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lumiileth · 4 days ago

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was it worth it? (of course you are!) pt. ii [luffy x reader]

summary: Luffy turned seventeen and set sail, just like their childhood promise—and that was when her pirate journey began, when he suddenly pulled her along with those ridiculous rubber arms, never knowing that the past she had buried deep would one day rise again to catch up with her. . . and with his crew.

or: a former celestial dragon slave learns to value life through a rubber man she had coincidentally met in her childhood.

pairing: Luffy x Former Slave!Reader, Slight!Ace x Reader, Platonic!The Straw Hat Pirates x Reader tags: Fluff, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Former Celestial Dragon Slave!Reader,

word count: 29.8k

warning: Implied Childhood Sexual Abuse, Nongraphic Descriptions of Sexual Abuse, Gear 5 Spoilers

part 1

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Let’s go to Sabaody Archipelago!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The grove (not an island! They recently found out) shimmered with iridescent bubbles, floating lazily in the air like dream fragments. Among the glimmering light, the Straw Hat crew walked with curious eyes and giddy anticipation.

“Hey guys! I can see a theme park!” Usopp’s voice broke through the bubble-filled air, pointing excitedly. “Let’s go! I wanna ride the ferris wheel!” Luffy was as excited as Ussop, forming their little duo, wanting to rush towards the park.

Chopper’s eyes sparkled. “A theme park?! That’ll be Shabondy Park!”

Camie gave a wistful sigh, a small smile playing on her lips. “Ahhh, the ferris wheel… It’s my dream to go on it someday.” Camie’s expression faltered. Her eyes fell toward the ground, voice soft.

“Dream. . ? Why can’t you go on it?” Chopper asked, tilting his head.

“Stop that nonsense!!” Pappag barked, exasperated. “You know you can’t do that, Camie!”

“. . .Yeah, I know,” she muttered, her smile dim.

“Camie. . .” She provided comfort to the mermaid, fully knowing the circumstances fishmen have on this island. Camie smiled at the consolation, “Thank you, Ange -san!”

She offered her name weakly, “That’s just a lousy nickname Sanji gave me. . . you can call me by your name.” She turned her attention towards her captain, Luffy. Who was busy fanboying with Ussop who wanted to go to Shabondy Park.

“Luffy, is it okay if I stay in the Sunny?” She inquired of her captain, receiving a disappointed look from the said man.

“Heeeeeh?” Luffy let out a grumble of confusion, “No way! We have to go to Shabondy Park together and ride the ferris wheel together!” A childish complaint from the captain. “and what I say goes!”

“Hey, do you really wanna be cooped up there when we can explore this place?” Ussop asked, raising a brow. “Nami already has Sanji wrapped around her finger, he wants to be in the Sunny, come ooon.” Ussop grabbed Luffy’s shirt, pointing at him.

“Look how offended Luffy looks!”

She sighed, she could never say no to Luffy. Ever. A nagging older brother's voice came through her mind.

“You gotta say no to him someday, you can’t just agree with him on everything!”

“Ace. . . What am I gonna do. . ?” She muttered to herself, as Ussop and Luffy both tilted their heads in confusion.

A little ways off, Hachi was being bombarded with questions from Nami. “What exactly are we doing on these islands anyway? You mentioned something about a ‘coating’?”

“Basically,” Hachi began, “if you do that, your ship will be able to travel underwater!”

Luffy’s eyes lit up. “Huh?! Really?!” Leaving her and Ussop, his attention fully towards the Octopus Fishman.

“Nyuu! But first, we have to find ourselves a coating mechanic. He’ll have to coat your ship with this resin,” Hatchan explained, though some of the Straw Hat was minding their own business, too busy gaping at the groves. “If the job’s not done properly, the whole ship can sink and fall! I know a mechanic that I trust with my life, so I’d bring you to him.”

“That’s great!”

“But in return, I need you guys to promise me one thing,” Hatchan said, his tone more serious than they had ever heard. The usually cheerful fish-man wore a grave expression, his brows furrowed with a concern that was uncharacteristic of him. His hands clenched into fists at his sides as if bracing himself for whatever reaction they might have.

“Right, what is it?” Luffy asked, tilting his head slightly, curiosity piqued but without an ounce of worry in his voice. He was as carefree as ever, completely oblivious to the weight of Hatchan’s words and what they meant.

“This place has a lot of World Nobles running around,” Hatchan started explaining. Luffy listened, his expression unbothered, but what he didn’t notice was the way one of his crewmates visibly flinched at the mere mention of them.

“They’re the people who live in the Holy Land, Mariejois,” Robin added, her voice as calm as always, yet there was a quiet sharpness beneath it. Unlike Luffy, she understood the severity of the situation.

“Uh, what about them?” Luffy asked, still not grasping the gravity of the conversation, his voice light, casual, completely disconnected from the fear that weighed heavily on the others.

“No matter what happens in this town,” Hatchan’s voice dropped lower, filled with an intensity that was impossible to ignore. “You gotta promise not to disobey the World Nobles.”

She stared at Hatchan, taking in the way his entire body seemed tense, his posture rigid with fear. Desperation. She recognized it instantly. It was the same look she had once worn, the same fear that had been drilled into her long ago.

“Even if there are people killed in front of your eyes, you have to pretend you don’t see anything.”

“The World Nobles are also known as the ‘Celestial Dragons,’” Hatchan continued, his words slow, deliberate, like he was trying to make Luffy truly understand the weight of them.

“They’re incredibly proud, and they wear something like a mask to avoid breathing the same air as us.” His voice held something unspoken, something resentful, but also full of fear.

“Never go up against them. Promise me, Luffy!” Hatchan pleaded, his voice tight with worry, his eyes searching Luffy’s face for any sign of understanding.

“Sure!” Luffy said with a grin, as if making a promise to not cause trouble was the easiest thing in the world. He didn’t realize—none of them did—that his promise would mean nothing soon enough.

Then they heard it.

A desperate scream.

“Please, somebody help me! I gotta go back to my family, my daughter and wife!” The voice was rough, hoarse from what was likely hours, maybe even days, of crying.

A man, bound in heavy chains, stumbled forward, his wrists and neck bruised and raw. His clothes were torn, his face covered in grime, but more than that, his eyes held nothing but sheer, unfiltered desperation. He clawed at the thick iron collar strapped tightly around his throat, his fingers bloody from the effort.

Her hands shot up to her own neck before she could stop herself, fingers grazing smooth skin where cold, rusted metal once dug into her flesh. It was a reflex, an unconscious reaction, her body remembering before her mind could even process what was happening.

A small movement, but it didn’t go unnoticed. Someone had seen it.

“Come on! Somebody! An axe—just help me get rid of this thing! I’ve given up on the New World, please help me!” The pirate wailed, voice cracking under the weight of his fear.

“Don’t get involved,” Hatchan warned, eyes darting around warily, as if afraid that even speaking too loudly would bring unwanted attention. “He was probably caught and sold as a slave. His owner must’ve brought him here, and he made a run for it.”

The man continued to struggle against the collar, yanking at it with everything he had. “If I can just take off this rin—”

BOOM.

A sickening explosion rang through the street. The force of it made the ground tremble beneath them. The man’s headless body collapsed onto the pavement, smoke curling from where the collar had detonated. Blood splattered across the ground, dark and thick, pooling beneath his lifeless form. The stench of burnt flesh filled the air, acrid and suffocating.

Luffy gasped, his eyes widening. “Huh?!”

“That’s awful! We should have saved him!” Brook roared, horror painted across his usually jovial expression, his hands clenched into fists at his sides.

Pappag slapped Brook lightly, his face pale. “You promised not to get involved with the Celestial Dragons!”

“What is this town?!” Chopper cried, his voice shaking, his small body trembling as he stared at the lifeless corpse before them.

She wasn’t breathing. Her chest tightened, constricting painfully. Her head spun, her vision blurred. The scene before her twisted, warping into something else entirely, something from her past—

“Hachin, there’s a Celestial Dragon near!” Camie cried out, clinging onto the octopus fishman in fear.

“If a slave tries to escape, the collar around their necks will explode,” Hatchan said grimly. The explanation was unnecessary. She knew that already. She knew it too well.

Then she saw it.

A dog.

No. Not just any dog.

Her stomach twisted violently. Her hands trembled. Her breath came in shallow, uneven gasps.

She knew that dog. She knew that dog.

“Oh my,” a voice, dripping with condescension, sneered. “Saru, how vulgar.”

Her body moved on instinct—

She knelt.

The moment her knees hit the pavement, shame burned through her like fire, searing her to her bones. Humiliation clawed at her throat, but her mind screamed OBEY. OBEY. OBEY.

She was shaking. She was trembling. No matter how far she had come. No matter how much she had changed. She was still—

“Hey, what are you doing?!”

Luffy’s voice cut through her haze like a blade, sharp and grounding.

“She’s quick!” Hatchan said, oblivious to her inner turmoil. “Hurry, get on your knees too! And whatever you do, don’t look them in the eyes!”

She clenched her fists, nails digging into her palms, grounding herself, keeping her from losing herself entirely.The Celestial Dragon sneered down at the unconscious, nearly lifeless man, his pristine white boot pressing cruelly against the bloodied flesh. The once-proud figure lay crumpled in a heap, his breath shallow, his body broken beyond recognition.

“Oh, he’s certainly useless now.”

Saint Roswald and Saint Shalria.

Names she hadn’t dared to speak for years. Yet here they were, standing before her once again, as if fate itself was laughing at her futile attempts to outrun the past.

Her stomach churned. Her breath hitched. Every nerve in her body screamed for her to move, to run, to fight, but she was frozen. Paralyzed by the echoes of chains rattling against marble floors, by the phantom grip of hands she had long escaped but never truly forgotten.

“So you meet your end wailing for people to save you?” Saint Roswald wrinkled his nose in disgust before raising his gun, leveling it at the unmoving body. The trigger clicked, and a deafening shot rang out, sending another bullet into the corpse. A final, unnecessary act of cruelty.

“Frankly, it sickens me.”

The gunshot echoed, reverberating in her skull like a long-buried nightmare dragged back to life. The scent of gunpowder mixed with the stench of blood, an all-too-familiar combination that sent ice through her veins.

Luffy’s body tensed beside her, his fists clenching so tightly that his knuckles turned white. He moved before he could think, pure, unfiltered rage fueling his every step. But Hatchan grabbed his wrist, yanking him back with desperate force.

“Wait, you promised!!” the fish-man hissed, voice trembling with urgency.

Luffy struggled, his body vibrating with restrained fury. His eyes, usually so bright with reckless joy, darkened into something dangerous. Something lethal.

“I think I would like a giant for my next slave,” Saint Shalria mused, her tone disturbingly casual, as if picking a trinket from a store.

Her father chuckled, low and indulgent. “You should start with a mere human child first.”

She scoffed, crossing her arms. “And have it be like Charlos’ slave? No, thank you.”

Her breath hitched sharply.

Her blood turned to ice.

No. No, no, no.

Even after all these years. Even after she had clawed her way out of the abyss they had thrown her into—

They still remembered.

Her fists clenched at her sides, fingernails digging so deep into her palms that warm blood pooled in the creases of her skin. Her pulse thundered in her ears, drowning out everything but the ghosts of her past.

She remembers how Saint Charlos had favored her.

Favored her a bit too well.

A ghostly touch slithered down her spine, suffocating, inescapable. The mangrove trees surrounding her were replaced with towering marble halls, with golden chandeliers casting twisted shadows against the floors she had scrubbed raw with her own hands. A memory of a man she was forced to touch every day.

She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, desperate—desperate—to keep herself from spiraling.

“I’m sure that pirate could’ve fought the weak-looking girl and an old man!” Chopper said, frustration evident in his voice.

“But if you wound a Celestial Dragon, an Admiral will most likely hunt you down,” Pappag informed them, his tone weary.

“Huh?! Like Aokiji?!” Luffy blurted, his anger momentarily giving way to shock.

Brook and Chopper flinched, mirroring his disbelief. But one of them remained silent, Luffy noticed that one of his crewmates had been eerily silent for a while.

Luffy tilted his head, frowning. His gaze shifted, searching—and then he saw her.

Kneeling.

Shaking.

She barely registered his voice the first time.

“Oi…?”

It was softer now, no longer the brash, careless tone he usually carried. It was gentler. Concerned.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

She couldn’t breathe.

She had spent years searching for the meaning of freedom—not just the kind spoken of in grand tales, but the kind she could feel in her bones, in the wind against her skin, in the laughter shared over meals that weren’t rationed by someone else’s hand.

She had found a glimpse of it in Luffy’s unwavering spirit, in Ace’s reckless grin, in the way they carried themselves like they had never been shackled.

Through them, she had found purpose, a reason to keep moving forward. They gave her more than just the illusion of freedom, they gave her a reason to believe in it.

And yet, her journey hadn’t been a willing one. She hadn’t chosen to be a pirate; Luffy had forced her hand, had backed her into a corner until the only way was intertwining her path with his. Not once did she ever regret her decision to give in to Luffy, to carve out a space for herself where no one could ever chain her again.

But standing here, in the shadow of those who had once chained her, she wondered if she had ever truly escaped at all.

Comfort. That was what Luffy was. Even as the world threatened to pull her under, the sound of his voice was an anchor.

“Luffy. . .” she breathed, her voice barely above a whisper.

He noticed it, of course. Luffy wasn’t dumb, not in the ways that mattered. He had seen her act strangely from the moment they set foot on this island.

He crouched beside her, searching her face, his usual unshakable energy replaced by something softer. Something understanding.

“Hey. . . what’s wrong?”

She forced a smile, her fingers brushing against his shoulder in reassurance. A weak attempt to pretend she was fine.

“Nothing,” she lied, her voice steady even as her hands trembled. “I’m just as shocked as you are.”

Hatchan from afar had a strange look in his eyes, he didn’t believe her, neither did Luffy.

Because she was still trembling, even as she gripped onto Luffy’s sleeve like a lifeline.

Her fingers tightened against Luffy’s shoulder, gripping onto him as if he were the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. Because right now, in the presence of those who had once owned her, who had stripped her of dignity, of freedom—she wasn’t sure she wouldn’t shatter.

‘ Not in front of Luffy .’ Her heart whispered,

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

She was no older than five years old when she was sold at an auction house, right here, in Sabaody Archipelago. The bright lights blinded her, and the room felt suffocating, filled with people shouting numbers that she couldn’t comprehend. Her tiny hands trembled as thick iron shackles bit into her wrists, too heavy for her small frame to bear.

Fear clawed at her throat, but her mind kept wandering back to home—to the familiar fields of Lvneel Kingdom in North Blue. So close to Mariejois, yet so far from Sabaody. How did it all happen so fast?

She remembered it so vividly—It had been just an ordinary day— she was helping her mother in the field, the air thick with the scent of fresh crops.

Her parents were farmers, simple and humble farmers in Lvneel. Her mother was exhausted from working under the scorching sun, so they opted to rest. She laid down on the dirt as she gently touched her mother’s arm with glowing fingertips, allowing warmth and relief to seep into her mother’s aching muscles.

She loved her power—her devil fruit was like magic that made people feel good. It made her happy when they smiled at her with gratitude.

But that day, she wasn’t the only one who noticed her powers. A few men wearing a gaudy, extravagant helmet—shiny and shaped like a bubble—walked through the field, followed closely by tall, imposing guards in black suits and dark sunglasses.

She didn’t understand why everyone in the village suddenly dropped to their knees, faces pressed into the dirt. Why did they look so terrified?

One of the guards approached, his heavy footsteps making the ground tremble. He looked down at her, his face emotionless, yet somehow intimidating. Her mother and father didn’t move, paralyzed by fear. The guard’s voice was like gravel as he asked.

“Is that power from a devil fruit?”

She was just a child, bright-eyed and blissfully naive. A wide grin stretched across her face as she nodded enthusiastically.

“Yeah!” she chirped, as if proud that someone noticed her gift. “I don’t know what it’s called, but I call it the Tender-Tender Fruit! I can make people feel things I want!” She let go of her mother and stepped forward to show the big man her glowing fingers.

“Look! I can make them feel happy or calm, anything that I want them to feel! As long as I can feel it too!”

The guard hummed thoughtfully, his cold gaze flickering back to the noble behind him. The man leaned down to whisper something in the noble’s ear, and the bubble-helmeted figure gave a faint nod. She didn’t know what they were talking about, but her excitement slowly faded as she noticed the uneasy looks her parents gave each other.

Then, without warning, the guard grabbed her arm and pulled her away from her mother. She stumbled, almost falling, but he didn’t slow down. Panic set in as her parents stayed frozen, not fighting, not yelling—just standing there, rooted to the spot with pale faces and wide, empty eyes.

“Hey, mister,” she asked, her voice soft and confused, “Hey, where am I going?” She didn’t resist, too shocked and dazed to understand.

“We’d like you to use your powers for other people,” the guard answered flatly, not even looking at her.

She blinked up at him, trying to process it. Helping people? That was okay, wasn’t it? She liked helping. She glanced back over her shoulder and waved with a beaming smile.

“Bye-bye, Mom! Dad!” she called cheerfully. But her parents didn’t wave back. They just watched with an expression that is quite hollow, defeated.

There were three World Nobles present that day, each of them from different families, adorned in their grotesque bubble helmets and luxurious garments, surrounded by a swarm of armed guards. By some twisted coincidence, they had decided to visit the countryside together, perhaps to flaunt their power or indulge in the exotic simplicity of rural life.

The villagers had scattered at the mere sight of them, heads bowed low, faces pressed into the dirt. Nobody dared to breathe too loudly, fearful of attracting unwanted attention.

“Oi, that one’s mine,” he snarled, glaring at his companions. “I found her first.” A blush forming, “The immeasurable pleasure she could give me,” Slight drool escaped his lips.

The second noble, a slim, snake-like figure, scoffed and waved a lazy hand.

“You? Don’t be absurd,” he drawled. “A power like that deserves refinement,” He waved his hand in dismissal, “She’ll be my personal healer. Imagine it, never needing a doctor, always having someone to soothe away the aches of travel and pleasure.”

The third noble, a woman, clicked her tongue in annoyance.

“You men are insufferable,” she sneered. “A delicate thing like that should be kept as a pet—a precious little doll to amuse me and calm my nerves whenever I wish.”

The tension between them was thick and palpable, and their guards stood on edge, unsure whether to intervene or let the argument unfold. None of them wanted to upset their respective masters, but they couldn’t help but exchange nervous glances. World Nobles fighting amongst themselves was a dangerous affair, one that could end in death if not resolved carefully.

Finally, the first noble huffed and straightened his posture, casting a sideways glance at the small girl.

“There’s only one way to settle this fairly,” he proposed, his lips curling into a cruel smile. “We put her up for auction. Whoever pays the most can take her.”

“Fine,” the second world noble grunted. “But you better have the pockets to keep up.”

The woman merely shrugged with a bored expression, already calculating how much she was willing to spend. The three of them nodded, signaling their agreement, and one of the guards pulled her roughly dragging her toward the ship that would take her to Sabaody.

The nobles continued to bicker as they followed behind, already discussing strategies to outbid each other. To them, it was nothing more than a game, a twisted competition to see who could flaunt their wealth the most.

The girl, meanwhile, was too stunned to fully comprehend what was happening, looking back at her parents with wide, questioning eyes. Her parents could do nothing but watch, paralyzed by fear and resignation, aware that any resistance would mean their immediate execution.

That night, she found herself in the belly of a dark ship, crammed into a small cage with chains around her wrists and neck. She didn’t understand why—why she wasn’t going home, why her parents didn’t come to get her, why everyone else around her looked so defeated and lifeless.

When they reached Sabaody, her world twisted even more. She was cleaned up, dressed in a thin, uncomfortable gown that exposed her bare shoulders, and led into the grand hall of an auction house. The stage was big and intimidating, and bright lights shone down on her like cruel eyes. People filled the room—rich, loud, and greedy—staring at her like she was nothing but an object.

The bidding started, and it was chaotic, numbers being thrown around like it was a game. People kept shouting higher and higher, but the ones she heard the loudest were the three Celestial Dragons—she had learned their proper name from the whispers of the auction house— the same ones who had been in her village that day. They were arguing with each other, each demanding to take her, fighting over her like she was a prized possession. She didn’t understand why they wanted her so badly.

Her first heartbreak came when she realized what it really meant to help these people. It wasn’t like tending to her mother’s tired muscles or making her father laugh after a hard day’s work. It wasn’t gentle or kind. It was nothing like what she imagined.

She realized, in the crushing silence of the backstage cage, that her parents hadn’t fought for her. That they hadn’t chased after her or begged for her return. They had let her go, knowing full well what awaited her at the end of that journey. Maybe they were powerless, maybe they were terrified, but the pain of betrayal cut deep, searing through her chest like a brand.

And when the final gavel hit the podium, her fate was sealed. Saint Charlos, one of the Celestial Dragons, had won the bidding war, purchasing her for an obscene amount of money. She didn’t understand why, or how, or what she’d done to deserve this fate.

That was the first time she truly understood what it meant to be powerless.

She was dragged off the stage, tears finally streaming down her cheeks as the reality of her fate settled in. The dream of helping people had turned into a nightmare, and her innocent heart could no longer bear the weight of hopelessness.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It started as a whisper. At first, she thought it was just another cruel joke—another sneer or mocking nickname thrown her way by the guards or the other slaves.

It wasn’t uncommon for them to pick on her, especially when she was relatively new and still had that glimmer of hope in her eyes.

But when she was dragged before Saint Charlos for the first time—still trembling, still holding back the sobs that had been clawing at her throat—she heard it for real. The noble looked at her with that grotesque, wide-mouthed grin of his, his cheeks flushed red from either excitement or the wine he’d been drinking.

He clapped his hands together like a child presented with a new toy and sauntered closer, his guards holding her in place as she struggled to keep her chin up.

“Ohhhh, my own Pleasure Doll!” he cooed in that sickeningly childish tone, bending down to peer into her wide, fearful eyes. “I’ve been waiting to see you up close. Make me feel pleasure now!”

She didn’t respond, not immediately. Her hands were shaking, and she was trying to remember how to breathe without drawing attention to the fear clawing at her ribs. One of the guards nudged her hard in the side, making her stumble forward.

“She’s a bit stubborn, my lord,” the guard apologized quickly, yanking her by the hair to force her to bow. “But she’s got the power you wanted. Just say the word. . .”

Charlos didn’t seem bothered by the lack of response. In fact, he seemed to find it amusing, his laughter bubbling up like a spoiled child’s giggle. He reached out, pinching her cheek between his gloved fingers, yanking her face up so that their eyes met.

“What’s the matter, Pleasure Doll? Not gonna smile for me?” he teased, his breath hot and rancid against her face. “You’re mine now. You’re gonna make me feel happy every day, aren’t you?”

She swallowed thickly, forcing herself not to pull away despite the sharp pain in her scalp. Her lips quivered, and she barely managed a nod, her voice coming out strained and tiny.

“Yes, my lord,” she whispered, willing her power to work through the pain and terror. Her fingers tingle faintly, and the comforting warmth washed over Charlos, making him sigh with satisfaction.

“See? Good little Pleasure Doll,” he crooned, patting her head like she was a pet. “Now make me feel pleasure .”

“I’m sorry to interrupt, sir.” One of the guards spoke up, interrupting her from using her Devil Fruit, “It is claimed that she can only give feelings she has felt before, I doubt a girl her age would know what pleasure means.”

“Oh~?” Saint Charlos drawled, eyes gleaming with a depraved curiosity, a flush rising on his cheeks.

She didn’t understand what the guard meant. Not entirely. Not yet.

But Saint Charlos’ laugh—low, perverse, and far too delighted—told her enough. There was something in that sound that made her skin crawl, something that made her fingers stop glowing.

Later that night, when the doors locked and the lights dimmed, she learned the true meaning of “Pleasure Doll.”

Not through words. But through silence. Through the way her body froze and her spirit fled somewhere far away.

She wasn’t old enough to name what happened. But she felt it—screaming in her bones, bleeding behind her eyes, trembling in her fingers. She couldn’t summon anything after that. Not joy, not calm, not even a trace of her power. It had retreated into her, too frightened to show itself.

From then on, every time he called her that name— Pleasure Doll —something inside her cracked.

It wasn’t a title, it wasn’t affection. It was ownership. A curse disguised as praise and she had to wear it every day, smiling when told, trembling when alone, whispering apologies to herself for not knowing what to do.

The nickname spread like wildfire after that. The other Celestial Dragons picked up on it, snickering and jeering whenever they passed her in Mariejois. Charlos’ Pleasure Doll —a twisted, affectionate name meant to reduce her to nothing but a tool for their comfort and pleasure.

And every time they called her that, they expected a smile, as if the name itself was something sweet and precious rather than a chain around her throat. She hated it—hated the way it clung to her like a second skin, reminding her of how powerless she was. But she forced herself to smile through it because not smiling would lead to punishment.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It was only later—years later—that she told Ace about her God awful nickname, the first thing the young boy did was insult her.

“Pleasure Doll?” He repeated, his face scrunching up as if trying to piece it together. Then, almost on instinct, he barked out a laugh. “Pleasure? You?”

Her gaze snapped to him, confused and almost hurt, but he didn’t give her the chance to spiral. He pointed at her, smirking with a faint blush on his cheeks.

“Are they blind or just stupid? You’re stubborn as hell! Sometimes rude, and way too blunt for your own good!” He was practically cackling now. “Pleasure? You’re the opposite of pleasure!”

Her mouth fell open, and she looked seconds away from punching him, but he just kept going, undeterred.

“And a doll? Really? Look at you!” He gestured up and down. “You’re in the woods with the three of us, dirt on your face and leaves in your hair, looking like some kind of wild animal. If that’s a doll, I’ve been lied to my whole life!”

She couldn’t help it—she snorted out a laugh, and Ace’s grin softened, though his cheeks stayed stubbornly pink.

“You’re such an idiot,” she muttered, shaking her head.

“Maybe,” Ace shot back, shrugging, “but at least I’m not the one thinking they’re some fancy doll. You’re just you—wild, stubborn, annoying you.”

She looked at him, eyes still wet but now sparkling with something lighter, something a little more alive.

“That’s better,” he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. “You’re more than whatever they called you. Way more.”

When she smiled—really smiled—he felt something stupid flutter in his chest, but he didn’t let it show. Instead, he just tossed a stick at her, making her yelp and snap back at him.

“Oi! What was that for?”

“For thinking dumb things,” he said, more to himself, as he stuck out his tongue. “Can’t let you get away with that.”

And when she lunged at him, ready to tackle him to the ground, he couldn’t help but laugh, because that’s what he wanted—her fire back. Even if it meant a few bruises from her relentless revenge.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The universe truly hated her. That was the only explanation.

She was there when Fisher Tiger raided Mariejois.

She could hear it, chaos unfolding beyond the gilded walls, the sounds of shouting and metal clashing. A glimpse from the corner of her eye revealed the sprawling grandeur of Mariejois crumbling, flames licking at pristine architecture, slaves fleeing in every direction as shackles hit the ground like discarded burdens.

Hope flickered in her chest, a tiny, fragile thing that dared to dream of freedom. But just as quickly as it sparked, it was crushed by the cold, unyielding grip around her wrist.

Saint Charlos’ greasy fingers dug into her skin, his clammy hand holding hers in a vice-like grip, forcing her to keep her touch on him, keeping him drunk on the fabricated euphoria that she forced herself to feel just to satisfy his demands.

Her power was a cruel, twisted gift. It couldn’t just conjure emotions out of thin air; it had to come from her own heart, her own soul. So she forced herself to feel the ecstasy he wanted, the ecstasy she had felt from him, because if she didn’t, she knew he’d make her feel pain instead.

She couldn’t even cry. Tears would disrupt the illusion. Instead, she fixed her eyes on the mayhem outside, letting a small, fleeting wish take root. If only she could just break free, if only someone could save her.

A shudder ran through Charlos as he pulled her closer, his face pressing into her neck, his breath hot and rancid against her skin.

“You’re mine, little slave,” he whispered, his voice low and possessive. “Your power is the most important thing to me right now. I’ll never let you go. Never. No matter what happens out there, you will never leave my side.”

His grip tightened, his nails biting into her skin, and she forced herself to smile, to play the part of the obedient, adoring servant. A hollow, empty smile that never reached her eyes.

She wanted to scream, to claw at his face, to use her power to force fear or disgust down his throat—but she didn’t dare. She could only glance at the freedom outside and cling to the pitiful, desperate hope that someday— someday —someone would tear her away from this living nightmare.

Years later, though the shackles were long gone, its ghost still haunted her—an unyielding reminder of the past she couldn’t escape, but one day a boy with a straw hat, bright, unbreakable, and relentless, will tear her away from the nightmare that had once consumed her.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

In her years in Mariejois, serving Saint Charlos, there was one guard she had grown close to.

“Machi-san!”

He was her designated guard—the one responsible for making sure she was there when Saint Charlos woke up, there when Saint Charlos needed her, and there when Saint Charlos wanted her. He was the one who led her toward her own personal hell, day after day. Yet, despite being the one who chained her to this torment, Machi himself was. . . kind.

He had been her guard for about a year now, replacing the previous ones who had either been killed or reassigned to another family. Out of all of them, he was by far her favorite.

Unlike the guards before him, Machi let her bathe on her own, affording her a small sliver of privacy. He dressed her modestly—how a child should be dressed—shielding her from the prying eyes of those who saw her as nothing but a tool. He treated her like a human being, as if the “Hoof of the Soaring Dragon” branded onto her stomach was just a meaningless mark instead of a cruel reminder of her enslavement.

When Saint Charlos grew dissatisfied with her powers and forced her to the point of overexertion, her fingers wrinkling and cracking, raw and bleeding from the strain, Machi would carefully tend to her wounds, his touch gentle and deliberate, as though she were something precious and not disposable.

Without realizing it, he had begun caring for her more than he thought possible.

“Pedi-san,” Machi called out softly, his voice carrying a hint of regret as he used the vile nickname the Celestial Dragons had given her, one he despised but was forced to say. Pleasure Doll, P.D., Pedi. He wasn’t allowed to know her real name, after all.

“Do you know what a vivre card is?”

She shook her head, wiping at her damp cheeks, Saint Charlos had been rough today, much rougher than usual, he got home demanding his Pleasure Doll because the auction house he went to did not have a mermaid slave on sale, she was overwhelmed by his emotions and had a hard time keeping up the feelings he wanted, which caused the tantrum that wounded her immensely.

Machi pulled out a small piece of blank paper. It moved ever so slightly, as if alive, and she couldn’t help but stare at it in confusion.

“See here?” he said gently, holding the paper between his rough fingers. “This paper will always lead to its owner. Do you trust me?”

She nodded quietly, despite the tears running down her face, her small hands trembling as he pressed the paper into her palm and closed her fingers into a fist.

“I’m giving this to you,” he whispered, keeping his voice low so that no one else would hear. “The vivre card here belongs to Dragon,” He repeated the name slower so that the girl would understand.

“Dr. . . agon?”

“When the time is right, find the owner of this paper. He’ll treat you well. Tell him that Machi sent you, okay?”

“Can’t we go there together?” she asked, her head tilted with that familiar, childlike innocence that refused to fade despite all she had endured.

Machi hesitated, his heart aching at her simple question. He wanted to—oh, how he wanted to. He wanted to take her to Baltigo, to see his comrades again, to laugh and joke like old times. To be free, together. But deep down, he knew that was just a dream. A fragile, fleeting fantasy that would never come true.

He hadn’t always been nice to her, he had followed protocol in fear of being found out and disrupting the whole mission, but when he was hit by Saint Charlos because of something as measly as forgetting to open the door for Saru (their damn dog), and despite still bleeding out from his head, he was still forced to do his job.

He dragged his aching body through the pristine halls of Mariejois, head pounding and vision blurred, but he didn’t falter. He didn’t dare.

As a personal guard for the slave, his duty was to ensure that she didn’t run or falter, to keep her compliant and at her master’s beck and call. He hated himself for it, for every time he had to look at her frightened eyes and do nothing. But it was his mission—his purpose—to stay undercover, even if it meant dragging this innocent child through hell.

He thought she was just another pitiful soul caught in the cruel web of power, just another slave who had lost all hope. He never expected her to be the one to shatter his defenses.

But everything crumbled down one day, when he stumbled into her room, already rehearsing the words to tell her to prepare herself for Saint Charlos’ chamber, she looked up with wide, concerned eyes. He froze when she moved toward him, the tiny hands that had been used to soothe monsters now reaching out to him.

Before he could even protest or tell her to back away, she touched his hand, her small fingers wrapping around his. A surge of warmth spread through him like a gentle tide, washing away the pain and the crushing weight on his soul. His dizziness faded, his heartbeat steadied, and for a fleeting, fragile moment, he felt at peace.

Machi looked down, bewildered, as the little girl gave him a worried frown. “Machi-san, are you okay?” she asked, her voice as soft as a whisper, laced with genuine concern that no one in this hell ever showed him.

He didn’t have the heart to answer, too caught up in the ache blossoming in his chest. Something broke inside him at that moment—a dam of guilt and regret and something horribly tender.

For the first time in years, he couldn’t hold back the tears burning in his eyes. He was supposed to be strong, supposed to be indifferent and practical, but in the face of this child’s innocent kindness, he crumbled.

He wasn’t supposed to feel anything. He had been trained to be detached, and for the most part, he had succeeded. He watched guards come and go, watched them beat her for the smallest mistakes, watched her try to hide her trembling hands behind her back as if showing weakness would make it worse.

It started off subtle, he never questioned why she was afforded the rare luxury of her own room—nothing more than a cramped and dim space, but a privilege compared to the vast slave quarters crowded with dozens of others.

Perhaps it was because of her power, or maybe it was because the Celestial Dragon liked to think she was his personal pet, a toy to show off to his peers. Whatever the reason, it gave her a small corner of solitude, and at night, Machi guarded that door with his life.

He knew he was breaking rules when he gave her a slice of bread one evening, after she had spent the entire day in the chamber without food. She looked at it as if she didn’t know what it was, just stared at the stale, hardened crust with wide, unblinking eyes. He almost took it back, thinking it was stupid of him to expect her to eat something so pathetic, but then she grabbed it with both hands and devoured it like a starving animal.

He hadn’t meant to give her more after that, but when he saw how she savored even the smallest scraps, he found himself slipping her bits of dried meat, an apple once in a while, and whatever else he could sneak past the kitchen guards. It was a small comfort—nothing compared to the horrors she faced every day—but it made her smile, just a little, and that was enough to make him forget the gnawing hunger in his own belly.

Sometimes, when he treated her hands after Saint Charlos’ cruel experiments, he would hum softly under his breath, an old tune from the vast seas. He didn’t think she would notice, but one evening, as he wrapped her bandaged fingers, she hummed it back to him, soft and shaky but unmistakably the same melody. He froze, staring at her as if seeing her for the first time. She looked up with hesitant eyes, unsure if she had done something wrong.

“That’s. . . a good song,” he managed to choke out, and her face lit up with a shy, fleeting smile, recognizing Bink’s Sake.

That was when he knew he had failed—failed his mission to stay cold and unfeeling, failed to keep himself from caring too much. Somewhere along the line, she had wormed her way past his defenses, and he had let her, selfishly. She wasn’t just another mission. She wasn’t just a slave. She was a little girl who had never known kindness, and he had given her scraps of it without thinking about the consequences.

He tried to justify it to himself, saying that it was better to keep her spirit alive, that the Revolutionaries would need her unbroken when the day finally came. But deep down, he knew that wasn’t the truth. He cared about her. He had grown to see her not just as a responsibility, but as a child—his child who deserved better than this hell.

And he knew that one day, it would be his undoing.

“Machi-san?” The young girl called out to him, breaking him from his thoughts of the past.

At that moment, he wasn’t a revolutionary soldier infiltrating enemy territory. He wasn’t a cold-hearted guard following the commands of monsters.

He was just a man who saw the girl as his daughter. The look she gave him, full of trust and quiet fear, tore through every wall he had ever built around his heart.

He knelt down in front of her, his rough, calloused hands cupping her tiny face with a gentleness he didn’t know he possessed. He forced himself to smile, even though his heart was breaking, and wiped away the streak of blood that had dripped onto her forehead.

“Yeah,” he choked out, his voice shaking with something he couldn’t quite name. “We’ll try together.”

And even though he knew that he was lying—knew that he would never make it out of this mission alive—he couldn’t take that tiny spark of hope from her. He couldn’t be the one to snuff it out. So he let her dream, just once more, and swore to himself that he would give her that chance to keep dreaming, even if it cost him everything.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The day came faster than expected

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Machi knelt beside her, his broad shoulders shielding her trembling form from the chaos outside. For once, she got a good look of his eyes behind the sunglasses he wore 24/7, they weren’t cold or calculating—they were gentle, filled with a sadness she didn’t understand. He spoke in a low, urgent whisper, his hand carefully resting on her shoulder.

“You’ve been told your whole life that you belong to them,” he said, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his gaze, as he held her between his hands.

“But listen to me. You were never theirs to own. No matter what they did to you, no matter how they tried to break you—you’re still your own person. You deserve to be free.”

He looked over his shoulder, making sure the coast was clear before slipping a key into her collar, unlocking them with a soft click .

“Run,” he urged, his voice catching just a little. “Run and don’t look back. Live. Find something to fight for that’s yours. Promise me—you’ll never let anyone chain you down again.”

She stared at him, frozen in disbelief, but he just gave her a soft, bittersweet smile and nudged her toward the door.

“Go.” He said again, much more stern, “Remember that you’re your own person.” He smiled, “And that’s enough to make you keep forward.”

And with that, he stood up, turning back to face the chaos, giving her the one thing she thought she’d never have—a chance at freedom.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“GUARD #23 ! ” Saint Charlos bellowed, not bothering to look the man in the eye. Names were beneath him. Titles were beneath him. Everyone else was beneath him.

‘ Ah. . .’ Machi thought, ‘Dragon-san, sorry for not keeping my promise to come back, but I’m betting my life on the next generation.’

He saw Kuma’s gentle smile. Ivankov’s defiant laugh. So many comrades, faces burned into his memory. But it was her—the girl with trembling hands and eyes too bright to belong to a slave—that filled his heart in his final moment.

And now, standing before him, was the embodiment of that oppression, Saint Charlos, red-faced and livid. The Celestial Dragon had struck Machi with the butt of his rifle, screaming for answers, demanding to know where his precious slave had gone.

But Machi didn’t flinch. He had calculated everything.

She should be running down the Red Line right about now, he thought.

Down the very escape path he had carved with his own hands.

He had bet everything on her.

Despite the horrors she had endured under the grotesque and perverse Saint Charlos, despite the bruises, the commands, the trembling, there had been something else in her eyes. A flicker. A spark. Something wild, something free, something that refused to be extinguished.

He had seen it. The way she looked at the world—not just with fear, but with hope buried deep, waiting to bloom.

And so, when the final blow came, Machi fell with a quiet smile etched into his bloodied face.

Peaceful.

Hopeful.

Because he had helped that girl—the one he’d come to love like a daughter—make her escape.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.

Her lungs burned with every breath, her legs aching as she stumbled down the steep, jagged slopes of the Red Line. Blood slicked her palms, her fingernails cracked and torn from clawing at the stone. She could taste iron in her mouth, not from a hit, not this time, but from biting down hard enough to keep herself silent. She couldn’t risk a scream. Not now. Not when she was still so close.

The wind howled around her, but inside her chest, it was eerily quiet. The kind of quiet that came before a storm—or after someone you love has left for good.

Don’t think about him. Don’t you dare think about him.

But she did.

And now, as she ran, scraping her knees, swallowing sobs, that memory clung to her like armor.

She didn’t know what was happening above. She didn’t need to.

She knew .

She knew what Machi had chosen. What he’d gambled. What he’d given up to carve this impossible path just for her.

And she hated it.

She hated that he had believed in her more than she ever had in herself.

A sob finally escaped her lips as her foot slipped. She caught herself—barely. Her hands trembled. Her body shook.

But her eyes?

Still burning.

Still alive.

With grief. With rage.

Because Machi was gone and she was still alive, left behind with nothing but the weight of his sacrifice.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

It took months of sailing and pillaging through random islands, but finally, she made it. The vivre card didn’t flutter so raggedly anymore, a sure sign that the man she was searching for was near.

“Dawn Island?” she muttered, eyeing the map in her hands.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Thank you for everything, but I think I have to g–”

“ Staaaaay! ”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Hey, who are you?” a kid’s voice rang out, rough and loud against the quiet lapping of water, he ran towards her from the forest.

She froze mid-step, one foot still in her boat, the other just landing on the shore that was near a forest. A boy with a straw hat stood a few meters away, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he stared directly at her. His face was round with curiosity, but his posture was oddly fearless.

“Did you just come off that tiny boat?” he asked again, squinting.

She didn’t answer.

He took a few bold steps forward, but before he could get too close, another voice barked out from behind him. “Oi! Don’t run off like that, stupid!”

A taller boy emerged from the trees, his brow furrowed, jaw tense. He eyed her like a wild animal sizing up another—wary, guarded.

She shifted uneasily.

A third kid followed, a mop of blonde hair under a worn top hat, watching her with equal caution. His eyes flicked from her boat to her face, then down to her hands. Looking for weapons, maybe.

“I don’t know her,” the boy in the hat muttered under his breath. “She ain’t from here.”

“Obviously,” the tall one replied.

The boy with the straw hat pouted but didn’t back off. “You gonna talk or what? You mute?”

The tall one slapped him lightly on the back of the head. “Idiot. Don’t provoke her.” Another one of the kids, the blonde one, spoke up. “Yeah, that’s rude.”

Their eyes locked with hers. She could see it now—distrust and something else. These weren’t normal kids. They weren’t scared of her, but they weren’t welcoming either.

Good, she thought. Maybe they wouldn’t try to touch her.

She glanced away. “I’m just passing through,” she murmured, gripping the boat’s edge tighter. “I won’t stay long.”

“Good,” the tall one replied immediately.

“My name is Monkey D. Luffy and I’m gonna be King of the Pirates!”

The declaration rang through the clearing like a gunshot.

A second later, two fists came crashing down on his head in perfect sync.

“IDIOT!” the older boys yelled, voices overlapping in frustration. “Don’t carelessly give your name to strangers!”

Luffy stumbled back, clutching his head. “Owww! What was that for?!”

“She could be spying for someone!” the one in the red shirt snapped, eyes flicking to her with caution.

“Or worse, she could be from one of the families!” the one in the top hat added, glancing around like someone might leap from the shadows at any second.

But Luffy—stubborn, bright-eyed Luffy—just beamed at her, completely unfazed by the scolding. “But she looks cool!” he exclaimed. “Look at her scars! She’s strong, I can feel it!”

She flinched. Her eyes dropped to the ground, and her hands curled into fists. Those scars weren’t battle medals. They were remnants of survival. Chains. Branding. Punishment. Nothing worth admiring.

Don’t say that. She wanted to tell him . Don’t look at me like that.

She didn’t.

The two older boys seemed to finally take her in—truly take her in. Their eyes lingered longer now, scanning the rawness of her appearance. Her fingernails were dark with dried blood and grime. The nail beds were inflamed. Her hair clung together in tangled, greasy tufts. Her limbs were covered in scars—some pink and fading, others still red and puckered beneath haphazard bandages.

“Oi.” The red-shirted one called out, voice lower now, but firmer. “Where’d you come from?”

She hesitated. Then, with a voice as soft as the breeze, she replied, “North Blue.”

The boy stiffened. “Huh?! North Blue? Are you crazy?”

The one in the top hat stepped forward, his expression caught between disbelief and concern. “That doesn’t make sense. . . We’re in East Blue.”

She said nothing. Just stood there, arms wrapped tightly around herself.

“Who cares?” Luffy chimed in, flopping down onto the grass with the ease of someone who had never known true fear. “A blue is a blue. What’s the difference? East, West, North, South.”

The older two stared at him in silence.

“Luffy. . .” the blond one muttered, sweatdropping, “That’s. . . really not what we’re worried about.”

But Luffy only looked at his brothers with a bored expression, his pinky lifting to casually dig into his nose. With zero shame, he flicked a booger off into the bushes, entirely unbothered by the tension thick in the air.

“She’s here now. Who cares.”

It was so simple.

She blinked slowly, almost in disbelief at the absurdity of it all—and then, against all odds, a laugh bubbled up in her throat. It started as a hiccup of a sound, escaping her lips before she could stop it. And then it grew, soft and shaky at first, but warm, so warm it startled even her.

“You’re funny,” she said, giggling now, brushing at her face as if that could hide the smile breaking through. Her voice sounded strange to her ears. Light. Unburdened, even for just a second.

“Yeah, I like her!” Luffy grinned, instantly brightened by her laughter, his grin stretching so wide it practically split his face in half. He jumped up, arms thrown into the air. “Be in my crew!”

“Huh?” Her head tilted slightly, confusion written all over her face.

“What—Luffy?! You can’t just ask random people that!” the freckled boy in the red shirt snapped, throwing his arms in the air, punching Luffy, yet again.

“She just got here, dumbass!”

“Ahhh!” Luffy shouted, “Stop hitting me!!”

The one in the top hat, snorted. “Typical Luffy. Offers a place in his imaginary pirate crew before learning someone’s name.” He laughed at Luffy’s antics, unlike Red Shirt who resorted to violence.

But Luffy stood firm, beaming at her like she’d already said yes. “I mean it! You’re cool, I can tell. Be in my crew!”

She blinked again, flustered by the sudden attention. “But you just met me.”

“So?” Luffy asked, as if that was the dumbest excuse in the world.

“And pirates?” She turned her attention towards the other two boys, despite only knowing Luffy what could have been only minutes, she knew he wouldn’t give her the answer she wanted.

“Yeah, all three of us are going to be notorious pirates one day. Don’t let that put you off,” Top Hat added with a half-smile, tone more playful than serious. He crossed his arms and gave her a look, not quite suspicious, but certainly assessing.

“All three of you?” she repeated, eyes darting between them.

“Yeah,” The one in red scoffed, shoving Luffy lightly in the head. “I’m gonna be my own captain. No way I’m lettin’ him boss me around.”

“Same here,” Top Hat said smoothly, smirking. “We’re not joining Luffy’s crew—we’re letting him tag along with ours.”

“Hey! No fair! I said it first!” Luffy whined, arms flailing. “I’m the captain!”

“Keep dreaming, little brother,” Red Shirt muttered, ruffling his hair roughly despite Luffy’s squirming protest.

She watched them with wide eyes, stunned by how normal it all was. Their bickering was loud and chaotic and a little bit wild, but it wasn’t dangerous. It wasn’t cruel. They joked and laughed and shoved each other, but there was no fear in their eyes, no desperation in their voices. It was freedom. It was family.

Her stomach grumbled—loudly.

All three boys paused and turned to look at her. She instantly flushed, wrapping her arms around herself as if to hold in the sound. It was embarrassing, but more than that, it made her feel small.

“Oi, weird girl, you hungry?” the one in red asked, raising an eyebrow. His tone wasn’t exactly gentle, but it wasn’t cruel either, more like a blunt warning. “Just a heads up. . . so girls like you don’t cry or nothin’. we hunt our own food around here. Got it?”

Her blush deepened, and she ducked her head, unsure whether to nod or apologize.

“Oh, come on, Ace,” Luffy chimed in cheerfully, completely unbothered by the tension. He said the name so casually— Ace —and the moment it left his lips, she froze. That name. It struck something inside her. Not the boy in front of her, but the weight of memory it carried. It wasn’t his fault. He didn’t know.

“Don’t say my name, idiot!” Ace shouted, shoving Luffy’s face with his palm.

Top Hat—still unnamed—burst out laughing.

“Too late now, Ace. Damage done.” Top Hat had said as Ace groaned and crossed his arms. “Can’t take you anywhere.”

“Well,” the boy with the hat grinned at her, suddenly offering something softer, something honest. “Guess the cat’s out of the bag. My name’s Sabo. What’s yours?”

She opened her mouth, hesitated—then closed it again.

Her name. It had been so long since anyone had asked. So long since she’d said it without it being barked by an overseer or recorded in a ledger or screamed in pain. Saying it had always been an act of submission.

But not now.

This was different. This time, she wasn’t reciting it as property. She wasn’t forced. She wasn’t tagged or owned. This was her choice.

She looked at Sabo, then at Ace—still frowning—and finally at Luffy, who was picking his nose again and didn’t seem to have a single thought behind his eyes.

And somehow. . . that made her feel safe.

She offered them her name, her voice a little rough from disuse. It felt strange in her mouth, strange but right.

It hung in the air for a beat. Not demanded, not judged. Just accepted.

The boys didn’t react with laughter or scorn. Luffy gave her a grin. Sabo nodded. Ace muttered something about finally having something to call her that wasn’t “weird girl.”

And for the first time in a long time, her name didn’t feel like a shackle.

It felt like hers .

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Because of them, she was healing, slowly, gently, finally starting to feel safe. But in a cruel twist of fate, their paths crossed in a fleeting moment. . . and just like that, with a single glance, her former master recognized her—

and the chains she thought she'd broken clamped back around her soul.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Half the crew had scattered to the nearby stalls, laughing and bickering over ice cream flavors with Hatchan and Pappag trying to mediate. It was a rare moment of lightness, and she had quietly stepped away, drawn not by the sweets, but by the shimmer of the sea and the skyline of Sabaody Park.

She stood outside the gates, just far enough to breathe. The vibrant lights of the amusement park cast long shadows, glimmering across the ocean’s surface. It was beautiful. It was loud and messy and full of life.

She never got to appreciate the view back then—when she was young and caged, when her world had been made of cold walls and muffled screams. But now, standing here in the salt-kissed wind, she tried to let it settle into her. To believe she was truly free.

She closed her eyes, letting the sea breeze kiss her cheeks.

And then the nightmare walked in.

"Is that…?" a voice slithered into her awareness, vile and drenched in obsession.

Saint Charlos.

He was perched atop a massive, trembling slave, parading down the path like a king. His eyes locked onto her, and in an instant, the grotesque recognition contorted his features into a twisted glee.

The dual-colored strands of her hair—light and dark—glinted under the sunlight.

His favorite colors. His fixation. His favorite slave.

His voice cracked in ecstasy.

“My Pleasure Doll!”

Her body froze.

Everything stilled. The world dropped out from beneath her, leaving her floating in a slow-motion haze of dread. Her breath caught in her throat. Her feet couldn’t move. Her fingers twitched by her side.

The commotion around them dimmed. Civilians turned to look. But worst of all, her crew— her family —was close enough to hear.

“Guards!” Charlos barked. “Take a look at her! Behind the neck! See if she has my tattoo on her!”

She felt them approach. The click of boots. The shuffle of leather gloves. Fingers grabbing her hair—wrenching her head back.

She didn’t resist.

Not at first.

The cold rush of humiliation drowned her—her identity stripped from her lips, her body treated like property again. The guards yanked her hair upward, revealing the brand scorched into the back of her neck. P.D.

Pleasure Doll.

The crowd gasped. Some in curiosity. Some in horror.

But before the guards could confirm it, she moved . Swift as a bullet. Her arm shot up, grabbing one guard by the wrist and hurling him off. The other she slammed with her elbow, spinning out of reach before they could respond.

Her breathing was ragged. Her vision blurred at the edges.

“What—” the guards stumbled back, stunned.

“You’re mine!” Charlos screamed, red-faced and pointing like a petulant child denied a toy. “You’re my Pleasure Doll!”

Her fists clenched. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears. Eyes wide and shimmering. She had been seen. Unmasked.

And yet—somewhere in the back of her mind—she waited. Dread churning in her gut.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

[MONTHS AGO, IN ALABASTA]

The heat was unforgiving. The desert sun bore down on them like it had a grudge, and the city streets of Alabasta buzzed with the bustle of post-war recovery. Even the wind carried heat in it.

She winced as sweat trickled down her temple, her long hair clinging to her neck like a suffocating scarf. With a groan, she pulled it up and twisted it into a lazy bun—anything to survive the sweltering weather.

She didn’t think. She hadn’t in a while. Not about that part of her, not since joining the crew. But the moment the strands lifted, the back of her neck was bare. . . and the brand caught sunlight.

Simple. Small. But unmistakable.

P.D.

A stamp of ownership. A whisper of a past she'd tried so hard to bury beneath laughter, fighting, and dreams of freedom. Her stomach twisted.

And that’s when she heard it.

“Hey, what does P.D. stand for?”

She flinched.

“Huh?” she turned, heartbeat quickening, looking at her right to see Ussop questioning her.

Luffy standing beside her with an ice cream half-melted in his hand and his head tilted in innocent curiosity. His big, round eyes blinked at her like he didn’t just trigger an earthquake under her ribs.

Before she could stutter out an excuse, Luffy’s grin stretched wide—easy and sudden, like always—and he threw an arm around her shoulders.

“It stands for ‘Pretty Dangerous! ’” he declared proudly, puffing his chest out. “Back when we were kids, She once beat Ace in a fight even though I couldn’t!!”

She blinked, while the other crewmates looked at her in awe. Was she stronger than Luffy? (She was not, it was purely luck)

Luffy gave a confident nod, his free hand gesturing wildly. “Yup! It was a secret title. Only cool people get those!”

She stared at him.

She laughed. A breathless, cracked kind of laugh, but it felt good. Like exhaling poison.

Luffy just grinned wider, pleased with himself for making her smile.

She let her hair fall again, covering the brand. Not out of shame, but. . . protection. She wasn’t ready to show it. Not yet. But the panic had passed.

“Eh, not going to tie your hair up?” Nami called from a few steps away, fanning herself with a folded map, her cheeks flushed from the heat. “My hair’s short and I still have to tie it up—you're gonna die at this rate!”

“Nah,” she said, rubbing the back of her neck with a small, absent smile. “It’s fine.”

The brand still burned.

But somehow, today—it burned a little less.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

She stared, wide-eyed and breathless, the world around her turning to static as her mind reeled with disbelief.

No. No, no, no.

She was an idiot—for believing, even for a moment, that she had grown past the horrors of her childhood. That she had escaped them. That her scars had faded into something like strength. She had been foolish enough to think she was free.

But here, under the heavy skies of Sabaody, she realized she had only ever been on borrowed time.

She wasn’t free. She was shackled still.

Saint Charlos pointed his stubby, trembling finger at her, eyes bulging with grotesque delight. “Guards!” he shouted, spit flying from his fat lips. “Put the slave collar on her now!”

His words were knives, each syllable slicing open something she had worked so hard to stitch closed.

Her body stayed still, but her mind screamed, frozen in place like prey caught in the eyes of a predator. The world tilted as boots approached, the clang of metal chains echoing in her ears, too loud, too familiar. Hands grabbed at her—too rough, too forceful—and for a moment, her body flinched in instinctive submission.

But something else took over.

Her reflexes, honed from years of survival in the wild forest with three equally wild boys, ignited like wildfire. With a sharp twist of her body, she slammed her elbow into one guard’s temple. He crumpled. Another reached for her again, and she ducked low, grabbing his wrist and flipping him over her shoulder with a grunt.

Two more advanced. Her fingers twitched, glowing faintly with a soft luminescence, and as she made contact, their bodies slackened. Sleep crept over them like a wave. They slumped to the ground, dazed and groaning.

She panted, her chest rising and falling rapidly, adrenaline pumping like lightning through her veins. But even as her body moved, her heart was collapsing in on itself. Because she could feel him, his presence slinking in like smoke.

Saint Charlos had not moved an inch from his place atop his hunched-over human transport. But as his guards fell around him, his lips curled into a grin, disgustingly calm.

And then, before she could react, panic from fear, his pale, stubby fingers lunged forward and grabbed her by the hair.

She gasped, the sharp yank to her scalp jerking her back into place. Pain flared at her roots. The action shocked not only her but also the cowering slave beneath Charlos, who dared not move as his master leaned forward gleefully.

"You think you can run from me again?” he sneered, his bloated face looming close. His breath reeked of rot.

She trembled, not in fear of him, but in fury, in shame, in the horrifying realization that she was back at the beginning. A life she had buried clawed its way out of the ground and wrapped around her like chains.

She remembered Hatchan’s warning. His voice in her mind was like an echo: Don’t fight back.

She remembered what would happen if she resisted. The weight of the consequences. The lives that would be put at risk if she retaliated. The faces of her crew—her family —flickered in her mind.

And yet.

Saint Charlos, frustrated that his men still hadn’t gotten up, kicked one of the groggy guards, cursing under his breath. “Pathetic worms,” he snarled. “Hurry and chain her. She's mine.”

Metal scraped across the ground. She could hear it—the cold, unmistakable clatter of shackles being prepared. Her wrists twitched as her body shook, and her breath hitched.

Chains. Again.

Her knees weakened.

The sound of the clinking metal felt louder than gunfire, more deafening than cannon blasts. As the cuffs clicked around her wrists, her vision blurred.

No longer a crewmate.

At that moment, she was a possession. A plaything.

A doll.

Back to where she started.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

And just like that, Camie and she were taken right out from under the Straw Hats’ watch.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“Her and Camie were taken by slave traders!”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

A portion of the Straw Hat crew had stormed into the auction house in Grove 01, fury simmering just beneath the surface. The intel they’d received had led them here, desperate to recover Camie, the kind-hearted mermaid who had been taken right from under their noses, and their crewmate. Their hope had been to arrive before anything irreversible happened.

But they were too late.

Camie was bought. The number 500 million berries echoed in the air like a cannon blast. Gasps and murmurs swept through the crowd as the buyer—none other than a grotesquely gleeful Celestial Dragon—paraded the purchase with pride, his smug face nearly glowing with excitement. A mermaid. A rare treasure. A symbol of power he could abuse however he liked.

But something was missing.

Someone.

Their crewmate—she wasn’t there.

That’s when Nami's gaze flicked sharply to the side.

Her eyes darted past the main stage, beyond the gasping crowd and the grotesque preening of the Celestial Dragon. A movement. Her hair—messy, tangled—and yet unmistakable in color. A band of guards stood around her, one of them gripped a thick chain that led straight to her neck.

Nami's breath caught.

“Sanji. . .” Nami said in horror as she gripped the man’s suit, the man in question startled by her expression.

“Nami-san, wha–”

She pointed at Saint Charlos, the world noble who had just walked in, her hand covering her mouth, suppressing a scream.

Unlike Camie, who stood shackled beneath the blinding lights of the auction stage, paraded like merchandise before a sea of bidding voices, one of the Straw Hat crewmates wasn’t part of the show. She wasn’t for sale—because she had already been chained right behind the Celestial Dragon.

She stood silently behind the Celestial Dragon who now claimed Camie, her presence unnoticed by the crowd but painfully visible to those who knew her.

Three guards held her by the arms, though she made no move to resist. There was no fire in her eyes, no spark of mischief, no trace of the warmth she used to carry. She looked hollow. The same girl who once teased Luffy and scolded him for his recklessness now looked like a ghost of herself, swallowed by a nightmare she thought she’d escaped.

“Mufufufu,” Saint Charlos danced on Hatchan’s body, his grotesque laughter echoing through the auction house. “I hit him! I finished off that fish-man!”

Blood splattered the polished floor, pooling around Hatchan’s crumpled form. His pink, spotted limbs sprawled awkwardly as pain wracked his body. Despite it all, he still gripped Luffy’s pants with one trembling hand, his breathing ragged and shallow.

“S-Straw Hat, wait. . !” Hatchan pleaded, choking on the words as blood stained his lips. “You can’t. . . ha. . . mad. This is my fault!”

Luffy’s gaze didn’t waver from Charlos, his eyes dark and unyielding, already dead set on the World Noble a few steps above.

“You promised not to get involved, even if someone was shot in front of you by a Celestial Dragon!” Hatchan gasped, his voice desperate. “I’m a pirate anyway. . . I’ve done bad stuff. . . I’m sorry for getting you guys involved.” Tears mixed with the blood on his face as he continued, his voice cracking.

“Nami. . . I wanted to make it up to her. . . even just a little. Everything I’ve done. . . It's a mistake. I really am useless!”

Luffy’s rage was palpable, rolling off him like waves of suffocating heat.

“Pedi-chan~!” Saint Charlos sang out, oblivious to the danger standing just a few feet away. The whole auction house stayed eerily quiet, too terrified to move or even breathe. She bit her lip, wishing desperately for Camie to be brought out so she could take advantage of the chaos, break the collar and get her to safety while she stayed behind with Saint Charlos. All before Luffy noticed she was there.

“Don’t I deserve a reward? I’m only like this with you.” Charlos’s drool dripped down his chin, his beady eyes fixed on her with a sickening blush spreading across his cheeks. Her stomach twisted into knots, disgust and shame curling together in a nauseating mix. How could he ask for such a thing in front of all these people?

That’s when Luffy noticed her.

His head snapped to the side, eyes narrowing as he took in the sight, the woman he grew up with, his most trusted crewmate, standing right next to that disgusting Celestial Dragon, chained up. Luffy looked in horror before turning it into a glare that was enough to silence half the room, and his voice came out low and venomous.

“Oi.”

She froze, her heart pounding against her ribs. If looks could kill, Charlos would be nothing but dust. Luffy’s face twisted in a mix of confusion and fury.

Why was his best friend standing behind the disgusting Celestial Dragon?

“Pedi-chan,” Charlos cooed, his irritation leaking through his voice. “Do you know him?”

Her lips pressed into a tight line, her gaze dropping to the floor as shame burned through her. She couldn’t look at the Straw Hats, especially Luffy.

“Pedi-chan,” Charlos snapped, stomping closer and gripping her cheek with rough fingers. He squeezed hard enough to leave bruises, forcing her face toward him.

“I asked you a question.” He let go of her face, opting to yank her hair instead. She heard a very familiar horror-filled gasp from one of her crewmates, despite the rough act, she didn’t let out a sound of discomfort.

She squeezed her eyes shut, willing herself not to tremble. Her mind raced, trying to find a way to get Camie out, to diffuse the situation, to do anything to stop Luffy from making the worst mistake of his life.

But it was too late.

Luffy was already moving, his footsteps slow but purposeful, and his eyes promised devastation.

If she answered, then everything she had tried to bury, every secret she had stuffed down and pretended didn’t exist, would come spilling out into the open. The past she fought so hard to keep hidden would be laid bare for everyone in the room to see.

Her eyes darted around, catching glimpses of other pirate crews, their curiosity piqued by the tension crackling in the air.

If she let the truth slip out, she would be branded—the Straw Hat who was once a slave—a label that would stick until they reached the last island, and maybe even after that.

“Why is she with you?” Luffy had asked the Celestial Dragon, but he paid the lowly pirate no attention. His was captivated by his newly returned slave.

“Oi, what are you doing there?” Luffy called out again, his voice tighter than before, now aimed towards his childhood friend, and yet again, she didn’t answer. She couldn’t bring herself to meet his eyes, the eyes of the man she swore her life to, the one she called her captain.

Did she even have the right to call him that anymore?

But she didn’t want to answer Saint Charlos either—not in front of them. Not in front of everybody.

“Pedi-chaan~” Charlos’ voice slithered into her ears like poison as he tightened his grip on her hair, forcing her eyes to widen from the uncomfortableness. “Even if you are my favorite, my Pleasure Doll,” He cooed, her crude nickname out in the open, “I have my patience.”

“The hell did he call you?” Luffy’s eyes were dark, still couldn’t comprehend the scene unfolding in front of him.

“Oi,” He called out for the third time, “Answer your captain.”

Her heart pounded, breath hitching as she forced the words out, keeping her voice steady, void of any trembling that could make her more vulnerable than she already is.

“No. . . I don’t know them,” She swallowed, “ My Lord. . .” She blatantly ignored Luffy and answered Saint Charlos.

“Fufufu,” Saint Charlos laughed, his revolting chuckle sounding more like a gurgle. “You sound so mature since the last time I saw you as a child.”

Child.

Child. . ?

The word echoed in their mind. Heat rushed to her face, and a suffocating wave of humiliation wrapped around her like chains. She didn’t dare open her eyes, didn’t want to see their reactions, her crewmates, her friends. She didn’t want to face them. Not now. Maybe not ever.

She could feel their realization settling in like ice creeping down her spine. It wasn’t just a coincidence, it wasn't just a whim that Charlos had taken notice of her. He knew her. He had a past with her. And they didn’t want to imagine what that entailed.

Sanji clenched his fists so tightly his knuckles turned white, and Nami’s expression twisted with shock and a glimmer of guilt, as if she blamed herself for not knowing sooner.

But Luffy—Luffy didn’t say a word. His eyes darkened, shadowed by the brim of his hat, he took another step forward, silent and menacing.

She wanted to scream, to throw herself in his path and tell him it wasn’t worth it, because if he punched Charlos, everything would be over. An Admiral would come. The crew would be annihilated.

But the words wouldn’t come. They were stuck in her throat, and all she could do was watch as Luffy strode forward, completely undeterred, completely unyielding, his fury aimed straight at the man who had once owned her.

And for the first time since she joined his crew, she was terrified, not of the consequences, not of the Celestial Dragons, but of Luffy’s wrath.

Because nothing—not reason, not fear, not even her pleading—could stop him now.

Her chest tightened painfully as Luffy reached Charlos, the Celestial Dragon too arrogant to recognize the danger hurtling toward him. And then—

The punch landed with a sickening, satisfying crunch, and Charlos was sent flying across the room, crashing through rows of seats and leaving stunned silence in his wake.

Luffy stood there, unwavering, as if daring anyone to challenge him. And she could only watch, heart torn between terror and pride.

Because that was Luffy—stupidly brave and beautifully reckless. And no matter how much she tried to deny it, she couldn’t help but think that maybe—just maybe—that was why he captivated her so completely.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

Chaos ensues

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

They were back at Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar, but the atmosphere was suffocating. Two of their crew were gone—their captain and his beloved childhood friend. The silence stretched on, heavy and unforgiving, as the remaining Straw Hats huddled around the bar, each lost in their own thoughts. No one dared to speak.

Not after that.

Nami was the first to break the quiet, her voice small and uncertain. “She. . . was a slave?”

The words hung in the air, spoken but not truly processed. It didn’t feel real, how could it be? How could someone as strong as her, someone who had fought beside them and kept them together, have carried a burden so immense and never once let it show?

“I still don’t get it,” Usopp muttered, rubbing his face in frustration. “She never said anything. Not once.”

“Why would she?” Robin’s voice was calm, but there was something dark and simmering in her gaze, a fury barely held at bay. “Would you?”

The others fell silent. No one had an answer to that.

“It didn’t seem that Luffy knew either,” Franky rumbled, the usual brightness in his voice replaced by a grim seriousness. “He’s just as in the dark as we are.”

Chopper’s ears drooped, his tiny body trembling with guilt. “But we’re her crew,” he whispered, voice cracking. “She didn’t have to go through this alone. We could’ve—” His lip quivered. “We could’ve helped. . .”

“We didn’t know,” Franky muttered, clenching his fists so tightly that his metallic joints creaked. “Damn it, we didn’t even see the signs.”

Were there signs to begin with? Robin’s mind wandered back to Water 7, when she had opened up to them—barely— about how her Devil Fruit gave her control over emotions, how she was freely able to manipulate how she felt and how it kept her grounded. Was that a sign? Or just another mask she wore to keep them from seeing how broken she really was?

She had always been so good at hiding what she truly felt. She was their anchor, the one who could calm down Luffy and Usopp, take care of Chopper, random chats with Nami and Robin, and listen to Sanji’s ridiculous romantic gestures with a laugh. People confided in her. They sought her out for comfort. She made everyone feel safe.

But the minute they stepped onto Sabaody Archipelago, she’d been. . . different. Withdrawn. Restless. Robin should have noticed it sooner, the way she’d stayed on high alert, like prey sensing a predator.

“It makes sense now,” Brook said, his usual joviality replaced by a solemn stillness. “Why she looked at that Celestial Dragon like she had seen a ghost.”

Sanji gritted his teeth, jaw clenched so tightly it ached. “That bastard called her his ‘Pleasure Doll’,” he spat, his voice low and venomous. “What the hell did he do to her?”

No one answered.

No one wanted to.

The thought alone made Sanji’s blood boil, rage settling into his bones and refusing to leave. He had seen countless acts of cruelty on the seas, but this—this was something else. The idea of someone owning her, of someone stripping away her pride, her strength, her freedom—it was sickening.

“I’m going to find her,” Sanji declared, pushing himself up from the bar. “She shouldn’t be alone right now.”

“No.” Zoro’s voice cut through the room, firm and unyielding. “It’s none of our business.”

Sanji whirled on him, disbelief contorting his features. “The hell are you talking about, mosshead?”

Zoro didn’t flinch, eyes dark and serious. “This is between her and Luffy. We’ll just make it worse by barging in without knowing anything.”

“Aargh, you’re so insensitive, mosshead!” Sanji barked.

“Yeah! We should be there to support her, you brute!” Nami added, glaring.

“Three-sword style,” Chopper muttered bitterly, earning a confused glance from Usopp.

“Chopper, you don’t have to use Luffy’s insults when he’s not here—and that’s not even an insult,” Usopp said, sweatdropping.

“I agree,” Robin spoke up, surprisingly siding with Zoro despite the pained look on her face. “As much as it hurts to just sit here, this is something Luffy needs to handle. We have to give them space to talk it out.”

Sanji grumbled something under his breath but didn’t argue. Nami folded her arms tightly around herself, trying to ignore the sting in her chest.

“I can’t help but feel supeeeer bad for what she’s been through,” Franky said, wiping his eyes with his massive hands. “She didn’t deserve any of that.”

“She didn’t,” Robin agreed,softness in her voice. “But she didn’t want us to know. We have to respect that, at least until she’s ready to talk.”

Nami bit her lip, her voice almost a whisper. “I just hope Luffy can bring her back.”

They fell into silence once more, the heaviness returning to crush them under its weight. None of them knew what to say or how to feel. Guilt mixed with anger, helplessness mixed with regret. They wanted to be there for her, to protect her like she had always protected them.

But for now, all they could do was wait.

And hope that Luffy could somehow break through the walls she had built to protect herself.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

“The epitome of freedom, that’s who you are.”

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

The minute the fight ended, she had run. Not toward Shakky’s Rip-Off Bar like the others, but in the opposite direction. Her feet moved on instinct, quickly carrying her to the Thousand Sunny without a second thought.

She sat on the ship’s railing, staring at the waves below. The salty wind brushed against her skin, but she felt none of it. The vastness of the sea seemed to mock her, open and unbound, while she remained trapped, the metal collar still on her neck.

She had run.

Like a coward.

She had run because she didn’t want to know what the aftermath was like. how the crew would react, how different they’d treat her after knowing something as gruesome as that. The moment Charlos called her his, there was no escaping it. The truth had been laid bare, staining her like filth that would never wash away.

Her fingers traced the old scars hidden beneath her sleeves, the ones she never spoke of. They were rough and uneven, reminders of her past that never quite faded. Her hand drifted lower to the brand on her stomach, now exposed for the world to see, the same mark she had tried to scrape off countless times.

The skin there was raw, marred with jagged lines of failed erasure, a permanent reminder that she had once been owned.

She squeezed her eyes shut.

You’re free.

That was what she told herself every day, to drown out the voices that whispered otherwise. She had sailed across the Grand Line, battled monsters, laughed with her crew, chased dreams, she had lived. But when she knelt before them again, when her body remembered what it meant to be powerless, it felt like she had never left that cage.

And now they knew.

Now he knew.

Luffy—who had always been freedom itself.

From the moment they were kids, he had been untamed. Wild, reckless, laughing like the world could never hold him down. Even when he stumbled, he only got up stronger. He chose his path, always, never shackled by anything or anyone.

And she. . .

She was nothing but tainted and chained. Forced to be caged by her past.

Her wrists still ached with chains. The bells still rang in her ears. No matter how far she ran, no matter how much she thought she had grown, she could still feel hands on her skin, forcing her to—

“You’re thinking too much again.”

The words struck her like a whisper wrapped in thunder.

She flinched.

Her breath caught in her throat, heavy and sharp, and she didn’t turn around. Not yet. Her body froze—half in disbelief, half in dread. Of course he’d come. Of course he’d find her.

He always did.

“Found you!”

His voice rang out behind her, unmistakable, full of life and warmth and something unshakably Luffy . He called out her name with that wild, boyish grin plastered across his face, as if nothing had happened, as if nothing could ever be too heavy to bear.

“Now come on,” he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world. “The crew’s waiting!”

His footsteps echoed on the stone floor, loud in the silence she had wrapped around herself. She didn’t move. Her back stayed turned to him, eyes locked on some invisible point far ahead, like if she just stared hard enough, maybe the past would unravel and let her go.

But she felt him draw closer anyway, his presence impossible to ignore, loud and quiet all at once, disruptive and comforting in the way only he could be.

“Luffy,” she started out, still not looking back at her captain, ashamed. “I’m not coming back.”

He didn’t reply immediately, and that silence felt heavier than anything else.

Finally, his voice came, steady and determined. “As your captain, I order you to come back.”

She let out a bitter laugh, fingers trembling as they gripped the fabric of her pants. “I won’t,” she whispered, still refusing to meet his eyes.

“Will do.”

“Will not!”

“Will do!”

“Will not!”

“Why not?!” His tone was louder, but there was that childishness that never seems to disappear whenever he’s with her and vice versa. She could hear his footsteps approaching but not too close.

Her chest tightened painfully. “Saint Charlos likes me enough to forgive you all if I ask him nicely.” Her voice wavered, and she grimaced at the thought, knowing what ‘nicely’ truly meant when it came to the World Nobles. “It’s safer this way, Luffy.”

She didn’t notice when he moved, but suddenly he was beside her, sitting on the railing like it was the most natural thing in the world. His shoulder brushed against hers, but he didn’t force her to look at him.

“I don’t care.”

Her breath caught again.

Luffy leaned forward, resting his arms on his knees. He wasn’t looking at her, just gazing out at the sea like he was waiting for the next adventure.

“I don’t care about an admiral coming out to get us,” he said. “I don’t care about the Celestial Dragons.”

She opened her mouth to protest, but he kept talking, his tone unwavering.

“I don’t care if the whole world comes after us. You’re my friend. My nakama. I’m not leaving you behind.”

Her throat tightened, and she couldn’t help the tremor in her voice. “You don’t get it. . . It’s not just about me. It’s about you guys.” Anger was evident in her voice. “Don’t you remember what Aokiji did to the crew? it’ll hurt everyone. It’ll hurt you.”

Luffy glanced at her, and there was something uncharacteristically serious in his gaze.

“I don’t care about getting hurt.”

“Luffy,” she said sternly, her voice uncharacteristically serious. “Don’t be an idiot.”

“I’m not an idiot, idiot!” Luffy shouted back.

“I’m just a ticking bomb in your crew! I’m not a top-tier, talented navigator like Nami, or someone as smart as Robin who can read Poneglyphs.” Her hands clenched around the fabric of her pants, knuckles going white.

“Sanji’s the best cook I’ve ever seen—and I’ve seen the best of the best, Luffy.” Her voice shook when she thought about the opulent feasts she’d witnessed at the Holy Land. “Zoro’s going to be the greatest swordsman to ever live. Franky’s mentor built the ship of the Pirate King! Ace’s dad—the King of the Pirates himself!”

Her voice broke slightly, but she forced herself to keep going. “Chopper’s a doctor, someone we’d all die without. Usopp’s got aim like no one else, and his dad is on a Yonko’s ship! Brook is the musician you wanted from the very beginning of the journey. Everyone has something—everyone’s amazing!”

She choked back a sob, trying to be stern as she glares down at her trembling hands. “And me? I’m not anything, Lu.”

Luffy stared at her, his mouth set in a firm line. She couldn’t bring herself to look at him, too busy digging her nails into her palms to stop herself from falling apart completely.

The silence was killing her.

“So just leave m–”

A fist came down on her head, not hard enough to hurt, but firm enough to get her attention. She yelped, yet still not looking at his direction..

Luffy’s lips twisted into a frown, and his brows furrowed. “You’re so stupid,” he said bluntly, his tone blunt and a little annoyed. “You think I pick people for my crew because they’re useful?”

Her mouth opened, but no words came out.

“You think I wanted a navigator because she’s the best? Or a swordsman because he’s the strongest?” Luffy crossed his arms, his gaze unwavering. “I pick people because I like them and think they’re cool!” Her chest tightened at his words, and she clenched her fists.

“You’re saying that ’cause I’m having a crisis over here,” she snapped, glaring at the hardwood of the Thousand Sunny. “I’m just the girl you felt bad leaving back in Mount Colubo.”

Luffy looked ready to protest, but she didn’t give him the chance.

“I never wanted to be a pirate anyway,” she whispered, more to herself than to him. “You’re the one who manhandled me and dragged me to your small boat when I was just on the shore with Makino and the others, so do me a favor and let me be.”

Yes, he did, he dragged her into this grand adventure, but she loved Luffy, never had she once hated being a part of a crew like The Straw Hat Pirates.

She had to lie, she had to convince Luffy that she hated this, that he should just leave her be.

Luffy didn’t say anything, just watched her with that same unwavering gaze. It made her chest feel tight, made the truth dig its way to the surface, scraping her raw.

He never made her feel like she had to fight. Never made her feel like she had to be stronger, or better, or worth something. It was never about that with him. He just wanted to be around her, in that simple, unshakeable way that was just so. . . Luffy.

She bit her lip hard, trying to stop the trembling. Luffy had shown her how fun it was being a pirate. It wasn’t about piracy and pillaging—it was about what grand adventure they could have next. Never looting or power. To be a pirate—the pirate, The Pirate King—was to be the freest person on the sea, chasing dreams without restraint.

She got a taste of that freedom. She loved that freedom. She loved Luffy.

She waited for Luffy’s back talk, but what she felt instead was his fist. A solid punch straight to her face—so sudden and forceful that it sent her flying and knocked her sideways, blood trickling from her nose.

“What are you—” She shouted, her hand coming up to her face in disbelief.

“Tell me what you want,” Luffy demanded, his voice uncharacteristically firm.

“I told you already!” she spat back, wiping the blood onto her shirt. “I hate being a pira—”

“NO!” Luffy’s shout cut her off, loud and raw, vibrating with an intensity that made her heart lurch. He wasn’t looking at her with pity or worry or anything soft like that. Instead, his eyes were blazing, fierce and unyielding, like he was daring her to lie to him again.

“Tell me what you want,” he repeated, and it wasn’t just an order—it was a challenge. A call to face herself.

Her hands trembled in her lap, fingers clenching. Her vision blurred as tears finally broke free, rolling down her cheeks despite how tightly she tried to hold them back.

She finally looked up, but still couldn’t look at him, not directly, so she kept her face angled away, even though she knew he could see her crying.

“I. . .” Her voice cracked, barely a breath above silence. The words sat heavy in her chest, too full of ache to push through. But she had to say it, she needed to say it.

“I wanna be free.”

Luffy didn’t speak. He didn’t move. He just watched her, like he always did when someone was trying to find the words. His eyes weren’t demanding or impatient—they were just there , wide and steady, offering her space, warmth, and the quiet comfort to keep going.

“I want to eat Sanji’s cooking. . .” she said at last, soft and trembling.

“Yeah,” Luffy nodded, voice just as soft. “Sanji’s cooking is the best.”

“I want to know what Robin’s reading,” she continued, the dam finally breaking, “and hear her weird little morbid facts. . .”

“She’s always reading weird stuff,” he laughed lightly, eyes closed, as if the thought warmed him too.

“I want to see Nami yell at you about how much meat you ate last night.”

“Whaaat? That’s what you remember?” Luffy pouted, but he was smiling. “You’re weird.”

“I want to hear Usopp’s stories—see how crazy they get. I want to see Chopper panic over a papercut, and get shy when someone calls him a great doctor.” Her voice wobbled, tears blurring her vision.

“I want to see Franky build something unnecessarily huge and completely impractical. I want to hear Brook’s songs at night and see you laugh so hard your hat falls off.”

Luffy’s expression softened, but he still didn’t say anything. He just let her speak.

“I want to see Zoro get lost ten steps from the ship. I want to see him and Sanji argue over nothing. . . and you just sitting there, ignoring them while you stuff your face.”

“Mhmm! that’s important stuff,” he said with a grin. “Meat waits for no one.” As if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Her voice wavered, but she didn’t stop. “I want to see you become King of the Pirates!”

“Is that so?” Luffy asked, the corner of his mouth quirking up just slightly.

She wiped her face roughly with the back of her hand. “So that you can achieve your crazy dream.”

“I’ll do it!” Luffy declared, his grin now stretching wide and fearless.

“I wanna be with you guys!” She shouted, the words leaving her in a desperate rush.

She finally looked at him, and he gave her that familiar grin, wide and fierce, she felt like crying more, that damned smile that always gives her comfort, oh how she would want to give back to Luffy someday.

“Luffy,” she finally whispered, her voice shaking, “I’m. . . scared. Scared that one day you’ll realize I’m not worth it. That I’m just a burden. That I’m too useless to be part of your dream.”

Luffy’s face softened, and he stepped forward, poking her forehead with his knuckles, just hard enough to make her wince.

“Stop being an idiot,” he said with the brightest smile she had ever seen. “I decided a long time ago that you’re my friend. You’re stuck with me now. Doesn’t matter if you’re broken or scared or whatever. You’re here, and that’s enough.”

She stared at him, disbelief and hope warring in her expression.

“And you know what?” Luffy added, a hint of determination in his tone. “If you’re scared, then just rely on me. I’ll fight anything that tries to take you away—even your own doubts. ’Cause that’s what a captain does. I’m gonna be the Pirate King, and that means keeping my friends safe—even from themselves.”

Her throat closed up, and tears burned in her eyes. Luffy didn’t falter, just kept grinning at her like he had never doubted a word he said.

“Luffy. . .” She whimpered. Her hands trembled in her lap, and her vision blurred. “This isn’t like Enies Lobby, You don’t understand—”

He cut her off, his voice unwavering. “Yeah, I don’t.”

She froze.

“You don’t have to carry it alone,” he said, his tone softer now. “You don’t have to keep running away. I’m your captain, what I say goes. That means I’m not letting you leave. I’m not letting anyone take you. Ever.”

His words tore through the walls she had built around herself, crumbling her defenses to dust. She covered her face with her hands, her shoulders shaking. It wasn’t just the fear or the shame, it was the helplessness of being loved despite everything. Despite being broken and scarred and stained.

Luffy didn’t move to comfort her or force her to speak. He just stayed beside her, his presence solid and unwavering. That’s how he always was—like the sun, stubbornly bright, never letting darkness linger.

“I thought I was free,” she finally whispered, voice cracked and raw, she reached her hand out, towards the sky, towards nothing. “But seeing him again. . . Knowing he’s been searching for me, moving some strings to catch me, I felt weak and useless and—”

“You’re not weak.” Luffy’s voice was fierce, cutting through her spiraling thoughts.

“You’re strong. You’re one of my nakama. You fight with us. You laugh with us. You’re strong enough to keep going, no matter how hard it gets. That’s why you’re on my crew.”

She didn’t have words for that. She didn’t know how to respond to someone who looked at her scars and didn’t see damage but survival. Someone who would fight the whole world just to keep her safe.

Luffy leaned back, staring up at the sky. “You don’t have to be okay right now. But you don’t have to be alone, either.”

She let out a shaky breath, her heart aching, but for the first time, it wasn’t from fear or regret. She wiped her eyes, looking at him through blurred vision.

"That’s easy for you to say, Luffy." Her voice came out strained, like something fragile on the verge of breaking. "You don’t know what it’s like. . . to be treated like you’re less than human."

A shadow crossed his face, and for a moment, his eyes turned distant—thoughtful in a way she rarely saw.

"You’re right." His voice was quiet, but steady.

She froze.

"But I know you."

Her heart lurched painfully, caught between disbelief and something that felt a little too much like hope.

"You’re not just ‘someone who was owned.’" Luffy took a step closer, his tone firm, almost defiant. "You’re not ‘tainted.’ You’re not ‘chained.’"

She looked away, fists trembling as she tried to rein in the flood of memories—days when pain was all she knew, and survival was the only instinct left.

But he didn’t let up.

“You’re you.” His voice was warm, gentle—like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. She finally looked up, and there he was, grinning so wide it made her stomach lurch. “And that’s enough for me.”

Her breath caught, and she couldn’t help but wonder how he could say that so easily, like he wasn’t talking about someone who had been broken beyond recognition. Someone who had clawed her way to freedom only to find herself drowning in guilt and self-loathing.

Something inside her cracked, a hairline fracture in the armor she had worn for so long. A fleeting memory surfaced, back when she had felt the first taste of hope.

“Go.” He said again, much more stern, “Remember that you’re your own person.” He smiled, “And that’s enough to make you keep forward.”

She forced herself to look at him once more, searching for any sign of doubt. But his eyes—so open and unguarded—held nothing but certainty.

A sob caught in her throat, tears stinging her eyes as she tried to make sense of it all.

She had spent years convincing herself that she was broken—that being owned and used had left her too damaged to ever belong anywhere. She had buried her feelings so deep that even she couldn’t find them anymore. But Luffy—Luffy saw straight through her walls, like they didn’t exist at all.

It didn’t make sense. Why did he care so much?

Her parents hadn’t thought she was worth it. The people she’d begged for help from hadn’t thought she was worth it. No one ever did.

But Luffy—

He didn’t see her that way at all.

He just grinned, wide and sure, like he had never doubted it for a second.

"You’re one of us."

His words landed gently, but they shook her to the bone.

Before she could respond, before she could even blink, he stepped forward and reached up, placing his hands gently on either side of her head. The gesture wasn’t rough or forceful. It was careful. Delicate, in a way she wasn’t used to.

She flinched slightly at the contact, out of habit more than fear, but he didn’t waver. In his fingers, he held the small set of keys they’d fought so hard to get. The ones meant to unlock chains that should never have existed.

He found the lock behind her neck without fumbling.

And with a soft, almost imperceptible click— The collar fell away.

And just like that—

The weight crushing her chest lifted, just a little. It wasn’t gone, but it didn’t suffocate her like before.

And when she looked up, Luffy was still standing there, smiling, bright and unwavering. "Come back. Everyone’s waiting. They’re worried about you."

A weak, trembling smile pulled at her lips, and she finally nodded. "Okay."

Luffy hopped down from the railing, holding his hand out without a moment’s hesitation. And she took it, fingers curling around his, feeling something warm seep into her frozen heart.

He pulled her to her feet, and as they made their way back to the others, she couldn’t help but glance at him, wondering how someone like him could exist in a world so cruel as she let him pull her back to the crew, back to the family she never knew she needed.

— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — — —— — — — — —

One day, in a land where samurais were born, she would look upon her captain—the boy she had followed across the endless sea—and see him laughing, his body moving with an untamed rhythm, a grin stretched wide that it seemed humanely impossible. And in that moment, something deep within her would shatter.

The wild, flowing hair, so different from the messy strands she had always known. The billowing clothes, the way his form stretched and twisted like a figure pulled from a dream. The eyes, burning, radiant, a different color than it should be.

She recognized him.

Back when her wrists were bound and her voice was nothing more than a whisper between cracks of a whip, she had begged for salvation. For a god who would break her chains—not with fire and fury, but with laughter so vast it swallowed the cruelty of the world whole. The stories whispered in the dark, the legends passed from slave to slave—of a god who danced and laughed even in the face of suffering.

Joyboy.Sun God Nika.The Warrior of Liberation.

And he had answered. Not from the heavens, not as an untouchable deity—but as a reckless boy with a straw hat and an impossible dream. A boy who had never cared where she came from, only that she was free to go wherever she wanted.

Her hands trembled as she watched him move, the very embodiment of the legend she had clung to in the darkest corners of her past.

Her salvation hadn’t come from some distant god.

It had always been him. And maybe—just maybe—she had been free from the moment he first smiled at her.

#I HAD TO PUT NIKA!LUFFY IN A CELESTIAL DRAGON SLAVE TROPE I CANT HELP ITTTT #luffy x reader #one piece x reader #former celestial dragon slave #monkey d luffy #luffy x you #luffy is so emotionally intelligent #LUFFY COMFORTS READER BIG TIME!#i loved writing this btw i was inspired by purson and iruma :]#the part where purson just rants and yaps and iruma is just like 'yup!' while replying to individual bubbles #exactly like how luffy did to reader :]#childhood arc was supposed to be longer but i gave up im sorry #enjoy 30k words of hurt/comfort :D #platonic straw hats

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