashes.
Ridiculous.
Ridiculous.
The word echoed through your mind later as well while the two of you worked in companionable silence, cataloguing documents together.
It echoed again as your pencil unconsciously recreated those same thick eyelashes arching above serious golden eyes.
Then the tattooed heart with the smiling Jolly Roger emblazoned across his chest.
You jolted when you heard your captain calling your name, snapping your sketchbook shut almost instantly.
“Could you take these books back to the office?” he asked. “We’ll go through them properly tomorrow. Keep two or three with you and leave the rest on my desk. Then head to dinner. I’ll join you once I’m finished here.”
Still distracted, you nodded, gathering the towering stack of books into your arms.
The pile was so high you had to steady it with your chin to stop it from collapsing like a house of cards, a sight that made an unexpected wave of fondness wash over Law.
In your haste, however, you failed to notice that your sketchbook, buried beneath the stack, had slipped free and remained behind on the table as you left the library.
Once he’d finished highlighting the necessary information and sorting tomorrow’s paperwork into neat piles, Law finally prepared to head for the dining hall.
That’s when he noticed something lying on the table where you’d been sitting.
Of course.
You’d forgotten something.
He walked over and picked up the light-colored sketchbook, intending to return it the next time he saw you.
Still…
Curiosity quietly tugged at him.
Just one look.
He opened it.
A drawing of himself.
He turned the page.
Another one.
He flipped to the middle at random.
Him again.
Another page.
A detailed anatomical study of muscles.
He flipped toward the back.
A meticulous rendering of his hands.
…What the hell?
He stood there staring at the sketchbook in complete silence, so stunned that his thoughts seemed to short-circuit altogether.
More than embarrassed, he was simply… astonished.
Not because someone had documented him in such painstaking detail.
But because you had.
And not because he was the captain.
Simply because he was him.
After everyone had finished dinner, full and ready to retreat for the night before another day awaited them, Law quietly asked you to stay behind.
“I think you forgot this,” he said, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
If the earth had opened beneath your feet and swallowed you into its deepest depths, straight to the bottom of the Grand Line, you wouldn’t have protested.
You felt like you were dying.
Before you could snatch the sketchbook from his hands, he deliberately opened it to one of the more detailed portraits, the kind that made it painfully obvious you’d spent hours bringing it to life.
“You spent that much time on this?”
“…Maybe.”
Silence settled between you, and for the life of you, you couldn’t decipher what was passing behind those amber eyes.
“You got the eyes wrong.”
That…
That was not what you’d expected him to say.
“What?”
“They aren’t always that harsh. Or that distant.” His gaze lingered on the drawing for another moment. “They’re softer. Especially depending on who’s standing in front of me.”
He tried to sound casual, though the warmth creeping into his cheeks betrayed him far more effectively than his voice ever could. It was, whether he intended it or not, a confession.
“You’ll have to take another look from up close,” he continued, gently placing the sketchbook back into your hands. “You can fix it tomorrow, when we visit the next island.”
With that, he turned toward the door, wished you goodnight with the smallest of smiles, and left.
Your heart threatened to leap straight out of your chest and join the rest of his collection.
Not that you would’ve minded.
And that…
That was how it all began.
By the time the two of you were together, the quiet blooming of your relationship could be traced through your sketches alone.
Little by little, they transformed into increasingly intimate moments, the sort only someone who shared another person’s quietest hours would ever have the chance to witness.
Law lying in bed, still wearing his glasses as he read.
Law fast asleep with his head thrown back, mouth slightly open, snoring without the slightest hint of dignity.
Law first thing in the morning, hair hopelessly disheveled, not quite awake yet.
A cup of coffee slowly growing cold beside him.
Law laughing so hard he doubled over.
His head resting in your lap while insisting he was only “resting his eyes.”
Whenever his gaze happened to fall upon one of those sketches, an unfamiliar feeling quietly settled inside him.
He had expected studies.
Those had never embarrassed him. To your pencil, he’d simply been another subject worthy of observation. A body was a body, and as a doctor, he understood the fascination that came with studying the way muscles shifted beneath skin or bones dictated movement. Those were the kinds of drawings an artist made when captivated by form.
But these…
These were something else.
They reached far beyond anatomy, and that singular way you saw him unsettled him in a manner he couldn’t begin to explain.
This wasn’t merely what he looked like.
It was what you had chosen to see.
Not the captain.
Not the Surgeon of Death.
Not the man whose name people spoke in hushed voices.
Your gifted hands had filled page after page with the version of him that existed only in the quiet spaces between responsibilities, in fleeting moments rarely witnessed by anyone else.
As though those ordinary, forgettable fragments of his life possessed a beauty he had never once thought to assign them. As though simply existing beside him had been enough to make them worth remembering.
Much like every moment he spent beside you had become filled with countless little memories he knew he would carry with him for the rest of his life.
He hadn’t even realized you had been watching during those moments of quiet contentment. He’d always assumed those tiny glimpses, the rare instances when he allowed himself to truly relax, belonged to him alone. They were the sort of moments no one else would notice, let alone consider meaningful.
And yet…
There they were.
Preserved with the same tenderness another person might reserve for sunsets or constellations.
His breath caught.
The feeling blooming inside his chest was unlike anything he had ever known, something impossibly gentle brushing against his heart, as though wings had suddenly begun to unfurl from it, eager to lift it free and carry it out into the open air.
As your relationship settled into something comfortably familiar, Law gradually became the most frequent subject of your artwork, much to the dismay of certain rather jealous members of the crew, who weren’t above voicing their complaints every now and then.
“There has to be something of me in here somewhere,” Penguin muttered as he flipped through your sketchbook. “Captain… no, Law… Captain again… Captain… Ca… AAAH!”
He yelped, dropping the sketchbook in sheer panic.
It never reached the floor.
An already irritated Law caught it with one hand before it could even come close.
“Be careful.”
“I CAN’T BE CALM WHEN I JUST ACCIDENTALLY SAW TWELVE DRAWINGS OF YOUR ABS, CAPTAIN!” Penguin cried, his face turning scarlet.
He immediately yanked the brim of his hat down over his eyes as though it might erase the memory.
“I can’t believe you never drew the time I absolutely demolished that guy!” he continued dramatically. “It was legendary! A once-in-a-lifetime moment! But no! Apparently all you ever feel like immortalizing are this Surgeon of Death’s hands and ridiculously thick eyelashes.”
He stared at Law in theatrical disbelief.
“…Who knows what else I would’ve found if I’d kept turning the pages.”
Now it was your turn to blush.
“Penguin, no… I’ll draw you soon, it’s not like there’s any—”
“That’s none of your concern,” Law interrupted flatly, still holding the sketchbook securely against his chest.
“She can sketch whatever she wants.”
His golden eyes shifted toward Penguin.
“And if you’re ever that careless with her artwork again…”
A brief pause.
“…we’ll have a conversation in my office.”
Penguin visibly paled.
“…You know what? I suddenly feel very well represented already.”
Even your anatomy studies had grown more detailed.
More intimate.
By then, you could shamelessly ask him to stay perfectly still for ten minutes so you could capture the angle of the tattoo stretching across his chest. The easiest position usually involved you reclining halfway against his lap so that his torso angled ever so slightly toward you, allowing every contour of his chest, abdomen, and arms to reveal itself beneath shifting light. Every muscle found its place upon the page, every subtle ridge and hollow observed with painstaking care.
“Don’t move.”
“I’m not moving.”
“…Your breathing counts.”
He sighed.
“That also counts.”
You frowned at the page, erasing another line.
“Something’s wrong…”
Law leaned forward just enough to glance at your sketch.
“You’ve pulled the pectoralis major too far toward the sternum.”
You looked up at him.
“…Do you enjoy ruining my confidence?”
“No.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“I enjoy preventing anatomical inaccuracies.”
“…That’s somehow worse.”
The corner of his mouth twitched.
“Your tattoo work is flawless,” he said, his eyes returning to the page. “It’s just the muscle beneath it.”
“…You couldn’t have started with that?”
“You would’ve stopped listening.”
Sometimes you drew him while he was occupied with something else, and other times, simply because those quiet moments together filled you with such contentment, you found yourself sketching those beloved muscles and bones entirely from memory.
One evening, the two of you sat close together as Law leafed through a medical textbook while you frowned at a sketch of his back, trying to make sense of the broad planes shifting beneath his skin.
So absorbed were you in your work that you never noticed him leaning over your shoulder.
“The trapezius overlaps the latissimus dorsi more than that.”
You looked at him blankly.
“…Do you ever say upper back like a normal person?”
“No.”
Having long since accepted that you would never possess his encyclopedic knowledge of osteology and myology, you had resigned yourself to spending the rest of your life with one impossibly adorable, hopelessly pedantic doctor who insisted on correcting you every chance he got.
“You’re looking at the tendon, not the muscle.”
“Law.”
“Hm?”
“I’m going to need you to use words normal people actually know.”
He sighed, as though you had just asked the impossible.
“…The stringy bit.”
Laughter burst from you before you could stop it.
“See? You can do it.”
“That’s the flexor digitorum profundus,” he informed you knowingly.
“…Mhm.”
“You have no idea what I just said.”
“Not a clue.”
“You’re pretending to understand,” he accused, already preparing an impromptu lecture.
“I love listening to you talk.”
He froze and blinked twice.
The tips of his ears bloomed a brilliant shade of pink as something entirely incoherent escaped beneath his breath, quiet enough that you couldn’t make out the words, though they still managed to tickle something warm inside your chest.
“You sound cute when you get all professor-like.”
Watching your normally composed, reserved boyfriend become so hopelessly flustered filled you with entirely unreasonable satisfaction.
I could get used to endless medical lectures if teasing him always earns me this reaction.
After months of constant reminders about proper anatomical terminology and what felt like several medical lectures every month, though you would never admit just how much you’d secretly enjoyed them, you gradually found yourself using words that had once sounded like an entirely foreign language.
There was something undeniably attractive about having such an absurdly brilliant and beautiful boyfriend all to yourself.
The first time Law had enthusiastically begun explaining the intricacies of the human neck and casually mentioned the sternocleidomastoid, your instinctive response had been to blink at him and mutter, “Bless you.”
Now, whenever he gently corrected your drawings with the same term, you simply nodded.
“I know, I know.”
Without even looking up, you adjusted the line.
“It attaches to the mastoid process, and mine’s too straight.”
Law slowly looked up from his book.
“…I’m proud of you.”
You stared.
“…Was that a compliment?”
“I’ve given you several.”
“You’ve given me homework.”
You teased him, fully aware that countless more assignments would follow, each one secretly becoming your favorite. Every now and then he’d even reinforce those lessons in practice, tracing surprisingly gentle kisses along your neck as he pointed out precisely where each muscle and delicate bone lay beneath your skin.
You had barely blocked in the basic shapes before a familiar voice drifted over your shoulder.
“You’ve exaggerated the deltoid.”
Law had been quietly watching you work for quite some time, long enough that, for once, you had begun to believe he’d found nothing to correct.
Alas…
It had simply been too good to be true.
Without even turning around, you let out an exaggerated sigh.
“There he is.”
“What?”
“My insufferable anatomist. I was wondering how long you’d last before correcting me.”
“I lasted twelve minutes.”
“That’s a personal record.”
A quiet hum escaped him.
Almost a laugh.
“I was trying to let you finish.”
“You failed.”
He rolled his eyes, muttering beneath his breath.
“I’m only trying to help.”
You smiled despite his incurable inability to leave your drawings alone.
“I know.”
Your voice softened.
“You always do.”
Something shifted behind his eyes.
“I know how seriously you take your work.”
His voice had grown quieter now.
“I want your references to be as accurate as they deserve.”
He hesitated before adding,
“…I’ll survive even if that means you’ll keep calling me insufferable.”
He leaned forward just enough to study the page more closely, one finger hovering above the paper without touching it. He knew better than to smudge charcoal.
“The contour’s right,” he said after a moment. “It’s just the insertion that’s slightly off.”
A brief silence followed.
“…The shading’s beautiful, though.”
You blinked.
“You noticed the shading?”
“I notice everything.”
There was an almost bashful quality to his voice now.
“I’ve known you long enough to learn a thing or two myself.”
He cleared his throat.
“…Though you should still fix the deltoid. It’s exaggerated.”
“No. I made you look stronger.”
“I don’t need artistic charity.”
“No?”
“No.”
You erased the line with theatrical reluctance, grumbling under your breath.
“It looked good.”
“It looked inaccurate.”
“It looked handsome.”
The faintest blush dusted the tips of his ears.
“Those aren’t mutually exclusive.”
More often than not, Law would catch himself watching your hand move across the page, your pencil gliding with practiced confidence as it gathered fragments of him into graceful lines.
The feeling it stirred inside him remained wonderfully unfamiliar, equal parts strange and intimately warm. Somehow, in your drawings, he always appeared calmer than he’d imagined himself to be, softer around the edges, and with time he came to realize that the version of himself reflected through your eyes was the one he preferred above all others. It was the man he wished to be when you looked at him.
And perhaps that was why he found himself hoping you would never stop observing him with those endlessly hopeful eyes that seemed to hold love in every blink.
With all of that in mind, it wasn’t long before Law noticed something else.
In every drawing of the crew, whether they were gathered around the dinner table, celebrating at a festival, pelting one another with snowballs, or simply spending a quiet evening together in the lounge, one person was always missing.
You.
Not just from that sketchbook, but from every sketchbook he’d ever seen.
At most, a hand would occasionally appear, or perhaps a glimpse of your legs stretched across his lap in one of the quieter sketches of the two of you together, but you were never there as part of the crew.
He didn’t ask you about it immediately.
Instead, he continued to watch in silence, patiently waiting until the right moment presented itself.
It came while you were sketching Shachi’s birthday celebration.
Everyone was there.
Penguin and the birthday boy laughing as they clapped each other on the back.
Ikkaku and Jean Bart raising their glasses in a toast.
Bepo sprawled comfortably across the couch beside what had to be his fourth slice of cake, absentmindedly rubbing his contentedly full stomach.
The captain of the Heart Pirates sat at the far end of the sofa, wearing the faintest smile as he spoke with someone outside the frame.
The only indication of that unseen person was a pair of legs draped lazily across his lap.
“Why aren’t you ever in these?”
The question escaped him before he could stop himself.
You blinked, lowering your eyes to the drawing once again.
“What?”
“You draw every member of the crew.”
“…Yeah?”
“Except yourself.”
Your expression turned genuinely puzzled, tinged with a hint of embarrassment.
“I don’t know.”
“You’ve never wondered why?”
“I guess… it just feels… strange.”
You hesitated, searching for the words.
“I can see all of you. I know your faces, the way you move, the energy each of you carries. But I don’t know how I’d even draw myself. It feels awkward.”
A sheepish smile tugged at your lips.
“And I’d probably ruin the whole picture.”
“Hm.”
Law understood that feeling better than most.
The quiet estrangement of looking at yourself and finding a stranger where you ought to have felt at home. He had spent years treating his own body as little more than a vessel for a mind that never quite seemed to belong inside it, as though the two merely happened to coexist rather than truly belong to one another.
So he carried your confession with him long after the conversation had ended, already wondering how he might one day convince you to see yourself with the same tenderness you so effortlessly gave everyone else.
It had been the end of one of those wonderfully uneventful days, the kind that settled over the submarine just before setting sail from another island the following morning.
The two of you had spent the evening tucked away in your room, reading, dozing, and quietly enjoying one another’s company.
Your head rested comfortably in his lap, your eyes closed in contentment as the long, deft fingers of one hand lazily combed through your hair, gently scratching your scalp. With the other, he absentmindedly flipped through the latest pages of your sketchbook.
More than once, his eyes lingered over the confident strokes of your pencil, quietly admiring the remarkable skill behind them. It filled him with a strange sense of pride to know that the same hands capable of holding their own in brutal pirate battles could also create something so delicate, so patient, so impossibly beautiful.
Then his breathing caught.
He had reached another sketch of himself.
He was lying curled against you, his head resting on your shoulder, lips slightly parted in deep, peaceful sleep while the brim of his hat had slipped low enough to shade his eyes.
Of you, only fragments remained.
The curve of a shoulder.
A curtain of hair cascading over it.
The soft folds of your sweater.
He noticed immediately that the drawing hadn’t been finished. The shading remained incomplete, certain details lacked the refinement so characteristic of your work.
Had you been fully awake, you probably never would’ve let him see something unfinished.
But that wasn’t what held his attention.
Near the bottom of the page, written in your careful handwriting so small it might easily have gone unnoticed, were three simple words.
My favorite view.
It was almost unbelievable that three ordinary words could settle so deeply beneath his ribs, finding a place he had long believed incapable of holding this kind of warmth.
As though, without ever searching for it, he had stumbled upon the final dream his soul had been quietly waiting for all along.
It wasn’t the sketch itself that moved him.
It was the realization that someone had looked upon one of his most unguarded, most ordinary moments and found it worthy of preserving.
Worthy of calling beautiful.
Worthy of returning to again and again.
For as long as he could remember, Law had believed love always demanded something in return. That it had to be earned, repaid, or would inevitably be lost.
And yet, within every careful line you had drawn and every shadow you had patiently built, there had been nothing except a quiet admiration for the man he was when he wasn’t trying to be anything more than himself.
For the first time in his life, it occurred to him that perhaps it truly was possible to be loved not for what you chose to show the world, nor in spite of everything you carried within you…
…but simply for who you were.
Perhaps…
Perhaps this was happiness.
Not the loud, fleeting kind he’d always assumed belonged to somebody else, but the quiet sort that slipped beneath your skin unnoticed until, before you realized it, all you wanted was for the moment to linger a little longer.
He didn’t know how to put any of it into words.
Instead, his fingertips drifted slowly across the paper, careful enough that one might have thought he feared smudging the graphite with a single careless touch. He traced those lines for longer than he needed to before gently closing the sketchbook.
Then he drew you closer.
Burying his face in your hair as though it were the safest place in the world, he pressed countless quiet kisses against your forehead and the crown of your head, holding you with a tenderness that said everything he could not.
Basking beneath the golden light of the setting sun in a meadow on the newest island you’d docked at, you and Law had quietly slipped away from the rest of the crew, content to spend the afternoon wrapped up in one another.
Reclining in the grass, you watched clouds drift lazily overhead, you pointing out the shapes they formed while your ever-skeptical boyfriend dismissed each one with an amused scoff, the two of you talking about nothing in particular.
After a while, Law reached into the backpack he’d thoughtfully brought along for your little excursion away from the submarine and pulled something out.
It was the sketchbook you’d been searching for days, the one you’d eventually given up on finding and replaced with a new one before you had the chance to finish it.
“Where did you find it?” you asked, eyes widening as you instinctively reached for it.
Instead of handing it over, Law shifted a little closer, gently guiding you back until you were sitting comfortably between his legs. Then he opened the sketchbook to its final pages.
There, spread across a single sheet, was someone who looked remarkably like you.
You were lying on your stomach atop the bed, surrounded by towering piles of books. The books themselves had been drawn with stiff, ruler-straight lines, yet each one had been filled with painstaking, almost childlike details, right down to your favorite titles and editions. You rested against the fluffy white blanket he’d done his earnest best to capture, your hair spilling loosely around you in delightfully unruly strands, your smile warm and just a little crooked, every tooth nearly the same size. He had even attempted shading, and truthfully, it wasn’t bad at all.
Ever the meticulous man, the Captain of the Heart Pirates had even placed his familiar spotted hat beside you at the corner of the bed.
You stared at the page, speechless, as warmth stung unexpectedly behind your eyes.
“…There was one person missing,” he murmured, rubbing the back of his neck. “I may not be very good at this, but…”
He never got to finish.
You threw your arms around him so suddenly that you nearly knocked him onto his back.
He let out a quiet, startled, “Mm…”
“It’s beautiful! Thank you so much,” you said, your voice thick with emotion as you peppered his cheeks and the corner of his lips with grateful kisses, leaving him blushing a deep shade of red. “You’re actually not bad at this. We might have to become colleagues.”
A quiet laugh escaped through his nose.
“Yeah, right,” he scoffed.
“It’s perfect.”
“It objectively isn’t.”
“It is.”
“The perspective’s wrong.”
“I don’t care.”
“My line weight is inconsistent.”
“I don’t care.”
“The left eye…”
You kissed him again, effectively silencing yet another critique before it had the chance to escape.
You couldn’t help imagining him, a man who had never been blessed with an artist’s hand, sitting down with nothing more than a pencil anyway, enduring every crooked line and every failed attempt simply because, somewhere along the way, he’d decided you deserved to be seen. To be remembered. To see yourself through his eyes.
No one had ever loved you so deliberately.
And in that moment, you silently promised yourself that you would never let that happiness slip away from your heart.
It was well past midnight by the time you began teaching him how to draw hands.
You gently turned his wrist.
“Loosen your grip on the pencil.”
“Like this?”
“A little.”
You nudged his fingers into place.
“You’re holding it like you’re about to perform surgery.”
“…Old habits.”
As everyone aboard the Polar Tang already knew, drawing hands had long since become second nature to you. While you carefully sketched Law’s hand, he concentrated on drawing yours.
On the same sheet of paper rested two intertwined hands.
One was long and slender, tattooed from wrist to fingers, its elegant bones subtly visible beneath the skin as the thumb traced a gentle caress across the other.
The second was smaller, the fingers a little stiff, the nail beds broader than he had initially managed to capture. Fortunately, under your patient guidance, it changed shape minute by minute until it became something that felt perfect to the two of you, even if any self-proclaimed art critic, whose opinion neither of you had asked for in the first place, would’ve called it an awkward collision of two entirely different styles.
The finished page found its place in a frame on your bedside table before the two of you drifted off to sleep, laughter still lingering softly between you in the darkness.
It would stay there for years afterward, long after dozens of sketchbooks had come and gone, because neither of you could ever bring yourselves to replace the first piece of yourselves you had left on the same page.
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nightmare sanji anon here, if there are still spots open untill you close early may i also have Law overhearing reader confess her feelings but he doesn't believe it?
with a happy ending, please 🥲
Drinks and Terrible Timing
law x fem!reader
a/n: okay, I hope this is what you wanted, I didn't have many details so I did it my way aw
law m.list || anime m.list || ao3 || ko-fi || requests list
The Polar Tang is louder than usual tonight since it’s Penguin’s birthday.
Someone put a ridiculous party hat on Bepo. Someone else put two party hats on Sachi. And somehow Ikkaku is winning an argument against both of them at the same time.
You honestly have no idea how that happened.
“I’m telling you, twenty candles is enough!” Ikkaku says.
“I’m twenty-eight!” Penguin complains.
“Exactly. Twenty is close enough.”
“That isn’t how birthdays work!”
Across the table, Law sighs “Can we eat before they start another war?”
“Captain has spoken!” Bepo announces.
Everyone cheers.
You smile and Law notices.
He notices everything, like when you skip breakfast because you worked late with him in the office, or like when you steal all the spicy food before anyone else can, or like when you're tired and quietly leaves coffee next to your seat without saying a word.
He notices everything, except apparently the fact that you’re hopelessly in love with him. Which is honestly rude of him.
Dinner goes by in noise and laughter.
Someone starts a drinking game and that someone loses immediately.
It’s probably Sachi, or it’s definitely Sachi.
By the time dessert arrives, your cheeks already feel warm, maybe from the alcohol, maybe from the way Law is sitting next to you or maybe both.
Bepo walks in carrying the cake with enough pride to make it look like he baked it himself “Happy birthday, Penguin!”
Bepo starts cutting the cake, then, naturally, he takes the first slice and walks toward Law “Captain gets the first piece!”
Law looks at the plate, then he takes it and immediately holds it out toward you “Here.”
Your brain stops working “...Me?”
“You like this flavor.”
Your hand reaches for the plate automatically and so your fingers brush his. Barely a tiny touch, but big enough to make your heart immediately try to escape your chest “T-Thanks.”
Law already looks away “Don't drop it.”
You stare at the cake and then at Law with a smile. Penguin squints at you saying in a mad whisper “It’s my birthday, I should get the first slice…”
Meanwhile Sachi squints at Law.
Ikkaku pinches the bridge of her nose.
Bepo smiles because Bepo believes in love.
You take a bite but you cannot taste anything because your soul has left your body.
Five minutes later you have another drink, then another and then another. Unfortunately alcohol doesn’t kill feelings. It only makes them louder.
Later that night, you stumble into your room and collapse dramatically onto your bed.
Ikkaku barely looks up from the magazine she's reading “You look terrible.”
“Thank you.”
“You smell like alcohol.”
“Thank you.”
“And regret.”
You sit up immediately “Ikkaku.”
“Hm?”
“He gave me the first slice of cake.”
She slowly lowers the magazine “Who?”
You stare at her and she stares back, both confused by the other.
“...Law.”
“Ah.”
“THE first slice.”
“You mentioned that.”
“Bepo gave it to him because he’s captain and then Law gave it to me.”
“Tragic.”
“Our hands touched.”
“Even more tragic.”
You point accusingly at her “You don't understand.”
“No, I understand perfectly.”
You stand up but immediately regret standing up, so you quietly sit back down “No, listen.”
“I’m listening.”
“Do you remember three months ago when I got sick?”
Ikkaku sighs “Probably.”
“He stayed in my room until my fever went down.”
“He’s a doctor.”
“He also made me tea.”
“Because he’s a doctor.”
“He adjusted my blanket.”
“Still sounds very doctor-like.”
You gasp “He looked worried!”
“Doctors usually prefer their patients alive, yes. Even better if it’s a Captain trying to make his crewmate stay alive.”
You throw a pillow at her but she catches it without looking.
“And last month!” you continue.
“Oh no.”
“When I fell asleep in the library…”
“You mean the office?”
“Whatever.”
“You drooled on one of his books.”
“That isn't the important part!”
“It should be.”
“The important part is that he put his coat over me!”
Ikkaku finally puts the magazine down “Yes.”
“His coat, Ikkaku.”
“I know what a coat is.”
“His coat smelled like him.”
“Please stop talking.”
“And then when I woke up he acted like nothing happened!”
“That sounds exactly like Captain.”
You flop dramatically back onto your bed “Why is he like this?”
“Because he’s Law.”
“Exactly!”
Ikkaku stares at the ceiling then she sighs… a long, tired sigh. The sigh of someone who has suffered for too long “Why don't you just confess?”
You sit up so fast you almost fall off the bed “What?!”
“Confess.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Why?”
You look at her with pure horror and maybe a little disgust “Have you lost your mind?”
Suddenly a small noise comes from outside the door, making you freeze “...Uh?”
Ikkaku raises an eyebrow “What?”
“Did you hear that?”
“Hear what?”
“Was someone spying on us?”
You stare at the door suspiciously.
Silence.
Ikkaku waves a hand “Forget that.”
“But…”
“If you confessed, I'd finally be free from listening to you fangirl every single night about our captain.”
You blink “I don’t fangirl every night.”
She gives you a look, making you look away and correct her, “Almost every night.”
“Exactly.” she points at you “Do you know how many times I've heard the sentence ‘Law looked at me today’?”
“That happened!”
“He's your captain! He has to look at you sometimes!”
“Not like that!”
“You mean with his eyes?”
You throw another pillow and this one hits her. Ikkaku continues anyway “Honestly, I don't really see it in him.”
You gasp dramatically “Excuse me?”
“It's true. I’m actually disgusted…” she shrugs “it would be like me fangirling over one of the other idiots to you. How would you feel?”
You immediately make a face “Absolutely not.”
“See?”
“That's disgusting.”
“Exactly!”
You sigh and then another sigh, then you fall backward onto your bed with all the sadness in the world “But Law is Law...”
Ikkaku looks over.
Your voice comes out quieter this time “I can't confess my feelings to our captain.”
You stare at the ceiling “That would just make things awkward.”
Outside the door… a certain captain stands completely still.
Law stares at the floor, expression unreadable.
You love him?
You?
No.
Impossible.
You're drunk.
You probably won't even remember this tomorrow.
He adjusts his hat and turns around, walking away.
Then “Captain!”
Law looks up.
Bepo jogs toward him down the hallway “I was looking everywhere for you!”
Law panics a bit and tries to steal a look at your door to see if you found out he was there all that time. As he sees the door stays closed he walks over to Bepo and asks “Why?”
“Penguin and Sachi are arguing about whether sea kings count as fish again.”
Law closes his eyes “Let’s go then.”
The sound of voices reaches your room and you go to the door and open it just in time to see Law and Bepo disappearing down the hallway.
Law doesn't look back and so the door closes.
Slowly, very slowly, you turn toward Ikkaku, your face goes pale “...Do you think he heard?”
Ikkaku stares at you, then at the door and then back at you “If he did, maybe he'll finally suffer with the rest of us.”
“IKKAKU!”
She bursts out laughing.
You, meanwhile, seriously consider moving to another submarine.
You don’t sleep at all that night…
You lie in bed, turn to one side, turn to the other side. Stare at the ceiling, stare at the wall and stare at Ikkaku, who somehow fell asleep three minutes after your crisis.
Rude.
Every time you close your eyes, your brain kindly replays the same sentence.
“I can't confess my feelings to our captain.”
Then another.
“Do you think he heard?”
Then you think about Law standing outside the room.
Law hearing everything.
Law knowing.
Law rejecting you.
Law transferring you to cleaning duty forever, or even worse, kicking you out the crew, because being near you is awkward now.
Your eyes snap open.
Nope… not sleeping tonight.
The next morning, you walk toward breakfast feeling like you're about to be executed.
Your stomach hurts, your head hurts and ypride hurts.
You enter the dining room carefully.
Penguin and Sachi are arguing.
Bepo is making tea.
Ikkaku is stealing food from Penguin's plate.
Everything looks normal.
You almost cry from relief.
Maybe he didn't hear, maybe you're safe… maybe—
“Morning.”
You nearly jump out of your skin.
Law stands beside you. Hat low over his eyes. Expression unreadable.
In his hand is a small bottle and he holds it toward you “For your headache.”
You blink “...Hangover medicine?”
“You drank half the party.”
“I was under emotional stress.”
“That's not a medical condition.”
You take the bottle and your fingers almost touch again.
Your heart still reacts anyway but you manage to say “Thanks, Captain.”
He nods once.
You move a little on the bench, making room beside you. His spot, the spot where he sits almost every morning. The spot everyone silently accepts belongs to him now.
You pat the empty space “There's room.”
For half a second, Law looks at the seat, then he looks away “I'm not hungry.”
And just like that he leaves.
You stare after him.
The room goes strangely quiet.
Penguin slowly looks at Sachi. Sachi slowly looks at Penguin.
Bepo looks worried.
Ikkaku looks like she's watching a ship sink.
“...Maybe he's sick.” Bepo says “Doctors get sick too.”
You force a smile “Yeah. Probably.”
But your stomach sinks, because Law never skips breakfast, especially not coffee… that man runs on coffee.
Later, you find him in the office, or at least you try to.
You knock on the door but there’s no answer.
You knock again… still nothing.
You carefully open the door and it’s empty.
You blink… that's strange. The office is usually where Law lives.
You close the door, turn around and nearly crash into Shachi.
“Captain was looking for you earlier.” Shachi says.
You brighten immediately “Really?”
“Yeah, but then he remembered he had paperwork in the engine room.”
You stare “...The engine room?”
“That's what he said.”
You stare harder “Captain hates paperwork and makes Bepo do it all.”
“That's also true.”
At lunch, things somehow get worse.
You sit down beside Bepo and the seat next to you stays empty until Law arrives.
You smile a little as he walks toward the table, toward you.
Then he sits two seats away, next to Penguin, who is now in between the two of you.
You blink, maybe he didn't notice the seat.
Yes. That must be it.
Halfway through lunch, Penguin stands up “I'm getting more juice.”
His seat becomes empty. Perfect, there’s no one between you and Law now.
Law immediately stands up “I'm getting coffee.”
He leaves before Penguin even returns.
You stare at his retreating back.
Bepo looks between the two of you nervously “Maybe Captain really is sick...”
“Maybe…” you say quietly.
The afternoon is worse… much worse, because now you're looking for it. Every time you enter a room, Law leaves a few minutes later. Every time you approach him, suddenly he remembers an important task.
Every time you start a conversation like, “Captain, can I ask you something?”
“Later.”
…
“Captain, have you seen my notes?”
“No.”
…
“Captain, are you busy?”
“Yes.”
You look around the completely empty room “Doing what?”
Law pauses “Thinking.”
Then he walks away.
…
By evening, you're going insane.
You find Ikkaku fixing equipment and you drop onto the seat beside her dramatically “He's avoiding me.”
“Mmhm.”
“No, seriously.”
“Mmhm.”
“Ikkaku!”
She sighs “Yes. He is.”
You stare “YOU SEE IT TOO?”
“The entire submarine sees it.”
Your soul leaves your body “Oh no…”
“Oh yes.”
You bury your face in your hands “He heard.”
“Probably.”
“He definitely heard.”
“Definitely.”
“I'm going to die.”
“Probably not.”
You dramatically put your hands over your face “I'll have to leave the crew and live on a small island somewhere.”
“That seems dramatic.”
“I'll change my name.”
“Even more dramatic.”
“I'll become a farmer.”
Ikkaku finally laughs “You don't even know how plants work.”
“I'll learn.”
Before she can answer, Penguin suddenly appears and points at you “There you are!”
You blink “...Me?”
“Captain wants to see you in his office.”
Everything stops… your brain stops, your heart stops, the submarine stops… probably not the submarine, but definitely everything else.
Slowly, very slowly, you look at him “...Did he say why?”
Penguin shrugs “Nope.”
You turn toward Ikkaku and she looks back at you.
“If I don't come back,” you say solemnly, “tell Bepo he can have my secret snacks.”
“You're going to an office, not an execution.”
“How do you know?”
You stand up, take one step and turn back around “Actually no, this feels exactly like an execution.”
And somewhere inside his office, Trafalgar Law is currently asking himself why avoiding you somehow hurts more than simply hearing the truth.
The walk to Law's office feels longer than usual. Possibly because your legs have forgotten how to work. Or because your brain keeps coming up with new horrible possibilities.
Maybe he wants to transfer you to another division or whatever he has. Maybe he wants to make things “professional”. Maybe he wants you off the submarine.
You stop in front of the office door and stare at it.
You consider running away, but unfortunately, you’re an adult.
You knock.
“Come in.”
You open the door.
Law sits behind his desk, almost suspiciously normal.
“You wanted to see me, Captain?”
“Close the door.”
Your soul leaves your body as you close the door.
Outside the office, Bepo appears around the corner. Then Penguin. Then Sachi. Then Ikkaku. Then another crew member. Then another. The entire hallway slowly fills with these criminals who apparently have nothing better to do.
“Move over.” Penguin whispers.
“You're standing on my foot!” Sachi whispers back.
“Shhh!” Bepo whispers loudly.
Inside the office, thankfully, neither of you hears them.
Law clears his throat and looks at a paper and then at another paper… just anywhere except at you.
“I need you to organize the medical inventory from the last island.”
You blink “...What?”
“Some supplies are missing from the records.” he grabs another paper “And the storage room needs a new system because Penguin somehow filed painkillers with cooking spices.”
Outside the door: “That happened one time!” Penguin whispers.
“Three times.” Ikkaku whispers back.
Law continues “And Bepo says some boxes were moved during cleaning, so I need someone with a functional brain to check everything again.”
You stare at him.
He keeps talking… words continue happening, and you’re listening to exactly none of it, because your brain catches on one single detail.
He’s not angry, he’s not firing you and he’s not even mentioning yesterday.
Your eyes widen “...Then you didn’t hear?”
Law stops talking “Hear what?”
You stare at him and he stares back.
Your brain immediately chooses denial “...I'm still in the crew?”
Law looks at you like you just spoke another language “What?”
“I'm not getting kicked out?”
Now he looks genuinely concerned “Why would I kick you out?”
The biggest sigh in human history leaves your body. You practically collapse into the chair in front of his desk.
“Oh...” you put a hand over your chest “That's such a relief.”
Law frowns “Relief from what?”
You lean back in the chair “I thought I made things awkward.”
Law's eyes narrow slightly “For what?”
You look at him, completely innocent and completely unaware of the disaster about to happen.
“For yesterday.”
Law freezes.
Oh no.
You know.
Of course you know.
Why else would you bring it up?
His brain starts working very fast and very badly.
He adjusts his hat and looks away “You were drunk.”
You blink “...What?”
“It's okay.” he crosses his arms “I know you didn't mean it.”
Now it's your turn to freeze “Didn't mean what?”
Law answers immediately “You... don't really love me.”
You jump to your feet “YOU ACTUALLY HEARD ME?!”
Law blinks “...You didn't know?”
“I THOUGHT SO BUT THEN I THOUGHT NOT!”
Outside the office door: Penguin silently grabs Sachi's arm. Sachi silently grabs Bepo's arm. Bepo silently looks like he's about to cry. Ikkaku closes her eyes.
Finally.
Finally.
Inside the office, disaster continues.
You don't even let Law answer, instead, you bow quickly, eyes fixed on the floor “I'm sorry!”
Law immediately looks alarmed “What?”
“I know it's not right for me to have feelings for my captain.”
“That's not—”
“But please don't kick me out of the crew!”
Law stares.
You keep going, faster and faster, like a train without brakes “It's all I have...”
Your hands tighten into fists “I'll try my best not to make things awkward for you.”
Law opens his mouth but you don’t see him and so, you continue “I will change my seat at meals!”
“You don't have to…”
“Actually, I'll eat in my room!”
Outside: “No!” Bepo whispers in horror.
“Shhh!” Penguin whispers.
“But that's sad!”
Inside: “I'll take orders from Bepo so we don't even have to talk at all!”
Law looks genuinely offended by that idea “Why would—”
“Just please...” your voice finally breaks “I need to stay here.”
Silence fills the room.
Law can’t see your face. Your head is bowed too low.
But then he sees a single tear falls to the floor and everything inside him stops immediately.
Without thinking, he steps closer.
You don't even notice… not until fingers gently touch your chin.
Your breath catches.
Law lifts your face carefully and slowly.
His eyes meet yours and then his thumb brushes under your eye, wiping away a tear.
“I thought you were too drunk to mean all that yesterday...”
His voice is quiet. His thumb brushes away another tear.
“That’s why I’ve been avoiding you.”
Your eyes widen.
Law looks away for a second, as if admitting that physically hurts him “Because if you didn’t mean it...”
He exhales slowly “Then I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable by acting like I heard it.”
Outside the office door, the entire crew collectively stops breathing.
Inside the office, you just stare at him, because somehow, this conversation has become even more confusing.
“...You were avoiding me because you didn’t think I loved you?”
Law immediately regrets every decision that brought him to this moment “That isn’t what I said.”
“That’s exactly what you said.”
“No.”
“Captain…”
“No.”
You blink and Law sighs.
Slowly, he looks back at you, his hand is still under your chin “I thought you were drunk.”
His voice is almost frustratingly calm “Because if you weren’t...”
He stops.
You wait.
Outside the office door, four pirates lean even closer.
“If you weren’t?” you ask quietly.
Law closes his eyes for a moment and then opens them again “Then it would mean the person I love actually loves me back.”
Silence.
Outside the office: Bepo covers his mouth. Penguin grabs Sachi’s shoulders. Sachi grabs Penguin’s shoulders. Ikkaku looks ready to collapse from relief.
Inside the office… you stare at Law and Law stares at you.
“...What?”
Law looks away immediately “Forget I said that.”
“No, absolutely not.”
“Too late.”
“Captain!”
“Too late.”
“LAW!”
That makes him look back at you immediately.
Your eyes are still wet, but now you're smiling… a small smile. The kind that makes his heart do very inconvenient things.
“You love me?”
Law looks like he wants the floor to open and swallow him whole “Unfortunately.”
Outside the door, Ikkaku finally loses patience and she throws the door open “OH FOR GOD'S SAKE FINALLY!”
The entire crew falls into the office, literally.
Penguin lands on Sachi. Sachi lands on Bepo.
Bepo apologizes.
Law stares at the pile of pirates on his floor. You stare at them too.
“You were spying on us?!” you shout.
“YES!” Ikkaku shouts back.
She points dramatically at both of you “DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW LONG WE HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS?”
Penguin raises a hand from the floor “Two years, three months and six days.”
Law slowly removes his hat and covers his face with it.
You, meanwhile, seriously consider going out and jumping into the ocean.
Penguin somehow ended up under a chair. Sachi is still holding Bepo's arm. Bepo looks emotional enough to cry.
Law looks emotional enough to commit murder.
You point accusingly at the spies “YOU WERE LISTENING THE WHOLE TIME?!”
“Yes!” Ikkaku replies immediately.
“ALL OF IT?!”
“Most of it.”
Penguin raises a hand “We missed the first thirty seconds because Sachi stepped on Bepo's foot.”
“You stepped on my foot!” Sachi protests.
“Sorry!” Bepo says automatically.
You stare at Ikkaku and she stares back. Then your eyes narrow “You ruined the moment!”
She points at herself “Me?!”
“Yes, you!”
“I ruined the moment?”
“You kicked down the door!”
“Because the two of you were taking forever!”
“We were having a conversation!”
“You call that a conversation?!” she starts counting on her fingers “You cried about getting kicked out.” another finger “Captain thought your confession wasn't real.” another finger “Then Captain confessed.” another finger “Then both of you stared at each other for twenty seconds without blinking!”
You cross your arms “You can't know that… and… that was an important twenty seconds.”
“That was the longest twenty seconds of my life!”
Penguin nods “Honestly, I thought one of you had died standing up.”
“I almost did.” Law mutters.
You ignore him, mostly because you're busy glaring at Ikkaku “You still ruined the moment.”
“And I'd do it again.”
“Traitor.”
“Drama queen.”
“Door breaker.”
“Captain simp.”
You gasp “Too far.”
“Not far enough.”
Law sighs and rubs his forehead. This is probably not how he imagined today going.
Suddenly Penguin stands up “You know what?”
Everyone looks at him.
He points dramatically at you and Law and says “I think our work here is done.”
Sachi nods “Agreed.”
Bepo nods even harder “Very agreed!”
Ikkaku looks between the two of you, then she shrugs “Fine.”
She points at you “But if you somehow manage to misunderstand each other again, I'm locking both of you in a storage room.”
“Noted.” Law says dryly.
Penguin walks out and Sachi follows. Bepo gives you a thumbs up and a very emotional smile.
Ikkaku stops at the door, looks at you two and then she grins “Try not to take another two years.”
“Get out.” Law says immediately.
She laughs and the door closes.
Now it’s just you and Law, but neither of you speaks for a moment.
Then Law sighs.
“Well...” he adjusts his hat slightly “That was awkward.”
You look at him and give him a small smile “Was it?”
Law raises an eyebrow and you take a step closer.
He watches you take another step closer and then another, until there’s barely any space left between you.
You have to look up to meet his eyes and your smile becomes a little mischievous “I meant every word I said yesterday.”
Law goes still but you continue anyway “Drunk or not.”
Your voice softens “Law...”
His name sounds different coming from you like that… softer.
“I love you so much that I was ready to pretend not to exist if it meant I could stay with you.”
For a second, he just looks at you, and then one hand gently cups your cheek, his thumb brushes lightly near your temple and then he kisses you slowly and softly.
You kiss him back immediately, without hesitation.
His hand stays on your cheek.
Yours find his shirt, holding onto it lightly.
The world becomes very quiet.
When he finally pulls back, he stays close enough that your foreheads almost touch.
His eyes are softer than you've ever seen them.
“You know,” he says quietly, “eating every meal in your room was never an option.”
You laugh softly “Really?”
“Really.”
His thumb brushes your cheek again “And taking orders through Bepo was a terrible plan.”
“I was panicking.”
“I noticed.”
You grin “You looked pretty panicked too.”
Law immediately looks offended “I was perfectly calm.”
You stare at him and he stares back.
You raise an eyebrow and he looks away first.
Victory.
Your smile grows “So...”
Law looks back at you “So?”
“Does this mean I get my seat back at meals?”
He actually rolls his eyes “That was always your seat.”
Your heart does a very embarrassing thing inside your chest.
You smile at him again, soft and honestly happy “Good.”
Outside the office door, because of course they’re still there… a muffled voice whispers “THEY KISSED!”
Another voice immediately answers “I TOLD YOU THEY WOULD KISS!”
Law closes his eyes.
You burst out laughing and Law opens his eyes again just to look at you being this happy.
Then you calm down and turn back to him “Oh. You have to repeat to me why you actually called me here… I fear I heard nothing of all you told me earlier.”
He sighs and says “Don’t worry, I’ll make Ikkaku do it.”
You hear her behind the door but you don't care much, you just smile at Law and walk closer to hug him.
He smiles a bit and just lets you hug him while putting a hand on your waist to balance you.
Now you're so happy but that only means you will fangirl to Ikkaku about Law even harder from now on.
