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ℛ𝓊𝓁ℯ𝓈

𝘉𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.

𝘕𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘙𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘦𝘵𝘤., 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺.

𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴' 𝘋𝘕𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, (𝘐𝘧 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 — 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦!)

𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 , 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭.

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦!, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘺.

ℛℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉 ℰ𝓉𝒾𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ

𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨! (𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘰 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵!)

𝘉𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈 "𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦" 𝘢𝘯𝘥 "𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶" 𝘨𝘰 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘉𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 (𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.), 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵!

𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵! 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦.

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 — 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴!

𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦! 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥.

𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴.

Quick a/n: 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.

also special mention to the creator of these dividers<33

FLUFF ANGST ko-fi

S̲̅T̲̅R̲̅A̲̅W̲̅H̲̅A̲̅T̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

R̲̅E̲̅D̲̅H̲̅A̲̅I̲̅R̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

W̲̅A̲̅R̲̅L̲̅O̲̅R̲̅D̲̅S̲̅

W̲̅H̲̅I̲̅T̲̅E̲̅B̲̅E̲̅A̲̅R̲̅D̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

H̲̅E̲̅A̲̅R̲̅T̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

B̲̅I̲̅G̲̅ M̲̅O̲̅M̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

B̲̅E̲̅A̲̅S̲̅T̲̅S̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Hot Springs, Hot Tempers - king x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 King’s Helmet Mystery - king x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸

K̲̅I̲̅D̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Shadows of Secrets - killer x gn! reader

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸

M̲̅A̲̅R̲̅I̲̅N̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

C̲̅P̲̅9̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Secrets in Stone - CP9 x reader | fluff | O.S

#one piece #one piece x reader #zoro #luffy #sanji #crocodile #smoker #shanks #law

Hi! Can I request for Kuzan if it’s ok? How bout Kuzan x fem!reader when he’s joined the BB pirates. Reader can be a pirate on another crew/ have their own other crew or anything else I guess, but disapproves of Kuzan being in the BB pirates. Maybe reader ultimately comes around to Kuzan being in the BB pirates after not seeing each other for a long time so maybe angst to fluff? Whatever feels best to you! Thanks!!

ohh interesting!! hope u like ds, i fear its not much but hope u like it and close to what u requested :">

The Longest Winter

She never blamed Kuzan for leaving the Marines. She blamed him for choosing the one man she believed embodied everything he once stood against.

Aokiji (kuzan) x fem! reader Tags: angst to fluff, hurt/comfort, ooc(?), post marineford a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe and akward | + i just got back from hiatus after months of not writing so bear with me guys :> aa/n: not proofread + also think as kuzan was traveling with some blackbeard nameless lackeys coz he was given a mission word count: 3.1k

masterlist ko-fi (if you loved my work 💗)

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sea had always spoken to you in ways other people never understood. It whispered of storms that never arrived and of quiet mornings when the horizon looked like it might finally forgive the world for everything it had taken. You stood at the railing of your ship, and let the wind pull at the ends of your hair the way it used to pull at his coat when he still wore the white of justice. You had not thought of him in weeks.

That was a lie you told yourself every single day.

You thought of him every time the temperature dropped without reason. You thought of him every time someone mentioned the Blackbeard Pirates with the same careful distance people use when speaking of a plague.

You thought of him every time sleep tried to claim you and failed because the memory of his voice still lived somewhere behind your ribs.

Your crew knew better than to ask why their captain sometimes stared at the water as if it owed her an apology. They knew the story in pieces. They knew there had once been an admiral. They knew that admiral had walked away from everything and into the darkness of a crew that collected broken things and turned them into weapons.

It had been three years, seven months, and twelve days since the last time you saw him.

You counted because the sea taught you that time was the only honest thing left. The day the news reached you, you had been docked at a small island that smelled of salt and fried fish. Someone read the paper aloud. Someone laughed. Someone said the great Aokiji had finally chosen a side that matched the cold in his eyes. You walked away from the table without speaking.

You walked until your legs ached and the sky turned the color of old bruises. You sat on a cliff and watched the waves tear themselves apart against the rocks and thought, He chose them. He chose the man who took everything from so many people. He chose the dark.

You built your own crew after that. Small. Loyal. Stubborn in the way only people who have already lost too much can be. You stayed far from the territories the Blackbeard Pirates claimed. You told yourself it was strategy. It was not. It was the quiet terror of seeing him again and realizing the man you had once trusted more than the stars had become someone you could no longer recognize.

The day the sea decided to be cruel again, the sky was the soft gray of a half-forgotten memory. Your ship drifted near a cluster of islands that belonged to no one and everyone at once. A merchant vessel had sent a distress signal. You answered because that was what your crew did. You answered because the alternative was sitting still with your thoughts, and your thoughts had teeth. When you reached the wreckage, the merchant ship was already listing hard to starboard. Men shouted. Cargo floated.

And on the deck of a ship that had no business being there, standing with his hands in his pockets as if the chaos around him was nothing more than weather, was Kuzan.

You felt the world tilt. The railing under your hands became the only solid thing left. He looked the same but not the same. The same height. The same lazy slope of his shoulders. The same eyes that had once looked at you like you were the only warm thing in a frozen world. But the coat was different. The aura was different. The quiet around him carried the weight of a man who had stopped pretending the world could be saved.

Your first mate said your name. You did not answer. You ordered the crew to help the merchants. You ordered them to stay clear of the ship. You crossed the distance between the ships on a plank that felt thinner than it should have. He watched you come. He did not smile. He did not look away.

“Long time,” he said, voice low and rough in the way only someone who had spent years speaking mostly to the cold could manage.

You stopped three paces from him. Close enough to see the new scars. Close enough to feel the familiar chill that always lived near him. Close enough that your heart tried to climb out of your chest and throw itself at his feet.

“You joined them,” you said. The words tasted like rust. “You joined them.”

He shrugged one shoulder. The motion was so familiar it hurt. “Didn’t have many options left.”

“There are always options.” Your voice cracked on the last word. You hated that it did. “You could have stayed. You could have fought. You could have—”

“I could have died,” he finished, quiet. “Or I could have kept pretending the World Government still meant something. Neither felt right.”

The merchants were being pulled to safety behind you. Your crew worked fast and silent, casting glances toward the two of you as if watching a storm they could not name. His ship’s crew stayed back. Even they seemed to understand that whatever was happening between the ice and the woman who glared at it was not theirs to interrupt.

You took a step closer. The air between you grew colder. “I looked for you,” you said. “After Marineford. After everything. I waited. I told myself you would come back when the dust settled. And then the dust settled and you were wearing their colors.”

His eyes flicked away for half a second. A tell. You used to know all of them. “…I didn’t plan it. Things happened. People died. I made a choice.”

“A choice that put you next to the man who killed Whitebeard? The man who takes everything and leaves nothing but holes?”

“…Yeah.” He looked at you again. Really looked. “And you’re still sailing under your own flag. Still helping strangers. Still pretending the world can be fixed one rescue at a time.”

The words landed like stones. You felt them sink. “Someone has to.”

“I used to think that too.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and heavy. The sea slapped against both hulls. Somewhere a gull cried. You wanted to hit him. You wanted to grab the front of his coat and shake him until the old Kuzan fell out. You wanted to press your forehead to his chest the way you used to when the nights were long and the war felt endless. Instead you stood there and let the years sit between you like a third person.

“I hated you,” you whispered. “For a long time. I hated that you left. I hated that you chose them. I hated that I still—”

You stopped. The rest of the sentence was too dangerous. It lived in the same place as the nights you woke up reaching for someone who was no longer there.

He waited. Patient the way ice is patient. When you did not finish, he spoke instead. “I thought about you. More than I should have. More than was smart. Every time the crew talked about new islands or new blood, I wondered if I’d run into you. Wondered what you’d say.”

“And now you know.”

“Yeah.” A small, tired smile pulled at one corner of his mouth. “Now I know.”

The merchants were safe. Your first mate called across the water that the cargo was secured and the injured were aboard. You should have left. You should have turned around and sailed until the ship was only a memory again. Your feet refused.

“I have a crew now,” you said. “They’re good people. They trust me. I can’t bring the shadow of the Blackbeard Pirates near them.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

“Then what are you asking?”

He was quiet for a long time. The wind moved through his hair. When he finally spoke, the words came slow, like they had been waiting years to be said. “Nothing. Just… wanted to see you. Wanted to know if the person I remembered still existed.”

“And?”

“She does.” His voice dropped. “She’s still standing here looking at me like I’m both the best and worst thing that ever happened to her.”

Your throat closed. Tears burned at the edges of your vision and you refused them. “You don’t get to say things like that. Not after everything.”

“I know.”

Another stretch of silence. This one softer. The kind that used to live between the two of you on quiet decks when the world felt far away. You hated how easily it returned. You hated how much you had missed it.

“I should go,” you said.

“Yeah.”

Neither of you moved.

A laugh almost escaped you. It came out as a broken breath instead. “You’re still impossible.”

“You’re still stubborn.”

The old rhythm tried to surface. You pushed it down. “If I see you again—if your crew crosses paths with mine—I won’t hesitate. I’ll protect my people.”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

You turned. Took one step. Then another. The plank waited. The sea waited. Your entire life waited on the other side of that short stretch of wood. You stopped halfway across and looked back because some part of you had never learned how to stop looking for him.

He was still watching. Hands in his pockets. Expression unreadable except for the softest crack around the eyes.

“Kuzan,” you said, and his name felt like both a wound and a prayer. “Don’t die for them. Whatever game you’re playing… don’t let it take the last of you.”

He nodded once. Slow. “I’ll try.”

You crossed the rest of the way. Ordered the plank pulled. Ordered the sails raised. Your crew moved with the quiet efficiency of people who understood that their captain needed the horizon more than she needed questions. His ship stayed where it was. Kuzan stayed where he was. The distance between you grew until he was only a dark shape against a darker ship, and then until even that was gone.

That night you stood at the railing again and let the cold wind find every place the conversation had left open. Your first mate brought tea and said nothing. You drank it and said nothing back. The stars above looked the same as they always had. You wondered if he was looking at them too.

Months passed. Then more. The sea kept its secrets and so did you. You fought when you had to. You laughed with your crew when the nights were kind. And every so often the temperature would drop for no reason and you would feel the ghost of a presence that was no longer yours.

The second meeting came without warning, the way all the important ones do. A storm had forced both ships into the same sheltered bay. Rain hammered the decks. Thunder rolled like the sky was breaking open. You saw the black sails first and felt your stomach drop. Then you saw him on the deck of his ship, coat plastered to his body by the rain, and the drop turned into something sharper.

You did not wait for an invitation. You took a small boat across the choppy water alone. Your crew shouted after you. You ignored them. When you climbed onto the ship, the pirates watched but did not stop you. Maybe they knew. Maybe they simply did not care. Kuzan met you near the main mast, rain running down his face like the sky itself was trying to wash something away.

“You’re far from your waters,” you said.

“So are you.”

Lightning flashed. For a second his eyes looked almost soft. “Didn’t expect the storm to push us together.”

“The sea has a sense of humor.”

He almost smiled. Almost. “You still hate me?”

The question landed harder than the thunder. You looked at him—really looked—at the man who had once been justice and was now something else, something darker, something that still somehow carried the same quiet gravity that had always pulled you in.

“I don’t know,” you admitted. “I think I hate what you chose. I think I hate that the world made the choice feel necessary. I think I hate that I still…” You stopped again. The rain filled the silence.

He stepped closer. The cold around him mixed with the rain until you could not tell where one ended and the other began. “I never stopped caring about you. Even when it was stupid. Even when it put both of us at risk. I carried it with me through every island and every fight. Like a piece of ice that wouldn’t melt.”

Your hands shook. You clenched them into fists. “Then why them? Why the Blackbeard Pirates?”

“Because the alternative was watching the same cycle repeat. Because sometimes the only way to change the board is to sit on the side that already holds half the pieces.” His voice stayed low, almost gentle. “I don’t expect you to understand. I don’t expect you to forgive. I just… needed you to know it wasn’t because I stopped caring about the things that used to matter.”

The rain kept falling. Your clothes were soaked through. Your heart felt the same. You reached out without thinking and pressed your palm to the center of his chest, right over the place where his heart beat slow and steady. The cold bit into your skin. You did not pull away.

“I missed you,” you said. The words came out small and raw. “Every day. Even the days I told myself I hated you. Especially those days.”

His hand came up and covered yours. Larger. Warmer than it had any right to be. “I know.”

You stayed like that while the storm raged around you. Two people who had been pulled apart by choices and years and the endless hunger of the sea, standing in the rain on a ship that belonged to the man the world feared most. It should have felt wrong. It felt like the first honest thing in years.

When the rain finally softened to a drizzle, you lowered your hand. He let it go slowly, as if reluctant. You looked up at him and saw the same conflict you felt mirrored in his eyes—duty and longing and the quiet terror of wanting something the world would never allow.

“I can’t stay,” you said.

“I know.”

“But I don’t want this to be the last time.”

Something shifted in his expression. Softened. “Then it won’t be.”

You left the ship before dawn. Your crew asked no questions when you climbed back aboard, dripping and quiet. You changed clothes. You drank the tea they pressed into your hands. You stood at the railing and watched the other ship until the first light of morning made it look almost ordinary.

The next meeting came on purpose.

You sent a coded message through a chain of merchants and island contacts that only someone who had once known you well would understand. The answer came three weeks later in the form of a single word scratched onto a scrap of paper left at a tavern you both remembered: Midnight.

You went alone to the small island that had once been neutral ground. He was already there when you arrived, sitting on a rock that overlooked the dark water, coat draped over one shoulder like an afterthought. The moon made everything silver. You sat beside him without speaking. The silence felt different this time. Less like a wall. More like a shared breath.

“I still don’t agree with your choice, you know” you said eventually.

“I know.”

“I still think the Blackbeard Pirates are a wound the world will never fully heal from.”

“I know that too.”

You turned your head and looked at him. Really looked. At the lines time had added. At the quiet strength that had never left. At the man who had walked into the dark and somehow still carried a piece of light that only you seemed able to see.

“But I’m tired of hating the only person who ever made the cold feel like home,” you whispered.

He reached out and took your hand. His fingers were cool. Yours were warm. The contrast felt like the entire story of the two of you. “Then stop,” he said simply. “Just for tonight. Stop hating. Stop fighting it. Let it be what it is.”

You leaned against his hi. He shifted so you fit better. The sea moved below you in slow, endless rhythm. Somewhere far away, both of your crews waited on separate ships under separate flags. The world kept turning with all its wars and all its greed and all its unfinished stories. But for a little while, on a rock under a silver moon, none of that mattered.

You talked until the sky began to lighten. About the years apart. About the people you had both lost. About the strange, stubborn hope that still lived somewhere under all the ice and all the scars. You did not solve anything. You did not fix the distance that still existed between the path he walked and the path you refused to leave. You simply sat together and let the years soften around the edges until the anger had somewhere else to go.

When the first birds began to call, you stood. He stood with you. Neither of you said goodbye. You did not need to. The look he gave you carried every version of the word that mattered.

You returned to your ship as the sun rose. Your crew watched you come aboard with the careful silence of people who understood that some tides change slowly. You took your place at the helm. You felt the wind. You felt the pull of the open sea. And for the first time in years, the cold that lived in your chest felt less like a wound and more like a reminder that some things refuse to freeze completely.

The ocean stretched ahead, endless and honest. Somewhere on it, a ship sailed under a different flag. Somewhere on it, a man who had once been an admiral and was now something far more complicated carried a piece of warmth that refused to die. And somewhere between the two of you, the distance that had once felt impossible began, quietly, to close.

You did not know what the next meeting would look like. You did not know if the world would ever allow the two of you more than stolen hours and quiet conversations under indifferent stars. But you knew this: the hatred had burned itself out. What remained was something softer, something stronger, something that had survived the years and the choices and the dark. Something that felt, against every odds the sea could offer, a little like coming home.

#sh4nksslvt #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #aokiji x reader #aokiji kuzan #kuzan #aokiji one piece #admiral aokiji #kuzan x reader #op kuzan #kuzan one piece

sh4nksslvt

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

hii guyss!!! how’s everyone:> i missed u all, i hope yall r doing okay and i know its been a while so i thought about opening my requests and writing again, ill try to write as i can guys but i cant promise to post immediately but ill do my best!!! 🥹💞 also i dont plan on writing nsfw for now coz it feels akward to me lmao😭

thank u so much for ur patience

sh4nksslvt

request are open again:>

#sh4nksslvt

It’s good that you’re back!! I was wondering if you could do one of shanks x childhood friends reader but it’s really angsty idk how but the reader “dies” with her being pregnant but that didn’t happen and fast forward couple years later shanks see her and is like what I thought you died and you can think of the rest because I don’t have a creative mind but at the end it’s a happy ending😄

hii! hope u like this, not much but hope its close to what u requested<3

Until the Sea Brings You Home

Years after losing the woman he believed had died carrying their child, Shanks learns that fate can be just as cruel as it is merciful when the sea returns everything he thought it had stolen.

shanks x fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, reunion, childhood friends to lovers, happy ending, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward | + i just got back from hiatus after months of not writing so bear with me guys 😷 count: 1.6k

masterlist ko-fi (if you loved my work 💗)

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Shanks couldn't remember a time before her.

Whenever someone asked how long they'd known each other, neither of them ever had an answer. They had simply… always been there. Before Roger became the Pirate King. Before the Grand Line. Before Buggy started complaining about every storm they sailed through. Before either of them understood what it truly meant to call the Oro Jackson home.

They had grown up on that ship together.

Roger liked to joke that the three of them were louder than an entire crew of grown pirates. Rayleigh constantly caught them sneaking into the kitchen after midnight, Gaban was forever pulling them away from dangerous rigging they insisted on climbing, and Crocus had lost count of how many scrapes and bruises he'd treated because the three children refused to stay out of trouble.

Buggy always insisted he was the smartest of the three.

Shanks argued he was the bravest.

Y/N claimed they were both idiots.

She was usually right.

Even as children, she had a strange way of keeping them grounded. Whenever Shanks rushed headfirst into danger, she was already grabbing the back of his shirt before he could do something reckless. Whenever Buggy panicked over the smallest inconvenience, she was the one reminding him that he would survive.

She became the balance between two complete opposites.

It wasn't long before the crew noticed something else.

Whenever Y/N got hurt, Shanks reacted before anyone else.

Whenever she laughed, he unconsciously smiled.

Whenever she disappeared for more than a few minutes, he'd begin searching the ship without even realizing it.

Roger caught on first.

One evening, while the children were sleeping on deck beneath a sky full of stars, Roger nudged Rayleigh with his elbow.

"You see that?"

Rayleigh glanced toward the three apprentices.

Buggy had somehow rolled halfway across the deck in his sleep.

Y/N had fallen asleep sitting against the mast.

Shanks…

Without realizing it…

Had leaned against her shoulder.

Roger grinned.

"Those two are going to break each other's hearts someday."

Rayleigh sighed.

"I'm hoping they'll spare us the drama."

Roger laughed so loudly he nearly woke them.

Neither captain nor first mate realized just how prophetic those words would become.

Years passed, and childhood slowly slipped away beneath countless voyages. Somewhere between islands, adventures, victories, and losses, the innocent affection they had shared quietly transformed into something neither of them could hide anymore.

It wasn't dramatic.

There wasn't a grand confession beneath fireworks or a desperate declaration during battle.

It happened naturally.

One evening after Roger had already gone to sleep, Y/N found Shanks sitting alone at the bow, staring out at the sea.

"You've been quiet."

He shrugged.

"I've been thinking."

"Dangerous."

He laughed.

"You think so little of me?"

"I think exactly enough of you."

She nudged his shoulder.

He looked at her for a long moment before speaking again.

"…Do you ever wonder what happens after this?"

"After what?"

"After Captain reaches the end."

The question lingered between them.

Neither of them wanted to imagine a future where the Roger Pirates no longer sailed together.

"I don't know," she admitted.

"I just know…"

She looked toward him.

"…wherever life takes us, I'd like us to stay together."

Shanks blinked.

She immediately realized what she'd said.

"…Forget I said that."

"I don't want to."

His voice was quiet.

"So don't."

That night…

Their hands found each other.

Neither ever let go.

Years after Roger's execution, after the crew had long gone their separate ways, Shanks finally founded the Red Hair Pirates. Y/N never wanted the life of a captain, but she never wanted a life without him either. She sailed beside him through the early years of his crew, through battles, impossible odds, empty pockets, and impossible dreams. They were no longer children stealing fruit from the galley or racing across the deck of the Oro Jackson. They had become adults who had weathered every storm together.

When she discovered she was pregnant, she laughed before she cried.

Shanks had spent years insisting that nothing could surprise him anymore.

She couldn't wait to prove him wrong.

She imagined the look on his face a hundred different ways. Maybe he'd laugh. Maybe he'd panic. Maybe Buggy, if he happened to visit, would tease him until the end of time. She carried that happy secret with her while Shanks briefly sailed ahead to meet with another allied crew, expecting him to return within weeks.

He never got the chance.

On the island where she had stayed behind, a confrontation between Marines and pirates erupted without warning. Cannon fire rained across the harbor. Buildings collapsed beneath smoke and flame. The island became a battlefield before the civilians even understood what was happening.

Y/N survived only because a passing ship pulled her from the wreckage after she was buried beneath collapsing timber.

When she awoke, weeks had already passed.

The doctor informed her that she and her baby had lived by a miracle.

The second piece of news destroyed her.

The world believed she had died.

Among the recovered victims had been a woman wearing the same cloak and necklace Y/N had been using moments before the attack. The body was unrecognizable, and the newspapers had already reported the deaths.

Shanks had attended her funeral.

He had buried an empty grave.

The people who rescued her begged her not to reveal herself.

"The World Government already knows you're connected to Red Hair," the doctor explained. "The moment they discover you're alive—and carrying his child—you'll become leverage against an Emperor."

She hated every word.

She hated them even more because they were right.

Years passed.

Far too many.

Every birthday she celebrated with her daughter felt incomplete.

Every night her little girl asked, "Mama… what was Pa like?" reopened wounds she thought had scarred over.

She answered every question.

She told stories about the fearless boy who laughed louder than anyone else on Roger's ship.

About the apprentice who always shared his food with Buggy despite complaining about it.

About the young pirate who promised her that no matter how vast the sea became, he would always find his way back to her.

She never once lied.

She simply left out the fact that he believed they were both dead.

Seven years later, on a peaceful island in the New World, the Red Hair Pirates docked for supplies.

Shanks volunteered to buy sake.

Lucky Roux teased him for pretending he wanted a quiet afternoon.

Beckman simply smirked.

"You've looked bored all week."

"I resent how well you know me."

"You should."

Shanks wandered through the bustling marketplace with no destination in mind.

Then he heard it.

A laugh.

Not similar.

Not familiar.

Exactly the same.

Every sound around him disappeared.

His heart recognized it long before his mind dared to.

He turned.

She was standing beside a fruit stall, gently brushing loose strands of hair behind a little girl's ear while the child excitedly pointed at different sweets.

For one impossible moment, he wondered if grief had finally driven him mad.

His bottle slipped from his hand.

Glass shattered across the stone road.

Y/N slowly looked up.

The smile on her face disappeared.

Their eyes met.

Neither of them moved.

Neither of them breathed.

"…Shanks?"

Her voice was barely above a whisper.

He stared at her with trembling lips.

"No…"

His voice cracked so badly he hardly recognized it as his own.

"No…"

"I... I buried you."

Tears filled her eyes instantly.

"I know."

"I watched them bury you."

"I'm sorry…"

"I cried over your grave."

"I know."

"I spent seven years talking to someone who wasn't there."

His knees finally gave out.

"I thought…"

He couldn't finish.

"I thought our baby died with you."

Silence.

Y/N slowly looked toward the little girl clutching her hand.

She gently encouraged her forward.

The child peeked curiously at the stranger crying in the middle of the street.

She had brilliant crimson hair that danced in the wind exactly like his.

The same warm eyes.

The same crooked grin she was trying so hard to hide.

"Sweetheart," Y/N whispered softly, tears streaming freely down her cheeks.

"…This is your father."

The little girl blinked.

She looked at Shanks for several long seconds before offering the brightest smile he'd ever seen.

"So…"

she asked innocently,

"You're the pirate Mama talks about every bedtime?"

Shanks laughed through broken sobs.

"…Yeah."

"I think…"

"I think I am."

She stepped closer.

Without hesitation, she wrapped her tiny arms around his neck.

He completely broke.

He held his daughter as though she might disappear if he loosened his grip even slightly.

"I missed you," he whispered.

The little girl tilted her head.

"But…"

"We're meeting for the first time?"

He smiled sadly.

"I know."

"…That's why I missed you so much."

That evening, beneath the same endless sea that had watched them grow from children into adults, Shanks and Y/N sat together on the deck of the Red Force while their daughter slept soundly between them, exhausted after spending hours asking her father every question a curious seven-year-old could think of.

The stars looked no different from the ones above the Oro Jackson all those years ago.

Shanks intertwined his fingers with hers, just as he had when they were teenagers dreaming about a future neither of them could see.

"I spent years asking the sea to give you back," he admitted quietly.

She rested her head against his shoulder.

"It finally listened."

He kissed her forehead before looking toward their sleeping daughter.

"No."

He smiled through tears.

"It didn't just bring you back."

"It brought me home."

For the first time in seven years, the grief that had lived inside Shanks' heart finally loosened its grip. The family he had mourned was no longer a memory buried beneath an empty gravestone. They were beside him, laughing, breathing, and looking toward the same endless horizon they had once dreamed of reaching together as children aboard Roger's ship.

And this time, when the Red Force sailed toward the dawn, none of them were being left behind.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #shanks x reader #shanks one piece #red haired shanks #shanks #akagami no shanks #red hair pirates

Glad to see u back!! Hope ur doing ok, man. I was actually thinking abt u yesterday.

aww thankk uu that so sweet🥹

#sh4nksslvt

REQUESTS ARE OPEN

thank u so much for ur patience

#sh4nksslvt

HAPPY NEW YEARR YALL!!

#sh4nksslvt

merry christmas everyone!

#sh4nksslvt

Bandaged Eyes, Sharp Tongue

You, a lone pirate who just arrived at Elbaf, crossed paths with Loki while he’s alone, adjusting the bandages over his eyes. He snaps at you for staring—but you point out he wasn’t hiding them well in the first place.

loki x gn!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, size difference, ooc, light angst(you wont even notice it) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe, and akward word count: 2.6k

masterlist | ko-fi

The first thing you felt upon stepping into Elbaf wasn’t the weight of danger, but the weight of the ground trembling under each distant giant’s step. You had expected chaos and roaring warriors, yet the forest was strangely quiet, with only the wind brushing through towering trees that rose like spears to the sky. Your boots crunched against the moss as you wandered forward, trying not to stare too long at any massive silhouette in the distance. But when another tremor rolled through the earth—much closer this time—your heart thudded in your chest. You turned, squinting upward, only to find a massive figure facing away from you, hunched slightly as if adjusting something around his head.

He hadn’t noticed you yet, which was impressive, considering his presence practically distorted the air around him. As you moved a little closer, you saw his fingers—each the size of a small boulder—tracing over a set of bandages wrapped around his eyes. His long magenta hair shifted with the movement, the twin braids at the front dangling as he tightened the cloth with a frustrated growl. Then he sucked his teeth, tongue poking out slightly as he muttered under his breath, clearly dissatisfied with the results. For someone so massive and terrifying, he looked almost… annoyed in a very mundane way.

You probably should’ve turned around, but curiosity tugged at you until you took one more step, accidentally snapping a branch beneath your boot. The giant froze, the atmosphere thickening instantly as his head angled sharply toward you. Before you could even greet him, his voice boomed through the clearing—harsh, sharp, and dripping with hostility that rolled down your spine like ice water. “Oi. runt! Did no one teach you not to stare?”

Your mouth opened before your brain could stop it. “I wasn’t staring,” you said, then pointed casually. “Can't help it if you're not hiding those bandages well. They're practically waving hello."

The silence that followed was nearly comical—if the giant before you weren’t capable of flattening an island with his bare hands. Loki straightened slowly, towering high enough that you had to crane your neck until it ached just to see his expression. His slit-pupiled eyes were hidden behind the makeshift bandaging, but even without seeing them, you could feel the glare radiating off him.

“You’re brave,” he finally said, voice lowering into something that almost sounded intrigued. “Or stupid.” He leaned forward, his enormous face lowering until his breath brushed your clothes like a warm gust. “You think you can speak to me like that? To Loki? Prince of Elbaf?” The emphasis was so heavy you felt it drop onto your shoulders like an anvil. His horned helmet cast a long shadow over you, making you feel even smaller than you already were.

Still, you held your ground, lifting your chin as if that would help you not look like a pebble before a mountain. “I don’t care what your name is,” you replied. “You’re still bad at bandaging.”

Loki’s jaw dropped slightly, and then—shockingly—he barked out a laugh so abrupt that it shook dust loose from the nearby trees. His gloved fingers twitched at his sides as if debating whether to crush you or applaud you. He finally stepped back, arms crossing over his chest, cape fluttering with the motion. “Tch. You really don’t know fear, do you?” he muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched upward in a strange, begrudging smirk.

Then he tilted his head toward you and added, “Hmph. Fine. Since you’ve already seen me, I might as well tell you my name properly.” He tapped the metal shell over his nose with one finger. “I am Loki, prince of Elbaf. Remember that, little pirate.”

You gave a half-hearted shrug, pretending the reveal wasn’t a big deal even though your brain screamed that you’d just sassed a royal giant. Loki watched you closely, the bandages shifting slightly as his expression hardened again. His shoulders tensed, like he expected you to fall to your knees or at least tremble, but you simply nodded and introduced yourself in return. The moment you said your name, his posture changed, his interest sharpening almost too visibly. It was unsettling—like being studied by a predator who found something faintly amusing about you.

“What kind of pirate walks into Elbaf alone?” Loki asked, stepping closer again, his boots thundering against the soil. “Your kind usually travels in packs. Weak things often do.” There was bitterness there, buried under layers of aggression so old it felt fossilized. His tongue flicked out in a lazy motion as his red-tattooed arms crossed again, muscles shifting beneath the ink. “So? Why are you here? Don’t tell me you got lost. That would be pathetic.”

You resisted the urge to roll your eyes at his tone, though you suspected he’d be able to sense it anyway. “I came to explore,” you said. “Not that it's any of your business.” Loki’s eyebrow twitched beneath the bandages. “Everything in Elbaf is my business,” he snapped, but there was no heat behind it—only the faintest trace of curiosity, like he didn't want the conversation to end.

You gave a pointed look at his crookedly tied bandages. “Everything except dressing yourself, apparently.” The noise Loki made then was somewhere between a scoff and a choked growl.

Loki’s entire massive frame stiffened, his cape rustling like irritated wings as he inhaled sharply. His fingers curled around his forearm, glove creaking with how tightly he gripped it. You’d clearly hit a nerve, but instead of lashing out, he tilted his head with exaggerated slowness, like he was trying to understand what kind of creature dared speak to him this way. A predator studying a bizarrely bold prey. “You’ve got a sharp tongue,” he said, voice low but steady. “Be careful. I bite back.”

Without missing a beat, you replied, “I’ll take my chances. You don’t look like you bite well with bandages over your eyes.” Loki’s expression became almost comedic in its disbelief.

He leaned down so far that his chin nearly scraped the ground, and you could see the faint outlines of his slit pupils shifting beneath the cloth. His breath blew your hair back as he growled, “Do you want to die today?” But there was something off—something subtly wrong with the threat. His voice wavered, not in weakness, but in confusion. He genuinely didn’t understand you.

Which made sense. A life of isolation, hatred, and constant war probably didn’t prepare him for someone talking to him like a normal person—or worse, like someone who wasn’t afraid. His voice dropped further, barely above a whisper. “...Why aren’t you trembling?”

Your heart skipped at the vulnerability in that question, buried so deep that even he didn’t seem aware he’d let it slip. “Because you don’t scare me,” you said softly. “Not really.”

Loki reeled back like he’d been struck.

He stood upright again, muttering curses under his breath as he tugged the bandages off entirely and held the mess of cloth in his hand. You barely caught a brief glimpse of his strange black sclera before he covered them again, hastily pulling the fabric up. His movements were clumsy—surprisingly so for someone his size—and the wrap immediately slipped again, dangling over one horn like a defeated flag. You couldn’t help it. You snorted.

Loki whipped his head toward you. “…You think this is funny?” You shrugged. “A little. You’re terrible at that.” For the first time, Loki actually looked embarrassed—just a flicker, but real.

He made a frustrated sound and crouched again, the ground shaking beneath him. “If you think you can do better, then fix it,” he snapped, thrusting the bandages toward you like an offering the size of a carpet. “Go on. You mocked it. Now fix it.” Despite his harsh tone, there was something almost shy under it—like a child begrudgingly asking for help.

You climbed onto a fallen log to reach him better and took the bandages, the cloth surprisingly soft in your hands. Loki stilled as you began rewrapping them, his breath unusually steady as his bandages rested across your palms. “Don’t pull too tight,” he muttered after a moment. “I don’t like when—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening instantly. “...Just don’t.”

You softened your movements without commenting. He noticed.

You continued adjusting the final loop of bandage, careful not to press against the horns jutting through his helmet. Loki didn’t move, didn’t breathe too loudly, didn’t even twitch, as if the smallest motion might ruin the moment. His eyes, hidden beneath the cloth, shifted lightly, following the sound of your hands. His cape swayed faintly behind him as a gentle breeze passed, brushing stray strands of magenta hair across your wrist. The warmth radiating from him was strangely comforting, like standing too close to a bonfire—intense but not unwelcome.

“You’re… surprisingly gentle,” Loki said, so quietly you almost missed it. His voice lacked its usual snarl, softening into something closer to weary honesty. “Most people flinch when I get close. Even the warriors here. Even the ones who pretend they don’t.” The corners of his mouth twitched downward, expression twisting with something old and aching. “Guess they learned better.”

You tied the last knot of the bandage and stepped back, examining your work with a small nod. Loki blinked behind the cloth, adjusting his helmet once more as if testing the new fit. “...Huh,” he muttered. “It feels… not awful.” For someone who acted like showing gratitude might kill him, it was practically a heartfelt compliment.

“It won’t slip now,” you said. “You’re good.” Loki sniffed, crossing his arms abruptly. “…Hmph. Of course I am.”

The prince suddenly dropped into a sitting position, the impact sending a flock of birds screaming from the trees. His long legs stretched out before him, boots carving shallow craters in the dirt. He leaned back on his palms, head tilting toward the sky as if exhausted by simply existing. Though he’d tried to return to his usual aloofness, you noticed the faint relaxation in his shoulders—like he’d let go of tension he didn’t know he carried.

“Well?” he said without looking at you. “You fixed my bandages. What else do you want?” His tone was meant to be dismissive, but there was an unmistakable pull to it—a reluctant invitation for more conversation. His long magenta hair draped across his back as he turned his head slightly in your direction. “People don’t approach me for no reason.”

You walked closer, adjusting your bag. “...Maybe I wanted company.” Loki froze mid-breath, his throat bobbing in a visible swallow. “…Company?” he repeated, like the word was foreign.

He let out a short, incredulous laugh. “You’re either bold or stupid.” He paused, then added quietly, “Probably both.” But when he set his hand down beside you, palm open on the earth, it wasn’t a threat—more like a place to sit if you chose to. And you did.

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable—just unexpected, a stillness that felt like shared space rather than distance. Loki tilted his head back again, and for a moment, he looked less like a tyrant and more like someone weathered by storms no one bothered to shield him from. The bandages you’d tied stayed perfectly in place as he exhaled through his nose, cape rustling lightly behind him. “People don’t talk to me like you do,” he admitted, voice low but steady. “Most just bow. Or run.”

You rested your arms around your knees, gazing up at him. “Maybe they should stop doing that,” you said. “You’re not that scary.” Loki’s tongue peeked out as he snapped his head toward you, scandalized. “Not—?!” He pointed at himself. “I am a giant! A prince! A terror of the battlefield! How am I ‘not that scary’?!” You shrugged. “You’re more dramatic than terrifying.”

He stared at you for a full three seconds before turning away, ears slightly red under his helmet. “…You’re insufferable,” he muttered. But the faint smile tugging at his lips betrayed him.

The wind shifted again, carrying the distant sounds of Elbaf warriors training somewhere deeper in the village. Loki’s posture stiffened slightly, the old hostility creeping back into the shape of his shoulders. His voice dropped when he spoke again, quieter and rougher, like gravel underfoot. “They only stopped whispering because they’re scared," he said. "Not because they believe anything different.”

You sensed the change immediately—the subtle fracture in his mask, the one he clearly didn’t show often. He kept his face angled away, avoiding even the idea of eye contact. “...Doesn’t matter,” he muttered. “Always been that way. Always will.” His gloves tightened around fistfuls of earth, the ground cracking under his grip. “That’s how Elbaf works.”

Your reply came gently. “Maybe it doesn’t have to.” Loki’s breath hitched, just for an instant.

The vulnerability dissipated as quickly as it came, Loki clearing his throat loudly as if physically rejecting the moment. He straightened his back, flexing his tattooed arms as though reminding himself (and you) of his own strength. “Tch. Enough of that,” he snapped, though the edge was softer than before. “You talk too much for someone so tiny.” His tone was meant to be condescending, but there was a hint of fondness attempting—and failing—to hide beneath it.

You shot him a playful glare. “And you sulk too much for someone so tall.” Loki whipped his head toward you again. “I do not sulk!” “You were literally sulking.” His tongue stuck out in a childish yet somehow threatening manner. “Keep talking like that and I’ll step on you.”

“Then you’ll never get your bandages fixed again,” you said simply. Loki froze. “…You fight dirty.”

He slumped back with a defeated sigh, shaking his head. “I don’t know why I’m letting you talk to me like this,” he grumbled. “Because you like it,” you replied without hesitation.

Loki sputtered like you’d thrown boiling water at him.

Eventually, the light began to dim as the Elbaf sun descended, casting long shadows across the forest. Loki noticed before you did, shifting as if suddenly remembering he had a kingdom to terrorize—er, oversee. He stood to full height again, cape billowing dramatically as he towered over you once more. “I should go,” he muttered, scratching his cheek awkwardly. “You… should not wander alone. Elbaf is not kind to small things.”

You smiled softly. “Will I see you again?” He froze mid-step, shoulders stiffening.

After a long pause, he turned his head just enough for his voice to reach you. “If you keep wandering where you shouldn’t,” he said quietly, “you probably will.” His bandaged eyes shifted toward your direction, even if he couldn’t truly see. “…And next time, don’t sneak up on me. I hate when my bandages slip.”

You grinned. “I’ll bring better ones.” Loki sucked his teeth, clearly flustered again.

“Hmph. Do whatever you want,” he muttered before walking away, each step shaking leaves from the trees. But just before he vanished between the trunks, he added—barely audible— “…Thank you. For earlier.”

And then he was gone.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #sh4nksslvt #idk man #one piece loki x reader #one piece loki #loki one piece #op loki #loki op #loki one piece x reader #loki op x reader #idk what im doing

hii may i request fem!strawhat!reader ate a fog devil fruit and when law sees them again he simply looses his shit thinking reader died while he was away with his crew?

could be established relationship or not and you can decide pretty much everything, i just want to see law breaking a little

here u go, ts not that accurate but hope u like it <3

Lost in the Fog

When the Strawhats’ fog-wielding reader reunites with Law, a misunderstanding leads to chaos, heartfelt confessions, and plenty of crew shenanigans.

law x fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, ooc(?), light angst, established relationship, sanji flirting a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

The sun dipped low over the horizon, casting a warm glow across the sea as the Thousand Sunny rocked gently on the waves. The Strawhat crew was in high spirits, despite their recent misadventure on a foggy island where your Mist-Mist Fruit powers had both saved the day and caused a fair share of chaos. You, stood at the center of it all, your ability to conjure and manipulate fog proving both a blessing and a headache.

“Y/N-swaaan!” Sanji’s voice sang out from the kitchen, his eyes practically sparkling with hearts as he leaned out the door, a tray of delicate pastries balanced in one hand. “My darling, I’ve crafted these mille-feuille just for you, infused with the essence of your radiant beauty! Please, grace me with your divine presence and taste them!”

You blinked, caught off guard by the chef’s fervor. “Uh, thanks, Sanji, but I’m good for now—”

“Nonsense!” he swooned, twirling toward you with a flourish, nearly tripping over a rope in his excitement. “A goddess like you deserves only the finest treats! Allow me to serve you, my misty muse!”

Zoro, sprawled nearby with a sake bottle, snorted. “Oi, curly-brow, tone it down. You’re gonna scare her off with all that simping.”

“Scare her?!” Sanji gasped, clutching his chest dramatically. “My love for Y/N-san is pure and eternal! Unlike you, mosshead, who wouldn’t know romance if it hit you with a sword!”

“Keep talking, and I’ll hit you with a sword,” Zoro muttered, taking a swig.

You laughed, leaning against the railing, your hands swirling with faint tendrils of mist. “Sanji, I appreciate the enthusiasm, but maybe save some of those pastries for the rest of the crew?”

“For you, my angel, I’d bake the entire ocean!” Sanji declared, dropping to one knee and offering the tray like a knight presenting a sword. “Please, just one bite to bless this humble chef’s heart!”

“Okay, okay,” you said, grabbing a pastry to appease him. “It’s delicious, Sanji. Thanks.”

His face lit up like a supernova, and he spun in a circle, hearts practically trailing in his wake. “She ate my pastry! My life is complete!”

Nami rolled her eyes from her spot at the helm. “Sanji, you’re embarrassing yourself. Y/N’s got a boyfriend, remember?”

Sanji froze, then recovered with a dreamy sigh. “...Ah, but even if Y/N-san’s heart belongs to another, I shall forever be her devoted servant!”

You shook your head, amused, and turned your attention to the sea. Your thoughts drifted to Trafalgar Law, your boyfriend and the captain of the Heart Pirates. It had been weeks since you’d seen him, and the quiet ache of missing him gnawed at you. His dry humor, his rare smiles, the way he’d scowl when you teased him but still pull you close—it all felt so far away. Your fingers toyed with the mist curling around them, a nervous habit you’d picked up since eating the Mist-Mist Fruit.

“Oi, Y/N, your fog’s creeping up again,” Usopp called, waving away the haze around his feet. “What’s got you so distracted?"

“Nothing,” you admitted, dispersing the mist with a flick of your wrist. “...Just thinking”

“About your brooding doctor boyfriend?” Nami teased, smirking. “You’ve got that lovesick look again.”

“Shut up,” you muttered, cheeks flushing. “I’m just wondering how he’s doing, that’s all.”

“He’s probably dissecting something gross,” Franky said, tinkering with a gadget nearby. “Or glaring at his crew for breathing too loud.”

You laughed despite yourself. “Yeah, that sounds like Law.”

Before anyone could tease you further, Chopper’s voice rang out from the crow’s nest. “Ship approaching! It’s… it’s the Polar Tang!”

Your heart leaped. The Polar Tang meant Law. You rushed to the railing, squinting through the fading light. Sure enough, the sleek yellow submarine was surfacing nearby, its Heart Pirates emblem glinting in the sunset.

“Luffy!” you called, already halfway to the edge of the ship. “Permission to—”

“Go see your boyfriend, yeah, yeah,” Luffy waved you off, grinning. “But tell him he owes me meat for last time! SHISHISHI”

You didn’t bother responding, already conjuring a thick fog to obscure your descent as you leaped over the side, landing lightly on a platform of solidified mist. With a wave of your hand, you propelled yourself toward the Polar Tang, your excitement bubbling over.

On the deck of the Polar Tang, Law was barking orders at his crew, his usual scowl firmly in place. “Bepo, get those supplies stowed before they get wet. Penguin, Shachi, stop messing around with the rigging!”

“Aye, aye, Captain!” Penguin saluted, though he was clearly stifling a laugh as Shachi tripped over a rope.

Law pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering under his breath about incompetent crews. He hadn’t slept properly in days, his mind consumed with strategies and contingencies. The absence of you, his anchor in the chaos, had only made his mood worse. He’d been counting the days until he could see you again, though he’d never admit it out loud.

“Captain!” Bepo’s voice broke through his thoughts. “There’s a weird fog coming from the Strawhats’ ship!”

Law’s head snapped up, his eyes narrowing. A thick, unnatural fog was rolling across the water, obscuring the Sunny’s outline. His heart stuttered. That fog—it was your fog. But something felt off. The mist was too dense, too chaotic, almost as if…

“No,” he whispered, his grip tightening on Kikoku’s hilt. “Not possible.”

“Captain?” Bepo tilted his head, concerned. “What’s wrong?”

Law didn’t answer. His mind raced, piecing together fragments of information. The Strawhats had been on that foggy island. The Marines had been chasing them. Your Devil Fruit powers were unpredictable, and you were reckless—too reckless. What if you’d overexerted yourself? What if the fog was a sign of something worse? What if—

“Captain, look!” Shachi pointed, his voice tinged with alarm.

The fog parted, and there you were, standing on a platform of mist, grinning like an idiot as you waved. “Law! Miss me?”

Law’s breath caught, his eyes widening. For a split second, relief flooded him—until his brain caught up. The fog. The island. The reports of a Strawhat casualty that had reached him through a garbled Den Den Mushi transmission. He’d assumed… he’d feared…

“You idiot!” he roared, his voice carrying over the water. “What the hell were you thinking?!”

You blinked, startled by his outburst. “...Uh, what? I was thinking I’d come say hi to my boyfriend, but—”

“Don’t play dumb!” Law snapped, his Room already forming around him. In a flash, he Shambled himself onto your mist platform, grabbing your shoulders. “Do you have any idea what I thought? The fog, the island, the reports—I thought you were dead, Y/N-ya!”

Your jaw dropped. “Dead? Law, I’m right here! I’m fine!”

“Don’t give me that!” he growled, his hands shaking slightly as he gripped you tighter. “You disappeared into that fog, and I didn’t hear a damn thing from you for weeks! Do you know what that does to a person?”

The Heart Pirates and Strawhats, now watching from their respective ships, exchanged glances. Penguin leaned over to Shachi. “Is Captain… freaking out?”

“Yup,” Shachi said, popping the ‘p.’ “Never seen him this unhinged.”

On the Sunny, Nami smirked. “Ten thousand berries says Y/N makes him blush before this is over.”

“Deal,” Zoro said, smirking back.

You, meanwhile, were trying to process Law’s outburst. His gray eyes were wild with a mix of relief and lingering panic, his usual composure nowhere to be found. You softened, reaching up to cup his face. “Law, I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were worried. The fog was just… me doing my thing. You know, Mist-Mist Fruit stuff.”

“Your ‘thing’ almost gave me a heart attack,” he muttered, but his grip on you loosened slightly. “...I thought I lost you.”

Your heart melted at the raw honesty in his voice. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily, Trafalgar,” you teased, poking his chest. “I’m a Strawhat. We’re basically indestructible.”

He glared, though it lacked its usual bite. “...Don’t test that theory.”

“Okay, okay, I’ll be more careful,” you promised, leaning closer. “But you have to admit, you’re kinda cute when you’re all worked up.”

Law’s face flushed, and he sputtered, “I am not cute!”

The Heart Pirates erupted into laughter, Bepo clapping his paws. “Captain’s blushing!”

“Shut up, Bepo!” Law barked, but his cheeks were undeniably red.

You giggled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Come on, admit it. You missed me.”

He sighed, his expression softening as he rested his forehead against yours. “More than you know, Y/N-ya.”

The moment was almost sweet—until Luffy’s voice boomed across the water. “Oi, Law! Stop hogging Y/N! We’re having a party! Bring your crew!”

Law groaned, pulling back slightly. “Your captain is insufferable.”

“Yeah, but you love him,” you said with a wink.

“Don’t push it.”

The two crews ended up merging for an impromptu party on the Sunny, the deck alive with music, food, and chaos. Sanji was in his element, serving dishes with a flourish, while Luffy and Usopp competed to see who could eat the most meat. Franky was showing off his latest invention—a fog-dispelling fan, which he insisted was “SUPER necessary” after your recent antics. Robin and Bepo were deep in conversation about ancient texts, while Zoro and Penguin had started a drinking contest that was clearly going to end badly.

You and Law sat slightly apart from the chaos, tucked against the railing with a bottle of sake between you. The fog you’d conjured earlier had dissipated, leaving the stars visible above.

“So,” you said, nudging him. “You really thought I was dead?”

Law took a sip of sake, avoiding your gaze. “The reports were vague. Said a Strawhat went down in a fog. Your powers are… distinctive.”

You leaned closer, resting your chin on your hand. “And here I thought you were the logical one. Jumping to conclusions like that.”

He shot you a look. “You’re one to talk. You turned an entire island into a fog maze.”

“It was strategic!” you protested. “The Marines couldn’t find us, and I got to practice my powers.”

“Strategic,” he repeated dryly. “...You gave your own crew heart attacks.”

“Okay, maybe a little,” you admitted, laughing. “But it worked out, didn’t it? We’re all here, safe and sound.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his eyes fixed on the horizon. After a moment, he spoke, his voice quieter. “When I heard about the fog… I couldn’t stop thinking about the last time we saw each other. You were laughing, running off with your crew, and I didn’t get to say—”

You cut him off with a soft kiss, catching him by surprise. His eyes widened, but he melted into it, his hand finding the back of your neck. When you pulled back, you grinned. “You don’t have to say it. I know.”

He huffed, but there was a warmth in his eyes that made your chest flutter. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love me for it,” you said, stealing his sake bottle and taking a swig.

“Careful,” he warned, smirking. “Keep stealing my sake, and I’ll throw you into the ocean.”

“You wouldn’t dare,” you challenged, conjuring a tiny puff of fog to obscure his view.

He waved it away with an exasperated sigh. “You’re going to be the death of me, Y/N-ya.”

“Nah,” you said, leaning against him. “I’m keeping you on your toes.”

The party stretched into the night, with the crews trading stories and laughter. At one point, Shachi and Usopp started a prank war, which ended with both of them covered in flour courtesy of Sanji’s wrath. Chopper and Bepo were inseparable, the bear insisting on giving the reindeer a tour of the Polar Tang. Nami, true to her bet, collected her winnings from Zoro when you made Law blush again by whispering something in his ear.

As the night wound down, you and Law found a quiet corner of the Sunny’s deck. The others were still laughing and singing, but for the moment, it was just the two of you, the sea stretching out endlessly before you.

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Law said softly, his hand brushing against yours.

“I’m glad you’re here,” you replied, intertwining your fingers with his. “Next time, I’ll call you on the Den Den Mushi. No more fog-induced panic attacks, okay?”

He chuckled, a rare, genuine sound. “Deal.”

You rested your head on his shoulder, letting the gentle sway of the ship lull you into a comfortable silence. The fog might have caused chaos, but it had brought you back to him. And that, you decided, was worth all the misunderstandings in the world.

Hello! I hope you're having a nice day! I was wondering if you could write a story where the reader was once a slave to the Celestial Dragons. You can choose whether they are part of the Red-Haired Pirates or the Straw Hat Pirates. However, they keep their past a secret because they don’t want anyone to know. The reader also has a strong dislike for physical touch. During a battle, they get injured, and someone on the crew notices their injury. The reader doesn’t say anything about it but becomes very paranoid afterward. You can decide how the crew eventually finds out about the reader's past! If you don't wanna do this its fine but if you do, thank you!

its not much and accurate but hope u like it

Hands Off, Hearts In

After hiding a painful past and avoiding every touch like the plague, a Straw Hat battle injury forces secrets out—and affection in.

Strawhats x gn!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, platonic, light angst, hurt/comfort a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ffs cringe and ooc words count: 1.3k

masterlist | ko-fi

The waves crashed playfully against the Sunny’s side, sunshine glittering across the sea like someone had spilled a bucket of gold. The ship bobbed along merrily, the crew spread out in their usual state of semi-chaotic peace.

You sat on the upper deck rail, knees drawn up, keeping a comfortable distance from everyone. Not that they minded. You’d been with the crew for a while now, and it hadn’t taken long for them to realize you were… well, not a hugger. Sanji had learned that lesson fast when he tried to wrap an arm around your shoulders after a great meal. The plate you nearly brained him with had not been an overreaction. Probably.

“Oi, Y/N!!” Luffy called, hopping down from the mast like a rubbery monkey. “Wanna spar?”

“No thanks.”

“Come oooon,” he whined, stretching his arms behind his head. “You never do!”

You raised a brow. “Because last time I did, you launched me into the kitchen and Sanji almost cooked me.”

“Tasted fine to me,” Sanji muttered from the grill.

You pretended not to hear.

You liked the Straw Hats. They were loud and strange and overly affectionate, but they were your crew now. After everything, you’d managed to carve out a space here—one where no one touched your back, no one asked questions you didn’t want to answer, and no one looked too closely.

Because if they did…

You reached over your shoulder absently, fingertips brushing the thick fabric of your shirt. Beneath it, the brand still seared your skin. A sickening symbol. One you would never forget—even if you could.

The mission had been a simple one: disrupt a corrupt weapons trader allied with the World Government.

“Guy’s probably just a smug coward hiding behind a bunch of goons,” Zoro said, cracking his neck. “In and out.”

Spoiler: it was never that simple.

Now, you were crouched behind a stack of crates, heartbeat thundering in your ears, blade in your hand, ribs aching from where a blunt weapon had smashed into your side earlier.

You were pretty sure something was cracked.

“Y/N!” Chopper’s voice called, full of panic. “Where are you?!”

“I’m fine!” you shouted back, gritting your teeth. You were not fine.

You watched the others from your hiding spot. Sanji’s leg lit up with fire, spinning enemies into the dirt. Nami wielded lightning like a goddess. Zoro was slicing through enemies like they were made of tofu. Luffy had launched into the sky, yelling something about “Gomu Gomu no Whatever!” while Usopp provided sniper cover.

You hated fighting. You weren’t bad at it, but pain and touch and fear still sent you spiraling sometimes. Like now. You pressed a hand to your side and hissed.

Something wet was seeping through your clothes.

Damn.

Someone rounded the corner. “There you are!”

You turned—and froze.

It was Robin.

Of everyone, Robin was the most difficult to fool. Her eyes were like x-rays. Calm, clever, kind, but never oblivious.

“You’re bleeding...” she said softly, glancing at your side.

“...I’m fine,” you said, stiff.

“You’re bleeding through your shirt.”

“It’s just a scratch.”

She didn’t argue. She only looked at you with those quiet eyes, then offered a hand to help you stand.

You stared at it like it was a snake.

Robin blinked. “...Would you rather I called Chopper?”

“I can walk.”

It wasn’t until you got back to the Sunny that everything really started to fall apart.

“You have three cracked ribs,” Chopper declared, eyes wide with concern and stethoscope still hanging from his neck. “You should’ve told someone sooner! What if you punctured a lung?!”

You shrugged, flinching slightly. “Didn’t want to be a burden.”

“Burden?!” Nami barked, arms crossed. “You’re literally dying in a supply closet and think we’d be mad about it?!”

“I’m not dying.”

“Now you’re not,” Chopper muttered, wrapping your side carefully.

But that wasn’t the problem.

The problem was that during the examination, Chopper had moved to adjust your shirt—and your body had instinctively flinched hard, jerking away.

“Don’t,” you snapped, voice sharp.

Everyone paused. You hadn’t meant to yell. But the panic had already bloomed in your chest. You couldn’t let them see. Not that.

“Y/N?” Usopp asked quietly. “...Is everything okay?”

“Fine.”

“You’re shaking,” Brook noted, polite as ever.

“Maybe cold,” Franky suggested, offering a too warm blanket.

But Robin… Robin was staring at the bloodied shirt that Chopper had cut away. Her gaze moved—carefully—down to your back, just for a moment. Just enough.

Her voice, soft but certain, her eyes widen “That mark… was it from them?”

You froze.

“Robin-chan?” Sanji asked, confused. “What do you mean—?”

But the damage was done.

You grabbed your shirt, stumbled to your feet, ignoring the searing pain in your ribs. “Don’t. Don’t ask me. Don’t look at me like that.”

Luffy, unusually quiet, tilted his head. “What mark?”

Zoro frowned, his eyebrows furrowing. “...Oi. Y/N?”

“I said don’t!”

You limped out of the room, ignoring the worried calls behind you. You didn’t want pity. You didn’t want soft words or careful eyes or questions. You didn’t want the crew to see you as less—as broken. Not when you had come so far.

Not when this had been your only shot at freedom.

You avoided everyone for the next two days.

Not hard on a ship. You were a pro at hiding in closets. (Usopp, though, had a knack for finding people in places no one should’ve been able to fit in.)

Eventually, they stopped knocking.

But they didn’t stop trying.

A small tray of food appeared outside the door once. A cup of your favorite tea another time. A new book you’d mentioned in passing. Someone even left a rubber duck. Probably Luffy.

On the third night, a knock.

“Go away,” you muttered from your hiding spot.

“Not until you hear my incredibly persuasive argument,” came Usopp’s voice.

You sighed.

He slipped in anyway, holding a blanket and a snack plate shaped like a shark.

“Still mad?” he asked.

You glared.

“Cool. Cool cool cool. So, listen.” He crouched beside you, offering a rice ball like a peace offering. “Nobody’s mad at you. Or weirded out. Or anything.”

“...You don’t even know the full story.”

“Don’t need to,” he said simply. “You’re you. You’re part of our crew. Luffy said that’s all that matters.”

You blinked.

“He also said if anyone ever even thinks of trying to brand you again, he’s gonna punch their brains into soup. So. Y’know. There’s that.”

“…Soup.”

Usopp nodded sagely. “Chunky.”

You let out a snort before you could stop yourself. It kind of hurt. But in a good way.

It wasn’t instant. You didn’t wake up the next day and feel cured. But you started emerging more.

Franky gave you space but added a seat with a personal shade canopy just for you. Brook made you songs that avoided topics you didn’t like. Nami showed you how to do crew finances with absolutely zero touching involved. Zoro sparred with you using broom handles so you could practice defense.

Sanji was the toughest.

Not because he didn’t try—he just… really liked touching people. But now, he always asked first. And when you said no, he saluted dramatically and called you “Captain No Cuddles.”

You hated how much it made you laugh.

But it was Luffy who surprised you most.

He sat beside you one day while you were stargazing, not touching, not talking.

Just there.

And after a while, you asked, “...Aren’t you curious?”

He grinned. “Nah.”

“…Really?”

“You don’t have to tell us anything, Y/N,” he said, stretching his arms behind his head. “But you can. If you want. Just don’t forget—” he grinned wider, “we’d never leave you behind.”

You looked at the stars, thinking about the brand on your back, the life you left, and the people who had tried to break you.

And then, you thought about this weird, loud, ridiculous crew who had somehow become home.

“…Thanks, Captain.”

He beamed. “Wanna fight now?”

“Still no.”

“Wanna prank Usopp?”

A grin tugged at your mouth. “Absolutely.”

hii guys, ts been a while... sorry for disappearing n not updating, its js something a lot has been going on, and im struggling lately.

ill try to post the requests i alr made tomorrow after school! thank u for being patient!!

#sh4nksslvt

Soaked Sheets and Open Lines

He answers a den den mushi mid fuck without stopping. You try to be good, quiet, obedient, but when his hand wraps around your throat and you moan involuntarily… the line goes silent.

king x fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, NSFW, choking, size difference, established relationship, overstim, rough sex(?), call risk,

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward | ++ this is my frst time writing nsfw so bear w me lolol

word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

You knew this was a bad idea.

Not because it was King — you’d long since accepted the consequences of being with a man like him. A 20-foot, winged war machine with no time for softness. But because you were already on your second orgasm when he growled against your neck, voice low and amused

“That’s the Den Den Mushi. Don’t move.”

Your breath hitched. King didn’t stop.

He didn’t pull out.

His cock alone pinned your hips to the mattress, thick and heavy and still achingly hard inside you. Your thighs trembled on either side of him as he sat up slightly, adjusting his weight. The movement pushed him deeper, and your eyes rolled back.

“Fucking—K-King,” you whispered, clutching onto his waist, barely able to wrap your arms halfway around it.

You laid back on the mattress, dazed and sweaty, thighs shaking as your body twitched from your second orgasm. You could feel his cum from the first round cooling between your legs.

He leaned down to press a kiss to your neck — bare-mouthed.

The kiss made your heart flip.

King had taken his mask off before dragging you into bed, and his mouth was everything you’d imagined: firm, warm, skilled. He’d only ever kissed you like this in private, in moments like this — when his cock was inside you and your legs were shaking.

It was the only time he let himself feel.

And now the damn Den Den Mushi was ringing.

You watched his lips curl into a small, sharp smile.

“Stay still.” He reached one enormous hand over, snatched the receiver off the hook, and brought it to his ear without missing a beat — or a thrust.

“King.” His voice was low, cool, unaffected.

Your stomach dropped as he rolled his hips forward again — slow, deep, deliberate. Your pussy fluttered, painfully sensitive.

You bit your lip hard to keep quiet, but your body betrayed you, grinding up against him.

His eyes flicked down to yours, narrowed. Warning.

“Yes, the reports were handled already,” he told the person on the other end. “No errors.”

Another thrust — deeper this time.

“Nnghh—haah!” you gasped, hands flying to grip his forearms — thick, powerful, dwarfing yours.

His mouth lowered to yours — slow, dominant, breath hot — and kissed you hard.

Tongue sweeping against yours.

It was messy, wet, rough — hungry.

You moaned into the kiss.

The Den Den Mushi blinked.

“Everything alright?”

You could hear the suspicion in the voice. Jack, maybe. Your brain was too scrambled to identify it.

“’s fine,” King said casually into the Den Den Mushi between kisses, his other hand sliding between your bodies, two thick fingers pressing to your clit in slow, tight circles. “Everything’s under control.”

You couldn’t help it.

You broke away from his lips with a strangled cry, mouth wet and lips swollen. “M-mmmf—!”

The snail blinked. There was a pause.

“…Was that a voice?”

King didn’t even flinch.

Instead, his hand snapped to your throat, pressing down — not enough to choke, just enough to remind you who was in control.

His lips brushed your ear.

“If you make another fucking sound,” he whispered darkly, “I’ll hold the Den Den Mushi to your mouth and make you explain yourself to them.”

Your eyes fluttered.

You nodded frantically, trying to stay silent.

But then he started moving again — slow, full strokes of his cock stretching you to your limit. He was so thick it made your legs tremble just to feel him move inside you.

His hand stayed on your throat — fingers spread wide, thumb under your chin.

The snail blinked again.

“King...Seriously. Are you busy or—?”

You whimpered. Quiet, but not enough.

His lips crashed into yours again — swallowing your moan, tongue forcing its way past your lips as he fucked you deeper. Your arms clung to his back, nails dragging across his skin.

He bit your bottom lip.

“Not busy. Just… occupied.” He finally set the Den Den Mushi down. Didn’t hang it up.

Still live.

Still listening.

And then his thrusts turned brutal.

You yelped against his mouth, voice muffled by his tongue, arms shaking as the bed croaking under his sheer size and force. Your overstimulated pussy clenched around him like a vice.

“S-slow down, King, I c-can’t, f-fuck—I—nghh—fuck, y-you’re too big—!”

His free hand grabbed your hips and slammed you down to meet his cock, wet slapping sounds echoing against the walls.

“You wanted this,” he growled, lips brushing yours again. “You begged for it before we got back. Didn’t care who was nearby. You needed it. So you’re gonna take it.”

You were crying now — from pleasure, from pressure, from the overwhelming fullness and your own wrecked moans.

Your hands clutched his face, desperate, trembling.

You kissed him again — sloppily, hungrily — sucking on his tongue as his hips pummeled you into the mattress.

“K-King, ’m gonna—g-gonna cum—!”

“Hold it.” He tightened his grip on your throat.

You moaned, high-pitched and whimpering, hips twitching as you struggled to obey.

“Please—I c-can’t—fuck, it’s too much—!”

“F-fuck...cum for me,” he finally growled.

You screams — swallowed by his mouth as he kissed you through it — hungry and deep., body convulsing as a hot gush of slick sprayed between your thighs — soaking the sheets, soaking him, your orgasm crashing through you with violent force. Your cunt spasmed around his cock, milking him hard, thighs jerking.

And then he was cumming too — growling against your lips as he buried himself to the hilt and with one final deep thrust, he came inside you. Pulse after pulse of heat flooded your insides, thick and hot, and he stayed seated deep for a long, heavy second.

Then — slowly — he pulled out.

You whimpered. His cum spilled from your used pussy down your thighs and onto the sheets.

You were shaking. Sweaty. Sore. Your voice wouldn’t even work properly anymore — all breath and no sound.

The Den Den Mushi clicked.

Call dropped.

You stared up at him — dazed, flushed, soaked with sweat.

His hand stroked your cheek. Still unmasked. Still kissing you softly now, post-release.

His golden eyes watched you carefully.

“…They heard that,” you whispered.

He smirked.

“Let them.”

#one piece king x reader #one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #idk man #idk what im doing #king the wildfire #king one piece #king x reader #king the wildfire x reader #alber x reader #beasts pirates

Why Are You Always on One Knee?

Katakuri keeps dropping to one knee for suspicious reasons—tying his shoes, picking up crumbs, adjusting mochi—and you’re starting to get suspicious… until one day, he doesn’t get back up without a ring.

thank u for 800+ followers guys!! <3

katakuri x gn! reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff ,sfw, proposal, ooc, size diff a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe, and akward word count: 2.3k

masterlist | ko-fi

The first time you noticed Katakuri dropping to one knee, you didn’t think much of it. The man was sixteen feet tall, a towering figure of muscle and quiet intensity, with a reputation as the stoic, unflappable second son of the Charlotte family. His crimson eyes, sharp jawline hidden beneath a fluffy scarf, and commanding presence made him seem larger than life—literally and figuratively. You, on the other hand, were barely scraping five and a half feet, a speck in his shadow. Yet, somehow, you’d ended up in a relationship with this gentle giant, a fact that still left you reeling some days.

It was a quiet morning in the sprawling kitchen of the Charlotte family’s estate on Whole Cake Island. The air smelled of sugar and flour, and you were perched on a stool at the counter, nibbling on a donut Katakuri had made for you. He was meticulous about his baking, a hobby you found endlessly endearing for someone who could crush a building with a single punch. You were halfway through your snack when you heard a soft thud. Glancing over, you saw Katakuri on one knee, his massive frame hunched as he peered at the floor.

“Uhm...Kat?” you asked, tilting your head. “What’re you doing down there?”

He didn’t look up, his gloved fingers brushing at something on the polished tiles. “Dropped a crumb,” he muttered, his deep voice muffled slightly by his scarf. “Can’t leave a mess.”

You raised an eyebrow, popping the rest of the donut into your mouth. “A crumb? You’re, like, a mile tall, and you’re worried about a single crumb?”

His crimson eyes flicked up to meet yours, a faint glint of amusement in them. “Cleanliness is important.”

“Sure, sure,” you said, waving a hand. “Big tough guy, defeated by a speck of sugar.”

He huffed softly, standing back up to his full, intimidating height. The moment passed, and you didn’t think much of it. Katakuri was particular, after all—about his donuts, his scarf, his everything. A crumb probably was a national emergency in his meticulously ordered world.

The second time it happened, you were in the training yard. Katakuri was sparring with some of his siblings, his massive mochi-covered fists sending shockwaves through the air. You sat on a bench nearby, sketching in a little notebook, occasionally stealing glances at your boyfriend’s impressive form. Even in the chaos of combat, he moved with precision, every strike calculated, every step deliberate.

Then, mid-spar, he dropped to one knee again. His opponent, one of his younger brothers, froze, clearly confused. You perked up, setting your pencil down.

“Kat?” you called, standing and brushing off your pants. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer immediately, his head bowed as he fiddled with something at his boot. “Lace came loose,” he said finally, his voice calm but focused. “Can’t fight with a loose boot.”

You squinted at him, hands on your hips. “Your boots have laces? Those things look like they’re glued to your feet.”

“They’re custom,” he said, standing up and rolling his shoulders as if nothing had happened. His brother muttered something about “unfair pauses” and resumed the spar, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was... off. Katakuri didn’t seem like the type to stop a fight over a shoelace. He was the guy who’d probably keep fighting with a missing leg and call it “a minor inconvenience.”

You crossed your arms, watching him dodge a flurry of punches. “You’re weird sometimes, you know that?”

He didn’t respond, but you could’ve sworn you saw the corner of his scarf twitch, like he was hiding a smile.

The third time, you were definitely suspicious.

It was during one of your rare quiet evenings together. Katakuri had carved out time from his endless duties as a Sweet Commander to sit with you in the garden, a sprawling maze of candy-cane trees and chocolate fountains. You were curled up on a bench, reading aloud from a book of fairy tales while he lounged on the grass nearby, one arm propped behind his head. His massive frame made the ground look like it was designed for him, not the other way around.

You were in the middle of a dramatic passage about a knight proposing to a princess when Katakuri shifted and dropped to one knee again. Your words faltered, and you lowered the book, staring at him.

“...Seriously?” you said, setting the book down. “What is it this time? Another crumb? A loose thread? Did a blade of grass offend you?”

He glanced at you, his expression unreadable behind his scarf. “My mochi was sticking,” he said, brushing at his knee as if inspecting some invisible flaw in his powers. “Needed to adjust it.”

You blinked. “Your... mochi was sticking.”

“Yes.”

“Kat, you’re made of mochi. How does it even—never mind.” You threw your hands up, exasperated. “You can’t keep doing this! Every time you drop to one knee, I think you’re about to—ugh, never mind!”

His eyes narrowed slightly, a flicker of curiosity in them. “About to what?”

You felt your face heat up, and you quickly buried it in your book. “Nothing! Forget I said anything!”

He didn’t press, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you as he stood back up. The silence that followed was heavier than usual, and you couldn’t focus on the fairy tale anymore. Your heart was doing weird little flips, and you weren’t sure if it was because of the story or the way Katakuri kept watching you, like he was trying to figure something out.

Over the next few weeks, the one-knee thing became a pattern. It was like Katakuri had developed a sudden obsession with the floor. He’d drop down to “fix his scarf” during a walk through Totto Land’s streets. He’d kneel to “check his mochi composition” while you were browsing the market. Once, he even claimed he was “inspecting a crack in the pavement” during a visit to a nearby island. Each time, you’d give him a look, and each time, he’d offer some absurdly specific excuse that sounded just plausible enough to make you second-guess yourself.

But you weren’t stupid. You’d been with Katakuri long enough to know he wasn’t this clumsy or scatterbrained. The man could predict the future with his Observation Haki, for crying out loud. He didn’t accidentally drop crumbs or untie his boots or misalign his mochi. He was up to something, and it was driving you up the wall.

One afternoon, you finally snapped. You were in his private study, a cozy room filled with oversized furniture to accommodate his size. He was at his desk, scribbling something on a massive sheet of parchment, while you lounged on a couch, flipping through a magazine. Then, out of nowhere, he slid off his chair and dropped to one knee, his head bowed as he fumbled with something on the floor.

“Okay, that’s it!” you said, tossing the magazine aside and standing up. “Kat...what is wrong with you? You’ve been doing this for weeks! Are you trying to mess with me or something?”

He froze, his massive hand still hovering over whatever imaginary speck he was pretending to pick up. “I... dropped a pen,” he said, his voice even but slightly strained.

“A pen?” you repeated, crossing your arms. “A pen? Kat, you’re sixteen feet tall, you don’t need to kneel to pick up a pen! You could probably just will it back into your hand with your devil fruit or something!”

He straightened slowly, his crimson eyes meeting yours. There was something in his gaze—something soft, almost nervous—that made your heart skip a beat. “It’s not a big deal,” he said, brushing off his knee. “You’re overthinking it.”

“...Overthinking it?” You marched over to him, though you had to crane your neck to meet his eyes. “You’re the one who keeps dropping to one knee like...like you’re about to propose or something, and then you just—stand up and act like nothing happened! Do you know how confusing that is?”

His eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, you thought you’d caught him off guard. But then he adjusted his scarf, his expression smoothing back into its usual calm. “Propose?” he said, his tone carefully neutral. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”

Your face burned, and you suddenly wished you could sink into the floor. “I—I don’t know! Maybe? It’s just... it’s weird, okay?...You’re being weird!”

He didn’t say anything for a long moment, just watched you with that intense, unreadable stare. Then, finally, he said, “You’re imagining things. I’m just... clumsy lately.”

“Clumsy,” you repeated flatly. “You. Charlotte Katakuri. Clumsy.”

He nodded, completely serious. “Yes.”

You threw your hands up. “Fine! Be that way! But I’m watching you, big guy. One more suspicious knee-drop, and I’m calling you out in front of your entire family.”

He chuckled, a low, rumbling sound that made your stomach do a little flip. “...Noted,” he said, and went back to his desk like nothing had happened.

The final straw came during a festival on Whole Cake Island. The streets were lined with candy-colored lanterns, and the air was filled with laughter and the scent of freshly baked sweets. You and Katakuri were walking together, though “walking together” mostly meant you jogging to keep up with his long strides. He’d slowed down for you, as he always did.

You were chatting about the festival, pointing out a particularly impressive chocolate sculpture, when Katakuri stopped abruptly and dropped to one knee. The crowd around you parted, some people whispering excitedly at the sight of the Sweet Commander kneeling in the middle of the street.

“Oh, come on!” you said, planting your hands on your hips. “What is it this time? Did you drop a sprinkle? Is your scarf too fluffy? Did a butterfly land on your boot and you need to personally escort it to safety?”

Katakuri didn’t answer right away. He was still, his head bowed, his massive hands resting on his knee. The crowd’s whispers grew louder, and you felt a prickle of unease. This didn’t feel like the other times. There was no quick excuse, no casual dismissal. He was just... kneeling there.

“...Kat?” you said, your voice softer now. “...What’s going on?”

He lifted his head, and for the first time, you saw something vulnerable in his crimson eyes. He reached into his vest, pulling out a small, velvet box that looked comically tiny in his massive hand. Your breath caught, and the world seemed to slow down around you.

“I’ve been trying to find the right moment,” he said, his voice low and steady, though you could hear the faintest tremor in it. “But every time I tried, I... hesitated. I wanted it to be perfect. For you.”

You stared at the box, your heart pounding so hard you thought it might burst. “Kat, is that...?”

He opened the box, revealing a ring—a simple band with a single, shimmering gem that caught the light of the festival lanterns. “I’m not good with words,” he said, his eyes locked on yours. “But I know what I feel. You make me want to be better. Stronger. Kinder. You make me want to be the man you see in me, not just the one everyone else fears.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. The crowd was silent now, watching with bated breath.

“I love you,” he continued, his voice softer now, meant only for you. “...And I want to spend the rest of my life with you, so Y/N...Will you marry me?”

For a moment, you couldn’t move. Couldn’t think. All you could do was stare at the ring, at the man who’d spent weeks dropping to one knee for the most ridiculous reasons, just to practice for this moment. A laugh bubbled up in your throat, followed by tears you hadn’t realized were forming.

“You absolute dork,” you said, your voice breaking. “All those times you were kneeling... you were practicing for this?”

He looked almost sheepish, his scarf shifting slightly. “I didn’t want to mess it up.”

You stepped forward, reaching up to touch his face, though you had to stretch to do it. “Kat, you could’ve proposed in a dumpster, and I’d still say yes.”

His eyes softened, and he leaned down slightly, closing the distance between you. “Is that a yes?”

“Yes, you big softie,” you said, laughing through your tears. “Of course it’s a yes.”

The crowd erupted into cheers, but you barely heard them. Katakuri slipped the ring onto your finger—it fit perfectly, of course, because he’d probably measured your hand in your sleep or something equally ridiculous—and then he scooped you up in his arms, holding you against his chest. For a moment, it was just the two of you, the rest of the world fading away.

“You’re never living this down,” you murmured, resting your head against his scarf. “All those crumbs and shoelaces.”

He chuckled, the sound vibrating through you. “Worth it,” he said, and kissed the top of your head.

The rest of the night was a blur of celebration. Katakuri’s siblings descended on you with congratulations, some teasing him mercilessly about his “clumsy” phase. You couldn’t stop smiling, your hand wrapped in his as you navigated the festival together. The ring felt warm against your skin, a constant reminder of the man who’d chosen you—crumbs, shoelaces, and all.

As the fireworks lit up the sky, you leaned against Katakuri’s side, feeling small but safe in his presence. “You know,” you said, glancing up at him, “you’re gonna have to stop kneeling now. You got the ring on my finger.”

He smirked, his eyes glinting in the firelight. “No promises. I might find a few more crumbs.”

You laughed, swatting his arm. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stuck with me,” he said, his voice soft but sure.

“Yeah,” you said, squeezing his hand. “I think I can live with that.”

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #idk man #idk what im doing #fluff #katakuri #charlotte katakuri #katakuri one piece #katakuri x reader #op katakuri #charlotte katakuri x reader #proposal

its cloudy in here and takoyaki sounds good rn🐙🤤

posting drafts l8r🎉

#sh4nksslvt

You Kiss Like Trouble

Ace’s habit of kissing you at the worst possible moments—mid-battle or mid-party—sparks playful chaos and heartfelt moments aboard the Moby Dick.

ace x fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, flirting, teasing, established relationship, kissing

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe

word count: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

The sun hung low over the horizon, painting the sea in shades of gold and crimson as the Moby Dick rocked gently on the waves. The Whitebeard Pirates were in high spirits, fresh off a successful raid against a no name crew, their laughter and clinking mugs echoing across the deck. You leaned against the railing, the salty breeze tugging at your hair, watching the chaos unfold with a fond smile. Your boyfriend, Portgas D. Ace, was at the center of it all, naturally—shirtless, as usual, his freckled chest gleaming under the fading sunlight as he arm-wrestled Thatch for the last drumstick.

“Oi, Y/N!” Ace called, his voice cutting through the din as he pinned Thatch’s arm to the table with a triumphant grin. “You gonna cheer for your man or what?”

You rolled your eyes, crossing your arms. “I’d cheer if you weren’t cheating, hotshot.”

“Cheating?!” Ace gasped, clutching his chest dramatically as Thatch groaned and rubbed his sore wrist. “baby, you wound me!”

The crew roared with laughter, and you couldn’t help but grin. Ace’s theatrics were as much a part of him as his flames, and you’d long since learned to roll with them. Your relationship with the Second Division Commander was a whirlwind of teasing, affection, and chaos—a perfect match for the fiery troublemaker who’d stolen your heart.

As the celebration continued, Ace sauntered over, slinging an arm around your shoulders. His skin was warm, as always, radiating heat like a living furnace. “Miss me?” he murmured, his lips brushing your ear.

You tilted your head to meet his dark eyes, smirking. “You were literally ten feet away, Ace.”

“And yet,” he said, leaning closer, “it felt like an eternity without you.”

You snorted, shoving him playfully. “You’re so full of it.”

“Only for you,” he winked, and before you could retort, he pressed a quick, soft kiss to your forehead. It was a fleeting gesture, but it sent a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. Ace had a habit of kissing you in the most unexpected moments—forehead, cheeks, nose, wherever he could land one. It was endearing, infuriating, and entirely him.

“Get a room, you two!” Marco called from across the deck, his lazy drawl laced with amusement.

“Jealous, Marco?” Ace shot back, grinning as he pulled you closer. “Don’t worry, I’ll save a kiss for you later.”

The First Division Commander chuckled, shaking his head. “I’ll pass-yoi.”

The night wore on, and as the crew’s energy mellowed, you and Ace found a quiet corner of the deck. You sat cross-legged on a crate, while Ace sprawled out beside you, his head resting on your thigh. The stars were beginning to peek through the twilight sky, and the gentle lapping of waves against the ship created a soothing backdrop.

“You ever gonna stop kissing me in front of everyone?” you asked, running your fingers through his dark hair.

Ace cracked one eye open, his lips curving into a mischievous smile. “Why would I? Gotta show the world you’re mine.”

You flicked his forehead lightly. “Possessive much?”

“Only when it comes to you,” he said, catching your hand and pressing a kiss to your knuckles. “Besides...you love it.”

You huffed, but you couldn’t deny the truth in his words. There was something about Ace’s unapologetic affection that made your heart race, even after all this time. “You’re lucky you’re cute,” you muttered.

“Cute?” he echoed, sitting up suddenly. “I’m devastatingly handsome, thank you very much.”

You laughed, shoving his shoulder. “Keep telling yourself that, Fire Fist.”

He gasped, clutching his heart again. “You’re brutal tonight, Y/N. I’m gonna need some serious TLC to recover from this.”

“Oh, poor baby,” you teased, leaning in to kiss his cheek. “Better?”

Ace’s eyes sparkled with mischief. “Not quite.” Before you could react, he cupped your face and pulled you into a proper kiss, his lips warm and firm against yours. It was slow and deliberate, the kind of kiss that made the world fade away. When he finally pulled back, you were both a little breathless.

“Better now?” you asked, your voice softer than you intended.

“Much,” he murmured, his thumb brushing your cheek. “But I might need a few more to be sure.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t resist as he kissed you again, this time on the corner of your mouth. “You’re impossible,” you said between kisses, your hands finding their way to his shoulders.

“And you love it,” he repeated, his voice low and teasing.

The next morning, the Moby Dick was abuzz with preparations for a potential skirmish. Some pirate crew had been spotted nearby, and Whitebeard had ordered the crew to stay on high alert. You were in the armory, checking your weapons, when Ace strolled in, his trademark grin firmly in place.

“Morning, beautiful,” he said, leaning against the doorframe.

You glanced up from sharpening your dagger, raising an eyebrow. “Shouldn’t you be helping with the cannons or something?”

“Probably,” he admitted, sauntering over. “But I’d rather be here with you.”

You shook your head, trying to focus on your task. “You’re gonna get us both in trouble, Ace.”

“Trouble’s my middle name,” he said, and before you could protest, he leaned down and kissed your cheek, his lips lingering just long enough to make your pulse jump.

“Ace!” you hissed, glancing around to make sure no one had seen. “We’re in the middle of prep!”

“What?” he said innocently, stepping back with his hands raised. “Just giving my favorite person a little morale boost.”

You pointed your dagger at him, narrowing your eyes. “Do that again, and I’ll morale-boost you right into the sea.”

He laughed, undeterred, and blew you a kiss as he backed out of the room. “Love you too, Y/N!”

You groaned, but a smile tugged at your lips. Damn him and his charm.

The skirmish came sooner than expected. By midday, some crew’s ship was bearing down on the Moby Dick, cannons roaring. The deck erupted into controlled chaos as Whitebeard’s crew sprang into action. You were in the thick of it, wielding your weapon with precision, fending off attackers alongside your crewmates.

Ace, of course, was a whirlwind of fire and fury, his flames lighting up the battlefield as he took down enemies with ease. You caught glimpses of him through the fray, his grin as wild as ever, like he was having the time of his life.

You were locked in combat with a burly swordsman when you felt a familiar presence at your back. Before you could turn, Ace’s voice was in your ear, low and playful. “Looking good out here, Y/N.”

“Are you serious right now?!” you shouted, parrying a strike from your opponent.

“Dead serious,” he said, and then—to your absolute disbelief—he grabbed your waist, spun you around, and planted a quick kiss on your forehead before dodging a sword swing aimed at his head.

“Ace, what the hell?!” you yelled, shoving him away as you refocused on your attacker.

“Motivation!” he called, already sprinting toward another group of enemies, flames trailing in his wake.

You cursed under your breath, but there was no time to dwell on it. The battle raged on, and you fought with renewed vigor, partly fueled by exasperation at your boyfriend’s antics. By the time the no name crew retreated, their ship limping away in defeat, you were sweaty, bruised, and ready to strangle Ace.

You found him leaning against a mast, wiping soot from his face. “So,” he said, grinning as you approached, “how’d I do?”

You crossed your arms, glaring. “You kissed me. In the middle of a battle.”

He shrugged, completely unrepentant. “Kept you on your toes, didn’t it?”

“I could’ve been stabbed!”

“Nah,” he said, stepping closer. “I’d never let that happen.”

You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off with another kiss—this one on your lips, quick and fierce. “...You’re cute when you’re mad,” he said Lillolled, pulling back.

“You’re unbelievable,” you muttered, but your anger was already fading.

“Unbelievably charming?” he offered, wagging his eyebrows.

“...Unbelievably annoying,” you shot back, but you couldn’t help the smile creeping onto your face.

That night, the crew celebrated their victory with a feast. The deck was alive with music, laughter, and the clatter of plates as Thatch served up a mountain of food. You sat beside Ace, who was predictably stealing bites from your plate.

“Hey! you have your own food,” you said, swatting his hand.

“Yours tastes better,” he said with a grin, popping a piece of meat into his mouth.

You sighed, but there was no real heat behind it. Ace’s arm was slung over the back of your chair, his fingers lazily tracing circles on your shoulder. Every now and then, he’d lean over to kiss your cheek or temple, each one earning a mix of groans and cheers from the crew.

“Oi, Ace, give it a rest!” Haruta called, tossing a roll at him.

Ace caught it midair, took a bite, and smirked. “Can’t help it. My girl’s too kissable.”

You elbowed him in the ribs. “You’re embarrassing me.”

“Good,” he said, kissing your forehead again. “Gotta keep you on your toes.”

Marco, sitting across from you, shook his head. “You two are disgusting-yoi.”

“Says the guy who’s jealous,” Ace teased, dodging a napkin Marco threw at him.

As the night wound down, you and Ace slipped away to the bow of the ship, where the noise of the party was a distant hum. You leaned against the railing, staring out at the moonlit sea, while Ace stood behind you, his arms wrapped around your waist.

“You know,” you said, leaning back against him, “one of these days, your kissing habit’s gonna get us in real trouble.”

“Worth it,” he murmured, his lips brushing the side of your neck. “Every kiss with you is worth a little trouble.”

You turned in his arms, looking up at him. “You’re such a sap.”

“Only for you,” he said, his voice soft and sincere. He kissed you again, slow and deep, and this time, you didn’t protest. The world could wait a little longer.

The next few days were quieter, the crew taking time to recover and repair the ship. You and Ace spent most of your free time together, whether it was sparring on the deck, sneaking into the kitchen to steal Thatch’s snacks, or just lounging in the sun. Ace’s kisses never stopped—on your cheek while you were reading, on your nose while you were tying a knot, on your lips when no one was looking. Each one was a spark, a reminder of how much he cared.

One afternoon, you were sitting in the crow’s nest, enjoying a rare moment of solitude, when Ace climbed up to join you. He plopped down beside you, his hat dangling from its string around his neck.

“Thought I’d find you up here,” he said, leaning back on his hands.

“Needed a break from your face,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Liar,” he said, grinning. He leaned over and kissed your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth. “You can’t resist me.”

You laughed, pushing him away halfheartedly. “You’re relentless.”

“Relentlessly in love with you,” he said, and the sincerity in his voice caught you off guard. He must’ve noticed your expression, because he softened, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “You know that, right?”

You nodded, your throat tight. “Yeah...I know.”

He kissed you again, gentle and lingering, and you melted into it. For all his teasing and chaos, moments like this reminded you of the depth of his feelings. Ace was a lot of things—reckless, wild, infuriating—but he was also yours, heart and soul.

As you pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “You’re trouble, you know that?” he murmured.

“Says the guy who kisses me in the middle of a fight,” you shot back.

He laughed, the sound vibrating through you. “Fair enough. Guess we’re both trouble.”

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. “Good thing I like trouble.”

The days turned into weeks, and the Moby Dick sailed on, chasing adventure and freedom. Ace’s kisses never stopped being a source of chaos—whether it was a quick peck during a card game or a stolen makeout session in the storage room—but you wouldn’t have it any other way. He was your wildfire, your trouble, your home.

And every kiss was a promise that he’d always be there, burning bright.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #fluff #idk what im doing #idk man #portgas ace x reader #ace x reader #portgas d ace #portgas ace x you #portgas ace x y/n #fire fist ace #whitebeard crew #whitebeard pirates

Mrs. Dracule’s ‘Totally Real’ Sword Style

You invent a ridiculous sword style to tease Zoro, and Mihawk humorously backs you up, turning a quiet afternoon into a chaotic, laughter-filled spectacle.

dracule mihawk x fem! reader | one shot tags: fluff, sfw, soft, ooc, wife reader a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and akward words count: 1.9k

masterlist | ko-fi

The mist that clung to Kuraigana Island’s gothic castle was as much a part of its charm as the man who called it home—Dracule Mihawk, the world’s greatest swordsman. Post-Paramount War, the island had become a refuge, not just for Mihawk but for an eclectic crew: Perona, the pink-haired ghost princess who flitted about with her spectral companions, and Roronoa Zoro, the green-haired swordsman-in-training whose relentless training echoed through the stone courtyards. And then there was you—Mihawk’s wife, a secret kept from the world, though less so from the castle’s nosy inhabitants. Your presence brought warmth to the cold stone, and your penchant for mischief was about to turn a quiet afternoon into chaos.

You lounged in the castle’s training courtyard, a grassy expanse ringed by crumbling statues, watching Zoro swing his swords through a series of katas. His focus was intense, sweat dripping from his brow as he moved with precision, his three blades flashing in the dim light. Perona floated nearby, munching on a biscuit, her ghosts giggling as they darted around her.

“Boooring,” Perona drawled, tossing a crumb to one of her hollows. “Zoro, don’t you ever do anything fun? All you do is swing, swing, swing!”

Zoro grunted, not breaking his stance. “Fun doesn’t make you stronger. Keep your ghosts away from me, or I’ll slice ‘em.”

You smirked, leaning back on a stone bench, your dress fluttering in the breeze. An idea sparked in your mind, as mischievous as one of Perona’s hollows. “You know, Zoro,” you called, “maybe you’re stuck because you’re not trying anything new. Ever heard of the Dracule Dual-Blade Dance?”

Zoro paused mid-swing, one eyebrow raised. “...The what now?”

You stood, brushing off your dress with exaggerated flair. “The Dracule Dual-Blade Dance. It’s a legendary sword style. Super exclusive. Only taught to the most worthy.” You winked at Perona, who immediately caught on, her eyes sparkling with delight.

“Oh, oh! Tell me more!” Perona said, floating closer. “Is it, like, super cool? Does it involve sparkles?”

“Sparkles?” Zoro scoffed, sheathing one sword. “Sounds like nonsense.”

You crossed your arms, feigning offense. “Nonsense? Zoro, I’ll have you know this is a time-honored technique, passed down through the Dracule family. Right, love?” You glanced toward the castle entrance, where Mihawk had just appeared, his black coat billowing, his hat casting a shadow over his sharp features.

Mihawk’s golden eyes flicked from you to Zoro, then back to you. He knew that look on your face—trouble was brewing. “Indeed,” he said, his voice smooth as steel. “The Dual-Blade Dance is… formidable. My wife is its sole master.”

You bit back a grin. Mihawk, ever the stoic, was playing along without missing a beat. Zoro’s skepticism faltered, his eyes narrowing. “You’re serious?...What kind of style is it?”

Perona clapped her hands, bouncing in midair. “Yeah, tell us! I bet it’s super cute and deadly!”

You paced the courtyard, adopting a mock-serious tone. “The Dracule Dual-Blade Dance is all about fluidity and flair. It’s not just about strength—it’s about style. You wield two blades, but you move like you’re dancing, weaving in and out of your opponent’s guard. It’s so graceful, they don’t even realize they’ve been cut until you’re already posing for the victory.”

Zoro snorted, crossing his arms. “Posing? Sounds like a performance, not a fight.”

“Exactly!” you said, undeterred. “The final pose is critical. It’s called the ‘Victory Twirl.’ You spin your blades, strike a dramatic stance, and the sheer aura of it intimidates your enemy into submission. Isn’t that right, love?”

Mihawk’s lips twitched, the barest hint of amusement breaking his composure. “Absolutely. The Victory Twirl is… devastating. I’ve seen it reduce seasoned swordsmen to quivering wrecks.”

Perona squealed, her ghosts mimicking her excitement. “That sounds amazing! Show us, show us!”

Zoro looked unconvinced but curious. “Fine. Let’s see it. If it’s as good as you say, I might try it.”

You grabbed two wooden practice swords from a nearby rack, twirling them with exaggerated flair. “Prepare to be dazzled, Roronoa.” You began a deliberately over-the-top sequence, spinning and leaping like a ballerina, the swords flashing in wide, impractical arcs. You added a few unnecessary flourishes—pirouettes, a high kick, even a wink at Perona, who was clapping wildly.

“See?” you said, pausing mid-spin to point a sword at Zoro. “Fluidity! Grace! You’re so busy watching the dance, you don’t see the strike coming!”

Zoro’s eye twitched. “That’s… the dumbest thing I’ve ever seen. You’d get cut down in two seconds.”

Mihawk stepped forward, his presence commanding silence. “On the contrary, Roronoa. The Dual-Blade Dance is deceptively effective. Its unpredictability confounds opponents. Observe.” He took a practice sword, moving to your side with the grace of a panther. Without warning, he launched into a series of fluid strikes, mirroring your exaggerated spins but with his signature precision. The wooden blade whistled through the air, stopping an inch from Zoro’s chest.

Zoro blinked, clearly caught off guard. “Okay… that was fast. But the spinning? Really?”

Mihawk lowered the sword, his expression impassive. “The spinning disorients. It’s a calculated distraction, masking the true strike. My wife’s style is… unorthodox, but effective.”

You grinned, leaning against Mihawk’s arm. “See? Even the world’s greatest swordsman approves. You should try it, Zoro. Loosen up a bit.”

Perona was practically vibrating with excitement. “Zoro, you have to do it! I want to see you twirl! It’ll be hilarious!”

Zoro scowled. “I’m not twirling. This is a joke, right? You’re messing with me.”

You gasped, clutching your chest dramatically. “A joke? Zoro, I’m wounded! This is my life’s work! Tell him, Mihawk.”

Mihawk’s eyes gleamed with suppressed mirth. “It is no joke, Roronoa. My wife has spent years perfecting this technique. I suggest you show some respect.”

Zoro stared at Mihawk, then at you, his skepticism warring with his respect for his mentor. “Fine,” he muttered. “Show me the basics. But I’m not doing any stupid poses.”

You clapped your hands, delighted. “Deal! First, you need to hold your swords like this.” You demonstrated, gripping the practice swords with a theatrical flourish, one high, one low, as if posing for a portrait. “Now, step forward and spin—like you’re waltzing with your enemy.”

Zoro reluctantly mimicked your stance, his movements stiff and awkward. He spun once, nearly tripping over his own feet. Perona burst into laughter, her ghosts swirling around her. “Oh my gosh, you look like a drunk ballerina! Horohorohoro! Keep going!”

“Shut it, Perona,” Zoro growled, but he tried again, this time managing a slightly smoother spin. “This is ridiculous. How’s this supposed to help in a real fight?”

You stepped closer, adjusting his grip. “...It’s about flow, Zoro. You’re too rigid. The Dual-Blade Dance is about moving like water—unpredictable, unstoppable. Try it again, but imagine you’re dodging an attack while spinning.”

Mihawk watched, his arms crossed, his expression unreadable but his eyes betraying a flicker of amusement. “Focus, Roronoa. The principle is sound, even if the execution is… theatrical.”

Zoro grumbled but tried again, this time weaving through an imaginary opponent’s strikes. His movements were still clumsy, but there was a hint of rhythm to them. You clapped, genuinely impressed. “Not bad! Now add the Victory Twirl. Spin both swords and strike a pose—like this!” You demonstrated, spinning dramatically and ending with one sword pointed skyward, the other crossed over your chest, your chin tilted up like a stage actor.

Perona was in hysterics, rolling in midair. “Yes! That’s perfect! Zoro, do it!”

Zoro’s face was a mask of pure irritation. “I’m not doing that. I’ll look like an idiot.”

Mihawk’s voice cut through, calm but firm. “Humor her, Roronoa. Consider it a test of discipline.”

Zoro shot Mihawk a look that screamed betrayal but sighed and gave it a try. He spun his swords—awkwardly, begrudgingly—and struck a half-hearted pose, one sword raised, the other dangling limply. Perona howled with laughter, and even you couldn’t suppress a giggle.

“Needs work,” you said, circling him like a drill sergeant. “More flair! Channel your inner performer!”

“There’s no performer in me,” Zoro muttered, but he tried again, this time with a bit more commitment. The pose was still stiff, but the spin was smoother, and you could see the faintest spark of amusement in his eyes.

Perona floated over, clapping wildly. “You’re getting it! Now we need music! I bet this style would be even better with a theme song!”

You laughed, turning to Mihawk. “What do you think, love? Should we compose a ballad for the Dual-Blade Dance?”

Mihawk’s lips curved into a rare smirk. “I’ll leave the theatrics to you. But if it inspires Roronoa to improve his footwork, I see no harm.”

Zoro groaned, sheathing his swords. “This is torture. I’m going back to real training.”

“Oh, come on!” you said, grabbing his arm. “One more try. Let’s do a mock duel. You versus me, Dual-Blade Dance style. Winner gets bragging rights.”

Zoro’s eyes lit up at the challenge, his competitive streak kicking in. “You’re on. But no posing nonsense.”

“Deal,” you said, though you had no intention of playing fair. You took your position, wooden swords in hand, and began your ‘dance.’ You spun, leaped, and twirled, throwing in every ridiculous move you could think of—cartwheels, dramatic flourishes, even a mock curtsy. Zoro, to his credit, kept up, parrying your strikes with his usual precision, but he was clearly thrown off by your unpredictable movements.

Perona cheered from the sidelines, her ghosts forming a spectral cheerleading squad. “Go, go, go! Slice her with style, Zoro!”

Mihawk watched, his arms still crossed, but his gaze was fixed on you, a mix of pride and amusement. “You’re toying with him,” he said under his breath.

You flashed him a grin mid-spin. “Just a little.”

Zoro lunged, aiming for your side, but you twirled out of the way, ending with a dramatic pose that left him stumbling. “Gotcha!” you said, tapping his shoulder with your sword. “That’s one point for the Dual-Blade Dance!”

Zoro wiped sweat from his brow, panting. “You’re insane. But… that wasn’t terrible. The spinning’s weird, but it threw me off.”

You beamed, tossing your swords aside. “See? Told you it’s effective. Unpredictability is the key.”

Perona floated over, clapping. “That was so cool! You should teach me next! I could add ghosts to the dance!”

Mihawk stepped forward, his voice cutting through the chatter. “Enough for today. Roronoa, your footwork needs refinement, but the principle of unpredictability is worth considering. And you,” he turned to you, his tone softening, “stop tormenting my student.”

You laughed, looping your arm through his. “But it’s so fun! And you backed me up perfectly. Best husband ever.”

He raised an eyebrow but didn’t pull away. “Flattery will get you nowhere.”

Perona groaned dramatically. “Ugh, you two are too cute! Zoro, why can’t you be romantic like that?”

Zoro snorted, heading for the castle. “I’m not here for romance. I’m here to get stronger.”

As he walked off, Perona floated after him, still chattering about the Dual-Blade Dance. You and Mihawk lingered in the courtyard, the mist curling around you. “You enjoyed that far too much,” he said, his voice low.

You grinned, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “And you played along like a pro. Admit it, you had fun.”

His lips twitched, and he pulled you closer, his hand resting on your waist. “Perhaps. But don’t expect me to start twirling.”

You laughed, the sound echoing through the courtyard, a bright note in the castle’s somber symphony. The Dual-Blade Dance might have been a joke, but the warmth of the moment—Zoro’s reluctant grin, Perona’s laughter, Mihawk’s quiet support—was as real as the steel in Yoru’s edge.

#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #idk man #idk what im doing #fluff #op mihawk #dracule mihawk #hawkeye mihawk #one piece mihawk #mihawk x reader #taka no me mihawk #mihawk #dracule mihawk x you #dracule mihawk x reader

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