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shirohige-pirates · 1 month

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Hey Doll

CisFem Reader x Thatch

CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.

tag list: @mfreedomstuff

Chapter 2: Match Book

“It seems you did a very good job, Doll.” Ralf says, flipping through the Matchbook with Mellanny while you sat across from them quietly. “He owns his own business, and even more than that, it seems it is tied in closely with other businesses owned by other members of his family.”

“Quite the network.” Mellanny hums, a satisfied smile on her lips. “We’ll be able to proceed with everything just as we planned.”

You don’t flinch at the word, but there’s a knot in your stomach you hadn’t expected. You hadn’t even seen any part of the Matchbook yet, knowing better than to even ask until someone decided to hand it over. You had no idea what your partner looked like, or even his name at this point.

Such details that were irrelevant to The Plan after all, so it wasn’t surprising that either one of your parents had made mention of either detail. As curious as you were, you managed to set it aside completely. If it wasn’t important enough for them to share it, it wasn’t important enough for you to worry about.

Besides, they didn’t control their expressions at all compared to you, so they were actually both easy to read. Neither had even flinched in disgust, so at the very least you knew that your match was conventionally attractive. Not that it truly mattered, all you really hoped for in this was someone who wouldn’t beat you, or discard you, if The Plan went awry.

If everything worked as expected, you would get to live your life quietly with someone who could recover from what would happen to them, and you’d be able to raise children just as the government wanted you to. Never to see either of your parents ever again.

Ralf finally hands over a single photo.

The man in the photo had apparently noticed his picture was being taken and had posed a little. The big toothy smile was warm, and his eyes were bright and clear. He was wearing a uniform, a crisp white uniform with a bright yellow scarf tied loosely around his neck. The impressive pompadour was a little jarring, as you’d only seen that hair style in magazines and TV shows. His goatee was neat and the crescent shaped scar around his eye was one of the last things you noticed.

He looked kind in the photo.

You wondered what you looked like in the pictures he’d receive of you. Would he see all the things your parents wanted you to show to people? Would the camera have caught a moment of some other emotion on your face? Would he consider your features pleasant, or would he resign himself to having to accept them?

He was as wealthy as your parents wanted for you, maybe he would force you to undergo surgery and change to suit his desires.

The thought didn’t bother you, and you smile warmly as you hand the picture back. It didn’t matter, you were just a doll, as long as he didn’t discard you, you wouldn’t complain.

“His name is Edward Thatch,” Mellanny explains. “His father Edward Newgate is the CEO of the shipping conglomerate. Thatch, Marco, or Izou are expected to take over the company, and all three are currently running their own businesses.”

“There’s a lot in here about being patient with the hours he keeps,” Ralf continues, as he and your mother trade and review the information in the packet. “It looks like most of the men in that family get their own place once they come of age, so you’ll be moving into his apartment during the grace period.”

“Apartment?” Mellanny bites the word off in disdain.

“Just temporary,” Ralf assures her. “With this kind of money I’m sure they’ll have a house built as part of the wedding process.”

“That will give us more opportunities, won’t it? If we incorporate the house into The Plan?”

He shakes his head. “Too risky at this stage, we could compromise everything else.”

“Eh, you’re right. The return might be too small anyway.” She mutters dismissively, shuffling another paper away. “We need to call them in the next hour.”

“Mm, we’ll give it another twenty minutes, it won’t do to seem desperate. They could call us first, and that would work out well.”

Everything always had to be just so. Considered from all angles, and all outcomes. You and your family weren’t particularly wealthy. Enough that they could dress you as they wanted, and provide the education they felt would be best, but they always wanted more. Always wanted you and The Plan to provide more.

The “more” they felt entitled to.

The “more” you deprived them of.

The “more” that would set you free of any further obligation to them. Once The Plan was done you would be clear of any debt, left to live whatever life you could make from whatever they left you with.

Which would be more than they had now, so you should be grateful. Would be grateful.

Your phone rang, and your parents’ faces lit up. Your mother let it ring a couple times, motioning you closer to it before putting it on speaker.

“H-hello?” You say, letting nervousness into your voice as was expected.

There’s a short pause on the other end. “Yes, this is Edward Thatch, is this…?” His voice is pleasant, and you can hear a shift of papers before he says your name, mispronouncing it slightly. He might be truly nervous, or simply busy and unconcerned.

“It is,” you answer, keeping your voice steady. Your mother would chide you if you were truly nervous. “I received your book earlier, I was… a little nervous about calling first.”

“Ah, haha, yeah, me too.” There’s mirth in his voice that sounds genuine, and you feel something brush against your chest, but it’s fleeting and you pay it no mind. “A proper gentleman wouldn’t keep a lovely lady waiting, so I’m glad I was able to call you, ahem, first.”

“Me too, thank you Mr. Edward.” You smile, knowing the action will change the tone of your voice and carry it through the phone for him. “I believe we need to set up our first meeting, right?”

“Yes, within forty-eight hours, I believe, and please, call me Thatch.” He agrees, and you can hear more shuffling. “I shouldn’t be at work too late tonight, is seven this evening too soon?”

You look up at your parents and they’re both giving you thumbs up.

“Not at all, it’s perfect.”

“Good, good,” you can hear the relief in his voice. He’s either very practiced at coming across exactly how he wants, or he simply isn’t hiding anything. You won’t know until you’re in the same room with him. “I can coordinate with my father and come to your house if you’re more comfortable with that, or we’re welcome to meet at my father’s house if you prefer.”

Both of your parents are pointing to the phone, and you know what they’re implying. You also didn’t need their response, there’s no way they would miss a chance to see Edward Newgate’s home in person.

“If you can provide the address, it would be easier for my parents and I to come to you and your father.” The practiced answer falls easily from your lips.

The conversation moves into something a little more logistical after that. You get the address from Thatch, and he apologizes for needing to cut the conversation short, things are busy and he wants to be sure he won’t leave you and your folks waiting for him. When you hang up the phone your parents hug one another, cheering at the success of things so far before turning to you.

“There’s plenty of time before we need to leave, get cleaned up and change into what we picked out before.” Mellanny instructs. “I’ll take care of your hair once you get dressed and we’ll go light on the makeup, just something to soften the edges. We’ll hold off on a proper seduction until we have more concrete information.”

“Yes mother.”

“It’s not wrong to wait until your wedding night,” Ralf asserts. “Don’t let him pressure you. That night will likely be our best chance, it would be preferable that he is completely distracted.”

“Yes father,” you answer, getting up and going to get ready as instructed.

You follow the steps you’ve always followed, hardly even thinking about the process consciously at this point. There were special soaps for different parts of your body. Scents here, gentle cleansing there, no risk of a blemish, no wrinkles, rashes or irritations. It was nice to at least be using the same things at this point. For a few years your mother had you switching soaps, brands, frequencies, and everything else until she was satisfied that what you were using would leave your face as flawless as possible.

Puberty had been a nightmare, and it was also when you’d really started to fall into your doll-like behavior. It had taken almost a dozen trips to the doctor’s before she was convinced there was little more to do but wait out the acne. You’d had a few prescription creams, and she consulted with the doctor over nearly three dozen over the counter options. She wanted it gone, but she was just controlled enough to not risk chemically burning your skin in the process.

You were grateful for that much, but if she had done so you wouldn’t have been part of a plan at all, never mind The Plan.

You didn’t rush, but you didn’t dawdle. If you were too fast you’d be chastised for not getting ready properly, being too slow would be much the same. Though, so close to your first meeting your parents would probably avoid risking things that could upset you.

Dressed how you were instructed, your father dried your hair carefully while your mother applied some make up. You sat still, eyes closed until instructed differently, and let them do as they pleased.

Once they were both satisfied with your appearance, it was time to go over how you were supposed to act. Your parents would do most of the talking for you, which wasn’t unheard of. First meetings were supposed to include supportive family, who were there to ease the awkwardness and tension of meeting someone for the first time.

The preference was that the Matchs’ parents would be a part of it, but sometimes a person’s family situation could create a different scenario. The only thing the law was clear about was that matches had to have their first physical meeting within 48 hours of receiving their book. Just like with you, most people did see to it within the same day.

Guided into the backseat of the car, when it was time to leave, you did little more than replay the conversation with your parents over in your head. Not so that you wouldn’t forget it, but so that any actions you took would be smooth and natural. So that anything you had to do to adjust to some unforeseeable change in The Plan would still pull back to what was required.

It was going to be a bit of a drive, but time didn’t matter to you. The clock wouldn’t begin until tonight, when The Plan would finally move from it’s preparations stage, to something more active.

After six months, or even sooner if things went well, you and your match would be married. The details didn’t matter to you, what did matter was that divorce was so rare that it was one of the most repeated statistics regarding the program. It wasn’t just a rare occurrence, but it was also very difficult to even initiate it.

So, even if The Plan happened without a hitch, the likelihood that you would be discarded afterward was low. That was your only concern, or more correctly maybe your only goal.

You didn’t want to end up back with your parents, no matter what.

#x reader #reader insert #thatch one piece #modern au #Hey Doll #mdni #happy early birthday to Thatch

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shirohige-pirates · 1 month

Text

Hey Doll

CisFem Reader x Thatch

CW: toxic parents, manipulation, The Plan™, smut, mdni, I'll add as we go I'm kind of fly by the seat of my pants on this one.

Summary: For as long as you can remember, there has always been The Plan™. Every part of your life is controlled by it, and you do your best to fill the role set upon your shoulders. When you finally receive your Matchbook, and your parents' joy, you feel relief.

But as The Plan™ continues, you struggle with staying the perfect little doll.

Note: This story takes place in the same AU as Some Direction, where the new world government has implemented a match program in response to declining marriage and birth rates.

Chapter 1: Dolled Up

There was nothing.

No, that was wrong, there was everything. The world moved around you, and you moved within it, but there wasn’t a connection. You stood a part from the world around you, comprehending it as a separate space, and reacting to it only when moved to do so.

Maybe it was more correct to say the world moved you. A prompt from your mother, a word from your father, a smile from a stranger. The world carried variables along the lines of time and place and when those items collided with you, you’d react.

You were. Weren’t. No, even less than that.

You were nothing.

No, that was wrong too. You were everything, at least as far as The Plan was concerned. You were the primary piece of it. The keystone in a manner of speaking. No matter how well everything else was done, if you didn’t play your part flawlessly it would all crumble to dust.

Your only struggle, brief and weak and worthless as it was, was whether or not you wanted The Plan to fail. Sometimes you felt you did. If The Plan failed you would be free from it. Free from it, but would you be free?

An unanswerable question. By fate or will, you lacked the knowledge to figure that part out. Would you be free in jail? You’d be free of your parents, free of your part to play in The Plan, certainly, but you wouldn’t be free to live as you pleased.

How did you please to live?

If you couldn’t sort that much out, then there was no reason to fight against the external wills that compelled you. Moved you. Motioned for you. The will of your mother and father who sought to thread you effortlessly through the steps of their decades long plan.

The Plan.

The two words trickled more emotion through your face than anything else, and the slight twitch in your features was unnoticed by those around you. Your mother spoke to you and you smiled, catching up on the conversation and responding with all the words she approved of. Your father called you over and you spoke well-practiced verses and emotions to the people around him about your hopes and dreams.

Your face moved into the smiles you knew they liked, the ones that left everyone at ease, even if there was no easiness in your own heart.

Everything was for The Plan. Your hobbies, your grades, your manners, your clothes. The way your hair was cut and styled, the kind of makeup you applied in the morning, it was all decided by someone else. Ever under the pretense of wanting to make sure you were paired with the best possible match when the time came.

Years ago the world changed. The details didn’t matter to you, it was irrelevant to The Plan. The important part was that the world needed more people in it, and to that end the World Government had enacted the Match Program.

The Match Program was a comprehensive review of the populace and citizens, on an island by island, and sea by sea basis. Not only was it meant to help recover the population, but it was intended to do so as kindly as possible for everyone involved. Matches were based on a staggering number of criteria, and then Match Books were hand delivered to people who had been matched by the program and its overseers.

There were other aspects to the program, like the Early Match Program, and Rematching in certain cases. The overall success rate was surprisingly high, and Rematches were rare, both in how often they were requested, and how often they were approved.

It hadn’t taken long for the population to adjust to the entire concept, with some people finding relief in the process. What fear or worry was there to be had in being provided the love of your life? How much easier was the very concept of marriage and family when there was a comprehensive and objectively successful process already in place?

At one point in your life you had wondered if you would’ve been raised differently if not for the Match Program.

You don’t doubt that you would’ve been pulled into some role or another based on your parents whims, but maybe more of who you were would’ve survived. Or at least dared to exist in the first place. Would you have enjoyed dancing if you had learned it differently? Would you find solace in art if your strokes and paints hadn’t been decided for you?

Maybe you would know more than just what you enjoyed. Maybe you would know how to start a conversation, instead of simply being invited into one. Maybe you would know how to speak about yourself because you’d know the parts of you that were important to you.

Maybe you would know how to smile your own smile.

How to choose your own clothes.

The pastel colors matched perfectly, the hues shifting and accenting based on the most popular trends. There was lace, but not so much as to seem over stated, there was silk, or the shift of it. No expense was spared in curating the smallest detail of your outfits, even how the folds would settle against your legs when you sat down.

You never wondered what to do with your hands, because their location was as predetermined and controlled as anything else about you. Folded neatly, holding your clutch when needed, by your sides with your elbows bent just so, or shyly behind your hips, just a little. Not enough to push your chest into the forefront, at least not too much.

You must be a sight to see, and not unsightly.

Everything on the proper side of civility and femininity. Not a grain of coarseness in your voice, a laugh made of notes and bells, but nothing loud or out of control. Your voice must be much the same, clear and firm but not commanding or demanding. You are to be pleasant and deferential. Debate is not for a good and proper young lady.

You are a trophy to be awarded. A great gift to be won. A flawless saint upon which any good - read, wealthy - man would be completely delighted by.

Knowledge and skills enough to be engaging and useful, but opinions muted enough to not ruffle the feathers of your suitors, and suitors you had.

The World Government Match program was not fully and completely objective. There were certain tiers of quality within the program itself. Whether they existed in truth, or were simply avenues of manipulation available to your parents, you couldn’t honestly say, but unlike most ladies your age, you did indeed have suitors.

Not that your mother or father intended to see you hand in hand with any of them. Well enough to do to be worth the time and kindness of your family, but not in a position to satisfy their desires and hopes for you.

That was where your father’s friend came into play. You knew nothing about him, save his importance in The Plan. So long as you played your part well, he could play his part to greater effect. If you were good enough, flawless enough, gentle and kind and wise and demure and malleable enough - if there was nothing left of whoever you were meant to be, then it would be a success.

You played your part so well that when your Match Book showed up, the man delivering it handed it to your father.

#x reader #reader insert #thatch one piece #modern au #Hey Doll #mdni #happy early birthday to Thatch #hopefully I can get chapter 2 up for his actual birthday day

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