Dragon's claw (Shanks X Reader)

1- five years

Yes, this was originally TeruTategami 's book. No, I did not steal it!

Black. The room was black, devoid of life as everything that comes in die or leaves knocking on hell’s front door. The surroundings were hidden so precisely into the darkness that you couldn’t make out even the simplest of shapes. Coals of brilliant reds lied over a dancing red flame that illuminated the room just enough to see maybe five feet out with its very dim orange glow. They’d die out and smother only to be brought back to life with a puff of air that a muscular scarred man dressed only in black, eyes hidden behind a black steel mask, stood behind you with a corrupted sneer that sent shiver down your spine for he stepped upon the handle of a metallic bellow built into the cemented flooring. The air brushed against your bare skin, shifting your hair out of place within its voyage to the fireplace. The man, torture on the mind, inserted a long rusted pole into the embering flames.

You began to shiver for a nearing end. You could hear your heartbeat in a staggering rhythm as your heart moved to your throat to pound within your ears. Breathing was almost a dream. The heat wavering off the coals made the air thick, skin sweating profusely just by fear alone. Forced to sit upon your knees, stripped of all clothing, all innocence depleted. Arms and legs were shackled to the floor, restraint against your own will. This is the end, this is the end, you thought over and over and cycled easily more than a hundred times over.

Hair sopping wet from your own sweat, rolling down your body evaporating soon after. This man kept you occupied within the small torture chamber of a room, putting on a leather glove, and took the handle of the metal pole previously deposited into the coals just moments before into his gloved hands. He held the pole near your face, the heat emanated in waves from its rounded end that had a glowing red marking of an animal’s paw of some sort. Something reptilian or a large feline’s for sure. The man laughed maniacally, echoing off the walls. A tear fell from your terrified orbs. The man retracted his weapon, taking his position behind you once again. His shadow towered over you as well, stretching many feet ahead. With a snortish laugh, the pole was brought down upon your backside without a warning, square between your shoulder blades. You let out a blood curdling shriek, arching your back and digging your fingernails into the stone floor, thrashing against the heavy shackles as your flesh sizzled under the horrifying burning sensation overwhelming everything you had ever felt before. Exactly ten seconds later, the pole, or shall it now be called by its true name, the brand, was lifted from your backside. Yet the pain remained.

The Dragon’s Claw remained. The true marking of a slave owned only by the Celestial Dragons.

That years ago…

“Keep up!” Your master, not a pretty fellow he was, all snot faced and facial hair messy, patchy, in need of a grooming all dressed up in what looked like a spaceman’s suit with a bubble around his head. The ‘helmet’ protected him from the ‘harmful’ air of the outside world, when really you could breathe just fine. His gloved hand had tightened the grip around the end of a chain link leash, yanking you forward by the shackles connected to the collar around your bruised neck. You were sent crashing upon the grass by this action. “Quit falling behind or else I’ll shoot you!” Your Master must be in a bad mood today. Usually he isn’t as rough as he is now, maybe a harsh tug or curse every now and then to keep your skin clean of imperfections. Never direct abuse such as this.

You whimpered, shaking, struggling to get upon your feet, you picked yourself up dreading the events planned for today.

Today marks the fifth year since you’ve became the slave you were now. A slave purely for enjoyment. Although violated at first, with weeks of discipline, you were left with no choice but to submit to your master. And so you’ve gotten used to this new lifestyle, although still treated poorly compared to the other slaves, you were what your master called ‘spoiled’. To be with him every hour of the day, wear better clothes, eat better than the other slaves, only receive a scolding as punishments. You were only loved for your body. The constant abuse that you had no choice but to endure every second of every day. This milestone really got you thinking, but the thought forced tears to your strained eyes and a shaking hand to your mouth to muffle the weeping of utter despair.