"you owe me one hundred berries" (shanks x f!reader)
summary: the years brought intimacy, fun and adventure for you in the crew of the red-haired pirates. you found a little place in the world you could call home. dreams and ambitions become clearer when you are surrounded by people you love, especially when you manage to untangle your thoughts and do something about it.
warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, spitting, creampie, no use of y/n, slow burnish. mdni.
word count: 10k
a/n: oof, this is LONG. almost as long as shanks' dic- ok i'll shut up now but boy oh boy did i have a lot to write about this man. I love my fictional husband so much. I considered separating this into two parts, but I like it better as one swift longass oneshot, lol. hope y’all enjoy it <3
masterlist
“What are your ambitions in life?”
The question caught you off guard. It’s not like you and the man besides you had heartfelt conversations constantly. No, it was much more relentless teasing and a whole lot of work.
Looking straight ahead, you felt the presence of the seemingly infinite ocean in front of you, the smell of salt water, and the slight sway of the ship as the waves moved around and beneath — the combination had you at ease. The sea was your home.
The people asleep on the ship were the closest thing to a family you had nowadays. And a massive thank you to every deity for that.
Ever since you joined them, the benefits were mutual and the connection was instant. It was easy to love them, and you made yourself valuable. One of them, playing with his own name, called you their “lucky charm”. All of that due to your navigation skills that got them out of trouble and into profit more times than one.
However, you kept to yourself. The pain, the heartache, the loss… They haunted you, even if they belonged in the past. And here, you were moving towards your future.
“Y’know, your dreams, your ambitions…”, the man by your side continued, given your silence. You remained quiet, teasingly, which only enticed him more. “Surely you’ve heard of those”, his smile was unfaltering and his one arm was on the bulwark, bottle of rum in hand.
You took a sip of your drink. The two of you were the last ones still awake, drinking and staring into the endless water and dark sky, trying to see where they met — at least, that’s what you were doing. He was just yapping. You’d grown used to your Captain’s tendencies of lightheartedness and mischief, and it was safe to say you were friends. Good ones, even if you weren’t eager to share your deepest secrets. You were certain he didn’t want to share his as well. You liked each other regardless because of it. Perhaps more because of it.
“C’mon”, he drank a generous gulp, smiling still. “Gimme a drag”, as he only had one arm, he didn’t have the capacity of holding the bottle in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. So, you held it for him between your fingers, sometimes moving it towards his mouth so he could inhale. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt so intimate.
You liked your Captain. Very much so. And, as one of the few women on the Red Force, of course you noticed that he checked you out every now and then — all men did. You didn’t mind, in fact, you rather enjoyed checking them out right back.
It was extremely rare for the two of you to have a moment alone like this, and you cherished it immensely. The man was an Emperor, after all, and you still found yourself yearning for one on one time as if he was a school mate.
Even now, in this whole new world, he still made sure his crew had a moment to party every now and then, when things were calm. Hence, why everyone was passed out drunk and you were still standing, at guard. Or as much guard you could be in this half drunken state.
“You know, it’s bad manners not to answer your Captain, not to mention a clear act of rebellion…”
You took a deep breath, laughing quietly. “I know”, you spoke only to shut him up. You knew he wouldn’t push you too far, and that’s why you felt comfortable enough to talk. “I remember having dreams and ambitions as a little girl. I just… Don’t know where it all went”.
“I reckon it’s still in there”, he pointed at your chest, your heart — skillfully balancing his bottle of rum without the pointed finger.
“I once said I wanted to be an assassin”, you smiled remembering the child you once were. Your Captain smiled too. “I didn’t know what an assassin was, of course”.
“Of course”, that smile was still there, perfect. As perfect as an imperfect pirate Captain can be, at least. His gaze inspired you to continue.
“I loved reading and history. I remember my father”, your voice altered slightly, mentioning the flawed man who raised you, more emotional than before, “finding new books for me every now and then. He abdicated everything for our little family… And for knowledge. I think at some point I wished to carry on his legacy”.
The question of ambitions and dreams was a hard one. At this particular place in your life, all you wanted was to be safe, to be comfortable, to be around your found family… Around Shanks.
“What happened?”, he persisted, interested.
You took a deep sigh. “People. Expectations. Life got in the way, I guess”.
“But what would you want if there were no expectations, no people?”, he asked, and, although he directed the question to you, it seemed like he was looking for guidance for himself as well.
You shrugged your shoulders and smiled. “I think I would be a librarian in a small village… Have a lot of cats, and maybe horses, too. Be free, with the open skies above me and the infinite sea near, too, but with a place of my own. In another life, maybe”, you looked over at him, “All that after I travelled the world and found the One Piece with you, boss, of course”.
“Naturally”, his smile lit up the night, and he took a sip of his drink, a little lost in thought.
“What about you?”, you inquired. You didn’t shy away from returning the question to him. After all, if you answered, so should he. Although he was the boss, he still maintained quite a balanced environment. You could just talk to each other about anything, and if one wanted out of the conversation, there would be no questions asked from the other.
His body was turned towards you, eyes on you and not on the sea. It was clear his focus had shifted from inside his mind to outside, to the night, to this moment. His attention was almost too much. You returned your gaze to that water below, the sound of the waves a good substitute for silence.
“Honestly?”, you nodded as he spoke, “As a kid… I just wanted to be a carefree pirate with…”, he stopped himself, shaking his head lightly. It was his turn to look away into the distance. “My friends.The freedom of it all called to me”, he finished, after taking another long sip of his drink.
Silence ensued. Yet, the quiet with your Captain was comfortable. Even though he was propense to partying and laughing, he seemed in his element in the silence too. A man of his stature with an ability to feel deeply was a rare thing. You felt immensely proud to be by his side, to be a part of his crew. It was no lie that you wanted to see the world, but you weren’t sure you would have allowed yourself to want it this badly had you not joined his crew. They made this possible, and, even though there was violence and discomfort sometimes, it was good.
Even though you tried not to, your glare kept returning to him. Perhaps your thinking was too loud, because the man turned to you again. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he did so often.
“Did you lose something similar to my face or am I just too handsome?”, the amusement in his voice was tangible.
“Oh, shut up”, you tried to cover your smirk by drinking some more, but he caught on, clearly having fun.
“No, seriously”, he took one step closer, “am I really so beautiful that your gaze just falls on me naturally?”
You laughed, but you felt your face redden nonetheless. You could try to play it cool, but this interaction had begun to make you nervous in the best way possible, and the part of you fueled by rum wanted to see where it would lead.
“Yes, Shanks”, you playfully responded. Calling him by his name was a dangerous move, especially in the mocking tone you had on. You brought the cigar to your mouth, lighting it again and taking one long inhale. You breathed out the air, still smiling slightly, your Captain’s eyes now predatorial. “I do think you’re that beautiful”.
Another step, this time you took it. The two of you were so close you could feel his warmth. His body towered over you, all six foot seven of him. It almost made your neck hurt looking up to him, but the thrill of this situation made anything bearable.
“Care to share?”, he motioned to the smoke between your fingers with a raise of eyebrows.
You just lift your hand close to his mouth so he could breathe it in. When he exhaled and you began to lower your hand, he stopped you, holding your wrist and the bottle at the same time. Then, he did the unthinkable. He kissed it.
His lips were rough, but they felt amazing on your skin. Perfect. As if they belonged there.
Even this small gesture, this little kiss on the inside of your wrist, the smoke still coming from the cigar, caused an inexplicable rush. Body on fire, burning as red as his head of hair.
His gaze never left your face, not even when your glare flew from his eyes to his lips, still lingering on your skin.
Your poor heart, beating so quickly for a man so unattainable. Yet, a voice inside you, most likely drunk as well, whispered softly, if he could be attained, it would be by you.
A loud noise came from inside the crew’s quarters. You jumped, but Shanks simply moved away softly.
As quickly as the moment came, it was gone.
The cigarette in your hand went out.
***
It had been a few months since the hand incident, if it could even be called that. The Captain acted pretty much the same most of the time, composed and natural, but you felt changed in your very core.
Sometimes, you’d look for him and find him already staring at you. Every now and then, during a party or celebration, some drinks in, you’d flirt with him and he would flirt back, all charm and charisma.
You brushed the incident off as a drunken reaction, but there was a part of you that couldn’t get rid of the sensation that something between the two of you shifted, and that you might want more.
The slight shift in his demeanour came not only from his gaze, or the flirting. There was a new found protectiveness, as if his shadow was towering over you as more than a Captain. One time, when the ship was docked on a random island, you felt him come behind you during an argument with a shopkeeper. You hadn’t realized he went in after you, and yet, there he was, by your side. You didn’t even have to ask.
The conversations you had around others were different now too. The Captain valued everyone’s opinion, but you could tell by the way he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you that he wanted to know yours, not the filtered version you carefully crafted for others, but your true, honest opinion.
Either that, or you were hallucinating from scurvy.
The night fell swiftly, and the crew was scattered in this small fishermen’s island. You were probably the only one on the ship still, and your intention was to enjoy the quiet night alone on the ship with a book you picked up at the shop the day you had anchored.
A ruffled noise came from behind you as you made your way to the common room. You reacted instantly. Book in one hand, dagger on the other, you were ready to defend yourself and the Red Force.
“Jeez, at rest, soldier”. The voice came from behind you, all fun and giggles. You could recognize that sound anywhere. “At least I can sleep soundly knowing you are guarding us all”.
“Heavens, boss!”, you put the dagger back in your belt and held your book close to your chest. Turning around to face him was a natural reflex, but a part of you wished you hadn’t done it. He was quite the sight — deep red hair, built like a god, even his scars were attractive. “You scared me”.
“You look adorable grasping your book like that”, he said, letting his body fall on the wall. Back against it, one leg up to balance himself. There he was with the flirting once more. That smile could stop a war, you were certain.
Your head fell to the side, in a way you hoped was sweet and charming, and you had to hold yourself not to smile. Part of you wanted to maintain a strong facade for him, tease him, make him work for it a little.
He was your Captain, but he was also a man.
There was a flame behind his eyes and an energy in the way he tilted his head, matching your movement, which had your chest moving up and down more strongly. Air felt rarefied, and suddenly you were aware of every part of your body — the red in your cheeks, the white of your outfit, the shaking of your legs, the sweating of your hands.
This should have been simple. It was just a Captain chatting with his mate.
It could be just that.
However, you realized this was the first time you and Shanks were alone together since the incident.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“No, I simply have no adequate response”. Your mouth was faster than your brain. Maybe, in another life, you were more eloquent, like your father, or maybe elegant, like your mother. But no. You just stared at the man who was your Captain and the object of all your desires, and said incoherent nonsense.
“You haven’t quite figured out what I want you to respond, huh?”, he read you like an open book. “You can just speak your mind, you know”.
The cover of the book was endlessly interesting. The night smelled like salt, and the lighting in the corridor leading to the common room was dim.
You felt him take a step closer before you saw it. Once more, you were in a compromising position — with your Captain towering over you, dark cloak almost shielding the both of you. You remembered this feeling, this that came as easily as breathing.
His one hand moved up towards your chin, lifting your head so your eyes would meet. You knew you could be seductive and blink innocently and just lure him in if you wanted, but this was Shanks.
He was more experienced than that, and he would be able to tell if you were doing something only to please him or because you thought he would want it.
In your mind, you constantly found yourself thinking about what your Captain would do to you. Of course you had heard many stories about his conquests, his one night stands, his lovers — all of whom seemed more than willing to go back for more. All made it seem like sharing Shanks’ bed was a dream.
You were far from virginal, but any involvement with your Captain had the potential to be complicated, so you were a little hesitant — even though the tension was palpable, even though his hand remained on your chin. The hesitant part was bigger than the people pleaser part.
And the attraction was stronger than any hesitation.
So, you did the one thing you could think to do.
One hand moved to hold his wrist, and you moved it slightly closer to your lips. With a suaveness that was strange even to you, you kissed it.
It was the very first time your lips touched Shanks, and it was magical.
If this was an answer to the questions you had, it was a good one.
His shock was evident in his face and in his body. He tensed up immediately, not used to having someone treat him with such fondness, hold him with such care. Even though he was the furthest thing possible from chaste and coy, his endeavours were, more often than not, much too raw.
The Captain usually didn’t have a problem with his dominating, charismatic personality — he constantly used it to his advantage, and it worked. Although he would much prefer being carefree, life happened and he had to play the hand he was given. But there was not a single part of him that expected this.
He wasn’t in control, for once. After all, this wasn’t a one night stand or a hookup with no strings attached. The two of you were connected by something greater than life, and your entire livelihood would be affected if it ended poorly.
It wasn’t in Shanks’ nature to worry this much, and it wasn’t in your nature to do something this recklessly.
And, somehow, your lips still didn’t leave his skin.
You blinked once, twice, hoping for a reaction. The seconds dragged on for days, it seemed. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes never left yours.
His big right hand moved, cupping your cheek, and your eyes instantly closed, relishing in his touch. Was it you who let out a moan? You couldn’t tell, so lost in the moment. He murmured your name, a warning, and you opened your eyes to find an expression you’d never seen before in his face.
“Tell me to stop”, he said.
“No”, was your murmured answer.
He used his strength to push you against the wall behind you, now in control again, where he belonged. The hand that was soft on your cheek moved harshly to your neck. He pulled your hair back, just a little, not excessively. Your neck was exposed, and he would have to lower his body a lot to touch it with his lips, and damn, you hoped he would.
You dropped your book, which fell to the wooden floor with a loud thud.
His signature red hair was covering his eyes, but you could feel the predatory gaze on you.
You half expected him to kiss you, take you to his chambers and claim you in the most animalistic way possible. But that wasn’t him. The man standing in front of you was calm, lighthearted and fun, albeit domineering. Easily taking charge of the situation and making it what he needed. So, it was no surprise that he lowered his head to press his forehead against yours, and said “You smell so good”.
You just chuckled, now holding his waist. He sniffed your hair like a puppy would.
“Seriously, is that driftwood?”, you could hear his smile when he spoke. Perhaps it was insanity. But having Shanks close to you like this, his body attached to yours and his attention solely on you was insane, so you didn’t see any harm in playing along.
“Shut up”, you giggled. You looked up to him, trying to memorize his features.
The moment suddenly became serious. Your giggles stopped, and his smile vanished. The rest of the world vanished, too. No sounds, no light, nothing.
There was only you and him.
The built-up tension was a solid block above the two of you. You wanted nothing more than to break it, but, at the same time, the agony was delicious. Waiting, anticipating and yearning somehow made this moment all the more precious.
Closer, your mind screamed. You shared his air, coming from his parted lips. There was an unspoken need for more closeness, for less space to be between you two.
Closer, closer, closer.
Just like clockwork, a noise came from the door, interrupting. You didn’t want to be parted from Shanks, not in the slightest. Yet, to preserve this moment and others that might come, he let you go, kneeling to pick up your book.
A drunken Yasopp made his way down the corridor right after, barely speaking to you or the Captain. You heard him murmur something about showing them who’s aimless when he went inside.
Your Captain, still looking at you, but further than you wished, nodded once in a silent “I’ll see you later” movement. The legend, the myth, standing in front of you. All those stories about his doings, all the fuss and glory and bounty. It constantly amazed you that, even though he was indeed legendary, he was still a man.
A man who, despite having a complicated past and an even more complicated present, remained kind.
His kindness was shown once more when, before leaving, he approached you and gently kissed your forehead. You could feel his agony, his yearning — a twin to your own.
There was a part of you that wanted to follow Shanks as he left, long steps towards his chambers. In fact, you wanted nothing more than to follow that man and continue your interaction, to finally feel more of him. But there was a force stronger than nature, an intuition, a voice that whispered you should let him go and come back to you when he’s ready.
So, you did.
***
As the days went by since your last encounter with Shanks, you felt more and more afflicted by his absence. Nonetheless, you felt certain you did the right thing.
Your body was on fire just remembering the way he held your hair, the way his eyes looked at you with delicious anticipation and warmth.
It had been a long time since you felt this way, if you ever did. Sure, every now and then you craved sex and you didn’t mind finding someone in whatever port you were anchored to satisfy your needs. It was carnal, and it was good, mostly.
However, this longing was different. It was a kind of interest you had rarely felt. The more Shanks you got, the more you wanted.
And it wasn’t enough. Stolen glares, a touch of hands, laughing at the dinner table surrounded by the crew. It just wasn’t enough. You needed to smack that smirk right out of his face and then kiss it better.
A couple weeks after that night, you could still feel Shanks’ hand on your cheek, you could sense his arm around you… The attraction was mutual, of that you were sure.
You wondered if the agony of these days apart was mutual as well.
Will it be long before he comes once more?, you were tossing and turning in your hammock, thoughts of Shanks flooding through your head.
The night had fallen quietly, and most of the crew was asleep. You only heard the slight snores and the waves crashing against the Red Force. The ship had not anchored since you last set sail, moving through the sea at a comfortable pace.
You stood up quietly to not wake up anyone, and moved up quickly. Going out on the upper deck, getting some air and smelling the ocean beneath you. That was what you needed before trying (and most likely failing) to fall asleep once more — it would be good to have the air cool you down when you felt like you were burning up with need, with yearning.
After passing through the corridor where you last spoke with Shanks, memories surrounding and consuming you like embers, you made your way out into the night.
The relief of seeing the endless sky and the infinite waters surrounding you was immensurable.
That thrill only lasted for a moment, however, because your eyes landed instantly on the figure covered by shadows, but whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere.
You began to turn around, intending to leave him be, when he said, “I can hear you”, nonchalantly.
Your face contracted as you turned around, smiling and embarrassed. “Sorry, boss, I was just going to enjoy the silence for a while. Didn’t see you there”.
“Please”, he motioned to his side. An invitation and a promise of peace.
You walked towards him with as much caution as you could, your mind still hazy. His body was supported by the bulwark, and there was a cigarette half smoked in hand.
He didn’t look over, respecting your need for stillness.
You had no idea how long you stood there. It could have been hours, days or years.
When you finally turned to him, he was turning to you too.
“This is weird”, you said.
“The sky is beautiful”, he said at the exact same time. He took a second to process your words, then smiled. “What’s weird?”.
You pointed to yourself and then to him. In his usual fashion, he just shrugged jovially, corners of his lips upward. “It’s good weird, you know, but still a little weird”.
“But seriously, what’s weird?”, he turned around, back facing the sea. “The fact that I wanted to hump your leg like a puppy?”
You laughed, happy to be met with the same humour as always. At least, you had a friend in him, regardless of the rest.
“I would’ve let you”, you lifted your eyebrows in a knowing manner, teasing him. He was smiling, too. “The sky really is beautiful tonight”.
Obviously, you still wanted him. Damn, you would really let this man hump your leg if he was into it for real. You were a little kinky yourself and, truth be told, you were willing to try anything once. And to try with Shanks, of all people? What a privilege that would be.
Out of all the dirty, unholy things you wanted to try out in your life, you were lucky enough to have done most of it. There were a few times it just happened, and others you planned out with some partner.
This whole situation made you think of the Captain’s kinks. What does he secretly wish for in the middle of night like this? Did he come up to the deck for air from the hotness of imagining a tad too much?
“You look like an ass guy”, you blurted out before even understanding what you were saying. Oh, the things insomnia and horniness can do to a girl.
Shanks almost choked on smoke. “What makes you say that?”
You tilted your head like an interested dog would, trying to see any sort of disinterest or repulse in his features. Instead, all you found was genuine surprise and curiosity. “It’s a little controversial, right?”, he nodded, smile growing. “And it seems like you’re the kind of guy who likes it a little dirty”, he chuckled as you spoke, “and who would love to have it tight and a little painful”. His silence was deafening, even if his smile was still there, so you hit him playfully with your elbow. “Am I wrong?”.
“Oh”, only that sound came from him. You were still smiling. A pirate Captain, an Emperor of the New World, the legend, the myth. Right now, he was simply the man before you. Red hair, red cheeks. “Woman, are you trying to kill me?”
You didn’t answer, containing your laughter, amused by the situation. Hell, if it was weird, you didn’t mind making it weirder. At least, you both were having fun.
“Just wanted to check how blue your balls can get”, you turned around, elbows on the bulwark.
“The answer is very”, he copied your motion, turning around as well. With you crunched over and him standing at full height, you felt like a devotee worshiping a god. Come to think of it, you wouldn’t mind worshiping this man.
The sea wasn’t as agitated as usual on this night. A good counterpoint to your heart, that was almost beating out of your chest.
“I would love to see it”, you joked. It wasn’t that much of a joke, actually, but the situation demanded some humour.
“Come get it, then”, was his response. He looked so calm in this whole situation.
You opened your mouth to speak, but words would not suffice. You were never that great at conversation anyway.
There was nothing left to say. Only to do.
That’s why you stood up, adjusting your posture. Shanks immediately turned his body to yours, giving you his full attention, almost as if good posture was alarming — you could tell, by the twinkle in his eyes, that he was having as much fun as you. You got on your toes and threw your arms around his neck, in a dramatic fashion he certainly admired, and, at long last, brought your lips to meet his.
Although Shanks was a little surprised you actually followed his instructions and went and got it, he reacted quickly. He kissed you back passionately, using his one arm to pull you closer.
He kissed just like you thought he would — full of feeling, dominating but not aggressive. Intense. The kind of kiss so unbelievable that it would haunt you forever. His experience was clear in the way he kissed, not messy, not too much, just fully him.
He was much taller, and even though you were on your tip toes, he still had to lean down. That didn’t stop either of you. One hand moved through his hair — you had always dreamed of doing this — and the other held his neck as if he was getting away. By the way he held you, however, you could tell he wasn’t going anywhere soon.
Warmth flooded you. Him, him, him.
Heavens. For a man with only one arm, you could surely feel him everywhere.
Your belly was turning with excitement and a feeling you didn’t really want to admit you felt. Right now, all that mattered was this proximity, this intimacy.
The Captain, always aware of his surroundings, turned you so your bum hit the bulwark, and he lifted you with ease. When your eyes met his, you could tell he was looking for an answer, that he needed one.
He mirrored you this time. He would take anything you could give. He was choosing you, for whatever reason, and he wanted to give you all the time to choose him back. Never pushing you, never pressuring.
There was no need for time. You had him right now.
Your hand moved on his shirt, half-open in classical Shanks fashion. You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your hands. Taking advantage of the position, you pulled his white shirt towards you, bringing your lips together once more.
How easy it was to kiss him, how very natural. It amazed you how instinctively you knew to wrap your legs around his waist, even if you were out on the deck. It was remarkable how his body moved with yours, matching every movement before you moved at all. His lips never left yours, his tongue rhythmically asking for passage to your mouth. It wasn’t as messy and guttural as one might think, but calculated to the point of making you wonder if this man was carefully made for you.
You moaned against his mouth, not able to control yourself. That made him bolder, hand moving to your leg and squeezing. You opened your legs more, allowing his body to come closer to you between them.
“Fuck”, he muttered when your lips separated. You already missed him, already craved him, more so than before. You bit your lower lip, holding in a smile. His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged much like your own. “Let me fuck you”.
Yes.
“Wow”, you said, trying to remain serious instead of taking all your clothes off and bending over in a common area of the ship, “Won’t even buy me dinner first, huh?”
He laughed loudly, even though you were acting all serious.
Although Shanks’ laugh was no cause for concern at the Red Force, it was the dead of night in the middle of nowhere. You shushed him and put a finger to his lip, the universal “shut up” sign.
“Are you crazy? People will come here!”.
“Who cares?”, his voice sounded like a smile. Was that even possible? He kissed you gently as his hand caressed your thigh, making your sleeping gown raise and show more and more skin, which seemed to enchant him greatly. “I own everything around here, in case you haven’t heard”.
You let out a surprised sound. “You don’t own shit, boss”.
“Yeah, baby, talk dirty to me”, he gripped your thigh and kissed your neck playfully. You were giggling, happier than ever. The air was cold and the fantasy of moaning “boss” as Shanks was inside you had you hotter and even more bothered.
You two were giggling and kissing, enjoying this moment, not wanting it to end.
“Come to my chambers”, he said between kisses. His hand held you tightly, moving down towards your bum and squeezing every now and then. You always had a hunch the Captain was an ass man.
“People will know something’s up when they wake to see I’m gone and then see me coming out of your room”.
Your response only brought indifference. “And?”.
“Well, boss, I think having forty grown men prying won’t help us in any affair”, you separated from the kiss, holding his chin so his eyes could face yours. He was beyond beautiful, and a part of you, a possessive, unreasonable and irrational part of you, could only think mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. “And I’m pretty sure I’ll come back for more once I have a taste of you”.
“Don’t worry about them”, he replied. At this rate, with the hotness of your body, it would take very little talking to get you in his bed, despite your concerns. “We’re all that matters”, he kissed you lovingly, “Come with me”.
He took a step back and stretched out his hand.
You took it.
***
You had been in Shanks’ quarters more than once, but never in a situation like this. One time, he was so drunk he threw up and you found yourself cleaning up as he fell asleep on the floor. There was this other time, when you were so nervous after losing a stupid game, that he just locked you in the room as punishment. He said you were grounded or something, and you had to stay until you were no longer in homicidal mode. Everyone laughed, and you broke a couple things out of vengeance.
Now, however… This was different.
Shanks sat on his bed, not a care in the world. His cigarette went out, and he motioned to get another in his pocket, but thought twice. He looked at you, who were observing the maps on the walls, seemingly trying to play it cool, and chuckled.
You turned around and met his gaze.
One step and you were standing in front of him, between his legs he so gloriously man-spread.
He didn’t have to tell you to make yourself at home. You were home.
His hand touched you behind the knee, and you almost jumped in anticipation. He travelled upwards slowly, almost touching your butt and then not, just to go down your thighs again and repeat it all over again. It was torture. It was delicious.
You let your hands rest on his shoulders. His big, hard, muscular, manly shoulders. Damn, had he been working out?
He finally stopped playing around and pulled you closer. You straddled his lap, letting your core dangerously close to his, as his hand stayed on your butt.
“I’m definitely an ass guy”, the way he laughed was surprisingly wholesome. You couldn’t help but to laugh back.
“I knew it!”, you celebrated, raising your arms above your head.
Shanks took advantage of the movement, eye level with your tits, to kiss your chest gently. “But I have to admit, these make me wonder if I’m not a boob guy too”.
Your breath got caught in your throat.
You wanted him to do something, to just tear your clothes and take you. Your eyes were closed, savoring the moment, and your hand moved down to his signature red hair then to his shoulders and then back.
There was a beat of silence, of complete stillness. You were not even breathing as Shanks approached your chest and open mouthedly kissed your collarbone.
You looked down and met his gaze, a serious expression on his face. His eyes searched for any hesitation, any doubt in yours, but he didn’t find any. He wouldn’t find any. This was irrevocably what you craved, intensely and deeply.
You moaned when he resumed his ministrations on your skin. A gentle kiss near your chest, a peck on your neck. He explored with the expertise only a pirate could have.
Finally, he moved his hand to the front of your clothing and began to pull down. Once more his eyes searched you for a sign to stop.
You mouthed more without making a sound.
Ever so sweetly, he pulled your night gown down and freed your breasts. You let out a whimper as he let out an animalistic sound. His hand gripped your thigh as a lifeline as he drove right in, kissing the skin and then licking where his lips just were.
He nibbled at the soft skin of your chest, in a way you were sure would leave bruises, even if there was no force. The ghost of his lips would haunt you forever.
Without any warning, his hand pulled your clothes down to expose more skin. You moaned as he sucked one nipple, your pussy already clenching. At the same time you desperately wanted him to move south, you wanted this moment to last.
His hand was on your waist, holding you for dear life as you rocked your hips lightly, experimenting. The motion caused a positive reaction, you realized as the man let out a sigh.
“I have wanted this since I first laid eyes on you”, he confessed, moving to the other breast, licking and kissing and involving your nipple in his mouth. You moved your hips against him again, hoping to gain some relief, and he let out the prettiest moan you’d ever heard.
“You had me since you first laid eyes on me, boss”, you replied.
Your confession in between a shortened breath seemed to entice the man, for he lifted you off him with ease and threw you on the bed like a ragdoll. Then, almost as if he had read your mind, he ripped your night gown in half, exposing you to his fully clothed self. You gasped and his eyes darkened.
There was something about the power dynamic… Something about being on display for him whilst he was clothed. The need you felt was brutal. He was up on his knees, opening your legs to make space for him, with excellent balance for a man with only one arm.
Just like a damned clockwork, came a knock on the door.
Shanks growled in frustration. “I’m busy”, was his harsh response as he resumed his ministrations on your body. He lifted one foot and kissed it with such care and adoration it made your heart flutter and your pussy to clench around nothing.
“Just making sure everything’s alright, boss”, Benn’s voice came from the other side of the door, “You were nowhere to be found”.
“I’m in my room during the night! What’s wrong with that?”, he replied, still holding your leg up. You giggled at the situation, trying to remain quiet and failing.
Beckman’s scuff was followed by his footsteps, moving away from the room.
Truth be told, you had a hunch Shanks suffered from insomnia since long before you two had met. Meeting him in the dead of night, him offering to stay guard, all the parties that went well into the morning… The signs were clear.
It took one to know one, right?
Your heart was beating fast, but not only for the horniness. No. This had become something else the moment all the pieces of a puzzle connected in your head and you saw your Captain as not a myth, not a legend, not an Emperor or a pirate, but as a man. A flawed man, who had suffered so much in such a short life span. A man who looked at you and saw a version of yourself you’d grown to love.
“Where were we?”, he smiled down at you, still teasing and charming, but you just rested your leg down and pulled him in. He looked surprised, almost confused, for a moment, before you joined his lips and yours once more.
You hoped the kiss would convey the desire and all the feelings you couldn’t quite name.
The man murmured a ‘what’ as you pushed him down on the pillows and straddled him.
It was different, to say the least, to be on top fully naked as the man beneath you was fully clothed, but you didn’t really care, not when Shanks opened that smile. The one that had the entire world stopping just to see it for a second.
You rocked your hips and made a sound you couldn’t recognize as you began to kiss his chest, opening his shirt to see more of him. More, more, more.
You moved your body south, to the waistband of his pants. “These are ugly ass trousers, boss”, you commented, earning a laugh from him. “Maybe we should take it off… And then throw it into the ocean?”.
It was true, you really did hate those pants. But that was not the reason why you wanted them off.
Shanks scuffed jokingly. “You can do anything as long as you take ‘em off right now, love”.
The pet name caused your brain to short circuit for a beat. Love was a really strong word in your books. Yet, somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
You put a pin in those thoughts because there was something hard and hot calling you.
The pants were quickly discarded into the floor, along with his white shirt. The laziness in Shanks took over and he let you do most of the work, but you didn’t mind. Not when there was something so interesting hiding in those ridiculous pants. Not when every word he said was a holy command to you.
Your mouth went dry at the sight of Shanks, naked, laying in front of you like a five course meal. Not only that, but oh, his cock. You had no idea a dick could be that pretty. Long, thick, with a cute pink tip and veins that seemed put there by a skilled artist and not some randomness of nature.
All of him seemed straight off a painting, to be honest. Even his missing limb, the place where your gaze stayed for more than a second. Enough to make him touch it, trying to remain lighthearted but a little tense nonetheless.
“It’s an adjustment, really. The whole missing arm thing”, he said, tone playful, but you saw underneath it. There was pain lingering in his eyes. Physical pain, yes, but emotional pain too. There was a story there, one you hoped he would share whenever he was ready.
You just kissed his entire body, from his legs to neck. You purposely skipped his cock, hard and glistening with pre-cum. Your hands followed your mouth, until you felt you had touched him everywhere.
The last place you were going to caress was his left shoulder, the place where his arm used to be. As your mouth moved to it, he held your hair gently, stopping you.
“You don’t have to”, his voice was a whisper. There was a lot of emotion in his eyes, and you hoped he could see it in yours too.
“I want to”, you replied, confident he would stop you if he was uncomfortable. As long as you were concerned, though, all of him was made for your kisses, for your touches, for love.
He let go of your hair, hand still on your head when you pressed your lips there for the first time.
You looked at him to make sure everything was fine, and you were met with adoration. You proceeded, cocky smile growing in your face as you moved down his body again.
“Tease”, he messed with your hair, biting his lower lip.
If he hoped for an answer, he would be waiting for a long time. After all, you were face to face with his dick once more, mouth watering and the unholiest of thoughts going through your mind.
Surely, he had made another snarky comment by now, but you were too far gone to listen. You licked a stripe from his base to the tip, and he gifted you with a delicious moan, one that went straight between your thighs, adding to the wetness.
The licking and kissing part was easy. His dick was just too good and he even tasted good, too. But the sucking part could be a challenge, considering he was big and thick. You wouldn’t back down from a challenge, though. Oh, no.
You remained relaxed as you wrapped your lips around the tip, using your tongue to stimulate him even more. You used your hand as well, softly rocking the part of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth yet.
Even though you were relaxed, this was hard. Pun intended.
Words of affirmation showered from his mouth, ‘so good’, ‘that’s it’, ‘you’re so pretty’. But you were far too focused on making him lose his mind. You looked at him best you could in this position, and fit more of him in your mouth.
More, more, more.
His hand was caressing your hair before tugging on it, mindlessly trying to make you take more.
Captain’s orders, huh?
From the sheer size of him, you didn’t know if it would be possible, but you just relaxed your throat as you took more of him. Almost deepthroathing, almost all of him.
There was saliva everywhere, but neither you nor Shanks seemed to care. He was far gone, muscles contracting as you moved your head up and down a little, turning to the right and to the left simultaneously.
Finally, his eyes met yours again.
The sight was too much for him. He pulled your hair away from his cock and pulled you to him, kissing you with so much intensity your teeth hit his in one moment.
Your body was above his, and his one hand was everywhere. When he finally touched you between your legs, you separated the kiss to breathe. Just one touch and you were already melting in his hand.
“Not gonna last?”, he murmured in your ear, continuing to move his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit and then moving away, not letting any part of him go inside of you just yet. Your moan was a mix of a cry and a prayer. Him, him, him, it was all you could think.
You rocked your hips against his hand, trying to get more. More of something, more of anything, you just needed him.
Thankfully, Shanks was an experienced man and knew how to read a body. He lift himself, sitting against the headboard with you on top of him, both your hands holding his shoulders and legs on either side of his thighs. Your entrance was dangerously close to his cock, and you felt your pussy pulsing and your heart beating with anticipation, with want.
“You’re sure?”, Shanks whispered, searching for your eyes. No hesitation would be found there.
“What would you do if I said no?”, you joked, taking his cock in one hand to pump it once, twice, three times. He was half laughing from your comment, half moaning from the pleasure.
“Probably cry”, his words were playful, but his eyes were lustful, “and then jerk off”.
It was your turn to laugh, but the amusement was short lived, because he took advantage of your distraction to line himself and thrust his hips upwards, finally entering you.
A gasp from you. A grunt from him. You threw your head back as you lowered your hips slowly. It was a good thing you two had been flirting forever and the anticipation got you wetter than the entire freaking ocean, because your Captain had a big dick, and it was hard to take him.
Your cunt was pulsing, craving more of him. His hand rested on your hips, and he began moving and instructing you to move too. You tried rocking your hips, but it was too much. Your clit was right on his pelvis, and it was just too good.
Noticing you were a goner, Shanks took matters into his own hands. He pulled your body down, chest flushed with his, and began thrusting upwards in a delicious speed, starting out slow and the building. You let out little whimpers close to his ears, and each time you did he seemed to go even deeper.
You wanted nothing more than for this man to bury himself in you.
It would have been amazing to just lay on top of him as he fucked you with the precision of a professional. But you wanted more.
You lifted your torso, sitting on him. In doing so, both of you moaned loudly. For a second, you worried someone might hear. To Hell with them. There was only this moment, only this feeling.
You began riding him as if your life depended on it. Back and forth, hips dancing on top of your lover. The sounds were a perfect soundtrack to the moment.
You reached your hands from his chest, where they had been for support, to your own breasts, twitching your nipples and grabbing them to maximize the feeling.
The man looked starstruck to see you chasing your high, pleasuring himself, on his body. His mouth fell open the more you moved. He pressed his feet on the bed, grating you more stability as his thighs were behind you.
You let your hands fall behind you, to where his thighs were. The new angle was explosive.
The release you both craved so much was magnified by how long you both waited for this, to finally touch and feel each other. Once more, you found yourself desperate to get more but wanting the moment to last.
How does a moment last forever? You weren’t really sure, but when Shanks took advantage of the position to draw lazy circles on your clit, you were sure time stopped.
There would be a before and an after this.
No sound came out of your mouth as you surfed the waves of your orgasm. You didn’t even have time to let him know you were cumming, you just did. And it was a coreshaking, unbelievable feeling.
As your body trembled from the stimulation, Shanks lifted himself up, sitting more than laying down now. He hugged you, bringing your chest close to his face and seizing movement as you came down from your high.
Both your hands held his hair, and you opened your eyes to meet his.
You thought there’d be a before and an after because of the crazy orgasm, but you were wrong. The before and after would be from the look in his eyes.
You had seen adoration there before. Mischief, anger, annoyance, amusement. What you now saw, as he slowly began to thrust his hips upwards, were the four little letters that made a word you rarely said.
You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, not when he made you feel like the most beautiful woman alive. Not when he made you feel this good.
“Stand up and bend over”, his tone left no room for discussion.
“Ay ay, Captain”, you joked, sad to break contact but eager to see what was coming next. He scuffed and stood up too, going behind you and jokingly slapping your ass.
You caught a glimpse of his dick when he stood, all pink and glistening with arousal. Your mouth watered. Perhaps you should’ve thought about protection, but, eh. Once again, who cares? Your mind was far too hazy for worry.
His one hand touched your hips, forcing your face into the mattress and making your back arch even more. You turned your face, pressing your cheek on the soft blanket and putting both your knees on the bed, opening yourself up even more for him.
He stopped touching, and for a second, everything was quiet. Not even the ocean outside dared to make a sound.
When Shanks’ index finger moved gently through your entrance, collecting arousal, all the noise came back at once — the crashing of waves against the Red Force, his ragged breathing, something outside the room, your moans and whimpers.
He seemed pleased with your reaction, collecting your juices and his on his fingers before pushing two of them in. This man’s goal might just be to kill you. You tried looking back further, to catch a glimpse of his face.
He was so gorgeous it actually hurt. Sweat on his forehead, red hair falling on his forehead and eyes. Pecs so delicious it reminded you of a five course meal. His scars, his missing limp, all of it just made him more precious.
Your eyes met when his fingers left your pussy, and, without a word, he lined himself and pushed. Even a few moments without his dick made it harder for him to enter you again. He murmured something along the lines of ‘so tight’ before he began thrusting again.
Hips colliding against yours, time and time again. The force was almost brute, but you loved it. Was it possible to feel so passionate for a cock? Maybe, and if not, you were surely making the groundbreaking discovery that it was.
The position allowed him to go deeper, harder, and you both loved it. You were moaning, he was saying mumbled words affirming just how good you were for him.
“This cunt was made for me, love”, he said. “All mine”.
You shivered at the statement. Dear God, you felt the knot in your lower belly tightening again.
Shanks’ thrusts were sloppier, uncoordinated and impossibly harder. You loved the intrusion, the aggression. For all you cared at that moment, he could just tie you to the bed and fuck you until you melted into a puddle.
You clenched around him, purposefully. At that, he reacted with the prettiest moan you’d ever heard.
“Where do you want it?”, he asked and you loved that he did.
“Inside”, your voice was shakier than you expected. “Please, inside”, you just didn’t want him to leave you. You wanted all of him in you.
He squeezed your hips, pushing you flush on the bed and laying on top of you. Having a two meters man with his full weight above you was hard, but even more so, it was fun and warm and dirty. His hips kept pistoling into you.
His mouth was pampering kisses on your ear, and you could feel and hear his breathing.
He didn’t announce he was coming. Instead, he just thrusted so hard and so deep it made you let out a little scream. Ropes of white shot in you, and he kept moaning as his long release marked you as own.
It was the perfect moment for a declaration, but you needed to stay in this bubble where nothing else other than you two existed. You needed to just feel his chest against your back and his softening dick inside.
When he began moving to lay by your side, your hands flew behind you to keep him in place a little longer. “Stay”, you managed to say. “A little more, please”.
He didn’t answer, instead, he just complied. He just kissed the side of your face, gentle and loving.
A moment passed. Maybe two. It could have been years or seconds you stayed put beneath him, just feeling his body and his kisses.
When he finally left your body, you whimpered. He laid by your side, stomach up whilst your chest was down.
You were face to face, feeling each other's breath.
“Hi”, nonchalantly he said, a smile already growing.
“Hey”, you were able to let out. You felt absolutely destroyed and ready for more.
“Sleep here”, he begged, reaching for your hand. He pulled it to his lips and kissed it. Romantic.
You nodded, moving towards him, curling up on his chest. His cum was dripping, probably making a mess on his sheets. At least they weren’t your sheets.
The air felt lighter, somehow. His chest was moving up and down beneath your head when you cuddled even more in him.
The moonlight cast a pale light in the room.
***
“My thighs hurt”, was the first thing you said when he woke up and opened those beautiful eyes. You were already awake for a few minutes, and you had more than enough time to go to his mirror and check out the red bite and hand marks on your bottom.
Promptly, he guffewed. You took one of the many pillows on his bed to hit him with it.
“Shut up! Everyone will hear!”
“I think that ship has sailed, darling”, with only one hand and laying on his back, he still managed to be dexterous. After taking it from your hands, he threw the pillow away, smiling. “I wasn’t the one screaming last night”.
“Oh, that could be anyone of your floozys”, you brushed him off, crossing your arms and pouting like a child.
He played the offended part, gasping. If only there were pearls around his neck for him to clutch! You rolled your eyes, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a smile and failing miserably.
He pulled you closer, bringing your chest to his back, cuddling. An Emperor, cuddling. You never thought you’d see the day, and yet, it felt so natural. You let him adjust himself behind you, and you felt his morning hard on deliciously on your back.
His lips first met your shoulders, then your neck, and finally your ear. “You can be my floozy any time you want”, he whispered. The words themselves weren’t all that seductive, but the way he said it, morning voice raspy and the ghost of last night all over you… That was something else.
A part of you wished you could be more mysterious and hold in your laugh. With Shanks, you just couldn’t. Your smile, your laughter, it all came naturally. He had that effect on you, apparently.
You weren’t one to share your dreams and ambitions that easily, but, with your Captain, it felt as simple as breathing.
You rolled your hips against his morning wood, teasing him.
“Time for round two?”, he asked. His voice was all the stimulation you needed.
You turned to meet his face and join your lips.
“Out of how many?”, after a few pecs, you inquired. After all, a girl had a right to know if it was a one night and morning after thing, or more.
“How many numbers are there?”
“Infinite, as far as I know”
“There’s your answer”, he barely finished saying the words before kissing you deeply. He moved over you, towering over you the best he could with only one arm.
It wasn’t long before you were a mess of moans and orgasms again.
***
The morning came with an unbearable heat. You managed to sneak out of the Captain’s room and go to your chambers quietly, avoiding any prying gazes. Since he destroyed your clothing, you borrowed something of his. Now, out on the deck covered in sunlight going to the kitchen for a late breakfast, your tank top and shorts were soaked in sweat, and the entire crew was complaining when you joined them.
“Somebody opened the gates of hell”.
“I haven’t felt this hot since I snuck into an oven as a kid”.
You laughed as you reached for a muffin at the breakfast table.
In more ways than one, you were immensely grateful this was your life. Grown men bitching about the weather and all.
The door to the kitchen opened with little noise. If you weren't so deeply aware of Shanks’ presence at any given minute, you might have missed his quiet entrance. There were no good mornings, only a calm smile as he walked to the head of the table, passing through his trusted mates and yourself.
What you didn’t expect — and probably no one did — was that the Captain would stop behind your chair, hand on your shoulder, and lean down to give you a kiss on the cheek.
Intimate. Lovable.
Public.
Lucky Roux’s food fell from his fork. For a couple seconds, one could hear a pin drop. Perhaps they heard your heart too, almost beating out of your chest.
But then, as quickly as the silence came, it was gone.
The clinking of silverware, chairs moving and footsteps around the room, the laughter from Yasopp as Benn pointed to Roux and said “you owe me one hundred berries”. Shanks simply moved with ease through the room.
Oh, you were going to find out what were the terms of this bet later.
You looked over to where he sat at your side, at his usual place at the head of the table, and the look you were met with made your heart melt. You were sure by now your face was redder than his hair, but, to paraphrase your Captain, who the hell cares?
Amidst the common chaos, he mouthed in silence three little words to you, reaching out to hold your hand. Eight letters, so simple, yet it was everything. Your heart stopped for a second and, time again, the entire world faded. There were only you two. In all the years you’d known him, there were only ever you two. You held him back, smiling and blushing upon his gaze.
"you owe me one hundred berries" (shanks x f!reader)
summary: the years brought intimacy, fun and adventure for you in the crew of the red-haired pirates. you found a little place in the world you could call home. dreams and ambitions become clearer when you are surrounded by people you love, especially when you manage to untangle your thoughts and do something about it.
warnings: smut, unprotected p in v, fingering, oral sex, spanking, hair pulling, dirty talk, spitting, creampie, no use of y/n, slow burnish. mdni.
word count: 10k
a/n: oof, this is LONG. almost as long as shanks' dic- ok i'll shut up now but boy oh boy did i have a lot to write about this man. I love my fictional husband so much. I considered separating this into two parts, but I like it better as one swift longass oneshot, lol. hope y’all enjoy it <3
masterlist
“What are your ambitions in life?”
The question caught you off guard. It’s not like you and the man besides you had heartfelt conversations constantly. No, it was much more relentless teasing and a whole lot of work.
Looking straight ahead, you felt the presence of the seemingly infinite ocean in front of you, the smell of salt water, and the slight sway of the ship as the waves moved around and beneath — the combination had you at ease. The sea was your home.
The people asleep on the ship were the closest thing to a family you had nowadays. And a massive thank you to every deity for that.
Ever since you joined them, the benefits were mutual and the connection was instant. It was easy to love them, and you made yourself valuable. One of them, playing with his own name, called you their “lucky charm”. All of that due to your navigation skills that got them out of trouble and into profit more times than one.
However, you kept to yourself. The pain, the heartache, the loss… They haunted you, even if they belonged in the past. And here, you were moving towards your future.
“Y’know, your dreams, your ambitions…”, the man by your side continued, given your silence. You remained quiet, teasingly, which only enticed him more. “Surely you’ve heard of those”, his smile was unfaltering and his one arm was on the bulwark, bottle of rum in hand.
You took a sip of your drink. The two of you were the last ones still awake, drinking and staring into the endless water and dark sky, trying to see where they met — at least, that’s what you were doing. He was just yapping. You’d grown used to your Captain’s tendencies of lightheartedness and mischief, and it was safe to say you were friends. Good ones, even if you weren’t eager to share your deepest secrets. You were certain he didn’t want to share his as well. You liked each other regardless because of it. Perhaps more because of it.
“C’mon”, he drank a generous gulp, smiling still. “Gimme a drag”, as he only had one arm, he didn’t have the capacity of holding the bottle in one hand, and a cigarette in the other. So, you held it for him between your fingers, sometimes moving it towards his mouth so he could inhale. It was such a simple gesture, but it felt so intimate.
You liked your Captain. Very much so. And, as one of the few women on the Red Force, of course you noticed that he checked you out every now and then — all men did. You didn’t mind, in fact, you rather enjoyed checking them out right back.
It was extremely rare for the two of you to have a moment alone like this, and you cherished it immensely. The man was an Emperor, after all, and you still found yourself yearning for one on one time as if he was a school mate.
Even now, in this whole new world, he still made sure his crew had a moment to party every now and then, when things were calm. Hence, why everyone was passed out drunk and you were still standing, at guard. Or as much guard you could be in this half drunken state.
“You know, it’s bad manners not to answer your Captain, not to mention a clear act of rebellion…”
You took a deep breath, laughing quietly. “I know”, you spoke only to shut him up. You knew he wouldn’t push you too far, and that’s why you felt comfortable enough to talk. “I remember having dreams and ambitions as a little girl. I just… Don’t know where it all went”.
“I reckon it’s still in there”, he pointed at your chest, your heart — skillfully balancing his bottle of rum without the pointed finger.
“I once said I wanted to be an assassin”, you smiled remembering the child you once were. Your Captain smiled too. “I didn’t know what an assassin was, of course”.
“Of course”, that smile was still there, perfect. As perfect as an imperfect pirate Captain can be, at least. His gaze inspired you to continue.
“I loved reading and history. I remember my father”, your voice altered slightly, mentioning the flawed man who raised you, more emotional than before, “finding new books for me every now and then. He abdicated everything for our little family… And for knowledge. I think at some point I wished to carry on his legacy”.
The question of ambitions and dreams was a hard one. At this particular place in your life, all you wanted was to be safe, to be comfortable, to be around your found family… Around Shanks.
“What happened?”, he persisted, interested.
You took a deep sigh. “People. Expectations. Life got in the way, I guess”.
“But what would you want if there were no expectations, no people?”, he asked, and, although he directed the question to you, it seemed like he was looking for guidance for himself as well.
You shrugged your shoulders and smiled. “I think I would be a librarian in a small village… Have a lot of cats, and maybe horses, too. Be free, with the open skies above me and the infinite sea near, too, but with a place of my own. In another life, maybe”, you looked over at him, “All that after I travelled the world and found the One Piece with you, boss, of course”.
“Naturally”, his smile lit up the night, and he took a sip of his drink, a little lost in thought.
“What about you?”, you inquired. You didn’t shy away from returning the question to him. After all, if you answered, so should he. Although he was the boss, he still maintained quite a balanced environment. You could just talk to each other about anything, and if one wanted out of the conversation, there would be no questions asked from the other.
His body was turned towards you, eyes on you and not on the sea. It was clear his focus had shifted from inside his mind to outside, to the night, to this moment. His attention was almost too much. You returned your gaze to that water below, the sound of the waves a good substitute for silence.
“Honestly?”, you nodded as he spoke, “As a kid… I just wanted to be a carefree pirate with…”, he stopped himself, shaking his head lightly. It was his turn to look away into the distance. “My friends.The freedom of it all called to me”, he finished, after taking another long sip of his drink.
Silence ensued. Yet, the quiet with your Captain was comfortable. Even though he was propense to partying and laughing, he seemed in his element in the silence too. A man of his stature with an ability to feel deeply was a rare thing. You felt immensely proud to be by his side, to be a part of his crew. It was no lie that you wanted to see the world, but you weren’t sure you would have allowed yourself to want it this badly had you not joined his crew. They made this possible, and, even though there was violence and discomfort sometimes, it was good.
Even though you tried not to, your glare kept returning to him. Perhaps your thinking was too loud, because the man turned to you again. He had a mischievous glint in his eyes, as he did so often.
“Did you lose something similar to my face or am I just too handsome?”, the amusement in his voice was tangible.
“Oh, shut up”, you tried to cover your smirk by drinking some more, but he caught on, clearly having fun.
“No, seriously”, he took one step closer, “am I really so beautiful that your gaze just falls on me naturally?”
You laughed, but you felt your face redden nonetheless. You could try to play it cool, but this interaction had begun to make you nervous in the best way possible, and the part of you fueled by rum wanted to see where it would lead.
“Yes, Shanks”, you playfully responded. Calling him by his name was a dangerous move, especially in the mocking tone you had on. You brought the cigar to your mouth, lighting it again and taking one long inhale. You breathed out the air, still smiling slightly, your Captain’s eyes now predatorial. “I do think you’re that beautiful”.
Another step, this time you took it. The two of you were so close you could feel his warmth. His body towered over you, all six foot seven of him. It almost made your neck hurt looking up to him, but the thrill of this situation made anything bearable.
“Care to share?”, he motioned to the smoke between your fingers with a raise of eyebrows.
You just lift your hand close to his mouth so he could breathe it in. When he exhaled and you began to lower your hand, he stopped you, holding your wrist and the bottle at the same time. Then, he did the unthinkable. He kissed it.
His lips were rough, but they felt amazing on your skin. Perfect. As if they belonged there.
Even this small gesture, this little kiss on the inside of your wrist, the smoke still coming from the cigar, caused an inexplicable rush. Body on fire, burning as red as his head of hair.
His gaze never left your face, not even when your glare flew from his eyes to his lips, still lingering on your skin.
Your poor heart, beating so quickly for a man so unattainable. Yet, a voice inside you, most likely drunk as well, whispered softly, if he could be attained, it would be by you.
A loud noise came from inside the crew’s quarters. You jumped, but Shanks simply moved away softly.
As quickly as the moment came, it was gone.
The cigarette in your hand went out.
***
It had been a few months since the hand incident, if it could even be called that. The Captain acted pretty much the same most of the time, composed and natural, but you felt changed in your very core.
Sometimes, you’d look for him and find him already staring at you. Every now and then, during a party or celebration, some drinks in, you’d flirt with him and he would flirt back, all charm and charisma.
You brushed the incident off as a drunken reaction, but there was a part of you that couldn’t get rid of the sensation that something between the two of you shifted, and that you might want more.
The slight shift in his demeanour came not only from his gaze, or the flirting. There was a new found protectiveness, as if his shadow was towering over you as more than a Captain. One time, when the ship was docked on a random island, you felt him come behind you during an argument with a shopkeeper. You hadn’t realized he went in after you, and yet, there he was, by your side. You didn’t even have to ask.
The conversations you had around others were different now too. The Captain valued everyone’s opinion, but you could tell by the way he wouldn’t take his eyes off of you that he wanted to know yours, not the filtered version you carefully crafted for others, but your true, honest opinion.
Either that, or you were hallucinating from scurvy.
The night fell swiftly, and the crew was scattered in this small fishermen’s island. You were probably the only one on the ship still, and your intention was to enjoy the quiet night alone on the ship with a book you picked up at the shop the day you had anchored.
A ruffled noise came from behind you as you made your way to the common room. You reacted instantly. Book in one hand, dagger on the other, you were ready to defend yourself and the Red Force.
“Jeez, at rest, soldier”. The voice came from behind you, all fun and giggles. You could recognize that sound anywhere. “At least I can sleep soundly knowing you are guarding us all”.
“Heavens, boss!”, you put the dagger back in your belt and held your book close to your chest. Turning around to face him was a natural reflex, but a part of you wished you hadn’t done it. He was quite the sight — deep red hair, built like a god, even his scars were attractive. “You scared me”.
“You look adorable grasping your book like that”, he said, letting his body fall on the wall. Back against it, one leg up to balance himself. There he was with the flirting once more. That smile could stop a war, you were certain.
Your head fell to the side, in a way you hoped was sweet and charming, and you had to hold yourself not to smile. Part of you wanted to maintain a strong facade for him, tease him, make him work for it a little.
He was your Captain, but he was also a man.
There was a flame behind his eyes and an energy in the way he tilted his head, matching your movement, which had your chest moving up and down more strongly. Air felt rarefied, and suddenly you were aware of every part of your body — the red in your cheeks, the white of your outfit, the shaking of your legs, the sweating of your hands.
This should have been simple. It was just a Captain chatting with his mate.
It could be just that.
However, you realized this was the first time you and Shanks were alone together since the incident.
“Cat got your tongue?”
“No, I simply have no adequate response”. Your mouth was faster than your brain. Maybe, in another life, you were more eloquent, like your father, or maybe elegant, like your mother. But no. You just stared at the man who was your Captain and the object of all your desires, and said incoherent nonsense.
“You haven’t quite figured out what I want you to respond, huh?”, he read you like an open book. “You can just speak your mind, you know”.
The cover of the book was endlessly interesting. The night smelled like salt, and the lighting in the corridor leading to the common room was dim.
You felt him take a step closer before you saw it. Once more, you were in a compromising position — with your Captain towering over you, dark cloak almost shielding the both of you. You remembered this feeling, this that came as easily as breathing.
His one hand moved up towards your chin, lifting your head so your eyes would meet. You knew you could be seductive and blink innocently and just lure him in if you wanted, but this was Shanks.
He was more experienced than that, and he would be able to tell if you were doing something only to please him or because you thought he would want it.
In your mind, you constantly found yourself thinking about what your Captain would do to you. Of course you had heard many stories about his conquests, his one night stands, his lovers — all of whom seemed more than willing to go back for more. All made it seem like sharing Shanks’ bed was a dream.
You were far from virginal, but any involvement with your Captain had the potential to be complicated, so you were a little hesitant — even though the tension was palpable, even though his hand remained on your chin. The hesitant part was bigger than the people pleaser part.
And the attraction was stronger than any hesitation.
So, you did the one thing you could think to do.
One hand moved to hold his wrist, and you moved it slightly closer to your lips. With a suaveness that was strange even to you, you kissed it.
It was the very first time your lips touched Shanks, and it was magical.
If this was an answer to the questions you had, it was a good one.
His shock was evident in his face and in his body. He tensed up immediately, not used to having someone treat him with such fondness, hold him with such care. Even though he was the furthest thing possible from chaste and coy, his endeavours were, more often than not, much too raw.
The Captain usually didn’t have a problem with his dominating, charismatic personality — he constantly used it to his advantage, and it worked. Although he would much prefer being carefree, life happened and he had to play the hand he was given. But there was not a single part of him that expected this.
He wasn’t in control, for once. After all, this wasn’t a one night stand or a hookup with no strings attached. The two of you were connected by something greater than life, and your entire livelihood would be affected if it ended poorly.
It wasn’t in Shanks’ nature to worry this much, and it wasn’t in your nature to do something this recklessly.
And, somehow, your lips still didn’t leave his skin.
You blinked once, twice, hoping for a reaction. The seconds dragged on for days, it seemed. His mouth was slightly open, and his eyes never left yours.
His big right hand moved, cupping your cheek, and your eyes instantly closed, relishing in his touch. Was it you who let out a moan? You couldn’t tell, so lost in the moment. He murmured your name, a warning, and you opened your eyes to find an expression you’d never seen before in his face.
“Tell me to stop”, he said.
“No”, was your murmured answer.
He used his strength to push you against the wall behind you, now in control again, where he belonged. The hand that was soft on your cheek moved harshly to your neck. He pulled your hair back, just a little, not excessively. Your neck was exposed, and he would have to lower his body a lot to touch it with his lips, and damn, you hoped he would.
You dropped your book, which fell to the wooden floor with a loud thud.
His signature red hair was covering his eyes, but you could feel the predatory gaze on you.
You half expected him to kiss you, take you to his chambers and claim you in the most animalistic way possible. But that wasn’t him. The man standing in front of you was calm, lighthearted and fun, albeit domineering. Easily taking charge of the situation and making it what he needed. So, it was no surprise that he lowered his head to press his forehead against yours, and said “You smell so good”.
You just chuckled, now holding his waist. He sniffed your hair like a puppy would.
“Seriously, is that driftwood?”, you could hear his smile when he spoke. Perhaps it was insanity. But having Shanks close to you like this, his body attached to yours and his attention solely on you was insane, so you didn’t see any harm in playing along.
“Shut up”, you giggled. You looked up to him, trying to memorize his features.
The moment suddenly became serious. Your giggles stopped, and his smile vanished. The rest of the world vanished, too. No sounds, no light, nothing.
There was only you and him.
The built-up tension was a solid block above the two of you. You wanted nothing more than to break it, but, at the same time, the agony was delicious. Waiting, anticipating and yearning somehow made this moment all the more precious.
Closer, your mind screamed. You shared his air, coming from his parted lips. There was an unspoken need for more closeness, for less space to be between you two.
Closer, closer, closer.
Just like clockwork, a noise came from the door, interrupting. You didn’t want to be parted from Shanks, not in the slightest. Yet, to preserve this moment and others that might come, he let you go, kneeling to pick up your book.
A drunken Yasopp made his way down the corridor right after, barely speaking to you or the Captain. You heard him murmur something about showing them who’s aimless when he went inside.
Your Captain, still looking at you, but further than you wished, nodded once in a silent “I’ll see you later” movement. The legend, the myth, standing in front of you. All those stories about his doings, all the fuss and glory and bounty. It constantly amazed you that, even though he was indeed legendary, he was still a man.
A man who, despite having a complicated past and an even more complicated present, remained kind.
His kindness was shown once more when, before leaving, he approached you and gently kissed your forehead. You could feel his agony, his yearning — a twin to your own.
There was a part of you that wanted to follow Shanks as he left, long steps towards his chambers. In fact, you wanted nothing more than to follow that man and continue your interaction, to finally feel more of him. But there was a force stronger than nature, an intuition, a voice that whispered you should let him go and come back to you when he’s ready.
So, you did.
***
As the days went by since your last encounter with Shanks, you felt more and more afflicted by his absence. Nonetheless, you felt certain you did the right thing.
Your body was on fire just remembering the way he held your hair, the way his eyes looked at you with delicious anticipation and warmth.
It had been a long time since you felt this way, if you ever did. Sure, every now and then you craved sex and you didn’t mind finding someone in whatever port you were anchored to satisfy your needs. It was carnal, and it was good, mostly.
However, this longing was different. It was a kind of interest you had rarely felt. The more Shanks you got, the more you wanted.
And it wasn’t enough. Stolen glares, a touch of hands, laughing at the dinner table surrounded by the crew. It just wasn’t enough. You needed to smack that smirk right out of his face and then kiss it better.
A couple weeks after that night, you could still feel Shanks’ hand on your cheek, you could sense his arm around you… The attraction was mutual, of that you were sure.
You wondered if the agony of these days apart was mutual as well.
Will it be long before he comes once more?, you were tossing and turning in your hammock, thoughts of Shanks flooding through your head.
The night had fallen quietly, and most of the crew was asleep. You only heard the slight snores and the waves crashing against the Red Force. The ship had not anchored since you last set sail, moving through the sea at a comfortable pace.
You stood up quietly to not wake up anyone, and moved up quickly. Going out on the upper deck, getting some air and smelling the ocean beneath you. That was what you needed before trying (and most likely failing) to fall asleep once more — it would be good to have the air cool you down when you felt like you were burning up with need, with yearning.
After passing through the corridor where you last spoke with Shanks, memories surrounding and consuming you like embers, you made your way out into the night.
The relief of seeing the endless sky and the infinite waters surrounding you was immensurable.
That thrill only lasted for a moment, however, because your eyes landed instantly on the figure covered by shadows, but whose silhouette you’d recognize anywhere.
You began to turn around, intending to leave him be, when he said, “I can hear you”, nonchalantly.
Your face contracted as you turned around, smiling and embarrassed. “Sorry, boss, I was just going to enjoy the silence for a while. Didn’t see you there”.
“Please”, he motioned to his side. An invitation and a promise of peace.
You walked towards him with as much caution as you could, your mind still hazy. His body was supported by the bulwark, and there was a cigarette half smoked in hand.
He didn’t look over, respecting your need for stillness.
You had no idea how long you stood there. It could have been hours, days or years.
When you finally turned to him, he was turning to you too.
“This is weird”, you said.
“The sky is beautiful”, he said at the exact same time. He took a second to process your words, then smiled. “What’s weird?”.
You pointed to yourself and then to him. In his usual fashion, he just shrugged jovially, corners of his lips upward. “It’s good weird, you know, but still a little weird”.
“But seriously, what’s weird?”, he turned around, back facing the sea. “The fact that I wanted to hump your leg like a puppy?”
You laughed, happy to be met with the same humour as always. At least, you had a friend in him, regardless of the rest.
“I would’ve let you”, you lifted your eyebrows in a knowing manner, teasing him. He was smiling, too. “The sky really is beautiful tonight”.
Obviously, you still wanted him. Damn, you would really let this man hump your leg if he was into it for real. You were a little kinky yourself and, truth be told, you were willing to try anything once. And to try with Shanks, of all people? What a privilege that would be.
Out of all the dirty, unholy things you wanted to try out in your life, you were lucky enough to have done most of it. There were a few times it just happened, and others you planned out with some partner.
This whole situation made you think of the Captain’s kinks. What does he secretly wish for in the middle of night like this? Did he come up to the deck for air from the hotness of imagining a tad too much?
“You look like an ass guy”, you blurted out before even understanding what you were saying. Oh, the things insomnia and horniness can do to a girl.
Shanks almost choked on smoke. “What makes you say that?”
You tilted your head like an interested dog would, trying to see any sort of disinterest or repulse in his features. Instead, all you found was genuine surprise and curiosity. “It’s a little controversial, right?”, he nodded, smile growing. “And it seems like you’re the kind of guy who likes it a little dirty”, he chuckled as you spoke, “and who would love to have it tight and a little painful”. His silence was deafening, even if his smile was still there, so you hit him playfully with your elbow. “Am I wrong?”.
“Oh”, only that sound came from him. You were still smiling. A pirate Captain, an Emperor of the New World, the legend, the myth. Right now, he was simply the man before you. Red hair, red cheeks. “Woman, are you trying to kill me?”
You didn’t answer, containing your laughter, amused by the situation. Hell, if it was weird, you didn’t mind making it weirder. At least, you both were having fun.
“Just wanted to check how blue your balls can get”, you turned around, elbows on the bulwark.
“The answer is very”, he copied your motion, turning around as well. With you crunched over and him standing at full height, you felt like a devotee worshiping a god. Come to think of it, you wouldn’t mind worshiping this man.
The sea wasn’t as agitated as usual on this night. A good counterpoint to your heart, that was almost beating out of your chest.
“I would love to see it”, you joked. It wasn’t that much of a joke, actually, but the situation demanded some humour.
“Come get it, then”, was his response. He looked so calm in this whole situation.
You opened your mouth to speak, but words would not suffice. You were never that great at conversation anyway.
There was nothing left to say. Only to do.
That’s why you stood up, adjusting your posture. Shanks immediately turned his body to yours, giving you his full attention, almost as if good posture was alarming — you could tell, by the twinkle in his eyes, that he was having as much fun as you. You got on your toes and threw your arms around his neck, in a dramatic fashion he certainly admired, and, at long last, brought your lips to meet his.
Although Shanks was a little surprised you actually followed his instructions and went and got it, he reacted quickly. He kissed you back passionately, using his one arm to pull you closer.
He kissed just like you thought he would — full of feeling, dominating but not aggressive. Intense. The kind of kiss so unbelievable that it would haunt you forever. His experience was clear in the way he kissed, not messy, not too much, just fully him.
He was much taller, and even though you were on your tip toes, he still had to lean down. That didn’t stop either of you. One hand moved through his hair — you had always dreamed of doing this — and the other held his neck as if he was getting away. By the way he held you, however, you could tell he wasn’t going anywhere soon.
Warmth flooded you. Him, him, him.
Heavens. For a man with only one arm, you could surely feel him everywhere.
Your belly was turning with excitement and a feeling you didn’t really want to admit you felt. Right now, all that mattered was this proximity, this intimacy.
The Captain, always aware of his surroundings, turned you so your bum hit the bulwark, and he lifted you with ease. When your eyes met his, you could tell he was looking for an answer, that he needed one.
He mirrored you this time. He would take anything you could give. He was choosing you, for whatever reason, and he wanted to give you all the time to choose him back. Never pushing you, never pressuring.
There was no need for time. You had him right now.
Your hand moved on his shirt, half-open in classical Shanks fashion. You felt his chest rise and fall beneath your hands. Taking advantage of the position, you pulled his white shirt towards you, bringing your lips together once more.
How easy it was to kiss him, how very natural. It amazed you how instinctively you knew to wrap your legs around his waist, even if you were out on the deck. It was remarkable how his body moved with yours, matching every movement before you moved at all. His lips never left yours, his tongue rhythmically asking for passage to your mouth. It wasn’t as messy and guttural as one might think, but calculated to the point of making you wonder if this man was carefully made for you.
You moaned against his mouth, not able to control yourself. That made him bolder, hand moving to your leg and squeezing. You opened your legs more, allowing his body to come closer to you between them.
“Fuck”, he muttered when your lips separated. You already missed him, already craved him, more so than before. You bit your lower lip, holding in a smile. His forehead rested against yours, his breath ragged much like your own. “Let me fuck you”.
Yes.
“Wow”, you said, trying to remain serious instead of taking all your clothes off and bending over in a common area of the ship, “Won’t even buy me dinner first, huh?”
He laughed loudly, even though you were acting all serious.
Although Shanks’ laugh was no cause for concern at the Red Force, it was the dead of night in the middle of nowhere. You shushed him and put a finger to his lip, the universal “shut up” sign.
“Are you crazy? People will come here!”.
“Who cares?”, his voice sounded like a smile. Was that even possible? He kissed you gently as his hand caressed your thigh, making your sleeping gown raise and show more and more skin, which seemed to enchant him greatly. “I own everything around here, in case you haven’t heard”.
You let out a surprised sound. “You don’t own shit, boss”.
“Yeah, baby, talk dirty to me”, he gripped your thigh and kissed your neck playfully. You were giggling, happier than ever. The air was cold and the fantasy of moaning “boss” as Shanks was inside you had you hotter and even more bothered.
You two were giggling and kissing, enjoying this moment, not wanting it to end.
“Come to my chambers”, he said between kisses. His hand held you tightly, moving down towards your bum and squeezing every now and then. You always had a hunch the Captain was an ass man.
“People will know something’s up when they wake to see I’m gone and then see me coming out of your room”.
Your response only brought indifference. “And?”.
“Well, boss, I think having forty grown men prying won’t help us in any affair”, you separated from the kiss, holding his chin so his eyes could face yours. He was beyond beautiful, and a part of you, a possessive, unreasonable and irrational part of you, could only think mine, mine, mine, mine, mine. “And I’m pretty sure I’ll come back for more once I have a taste of you”.
“Don’t worry about them”, he replied. At this rate, with the hotness of your body, it would take very little talking to get you in his bed, despite your concerns. “We’re all that matters”, he kissed you lovingly, “Come with me”.
He took a step back and stretched out his hand.
You took it.
***
You had been in Shanks’ quarters more than once, but never in a situation like this. One time, he was so drunk he threw up and you found yourself cleaning up as he fell asleep on the floor. There was this other time, when you were so nervous after losing a stupid game, that he just locked you in the room as punishment. He said you were grounded or something, and you had to stay until you were no longer in homicidal mode. Everyone laughed, and you broke a couple things out of vengeance.
Now, however… This was different.
Shanks sat on his bed, not a care in the world. His cigarette went out, and he motioned to get another in his pocket, but thought twice. He looked at you, who were observing the maps on the walls, seemingly trying to play it cool, and chuckled.
You turned around and met his gaze.
One step and you were standing in front of him, between his legs he so gloriously man-spread.
He didn’t have to tell you to make yourself at home. You were home.
His hand touched you behind the knee, and you almost jumped in anticipation. He travelled upwards slowly, almost touching your butt and then not, just to go down your thighs again and repeat it all over again. It was torture. It was delicious.
You let your hands rest on his shoulders. His big, hard, muscular, manly shoulders. Damn, had he been working out?
He finally stopped playing around and pulled you closer. You straddled his lap, letting your core dangerously close to his, as his hand stayed on your butt.
“I’m definitely an ass guy”, the way he laughed was surprisingly wholesome. You couldn’t help but to laugh back.
“I knew it!”, you celebrated, raising your arms above your head.
Shanks took advantage of the movement, eye level with your tits, to kiss your chest gently. “But I have to admit, these make me wonder if I’m not a boob guy too”.
Your breath got caught in your throat.
You wanted him to do something, to just tear your clothes and take you. Your eyes were closed, savoring the moment, and your hand moved down to his signature red hair then to his shoulders and then back.
There was a beat of silence, of complete stillness. You were not even breathing as Shanks approached your chest and open mouthedly kissed your collarbone.
You looked down and met his gaze, a serious expression on his face. His eyes searched for any hesitation, any doubt in yours, but he didn’t find any. He wouldn’t find any. This was irrevocably what you craved, intensely and deeply.
You moaned when he resumed his ministrations on your skin. A gentle kiss near your chest, a peck on your neck. He explored with the expertise only a pirate could have.
Finally, he moved his hand to the front of your clothing and began to pull down. Once more his eyes searched you for a sign to stop.
You mouthed more without making a sound.
Ever so sweetly, he pulled your night gown down and freed your breasts. You let out a whimper as he let out an animalistic sound. His hand gripped your thigh as a lifeline as he drove right in, kissing the skin and then licking where his lips just were.
He nibbled at the soft skin of your chest, in a way you were sure would leave bruises, even if there was no force. The ghost of his lips would haunt you forever.
Without any warning, his hand pulled your clothes down to expose more skin. You moaned as he sucked one nipple, your pussy already clenching. At the same time you desperately wanted him to move south, you wanted this moment to last.
His hand was on your waist, holding you for dear life as you rocked your hips lightly, experimenting. The motion caused a positive reaction, you realized as the man let out a sigh.
“I have wanted this since I first laid eyes on you”, he confessed, moving to the other breast, licking and kissing and involving your nipple in his mouth. You moved your hips against him again, hoping to gain some relief, and he let out the prettiest moan you’d ever heard.
“You had me since you first laid eyes on me, boss”, you replied.
Your confession in between a shortened breath seemed to entice the man, for he lifted you off him with ease and threw you on the bed like a ragdoll. Then, almost as if he had read your mind, he ripped your night gown in half, exposing you to his fully clothed self. You gasped and his eyes darkened.
There was something about the power dynamic… Something about being on display for him whilst he was clothed. The need you felt was brutal. He was up on his knees, opening your legs to make space for him, with excellent balance for a man with only one arm.
Just like a damned clockwork, came a knock on the door.
Shanks growled in frustration. “I’m busy”, was his harsh response as he resumed his ministrations on your body. He lifted one foot and kissed it with such care and adoration it made your heart flutter and your pussy to clench around nothing.
“Just making sure everything’s alright, boss”, Benn’s voice came from the other side of the door, “You were nowhere to be found”.
“I’m in my room during the night! What’s wrong with that?”, he replied, still holding your leg up. You giggled at the situation, trying to remain quiet and failing.
Beckman’s scuff was followed by his footsteps, moving away from the room.
Truth be told, you had a hunch Shanks suffered from insomnia since long before you two had met. Meeting him in the dead of night, him offering to stay guard, all the parties that went well into the morning… The signs were clear.
It took one to know one, right?
Your heart was beating fast, but not only for the horniness. No. This had become something else the moment all the pieces of a puzzle connected in your head and you saw your Captain as not a myth, not a legend, not an Emperor or a pirate, but as a man. A flawed man, who had suffered so much in such a short life span. A man who looked at you and saw a version of yourself you’d grown to love.
“Where were we?”, he smiled down at you, still teasing and charming, but you just rested your leg down and pulled him in. He looked surprised, almost confused, for a moment, before you joined his lips and yours once more.
You hoped the kiss would convey the desire and all the feelings you couldn’t quite name.
The man murmured a ‘what’ as you pushed him down on the pillows and straddled him.
It was different, to say the least, to be on top fully naked as the man beneath you was fully clothed, but you didn’t really care, not when Shanks opened that smile. The one that had the entire world stopping just to see it for a second.
You rocked your hips and made a sound you couldn’t recognize as you began to kiss his chest, opening his shirt to see more of him. More, more, more.
You moved your body south, to the waistband of his pants. “These are ugly ass trousers, boss”, you commented, earning a laugh from him. “Maybe we should take it off… And then throw it into the ocean?”.
It was true, you really did hate those pants. But that was not the reason why you wanted them off.
Shanks scuffed jokingly. “You can do anything as long as you take ‘em off right now, love”.
The pet name caused your brain to short circuit for a beat. Love was a really strong word in your books. Yet, somehow, it felt like the most natural thing in the world.
You put a pin in those thoughts because there was something hard and hot calling you.
The pants were quickly discarded into the floor, along with his white shirt. The laziness in Shanks took over and he let you do most of the work, but you didn’t mind. Not when there was something so interesting hiding in those ridiculous pants. Not when every word he said was a holy command to you.
Your mouth went dry at the sight of Shanks, naked, laying in front of you like a five course meal. Not only that, but oh, his cock. You had no idea a dick could be that pretty. Long, thick, with a cute pink tip and veins that seemed put there by a skilled artist and not some randomness of nature.
All of him seemed straight off a painting, to be honest. Even his missing limb, the place where your gaze stayed for more than a second. Enough to make him touch it, trying to remain lighthearted but a little tense nonetheless.
“It’s an adjustment, really. The whole missing arm thing”, he said, tone playful, but you saw underneath it. There was pain lingering in his eyes. Physical pain, yes, but emotional pain too. There was a story there, one you hoped he would share whenever he was ready.
You just kissed his entire body, from his legs to neck. You purposely skipped his cock, hard and glistening with pre-cum. Your hands followed your mouth, until you felt you had touched him everywhere.
The last place you were going to caress was his left shoulder, the place where his arm used to be. As your mouth moved to it, he held your hair gently, stopping you.
“You don’t have to”, his voice was a whisper. There was a lot of emotion in his eyes, and you hoped he could see it in yours too.
“I want to”, you replied, confident he would stop you if he was uncomfortable. As long as you were concerned, though, all of him was made for your kisses, for your touches, for love.
He let go of your hair, hand still on your head when you pressed your lips there for the first time.
You looked at him to make sure everything was fine, and you were met with adoration. You proceeded, cocky smile growing in your face as you moved down his body again.
“Tease”, he messed with your hair, biting his lower lip.
If he hoped for an answer, he would be waiting for a long time. After all, you were face to face with his dick once more, mouth watering and the unholiest of thoughts going through your mind.
Surely, he had made another snarky comment by now, but you were too far gone to listen. You licked a stripe from his base to the tip, and he gifted you with a delicious moan, one that went straight between your thighs, adding to the wetness.
The licking and kissing part was easy. His dick was just too good and he even tasted good, too. But the sucking part could be a challenge, considering he was big and thick. You wouldn’t back down from a challenge, though. Oh, no.
You remained relaxed as you wrapped your lips around the tip, using your tongue to stimulate him even more. You used your hand as well, softly rocking the part of him you couldn’t fit in your mouth yet.
Even though you were relaxed, this was hard. Pun intended.
Words of affirmation showered from his mouth, ‘so good’, ‘that’s it’, ‘you’re so pretty’. But you were far too focused on making him lose his mind. You looked at him best you could in this position, and fit more of him in your mouth.
More, more, more.
His hand was caressing your hair before tugging on it, mindlessly trying to make you take more.
Captain’s orders, huh?
From the sheer size of him, you didn’t know if it would be possible, but you just relaxed your throat as you took more of him. Almost deepthroathing, almost all of him.
There was saliva everywhere, but neither you nor Shanks seemed to care. He was far gone, muscles contracting as you moved your head up and down a little, turning to the right and to the left simultaneously.
Finally, his eyes met yours again.
The sight was too much for him. He pulled your hair away from his cock and pulled you to him, kissing you with so much intensity your teeth hit his in one moment.
Your body was above his, and his one hand was everywhere. When he finally touched you between your legs, you separated the kiss to breathe. Just one touch and you were already melting in his hand.
“Not gonna last?”, he murmured in your ear, continuing to move his fingers through your folds, teasing your clit and then moving away, not letting any part of him go inside of you just yet. Your moan was a mix of a cry and a prayer. Him, him, him, it was all you could think.
You rocked your hips against his hand, trying to get more. More of something, more of anything, you just needed him.
Thankfully, Shanks was an experienced man and knew how to read a body. He lift himself, sitting against the headboard with you on top of him, both your hands holding his shoulders and legs on either side of his thighs. Your entrance was dangerously close to his cock, and you felt your pussy pulsing and your heart beating with anticipation, with want.
“You’re sure?”, Shanks whispered, searching for your eyes. No hesitation would be found there.
“What would you do if I said no?”, you joked, taking his cock in one hand to pump it once, twice, three times. He was half laughing from your comment, half moaning from the pleasure.
“Probably cry”, his words were playful, but his eyes were lustful, “and then jerk off”.
It was your turn to laugh, but the amusement was short lived, because he took advantage of your distraction to line himself and thrust his hips upwards, finally entering you.
A gasp from you. A grunt from him. You threw your head back as you lowered your hips slowly. It was a good thing you two had been flirting forever and the anticipation got you wetter than the entire freaking ocean, because your Captain had a big dick, and it was hard to take him.
Your cunt was pulsing, craving more of him. His hand rested on your hips, and he began moving and instructing you to move too. You tried rocking your hips, but it was too much. Your clit was right on his pelvis, and it was just too good.
Noticing you were a goner, Shanks took matters into his own hands. He pulled your body down, chest flushed with his, and began thrusting upwards in a delicious speed, starting out slow and the building. You let out little whimpers close to his ears, and each time you did he seemed to go even deeper.
You wanted nothing more than for this man to bury himself in you.
It would have been amazing to just lay on top of him as he fucked you with the precision of a professional. But you wanted more.
You lifted your torso, sitting on him. In doing so, both of you moaned loudly. For a second, you worried someone might hear. To Hell with them. There was only this moment, only this feeling.
You began riding him as if your life depended on it. Back and forth, hips dancing on top of your lover. The sounds were a perfect soundtrack to the moment.
You reached your hands from his chest, where they had been for support, to your own breasts, twitching your nipples and grabbing them to maximize the feeling.
The man looked starstruck to see you chasing your high, pleasuring himself, on his body. His mouth fell open the more you moved. He pressed his feet on the bed, grating you more stability as his thighs were behind you.
You let your hands fall behind you, to where his thighs were. The new angle was explosive.
The release you both craved so much was magnified by how long you both waited for this, to finally touch and feel each other. Once more, you found yourself desperate to get more but wanting the moment to last.
How does a moment last forever? You weren’t really sure, but when Shanks took advantage of the position to draw lazy circles on your clit, you were sure time stopped.
There would be a before and an after this.
No sound came out of your mouth as you surfed the waves of your orgasm. You didn’t even have time to let him know you were cumming, you just did. And it was a coreshaking, unbelievable feeling.
As your body trembled from the stimulation, Shanks lifted himself up, sitting more than laying down now. He hugged you, bringing your chest close to his face and seizing movement as you came down from your high.
Both your hands held his hair, and you opened your eyes to meet his.
You thought there’d be a before and an after because of the crazy orgasm, but you were wrong. The before and after would be from the look in his eyes.
You had seen adoration there before. Mischief, anger, annoyance, amusement. What you now saw, as he slowly began to thrust his hips upwards, were the four little letters that made a word you rarely said.
You couldn’t take your eyes off of him, not when he made you feel like the most beautiful woman alive. Not when he made you feel this good.
“Stand up and bend over”, his tone left no room for discussion.
“Ay ay, Captain”, you joked, sad to break contact but eager to see what was coming next. He scuffed and stood up too, going behind you and jokingly slapping your ass.
You caught a glimpse of his dick when he stood, all pink and glistening with arousal. Your mouth watered. Perhaps you should’ve thought about protection, but, eh. Once again, who cares? Your mind was far too hazy for worry.
His one hand touched your hips, forcing your face into the mattress and making your back arch even more. You turned your face, pressing your cheek on the soft blanket and putting both your knees on the bed, opening yourself up even more for him.
He stopped touching, and for a second, everything was quiet. Not even the ocean outside dared to make a sound.
When Shanks’ index finger moved gently through your entrance, collecting arousal, all the noise came back at once — the crashing of waves against the Red Force, his ragged breathing, something outside the room, your moans and whimpers.
He seemed pleased with your reaction, collecting your juices and his on his fingers before pushing two of them in. This man’s goal might just be to kill you. You tried looking back further, to catch a glimpse of his face.
He was so gorgeous it actually hurt. Sweat on his forehead, red hair falling on his forehead and eyes. Pecs so delicious it reminded you of a five course meal. His scars, his missing limp, all of it just made him more precious.
Your eyes met when his fingers left your pussy, and, without a word, he lined himself and pushed. Even a few moments without his dick made it harder for him to enter you again. He murmured something along the lines of ‘so tight’ before he began thrusting again.
Hips colliding against yours, time and time again. The force was almost brute, but you loved it. Was it possible to feel so passionate for a cock? Maybe, and if not, you were surely making the groundbreaking discovery that it was.
The position allowed him to go deeper, harder, and you both loved it. You were moaning, he was saying mumbled words affirming just how good you were for him.
“This cunt was made for me, love”, he said. “All mine”.
You shivered at the statement. Dear God, you felt the knot in your lower belly tightening again.
Shanks’ thrusts were sloppier, uncoordinated and impossibly harder. You loved the intrusion, the aggression. For all you cared at that moment, he could just tie you to the bed and fuck you until you melted into a puddle.
You clenched around him, purposefully. At that, he reacted with the prettiest moan you’d ever heard.
“Where do you want it?”, he asked and you loved that he did.
“Inside”, your voice was shakier than you expected. “Please, inside”, you just didn’t want him to leave you. You wanted all of him in you.
He squeezed your hips, pushing you flush on the bed and laying on top of you. Having a two meters man with his full weight above you was hard, but even more so, it was fun and warm and dirty. His hips kept pistoling into you.
His mouth was pampering kisses on your ear, and you could feel and hear his breathing.
He didn’t announce he was coming. Instead, he just thrusted so hard and so deep it made you let out a little scream. Ropes of white shot in you, and he kept moaning as his long release marked you as own.
It was the perfect moment for a declaration, but you needed to stay in this bubble where nothing else other than you two existed. You needed to just feel his chest against your back and his softening dick inside.
When he began moving to lay by your side, your hands flew behind you to keep him in place a little longer. “Stay”, you managed to say. “A little more, please”.
He didn’t answer, instead, he just complied. He just kissed the side of your face, gentle and loving.
A moment passed. Maybe two. It could have been years or seconds you stayed put beneath him, just feeling his body and his kisses.
When he finally left your body, you whimpered. He laid by your side, stomach up whilst your chest was down.
You were face to face, feeling each other's breath.
“Hi”, nonchalantly he said, a smile already growing.
“Hey”, you were able to let out. You felt absolutely destroyed and ready for more.
“Sleep here”, he begged, reaching for your hand. He pulled it to his lips and kissed it. Romantic.
You nodded, moving towards him, curling up on his chest. His cum was dripping, probably making a mess on his sheets. At least they weren’t your sheets.
The air felt lighter, somehow. His chest was moving up and down beneath your head when you cuddled even more in him.
The moonlight cast a pale light in the room.
***
“My thighs hurt”, was the first thing you said when he woke up and opened those beautiful eyes. You were already awake for a few minutes, and you had more than enough time to go to his mirror and check out the red bite and hand marks on your bottom.
Promptly, he guffewed. You took one of the many pillows on his bed to hit him with it.
“Shut up! Everyone will hear!”
“I think that ship has sailed, darling”, with only one hand and laying on his back, he still managed to be dexterous. After taking it from your hands, he threw the pillow away, smiling. “I wasn’t the one screaming last night”.
“Oh, that could be anyone of your floozys”, you brushed him off, crossing your arms and pouting like a child.
He played the offended part, gasping. If only there were pearls around his neck for him to clutch! You rolled your eyes, trying not to give him the satisfaction of a smile and failing miserably.
He pulled you closer, bringing your chest to his back, cuddling. An Emperor, cuddling. You never thought you’d see the day, and yet, it felt so natural. You let him adjust himself behind you, and you felt his morning hard on deliciously on your back.
His lips first met your shoulders, then your neck, and finally your ear. “You can be my floozy any time you want”, he whispered. The words themselves weren’t all that seductive, but the way he said it, morning voice raspy and the ghost of last night all over you… That was something else.
A part of you wished you could be more mysterious and hold in your laugh. With Shanks, you just couldn’t. Your smile, your laughter, it all came naturally. He had that effect on you, apparently.
You weren’t one to share your dreams and ambitions that easily, but, with your Captain, it felt as simple as breathing.
You rolled your hips against his morning wood, teasing him.
“Time for round two?”, he asked. His voice was all the stimulation you needed.
You turned to meet his face and join your lips.
“Out of how many?”, after a few pecs, you inquired. After all, a girl had a right to know if it was a one night and morning after thing, or more.
“How many numbers are there?”
“Infinite, as far as I know”
“There’s your answer”, he barely finished saying the words before kissing you deeply. He moved over you, towering over you the best he could with only one arm.
It wasn’t long before you were a mess of moans and orgasms again.
***
The morning came with an unbearable heat. You managed to sneak out of the Captain’s room and go to your chambers quietly, avoiding any prying gazes. Since he destroyed your clothing, you borrowed something of his. Now, out on the deck covered in sunlight going to the kitchen for a late breakfast, your tank top and shorts were soaked in sweat, and the entire crew was complaining when you joined them.
“Somebody opened the gates of hell”.
“I haven’t felt this hot since I snuck into an oven as a kid”.
You laughed as you reached for a muffin at the breakfast table.
In more ways than one, you were immensely grateful this was your life. Grown men bitching about the weather and all.
The door to the kitchen opened with little noise. If you weren't so deeply aware of Shanks’ presence at any given minute, you might have missed his quiet entrance. There were no good mornings, only a calm smile as he walked to the head of the table, passing through his trusted mates and yourself.
What you didn’t expect — and probably no one did — was that the Captain would stop behind your chair, hand on your shoulder, and lean down to give you a kiss on the cheek.
Intimate. Lovable.
Public.
Lucky Roux’s food fell from his fork. For a couple seconds, one could hear a pin drop. Perhaps they heard your heart too, almost beating out of your chest.
But then, as quickly as the silence came, it was gone.
The clinking of silverware, chairs moving and footsteps around the room, the laughter from Yasopp as Benn pointed to Roux and said “you owe me one hundred berries”. Shanks simply moved with ease through the room.
Oh, you were going to find out what were the terms of this bet later.
You looked over to where he sat at your side, at his usual place at the head of the table, and the look you were met with made your heart melt. You were sure by now your face was redder than his hair, but, to paraphrase your Captain, who the hell cares?
Amidst the common chaos, he mouthed in silence three little words to you, reaching out to hold your hand. Eight letters, so simple, yet it was everything. Your heart stopped for a second and, time again, the entire world faded. There were only you two. In all the years you’d known him, there were only ever you two. You held him back, smiling and blushing upon his gaze.
♡ summary: after two terrible days, all you want is to use your boyfriend as a mattress. unfortunately for you, gojo satoru is very easily distracted.
♡ warnings: 18+ mdni • explicit sexual content • established relationship • oral (f!receiving) • multiple orgasms • piv sex • praise • possessive language • dirty talk • creampie • fluff
♡ author’s note: this was inspired by a post from @silentlunarkiss based on this fanart 😭 i screenshotted it immediately because i knew i wanted to write it, then somehow lost the original post before i could tag them. finally found them again!! ♡
banner by @pixopix
The apartment is quiet when you finally drag yourself through the door, your work bag feeling like it weighs a thousand pounds. Your feet are killing you, your brain is fried, and all you want is to collapse into bed and not move for approximately twelve hours.
You kick off your shoes and shuffle down the hallway, already pulling your hair out of the bun you'd done up that morning, now mostly falling out on its own. The bedroom door is cracked open, and when you push it wider, you find exactly what you were hoping for.
Satoru is sprawled across the bed like a starfish, still wearing his teaching clothes—black pants and a rumpled button-down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. His blindfold is tossed carelessly on the nightstand, and his white hair is an absolute disaster, sticking up in every direction like he's been running his hands through it all day. His eyes are closed, one arm thrown over his face.
He looks as exhausted as you feel.
"Rough day?" you ask, and he groans without moving.
"The first years tried to fight a curse three grades above their level because Yuji said it 'looked easy,'" he mumbles into his arm. "I had to bail them out. Again. Then Megumi and Nobara got into an argument about mission protocol that somehow turned into a full-blown screaming match about who ate whose leftovers from the fridge. I had to separate them like they were toddlers."
Despite your exhaustion, you snort. "Sounds about right."
"And then," he continues, finally moving his arm to peek at you with one brilliant blue eye, "Yaga cornered me about paperwork I was supposed to file last week. Do you know how much I hate paperwork?"
"I'm aware." You're already moving toward the bed, unbuttoning your work pants. "You complain about it literally every time."
"Because it's the worst. I'm the strongest sorcerer alive. I shouldn't have to file incident reports."
"Mm-hmm, very tragic." You shimmy out of your pants and leave them in a heap on the floor—a problem for future you. Your blouse follows, leaving you in just your bra and underwear. "My day was also shit, for the record."
"Yeah?" He's watching you now with lazy interest, too tired to even sit up but still tracking your movements.
"My boss is an idiot, the coffee machine broke, I had to sit through a two-hour meeting that could've been an email, and Janet from accounting passive-aggressively cc'd the entire department on an email about someone stealing her lunch. Which, for the record, I didn't do, but she definitely thinks I did based on the way she was glaring at me."
"Want me to hollow purple Janet from accounting?" he offers, completely serious.
"Tempting, but no." You crawl onto the bed and without ceremony, flop directly on top of him, your full weight pressing him into the mattress. You bury your face in his chest with a long, dramatic groan. "I'm dead. This is me, dead."
"Hi, dead. I'm also dead." His arms come around you automatically, wrapping you up even though you're both too tired to really move. "We're both corpses now. This is our life."
"Our death," you correct, muffled against his shirt.
"Our death," he agrees solemnly.
For a moment, you just lie there, breathing in sync. He smells like his cologne mixed with the faint scent of the training grounds—sweat and grass and something distinctly him. It's comforting in a way you can't quite articulate. This exhausted, collapsed-together moment feels like home.
His hand starts moving on your back, slow and gentle, rubbing up and down your spine. It feels incredible, and you make an embarrassing sound of contentment that you'll deny later.
"You're tense as hell," he murmurs, fingers working at a knot between your shoulder blades.
"You try dealing with Janet's accusatory emails and see how relaxed you are," you mumble, but you're already melting into his touch.
"I'd just block her."
"You can't block coworkers, Satoru."
"You can if you're powerful enough." His hand slides lower, still rubbing your back, and you feel some of the day's tension starting to ease. "This okay?"
"It's perfect. You're my favorite human pillow."
"Just human pillow? Not devastatingly handsome boyfriend who you're lucky to have?"
"That's implied," you say, but you're smiling against his chest.
His other hand joins the first, both of them working at your tired muscles, and you honest-to-god almost start purring. This is exactly what you needed. Just this—him, the quiet apartment, his hands on you, the weight of the day slowly lifting.
But then his hands start to wander.
It's subtle at first. His fingers drift from your back to your sides, tracing the curve of your waist. Then lower, skimming over your hips. And then—
He grabs your ass. Both hands, full handfuls, squeezing appreciatively.
"Really?" you ask, lifting your head to look at him. "We're both dead, remember? Corpses don't grope."
"I'm a very motivated corpse." He squeezes again, shameless, and there's a grin tugging at his lips now. "Can't help it. You're lying on top of me in your underwear. What did you expect?"
"Self-control? Restraint? Basic human decency?"
"Baby, you know me better than that." His hands are still kneading your ass, and despite your sass, you can feel heat starting to pool low in your belly. "Besides, you love it."
"I love that you can't even wait until we've recovered from our respective terrible days before getting handsy?"
"Exactly." He's fully grinning now, that cocky, insufferable grin that makes you want to kiss him and smack him at the same time. "Your ass is the best stress relief. It's science."
"That's not science, you idiot."
"It's my science."
You snort, but you're not moving away. His hands are warm and familiar, and honestly, after the day you've had, this isn't the worst thing in the world. You let your head drop back to his chest, eyes drifting closed.
"Comfortable?" he asks, voice softer now.
"Mmm," you hum in agreement. "Don't stop."
"Wasn't planning on it."
For a while, it's just quiet. His hands keep moving—sometimes squeezing, sometimes just resting there, thumbs drawing lazy circles. You can hear his heartbeat under your ear, steady and strong. The tension in your shoulders is almost completely gone now, replaced by a different kind of warmth, something slower and heavier.
You're half-asleep when you feel it—the unmistakable hardness pressing against your hip.
"Satoru," you mumble, not even opening your eyes.
"Hmm?"
"Are you seriously getting hard right now?"
There's a pause. Then he says, "...Maybe."
You lift your head to look at him, one eyebrow raised. He has the decency to look slightly sheepish, but there's heat in his eyes now, that familiar hunger that never really goes away when it comes to you.
"We were having a nice moment."
"We still are."
"You've got a boner."
"I do…That doesn't cancel the nice moment."
You stare at him for another second before letting out a laugh.
"Seriously?"
"What?"
"I come home exhausted, use you as a human mattress for ten minutes, and somehow I'm the problem?"
"You are absolutely the problem."
"I literally haven't done anything."
"You climbed on top of me, got all comfy, made that little happy humming noise, and then fell asleep on my chest."
"I hummed?"
"You hummed."
"I don't hum."
"You do when you're really comfortable."
You narrow your eyes. "I've never noticed that."
"I have."
You glare at him.
"…Baby." He exhales dramatically, like he's carrying the weight of the world. "You're makin' me so hard."
You snort. "You're unbelievable."
"I'm trying to be respectful."
"Are you?"
Silence.
"…No." He grins without an ounce of shame. "Not really."
Despite yourself, you laugh again, dropping your forehead back against his shoulder.
"You're ridiculous."
"I know."
His arms tighten around you just a little. "But you look so comfortable."
His voice is quieter now. "So happy."
You burrow your face further into his shoulder.
"…I like when you're like this."
You feel yourself smile before you can stop it. "You're such a sap."
"Only for you."
There's a comfortable silence. Then his hands drift just a little bit lower again.
"…Okay," you mumble. "Now you're definitely not being respectful."
"No." He gives your ass another shameless squeeze. "I'm definitely not."
Before you can respond, he's sitting up, keeping you in his lap, and capturing your mouth in a kiss that's hungry and demanding. You can taste his desperation, feel it in the way his hands grip you like he's afraid you're going to disappear.
When he pulls back, his lips are already swollen, his eyes are dark with want. "I need to taste you," he says, and it's not a request. "Get up here."
"Up where—"
But he's already moving, sliding down the bed and pulling you with him. "On my face. Come on."
"Satoru—"
"Please." And there it is, that needy edge that makes your stomach flip. "I've been thinking about this all day. About you sitting on my face, riding my tongue until you come. Please, baby. I need it."
How are you supposed to say no to that?
"You're ridiculous," you say, but you're already moving, letting him position you. He's lying flat on his back now, looking up at you with such raw want that it makes you shiver.
"Not ridiculous. Desperate." His hands come up to grip your thighs, pulling you forward. "Now stop stalling and sit on my face."
"Bossy," you mutter, but you're lowering yourself down, and then—
"Oh fuck," you gasp as his tongue makes contact, sliding through your folds in one long, deliberate stroke.
He groans under you, the vibration going straight to your core, and his hands tighten on your thighs. "That's it," he mumbles against you. "Right there. Don't move."
But you're already moving, you can't help it, grinding down against his mouth as he licks and sucks and devours you like a man starving. His grip on your thighs is almost bruising, holding you exactly where he wants you, and when you try to lift up, worried about suffocating him, about being too much—he just pulls you back down harder.
"Satoru—"
"Stay," he demands, voice muffled. He pulls his face back to look up at you. "Fuck my face. Come on, baby, I can take it. Give it to me." Then he lowers his mouth to you again.
It's obscene, the wet sounds of his mouth on you, the way he's completely lost in it. His tongue circles your clit, then dips inside you, then back to your clit, and you're already shaking, already so close.
"That's it," he encourages, and you can hear the smugness in his voice even now. "You're dripping, baby. such a mess on my face."
"Shut—up," you gasp, but there's no heat in it because he's right—you can feel how wet you are, can feel it on his chin, his lips, and it should be embarrassing but it's just hot.
"Make me," he challenges, and then he's sucking your clit into his mouth, hard, and you cry out.
Your hands fly to the headboard, gripping the edge to steady yourself as the pleasure intensifies. You start to really move now, riding his face with purpose, and he moans underneath you like this is exactly what he wanted all along.
"Fuck, yes," he groans against you, the vibration making you gasp. "Just like that. Use me, baby. Take what you need."
His hands guide your hips, encouraging the rhythm, and his tongue is relentless—circling, flicking, pressing flat against you in a way that makes your thighs shake. You can feel yourself getting closer, that coil of heat tightening in your belly.
"Satoru, I'm—fuck—"
"Do it," he demands, voice rough. "Come on my face.”
His tongue flicks rapidly over your clit, and that's all it takes. Your orgasm crashes through you in waves, pleasure rolling through your entire body. You're grinding down against his mouth, riding it out, and he's groaning underneath you like this is the best thing that's ever happened to him.
When you finally come down, shaking and oversensitive, you try to move off him, but his hands tighten on your thighs.
"Not yet," he mumbles, pressing soft kisses to your inner thighs, your hip bones, anywhere he can reach. "Just—give me a second. You taste so fucking good."
"You're gonna kill me," you pant, but you're smiling.
But he's already diving back in, and you gasp as his tongue finds your clit again. Your whole body jolts at the sensitivity, but he doesn't let up—he's relentless, his hands gripping your thighs to keep you steady as he works you over. The pleasure is almost too much, bordering on overwhelming, and you're already moaning his name.
"Satoru—fuck—it's too much—"
"I know, baby," he groans against you, the vibration sending another wave through you. "But you can take it."
He's eating you out like he's starving, like he can't get enough, and your whole body is shaking. Your hands grip the headboard tighter, your hips moving against his mouth almost involuntarily. The pleasure is building again, impossibly fast, and you're gasping and moaning as he works you toward another orgasm.
"Oh god—Satoru—I'm gonna—"
"That's it," he encourages, his tongue flicking faster.
Your second orgasm hits you like a wave, even more intense than the first, and you're crying out as pleasure crashes through you. Your thighs are shaking so hard you can barely hold yourself up, and he's groaning underneath you, clearly getting off on how much he's affecting you.
When you finally collapse, completely spent and oversensitive, he finally releases you, and you fall onto the bed next to him, breathing hard and trembling.
"And I'm dramatic?" He's grinning like he just won the lottery, his face wet, his hair a complete disaster. "That was—fuck. I love you, baby."
"You're insane," you say, but you're pulling him in for a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips.
"About you? Absolutely." His hands are already roaming again, cupping your face, then sliding down your sides. "But I'm not done with you yet."
"Oh really?"
"Really." He's kissing you again, slower this time, deeper. When he pulls back, there's something vulnerable in his expression beneath all the confidence. "You have no idea what you do to me."
"Then show me," you challenge, and his eyes darken.
"Oh, baby."
He's fumbling with his pants, shoving them down along with his boxers, and his cock springs free—flushed and hard and already leaking. You reach for him, wrapping your hand around his length, and he hisses.
"Fuck, baby—"
"What?" You stroke him slowly, base to tip, and he's already trembling.
"Your hands—shit—they're so much smaller than mine. Look so good wrapped around my cock."
"Yeah?" you tease, giving him another slow stroke.
"Yeah." His voice is strained.
He gently removes your hand, pressing a kiss to your palm, and then he's pulling you against him. His arms wrap around you, one hand sliding up your back, the other gripping your hip possessively. You can feel him, hard and hot against your thigh, and he's just... holding you there.
"Satoru—"
"Give me a second," he murmurs, his voice already rough. His breathing is uneven against your neck, and you can feel the tension in his body—the way he's trying to maintain control. "Just—fuck—you feel so good.”
His hips shift slightly, and you feel the length of him drag against you—not entering, just the pressure of him sliding through your wetness. The friction makes you gasp, and he groans.
"There it is," he breathes. "That sound. The little gasp you make when I—" He does it again, a slow roll of his hips, grinding against you. "When I touch you just right."
"Satoru, please—"
"Please what?" His hand slides down to grip your ass, pulling you tighter against him. "Tell me what you want, baby."
"You know what I want."
"I do." Another slow grind, and you can feel how wet you are, how easily he slides against you. "But I wanna hear you say it. Love the way your voice gets all breathy when you're desperate for me."
"You're killing me—"
"Good." He's kissing your neck now, teeth grazing your pulse point. "You've been killing me all day. All week. Every time you look at me with those eyes, every time you smile at me like I'm the only person in the world—fuck, baby, you have no idea."
His voice is shaking now, and you realize he's not teasing anymore—he's barely holding on. The head of his cock catches at your entrance, and you both freeze.
"I can't—" His forehead drops to your shoulder. "I can't think straight around you. Can't control myself. You just—you exist, and I'm gone."
"Then stop trying to control it," you whisper, and you feel him shudder.
"Fuck." He shifts, lining himself up properly, and then he's pushing in—slowly, so slowly. The stretch is intense, pleasure edged with the sweetest hint of pressure as he fills you inch by inch. "Fuck, baby. You feel so good. So tight. So perfect."
"Satoru—"
"I know. I've got you." He's only halfway in, taking his time, letting you adjust. His forehead is still pressed to your shoulder, and you can feel how much restraint this is taking him—the way his muscles are tense, the way his breath comes in short gasps. "You're taking me so well. You always take me so well."
Finally, finally, he's fully seated inside you, and you both just breathe for a moment, adjusting to the feeling of being completely connected.
"Okay?" he asks, lifting his head to look at you.
"Yes baby," you manage. "You can move.”
"Thank fuck." He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in. The drag of his cock against your walls makes you gasp, and he groans. "That sound. Fuck, I love that sound."
He sets a steady rhythm, deep and deliberate, each thrust making you feel impossibly full. His hands are everywhere—cupping your face, tangling in your hair, gripping your hips—like he can't decide where he wants to touch you most.
"You're so beautiful like this," he murmurs, watching your face. "All flushed and breathless. The way your eyes get all hazy when I'm inside you—fuck, it drives me crazy."
"Satoru—"
"I love you so much." His voice is rough with emotion now, not just desire. "Love everything about you. The way you feel, the way you look at me, the way you let me have you like this—"
"I love you too," you gasp, and his hips stutter.
His eyes squeeze shut for a moment, and when he opens them again, there's something raw there.
"Say it again."
"I love you."
"Fuck." His pace falters, becomes less controlled. "You can't—you can't just say it like that when I'm inside you. You're gonna—shit—"
"You feel so good," you tell him, cupping his face. "So perfect. You always make me feel so good."
His breath catches, and suddenly he's kissing you desperately, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper, less measured.
"You're everything," he gasps against your mouth. "Everything to me. The way you trust me, the way you look at me like I'm—fuck, baby, I can't—"
"You are," you insist, and his composure cracks completely.
"Fuck—" He's moving faster now, hitting that spot inside you that makes you see stars. "Love how you fit around me. Like you were made for me. Like we were made for each other."
"We were," you gasp, and his eyes flash with something fierce and possessive.
"Damn right we were." He shifts slightly, changing the angle, and suddenly every thrust is devastating. "There it is. That's the spot, isn't it?"
"Yes—fuck—right there—"
"I know, baby. I know." His voice is breaking now, emotion and desire tangled together. "Gonna make you come again. Wanna watch your face when you—fuck—when you come because of me."
The pleasure is building so quickly you can barely breathe. Your hands clutch at his shoulders, his back, trying to anchor yourself as he drives into you again and again.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face like he's memorizing it. "I can feel you getting tighter. You're close, aren't you? So fucking close."
"Don't stop—"
"Never." One of his hands slides between your bodies, his thumb finding your clit and rubbing in tight circles. "Come for me, baby. Let me feel it. Let me see you."
The combination of his cock hitting that perfect spot and his thumb on your clit is too much. Your orgasm hits you hard, pleasure crashing through you in waves that make your whole body tense and shake. You're clenching around him, and he groans at the sensation.
"Fuck, yes," he breathes, still moving, fucking you through it. "That's it. That's my girl. You're so good. So beautiful. Fuck, I love you so much."
When you finally start to come down, gasping and trembling, you expect him to follow you over the edge. But instead, he slows his movements, pressing soft kisses to your face.
"Satoru—"
"Not done with you yet," he murmurs against your lips.
Before you can respond, he's pulling out and lifting your legs, draping them over his shoulders. The new position opens you up completely, and when he pushes back in, he's somehow even deeper than before.
"Oh fuck—" you gasp, and he groans.
"There we go." He starts moving again, and this angle is devastating. Every thrust feels impossibly deep, hitting places that make your toes curl. "How's that, baby? That good?"
"Yes—fuck—Satoru—"
"I love you so much," he says, his voice rough. "You know that? I'm never letting you go. You're mine. Always gonna be mine."
"Yours," you agree breathlessly, and something in his expression goes even more intense.
"That's right." His thrusts are harder now, more purposeful. "Gonna take care of you. Gonna make you feel so good. Gonna love you for the rest of my life."
His hand moves to your stomach, pressing down, and suddenly his eyes go wide. He can feel himself inside you, the bulge of his cock with each thrust, and something feral takes over his expression.
"Holy shit," he breathes, completely mesmerized. His hand traces the outline, feeling himself move in and out of you, and he starts fucking you even harder, unable to look away. "Look at that. Look at you taking me so deep."
You're already building toward another orgasm, the intensity of this angle and his words and the way he's looking at you like you're the most incredible thing he's ever seen—it's all too much.
He's transfixed, watching his cock disappear inside you again and again, feeling the movement under his palm. His breathing is ragged, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Can you feel that, baby?" he asks breathlessly, his voice completely wrecked. "Fuck—I'm so fucking deep—you feel that?"
You look up at him with half-shut glazed eyes, your mouth parted open, completely fucked out. "Yes—fuck—yes, Satoru, I feel it—"
He groans at the sight of you—at how thoroughly wrecked you look, at the way you're falling apart beneath him. "You're so hot. So fucking hot. The way you look right now—fuck—I'm obsessed with you."
He's fucking you harder now, more urgently, his hand still on your stomach feeling himself move inside you with each thrust. The visual seems to drive him wild, and his movements become almost desperate.
"Come for me again," he demands, his other hand finding your oversensitive clit. "I know you can. I know you've got one more in you. Come on, baby. Give it to me."
"Satoru—I can't—it's too much—"
"You can." His thumb presses harder, circling your clit. "You can, baby. I need you to.”
The pleasure is building impossibly fast, almost painful in its intensity. You're so sensitive from your first two orgasms that every thrust, every touch feels magnified.
"That's it," he encourages, watching your face. "I can see it. You're right there. Just let go, baby.”
His voice is breaking, his control completely shattered, and then something raw escapes from him.
"I want you—" His hips snap forward harder. "Fuck—want all of you.”
His composure finally snaps.
"They've been on my ass my whole life about the bloodline. About heirs. About duty." Another hard thrust, his voice is cracking. "And I never—fuck—never wanted it."
He's breathing hard, almost gasping between words.
"Not until you."
His forehead drops closer to yours, his movements becoming more frantic.
"Only you. Want to marry you—want to wake up to you every day—want to call you my wife and—ah—know you're mine—"
Your orgasm crashes through you even harder, triggered by his words, by the desperation in his voice, by the sight of him completely undone above you. You're clenching around him so tight he gasps, your whole body shaking with the intensity.
"Fuck, yes—" He's just… staring at you, still moving, still feeling himself inside you. "So beautiful—The way your face—the way you sound—fuck—"
The sight of you completely wrecked under him, the feeling of you clenching around him, the way you gasp his name—it pushes him over the edge.
"Ah—fuck—fuck—fuuckk—" He buries himself as deep as he can go and comes hard, spilling into you in hot pulses. His whole body shudders with the intensity of it, and you can feel him throbbing inside you, can feel the warmth spreading.
He collapses on top of you, careful not to crush you but clearly boneless. For a while, you just breathe together, sweaty and satisfied.
"Holy shit," you mumble.
"Yeah." He's pressing kisses all over your face—your forehead, your cheeks, your nose, your lips. He can’t seem to stop touching you, his hands running over your skin like he needs the contact. "You're amazing. Incredible. Best girlfriend in the entire world."
"Best girlfriend, or best pussy?" you tease, and he pulls back to look at you with mock offense.
"Both. Definitely both." He's grinning now, that soft, genuine smile that he only gives you. "But mostly you. I love you. Like, so much. An embarrassing amount."
"I love you too, you needy disaster."
"Your needy disaster," he corrects, and he's still touching you, hands running over your skin like he can't bear to stop. "Mine now. No takebacks."
"Wouldn't dream of it," you say softly, and you mean it.
He pulls you closer, tucking you against his chest, and you can hear his heartbeat starting to slow. The exhaustion from earlier is creeping back in, but it's different now—satisfied, content, the good kind of tired.
"We should probably shower," you murmur, but you're already half-asleep.
"Later," he mumbles into your hair. "Right now I just wanna hold you."
"Clingy."
"Yep." He doesn't even sound ashamed. "You're stuck with me. Forever. Hope you're ready for that."
"I think I can manage," you say, smiling against his chest.
And as you drift off in his arms, you think that yeah… you can definitely manage. This ridiculous, needy, perfect man is yours, and you wouldn't have it any other way.
with such a guilt in my heart i say i couldn't take it anymore , what would i do if i feel powerless in my own country? why am i the anti nationalist for questioning the government? is 20 deaths of innocent people are not enough to take accountability? this is not suicide this is a murder! why am i begging for a good education system? when will the system serve me! when im gonna be lifted off the weight of not able to do anything when you know so much things. how do the government feel while celebrating independence day while it is becoming a dictatorship rather than democracy? why do the government mistreat the largest population of the country? these question are left unanswered because they fell into the deaf's ears. please , all we are asking is for a better system , do not let anyone be the victim for the scam again
𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒌 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒇𝒂𝒍𝒈𝒂𝒓 𝒅. 𝒘𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒂𝒘 𝒉𝒂𝒕𝒆𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖⠀﹒୨𝑒 slight angst, 𝒇𝒘𝒃!𝒍𝒂𝒘, insecure reader, misunderstandings !! based on this ask
you weren't trying to eavesdrop. really, you weren't. you were just walking down the hallway of the polar tang when you heard law's smooth voice from the half-open infirmary room door.
"i can't stand her."
your steps stopped before your brain could catch up.
the laugh that followed—one of the crew members, probably penguin—sounded muffled behind the rushing in your ears. then, law spoke again, sharper this time. "she's always in my head. it's annoying."
and that was enough.
he obviously meant you—i mean, you were the only woman on the polar tang.
your chest constricted in that embarrassing manner it was only able to do in the presence of him. becoming friends with benefits was supposed to be easy. no strings, no jealousy, and no foolish little hopes that grew in your heart each time he brought you into his lap or gave you a gentle kiss.
you shoul've known better.
so you left before you could hear anything else.
. ˚ * ⠀ ུ ຼㅤ ❀ .
law noticed immediately when you started avoiding him.
no more late-night calls. no more showing up in his room weaing one of his shirts and pretending your pajamas were all dirty. no more letting him pull you closer.
after three days, he finally managed to corner you in the kitchen when everybody else fell asleep. you took your job of avoiding him seriously, you even skipped dinner if it meant not looking at his face.
"you're ignoring me."
you shrugged without lookin up from the mug in your hands. "thought you couldn't stand me. was just doing you a favour."
he kept quiet for a couple of seconds. then, he said:
"what the fuck are you talking about?"
you laughed, but it came out a shaky huff. "i heard you talking to penguin the other night."
law stared at you for a full five seconds before dragging a hand down his face. "oh my god."
"weird way of saying thank you—"
"i wasn't saying i hate you." he stepped closer, brows furrowed like he was genuinely irritated you'd come to that conclusion. "i said i can't stand how much i think about you."
your breath caught.
he continued, quieter now. his arms lowered to grab your hands into his bigger ones, a small sigh escaped your throat when you felt the grounding warmth of his palms. "you're everywhere. in my room, in my clothes, on the ship, all over my fucking head." his eyes flickered down to yours. "it is distracting."
suddenly, the kitchen felt too small.
"so..." you said, carefully, "you don't hate me?"
law looked almost offended. then, he tightened his grip and pulled you into him, muttering against your forehead: "you're unbelievable."
you laughed, relieved and warm and a little teary-eyed. he kissed you just to shut you up.
ღ summary: Your (not so) quiet crush on Sanji through Nami’s eyes
ღ pairing: Sanji x fem!reader
ღ warnings: Disgusting(ly bad) flirting :D not an established relationship but they act like a couple anyway! reader with long-ish hairr, she's chalant af
Nami finds out about your crush on Sanji during girls night.
You don’t know what was better, when no one knew about this thing you had for him, or having your best friend aware, which meant that you finally had someone else to rave on about Sanji and everything that he is.
She calls you “lame”, but the truth is that you are helpless.
You’re seated on a twirly chair in front of the vanity, right foot up on the cushioned surface to better polish your toes. They’re a vivid coral, matching the ones on your fingers. Nami’s lying upside down on her cot across from you, hands behind her head and feet up against the wall like it’s nobody’s business. She's finished her toes already, all coated in a beautiful teal that compliments her hair.
Everything is perfect tonight. As perfect as being bountied pirates on a ship can get. The flower scented candles around the girls’ cabin run warm, making sweetness blossom around the room. Your beds are made perfectly, pillows fluffed up just the way you like it. You and Nami move with an unspoken understanding, of unwinding and finally taking time to yourselves after a day full of adventure.
The sound of the sea has been quietly lulling the two of you into peace, though you have to delay your sleep for an extra hour of chatting away your complaints.
Girls night always welcomes honesty—when you and Nami can talk about everything the boys would never understand. And she’s being real truthful alright, hand enthusiastically waving around like a maestro to her own words.
And of course, the current topic of conversation was the blonde, women-loving cook in your crew.
Nami can be blunt, to say the least. It’s what you appreciate most about her, although you wish she’d soften her words up just a little bit.
Or maybe try to see him the way you do.
“He’s a lot.”
She’s talking about typical Sanji behavior. The incessant flirting, the hovering and his I-live-to-serve-women attitude, which she’s convinced is some type of overcompensation.
You definitely don’t think it’s annoying. If anything, you think it’s really sweet that he tries his hardest to impress Nami.
Matter of fact, you love it when he tries to impress the girls on this ship. Fortunately for you, the only two available ones include an independent, no-bullshit navigator who doesn’t easily fall for his smooth-talking. Now that just leaves him to focus more of his affection onto you, and you absolutely love being the center of his attention.
You bite your lips, trying to hold back your laughter. “I mean, he’s intense for sure.”
She rolls her eyes at your attempts to soften her complaints, and she truly can’t find it in her to understand why you would defend the cook. “Annoying.”
“I think it’s kind of cute.”
A beat of silence.
And then Nami literally whips her head to face you so fast you’d think you were a treasure made of a trillion berries.
The sight she’s greeted with is one she will never forget. And not in a pleasant way, because you look positively, 100%, absolutely sure about the words you just uttered out of your mouth.
You’re hugging both your legs up to your chest, lips still bitten in a silent restraint. You’re actually melting into yourself, lost somewhere in the clouds as you swing yourself right and left in your chair.
Where do you even begin?
From memorizing your likes and dislikes,—and not just about food—attending to your needs, whether you voice them or not, and genuinely wanting to know you for who you are. Sanji somehow manages to embrace who you were, who you are now and who you hope to become in the future, all in the same breath.
He is never quiet with the way he loves. God forbid he doesn’t worry about others for even one day. He’s dramatic, over-the-top, theatrical. All the synonyms of spectacular you can find in the dictionary. But also grounded, selfless, and so genuine that it makes your teeth ache and your heart clench erratically.
Sanji treats you with a kind of gentleness that makes you think you’re the most precious diamond in the Blue Sea. You are. To him. He never ceases to convince you of so.
So it’s an absolute no-brainer that you think he is the one for you. If not the only man ever. And, the fact that you aren’t alone in this fortifies your belief. You and Sanji have your own thing. A quiet game that only you seem to understand the rules of. A kind of connection that isn’t defined by or bound to labels; one that grew from quiet glances and secret smiles. The others may not notice—for now. They’d probably brush it off as you being kind to Sanji and finding genuine friendship in him.
But you like it that way, and you really, really like him. You don’t need to say it out loud, because you’re sure he knows you do. You’re content with what you have because you can feel it that he reciprocates.
You are his just as much as he is yours.
“Say that again.” Nami pumps out the sentence like she can’t believe her own ears. She’s fully upright now, propping her upper body with her hands. She leans towards you as if it’ll make her hear better.
“I think..” you mimic her pose and lean your chest forward, palms resting on both knees as if preparing to tell her a secret, “—that he’s kind of cute.”
It’s he, now. Not it, anymore.
God, you are hopeless. And crazy.
“You’re kidding.” The navigator hits you with the most deadpan stare you’ve ever seen her muster in her life.
Nami tries to look back at all your past interactions with Sanji. From the first time you joined the crew to the most recent ones. Then it all clicks for her—like a puzzle piece to answer a question she’s never bothered to ask.
It starts with the way you get quiet when Sanji’s around, a secret smile and an undeniable warmth seldom missing from your face. Gosh, you’re so shy when he talks to you sometimes. It’s crazy that it didn’t register to her because you’re typically always so sure of yourself. Then it’s how you never, ever brush off his attempts at flattery. How your sweet compliments always seemed to be drowned out by Luffy’s shouts and Zoro’s arguing. She looks back at the way you naturally gravitate towards him. It didn't matter if you were on the ship, jumping from island-to-island, in the middle of a fight or simply lounging around with the rest of the crew, you always found your way right beside him.
Huh.
It was all in her face the entire time. Loud and apologetic. She feels silly at the fact that she’s never thought to even look because she couldn’t fathom that any woman could genuinely put up with him. And you never denied anything either—not when there wasn’t anything to deny in the first place.
Her words set you off like a pirate looking for the one piece.
“Nami don’t you ever dream of a guy who’ll sweep you off your feet?”
You’re breathless, absolutely lost in your own daydreams as you twirl around your chair with a force that could blow the Going Merry across the Grand Line. There are stars in your eyes, genuinely. Your hands shoot up in a rainbow above your head, and your body melts further into the seat.
Something’s definitely gotten into you.
“And Sanji’s that guy for you?!” She exclaims. You watch her go through all the 7 stages of grief in the span of 3 seconds.
You laugh at her silliness, and then you’re back to swooning again.
It was as if she’d unlocked your inner beast. A lovesick, crazy girl who was spouting her dreams of romance and everything that was butterflies and rainbows. A woman who was absolutely mooning over Sanji.
From then on the navigator makes it her mission to uncover where this crush of yours came from. She can try asking the rest of the crew, but she’s 98% sure the boys are oblivious to this, or simply aren’t as perturbed as she is. (Because how has no one questioned this before?!)
Starting wasn’t hard. At all. Turns out you and Sanji are shameless. It just takes the right time for someone to pay attention and see how deep the connection runs between the two of you.
It happens bright and early a few days later. Nami—by instinct or intuition—woke up to an empty cabin. Your bed looked freshly mussed, like you couldn’t be bothered to tidy it up before getting up. She looked through the small window, greeted by the sight of the barely peeking sun in the darkness of the horizon. Way too early for anyone to be up. Except for Sanji, who she knows is already prepping for breakfast in the galley. And conveniently, you seem to be missing in action as well. It doesn't take much to put two and two together.
She catches you right as you are entering the kitchen.
Of course, Sanji is already busying himself on the counter, chopping an array of fresh fruits into—what Nami can’t see—hearts.
“Mon trésor.”
It barely takes a second for you to enter before Sanji is calling out to you, gaze immediately snapping towards your figure. He doesn’t need his sight to know that it’s you. He can’t admit that it’s because he’s memorized the weight of your steps on the ship, and the sweet scent of your perfumed clothes.
A lit cigarette hangs off from his lips, though he quickly puts it away when you make your way to the dining table.
You rub your eyes tiredly, hand then moving down to hug yourself closer in an attempt to chase some warmth. “Hi, Sanji.”
He’s melting at the sight of you.
This might just be his favorite part of the morning, second only to when you start talking to him. You’re in your pajamas still, shirt hanging loosely over your bare shoulders. Absolutely radiant, and so domestic. You can barely open your eyes in the morning sun, and the way you carry yourself feels heavier, but more honest. Relaxed. A good sign that you slept well.
Sanji doesn’t fight off the small flush that makes itself known across his face.
“Do you know that every time you say my name an angel gains its wings?”
You grin at the early morning flattery while you settle down on your seat. You could look like the messiest thing on the ship and Sanji will find a way to compliment you regardless. “Heaven must love me,”
“Heaven would be a fool not to love you, darling.” It doesn’t take even a beat for him to answer, and the cook puts down his knife to come closer. He makes a point to lean his face down to yours to greet you with an open teeth grin.
And that genuinely brings a giggle out of you, leaving Nami mildly disgusted.
When he's finally seen your smile, he returns back to the stove, slathering butter over the surface of a pan. The familiar rich aroma and the oddly calming sizzling sound makes you soften into yourself. You slouch onto the countertop, folding your elbows into each other and laying your chin on top. “I take it that this is a good morning for you?”
“Everyday better when I see your beautiful face.” He curls his lips into a smile, sneaking a quick glance at you before winking.
Thank goodness he goes back to focusing on the pan because you are already throwing your face away to the sea, pursing your lips in a barely restrained smile before burying yourself into the crook of your arms, releasing a hidden breath.
Sanji, that sly man, takes a quick peek from his shoulders. Seeing you, confident you, turn into a flustered puddle from his words makes him puff up so quickly. He wears his pride so boldly on his chest. No one could tell him anything for the rest of the day, and it was insufferable.
Unbeknownst to you, he’s already started on your breakfast. He knows that you’re an early riser, and that you will almost always seek him out first thing in the morning. So everyday he sets out your breakfast ingredients and preps as much as he can. He doesn’t start cooking them before he sees your face, because he only wants the most warm and freshly cooked meal for you.
You notice it though, the way he always serves you first, no matter the time and place. Dinner? A plate of the finest meat for you first (Luffy hates it.) Going over logs with Nami? All the snacks you like are immediately placed in front of you, and a drink to compliment it following behind. He always thinks about your needs first, and if that isn’t love then you don’t know what to believe.
Just as you are in the middle of your daydreaming, Sanji interrupts with the sound of cutlery against porcelain. He’s plating up your mouth-watering breakfast, made to absolute perfection.
“For you madam, golden brown honey toast with freshly whipped cream on top,” he dishes out the plate in front of you, and the aroma itself sends you straight to heaven. “—extra fruit, just the way you like it.”
You didn’t think it was possible to fall deeper in love with him, but you’re proven wrong once you see the fruits that decorate your toast, all of them heart shaped. Both hand-cut and perfectly uniform using the cutter he specifically bought to use for your meals.
You gasp in exaggeration, though deep inside you’re aching about how sweet he is to remember your preferences. “You spoil me,”
“Only the best for my favorite Strawhat.” He answers, pouring you a glass of freshly brewed coffee.
You’re in the middle of cutting your toast in half when you look up at him, teasing by saying, “Don’t let the captain hear you say that.”
Sanji exclaims back to you in all his confidence, turning away as he places the pot on the counter. “Bah! One sirloin steak and he’ll forgive me like it never happened.”
Your giggle is like the brightest melody in his ears, and the words that follow it could bring him back from the dead. “Thank you, my chef~”
“You know my heart can’t take it,” He playfully sighs out your name, clutching his chest. Sanji stands across the table now, resting his chin on his hand against the counter top. Just happy to watch you.
“Delicious!” You continue to shoot honeyed words at him, not just as a means for him to keep sweet-talking you, but also because you think Sanji deserves all the love and goodness of this world.
“Sing me your praises, my angel of music,”
Nami can almost see him propel himself to the sky with giddiness.
“So perfectly crunchy,”
“—and I’m yours forever.” He takes your hand in his from across the aisle, pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles as he looks up at you.
Nami felt chills sweeping up her spine.
You guys were so cheesy. But sort of.. cute. That was something she couldn’t deny. She’s never seen Sanji this genuine, and when someone actually reciprocates, it makes him look less like a fool.
And the way you were bouncing back and forth on each other was like a sick game of ping-pong she couldn’t look away from.
She couldn’t figure out for the life of her why you two aren’t together already. It’s perfectly clear that you both feel the same way, and aren’t afraid to act upon it. A small part of her wants to meddle, and she’s halfway into a plan that’ll somehow get either of you to confess to each other, but then she abruptly stops.
Eh, you guys will sort that out yourselves. Eventually. You look like you’re exactly where you want to be. So, Nami shrugs and beelines into the kitchen, hoping to get a fresh plate of breakfast seeing that he’s already started with yours.
The next time Nami catches a moment between the two of you wasn’t intentional. Right, because she wouldn’t be caught dead seeking the conversations you and Sanji had after that traumatizing event.
It was late at night. For once a quiet one between all the chaos that seemed to follow the Strawhat Pirates. Luffy was snoring away somewhere with a full belly, Ussop tinkering away in his cabin, and Zoro likely in the crow’s nest. Nami decided to look for fresh air, feeling a little bit holed up inside her room. Between the gentle rocking of the sea and the soft melody of the waves, it was the perfect atmosphere to spend watching the horizon.
She didn’t mean to overhear your conversation, but the door was open and a ship doesn’t exactly leave much room for privacy. She tried to leave the two of you alone at first, but found herself leaning against the galley wall to listen in in the end.
When she takes a peek through the door, she finds you seated still and pretty on the stool close to him, cross-legged in your pajamas. Like a sous chef who wasn’t really a sous chef but boosted the cook all the same—if not a million times more.
When you first got to the galley, you paid mind to his laser-focused expression. You didn't want to break his flow, so you stuck yourself against the counter at a distance. You were content with the picture of him from afar, but Sanji had absolutely none of it. He began your conversation of the night while silently dragging a stool and placing it right next to him by the stove. Safely away from getting blasted by the heat, but close enough to where he could feel you around him and talk to you without feeling a million miles away.
He’s got on one of your top favorite get-ups: a classic blue striped dress-shirt unbuttoned just the right amount and his pink Doskoi Panda apron tied around the back. Sleeves deliciously rolled up to his elbows for a bonus. Though Nami isn’t attracted to him the way you are, she isn’t blind. She has to admit that the image of his forearms are a sight for sore eyes. Sanji can be quite charming at times, mostly when he keeps the talking to a minimum and does what he does best.
You’re not even hiding it at this point, gaze tracking every languid move of his hands like you were hypnotized.
It’s not hard for you to admire him when he’s deep in his element. You find yourself going quiet, not because you don’t want to talk to him, but because it’s mesmerizing to see the way he commands the kitchen like his own battleship.
There’s a small smile on your lips as you take in the passion he carries, and on your lap you fidget with the shiny silver ring on your thumb. It’s his ring—your favorite one that's shaped like a skull—that he gave to you for “safekeeping”, even though Sanji never ever takes them off. Even when he’s cooking. It’s incredibly intimate; a symbol of his trust for you.
He’s just finished cooking a dish of his own creation. A classic menu made of meat, but a little more experimental with the seasoning. You can only describe it as heaven in a plate, sweet and savory at the same time, with a hint of something that you can't fully describe with words. Yet, you enjoy it for all that it is, and the delectable fragrance isn't something to complain about, either. It’s almost shocking that Luffy hasn’t come running down the kitchen from the smell alone. Sanji isn’t technically done with the recipe, seeing as he’s trying to perfect the ingredients being used. He has his worn-out notepad by the counter, filled with endless scribbles and notes of improvement. The cook will come back to it once you’ve given your own comments on the taste.
Once finished turning down the heat, he takes a clean spoon out of the cabinet and offers you a small portion fresh out of the pan, where the dish was still simmering in the heat.
You feel honored that you are Sanji’s unofficial taste-tester. The first time you came across the cook experimenting with new creations was a complete coincidence. That particular night you’d been restless in bed, stomach aching for a bite of food. You ended up pattering into the galley to get maybe a few crackers, a slice of bread or cheese or something that’d temporarily distract you. But you didn’t expect to feast on a five star meal once Sanji found out you were hungry. You? His precious princess starving? Not on this ship.
What began as compliments to the chef turned into fully fledged reviews of each flavor profile, and eventually became something more intimate. A space for honesty just for you and Sanji.
You like to think that’s where you found the real Sanji. The kind heart beyond the ladies man, the truths behind his endless honeyed words.
You sought him out like a moth to a flame, and every night Sanji welcomed you with open arms.
Most of the times you were there to actually be his taste-tester, which is just his excuse of having a private late dinner with you. But, other times he’s prepping meals for the next day and you’re simply there to keep him company. Either way, you’ll never skip out on an opportunity to spend time alone with Sanji.
Funnily enough, more than once you’ve caught Luffy sneaking in and rummaging through the pantry, already halfway stuffing his face with something that makes Sanji tick before he notices that the two of you are occupying the room. It’s a bit adorable that he doesn’t make a fuss about it. He never questions anything beyond “Hey… are you sneaking for snacks too?!” and then an “Okay!” followed by his high pitched laughter after Sanji kicks him out for offering you the stolen goods from his sticky hands.
You take notice that he never lets Luffy get a bite of his cooking. Sure, if the captain asks, Sanji will make him something, but not from the same pan. A different dish all together. You think that maybe it’s because he isn’t open to someone tasting something he considers isn’t “perfect” yet, but another part of you just believes that it’s because he only trusts you to give him the honest truth.
Still, you find it hard to believe he’d ever need one, considering everything that he makes turns out flawless.
“More seasoning?” The cook watches as you chew on the meat slowly.
You shake your head in disagreement. “No, this is perfect, Sanji.”
“Not too sweet for you?”
Nami sees you visibly recoil at his questions, body moving as if he was spouting blasphemy.
He’s got his back turned to you while he rinses his hands over the sink, so he can’t see the flabbergasted frown on your face.
“This is quite possibly the best thing I’ve ever tasted in my life.” You make an emphasis on the word “best”, sticking the wooden spoon back at him to signal that you wanted more.
“You flatter me, angel.” He grins, pulling the dish towel from his shoulders to wipe his hand. Then he goes straight to follow your command exactly and dips right back into the pan, scooping up a portion before blowing it softly to cool it down.
You’re practically vibrating in your seat, legs bouncing and arms holding up the weight of your body as you lean towards him.
“Nope. I’m just sayin’ the truth!” The words come with a pause as you’re swallowing your last bite, and the brightness comes right back up your face while you praise Sanji.
By the All Blue, he just wants to scoop you up and squeeze you in his arms for all eternity. You can be so shy around him, but also incredibly animated when expressing yourself.
Once Sanji deems it the perfect condition for you, he motions the spoon to your mouth.
It’s a stupidly sweet gesture, and also his way of stopping you from eating the whole thing. You can just take the spoon from him and feed yourself, but you’d be lying if you said you didn’t like being pampered by Sanji. You’re not ashamed to admit that it makes you feel very special. If you truly weaponized your voice and asked him for the whole pan, he’d give it to you without a single doubt. But, it’d be a shame if he didn’t wait until he could properly serve it with some rice so you could have your very late dinner “date”.
He holds the spoon out for a beat longer to look down at the way your lips wrap around the surface, turning away only when you finish munching happily at the taste. After all, your satisfaction is his number one priority. Nami can’t see your face from where she’s at, but she can absolutely make out Sanji’s, and the way he’s staring is sensual, borderline debauched. It makes the navigator feel like she’s intruding on a private moment.
You are none the wiser to this, Sanji needs to get it together, and Nami’s very close to throwing up in front of the galley.
Your eyes are closed as you hum contentedly once the flavors settle nicely in your stomach, and it’s then when you start to feel the weight of his stare.
You’re only chin level on this short stool, so you have to look up to meet his eyes.
He's quiet and awfully still, taking you all in and leaving no part of you starving for his attention. There's an evident tension swimming around the kitchen, and it makes you acutely aware of just how close you are to him. Inches away. The position is a tad intimate, to say the least.
“What? Is there sauce on my face?”
You know there isn’t anything on your face except for pure happiness, though you’re a tiny bit flustered by his attention.
“Sorry, darling,” He's not sorry at all. He leans in to wipe the non-existent sauce, and for a second you think he’s going to deny his obvious admiration of you but then he pivots into something that is so Sanji it makes your brain melt.
“Your beauty demands to be seen. I can’t deny you that.” He traces the back of his finger over your cheek before tucking a stray hair behind your ear.
Time and time again, Sanji is able to surpass your every expectation. You continue to feel the weight of his stare, now much different than before because he looks at you with deep, unabashed, reverence. Not hidden, and not in halves. A softness he reserves only for you.
You’re speechless for a moment, but then he cups your face into his palms and it feels like everything just melts away.
Now Nami understands. Why you adore him so much. Why you don’t need to scream it out to the world that you love him (although you would love to). The two of you aren’t “together” officially not because you don’t want to, or are too shy to say it out loud. But because you enjoy every part of who he is. The chasing, the teasing, the thrill; it’s everything in him that makes you feel alive. You don’t need words for him to understand that you love him, just as he doesn’t.
Nami watches the way you look up at him, positively beaming. The silence is broken away when you start giggling to yourself, and it only makes Sanji move closer to you, his forehead bumping gently against yours as he sports an identical grin on his face.
She shakes her head, both astonished and happy to see you flourishing in his presence, before walking away with an affectionate eye-roll.
Yeah. You two are the lamest.
Mon trésor: My treasure
Aaah I couldn’t really decide which sanji to base this fic off of. I ended up doing a bit of both 🍽️
masterlist @ pls don't repost or feed my works into ai thaaank you
hello mother, may i request a one shot for my boy sanji?
maybe he had a fling in an island and either was too scared to confess his feelings or wasn't able to (having to run from marines and all), but they meet again months after that
you can choose if they end up together, but i need smitten sanji like i need air to breathe
The Unspoken Soufflé
── .✦ Sanji x Reader ㅤ♡ ⋆˚࿔
༉‧₊˚. Word count: 12.5k
୭˚. ᵎᵎ ✈︎ Warnings: criminal elements and danger, emotional intensity, slight angst, semi yearnings, heavy hinted fem!reader!!
༉‧₊˚. A/N: kinddd of proud of this oneee…a little basic def but it’s kind of cute ₍ᐢ..ᐢ₎♡
The smell of the port was a thick, salty cocktail of brine, rotting kelp, and expensive ship wax, but inside the tavern, it was buried under the much more tolerable scent of spilled ale and frying grease. You sat at a scarred wooden table that wobbled every time you shifted your weight, nursing a drink that tasted vaguely of fermented citrus and regret. It wasn't exactly home, but after whatever cosmic glitch had dropped you into this world of logic-defying physics and oversized seagulls, a loud bar was the only thing that felt remotely familiar. You kept your jacket zipped tight, your eyes scanning the room with the practiced paranoia of someone who had realized very quickly that "normal" was a relative term here.
The atmosphere was electric, bordering on frantic. To your left, a group of locals was roaring over a game of cards, and to your right, the house band—a trio of guys playing instruments that looked like they were made of driftwood—was cranking out a rhythmic, stomping beat that made the floorboards vibrate against the soles of your shoes. The rumors of Marines being in the area had dampened the mood for some, but for this crowd, it just meant they had to drink faster before a fight inevitably broke out. You took another sip, grimacing as the cheap alcohol burned its way down your throat, and leaned back, trying to look like you belonged and failing miserably. You were grounded, a stark contrast to the colorful chaos around you, a girl who still thought in terms of taxes and Wi-Fi signals in a land of Devil Fruits and sea kings.
The heavy oak doors of the tavern didn't just open; they hit the interior walls with a bang that cut through the music like a gunshot. The humid night air swept in, swirling through the haze of tobacco smoke. A group stepped over the threshold, and the room seemed to tilt on its axis. You didn't need to be a local to recognize that these weren't just common pirates. They carried an air of casual, overwhelming power that made the hair on your arms stand up.
Leading the pack was a man who looked like he’d stepped straight out of a high-fashion editorial, if that editorial involved hunting krakens. His suit was impeccable despite the tropical heat, and the cigarette dangling from his lips glowed bright as he exhaled a plume of smoke. He was scanning the room with a practiced, cool indifference—until his gaze snagged on your corner.
It was like watching a machine suddenly recalibrate. The suave, bored expression vanished, replaced instantly by a look of such profound, focused intensity that you instinctively gripped the edge of your table. His single visible eye widened, and the world around you seemed to disappear for him. He didn't just see you; he locked onto you with the precision of a heat-seeking missile. While his crewmates began to move toward the bar, he remained frozen for a heartbeat, his entire aura shifting from dangerous pirate to a man who had just seen a miracle in a dive bar. You felt the sudden, frantic urge to check if there was something on your face, or perhaps behind you, but his stare was unwavering, heavy, and startlingly direct. You were guarded by nature, but as he took his first purposeful step toward your table, you realized your quiet night was officially over.
The man approached with a grace that felt entirely out of place in a room where people were currently arm-wrestling for scraps of bread. As he drew closer, the air around you seemed to change, carrying the crisp, expensive scent of tobacco and something savory, like clarified butter and herbs. He didn't just sit; he folded himself into the empty chair beside you with the fluid precision of someone who moved to a soundtrack only he could hear. Up close, his intensity didn't fade; it just transformed into a focused, radiant warmth. He took a slow drag of his cigarette, the ember glowing bright, before exhaling a neat ribbon of smoke away from you.
"I had heard rumors that this island was known for its hidden gems," he began, his voice a smooth, low baritone that cut right through the raucous tavern noise. He leaned in, resting an elbow on the scarred table, his gaze tracing your features with the reverence of an artist looking at a masterpiece. "But I didn't realize I would find a goddess sitting alone in a place that serves such mediocre spirits. Truly, it’s a crime against nature that you don't have something better in your hand."
You felt a sharp laugh bubble up, your guarded exterior cracking just a little under the sheer absurdity of his delivery. "A goddess? I'm pretty sure I'm just a girl with a cheap drink and a bad table," you countered, swirling the ice in your glass. "And if this is a crime, you should see the rest of the neighborhood."
He gave a small, delighted chuckle, his eyes dancing. "Modesty, too? How devastating. I am Sanji, and I can assure you, my eyes do not deceive me." He gestured toward the kitchen with a flick of his fingers. "The swill they’re serving here is an insult to your palate. You deserve something refined—perhaps a chilled fruit reduction with a hint of mint, or a seafood risotto that actually tastes of the ocean rather than the wharf. If I had my kitchen here, I’d make you forget you ever stepped into this tavern."
You leaned your head on your hand, mirroring his posture, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of your lips. "Is that your move? Telling every girl you meet that you're a better cook than the house chef?"
"Only the ones who look like they have the refined taste to appreciate it," he replied instantly, a flirtatious spark lighting up his face. He was laying it on thick—the compliments, the smooth gestures, the lingering looks—but there was something so genuine about his enthusiasm that you found yourself leaning in rather than pulling away. You caught yourself laughing at his next quick-witted remark, the tension that usually sat in your shoulders finally starting to melt. For someone who didn't belong in this world, trading barbs with a golden-haired pirate who talked about spices like they were poetry felt surprisingly right.
The hours began to blur together, the raucous noise of the tavern fading into a dull hum that existed only on the periphery of your awareness. Sanji had somehow commandeered a corner of the kitchen, returning not with the greasy fare the bar usually offered, but with a small, perfectly plated dish that smelled exactly like your favorite comfort food back home. You didn't even ask how he knew; you were too busy marveling at the way he watched you take the first bite, his expression softening with a quiet, triumphant pride. He sat closer now, his shoulder occasionally brushing yours as he spoke, his usual flair settling into a more grounded, intimate intensity.
The conversation moved effortlessly from sharp-witted banter to the kind of quiet admissions usually reserved for the dead of night. You found yourself telling him about the small dreams you’d tucked away—things that felt trivial in a world of pirates and monsters, but things he listened to as if they were the most important secrets on the Grand Line. In return, he spoke of a legendary sea with a reverence that made your chest ache, his voice dropping to a low, melodic murmur that drew you in until you were leaning toward him, your faces only inches apart.
Every time you laughed, his eyes would lock onto yours, bright and unwavering, and he’d offer a compliment so specific and sincere it made your breath hitch. The air between you felt charged, a palpable tension that made the simple act of sharing a drink feel like an elaborate dance. He’d reach out to move a stray hair from your forehead, his fingers lingering just a second too long against your skin, and you’d find yourself responding in kind, your hand resting on his forearm as you countered his flirting with a bold confidence you didn't know you possessed. You were getting lost in it—the way he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, the way his laughter vibrated in the small space between you, and the intoxicating feeling of being completely seen by a man who treated every word you spoke like poetry.
The tavern had thinned out, the rowdy choruses of the sailors replaced by the rhythmic clinking of glasses being washed and the low, comforting hum of Sanji’s voice beside you. He had shifted his chair so he was facing you directly, one leg crossed over the other, his posture a mix of gentlemanly poise and relaxed intrigue. The conversation had drifted away from the surface-level charm and into something deeper, a space where the noise of the world couldn't reach you. You found yourself talking about the concept of "home"—not as a place on a map, but as a feeling you had struggled to find since arriving in this chaotic world.
"It’s the small things I miss," you murmured, tracing the rim of your glass with a fingertip, your eyes fixed on the flickering candlelight between you. "The way the air smells after it rains on hot pavement, or the specific sound of a city waking up. Everything here is so loud, so big. Sometimes I feel like I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop."
Sanji leaned in, his gaze softening into something remarkably tender, devoid of his usual theatrics. "I understand the feeling of being adrift more than you might think," he said softly, the glow of his cigarette illuminating the sharp line of his jaw. "But even in the middle of a storm, there are moments of absolute clarity. You aren't just a passenger in this world. You have a fire in you—a groundedness that most people here lose the moment they set sail. You talk about home like it’s a memory, but look at you now. You’ve carved out a space in this gods-forsaken bar and made it yours."
He reached out, his hand hovering near yours on the table, offering a silent choice. You didn't pull away; instead, you let your pinky finger hook against his, a small but electric connection. "You make it sound like I'm doing something brave just by existing," you teased, though your voice lacked its usual bite.
"Existing is the bravest thing some people ever do," he countered, his voice dropping to a low, intimate register that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "And you do it with such grace that I can't help but be captivated. Tell me another dream. Anything. Even if it’s just the taste of a fruit you haven't found here yet. I want to know every part of the world you carry inside your head."
You looked up, meeting his eye, and for a second, the witty retort you had planned died in your throat. The guarded wall you had built up was crumbling, not because he had kicked it down, but because he was simply waiting at the gate with an open hand. You found yourself telling him about a dream you’d never told anyone—a quiet life, a garden, a sense of peace—and as he listened, nodding slowly and hanging on every syllable, you realized you hadn't felt this seen in a very, very long time.
The air between you had grown so thin and sweet it felt like you were breathing in pure stardust. Sanji leaned in, the distance between your faces vanishing until you could feel the warmth radiating from his skin. His eyes, usually so full of playful fire, had softened into a deep, vulnerable blue that made your pulse skip a frantic beat. His hand slid from the table to cup your cheek, his thumb grazing your cheekbone with a feather-light touch that sent a shiver straight down your spine. Your eyes fluttered shut, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird, as you waited for the words that were hovering right on the edge of his lips. You could feel his breath on your skin, the scent of sea salt and citrus wrapping around you, and for one beautiful, delusional second, you thought the world might actually stop for you.
"I didn't think," he whispered, his voice trembling with a sincerity that made your throat ache, "that in all the seas, I would ever find—"
The heavy oak doors didn't just open this time; they were splintered off their hinges. The sudden, violent crash of wood and the shrill blast of a whistle shattered the intimacy of the moment like a stone through glass. "Marines! Nobody move!" The shout echoed through the rafters, followed immediately by the rhythmic, heavy stomp of boots and the metallic clatter of rifles.
The shift in Sanji was instantaneous. The vulnerability vanished, replaced by a sharp, lethal tension as he stood, instinctively stepping in front of you to shield you from the doorway. Across the room, the rest of the Straw Hats were already moving, a blur of motion as they prepared to punch a hole through the wall of white uniforms.
"Sanji! We’re moving! Now!" a voice barked from the chaos—a moss-haired man already halfway out a side window.
Sanji looked back at you, and the expression on his face was a jagged shard of regret. He reached out, his fingers catching yours for one final, desperate second. "If I had more time," he started, his voice strained against the rising din of shouting soldiers and breaking glass, "I would stay. I would tell you everything."
"Sanji, move it!"
He was practically dragged away by the momentum of his crew, forced to leap toward the exit as the first round of smoke grenades hissed across the floor. He didn't look back again, disappearing into the humid night and the frantic shadows of the port. You stood there, frozen in the middle of the retreating crowd and the advancing Marines, the spot where his hand had touched your cheek feeling unnaturally cold. You looked at the empty chair beside you, then at the shattered door, and a dry, hollow laugh bubbled up in your chest. It figured. You were grounded, a girl of logic and consequences, and you had momentarily forgotten the most basic rule of this wild, unpredictable world: pirates never stay. They are the wind and the tide, and you were just the shore they washed up on before the current pulled them back out to sea.
The damp air of the docks whipped against Sanji’s face as he sprinted, but his legs felt heavy, moved more by muscle memory than any desire to escape. His heart was still back in that dim, lopsided tavern, sitting at a scarred wooden table with you. Usually, the adrenaline of a getaway sparked his flirtatious nature, his mind darting toward the safety of Nami or Robin, but tonight, the internal compass that usually pointed toward every beautiful woman in the vicinity was stuck, frozen on a single coordinate.
"Sanji! Step it up! The Marines are closing in on the starboard side!" Nami’s voice cut through the chaos, her brow furrowed as she navigated the narrow alleyways toward the Sunny. Normally, he would have pirouetted through the air, eyes turning to hearts as he pledged his undying devotion to her command. Tonight, he simply nodded, his movements mechanical.
"Yeah. On it," he muttered, his voice flat, devoid of its usual melodic lilt.
He vaulted over a stack of crates, his black suit blending into the shadows, but his mind was replaying the way the candlelight had caught the gold in your eyes. He could still feel the phantom warmth of your skin against his thumb. Beside him, Zoro let out a grunt of annoyance, drawing a blade to deflect a stray bullet. "What’s wrong with you, Cook? You’re moving like you’ve got lead in your shoes. If you’re going to get caught, do it quietly so I don’t have to listen to you whine."
Any other night, Sanji would have swung a flaming kick at the swordsman’s head for the insult. Instead, he just exhaled a long, shaky cloud of smoke, his gaze fixed on the retreating horizon of the town. "Shut up, Moss-head," he said quietly, the lack of bite in his tone making even Zoro pause for a fraction of a second in surprise.
As they reached the gangplank, Jinbe and Franky were already securing the perimeter, the ship groaning as it prepared to catch the tide. Robin caught Sanji’s eye as he stepped onto the deck, her expression knowing and observant. She waited for the inevitable shower of compliments he usually reserved for her return to the ship, but he merely walked past her toward the railing, his shoulders hunched. He didn't even notice the way Luffy was shouting about mystery meat; his world had shrunk down to the disappearing lights of the port.
He leaned over the wood, his knuckles white as he gripped the railing. He should have said it. He should have stayed one more minute, consequences be damned. The "gentleman" in him felt like a failure, leaving you in the middle of a raid without a proper goodbye. He reached into his pocket for his lighter, his hands trembling slightly, the realization hitting him that for the first time in his life, the vast, open sea felt less like a dream and more like a barrier keeping him from the only place he actually wanted to be.
The chaos of the raid subsided into a tense, ringing silence, leaving the tavern smelling of spent gunpowder and damp wood. You sat back down at the same wobbly table, your legs feeling like lead. The Marines had cleared out once they realized their primary targets had vanished into the night, leaving the remaining patrons to grumble over broken glass. In front of you sat the dish Sanji had prepared—a masterpiece of color and aroma that should have been the highlight of your month. Now, it just looked like a cruel reminder of a conversation cut short.
You picked up a fork, turning a piece of the perfectly seared food over, but the appetite that had been building all night had completely evaporated. It felt heavy, like lead in your stomach, just looking at it. You pushed the plate toward the center of the table, the sight of his meticulous craftsmanship making your chest tighten. Instead, you reached for your glass, draining the last of the lukewarm, bitter dregs of your drink. The burn was honest; it matched the sudden, sharp ache of disappointment blooming behind your ribs.
You found yourself staring at the splintered remains of the front door, your ears straining against the night air. A small, irrational part of you—the part that had been softened by his gaze and the way he leaned in when you spoke—insisted that he’d double back. You imagined him slipping through the window, breathless and smirking, finishing that sentence he’d started. You stayed in that chair long after the house lights dimmed, watching the shadows stretch across the floor, convinced that a man who looked at you like that couldn't just evaporate.
But as the clock behind the bar ticked toward the early hours of the morning, reality began to settle back in with a cold, grounding weight. People like him were stories in motion; they didn't have anchor points, and they certainly didn't turn around for a girl they’d met in a dive bar, no matter how good the connection felt. You leaned your head back against the wall, closing your eyes and trying to scrub the memory of his thumb against your cheek from your mind.
"Figures," you whispered to the empty room, your voice sounding small and tired. You weren't a destination; you were just a port of call. You stood up, leaving the beautiful, untouched meal on the table, and walked out into the salty night air, telling yourself that the sting in your eyes was just the lingering smoke from the Marine grenades.
The weeks that followed were a masterclass in pretending. You moved from that port to the next island, and then the one after that, sticking to your schedule with a mechanical precision. You told yourself that what happened in that tavern was just a statistical anomaly—a weirdly intense blip in an otherwise grounded existence. After all, it had only been a few hours. You were a rational person; you didn't catch feelings over a plate of seafood and some poetic prose from a man who kicked people for a living.
Yet, every time you sat down at a new bar, your eyes instinctively flicked toward the door whenever it swung open. Every time you smelled tobacco on the wind, your heart gave a traitorous little jump before settling back into a dull, heavy thud. You felt ridiculous. You’d find yourself scolding your own reflection in the cracked mirrors of cramped ship cabins, muttering about how you were far too smart to be pining over a pirate who was probably flirting with a mermaid three islands away by now.
But then there was the weight in your pocket.
In the chaos of the Marines' arrival, he had left his cigarette case sitting on the table. It was sleek, silver, and surprisingly heavy, with a refined elegance that matched the man himself. You should have left it. You should have let the tavern owner toss it or the Marines seize it. Instead, your hand had moved on its own, sliding it into your jacket before you’d even processed the thought.
Now, on the quiet nights when the ship was tossing on the waves and the world felt a little too big and empty, you’d pull it out. You’d run your thumb over the cool metal, tracing the faint scratches on the surface, and remember the way he had looked at you—not like you were a stranger, but like you were the only person he’d been looking for. It was a stupid, tangible tether to a man who lived for the horizon.
You tried to act like you were fine. You laughed at the jokes of fellow travelers, you haggled with merchants, and you kept your guard up just like you always had. But the shield was thinner now. He had cracked it just by treating you like you mattered, and no matter how many miles you put between yourself and that port, you couldn't quite shake the feeling that you were carrying a piece of a story that wasn't finished yet. You weren't waiting—or so you told yourself—but you were definitely listening to the wind a little more closely than before.
On the deck of the Thousand Sunny, the usual symphony of chaos felt slightly out of tune. Sanji was in the galley, but the rhythmic, aggressive chopping of vegetables sounded more like a frantic heartbeat than a culinary tempo. His mind was miles behind the ship's wake, stuck in that smoky tavern corner. Every time he closed his eyes, he didn't see the All Blue or a beautiful mermaid; he saw your face—the way your guarded expression had finally softened, and the look of sheer, abandoned confusion that must have crossed your features when he was pulled away.
The guilt was a physical weight, heavier than any kick he’d ever landed. He felt like a scoundrel, a man who had broken the most sacred code of chivalry: he’d left a lady mid-sentence.
"Dinner is served," he called out, but the usual "Nami-swan!" and "Robin-chwan!" were missing. His voice was steady, polite, but lacked that melodic, lovestruck trill that usually defined his presence. He laid out the plates with mechanical grace, moving past Nami and Robin with a respectful nod and a soft smile, but he didn't linger. He didn't offer a dramatic flourish or a hand-spun compliment. He just stepped back to the counter, leaning against it with a distant look in his eyes.
The crew sat in a rare, stunned silence as they looked down at their plates.
"Uh, Sanji?" Usopp poked a piece of perfectly braised poultry. "This is the fifth time this week we've had this exact dish. Not that it isn't incredible, but... is there a reason we're eating this again?"
"It’s a nuanced recipe," Sanji replied vaguely, staring at a flickering candle. "It requires repetition to reach perfection."
He didn't mention that he was cooking it because it was what you had liked. He was trying to recreate that night through flavors, as if by making the dish perfectly, he could somehow fix the ending of that story.
Luffy jammed a handful of food into his mouth, muffled words falling out. "He's being weird. He didn't even try to kick Zoro for stealing his garnish."
Zoro, who was indeed hovering over a spare plate, narrowed his eyes at the cook. "He's distracted. He’s been staring at the horizon like he expects it to apologize to him."
"It’s not just the food," Nami whispered, leaning toward the center of the table so Sanji wouldn't hear. "He’s been... polite. Too polite. He helped a lady carry her groceries at the last port and just tipped his hat and walked away. No hearts in his eyes, no spinning, nothing. It’s creepy."
"Perhaps our cook has finally met a ghost he can't outrun," Robin mused, her chin resting on her hand as she watched Sanji's brooding silhouette. "He was quite occupied at that last tavern before the Marines arrived. I don't think he was just flirting. I think he was listening."
"A broken heart?" Chopper squeaked, his eyes wide with medical concern. "Can I cure that with a bandage?"
"Not that kind of wound, little doctor," Brook hummed, his empty sockets fixed on the somber man by the stove. "It’s the ache of an unfinished melody."
Franky leaned back, his massive arms crossed. "Whatever happened, it’s got him in a 'SUPER' funk. He’s cooking like he’s trying to apologize to the ingredients."
Sanji barely heard them. He was staring at the empty space on the counter where he’d usually be prepping a tray, his hand instinctively reaching for the pocket where his cigarette case used to be. His fingers met nothing but fabric, and his heart sank. He’d left it with you. A piece of himself was still sitting on that wobbly table, and the thought that you might have thrown it away—or worse, that you thought he’d intended to leave you—made him want to turn the ship around and kick the wind itself.
"I'm a fool," he muttered under his breath, so low only the steam from the pots could hear him.
The days at sea began to bleed together in a blur of blue horizons and rising steam, but for Sanji, the rhythm of the ship felt like a song with a missing note. He was physically there—flipping omelets, sharpening knives, and standing watch—but his spirit was anchored back at that port. His movements were drained of their usual theatrical flair; he didn't pirouette through the galley or break into song. Instead, he worked with a quiet, brooding efficiency that was far more unsettling to the crew than his loudest outbursts.
He spent his nights leaning against the railing of the Sunny, the cold sea air biting at his face. Usually, this was his time to dream of the All Blue, but now, his thoughts were occupied by the weight of a silver case he no longer carried and the memory of a woman who had looked at him with a grounded, guarded honesty that had leveled him. Every time the ship hit a wave, he felt a pang of guilt. He kept imagining you standing in that tavern alone, the smell of gunpowder fading, looking at an empty chair and a cold meal. He hated that he had become just another pirate who had vanished into the night, living up to every cynical thought he had seen behind your eyes.
In the galley, he found himself cooking by instinct, his hands moving to recreate the textures and aromas he knew you liked. He would plate a dish, staring at it for a long beat as if he expected you to appear and take a bite, before sighing and handing it off to a confused Luffy. He wasn't just making food; he was trying to apologize to the memory of you. He felt a rare, stinging insecurity. Had you kept the case? Had you thrown it into the harbor? Or did you just move on, forgetting the cook who had promised you a world of flavors before running away like a coward?
The crew's whispers grew louder. They were used to him being lovesick, but this was different. This wasn't the fleeting, hearts-in-eyes infatuation they were accustomed to. This was a quiet, heavy longing that made him look older, more serious. He was still the ultimate gentleman—he still brought Nami her tangerine juice and Robin her coffee with perfect poise—but the playful sparks were gone. He was extra kind to every woman they encountered at new ports, helping them with heavy loads or offering directions, but he never lingered to flirt. He would simply tip his suit jacket, offer a polite smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, and walk away. He was a man who had finally found something real, only to have the tide pull him away before he could even say its name.
The ship had docked at a bustling spring island, and as usual, Sanji had been recruited as the pack mule for Nami’s shopping spree. He followed three paces behind her, arms piled high with boxes and bags, his expression that same distant, polite mask he’d been wearing for weeks. They were weaving through a high-end bazaar when a sudden draft of wind carried a scent through the crowd—a specific, sharp floral note grounded by a hint of warm vanilla.
Sanji stopped dead in his tracks. The world around him blurred into a smear of colors. It was the scent you’d been wearing that night in the tavern—the one that had lingered on his suit jacket long after he’d leaped onto the Sunny. Without a word to Nami, he pivoted, his boots clicking rapidly against the cobblestones as he followed the trail like a man possessed.
He found it at a small, glass-fronted apothecary. He didn't even look at the price. He walked to the counter, pointed at the amber-colored bottle, and purchased it with a quiet intensity that left the shopkeeper blinking in surprise.
"Sanji? What was that about?" Nami asked, catching up to him, her eyes narrowing as she watched him tuck the small bottle into his inner breast pocket, right where he used to keep his cigarette case. "Since when do you care about perfumes? That’s a woman’s fragrance."
"It’s nothing, Nami-san," he replied, though his voice was thick with a strange, nostalgic weight. "Just a memory I’d like to keep fresh."
Back on the ship, the change became impossible to ignore. A subtle, familiar aroma began to drift from the galley and the boys' quarters. It wasn't the scent of a man; it was the scent of a ghost. Every morning, before the sun broke the horizon, Sanji would press his face into his palms, the fragrance on his wrists acting as a bridge back to that wobbly table and your laughter.
It was Robin who finally connected the dots. She had been watching him for days, her sharp eyes noting the way he would occasionally pause mid-task just to breathe in the air around him. She waited until the rest of the crew was occupied with a game of cards on deck before stepping into the kitchen.
"It’s a lovely scent, Cook-san," she said softly, leaning against the doorframe. "It’s the same one the girl at the port was wearing, isn't it? The one who looked at you like you were more than just a passing shadow."
Sanji’s hand froze over the stove. He didn't turn around, but his shoulders slumped. "I left her in the middle of a raid, Robin-chan," he whispered, the sound of his own guilt finally finding a voice. "I didn't even get to say goodbye. I left her thinking I was just another pirate who didn't give a damn."
"You left a piece of yourself behind," Robin countered, her voice full of a rare, grounding empathy. "And if she’s the woman I think she is, she hasn't forgotten you either. You aren't just cooking for us anymore, are you? You’re cooking for the day you see her again."
Sanji finally turned, a flicker of the old fire returning to his eyes, though it was tempered by a newfound resolve. "I'm going to find her," he said, the scent of you clinging to his skin like a promise. "And when I do, I'm going to finish that sentence."
The months stretched out like a long, restless tide, pulling you both further apart in distance but keeping you trapped in the same loop of memory. You had become a wanderer of the Blues, drifting from one island to the next with a heart that felt like it had been permanently bruised. You tried to date, tried to let other men buy you drinks, but it was useless. Every time someone leaned in to whisper a compliment, you’d find yourself comparing the scent of their skin to the ghost of expensive tobacco and sea salt. You were grounded, yes, but you were also haunted. You kept the silver cigarette case in a velvet pouch tucked into your bodice, a cold, heavy secret that throbbed against your chest with every step you took.
While you were crossing oceans on merchant ships, staring at the wake and wondering if he ever looked at the same moon, Sanji was doing the exact same thing from the deck of the Sunny. The initial shock of the crew had turned into a quiet, respectful concern. He was still their world-class cook, but he was different. The flamboyant "love-cook" had been replaced by a man who seemed to be living in a dream. He spent his free time in the galley experimenting with ingredients from your world—trying to recreate the exact texture of a dish you’d mentioned in passing—only to plate it, stare at it for ten minutes, and then quietly set it aside.
He had stopped chasing every skirt that entered his line of sight. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate beauty anymore, but rather that his eyes were constantly scanning crowds for a specific face, a specific posture, a specific way of holding a glass. He had become a man on a mission without a map. Every morning, he would press his face into his hands, breathing in the fading scent of that perfume he’d bought, using it like a lighthouse to guide him through the day. He felt like a failure of a gentleman, but more than that, he felt incomplete.
You, meanwhile, had started to develop a habit of checking the news for any mention of the Straw Hats, your heart leaping into your throat every time a headline mentioned a clash with the Marines. You told yourself you were just staying informed, but the way your fingers trembled as you traced his image on a crumpled wanted poster told a different story. You were both moving through the world with a phantom limb, an ache where a conversation should have been finished. You were miles apart, separated by storms and politics and the vastness of the Grand Line, yet you were both staring at the horizon with the same silent prayer: Just one more hour. Just one more chance to say what each other meant.
The island of Orizaba was a vertical marvel, a jagged spire of rock draped in emerald vines and glowing bioluminescent moss that clung to every surface. Waterfalls cascaded from the upper cliffs, turning the air into a constant, refreshing mist that caught the light of the setting sun, painting the sky in shades of bruised purple and gold. The "Mist-Light" tavern sat perched on a mid-level terrace, its open-air balcony overlooking the harbor where the Thousand Sunny had only just dropped anchor. Inside, the atmosphere was softer than the port dives you usually frequented, the air smelling of damp earth and sweet nectar.
Sanji stood at the edge of the bar, his hands trembling slightly as he waited for a bottle of water. He felt out of sync, his senses overloaded by the vibrant colors of the island, his mind still clouded by the phantom scent of your perfume. Then, it happened.
Through the low hum of conversation and the gentle strumming of a local stringed instrument, a sound pierced through the fog of his thoughts. It was a laugh—clear, melodic, and grounded—with a specific, dry edge to it that he had heard a thousand times in his dreams.
Sanji froze. The glass he was holding nearly slipped from his fingers. His heart, which had been beating in a dull, steady rhythm for months, suddenly kicked against his ribs with a violent, hopeful force. He didn't move at first, terrified that if he turned around, the sound would dissolve into the mist like every other hallucination he'd had. But the laugh came again, followed by a voice—your voice—answering a traveler’s question with that sharp, guarded wit he’d fallen for in a single night.
He turned slowly, his breath hitching in his throat.
There, tucked into a booth near the balcony, was the silhouette he had memorized. You were leaner, perhaps a bit more weary from the road, but the way you held yourself—the quiet strength and the observant flick of your eyes—was unmistakable. You were real. You weren't a ghost or a memory.
Sanji didn't think; he just moved. He didn't care about the crowded floor or the patrons he had to weave between. He pushed through the sea of people, his eyes locked on you with a terrifying focus. He bumped into a large merchant, ignored a shout of protest from a group of sailors, and vaulted over a low stool, his heart drumming a frantic beat against his chest. Every step felt like he was reclaiming a piece of himself that had been lost at sea.
You were mid-sentence, your hand reaching for a glass, when the air around you seemed to solidify. You felt a presence—intense, warm, and familiar—stopping just inches from your table. You looked up, your breath catching in your throat, as a man in a black suit, his blonde hair slightly disheveled and his blue eyes wide with a mixture of agony and relief, stared down at you like you were the only solid thing in a world made of vapor.
"I believe," he whispered, his voice raw and shaking, "I was in the middle of a sentence."
The glass in your hand hit the table with a sharp clack, a few drops of liquid slopping over the rim as your fingers went numb. For a split second, you were convinced you had finally cracked—that the months of lonely travel and the constant, dull ache of his absence had manifested a very handsome, very blonde hallucination. But the scent hit you first: that crisp blend of expensive tobacco and the ocean, now overlaid with the subtle floral notes of the perfume you wore every day.
You stared at him, your heart performing a violent somersault against your ribs. The shock was a cold wave, followed immediately by a hot, prickling surge of irritation that you used like armor. You didn't stand up. You didn't scream. You just leaned back in your chair, your eyes narrowing as you traced the familiar line of his suit, desperately trying to ignore how much your hands were shaking.
"You disappear on people a lot, cook?" you asked, your voice coming out steadier than you felt, laced with a dry, guarded bite. "Or do you just make it a habit to leave girls mid-meal when the check comes?"
The crack in his composure was visible. Sanji flinched as if you’d struck him, but he didn't pull away. Instead, he took a step closer, the intensity in his gaze so thick it felt like it was crowding out the rest of the bar. The chemistry between you hadn't just survived the months apart; it had fermented, becoming something potent and heavy that made the air between you feel like it was vibrating.
"I have spent every hour of every day since that night rehearsing an apology," he said, his voice dropping into that low, melodic register that had haunted your dreams. He didn't use his usual theatrical flourishes; he sounded raw, grounded, and utterly sincere. "I am a failure of a gentleman, and a fool of a man. I didn't want to leave. I was dragged, quite literally, away from the only place I wanted to be."
You let out a short, huffed laugh, looking away toward the balcony for a moment so he wouldn't see the way your eyes were stinging. "A fool? Yeah, that sounds about right. You left your property behind, Sanji."
Slowly, you reached into the velvet pouch at your waist. You pulled out the silver case, the metal gleaming under the bioluminescent moss of the tavern. You set it on the table between you—a silent, heavy proof that you had been carrying him with you across every ocean.
His breath hitched. He looked at the case, then back at you, and the look of sheer, overwhelming relief on his face was almost too much to bear. He didn't reach for the metal; he reached for your hand, his fingers trembling as they brushed against your knuckles.
"You kept it," he whispered, his thumb finding that same spot on your skin it had grazed months ago.
"I'm a hoarder of lost causes," you countered, though the guard around your heart was crumbling at record speed. "So, are you going to finish that sentence, or are you waiting for more Marines to show up and save you?"
The balcony of the Mist-Light was draped in shadow, illuminated only by the soft, pulsing glow of the bioluminescent vines and the distant, silver reflection of the moon on the waterfalls. The air was cool and damp, a stark contrast to the heat of the tavern behind you. Sanji stood by the stone railing, his silhouette sharp against the night sky, his usual composure fractured into something raw and desperate.
"I didn't leave because I wanted to," he said, his voice a low, jagged rasp. He gestured vaguely toward the harbor, where the Sunny lay in wait. "The Marines were a breath away, and being a pirate... it isn't just a title. It’s a target on my back. Every second I stayed in that chair was another second I was putting a bullseye on yours. I thought if I just disappeared, if I vanished into the smoke, you’d be safe. You could go back to your grounded, quiet life without the world’s chaos chasing you."
You stepped toward him, the wood of the balcony creaking under your boots. The annoyance that had been simmering for months boiled over, turning your voice sharp and cold. "You thought?" you challenged, your eyes flashing. "That’s the problem, Sanji. You decided for me. You looked at me and saw someone who needed to be protected, so you made a choice that wasn't yours to make. You left me standing in a room full of smoke, wondering if the last three hours had been a fever dream."
"I was trying to be a gentleman!" he snapped back, his voice rising as he turned to face you. "I was trying to keep the darkness of my world from swallowing you whole!"
"I don't care about your world!" you threw back, stepping into his space until you were mere inches apart. "I cared about the man who was sitting across from me. I deserved a choice, Sanji. I deserved to decide if you were worth the risk. You don't get to play hero and decide what I can handle just because you’re afraid of the consequences."
The silence that followed was heavy, filled only with the distant roar of the falls. Sanji’s anger evaporated instantly, replaced by a look of profound, aching realization. He looked at you—truly looked at you—and for the first time, he saw the steel beneath your guarded exterior. He saw that you weren't just a girl he’d met in a bar; you were a force he had underestimated.
"You're right," he whispered, his voice dropping so low it was almost a plea. He reached out, his hand hovering just an inch above yours on the railing, the heat from his skin radiating against yours. He was visibly gone for you, his gaze anchored to your face with a devotion that made your heart stutter. "I was a coward. I was so afraid of losing the memory of you to a Marine's bullet that I lost you anyway. I have spent every night since wishing I’d stayed and fought the whole world just to finish our drink."
The tension shifted, the air between you turning thick and magnetic. You could see the flicker of the moonlight in his eyes, the way his breath caught as he waited for you to move. Your hand twitched, your fingers aching to close the distance and finally touch the man who had haunted your every thought for months.
"If you ever run again," you murmured, your voice softening into a dangerous, beautiful promise, "don't expect me to be holding your case when you get back."
"I'm not going anywhere," he breathed, his hand finally settling over yours, his touch firm and grounding. "Not unless you're coming with me."
The silence on the balcony stretched, no longer heavy with the weight of the past, but light with the possibility of what came next. Sanji didn't pull his hand away; if anything, his grip tightened slightly, as if he were anchoring himself to the reality of you. The music from the tavern spilled out onto the terrace—a slow, swaying melody played on a stringed instrument that echoed the rhythm of the waterfalls.
"I don't have a plan for how a pirate and a wanderer make this work," Sanji admitted, his voice barely a whisper against the mist. "But I know I’m not leaving this island without you. Not again. If you’ll have me, I want to show you the world I promised you that night."
You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the honesty written in the tired lines around his eyes. "Try not to run this time," you murmured, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through your guard.
He didn't respond with a witty line or a dramatic bow. Instead, he stepped closer, offering his hand with a quiet, reverent grace. He led you toward the center of the terrace, away from the shadows and into the soft, pulsing light of the bioluminescent vines. As the music swelled, he pulled you into a dance.
It wasn't the flashy, spinning performance he usually put on to impress a crowd. It was slow, intimate, and focused. His eyes never left yours—not once. Even when a group of beautiful local women walked by, laughing and glancing his way, he didn't so much as blink. The "love-cook" who usually spun like a top at the sight of a pretty face was gone, replaced by a man who looked like he had finally found his North Star. He was openly, painfully in love, and he didn't care who saw it.
Down at the docks, and scattered along the tavern’s edge, the Straw Hats had begun to gather. They had been watching from the shadows, their initial plan to drag Sanji back to the ship forgotten.
"Is he... dancing?" Usopp whispered, leaning over the railing of a lower walkway. "And he hasn't looked at anyone else for twenty minutes. Is he sick?"
"No," Nami said softly, a small, knowing smile tugging at her lips as she watched the two of you sway under the glowing moss. "He’s just finally home."
Zoro leaned against a nearby tree, his arms crossed. He didn't offer a sarcastic comment for once. He just watched the way Sanji held you—with a protective, steady strength that was entirely new.
Luffy sat on the stone wall, swinging his legs. "He looks happy," he stated simply, his grin wide. "Does this mean we get to have more of that food he likes making now?"
"It means," Robin murmured, her eyes warm as she watched Sanji lean down to whisper something into your ear that made you laugh, "that our cook has finally found the ingredient he was missing."
On the balcony, the world felt small and perfect. Sanji pulled you a little closer, his forehead resting against yours. The salt of the sea was still there, and the danger of his life hadn't vanished, but for the first time in months, the air felt easy to breathe. He was yours, and you were his, and the horizon didn't look so lonely anymore.
The music from the tavern began to fade into the background, replaced by the rhythmic, soothing sound of the waterfalls as Sanji led you down the winding stone paths of Orizaba. The night air was cool, but where your hand was tucked into his, it was warm—a steady, grounding heat that made the last few months of traveling alone feel like a distant, half-remembered dream.
"The galley on the Sunny isn't as large as a restaurant kitchen," Sanji said, his voice light and full of an excitement you hadn't heard before, "but it’s mine. And I want to make you something that hasn't been sitting in a merchant ship’s larder for three weeks. Something fresh, just for you."
You laughed, the sound echoing off the rock walls. "Are you still trying to outcook the entire world, Sanji? I told you, that dish you made months ago was already the best thing I’d ever eaten."
"Then I’ll just have to surpass myself," he countered, his thumb tracing circles over the back of your hand. He stopped for a moment, looking at the steep, rain-slicked stairs that led down to the harbor. Without a word, he stepped in front of you and crouched down, glancing back over his shoulder with a playful, challenging glint in his eyes. "The mist is getting thick, and these stairs are treacherous. It would be a crime if you tripped now that I’ve finally found you. Hop on."
You hesitated for a second, your guarded nature flickering, but the sheer sincerity in his expression won out. You leaned forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as he stood effortlessly, his strength surprising you. As he carried you down toward the glowing silhouette of the ship, you rested your chin on his shoulder, breathing in that familiar scent of the sea. You talked about the islands you’d seen and the ridiculous people you’d met, and for the first time, you weren't just observing the world—you were sharing it.
When the Thousand Sunny finally came into view, its lion-head figurehead illuminated by the harbor lights, Sanji slowed his pace. The rest of the crew was already on deck, leaning over the railing with various expressions of curiosity and poorly hidden grins.
"Welcome to my home," Sanji whispered as he reached the gangplank, carefully setting you back on your feet but keeping his arm firmly around your waist. He looked up at his crew, his posture straight and his eyes bright with a fierce, protective pride. He didn't say a word to them, but the way he held you made his intentions clear to everyone watching. He led you across the deck and straight toward the galley, the wooden boards humming with the life of the ship beneath your feet.
As the heavy door swung open to reveal the gleaming, stainless-steel kitchen, he pulled out a chair for you with a flourish. "Sit," he commanded gently, already reaching for his favorite knife. "I have a lot of lost time to make up for."
The galley felt like a sanctuary, the air warm and humming with the low purr of the ship’s stove. You sat at the polished table, your eyes wandering over the intricate woodwork and the clever, compact design of the room. It wasn't just a kitchen; it was a heart. "It’s beautiful, Sanji," you murmured, reaching out to trace a grain in the wood. "The whole ship... it feels like it has a soul. I’ve seen a lot of vessels these past few months, but nothing like this."
Sanji paused, a small, humble smile tugging at his lips as he tied his apron. "She’s special. She’s carried us through things I didn't think we’d survive. I’m glad you’re finally seeing her."
He turned back to the counter, and you watched in a comfortable silence as he began to move. There was no hesitation in his hands. He reached for ingredients with a rhythmic, practiced ease, his focus absolute. When the scent finally hit you—the sharp zest of citrus, the aromatic bloom of fresh herbs, and that specific, savory richness—your heart gave a painful, happy thud.
He set the plate in front of you, and for a second, time collapsed. It was the exact same dish from that night in the tavern. The colors, the plating, even the way the steam curled off the surface—it was perfect. It was a bridge back to the moment everything had started.
"You remembered," you whispered, looking up at him.
"I never forgot," he replied, his voice thick with emotion. "I’ve cooked this every week since I left you. Ask the idiots outside; they’re probably sick of it by now."
As if on cue, the galley door creaked open just an inch. Then two inches. A row of eyes appeared in the gap—Luffy’s wide stare, Nami’s curious gaze, and Usopp’s twitching nose. They watched as Sanji leaned against the counter, his eyes fixed on you with an intensity that made the rest of the world disappear. He wasn't looking at the door; he wasn't checking for Marines; he was just watching you take that first bite.
"So that’s why," Usopp whispered from the hallway, his voice hushed with realization. "The 'nuanced recipe.' It wasn't about the food at all."
"He’s got that look again," Luffy muttered, though for once, he didn't barge in demanding a plate for himself. "The one where he forgot how to be a pirate and started being a person."
Nami pulled the door shut quietly, cutting off their whispering. Usually, the crew would be wary of a stranger on their ship, but the way Sanji’s shoulders had finally lost their tension and the way you looked at him like he was the only thing worth seeing in the Grand Line made any protest feel foolish.
Inside, you finally tasted the food, and it was better than the memory. It tasted like an apology, a promise, and a homecoming all wrapped into one. You looked at Sanji, your guarded walls finally turning to dust. "You really are a better cook than the house chef, aren't you?"
Sanji let out a shaky, relieved laugh, his hand finding yours across the table. "Only for you. Always for you."
The galley was silent, the only sound the soft hum of the ship’s hull against the harbor water. The remains of the meal sat between you, a testament to months of longing, but a new, heavier tension was settling into the air. Outside the door, you could hear the faint, muffled laughter of the crew, a reminder that this ship was a world in motion—a world that was supposed to sail at dawn.
Sanji reached across the table, his fingers interlaced with yours, gripping so tightly his knuckles were white. The cool, grounded logic that usually governed your life was warring with the heat in your chest. You didn't want to go back to wandering from island to island, carrying a silver case and a ghost of a memory. But he belonged to the sea, to a captain who needed him, and to a dream that was still leagues away.
"I can't let you walk off this ship alone," Sanji whispered, his voice cracking with a sudden, desperate intensity. He stood up, not letting go of your hand, and stepped around the table until he was looming over you, his shadow flickering against the stainless steel cabinets. "I spent months thinking I’d lost my chance. I’m not a captain; I don't decide who stays and who goes on the Sunny. But I decide where I stand."
He looked at you, his blue eyes wide and dark with a resolve that felt almost dangerous. "If the choice is between the horizon and you... I’m staying on this island. I’ll leave the crew. I’ll open a shop here, or anywhere you want to go. I don’t care about the All Blue if I have to spend the rest of my life wondering where you are."
The weight of his words hit you like a physical force. This was a man who lived for his kitchen and his nakama, a man whose identity was tied to the deck beneath your feet. For him to offer to walk away from it all—to choose you over the legends he was chasing—was a kind of devotion that felt too big for the small room.
"Sanji, you can't," you breathed, your voice trembling as you looked up at him. "Your crew, your dreams... you'd give all of that up for a girl you met in a bar?"
"I'd give up more than that," he countered, leaning down until your foreheads were touching. His breath was warm against your skin, and the scent of him was more intoxicating than any drink. "I’ve seen the world, and it’s empty without the person I want to tell about it. I’m not running this time. I’m choosing you."
The dim light of the galley cast long, dramatic shadows across his face, highlighting the raw sincerity in his expression. He wasn't joking, and he wasn't being theatrical. He was a man prepared to anchor himself forever just to keep you from slipping through his fingers again. You felt the tears prickling at your eyes, the guarded walls you'd rebuilt over the last few months finally turning to dust. You were at a crossroads, standing in the heart of a pirate ship, with a man offering to give up the sky just to stay by your side.
The dim amber light of the galley seemed to shrink the world down until only the two of you existed. Sanji’s offer hung in the air, a sacrifice so heavy it made your chest ache. You stepped into his space, closing the final inch between you, and wrapped your arms around his waist. You felt him shudder as he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hands clutching the back of your jacket as if you were the only thing keeping him grounded in a storm.
"Sanji," you whispered, pulling back just enough to look into his eyes, your hands framing his face. "You told me about the All Blue. You told me about a sea where every fish in the world swims together. You told me that with a look in your eyes that I’ve never seen in anyone else."
His gaze flickered, a momentary shadow of conflict crossing his face. "It doesn't matter," he insisted, his voice cracked. "Not if I'm at one end of the world and you're at the other."
"It does matter," you countered softly, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. "You’re a man of dreams, Sanji. If you stay here for me and give up on your crew—on Luffy—that light in your eyes will go out. And I won't be the reason you lose who you are. I’m not letting you give up."
He looked like he wanted to argue, to protest that you were enough, but the grounded truth in your words held him silent. You weren't just a girl he’d met; you were the person who understood the weight of his soul.
The ship was silent now, the rowdy energy of the crew replaced by the rhythmic creaking of the hull as they slept in the decks below. The world felt still. Instead of saying goodbye or making more impossible promises, Sanji led you out of the galley and up to the grassy deck.
The night was breathtaking. Thousands of stars reflected in the calm harbor water, and the bioluminescent moss of the island cast a faint, ethereal glow over the ship. He found a quiet corner near the tangerine trees, spreading out a thick, soft blanket. You spent the rest of the night there, tucked into his side, watching the sky.
It wasn't about passion; it was about the profound, quiet comfort of finally being in the same place. He kept his arm around you, pulling you close to shield you from the midnight chill, while you rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady, frantic-then-calm thrum of his heart. You talked in hushed tones about things that didn't matter—childhood memories, the way the wind felt on different seas, and the tiny details of the months you’d spent apart.
As the first hint of gray began to touch the horizon, Sanji pressed a lingering kiss to the top of your head. You knew the sun would bring the tide and the anchor would rise, but for these few hours, the Grand Line was quiet, the Marines were gone, and the only thing that mattered was the warmth of his hand in yours. You had saved his dream, and in return, he had given you a night where you finally felt like you belonged.
The first rays of dawn painted the sky in shades of pale gold and apricot, casting long, soft shadows across the deck. Inside the galley, the calm of the night had been replaced by a frantic, nervous energy—at least on your end. You were pacing the length of the checkered floor, your boots clicking rhythmically against the wood, while Sanji stood by the stove, already moving with a practiced, focused grace.
"I really should get started on the morning bake," he said, glancing at you with a gaze so warm it felt like a physical touch. He stepped away from the counter, catching your hand as you paced past him, forcing you to a halt. "You’re vibrating, love. What’s going on in that head of yours?"
"They're going to hate me," you blurted out, the guarded armor you usually wore feeling thin and useless. You were a grounded person, but the prospect of facing a crew of world-renowned outlaws—the people who were Sanji's family—had your stomach in knots. "I'm just some girl from a tavern. I’m the reason their cook has been acting like a depressed ghost for months. They're probably going to throw me overboard before the coffee's even brewed."
Sanji let out a soft, melodic laugh, pulling you closer until your foreheads touched. "First of all, nobody is throwing you anywhere while I’m breathing. And second, they don't hate you. They’re just... curious. And loud. Mostly loud." He kissed your knuckles, his blue eyes steady. "Walk out there with me. I have to feed them, and I’m not letting you hide in here like a secret."
He didn't give you a choice, gently guiding you toward the galley door. As he pushed it open, the morning air hit you, crisp and smelling of salt. The entire crew was already gathered on deck, some leaning against the railing, others sitting on the grassy expanse. The moment the door swung wide, the chatter died down instantly.
A heavy, expectant silence fell over the Thousand Sunny. You felt like a specimen under a microscope. Every eye—from the captain’s wide, curious stare to the swordsman’s sharp, calculating gaze—was locked onto you. They weren't looking at you as a stranger; they were looking at you as the person who had managed to fundamentally shift the sun around which their kitchen orbited.
"So," Nami said, breaking the silence as she stepped forward, her eyes scanning you with a clever, appreciative hum. "This is the 'nuanced recipe' Sanji’s been obsessed with."
Luffy tilted his head, his straw hat slipping back as he grinned, his eyes bright with a simple, overwhelming kind of approval. "She looks like she’s got a lot of spirit! Sanji, does she eat a lot? Is she staying for breakfast?"
Beside you, you felt Sanji’s posture straighten, his hand sliding protectively around your waist as he looked out at his crew. There was no hesitation in him now, no fear. He looked at them with a defiant sort of joy, his chin tilted up. "She’s staying for as long as she wants," he declared, his voice ringing clear across the deck. "And if any of you so much as breathe wrong in her direction, you’re making your own sandwiches for a month."
The tension broke as Franky let out a booming laugh and Brook started a light, cheery tune on his violin. You realized then that they weren't judging you; they were welcoming the person who had finally brought their cook back to life.
The morning sun turned the deck of the Sunny into a brilliant, golden stage, and for the first time in months, the air didn't feel heavy with what-ifs. As the crew began their usual morning routine—a chaotic blend of shouting, training, and laughter—you found yourself hovering near the mainmast, trying to find a spot to just be without getting in the way of a rubbery limb or a stray practice swing.
"Hey! Don't just stand there like a statue!" Luffy chirped, bouncing over to you with his hands behind his head. He gestured toward the grassy lawn of the deck. "This is a pirate ship! Sit anywhere! Or climb the mast! Or go see the swing!"
You laughed, your initial anxiety melting into a genuine, grounded amusement at the captain’s energy. You found a comfortable spot on the built-in wooden bench near the tangerine trees, leaning back and watching the spectacle. To your surprise, the crew didn't treat you like a fragile outsider. Instead, they folded you into their world with a blunt, refreshing honesty.
Nami sat down beside you, spreading out a map and casually asking for your opinion on the local currents you’d sailed through. Chopper trotted over to show you a new bandage technique, his eyes sparkling when you praised his skill. Even Zoro, who usually kept to himself, gave you a brief, respectful nod as he hauled a massive weight past your seat. You found yourself talking, sharing stories of the islands you’d visited, and matching Usopp’s tall tales with sharp, witty observations that had Franky letting out a "SUPER" roar of approval.
From the galley window, Sanji watched.
He stood with a dish towel over his shoulder, a half-finished plate of fruit in his hand, completely motionless. A soft, almost disbelieving smile played on his lips. He had spent so long imagining this—fearing that his world would be too loud or too dangerous for you—but seeing you there, effortlessly holding your own against the chaotic charm of his nakama, was the most beautiful thing he’d ever witnessed.
He watched the way you laughed at one of Brook’s skeleton jokes, the way you didn't flinch when Luffy stretched his neck five feet to see what Nami was drawing, and the way you looked at the ship with genuine wonder. You weren't just "some girl from a tavern" anymore; you were a missing piece of the deck that had finally clicked into place.
His heart felt full, a deep, aching warmth that made the months of loneliness feel like a small price to pay for this moment. He wasn't just in love with you; he was proud of you. He loved that you weren't intimidated by the legends around you—that you were exactly who you were, grounded and real, in the middle of a literal dream.
"She fits, doesn't she, Cook-san?" Robin’s voice came from behind him as she leaned over the counter to grab her coffee.
Sanji didn't even turn around, his eyes still fixed on you as you navigated a conversation with a very excited Chopper. "Like she was always supposed to be here," he whispered, his voice thick with a fierce, quiet devotion.
The sun was high now, turning the sea into a field of shattered diamonds. The anchor was still down, but the air on deck was thick with a new kind of anticipation. Sanji finally stepped out of the galley, carrying a tray of iced drinks, but he stopped at the edge of the circle. He watched as Luffy, who had been uncharacteristically quiet for the last few minutes while watching you interact with everyone, suddenly stood up on the railing.
Luffy balanced there, his toes curled over the wood, looking down at you with that piercing, honest gaze that seemed to see right through people. The crew went silent. Even Zoro stopped his training, wiping sweat from his brow as he leaned against a crate to watch.
"Hey," Luffy said, tilting his head. "You’re pretty fun. And you make Sanji’s food taste better because he’s not moping around like a wet dog anymore."
A few people snickered, and Sanji let out an indignant "Hey!" but he didn't move to interrupt. He was holding his breath, his eyes darting between his captain and you.
Luffy hopped down from the railing, landing silently on the grass in front of you. He shoved his hands into his pockets, a wide, toothy grin stretching across his face. "I don't like it when my friends are sad, and I really don't like it when they think they have to leave the ship to be happy. So, I decided."
He pointed a finger directly at you. "You’re coming with us. We need someone grounded like you to keep this guy in line so he doesn't burn the kitchen down the next time he misses you. So, what do you say? You want to be a pirate?"
The world seemed to stop. You looked at the crew—Nami was nodding with a welcoming smile, Franky gave you a thumbs-up, and Chopper was practically bouncing with excitement. Then you looked at Sanji.
He was standing perfectly still, the tray of drinks forgotten in his hands. His blue eyes were shimmering, filled with a hope so intense it was almost painful to look at. He wasn't begging you; he was waiting for you to choose your own path, just like you’d told him on the balcony.
You felt the silver cigarette case heavy against your chest—a reminder of where you’d been—and then you looked at the vast, open sea ahead of the Sunny’s lion head. For the first time in your life, the horizon didn't look like a lonely place.
"Well," you said, your voice steady and a little cheeky as you looked back at Luffy. "I suppose someone has to make sure the cook actually finishes his sentences."
The deck erupted. Luffy let out a cheer that probably reached the top of the island's cliffs, and Chopper and Usopp immediately began a chaotic victory dance. Before you could even blink, Sanji was there. He set the tray down on a bench and swept you up into a hug, spinning you around once before setting you down and pressing his forehead against yours.
"I won't let you down," he whispered, his voice thick with a promise that felt like an oath. "I’ll show you every sea, every flavor, and every sunrise. I’m never letting the smoke get between us again."
As the crew began to scramble to their stations to finally raise the anchor, Sanji didn't rush back to the kitchen. He kept his hand firmly in yours, leading you toward the bow of the ship. The wind picked up, catching the sails, and as the Thousand Sunny began to move, you realized you weren't just a port of call anymore. You were part of the journey.
The sun began its final descent, casting a deep, honeyed glow over the deck of the Sunny as the island of Orizaba became a small green speck on the horizon. The frantic energy of the departure had settled into the comfortable hum of a ship at sea.
Sanji led you away from the noise of the deck, guiding you toward a small, quiet nook near the infirmary where a spare cabin had been cleared. He opened the door, revealing a space that smelled faintly of polished wood and—unexpectedly—a fresh bouquet of local flowers he must have swiped at the last second.
"It’s not a palace," Sanji said, leaning against the doorframe as you stepped inside. "But it’s yours. And it’s right across the hall from the galley, so if you’re ever hungry in the middle of the night, you know where the cook lives."
You turned to look at him, the reality of the day finally catching up to you. You weren't a traveler looking for a destination anymore; you were home. You reached out, taking his hand and pulling him into the small room. "I think I've had enough of being on my own for a lifetime, Sanji."
He closed the door behind him, the dim twilight of the cabin making the world feel small and intimate once again. He didn't say anything at first; he just took you in, his gaze lingering on the way the moonlight caught the silver of the cigarette case you still wore. Gently, he reached out and took the case from you, placing it on the small bedside table.
"You don't need to carry the weight of my absence anymore," he whispered.
He sat beside you on the edge of the berth, and you leaned into him, resting your head on his shoulder. He wrapped a protective arm around you, his chin resting atop your head as you both listened to the muffled sound of the waves against the hull. There was no need for grand speeches or poetic declarations tonight. The steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear was the only promise you needed.
For the first time in months, Sanji wasn't looking at the horizon with longing. He wasn't cooking to fill a void or spraying perfume to catch a ghost. He simply closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of the woman beside him, finally at peace. As the ship sailed deeper into the mystery of the Grand Line, the two of you fell into a deep, effortless sleep, anchored not to an island, but to each other.
Ace didn't know what his brother had till he wanted it.
—Ace naturally finds himself drawn to a member on his brother’s crew, his only wish was that he wanted her to himself but his brother found her first.
Fem! Reader!! | Light angst and fluff ,( Ace is endearing and so flirty and Luffy is Luffy)
I’ve risen to come write about Ace again (I can’t help myself) I think about this man more than my family
wc: 1.6k : also halfway through writing this baby come back played and I felt that shi in my bones
It was one of those rare times when Ace would temporarily join Luffy’s crew for a bit. On these temporary occasions, he would form new fond bonds and learn a little more about who his little brother was travelling the seas with. To which one particular crewmate took his interest, a certain smug and charming girl called y/n. Every time he would find his way back on the Merry, he would find his way to sneak a little extra time with her.
However, those conversations and jokes would always be cut short by the time a strawhated man walked over the deck. Suddenly, her eyes would naturally draw to his figure, a meek smile tugged on her lips, and then the conversation was officially over.
To which Ace didn't blame her, Luffy has his own ‘aura’ that one simply cannot help but be drawn into. Need help? Don't worry, Luffy already knows what it was and has already dealt with it. That's just how he was, warmth-the sun itself radiating into his words and actions. So when you leave Ace’s side to go over and chat with the captain, he can't help but wish a lady like you would be glued to his hip the way you are to Luffy’s.
He knows the history behind you and Luffy, the way Luffy saved you at your worst, planted your feet into his crew and made you find a new dream to capture. That type of fondness never comes easy, sometimes though he wished it was him who found you first instead of him. I mean, where do you think Luffy got his demeanour from? Certainly his older brother, with whom he grew up with.
It was getting dark on the Merry, the crew was out on the deck sitting by a gentle fire as the cook, Sanji filled the air with the aroma of sweetly battered fish. Zoro was sharpening his swords, Nami was flicking through her books and Usopp, Chopper, and Luffy were somewhere else on the ship. Ace’s eyes naturally fell on a girl sitting quietly by the fire, watching the flames reflect in her eyes. Like a moth to a flame, his feet paced themselves over to the spot she rested in.
“This seat taken?” Ace smirks and points to the seat next to you. The warm light from the fire perfectly melting into his skin as you look up gently to him.
You smile, softly, “Do you see anyone else sitting there?” He chuckles under his breath as he takes a seat on the wooden log next to you.
For awhile you both just sit comfortably as the sounds of fire crackle, sharpening and pages flicking fill any words needed to be said. Now and then, Ace would flicker his eyes to you, your head resting on your palm as your eyes looked lost to the flames dancing ahead. He wonders if you would find his flames just as mesmerising? But before he can speak, an odd question pops up.
“Do you know how to spell your name?” you question him, finally out of the spell the flames had put you under.
Ace looked puzzled for a sec, I mean, of course he does, well, he thinks he does. Just what are you implying? Suddenly, a soft finger runs on the skin of his toned arm, moving slowly down to reach the end of his tattoo. “Did you try to spell your name and accidentally did it wrong when you tattooed yourself?” Your fingers traced back up to the S that was crossed out on Ace’s arm.
He squirmed under your delicate touch, a faint pinkness racing to fill his cheeks. Ace can't remember the last time someone touched him so gently or at all actually, so he didn't dare move to let this brief touch go. His eyes darted around for a bit as his words struggled to come out, but eventually his eyes came back to you. Your soft features, your hair against the sea breeze, and those eyes that reflected not only the flames this time but him.
“Well, actually, it wasn't always crossed out…” he shares as he adjusts his sitting posture, making sure not to interrupt the placement of your finger.
“It was for my brother Sabo, but he…well, you know, the world has favourites.” he continues on, his eyes falling to the boots he was wearing. He fidgets a bit before continuing.
“Actually, the C stands for something”, he changes the mood and looks to you once more.
Your curious eyes meet his as your finger slowly trails off his arm, awaiting for him to finish his sentence. His smile grows on his lips at seeing you on the edge of your seat, he catches your hand before it falls to your lap and holds your wrist firm yet gently as he pulls you closer.
“It stands for…” he whispers as his smirk is closer to your ear. “Crybaby.”
You suspiciously move back a bit to get a look at Ace’s face. Was he serious?
“Crybaby? …Are you saying you're secretly a big wuss?” You laugh at him a little as his smile grows bigger on his face, his grip nonchalantly shifts from your wrist to your palm as he holds it dearly, playfully shoving your hand to his chest. Look, Ace knows his way with the ladies espically when the lady is you.
“Me?!, never!..” He chuckles, “Actually… It's for Luffy.” He shoots you a wink and holds your hand ever tighter to his warm chest. You let out an even bigger laugh at the disbelief you find yourself in. Luffy a crybaby? Sure, when it comes to food, but no way now.
“No i dont believe that, Luffy! Monkey D Luffy!, A crybaby!. Nahuh no way.” you say between your giggles. Ace only admires you closer than he's ever been as you laugh barely one foot away from him, his smile turns genuine as he moves both you and his hands to lay on top of his knee.
“Its true!, I would never lie to you!” He pleads as he inches closer to you, in a way that feels natural, he squeezes your palm assuringly, itching to tangle his fingers within yours. You compose yourself and show Ace that smile that he loves to see everytime hes on the Merry. He wishes nothing more than to stay like this, to capture the way your skin is pressed against his palm, how the fire is glowing off you and how close he is to you right now. If he didn't know any better, he would've reached his hand to your cheek, rubbed soothing circles on them, pulled you closer and…
“Y/NNN!!!” Luffy screams from behind you as his arms cling to you, caressing you in a way that only Luffy can. Your hand frees itself from Ace’s as the scream genuinely startles you, you cling one hand onto Luffy's arm and turn slightly to face him.
“Luffy, would you shut up! You almost made me drop my book!” Nami scolded Luffy as she pointed her finger at him. Luffy obviously didn't care and continues to squeeze you a little tighter.
“I just wanted to know if dinner was ready yet, im stravinnggggg, Sanji is it done yet? Even y/n is straving, she just told me.” He pouts and looks over to Sanji.
“Like hell she did!, and you just ate an hour ago!” Sanji snaps back, now cooking even more fiercely than before. “Besides, your food isn't even ready yet–the ladies are eating first!”
Luffy pouts even more as he sluggishly slides off you and onto the floor dramatically. You always find yourself laughing whenever Luffy is around– you can help but adore this little dork.
“I guess he is a crybaby, I see it now.” You turn to Ace and smile sweetly at him, His hand still in the same placement where yours once was. He naturally tries to cover it up and wipes his palm on his shorts quickly.
“See i told you I would never lie to you…” He says endearingly, as a small smile falls onto his lips once more, he shifts his gaze elsewhere again, onto the endless sea as the wind plays through his hair. You could say he was jealous, but he knows deep down that your heart is elsewhere. However, that won't stop him from watching, admiring and trying so hard to capture every second of your time.
His eyes latched onto the blond chief walking by him, carrying four skewers of meat and fish over to you. Sanji places them into your hand and takes a puff of his cigarette that has been sitting idly in his mouth for quite some time. “My lady.” he says as he walks over and does the same to Nami.
Ace then watches you as you come off your log and kneel to the ground where Luffy is. You sway your skewers under Luffy's nose, to which he instantly wakes up from and takes a massive bite like a fish on a hook, classic Luffy Ace thinks. Then his eyes advert back to you, your smile brighter than it ever was with him, shining down to Luffy. You feed Luffy another skewer and chuckle as he takes another massive bite of your food.
He grins up at you like you're his saviour and lets you freely feed him. Ace can only watch and smile. Luffy truly doesn't know the shiniest piece of gold out in this ocean isn't treasure…it was you.
“Y/N!!, Don't feed idiot Luffy your beautiful meal!!” Sanji yells, but you can only chuckle.
; jealous husband!ushijima bends you over in the kitchen + aftercare :3
cw: p in v, breeding, established relationship, rough!ushijima, possessive!ushijima, size difference
your daughter participates in a trend where the photos show you when you were a teenager, then you now.
slideshow: you feeding ushijima grapes → you now, sucking on a lollipop, tongue peeking out.
comments:
“nah she’s giving throat demon, he doesn’t know what he has.”
“i’d pay her mortgage just to watch her lick me like that.”
“tell your dad to guard her, cuz i’d put a baby in her tonight.”
the slideshow ends, but the heat in the room is only just beginning to spike. ushijima’s face is a mask of stoic fury, a silent storm brewing behind those dark eyes as the comments continue to scroll—vile, hungry words from men who think they can touch what belongs to him.
“put a baby in you,” he repeats, the words tasting like poison. he doesn’t yell. ushijima wakatoshi doesn’t need to raise his voice to be terrifying. he simply sets his phone face down on the marble, the click of the glass echoing in the silent kitchen.
before you can even blink, his large, calloused hands are under your thighs, hoisting you onto the kitchen island. the cold stone is a sharp contrast to the sudden, overwhelming heat of his body pressing into yours. he doesn’t waste time with foreplay; his fingers hook into the lace of your panties and rip them to the side, exposing you, dripping and needy, to the harsh kitchen light.
then, he’s there. he guides his thick, heavy cock to your opening and thrusts forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal, singular motion. your breath hitches, a choked-back sob escaping as he stretches you to your absolute limit. his hands pin your thighs wide, knuckles white, forcing you to take every inch of him.
the thrusts are unhurried, agonizingly deep. he wants you to feel the weight of him, the sheer size of him claiming your insides. with every slow, deliberate shove, you can see your own stomach distort slightly, the crown of his cock hitting your cervix until your vision spots with white. you’re spilling down his length, your juices slicking his thighs, but he doesn’t let up.
the lollipop you’d been sucking on rolls onto the tile with a wet clack, forgotten and sticky, just like the mess you’re making on the counter. ushijima doesn’t even glance at it. his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of your neck, his tongue hot and demanding before his teeth sink in, marking you. he’s branding you, leaving deep, purple bruises that will tell the world exactly who you belong to.
he pulls back just enough to stare into your blown-out pupils, his voice a gravelly, low vibration that rattles your bones.
“look at me,” he commands, his hips never stopping that rhythmic, soul-destroying grind. “they won’t ever touch you. they won’t even get close enough to breathe your air. you’re mine. i’ll fuck those comments right out of your head.”
you’re trembling, sobbing his name as your walls clench around him in desperate, violent aftershocks. you think he's done, but he’s just getting started.
“you think our daughter wants a sibling, my love?” he shifts his weight, flipping you over until your chest is pressed against the cool granite and your ass is hiked high in the air. he doesn’t wait for you to settle; he plows back into you from behind, the sound of his pelvis slapping against your rear echoing like a gunshot.
his broad hand presses down between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the counter as he ravages you. he’s relentless, bottoming out inside you over and over until you’re a sobbing, leaking mess. he fills you once, twice, three times—thick, hot ropes of cum pulsing deep into your womb, making your lower belly feel heavy and distended.
you whimper about the mess, the way his cream is already dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. he just grunts, a low satisfied sound. “good. when it takes, they’ll know exactly how well i bred you.”
∞ྀི
the intensity breaks as abruptly as it started. the territorial monster recedes, replaced by the steady, grounding presence of the man you married. he carries you to the bathroom first, his touch surprisingly light as he cleans the stickiness from your skin with a warm cloth. he’s silent, but he keeps his body pressed against yours, as if he still needs to feel the contact.
he carries you to bed like you weigh nothing, tucking you under the heavy duvet. he disappears for a moment, returning with a bowl of chilled grapes and sliced peaches.
he sits on the edge of the mattress, leaning over you. he picks up a slice of peach, pressing it to your swollen lips. “eat,” he whispers, his eyes softening just a fraction. he waits for you to swallow before leaning down to press a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead. his large hand slides under the covers, resting over your lower belly—right where he filled you. he rubs slow, soothing circles there, easing the ache he caused.
“i’m sorry if i was too rough,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your hip bone. “i just… i can’t stand the thought of them talking about you like that. you’re too precious for their words.”
“so you decided to breed me?” you tease weakly.
his head lowers, a pout almost visible on his lips. “i apologize.. i wasn’t thinking clearly, my love.”
he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around you until you’re completely encased in his warmth. he nuzzles into your hair, breathing you in.
“you.. you’re mine,” he whispers into the dark, his voice thick with a possessive, protective love. “no one else will ever have you. i’ll keep you safe. i'll keep you fed. and i’ll keep you so loved you’ll never have to doubt it for a second.”
; jealous husband!ushijima bends you over in the kitchen + aftercare :3
cw: p in v, breeding, established relationship, rough!ushijima, possessive!ushijima, size difference
your daughter participates in a trend where the photos show you when you were a teenager, then you now.
slideshow: you feeding ushijima grapes → you now, sucking on a lollipop, tongue peeking out.
comments:
“nah she’s giving throat demon, he doesn’t know what he has.”
“i’d pay her mortgage just to watch her lick me like that.”
“tell your dad to guard her, cuz i’d put a baby in her tonight.”
the slideshow ends, but the heat in the room is only just beginning to spike. ushijima’s face is a mask of stoic fury, a silent storm brewing behind those dark eyes as the comments continue to scroll—vile, hungry words from men who think they can touch what belongs to him.
“put a baby in you,” he repeats, the words tasting like poison. he doesn’t yell. ushijima wakatoshi doesn’t need to raise his voice to be terrifying. he simply sets his phone face down on the marble, the click of the glass echoing in the silent kitchen.
before you can even blink, his large, calloused hands are under your thighs, hoisting you onto the kitchen island. the cold stone is a sharp contrast to the sudden, overwhelming heat of his body pressing into yours. he doesn’t waste time with foreplay; his fingers hook into the lace of your panties and rip them to the side, exposing you, dripping and needy, to the harsh kitchen light.
then, he’s there. he guides his thick, heavy cock to your opening and thrusts forward, burying himself inside you in one brutal, singular motion. your breath hitches, a choked-back sob escaping as he stretches you to your absolute limit. his hands pin your thighs wide, knuckles white, forcing you to take every inch of him.
the thrusts are unhurried, agonizingly deep. he wants you to feel the weight of him, the sheer size of him claiming your insides. with every slow, deliberate shove, you can see your own stomach distort slightly, the crown of his cock hitting your cervix until your vision spots with white. you’re spilling down his length, your juices slicking his thighs, but he doesn’t let up.
the lollipop you’d been sucking on rolls onto the tile with a wet clack, forgotten and sticky, just like the mess you’re making on the counter. ushijima doesn’t even glance at it. his mouth latches onto the sensitive skin of your neck, his tongue hot and demanding before his teeth sink in, marking you. he’s branding you, leaving deep, purple bruises that will tell the world exactly who you belong to.
he pulls back just enough to stare into your blown-out pupils, his voice a gravelly, low vibration that rattles your bones.
“look at me,” he commands, his hips never stopping that rhythmic, soul-destroying grind. “they won’t ever touch you. they won’t even get close enough to breathe your air. you’re mine. i’ll fuck those comments right out of your head.”
you’re trembling, sobbing his name as your walls clench around him in desperate, violent aftershocks. you think he's done, but he’s just getting started.
“you think our daughter wants a sibling, my love?” he shifts his weight, flipping you over until your chest is pressed against the cool granite and your ass is hiked high in the air. he doesn’t wait for you to settle; he plows back into you from behind, the sound of his pelvis slapping against your rear echoing like a gunshot.
his broad hand presses down between your shoulder blades, pinning you to the counter as he ravages you. he’s relentless, bottoming out inside you over and over until you’re a sobbing, leaking mess. he fills you once, twice, three times—thick, hot ropes of cum pulsing deep into your womb, making your lower belly feel heavy and distended.
you whimper about the mess, the way his cream is already dripping down your thighs and onto the floor. he just grunts, a low satisfied sound. “good. when it takes, they’ll know exactly how well i bred you.”
∞ྀི
the intensity breaks as abruptly as it started. the territorial monster recedes, replaced by the steady, grounding presence of the man you married. he carries you to the bathroom first, his touch surprisingly light as he cleans the stickiness from your skin with a warm cloth. he’s silent, but he keeps his body pressed against yours, as if he still needs to feel the contact.
he carries you to bed like you weigh nothing, tucking you under the heavy duvet. he disappears for a moment, returning with a bowl of chilled grapes and sliced peaches.
he sits on the edge of the mattress, leaning over you. he picks up a slice of peach, pressing it to your swollen lips. “eat,” he whispers, his eyes softening just a fraction. he waits for you to swallow before leaning down to press a lingering, tender kiss to your forehead. his large hand slides under the covers, resting over your lower belly—right where he filled you. he rubs slow, soothing circles there, easing the ache he caused.
“i’m sorry if i was too rough,” he murmurs, his thumb grazing your hip bone. “i just… i can’t stand the thought of them talking about you like that. you’re too precious for their words.”
“so you decided to breed me?” you tease weakly.
his head lowers, a pout almost visible on his lips. “i apologize.. i wasn’t thinking clearly, my love.”
he pulls you into his chest, wrapping his massive arms around you until you’re completely encased in his warmth. he nuzzles into your hair, breathing you in.
“you.. you’re mine,” he whispers into the dark, his voice thick with a possessive, protective love. “no one else will ever have you. i’ll keep you safe. i'll keep you fed. and i’ll keep you so loved you’ll never have to doubt it for a second.”
Being with Ace made everything better and you wouldn't have it any other way. How he laughs, how he talks, how he smiles, how he treats people... Dreamily you sigh, only to scowl when your food was taken from you, snapping you from your thoughts.
"Oi, Pops, that was mine." You say to Whitebeard as he sat beside you, eating your food.
"Shut up you stupid brat." He slammed his fist down on the top of your head and you hiss. "It was going cold anyway."
You watch with a grumpy look as he ate your food and asked Marco to order more of what you were eating. You hate any form of alcohol; It made you feel uneasy, which is why you always ate meals at bars and drank juice like you were a kid. But seeing Ace laugh with another woman made your skin crawl and the urge to drink came out of nowhere.
"Captain, is that even nice?" You point at the sake he was drinking.
"For you? No." He downed it in one go and when he laughed, you pull a face.
His laugh was still as weird as ever but oddly comforting.
You look back at Ace and this time, your Captain noticed.
"I didn't raise a wimp."
You look surprised. He kept drinking.
"If you're in love with him then do something about it."
Not giving you a chance to respond, he turns his body away from you and spoke to Marco once the food arrived. You look back at Ace and with a determined expression, you stand up and march over there. Hearing your footsteps, Ace looked up and beamed at the sight of you, and was about to say something when all of a sudden, you grab him and slam his back to the table and kiss him.
He let out a noise of surprise and the woman he was talking to gasped in shock, whilst laughter and cheers filled the air.
Ace moaned into your mouth as he kissed back and reluctantly, you pulled away. His eyes were closed like he was in a dream and his tongue came out to wipe his lips. His eyes flutter open to stare at you.
"What...?" Ace cleared his throat. "What was that for?"
You sit up and grab his hand, meeting Whitebeard's stoic gaze. You could tell that he was happy, that whatever tension you and Ace had between you was over. You grin at him in thanks, get out of the bar and walk outside under the moonlit night and push Ace up against the wall, away from everyone, and away from her.
"She's pretty." You say, voice tight.
Ace stared at you and gulped. He didn't know where to put his hands or how to deal with this version of you that he never had the chance of meeting before but absolutely loves and adores and wishes it would stay.
You mess with the beads around his neck and shamelessly stare at his lips.
"Jeez." Ace whistled, regaining some of his composure. "You... That..."
"Is it wrong of me to say that I wanted to fuck you in front of her?"
Ace's mouth fell open and with a laugh, he threw his head back and you huff, looking the other way. He looked at you with a grin, happier than ever.
"You were that jealous over me?" Ace's eyes crinkled with glee.
"Yeah yeah, bask in it, freckles."
Ace turned your face to look at him and you cup his face in your hands. He looked down at you, breathless, and you get on your toes to kiss him. This time, he was able to actually do something with his hands and let them roam all over your body as you both kissed with no one watching this time.
"You." Peck. "Oh my, you..." Ace pecked your lips again, grinning against your mouth. "I've been waiting for this day."
You smile and he kissed it.
"You wanted to fuck me in front of her?" Ace grinned, eyes dark at the thought.
"Shut up." You flick his forehead.
You bury yourself against his bare chest and his chest rumbled.
"I don't like seeing you talk to other women."
His expression softened. "Yeah?" He brushed the strands of hair from your face.
He understands you on that. Seeing you talk to other guys made his blood boil but out of love and respect for you, he kept quiet and chose to intervene every time in a smart and calculating way instead of the "get your fucking hands off my girl" way.
Summary:
You’re not strategic. Not powerful. Not trained like them.
You’re just… lucky. Ridiculously, impossibly lucky in a way that bends probability itself.
At first, it’s funny. Then it’s useful.
Then the Straw Hats realize something unsettling: they’ve started relying on you like the world owes you survival.
It started with something small.
A bullet.
You didn’t even notice it at first.
You were just standing there, mid-conversation, holding a cup of tea someone—Sanji—had insisted you take.
Talking about absolutely nothing important.
Then—
plink.
A bullet hit the rim of your cup.
Spilled tea.
Missed your face by maybe a centimeter.
Silence.
You blinked.
“…Did that just—”
Usopp screamed immediately.
“YOU DODGED A BULLET BY ACCIDENT?!”
You looked down at your cup.
“…I think so?”
From behind you—
Roronoa Zoro slowly lowered his sword.
“…Huh.”
That was all he said.
But he didn’t look away.
That should’ve been the end of it.
It wasn’t.
Because then it happened again.
And again.
And again.
A falling crate missed you because a seagull bumped it.
A collapsing wall stopped right before hitting you because it “somehow” wedged itself between two poles.
A cannonball bounced off a metal plate you didn’t even know was there.
Nami started taking notes.
“…This is statistically impossible.”
You frowned.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“That’s the problem.”
Monkey D. Luffy thought it was the best thing ever.
“You’re like a luck person!”
“I don’t think that’s a thing.”
“It is now!”
He immediately started using you like a good omen.
Before fights:
“Stand near me!”
Before treasure hunts:
“Touch this map!”
Before literally anything:
“OKAY WE’RE WINNING TODAY BECAUSE YOU’RE HERE!”
You were not consulted.
And then—
They started depending on it.
It crept in slowly.
Unnoticed at first.
If something went wrong during navigation, Nami would glance at you first.
If something felt off in battle, Zoro would unconsciously position you somewhere “safe.”
If cooking experiments went wrong, Sanji would immediately check if you were nearby because “it usually works out when you’re here.”
You noticed eventually.
“…Why does everyone look at me before making decisions?”
Silence.
“Habit,” Nami said immediately.
“That was too fast.”
“Coincidence,” Zoro grunted.
“That was also too fast.”
Brook laughed nervously.
“Yohoho… perhaps you are… fate’s favorite?”
“I don’t think fate picks favorites,” Robin said calmly.
She was still watching you though.
Franky leaned over dramatically.
“YOU’RE LIKE A SUPER GOOD LUCK BATTERY!”
“That sounds unsafe.”
“It’s AWESOME.”
Chopper was openly fascinated.
“You didn’t even get hurt!! Even when the whole ship shook!!”
“That’s not normal,” you said.
Chopper nodded vigorously.
“That’s what I said!”
Usopp had fully spiraled.
“You realize what this means, right?!”
“What?”
“We’RE INVINCIBLE WITH YOU!!”
“I don’t think that’s how—”
“It IS HOW IT IS!”
And the worst part?
Luffy agreed.
“We win when you’re around,” he said simply.
Like it was a fact.
Not an opinion.
Not a joke.
A law of reality.
That should’ve scared you more than it did.
Because they were right.
You just didn’t notice how often impossible things stopped happening around you.
A storm split just before hitting the Sunny.
A falling mast missed everyone during repairs.
A hostile ship misfired all its cannons at once.
A Sea King changed direction at the last second.
Everything… adjusted.
Around you.
Without you doing anything.
And slowly—
The crew started leaning into it.
Too much.
Not maliciously.
Not consciously.
Just… naturally.
If there was danger:
“We’ve got them.”
If there was risk:
“We’ll be fine.”
If there was uncertainty:
“You’re here.”
You became the variable that erased doubt.
Until one day—
It almost went wrong.
A battle.
Too many enemies.
Too many angles.
Too fast.
You slipped.
Just slightly.
A blade came toward you—
And for the first time—
Nothing stopped it immediately.
Time slowed.
Zoro moved first—
Sanji second—
Luffy third—
But none of them were close enough.
Nami shouted your name.
Robin’s eyes widened.
Usopp froze.
Chopper screamed.
Franky’s arms started shifting.
Brook gasped.
Jinbe stepped forward—
And then—
A loose barrel rolled at the exact wrong angle.
Hit the attacker’s foot.
Knocked them off balance.
Blade missed.
Silence.
Everyone stopped.
Even the enemy.
You stared at the barrel.
Then at your hands.
Then at the crew.
“…That was close.”
No one laughed.
Because they realized something at the same time.
You didn’t control it.
You were just… allowed to survive.
And worse—
So were they.
Because you were there.
That night was quieter than usual.
Zoro sat beside you on deck.
Not speaking immediately.
Just watching the sea.
“…We’ve been leaning on you,” he said finally.
You glanced at him.
“I noticed.”
A pause.
“…That’s not good.”
You snorted softly.
“I figured.”
He looked at you then.
Long.
Steady.
Serious.
“You ever think about what happens if it stops working?”
Silence.
You leaned back against the railing.
“…Yeah.”
Zoro didn’t push.
Didn’t interrupt.
Just waited.
“I think,” you said slowly, “it’s not luck.”
He raised an eyebrow slightly.
“I think it’s just… probability correcting itself.”
A small shrug.
“I’m just in the path of whatever would’ve happened anyway.”
Zoro hummed.
“That sounds worse.”
“It does, yeah.”
A pause.
“…Do you feel lucky?” he asked.
You smiled faintly.
“…No.”
Another pause.
Then quieter:
“That’s the problem.”
Because luck shouldn’t feel like survival.
And yet—
You were still here.
And so were they.
Behind you—
The Straw Hats were all watching.
Quiet now.
Less excited.
More aware.
Not afraid of your luck.
But of how easily they had started depending on it.
It was supposed to be a call to a friend, like usual. So how in the hell did you end up calling the prince of Elbaf?!
“Who the hell is this?! Who dares call me?!”
That was the first sign of trouble. When the snail should have turned into your friend, it instead turned into some really pissed off man.
“U-Uh, you’re not my friend…” You couldn’t help but stammer out instinctively. What was with his upfront hostility?
“You think?! Now, who the hell are you?!” He asked again, with all the politeness of a very agitated dog.
“I-I know now that I called the wrong number, but that doesn’t mean you get to be a jerk! You better adjust that tone when talking to me!” You shouted back at him. After all, who the hell did he think he was, demanding answers with not even a miniscule of manners?!
That seemed to stun the man behind the other line, before a smirk appeared on his face. “...Heh, sorry. I thought you could have been… someone else. If you were, I’d tell ya to go to hell.” He snickered.
“Yeah, I figured that was the case when you got worked up over a damn call.” You sighed. “Now are you going to say it right, your question?”
“Yeah. What’s your name? Im Loki, prince of Elbaf.”
“Y-You’re HUUUUUUHHH?!”
That was how it all started.
The biggest accidental call ever.
“I bet it is a real honor, being able to talk to someone like me. Luck may have come your way, or misfortune, dogahaha!~” The snail laughed, its tongue lolled out with a mischievous smirk.
“Yeah, I didn’t exactly have calling royalty by accident on my bucket list. But life is funny like that, I suppose. Might just be the most interesting thing to happen to me so far.” You hummed as you got a bit more comfortable. “But I don’t get it. Shouldn’t a prince be more… I don’t know, refined?”
“Who says I'm not?” The snail looked offended.
“I mean… “Who the hell is this” doesn’t quite strike me as princely conduct.” You sweatdropped.
“I told you, I thought you were someone else. There’s a group of people who piss me off, and they have been a pain recently.” The snail told her animatedly.
“Anyway… You strike me as someone who hasn’t been here before. I’d invite you to a grand tour, but I'm kind of… chained up at the moment.”
“...Thats an interesting way of saying you're busy.” You sweatdropped.
“No, I meant that literally. I’ll explain it later.”
“W-What do you mean you’ll explain it later?! Why is a prince chained?!” You gawked in disbelief.
“Its a long story, okay? How about you tell me more about yourself. Its rare that I can talk to outsiders, and I find they have the most interesting stories. Tell me what you’re like.” He switched the topic around, with all the casualness of talking about the weather.
“Okay, but you better explain what you mean later. I won’t forget something crazy like that…” You shook your head exasperatedly.
Just what was your luck, anyway?
While you told the basics of your life story to your perhaps new found friend, the prince stared intently at the bushy snail he had relaying the information. What was his luck that somehow a total stranger would call his number, of all numbers? Someone who wasn’t afraid to check him?
“Thats quite the tale. Nothing compared to mine, but it is… entertaining.” The snail snickered, as you rolled your eyes.
“That ego sure is befitting a prince, especially one of your stature, I'm sure.” You mumbled.
“You call it ego, I call it the proud confidence of a figure of legend!” The snail smirked with a proud huff.
"Yeah, whatever, figure of legend." You rolled your eyes.
"Soo you told me about your life, but you haven't told me what you look like." Loki pointed out.
"Right back at you, prince. I can already guess you're tall."
"The tallest among all giants. Also the most strongest. And the most handsome." He bragged with a proud smirk.
"Yet you're chained. Don't think I forgot about that part." You reminded him. If he thought you would forget something like that so easily, he was very much mistaken.
"Dogahaha! Of course not, I will tell you eventually." Loki laughed, though his smile didn't quite match it.
He was seen as a curse to his people. Rejected at every turn. By his biological mother, to the girl he wished to marry, by his own people…
"You sure about that?..."
Was it stupid of him to attempt to try and get this total stranger, who called him by accident, to see him differently? For once , to not be seen as a monster? Was it even possible?
Whether it was or not, why did he even try in the first place?...
It had to be because of her, because of Ida… The one who showed him it was possible to be loved, to be seen as something besides a curse.
"...You went quiet on me, big guy. You okay?..."
Loki perked up, letting out another laugh. "Yeah, just thinking. When you find yourself in my kind of situation, you tend to have a lot of time to think…"
"Im still surprised you, a prince, are chained. Did you commit some sort of crime that even a royal had to face the consequences of?..." You asked softly. You noticed how the smile on the snail did not quite convey happiness. It looked very much like a mask, like it was forced.
"...You could say that…" Loki mumbled in reply.
The crime of being born, he thought bitterly.
"...Call me crazy, but I have a feeling that despite your tough guy act, you're not a bad guy. Whether I'm right or not remains to be seen, but I think there's more to you I still have yet to really know." You told him honestly.
"Well, I got all the time to tell you all about me, if you're just that curious." Loki told her, before double-taking.
"W-Wait a minute, its not an act! I AM a tough guy! The toughest of Elbaf, if not the world! I got muscles as big as mountains!" Loki barked.
"That sounds a bit dreamy, not going to lie." You admitted. What? You had a thing for beefcakes.
"Y-Yeah, well, don't try that sappy crap with me! It makes me sick!" He barked.
It didn't.
It came to be a regular routine to talk to the big character that was Loki. You had to admit it was quite entertaining talking to him. You got to learn so much about Elbaf, about the culture, and about certain customs.
You also came to realize that though he talked in a very rough manner, it was more bark than bite, at least to you.
"No way, you actually met Rocks?!" You gasped as you leaned closer to your transponder snail. You have only heard legends about that pirate from the days before the Great Pirate era.
"Yup, he beat me up pretty bad, too! You should have been there, but humans' puny lifespans miss so much." Loki snickered, sitting as comfortably as he could, being chained. He enjoyed his talks with you just as much.
"Yeah, rub that in my face, why don't you?" You stuck your tongue out at the snail, which stuck its tongue right back at you.
"Maybe you should come visit me in Elbaf. I'd like to see just how puny you are, sæta." He snickered.
"And what does that last word mean? Insulting me on the sly?" You frowned.
"Not at all. Maybe if you came to Elbaf, I could teach you some words." He suggested.
"You say that like its easy to get there. Did you forget just where your island is?"
"Damn, if only I can get these chains off. It will probably be easier to come to you."
"Doesn't a prince have more important things to worry about?" You wondered. It still was so strange that the prince of Elbaf was chained up.
"Yeah, I do. Seeing just how puny you are, ástin mín." He chuckled.
"Now I know you're being cheeky with me. What do those words mean?"
"You know the price. Come over here!”
"Didn't I just say it wouldn't be easy?! You admitted just as much just right now!"
"True, but I'd still like to see you." He snickered.
He was never going to willingly tell you what he just called you, was he? You might just have to do some research, If that wide grin on your transponder snail was anything to go by.
(little time skip)
"...So you're telling me… that your hammer… Is a squirrel?" You blinked slowly.
"Yeah, name's Ragnir. He's also chained up here with me, so there goes my way out, dogahaha!"
"T-Thats not a good thing! But you did mention how he told you that you were worthy of the devil fruit you ate."
"Mhmm."
"How can a hammer turned squirrel determine that?"
"Is it really that strange when devil fruits are involved?"
"True…"
"Hes nowhere near as strange as the fact you told me you're single. You live in the town of the blind and the deaf?" Loki questioned. That was his elephant in the room he was meaning to address. From these calls so far, he couldn't deny it… He was developing quite the crush.
"Im no Snake Empress, you know." You told him.
"Why would anyone care about that?"
"...You can't be serious."
"As serious as my imprisonment! You didn't immediately hang up on me when we first talked, even when I was kind of an ass." He pointed out.
"You don't even know what I look like."
"Don't need to. What you told me about yourself so far already tells me enough. Makes me wish even more I can break the hell out, honestly."
You paused. This was some rather… flowery talk from the rough around the edges Loki.
"...If I didn't know any better, I'd say you like me."
"No kidding. Why would I talk to someone I hate?" He huffed.
"Not what I meant, don't skirt past the subject!"
Loki grumbled at his transponder snail, a warm blush appearing on his cheeks, despite the biting cold of his current environment.
"...Why does that matter?..." He muttered weakly.
Its not like you would feel the same, he thought. He was already rejected once.
"...Because, against all better judgement, I… might kind of like you too, you and your crazy shenanigans." You admitted, not being able to look at your snail.
"...But you don't even know what I really look like…"
"Hey, that was my line! And, stealing yours, I know enough. Muscles as big as mountains, remember?"
"...Creepy eyes…"
"Huh?" You blinked, staring back at your snail in confusion.
"Creepy eyes. I have creepy eyes. Would you still feel the same, if you saw them?" He couldn't help but ask.
Who was he kidding, thinking this could be different? You never even saw him in person. Haven't even heard the full truth of everything he had done.
How could this be different?
"...I really doubt anything like that would creep me out. If anything, I'm only creeped out by the deadly hammer turned squirrel." You answered.
Loki let out a soft laugh. Was it of relief, or disbelief? He didn't quite know at the moment.
"...By the way, when do you think your "sentence" would be done? Hopefully within my lifetime." You asked.
Loki smirked. "Heh, I'll make sure of it. But fair warning: when Im free, the world will burn by my hand."
"Ah, there he is, Mr.Dramatic. Was a bit worried he wouldn't come back." You smiled.
"Who are you calling dramatic?!"
"You, obviously."
"I meant it!"
"Doesn't make it any less dramatic." You giggled.
How funny… All of this had started with you meaning to call another friend, only to call Loki instead.
May have started off as the wrong number, but it just may turn out to be the most right number of all, in the end.
Hopefully you'll be able to rid him of his arsonist dreams, though. Can't exactly live on a scorched world.
turnnoffyourmind
amandla
stormborns
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