I only write for One Piece characters for now (It's the only anime I've watched so far 🫣)
Please feel free to send in requests, but keep in mind I am a person with a life away from here so things might take time
I am partial to fluff and hurt/comfort and not super into smut, but all requests are welcomed (they just might not be accepted)
Please note if you’d like f! or gn!reader otherwise I will just go where the words take me (Unfortunately, I don’t feel I have the lived experience to accurately do m!reader stories, sorry about that)
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Thanks for stopping by!
Dividers from @cursed-carmine - Sparkle Line Neutral, Sparkle Line Warm, and Sparkle Line Cold
💥~☆ These were supposed to be small little headcanons, but it quickly descended into madness! This was so fun to write~☆
Law has been following the Legend of Sora comic series ever since he got his hands on it as a teen. Reading every copy, collecting special additions, collecting the figurines. The surgeon of death even kept a notebook in his drawer that was full of every single scrap of information that he'd collected about each character in the series. Theories were scrawled in quick shorthand about possible alternate endings for what would happen in the finale.
Shachi and Penguin had even made it a habit to track rumours of where copies their captain hadn't obtained yet were. Those two had made it a mission to literally print out a map of the North Blue and attach small red pins to the corkboard in order to keep track of the comics. Every comic that had been found would have its pin turned blue as a confirmation.
And there were nights on the polar tang where, ever since Ikkaku had wrenched out of Law that he liked the comic series, they'd all sit there and go through each volume one by one. The Heart Pirates keeping track of which volume they were so they could pick up where they last left off whenever crew members were injured after fights.
“Listen captain, you're objectively wrong, Poison pink is the best!” Ikkaku says, reading volume 52.
“Obviously it's __” Law just responds easily, saying your name, like he didn't even have to think.
“__?! But she's not even part of the main cast captain, she's turned up in like three comics!” Jean Bart protests, “Besides, wasn't Stealth Black your favourite captain?”
“You can have more than one favourite.” Law murmurs, crossing his arms over his chest, “Besides, __ was integral to poison pink and winch green getting out of the fight against the parasitic fog, without her, they would have died on that mission and we wouldn't have seen Sparkling Red's eyes”
"I- Alright fine, she is great, but still, she barely turns up” Shachi says as he adjusts his sunglasses on the bridge of his nose.
“Which sucks, we only have poison pink, that's a woman. Which edition does __ turn up in? I don’t think I've read that far yet” Ikkaku says.
“Edition 23, 32 and 45. You have to read them in a different order for that arc to make sense though. Start with edition 22, then 23, then you go read from 30 to 32 and then finish the arc in edition 45 before you start the sparkling red arc” Law explains and starts to gather up the editions in order for Ikkaku to read, he then hands them to her.
“Aww man, the sparkling red arc, we've still got to find the rest of those don't we captain?” Bepo frowns
“Yeah, we've searched the entire North Blue and there's no leads left there” Law mutters, slightly annoyed, it had been bugging him for ages. The sparkling red and the finale arc were the only arcs that the Heart Pirates were missing. There were old rumours of a your arc that Penguin had found but there were no real leads about that secret arc.
“Aren't we supposed to be cheering for Sora?” Penguin asks, but hes grinning.
“What? Hell no, the villains are so much cooler, especially Dengeki Blue, hes such an asshole” Ikkaku just responds and Law huffs a breath of amusement out from his nose as he lets a lazy grin tug at his lips.
“If they wanted us to root for the hero, then they shouldn't have made the villains so cool” Law simply says, “Besides, the villains are always better in stories”
“Hah! Can't argue with that!” Shachi grins, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.
~☆~
☆ And then there was that day where Law's alliance with Strawhat Luffy and those time lost samurai had given him the greatest gift he'd seen after the battle in Dressrosa against Doflamingo. In return for Laws help with destroying the SMILE fruit factories and Doflamingo with Luffy?
☆ Momonoske had asked Kanjuro to use his devil fruit in order to create the rest of the Sora warrior of the sea comic line. But, Kanjuro had also seen your design on one of those covers and decided to paint you too, bringing you to life with his devil fruit,
☆ And Law just freezes as soon as he sees you burst out of the paper, because you’re exactly how he imagined, exactly how you were presented in the comics. But this time, you were real, your small mannerisms of how you stood werent static on paper anymore, no, you were real, down to the smallest details of your suit and weapons,
☆ You were actually real and Law didnt know what to do with himself, the other crew in the Heart Pirates were shocked but they were collecting the comics and so looking forward to reading them later to see how the story finally finished, a story that had taken years in order to finally get every edition
“Well aren't you a brooding type?~” You smile as you move up to Law, this one took your interest,
“I-i… __?” Law can't help but sputter your name out in shock, if there was a moment for a reclrd scratch sound effect it was now, his mind couldn't grasp that you were real, actually real. You, a character that he had barely seen any content of, the same one that plagued his mind and that he had theorised many things about and finally you were here that he could just ask you everything himself.
“You know my name? Are you one of Stealth Black’s allies?”
“Y-yeah..I am.”
Law says, he doesnt know what else to do, so he just agrees.
☆ Its a bit strange getting used to the fact that you're a fictional character in Law's world, its not like the guy obsessively knows everything about you because he literally can't, you're such a niche but very important character that people usually ignore in favour of the main five villains or Sora himself… But Law had found himself liking you a lot, your attacks, the way that you interacted with everyone and constantly had a rivalry with Dengeki Blue.
☆ And well, you find it a bit hard to adjust to the real world, but Law is there to help you, you joined his crew and quickly found your place.
"So you can tear out people's organs? Thats so cool, if we had you on the team then we'd be able to defeat Sora! He'd have no chance!"
☆ And Law would just kind of, short circuit as you'd ramble on about how cool his devil fruit is. He's done the exact same rambles about how cool your fighting style and abilities were to Bepo and Penguin, so hearing you do the same to him? Well, he just felt himself falling for you more.
"Are those...figurines?"
"Uhh, it's not what it looks like"
☆ Law moves over quickly to try and hide the figurines that he has of you and the Germa 66 squad, but you are already moving and you duck under his arm as you crouch and pick up the figurine that represents yourself,
"Woah, I didnt know i was this popular!"
"I....made that one, polymer clay and some acrylic paints" Law mutters, rubbing the back of his neck, you were a niche character after all, Law couldn't find any merchandise of you...so he resorted to making you himself,
"You made this?! It's so cool"
"I just...I dont think i did you enough justice with how pretty you are."
☆ And Law always grips the comics a bit tighter whenever you lean against his side and start to read with him, talking about your allies to him and letting him know exactly what each of them are like in your world,
“Oh, you should know” You just grin as you point at a panel on the comic, “Winch Green went into the wall here, his boosters malfunctioned and it caused them to charge him into the wall” You grin as you stayed lent against him,
☆ Law loves knowing things about you, your hobbies, he defintley tried to hide all of the sketches that he had about you in that old sketch pad that laid beside his theory book,
“Hey Captain, Did you draw these, these are really good” You just smile as you keep flicking through the pages of the sketchbook before Law coughs and takes the book from you, shutting it and placing it back into his drawer,
“Its just a few sketches” He’d mutter under his breath, he wasnt good with taking compliments and his cheeks were flushing slightly, "Besides...how can't I draw my muse?"
☆ Law had found himself drawing you ever since he saw you come out of that paper, he just…couldnt help it, you were his muse, a muse that had infested his mind and had never left, and now? Now it seems like you'll always stay his muse now that you were real, he still couldn't believe that you were on his crew,
2026 by Spark-Canon-Spark. Any and all works cannot be used, edited or republished without the creators permission!
Imagine Law’s reaction when you refuse to leave the Straw Hats for your safety…
Part 1 | Part 2
“Where are they?” A deep and muffled voice said.
“They’ve been taken.” A usually unserious voice replied with dramatic tension.
“What?! Get out of my way.”
“Oi! Don’t talk to Luffy like that.” Zoro growled.
The galley door swung open with a loud bang.
You pulled away from the literature in your hand and found yourself pleasantly surprised by the sight of Trafalgar Law. He wasn’t scheduled to visit the Thousand Sunny so soon.
“Y/n-ya.” He said relatively breathless but something told you that the scuffle outside wasn’t the reason why. “I need you to come with me.”
Frowning, you set the book down. “Where?”
“Anywhere. You’re not safe. He knows about you.”
A chill ran down your spine. There was only one person who could get Law so worried - Doflamingo.
If the Warlord knew you by name as a Straw Hat pirate, you were in no more danger than the rest of the crew. But if Doflamingo knew what you meant to Law, then you were certainly carrying a death sentence. And judging from Law’s very sudden appearance, you suspected it was the latter.
You stood up from the small desk and looked at him. You were starting to grow just as worried for his own safety.
“Law, I don’t think that’s necessary, I-”
“I’ll make you.” Law told you matter-of-factly. All he needed to do was say ‘room’ and ‘shambles’ and you would be aboard the Polar Tang in a heartbeat.
Your eyes narrowed at the slight coercion. “If you love me, you won’t.” You countered knowing with full confidence that he wouldn’t force you aboard the ship. And just like that, he backed up.
Stepping towards him, you offered a kind smile. “Listen, I understand that you want me safe. Believe me, I do. But I can’t leave my crew. I can’t leave my Captain.”
Law’s eyes widened for a brief moment at your rejection. But his emotions were quickly flooded with his own fear. “Mugiwara-ya is no match for him. If this crew comes against Doflamingo, they’ll-”
“They'll do their best.” You cut him off immediately. Refusing to entertain the death of your crew in any sense. “That’s all I can ask for.”
Law’s expression hardened. He was pissed and undoubtedly so.
“Fine.” He bit harshly. “Stay here for all I care.”
And just like that, he turned and marched himself out barging past the few Straw Hats who were huddled by the door listening to the whole conversation play out.
Law was a difficult man and you knew this, by the seas he even repeated it like a broken snail phone. But when he pulled things like this, it didn’t sting any less.
Most of the crew piled in after he left and Sanji began a low flame to start dinner. He looked over at you and asked what you felt like eating.
Your stomach was so empty that your heart had fallen to its depths and hit the bottom. Sending the cook a kind smile, you collected your book and requested that he ask Nami instead.
All you wanted in that moment was one person and he was furious with you.
I would like to see what you come up with~! You don't necessarily have to do it. It's upto you!
Here's the fanart —
One Piece | Sanji | 3.6k | Masterlist
Thank you so much for including me in this! It was genuinely so much fun!
“Nami?” you called.
“Yes?”
“The smile on your face puts the sun to shame, or something along those lines,” you said. “And also, would you like something to drink?”
She tipped her head back against the lounger she was in and laughed. “I would love a drink,” she said. “Thank you. But if you’re going for true authenticity, should you really be using Nami? I think there should be another syllable there.”
You shook your head. “Not as long as I have my dignity.”
Sanji gave you an affronted look.
You smiled innocently at him. “I gave her the compliment. I just don’t think she needs that and the sing-songy voice.”
“No,” Nami said. “I don’t but it would be entertaining to hear you try.”
“No.”
Sanji crossed his arms as though to tell you that it wasn’t what he was protesting with his expression. You smiled innocently because although you had promised to be an accurate translator, you had your limits.
“You wanted to offer her a drink,” you said. “I gave her a compliment and did that. I went above and beyond to make sure it sounded like the offer genuinely came from your heart.”
He shook his head in disappointment, leaned over to press a kiss to your cheek regardless and tapped on Robin’s empty glass.
“No, thank you,” you said. “I have mine already.”
“Not entirely convinced on the mind reading thing yet,” Franky commented. “Two hours in and you have the whole thing down perfectly.”
You smirked proudly and held out your bottle to him. He took it and popped the top off with an opener in his palm, handing it back. Sanji tapped a bottle opener against the bar and you turned back to him with a smile.
“You’re busy making a drink for Nami,” you defended yourself. “And Franky has one right in his hand.”
Franky grinned. “Got pretty much everything. Never know what you’re going to need.”
Sanji sighed dramatically and continued preparing Nami’s drink. If he had a voice, you felt very sure he would be mumbling something under his breath that would make you giggle. You enjoyed tormenting him sometimes.
Unfortunately, even if he’d tried to speak, it wouldn’t have been too useful.
It felt like only a few minutes ago that he’d given you a kiss, opened his mouth to offer something, and said absolutely nothing. Chopper confirmed it was probably a lingering side effect of some nonsense he’d breathed in on the last island you’d stopped at. It would wear off in a few hours.
Which naturally meant that you had become an impromptu translator until then.
And not a very good one at that. You knew what Sanji wanted to say – after so long at his side, it would be impossible not to – and for the most part, you got there eventually. The main difference was that you refused to make it sound quite right.
A hand grew from the ground, passing Robin’s bottle over so Franky could open it too before carrying it back to where she sat in the sun with a book resting against her knees.
“Robin, darling!” you called. “Can Sanji offer you an appetizer before lunch?”
She laughed to herself. “I’m quite alright, thank you.”
Sanji had had no intention of offering extra food but he still smiled at you fondly as he finished Nami’s drink. You had to be entertaining him, if not getting his words across. Even if that meant listening to you attempt to compliment the two women every time they appeared in your line of sight.
He placed it down next to her seat and you immediately turned to her, waiting for her thank you so you could offer the appropriate level of devotion.
“Anything for you, Nami! Your beauty is absolutely unmatched in this world!”
She laughed and blew a kiss to you that you made a show of catching and pressing to your heart.
“Aw, come on man, that wasn’t accurate,” Franky ribbed. “She blew you a kiss. Where’s the nosebleed? The fainting? You’ve got to commit to being your man fully if you’re going to do it.”
Sanji rolled his eyes as he walked past you, pausing briefly to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear affectionately.
You smiled up at him. “Thank you for whatever compliment you’re giving me mentally, right now,” you said. “I’m thinking it’s somewhere along the lines of me still being beautiful even if I did get a nosebleed.”
He shrugged as though it was good enough before he returned to the bar, grabbed a napkin, and quickly wrote something down. He held it out to you and you read the flattery with a warm smile.
“Aw, thank you love,” you said. “You’re too sweet.”
He gestured to the napkin and took a seat beside you on the chair. When you leaned in, he gave you a quick peck despite clearly trying to communicate something, then tapped the napkin again.
“I’ve read it,” you said.
He brushed a finger gently across your lower lip.
You sighed softly. “You want me to read it out? I don’t know if I can compliment myself for you, darling. I’d sound awfully arrogant.”
Franky lifted his sunglasses to look down at the napkin and nodded. “You would sound absolutely ridiculous saying that to yourself.”
“Maybe I can say it to Robin or Nami?” you offered.
Sanji pressed a hand dramatically to his heart as though you’d threatened to stab him through the chest. It was meant for you then.
You laughed. “Then, I’m sorry, love, but if you want to hear me say it aloud, you’re going to have to wait until you get your voice back, okay?”
Zoro scoffed, a sound that surprised you because you’d thought he was asleep this whole time.
“With any luck, that’ll be never.”
Sanji glared at him and then gestured for you to speak. You paused, considering what you could say that sounded appropriate before shrugging and sending a rude gesture in Zoro’s direction, which only made him frown.
Sanji’s expression said everything.
“I know you could have done that,” you said. “But I thought it got my point across. Oh, and Zoro?”
“Yes?”
“Fuck you.” You nodded to Sanji. “There, now I said it and showed it.”
Zoro blinked at you and then shrugged and took a swig from his bottle. “Fine,” he said. “Your voice is less grating at least.”
“I get right to the heart of the insult,” you said. “The point stands and no need for yelling.”
Sanji breathed out heavily and shook his head at you but the smile still lingered on his face so you took that to mean you weren’t entirely failing in your duties.
You gave him a quick peck on the lips. “I love you too.”
He nodded his approval and moved to get up when you caught his wrist. He stayed as you laced your fingers with his, an idea creeping into your mind.
“I think you should maybe take the rest of the day off to recover,” you suggested. “I can take over cooking today.”
He looked very offended at the suggestion, gesturing to his throat with his free hand as though asking what his lack of a voice had to do with cooking. The answer was honestly very little but it was fun that he couldn’t protest verbally.
“No, I understand,” you said. “You’re very tired. Maybe you can stay out here and I’ll go start preparing something right now.”
“Are we having more breakfast?” Luffy asked, his head turning away from his game with Usopp.
“No,” you answered sweetly. “But I’m going to cook lunch.”
Sanji’s expression was becoming more distressed by the second although pride briefly fluttered through when Luffy frowned.
“But I prefer Sanji’s cooking.”
Your lips pressed into a thin line. “Well, that’s just mean. Sanji’s letting me cook because he loves me.”
Sanji smiled and lowered his head, kissing the back of your hand in a way that was clearly meant to soothe your captain’s insult. His expression promised a thousand reassuring praises about how he enjoyed it when you cooked.
“As long as you appreciate me,” you said. “I think I’ll be alright.”
He nodded and gestured for you to say something, tapping the napkin and its sweet flattery again.
“I’m not complimenting myself verbally,” you insisted. “It’ll sound so embarrassing. Even if technically, it comes from you.”
“Give it here, I’ll read the thing,” Franky said. “Though as a warning, I’m going to have to edit it a little if it’s too mushy.”
Sanji shook his head and reached for the napkin and you purposefully leaned back in your seat, shuffling a little away to grab it and hold it out toward the clearly not-listening swordsman.
“You know who reads things very well?” you asked. “Zoro! Would you mind?”
Sanji lunged for the napkin with such immediate horror that his chair scraped against the deck. He caught your wrist before you could surrender it to Zoro, shaking his head with the frantic severity of a man preventing an international disaster.
Nami laughed openly while Robin lowered her book just enough to reveal the smile she was making no effort to hide as Sanji tried his hardest to ask you to stop tormenting him without being able to offer even one pleasantry to his request.
Zoro looked over. “What do you want?”
“Nothing,” you said. “I’m just using you to tease Sanji. He’s cute when he’s flustered.”
Zoro clicked his tongue, nose wrinkling in annoyance. “Then don’t.”
Sanji’s cheeks turned faintly pink at the compliment and mild frustration. He so badly wanted to counter you with praise of his own. You could practically see the flattery where it was stuck in his throat, desperate to escape. You even had an exact idea of what line he wanted to say to try and turn his embarrassment into lavish compliments.
You smiled and looked toward the other two women who were both still amused.
“I think Sanji’s meaning to tell you both that your laughs are more precious than any song,” you said sweetly.
Sanji sighed.
“I think we should make this a permanent thing,” Nami said. “It’s a nice change of pace.”
“I’ll run out of compliments to give eventually,” you warned her. “Then I’m just going to be telling you that you look nice fifty times a day.”
She shrugged. “That’s already what I hear whenever Sanji speaks so it isn’t too different.”
You snickered and Sanji huffed once, offended but still willing to forgive her for it on instinct alone. Of course.
“Don’t worry, I enjoy your poetry,” you promised, squeezing the hand that you were still holding. “But I’m no good at coming up with my own.”
He rolled his eyes and nodded to the napkin.
“Still not reading it aloud.”
He breathed out dramatically.
You didn’t end up getting to cook which, honestly, was a tragedy. Thanks to your announcement of your intentions, Sanji was already waiting for the moment you tried to sneak your way into the kitchen and he’d brought a chair in so you could sit without interfering.
Every time he caught you and gently led you away, you waited for the kiss and the whispered flattery and though you got the former… the latter stayed annoyingly out of your reach.
You found yourself becoming strangely nostalgic as the day drew on without any sweetened compliments or lovely names flitting your way. You were almost tempted to give in and put words behind his gestures though your pride still caught you before it happened. Worse, you knew even if you tried you would never say the words the same way he did.
You couldn’t imitate his gentle cadence and really, the words were meaningless without that.
You sat behind him in the kitchen with the sizzling pans and the steady stirring against a bowl and yet still found it eerily quiet. Quiet in a way you truly hated.
“Do you know what I don’t like?” you asked, mainly for something to break the quiet. “I can’t see what you’re doing from over here. So, I feel left out.”
Sanji’s shoulders raised in the same way they always did when he laughed though the sound didn’t follow. He moved the pan from the stove so you could see it, pointing with the spoon as he would normally do.
But without the explanation, it wasn’t nearly as fun.
“I’ve never realised how much you talk,” you said.
He gave you an unimpressed expression in response and you laughed, hurrying to clarify.
“No, no, I’m not complaining about it,” you assured. “I was missing it. I like hearing you speak.”
He stared at you fondly for a second too long before he smiled and went back to what he had been doing. The temptation to go and nag Chopper about how much longer this would take was only growing worse with the passing seconds.
You stood from your chair and ventured closer, staying out of his way the best you could, to watch him. He glanced at you and smiled, holding out his hand for a jar of spice at your elbow.
You handed it over, brushing your fingers against his own purposefully.
He smiled and nodded but without the flattering gratitude, you sighed. He squeezed your wrist tightly and though you knew what he was meaning, it didn’t make you feel better.
“No need to look so happy about it,” you said with a slight pout. “You’d miss hearing my voice too if I suddenly couldn’t talk.”
He nodded fervently in agreement and gestured in a way you took to mean something along the lines of losing your voice being a great tragedy inflicted on the world. It was nice. But it wasn’t quite right and your mouth still twisted in annoyance at it.
You continued to translate on occasion through the day but it wasn’t really needed. Everybody knew Sanji well enough that your help was very unimpactful.
And your mood sank more as he placed a plate in front of you, entirely different from everybody else’s.
One of your favourites. Clearly meant to be an apology for your disappointment.
“You have nothing to apologise for,” you mumbled as you gave him an appreciative kiss. “But thank you.”
Luffy glanced toward your plate curiously and you waited until Sanji had stepped back into the kitchen to give him half of it. You didn’t have much of an appetite when you felt like this but luckily, you dined with a bottomless vacuum cleaner and never had to worry about anybody seeing when you hadn’t finished your meal.
Which, unsurprisingly, meant you woke at an ungodly hour of the morning with your stomach growling at you. You made your way into the kitchen with a yawn against the back of your hand.
Like this, you could appreciate the silence a little more.
It was supposed to be quiet when you were busy by yourself, borrowing one of the knives you’d been told a thousand times you could use, and making yourself something small enough to tide you over until breakfast. This quiet was comfortable.
Yet it still annoyed you purely because of how it had been earlier when it crept into spaces that should have been filled with flirting.
The doors swung open and you jumped for a second before you recognised Sanji’s silhouette and you smiled.
“Hello,” you greeted. “Do you have a sixth sense for when somebody walks into the kitchen?”
He smiled and yawned, but then he opened his mouth and spoke, his voice rough with disuse but audible. “I’m sorry, mon amour, I thought it was Luffy.”
“Oh?” you hummed, unable to stop the smile that spread over your face at the familiar sound of his voice. You turned around, abandoning your food to slip closer. “That’s a sound I’ve missed something terrible. Are you feeling better?”
“Much. I woke up and could speak again. I never thought it would be so difficult although you certainly tormented me for it, cherie.”
You laughed softly. “Aw, I did nothing. All that I’m guilty of is sharing your usual love with the others. And they were smiling more than usual so that’s a win.”
He huffed. “True but not being able to share the same love with you was torture. Far worse than if you’d abandoned speaking for me all together. I could spend every hour of the day praising you and still leave half your virtues unsaid.”
“I still knew what you were trying to say.”
“That’s not the same as hearing it,” he insisted.
You rested your arms over his shoulders and leaned up to kiss him softly. He smiled gently against your mouth, hands coming naturally to rest against your sides. No matter how many times you kissed him though, his cheeks always flushed slightly at the end.
“Were you hungry?” he asked when you moved away.
“Just a little,” you admitted. “But I didn’t want to wake you up for a midnight snack.”
“Don’t be ridiculous, you could always wake me.”
“If I knew you’d have your voice back, I would have,” you said. “It’s such a lovely sound. Although I’m also grateful I don’t have to keep thinking of compliments. You’re more creative than I give you credit for. I ran out of orange things to compare to Nami’s hair after the first hour.”
He sighed. “You didn’t have to do that.”
“It was authentic,” you insisted.
“No, it wasn’t because you wouldn’t say a word to yourself. Nami-san and Robin-chan are radiant, amour, but you’re the one who holds my heart. You’d need to acknowledge that first.”
You hummed teasingly. “Really? Because I thought I heard some very pretty words for them when I was reading your mind earlier.”
He shook his head but his smile remained humoured. “You came up with those ideas yourself.”
“Did I?”
Sanji chuckled and stepped back, catching your hand before it slid fully from his shoulder and lowering his head to kiss the back of it. “You must have. My love is for you and only you mademoiselle.”
His thumb moved slowly over your knuckles, and for once, neither of you rushed to turn the moment into a joke.
You smiled warmly at him. “That one sounds like it’s been waiting a few hours to be said.”
Something excited sparkled in his eyes at your words. “It definitely has and don’t worry, I’ve written down every single word I wanted to say to you yesterday. I fully intend to make sure you hear them at least twice to make up for the delay.”
Buggy wakes up to the smell of breakfast and discovers Y/N cooking in the kitchen. Naturally, instead of entering like a normal person, he decides to use his Chop-Chop powers to steal toast, rearrange utensils, sabotage the eggs, and turn one peaceful morning into a full-scale domestic war. What follows is theft, teasing, flying body parts, and one very smug clown who knows exactly how loved he is.
Buggy x Reader Masterlist / Buggy x Catherine's sketches / Buggy x OC Masterlist / Buggy x Reader's sketches / Catherine's food songs
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Buggy woke to the smell of butter.
One second he was face-down in the pillows, blue hair covering half his face, one arm sprawled across the empty side of the bed. The next, his nose twitched.
"Eggs." He sniffed. "Toast. Something frying."
His eyes opened.
The room was still dim, washed in that soft early-morning light that made everything look quieter than it really was. Somewhere outside, the ship creaked lazily over the water. Somewhere below, someone dropped something heavy and cursed.
But from the kitchen came the unmistakable smell of breakfast.
Buggy lifted his head.
His hair stuck out in every possible direction. A faint crease from the pillow crossed one cheek. He looked deeply offended by consciousness.
Then the smell reached him again.
He sat up.
“Definitely food,” He murmured.
The word came out rough with sleep and almost reverent.
He dragged himself out of bed, wrapped the blanket around his shoulders and shuffled toward the door. He could have walked into the kitchen normally. He could have greeted you. He could have kissed your cheek, complained about being awake, and stolen a piece of toast while you pretended not to notice.
But Buggy was Buggy.
And normal behavior had never survived prolonged contact with him.
He stopped just before the kitchen doorway and peeked inside.
You stood at the stove with your back partly turned, humming under your breath as you moved between a pan of eggs and a plate already piled with toast. Your hair was slightly messy. You were wearing one of his shirts, sleeves rolled up, the hem brushing your thighs as you reached for the salt.
Buggy stared.
His sleepy expression softened for exactly one second.
Then his eyes dropped to the food.
Then back to you.
A grin slowly spread across his face.
Terrible grin.
The grin of a man who had just discovered breakfast, affection, and an opportunity to be unbearable all at once.
He stayed hidden behind the doorway.
Then quietly detached one hand.
It floated low along the floor, fingers creeping over the boards like a pale little spider.
You didn’t notice.
Buggy bit the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing.
His hand reached the kitchen.
Climbed the side of the counter.
Paused.
Then pinched your ass.
You jumped so hard the spatula nearly flew from your hand.
“Buggy!”
Silence.
You turned around.
Nobody.
The kitchen doorway stood empty.
You narrowed your eyes. “Buggy?”
From somewhere down the corridor came an exaggerated snore.
You stared toward the sound.
Then slowly looked back at the stove.
“Idiot,” You muttered.
Behind the wall, Buggy’s shoulders shook with silent laughter.
His hand returned, floating behind you at waist height.
This time you were ready.
The second it moved toward you, you spun and slapped at it with the spatula.
Buggy’s detached hand dodged neatly.
“Oh, no you don’t!”
The hand darted sideways, grabbed a slice of toast from the plate, and shot back toward the doorway.
You lunged after it. “Give that back!”
The toast disappeared around the corner.
A loud crunch followed.
“Are you eating in the hallway?” You stopped in the middle of the kitchen.
No answer.
Another crunch.
You planted your hands on your hips. “You could come in and sit at the table like a normal person.”
“I’m not awake enough for social interaction.” A muffled voice answered from outside.
“You’re awake enough to rob me.”
“That’s instinct.”
You rolled your eyes and turned back to the eggs.
Buggy peeked around the doorframe again.
You caught him this time.
Only his head was visible, blue hair hanging loose around his face, red nose bright against his sleep-pale skin, blanket still wrapped around his shoulders.
“You look ridiculous,” You said.
He frowned. “I look mysterious.”
“You look like a haunted curtain.”
Buggy vanished behind the wall again.
You smiled despite yourself and reached for the pepper.
It wasn’t there.
You paused.
Looked at the place where you had left it.
Then at the other side of the stove.
Nothing.
“Buggy.”
Silence.
You turned around.
His detached hand was hovering near the ceiling, holding the pepper shaker.
“Oh, come on.”
The hand tipped it once over the pan.
Far too much pepper rained down.
“BUGGY!”
The hand fled.
From the corridor came a delighted cackle.
You grabbed the wooden spoon and marched toward the doorway. “You are going to eat over-peppered eggs and you are going to enjoy every bite.”
Buggy’s head appeared again. “I like pepper.”
“You like causing problems.”
“That too.”
He ducked away just before the spoon could reach him.
You returned to the stove muttering darkly.
The next few minutes became a war.
First, one of Buggy’s hands stole another piece of toast.
Then the other hand moved the butter dish from one side of the counter to the other every time you turned around.
You caught his foot nudging the kitchen chair backward for no reason.
His head floated in briefly, stole a piece of cheese between his teeth, and disappeared before you could grab his hair.
“Stop separating yourself around the kitchen!” You shouted.
“I’m helping!”
“You moved the salt into the fruit bowl.”
“Improved accessibility.”
“You stole three pieces of toast.”
“Quality control.”
“You put the spoon in my pocket!”
“That was funny.”
You reached behind yourself and pulled the spoon out of your pocket.
Buggy laughed so hard from the corridor that something thudded against the wall.
“You’re impossible.”
“But breakfast keeps happening.”
You pointed the spoon at the doorway. “Get in here.”
“No.”
“Buggy.”
“I’m supervising remotely.”
“You are stealing remotely.”
“That’s leadership.”
You took a slow breath and turned back toward the pan.
"Fine. If you wanted war, you could have war." You muttered.
You picked up one perfectly fried egg with the spatula and transferred it onto a plate.
Then, loudly enough for him to hear, you said, “What a shame. This one looks perfect.”
The hallway went quiet.
You added toast.
Butter.
A little cheese.
Then placed the plate at the table.
“Warm eggs,” You continued. “Crispy bread. Fresh coffee.”
Silence.
You poured a cup.
The smell spread through the room.
Nothing happened.
You smiled to yourself.
“Too bad the love of my life is apparently not hungry.”
A detached hand slid slowly around the doorframe.
You slapped it away.
It retreated.
A moment later, Buggy’s head floated into the kitchen with an expression of exaggerated dignity.
“I heard my name.”
“You heard coffee.”
“That too.”
His head drifted closer to the table.
You caught him by both cheeks before he could reach the plate.
Buggy blinked.
His face squished between your palms.
“Where is the rest of you?”
“Nearby.”
“Bring it.”
“Why?”
“Because I’m not feeding a floating head.”
His eyes narrowed. “That sounds discriminatory.”
“Bring your body into the kitchen. Now!”
He sighed heavily.
A second later, his torso floated through the doorway, followed by his legs and arms in no particular order. The blanket trailed behind them like a defeated flag.
You watched as he reassembled himself beside the table.
It was not elegant.
One arm attached backward at first.
Buggy glared at it, pulled it off, turned it around, and snapped it back into place.
You folded your arms.
“Done?”
He rolled one shoulder. “There.”
“Sit.”
“You’re bossy in the morning.”
“You stole my spatula.”
Buggy looked down.
The spatula was tucked into the waistband of his pajama trousers.
He blinked at it.
Then at you.
“Huh.”
You snatched it away.
“You did that!”
“I have no memory of this.”
“You are literally holding my bread in your other hand.”
He looked down again.
A fourth piece of toast was clenched in his fingers.
“See?” Buggy took a bite. “No evidence now.”
You stared at him.
He chewed smugly.
Then his eyes drifted toward the plate at the table.
His whole face softened again, just slightly.
“You made all this?”
“No. The breakfast spirits came.”
“Oh!” He glanced at you. “Sarcasm before coffee. Dangerous.”
“You woke up and chose theft.”
“I woke up hungry.”
“You could have said good morning, beautiful.”
Buggy dropped into the chair and pulled the plate toward himself. “Good morning.”
“You already ate half the toast.”
“Good morning, beautiful.”
“Too late.”
He reached for you with one arm.
You stepped back.
His detached hand continued forward without the rest of him and wrapped around your waist.
“Buggy.”
“What?”
“You’re using your powers to drag me across the kitchen.”
“Efficient.”
The hand tugged.
You slid half a step closer.
“Stop that.”
Another tug.
Now you were standing between his knees.
Buggy looked up at you with messy hair, sleep-heavy eyes, and the pleased expression of a man who had achieved something tremendous through minimum effort.
“There,” He said. “Better.”
“You’re a menace.” You rolled your eyes.
“You made me breakfast.”
“That doesn’t mean you can reorganize my entire kitchen.”
“Our kitchen.”
“You put bread in the fruit bowl.”
“It was visiting.”
You tried not to laugh.
Failed.
“There it is.” Buggy grinned immediately.
“What?”
“That face.”
“What face?”
“The one you make when you’re pretending I’m not funny.”
“You’re not funny.”
“I’m hilarious.”
“You’re sitting there wrapped in a blanket with crumbs on your chest.”
“Meh. That’s part of the performance.”
You brushed the crumbs away with your fingers.
Buggy went still for half a second.
Then caught your wrist and kissed the inside of it.
Just a quick, warm press of his mouth against your skin.
You looked down at him.
He looked away first and reached for his fork.
“The eggs are getting cold,” He muttered.
“You’re welcome.” Your expression softened.
“I didn’t say thank you.”
“You just did.”
“I absolutely did not.”
“You kissed my wrist.”
“That was unrelated.”
“To what?”
He shoved a bite of egg into his mouth and answered around it, “Kitchen morale.”
You laughed and ran your fingers through his hair.
Buggy leaned into the touch before catching himself.
Then frowned at the plate.
“You put too much pepper in these.”
You pulled your hand away. “You put too much pepper in them.”
“Then they’re perfect.” He chewed thoughtfully.
You reached for the coffee pot.
Buggy’s hand detached again and stole the cup before you could pour.
You stared at him.
“What?” He stared back.
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what?”
“Being unbearable.”
“Coffee.” He held the cup out toward you.
You poured it.
He waited until you put the pot down, then used the same detached hand to pinch your ass again.
“Fuck!” You nearly poured coffee on him. “BUGGY!”
He laughed so hard he folded over the table.
You grabbed the dish towel and started hitting him with it while he tried to protect his breakfast.
“Violence!” He shouted through laughter. “Domestic violence over a loving touch!”
“That was not a loving touch!”
“It was affectionate!”
“It was a crime!”
“You liked it!”
“I’m going to throw you overboard!”
“You’d miss me by lunch!”
“Not if you keep stealing it!”
Buggy caught the towel with one detached hand while the other wrapped around your waist again. He pulled you closer until you were trapped against his side, still trying to look angry while laughing too much to manage it.
He rested his head briefly against your stomach.
Warm.
Sleepy.
Smug.
“You smell like breakfast,” He murmured.
“You smell like ham from last night.”
“Romantic.”
“You’re disgusting.”
“And loved.”
You looked down at him.
He lifted his face just enough to meet your eyes.
The grin softened.
“Yeah,” You said quietly. “Unfortunately.”
Buggy smiled like he had won.
Then his detached hand reached behind you and stole one more slice of bread.
You felt the movement.
Slowly lowered your gaze.
He froze with the bread halfway to his mouth.
“Buggy.”
He took a bite.
“Run,” he told the rest of himself.
And immediately split apart in six different directions while you chased him around the kitchen with the spatula.
hi!!!!! i have a request for you, but i also wanted to say how amazing ur writing is!! you’re legit so talented and i love ur writing sm, i lit get on here and hope and pray you’ve posted something
i was wondering if you’d consider writing sanji x reader fic with a reader with PTSD? whether it be they struggle with vivid nightmares, flashbacks being triggered by certain noises (like fireworks) or events, etc. if it’s too uncomfortable a topic for you to write i completely understand! i would love to see sanji comforting her/helping her to cope when things become too overwhelming, especially in your writing style!
and of course, thank you so much for putting your writing out here for people to read! people have own busy lives, and it makes it even more special when writers like you take the time out of your days to write these fics for all to read! i hope you have an amazing day/night <3
omg thank you so much 🥺💕 it makes me so happy to hear people actually like my writing and i wish i could post for you all more!!!
speaking of! this is the prompt i am working on next!! it should be up in the next couple days!! 🩵 i hope you have a wonderful day/night!
summary: sanji is determined to give you the perfect birthday: a day filled with your favourite things, followed by a private dinner beneath the tangerine trees. there is onle only one thing he has forgotten to include in the celebration—the man you love, who is still learning that his presence is worth more than anything he could ever provide
word count: 4,343
content: sanji x gn!reader, established relationship, post-whole cake island, birthday fluff, food as a love language, emotional hurt/comfort, themes of self-worth and learning to accept unconditional love, brief references to sanji’s familial trauma
a/n: written for my darling @t1track. HAPPY BIRTHDAY NYXIE!!!! 🖤 in spite of everything, i couldn't let your birthday pass without giving you something made especially for you, so please accept four thousand words of sanji cooking you an entire feast and loving you with his whole enormous heart. you are such a warm, funny and genuinely wonderful presence in my life, and i feel incredibly lucky to know you. i hope this next year gives you even a fraction of the love and happiness you bring to the people around you and that today, at the very least, you feel every bit as cherished as i know you are 🖤🌻
By the time you opened your eyes, Sanji had already turned the morning into a love letter.
Sunlight spilled through the porthole in a trembling band of gold, made restless by the sea, and somewhere beyond the walls of the Sunny a gull cried into the clean blue distance. Closer at hand were warmer things; the fragrance of coffee prepared precisely as you liked it, butter melting into bread still hot from the oven, the gentle sweetness of fruit cut into such delicate flowers that eating them seemed almost cruel. Sanji sat on the edge of the bed with the tray balanced across his knees, his shirtsleeves rolled above his forearms and his first cigarette of the day still unlit behind one ear, as though even smoke would be too coarse a thing to bring into the morning he had made for you.
“Happy birthday, my love,” he murmured, and bent to kiss the place where sleep still lingered at your temple.
His mouth travelled from there to your cheek, then the corner of your lips, offering each touch with such lingering sweetness that you suspected he had devised an entire sequence before you woke. You interrupted it by curling a hand around the back of his neck and drawing him into the kiss he had been carefully avoiding, warm mouth parting beneath yours in a quiet sound of surprise before he softened completely. Sanji always kissed as though it were something between reverence and hunger, but there was no desperation in him now, only the easy familiarity of his thumb brushing beneath your jaw and your fingers finding the soft hair at his nape.
“Breakfast is getting cold,” he warned against your mouth, although the arm slipping around your waist made no sincere attempt to release you.
“You’re the one distracting me.”
“A vicious slander on your birthday.” His smile touched your lips before he kissed you once more, too pleased with the accusation to defend himself properly. “I have been the soul of restraint.”
“You’ve kissed me four times.”
“It was meant to be five, but somebody got impatient.”
You allowed him the fifth on principle, followed by a sixth because Sanji had never understood restraint where affection was concerned and you had no particular desire to teach him. When he finally drew back, his eyes were softer than the morning light, the fondness in them so open that it made something behind your ribs ache pleasantly. Only then did he settle the tray across your lap and present his work with a flourish that would have suited a royal banquet rather than breakfast in bed: eggs folded into silken layers, crisp toast spread with a savoury butter fragrant with herbs, fruit arranged in jewelled crescents around a small pastry with a glazed berry flower at its centre.
“Is that a strawberry?” you asked, examining the tiny red petals.
“It was a strawberry,” Sanji said gravely. “It had greater ambitions.”
Your laughter rewarded him more generously than any compliment could have done. He watched you take the first bite with the attentive stillness of a man awaiting a verdict upon his soul, and although the quiet hum of pleasure you made eased the faint tension around his mouth, he disguised his relief by reaching to brush an imaginary crumb from your lower lip.
“It’s perfect,” you told him, catching his hand before he could retreat and kissing the pads of his fingers. “How long have you been awake?”
“That’s not a birthday question.”
“Sanji.”
“It’s not important,” he corrected, which meant long enough to make the pastry, arrange the fruit and somehow clean the galley before anybody else stirred. “Today is for you. Your sole responsibility is to be adored with good grace and an excellent appetite.”
You narrowed your eyes at him over the rim of your cup. “And what are you going to do?”
His answering smile was dazzling, guileless and therefore deeply suspicious. “Whatever is necessary.”
That promise revealed its true scale slowly. By the time you emerged onto the deck, the rest of the crew had already been recruited into what appeared to be a highly organised campaign against the possibility of your lifting a finger. Nami intercepted you before you could so much as glance towards the rigging and informed you that your chores had been redistributed; Usopp presented you with an official birthday medal constructed from painted wood, ribbon and at least one bottle cap; Chopper had made a card whose glitter migrated immediately onto your clothes and remained there for the rest of the day. Even Zoro, sprawled in a patch of sun with his arms folded behind his head, opened one eye long enough to tell you that the cook had threatened bodily harm against anyone who allowed you to work.
“He held a meeting,” Nami confided, amusement curving her mouth as she passed you a chilled glass already garnished with a slice of fruit. “There was a timetable.”
“It wasn’t a timetable,” Sanji called from the galley door without needing to have heard the beginning of the conversation. “It was a carefully constructed schedule of contingencies.”
“For a birthday?”
“For Luffy.”
From somewhere inside came an indignant shout, followed by the unmistakable clatter of a cupboard being opened and Sanji disappearing through the doorway with murder in his eyes. Whatever battle followed was brief. He returned a minute later with his tie slightly crooked, a dusting of flour along one cheek and an empty plate in hand, while Luffy could be heard complaining that three decoy sandwiches constituted deliberate emotional cruelty.
“You planned decoy sandwiches?” you asked.
“A chef always anticipates disaster.” Sanji set the plate aside and slipped his clean hand around your waist, drawing you near enough to kiss your forehead. The gesture was so casual that he had begun turning back towards the kitchen before you caught him by the lapel and pressed your mouth to his flour-dusted cheek. His expression melted at once, annoyance with his captain vanishing beneath a blush he attempted to hide by straightening his tie. “Darling, if you keep doing that, lunch will be late.”
“I was under the impression the timetable accounted for distractions.”
“Contingencies,” he insisted, though he kissed your knuckles before returning to the galley. “And you are not a distraction. You’re the entire purpose.”
That was how Sanji moved through the day—always briefly at your side and always on his way to do something else for you. A favourite snack appeared when breakfast had faded into a pleasant memory, a cup was pressed into your hand before you noticed the heat, a cushion materialised behind your back while you sat listening to one of Brook’s songs. Whenever Sanji passed, affection came with him; a kiss laid against your hair, fingers brushing yours, his palm resting at the small of your back as he leaned down to ask whether you needed anything. Each touch was warm and instinctive, a language the two of you had long ago ceased needing to translate, but he never remained within reach for long. There was always another pan to check, another secret to protect, another part of the evening requiring his attention.
You found him in the galley during the late afternoon, standing amid an ordered chaos of bowls, knives and simmering pots. Golden light streamed across the counters while steam clouded the windows, catching around him until Sanji appeared to have been conjured from warmth itself. His hands moved with their familiar certainty, one steadying a bowl while the other folded something pale and glossy together with such care that the kitchen seemed to breathe according to his rhythm.
The moment he saw you, however, his body shifted to obscure the counter. “You can’t be in here.”
“I haven’t seen anything.”
“Your eyes are open.”
“I came to find you, not the food.”
The answer stopped him more effectively than any command could have done. For an instant, Sanji merely looked at you while the old question crossed his face—what had he done, what remained unfinished, what more could you possibly require?—but you stepped into the fragrant heat before he could ask it and slipped your arms around his waist and the tension eased from him gradually. He rested his cheek against your hair, flour clinging to his clothes and his hands held carefully away from you so that whatever he had been preparing would not stain yours.
“You found me,” he said at last, the words softened by a smile you could hear.
“I did.” You leaned back far enough to examine his face and wiped the flour from his cheek with your thumb, only to kiss the same place once it was clean. “Am I allowed five minutes?”
Sanji glanced towards the stove as though consulting it. “Three.”
“Four.”
“Three and a half, and I reserve the right to stir something.”
He managed almost four. You remained wrapped around him while he checked a sauce one-handed, and when the timer sounded he turned in your embrace, cupped your face and kissed you with a tenderness that made the whole warm room seem to narrow around his mouth. Even then he was the one who drew away first, apology and promise mingling in his expression as he pressed one final kiss to your brow.
“Tonight,” he told you. “I’m all yours tonight.”
“You’re all mine now.”
Something fragile and astonished flickered through his smile before he covered it with another kiss. “Then consider this a temporary loan to the kitchen.”
Evening descended softly over the Sunny. The sea darkened from blue to violet and then to something almost black, its surface holding the last light in long, coppery fractures, while the first stars appeared above the mast. Sanji came for you once the rest of the crew had settled into the comfortable sprawl that followed supper, freshly washed and dressed in a dark suit, his hair still faintly damp and his tie selected with the same consideration he had given every other detail of the day.
He offered you his hand with formal elegance, but the kiss he placed against your palm was intimate enough to undo the performance. “May I steal you away?”
“You’ve had the crew guarding me all day. I think that legally counts as possession already.”
“Protection,” Sanji corrected as he laced his fingers through yours. “There are dangerous men aboard this ship.”
Luffy protested through a mouthful of food. Zoro suggested that you take the cook and keep him, and the argument that began behind you followed the two of you only as far as the stairs before the night folded over it.
Sanji led you towards the stern, where lantern light gleamed among the leaves of Nami’s tangerine trees. A table had been laid beneath their boughs, dressed in white linen and warmed by small golden lamps whose flames stirred whenever the sea wind passed through. There were no extravagant bouquets, only a narrow glass holding a few sprigs of kitchen herbs and several blossoms gathered after they had fallen, their fragrance mingling with salt, citrus and the faint trace of Sanji’s cologne. Beyond the rail, the ocean surrounded everything, vast and dark and endless, so that the little table seemed to exist in a world created for two.
Sanji watched you take it in with carefully disguised nervousness. He had faced assassins, monsters and impossible odds with less apprehension than he displayed while waiting for you to decide whether his lanterns were beautiful enough.
“Sanji…” you breathed, turning back towards him.
“If the wind is too strong, I can move everything inside. I also considered the aquarium bar, but the light at this hour—”
You silenced him with a kiss. It began as a simple press of your mouth to his, intended to quiet the worried explanation, but Sanji’s hands found your waist and held you with such immediate tenderness that you lingered there, smiling against him when he exhaled softly through his nose.
“I love it,” you murmured. “It’s beautiful.”
His shoulders loosened beneath your hands. “Not half as beautiful as the person it was made for.”
“Finally. There he is.”
“Who?”
“The man who has been suspiciously restrained all day.”
Sanji drew out your chair with a smile. “My love, you have yet to witness the full force of my devotion.”
The meal made good on the threat. Its first course arrived in delicate pastry shells, crisp enough to shatter beneath your fork, filled with slow-roasted sweetness and soft cheese sharpened by an herb oil you recognised after the first taste. You had paused over the same fragrant leaves at an island market weeks ago, crushing one between your fingers and holding it beneath Sanji’s nose while he tried to negotiate with a merchant. You had forgotten the moment before the Sunny ever left the harbour; he had not.
The clear amber broth that followed carried another memory. A cold night watch, your hands wrapped around a bowl he had brought up without being asked, and the particular spice you had praised before stealing the last dumpling from his own portion. The main course was arranged around crisp-skinned fish glazed with tangerine, bright with citrus before yielding to butter, pepper and a low sweetness that gathered all the other flavours together. Every plate was beautiful, but none had been designed merely to impress. They were built from fragments of you—a passing comment, a preference expressed once, the things you reached for first and those you saved until last. Sanji had turned his memory into a menu and laid the proof of his attention before you course by course.
“You remembered all of this?” you asked when he set the next plate down.
“Of course.” He spoke as though there were nothing remarkable in it, adjusting the angle of the dish before pouring more wine into your glass. “You liked the sauce, but you said the original needed something acidic. You were right.”
“That was months ago.”
Sanji looked almost offended. “I’m hardly going to forget an observation from the most discerning palate aboard the Sunny.”
“Robin is the most discerning palate aboard the Sunny.”
“Yeah, but I’m not in love with Robin.”
He bent to kiss your cheek before removing the previous plate, avoiding your attempt to catch him by moving just beyond reach. The empty chair opposite you remained untouched. It had been laid like the rest of the table, complete with a plate, a glass and a folded napkin, but Sanji continued to orbit the meal rather than join it, serving each course and attending to every need before you could voice it.
When he reached for your glass again, you closed your hand around his wrist.
“Sit with me.”
His fingers stilled around the bottle. “There’s only one more savoury course, and then dessert. I’ll sit with you afterwards.”
“You said that you were mine tonight.”
“I am.” Sanji smiled and turned his hand within your grasp so that his thumb could stroke the inside of your wrist. “That’s why I’m ensuring everything is perfect.”
“You’ve spent the entire day giving me everything I could possibly want.” Your fingers slipped down until they threaded through his, keeping him beside you when habit urged him towards the kitchen. “Now I want you.”
The words quieted him. Sanji’s eyes widened slightly, and beneath the warm light a faint flush spread across his cheekbones, not the theatrical swoon he sometimes performed but something smaller and far more vulnerable.
“My love,” he said softly, “you have me.”
“Then let me have you here.” You nodded towards the waiting place opposite. “Not standing beside the table and disappearing between every course. I want you to eat with me. I want to talk to you without having to negotiate with a saucepan for your attention.”
“That saucepan drives a hard bargain.”
“Sanji.”
He looked from you to the empty chair as though he had only just understood why he had placed it there. Some hopeful part of him must have imagined sitting when he set the table for two, but wanting and permitting himself were different arts, and Sanji had always been more practised at sacrifice than receiving. He knew how to put himself between hunger and everyone he loved; hunger had rules he understood, demanding only heat, patience and a full plate. Love asked him to sit down with empty hands and trust that his place would remain.
Totto Land had left old arithmetic scratched raw beneath his skin, all those cruel calculations of blood and worth and usefulness. You had no intention of inviting them to your birthday table. Your hand was not tallying what Sanji had given or measuring him against the perfection of his meal. It simply held his.
“Please,” you said, gentling the word with a kiss to his knuckles. “Celebrate with me.”
The resistance left him in a long breath. “It’s impossible to refuse you anything today.”
“You say that as though I haven’t been refused entry to the galley twice.”
“For your own good.” Sanji finally lowered himself into the chair opposite you, but before he could settle into formality, you drew it around the small table until his knee rested against yours. “Darling, this completely destroys the symmetry.”
“It’s my birthday. I’m allowed to destroy things.”
“I’ll be sure to inform Luffy that you’ve adopted his philosophy.”
You served a portion onto Sanji’s plate before he could stop you. The mild horror on his face made you laugh, and when he protested that the presentation had been designed for one direction, you lifted a forkful towards his mouth.
“Open.”
“You cannot serve the chef his own food.”
“I believe you just said you couldn’t refuse me.”
Sanji regarded you with the pained dignity of a man defeated by his own romantic declarations, but he accepted the bite. His eyes remained on yours as he tasted it, amusement easing into something tender when you asked, with exaggerated seriousness, whether it met his standards.
“It’s excellent,” he decided. “Whoever prepared this is clearly a genius.”
“And very handsome.”
“Beautiful, generous and blessed with flawless judgement. I knew there was a reason I adored you.”
The meal changed once he became part of it. Perfection loosened into pleasure, your carefully folded napkins shifted askew, the food was passed between you, and Sanji stopped watching for what might be missing long enough to enjoy what was already there. His hand frequently found yours upon the table, fingertips tracing idle circles over your knuckles while he told you about the afternoon’s disasters. Apparently Luffy discovered the second set of decoy sandwiches, Usopp nearly set fire to a ribbon, Zoro had been entrusted with one simple task and performed it in the most obstructive way possible. You laughed until your face hurt, and Sanji’s own laughter warmed the spaces between the lanterns, lighter than any sound he had made while serving you.
There were moments when that old disbelief returned, quiet enough that someone less familiar with him might have missed it. It surfaced when you placed the best piece of fish onto his plate, when you refilled his glass before your own, when your thumb brushed a crumb from his mouth with the same instinctive care he had shown you all day. Each time, you answered without making a lesson of it. You squeezed his hand, you leaned into the arm he draped around your chair, you kissed his cheek while he was still smiling and let him discover, again and again, that affection did not vanish when he had nothing left to serve.
Dessert arrived beneath a silver cover, which Sanji lifted with enough ceremony to reveal a small cake finished with smooth icing and delicate decoration. Its flavour had been chosen with the same intimate certainty as the rest of the meal, but at its centre stood only one slender candle, the flame leaning towards you in the breeze.
“One candle?” you asked. “Have I somehow become younger?”
“One is enough to carry a wish.” Sanji shielded the flame with his hand as it trembled, his fingers glowing red and gold around it. “To mark every year the world has been fortunate enough to contain you, I would need a much bigger table, and Nami would charge me for the additional deck space.”
“Did she charge you for this deck space?”
“The finances behind an evening of romance should remain mysterious.”
You laughed, but the wish came to you before you closed your eyes. It was not for the day to last forever; Sanji had already taught you too well that sweetness mattered because it could be consumed, leaving warmth and memory where hunger had been. You wished instead for more mornings, more meals allowed to go cold beneath unnecessary kisses, more evenings in which he sat beside you rather than hovering at the edge of his own happiness. You wished for enough ordinary days that Sanji might one day stop being surprised to find himself at the centre of the things you cherished.
The flame disappeared beneath your breath. Sanji applauded softly and leaned over to kiss your forehead, lingering there as the faint ribbon of smoke curled between you.
“What did you wish for?” he asked.
“You know I can’t tell you.”
“Surely the chef responsible for the cake is entitled to privileged information.”
“No. But I’ll give you some.”
Sanji divided the first slice between you, though sharing from one plate soon became easier than pretending you wanted separate portions. A smear of icing found its way to the corner of his mouth; when you collected it with your thumb, he caught your hand and kissed the sweetness from your skin, transforming mischief into courtship with the effortless grace he brought to everything. You kissed him again simply because you could, quick and fond, and his smile followed you when you drew away.
“What information?” he reminded you.
“I’ll answer a different question.”
Sanji considered this while settling more comfortably beside you, one arm stretched behind your chair. “Alright. What was your favourite part?”
He glanced towards the cake as he asked it, clearly expecting you to choose between dessert and dinner, perhaps already rehearsing some objection to your answer based upon technical execution. You rested your hand against his chest, feeling the calm beat of his heart beneath your palm.
“You.”
For once, Sanji had no immediate reply. His eyes searched yours as though the word concealed some trick of phrasing he had not yet unravelled.
“My love, I’m not one of the courses.”
“I know. You were my favourite part of my day.”
“But the breakfast—”
“Was wonderful.” You slid your hand from his chest to the nape of his neck, keeping him close when embarrassment encouraged him to look away. “The meal was perfect. The lanterns are beautiful, the cake is my favourite, and I loved everything the crew did. But every part of today that mattered had you in it. You smiled at me first thing this morning. You kissed me every time you saw me. You had flour on your face when I came looking for you, and you sat down when I asked because I wanted to share this with you, not just receive it from you.”
Sanji’s mouth softened, though uncertainty still lingered at its edges. “I wanted to give you a perfect day.”
“You did.” Your fingers moved gently through the hair at his nape. “Not because everything was perfect. Because you were here.”
“I would have been here regardless.”
“I know. That’s why you’re my favourite.”
The lantern flames moved in the breeze, scattering gold across his face. Sanji had been called many things in his life, some spoken with love and others intended to carve kindness out of him, but favourite seemed to reach a place less guarded than praise. It asked for none of the names he had inherited or rejected. It required no proof of strength, no usefulness, no beautiful plate presented at the proper temperature. It meant only Sanji, the cook, the dreamer, the infuriatingly selfless man with smoke in his clothes and gentleness in his hands, wanted in his entirety.
He lifted one of those hands to your face. All day, his kisses had been little gifts scattered through the hours—a touch against your temple, your cheek, your knuckles, each one sweet and fleeting because another task waited for him. This time there was nowhere else he intended to be, so his thumb swept beneath your jaw as he drew you closer, pausing with his breath warm across your lips.
“May I kiss my favourite person properly?” he asked.
“Please.”
Sanji’s mouth met yours with exquisite tenderness. The first touch was slow, almost unbearably soft, before your arms circled his neck and the kiss deepened into something warmer, fuller, carrying the faint sweetness of cake and citrus between you. His hand remained cradled against your cheek while the other settled at your waist, holding you close without haste or demand, and when you kissed him again he answered with a quiet sound that seemed to gather every word he could not fit into the space between your mouths.
The sea rolled darkly beyond the ship’s rail. Somewhere above, the sails shifted, carrying the Sunny onwards beneath a sky crowded with stars, but Sanji no longer looked towards the table for something else to offer. He rested his forehead against yours when the kiss finally softened, eyes closed and smile unguarded as you held him in the warmth he had spent the entire day creating.
“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered once more.
“You’ve said that already.”
“I intend to keep saying it until midnight.”
You kissed the curve of his smile. “Then stay here. I don’t want to miss any of them.”
Sanji’s arms tightened around you, and for once he allowed himself to be held without reaching for anything else to give. “There is nowhere else in the world I would rather be.”
All rights reserved. Please do not repost, copy, translate, plagiarise, or feed my work into AI. Reblogs are deeply appreciated; reposts are not permitted.
wc: 4000 (girl do NOT ask me how this got so long)
trafalgar law x reader
It was another day well spent aboard the Polar Tang.
You were sprawled out across Penguin’s bed in the boys’ cabin, mindlessly combing through a comic to pass the lazy afternoon.
The crew often gathered in there when Law was out. It was an easy time to lug around in the brief window where all the day’s tasks were completed, and you could simply enjoy the slow hours. Ikkaku sat on the floor beside you, painting her nails while the rest of the crew was spread across the room chatting.
“What do you think?” Ikkaku raised her hand to the light, and you tipped your head back over the bed’s edge to inspect the color.
You hummed in agreement. “Yeah, definitely the red. It’s sexy.”
You could feel Shachi’s glare as he scoffed at the two of you. “Sexy? Who the hell are you trying to impress?”
With a light laugh, you rolled over onto your stomach to face them as Ikkaku gave them a scowl.
“Definitely not you,” she muttered. “Y/N, let’s have another girls night and get some hot dates so they shut up.”
Your eyes flicked briefly to the look of shock on Shachi’s dace, knowing damn well just how bad he had the hots for her. An evil grin curled onto your lips. “I guess I’m free.”
At your reply, the boys paled. Penguin glanced around the others nervously before laughing with a wave of his hand. “They’re not serious.”
You frowned in confusion. What was so unbelievable about you two wanting a night out to yourselves?
“Oh, we’re very serious,” Ikakku replied testily. She inspected her cuticles carefully she spoke to you. “Y/N, don’t you have that cute little black top you’ve been meaning to wear?”
Bepo jolted up from his nap, now awake at her words. His big eyes were pooling with apprehension. “No, no, no, no, no. You can’t!”
Ikkaku didn’t look up from the stroke of a brush across her nails. “Says who?”
“Shachi was kidding,” penguin said airily. “You ladies always look lovely, who needs a bunch of big smelly guys all over you at a bar? Just do a slumber party or something.”
“We have that every night,” you replied a snort.
“Well then fine, we’re coming” penguin snipped.
“Unless you’re ready to put a dress on, then I think you’re fundamentally misunderstanding the invite of girl’s night,” Ikkaku said dryly.
Bepo looked between the boys and you two nervously. “But—but—“
At seeing his nervous disposition, combined with the cold looks of fear between Shachi and Penguin, your brow raised in concern.
I knew he liked her, but this is a bit much.
“What’s the issue?”You asked.
“I think I have an idea,” Ikkaku replied in a sing song voice.
Penguin looked at her in horror. “Shhh. Not a word Ikkaku! Do you want us all dead?”
You sat up now, looking at everyone liked they’d grown a third eye.
“Okay so I’m the only one who has no idea what’s going on,” you huffed.
Nobody replied.
“Guys,” you whined. “Spill!”
Ikkaku opened her mouth to speak, but not before Bepo could launch at her to cover her mouth with his paw.
“Okay! Okay!” Penguin cried. He’d risen to his feet now, hands waving emphatically. “Shachi was an idiot, he was just jealous! He’d rather die than see Ikkaku talk to another man!”
Shachi blanched in horror, his face turning beet red as he looked to his friend.
“Seriously?” He groaned. You watched him bury his head in his hands with shame.
“We all knew that,” you said dryly.
Ikkaku wrenched Bepo’s paw away, swatting him off. “You’re all a bunch of pussies! I think we all know he needs a nudge.”
Your eyes widened, shocked that Ikkaku had responded to Shachi’s unwilling confession so brazenly. “Ikkaku!” You clipped, defensive of your poor friend who just got filleted. “Don’t torture the man!”
She laughed, and the boys all cowered in defeat. “Oh, sweet, sweet Y/N. This has nothing to do with me.”
You slumped back onto your knees in confusion.
“I think,” Ikkaku began to reply, “that a certain someone wouldn’t be too pleased to come back to us gone. At a bar. Around other men.” Her eyes flicked up to the boys who looked like their soul had left their body. “Am I wrong?”
Your brain pieced her words together, looking down at her with a confused frown. “Who, Captain? What would he care? We finished all the chores hours ago.”
Penguin pressed his palm to his head with a heavy sigh while the others slumped in defeat.
“Oh, Y/N,” Shachi muttered in exasperation.
Ikkaku laughed, clasping her hands together.
“Well,” she chirped brightly. “I think I’ll leave that to be your problem for the night, boys! Clearly Y/N and I have some things to discuss.” She rose, taking hold of your arm to lead you back to the girl’s cabin to change.
“Tell our dear captain that we’ll call if we need a dashing rescue,” she sang.
***
You nearly sprayed your sip across the taverns table.
“What? No, no,no no no. That’s — he doesn’t —“
You felt so hot you could melt, your cheeks burning in embarrassment. “Captain would never think of me like that!”
Ikkaku laughed, giving you an incredulous look. “Are you really that oblivious? Those boys back there were shitting their pants ‘cause last time we went out, word is Captain spent the whole night sulking and bossing them around. Ruined his mood, and I heard about it for days after.”
You shook your head in disbelief. “He could have been in a mood about anything.”
“Oh, so we’re all just blind?” Ikkaku countered, pointing an accusing finger. “And don’t tell me it’s not mutual.”
You looked down at your glass, your cheeks burning so hot you thought they’d start to smoke. “I didn’t…” Your words trailed off in defeat. Was there any point in lying? Your shoulders slumped. “Am I that obvious?”
“You two are such dorks,” Ikkaku scoffed. “I knew we’d have to intervene. It’s like watching glaciers melt.”
You sighed feebly, your finger circling the rim of your glass with a pout. “How could I say anything? He’s our captain, and he’d be so horrified to hear me say how I felt! He’d never look me in the eye again. Or speak to me. I’d have to quit! I could never put him in such an awkward position.”
“And did it ever occur to you that he feels the same way? If anything, since he’s captain it would be a seniority issue. Ball’s in your court on this one. Plus, you know how he is. He’s shy.”
You looked at her dejectedly. “He’s…Law. He doesn’t do….” You didn’t know what to call what you were feeling. What you were wanting.
“I know what that loser’s dreaming about doing,” she said dryly.
“Ikkaku!” You squeaked, and she burst into laughter.
You chugged down the rest of your drink, your mind reeling as your heart pounded.
“I need another” you said pitifully.
***
Four liquid courages later, or maybe it was five, you were practically decimated across the tavern’s table. You’d been throwing them back to try and ease the roaring thoughts, and Ikkaku was making no move to stop you — the times you drank were rare, but when you did, you spilled.
“I just,” you slurred, “I just don’t think he’d see me as more than….this.” You gestured to yourself haphazardly, and Ikkaku raised an amused brow.
“What is this?”
“A subordinate — a drunk subordinate. Me.”
“I think he sees you better than most.”
You didn’t know how to reply. Your eyes fell to your cup, taking one last gulp to finish it off. With a hiss you exhaled, the booze making your head feel fuzzy.
“Okay, I think we can call it a night here,” Ikkaku said with a mischievous grin. You could tell this night was going exactly how she’d wanted it to, but the world was spinning far too much for you to care. She’d already acquired enough blackmail on your feelings to cover a lifetime of favors, and all you wanted was to curl into your bed and die. (The only issue at present being your jelly like limbs that stumbled the second you tried to stand.)
You even tried, rushing up suddenly before you busted your side on the corner of the table and stumbled back.
“Easy now, just sit.” your friend giggled. “I forget what a lightweight you are.”
You muttered how you didn’t think it was fair to call however many drinks she’d given you lightweight while she dug around her purse.
She reached for her transponder, and it dialed only once before you heard a familiar deep voice that made your stomach coil.
“Where are you?”
Law sounded entirely unamused, and you bolted up in fear knowing what was about to escape your friends mouth. You shook your head no, only for your desperation to fall on blind eyes.
“We’re at the tavern across from the port, and Y/N’s entirely too drunk to walk, not to mention fighting off all these oafs—“
The other line clicked off before she could even finish her sentence, and you gaped at your friend in horror. “He can’t see me like this!”
“He’s seen you like this plenty. And by the way, wasn’t kidding about the oafs.” She jerked her head behind you, and you hazily turned to see a group of men eyeing the two of you like you were meat. A disgusted scowl soured your face.
“Ew,” you muttered, placing your head down on the table. God, it really was fuzzy.
With a heavy sigh you braced yourself, pushing up with your arms to try and rise once more.
“Time to, to walk it off,” you mumbled. “I’ll be fine before he gets here.”
The second you attempted to stand you were already lateral, stumbling right out of the booth. Ikkaku rose quickly, trying to round the table to the other side, but not before one of the men from the corner suddenly appeared to catch you.
“Easy now, he growled in your ear. “Whats the rush?”
His breath was hot and stinky, and your head was spinning as he pulled you up.
Ikkaku was already there, trying to pry you from the man’s arms with a look that could kill.
“Keep it moving,” She warned with disgust.
“Aw, don’t be jealous, doll. We can all three have some fun.”
Ikkaku looked just about ready to slap the man into next week, and your eyes widened watching her hand clench. Before you could protest, a familiar blue veil poured over the tavern and your heart spasmed.
In an instant, the man who’d had his grimy hands on you vanished into thin air. The loss of contact made your balance falter, but not before a strong arm holstered you.
“For God’s sake,” Law muttered. His hold snaked across your lower back to stabilize you, and he was so close that the deep hum of his words sent a shiver down your spine. You thought you heard a splash along the docks with a man’s furious scream, but you were too flustered to care with Law’s steely eyes set on you.
“Captain!” You said, trying your best to stand up straight. “I’m fine, just need to walk it off!”
Law scoffed, eyes raking over your flushed face with an unreadable expression. “You’re piss-drunk.”
He turned with a scowl to Ikkaku, who raised her hands in defense. “Is that Shachi I hear outside? I wonder who he’s laughing at, better go look — you’ve got her, right captain?”
She was an apparition before law could even protest. He sighed, looking down at you in defeat.
“How many did she feed you?”
“I lost count after the third,” you mumbled.
His voice was low as he reached down to scoop you off your feet. “You’re trouble.”
“I’m sorry!” You chirped, trying to resist his hold. “I can walk!”
He scoffed, walking right out of the bar with you in tow. You could hear a chorus of cheers and whistles as he made his way to the door, and you couldn’t tell if you were just too drunk, or if there was a pink creeping up his neck.
Ikkaku and Shachi turned over to see the two of you outside, and you could already hear their poorly concealed laughter.
“We’re leaving,” Law said flatly, walking past them without so much as a glance.
“Want me to take the drunkard off your hands, Cap’n?” Shachi called out slyly.
You felt law’s grip tighten, just barely, almost reflexively.
“Just keep walking,” he muttered.
You were grateful it was nearly pitch black, the night’s coverage the only thing salvaging your pride from how flushed you were.
This is going to be a long walk back.
With a resounding sigh of accepting your fate, along with the very comfortable pair of arms that smelled far better than they should have, you closed your eyes, resting your head on his chest to slow the spinning.
He tensed beneath, but made no effort to stop you.
***
You heard the familiar click of boots on the Tang’s ramp, and your head lifted blearily at the sound of the door swinging open. The warm light from inside poured over you, and a chorus of cheers and laughter erupted as Law entered.
“Girl’s night,” One of the boys mocked in a high pitched tone.
Your head lolled back, meeting Bepo’s eye with an excited laugh. “Everyone,” you slurred happily. You arm reached out, clasping onto Penguin. “Are you guys still hanging out? I want in.”
They cheered more, pleas ringing out for your captain to release you to them.
“She’s still fighting Captain, night isn’t over! She never drinks like this, come on, we can set up king’s cup!”
Law didn’t even stop, trailing towards the hallway while your arms were still reaching out to try and cling onto you peers with a whine. “She’s done for the night, you idiots.”
You heard a resounding wave of boos along with a sour mumble from Penguin that he was keeping you to himself. You missed the face Law made when he turned back to them, but judging from their expression’s it wasn’t happy.
You suddenly felt a wave of embarrassment, wondering just what he’d been pulled from to come get you.
“I spoiled your night, didn’t I?” You murmured louder than you’d meant to.
He looked down at your sordid expression as he pushed his back against a door to open it.
“I was working. Not much to spoil.”
You blinked in surprise, taking in the scattered desk and cases of books around the room. His room. Your stomach fluttered.
He unceremoniously placed you on his bed, mumbling a low easy as you regained your balance.
Your eyes were owlish as you blinked up at him in surprise. “Are we sleeping together?”
The second the question left your lips your entire face burned, realizing the poor choice of words.
“I didn’t mean—” you said rushed, waving your hands in distress.
Law went scarlet, his whole body tensing as he turned sharply. “You’re sleeping, after you take aspirin with some water so I don’t have to hear about it in the morning.” He paused, almost as if he was racking his brain for more words. “Your room got turned into a poker table. You can just sleep it off in here for the night.”
You nodded in understanding, trying to ignore the burning humiliation from your ridiculous question. It made sense — they took over the girls room anytime there was disagreement on the activities for the evening and decided to split. Normally you’d be apart of the festivities, passing out atop Bepo on the floor.
But never in your wildest dreams did you imagine it would result in you sleeping in Law’s bed. Your fingers loosely gripped the blankets beneath you. They smelled like him.
So embarrassing.
“Did you…have fun?” Law tried his best to break the awkward silence. The words sounded foreign coming out of his lips, a forced air of causality making them fall flat.
You welcomed the awkward attempt at easing the tension. “Yes,” you replied softly with a small laugh. “It’s nice to get out and be girls every once in awhile.”
He shifted, his shoulders taking on a barely noticeable tension while he turned to rummaged through his drawer. Something in your stomach twisted.
“We just talked.” You didn’t know why you felt the need to say it. What would he care what you were up to?
Even so, his rigid posture loosened as he pulled a large shirt and pair of sweats from his drawer.
“And drank a tavern dry,” he said wryly.
You giggled in embarrassment. “Ikkaku just wanted me to blab,” you said loosely. “She says I talk more when I drink.”
“Oh, undoubtedly. Last time you drank this much you recited your entire science fair project from grade school while I stitched your leg.” You flushed in embarrassment as he stepped forward, pointing to the hem of your shirt.
“Speaking of, show me your hip. I felt you flinch when I picked you up.”
Damn my clumsiness.
You sighed in defeat, peeling up your tank to reveal the red mark that snuck above your pant line.
He came close, and you were sure you could hear your heartbeat in your ears. His hand was featherlight, far gentler than normal, as it grazed the skin of your hip just above the injury. His thumb was warm, and between the feeling of him touching you so gently and his sheer proximity, heat pooled in your stomach.
His gaze flicked upward, and you hadn’t realized how close your faces were until your hazy eyes locked with his.
“Table corner?” He asked matter-of-factly, but you almost saw a glint of amusement in his smoky eyes.
Too shy to even try for words, you nodded with a small hum. Your eyes felt stuck to his own like glue. The alcohol took just enough of your inhibitions to keep you from looking away.
He blinked, lingering on you for a second longer before looking back down at it.
“It’ll bruise,” he said quietly, no more than a mumble. His finger traced the area once more, almost mindlessly, and your breath hitched. He pulled back, turning with a small shake of his head as he gestured to the clothes he’d thrown on the bed beside you.
“I’m going to the kitchen, you can change into that.” He paused, his ears looking a bit pink in the dim light of his lamp. “Yours reek of booze.”
He left before you could reply, and you buried your face in your hands in disbelief.
Your mind was reeling as you hurriedly changed out of your clothes, balling them up tightly and tucking them aside. This was all too much for your spasming heart. Were you dreaming?
He knocked once to ensure you were decent before quietly entering. You watched his eyes flick over your frame that sat nestled atop his bed shyly. In his clothes.
“So, what was it Ikkaku wanted you blabbing about this time?” He asked.
You leaned back on your palms, tilting your head to the side as you watched him walk back to you. A teasing lilt coated your words. “You know, the usual girl stuff. Shopping, makeup, boys.”
“I see.”
“We have to talk about Shachi having the hots for her somewhere,” you giggled.
Law chucked, and it was the first time you’d seen him have anything close to a genuine smile all evening. It relaxed you. “Didn’t have to go all the way to a bar to say that — it’s not exactly a secret.”
“Well, half the fun is just seeing him get all jealous at the thought of her leaving and being fussed on by strangers.”
Law looked almost shy, a small grimace in his face as he handed you the aspirin and water and sat beside you. You felt your heart sputter as your hand brushed his own to accept them, uttering a soft thanks.
“Mission accomplished, he was bitching the entire way there — and not happy to see that pig at your table.” His voice was dry with distaste.
You swallowed down the aspirin, shivering at the thought of the man once again. “Ugh. Total creep.” You set the water down beside you, surprised to see a small frown now etched into his lips.
“Which is why you shouldn’t be drunk off your ass and vulnerable in a place like that,” He scolded. “Men take far less as an opening.”
Despite his admonishing tone, your heart warmed. A small smile curled into your face, swooning at his words. This was your favorite side of Law. He tried very hard to be a grump most of the time, but there was very little he could do to hide his protective nature.
Maybe it was the alcohol (it most definitely was) but for one of the first times in your life, you were feeling emboldened.
You leaned forward, just enough to where your noses were no more than an inch apart. “I’m not so worried, I’ve got a nice captain who deals with them and carries me home.”
His breath hitched faintly, and you watched his eyes flicker down to your smile before returning back up at your gaze. You wanted to burn the moment into your memory, but he wiped it away with a turn of his head and reddened cheeks.
He tsked, looking at you again from the corner of his gaze. “Maybe next time, call me before I’m having to pull some bastard off of you.”
You hummed, pretending to mull over his words as you plopped down onto your side. A content sigh escaped your lips as you curled into the bed. You gave him a cheeky smile. “Only if there’s trouble. Can’t push my luck or you’ll stop coming.”
You couldn’t quite read the emotion stirring in his stormy eyes, but they met your own, completely unguarded with a look you hadn’t seen before.
“I already told you, you’re always trouble,” he said quietly. “So call anyway. I’ll come.”
There was a steadiness to his words that made your chest ache. It nearly winded you.
You could only give him a tired, gentle smile, your eyes shining with a small nod. “Deal,” you whispered.
He nodded, a ghost of a smile meeting yours in return. “Get some sleep. I’ll be in my office.”
He stood to leave, but not before you lightly took hold of his wrist. “Goodnight, Law. Thanks for — everything.”
You weren’t sure you’d ever called him anything other than Captain. Not to his face. It felt nice. For one small moment, you could pretend that he wasn’t your captain, but the man you’d grown sickeningly fond of. You could pretend he was someone that could feel the same.
Beneath your fingertips that traced the inside of his wrist, you felt a faint flutter in his pulse. Just barely, his hand brushed over your own before pulling away, tucking his hat further over his eyes. You wished you could have seen what they looked like.
He didn’t reply, but he nodded meekly before turning and heading out the door. For some reason, the silence didn’t bother you at all. It was so like him.
You missed the hand that scrubbed his red face behind the closed door, and the hammering heart that you’d left in your tired wake.
Summary: You go out on a quick errand to surprise Law with a rare Sora: Warrior of the Sea comic, only to get caught in a chain of trades and tasks across the island. Too bad no one on the crew knows what you are doing or where you are.
Masterlist
The island was supposed to be a quick stop; the log pose was supposed to lock on the next island in around five hours. That gave everyone a few hours ashore before the Polar Tang dove back beneath the waves. Most were going to get supplies or wonder around the island.
You, on the other hand, had a mission in mind. "Just running a quick errand," you called as you stepped off the dock waving back the few crew members still on the sub.
Penguin waved back before turning to help Shachi with the crate he was carrying. Bepo smiled, giving you a small wave. "Don't be gone too long!"
"I won't!" And as it turns out that one line became a lie, not that you had intended it to. At the time you it, it was true; in fact, you fully intended to be back within forty minutes maximum. You quickly rushed along the semi-busy streets towards a tiny bookshop squeezed between a tailor and a bakery.
You were looking for something specific, a limited edition of a Sora: Warrior of the Sea comic, that you knew Law had been looking for. You pushed open the door to the shop, and the bell rang out as you stepped in and looked around. The shopkeeper gave you a greeting as you made your way around the store. For as small as it was, it was packed to the gills. And then finally your eyes quickly landed on Sora, Warrior of the Sea display, and you quickly made your way over.
The elderly shopkeeper looked up from behind the counter. "Oh? You're interested?"
"Oh yes, I'm looking for one in particular..." You replied trailing off as your eyes scanned the display, until they landed on an empty spot with a handwritten tag of the comic you were looking for. Your heart sank at the sight, and you let out a disappointed sigh, "Oh I guess you must have sold it already."
The shopkeeper smiled lightly, "Sorry about that, just sold that limited edition yesterday."
Your boyfriend owned enough Sora merchandise to start a small museum; it was honestly adorable. You had your own thing you loved and collected, and so did he; it was one of the first things you two had bonded over after you had joined the crew. There was also the fact that Law had a knack for being able to find items for your collection, and you wanted to be able to return the favor.
The disappointed must have been showing on your face because the shopkeeper spoke back up, "I believe Old Man Takeda bought it, said it looked cool, but I bet he would sell it to you."
Hope returned instantly as you attention was now focused on the old man, "Really?"
"Mm." He nodded. "He's usually down by the eastern district." You thanked him and headed off, okay, so it was going to take a bit longer than you thought, but to see Law smile would make it all worth it.
Old Man Takeda did indeed have the comic but unfortunately, he wasn't interested in selling it. But instead offered a different proposal, "I'd trade for it."
Your eyes lit up. "Great! What would you like?"
"Can you get me some Golden Blossom tea?"
You blinked. "That's it?"
The old man nodded. "That's it."
You practically skipped away, thinking how easy it would be to find the tea at the market. But of course, the one vendor in the whole market was one box away from selling out, "I've got one box left." Relief filled your body and then the woman smiled apologetically. "But it is reserved." And with that your relief died instantly.
"For who?"
"Little Hana."
So, you did what any person would do, you tracked down Hana. She was a sweet little girl with pigtails and a request of her own, "I'll give up the tea, if you get me a festival charm."
A charm should be easy to get, a simple request really. The charm maker smiled when you arrived and as you explained what you needed, she crushed your hopes. "I can make that, but I need moon-silk thread."
And somehow that lead into another request and another and another. And then three hours later, you were helping a fisherman deliver a package and you couldn't quite remember how this was connected to the moon-silk thread, only that it did, somehow.
The fisherman thanked you and gave you package to give to a merchant. The merchant accepted the package and handed over a voucher. The voucher was given to grumpy old man who gave you flowers. These flowers were then given to a young man who gave you a bracelet. And then that bracelet went to a barkeep who gave you a bottle of wine. And then that wine was given to a woman who then gave you the thread you needed.
You rushed back and handed over the thread, and the charm maker passed you the charm with a smile on her face. You then went back to the little girl and gave her the charm, and she gave you a note to give to the vendor selling the tea. You went back to the vendor, handed over the note and bought the tea. And at long last the tea would get you the comic, once you made it back to the eastern district.
Back at the Polar Tang around the same time you were talking to Little Hana about her request, Bepo was wondering where you were, "Have you seen them?"
Law didn't look up from his medical book. "No, (Y/N)-ya said they had something to do."
Bepo tilted his head while fidgeting with his paws, "Sorry, but they said they would be back shortly and it's been over an hour."
"They're an adult." Law turned a page. "I'm sure everything is fine., if there was an issue they would call." But then about two hours after you'd left, Law was no longer reading; no, his fingers were tapping against his desk as he read the same page for the tenth time, while his thoughts drifted to you. You'd said quick errand; quick errands generally didn't last half a day.
Law gave up and head towards your quarters, maybe you had left something in there to tell him where you went. He looked around but all he found sitting out on your desk was your den den mushi. If there was an issue you wouldn't have been able to call. "Damn it..." Law mutter to himself as he walked back down the halls of the sub.
"Maybe they found something interesting?" Bepo suggested after Law had found him.
Law looked around, "Maybe, but let's take a look around town., just in case."
The eastern district had no sign of you, neither did the harbor, nor the market, and there was no sign in the town square. Law's expression was growing darker and more anxious as no one could find you. You had to be somewhere on the island. You were okay, you had to be. And if Law had to tear apart the whole island to find you, so it be it.
"Captain?"
"Keep looking." That was all he said and within an hour every available Heart Pirate was searching.
You meanwhile finally held the comic in your hands, victory, sweet, glorious victory. You couldn't stop smiling as you headed back to the ship and then you noticed the sun on the horizon. It was much lower than it should have been. You froze; you had completely lost track of time. "Oh no." Your carefully slid the comic in your satchel and took off running to the docks.
Once the Polar Tang was in sight, you could see all the crew gather around. Bepo looked seconds away from crying, Penguin looked exhausted and Shachi pointed at you once he saw you. "There's (Y/N)!"
You stopped slightly confused by the reaction, sure you were late, but it wasn't like you were missing or something, "Hi?"
A collective sigh swept through the group, and several of you crew mates step aside letting Law get to you. Your stomach dropped, at the look on his face. He wasn't angry and honestly you wished he was that may have been better. Instead, Law looked panicked and worried, "Where were you?" Laws eyes drifted all over your body checking for signs of an injures.
You opened your mouth, closed it, and opened it again. "Okay." You laughed nervously rubbing the back of you head sheepishly, "So funny story... there was a comic." Law raised a brow at this, "For you." No reaction besides his eyes locking onto yours, so you forged ahead. "And then there was tea and a little girl and thread and honestly the order got confusing around the middle... but I got it at the end of it all."
You held out the comic proudly, the limited edition Sora issue. For the first time since you'd arrived, Law looked away from you, and his gaze dropped to want was in your hands. The comic sat in your outstretched hands and Law took it carefully. Law look down at it and his thumb brushed the edge of the cover. "You spent all day trying to get this?" His voice was quieter now.
You gave him a smile, "I thought you would like this. You are always finding things that I like, so I wanted to be able to do the same for you."
Finally, Law sighed with a small smile on his face with a pink hue covering his cheeks, "Next time, tell someone where you're going. "
You nodded quickly. "I will."
"And take your den den mushi."
"I will."
"And if an errand starts involving tea, thread, fishermen, or anything else that turns it into an island-wide scavenger hunt..."
"I call you?"
"You come back," Law corrected, as he examined the comic again, carefully turning it over in his hands. "This wasn't worth getting lost over."
"I wasn't lost." His eyes narrowed and you let out a small and nervous laugh, "I knew where I was most of the time." Behind him, Penguin snorted and Shachi elbowed him, but it was too late. Law glanced back, and the entire crew suddenly became fascinated by the submarine, the dock, and about anything else that wasn't you two.
Then Bepo hurried forward and wrapped his arms around you. "We were really worried!"
Guilt settled in your chest as you returned the hug. "I'm sorry, Bepo. I didn't mean to scare anyone."
"You had the entire crew searching for you," Penguin pipped up after a moment.
"The entire crew?" You asked pulling back from Bepo.
"Every available member," Shachi confirmed, earning sharp look from his captain.
Your gaze returned to Law, beneath his usual scowl, exhaustion lingered around his eyes. He had really thought something had happened to you. You stepped closer. "I'm sorry, Law, really. I should've told someone when the request list kept getting longer, I just was so focused I didn't think about it." For a moment, he said nothing. Then his free hand closed around your wrist and pulled you against him. The movement was abrupt enough to make you stumble, but his arm settled firmly around your waist, holding you there as if he needed to confirm you were real. You rested your forehead against his shoulder. "Were you worried about me?"
"No."
"Captain, you read the same page for almost an hour," Bepo said.
Law's grip tightened slightly. "Bepo."
"Sorry!"
You muffled a laugh against Law's coat. "That's so cute."
He gave a glare without much bite behind it, "Keep talking and I'll throw you into the ocean."
You looked back at him with mock offense, "You wouldn't dare."
Law looked down at the rare issue still cradled carefully in his other hand, well away from the edge of the dock. "No," he admitted. "I wouldn't." His expression softened, and he pressed a kiss to your forehead. It was quick enough that the crew might have missed it, if they had not all been blatantly watching this interaction go down. "Thank you for getting me the comic; I love you." He whispered into your ear, so the rest couldn't hear.
The smile that spread across your face made his cheeks turn even redder, as you whispered back, "You're welcome and I love you too."
He pulled back from you and turned his attention to the crew, "Now get on the submarine, the log pose has reset." You followed him aboard; his hand now wrapped around yours. As the crew prepared to depart, you noticed Law glance at the comic three separate times, the smallest smile tugging at his lips each time.
The quick errand had taken much longer than forty minutes, caused an island-wide search for you and, and nearly gave your boyfriend a heart attack, but when you later found the comic displayed in a spot of honor in Law's room, you decided it had been worth all the running around and trouble you had accidently caused.
But next time, though, you were taking a den den mushi with you or maybe just Law.
Summary: You're picked up from the wreckage of a destroyed marine ship. An accidental stowaway. First introductions get off to a rough start.
Warnings: Depictions of violence, injury, mentions of starvation and abuse
_______________________________________
The Red Force cut through the water like a blade, sails full and snapping in the wind. The path ahead was clear, course charted and set as the crew milled about doing their own work. It had been a quiet day so far, the ship so far out at sea that not even gulls flew overhead leaving them in a world of peace as waves lapped against the hull of the ship. Shanks and Beckman stood at the railing, conversation light as they discussed their plans of where to head next as the crisp air kept his lulling Captain awake. It wouldn’t be long before the red-haired man would be found in his normal spot for this time of day, taking his afternoon nap in full bask of the high sun.
All in all a quiet day.
That was what set Beckman on edge first as nothing with this group stayed peaceful for long. He stood near the rail, rifle resting against his shoulder, eyes narrowed as he scanned the horizon. The last ship they had seen had passed three days ago. It had been small, hardly worth the effort with little more than basic provisions aboard coming back from a delivery route. He thought he had heard something earlier off in the distance, a loud roar like a thunder clap in a storm, but nothing seemed to come of it.
Then from high above in the crows nest Yasopp’s voice rang out.
“Ship ahead! Marine flags!”
Heads turned, a sense of excitement building among the crew at the prospect of a fight. Something to break up the monotony that they had fallen into. It was like blood in the water with them, especially when they had gone too long without anything to keep them occupied. Any Marines this far out should be more than capable of putting up at least a decent fight. Even Beckman himself found his pulse quickening at the words.
But that excitement quickly turned into confusion as they approached, plums of smoke becoming more visible as smoke cut through the air.
All Marine ships generally followed the same formations. Practical, predictable, but reliable. That's nothing like what they found here as they got closer. There was no formation. No movement or even cannon fire. No flag flying proudly With the stark symbol of the World Government proudly displayed. Only the wreckage of a single ship.
By the time they drew closer, it became clear the Marine ship was already destroyed. Its hull was split, half-sunk with only the front quarter left even remotely intact, debris scattered across the sea like bones after a storm. What wasn't already burned or splintered was charred and blackened. A number of uniforms floated by in the water, though Beckman didn’t give them too much mind. No chance they were alive. He was instead focused on what little remained. Anything that was potentially salvageable as his eyes scan the wreckage.
Snake let out a long, low whistle.
“Looks like someone got here before us. Seems they really did a number.”
Hongo snorted, gesturing to the scared marks along the sinking hull. “More like the fools didn't know how to properly keep their gunpowder.”
Floating planks, broken masts and torn sails lay in the water around them. Easy picking, even if he wished they had been able to put a bit more effort into getting them.
“Wait,” Lime muttered, leaning further over the railing as he and the rest of the crew joined their captain and first mate. “Do you hear that?”
They strained to hear anything, starting to think that he had only been imagining it, before a faint sound reached their ears.
Shouting. The buzzing of multiple voices overlapping each other, becoming increasingly clear the further they drifted. So it seemed there were survivors after all.
Beckman’s gaze sharpened, eyes honing in on movement as they passed the ship into view of more wreckage.
There, on a massive slab of drifting wood, figures were dancing about. Fighting. Three Marines clung desperately to the splintered platform, soaked and exhausted even as they moved about the edge in pursuit of another who seemed to be filtering from one side to another in an attempt to avoid the treading militants. They themself looked a bit more rough for wear, barely steady on their feet as the wood floated rock back and forth.
A fist slammed into one Marine’s jaw. A foot drove into another’s ribs, kicking him away as he attempted to climb aboard. The third tried to grab them, only to get shoved back so hard he didn’t come back up for a few moments.
The crew stared, all previous thoughts of fighting and bloodlust put on hold, now replaced with a sort of amused confusion.
Beckman leaned forward slightly, watching with interest. They weren’t just winning, they were calculating. Every movement was efficient. No wasted energy or panic. Just raw, stubborn survival.
Then he saw it. Metal flashed in the sunlight.
Cuffs.
Heavy, reinforced Marine restraints locked around the fighter’s wrists. A hindrance of course, but not one they seemed to pay too close attention to as one of the men boarded the float while the figure was occupied on the other side. He saw one of the men board the float with the clear intention of ambushing them only to have the chains of the cuffs wrapped round his own neck the next moment. The figure quickly pivoted using momentum to toss him over their shoulder and back into the ocean with the others.
“They’re cuffed.” Beckman murmured to himself.
That earned a few startled looks, everyone now leaning over the railing to try and get a better look.
“Seriously?” Shanks laughed, hand shielding his eyes from the sun as he squinted.
“Then how the hell-“
The question went unanswered as the shouting of the Marines increased, the battle reaching its crescendo.
--------------------
“Get them off!” one of the Marines, eyes filled with fury even as his voice spoke with desperation, rough from choking on smoke and saltwater.
It was exhausting running back and forth across the small platform of wood but there was little else you could do. Not when you were stuck in the middle of the ocean. Thinking back it hadn't been the best idea you had ever had for an escape plan, but there was little else to do. Not when they would be rendezvousing with the larger fleet in just a few short hours. Drastic times called for drastic measures. Even if you had died it would still be better than whatever they had planned for you once you were taken into custody. It wouldn’t be painless. You had been assured of that at the very least.
It seemed your remaining captors had grown tired of the game of chicken you played. No longer were they trying to climb aboard, and it was only too late that you realized what their new plan of action was. Instead they leaned, putting their full weight onto one end of the drift. The massive slab tilted slowly under their combined weight, falling to your knees as the wood ground beneath you shifted.
You froze trying to decide your next move to keep out of their hands. No doubt they would simply try to drown you if they caught you in the water. An easy feat with their combined strength and your current restrictions.
With a final shove the platform tipped completely. But instead of falling down towards the awaiting hands of the Marines as they had expected, you instead turned and with all the force you could muster ran up the opposite side, using the elevated end to push off and gain as much air as you could, traveling a good dozen feet before splashing into the water.
Waves surged as debris bobbed around you, a maze of potential concussions. You stayed under for as long as you could, kicking your feet and keeping your arms close to your body in an attempt to counter the weight that held them down. You were forced to come up for air, lungs burning. As soon as you broke the surface shouts chased after you and the sound of splashing could be heard quickly approaching.
“Fuck.” You cursed under your breath.
You swam desperately, unevenly. Driven by pure instinct. You didn't look back, only forward as your eyes darted about and then attempted to look for anything that could help you. You were no weak swimmer by any means but the cuffs metal was heavy. It was all you could do to keep your head above water, the salt of which burned your nose and lungs as you unintentionally swallowed mouthful after a wave passed overhead.
There was little left apart from small pieces of driftwood. Nothing as sizable as the small ship you planned to claim for yourself after the explosion. You might have been able to manage on that if not for your unexpected guest getting in the way and allowing the small vessel to be dragged away by the current. They must have been on the far side of the ship, just as you were to have survived the explosion.
A dozen feet away, half-hidden among floating debris, a battered barrel rocked gently on the waves. The kind that the cook would keep in the kitchen to hold spices. Watertight. Just what you needed.
You quickly changed course, legs disturbing the water behind you in a flurry of bubbles as you propelled yourself towards the barrel.
You drag yourself up, coughing violently and eyes burning, water soaking your clothes and weighing you down. Every muscle screams in protest. Your arms shake as you cling to the rim before collapsing against the barrel.
Your vision swims, chest burning from all the water you had inhaled, lungs feeling like they’re on fire. Everything hurts, from your ears to ankles. You should probably be more alarmed at the lack of feeling in your toes but can’t muster the energy. The water was cold after all, and it seemed your fingers were inclined to suffer the same fate. But there is no time for respite now.
‘Move!’ you scold yourself, hearing the approaching sound of others in the water. Their splashing was anything but elegant, slapping through the water like bulls in their haste to catch up.
You crawl, slow and painfully up the side of the barrel. The lid is heavy, nearly impossible to open as your nails sink into the seal, barely managing to separate it from the bottom as the shouting grows louder, and half-fall inside. There’s not much left in it thankfully. Just a few oranges that squish under your weight as you curl inward, gasping and throwing up water. It burns as it emerges from both your nose and mouth, collecting in puddles at your knees.
You can still feel the warmth of the sun coming in from the top as a large wave sloshes over the edge. With the last of your strength, you reach up and pull the lid shut.
‘Thunk’
Darkness. Only the sound of your own ragged breathing in the confines of the wooden walls. Your hands shake with adrenaline, the dull thrum of fear coursing through your body fighting to stay on the surface. Not a moment later you hear banging on the outside but find it in yourself to muster the energy to care. Certainly not enough to notice when the voices shout out in surprise, screams quickly cut to silence.
Inside the barrel, everything blurs. Your own little sarcophagus of wood and tar. Passively you recognize that’s what it will be. Nobody friendly passes this far out. The Marines already had plans to kill you and pirates weren’t known for playing passenger ship.
You would float endlessly, no land in sight. Buried at sea. Or maybe a Sea Beast would find you before then, swallowing the barrel whole in a single snap with its razor teeth. Maybe by then you will already be gone, spared the fate of being dissolved in stomach acid.
Darkness presses in from all sides. The air is damp, stale, and heavy with the smell of salt, citrus, and old wood. Every breath feels like work in the stuffy space. You barely notice when the barrel bumps against something.
Then again.
Voices filter through the wood, muffled and distorted, like you’re underwater all over again. You only catch a few words, head swimming and the sound muffled by the well-insulated wood.
“-over there.”
“Watch it! Don’t let it hit the hull.”
A thud, followed by a rattling shake that leaves you keening as your body is jostled about.
The barrel scrapes against something solid and the distinct feeling of bobbing around in the water disappears as gravity is reintroduced.
You flinch weakly, fingers twitching against the inside of the wood, too tired and empty to move. Instead you drift in and out, uncertain of what is real and what isn’t. Hell, maybe you’re already dead for all you know. The Marines would get what they wanted even from their own watery grave.
Sometimes you hear footsteps. Sometimes laughter and shouting. Another time, something metallic clinks nearby. At some point, the barrel is lifted and your world is tilted sideways as your stomach lurches.
You groan softly, the sound barely more than breath, before sinking back into the haze.
_______________________________
You’re not sure how long passes.
Minutes? Hours? Days?
Time has no meaning anymore. Only exhaustion. Only the dull ache in your wrists where the cuffs rub raw against your skin. You’re barely aware of anything when light explodes behind your closed eyes. Fresh air rushes in as the lid creaks open.
A shout is what finally draws you from the final dregs of sleep. Not your own. One deeper and full of surprise. It sends adrenaline coursing through your body, sore joints creaking in protest as your muscles second the complaint, trying to stand. The lid is off preventing you from giving yourself a concussion but the surprise and panic only leads you to knock over the barrel.
It's a scramble as you half tumble to the floor. The shouting has stopped only to be replaced by a string of curses as you look up.
A pair of goggles peer back at you, their owner a stout, rotund man that stares as if he’s seen a ghost. The lid remains firmly in his grasp, held in front as if a shield from a monster. It wouldn’t be hard to believe you looked like one. Weeks at sea with only a damp towel thrown your way every once in a while to clean. Even you could smell yourself after the first few days, and your captors only seemed to relish in your miserable state.
It wasn’t blindingly bright, which you were thankful for, but the oil lamps along the wall gave enough light for you to surmise you were in a kitchen of some sort, crates of preserves stacked around and a pot of something that smelled heavenly bubbling on the stove. There was definitely something with shrimp boiling away in a sea of spices.
That must make this guy the chef. Not too dangerous, you thought to yourself. He looked sturdy as most sea-fairing hands did but chances were you could outrun him if need be. That was until you glanced back to see him pulling a gun from his waistband.
Fuck.
Jerking back, wood by your leg shattered in a million pieces as the ear-splitting scream of the gun sounded. The second nicked your ear as you spun, still on the ground, getting your feet beneath you and stumbling away. A ringing follows, leaving you off balance for a moment longer than necessary. Already you can feel the warmth of liquid iron trickling down your neck.
The obstacle of the barrel only gave you a few moments to get ahead but already you could hear him yelling behind you for others. If the gun wasn’t enough to draw attention then that sure was. Another shot rings off, barely managing to duck in time for it to burst through the wall next to you.
The wood was warm underfoot as you tore through the dim halls, unsure as to where to go but unable to stop for a second as you heard more shouting and footsteps behind you. It was clear you were on a ship judging by the sway, and nothing else would have been able to find you where you were. That means another daring escape. Hopefully this time there was at least a lifeboat that you could swipe.
Then, up ahead, you spotted a concentration of light.
The exit.
You burst through the doorway and onto the open deck, blinking as sunlight floods your vision. Wind whips through your hair, salt stinging your skin. The sky is a deep blue, nearly blending into the ocean as the sun approaches its descent over the horizon. A few stars have managed to wiggle their way out from between clouds, barely visible.
There's no doubt that you're on a ship now if there ever was one before. Sails snap in the wind and though you don't get a good look at it, you catch a glimpse of a Jolly Roger painted across them. They flow in the wind gleefully. A sharp contrast to the rattling metal of your chains.
Pirates. Of course it had to be pirates. Only marginally better than Marines. At least they didn't have as much of a personal grudge. Your death would be swift if they caught you. Maybe they would just toss you back overboard.
Lifeboat. Lifeboat. Where’s the-
Off to the side, you spot the familiar pulley system that tells of a boat docked to the side of a ship. It's small enough that you should be able to outmaneuver them even if they are hot on your trail. For half a second, hope flares in your chest for just a moment before another shout calls out.
“They’re out here!”
Your heart drops as a man steps in your path. Boots thunder behind you. Voices overlap in a flurry of confusion and chaos. You veer left, sprinting past stacked crates and coiled ropes, mind racing.
A shape lunges into your path, larger and burly with a pair of sunglasses and a mean snarl.
“Gotcha!”
You barely stop in time, skidding between his legs just a fraction of a moment before they snap shut like a steel trap. It's pure instinct that's driving you now as you run. With your previous escape plan cut off you pivot, racing to come up with something new. Not the easiest task as you duck around bodies that seemed to come from everywhere.
The stairs to the upper deck loom ahead, free from obstacles. Not ideal, but maybe still enough to give you time to think of a new plan.
You take them two at a time even as your legs protest, still sore from the cramped space you had just been freed of, the taste of freedom already on your lips only to jolt to a halt as a figure appears on the top step. His cloak billows in the wind, red hair blazing in the light of the setting sun and making it appear as if he’s on fire. His face shows no concern at your sudden appearance. If anything, he seems relaxed. Almost amused even as the grin of a predator greets you.
He stands blocking your escape like he’s been waiting there the whole time. His eyes quickly survey your stance, taking you in from head to toe and lingering on the cuffs that still hold your hands together, identifying you as being wanted by someone and likely with a price to be paid for your delivery. An easy cashin.
“Well now,” he says cheerfully. “You’re fast.”
Your stomach twists in dread at the aura around him. You can be reckless, sure, but you're not stupid. Everything about him screams danger, your body refusing to get an inch closer.
Spinning on heel you nearly trip over yourself in haste to get away only to be greeted with a blond man just four steps down. You can’t make it back the way you came up, and the way forward is now blocked.
So you jump.
You grab the banister and throw your weight sideways, sliding down it in a blur. Polished wood scrapes against your clothes as you pray to not get a massive splinter. Sparks of pain shoot through your ribs at the action but you push it away, a problem for a later you.
Hands reach for you, twisting mid-slide, barely avoiding the blonde’s grip. His fingers graze your wrist, missing by millimeters as you feel his skin brush against yours.
You hit the deck hard with a force that nearly had you blacking out from the pain, roll, and scramble back to your feet. The tumble has you dizzy and breathless yet you still move onward, calculating the quickest way to make it through the maze of bodies that have emerged on the deck. Not as many as there had been on the Marine ship but enough to still give you pause in your current state, less than optimal to fight.
Laughter. Warm, loud, and full of joy that feels out of place for the situation, erupts above the chaos. You glance up to see the red-haired man casually leaning against the banister, hips cocked out as he leans over the railing, tears in his eyes from laughing.
“Oh, I like this one,” he says, voice carrying easily over the noise. His eyes lock on to you, pinning you to the deck with his sharp gaze.
“Looks like we’ve got a rat scurrying about, men!”
You don’t hear the shot go off, only feel it hitting its target and nailing you in the shoulder, sending you careening backwards. Your mind calculates the trajectory, spotting a man up in the crows nest, still holding the smoking gun as his eyes gleam with satisfaction.
The crew roars in response as your blood spills. Cheers, whistles, and boots pounding as they spread out, forming a circle and closing in like a pack of wolves.
Your chest heaves, eyes frantically darting every which way looking for even the smallest of gaps. Your wrists ache inside the cuffs and you wonder how many you can bash with them before you're taken down. At least one surely. Maybe two if you’re lucky.
Every path is blocked. Even if you weren’t cuffed it wouldn’t look good. Each and every one of them look rough and mean with an air that would have you stepping aside to avoid them at any port.
Teeth grinding together, a low growl escapes you as you survey, looking for a weak link. It’s then that one breaks away from the group. He’s big, just as they all are. Broad shoulders and large hands that easily fit around the stock of the gun he carries. The same hands raise as if he's surrendering. Or more likely, calming a wild animal.
Dark eyes, sharp as any blade, are fixed on you, his casual stance telling how much of a threat he thinks you to be.
“Stop running.” he says, calm, almost tired. You don’t move, frozen like a hare as even the sea seems to watch the exchange.
“You’ve got nowhere to go out here.” He's not being mean. There's no malice or condescension in his voice. No arrogant bluster. Only a stark candor to his words that has your shoulders slumping under the weight as you pant.
He seems to take it as a sign of surrender as he reaches for you, and all you can imagine is them wrapping around your neck with ease, squeezing until there’s nothing left.
You don’t think. You react, planting your foot and doing a full three-sixty, driving the heel of your unshoed foot as hard as you can with a frustrated huff. The weight of the cuffs gives you a bit more momentum with their counter balance, adding just a touch of extra umph.
You kick, hard, and are rewarded with the give of flesh to bone. He may be a wall of solid muscle, but there’s one place all men are vulnerable.
There’s a split second of stunned silence.
“Hngh!”
The man stumbles back with a sharp gasp, crashing into a crate as it splinters under his weight. The rest of the group seems equally as stunned. Even the man up top watches with wide eyes, mouth agape as if he can hardly believe what he just witnessed.
“Did she just-”
You don’t wait to hear the rest, making a break for the opening left by the giant. It’s another mad dash. Not toward the sides or back below deck, but straight for the front of the ship. The only place that there’s not an obscene amount of people at.
Wind slams into you as you sprint past ropes and rigging, heart pounding so hard it hurts. The bow looms ahead, the massive carved figurehead standing like a guardian, snarling at the sea as if daring it to rise to the challenge.
A dragon. Its wooden jaws are open wide, frozen in a roar ready to devour. It likely strikes fear into the hearts of all who approach. A foreboding omen of destruction, to wreak havoc just as its flesh and blood counterparts do in the skies.
You don’t hesitate to scramble up the railing, hands slipping on smooth wood only made that much more so by the spray of water as it hits the hull, and wedge yourself into the hollow of its mouth. Your back presses against the curved interior, knees tucked tight to your chest. It’s a tight squeeze, one you can barely manage, but force your body to contort anyways.
Hidden from prying eyes, yet trapped once again all the same. You’ve managed to get away for the moment but at what cost? There was nowhere to go from here, forced to the edge of the only solid space in sight. Wood presses against bruises as you lean further back in the mouth of the carving, staring at nothing but open ocean as far as the eye can see. You recognize your safe haven for why it truly is. A dead end.
You feel sick, head pounding and stomach churning at the situation you’ve put yourself in. The waves themselves seem to taunt you, crashing against the hull and spraying a light mist across your skin before receding. If you were to fall in it would be quick to swallow you whole. If not by its own force then the undertow of the ship heading on at a respectable pace.
Boots thud closer, their vibrations traveling through the wood of the ship as they approach. There seems to be their own internal scuffle, cursing as you can hear them debating on how to get you out that doesn’t involve damaging the ship.
”You’re all overthinking this.” A voice huffs, followed by footsteps that stop just above. A shadow falls over the water from where they stand, moving against the stillness of the others.
A hand reaches down. Not as big as the other man's but it’s as callous and resolute, bent and clawed as it grabs.
“C’mon, don’t make this hard-”
Panic explodes in your chest as they brush your arm, fingers groping. No thinking. Just survival. Your hands won’t do much from where they’re gripping one of the many teeth in order to stay balanced, feet braced against the lower jaws to push you as far back as possible. Instead you lunge forward and bite as hard as you can, imagining the hand instead as a leg of meat, stomach grumbling at the thought.
Teeth sink into skin, jaw locking in the space between thumb and pointer finger. The flimsy webbing gives way easily as you bite. The man yelps, jerking back with a curse. You taste copper. Sharp, metallic, disgusting.
For half a second a stupid, distant thought flickers through your mind wondering if the man had any diseases he could pass through the liquid dripping from your lip. The thought makes your stomach twist but there's not much to do now. Not like you had very many other options.
You spit instinctively, pressing yourself farther into the dragon’s mouth, trembling.
“Dammit, they bit me!”
“Seriously? Are they feral or something?”
The rest seem to hesitate. No one wants to be the next to try. Good. You’ll take the whole hand next time.
A sharp whistle cuts through the air, drawing the attention of the group. You watch as their shadows disappear, one lingering longer than the others and leaving you in fear that they’ll try again, before slipping away.
There’s the muttering of voices far away, too distant to pick up what they're saying no matter how much you strain to hear with your one good ear, the other now flooded with your own blood as you shake your head to rid yourself of it. Your shoulder aches as well, the wound streaming with its own steady production of crimson that stains your clothes.
Too soon the steps return as you press further back. There’s only one this time it seems. One was all they would need in your current state, weakened and light headed. No grabbing hands or peaking faces. Only a deep, vaguely familiar voice.
”You’ve got nowhere to go. Come out now and Captain will show some grace.”
You snort, suspiciously something that sounds like a laugh, eliciting a sigh from the figure above. The wood whines, leading away from you and back towards the main body of the ship.
”Fine. Have it your way.”
And with that they retreat once again, leaving you alone, stuck on the front of a pirate ship and heavily bleeding, rethinking your life choices. You sit alone, staring out to the endless ocean in front of you, the faint scent of citrus clinging to your knees from where they had crushed oranges to a pulp in the barrel. Not enough to get a taste from, but enough to remind you of the burning pain in your stomach.
_____________________________
Sunlight glitters off the endless blue sea, sails full and steady, the Red Force cutting smoothly through the water. It should be a peaceful afternoon. A time for them to relax a bit before that hit rougher waters, yet true ease escapes them. Not when half the crew keeps sneaking glances toward the bow, where the massive dragon figurehead has become the most closely monitored spot on the entire ship.
Shanks leans against the railing, arm folded loosely across his chest, lazily watching the horizon. His attention occasionally flirts to the dragon’s open mouth. Beckman stands beside him, rifle resting against his shoulder, a figure of relaxation that does nothing to betray the alertness that holds him.
“Had to chew the guys out again.” Beckman mutters. “They’re gonna forget how to swab the deck at this rate.”
Shanks exhales quietly through his nose, stretching like a cat, head tilting to catch more of the sun.
“Hard to blame them.”
They both glance forward. Still no movement from the highlighted location. No shifting. No sound. Nothing but a shadow inside the carved jaws. They could almost believe that you had died if not for one detail.
Beckman adjusts his grip on the rifle, moving to light his cigarette. He takes a heavy drag, watching the end burn just a moment longer than normal.
“She tried something.”
Shanks hums, gaze drifting to where their latest addition still lay hidden. “Yeah?”
“Early morning.” Beckman says. “Slipped out just before the sun was up. Grabbed some rope that was lying around. Took spare fabric from the repair supplies.”
Shanks’ eyebrow lifts slightly.
“Resourceful.”
“Almost got away with it too.” Beckman continues. “Then Yasopp spotted her. Chased her halfway across the deck yelling like the world was ending. Woke up half the crew. Of course he didn’t manage to catch her, saying something about how he was worried about getting bit.”
“I was wondering what that was,” Shanks says, grinning. “Thought someone fell overboard.”
Beckman shakes his head, taking another drag of his cigarette.
“Captain, why don’t we just force them out?”
They could wrangle you out of the space even if it would be a pain to do without some damage to the ship. Shanks turns to him, an amused twinkle in his eye that promises trouble.
“Force them out?” he repeats. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Beckman raises an eyebrow. “Fun?”
“C’mon,” Shanks says, waving his hand. “The lads already placed their bets. First time in weeks we’ve had decent entertainment. Besides, they’re not much of a threat to us.”
Then, thoughtfully, he adds with a hum.
“Well. Maybe to your future progeny.”
Beckman doesn’t even have time to respond before Shanks glances towards his waist, still sore and tender. Still very much aware of where that kick had landed.
He clicks his tongue. “Gotta admit I didn’t see that one coming.”
Beckman’s lips twitch despite himself.
True, you weren’t much of a threat. Not to seasoned pirates like them. And yet that was exactly how you’d managed to catch them off guard.
“She’s got a fire to her, that’s for sure.”
“I thought that’s how you liked them.” Shanks teases.
“Aye, but a bit less bloody. Limejuice is trying to get out of anything to do with chores. Claims the girl has rabies or something and he needs at least a week to recuperate. Hongo says he’s just being dramatic.”
Shanks straightens slowly, gaze drifting away from the bow and toward the distant horizon. The sky stretches wide and flawless. A perfect blue that no gem could ever compare to. Not a cloud in sight to cover the warmth from above as a steady breeze blows in their favor. The kind of weather sailors pray for.
He stares at it for a long moment, then speaks quietly, almost more to himself than Beckman.
“I’ve got a feeling there’s a storm coming.”
Beckman follows his gaze, studying the sky, not seeing anything wrong. But he also knows better than to doubt his captain.
The ship sails on and inside the dragon’s mouth, hidden in shadow, you keep holding out.
For now.
_________________________________
The storm doesn’t come gently. It crashes down on the ship like the sky itself is trying to break it apart, ripping and screaming as it tears at everything it can get its hands on, rocking the ship violently.
Rain lashes against the wood. Wind screams through the rigging. Waves slam into the hull so hard you’re sure at any moment it’s going to split in two. Shouts from the crew can be heard as they maneuver the waters. Lighting streaks the sky like claws threatening to tear you from hiding.
Inside the dragon’s mouth, you cling to the curved wood with numb fingers. Everything is soaked. Your clothes. Your hair. Your skin. Your thoughts. It’s all drenched to the point it stiffens, hardened by salt and wear.
Half the time, you’re choking, or more so gagging as you all but vomit what feels like buckets of saltwater. At this point you may as well be a fishman with how much water is in your lungs.
You lose track of when you’re breathing and when you’re drowning. Lose track of where you are. Who you are. If this is even real. At some point you’re pretty sure you black out. It seems there’s no end to it. There’s no way for you to keep time with what’s happening. By the time the flow slows and your stomach isn’t rolling with the ship the sun is dipping back below the horizon, providing only a few rays to recover with.
Sometime later- minutes, hours, you don’t know for sure- you slip. It’s a stupid mistake. One you would have never made at any other time. But you’re just so exhausted, fading in and out of consciousness.
Your foot slides on slick wood, grip failing as your body pitches forward. Suddenly, you’re falling.
You tumble out of the dragon’s mouth, body pitching forward into open air. The ocean rushes forward, still dark and churning, its maw open to consume you.
Your arms snap back above your head, tearing a howl from you at the pain of the sudden stop as it feels as if you’re being torn apart at the joints.
The rope. The one you’d tied around your cuffs and anchored inside the figurehead fearing you would nod off in the middle of the night and roll out of your hiding space. Good to know it had been worth the risk of your little venture.
It jerks you back violently, not an ounce of give to its material, the cuffs just as unforgiving in their hold around your hands as they tear further into the skin, grinding against bone. The fabric acts as only a slight buffer, stuffed as much as it could between your skin and the cold metal.
Your shoulders scream, wrist burning. You dangle there, just below the maw of the beast, swaying back and forth helplessly in the wind. For one horrible second you think this will be the end of you, and they’ll just leave your corpse there to rot. A new macabre decoration.
What’s even more terrifying is a part of you doesn’t care. You’re crying now, unable to tell when it even started. You cry every amount you never let yourself cry before in the weeks of your capture. Tears of months saved up now reaching a damn and breaking at facing the grim morality of your death. Not even with the Marines had you felt it so closely. But with the water nipping at your heals, broken physically and emotionally, you allowed yourself the one mercy of crying.
Then voices cut through the storm.
“Holy hell! Look at that!”
“Are you kidding me?!”
Above the lingering thunder you hear laughter. Jeers and taunts that dry your self-loathing. The smoldering embers from before burn back to life with a blazing fury, anger and bitterness fueling you in place of sorrow to drag you down further.
With a raw, broken scream, you force your body to move, feeling the muscles tear in protest as your lungs burn from tears and the salty air.
You drag yourself inch by inch back toward the opening, nails scraping uselessly against soaked wood. Vaguely you register the sound of cheering, but it’s pushed to the back of your mind. Instead you focus on the pain.
Nothing but pain.
But you make it. Gasping and clawing, with tear tracks still burning down your face, you perform the most difficult pull-up of your life, collapsing back inside the dragon’s mouth in a shaking heap, sobbing quietly as the storm rages on.
By nightfall, the sea finally calms. Enough that you no longer have to worry about falling in but now fear falling asleep so deeply you don’t realize that you do. For safety you add another knot in the rope, this one linking under the tongue of the dragon and around your waist.
Stars peek through torn clouds as the ship settles into a gentle, exhausted sway. Absent-mindedly you begin to chart them in your head, trying to get a better sense of direction. To try and make out where you may be going. It’s sad that you were never as good at it as your father. He would know what to do right now. There’s nothing you wish more than to hear him whispering pointers to you, walking through everything step by step. It’ll never happen again, but a part of you likes to hope. To dream.
Footsteps approach. Careful. Quiet.
“They still in there?”
Another voice murmurs, “Go check.”
A shadow leans into the dragon’s mouth, candlelight flickering above.
A face appears.
“Hey, uh, you alive in-”
Your foot shoots out, smashing into his face with all the remaining strength you have left.
The man yelps as he stumbles backward, arms flailing uselessly as he drops. The splash of water is followed by a beat of silence, a respectful pause, before laughter breaks out, explosive and uncontrollable.
“Did you see that?”
“She kicked him! And after being beat half to death by that storm!”
A moment later a soaked, sputtering pirate hauls himself back up the side of the ship, coughing and laughing along with his crewmates. Even he’s grinning as he takes their jeers in stride.
Beckman, watching from the shadows, exhales slowly, half amused, half amazed. His mind drifts to you in the figurehead, trying to imagine what it’s like. Bruised and broken, exhausted from your struggle yet still fighting with every bone in your body. Still surviving despite everything. As much of a ruckus as you’ve caused he can’t help but admire your grit.
That night, while everyone sleeps and the wood creaks, you fail to notice an approaching figure, too half out of it to even care, head lolling back and forth with the waves, eyes fixed on the sky above.
There’s a shift of movement that has you tensing, only to pause as a shadow is dropped down, the wind blowing it back into your hiding spot before you can react.
It's fabric. Not the soaked, freezing kind that you wear. Instead it's warm, thick, blocking the chill of the night. Despite yourself, you soon find it wrapped around your shoulders, cocooning you like a hug. Something you so desperately needed. One you would have gladly taken from your mother, bracing against the sweet perfume she insisted on using to apparently emulate a candy shop. A scent you would do anything to inhale greedily once again rather than damp wood and regret.
______________________________
No one on the ship can quite believe it. A week spent curled inside the dragon’s mouth. Seven days of salt, wind, hunger, and pain. Of stubborn, silent refusal.
By the fifth day, the crew’s betting on when you’ll come out slows.
By the sixth, they start worrying.
By the seventh, Beckman takes over.
He approaches slowly, steps loud and announcing as he walks, rifle left behind. He wasn’t worried about needing it. Last time had been pure luck and his own foolish overconfidence, and you were in no better condition at this point.
“Hey,” he calls out, standing a few feet from the figurehead.
No answer.
He takes it as an invitation, walking further out, feeling the gazes of the others on his back to which he pointedly ignores them. In his hand he carries a cinched bag, some scraps from breakfast tossed inside. He had hardly been able to stomach his own that morning after the latest mention of you from the night lookout proved no movement. It shouldn’t have bothered him so much. He had seen plenty of people die. Been the cause of many deaths. Yet the thought of yours set him on edge for a reason he couldn't quite grasp. One that he didn't want to dig any deeper into.
“I’ve got some food here for you. Don’t bite me.”
Carefully, he lowers a small bundle tied to a rope. A water skin. Dried meat and bread with just a bit of honey smear on top and toasted in the oven. He could have tossed in some dried fruit, but that would have to be an earned reward.
It swings gently in the air with the wind like bait on a rope, ready to drag in whatever bites. You don’t reach for it.
Beckman exhales through his nose as he pinched his brow. Figures.
“The Marines weren’t generous with rations,” he says calmly, voice low and steady. “I know that. You must be pretty hungry.”
Still nothing. He softens his tone to the ones he would use when tempting the alley cats in the docks they’d find themselves in. The only rational company he could find sometimes.
“You come out of there, and we’ll get you looked at. I promise our doc, Hongo, doesn’t bite.”
He pauses before adding, “Much.”
Silence. The food remains untouched, still hanging. Beckman hesitates. Then, slowly, he steps closer.
“Alright,” he mutters. “I’m gonna take a look. No sudden moves, yeah?”
He crouches carefully, like he’s approaching a wounded animal. Well, he thinks to himself, it’s not too far off.
He bends down, peering between teeth and the figurehead’s shadow just enough to see inside, prepared for claws and teeth, maybe another kick. The only upside to this position is that you can’t reach his groin, still a bit sore from your last meeting as a phantom pain runs through him.
Beckman hadn’t gotten the best look at you in your initial run through the ship, hardly standing still and the low light of the setting sun casting shadows. He had expected to find you crouched and growling, eyes wild and ready to strike, huddled into your hiding space like an animal with nowhere to go. Cuts and bruises are to be expected, a little worse for wear as you brave the elements and in your own scuffle.
What he finds is worse, eyes widening at the sight before him as his breath stutters.
The inside of the dragon’s mouth is stained dark. Old, dried blood mixing with flecks of newer crimson, smeared along the carved wood like the beast has actually swallowed you whole. Almost as if it’s been feeding on you. Your back is pressed against the curve of the carving as far back into the mouth as you can get, knees pulled to your chest, arms wrapped loosely around yourself.
You look empty.
The makeshift bandage around your shoulder where Yasopp’s shot clipped you is soaked through, fabric dark and stiff with old blood. You tried to treat it yourself. Or at least the best you could in the situation.
His coat is the only thing that looks relatively unharmed, but even then a few blooms of red soak into the fabric, wounds reopening each time the ship hits a rough wave and your body adjusts with it, scabs cracking and splitting at the action.
Your cheeks are hollow, skin dry and lips cracked to the point they bleed. They’re a sickly shade of blue, standing out that much more against the skin that hadn’t looked much better the last time he saw you. Blood cakes the entire side of your face where it hasn’t been washed away and he notes a missing chunk in your upper lobe.
Your eyes lift slowly to meet his. They’re dull, ringed with dark, heavy shadows. No fire or defiance that had been there just a week ago, gazing at him in a way that had sent chills down his spine. Just exhaustion. Like every ounce of energy has been wrung out of you and what remains left to hang.
Your wrists are worse. They look raw even from where he stands, bruises lining the skin that’s not red or split open. Even with strips of fabric stuffed beneath the cuffs the metal has eaten into your skin. Dried blood cakes your hands making it look as if you’re wearing gloves of red.
You don’t move, barely even breathe as he notes the shallow rise and fall of your chest. You just look at him. And that somehow hits harder than any kick ever could. It would have been more of a comfort if he had to dodge a rouge fist, even if you had spit at him. But your mouth is dry despite the water that surrounds you, tasting of chalk and copper.
Beckman’s jaw tightens.
“Shit.”
He straightens slightly, keeping his voice low, almost a whisper.
“Hey. You’re starving.”
No denial.
“You need food,” he continues. “Water. Real rest.”
Nothing.
“You can’t stay in there.”
Your gaze flickers to the dangling bundle he holds out, then back to him. The scent of warm bread and honey has begun to leak out into the air, drawing like a siren’s call.
A part of him wonders if you could even open the drawstrings with the way your body trembles. Slowly, he opens the bag and draws out a piece of bread. You scooch further back as his hand approaches, eyes wary as he sets it down just before your feet. He leans back, pulling himself back up top and leaving you with just the food.
It’s a trap. That’s what your instincts tell you. That he’s waiting just beyond the edge ready to swipe you up at a moment's notice. But you were so hungry. Teeth marls littered the wood around you, half convinced you would be able to satiate your hunger with the meager scraps you could get from it. You only succeeded in making your mouth bleed from the splinters.
You hesitate, listening for the faintest sound of his presence, before warily snatching the morsel as hunger winning over logic. The bread is warm and soft, sticky with honey that glistens in the light, baked to a perfect golden hue. It still holds the warmth of the oven.
Your fingers tremble as you hold it. From either hunger of nerves you don’t know. For a second you just stare at it, not quite convinced it’s real. Many times before now you had imagined such food only to wake up before you could even sink your teeth in, nothing but a dream that left you hungry and wanting.
Your stomach twists painfully. It’s been so long since you’ve smelled anything like this. Had bread that was stale and needed to be sucked on just to be chewable.
You take a tiny bite. Barely more than a nibble, teeth sinking into the crust and are immediately rewarded with an explosion of flavor.
Sweet. So sweet it hurts and threatens to lock your jaw. Your eyes widen as you breathe out a shaky, broken sound. Something between a laugh and a sob as your mouth fills with saliva.
You chew slowly, each bite feeling unreal. Your hands start shaking harder so you take another bite to distract yourself. A little bigger this time.
Crumbs fall onto your lap as honey drips down your fingers. You don’t care, licking it off in desperation not to waste a single drop even if the flavor is tinged by dirt and blood, the sweetness singing on your tongue above all else.
Tears blur your vision before you even realize they’re coming, sliding down your cheeks and dripping onto the bread. You try to stop but can’t focus on both stemming their flow and eating, choosing the latter.
Above you Beckman doesn’t say a word. He simply sits letting you eat in peace. By the time you finish your fingers are sticky, lips are glossy with honey, breathing a bit more even. You stare at the empty spot in your hands, craving more so much it physically hurts, the bite doing little more than fan the fuel of hunger.
Your dignity screams at you even as your lips move. Feeling like a dog begging for scraps at the table.
“More?” you whisper, barely audible even to your own ears and coming out as more of a croak than anything, throat sore from how long it’s been since you’ve voluntarily spoken.
Even with its shaky tone Beckman is nearly knocked back when he hears it, curling around the cracks of his mind and prompting him to follow your question as if it’s a command, already reaching for it.
“Yeah,” he says gently. “There’s more.”
Slowly but surely he feeds you the rest of the contents, watching you consume them ravenously. When that’s done he passes the water skin to which you gulp down in only a few mouthfuls. Whipping your face, your eyes flick to the bag, tongue darting out to clean up the crumbs around your lips.
He notices, seizing the chance.
“I’ll give you more,” he says. “Better stuff. Warm food. Whatever you want if we have it.”
You swallow, still wary.
“No one touches you. Not unless you hit first that is.” he promises, a condition proposed for both your benefits. Thinking back, you hadn’t attacked until provoked, and he had a feeling you weren’t so quick to direct confrontation.
A long moment passes and Beckman thinks you might just curl back in on yourself and ignore him.
Then you shift. Just a little.
The cold is not forgiving, infiltrating the smallest of cracks and expanding them until they turn into something deeper and far more dangerous, destabilizing the entirety. At that moment, you feel yourself crack just a bit. Enough for your resistance to crumble. You had never truly experienced the cold before. Not like this, concocted by lashing layers of wind and water.
Your body trembles as you inch forward, movement slow and unsteady, like you’re afraid you’ll shatter if you go too fast, legs trembling as you bring them underneath you.
Beckman reaches out instinctively, pausing just before he reaches you. He leaves his hand hanging there, an open invitation.
You hesitate for just a moment, your mother’s warning ringing in your mind once again before throwing all caution to the wind. Your fingers barely manage to brush his before your legs give out, tilting forward. He catches you easily, large hand wrapping around your forearm and steadying you.
You’re light. Too light.
He frowns as there’s a bit of resistance, spotting the rope keeping you in place with knots he recognizes both the shape and quality of. With his free hand he grips the rope tied to your cuffs and waist, snapping them effortlessly. Almost like they were never there at all. A part of you almost laughs.
A week of clinging to that stupid rope and he breaks it with one hand.
Beckman shifts you carefully, brows furrowing at the way you whimper when he pulls you up, knowing there’s more injuries than what he’s seeing.
For the first time since the Marines took you, you don’t fight. Instead you simply sigh, leaning into his side as your feet touch something solid for the first time in days. The deck is anything but dry land but it's stable enough to give you the confidence to take one shaky step after another, eyes fixed firmly on the ground before you. The coat, still wrapped around your shoulders, provides you a bit more decency than the tattered fabric you wear as it drags behind you, length fitting of a much taller person.
You look up and take in his face properly for the first time.
There’s deep lines under his eyes, which are dark like a rolling storm as he stares straight ahead. Black hair is flecked with grey at the temples telling of his age, or maybe stress. The sun catches his face nicely giving him a warm glow of someone in good health. His gait is smooth and even, hardly a jostle as he helps you along, one hand on your waist and the other holding your elbow as you hobble along. He would have been tempted to pick you up if he didn’t think you would try to squirm away.
He’s warm like the sun in a way that has you seeking him out, leaning just a bit more into him. The warm rays hadn’t been able to reach you so far back in the mouth, only getting a few of the last streams as the sun hung low on the horizon. Sometime on the fourth day the cold had morphed from pain to a consuming numbness, a reflection of your inner turmoil. He feels nice even as his hand brushes your ribs in a way that has you flinching, but even as you walk you remain wary, knowing a flame can burn just as easily as warm.
Beckman walks back across the main deck, ignoring the looks of the others. Shanks stares from the second deck, a wide grin on his face.
“That’s a man Beckman.”
He only huffs, knowing Shanks would want to speak with you. Before then, you needed a bit of care to properly even think about anything else.
Nobody would describe Beckman as anything even remotely adjacent to soft, yet it's the only way to explain his actions as he walks at your pace, taking half steps. He’s a pirate. Far from a gentleman. But Shanks is right in that you are not a threat to them in your current state, and to treat you with anything but a softened touch might truly break you. His mind drifts back to the alley cats, remembering how they would fight tooth and nail against anything they perceived as a threat. You only had to learn the right approach and they would allow you to pet them.
hi! I really love your "not-so-secret" format and I find it real funny, I would like to ask you if you can write something like that for Benn Beckman or if you are more at ease for Shanks, either way I would love it❤️ thank you and you are amazing🫶
Not-So-Secret (Beckman x Reader)
One Piece | Beckman | 3.3k | Masterlist
A newspaper landed on the table, spun around twice and stopped perfectly in front of you. You lifted your glass before it could be knocked off and shuffled forward to see what had been brought over. Shanks paused his conversation with Lucky Roux next to you and tilted his head toward it.
“Notice anything?” Benn asked.
Shanks spun it around to face him, grin proud. “That’s a good photo. Maybe I can ask them to replace my bounty one with it.”
“Have they finally raised mine to something decent?” you asked.
Benn put his hand over it and tapped the headline next to it. “No.”
You immediately burst into laughter, head tipped back in mirth, joined a second later by Shanks. He tossed his arm over your shoulders and grinned.
“What a title,” he said. “The secret wife of an emperor?”
You smiled at Benn through your eyelashes. “Why didn’t you tell me about your promotion, love? This must be a world first. Two emperors on one crew.”
He gave you an unimpressed look. “It would seem your wedding ring has been given to somebody else.”
Shanks looked down at your hand and beamed. “You should have told me she was available.”
“She isn’t.”
“Too late. Says here we’re married,” he said, letting go of your shoulders and returning your personal space. “Though I can’t remember our wedding. Maybe we should have another party in celebration. Do you want a dress?”
“Absolutely,” you said. “But you know this is just to sell papers, right?”
“And because you enable him,” Benn told you.
“I would never. Captain?”
“Yes?”
“If we’re having a wedding party, we’ll need at least an island’s worth of alcohol. Otherwise, this is going to be a very boring celebration.”
Shanks beamed at the excuse to have a party. “Anything for my lovely wife.”
“Don’t,” Benn corrected.
Shanks grinned in response. “Don’t be so bitter, Beck. You had your turn.”
“The wife of an emperor surely gets a higher bounty, right?” you asked Lucky who just chuckled.
“Not sure that’s how bounties work.”
“It should be.”
It stopped being a wedding party almost as soon as the crew reached the next island.
Nobody on the crew really cared to organise anything vaguely resembling a ceremony when you reached the next island. But there was music loud enough to carry along the beach, tables steadily disappearing beneath bottles, and enough food to keep everyone happy. That was more than a sufficient reason for the Red Hair Pirates to celebrate.
Your main complaint was the sand swallowing your shoes with every step. It made walking far more difficult than it had any right to be.
Shanks was having no such difficulties as he moved around the party. He ended up next to the fire, one arm thrown around Yasopp and laughing loud enough to drown out the waves. A few of the local women had joined the celebration, seemingly very pleased with the attention they were getting from your supposed husband.
It was honestly funny how quickly the evening had changed from a wedding party into a just-for-fun one the moment a pretty face had asked.
You lifted your drink to the rest of the crew.
The bar had been assembled from two uneven tables near the edge of the beach. You helped yourself to another drink before reaching for a familiar bottle and pouring a second. The sharp smell rising from the glass made you wrinkle your nose.
But it wasn’t for you yet. It was just an excuse to make your way over to Benn where he was standing against one of the palms that lined the beach.
The bonfire’s light reached him only faintly, catching against the smoke curling around his face before the darkness swallowed it. His cigarette glowed whenever he took a drag and you used the faint light to navigate your way across the uneven sand to him.
Why had you chosen such impractical shoes for this?
He inclined his head as you approached, gaze dropping briefly to your unsteady progress through the sand.
“Had too much to drink?”
You rolled your eyes. “The sand is deep.”
“Sure.”
“I haven’t even stumbled,” you defended yourself.
His mouth twitched slightly.
The area he was standing on was thankfully a little less cruel and you stopped beside him, leaning your shoulder against his arm. He shifted just enough to make the angle more comfortable for you without looking down. The celebration was only growing louder and you were certain it wouldn’t stop until the morning arrived.
It would be a nice day on deck actually. Almost everybody would be hungover.
“I brought you a drink,” you said, holding out the glass to him.
Benn lifted his own identical one to show it was still half-full.
You took it from him and downed what remained, pressing the replacement into his hand. The strength of it caught the back of your throat and you coughed once, stubbornly forcing yourself not to pull a face at it.
He chuckled and shook his head. “Suppose I did need one then.”
“A wife’s intuition,” you said proudly.
His attention settled on you, quiet and warm despite the unimpressed look on his face. He appreciated your intentions, though he wouldn’t say it.
“Your supposed husband has abandoned you for three women before you’ve even finished your drink,” he noted. “Devastating.”
“I know,” you mourned. “Though luckily, I’ve found someone far better to keep me company. What do you think? It’s a fun party, no?”
He looked toward the celebration. The crew had claimed most of the space beside the fire, laughing and shouting encouragement at whoever was singing badly alongside the musicians. Several of the locals had joined the party now, bringing food and drinks that surely wouldn’t go to waste amongst the crowds.
“It’s a loud party,” Benn said. “Though it’s good to be having it out here rather than inside a tavern. Fewer windows for them to walk into.”
“Just the ocean,” you noted.
“They don’t have devil fruit. They shouldn’t drown.”
“They’ll be wasted soon.”
“A problem they should have solved in advance.”
Despite his complaints, you knew exactly who would be going around and chasing them from the waves in a few hours. He’d become remarkably adept at keeping them under control over the years.
“They’re happy,” you said.
“They usually are when they’re being given alcohol.”
You looked over the smaller groups, mainly formed by unknowns who seemed to enjoy the energy of the party but were understandably wary of getting too close to the infamous crew. A few of them stood at odd angles near the edge of the crowd, never quite facing the celebration directly. You might not have noticed if you hadn’t been looking for it.
And you were definitely looking for it.
“We’ve got some of Morgans’ rats, it seems,” you said, voice lower now to keep the discussion just quieter. “They really are everywhere. It’s annoying. With all these rumours bouncing around, they’ll probably print another photograph of me. And if they take one in this lighting, it’s not going to be pretty.”
Benn chuckled and hooked a finger beneath your chin, tilting your face toward him. The glass in his hand bumped faintly against your jaw as he looked you over, and your heart thumped pleasantly at the touch.
His thumb remained beneath your chin a moment longer than the inspection required.
“You do look tired from your battle against the sand. Perhaps you should avoid them then. You’re far too good at spotting them.”
“I’m not tired,” you corrected. “I’m just enjoying you looking at me.”
Although now that he was looking for them, you knew it wouldn’t take him long to notice the way they stood. Bodies angled away from the party, hands shifting beneath loose coats and bags, shutter clicks swallowed beneath the music and laughter. You made it a personal mission to always keep an eye out for photographers. Your bounty was seen by everybody in the world and you refused to have an ugly one.
But it also gave you an opportunity.
“Maybe we should correct what they think about me,” you suggested.
“It’ll be difficult to prove your sanity in a photograph. Particularly after marrying him.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Divorce.”
You chuckled at the idea. “That would probably chase away his company for the night. Wouldn’t want to have to deal with the moping from that, would you? Maybe something more obvious?”
You turned into Benn’s side and tilted your face toward him, making the request as obvious as you could without saying it.
He glanced down at you and took a drag from his cigarette, blowing the smoke away from you and into the sky. “You should be careful with requests like that. You could damage your marriage when it’s just started.”
You wrinkled your nose, beginning to lose patience with the joke now that it was keeping you from the kiss you wanted.
“My real marriage would only be made better by one,” you mentioned.
He extinguished the cigarette against the tree and leaned down to kiss the top of your head.
“There.”
You blinked. Then crossed your arms, mildly offended.
He simply smiled in response. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it? I wouldn’t want to upset the captain of the ship now.”
You let your genuine offence melt into an exaggerated pout he could see straight through. “But you’re upsetting me. I just want a kiss from my husband.”
“I thought your husband was drinking with other women.”
He smiled. Sometimes you hated how easily he saw through your dramatics. You huffed and spun on your heel, already moving a step away.
“Fine. I guess I’ll go ask him then.”
Benn caught your arm before you’d even taken your second step and pulled you easily back to him, kissing you properly before you could say a word. You hummed, smiling against his mouth, pleased. You lifted your free hand to his jaw, making sure the glint of your ring said everything as you sank into the familiar warmth of his mouth.
It should have been the final clarification they needed.
Instead, that photo did the exact opposite.
Almost a week later, Yasopp was laughing far too hard for it to signal anything good. You knew it was bad when you stepped out onto deck, met his eyes, and he cackled louder. And because you had no sense of self-preservation, you immediately made your way to him, Hongo, and Limejuice to see what was so funny.
Limejuice raised his eyebrows at you as you approached, chuckling. “Well, if it isn’t the most scandalous member of our crew.”
“What have I done now?”
He handed you the newspaper, flipped to the third page. You looked over the image and the title and a laugh escaped you purely because no other sound made sense.
“They really think so little of me to believe I wouldn’t take the ring off first?” you asked and clicked your tongue. “Honestly. It’s almost like they think I’m a pirate or something.”
“Married to the captain but sleeping with the first mate? Talk about a rumour,” Yasopp said.
You shook your head in disbelief. “It’s absolutely disgraceful, I know. How can any of you lot tolerate such harlotry on the ship? Especially when the photo with my supposed husband is of me sitting next to him.”
“Admitting they’re wrong wouldn’t sell nearly as many papers,” Hongo commented. “So, the natural conclusion is an affair. Don’t know what else it could be.”
The laugh bubbled from your chest before you could help it. It was absolutely hilarious. The photo they’d captured was honestly lovely; taken from the waist up with your wedding ring clear against his jaw.
“They also need his name in the title somewhere,” Limejuice added. “I’m just shocked this has been going on right on the ship and nobody’s noticed.”
You fought to try to contain the chuckles and held up the newspaper in answer to footsteps approaching behind you. The familiar sound of Benn’s steps against the deck stopped as he looked it over and sighed.
“That’s really their answer?”
“I’m so sorry you had to find out this way,” you told him sincerely over your shoulder. “But it seems that you’re the other man in our relationship.”
He rolled his eyes. “You should ignore it. The more you try and reason with them, the more content you’re giving over.”
Yasopp slapped him on the shoulder between his chuckles. “How does it feel to be having an affair with the woman you married?”
“Exhausting.”
“The next edition will probably be something about who the father is,” Hongo suggested.
Your mouth dropped in offense and you turned to him. “Excuse me? What’s that even supposed to mean?”
He held up his hands innocently, smirk too cocky. “Come on, it’s the natural progression from the wife scandal.”
“I do not look pregnant,” you warned.
“You’re pregnant?” Shanks asked. “You’re hiding it well.”
“Shut it!” you snapped at him. “I am not. But I do have to tell you something quite important. I’m having an affair with your first mate. I know this must be hard for you to hear through a newspaper but please understand that I love him dearly.”
Benn gave you a very unimpressed look that you responded to with a sparkling smile.
Shanks chuckled and took the newspaper from you. “They’re pretty creative with these things, aren’t they? I suppose I can forgive it this time. But only with Beck, ‘kay? I can’t tolerate this behaviour with anybody else.”
You made a sign of swooning. “Aw, you’re the second-best husband ever.”
“Only second for accepting your affair?”
“Benn can get me a drink without finishing it on the way over.”
“News must be dry for this to be what they’re using,” Benn said, entirely ignoring your compliment. “Though I suppose the seas have been quiet. At least it’s not on the front page.”
“The paternity test will be,” Hongo said. “Leave the test to me. I can make the results suitably inconclusive.”
Yasopp wiped at his eyes. “Maybe it comes out with one arm.”
Both you and Shanks immediately collapsed into laughter. Your sides ached as you leaned against him to support yourself. Benn chuckled softly under his breath, whether at the idea or because you were laughing, you weren’t sure.
He always said he was very fond of your laugh.
“We should get you a sack of flour to carry around,” Limejuice said. “We can stitch red hairs into the top.”
“And give it a cigarette,” Yasopp added.
“She needs to be pregnant before she has the kid,” Hongo insisted. “You’re skipping over at least two editions worth of content. So, we should give her a watermelon to carry for a few months.”
“I can do that,” you offered. “But I want it to be a weirdly shaped watermelon. Like really long.”
“No,” Benn said. “I’m not dealing with how sticky the deck’s going to be when it inevitably falls and smashes over everything.”
“I promise not to drop it.”
“I don’t believe you.”
By the time dinner arrived, most of the Red Force had lost interest in your supposed paternity scandal. Which was good because there was only so much laughter you could take before you developed a permanent stitch in your side. Still, you had a feeling it wouldn’t be long until it resurfaced at the next market you found with watermelons.
You made your way to the kitchen while a game of cards started on the deck and trimmed the edges of the newspaper away so you had just the photo.
You lifted it to the light and hummed. It would need a backing board. The paper they used to print on was getting awfully thin of late. You’d be happier if you could get your hands on the actual image though… maybe you should write in and ask for it.
“Are you really keeping it?”
You looked over your shoulder to find Benn standing in the doorway. You smiled and lowered your arms.
“I am. It’s a nice photo. I’ll buy a frame the next time we stop somewhere with a shopping street instead of a distillery.”
“You have very high hopes for the future.”
You laughed softly. “I could get rid of it instead if you want me to. I’m not overly attached. Or maybe I should write a formal letter of complaint?”
He stepped closer and leaned over your shoulder to look at the photo. “Somehow, I don’t think they’d be particularly worried. You can see my ring where I’m holding your wrist.”
You looked closer at the photo and immediately laughed. As you held his face, he held your arm, his hand turned to rest against your pulse point with a matching ring on his finger.
“I think they’ll use that next,” you said. “They’ll skip over the kid and think you’re cheating on a wife back home.”
“They wouldn’t care about that. Doesn’t involve Shanks at all.”
You hummed. “Fair. Though realistically, we’ve already had two. They’ll probably move on to something else in the next week. Or maybe a group of idiots will blow up an island and get far more media attention.”
Benn gave you a look. “Hopefully this is not how I learn about your plans.”
“Why would I blow up an island?”
“When you’re with that lot, I place nothing outside the realm of possibility.”
You didn’t appreciate how often you had to admit he was right. “Does it bother you?” you asked. “Not the blowing up an island thing but all of the rest of it.”
You could understand how it would. If things were the other way around, you weren’t sure you’d be pleased about the situation at all. Actually, you knew you wouldn’t be. You’d be even more bitter about the part where you didn’t have any options to correct the problem.
“Not the first time people have thought you’re with him,” Benn said with a shrug. “Probably not the last. I care very little about who a newspaper thinks you’re married to. You’re still wearing my ring.”
“It’s honestly impressive he managed to start a scandal story without even doing anything,” you admitted. “That’s a new one.”
“No, it’s not.”
You leaned against the counter and smiled. “Maybe we should start confining him to the ship whenever we make land. I think it’ll be safer for everybody.”
Benn raised a disbelieving eyebrow at you. “As though you wouldn’t be far too bored?”
“Hey, I can entertain myself by bothering you more.”
He hummed but you caught the affectionate smile that appeared for a second. “Maybe I should confine both of you to the ship. It will be safer for everybody.”
“You’re really not looking to dispel the rumours then,” you teased.
“I don’t need to. Anybody who’s met Shanks knows he couldn’t keep a wife for longer than a night.”
“And anybody who’s met me knows exactly who I have eyes for.”
He scoffed. “Even if they haven’t met you. In the first photograph they took, you were standing next to him but you were looking at me.”
“Was I?”
“Very obviously.”
You hummed and looked down at the photo you had. “Then I should get a copy of that one too. I can start a little album to document our lives as told through the newspaper.”
“That sounds suspiciously like you’re planning on causing more stories.”
“Maybe… Two photos isn’t much of an album. But don’t worry, I’ll only ask the others for their help occasionally. And I won’t bring the watermelon onboard.”
Benn gave you a long, unreadable look.
Then, before you could ask what that meant, he bent down and swept you into his arms. You laughed, catching hold of his shoulders as he carried you toward the door.
“So, is that a yes to the album?”
He said nothing which you chose to take as enthusiastic approval.
what's a fanfic you recently enjoyed? love ur stuff btw your writing is very nice to read❤️
hiii!! thank you so much!! i'm glad you like my work!!
it is simply impossible for me to name just one fanfic i love though, so you've inspired me to create a recs list! unfortunately... i am a little crazy so i am being very diligent in my curation (i have already been working on it for a month 🫣) so!! in the meantime i will point you towards @grandline-net where you can find a list of authors under the "Following" tab whose works i greatly admire (and whose company i love even more)
Request: ”Helloooo, me again. Hope you’re doing awesome. Thank you for All-fire it was SUPERRRRR. I love Ace. I wonder if you do spicy though? 🧐. I Just like Ace a lil bit… PATHETIC. YOU CAN FORGET THIS REQUEST IF YOU DON’T WANT TO!!! K bye bye. Love you ❤️❤️❤️” - @mulliebeak
Summary: Three moments of Ace being absolutely, hopelessly, pathetically in love with you.
Notes: fluffy!! reader calls Ace “good boy,” last third is a little suggestive, mentions of reader wearing lingerie
A/N: hiii!! thank you so much for the request!! i don’t usually do spicy content, just not in my repertoire/interests, but i too enjoy a pathetic ace so i tried to incorporate this prompt into my own writing style. i went with a silly moment, a soft moment, and a suggestive moment of ace being absolutely whipped. i hope you enjoy!!
this is mostly proofread, but mistakes may persist! thanks so much for reading!! likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome!
Ace was whipped. You could ask him to jump into the ocean, and he’d do so with a blush on his cheeks and a smile on his face, thanking you as he sank into the waves. But nothing, nothing made him turn into putty in your hands like when you called him a good boy…
“Love, can you pass me the herb?” you asked, not taking your attention away from the pot you stirred on the stove in front of you. You were no top chef, but you liked to dabble in a meal here or there, especially when you could share your creation with your insatiable boyfriend.
Speaking of, Ace pushed up from the spot at the counter where he had leaned while watching you cook, heading over to the spice rack. You had made this recipe a million times and had assumed Ace, who had helped you with at least ninety-five percent of those, might have remembered the recipe. You assumed wrong.
“Here ya go!” You turned your head to find Ace on your left, holding every seasoning possible while looking so proud.
“Dear… Love.. My Sweet baby boy.” His smile widened with each new pet name. “I just needed to parsley.”
“Ah, okay, ummmm,” he set down the ingredients and started searching for the one you requested. “Here!” He held out a bundle of parsley to you like a child showing his parent the art he made at school, a goofy grin dominating his face.
With a soft giggle, you took the herb and smirked, “Good boy, thank you.”
His legs nearly gave out as he physically felt himself weaken at the pet name. His mind emptied as his soft gaze watched you go back to the task at hand. To anyone else, you appeared to be a person cooking a meal with the love of your life. To Ace, you appeared as an angel among men, a moon among stars, his very reason for being.
Your praise had him feeling like he was floating for the rest of the day.
***
The celebration after the battle was certainly earned. The small crew Ace had brought with him for this mission had fought tooth and nail to get the job done. As the fight came to a close and the sun began to set, Ace cheerfully called for a party, and within minutes the booze was pouring and the bonfire lit.
But, as the night unfolded, you could tell Ace was tired. He had fought harder than anyone in order to protect his crew, to protect you.
“Hey,” you gently place your hand on his arm, pulling his attention from the group he had been bantering with. “Come with me,” you nodded your head to a spot a bit away from the party, along the tree line, where the two of you could find a moment of quiet reprieve. You barely tugged Ace along as he was already following in your footsteps before you had even finished speaking, looking like a lovesick pup.
You led him to a tree, sitting down and patting your lap, directing him to lay his head there and rest, at least for a moment. Ace easily followed your directions with a besotted smile and a tender sigh, placing his hat on your head as his body found relief in your presence.
As he got comfortable, he took a moment to look into your eyes. Just as he was about to speak, you threaded your fingers through his hair, softly scratching his scalp. The words immediately evaporated from his mind as you felt him melt under you, his eyes closing softly and his head turning into your touch.
“I’m so proud of you,” you spoke softly, leaning down to whisper into his ear. “My brave hero. My good boy.”
Your praise warmed his chest, a warmth which quickly spread to the apples of his cheeks and the tips of his ears. He turned his face to hide in your torso, but between the comforting movement of your fingers and the loving words you offered, Ace felt as though he had truly found heaven. Before he could even stop himself, a purr fell from his lips, a purr you no doubt felt, no doubt heard, but said nothing. Instead, you simply smiled and continued to bring him a moment of peace.
***
Ace was not the only insatiable one in your relationship, though our cravings were more cardio than carb-based. After a few days of Ace being away, let’s just say your appetite was ravenous.
So, as Ace went to debrief with Pops, you practically ran to your cabin, a mischievous smirk etched onto your face.
You spent the short period you had waiting for Ace to set the tone with candles, the fluffiest pillows, and your favorite set of lingerie: the red and orange pair that matched Ace’s fire.
As you heard footsteps approaching, you prepared yourself on the bed, lying on your side to highlight every curve of your body.
“Oof, sorry that took so long. Pops wanted—“ Ace, already yapping as he entered the room, froze at the sight before him. The wires in his brain crossed, rerouted, and fried all at the same time. “I— You— Oh— We are— Do you—“ He stuttered as warmth spread throughout his body.
“Ace,” you spoke with a fiery glint in your eye and a sly smirk, “stop staring and get in this bed.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he nearly whimpered, practically running into your embrace.
He positioned himself over you, hands holding his body up on either side of your head. He took the advantage of the position to look down at you, laid out just for him. He couldn’t help but feel like the luckiest man on Earth.
“I don’t deserve you,” his breath fanned over you as he spoke gently, almost as if he was speaking to himself.
“You deserve the world,” as you spoke, you wrapped your arms around his neck and raked your fingers through his hair, “my good boy.”
The moans you pulled from him only furthered his belief that you were a gift sent by whatever god had chosen to show him mercy.
So… yeah, it was safe to say Ace was pretty whipped.
I. Stunned - Mihawk, Sanji, Ace x f!reader
II. Stunned - Corazon, Zoro, Usopp x gn!reader
III. Stunned - Kid, Law, Marco x gn!reader
I found this little guy, can we keep it?
I. Can we keep it? - Law, Shanks, Luffy x gn!reader
II. Can we keep it? - Zoro, Kid, Corazon x f!reader
III. Can we keep it? - Ace, Marco, Mihawk x gn!reader
He is NOT jealous (he totally is).
I. Jealousy - Mihawk, Shanks, Ace x gn!reader
II. Jealousy - Zoro, Franky, Law x f!reader I
II. Jealousy - Smoker, Crocodile, Doflamingo x gn!reader
The crew definitely knows about your not-so-secret relationship.
I. Obliviously Obvious Men - Penguin, Law x gn!reader
You need some time away. What can you use to distract them?
I. Their Cocomelon - Law, Luffy, Kid, Sanji x gn!reader
II. Their Cocomelon - Ace, Buggy, Bartolomeo, Zoro x gn!reader
The audacity of a man meets the possessive nature of another.
I. You Can't Be Serious, Dude - Zoro, Smoker, Crocodile x gn!reader
II. You Can't Be Serious, Dude - Ace, Luffy, Law x f!reader
They search for you after a battle.
I. Bruised and Battered - Zoro, Law, Sanji x gn!reader
Helloooo, me again. Hope you're doing awesome. Thank you for All-fire it was SUPERRRRR. I love Ace. I wonder if you do spicy though? 🧐. I Just like Ace a lil bit... PATHETIC. YOU CAN FORGET THIS REQUEST IF YOU DON'T WANT TO!!!! K bye bye. Love you ❤️❤️❤️
hi hi!!!! i hope YOU'RE doing awesome!!! thank you so much for your request! while i don't usually do spicy content this did inspire me to write a little something that I think (hope) you'll still enjoy! will be posting it soon (tonight or tomorrow)! 🩵
