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[bleachification]

hi guys !! i have a short chapter of all that glitters is not gold finished (~1.5k words). just wondering if you would rather i just post that now or wait until i have the time to write more :) either way, it is already posted on my ao3 (hoshify) if you are interested in reading it <33

[bleachification]

⸻ WE SAIL THE STARS (PT. 2)

pairing: zoro x reader; fantasy knight/bodyguard au

word count: 2.1k

synopsis: wedding bells and a jilted bodyguard... your day starts off with dramatics far greater than your patience allows, and only ends on an even sourer note. as zoro struggles to process his newfound jealousy and familiar pining, news of tragedy strike—threatening the person he holds most dear: you.

note: this is the SEQUEL to this fic: we sail the stars. please read that FIRST. PLEASE.

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Your day begins with orchestra symphonies and sea lilies—a perfectly woven setting for idyllic matrimony. It is the embodiment of a dream wedding for someone else, under very different circumstances. Nonetheless, the venue is utter visual perfection. 

Until everything goes wrong… to an almost impressive degree. 

You are only halfway down the aisle, rose petals crunching under your heels, when the blackout occurs. In the span of a breath, every single candle lining the windows and aisles loses its flame, and the heavy crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling quickly die out in succession. One blink, and the hall is entirely robbed of all its light. 

Plunged into complete darkness and disarray, anxious voices swiftly fill the venue, each one louder and more frantic than the previous. A familiar voice rings out from the far left, shouting your name across the clutter, but before you register who it is, thick arms encircle your waist from behind in a tight lock and the sweet stench of chloroform fills your lungs.  

Panic shoots through your bloodstream, seizing your movements. For one terrifying second, all you can do is freeze in horror. This is how you die. Weak, scared, and alone. With no witnesses, no one to intervene, no one to save you. If Zoro were here—if you had not pushed him away and cast him aside over such petty grievances—this never would have happened. If only you had just been stronger, faster… smarter. 

If only….

Awful, deprecating thoughts engulf your hazy mind, slowly imbuing your panic with something much deadlier—surrender. Somewhere in the background, piercing shouts fade into muffled murmurs, and your consciousness dutifully follows, slowly slipping away from your slackening grasp on reality.

A sudden, shrill scream snaps you out of your stupor. 

Mom. 

Her cry cuts off abruptly, and that is enough to shake you. Your senses return in full force, along with the painfully dry sensation in your lungs. Her distress sets your nerves alight, and you immediately begin thrashing. Limbs flailing, you try your best to pull yourself away—to get out of your assailant’s suffocating hold. Now, all your thoughts revolve around your mother’s survival instead of your own. 

Can’t breathe. 

Your throat and eyes burn as the chemicals continue to invade your senses. There isn’t much time left. You have to do something…anything!

A sudden thought strikes you. A small memory tickling the back of your mind—something Zoro once mentioned to you offhandedly during a training session. Something about… 

That’s it. 

You brace yourself, and with as much force as you can muster in your sluggish state, you slam your elbow into your attacker’s side. Sharp bone meets soft flesh, and a flicker of satisfaction comes to life when you feel the depth of your strike.

You hear a loud grunt, and the pressure around your waist loosens a little, but the man grabbing you is sturdy and unrelenting. 

It’s not enough.

Your heart thunders. 

Frenzied voices fade into silence. 

With one last thought, you lose consciousness. 

I hope your ribs are broken. Bastard. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

ZORO

The room is spinning. 

It hadn’t been very long since you left—thirty minutes at most. Zoro had been polishing away, desperately trying to suppress the strange ache in his chest and his intrusive thoughts full of haunting imagery of you walking down the aisle, when the Queen herself breaks down his door. The woman, who usually exudes elegance and regality with every heeled step she takes, is stripped of any and all poise. Mascara runs down her cheeks in grey streams and her dress is torn at the hems, frayed edges brushing against the stone floor. She stumbles past the threshold and her glazed eyes meet Zoro’s own. A flicker of hope comes to life in them at his presence, but still, the queen’s dignified features are marred with fear, distress straining her every word as she chokes out sobs. 

Immediately, Zoro’s blood runs cold and a sinking feeling washes over him. Your mother, gaze wide with panic, runs up and grips his arms. Her manicured nails draw blood as she digs into him. Zoro barely notices. 

“You must help [name]. You must!”

No. 

He can’t answer. There’s a clotting sensation in his throat. Like a handful of cotton rounds were shoved down his gullet. 

“I cannot lose my child! Not like this! Not like…” She collapses, shivering. Her cries continue, but Zoro can hear none of it. 

The room is still spinning. 

The swordsman steps back and bumps into the table. A hoarse sound rips from his throat. He tries to speak—barely managing coherency. 

“Your Majesty. Is [name] hurt…? Who?!” Zoro’s tone is harsh. Cracked. Much too abrasive to be addressing the queen, but he finds himself foregoring propriety. He can’t bring himself to care for it. Not when you are seemingly in danger. 

The queen is far too absorbed in her own shock and grief to answer Zoro’s frantic questions. He is about to run out, blindly searching for you within the palace, when someone comes running down the hallway and stops right in front of the open doorway. It takes the knight a moment to realize who it is, and when he does, the world tints red.

“You,” He snarls. 

Sanji raises his hands. “Look, I just—” 

It doesn’t matter what the prince was about to say because he doesn’t get a chance regardless. Zoro grabs the blonde by the collar and throws him backward with brutal force. Sanji collides against the wall, pinned by Zoro’s forearm pressing against his neck. 

“Hey! What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Sanji spits, hands pulling at the unrelenting muscle threatening to choke him. 

“What did you do to [name]? TELL ME!”

“Are you out of your damn mind?!”

Maybe. Yes. It most certainly feels like it. He is going mad. It is the only explanation for the emotions overwhelming him—for the shrieking beast inside him; a red hot fury clawing at his innards for release. Every moment you are gone is another splitting pain bursting anew in his chest. 

“Fucking think, you green-headed brute!” Sanji rasps, trying to get his words through the rage-induced fog consuming his assailant. “And get your paws off me, swordsman. Unless you’d like to waste precious time that could be spent in search of my fiancé.”

“What do you… what do you mean by search?” Zoro’s arm slackens. Sanji uses that chance to shove him away. Zoro doesn’t react, only stares at the blonde in a daze. “[Name] is gone…?”

Sanji rubs his neck and lets out a rough cough before answering. “Taken, actually. Straight from the ceremony.”

“And you just let those bastards do it?! You should have protected them!”

Sanji whips his head up, anger flashing in his eyes. “In case you forgot, that’s your job! If you would have set your ego aside for one second, maybe [name] would still be here! But you didn’t. So now, instead of throwing the blame around like it’s a game of catch, you can shut the hell up and deal with it. We need you to pull yourself together, Commander. It’s the only way we’ll get [name] back.”

“Fine. Fine.” Zoro’s anger doesn’t drain—not completely—but it is overtaken by steely determination as he sobers up to Sanji’s words. As much as he despised it, the prince was right. Saving you was top priority. 

“Gather the corps. This is not only a search and rescue. It is a manhunt.”

Both men set off in silence, their only thoughts center on finding you and making the ones responsible pay. In less than ten minutes, Zoro has his unit of soldiers gathered in the main conference room. Sanji sits across from him, opposite the head of the circular table. 

“What information do we have so far? I….” Zoro’s jaw works as guilt creeps up within. “I was not present.”

“Highly premeditated. They were able to infiltrate your security system flawlessly,” Sanji answers, eyes boring into the swordsman. 

One of Zoro’s advisors speaks up. “We are in an era of peace. The country faces no enemy—no uprising or rebellion. And there has been no claim for this crime. They clearly do not seek ransom, or else we would have received word by now. What would be their purpose?” 

A soldier nervously shuffles. “Commander. We must consider the possibility that—”

Zoro slams his fist down. The stone table cracks under the force. “[Name] is not dead. The next person who suggests such an idiotic thing will have their tongue cut out for heresy.”

Before anyone can linger on the sincerity behind that threat, the sturdy oak doors burst open, hinges squeaking in protest at the sudden force.

Luffy strolls in, a serious expression on his face. A rare sight. 

“Why don’t we just ask [name] ourselves?”

Zoro narrows his eyes at the captain. “What do you mean by that?”

Luffy only ignores him, opting to scan the ceilings in search of something. “Do you hear that? Have you figured it out yet?” 

The soldiers all stare at the boy with a mix of confusion and irritation, the most agitated being Zoro himself. 

“Luffy, I have no time–”

“C’mon, [name]! I know it works.”

Zoro steps forward, but stops dead in his tracks as an eerie crackle flickers to life in the echoing chamber. 

“Hel–Hello? Am I connected?”

Everyone freezes at your soft voice. Zoro barely manages to catch himself as he stumbles in shock and heart wrenching relief. 

You are alive. 

Luffy pipes up. “It’s an emergency communication device. I brought it to [name] years ago, and they had it set up in this very room. The Strategy Hall, right?”

“[Name],” Zoro rasps. All he can focus on is you. Your voice. “Where are you?”

You chuckle humorlessly. “If I had the answer to that, don’t you think I would have told you by now? I was drugged. Blindfolded. Next thing I knew, my surroundings turned into concrete walls and steel bars.”

“I’ll find you.”

Zoro can visualize your smile as you reply. “Zoro, I do not wish for you to blame yourself for this. If anything goes wrong–”

“It won’t. I will find you. That’s a promise.”

A brief pause. No one else has dared to speak a word this entire interaction.

“...Another promise, huh?”

Zoro’s stomach drops at the disappointment in your tone. It kills him that your relationship with him was left on such rocky, uncertain terms. 

His mind is racing, random words tumbling out of his mouth as he struggles to hold himself together and think of the next step. A plan. “How did you know to set the communication device in here?”

You laugh again, a little more genuine this time. “Because I know you, Zoro. I know how you think. How you operate. Is that all you have to ask me? To say to me? You might not have much time left. Best get everything out in the open.”

“Everyone, leave,” Zoro murmurs in a low tone.

The soldiers and advisors quickly shuffle out, even Sanji and Luffy bear no resistance. As soon as the door shuts behind the latter, Zoro collapses into his seat. 

“Please don’t talk like that,” he whispers, head dropping onto his crossed forearms. “Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He mentally kicks himself for not asking that first. So distracted by the news that you were alive, all rational thought fled his mind. 

“A little bruised…a little battered. Only slightly traumatized, but overall I’m alright.”

Zoro nods… then realizes you can’t see him. “Good. Good.”

“I’m… Zoro, I’m really tired. Exhausted, in fact,” you sigh. “I heard them in passing conversation as I came in and out of consciousness. They do not plan on releasing me.”

Zoro stiffens.

“Not alive, at least.”

He starts saying your name, but is cut-off as you continue.

“You were right, we are… ill-fated. Doomed from the beginning for whatever it is we actually are. Two ships passing in the dead of night on unbroken, infinite paths.”

Why does it sound as if you have given up? As if he would not fight through hell itself to bring you back?

“Stop.”

“Zoro, I–”

“Stop.” His voice trembles. 

You sigh, weary and defeated. “Can I say it? Will you let me?”

You don’t wait for an answer and he does not give you one either. Time has run its course.

“I love you, Zoro. I’m sorry I won’t be able to say it in person.”

Those are the last words you utter before the connection flickers out, leaving Zoro alone in an empty silence, with nothing but regret and despair taking hold of him.

FIN.

Okay. Yes, it is an open ending. I'm sorry. I'm also sorry this took forever. Please don’t murder me. If people would like, I am open to writing both the original ending (as well as an alternate ending) as shorter epilogues, BUT at a later date as I am focused on other works and my Dazai series atm.

˚ · . tags: @oonlykooii, @3v37773, @dimplewonie, @heilee, @naomihatake, @sinmp, @mrsspector-grant, @chixkadee, @fangeekkk, @cavillxhenry, @theawkwardbutterfly, @iwillalwaystrustwhoiam, @hollxe1, @bababahannah

[bleachification]

HAPPY NEW YEARS BABIES🫶🫶 so sorry i haven’t been uploading ive been also busy with finals and work and travelling…. promise i haven’t abandoned any fics yet and will be writing and updating soon !

ty all for being here with me in 2024 <3

[bleachification]

⸻ WE SAIL THE STARS

pairing: zoro x reader; fantasy knight/bodyguard au

word count: 5k

synopsis: As the sole heir of a prosperous and powerful kingdom, you have long forsaken personal desires, placing your country’s needs above all else. But when mere talks of political marriage turn into formal certificates and a pending ceremony, you find yourself locked in a delicate struggle between duty and the pulls of a forbidden love. 

Roronoa Zoro is a man of few words, but slightly more when he is by your side—which is practically every moment of every day. As your personal guard, the knight is sworn to protect you against all threats, including the existence of his own illicit feelings—ones he must keep hidden. But can he truly do so? 

note: this is the FIRST part of a TWO-PART fic, you can find the second part here: chapter two ^.^

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Roronoa Zoro—esteemed Knight Commander of the reigning crown and personal guard to Your Royal Highness—has claimed victory in countless battles, traversed war torn lands, and survived the pull of death more times than imaginable. A hero of living legend, a god amongst mortals… and a man completely defeated by a crying child. 

The young girl barely comes up to his mid-thigh—a small child, no older than six, adorned in purple frills and frock. Her delicate features are twisted into a bitter pout, lips quivering as she summons another wave of torrential tears. Her blonde pigtails sway as she furiously shakes her head and stomps, all the while sobbing through deafening screams. 

“I want my brother!”

Zoro attempts to negotiate again, to no avail. “Your Highness—”

“GIVE ME MY BROTHER!” She wails. 

Zoro tries calming her once more—holding his gloved hands out in a placating gesture. The princess shrieks and hits him against the leg, tiny hands balled up into tight fists. The pain is non-existent, but Zoro’s patience wears thin. He is already far past the point of irritation, for a myriad of reasons beyond just his present situation. 

The morning had not been kind: training was especially grueling under the summer heat and when he had tried to find you afterward, he had been ignored and waved away as you busied yourself for the meeting you are currently occupied with. You had barely spoken more than two sentences at a time to him today—a rare, uncomfortable phenomenon. 

The meeting was for diplomatic matters concerning a neighboring kingdom. Your parents are usually the ones who attend such discussions, which is why the Knight Commander finds it strange that you—as heir—was required to be there.

It has been two hours since the four of you—your parents, the foreign kingdom’s prince, and yourself—have shut yourselves within the soundproof walls of the conference hall.

Zoro briefly wonders how the princess’s guardians could have lost sight of her and why they were not tearing the place apart trying to find her. He shakes his head, clearing those insignificant thoughts away. It would take him more than a millennium to try and understand aristocratic mindsets—plus, doing so would just be a waste of time. 

The princess winds up for another huffy tantrum, but is interrupted by the doors opening. Relief washes over the swordsman.  

Zoro steps aside and bows, instinctively searching for you in the group of people that file out. Your parents greet him with haste and leave, sparing him no second glance. The foreign prince—Sanji, Zoro recalls his name to be—gathers his younger sister in his arms and departs with a wide smile back. It is a moment before Zoro realizes the blonde was directing his grin to you.

When Zoro spots you, he frowns. You’re scowling, lines of tension etched into the planes of your face. 

“Is something the matter, Your Highness?” Zoro grows increasingly concerned at the stony expression you wear. 

What the hell happened in there? He thinks to himself. 

“I’m fine. Let’s go,” you mutter before turning on your heel and marching down the hallway. 

Zoro follows dutifully, his long strides a perfect match for your quickened pace. Usually, he would be careful to slow himself down and monitor his speed so that he would not overtake you whenever he was by your side—which is practically every moment of the waking day. Right now, however, your anger propels you forward. 

“Your Highness–”

“What?” You snap, whirling around on your guard. 

Zoro pauses. You are visibly upset—clenched jaw, glassy eyes, and a glare that stops him in his tracks. 

“[Name]. I would like to know what is bothering you. Let us find somewhere private to converse.” he quietly suggests. Zoro calls you by your name when it is just the two of you.

For a moment, you consider stomping away and shutting yourself in your bedroom, where no one—not even Zoro—can disturb you. But one glance at the worry on his face has you relenting. With a sigh, Your shoulders slump, all tension gone, and you give him a small nod. Wordlessly, you make your way to your private study room. Zoro follows behind in a comfortable silence. 

You shut the door when you both arrive, locking it behind you to keep others out. 

You plop onto the plush sofa, gesturing at Zoro to do the same. He takes a seat beside you, swords clanging against the floor as he adjusts them. Memories of the meeting flood back into your mind and you fight the urge to scream. 

You let your head drop and Zoro stretches his arm out, cushioning you against the hard surface of the couch back. 

A second later, you blurt out: “They are asking for a political marriage.”

Zoro tenses underneath you. “... His and Her Majesties are in talks with Prince Sanji about a political marriage?” 

“Not in talks. They’ve already made their decision. All they needed was my consent,” You sigh. You rub a hand over your face, exhaustion seeping into your bones. “I will accept, of course. I only wish they would have spoken to me beforehand. This has all happened much too fast.”

You peer at Zoro when he stays silent. Your guard’s expression is eerily blank, the only indication of any emotion—shock—is his widened eyes. He turns to you, lips parting. You await a reply, but he only swallows and looks away. 

You hesitate, unsure of how to approach such a reaction. Zoro is far from talkative, but he at least indulges you in conversation. You have never seen him so speechless and uncertain—it makes you nervous. 

“Zoro?”

The only thing he asks is: “You are accepting?”

“I–” You blink, caught off guard by his icy tone. “Yes, I am.”

“I see. You seemed distressed over the news. I assumed you would reject the proposal,” he says quietly. 

“I cannot say that I am happy about it, but my feelings do not really matter. Our kingdoms have been trying to secure an alliance for practically a millennium. If a marriage on my behalf is all it takes, then so be it.”

“Your parents would not force you into an unwanted union. Surely. there are other ways.”

You furrow your brows. Why is Zoro fighting against this? He, of all people, should be supporting the alliance. It will only benefit the kingdom. 

“Of course they won’t.”

“So your agreeance was for naught. In utter vain. Why even accept in the first place?” Zoro grunts. 

“I cannot abandon my duty—cannot abandon the throne’s burden. As your loyalty lies with this country, mine does as well.” 

“My loyalty lies with you.”

Your expression softens at his words and Zoro has to look away; he does not think he can hide the intensity of his true feelings for much longer if he doesn’t. One look at his face and you would see the anger and pain it betrays. You don’t deserve that. His feelings, the extremely inappropriate ones for a man of his status, are his to suffer, alone—his to push away, his to hide. They will fade… eventually. 

“I… appreciate your concern. It will be fine. Sanji is a good man,” you reassure, patting him gently on the hand. His calloused fingers twitch underneath your manicured hands, itching to intertwine with your own. 

“This is what you want?” 

You sigh. “We are far past what I want.”

Zoro does not reply; he doesn’t get a chance to as a loud knock sounds. 

“[Name]?” A muffled voice calls out from the other side of the heavy oak doors. 

“That’s…”

You get up and move towards the door, opening it to reveal a familiar face. 

“Captain,” you smile. 

Luffy grins back at you, signature hat tucked beneath his arm. “Hey! I need to steal Zoro.”

His blunt nature doesn’t deter you in the slightest. In fact, you welcome his genuinity—such a trait is few and far between. 

Luffy is what one might call a rogue shipmaster. A naval Captain who balances precariously on the edge of the law. For the past few years, your parents have employed Luffy on multiple occasions, assigning him various missions and expeditions in return for coinage. He made quick use of the gold and coveted the adventure, while your kingdom benefited from his unorthodox methods—and personality. 

From time to time, Luffy would pop in and request Zoro to join him—request being a very, very loose term in this context. More often than not, Zoro would accept. He wouldn’t admit it, but you know the swordsman enjoys Luffy’s company. He may grumble and protest, putting up an unwilling facade, but he obliges every time with no exception. The only instance where Zoro would decline is if you asked him not to—or if you needed him. 

“Coming.”

Zoro brushes past you without a second glance and follows the Captain out the door. Luffy gives you another toothy grin, waving as he bounds away with your guard in tow. 

Little did you know, that would be the last you would see of Zoro for the next month. 

During periods of Luffy’s exploits, you would be assigned a temporary guard consisting of two paladins from Zoro’s unit. There was never anything wrong with them per se. They were dutiful, skilled, and well-trained—nothing short of knightly perfection—but they were not him. 

You miss Zoro. You miss his stoic sarcasm and his fits of laughter at your dumb jokes that are not all that humourous, but he laughs at them as if they were comedic genius. You miss his toothy smiles and sly smirks, and the way he tries not to meet your eyes in times of significance because one glance would have you both doubling over, choking on wheezing cackles at the most inopportune times. Most of all, you miss your best friend, and you worry for him. He is usually only absent for a few days up to a week at most, but it has been fourfold that time and Zoro is still not back.

One part of you wishes for him home as soon as possible, another dreads it. In the days that Zoro has been gone, the details of your engagement were finalized. The thought brings a pounding ache to your skull and a heavy lump in your throat that suffocates you with each nearing second. 

The nerves do not matter, you remind yourself. Nothing but the effect matters. Your kingdom will prosper. It will flourish. This is your duty, and it is your mind and wits that will guide you, so it does not matter how much your heart rejects it. No matter how much you wish it were Zoro. 

A small, irrational part of you hopes he stops it all for his own wants—selfish, you know, but that’s what love is, is it not? The larger, sensible part of you knows that he cannot do that… and he won’t. As teens, you confessed your young, unbridled feelings once, and he rejected you resolutely. Zoro made it abundantly clear he does not and will not ever see you as anything but a friend—or perhaps just an employer—so you refuse to make the depth of your affection known again. Not when all it will do is end in heartbreak and shame. 

You and Sanji are in the middle of planning floral arrangements before the greenhouse doors burst open and Luffy strolls in, arms full of sea lilies—gorgeous crystalline flowers found only in the deepest trenches of a certain Southern ocean. They are your favourite, and incredibly difficult—almost impossible—to find around your kingdom. Zoro follows lazily behind, careful not to step on the hundreds of random bouquets strewn about the room. 

“Welcome back, Luffy…uh-”

The captain drops the flowers onto the large workbench between you and Sanji. You wince as a few lovely petals get smushed.

“Idiot! Be careful with those!” Zoro scolds. 

Luffy frowns and scratches his head. “Sorry.”

“These flowers…” You brush a hand against a petal. It glimmers iridescent under your touch. 

“Zoro got them. Said they were important,’ Luffy says.

“What?” Your heart skips a beat. Maybe multiple. 

Zoro just shrugs. “You like them, right?”

“They’re perfect,” Sanji cuts in. You don’t miss the twitch of Zoro’s jaw. 

“I didn’t want the roses because the thorns would be a hassle, you didn’t love the tulips because of the silhouette and composition, but these…” The prince carefully picks up the bundles of ice-coloured flowers. “These are perfect for the ceremony! I’ll hand them off to the florist right away.”

Sanji scurries off with Luffy in tow, the latter muttering something about finding food, leaving only you and Zoro in the empty glass house. 

“Ceremony?” 

You swallow and plaster a smile on your face. “Welcome back. How was your trip?”

“Fine. What ceremony?” He inches closer. 

You turn around, fiddling aimlessly with a bluebell arrangement. “The wedding. It’s finalized—the date is set for twenty days time.”

A heavy silence blankets the room and your mouth runs dry. You don’t like this unease, it is unfamiliar and stifling—like a dizzying fog hanging over your eyes, blinding you as you stumble through new, obscure territory. Zoro has always been the most comforting presence in your life, but ever since last month… something is wrong.

“[Name], don’t do this.”

You turn to your knight, brows furrowed in confusion and surprise. 

For his part, Zoro looks just as shocked as you feel. He works his jaw slowly, conflicted. He certainly meant to keep that thought to himself. 

“I meant… this is not the wisest idea,” he tries explaining.

“Why?” 

“You are not happy with it, is that not enough reason?”

A small spark of hope flickers to life in you. “No, that is not enough reason.”

You think: One more reason, that is all I ask. Say it and all of this will be unwritten history, never to be put to paper. 

“It should be,” he argues, hand combing through his hair in agitation.

“You are meant to protect me. Not to stand in the way of my future.”

“I am if it is a future you don’t desire.”

You scoff. “And what do you know of my desires?”

“I know you don’t want to marry him.” 

“And if I told you that you’re wrong? What would you do then?”

Zoro looks you dead in the eyes as he answers. “If he is the man you choose to be with, not out of duty, but out of affection—then I would offer my sincerest congratulations.”

The hope in you dies and your stomach drops. “Of course you would. I don’t know what else I expected.”

He cocks his head, tension lines forming on his skin. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“Don’t be dense, Zoro.”

“I’m not following.”

“I have to find Sanji, he and I have some things to go over before tomorrow,” you mutter. You try to push past Zoro to leave, but he sidesteps and blocks you—his massive frame towering over you. 

“Since when were you so friendly with him?”

“Zoro, I am marrying the man! And I must help him plan the wedding. Now, move.” You press two fingers to his chest and push, to no avail, his body a solid wall between you and the exit. 

“You’re serious? You’ll go through with this ridiculous plan?”

“Political marriages are commonplace!” You pinch the bridge of your nose, willing your blood pressure down in the meantime. “You know what? Unless you are able to give me an actual reason—nothing to do with my feelings, because we both know this is not about me—then this wedding is happening, whether you like it or not.”

Zoro’s eyes narrow. “What are you trying to say?”

“Must I spell it out for you, Zoro? We are not children anymore. Suppressing your feelings will not do either of us any good.”

“My feelings?” He balks. 

“The ones you harbour towards me, yes. Why else would you act like this?” Uncertainty courses through you like ice-shot blood in your veins, but you don’t let it show. Wavering confidence will lose you this battle instantly. 

“I haven’t the slightest idea of what you are talking about.”

“Then why can’t you look me in the eyes?” Your voice turns quiet. “Don’t lie to me again. You promised never to do that.”

Zoro flinches, but recovers quickly. His usual mask of indifference slips into place. 

“I am a knight. A people’s hero at best. I have no doubt of my skills nor goals, but they do not align with yours. [Name], you are the future monarch of this kingdom. I have no place next to you as an equal, only as a sword and shield. I am sorry if you believed there was… anything more.”

His lack of emotion only adds to your own frustration. “You are projecting. You and I are both well aware that is not all there is. You are the greatest swordsman of this century—perhaps of all time. What happened to the man who would chase down ghosts and move mountains to obtain such a title? Don’t be absurd. This has nothing to do with rank. You are scared.”

His eyes flash. “You and I are set on separate paths. Both glorious in their own right, but led by different fates.”

“Are you such a coward that you would blindly follow in fate’s footsteps? I took you for a better man than that,” you argue, disappointment coating your words. 

“You are wrong, then. Maybe, you do not know me as well as you believe,” he snaps. The coldness in his tone is harsh and unbridled. It draws a clear, perpetual line between you. 

You say nothing in response. Instead, you shoulder past him and walk to the exit. He lets you. 

You move to leave, but pause as you step over the threshold. Softly, you murmur: “You’re right. Maybe I don’t.”

Without waiting for an answer, you slam the doors behind you.

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Your Highness, it is only the one signature–”

“A moment, please,” Sanji interrupts. 

The lawyer reddens and nods. “Of course, I apologize. Whenever you are able.” He takes an awkward bow and scurries out of the office. 

You barely notice, still staring at the packet of papers in front of you like it is a bomb that may explode any next moment. Twenty minutes ago, the official signing of your marriage papers began. Ten was spent having the contents and legal ramifications explained by the sixty-something man who just left, five was spent going over the actual details with Sanji, and the last five consisted of you fidgeting with your pen as you stared down the blank line awaiting your scribbled name. 

“I will do it. I can sign it.”

“I know. Take your time,” Sanji gently reassures. 

“I can,” you insist. 

“Of course.”

“You don’t sound like you believe that.”

“It’s not that…”

“Then, what, pray tell, is it?” You ask, throwing your hands up in irritation. 

Sanji only shrugs, unbothered by your lack of patience. “I am merely wondering if there is any reason why you are taking longer than anticipated. It could not possibly have anything to do with that mossy-headed bodyguard of yours, could it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I could not help but notice his absence these last three days, despite his habit of sticking next to you—glued to your side like a moth to a flame,” he notes. 

You shift, uncomfortable. “Commander Roronoa has been busy.”

The winter air brushes against you, causing you to shiver. Sanji notices and stands up, moving towards the open balcony. He shuts the twin doors on the whistling winds and you shoot him a grateful smile. 

“Thank you.”

“Anything for my betrothed.”

“Is that what I am? Your betrothed?”

“Yes,” he pauses, scrunching his nose. “Well… you will be once you sign those documents.”

Your gaze drops from Sanji to the foreboding papers on the table. Every second that passes is another rope winding around your throat, suffocating you more and more. The reality of it all is setting in—and it’s sending you into a spiral. 

“I… I can’t.” You drop the pen and it clatters against the wooden tabletop. With a sigh, you cradle your face in your hands and suppress a groan. 

One beat. Two beats. Three beats pass. 

Then Sanji speaks… and it makes your heart race. “You have feelings for him.”

You glance at the blonde with a sad smile. “Horrible, wretched ones.”

“Your feelings are not horrible, [name]. Nor are they wretched.”

“Oh, but they are. How else could I possibly describe them? They are far from wonderful—far from the magic poets write of and romantics live for.” You let out a sharp breath. “They cause me to ache for something I will never have. Is that anything less than horrible to you?”

“Do you wish you never loved him? Never met him?”

“I–” You pause, the lie clotting your throat and refusing to roll off your tongue. You slump back into the sofa and close your eyes in defeat. “No. Of course not. I only wished he loved me back.”

“[Name].”

You peer at Sanji, and he looks at you gently. You have never seen the playboy prince wear such a sincere expression.

“He loved you enough to let you go. He loved you enough to prioritise your happiness over his own. Would you not do the same for him?”

“I would not know hesitation. But Zoro does not even care enough to fight for me. What of that do you perceive to be love?”

“A man who takes time out of his endless day to dive into the treacherous depths of the sea, scouring the ocean floor for flowers, is a man in love. When he brought you those bouquets, did you not notice something different about them?”

“About the flowers? No. No, I don’t think so. There was…” You trail off. A switch goes off in your brain as everything clicks into place. “Oh.”

“The thorns.”

“The thorns,” you whisper. 

Sea lilies are beautiful, yes, but they are also a plant species that produces a mechanical defense against predators in the form of small silver thorns. 

“We had dismissed roses as an option for floral arrangements due to their prickly nature, as it would have taken too long to strip them of their thorns. The lilies were smooth—completely void of them. It must have taken him the entire night just to finish one batch.

“The time and effort he has dedicated… [name], this man loves you fiercely. More than most would think possible.” Sanji pulls back and settles into the cream-colored cushions. He gives you a teasing smile. “I’m jealous.”

“Don’t be.” You sit up and promptly scribble your name across the certificate. You drop the pen on the table and it clatters against the hard surface, the noise echoing in the room’s silence. “In seventeen days time, it will be you and I, for the rest of our lives.” The words are choking you. Your eyes sting and your throat burns as you force them out, but that final pen stroke sobered you to reality and you felt your mind clear. 

“[Name]—”

You raise a palm up. “At the end of the day, Zoro made his choice, and it is one that does not involve me. Even if his feelings for me are true… he refuses to let them come to light. He can’t even tell me the truth,” you sigh. The acceptance slowly creeps in, along with your resolution. “I will not settle for the bones of a dying love. I will either have him whole or not at all.” 

The conversation ends there. Two uneventful but busy weeks pass by and times are as peaceful as possible… until the moment you find out some startling news. It happens an hour before the ceremony, mere minutes after you get dressed in your wedding attire. 

“Are you sure?”

The maid nods timidly. “Yes, Your Highness. I overheard the commander speaking of the upcoming ceremony when I was cleaning out the barracks. He was adamant on not attending.”

“I see,” you reply flatly, stomach churning in growing anxiety. You thank the girl and dismiss her before heading towards your next destination. 

Zoro, to his credit, does not react—not a jump or flinch—when you burst through the doors. He is halfway through polishing a sword when you interrupt, a flurry of silk, scented oil, and irritation barreling through his room. 

“You won’t be there?”

He doesn’t look up. “No.”

“Zoro.” Your biting tone halts him. “You’re not coming to my wedding?”

“I…”  He finally looks at you and pauses, fully taking you in. His eyes shine with a hint of appreciation—and something more—before he coughs and turns, attention directed back to his swords. “No. I am not.”

But I need you there. I can’t go through with this without your support, you think. But all you can choke out is an angry: “Why?”

“I am of no use there, and the troops need my help in preparing for an upcoming campaign.”

“That can wait.” 

“I’m sorry, [name],” he mutters. 

“You are not! If you were truly sorry, you would wait a damned day and attend my wedding!” You step closer to him, mere inches away. 

“I apologize, but it is unchanging.”

“Stop apologizing and look at me!” You grasp his face with your hands and gently but firmly tilt his head towards your gaze. The expression he wears makes you pause. Zoro looks like he is falling apart—misery and anger twisting his handsome features. 

“Are you done? I have training to go to.”

“Stop running from me, Zoro. Where’s the brave, strong swordsman I grew up with?”

Zoro doesn’t mention that he can’t help but be weak around you. He also doesn’t mention how each passing second here, with you, feels like a dagger to the heart. All he can muster out is a low: “Let me go, [name].”

You shake your head. “And if I don’t? What will you do then?”

Zoro reaches up and pulls your hands away, but he lets go quickly, as if it burns. “Please, [name]. I am not in the mood to humour you nor cater to your whims.”

You ignore how much his dismissal hurts, but you refuse to back down. Not until he tells the truth. The whole truth. 

“This has nothing to do with my whims. This has to do with the fact that you are too scared to confront your own constitution. Spare me, Zoro. Your absence is not because of your duties, so tell me what it is actually about.”

He opens his mouth to retort, no doubt to argue and stand his false, crumbling ground. So you raise a hand to silence him. 

“I command you. Tell me: why won’t you come?”

“I can’t.”

“Can’t?”

“Precisely. I can’t go to your wedding because I can’t watch you exchange vows with someone else. I can’t stand there, pretending to be happy for you when I am not—far from it, actually.” He takes a step forward, sharp gaze tracing your features. “Most of all, I can’t go, because if I do, I will lose all reason—much like this moment—and I will find a way to stop that union. No matter how much blood I will need to spill.”

“Zoro–”

“It will not happen. I promise. Go. Get married, [name]. Your future awaits you, and it will surely be a bright one.”

“I don’t want a future that does not involve you.”

“My rank–”

“For god's sake, Zoro, you know I have no care for rank.”

“Rank is not all that separates us! It is everything. Everything I am, it… it is not enough. How can it be?” He rasps. 

Your chest tightens. “Of course, it’s enough. You are more than enough.”

“No, [name]. We are-”

You interrupt him. “Do you have feelings for me? Yes or no?” 

“That does not matter-”

“You are being weak, Zoro. Say it.”

“You don’t understand,” he grits out, jaw rigid with tension.

“Say it!”

“Yes! Yes, I have feelings for you. I have had feelings for you since we were children—from the moment I swore myself to you with a wooden sword!”

Your heart soars. “Then why are you fighting this? Fighting me?” 

“Because. It. Does. Not. Matter. They will fade.” 

Mid-flight, your heart plummets to the pit of your aching stomach.

“You don't mean that,” you whisper. 

“I do,” he swallows, voice shaky with emotion. “Besides, you deserve to be with someone who can make you happy. I cannot be that person. I refuse to.”

“You refuse me.”

A stray tear rolls down the plane of your cheek and Zoro notices. He instinctively reaches out to comfort you. You take a step back, hurt striking you sharp and deep. His arm drops and he averts your gaze, regret and defeat swirling in his own. 

The walls around your heart rise once more, buried behind seemingly impenetrable steel. 

Zoro whispers your name—soft and tender—and your defenses almost crumble. Almost. But you will not fall again—in any way. 

“I am your ruler, Commander. You will address me as such.”

He makes a face, taken aback, but quickly schools his features. His next words are cold. Formal. Setting the new boundaries of your wilted relationship—if you can even call it that anymore. “My sincerest apologies…Your Highness.”

Someone knocks on the door. A second later, your mother’s voice rings out. “[Name], honey. Are you in there? The ceremony will soon commence.” 

“Yes, mother, I will be out in a moment. I promise not to keep the guests waiting.” You answer. 

She makes a noise of affirmation before bidding you farewell. You wait for her footsteps to recede before turning to Zoro. The usual affection he harbours for you has been completely erased from his features. You stand before him, a complete stranger. So that is how you choose to speak with him. 

“I will not force you to attend. You will hardly be missed at such an ornate affair. I’m sure you have many, much more important, matters to attend to. You are dismissed, Commander.”

PART TWO COMING SOON. 

˚ · . tags: @oonlykooii @3v37773 @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007 @bababahannah

[bleachification]

would u guys kill me if i posted the zoro fic in two parts instead of one…

im done the first half already🤥🤥

[bleachification]

hi guys !! im turning 20 today (god help me) and just wanted to thank all of u for being so supportive and sweet <33 i hope you all have a great weekend mwah mwah

ps. the zoro fic is coming soon i promise

[bleachification]

hey guys please send me some of ur favourite tropes so i can incorporate them into fics !! u can send them anon or otherwise <3

[bleachification]

the more i continue writing this zoro fic, the more i hurt my own feelings…

maybe someday ill forget abt angst but todays not that day !!

[bleachification]

i have an upcoming zoro fic (fantasy au), if anyone wants to be added to tag list please message me !!

[bleachification]

⸻ all about me ‧˚₊⋅ ୨୧ ⋅₊˚‧

⊹  · hello !! im jess, aka:

·˚✎ . . . THE WRITER BEHIND IT ALL . . .

twenty, she/her

tired uni student by day; tired fic writer by night

hobbies include: overwatch, falling off horses, animanga, fantasizing about animanga, publishing written versions of those fantasies to tumblr, mental breakdowns over mystery novels i cant guess the plot twists to, sleep.

bilingual; chinese is my first language :$

also i love svt <333

MORE QUESTIONS? ASKBOX IS ALWAYS OPEN !!

[bleachification]

I'm not usually a sanji reader but the little fic you just posted (the fake couple one) caught my eye and I TEARED UP??? IT WAS SO HEARTWARMINV AND CHARMING JUST. 10/10. I had to let you know it was absolutely wonderful- like, my heart squeezed a little at the embrace at the end it was so cute 😭😭 hope you have a great day!

HELLO THIS IS SO CUTE THANK YOUUU im so happy u enjoyed <33

[bleachification]

⸻ JEALOUS, JEALOUS BOY

pairing: sanji x reader

word count: 5.7k

synopsis: life as a pirate is never boring, especially when your best friend is sanji—a flirtatious chef who can’t seem to sort out his feelings, or yours, for that matter. that makes things all the more complicated when you’re forced to go undercover and sanji is dragged along with you as your very fake husband. the million-dollar question is: when lines start blurring, how do you differentiate between what’s fake and what’s real?

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

“We broke up.”

“How long? Two months?”

You shrug. “I stopped counting anniversaries after the first couple of failed ones.”

Sanji swings his knife a tad too forcefully. The loud THUD of it smashing into the cutting board causes you to jump. You peer over the counter and grimace at the sight.

“God, what did that poor tuna ever do to you?”

Sanji continues slicing into the red flesh, more aggressively than before, but still with the same care and precision that he affords every ingredient he touches.

“Why?”

“Why what?” You lift your gaze to his face, smiling softly at the concentration twisting his features. It’s one of the things you admire greatly about Sanji—the sheer dedication and love he has for his craft.

“Why did you break up with him?” Sanji repeats. He’s chopping up a variety of garnish now. Again, with more aggression than necessary.

You raise a brow, but decide not to comment on it.

“What makes you think I was the one who called it quits?”

He sets the knife down and turns to you, blonde bangs falling across his face. Sanji flashes you his signature flirtatious smile, but there’s a strange hint of tension attached to it.

“Who would ever think to break up with you?” He leans in, gaze darkening. “They would have to be crazy.”

You pull back, rolling your eyes. He’s always like this. Coy. Intimate. The ultimate womanizer. Sometimes… you wish it could be different.

“Well, he must have been crazy then.”

“What?” Sanji pauses, confusion etches his expression. “You… wait… he broke up with you?!”

“Don’t sound so surprised. He only beat me to it by a week. I had the decency to try and wait until after Valentines,” you note. You aren’t particularly broken up about the whole thing. Your ex is barely an ex—a summer fling, if anything. But Sanji, on the other hand, is acting as if some horrible crime has been committed.

“I’ll kill him.”

You blink. “Okay. A bit of an overreaction.”

“How dare he…” Sanji mumbles, not hearing you. His hand tightly grips the knife handle, and you swear the temperature just dropped even in the presence of boiling pots and simmering roux.

“Alright, enough. Don’t be so dramatic,” you laugh, moving to gently pry his fingers from their iron grip on the handle. He lets you—watching as you take the blade from him, and relishing in the soft feel of your skin against his. He itches to grab your hand and pull you closer. But he doesn’t. He won’t.

He can’t.

Sanji learned very quickly that his charms and gimmicks weren’t going to work on you. In all fairness, they rarely do, but for some unfathomable reason, he can’t seem to let that particular rejection go. He will always resent that part of him for pushing you away and drawing that boundary—a line you both delicately toe, never to cross over to each other’s side.

Your first meeting was… disastrous, to say the least. Sanji had just met the crew, and was tripping over himself to impress Nami, when you had made your way back to the others after a quick break in the powder room.

You had witnessed all of his shameless flirting and blatant promiscuity on your way back. You immediately took a strong dislike to the blonde chef, his behaviour reminiscent of exes that were none too pleasant.

“I’m back.”

At the sound of your voice, Sanji beamed, turning to strike up another flowery bombardment of compliments and flattery… only to freeze in place when he saw you.

For once, his silver tongue lacked its luster, fumbling before the sight of you.

For once, he knew not what to say or do. He could only stare. Only admire and behold.

“Good job. You broke the chef,” Zoro deadpanned.

You pulled an expression of slight concern and mild annoyance.

“Um… are you alright?” You waved a hand across Sanji’s face. No reaction. The rest of the crew barely paid him any mind, too busy either eating, drinking… or arguing, in Nami and Zoro’s case.

You slipped into the booth next to Zoro, choosing to ignore the bizarre situation, when a deep, rumbling voice belonging to a peg-legged old man boomed from across Baratie.

“SANJI!”

It snapped Sanji out of his stupor, grounding him back into reality.

“Marry me.”

But perhaps not logic.

“What?”

Zoro pulled a face of disgust eerily similar to your own. Somewhere in the background, you vaguely heard Ussop choking on his drink. Nami clapped thunderously on his back. Is she trying to help him or kill him?

Luffy, through all of this, watched with bright, curious eyes.

“Yuuummphh fuu’yyy,” exclaimed Luffy, his mouth full of bread, gravy, and what you can only assume is a whole ribeye steak.

Zoro turned his disgust toward the captain. “Are you kidding?”

Luffy scarfed down another forkful of food, grinning wide as he swallowed the last of his meal. He patted his stomach, content, before turning his attention back to Sanji.

“You’re funny!” He laughed.

“That’s what you were trying to say?!”

Luffy ignored Zoro’s exasperation and just giggled in his usual carefree manner. Sanji ignored them all, choosing only you to spare his attention. You shifted uncomfortably, tension coursing through your veins at the way he watched you. As if you were the greatest treasure in all of the Four Seas and he was the king of the pirates—a man would do anything to covet it. Covet you.

Zoro and Luffy didn’t seem to grasp the situation as they continued to bicker in the background.

“Boys. Stop… FIGHTING!” Nami barked out. A swift smack from the ginger settled them both down, each sulking in a corner as she berated them for their behaviour.

You took a deep breath, willing your nerves to calm. You met Sanji’s eyes and they shone with hope.

“You want me to marry you?”

“Yes. Desperately,” he breathed out.

If heart eyes were real, they would beat within the passion of his gaze. Strong. Intense. Unabashed. You despised it. How could he look at you in that way after mere moments of greetings? It was lust. Nothing less, and certainly nothing more.

“SANJI, GET YOUR ASS BACK IN HERE!”

Sanji clenched his jaw at the voice, frustration and irritation barely contained. His expression smoothed over as he spoke to you.

“Think it over?”

You raise a brow. “What? The proposal?”

“Precisely that,” he smiled. Gorgeous asshole.

“Over my dead body,” you scoffed. Your rejection didn’t seem to deter him though, the grin on his face still present even as he left for the kitchen.

So many sleepless nights later and Sanji still can’t help but sigh whenever he remembers that day. He wishes he could take back his words, his actions… his everything. Maybe you would love him back if he did. Maybe you wouldn’t be dating morons who don’t even come close to deserving you—not that he does, but he would try.

For you, he would try it all.

Your soft voice breaks him out of his trip down memory lane.

“Seriously, it’s not a big deal,” you reassure.

Sanji wants to shout, But it is! Don’t you get that? How could losing you not be a big deal?

Instead, he shakes his head and takes a long draw from his cigarette. He watches the clouds waft up in lazy rings, circle around your head, and disintegrate into the kitchen heat. Sanji finds it increasingly difficult to meet your eyes.

“Are you alright, love?”

His genuine concern for you makes you smile. “I’m alright, Sanji. I wasn’t that attached, anyway.”

That twinkle in his eyes. It's back again.

“Really? Then what about my initial offer?” he jokes. Though it doesn’t sound like a joke to him. Doesn’t feel like one either.

“What are you talking about?” You ask. You take a spoonful of the broth and bring it to your lips, ignorant of the tense atmosphere. At least until the magnitude of Sanji’s next words drops.

“You know… marrying me.” Sanji holds his breath.

Shit. Why did I say that? He thinks, regretfully.

You falter, the spoon quickly forgotten in the pot. Your appetite disappears just as swiftly.

“Everytime I think we’re having a nice, serious conversation, you just have to go and… say something like that. Aren’t you bored of it? Tired of all the false promises and sweet talk?” You shake your head and stand up to leave.

“[Name], I–”

You cut him off. “I’m disappointed, Sanji.”

“Please, just hear–”

The kitchen door bursts open to show Usopp, who hurriedly beckons you both outside.

“Crew meeting, come on!”

Sanji turns to you, about to say something else, but you ignore him and follow Usopp out into the hallway and up to the deck. Sanji has no choice but to do the same.

Winter has arrived in the form of early nights and fresh snowfall—as if the chilling temperature itself isn’t enough of an indicator. Your breath crystallizes in the air as the three of you venture outside to where you meet the rest of the crew.

Nami has a large sheet of parchment spread flat across the floor with each member of the crew positioned around it in a wide circle. Upon closer inspection, you realize it isn’t one of her usual cartographic maps. It’s a blueprint. And the subject of it… is a castle?

“Nami, what is this?” You ask as you take a seat next to her.

With a pen, she circles a small room located in the eastern wing of the building’s upper level. It sits above a sprawling space. A ballroom, you wager. The schematics look complicated enough.

Nami begins to explain. “This is a blueprint of Ceres Palace, a high-security manor sitting atop the nearest port city. It is home to a powerful noble family…”

She flips the paper over. “…and this.”

A mass of glimmering golden ink shines under the moonlight, every meticulously painted stroke deliberate and delicate. The image is clear.

“Is that a devil fruit?” Robin inquires, eyes narrowing.

“One crafted from solid gold and pure diamond dust, gilded with sea jadeite. It is the most monetarily valuable ‘devil fruit’ in the world, depending on who you ask,” Nami answers. She flips the parchment again. “And we are going to steal it.”

“Wait a damn minu-“

“Hold on-“

“Are we sure that’s-“

A chorus of protests and concerns rise from the rest of the crew, and for good reason. From just a first glance of the palace grounds, you can tell this will be a risky heist, and something in your gut tells you that there’s more to it.

Nami shuts them all up with a pointed glare.

“Do you realize how long I spent drawing up this stupid thing?! One more word from any of you and I will shove it down your throat. Whole,” she threatens.

No one speaks.

“Good. Now, as I was saying, this heist will consist of two parts. The actual theft and the distraction.”

Sanji raises his hand. Nami points at him and nods.

“Why, exactly, are we stealing someone’s gold…er…artifact? I get that we’re pirates but… a bit out of the way, isn’t it?”

Nami, Ussop, and Chopper sigh in unison. The latter ambles your way and climbs into your lap, snuggling for warmth.

“Hello baby,” you murmur. You smile softly as the little reindeer tucks himself into your welcome embrace. You give Chopper a scratch under the chin before turning your attention back to the conversation at hand.

Zoro barely pays any attention, head bobbing a bit. He’s already falling asleep. Typical. Robin, on the other hand, seems to recognize the object.

“I’ve heard of this. Its original name was The Monarch’s Heart. It belonged to the royal family of that island. Twenty years ago, the king’s most trusted advisor spearheaded a coup d’état and a violent rebellion broke out, ending with the execution of the royal family, as well as the usurpation of the former, now exiled, king.” Robin crouches and lightly brushes the blueprint, tracing along its curves. “All this time, the Heart was believed to have been lost amidst war. You’re saying one of the nobles stole it?”

Nami scratches her head and grimaces. “Well, yeah, kinda.”

“What do you mean, ‘kinda’”? You ask.

“We don’t have any proof. Not really,” she shrugs.

“So, again, why are we doing this?” Sanji reiterates.

“We have proof!” Luffy grins. Your captain finally speaks up, too preoccupied with messing with a sleeping Zoro moments ago.

“Luffy—” Nami starts.

“What? I believe the old man. He’s a good guy.” Luffy pats his stomach. “He fed me.”

“What old man?” You’re getting more and more confused as the meeting drags on.

“Luffy. You met the exiled king, didn’t you?” Robin’s eyes twinkle with curiosity.

“Um… I don’t know? I forgot his name but he was nice. Told me about how his stuff got stolen unfairly so I promised to get it back for him.”

“So you don’t even know if he’s telling the truth? What if he was the bad guy, and the nobles who took over overthrew a tyrant?” Sanji blows smoke from his cigarette as he prods.

“He was not,” Robin states factually. “The king was known to be kind and benevolent, catering only to the needs of his people. Since that nation's birth, the royal faction was always at odds with the avaricious nobility. That tension came to a head in the form of a brutal uprising. Though massacre is much more fitting of a description for what occurred.”

“Mhm, mhm, mhm.” Luffy nods vigorously at her words. “So we’re gonna get his gold back for him.”

“Liberating another nation, are we?” Zoro yawns, barely waking up.

“Seems like it,” Nami sighs.

“It’s what the captain wants,” Robin smiles.

“And what Luffy wants…” you begin.

Everyone else groans.

“Luffy gets.”

“So…” Sanji shifts next to you. Closer. His warmth clouds your senses a little and you try to ignore the dizzying effect it has on you. “How do we do this, exactly?”

“I bust down the door and slice ‘em up,” Zoro offers.

“In your dreams, Mosshead. I could take down—”

You pinch his side. Sanji jumps and turns to you, a slight pout on his face. Despite what happened earlier, you find yourself trying not to laugh.

“You’re not doing that, Zoro,” Chopper scolds.

The swordsman tsks. “Fine. Then how the hell are we actually pulling this off?”

Nami explains the plan.

Sanji turns white.

Your mouth drops open. “Excuse me?!”

✧ ˚ 　· 　　 . 　

“Oh god, I’m going to throw up.”

Robin chuckles as she hands you silken gloves. “Don’t worry. You’ll do just fine. Remember, get in, pull the alarm, get out.”

“Easier said than done,” you grumble.

The plan is actually much more complex than what Robin makes it out to be.

The palace itself has two separate alarm systems—one for the vault, and another in case of fire. If both are activated at the same exact moment, they cause a complete system break, and the fire alarm overrides the theft security, forcing an evacuation with everyone none the wiser.

The plan is for you and Sanji to infiltrate the party under the pretense of a foreign dignitary and his spouse, survey and locate the alarm, cause a distraction, and pull the alarm the precise moment Nami unlocks the vault. All communicated via Den Den Mushi earpieces.

Easy peasy.

Your clothing sticks to you uncomfortably—tight in areas you don’t normally expose to the world. The scented oil in your hair makes you smell like you had just popped fresh out of the oven. A layered film of glittering makeup rests on your features, rendering the person in the mirror a complete, hapless stranger.

“Why did it have to be me?”

And Sanji?

You don’t voice that last bit.

“Nami’s the thief, the other boys would blow their covers immediately, I have other matters to attend to, and Chopper… Well, Chopper’s a reindeer.”

You run a hand through your hair. Anxiety claws at your skin. You feel a sudden urge to feign illness and rid yourself of this ridiculous plan.

“Must we pose as a couple? Surely there are other ways,” you implore.

“The invites we swiped were from married nobles,” Robin reminds.

You groan. Robin pats your shoulder supportively.

“There there. Don’t fret, you’ll do fine. Are you ready?”

“Ready as I’ll ever be.”

Robin gives you another encouraging pat before she ushers you out of the dressing room.

You make your way outside, shivering slightly as the winter winds bite into your skin. The thin fabric of your garments do nothing to shield the cold.

Someone lets out a sharp inhale. You turn towards the noise. Sanji stands to your left, clutching an envelope in hand. His usual suave demeanour is displaced by an air of buzzing anxiety and a starstruck expression.

He’s dressed in a sleek three-piece black suit. It pains you how devastatingly handsome he looks.

“You clean up nice,” you note.

“I…uh. You—Sorry, yeah, what?” Sanji replies, all smooth and intelligent.

“…Pardon?”

Robin watches the entire interaction with a pained grimace. Having enough, she steps up and gently steers you towards Sanji.

“Hurry up, now. They’re expecting you both soon. Don’t forget to stay in character, lest you end up blowing your covers.” She winks at you both, but you can’t help but think it was directed more towards Sanji.

“Shall we?”

Seemingly recovered from whatever alien had possessed him seconds ago, the chef offers you his arm with a small smile. You place your hand around his bicep and try to ignore his rippling muscles underneath your fingertips.

“Color me surprised. I really thought you’d have showered me with compliments by now,” you joke.

“I thought you didn’t like that part of me.”

Disappointment blooms in your chest.

“Right. I don’t. I just…” you trail off. You just thought you looked nice tonight. And maybe a small part of you was hoping he felt the same.

“Never mind.”

You slip your hand out of the crook of Sanji’s arm and start walking a little bit faster, hoping he doesn’t notice the conflicting emotions on your face.

When Sanji first joined the crew, you made yourself a promise: that you would never fall for his charms. But as time went on and he showed you a mountain of kindness, understanding, and empathy… that promise, steadily, became much harder to keep and much easier to forget. It wasn’t his flirting and charms that were dangerous—it was the man buried underneath all that playful pretense. A man who has stubbornly found his way into your guarded heart, despite your best efforts of keeping him out.

It was always easier that way. Easier to turn away, to shut him out. Easier to walk away when you catch him with others who drew his interest and to stop listening as he murmurs sweet nothings in their ears—the very ones he had whispered to you. It was easier to accept that you are not, and will not, be special to him.

You refuse to be just another mark in his book of conquests, and if all it takes is a silent heartbreak to avoid such a fate, so be it. You’ve survived much worse before.

The palace soon comes into view, a grand structure that stretches into the vertical horizon. The path towards the marbled entrance is busy with bustling guests and the glowing orbs of rainbow fireflies. You steadily, and as elegantly as possible, make your way towards the host out in front.

“Good evening, may I see your invitations for the night?” He asks, gloved hand outstretched in expectation.

Sanji flashes him a million-berry smile. “Of course, my good sir. I have them right here.”

He pulls out the envelope you had seen earlier from inside his black suit jacket. The greeter accepts the documents and diligently scans them. After a few seconds, he nods, satisfied by what he sees, and hands the papers back to Sanji.

“Enjoy your night.” He moves aside to let you pass and holds an arm out, guiding you both through the white stone doors.

As soon as you step through the entrance , you are greeted by a foyer fit for kings. A cascading staircase blanketed by red velvet leads to even larger double doors, both white like the walls, but trimmed with gold linings and spiral handles. A crystal chandelier, bigger than you ever thought possible, hangs from the ceiling. It casts shining diamonds in every reflection of the room.

Sanji holds out his arm for you again as you both prepare to execute the mission, but you don’t immediately go to take it. Sanji must sense your hesitation because he sighs and gives you a strained, yet still affectionate smile.

“[Name], please. If not for me, then for appearances. We’re married, remember?”

“Fake married,” you correct, although you relent and slip your hand in the crook of his elbow anyway.

“You don’t have to remind me.”

Arm in arm, Sanji leads you to the ballroom. The doors open to reveal hundreds of nobles draped in silk and pearls, dining on delicacies, and mingling with others of their same social echelon. You already want to go home.

You both find a small table tucked into a corner and stand around it.

“We have to wait until Nami gives us the signal. First, let’s blend in and make sure to look like we belong,” you whisper.

Sanji leans in to hear you better. “What do you suggest? We could hit the banquet table, the food doesn’t look half bad.”

You peer over his shoulder at the platters of hor d'oeuvres and fancy desserts. “They don’t look nearly as good as what you make.”

“Was that a compliment?” Sanji grins.

“Don’t get used to it. Your heads already far too big,” you smirk.

“I don’t have that much of an ego,” he grumbles, picking at a loose thread on his sleeve.

“Hey, don’t do that.” You gently swat at his hand, admonishing him for trying to pull the string out.

“Why? It’s annoying.”

“Yeah, but you’ll ruin it even more if you just yank at it. Hold on.” You pluck a small oyster shucker from a passing waitress’s pocket, with her none the wiser. With the knife, you smoothly cut away the thread and flick it into a bin behind you.

Sanji stares at you in awe. “Did you just pickpocket the…”

“Not a word.”

“Got it.”

“Anyway, we don’t want to ruin these clothes. They’re borrowed. And so much nicer than what we’re used to.”

You pull at your collar to adjust it, only to realize Sanji is staring at you again, but with a different glint in his eyes. One with more… heat. It is only now that you realize how close you are to him—pressed up against his side, thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder, as you both converse away from the crowd. Sanji exudes warmth that, mixed with your own cluttered feelings, makes you a bit dizzy. You take a step back. Sanji’s gaze never leaves you.

“Did I tell you earlier how good you look?”

You swallow. “No.”

He steps closer, closing the gap again. “You look good. Really, really good.”

“Thanks. Formal clothing does wonders.” Your laugh comes out more nervous than you intended.

“Unbelievably good,” he murmurs, almost to himself—like he can’t believe what’s right in front of him.

“Sanji–”

A screeching violin note interrupts you and the strange moment you both got caught up in. Sanji snaps back to his usual self and quickly shakes his head, as if clearing away a fog.

“Food,” he coughs.

You blink. “Right. Food.”

“I’m gonna…” Sanji motions towards the buffet.

You’ve never seen him this… awkward. You’re not sure what to make of it.

“Yeah. Go ahead. I’m gonna scope out the place and figure out where the alarm is.”

He stiffly nods, then makes his way across the ballroom. You turn heel and begin walking along the corridors, scanning for anything that may resemble an alarm.

A static noise crackles in your right ear.

“Can…I—“

A sudden spike of sharp feedback makes you wince.

“Sorry! Can you hear me?” Nami’s voice pipes up.

“Yes. Comms are working. What am I looking for, Nami?”

“Something resembling a button, maybe? Look for a red button or something along those lines.”

“Understood..”

After about ten minutes of searching, you finally come upon it, a small red lever nestled in a corner behind the bar, protected by a square glass casing.

You spot Sanji across the room, mid-conversation with a beautiful, young noble. Your chest twinges, but you push the feeling away. His eyes flit to yours and you subtly wave him over, gesturing to the alarm handle.

Sanji excuses himself and briskly makes his way to you.

“You found it?”

“Of course. It’s the whole reason we’re here, remember?” You ignore the lump in your throat.

“Sorry, I got distracted. I didn’t think—”

“It’s fine, Sanji. You were having fun. You don’t have to apologize. Did you get her number at least?” You try and coolly play it off.

His eyebrows knit together. “No. No, I—”

“Anyway, we should figure out how to distract the bartender. He’s the only one who is in the way.”

If Sanji notices your blatant attempt at changing the subject, he doesn’t show it.

“Sure. Any ideas, beautiful?”

“One.”

“What’s the plan?”

You fidget with your sleeve. “He’s been eyeing me all night.”

Sanji makes a disapproving noise. “...I noticed.”

“I’ll distract him. You get the alarm,” you shrug.

Sanji’s eyes narrow. “How, exactly, are you going to do that?”

“C’mon, Sanji, you can’t be that dense. I’m going to seduce him.”

His reply is immediate and final. “No.”

You balk at his flat tone. “What do you mean: no?”

“No. As in opposite of yes. As in absolutely not,” he hisses.

“Sanji. I have t-”

“No as in not okay!”

You place a hand over his mouth in an effort to stop his outburst. “Shhh! Stop that. Are you trying to draw attention to us?!”

He pulls your arm away, undeterred by your growing panic of being found out. “If it’ll get you to reconsider, then yes!”

“Sanji, enough. What is wrong with you? Why are you so worked up?”

“Do you seriously have to ask that?” He cries out, exasperated.

You open your mouth to retort, but Nami’s voice interrupts you.

“Sorry to break up whatever dumb fight this is, but I need someone to pull the alarm in exactly 60 seconds.”

You give Sanji an expectant look. He firmly shakes his head.

“Not happening.”

Before you can stop him, the chef makes his way to the bar, stumbling as if drunk. Before you know what’s happening, Sanji pulls a whiskey bottle from behind the bar, much to the bartender's protests and dismay. He takes a large swig, and you blow out a breath of relief when he sets it down.

Then he picks it back up again. You watch in horror as he lifts the bottle up and… accidentally pours the entire thing onto the champagne tower beside him. The glasses overflow, and the weight of the extra liquid becomes too much. One by one, the glasses come tumbling down in a landslide of alcohol and crystal.

The bartender cries out in distress. Sanji is unapologetic.

You run to the alarm amidst the mess.

“Ready, [name]?”

“Whenever you are, Nami.”

She begins counting down and the moment you hear: Now!, you pull the handle.

All hell breaks loose.

Blaring alarms ring out, drowning out every other possible sound. Sprinklers sprout from the ceiling and rain down on the partygoers, soaking them and the luxury furniture. Hundreds of panicked patrons scramble to leave, directed by equally flustered staff.

You feel a tug on your sleeve. It’s Sanji.

He tries saying something but is drowned out by the chaos around you. Frustrated, he beckons you over and motions for you to follow him.

After a couple minutes of navigating through screaming nobility, you end up on a secluded balcony away from all the activity. The alarms are barely louder than bells on this end of the palace.

You take a second to catch your breath. Both of you are drenched to the bone, and the chilly winter air does nothing to help your chattering teeth.

Sanji notices your shivering form and immediately drapes his jacket over your shoulders.

You smile gratefully at him, but falter when you see the frown on his face.

“What’s wrong?”

“Take it out.”

You blink. “What?”

“The earpiece. Take it out,” he says, impatient.

“Why?”

Sanji runs a hand through his hair in both irritation and anxiousness. “Because I’m going to confess my love for you and I don’t want everyone to hear it. They’d never let me live it down, especially that green-haired freak.”

You freeze. Your thoughts freeze. Every fucking thing stops dead in it’s tracks, including your heart.

“Sanji, this isn’t funny.” Your voice trembles.

“Baby, take the earpiece out. Let me talk to you,” he asks softly.

You don’t say anything, you don’t trust yourself to. With shaking hands, you take the Den Den Mushi out and turn it off.

It is only you and Sanji now.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” you echo.

“[Name].”

God, why does he have to say your name in that way? Like it means something more than friends—like it’s worth its weight in both diamonds and gold.

“This still isn’t funny.”

“Then it’s a good thing I’m not joking,” he says, tone as serious as you’ve ever heard it.

You sigh. “What are we doing, Sanji?”

“I don’t know about you, but I’m trying to confess my undying love to my favourite person in the world. It’s scary.”

“You say that—”

“I mean it,” he interjects.

“What makes me different? What makes me…”

Worthy of your love?

Sanji reaches for you, but stops himself at your expression. You continue questioning his words.

“How do I know this isn’t just some temporary thing? A fleeting crush?” You swallow hard. For some reason, you’re unable to meet his steady gaze. “How do I know this is real?”

He rubs the back of his neck, conflicting emotions flickering across his face. Sanji struggles to find the words needed to convince you. He tries his best, anyway.

“I know what my reputation is like. I know the personality I present to the world. But after I met you, none of it seemed worth it anymore. There was no appeal to living that type of life,” he pauses. Sanji lifts his head and stares straight at you, unwavering in his words. “The moment I saw you, I thought I’d die if I couldn’t be yours. I still think that now.”

Oh. Your chest is trying to kill you. That’s the only explanation for the ache you feel.

“I trust you with my life, Sanji. But not my heart.”

The alarms have stopped by now. Soon, people will come trickling back inside and the mission will be over. This moment in time will soon fade into the background of reality.

“I only ask that you give me a chance.”

“What makes you so sure that you’re the kind of guy I want to be with?”

“As opposed to your exes? Those guys—none of them deserved you,” he scoffs, annoyed at the mere mention of them.

You raise a brow. “Do you?”

“No. Of course not,” he answers. “But I want to try. Please, god, let me try.”

Your hands are still shaking, but not from the cold.

“We should get back to the ship,” you say, a strained smile on your face.

Sanji’s face falls at your deflection, but he accepts it and doesn’t push. He nods, and you both make your way back to the Merry, an uncomfortable silence hanging over you like a wet blanket.

You are only a couple hundred meters out from the ship when you stop abruptly. Sanji almost crashes into you, but steadies himself at the last second.

“Is something wrong?” He asks in concern.

Before you can lose your nerve, you whirl around and utter two words: “One date.”

It takes Sanji a few moments to understand what you just said, but when he does, he lights up like a kid on Christmas Eve. One who just met Santa. The sheer joy on his face makes it all worth it.

“You’re not messing with me, right? Please say no,” he shakily pleads.

You shake your head. “One. Make it count.”

Instead of answering, he throws his arms around you, wrapping you in his warm embrace.

You loop your arms around his neck and he melts into you, never wanting to let go.

“I’ll make you say yes to a second one. And then a third. And then a lifetime of dates after that. I swear it on my honour as a chef.”

“It’ll have to be a pretty damn good date then,” you laugh.

Sanji presses his forehead on yours.

“It’ll be the best date.”

“And how do you know that?” You tease.

“Because you will be there.”

—

˚ · . tags: @zjarrmiii @aiizenn @emyyy007

[bleachification]

I don’t know if you take requests but I was thinking could you write a fic for me with ichigo and a soul reaper reader idk lol

hi yes i do! u can also find more info under ‘faq’ in my pinned masterlist :) ill add ur req to my list!

[bleachification]

upcoming… any guesses🫢

[bleachification]

TY FOR 300<333 I LOVE U ALL DEARLY !!!!!!!

[bleachification]

Thank you so much for keeping us fed with this most recent chapter 🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️🧎🏽‍♀️

YWWW hope u enjoyed <333

[bleachification]

⸻ CHAPTER FIVE; ALL MEN ARE EQUAL

pairing: dazai x f!reader (fantasy au)

warnings: mentions/themes of depression

chapter list: this is CHAPTER FIVE of a multi-chapter fic series. PLEASE read the chapters below (in order) before this one or you will be very lost!!

prologue

one

two

three

four

word count: 3.5k

+ + + + + + + + + + + + +

Back in your homeland, at the Imperial Palace, the largest constructed facilities are ones of sport and training. Sharpened swords and polished armour take the place of bookshelves on bedroom walls, and the practice of scripture is seldom found. Higher education, though no less important than warfare, is strictly limited to scriveners, court officials, and the professional erudites of your father’s choosing. In the face of current conflicts, most of your father’s people are far more absorbed in military affairs and bureaucracy than arithmetics, the sciences and the humanities.

Although, when it came to you, it was like a switch went off and all those sentiments were turned upside down. 

By a certain age, your tutelage switched from scholarly knowledge to that of etiquette and what he referred to as ‘womanly affairs’. Those usually consisted of things like sewing, music, and art classes. The only one you ever enjoyed was the horseback lessons. 

But thankfully, your father’s one track mind meant you were never discovered for—or suspected of—possessing further-education books and studying politics, diplomacy, and military tactics on the days general schooling lessons were cancelled. It is why you find yourself in the royal library, hours before you are due to meet Dazai for dinner. 

Hundreds, if not thousands, of marble shelves line the walls from floor to ceiling. Each one is stacked, end-to-end, with leather bound tomes and tea-stained manuscripts. There is a fireplace in the right corner, carved from blackened stone and crackling with warmth. Around it sits a pair of dark-green, thickly-cushioned armchairs, along with a matching sofa that is wide enough to fit at least four people. 

You walk further in and are greeted with four arched windows spanning the length and height of the space, each one clear as the summer sea. You squint, momentarily blinded by a sudden passing ray of sunlight. Birds are chirping underneath the morning sky, and branches of a looming willow tree sway in front of the left-most window. You take in the sprawling garden view; a labyrinthine maze of hedges take up the centre, and a large assortment of decorations speckle the grounds. Smaller fountains, rainbow flower beds, and iron-wrought benches are only a few of what you can see. 

You look around a bit more, noting the study tables anchored to the floor and the winding staircase that leads to the open-plan second floor. The library is well-kept, as shown by the pots holding blooming flowers along the window sills, but the dust lining the shelves indicates that no one has used the archives in a long time. You wonder why—it is the first and only comforting place that you have found in the cold, lonely palace. 

You make your way down the stacks before a section catches your eye.

A Comprehensive Guide on Abilities and a Meta Analysis on their Structural Archetypes; 

The Scholar’s Circle’s Codex on Yokohama’s Political Affairs;

North vs. South: A Dynastic Tale of Continental History. 

You grab all three and almost lose your balance from the weight of each text. More and more books are added to the pile in your arms until you can no longer see straight ahead. 

With a huff, you drop the mountain of pending research onto an oak-stained study table and quickly get to work. 

Hours pass, the concept of time long faded as you lose yourself in the world of preternatural powers, warring states, and the cluttered institutions that make up the Kingdom in its most present form. 

The striking differences between Yokohama and the Northern Empire are more vast than you had ever imagined. It's a stark contrast—governance, industry, arts, religion and everything else you've come across so far. Not a single commonality to be found.

“How has…? But wouldn’t the roots originate from the dark ages? Let’s see…” you mumble, talking to no one in particular. 

“Have you found a specially interesting read?” A particular person asks. 

You fall out of your seat in surprise. 

“General!” You squeak, reeling from his sudden appearance. 

The mild-mannered Fukuzawa gives you a gentle smile and moves to help you up. He hooks two large arms under your own and lifts you back onto your chair. The scene reminds you of a mother cat picking its kitten up by the scruff of its neck.

You drop your head onto the table in embarrassment, refusing to make eye contact until, hopefully, a meteor comes falling onto earth and crushes you to death. 

“Good morning, General,” you mutter. 

“Hmm.”

You peek up at him with one eye. “What?”

“It is five in the evening,” he replies, bemused. 

“What?!” You bolt up, shame long forgotten. 

It takes you a second to realize how orange the library is, cast in the hues from the setting sun. 

You drag a hand over your face, rubbing the fatigue from your eyes. “Shit, I didn’t realize how late it had gotten.”

Fukuzawa raises a brow. 

“What? You’ve never heard a noble cuss before?” 

He taps his chin. “I can’t say I have. You truly are a breath of fresh air, Your Highness.”

You grin. “As are you, General. And please…”

He listens, head tilting in curiosity. 

“It is [name]. We are friends, are we not?” Your false sincerity coats your words like a second skin.  

The sun dips far below the horizon, robbing the world of its light. You take in the storm clouds in the distance, absentmindedly wondering if the Empire would experience the same downpour later in the night. 

Fukuzawa ponders your question for a moment longer before answering. “We are, but I am also your subordinate, so I am afraid I must decline.”

“And if it is an order?”

Fukuzawa’s eyes sparkle. “Then I am under aristocratic obligation to comply.”

In a tone laced with authority and bemusement, you proclaim: “I, acting Monarch of Yokohama, hereby order General Yukichi Fukuzawa to act beyond propriety and address me by given name only. No titles, no fancy designations. Just [name].” 

“As long as you are willing to grant me that same honor, [name].”

You grin. “See? Isn’t that so much better, Yukichi?”

The General only laughs and turns to take a seat across from you. The armour he dons makes a clanging noise as he settles himself. Patches of dirt litter the surface of the metal while other areas sport minor indents—likely from the force of a blade's flat or hilt. 

“Did that hurt?” You nod towards the largest dip in the steel. 

He looks down at his left side, around the area between his upper ribs. “Couldn’t even feel it.”

“Of course not,” you wave, returning your attention back to the pages. 

“I see you are interested in…” Fukuzawa leans over the table, peering at the emboldened titles of each tome. “Yokohama politics, history, and culture?”

“The pen is mightier than the sword, as they say,” you muse. “And a bright mind is far mightier than those stumbling blind in the darkness of their own ignorance.”

“I do wish more members of the court shared that sentiment. It would certainly make my migraines less frequent.” 

You faintly recall the term from a book you finished earlier. “The… inner court?”

“The very same. A parliamentary round table of aristocrats and representatives, headed by the Four Noble Houses.”

“The Four Noble Houses? You mean…” You cringe, an unpleasant memory resurfacing. 

Fukuzawa’s eyes gleam with amusement. “Ah, yes. I recall a certain purple-faced duke drenched in the colours of His Majesty’s most favoured cabernet sauvignon.”

You smile sheepishly. “I messed up, didn’t I?”

“Formally? Yes.”

You groan and drop your head in your hands.

Fukuzawa lays a palm on your shoulder and gives you a gentle pat. 

“But reasonably? Absolutely not. He deserved ten times worse than what he got.”

“Someone needed to stand up to him,” you point out. 

“Sadly, there are not many people who can.”

You sigh at that and go back to your research. The moment you set your eyes back on the book, the pages in front of you begin to blur and mesh into a whirlpool of ink. 

“Maybe it is time for a break…” you murmur. 

Fukuzawa leans forward and studies your fatigued expression. 

“What have you learned so far?”

You snort. “You mean other than our sordid history? The decades of hatred and conflict brewing between our countries?”

“Ah, yes. Besides that fun little facet of our politics.”

You run through the miles of information you had just absorbed, each little bit coming together piece by piece to paint a very clear picture of the modern world—one where mystic abilities, gods of old, and monsters coexist in disharmony. 

‘Abilities’ as you have come to know them, are practically non-existent among the lower caste in the Northern Empire. The only ones who wield them are of noble blood, aside from the rare few commoners—unfortunate individuals who would be executed for merely holding power outside of their status. Even then, barely anyone manifests one. In recent years, the only ability-user you know of is Chuuya.  

In Yokohama, these powers are respected, admired, and much more plentiful. In your textual observations, it is noted that the military and governing leaders are chosen for their abilities. 

“Hm… what is yours?”

 You are curious. What sort of fate-bending, death-defying power could this seasoned warrior have?

“Mine?”

“Your ability. You must have one, being the head of such an elite corps.”

“My ability…” he pauses. 

You raised a teasing brow. “What? You’re not going to tell me?”

“Just considering the risks of doing so. You have proven yourself to be both smart and deceitful. A deadly combination.”

“Are you saying you don’t trust me?” You place a hand on your chest in mock offence, scoffing in indignation. 

Fukuzawa laughs—that familiar smooth rumble that you have come to find placating. “Would I be wise to?”

“Of course not.” You wave a dismissive hand. “But you should tell me anyway because I am curious and stubborn and will likely find out on my own regardless.”

The general’s gaze is filled with a kind of warmth that is unknown to you, only interrupted by a flicker of a melancholy that twists his expression momentarily." It happens so fast you almost mistake it for a trick of the light.

“You remind me so much of her…” He mumbles under his breath so softly you pass it off as a whisper of the wind. “Very well. I will tell you.”

The sun has all but disappeared from the horizon, the shimmering moon slipping in its place. The dark, glittering night falls onto Fukuzawa’s features beautifully, making  him seem a little more weathered and a little less mundane as he explains his decidedly non-mundane powers. 

“It allows me to control my soldiers’ own abilities. I am able to manipulate their capabilities, help navigate their potential, and expand the boundaries of what they can do. That is my ability,” he explains. 

You mull over Fukuzawa’s words, a bit surprised at the nature of it all. The powerfully built military veteran looks at you like he knows what you are thinking—knows that you are confused on why someone with his battle prowess has such a passive skill. 

“You forget, Your Highness, that before I am a warrior, I am first and foremost a leader. Without my men, I am nothing, and without me, many of those men would not have survived until now,” he states. He says it like a fact, and perhaps in some ways, it is. It makes more sense the longer you think on it, his ability is almost perfectly suited to his position. You wonder what yours would be if you manifested one. What about Dazai? Would his ability reflect bloodthirst and coldness? Or would it be the opposite of what you know him as?

You make a mental note to come back to that question later, and direct your attention back to the conversation at hand. 

“[Name],” you correct.

Fukuzawa blinks. “Sorry?”

“You called me ‘Your Highness’ just now.”

“I apologize. Force of habit,” he drops his head in a slight bow and the moonlight streaming through the open windows reflects off his gray hair, transforming it into a silver mane. 

Fukuzawa apologizes to you a lot, like a father fumbling for words in front of his newborn, careful not to be anything but kind. If anything, you find it endearing. As well as a little… disappointing. 

“General.”

Fukuzawa’s smile drops at your change in tone. The worry in his eyes is clear. “Is something wrong?”

You give him a small smile, a tad tense. “No. Not really. Though, I would like to ask you something. Would you humour me?”

“Of course. I will answer anything within reason,” he reassures. 

You rest your cheek against your palm, curiosity and wariness burning bright. 

“Why are you so kind to me? I know how this country views the Empire—views me. I am not blind to the scornful glances nor hidden insults thrown around. I am numb to them. But you… Kunikida… that peculiar doctor as well, you are all much too cordial with a sworn enemy. Is it pity? Some misplaced sense of duty? Or perhaps it is all fake and you are all laughing behind my back as we speak.”

Silence spreads through the empty library, the only noises are the crackling of the fireplace and the gentle swishes of the willow branch behind you. The only thing you hear is your pulse thrumming against your skull.

If Fukuzawa is taken aback by your bluntness, he does not show it. Despite only knowing you for this short period of time, he is probably already used to your brusque manner of speech. He folds his hands in front of him and leans backward, taking some time to come up with a suitable answer. You can practically see the gears turning in that head of his. 

A few moments pass before he finally speaks in a serious, yet gentle, voice.

“Do you think yourself undeserving of our respect?”

You shake your head and answer: “Not at all. I am only surprised you would willingly impart it to me.”

“I cannot speak on Sir Kunikida or Dr. Yosano’s behalf—although, I imagine they share the same thoughts—but I am kind to you because it is common sense. I am kind to you because I am honoured to serve under your reign,” Fukuzawa assures. His expression softens. “I am truly sorry about the harassment you have had to endure. I will do my best to keep them in check, but if it happens again, do not be afraid to use your status. You are their ruler. Do not let them forget it.”

A lump forms in your throat and you force yourself to swallow it down. The support eases your heart, but the anxiety does not fully disappear, nor does the cold tingle of resentment in your chest. They probably never will. For now, you will accept his words, but with caution, as you are still very much in enemy territory. You will need to lead with your mind to survive, not your heart.  

And Fukuzawa? The gentle general is merely a stepping stone, not a friend. 

“I… am grateful. Tha—”

“General Fukuzawa!” In a very familiar fashion, the doors to the library burst open to reveal a man, effectively cutting you off. 

Kunikida stands beneath the frame, face alarmingly red and breaths coming out in short, laboured puffs. Out of the corner of your eye, you catch Fukuzawa grimacing. 

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here?.” The minister spits out each word with barely contained anger—more accusation than actual question. 

“Chief Minister.” Fukuzawa bows and slowly inches himself towards the door, closer and closer to the fuming blonde. “I see you are… upset.”

Kunikida’s eye twitches. “Upset? Upset?!” His voice hits an impressive octave and you briefly wonder if he’s ever considered a career in opera. He certainly has the knack for it. 

“I—” 

“The outdoor arena is on fire.”

The general clears his throat. 

“Right. I did tell them not to try out those new techniques without me around, though His Majesty’s soldiers were never ones to adhere to the rules.”

“A black hole opened up in the ceiling and swallowed three stable boys. They were… fully nude when they fell out an hour later.”

Fukuzawa blinks. 

“That’s… new.”

“You have five seconds,” Kunikida says flatly. 

“Well. Duty calls. I shall have to put out some fires… er… literally.” Fukuzawa makes his way to the open doors and is about to leave when he adds: “Have a wonderful  night, [name].”

“Good luck,” you laugh. 

He gives you a small wave before disappearing down the hall. 

You turn your attention to Kunikida who is now slightly less red, though still glowing a nice shade of pink. 

“Good evening, Chief Minister. To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask. 

“I am here to bring you to dinner service. Perhaps you have forgotten? You seem to be engrossed in our literary offerings,” he answers plainly. 

Kunikida stays standing, but has walked further into the room, hands clasped behind him as he studies the books you chose with furrowed eyebrows. 

“I enjoy reading. Is that such a crime?”

“I am only surprised you were able to find this place. After His Majesty banned entry, most just ignore it as they pass by.”

You cock your head to the right. “I was curious about that. Why? It is a beautiful library—a sunlit treasure trove of knowledge. I would imagine most people would be clawing at the doors for just a glance, yet it is as barren and untravelled as the deserts in the West,” you muse.

 Your curiosity is only a mild interest until Kunikida’s gaze sharply turns away from yours, blatantly avoiding your poking and prodding. His averted eyes cause what little inquisitiveness you had just felt to balloon into a wave of eager investigation. 

“Kunikida.”

He adjusts his glasses and nervously glances at his timepiece. “We are going to be late if—”

“Kunikida.”

He sighs, relenting. 

“If nobody uses this place, why is it so well kept? There are no dirt patches or cobwebs, but the dust between pages suggests that no one has opened them for many years. ”

“If I were to make an educated guess…” Kunikida stops for a moment to think. “I would wager that His Majesty misses what it used to be, and is only trying to preserve the last of that magic. Though the memories here are much too vivid and much too painful for him to come back to.”

What it used to be… 

A flicker of something… a fleeting feeling… No. A memory. At the very back of your mind—

“But I do not think he will continue to do so.”

It vanishes, and you fall back to reality, grasping at nothing and nowhere. 

You shake yourself out of your daze, a bit peeved at the interruption, but curious all the same. 

“Do what? Preserve this place? You believe he will let it just… crumble to ruins?”

Kunikida takes a seat and folds his gloved hands together. The lines on his forehead appear as he tenses, preparing his next words with careful precision. He works his jaw, tension releasing and forming with each movement, as if he is warring internally, fighting to either let the words out or keep it in. 

You hope he chooses the former. The more information, the better. 

His expression settles and a stern look replaces his calm visage. Whatever he has to say must be serious.

You catch yourself tapping the side of your thigh anxiously under the table and clamp your fingers down on your leg… hard. Your father did always say that a royal must be poised and perfect, and he made it extremely clear that such emotions were to be erased and forgotten. 

And if they weren’t… 

A chill runs down your spine at the memories.

“I am well aware that you are, and pardon my candor, untrustworthy.”

You almost snort. Not the first time you’ve heard that and it certainly won’t be the last.

Kunikida continues. “But I believe it is only right to tell you as His Majesty’s spouse. King Dazai is… he is…” Kunikida pauses as he fumbles for the right word. 

A clock ticks. Kunikida settles on a phrase. 

“Unwell. A disease of the mind and heart that has stolen his will. He is here only to serve a purpose and that purpose is not to live out the rest of his life. He exists, but for years now he has not been… here. Almost as if one wrong move and the line His Majesty balances upon disappears and takes him with it.”

Time slows. The air thickens. Are you breathing?

“Slowly but surely, he is fading away,” Kunikida pauses and swallows as he tries to work out his next words. 

“Some days I believe he is better. Most days I do not allow myself to indulge in such a lie.”

—

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