Btw im mostly just explaining my idea for reader since I dont have much of a feel feel for the 4 guys anddd im tired (Im also in whole cat island and haven't reached wano I've only read kid x killer x heat x wire x reader fanfics and i need more-) WHO SAID THAT
Warnings: none
Characters: kidd, killer, heat, wire (its really just reader centered but there the intended s/o)
♡reader wasn't a very affectionate person physically they were big on talking and time together and could deal with touch to an extent this was even included in private because they got really hot really fast........the only exception to this rule is there cat there very very affectionate cat that is insanely cuddly and over time there slowly getting more jealous over the damn cat especially kidd......one of them wore cat ears to see if itd make a difference-♡
☆And one day at a summer island reader did the unthinkable and moved the cat off her.....the boys kept giggling and teasing the cat like not in a jerk way butttt they've been waiting for somthing like this and its all fun and games until the cat scratches them ALLLL up☆
(IF you have any ideas PLEASE PUT THEM IN THE COMENTS.........just so we're all clear I LOVE COMENTS I DONT CARE IF THERE CRINGE BECAUSE I MYSELF CAN BARELY MAKE A HEADCANNON LIST WITHOUT IT BEING MOSTLY JUST READER........so ya thx for reading)
Summary: The cold causes you problems, but your boyfriend is always willing to help you out.
A/N: Wattpad Request - alright so my request isn't over the top (I think) I just want a scenario were they are in a cold place or something, but the Y/N has Cold Intolerance/Cold sensitivity, so they try staying warm without bothering or worrying there bf, but in the end they figured it out. you can add your ideas on how would they react/act in this scenario.
Masterlist / Part 1, Part 3
❤️🔥⛓️Heat & Wire:
The cold hits you harder than you expected. Snow crunches under your boots, wind whipping through your coat, biting your fingers despite gloves. You keep a smile on your face, telling yourself it’s fine. You can handle this.
Heat notices first. “Oi,” he says, firelight dancing in his eyes. “You’re shivering.”
“I’m fine,” you lie. Heat snorts, unconvinced. Before you can protest, he steps closer, exhaling warm fire just near enough to brush the chill off your face. The heat feels like sunlight, comforting and alive, chasing away some of the cold that’s settled in your bones.
Wire comes up beside you quietly, expression calm but eyes sharp. He drapes part of his cloak around you, shielding your back from the wind. “You’re too red,” he says softly, just enough for you to hear.
Between Heat’s warmth and Wire’s steady presence, you feel safer, steadier. Your fingers unclench, your breathing evens out, but the cold still lingers in a dull ache beneath your skin. “You shouldn’t deal with this alone,” Heat murmurs, placing a hand lightly on your cheek. His thumb brushes gently, warm and sure. “Next time, tell us.”
Wire’s hand slides to your waist, anchoring you silently. “We’ll keep you warm,” he says, voice low and calm, and somehow that steadiness is as comforting as Heat’s fire. You look up at both of them, heart racing. The snow falls around you in silence, but the warmth between you is undeniable.
Heat leans closer first, eyes flicking between yours and your lips. “You’re really cute when you’re freezing,” he teases softly, though his voice is gentle now. Then, slow and deliberate, Heat presses his lips to yours. Warmth blooms through you instantly, not just from the fire, but from the feeling itself. Wire leans in at the same time, pressing his lips to your temple, then brushing a kiss along your forehead.
You’re wrapped in both their warmth, the fire of Hear and the grounding steadiness of Wire, and it’s intoxicating. Your hands reach out, tangling with theirs, holding them close as if letting go would be impossible. Heat smiles against your lips, lips soft but teasing. “Better?” he murmurs, voice husky with quiet affection.
Wire’s calm gaze meets yours, thumb stroking along your side. “Much,” you whisper, finally able to relax completely. The three of you stand there, the snow falling around you, the cold pushed back by flames, hands, and steady hearts. For the first time all day, it doesn’t matter how freezing it is outside because here, between Heat and Wire, you feel completely warm.
⚙️Eustass Kid:
You crunch through the thick layer of snow under your boots, your teeth chattering behind your scarf. The wind bites at your cheeks and curls into your sleeves, slipping past the edges of your gloves. You hug yourself tighter, trying to keep warm, hoping Kid won’t notice how frozen you really are.
Beside you, Kid stomps through the snow, hands buried in his coat pockets, scowling like the weather personally offended him. “Oi,” he mutters, voice sharp, “keep up. This isn’t a stroll in the park. Move.”
You force a smile and nod, teeth clicking despite your efforts. Every step is a struggle. Your fingers are stiff, your toes numb, and every inch of you wishes you could just melt into warmth. You shuffle closer to him, hoping some of his heat will seep through.
Kid doesn’t say anything at first, but you feel his gaze on you hard, impatient, and somehow unsettlingly precise. You try to ignore it, pretending to look at the frozen docks, the snow-covered rooftops, anything but him. Don’t let him see, he doesn’t need to worry about me.
A particularly harsh gust sweeps through the port, and you stumble slightly. Kid snorts. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I… I’m fine,” you manage to mutter, wrapping your arms tighter.
His eyes narrow, sharp as ever, and before you can step away, he grabs your wrist. His grip is firm and warm, grounding you. “Stop pretending,” he growls. “You’re freezing. I’m not letting you suffer in silence.”
You want to argue, but the cold is unbearable. Your fingers feel like ice, your toes like frozen stones, and your teeth chatter uncontrollably. With a small, defeated sigh, you let him tug you toward a small teahouse.
The warmth hits you like a wave the moment you step inside. Steam curls from mugs on the counter, and the scent of tea and baked bread floods your senses. You exhale, letting the heat wash over your frozen limbs. Kid removes his coat and throws it over your shoulders without a word.
“Thanks… I didn’t want to bother you,” you admit softly, rubbing your hands on the warm mug of tea.
Kid snorts, his scowl still in place, though softer than before. “You could never bother me,” he mutters. “Keep freezing in front of me, and I’ll lose it. Don’t think I’m letting you tough it out alone.” You wrap the coat tighter around yourself and lean into him slightly, savoring the warmth, both from the coat and from his presence. Kid’s gaze flicks to your face, and for a moment, the harshness in his eyes softens.
Then, almost suddenly, he leans closer. His forehead brushes yours, and he mutters, “You’re ridiculous freezing like that while pretending you’re fine.” You can’t stop the small laugh that escapes, warm and breathy. Before you realize it, he tilts his head and presses his lips to yours, brief but firm, a kiss that carries both reassurance and a little gruff protectiveness. It’s not delicate, it’s Kid, but it’s undeniably his way of saying I care about you.
You freeze for a heartbeat, then melt into it, letting the warmth and the sudden closeness chase the last of the cold away. When he pulls back he mutters, “Damn… maybe you’ll survive winter after all, if I keep an eye on you.” You laugh again, warmth flooding your chest in more ways than one, and finally, truly, you feel safe. You don’t have to hide from him, you don’t have to pretend anymore. And Kid, for all his scowls and gruffness, is right there with you, making the cold a little less unbearable.
💙☠️Killer:
You crunch through the fresh layer of snow, your teeth chattering despite the thick scarf wrapped tightly around your neck. The cold seeps through your gloves and coat, gnawing at your fingers and toes, and you hug yourself tighter. You don’t want to admit how sensitive you are to the cold, not to him.
Beside you, Killer trudges along, hands stuffed deep in his coat pockets, his mask doing little to hide the faint tension in his posture. Killer was observant, it was had to do anything without him noticing. And right now, he notices you. You press your hands to your sides, shuffle closer to him, and try to appear fine. “I’m okay,” you murmur, your teeth clicking together.
Killer glances at you, and you could feel his gaze from under his helmet. There’s no judgment, only observation. He doesn’t comment immediately, but his stride slows slightly, matching yours. You feel the faint heat of his presence and hope it’s enough to stave off the chill.
A gust of wind sweeps through the docks, making your knees tremble involuntarily. You bite your lip, trying to hide it, but Killer’s hand brushes against yours, not exactly touching, but close enough that you feel it. He pauses and looks down at you. “You’re cold,” he says quietly, almost like a statement rather than a question.
“I… I’m fine,” you whisper, though the lie tastes bitter on your tongue. You press your arms around yourself, trying to contain the shivering.
His gaze sharpens, and he reaches out, gently grabbing your wrist. His hand is warm, firm, grounding. “No. You’re not fine. You’re freezing. We’re going inside,” he says, motioning toward a small café nearby.
You follow him inside, relief flooding through you as warmth hits your skin. The smell of coffee and hot chocolate fills your senses. Killer removes his coat and drapes it over your shoulders, and you feel almost embarrassed at the comfort it brings. “Thanks…” you mumble, holding the edges of the coat close. “I didn’t want to bother you.”
He shakes his head, expression hidden behind the mask, but his voice is soft. “You could never bother me.”
You wrap the coat tighter around yourself and sink into a chair, savoring the warmth. Killer sits across from you, hands wrapped around his own mug, watching quietly. There’s a calmness to him, a protective patience that makes your heart feel lighter. Finally, unable to resist, you reach over, brushing your fingers against his. He glances at you, then leans closer. His forehead presses lightly against yours. “You shouldn’t have to suffer quietly,” he murmurs.
And then, without another word, he lifts part of his helmet up slightly and leans in, pressing his lips to yours in a soft, lingering kiss. Gentle, understated, but filled with care. It’s Killer’s way of saying he notices, he cares, and he’s right there. You melt into the warmth of the kiss, the cold finally slipping away, replaced by the quiet comfort of being seen, being cared for, and being safe in his presence.
💙🔪Sanji:
The wind bites at your face as you struggle through the icy streets, teeth chattering behind your scarf. Your fingers feel like blocks of ice, your toes numb despite your boots, and every step is a small battle against the cold. You try to pretend you’re fine, tugging your coat tighter around yourself, shivering just slightly when you think he isn’t looking.
“Y/N…” a voice calls softly, but with just enough urgency to make you freeze. Sanji is strolling beside you, one hand buried in his coat pocket, the other brushing at his hair in his signature flustered style, eyes flicking between the street and your trembling form. “You’re shaking again,” he says, his tone both scolding and worried.
“I’m… okay,” you murmur, forcing a smile. “Really.”
Sanji doesn’t buy it. His eyes soften behind the tousled hair falling across his forehead. “Me amore,” he says firmly, slipping his arm around your shoulders. “You’re not okay. You’re freezing. Stop trying to act tough it’s dangerous.”
Before you can protest, he removes his coat and drapes it over your shoulders and warmth was immediate and comforting. You hug it close, cheeks flushed, not from the cold, but from the sudden intimacy of the gesture. “You need something warm inside too,” Sanji mutters, eyes already darting toward a nearby café. “Sit. Don’t move. I’ll get you hot tea and a little snack.”
Inside, the heat hits your frozen limbs, and the rich aroma of coffee and pastries fills the air. You watch, mesmerized, as Sanji fusses behind the counter like it’s second nature, as the workers are standing there bewildered by the chef. He’s already preparing something small, a steaming cup of cocoa with a dash of whipped cream, a warm croissant on a plate.
“Here,” he says, placing the items in front of you. “Drink this slowly, and don’t spill. You need it more than you know.”
You smile, sipping the cocoa, feeling the warmth seep into your chest. “Thanks… I didn’t want to bother you,” you whisper.
Sanji kneels slightly to meet your gaze, a small, tender smile playing on his lips. “You could never bother me. I worry about you… always.”
You glance at the clock and realize the ship isn’t far, but the walk back feels unbearable in the cold. Sanji notices immediately. “Come on,” he says, crouching slightly. “I’m carrying you. No arguments.”
Before you can even protest, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms. Your arms instinctively wrap around his neck as he strides back through the snow, the coat still draped around you, your cocoa clutched carefully in one hand. The warmth from him, the cocoa, and the coat creates a cocoon against the winter chill, and you can’t stop yourself from resting your head against his chest. “You’re warm now,” Sanji murmurs, voice low and almost shy, “and safe. That’s all that matters.”
You look up at him, blinking through the soft snowfall, and before you can think too much, he leans down, brushing his lips gently against yours. It’s quick, delicate, full of care and it leaves you both flushed in the cold air.
When he sets you down on the deck of the ship, you’re still wrapped in his coat, still holding the cocoa, still feeling the warmth of the kiss linger. “Don’t ever try to tough it out alone,” he mutters, a hint of a smirk under his serious concern. “Not when I’m around.” You laugh softly, hearts beating a little faster, and realize that maybe cold isn’t so unbearable when Sanji’s around.
🤍💨Smoker:
You crunch through the thin layer of snow on the docks, your boots slipping slightly on icy patches. Your fingers are numb inside your gloves, your scarf pulled up as high as you can manage. You hug yourself tighter, shivering despite your layers, praying Smoker doesn’t notice.
“Y/N,” a deep voice calls from behind you. You freeze, half-expecting a reprimand for walking too slowly. Smoker is there, standing tall in his long coat, cigarette smoke curling around him despite the wind. His expression is as sharp as ever, but his eyes flick to you really look at you. And immediately, you feel caught. “You’re freezing,” he states bluntly, his voice low, almost a growl.
“I’m fine,” you murmur, trying to shrug and ignore the shivers shaking your frame.
He doesn’t buy it. He steps closer, one hand gripping your arm firmly, just enough to stop you from moving away. “Don’t lie. You’re shivering,” he says, voice stern, but there’s a hint of concern hidden beneath it.
You bite your lip, unsure how to respond. You don’t want to be a burden, don’t want to slow him down. But the cold is relentless, gnawing at your bones, and even your careful efforts to stay warm aren’t enough.
Smoker narrows his eyes, then does something you didn’t expect, he removes his coat and drapes it over your shoulders. It’s heavy, but it immediately brings warmth, and you hug it close. His presence beside you, steady and strong, adds a comfort that the coat alone can’t provide. “You still look miserable,” he mutters, stepping back slightly. “We’re heading back to the ship. You’re coming with me. No arguments.”
Before you can even protest, he takes your hand and guides you toward the ship. His stride is long and steady, and you keep close, letting the coat and his warmth shield you from the biting wind. “Thanks,” you whisper softly, finally allowing yourself to relax.
He grunts in response. “Don’t thank me. Just don’t freeze to death before we get there.”
By the time you reach the deck, your fingers and toes are still tingling, but the warmth of the coat and the brief walk with him makes it manageable. He doesn’t let go of your arm until you’re safely on deck. Then, almost imperceptibly, he leans slightly closer, his cigarette extinguished for a moment as his eyes meet yours. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that alone,” he says quietly.
Before you can respond, his lips brush yours in a brief, rough kiss, but unmistakably caring. It’s Smoker’s way of showing concern without words, and it leaves you flushed, both from the cold and from the sudden closeness.
He steps back, expression settling into his usual scowl. “Now. Don’t make a habit of hiding how you feel. I notice everything,” he mutters, lighting another cigarette, the smoke curling around him like a protective shield. You smile, letting the warmth linger, and finally realize even someone as stern as Smoker can make the cold feel bearable.
Summary: A bounty poster forces you to face the undeniable bond between you, Heat, and Wire, a team inseparable in action and heart.
A/N: Shout out to @margarita-2023 for the ask, I have had a couple of ideas bouncing around in my head about these two and that helped motivate me to actually write them.
Also mentions of violence, injuries and death, but it is kept vague.
Masterlist
The first shot takes out the light above your head. You drop without thinking, glass exploding where you’d been standing a heartbeat earlier. Heat laughs as he launches himself forward, boots skidding through debris.
“Missed,” he calls, gleeful. You’re already moving. A crate tips as you slide behind it, coming up on one knee. Two targets. One reloads too slow. You take him down before he realizes it.
“Three on the catwalk,” Wire says, even-toned.
Heat’s gone before the sentence ends. You cover him. You pivot, catching the fourth enemy trying to flank, then snap your wrist and send a blade spinning upward. It forces the men above to scatter.
Heat hits the catwalk hard, metal screaming under his weight. “Showtime!”
Gunfire erupts. You step back without looking because you know Wire is there. A bullet sparks off the floor where your foot had been. Wire’s voice doesn’t rise. “Shift right.”
You do. A wire snaps tight across the space you’d occupied seconds ago. Heat whoops in approval from above. “Nice one!”
The fight fractures into noise and motion, smoke blooms, and someone screams. You lose track of time the way you always do, everything narrowing to instinct and rhythm.
A hand grabs your collar. You react instantly, twisting, blade flashing, only to stop short as Heat barrels into the man from the side, driving him into a stack of crates hard enough to splinter them.
Heat grins down at you. “Got you.”
You’re already moving past him. “Didn’t need it.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Wire fires twice, clean and precise. Two bodies drop. He steps forward just enough to put himself between you and the remaining shooters.
One gets a lucky angle. You see the muzzle flash. You don’t have time to shout. Heat takes the hit instead, shoulder jerking back with a hissed curse. You’re on the shooter before Heat finishes stumbling, blade at his throat, fishing him off.
“Clear,” Wire says.
Silence crashes down.
Heat flexes his shoulder, scowling. “Damn it.”
You’re at his side immediately. Wire is there too, hands already moving, assessing. “Not deep,” Wire says.
Heat waves him off. “Barely felt it.”
You press a hand to the wound anyway. Heat stills without comment, letting you. Wire keeps watch, eyes scanning the exits, body angled just enough to shield both of you.
Footsteps echo somewhere far off, retreating. Only when they fade does Wire relax. “Move,” he says.
Heat slings an arm around your shoulders as you walk, leaning on you for support. Wire falls into step on your other side, pace adjusted so the formation doesn’t break. Outside, the night air hits cold and clean. Heat finally drops his arm, rolling his shoulder and stretching like nothing happened.
Across the street, another newer member of the crew watches you with open curiosity. “Not gonna lie,” they say, tilting their head. “That coordination? That’s not just work.”
Heat snorts. “You see coordination. I see talent.” Wire doesn’t say anything. He’s already scanning the street, eyes flicking briefly to you before moving on. You shrug, giving a small nod, and start walking again. They fall in beside you without being told.
The Victoria Punk hums beneath your feet as you step back aboard, metal familiar and grounding after the chaos onshore. Heat drops onto a crate with a heavy exhale. “Man, I hate getting shot.”
“You love getting shot,” you say, already setting your gear down.
“Yeah, but I hate the part after.”
Wire’s there before Heat finishes talking, gloves pulled on, supplies laid out with practiced efficiency. He doesn’t tell you what to do. He never does. You kneel in front of Heat instead. “Sit still,” you say.
Heat grins. “Bossy.” He still does it.
You work carefully, focused. Heat goes quiet, watching you and Wire. One hand braces on his knee without thinking. Wire watches closely, passing you what you need the second you reach for it. Not once do you have to ask.
Heat hisses once, sharp, then exhales slowly. “Okay, yeah, didn’t love that part.”
“It’s out,” you say. “You’re fine.”
“Told you,” Heat mutters, but his shoulders ease anyway.
Wire steps in seamlessly, finishing the wrap, movements precise. His fingers brush yours briefly as he secures the bandage. “Your turn,” Wire says, already looking at the scrape along your arm.
“It’s nothing.”
“So was his,” Heat says, leaning forward now, suddenly invested. You sigh, but you let them. Heat’s touch is clumsy but gentle, Wire’s steady and exact. Somewhere in between, the sting fades.
Footsteps clang on the deck. “Oi,” Kid’s voice cuts in. “We miss something?”
You look up. Kid and Killer have just come back aboard, Killer’s head tilting slightly as he takes the scene in, Heat half-undressed and patched, you kneeling as Heat applies a bandage, Wire crouched close enough to touch both of you.
Kid squints. “Huh.”
Heat doesn’t even look embarrassed. “What?”
Kid gestures vaguely. “Nothing. Just, every time I leave you three alone, you’re like this.”
“Like what?” You ask.
Kid shrugs. “Like you’re gonna fuse into one person or something.”
Killer hums. “Efficient.”
Wire stands first. “We’re done.”
Heat snorts. “See? Professional.”
Kid stares at the three of you for a moment longer than necessary, jaw working like he wants to say something else. Then he turns away. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”
You go back to packing up supplies. Heat leans back, satisfied, already halfway to dozing. Wire steps away, returning to his usual distance, close enough to watch, far enough to pretend it means nothing. Everything settles. The ship hums as the moment passes. Nothing’s changed really and somehow, that’s what feels weird.
Dinner’s long gone, replaced by cards, scattered berries, and the low buzz of voices filling the common area. You’re halfway through a hand when someone groans. “You cheat.”
“I absolutely do not,” Heat says, grinning wide as he tosses his cards down. “I just win.”
Wire doesn’t look up from the table. “Statistically unlikely.”
Heat scoffs. “Traitor.”
You snort and reach for the deck. “Deal again.”
That’s when the door bangs open. One of the crew barrels in, waving a stack of papers overhead. “Oi, new bounties just dropped!”
That gets everyone’s attention. “About time,” Heat says, cracking his knuckles. “Mine better’ve gone up.”
The crew member flips through the stack, then pauses. Their eyebrows climb. “…Huh.” They hold up a poster.
It’s you. Or...well. Mostly you.
Your name’s bold at the top, bounty printed in thick black ink. The sketch is actually really good, could put that Cat Brugler of the Straw Hats to shame, catching you mid-motion. But flanking you, unmistakable even in rough lines, are Heat and Wire, positioned close, backs nearly touching yours.
Heat leans forward. “Wait. Why am I on yours?”
Wire’s eyes narrow slightly. “That’s not my poster.”
The crew member squints at the fine print and reads aloud. ‘Frequently sighted alongside Eustass Kid’s subordinates Heat and Wire. Suspected intimate affiliation. Consider targets inseparable.’
Silence.
Then...
“HA!” Heat barks, slapping the table. “Intimate affiliation? You hear that?”
Someone whistles. Another crew member laughs. “Damn. Guess that explains it.”
“Explains what?” You ask, still staring at the poster.
They gesture vaguely between the three of you. “Y’know. Whatever this is.”
Wire reaches out and takes the poster from them. He studies it longer than necessary. Heat cranes over his shoulder. “Hey, they made me look good.”
“They implied a relationship,” Wire says flatly.
Heat shrugs. “People imply stuff all the time.”
You finally glance at them, really look. Heat’s grin is still there, but it’s slower now, not the careless, loud one he usually wears. There’s a softness in the way he watches you, like he’s enjoying something he doesn’t usually admit. Wire hasn’t put the poster down. His eyes trace the lines of the sketch, lingering on you and Heat, but it’s not just curiosity, it’s attention, careful and deliberate, the kind that notices everything without saying a word.
For the first time, it hits you: it’s not just the poster implying something. The way they are, the way they move around each other and around you, it’s real, unspoken, and undeniable. Heat leans slightly closer than usual, his arm brushing against yours almost by accident. Wire’s quiet presence presses in from the other side, his shoulder nudging yours lightly as he folds the poster.
Your chest tightens, your pulse a little too fast. You can’t ignore it anymore. They aren’t just crewmates. They aren’t just friends. There’s something else there, something deeper, somehow you just never noticed. You swallow, trying to steady your racing thoughts. The cards on the table suddenly feel distant, the laughter of the crew a muffled background. All you can see is them, Heat and Wire, and the way they exist together, and with you.
Across the table, someone mutters, breaking you out of your thoughts. “Kinda makes sense.”
“Yeah,” another adds. “You three don’t exactly act like normal crewmates.”
Heat opens his mouth, ready to fire back, but pauses, his elbow brushing yours again as if subconsciously claiming the space beside you. Wire folds the poster neatly and sets it aside. Cards sit forgotten. No one laughs this time.
You reach for the deck again, forcing motion back into the room. “So,” you say lightly. “Same stakes?”
Heat exhales a laugh, a little too quick, and nudges your shoulder gently with his. “Yeah. Yeah, sure.”
Wire nods once, leaning just a fraction closer than usual as he reaches for the cards. “Deal.”
The game resumes. Conversation slowly follows. But the poster doesn’t leave the table. And every time you shift, you’re suddenly aware of how close they are, on either side, like always. Like it’s always been.
You shuffle the deck Wire hands to you, trying to steady your racing thoughts, but every movement reminds you; that Heat is leaning slightly toward you, and of Wire just on the other side, shoulders brushing yours now and then.
Heat deals the first hand, and his fingers graze yours as he passes a card across the table. You freeze for a fraction of a second, but he doesn’t notice, grinning, clearly enjoying the casual touch. Wire slides a card across next, not as deliberately, but it ends up brushing the edge of your palm anyway. His eyes flick up briefly, catching yours, but the moment is calm, unspoken.
Throughout the game, Heat leans back, arm draped casually over the back of your chair, more comfortable than usual, but not intrusive. Wire shifts slightly closer as he reaches for his drink, keeping a steady presence beside you.
You start to notice the little things, the way Heat subtly adjusts his position so he’s always just within reach, the way Wire’s quiet attentiveness makes sure your pile of cards doesn’t get jostled, the way they both somehow coordinate without a word.
The crew laughs and jokes around the table, but for a moment, all you notice is the rhythm the three of you have. Heat’s teasing, Wire’s careful steadiness, and your own reactions weaving between them. The “poster” moment lingers in the back of your mind, but now it makes sense. This isn’t just closeness; it’s a unit, a balance, a connection you hadn’t fully realized until now.
When you lay down a particularly good hand, Heat bumps your shoulder lightly in celebration, smirking, while Wire simply nods, subtle but approving. The gestures are small, casual, effortless and they mean more than words ever could.
By the time the round ends, the three of you are still leaning in toward one another, an unspoken understanding settling in. The game continues, laughter resumes, but somewhere in the back of your mind, you know: it’s always been like this.
The night winds down, the laughter fading, cards stacked neatly on the table. The crew drifts off to their bunks, one by one, until the Victoria Punk is quiet except for the soft creak of the ship and the occasional wave against the hull.
You grab your coat and climb the stairs toward the crow’s nest, needing a moment of solitude before the night watch. The wind is sharp at the top, bracing, but it clears your head. Stars stretch across the sky, the world below muted and peaceful.
A soft shuffle behind you makes you tense. “Thought you’d sneak off without saying good night?” Heat’s voice calls, half-teasing, half-curious. You turn to see him leaning casually against the ladder, a grin tugging at his lips.
Wire steps up behind him, quieter, eyes scanning the horizon briefly before settling on you. “It’s… safer if you don’t wander alone,” he says, calm, measured.
Heat chuckles. “Yeah, yeah, we’re your guardians tonight. No big deal. Just two dudes looking out for you.”
You roll your eyes. “I can handle myself, you two know that.”
Heat shrugs, still smiling, but there’s something different in his tone, almost lighter than his usual bravado. Then, as if reading your skepticism, Wire shifts slightly closer. His voice drops just enough, quiet but firm and precise. “You’re always in the middle of us. That’s not by chance.”
It’s not a confession. Not in the words you expect. But it lands harder than one ever could. The casual weight behind it, the simplicity of stating what’s always been true, hits somewhere deep.
Heat nudges your shoulder, grinning again, though softer now. “See? I told you we’re harmless tonight.”
You glance between them, the wind tugging at your hair, the stars above, and the quiet understanding between the three of you. The joking, the teasing, the protective presence; it’s all part of something unspoken, undeniable.
You let yourself lean slightly against Heat and Wire’s presses gently from the other side. The night stretches on, quiet, and for the first time, you feel the full weight of what’s been there all along, the three of you, always in sync, always together. And somewhere between the wind and the stars, you realize some truths don’t need words to be understood.
Summary: They claim that aren't that clingy with you, what they do says otherwise.
Masterlist / Part 1, Part 3
❤️🔥⛓️Heat & Wire:
You’re barely awake when Heat’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Hey. You busy?”
You look up to see Heat leaning over your bed while Wire stands just behind him, arms crossed. “You just woke me up.”
Heat grins. “Perfect. You’re free.”
“Free for what?”
Wire answers instead, calm and blunt. “Breakfast. Then maintenance. Then fix whatever Kid breaks next.”
Heat claps his hands. “See? Full schedule. Let’s go.”
You grumble a bit, wanting to go back to sleep. “Do I get a say?”
Heat grabs your hand, pulling you out of your bed. “You’re saying yes with your feet. Move ‘em. And get dressed.” He adds with a wink. “If you need help, we won’t mind.”
You chuck a pillow straight at his face. Wire hands you your clothes before you can say anything, and you shove both of them out so you can change. By the time you step back out, Heat’s arm is already around your shoulders, and Wire has taken up position on your other side. You’re sandwiched before you even realize it.
You’re soon helping Heat clean weapons while Wire works nearby, coiling up some rope. Every time you shift, one of them adjusts too, Heat scoots closer, Wire steps in just enough to block the open space.
“You two know you don’t both need to be right here,” you say.
Heat snorts. “What, and let you wander off?”
Wire nods once. “Unlikely.”
“That was not reassuring.”
Heat flashes a grin. “Relax. We’re just keeping you company.”
You glance around. “This feels more like surveillance.” Heat just grins and Wire shrugs.
Later you finally manage to sit down with a plate to finally eat something, and Heat immediately steals something off it. “Hey!”
“You weren’t gonna finish that.”
“Yes I was!”
Wire slides his own plate a little closer to yours. “Take some of mine.”
You blink. “…Why?”
“Balance,” he says simply.
Heat grins. “See? We take care of you.”
“You stole my food.”
“And replaced it,” Heat says, gesturing at Wire. “Team effort.”
You sigh. “You guys are clingy.”
Heat laughs. “Together?”
Wire tilts his head. “Is that a problem?”
You open your mouth. Close it. “I don’t know.”
They exchange a look. “Cool,” Heat says. “We’ll keep going then.”
You try to sneak away for some quiet time. You make it all of three steps. “Where you goin’?” Heat calls.
“…Nowhere.”
Wire is already beside you. “That’s vague.”
“I just wanted a minute.”
Heat drapes himself over a railing in front of you, blocking the path. “Minute with us counts.”
Wire steps in behind you close enough that you’re very aware of him. “…You planned this.”
Heat grins. “Maybe.”
Wire adds, “Yes.”
You’re sitting on the deck, leaning back, staring at the sky. Heat drops down beside you, stretching his legs out. Wire settles on your other side a moment later.
No one speaks. It’s comfortable.
Heat breaks the silence first. “You’re quieter when you sit with us.”
“…Am I?”
Wire nods. “You don’t fidget.”
Heat smirks. “Means you’re relaxed.”
You glance between them. “You’re both hovering.”
Heat shrugs. “We’re good at it.”
Wire adds, “You don’t ask us to leave.” You don’t have a response to that.
By sunset, you’re exhausted, sitting between them as the light turns the sea gold.
Heat leans back on his hands. “Long day.”
“Yeah,” you murmur. Wire’s shoulder brushes yours when he shifts. He doesn’t move away. “…You’ve both been around me all day,” you say.
Heat hums. “Yeah.”
Wire says, “Correct.”
“That’s clingy.”
Heat laughs. “We prefer ‘consistent.’”
Wire considers. “…Persistent.”
Heat nods. “Yeah. That one.”
You shake your head, smiling despite yourself. “You could at least pretend you’re not doing it on purpose.”
Heat slings an arm around your shoulders, resting it there while messing with your hair. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Wire leans a fraction closer, wrapping his arm around your waist. “We like knowing where you are.” The sun dips lower. Neither of them move and you don’t either.
♥️⚙️Eustass Kid:
You wake up hoping for a peaceful start, maybe a cup of tea on the deck. Instead, you find Kid leaning against the railing, smirking. “About time,” he says. “You’re coming with me.”
“…Coming with you where?”
“Helping me, obviously.” He gestures toward a pile of metal scraps and tools. “You’re going to hold things. Fetch things. Maybe even… learn a thing or two.”
“I can hold things,” you offer weakly.
“Good enough.” He smirks, handing you a heavy metal pipe. “Hold this. Don’t drop it. Moving on.”
By the time you’re halfway through the first task, you realize your “peaceful morning” is over. Every time you try to take a break, he appears behind you. “Where are you going?”
“Just...”
“Back to work. Move.”
“Yes, captain,” you mutter.
Kid’s projects have migrated to the Victora Punk’s deck. Sparks fly, tools clatter, and you’re crouched down holding a panel while he welds a complicated-looking mechanism.
“No, no. Doll it more like this.” He grabs your hands for a second, adjusts your grip, then lets go. “…Better. Don’t move.”
You glance up not even registering what he just called you. “I’m basically stuck here.”
“Exactly. Good.” His smirk widens. “…See? You’re useful.”
You finally sit down for a moment, expecting to eat in peace. Of course, Kid plops down beside you, arms crossed, leaning just enough to claim the space. “You should eat fast,” he says, nodding at your plate. “Can’t leave things half-done.”
“I’m eating,” you point out.
“And helping.” He smirks. “Multitasking.” Somehow, he manages to steal half your food while insisting you keep working. When you glare, he just shrugs. “Sharing is helping.”
By this point, you’re running errands all over the ship: fetching parts, holding equipment, and following him from one chaotic project to the next. Every time you drift toward a moment of peace, he appears. “Where are you going?”
“…Just grabbing a drink.”
“You can drink here. Or there. Or follow me.” He gestures toward another pile of metal and sparks. “Option three is preferred.”
“Option three again?”
“Obviously.” He smirks. “Helping me. You like helping me, don’t you?”
“…I… guess?”
“Good answer. Now move.”
By now, your muscles ache, and you finally sit on the deck, leaning against the railing. Kid plops down beside you, smirk still in place. Not exactly cuddling, but the proximity is deliberate. One arm drapes casually behind your back, as if claiming the spot. “You’re… clingy?”
Kid tilts his head. “I’m not clingy. You just happen to be useful. And convenient. And… okay, fine, I like having you here.”
“That’s clingy.”
“…I prefer ‘strategically attached.’” He leans slightly closer, wrapping his arm around you pulling you closers, eyes glinting with mischief. “See? Still not clingy.”
By the time the sun starts dipping, you’ve been trapped in Kid’s orbit all day. Every time you move, he’s there, assigning another task, watching, smirking. Even when you try to rest, he insists on supervising. “…Kid.”
“Relax. You’re good at this. Don’t mess it up.”
You can’t help but laugh. “I think I just got drafted into your personal maintaince crew.”
“Exactly,” he says, leaning back, arms crossed, smirk never leaving his face. “And you’re stuck.”
By the time the stars come out, you’ve stopped trying to escape. Somehow, being “stuck” with Kid all day, running errands, holding metal, dodging sparks, is kind of nice. Chaotic, loud, and a little infuriating, but nice.
You lean back, letting him smirk beside you in silence. “…Strategically attached,” you repeat quietly.
“…Exactly,” he says, smirk softening just slightly. “…And useful. Don’t forget useful.”
💙☠️Killer:
You step onto the deck, stretching and enjoying the sun, when you feel a presence beside you. “…Killer?”
He’s leaning against the railing, hands casually resting on the edge, eyes hidden behind his mask, but there’s no mistaking the way he subtly positions himself beside you. “Morning,” he says quietly.
“Morning,” you reply.
His tone is flat, but the way he angles his body keeps him close. “You shouldn’t overdo it in the sun.”
You raise an eyebrow. “…I just got out here.”
“Still, you should be careful.” His phrasing is careful, neutral, but there’s no denying the closeness.
Later, you wander toward the storage room for supplies. When you come out, carrying a small crate, Killer is there. Standing silently. Waiting. “Killer, did you just follow me?”
“I was nearby,” he corrects. “Crates can be heavy. I can help.”
You sigh and hand him half the load. He takes it without complaint, walking just slightly behind you. When you stumble over a loose plank, his hand brushes yours, enough to steady you, not quite holding you. “Thanks.”
“Of course, anytime.” His tone is flat, but the hint of amusement in his posture is there.
By now, the ship is buzzing with activity. You’re trying to take a small break on the deck, sitting with your back to the railing. Killer sits down beside you, careful to leave space, but close enough that you notice the subtle warmth of his presence. “Killer?”
“Yes?”
“You don’t move very far from me, do you?”
“I don’t move far.” Somehow the answer feels protective. “It’s safer this way.”
You grin, brushing a strand of hair from your face. “That’s clingy, you know.”
He tilts his head slightly. “No. Not clingy. Protective.”
When Kid and the others are running around, creating chaos, Killer is quietly nearby, always alert. When sparks fly from one of Kid’s experiments, he’s instantly by your side, crouching slightly to make sure you’re out of the way. “You’re everywhere today.”
“I am aware of your location,” he says calmly. “It helps me respond faster.”
“That’s still clingy.”
“It is not clingy. It is effective.” He gives a faint shrug, but his knee brushes yours briefly, almost accidental, almost deliberate.
By sunset, you sit on the deck, exhausted but content. Killer is right there, leaning against the railing beside you, legs stretched out, one hand resting lightly near yours. He doesn’t speak, but the quiet companionship is heavier than words.
“Killer.”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been… here all day.”
“I’m here.” Short, flat, matter-of-fact. “I do not leave.”
You can’t help but smile. “That’s clingy.”
He finally glances at you, eyes soft behind the mask. “It’s… necessary.”
And maybe it is. Being around Killer all day, quiet, protective, just a constant presence, is comforting. The kind of clingy that doesn’t demand, doesn’t smother, but still makes you feel undeniably safe. “Fine,” you murmur, leaning back slightly. “…I don’t mind, but scoot over here, you may as well be closer.”
There’s a brief pause. Just long enough that you wonder if you pushed too far. Then Killer shifts, shoulder brushing yours and his hand taking yours in his. For the rest of the evening, he stays nearby. Silent. Protective. Clingy in his own quiet way.
💛🫀Trafalgar Law:
It was one of those rare days when the ship was docked. You’re leaning against the railing, enjoying the gentle sway of the Polar Tang, when you feel a shadow fall across your side. “…Law?”
He’s standing there, arms crossed, expression unreadable, but his shoulder brushes yours. “Yes?”
“You’re… close.”
“I am merely ensuring your safety,” he says, voice flat. “It is windy.”
You glance at the railing and back at him. “I don’t need guarding.”
“Perhaps. But precaution is advisable.”
Later, you’re walking toward the deck to grab some supplies a couple of other crew members had brought back. Law is quietly following, hands in his pockets, stride matching yours perfectly. You glance over your shoulder. “…Are you following me?”
“I am maintaining proximity for tactical observation.” His eyes are serious, almost calculating. “You should not be out of my line of sight for extended periods.”
You sigh. “That’s clingy.”
He blinks at you once. “…I do not believe that word applies to me.”
By mid-morning, you sit on the deck with a cup of tea. Law comes and sits a few feet away, knees almost brushing yours, book in hand. He doesn’t speak, but every few moments, his gaze flicks toward you, scanning to make sure you’re comfortable.
When you stretch your arms, he shifts slightly, enough to keep your movements within his peripheral view. “Law?”
“Yes?”
“You’ve been… watching me.”
“I call it monitoring. Observation is different from… attachment.”
By noon, you’ve wandered toward the galley to help with lunch prep. Law appears at the entrance silently, standing back, arms crossed, observing as if guarding both the room and you. You glance at him. “You really are everywhere today.”
“I am present where necessary,” he says, tone neutral. “Including here.”
Later, when you take a short walk on the upper deck, Law appears beside you again, side by side, hands in pockets, calm as ever. He doesn’t speak unless necessary, but when you stop to watch a flock of seagulls, his shoulder nudges yours gently. Almost imperceptible, but deliberate. “…Law.”
“Yes?”
“You keep touching me.”
“Incidental contact.”
You laugh softly. “Incidental, sure.” You remark as you carefully take his hand in yours, giving a gentle squeeze.
By evening, the sun starts to dip, painting the deck gold. You sit to relax, leaning against the railing. Law sits beside you again, leg brushing yours, hand resting nearby—not quite touching, not exactly distant. Just… there. Constant. Calm. Protective.
“You know,” you murmur, letting your hand brush against his, “this is exactly what being clingy looks like.”
He glances down at your hand briefly, expression unreadable. “…I see no evidence to support that claim.”
You grin. “…Sure, Law.” After a while, you notice him subtly leaning closer as if the motion were unconscious. He doesn’t speak, doesn’t move, just sits, his presence steady and reassuring. “Law?” He finally looks at you, the faintest softness in his eyes. “You’re not going anywhere, right?”
“…Nope.”
A nod. “Good.” It’s silent after that. No dramatic gestures, no loud proclamations, just the quiet knowledge that he’s there. Always near. Always watching. Always yours, in his own careful way.
❤️🍖Monkey D. Luffy:
Luffy doesn’t say he isn’t clingy. He says, “What’s clingy?”
You pause mid-step. “You don’t know?”
He grins. “Nope!”
Usopp, sitting on the railing nearby, snickers. “It means you won’t leave them alone.”
Luffy blinks. Then looks at you. “Why would I want to leave them alone?” You open your mouth. Close it. Fair enough.
Later that day, you’re walking across the deck when something suddenly wraps around your arm. “HEY!” Luffy beams, hanging off you like this is normal. “Wanna see something cool?”
Before you can answer, he’s already dragging you toward the trees on the nearby island the Sunny’s docked at. Five minutes in, he crouches dramatically and points at a leaf. “LOOK.”
You lean in. “Is that… a beetle?”
“Yeah!” His eyes sparkle. “It can lift stuff heavier than you!”
“…Rude.”
He laughs and bumps into you, knocking you slightly off balance. His arm immediately hooks around your waist. “Careful!” he says, like he didn’t cause it.
From a distance, Nami squints. “Is he… attached to them?”
“He does that,” Robin says calmly.
When you try to wander off to explore on your own, Luffy follows without question. “You don’t have to come with me,” you tell him.
He tilts his head. “Why not?”
“…Because I’m just looking around.”
“Oh.” He thinks for a second. “I’ll look around too.” You stop walking and he stops walking. You turn around to look at him, and he just flashes you that bight grin of his.
Later, you sit on a rock to rest. Luffy immediately plops down beside you, no, on you would be more acurrate, head in your lap like he’s claimed the spot.
“You’re comfy,” he declares.
“You didn’t ask.”
“You didn’t say no.”
Usopp groans from somewhere behind you. “That’s not how that works!”
At dinner, Luffy sits so close your shoulders touch. He eats off your plate without asking. “That’s mine,” you say.
He pauses. “Oh.” Then pushes his plate toward you. “We can share.”
You laugh, shaking your head. “Luffy, do you know what clingy means now?”
He thinks hard. “…Is it when you like someone and wanna be with them and show them cool stuff and sit next to them and share meat?”
You stare. “That’s… basically it.”
“Oh.” He smiles, bright and unapologetic. “Then yeah! I guess I am!” He suddenly throws an arm around you and leans his full weight against your side.
“You’re my favorite person to be clingy with,” he says, like it’s nothing. The crew collectively pretends not to watch. Luffy hums happily, already pointing at something else. “Hey, wanna see another beetle?” He doesn’t wait for your answer.
Ok so first off, I just wanna say thank y'all so much for all the love, support, and genuine enjoyment you've given me <3 I love you all so much, like genuinely, y'all are cool ASF ❤️
Now then, announcement #1 - I'm gonna have a posting schedule for writing (yippieeee)
Right now, I plan to have the Devil Town series finished by the 3rd week of September (Wire's chapter will be posted Sunday), and Sea Maiden will have a new chapter every two weeks!
I'll also be writing a new mini fic for Halloween, but I'll post a poll for who as I've already done one for Heat :3
Announcement #2- my art style will be changing. Not necessarily drastically, but I'm working hard to develop my own style that's a good balance between realism, aesthetically pleasing, and anime.
Which leads to announcement #3 - I'm going to post a random interaction-mini-comic-thingy with my OC Wispy and other's OCs once a month! :3 If you would like me to include your OC lmk!
Lastly, announcement #4 - I may or may not be in the process of creating my own webtoon rn 👀 and I may or may not post the pilot for it after New Year's 👀👀
Themes: Heat x gn!reader, MDNI, NSFW, 18+, smut, foot fetish, feet kink, grinding against feet, hurt/comfort (injured reader), catching feelings, awkwardness, friends to lovers, no gendered terms used, Heat has the feet kink, sweet domesticity, flirty friends, porn with plot, awkward first kiss.
Notes: It is well past my birthday, but I am still working my way through the list. I love doing these so much, and Heat is one of my favourites.
Sitting with your head resting against the reclined deck chair aboard the Victoria Punk, you were enjoying the heat caressing your skin. Each ray decorated your pores with a warmth you had long-since neglected in your recovery. Although your wounds were healed, your body was still encumbered by the pain marked alongside the effort in defending your fire-breathing commander.
Although each member of your crew knew how to handle themselves in battle, you felt it in your gut to spring forth and protect Heat from an unforeseen attack. Swirling and kicking back against their motions, you were injured far more than you had anticipated in the recoil. This resulted in you feeling a little under the weather and out of sorts lately, with large bruising decorating your shins and knees as your trophy.
Docking at a town did not seem to claw your joy from you, but rather have you sink more into yourself in your recovery. Doctor’s orders had you needing more time on your back than anticipated.
Sunbathing with House, Emma, Boogie and Dive was always a highlight after a heavy battle. Being with those four, sometimes with Reck and Bubblegum joining you, was the routine you had all silently set in place to recover the ache in your muscles and creaks in your bones directly after combat concluded.
Unfortunately, your usual companions had all decided their time was better used inland on this particular occasion: drinking, frolicking, swimming, and partying. Considering the damage done to your muscles, and the burn in your joints as a reminder of your exertion, you decided to upkeep with the tradition alone. The rowdy crowd that you often surrounded yourself with was finally absent, and their voluminous ruckus was heavily missed in your solitude.
As you took another breath in, ballooning your lungs and feeling the burn in your recovering body, you heard a thud of boots and twinkle of chains rattling in your ears.
“This seat taken?”
Your smile automatically upticked in the corner of your lips at the question. The deep tenor of the fire-breathing commander was a welcome melody beside you, and you adored keeping such company.
“Commander,” you smirked with your tone, without opening your eyes while you lay comfortably in your bathing suit, soaking in the rays. “Didn't think anyone stayed behind. Thought you'd be out with the others enjoying the mayhem.”
“There's enough mayhem next to me in your sorry ass,” he chuckled down at you, plonking unceremoniously down onto an unoccupied deck chair. “How's your legs holdin’ up?” Reaching over, he gave your bare thigh a gentle clap before clamping his hand on your exposed skin. Your smirk bloomed into a smile, prompting you to reach down and press your palm over his knuckles and give his digits a small squeeze.
“They're alright. Bit bruised on the shins, but otherwise peachy-keen, jelly-bean,” you giggled, removing your hand from his and relacing your fingers against your belly in your recline. Taking in a deep breath, you both took a moment to enjoy the silence with one another before he spoke once more.
“You didn't have to, you know. Jumping in like that could've gotten you killed,” Heat gave your thigh another squeeze before unclamping his grip from your flesh, “Sure, you took ‘em out, but you shouldn't have done it. Now I owe you one.”
“Commander,” you scold him, finally opening your eyes and shooting him a playful glare, “Just because I took a hit meant for you, doesn't mean you owe me anything. You were occupied in using your swords instead of breathing fire, and I was free to heed the call of battle and take the damage for you.” You bobbed your head to solidify each word, enjoying making the taller man feel small with your gaze, “Besides, it was just my legs. I'll heal.”
Heat’s scarred lips curled up in a soft smile, his eyes falling to his hands and rolling an object within his digits. You snap your head to the side, attempting to spy what he was holding while he rotated it in his hands to shield it from you.
“What you got there, Heat?” you quipped, knowing he was waiting for you to acknowledge it. He slowly revealed the small jar and brush hidden in his fingertips. The shade was a deep burgundy, one you had known decorated the fingernails of your captain from time to time.
“Was gonna use the time to repaint my nails,” he admitted slyly. The small smirk in his tone had you chuckle at his confession, prompting him to spur on with his admission, “Always liked burgundy nails. Matches my colors. Swiped it from Cap’s office, he won't mind. Steals my hair shit all the time even though we've got different textures.”
“You do look nice with burgundy nails,” you admitted flirtatiously, feeling the burn in your muscles each time you adjusted yourself to the side. “I adore the color. Something about it feels really deep despite who wears it.” Taking in the shade, you cock lull head to the side and nod briefly down at the cubic jar in Heat’s hands, “And it does match your colors.”
“Thanks. I, uh…” Gently rotating the cubic ink within his fingers, he avoided your gaze while focussing on his next choice words. With a deep inhale, he hardened his resolve and drew his sunken eyes towards your own, “...Would you like me to paint yours for you?”
Gently chuckling at his words, you shook your head and peered down at your freshly manicured nails. Each of your ten fingers was carefully, not so professionally, painted and signed by the signature look of the youngest member of the pirates serving aboard the Victoria Punk.
“Sorry Commander, Dive did mine for me earlier. Would break her poor little heart to know you painted over her hard work,” you admitted with a soft smile donning your features, “You don't mind, do you?” It did not escape your notice the way his hands halted rolling the ink within his hands.
“Fair enough. Don’t wanna be the cause of the little tyke’s misery,” he admitted with a false smile you could see directly through. Heat was many things: a fire-breather, a dual-wielding swordsman, a commander, a former gang leader: but a liar was not amongst his many renowned titles.
His face always had an honesty to it, and you adored that in him. This honesty was what drew you to him the most. Each word was emphasized by a certain way only you knew how, and you truly admired him for it. Taking a moment to think about it, you peered down at your legs and halted on your feet. Giving your toes a quick wiggle, you turn back to him with a playful smile. Gently turning your eyes back to him, you offer him slyly.
“You could do my toenails, though?”
Heat takes a moment to pause, his teeth immediately darting out to pinch his lower lip and suck it into his mouth. His cheeks tinted with a rosy blush, and his eyes rounded out in a way only that had you giggling.
“Are you…?” he stuttered over his words, doing everything in his power to avoid his eyes falling to your feet, “Are you comfortable with that?”
“Why wouldn't I be?” you shrug your shoulders and purse your lips. Heat twitched in his step, meeting his eyes to your bare feet reclining on the deck chair. A small, shuddering sigh fled his lips, eyes fluttering as he shook off his stupor.
“I-...” Heat darts his eyes between yours, hoping you would understand without him having to admit it. Without finding any spark of recognition in your eyes, he sighs deeply before admitting to his secret. “...I… I have a thing for feet. I don't want to make you uncomfortable, but it's… uh… It's one of my things.”
Your smile dropped slightly at the edges as you watched Heat turn his eyes away from yours. Mentally kicking himself, Heat began thinking of all of the many outcomes involved in your silence: what cogs would begin turning in your brain, and with what judgement to follow. Just as his lips parted to apologise for his admission, you sat upright in your chair and moved to cup his scarred cheeks.
His eyes met with a playful smirk finding its way to swell with mischief over your lips. Your eyes darkened with curiosity, and a small amount of lust lingered in your gaze. Leaning forward further and gently thumbing over his scarred cheeks, you lull your head to the side and playfully scrunch your nose at your fire breathing commander.
“Thank you for letting me know, commander. I do enjoy your candor, you know that,” you whisper affectionately, “And I would be honored to share this color with you. Toes or otherwise, I'm down.”
“W-What?” he stuttered, taken aback at your admission before straightening his corset-laced vest and rolling the paint in his fingers. “I… You… You still want to do this? With me?”
“Of course I want to do this,” you roll your eyes, shaking your head and sitting a little more upright on the deck-recliner, “I think it would be nice to be pampered for a bit, especially if it means matching with you.” Scrunching your nose briefly at him, you finally lay back down and wince slightly at the movement with your injured body. Heat watches on, momentarily perplexed by what has just transpired, before shaking himself out of it.
“I... apologise for the person I’m about to become,” he whispered in a shaken exhale. Slowly rolling the vial of inky paint in his larger hands, he removed the cartridge topper and withdrew the paintbrush from the tip.
“Save your apologies for someone who wants to hear them, commander.” Your body relaxed back into your recline as you revealed your bare feet to him, “Did you want to do your own nails first, or do you want to play around with these first?” To emphasise your question, you gave your toes a small wiggle at him, immediately met with the first whisper of a breathy, “Fuck.”
Biting your lip to save face, you withheld your grin as the commander drew himself immediately down to your reclined chair and placed your calves over his lap. You could feel the energy vibrating off him in those tingly hands. The first little drop of burgundy hue seeped onto your big toe in a dollop of burgundy from the brush tucked in his fingertips. Heat took a moment's pause to stare at your feet, marvelling at the colour reflected against your skin before setting to work on your toes.
The careful precision he took was almost causing you to gawk at him. Sure, the fire breather was a man who took careful action while serving the ship, but this was almost delicate, sensitive, and in synchrony with your slow and heavy breathing. Your eyes began to glaze over as you gazed at your commander in a new light while his fingertips continued to work their magic against their canvas.
“You have beautiful arches,” Heat’s shaken whisper choked out, “And your toes are so much smaller than I thought they'd be. Almost dainty. Smallest little canvas just there for me.”
“You've thought about my toes before, commander?” You teased him as he focussed his attention on recoating your toes in a secondary layer of shine.
“I think about your feet all the time,” Heat admitted while cleaning up his painted line with his blunt fingertips along your cuticles, “Fuck, you're gorgeous. So smooth, so gentle, so delicate: regardless as to how you've been fighting lately, your feet are the softest I've ever seen or felt.” Heat ghosted his fingers along the frame of the top of your foot, causing your reflexes to kick in in the shape of a soft laugh.
Heat froze. His hands stopped their motion as he looked at your feet in his hands.
“Ticklish?”
“Very.”
“Fuck.”
That interaction alone has you laugh a little more, not so much at him, but the fact that something you had very little control over was the pinpoint of his obsession. They were your feet. Something just there for you. Something that you had taken for granted by their existence on your body, yet he was obsessing over them in the same way someone would marvel at breasts, pecs, asses, or other more explicit parts of a body.
Heat resumed his painting with sunken shoulders, silence in the place of conversation at every small swipe. You furrow your brows at him, yet watch on as he finally completes the secondary coat on your secondary foot. With tacky toes, you slowly sat up and cupped the taller man’s shoulder, drawing his attention towards you in a soft, leading tug.
“What happened, what's wrong?” You asked softly, reaching for his scarred chin and holding his attention with your own. Heat avoided your eyes before mumbling out a soft confession.
“I don't like bein’ laughed at. I know my thing aint all that common, but it's still not all that nice to be giggled at an’ shit.” You halted your touch, slowly thumbing over his bottom lip while gazing into his hollowed features. Heat attempted to pull away from you, only to find your grip a little stronger and more insistent than he assumed.
“I wasn't laughing at you, Heat,” you assert firmly, “My laughter was reactionary to the fact that I haven't done anything special with my feet, and you're out here complimenting them like they're worth their weight in gold. All the while being so careful, so kind, and so thoughtful while restraining your lust for this.” You softly raise your left foot to gently kick his left upper arm, “It's laughing in surprise, not laughing at you, I swear on my life.” Heat grumbled inaudibly at you while shifting your legs on top of his lap completely while placing the bottle of varnish on the ground.
“Don't move ‘em. They're still tacky and I don't want you to smudge the paint,” he nodded, returning his gaze to the sun glimmering over the soft, tussling waves in front of you both. With a smirk on your lips and a fire burning behind your eyes, you slowly moved that left foot once more, considering it was closest to his chest, and drew it up to his face.
“Then blow on them, commander,” you suggest as if it's the most regular occurring experience between a leader and a subordinate. Heat’s cheeks flushed with a dark radiation of warmth, his skin burning hot with a large shroud of lust.
Heat’s darkened eyes zeroed in on your toes, all the while he has been ignoring the shameful swell of desire puncturing his briefs beneath his flared pants. His cock was like a rod laid as the cornerstone foundation of the tent in his pants, waving its flag in surrender to desire long before you had raised your toes to his lips. Your commander couldn't meet your eyes, fully hypnotised by the fact his desire was presented up to his face so readily.
Raising both hands, he cupped your significantly smaller ankle with his larger hands, holding it as if it was the most delicate and precious thing he had ever been given, and slowly pursed his lips. With a small jet of air, Heat blew his warm breath over your toes, tingling your skin with a small amount of fire trickling out at the corners. You gasped, the sensation feeling somewhere between ticklish and intimate, knowing that your right heel was directly atop the erection he had been attempting to hide for the duration of the painting session.
“That's it, commander. Blow on my toes to dry them off,” you praised him, earning you a small whimper and a gentle rock of his hips against your right foot, “Be careful, or you'll smudge the other one. Can't have that now, can we?”
“No,” Heat whispered softly between waves of warm breath drying your toenails, “No w-we can't have that. Oh, fuck. O-Okay.” Heat softly whispered as he moved down his lips over your left foot in. As he drew them up to his lips, giving it a curing treatment with his warmed breath, you softly added a small amount of pressure with your foot against his clothed cock. Gently rolling it with your toes, you felt his cock spring and twitch out beneath your ministrations.
“Oh, sh-shit,” Heat gasped, still focussing on drying your toes while your other foot worked at his cock. His breath came out in heavy pants, all the while treating your toes so delicately with his slow, blown caresses.
“Check if it's dry for me, commander,” you ask him, your voice coming out more confident than you were truly feeling at this stage. With a squeaked curse, he gently released your ankle with his left hand and drew his index finger to your big toe. Giving it a soft touch, he whined out a soft confirmation that your nails were dry.
A grin spread over your lips as you halted the pressure of your foot on his cock and elevated it beside your other. Heat’s eyes gently met yours as nothing but a shuddering question lingered in his glassy eyes.
“This one too, Heat. Don't want unequal treatment now, do we?” you ask with confidence in your eyes. Heat gasped out in shock, slowly and gently placing your left foot on his lap, careful to avoid the bruising while cupping your right ankle to his chin. Pursing his lips, he let out a stream of breath framed in unintentional flames that warmed your skin. You maintained the contact of your foot over his clothed cock, feeling with your toes the damp patch of precum swelling from beneath the many canvases of his maroon pants.
“O-Oh, shit,” Heat whimpered while focussing his attention back on your toes. He held your foot as if it was made of fragile glass, doting on your skin, bone, and muscle with his hands while his lips continued to relay your praises. “So beautiful,” he groaned, “So soft,” he praised out softly, “So delicate.”
“Test if the varnish is dried, commander,” you encouraged him, “Go on, Heat. Can you test if it's all dried for me?”
“I-I can do that,” Heat whimpered as he slowly continued rolling your heel and ball of your left foot against his cock. You felt every near ridge of his tip, his shaft, and his balls pressing against his hemline. He slowly released your foot with one of his hands, and raised his palm to the ball of your foot to hold it delicately, “Just g-give me a-.”
“-Use your lips,” you moaned out softly, almost ashamed at how much your commander was using you like this was turning you on. Your whole body was alight with arousal, causing you to continue your boldness, “If there's no burgundy stain on your lips when you kiss them, you're free to continue doing what you want to them.”
“A-And if there is?” Heat whispered, already blindly elevating your toes to his lips, “W-What then?” The commander parted his lips, gently raising your toes to his bottom lip and almost grazing the polished digit to his skin. He moved his hollowed gaze to meet your own eyes, sunken eyes darting between yours as if you were about to drop the curtain on his desires at any moment. Instead, all that you offered him was a single notion.
“Then your kiss will be perfectly cast on my toes in memory of us here with one another. Put your lips on my toes now, commander.”
“Fuck-!” The gruff whisper blew against your toe as his lips finally found their perch over your nail. Heat’s eyes almost roll back, the motion of your other foot rolling and rutting against the fabric of his pants only having his whisper come out in more desperate huffs. “Oh, fuck. Please?” He kissed the top of your toenail, checking to see if the pattern of his scarred lips remained behind, “The-there's no mark. You're all done. I-... I can s-stop if you-... Fuck, no I can't. I can't, I'm sorry.”
At those apologies, Heat immediately set to work worshiping each of your toes with kisses ranging in intensity. Delicate and soft kisses to your littlest toes, to heavy, open-mouthed kisses against your big toe. You fought the urge to kick in reaction to the ticklish nature of the position he was kissing. The urge all but fled your mind as he took your big toe in his mouth and rolled his tongue over the digit. Although not having the heavy kink for feet as he did at this moment, you could not disregard how the warmth of his lips felt against your toes.
Your belly knit itself in thick knots, curdling your stomach in the tingles of pleasure without anything erogenous truly being caressed. The foot on his cock increased its intensity, causing his chest to rumble with a moan that oozed out of his occupied lips like thick honey and the burn of whiskey.
“I-I'm-,” Heat’s muffled lips confessed hurriedly against your toes, “Oh, fuck, I'm gonna cum!” Heat’s soul felt as if it reached the choirs of angels, feeling his rapture thrust to kneel at your feet. Your body was his altar, and he was a zealot to your divinity - all while rutting helplessly against the barrier of his clothes containing his cock from kissing your foot.
“Cum for me, commander,” you urged him on, “Suck on my toes and cum for me. Don't you dare stop.” He hastily dropped one of his hands from the foot in his lips down to the foot in his lap, slowly increasing the pace and intensity of the drag on his lap while he cried out desperately for more. You used your initiative while he was distracted to press down against his tongue with the pad of your toe, feeling the texture of his warm, slippery muscle against your skin.
"Hhah, f-fuck, s-shit-!" Heat immediately began to groan more desperately into your foot, all the while you felt the dampness grow more dominant against his pants. Thick ropes of pearlescent cum shot out of his tip to paint the inner creases of both his briefs and his pants. His soft gasps were entwined with heady whimpers from his diaphragm, almost as melodic and soft as his thick praise whispered into your skin.
Feeling the final few spurts of his euphoria leave his body and pool down his shaft to gather in his seat, Heat released your toes from his lips with a soft ‘pop’. A rosy blush flooded his cheeks and his eyes refused to meet with yours, instead focussing on the foot in his lap above the mess he made of himself.
“I…” Heat began, gulping softly at his words, not truly being able to make their mark. Stumbling over his thoughts, he was truly lost in the thick fog of the words he wanted to say, all the while avoiding your eyes. Refusing to watch him flounder further, you moved to collect his cheeks with your smaller hands and turn him to face you.
“...You like feet,” you nodded at him with a warm smile drawing over your lips, “And that's okay. You're allowed to like feet.” You moved your fingers to caress his blue hair from shrouding his scarred face, “Doesn’t make me care for you or respect you any less, commander. What would, however,” you moved your hands to gently thumb over his scarred bottom lip, “Is if you wouldn't let me paint your fingernails to match with my feet.”
Heat chuckled at that before his eyes went wide while searching in a panic for the burgundy nail varnish. He let out a sigh in relief as his eyes found the vial undisturbed on the floor where he placed it. Slowly reaching for the vial, he paused as he cringed at the feeling of sticky dampness forming in his pants and coating his balls in his release.
“You, uh… You reckon I can go change first?” Heat’s voice was sheepish, as was his guilty expression. You laughed softly, reaching for the paint in his hands and moving your legs off his lap to free his mobility. Heat joined you with his own laughter, more muffled in a warm chuckle as he rose to stand. “You want anything while I'm up?” He adjusted his corset, watching in puzzlement as your eyes moved to his clothed cock. You could almost see the thick coating of his cum painting his lap, causing you to bite your lip and your arousal growing more urgent beneath your own hemlines.
“I… uh…” you tried to form a cohesive thought, but your mind was immediately thrown back to those few moments prior when you made your commander cum in his pants by just your feet alone. Your belly tightened, brows knitting together as a small gasp moved from your chest to the air with an ease you almost felt ashamed of.
Heat looked from your face, to his pants, back to your face again as your glazed eyes were fixed on his cock.
“...You've got a thing for domming, or a thing for cumming in pants, don't you?”
“I don't know what ‘thing’ I have,” you admitted, shaking yourself out of it before peering up at his face, “But you cumming in your pants without ever touching my bare foot to your cock was really nice.” Shrugging you slowly readjusted yourself back to your comfortable recline, now feeling your arousal begin to warm and bloom in your belly further, “I'll be waiting right here for you to come back, though. I want to match with you.”
“I'll be back,” Heat shook his head with a smile, “And then we can work out what ‘thing’ you have together, alright?”
“If you say so, commander.”
Just as Heat moved to make way towards his quarters, he paused in his movements and froze in place. You lulled your head curiously to the side, furrowing your brows as you watched him have an internal argument with himself. Turning back on his heel, Heat stop-starts with every shifting movement he makes. Slowly stooping to meet his face with yours, Heat continued to argue with every motion, uncertainty darting in every waking breath.
You refused to say, do, or act in any way, shape, or form; wanting to know exactly what your commander was doing and letting him continue to argue with himself internally. His lips slowly puckered into a heart shape, his eyes darting around your face for a placement of appropriate impact. Your internal giddiness only rose, trying to keep your face vacant in order to not give yourself away. To refuse to prolong his own suffering any little longer, Heat opted to place a small kiss somewhere between your cheek and the smallest corner of your lips. His larger mouth found its place in that small point for a moment as he rested his lips against the smallest corner of your own.
Heat pulled away, his face almost glowing with embarrassment as his eyes remained somewhere between astounded and appalled at himself. You continued to hold your own expression neutral, but internally screaming at the small hint of affection shared between the both of you away from the curtain of heavy lust.
“I, uh… I…” Heat gulped back his shame, rapidly blinking as he took you in, “...I'll go change my pants, and I'll… See you in a bit.”
With every step towards his quarters, Heat was reminded by the crude squelching in his pants that he was less awkward in sucking your toes and cumming in his pants than actually going in for a real kiss. And one that he missed. The firebreather chastised his actions by harshly changing out of his soiled garments, roughly cleaning up his mess with a rag, and tugging on his pajamas with added emphasis. As he caught his reflection in his mirror, he mouthed at himself, “Heat, what in the hells is wrong with you? You fuckin’ idiot.”
As you laid back and awaited the return of your blue-haired commander, you continued to scream at yourself and reactionarily laughed at the ridiculousness that transpired moments prior.
With the sun dancing on your skin, and heart teetering in your chest, your eyes finally met with Heat's as he withdrew from below decks in his loose-fitting pajamas. He gave you a lopsided smile, one that warmed your heart and caused you to swoon. This was going to be an afternoon to remember.
You couldn't wait to paint Heat's nails, and enjoy the rest of your silent time exclusively with one another.
Warnings: Brief mentions of child loss and grief (nobody actually dies), Gore, violence, slight stalking but like in a nice way, smut scened in chapter 2, reader's gender and genetals are not described.
Phew! Just barely made it in time for New Year's Eve! Enjoy! (If there's egregious typos oops. I'm so tired.)
For months now, you had your eyes on the blue-haired commander. Sure, most people thought the captain or his first mate were the most handsome, and that may be true, but Heat was the sweetest. And you were downright afraid of Wire, so count him out of the running.
Ever since you had been brought on board, Heat was kind to you. You were treated like any rookie, and given the worst jobs. On occasion, Heat would drop by and ask how things were going. When you were finally promoted to full crew member, Heat was the first to congratulate you. It seemed like whenever the crew was split into groups, you were always in his. Maybe it was a coincidence, though you had thought you had seen him staring at you from the corner of your eye several times.
Today was no different, you had been sent along with Heat and a few others into port to restock on things for the next voyage. The new year was also a few days away and there were a few things the captain had requested for a party. You were given the task of finding a few of the items and had found everything but the last one. None of the shops had a "Maritime Cascade Sector Douser" and every shopkeep had given you the same clueless stare when you had inquired about it. You were so frustrated you were about to cry. It was going to look so badly that you couldn't even do a rookie-level job. Heat was going to think you were a total loser. You didn't want to disappoint him, or your captain.
You were already late meeting up with the crew, so you hurried back, easily locating the group of rough-looking punks that were your crew. They sort of stuck out in town squares of normal villages.
"Took you long enough." Heat nodded to your bags. "Did you get everything?"
"Uhh." Your eyes flicked to the ground. "Not everything..." You had to look at the list again to get the name right. "I couldn't find the Maritime Cascade Sector Douser."
"What the fuck?"
"Sorry! I went into every shop and asked for it but no one knew what I was talking about!"
"No, no I didn't mean you, Y/N." Heat pinched the bridge of his nose. "Kid always puts some made up shit on these lists because he thinks it's hilarious. Usually I go through and cross them out. Must have missed this one though." Heat added, "Hope you weren't stressed about it."
When you returned to the ship, Heat offered to take the bags you were carrying. A short while later, Heat turned back up with one of the bags. You stared at it for a while before remembering you had done some personal shopping while you were out as well, some very personal shopping. Heat's face was red and he wouldn't look you in the eye.
"You- you forgot something I think." Heat practically threw the bag at you and ran away.
You had been so worried about not being able to find the last thing on the list, that you had completely forgotten about your own bags. You wondered how much Heat had seen. Did it really matter? Everything in that bag was lace or leather. You didn't have anyone to wear it for, yet. That didn't mean you couldn't wear it for yourself in the meantime. If you felt sexy, maybe you would be more confident. And you needed confidence to finally make a move.
On New Year's Eve, when the clock struck midnight, you were supposed to kiss someone to ring in the new year, and you were going to make sure that someone was Heat.
Heat could feel the dread setting in. He hated this time of year, and the closer it got to New Year's Eve, the more he withdrew. He used to celebrate. He loved anything explosive, and fireworks were no exception. Heat used to have a whole fireworks show planned out for the ship. Every year, he became more and more aware of the fact that everyone was getting a kiss but him. And every year, he stayed around the party for less and less time, until he stopped showing his face entirely.
This time of year made him increasingly self-conscious. Heat hated his scars. Most of the time he could ignore them. When everyone around him was enjoying the company of their partner, he was by himself. Who would want to kiss scarred lips? Who would want to kiss someone like him?
This year, he dared to think about coming to the party. Ever since you had joined the crew, there was something about you that reeled Heat in. You always smiled so warmly at him when he checked up on you, which is why he checked up on you a little more often than the other new members. He had an addiction to your smile. Even if it wasn't true, he liked to think you reserved that especially warm smile for him. Maybe he imagined it, but your face only lit up for him, no one else.
This year, he thought that if he came to the party, he might finally have someone to kiss, someone that wanted his kiss. That thought was dashed from his mind when he had dumped out the shopping bags from earlier. One of your personal bags had been forgotten and out spilled some rather scanty unmentionables. His heart clenched in his chest. You had someone. Why else would you buy a bunch of new underwear, and very sexy underwear at that? He quickly shoved everything back in the bag before he could think of what you might look like in them. It felt wrong.
Yet another year he would spend in his room it seemed.
The entire night you waited. You had put in effort to look your best. A few of the crew even complimented you, but it fell on deaf ears. You only wanted to hear it from one person. You wove through the mostly drunk crew looking for Heat. At first you thought he was late, but the longer the night wore on, the more it was apparent he wasn't coming. A steady stream of booze kept you company instead. You nursed a drink, sitting alone out of the way.
"Disappointed?" Wire spoke from next to you, seeming to have materialized from thin air.
"I don't know what you mean."
"You were looking for someone."
"It's fine."
"He doesn't like New Year's Eve. The whole New Year's kiss thing." Wire seemed to hesitate. "Don't tell him I said anything, but he's self-conscious of his scars."
"I don't care about that," you said softly.
"He's in his room." Wire nodded in the direction of the cabins. "If you wanted to find him before midnight."
"I don't know." You swirled your glass. "Would that be weird?"
"I promise you, it would be welcome."
You held Wire's gaze for a few seconds before nodding. You tossed the rest of your drink back and mustered the courage to go knock on Heat's door. You walked there slowly, trying to think of something to say. Before you knew it, you were standing outside his door. And before you knew it, your hand seemed to knock of its own accord.
Even though you were the one who knocked, you were equally as surprised as Heat was when he answered the door. He clearly wasn't expecting anyone. He was only wearing sleep pants. You didn't want to meet his eyes anyway, but the happy trail staring you directly in the face made it near impossible to tear your eyes away.
"Y/N?" Heat seemed groggy, like he might have been sleeping.
"Hi."
"Do you need something?"
"No. I mean yeah. I mean..." You stumbled over your words. "I wanted you- wanted to talk to you."
Heat blinked sleepily before stepping aside. You realized he was inviting you in. Was it okay? To be in your superior's room like this? You stood awkwardly in the middle of the room, looking around superficially. You didn't want to be too nosy.
"Is something wrong?" Heat was concerned.
"Not exactly." You fidgeted with you hands. "Can I speak freely?"
Heat nodded, unsure of where this was going.
"I- I was looking forward to tonight. I waited all night and then you weren't there and Wire said you didn't like New Year's Eve and I've had too much to drink-."
You were cut short by the sound of fireworks. Blues and reds and yellows flashed across Heat's face. It was already midnight. It was too late. You failed to get your point across.
"Fuck!" You yelled, frustrated.
You panicked and grabbed Heat's face, pulling him down to you and kissing him. Maybe it wasn't such a good idea to come here after drinking. You abruptly stopped, realizing what you had done.
"Sorry! Sorry! I just really like you and I wanted to kiss you tonight!" You rambled. "You can forget I was here. You can forget this happened. Sorry!"
You turned to make a speedy exit, but found Heat anchoring you in place with his hands on your shoulders.
"What if I don't want to forget?" Heat bent down, saying more softly, "What if I wanted that, too?"
You closed the gap between you again, planting your lips against his. He reciprocated, moving his lips against yours. His hands gently held your face, his fingers a whisper against your skin, like he was afraid if he touched you and made it real, the whole thing would disappear in a dream. You felt him freeze under your touch as you brushed your fingers against the scars on his cheek. Contrary to his belief that you would be disgusted, you actually liked the texture of his skin. You wanted to rub your thumb over his cheek all night, to show him the affection he deserved.
When you finally parted, you held each other, gently swaying. It was entirely possible you were the only one swaying, with the amount you had to drink. You kissed a few more times, unwilling to leave his embrace, nearly falling asleep in his arms.
