Welcome, welcome!! I'm wicked excited to present my very first ever Kinktober! ♡ Every day over the course of October I'll be posting a smutty x Fem!Reader ficlet with one of the OP men above! I hope you'll enjoy what I have cooked up for this coming month ♡
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!
✦ 18+ MDNI ✦ Read On AO3
₊˚ ‿︵‿︵‿︵୨୧ · · ♡ · · ୨୧‿︵‿︵‿︵ ˚₊
10/1 · · Loss of Virginity ♡ Charlotte Katakuri
10/2 · · Leash & Collar ♡ Sir Crocodile
10/3 · · Wax Play ♡ Dracule Mihawk
10/4 · · Spanking ♡ Jinbe
10/5 · · Deepthroating ♡ King
10/6 · · Birthday Sex + Lingerie ♡ Trafalgar Law
10/7 · · Breeding Kink ♡ Charlotte Katakuri
10/8 · · Anal (F!Receiving) ♡ Sir Crocodile
10/9 · · Biting/Marking ♡ Dracule Mihawk
10/10 · · Eating Out ♡ Jinbe
10/11 · · Breathplay ♡ King
10/12 · · Bondage ♡ Trafalgar Law
10/13 · · 69 ♡ Charlotte Katakuri
10/14 · · Facial ♡ Sir Crocodile
10/15 · · Sex In The Bath ♡ Dracule Mihawk
10/16 · · Cockwarming ♡ Jinbe
10/17 · · Thigh Riding + Leather ♡ King
10/18 · · Titfucking ♡ Trafalgar Law
10/19 · · Thighfucking + Thigh High Socks ♡ Charlotte Katakuri
10/20 · · Hate Sex ♡ Sir Crocodile
10/21 · · Knifeplay ♡ Dracule Mihawk
10/22 · · Under The Table + Fingering ♡ Jinbe
10/23 · · Caught Masturbating ♡ King
10/24 · · Sex In A Closet/Cramped Space + Don't Get Caught ♡ Trafalgar Law
10/25 · · Costume (Reader In A Bunny Suit) ♡ Charlotte Katakuri
10/26 · · Sex Toy Control + Orgasm Denial ♡ Sir Crocodile
10/27 · · Hunt/Chase + Sex In The Woods ♡ Dracule Mihawk
10/28 · · Sex In The Ocean + Reader In A Bikini ♡ Jinbe
10/29 · · Size Kink + Belly Bulge ♡ King
10/30 · · Cam Girl ♡ Trafalgar Law
10/31 · · Spit Roasting + Double Penetration ♡ Charlotte Katakuri & King
Featured characters: //Secondary Set// Ben Beckman - Reiju Vinsmoke - Thatch - X Drake - Perona - Brook - Jinbe - Viola of Dressrossa - Silvers Rayleigh - Koby - Fujitora Issho (blind admiral) - Madam Shyarly - Kuma - Okiku of Wano - Hongo (Dr of Red Haired Pirates) - Kyros of Dressrossa x gn reader
Description: Improper use of Devil Fruit powers, Haki, and other tools~
Rating: 18+
Word count: 1600 / ~150 per character
WARNINGS: | gender neutral reader | all the sex, just all of it | object play/insertion | bondage | human-beast forms | power imbalance | temperature and other element play | knife play | semi public | size kink | pervy shit | bdsm |
//Primary Set// //Villain Set//
Benn Beckman
Someone as suave as him has definitely tried most everything. With Benn? Probably twice. Nothing surprises him, nothing scares him. Anything you want to try with him, he’ll smirk and ask if you’re sure. If you remember your safe word. But this half drunken request? This got a raised brow. Yet, he had you strip and lay back on the bed. He made you watch as he cleaned his gun, rubbing the rifle slow and teasingly as he stared at you. When he was satisfied, he stood, bringing it with him onto the bed and setting the end between your legs. He manhandled your thigh in one hand, twisting and lifting you until the smooth wood and metal touched your most sensitive place. He easily moved both you and the gun to stimulate you, slowly at first. Then he made you cum on it. Dizzy with the forbidden and fucked up nature of it all, you were putty in his hands when he climbed onto you to have his turn.
Reiju Vinsmoke
The poison princess doesn’t have the easiest home life, so you are her lifeline, her hope. For as much as strength and invulnerability is something she strives for - to project anyway - in bed she often wants things softer, sweeter, comforting. On the days she’s wanting more though? She’ll drain your soul with her eagerness. Sometimes she needs to be dominant and take control, to test your trust and release her pent up emotions. If you want to be rough with her? Go ahead, her body can take literally anything you throw at her. On particularly raunchy nights, maybe she’ll tease about bringing in a few Germa soldiers to liven things up. Careful not to joke too much, they may be clone soldiers, but as it’s seen with the Vinsmokes, they’re men after all - lust can’t fully be removed from their dna.
Thatch
He loves cooking, and he loves you. And he loves spoiling you with your favourite foods. He makes sure you eat enough to keep up with your training and work on the crew, often insisting on seconds or dessert. And as you gain, muscle or weight or both, he’s even more obsessed with you. He has to hide his hard on when he sees your shirt ride up a bit to give a glimpse of your belly. In bed, he’s insatiable with your body, kissing and holding you endlessly as you fuck. And having the key to the pantry comes with other benefits, such as taking a bit of chocolate to melt on your chest, or syrup to lick off your skin. If you call him out on his fetishes and kinks, he’ll just fuck you until you can’t walk in punishment, smirking about how you love him anyway. He’ll fill your belly with good food and then with him. Quit complaining, okay~
X Drake
He’s a simp and a simple man. Everything you do is so precious and alluring. It drives his instincts wild - protection, affection, possession. He’s terrified to use his Zoan fruit with you, of course he’d hate himself if you got so much as a scratch. But if you insist? How the hell is he supposed to resist you begging for his dick? He sets strict rules, has an emergency kit on standby. Meanwhile, his care is just making you love him more - and amping up the anticipation. He starts with his half Zoan form, carefully having prepped you before pushing inside with this thicker cock. It’s nirvana for both of you. When he finally is persuaded to go full zoan and let you play with his enormous dick? Best have a shower ready and no plans for tomorrow - watching your little human body all over his cock like that, trying to take just the tip inside? He’ll turn back into his human size just to fuck you senseless.
Perona
Your rose haired lover is pushy, demanding, even manipulative when she wants something. Never more than when she wants you. She’s impatient, and has been known to use her negative hollow ghosts to utterly distract you from your work. She drags you back to your room and into bed, comforting you with her naked chest until you feel better. Her moods are unpredictable as to what she prefers - ordering you around and making you do all the work, making you lay back and take whatever she wants to get from you, or being the ultimate brat when you take the lead. If you’re a pushover, she won’t let you leave the bed until you’re both utterly exhausted (before demanding you go get some food from the kitchen, naturally.) But if you hold firm, she’ll definitely use such dirty tricks on you more often to get her way. Her ghosts are always ready to be released, after all.
Brook
Your boyfriend is a freak. He’s nasty and pervy and kinky and you know this. Once he finally gives in to the fact that he loves you, that you most definitely love him, and that you know how to make sex work? He’s insatiable, wanting to try everything. Every possible position, every kink, every fantasy. He’ll play a cheerful song for the crew and then come over and whisper to you, asking whether you’ve thought about the latest crazy thing he wants to try in the bedroom. Using his fingers inside you is unlike anything else, feeling every ridge and knob of his bones. Finding odd attachments for the strap (the tentacle one is still his favourite). He’s up to finding inappropriate uses for just about anything if he gets to watch your body using it. And finding inappropriate uses for his own body? Nothing beats it.
Jinbe
Having a human for a lover has always made him a little nervous. You’re just so small. Kissing is a careful thing with his tusks, his hugs are measured, laying beside one another is only for when he’s awake just in case he were to crush you. He keeps you on his chest and belly, making a nest of blankets on either side of him to keep you both comfortable. But secretly, he is obsessed with the size difference. Everything about him is big, including his cock. It’s worrisome thinking about hurting you, but damn if it isn’t the sexiest thing he’s ever seen to watch you struggle and finally manage to take him inside. The mess is considerable when he finishes, but he’s always happy to take care of you after. He loves holding any part of your body, so small and soft and warm, all for him, his brave and wonderful little human lover.
Viola of Dressrossa
You are her favourite lifeline. Her joy comes to revolve around you, on her mind all hours of day and night. And once, she was tempted to use her devil fruit to see where you were. Of course she worries. And she missed you. Seeing you going about your day was more fulfilling than she’d expected though, and she started peeking in more and more often. But never when you were home alone. She respected your privacy of course. Until… a particularly lonely evening. She burned with shame and arousal as she watched you… taking care of yourself. The next time she saw you, she mentioned something about your pajamas. Something she shouldn’t have known - they were new. Dying of embarrassment, you assured her it was flattering that she needed to see you so badly, and that she’d stay to watch the show. You make her promise to look in now and then - you’ll put on a show just for her on the nights you have to be apart.
Silvers Rayleigh
As his lover, of course he’ll train you. You need to be able to protect yourself when he’s not around, after all. And as serious as he takes your training, he’s also an unrepentant pervert and hornball. At least once per session, he’ll tease you. Holding his blade to your throat when you’re on your back, wandering hands as he adjusts your stance, offering prizes or punishment based on your success in doing as he says. When you’re too exhausted afterwards, he’ll help you wash up and reward you sweetly. But when you’re up for more? Of course haki resistance is just as important as wielding it, so he’ll use his incredible strength with it to overwhelm you. In something parallel to primal play, he’ll try to overwhelm you, fucking you in punishment if you fail. He can essentially pin you down by manipulating your own haki on top of it all. You end up with world class skills in haki and fucking both.
Koby
Your lover is so sweet on you, no matter how stressed or exhausted he is from training or work, he’s always kind and gentle with you. His desire to make it up to you for all the time he’s away makes him eager to give. While he’s always bashfully grateful when you insist on taking care of him, it’s a point of pride for him to be able to give you the best of him. The best you’ll ever have. His competition against himself grows more intense, and he starts testing his observation haki on you to try to determine what you really need. And he gets damn good at it. He knows what your body will do before you do, careful to switch things up at just the right moment. He holds you close as often as he can when he gives you those earth shattering orgasms, praising you the whole time.
Fujitora Issho
To choose him for you lover is to choose your own personal teddy bear of a lover, a cuddly tiger who delights in slow evenings and good meals with you. He’s protective and gentle, but he’s a man. And you awaken in him feelings he’s never experienced. His lust for you is embarrassingly endless, and his strength to see to your needs all night long is no question. So in those long nights of indulging lust, sometimes he can’t get close enough to you. Sometimes he wants to see you fall apart even more thoroughly than usual. So he’ll use just a hint of his devil fruit to pin you to the bed. Safe in his hands, but controlled and consumed by him. Not that he needed extra strength to hold you down, but it adds to the adrenaline when he’s taking you deep and hard.
Madam Shyarly
Your mermaid lover is twice your size, and you both can’t help but be turned on by it. Her breasts are so big to you, and your body is so cute and small. A single finger of hers is usually plenty to fill you, two when you’re needing more. She loves it when you fist her. Keeping you in her lap is her favourite. Being a fortune teller, and prone to anxiety, she’s collected crystals she feels helps channel her energy. Many of them are smooth, and late one night, already hazy from the pleasure you’d given each other, she dares to get one off its shelf. She rubs it against your skin, your sensitive places, then between your legs. She teases it to your entrance, letting the rounded end just slip in. It’s so sensual and taboo that it becomes a regular occurrence. You have a locked box now that only she has the key to, filled with crystals that have nothing to do with fortunes.
Kuma
He is always such a careful and intentional lover, always gentle and tentative in learning new ways to pleasure you. It didn’t take long however, to discover the… pleasurable potential of his devil fruit paw pads. Rubbing them on your chest, stimulating your nipples. Softly grinding his palm between your legs. With the give, they’re even more effective than his broad fingertips. He needs a bit of encouragement before doing anything harder, needing to be assured it won’t hurt you. But he learns the right pressure to hold you in his palms, how to use the smaller pads to add additional stimulation. He’s too shy and modest to ever put his hands down your clothes in public, but in the comfort of your own home, sometimes he’ll be persuaded to rub you with them, carrying you to bed when your legs give out to give you his full attention.
Okiku of Wano
She was shy at first when it came to intimacy with you, but once she was assured of your love and your ability to make her feel feminine, she grew bolder. A lifetime of avoidance and repression made her curious and eager to try everything. She bought Wano’s version of the Karma Sutra, jade eggs, and quartz wands for the bedroom. With your help, she trained to be able to use them on herself with you, and if you’re willing, to use them on you too. The eggs rest inside, adding extra stretch and pressure to penetration. The wands help her prepare for you, and make for a tantalising show to use in front of you. It helps her affirm herself just as much, and sometimes asks you to use it on her.
Hongo, Dr. of the Red Hair Pirates
Regardless of your… equipment, your doctor lover is determined to never hurt you. He’s oddly adamant on training your pelvic muscles once you two reach the point of regular intimacy. He insists on using dilators to prep you, even on days you’re not planning to sleep together. Even if you say you can do it yourself, he insists on being there to make sure you insert them properly. Can’t have you getting hurt, now. Anally or otherwise, he’ll carefully push them inside you, and when it’s time to remove it, he’ll reward you for obeying your doctor’s orders with an orgasm or two. When he’s trained you well enough, he’ll suggest something crazy and possibly not medically sound - taking both one of the dilators and him inside at the same time. Are you adventurous enough?
Kyros of Dressrossa
He’d been used to living without his leg for years, and even with his balancing skill, it wasn’t always practical to hop everywhere. So you found him a cane. It was beautiful but simple, with a classy sheen to seal the wood. It took him a long time to warm up to it, but whenever he had a longer way to go, it was the lifesaver you’d promised it would be. As his lover, your job is often to make him rest. But he still pushes it. So once when he was out late, you were tired and desperately horny and a bit drunk, and took the cane that he’d left behind for the day and rubbed yourself against it. He was stunned speechless when he came home. But you were just so devastatingly sexy that he came to join you on the bed, holding the long rod himself to help you get off on it. His heavy accent in your ear didn’t hurt in that effort.
Cheap bonus: Whitebeard
He’s big. Like, enormous. And powerful. And as much as his wish for a family is sweet, he’s a pirate. A filthy one. He’s shameless with you. He loves stretching you enough to take him inside you. He likes using his devil fruit on a minute level to rock your body to make your soft places bounce for him. Once, he asked you to grind against his staff. And after watching that show? He’s asked you to do it many times since.
for @physics-of-op-main aka Fizzy. This was... a weird one to write XD
Next
-X-Bond Awakening-X-
The roar of the sea from beneath the waves has no real comparison above water. The moment one’s head is submerged, the struggle begins. As violent as the body can be, it will never match the tons of water that continuously throw a person under, smothering any hope for air.
The ocean becomes a muffled rumble all around you, and far worse is that it allows no words from a drowning body. Desperately one tries to climb an impossible ladder, only to be pushed back down again and again, while whatever energy remains is slowly drawn from the limbs.
As carbon dioxide expands like a balloon in the chest, it will eventually reach a breaking point. And a person, without choice or thought, will gasp for breath, only to swallow seawater. The lungs will contract in revolt, but the disorientation and dizziness are usually too great for any real strategy.
And finally, slowly, it begins to fade.
The urgency. The panic. The will to live. It all relaxes, and the world grows dark until there is only a tunnel of light from above.
A light that reveals each and every other person from the boat, all of them finished drowning.
Father is there in the distance, wholly still, staring into nothing as he slowly drifts away. Mother is nowhere in sight. Perhaps that is for the best.
Because in the distance, small shapes are moving.
Sharks. Or something similar.
There is the captain who had poured champagne only a few hours ago. But he had been shot by the pirates first, and blood is blooming around him in dark, spreading clouds.
Piece by piece, he disappears. Then the swarm chooses its next prey. Closer and closer they come to you.
The seas were a dangerous place. On that point, most humans could agree.
This was a world locked by water, shaped and ruled by it, where the greatest danger a person could face also carried the promise of freedom, wealth, and legend. The ocean was a blessing and a curse in equal measure. It fed nations and swallowed them whole. It built empires and erased them without apology.
Those who ruled the sea ruled everything.
Men chased it relentlessly. Sailors chased honest wages and horizons that never ended. Marines chased order, lines drawn on maps that the ocean had never respected. Pirates chased freedom, fortune, infamy, and the thrill of daring the world to stop them. Entire lives were given over to the pursuit of conquering its vastness and uncovering its mysteries, even as it claimed more bodies than it ever rewarded.
You knew, in a way that had nothing to do with reason, that the ocean was vast enough to hold both mercy and cruelty without caring which it dealt you. That it did not hate those it drowned. That was the part that frightened you most. It felt nothing. It simply was—an Endless queen, an indifferent ruler of realms, watching for a single misstep.
And drifting into the endless black below you, creatures circling closer, you think that this must surely be the end.
-X-Job Offer-X-
Becoming a diplomat had not been your first choice. Perhaps not even your fifth. But you came from a long line of them, your mother, her mother before her, and before that, women whose names had been signed to treaties that still held. One does not argue with that kind of inheritance. Especially not when the ones who built it are no longer alive for you to disappoint.
So you had said yes. To the title, the table, and everything that came with it.
Even if it meant your brothers, who had made an art form of disagreeing with you since childhood (and showed no signs of stopping), would be a permanent fixture in your professional life as well as your personal one.
Even if it meant dealing with pirates. Which was, somehow, a sentence your life had required you to take seriously. Even if it meant ships. Water. The open sea stretched out in every direction with nothing to hold onto and nothing looking back.
You had said yes anyway.
Your parents had loved this work with their whole hearts, and they had died for it, and they had died legends. So now you were expected to be a legend too.
But this was going too far.
“This is unfair.” The words came out sharper than you intended, but you didn’t take them back. The papers on the desk laid it out plainly, your next assignment in black and white, and no amount of staring at them was going to change what they said. “I cannot go to Marineford.”
Across from you, your eldest brother said nothing. He didn’t need to. He was a seasoned Marine commander, and you had stopped using his name years ago, defaulting to his title the way you would with any superior officer, because it was easier than remembering he was your brother when he looked at you like that, like this was funny. The Marines had apparently agreed, because whoever had decided to assign him as your joint liaison had done so with what you could only assume was a profound sense of humor.
He took a slow drag, letting the silence expand, and the faint curl at the corner of his mouth told you everything about how much he was enjoying this.
“Yer the closest liaison and the Admiral’s Office specifically requested women.” He tapped his cigarette and let the ash fall. “Shit outta luck.”
“My contract specifically states I am exempt from travel in the Grand Line except in cases of extreme importance.”
He barked a laugh, short and without warmth.
“Like I said. Shit outta luck.” He leaned back, rolling the cigarette between his fingers. “Word is HQ wants to meet with the warlords. And you know how that tends to go without someone in between. Donquixote alone looks for any excuse.” A pause. “Besides. Tsuru likes you.”
“She doesn’t.”
He leaned forward then and blew smoke directly across the desk.
You held your breath and said nothing, waiting for it to pass, your hands flat and still against the papers you very badly wanted to throw at him.
“Call her. Change it. I know you can.” Your voice came out low and even, the way it always did when you were close to losing the thread of it. “She owes you.”
The Commander sighed. He flicked the stub of his cigarette onto the desk between you, where it smoldered against the wood like he wanted you to notice it, and didn’t move to put it out.
“Listen, little sis. And try not to take this personally.” He met your eyes. “But it’s about time you got over your… water issues.”
You grit your teeth so hard you felt it in your jaw.
“You don’t exactly get over drowning.”
The words landed flatter than you meant them to. Or heavier. You weren’t sure which was worse. The cigarette kept burning between you, a small dark eye in the wood. Your brother did not look away from you, and you did not look away from him, and for one long moment the office was very tense.
Then he reached out, pinched the stub between two fingers, and ground it out against the desk without breaking eye contact.
“You do,” he said, “if you want to keep your job. ‘Sides, it’s the least you could do, seeing how it was because of you…”
You flinched.
Because of you, Mom and Dad died.
He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to, as it still had the same effect as throwing a grenade. The sentence hung in the air between you the way the smoke had, but slower to clear and harder to breathe through. Your hands curled against the papers without your permission. You could feel the edge of one against your palm, sharp enough to remind you that you were still here. Still in this office with an asshole you shared blood with. You were not in the endless open water on that day, slowly sinking—
No stop.
It took you too long to compose yourself.
“That isn’t… fair.”
“No.” He waved a hand. “It isn’t.”
He went to his pocket and pulled out another cigarette. The flame caught, and his face went briefly orange, and for one strange flickering second, he looked like the older brother you remembered from before. The one who used to tuck a coat around your shoulders on the dock when the wind came up. The one who had stood beside you in black and held your hand so hard it bruised. The one who liked you before you killed his parents.
Then the flame went out, and he was the Commander again.
“But it’s true.” He exhaled away from you this time, a small mercy you did not thank him for. “And you’ve been hiding behind that contract for six years. Tsuru knows it. I know it. You know it.”
He tapped ash into the tray he had been pointedly ignoring before.
“Get on the damn boat. Go to Marineford. And find Squirt and tell him to stop ignorin’ my calls. Just because he’s an officer now doesn’t mean he can be an ass.”
Squirt was your middle brother—also the one who actively refused to speak to you without cussing. And yes, he worked at Marineford as an officer under the notorious Akainu, and how he had not been lava'd to death by now was a mystery to you, to the Commander, and quite possibly to Squirt himself.
Regardless. The Commander was quick to shoo you out of his office once he had made his point, and his secretary gave you a worried smile as he handed over the paperwork and the instructions for the posting. He had almost certainly heard everything. The walls in this place were paper-thin, and Marine bases this far into the South Blue were not exactly state-of-the-art, a fact you had been grateful for exactly once. Once, today, when you needed to know your brother was actually in his office before you walked in, and had resented it every other day of your career.
You took the paperwork. You thanked the secretary. You did not look at it until you were outside.
The Ballywood Kingdom had been a kind position. A quiet one. It had been one of the reasons you had said yes to the title in the first place, that the post barely required you to leave land, that the work came to you instead of the other way around. Visiting officials, royal envoys, the occasional merchant captain with a grievance and a hat in his hands. You met them in gardens. In drawing rooms. On stone terraces that did not move.
You had built a life that did not require you to step onto a deck.
And now, it seemed, you were being asked to wade into much deeper waters.
-X-Through the Looking Glass-X-
You took a Marine convoy across the Grand Line, the safer route, avoiding Reverse Mountain and the worst of the sea beasts. To say you spent most of the voyage alternating between dry heaving over a bucket and having quiet, methodical panic attacks in your assigned quarters would be accurate, all within the confines of your single room.
To say you did either of these things gracefully would not.
The first day was unbearable. You had to leave in the early dawn, which was not in itself a problem; you had been awake for hours by then anyway, sitting fully dressed on the edge of your bed in the small dark of your rented room, staring at the trunk by the door as though it might decide on its own to go without you. The early hour was, if anything, a mercy. Fewer people. Fewer witnesses. A thin gray light that made the sea feel less visible and, therefore, you hoped, less able to hurt you.
Forcing yourself to step onto the docks was torturous.
The wood of the planking gave slightly underfoot, the way wet wood does over water. That small soft give that is nothing at all on a sturdy pier and everything in the world to you, and you felt it travel up through the soles of your boots and into your knees and into your stomach, and you had to stop. You had to actually stop walking, in the middle of the marina, with a porter behind you carrying your trunk and a junior officer ahead of you looking politely over his shoulder, and breathe. In through the nose. Out through the mouth. The way the Guru therapist in Ballywood with the soft hands had taught you to. The way you had practiced for six years for exactly this moment.
You started walking again. You did not know how. You did not look at the water.
Waiting on the marina for the ship to finish its approach almost caused an episode. That was not a metaphor. Your hands went cold first, and then numb, and then your jaw locked, and then your vision narrowed at the edges until the world was a long bright tunnel. The hull of the convoy at the end of it, growing larger, growing closer, the rope thrown to the cleat. Slowly, the gangway lowered, the dark water slapping against the pilings beneath you in a rhythm that did not match your breathing and would not be persuaded to. You stood with your hands folded in front of you in the posture your mother had taught you, and you smiled at no one in particular, and with strange, detached clarity, you remembered that if you fainted now, you still would be carried aboard.
You did not faint. You were not sure if that counted as strength or being more terrified of waking up on the water.
Boarding the ship took every therapy lesson you had ever had. Every grounding exercise. Every name-five-things-you-can-see. Every breathing pattern with a number attached to it. You walked up the gangway one foot in front of the other, and you did not look down at the gap between the dock and the deck, and you did not look down at the water moving beneath that gap, and you did not, did not, did not think about how easy it would be to slip. You handed your credentials to the officer at the rail.
You inclined your head at the captain. You said the correct things in the correct order. You did not hear yourself say them. And then you went straight to your cabin and hunkered down for the trip.
You did not come out again for any reason that was not strictly required of you. When the door closed, you sat down on the bunk with your back against the wall, your knees drawn up, and your hands pressed flat to the mattress on either side of you. Then you stayed there for a very long time, listening to the ship cast off, listening to the shouts of the crew, listening to the water beginning, at last, to move beneath you.
The voyage commenced.
The second day was worse than the first, and then you stopped counting because counting required a clarity of mind you no longer possessed. You learned the shape of your quarters by the path you wore between the bunk and the bucket. You learned the smell of your own sweat soaked into the collar of a coat you could not bring yourself to take off because taking it off would mean acknowledging you were going to be here long enough to need to. You only slept the minimum amount to avoid the even worse fate of dreaming. Without fail, when you were on water, you had nightmares.
The crew, to their credit, pretended not to notice. Whether out of professional courtesy or because the Commander had sent ahead some unflattering and very specific warning about his little sister's constitution, you did not know and did not ask. They left trays outside your door. They knocked twice and walked away. The food went mostly untouched. You could not bring yourself to eat anything that required you to think about your stomach, and your stomach, in turn, refused to think about anything else.
One of them, a young ensign with kind eyes and the good sense not to use them on you for too long, started leaving a folded cloth beside the water pitcher each morning, damp and cool, without comment. You used it. You pressed it to your forehead and to the back of your neck and to your wrists, where your pulse had been running too fast for so many hours that you had started to feel it in your teeth. You did not thank him as you could not yet trust your voice to do anything but shake. And a shaking voice from a woman of your station and your moniker was something you had been trained since childhood not to give away for free.
The worst of it was not the nausea. It was not even the fear, though the fear was constant. The nausea rose in waves with the ship and fell with it, and somewhere around the third night, it stopped having a beginning or an end and simply became the condition of being awake. You sat on the edge of the bunk with your hands braced flat against the mattress, white at the knuckles, and waited for the next swell, and the next, and the next, and each one came, and each one passed, and each one left you exactly where you had been before.
The worst of it was the sound.
The endless, thudding sound of water against the hull. Day and night. On every side of you. A slow, steady whispering you could not muffle, no matter how many pillows you pressed over your ears, no matter how tightly you wound the blanket around your head, no matter how many hours you spent humming under your breath to drown it out until your throat went raw. It was always there. It was the wall, the floor. It was beneath your bunk and above your head when you lay down, because somewhere on the other side of that ceiling was another deck and above that was the sky and below you, below you, below you was the thing itself, the deep, miles of it, dark and indifferent and waiting.
You did not sleep so much as lose consciousness in short, ragged stretches. You woke gasping. You woke certain the bunk was wet. You woke once with your hand clamped over your own mouth without remembering putting it there, and you lay in the dark for a long time afterward trying to work out whether you had been screaming or whether you had only dreamed you were, and which answer would be worse.
At the end of the month, you finally arrived at Marineford.
The second the boat docked, you were down the gangplank with what you hoped passed for diplomatic composure and what was, in fact, expeditious speed bordering on flight. Teeth gritted. Spine straight. Face arranged into the careful neutral pleasantness your mother had drilled into you before you could read. You looked, you thought, mostly put together. Thinner than you had been at departure, certainly, your coat hanging a little looser at the shoulders than it ought to, but presentable. Functional. The sort of woman one would not ask any questions of.
You were, after all, a diplomat. One good at bullshitting. Which was exactly what you would be needing to do, because the first thing on your agenda was a meeting with the Fleet Admiral himself.
You had only met Admiral Sengoku once, a long time ago, when you were still small enough to be presented in a row with your brothers like a set of matched silver. Your father had introduced you. Your mother had set a hand briefly on your shoulder. You remembered very little of it, only the height of the room and the warmth of the hand and the sense, even then, that the man in front of you was already tired in a way that adults did not usually let children see.
He looked, when you walked into his office, just as hassled now as he had then. Perhaps more so. As though the intervening years had simply added to the pile on his desk and the gray in his hair without offering anything in exchange. He was mostly the same. A little softer through the middle, perhaps. A little slower to rise. There was a small permanent furrow between his brows that you did not remember from before.
He did not recognize you at first glance.
But then he opened the file on the desk in front of him, and his eyes moved down the page, and you watched the precise moment he reached yours. The pause. The slight lift of the brow. The way his gaze rose from the paper to your face and stayed there a beat longer than protocol required.
“Ah,” he said. “You must be my new diplomat.” A small, weary thing that was not quite a smile crossed his face. “It is good to see a familiar name. A good lineage. A good record.” He glanced back down at the file, then up again. “And, mercifully, one I will not have to yell at.”
You allowed yourself the smallest tilt of acknowledgment. He was, indeed, well acquainted with your brothers. Squirt in particular, you suspected, had contributed more than his fair share to the Fleet Admiral’s gray.
“Fleet Admiral.” You inclined your head. Your voice held. A small miracle. “Thank you for seeing me.”
“I appreciate your quick arrival.”
He gestured to the chair across from him, and you sat with a gratitude you hoped did not show on your face. Your legs, which had carried you through the docks and the corridors and the long flight of stairs up to this office on what could only be described as borrowed courage, were very pleased to be no longer required to hold you up.
“As you are no doubt aware,” he said, settling back, “the Marines occasionally find it expedient to outsource certain matters to select …privateers. Men and women whose reputation, shall we say, assists us in keeping the more enthusiastic elements of piracy in line.”
Privateers. The polite word. The one used in reports, at podiums, and in rooms where the Den Den Mushi might be listening.
You knew, as he knew, and as everyone in this building knew, that he meant the Warlords. The Seven Warlords, each of whom ruled their respective domains.
Of course, you knew of them, which is to say you’d seen their bounties and memorized the ones that caught your interest, who might one day cross your path.
You folded your hands in your lap and prepared, as you had been raised to do.
The Admiral nodded once, more to himself than to you, and turned to the long desk lining the back of his office. He pulled a folder from a stack you suspected had been organized that morning specifically for this conversation, and laid it open in front of you with deliberate care.
A list of the Warlords, their pictures clipped neatly to each page.
Attached to several of them, in the small, precise hand of whoever kept these records, were the names of other diplomats. Familiar names. The big ones. The kind you had read about in dispatches and heard murmured at functions, the kind your mother had once spoken of long ago with the respect she reserved for people she had barely outmaneuvered. This job, it seemed, was not the lateral move you had been told it was. This was a promotion. This was, in fact, a leap. And it would undoubtedly require a great deal of sailing.
Your nerves, which had only just begun to settle from the voyage, climbed back up into your throat.
Well, you thought, with a clarity that surprised you. Shit.
You looked down at the faces arranged before you. Some of them looked back, in the flat unsettling way photographs sometimes do. Dracule Mihawk positively glowered from his, his odd eyes shadowed beneath the brim of his hat, and you offered up a small private prayer to whatever was listening that he would not, under any circumstances, be the one assigned to you. You were not sure your career, or your composure, or your remaining stomach lining, could survive him.
And looking at the others did not bring much comfort either. Crocodile, who looked at the camera as though it had personally offended him. Bartholomew Kuma, expression so still he might have been carved. At the end of the pile was a picture of the infamously beautiful Boa Hancock, and the simple fact that she was a woman immediately, embarrassingly, made her your top choice.
“Currently,” the Admiral said, not kindly, “I have assigned several other diplomats. One to each Warlord. Based on compatibility, gender, personality, and combat ability.”
God, you hoped your brother had not lied on your file.
You could do basic martial arts. You had been made to, every summer of your childhood, by tutors your parents had hired because they did not want their daughter to die in a back alley over a misunderstanding. You could throw a punch. You could break a hold. You could, on a good day and with the wind behind you, draw a knife from your sleeve without cutting yourself.
But the average marine would far surpass you, and a Warlord would squish you.
Gecko Moria, you noted with a fresh wave of unease, looked like he could simply sit on you and turn you into soup. You moved his picture quietly to the back of the pile, as though that would somehow remove him from consideration.
The faintest crease appeared at the corner of his mouth.
“As a Marine diplomat, your duty concerns negotiating treaties, protecting the citizens of allied nations, and conveying delicate information through the appropriate channels. With the Warlords, however, the balance is more particular. We frequently need to send them certain information, and we need that information to be received in a way that does not compromise the original terms of their arrangement with the World Government. As you have no doubt observed in your career, some of these individuals can be… difficult.”
He tapped one picture in particular. A blonde man in pink, grinning, his eyes hidden behind dark glasses. Donquixote Doflamingo. A notoriously huge asshole, if the rumor network was to be believed.
Sengoku’s sharp tap said more than the file did. The tap said: You have heard the stories. The tap said: The stories are conservative.
“To be frank with you,” the Admiral said, settling his hands on the desk and meeting your eyes directly, “these are not like your previous postings.”
Yeah. You had figured that out immediately.
“Of course.” You nodded politely, because you had a reputation to maintain, and because the alternative was to let your face do what it very badly wanted to do. You sent up another small private prayer to whatever was, by now, surely tired of hearing from you. “To whom will I have the pleasure of becoming acquainted?”
Sengoku gave you a small smile.
It was, in retrospect, your first warning.
“Boa Hancock,” he said, and your heart leaped with a relief so pure and so total that you could have sung. You could have wept. You could have leaned across this desk and kissed this kind, gray, harassed man on the forehead. “Was my first choice.”
The relief did not so much fade as evaporate. Past tense. He had used the past tense. You had been a diplomat for six years, and you knew exactly what the past tense meant in a sentence like that one.
“Until your brother,” the Admiral continued, with the serene unawareness of a man who did not know he was holding a knife, “the one working under Admiral Akainu, was kind enough to inform me that you have an exceptional love of water. And, even more uniquely, a long-standing debt of gratitude toward fishmen.”
Your mouth fell open.
You closed it. You opened it again. You closed it.
The Admiral, still smiling, reached into the file and drew out the very last picture. The one you had skimmed past as quickly as you could manage, with the same instinct that had made you set Moria’s photograph to the back of the pile.
The one you knew you wouldn’t be able to see without bringing tears to your eyes.
A fishman. Broad-shouldered to the point of absurdity, shoulders that filled the frame of the photograph and threatened, somehow, to keep going past it. A jaw built like the prow of a ship. Tusks. Actual tusks, set into a mouth that was not smiling and did not, you suspected, smile often for cameras. The blue-patterned skin across his face caught the light in a way that made it look less like skin and more like something polished and very, very scary. His eyes were dark and steady and gave away exactly nothing. He looked like a damn shark, and you nearly fainted.
“So,” Sengoku said warmly, “I have placed you with Jinbei. I think it will be an excellent fit, since out of all the Warlords, he is the most reasonable. Compared to Doflamingo, he’s practically a saint. Certainly more reasonable than Boa Hancock. Due to fishmen's general reputation, the majority of other diplomats have refused to work with him.”
All color fled your face. And then, for good measure, your soul.
Your fucking brother.
Your fucking, lava-adjacent, smirking, traitorous middle brother who had not spoken to you in three years without a cuss word attached, who had eaten the last of your favorite candy when you were nine and never apologized for it, had picked up a Den Den Mushi and called the Fleet Admiral of the Marines, personally, to inform him that you, his baby sister, the woman currently sitting in this office trying not to faint, loved water.
Loved.
Water.
You were going to kill him. You were going to find him on whatever rock Akainu had him chained to, and you were going to wring his neck with your own two hands. You were going to look him in the eye while you did it, and you were going to say his real name, the embarrassing one, the one he hated, just before you finished the job.
And as pernicious as it was, there was no saying no because you had a reputation to maintain and a promise to keep, even if it killed you.
Which was looking, from where you sat, like a very distinct possibility.
“What a wonderful match,” you heard yourself say. Your voice was perfectly even. Your training had, against all reason, held. “I look forward to meeting him.”
The Admiral beamed.
“Excellent. As luck would have it, he is in the area. I will have the details worked out by morning, and you can meet tomorrow.” He glanced down at the file with the small satisfied air of a man crossing a difficult item off a long list. “I expect he will be traveling to Fishman Island before long. Convenient timing all around.”
Shit. Shit shit shit shit.
Of fucking course. Of course, he would be. Because as a diplomat assigned to a Warlord, you would be expected to travel with him. On his crew. As a de facto third party representing the interests of the World Government, present at all relevant meetings, embedded in the daily rhythm of the ship, the way salt was embedded in the wood of it. There was no other way the job worked. You knew this.
And Jinbei was a fishman.
Which meant his destinations were not, as a rule, terribly land-based.
Which meant Fishman Island.
Which meant down.
Down through the water. Through miles of it. Through the great black dark of it, the deep where the light did not reach, where the pressure pressed in on every side and the only thing between you and all of that water would be a hull no thicker than a man’s arm and a coating of resin and the goodwill, presumably, of whatever sea creature happened to be towing you.
You felt the blood leave your hands. You felt your fingers go cold where they were folded in your lap. You felt, with a clarity that bordered on the religious, that you were going to have to do this, and that you were going to have to do it without screaming, and that you were going to have to smile. You would do it because your name was on the file, and your reputation was on the line, and it might be the only way your brothers stop harassing you.
You smiled back at the Admiral.
And behind your teeth, with the readiness of a fighter who had nothing but time on the long voyage ahead, you began to plan a murder.
-X-Unexpected Sights-X-
You spent the rest of the day in a state that could most charitably be described as functional. Less charitably, you were alternating between a pending panic attack and a manhunt, and the only reason you did not give yourself over fully to the first was that the second required you to be upright.
You were going to find your cunt of a brother.
You found him, eventually, in a small, loud bar two streets off the main thoroughfare that catered to off-duty officers and the people who tolerated them. He was at a corner table. He was not alone. The woman across from him was laughing at something he had said, which told you a great deal about the woman, and he had that easy slouch in his shoulders that he only ever wore in places his Admiral could not see him, which told you a great deal about the bar.
He had not noticed you yet.
You took a moment, standing just inside the door, to appreciate this. To feel the full weight of the rage you had been carrying like a hot stone in your chest since the Fleet Admiral’s office, and to let it settle into a cold anger.
Then you picked up a beer from the nearest unattended table.
You crossed the room.
He looked up just as you reached him, his face going through a brief sequence of expressions, recognition, then alarm, then a tight-lipped resignation of a man who knew exactly what he had done and exactly why his sister was standing over him with a stranger’s drink in her hand. You tipped the entire glass over his head before he could open his mouth.
The woman gasped. Beer ran down his collar. The bar, which had been loud, became briefly and gloriously quiet.
“Hi, Squirt,” you said pleasantly.
He stood up.
He was, you remembered too late, significantly taller than you. He had also been training under Akainu for years, which meant that whatever basic martial arts your tutors had drilled into you as a child were going to be approximately as useful here as a teaspoon against a tide. You did not particularly care.
You swung first anyway.
He caught your wrist. And this time, there was nothing soft about it. No held-back strength, no brotherly indulgence, no echo of the boy who had once let you hit him because he could afford to. His fingers closed, and you felt the bones in your wrist move, just slightly, the way they were not meant to.
“You called Sengoku,” you hissed.
“So what?”
“You told him I love water—that I have a debt of gratitude to fishmen.”
“Yeah.”
You tried to knee him. He turned his hip, and your knee hit nothing. You tried to stomp on his foot. He moved his foot, and your heel came down on the floorboards hard enough to send a jolt up your spine. He was not even looking at you while he did it. He was looking past your shoulder, at the door, calculating, and his nonchalance was worse than if he had hit you back.
“Squirt—”
“Don’t Squirt me.” His voice had gone flat. “You don’t get to come in here and throw a drink on me and use that name like we’re still kids.”
“You told the Fleet Admiral I love water—How could you?”
“I told the Fleet Admiral whatever it took.” He finally looked at you, and there was nothing of your brother in it. There was a marine officer looking at an obstacle. “You think I did this for fun? You think I sat in my office and thought, what would really ruin my sister’s week? Grow up. You’ve been a coward, and somebody had to do something about it.”
You hit him in the chest. It was not a real hit. He did not let you do it. He caught your other wrist before it landed, and now he had both of them, and his grip on the first one tightened, deliberately, until your fingers went numb.
“Ma and Pa,” he said, “would be ashamed of you.”
It landed exactly the way he meant it to.
“I hate you,” you said. Your voice cracked on it. “I won’t ever forgive you.”
“Good,” he said. “Then I don’t have to keep being nice about it.”
His hand slid from your wrist to your upper arm. He turned. He started walking. You went with him because the alternative was to be dragged with him, and his fingers were dug into your bicep as if he knew exactly which nerves to press to make a body cooperate without needing to be persuaded.
“Squirt—Squirt, where are we going?”
He did not answer.
But you knew where he was taking you.
You knew the moment the road began to slope downward, as the gulls got louder, the haze the air thickened with wet weight that only ever meant one thing. You started to fight him in earnest then. You twisted in his grip, and he tightened his fingers until you gasped. You dropped your weight, and he hauled you upright without breaking stride. You said his name. You said his real name. You said the name your mother had given him in a voice that should have stopped him cold.
He laughed.
A short, ugly sound. Not the laugh of a brother. The laugh of a man who had been waiting a long time to hear your pitiful begging and was glad he’d discovered it didn't work anymore.
“Try again,” he said.
The planking of the marina came up under your boots.
You felt the give of it. The wrong give of wood over water. Your knees tried to lock. He pulled you forward. The lamps at the end of the pier threw long yellow lines across the black water, and the black water moved, the way it always moved, the slow, patient breathing of a thing that had been waiting for you, and your brother walked you toward the edge of it without slowing down.
“Squirt. Squirt, please. Please, please—”
“Be quiet. People are sleeping.”
“I can’t—” you cried.
“You can.”
“I can’t, I can’t, I can’t, please—” Tears rolled down your face, mixing with snot. Your nails broke as he tugged you off a pole.
“You did it once. Do it again. Maybe this time it’ll stick.”
The cruelty of it took the breath out of you before the water could.
You were ten steps from the edge. Then seven. Your free hand had come up to claw at his wrist and you were begging him in a voice that did not sound like yours, high and thin and stripped of everything you had spent six years building, and he did not stop, he did not slow down, he did not even look at you, and you closed your eyes because you could not look at the water and you could not look at your brother’s face and you—
He stopped.
A shadow fell across both of you, blocking out the nearby lantern.
Squirt’s grip on your arm did not loosen, but locked. Like he had just realized he was no longer the largest thing in the immediate area.
You turned and froze.
There was an enormous figure between you and the edge of the pier.
You had not heard him arrive. A man of that size should have made noise, should have shaken the planks, should have announced himself in some way. He simply appeared there, between you and the water, vast as a wall, and the lamplight behind him did not so much fall on him as decline to.
It took you a moment, longer than it should have, to realize he was not human at all.
You could not see his face. His back was to the light, and the light, what little of it reached him, broke around his outline in strange ways. He was shaped oddly. Rotund through the middle and impossibly thick across the shoulders, broader than any man you had ever stood near, but it was the height of him that finally caught up to you. The lamppost behind him, which had towered over you a moment ago, was dwarfed by him. The top of his head was not visible from where you stood. You had to tilt your chin up to find it, and even then, in the dark, you could only guess.
“The fuck you want?” Your brother said, with far more bravado than real backing. He straightened, hand gripping your wrist tighter, and you whimpered.
“Marine.” The voice came from somewhere above you, deep and low and unhurried, like the slow turning of water under a hull. “It is rude to harass a woman. Especially to the point of tears.”
He paused. The kind of pause that was, you understood, a courtesy he did not have to extend and was extending anyway.
“This is family business, fishman.”
The fishman straightened at his words, sharp and ready for such a pathetic response.
“Do the captains of the Marines know their officers enjoy risking the lives of citizens by throwing them into the harbor at night?”
“Don’t pretend you give a shi—”
“At best, you would have injured your own kin.” The voice rolled over your brother’s the way a tide rolls over a stone, without effort, without raising itself. “At worst, and far more likely, she would have drowned. Are you not ashamed? Where is your chivalry, hm? Your warrior’s code?”
Your brother opened his mouth.
And said nothing.
Your brother, who had a mouth on him that had gotten him written up twice this year alone, who had backtalked a Rear Admiral, and who had been assigned to Admiral Akainu because he was the only admiral meaner than him.
He said nothing.
His hand on your arm had gone strange. Still locked, still keeping you upright, but no longer pulling. As though he had forgotten, for the moment, what he had been doing with you. As though the part of his brain that handled threat assessment had taken over the controls and politely informed the rest of him to shut up and hold still.
“You are the one they call Squirt, are you not?”
Your brother went rigid.
“It seems,” the figure above you continued, with the calm of a man reading off an inventory, “your reputation precedes you.”
Your brother looked close to snarling. You could feel it in his hand, the way the muscle along his forearm tightened against your arm, the small involuntary tell that he was choosing, in this moment, not to do something he very much wanted to do.
“So what, big guy. It’s family. Joke between family. You can just—”
“This is no joke, Marine.”
The figure shifted his weight, a small adjustment, and somehow the dock felt smaller for it.
“There are raptor sharks in this harbor. They feed at night. They are drawn to noise and to splashing. You were about to put family into the water. Knowingly.”
A pause.
“Do you imagine Admiral Akainu will ignore a formal complaint of attempted murder by one of his own? One concerning the attempted murder of an innocent woman by family?”
You felt your brother’s hand go slack on your arm. Not deliberately. Not as a kindness. The kind of slack that happens when a man’s brain has just performed a piece of arithmetic it did not want to perform and has arrived at a number it cannot argue with.
The grip on your arm loosened by one finger. Then another.
Then he let go.
He stepped back, chin lifted, chest pushed out in the cheap false bravado. One who had been about to do something terrible and had only just been talked out of it by an audience he could not afford to ignore. The instant his hand left you, your legs went. You did not fall so much as fold, every muscle that had been holding you upright giving up at once. You half-scrambled, half-dragged yourself across the planks toward solid ground, away from the edge, away from your brother, until your shoulder found a wooden pillar. You wrapped both arms around it and clung to it the way a drowning woman clings to whatever piece of wood the sea has not yet taken from her.
You did not let go. Your hands had decided, without consulting you, that this pole was the only thing on the planet keeping you from the water, and they were not in the mood to be reasoned with.
“She started this shit,” He said, behind you, somewhere behind you, a little too loud like he was trying to walk a thing back without seeming to. “So complain all you want. Akainu won’t give a damn.”
The fishman did not answer, his silence doing the work for him. Your brother, who had spent his whole life filling rooms with noise to keep anyone from looking at him too closely, broke under it within seconds.
He turned and walked quickly. His boots struck the planks too hard on the way back up the pier, the gait of a man who needed everyone within earshot to understand that he was leaving because he chose to and not because he had been made to. You listened to him go without lifting your head from the wood you were holding onto.
Your face pressed against the pillar, and your eyes were closed, and you were breathing in for four, hold for four, out for four, the way the woman in Ballywood had taught you.
Then the footsteps faded, and the dock went quiet, save for the sound of lapping water.
There you were, hugging a pole on a strange pier in a strange port in the middle of a strange night, with your gallant rescuer whom you had never met, whose face you had still not seen. Who was, you remembered with a fresh small lurch of nausea, a fishman.
For a long while, he made no move.
You were grateful for it without being able to say so. He simply stood where he had stood, with his back to the lamplight and his face still hidden from you, and gave you the space your body needed and your pride could not yet ask for.
Your shoulders shook against the wood of the pillar in a small, tight rhythm you could not stop, and the sounds coming out of you were not, strictly speaking, sobs, because you had been trained out of sobs in childhood, but they were close cousins of them, and they were ugly, and there was a witness, and you could not make them stop.
The fishman did not stare at you.
You noticed, dimly, through the noise inside your own head, that he had turned slightly away. Just enough to give your tears the privacy of his shoulder rather than the audience of his face. It was such a small mercy. It was such an old-fashioned mercy. You did not know what to do with it.
A long time passed. Eventually, the shaking eased to something you could pretend was over. The cold of the night air found you through your coat and reminded you that you were a body, and that the body was on a dock, and that the dock had not yet been left.
And then, finally, far more gently than anyone else had spoken to you in a long time, he said, “Are you well, miss?”
His deep voice had a rumbling tone, gruff and inhuman, but the edge that had been in it for your brother was gone, scoured clean out. He sounded genuinely distressed for you.
You were terrified. You were exhausted. You were still wrapped around a pole like a child, and you could feel the salt drying on your face in stiff little tracks. Somewhere inside the wreck of you, there was a still functioning diplomat who knew that you could not, under any circumstances, fail to answer a creature who had just been braver and kinder to you in five minutes than your own blood had been in six years.
You unstuck your cheek from the wood.
You did not let go of the pole. You were not ready for that yet. But you turned your head, just enough, and you made your voice work.
“I am.” It came out cracked. You tried again. “I will be. Thank you. Thank you, sir, I am, I am sorry you had to—”
You did not finish the sentence. You did not know how. There was no diplomatic phrasing for thank you for stopping my brother from killing me, and you had not, in all your training, ever been given a script for it.
“Truly, miss,” he said. “It is not a problem.”
He had not moved. He was still turned that small considerate quarter away from you, still letting the lamplight fall where it would, still standing between you and the water without making a point of it.
“I was not far. I heard the disturbance. I would have been a poor man to walk past it.”
A pause.
“I am sorry,” he carefully added, “if my arrival frightened you. I came faster than perhaps was wise.”
You shook your head against the pole. You did not trust your voice yet for more than a syllable. He did not press. He simply stood and waited, the way he had stood and waited before, and after a moment he spoke again, lower this time, the voice he might have used to talk a spooked horse down off a wall.
“There is no hurry. The dock is quiet now. Take what time you need.”
You took it.
You took, perhaps, more time than was dignified. You pressed your forehead to the wood. You worked your hands open and then closed and then open again, watching the fingers obey you, taking small private comfort in the fact that they still would. You felt your pulse begin, at last, to climb down out of your throat and resettle in the place it was supposed to live. You unclenched your jaw, which you had not realized you were clenching.
He did not look at you while you did any of it.
That was the part that, more than anything else, let you do it at all. You could not have managed under the gaze of a fish-like stranger.
“There,” he said quietly, after a long while. “Steadier. Yes?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
“I am sorry,” you said. The words came out steadier than the last time you had tried them. “I am not usually—”
“Miss.” Soft, but it cut you off cleanly. “There is no apology owed. Not for this.”
Your eyes stung again. You pressed your face harder into the wood until the sting went away. You waited until you were sure you could speak without breaking, and then you spoke.
“It is not you.”
It came out before you had decided to say it. He straightened, and you stammered.
“It is not, I mean. I am not, personally, afraid of you. Of… of fishmen. I want you to know that. I know how it must look, the way I am, the way I, but it is not. You. It is the water.”
It was like you couldn't stop—couldn't help making sure he knew you'd seen what he risked, that what he was mattered less than who he was.
“—I had an accident. A long time ago. On the water.” Your voice wavered, and you steadied it. “I have not been right since—”
You stopped. You closed your eyes.
“It was not about you,” you said again, more quietly. “I did not want you to think it was about you.”
For a long moment, he did not answer.
When he did, his voice was somehow gentler than any of it.
“I did not think it was about me, miss.” A small pause. “But I thank you for the kindness of saying so.”
He shifted his weight. Not toward you. Slightly back, in fact, as though some part of him had been considering offering something and was now reconsidering it on your behalf.
“If you will permit me,” he said, “to see that you make it back safely. Even just so far as a tavern. Or a shop where there are other people. I would not feel right walking away and leaving you here, but I—”
He trailed off.
You realized, with a small painful flush, that he had stopped because he had heard himself. Because he had imagined how it might land, a fishman offering to escort a shaking human woman down a dark dock at night, after the night you had clearly just had, and had decided, on his own and without you having to say a word, that it might be more than you could be expected to accept.
He did not finish the sentence. He gave you the room to refuse without ever having to refuse out loud.
And part of you wanted to take it.
The cowardly part. The ashamed part. The mean, tired part that just wanted to be alone in a dark room with a locked door, that did not have any more diplomacy left in it tonight.
But that would have let him think you were the same as your brother. And for all the cruelty Squirt had done, if he made you turn cruel and petty out of fear, you would actually disappoint your parents. Because they had no prejudice for any species, which was part of their enormous success.
You needed to be better, to learn how not to be so afraid, even if it was only because you needed to make them proud. And because you could not let this enormously patient stranger walk away from this dock believing for one second that you saw him the way your brother had.
You let go of the pole.
It took both hands and most of what you had. Your fingers did not want to release the wood, and you had to pry them off one at a time, and when you turned to face him, you kept one hand braced flat against the pillar because your legs were still not entirely reliable.
You did not, at first, look up. You looked at his feet, which was as much of him as you could take in at once. Then his middle. Then, with a small deliberate act of will, the dark shape of his face, still cast in shadow, still unknown to you.
“I would,” you said, “be grateful for your company, sir. If you are willing.”
The large figure followed quietly behind you. Not close. Not at the heel, the way an escort might. Just behind. Far enough that you did not feel the size of him at your back, near enough that you would know, without having to turn, that he was still there.
He did not breach the gap.
The cobbles of the road came up under your boots, and the dock fell away behind you. In the lit windows of the buildings ahead of you, people were laughing, eating, going on with their ordinary evenings, unaware that anything had happened on the marina at all. It seemed they hardly noticed the two of you at all.
The lamps of the town grew brighter as you climbed. The smell of salt-thinned, and the smell of woodsmoke replaced it, and somewhere ahead a door opened and closed, and a burst of warm sound spilled out into the night and was cut off again.
The lamplight reached out into it for a few yards and then fell away into the dark, and the dark gave back nothing. No shape. No silhouette. No enormous patient figure waiting at a courteous distance for you to find your composure.
The road sloped back down toward the marina exactly the way you had come up it, and it was empty, and it was quiet, and there was no sign that anyone had been walking behind you at all.
-X-Strange Happens-X-
The next morning came too early and yet too slow.
You had slept in fits, surfacing each time with your heart in your throat and the half-memory of a hand on your arm. But mostly you had lain awake. Staring at the ceiling of a strange room in a strange port, eyes adjusted to a dark that did not, on land, frighten you, turning the night over and over in your mind until it had worn smooth.
It was not your brother who kept you awake. He had earned his place in your head and would keep it for a long time, but he was not the thing that bit at you in the small hours.
It was your rescuer.
That he had gone before you could properly thank him. That he had slipped away into the dark without a word, without waiting, without giving you the chance to speak the gratitude you had spent the whole walk up the hill arranging in your mouth. That he had, you suspected with a slow climbing shame, expected this—That he had walked you to the edge of the lamplight and turned back into the night because he had assumed, on some level deeper than reason, that a woman of your station and your kind would not want to be seen standing in a lit doorway thanking a fishman where other humans could watch.
That he had spared you the embarrassment in advance.
Guilt pooled in your chest and wrung your conscience until you could not lie still under it.
He had not believed you. And, of course, he hadn’t. Why should he have? You were a human woman in a bad situation, and he’d helped, but that had not made him fanciful. Humans, generally, disliked Fishmen. And even if your fear was not dislike, it came off the same. There could be no real friendship between such species with so much prejudice.
By dawn, you had given up the pretense and risen. You washed your face in cold water. You dressed slowly and carefully. You pinned your hair, and then you took it down, and then you pinned it again. And by the time the summons came from the Fleet Admiral’s office, you were already dressed, already pinned, already wearing the face you had been raised to wear.
You walked to headquarters with your hands folded in front of you and your spine very straight, and you did not look at the harbor on the way. You took the long route, in fact, the one that wound up through the residential streets and away from the water, and you told yourself it was because the morning light was nicer there.
Sengoku was waiting for you as you neared his office.
He cleared his throat and gestured for you both to walk together, indicating with a small tilt of his hand that the conversation would be moving to the adjoining room down the hall.
“Thank you for showing up today,” he said, and there was something in the way he said it that suggested he meant it more than the words themselves carried, as though he had been mildly uncertain, until you walked through the door, whether you would.
You said nothing but inclined your head.
“I am sure you are aware,” he continued, “that the Warlords rarely deign to appear at Marineford. Or near Marines at all, if they can help it. This is the nature of the arrangement, and we have long since stopped attempting to alter it.” A small dry note entered his voice. “Pirates. You understand.”
You allowed yourself the smallest smile.
“However. Your contract stipulates that you are required to check in monthly via Den Den Mushi and to present yourself in person at Marineford biannually, so that we may verify your safety and your well-being. These are not negotiable terms. They are for your protection more than ours.”
The corridor was longer than it should have been, you thought, or perhaps you were walking it more slowly than you had intended.
“Of course, Fleet Admiral.”
“We have also taken the liberty of arranging several months of supplies, already loaded aboard Sir Jinbei’s vessel. Specifically with your comfort in mind. Clothing appropriate to the climate. Foods you are likely to prefer. Reading material. Certain personal items we believe you might find difficult to procure where you are going. Any reasonable additional requests will be accommodated. You need only ask.”
You nodded, but your brow struggled not to raise.
It was a generously odd amount of preparation.
Months of supplies, specifically for your comfort. Foods you were likely to prefer. Personal items difficult to procure. A vessel already loaded by the time you set foot on it, as though there had been no question of whether you would be sailing. As though the question had been settled.
For a diplomat who, by the terms of Sengoku’s own contract, would most likely be parked on Fishman Island, probably one of the most despised positions in the Diplomatic Corps.
A wave of nerves moved through you, low and slow, and passed. It seemed the small mercy of the situation was that you had no more emotional baggage to give. Whatever the day asked of you, it would have to ask of an empty cup, one devoid of tears.
“In return,” Sengoku said, “the Marines ask that you ensure Jinbei answers our calls and our requests in a timely fashion. As part of the Warlord system, we must ensure, to some degree, that they are not privateering at the Marines’ expense.”
It was the polite phrasing. You translated it in your head as you walked. We need you to confirm, on a regular basis, that the pirate we have legitimized is still pretending to be on our side.
“Of course, Fleet Admiral.”
As you both reached the meeting hall, a petty officer stepped forward and opened the door. Sengoku entered first, as rank required. He paused just inside the threshold and nodded you in after him, and you stepped through.
The room was bright, with east-facing windows. The morning sun came in long and warm across a polished table, and on the far side of that table a figure stood, already risen, already waiting, the size of him registering before any of the details did. Large. Very large. The kind of largeness that belonged to a doorway before it belonged to a person.
A flood of trepidation filled you, slow and sinking, and with a wariness that was almost an invocation, you thought, surely not. Surely not. He could not be the same person.
You did not, yet, look fully at him. You held your eyes on Sengoku, who was the safer object, who at least could be looked at without confirming or denying anything. You arranged your face with neutral pleasantness, breathed in for four and held for four and out for four, and you waited.
Sengoku turned with ceremonial weight and raised a hand.
“Allow me,” he said, “to introduce you to Jinbei. Warlord of the Sea. First Son of the Sea. Former captain of the Sun Pirates.”
He turned slightly, including you in the gesture.
“Sir Jinbei. May I present your assigned liaison from the Diplomatic Corps.”
And he spoke your name.
You finally, properly, looked up.
And in the light, you could make him out.
The figure across the table turned, fully, into the light.
Jinbei was enormous. Taller standing in a sunlit office than he had seemed silhouetted against the lamppost, broader through the shoulders than seemed reasonable for a body to be, with a chest like a gunpowder barrel and arms that ended in webbed hands that could, you suspected without strain, encircle your skull. He was dressed in fine cloth of a foreign style, a long open garment in colors and patterns you did not recognize, the sort of cloth that came from somewhere that took its weaving seriously and its dyes more so. A red tattoo peeked from the cross of his robes.
His skin, in the light, was a beautiful, deep blue.
His face was broad. His hair was mostly dark, save for fairer streaks at the sides and top. He had huge tusks set into a strong, closed mouth, a long dark scar running down the left side of his face, and behind the closed mouth, when he parted his lips even slightly, you caught the suggestion of teeth that almost made you turn around and walk back out the door.
Most alarming were his eyes.
They were dark, pitch black. Steady and a touch reflective in the morning sun, the eyes of something that had been built, originally, to see in deep water. Not the eyes of a human man.
However, they were not unkind, either. They were simply themselves, the eyes of a creature looking back at you. Someone who seemed to recognize you.
And when he inclined his head to you in greeting, and when he spoke your name in the warm formal cadence of a first introduction, the voice that came out of him was familiar, and undeniable, and impossible to mistake for anyone else’s.
“I look forward to working with you, Miss Diplomat.”
Sanji, Robin, Franky, Jinbe, (separately story headcannon)
Sees reader reading a dark romance book like haunting adeline, or lights out (or whatever other dark romance books you can think of?) They get a little bit curious about the book She is reading so when she leaves the room for a minute to go do something and they read the chapter she's on but little they know she was a spicy chapter and reader catches them reading it and she smirks at them. 😂
Sanji had been watching you read for the better part of an hour, mesmerized by the way your eyes danced across the pages. As the ship's cook, he prided himself on understanding your tastes, but this particular book had you completely captivated.
"Anything I can get for you, my sweet?" he'd asked earlier, only to receive a distracted wave of your hand.
When you finally excused yourself to grab a drink, Sanji couldn't resist taking a peek at what had stolen your attention so thoroughly. He approached your sunning spot cautiously, as if approaching a rare flower.
The cover art was dark and sensual, but nothing prepared him for the explicit content on the page you'd bookmarked. His eyes widened as he read the detailed descriptions of dominance and submission, his face flushing a deep crimson that spread to his ears.
"Mon dieu," he whispered, completely engrossed despite himself.
Just as he reached a particularly steamy paragraph, you returned with your drink. You leaned against the railing, watching him with amusement as he jumped, nearly dropping the book.
"Swan-san! I... I was just... admiring the craftsmanship of the binding!" he stammered, trying to hide the book behind his back.
You took a slow sip of your drink, eyes twinkling. "Is that so? And what did you think of the craftsmanship in chapter twelve?"
Sanji's face went through several shades of red before he finally sighed in defeat. "I... may have gotten carried away. But I must say, the passion is... inspiring."
You laughed softly, moving closer. "Inspiring enough to try some of those techniques later?"
His eyes widened before a sly grin spread across his face. "Perhaps I could prepare something equally... satisfying for dinner tonight."
As you walked away, you could hear him muttering about spices and intensity, making you wonder just what kind of meal he had in mind.
ℝ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕟
Robin had been observing your reading habits with quiet interest for days. As a fellow book lover, she appreciated your literary devotion, but there was something about this particular volume that had you completely absorbed.
When you left the library to help Nami with navigation charts, Robin couldn't resist examining the book you'd left behind. She picked it up with her usual grace, her long fingers tracing the embossed title before opening to your marked page.
Robin's normally composed expression shifted slightly as she absorbed the dark themes and explicit content. Unlike the others, she analyzed it with academic interest rather than shock, though a faint blush colored her cheeks.
When you returned and found her still reading, Robin didn't flinch. Instead, she looked up with a thoughtful, slightly mischievous expression.
"Fascinating," she said, closing the book but keeping her finger in the page. "The psychological dynamics between the characters are quite complex. The author has done considerable research into power dynamics and trauma bonding."
You laughed, pleased by her reaction. "I knew you'd appreciate it on a different level."
Robin smiled enigmatically, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Indeed. Though I must say, I'm rather surprised by your taste for such... intense narratives. Is there something you're not telling us about your preferences?"
Your cheeks warmed at her implication. "It's just fiction, Robin."
"Is it?" she asked, leaning closer. "Because I couldn't help but notice you've bookmarked several of the more... passionate scenes. One might wonder if you're taking notes."
You swatted her arm playfully. "I'm not taking notes!"
Robin's laugh was like soft bells. "Of course not. But perhaps you'd be interested in some historical texts on similar themes? I have several volumes on ancient rituals and practices that might... broaden your horizons."
As you left the library, you could feel Robin's eyes on you, and you wondered if she was teasing or genuinely offering research material.
𝔽𝕣𝕒𝕟𝕜𝕪
Franky had been trying to work on modifications to the ship's ventilation system, but he kept getting distracted by your intense focus on the book you were reading in the corner of his workshop. Every so often, you'd let out a little gasp or shift uncomfortably, piquing his curiosity.
When you stepped out to answer Usopp's call for help with the rigging, Franky couldn't resist taking a peek. He approached cautiously, trying to maintain his cool demeanor.
"Just checking on my favorite reading buddy," he muttered to himself, picking up the book.
His mechanical eyes nearly popped out of their sockets when he read the explicit scene you'd left open. Franky's loud exclamation of "SUUUUPER!" echoed through the ship as he slammed the book shut, his face turning as red as his star tattoo.
"Whoa mama!" he whispered, fanning himself with his giant hand.
You returned to find him trying to casually lean against the workbench, whistling nonchalantly while hiding the book behind his back.
"Find something interesting, Franky?" you asked, barely containing your laughter.
"JUST CHECKING THE PAPER QUALITY!" he boomed, striking a ridiculous pose. "A good book needs SUUUUPER construction to withstand repeated reading!"
You smirked, moving closer. "And what did you think of the construction in chapter fifteen?"
Franky's face went through several shades of red before he started doing his signature pose routine. "Well, uh... the engineering of certain... scenarios was quite impressive! The attention to detail in the... restraints was particularly noteworthy!"
You couldn't help but laugh at his flustered reaction. "I'm glad you appreciate the craftsmanship."
Franky suddenly grew serious, his usual bravado giving way to genuine curiosity. "But seriously, is that the kind of stuff you're into? Not that there's anything wrong with it! I mean, I could build some SUUUPER equipment if you're interested..."
You patted his massive arm reassuringly. "It's just fiction, Franky. But thanks for the offer."
For the next week, he kept accidentally building furniture with suspicious features, much to everyone's confusion and your amusement.
𝕁𝕚𝕟𝕓𝕖
Jinbe had been observing your reading sessions from a respectful distance, intrigued by your complete absorption in the book. As a man of honor and propriety, he wouldn't normally pry into your personal interests, but something about your reactions to certain passages had captured his attention.
When you left your book on the deck while helping Chopper in the infirmary, Jinbe approached it with the intention of moving it to a safer place. However, his eyes fell upon the open page, and the normally composed helmsman froze.
The dark themes and explicit content were so contrary to his honorable nature that he wasn't sure how to process them. He quickly closed the book, looking around as if he'd been caught doing something shameful, a faint blush coloring his cheeks.
When you returned, Jinbe stood awkwardly beside the book, looking more flustered than you'd ever seen him.
"Jinbe? Everything alright?" you asked, noticing his discomfort.
He cleared his throat, avoiding your gaze. "I was merely ensuring your reading material didn't blow away in the sea breeze."
You moved closer, lowering your voice teasingly. "And did you enjoy the part where the anti-hero..."
"Perhaps some subjects are best explored privately," Jinbe interrupted, his cheeks slightly flushed.
You couldn't help but laugh at the honorable fishman's reaction. "There's no need to be embarrassed. It's just a story."
Jinbe finally met your eyes, his expression softening. "I apologize for my intrusion. It's not my place to judge your interests. Though I must admit, I'm curious about what appeals to you in such... intense narratives."
You smiled, touched by his genuine concern. "Sometimes it's nice to explore darker themes safely, through fiction. It doesn't mean I want to experience them in real life."
Jinbe nodded thoughtfully. "I understand. Though if you ever wish to discuss the themes of honor and redemption that often run through such stories, I would be happy to share my perspective."
Later that evening, you found him quietly reading a book on naval warfare, looking up with a small smile as you passed. "I've selected something with a bit more conventional moral framework," he said, his eyes twinkling with amusement.
But i was thinking about my friend who always slaps my butt as a joke except she does it SUPER hard, like falling to the ground hard. It makes me laugh but it hurts like a mfer every time so:
Strawhats reacting to you slapping their ass (extreme edition)😇
- ✧ -
Luffy
With the amount of force you use and his total oblivious state he ends up flying across the deck, crashing into mast. He finds it funny, so funny in fact he wants to try it :( run away :( He really cheats too because he uses both his stretchy powers and haki💔💔
Zoro
Doesn't react at all. At first.
When he turns to look at you, it's like glimpsing into the nine circles of hell and suddenly you know why he's called the king. Immediate sprint is the only way you're going to survive but he's absolutely chasing after you. If he doesn't catch you he'll save it for later, in fact he'll inflict more on you later just for avoiding immediate retribution.
Sanji
Makes a noise you didn't know he could make. It's somewhere between a choking sound and a squeak before going the brightest shade of red you've ever seen. He turns to question you, nose dripping blood already, but you're already running away in hysterics, leaving him to suffer his newfound interest alone.
Usopp
Instant yowling. And I mean instant.
So much so you immediately start panicking. You know like when you hit your sibling too hard and they cry? It's exactly like that. He loves being coddled by you too so he really drags it out. He doesn't let it go though, do NOT turn your back for the foreseeable future or that 1000lbs hammer is going to give you the lovepat of a lifetime.
Nami
Oh if anyones slapping asses here it's Nami and she is not giving you a turn. Don't even attempt it, it will end poorly for you and everyone in the general vicinity. If you somehow manage to do it then just kiss goodbye to your money, your freedom, your life. She's going to beat your ass (in a super super sexy way). It's going to be a long time before you leave that bedroom.
Robin
She stumbles. Immediate regret forms as you watch her look at you with that creepy little serene smile she does when she's about to traumatise everyone with another fact. You already know whats happening without even turning around and you know if you try to run she'll just restrain you, so you stand there...and let her giant ass hand slap your ass.
Franky
One of the only parts of his body that's still fleshy and you're subjecting it to pain. Unfortunately for you he likes it and you better hope you're not in public because he will let you know VERY loudly. Very much enjoys slapping your ass back and it hurts way worse because he's got a lot more power behind it🥀🥀 But on the plus he'll totally kiss it better.
Brook
The logistics of this are dangerous because you could dislocate his joints very easily. But his slinky frame is so slappable I hear you say, and I raise: PILLOWFIGHT!!! This being your main method of playfighting means you both get very good and become the horror team at any sleepover
The lead up to you hitting his ass involves a lot of pillow smacking and throwing so it's no wonder that the pillow explodes as soon as it touches his beautiful bony behind...leaving you without a pillow weapon. Good luck🫡
Jinbei
It's not a question of retaliation or even reaction, more like did your hand even survive. This man is built okay, he's trained for so many years, you think he hasn't trained those globes?? Think again. His first reaction is to check on your hand because it most definitely hurts you more than it does him but after that its basically like you started his villain arc. By slapping his ass. He gets this sneaky little grin on his face and to be honest he doesn't even run around after you he just waits until you've forgotten all about it then.....BAM!! It echoes, he comes to his senses, he becomes mortified. He will give you a massage as an apology and he lets you sit on his lap while it heals up.
Summary: You’re stuck in a small space together, and the close proximity leads to accidental touches and teasing remarks.
Masterlist / Part 1, Part 2, Part 3
A/N: Hints of spicy but nothing to hot
💙🎪Buggy :
You’d made the mistake of rushing into what seemed like a perfect hiding spot, until you realized Buggy had followed you. And now, there you both were pressed into an incredibly tight storage room with barely enough room to breathe, let alone move.
Buggy’s exaggerated presence filled the small space, and you were painfully aware of how much space he was taking up. His flashy outfit, his tall hat, and his eccentric personality were all crammed into this tiny little cupboard with you.
His eyes flicked to you with a mix of confusion and irritation. “What is this?! What is this?! You call this a hiding spot?!”
“Buggy,” you muttered, trying to adjust, but there was nowhere to go. “We don’t have time for this. The patrol’s right outside. Stay quiet!”
Buggy shot you a glare, his voice rising slightly. “I’m trying to stay quiet, but you’re squashing me! This is ridiculous! I’m Buggy the Clown! I deserve more respect than this!” He puffed out his chest, but the cramped space only made it look even funnier.
You shifted awkwardly, trying to avoid touching him, but with his constant shifting and exaggerated movements, it was impossible. You were both too big for this tiny space, and every time you moved, you ended up bumping into him.
“I’m not the one who picked this place,” you said with an exasperated sigh. “But it’s either this or get caught. So please, for once, stop complaining.”
Buggy stopped for a second, eyes narrowing as he seemed to process what you said. “Oh, so you’re blaming me now, huh? This is your fault for dragging me in here! I could’ve been out there causing chaos like I do best, but noooo... now I’m stuck in here with you!”
You opened your mouth to respond but stopped when you heard footsteps approaching. Instantly, you both froze. Buggy, though, was clearly trying to keep his temper in check.
“Great,” he muttered, “we’re going to die in here. This is how my life ends. Squashed into a cupboard....” His voice trailed off, and you could practically feel his indignation rolling off him.
You couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle despite the situation. Buggy might be obnoxious, but the way he was reacting to the cramped space was pretty funny. Still, you couldn’t let your guard down too much. You shifted a little, trying to make yourself more comfortable, but in doing so, you accidentally brushed against him. His reaction was immediate.
“Hey! Watch it! I’m not some kind of pillow you can just lean on!” Buggy's voice went from a low growl to an exaggerated yelp. “What do you think this is? You think you can just...”
You tried to hush him, but it was no use. Every time he moved, you bumped into each other again, and it only made the situation worse. The space was so small that you could barely turn without ending up in even closer contact.
“Listen, I don’t want to be pressed against you, either,” you whispered urgently, still trying to hold in your laughter at his ridiculousness. “But we’ve got no choice, alright?”
Buggy puffed up his chest again, completely ignoring the fact that the two of you were practically sharing the same air. “Well, fine. But I swear, if I get any closer to you, I’m going to lose it. I’m Buggy the Clown, not some... some... hiding animal!”
You rolled your eyes. “You’re literally hiding right now, Buggy.”
Buggy’s ego seemed to deflate a little at that, and he crossed his arms with a huff. “I don’t need this. You’re lucky I’m doing this. But when we get out of here, I demand a proper reward for my troubles!”
You couldn’t help but laugh, even though you both were still practically crammed into the tiny space together. “Sure, Buggy. Whatever you say,” you said with a teasing grin, trying to ease the tension.
But Buggy wasn’t finished yet. “And no more accidental touching! I don’t know what kind of person you think I am, but I do not roll like that!”
You nearly snorted at his dramatic tone, but quickly suppressed it. “Buggy, you’re the one that’s been shifting around this whole time.”
“That’s different!” Buggy snapped. “I’m trying to make sure you’re not... you know... doing... things!”
You blinked at him, a little taken aback by his words. “...What things?”
He paused, a bit flustered for a second. “You know what I mean! I’m just making sure you’re not getting too comfortable! You’re lucky I’m here protecting your dignity! What if I accidentally touch you? Huh? I’d be ruined! You’d be ruined!”
His dramatic rambling almost made you laugh again. It was clear that he had no idea how much his exaggerated reactions made him look ridiculous, but at the same time, you couldn’t help but admire the way his pride never wavered, even in this situation.
You were about to respond when you heard the patrol footsteps growing closer again. Instinctively, you both froze, trying to breathe as quietly as possible. But as you waited in silence, you were keenly aware of the way his body was pressed against yours again.
Buggy noticed the change in your posture, and even though he didn’t say anything, you could feel his tension. For a moment, the chaos faded away. It wasn’t the most comfortable, but somehow, being stuck in a tiny space with Buggy didn’t feel as bad as it did at first. Despite his bluster and constant complaints, he was, in his own way, trying to make the best of the situation.
When the footsteps passed, you let out a quiet sigh of relief, but you couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at your lips.
Buggy quickly straightened up, fixing his hat with exaggerated flair. “See? Told you I had everything under control. Now, I think we can finally get out of here.”
“Yeah, sure,” you said, still grinning. “Next time, maybe pick a bigger spot to hide in.”
Buggy huffed dramatically but gave you a smirk of his own. “You’re lucky I’m being so gracious right now. But I will accept a proper thank-you once we’re out of here. I’m doing this for you, after all.”
“Of course, Buggy. You’re a true hero,” you replied dryly.
❤️🍖Monkey D. Luffy:
The sound of footsteps above echoed through the ship, and you quickly ducked into the nearest hiding place. The enemy patrol was only moments away, and you didn’t have a lot of time to think. So when Luffy followed you in, you didn’t even have a chance to process it before the two of you were crammed into a small storage closet.
The room was full of crates and barrels, leaving barely enough space for the two of you to stand. Luffy with his usual playful grin, didn’t exactly help the situation. The tight space was becoming unbearable. Every time you tried to shift, you ended up bumping into Luffy. You were both stuck there, with barely any room to move, and it was starting to get uncomfortable. You could feel his warmth radiating from his body every time you moved even a little.
"I really don't think there's enough space for the both of us in here, Luffy," you muttered, shifting again, trying not to press too hard against him.
Luffy blinked at you, looking entirely unbothered by the situation. He scratched his head and gave you a sheepish grin. "I know, it's pretty tight," he agreed, then, without any hesitation, he put a hand on your shoulder, gently pulling you toward him. "I know! You can sit on my lap, and we’ll have more room!"
You froze for a second, eyes widening. "Wait, what?!"
Luffy’s grin was as wide as ever, his hands already pulling you closer. “Don’t worry! You’ll have more room to move if you sit here. It’s totally fine!”
Before you could react or protest, you were in his lap, perched there awkwardly. Luffy didn’t even seem to notice the closeness; he was just so calm and unbothered, like this was the most normal thing in the world. He adjusted his position, making sure you were comfortable, which only made the whole situation more uncomfortably intimate.
“There,” Luffy said happily, “Now there’s more space for both of us, see?”
You were sitting on his lap, his body pressing into yours, but the way he looked at you was just... so innocent. He honestly seemed like he thought this was the best solution, and the more he smiled at you, the more you found yourself trying to suppress your nervous laughter. This was Luffy, after all. He probably wasn’t even aware of the kind of effect this would have on you.
"Uhm, Luffy..." you said, feeling your face heat up. "I don't know if this is exactly what I had in mind... But, uh, it’s better than standing like this, I guess."
Luffy tilted his head, still grinning like a goof. “See? I told you it’d work! Now there’s plenty of space! You’re comfortable, right?”
"Comfortable" wasn’t the word for it, but you didn’t want to burst his bubble. “Yeah, sure,” you said quickly, trying to sound nonchalant, even though the situation was anything but.
Luffy didn’t seem to notice the awkwardness at all, instead looking very pleased with himself. “Great! I like this! Feels much better than being all squished against the crates, right?”
You tried to adjust yourself again, but it was still hard to ignore the way his arms were wrapped around you. Luffy was always like this, completely carefree and oblivious to anything that might make the situation awkward. It was almost refreshing, in a way. His complete honesty and lack of awareness made everything feel lighter, even if the closeness was overwhelming.
Luffy shifted underneath you, making himself more comfortable as he stretched his arms out behind him. “See? This is great. And you’re not squished anymore, right?”
“I’m not squished,” you agreed, but it came out sounding more like a question than an answer. The truth was, you were still trying to wrap your mind around how normal Luffy made everything feel, even when you were sitting on his lap, cramped into a tiny space with barely any room to breathe. He wasn’t doing anything inappropriate; he was just trying to make the best of the situation in his own way.
“And,” Luffy continued, his voice softening a little as his tone became more serious for a brief moment, “I like being around you. It feels... nice, being this close. So we can do this more if you want. I think I could get used to it!”
You looked up at him, surprised at his sudden seriousness. But as you met his gaze, you saw that Luffy wasn’t saying it out of any ulterior motive. He just really liked the feeling of closeness, like he always did with the people he cared about.
“Okay, Luffy,” you said finally, letting out a small laugh. “Maybe, when we have no other choice. But we’ll see about doing some other times.”
Luffy gave you a huge grin. “Great! I’m glad you agree!” He squeezed you a little tighter, making you jump slightly, before settling back into the small, cramped space. “This is fun! We should do this more often, definitely.”
You couldn’t help but laugh again, even if your heart was still racing in your chest. It was a chaotic, awkward situation, but it was Luffy. And when it came to him, everything felt a little more carefree than it should have. So for now, you just decided to go with it, even if you weren’t entirely sure what the future held. At least in Luffy’s world, things were always more fun than complicated.
🩵🥋Jinbei:
The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway, and without thinking, you pulled Jinbei into the narrow supply closet with you. There was barely enough room to move, everything was stacked high with crates and barrels, making it feel even smaller than it actually was.
Jinbei's massive frame immediately made it obvious how tight the space was. You’d both fit, but only if you stood really close together.
Jinbei, ever the calm and composed one, didn’t immediately say anything. He just nodded once, his brow furrowing slightly as he looked around the cramped space. You could feel the heat of his body close to yours, but he didn’t make any move to adjust. “We’ll have to wait here for a moment,” Jinbei said in his usual deep, soothing voice. His eyes flicked to the doorway to make sure no one had seen you.
You nodded, but couldn’t help but feel the awkwardness of the situation creeping in. There was nowhere to stand that didn’t involve being in very close proximity to him, and even though you knew he wasn’t trying to make things awkward, the fact that he was so big and solidly built made the tight space feel even more intimate.
“I, uh...” You cleared your throat, trying to shift your position, but it was hard when his body was so close. “This is... a little close, huh?”
Jinbei turned his head slowly to look at you. His expression was as calm as ever, but you could tell he was trying to be careful with his movements. “I apologize,” he said, his voice low but sincere. “I did not expect to be in such a small space. I will make sure I do not encroach on your space.”
You quickly waved him off, trying to hide your unease. “No, it’s okay, Jinbe. It’s just that… well, you're a little bigger than me, and this is kinda tight.”
“I understand.” His expression softened a little, and for a brief moment, you noticed a hint of discomfort in his eyes. “I am sorry if I have made you feel uncomfortable.”
His usual composure didn’t waver, but you could tell he was trying hard to be considerate. The way he moved just slightly, trying not to brush against you too much, was actually a little endearing. He didn’t want to invade your space, but the cramped conditions made it hard for either of you to escape the closeness.
“I really don’t mind,” you said, though your voice betrayed you. The proximity was making it hard to ignore the warmth radiating off of him, and you could feel the weight of his presence, his muscles, just a few inches away.
Jinbei seemed to sense that the air had shifted, and he nodded again. “You are very kind. I will try to adjust, but I must be honest; I do not think I can make much more room in here.”
You chuckled nervously, realizing that both of you were kind of in this awkward situation together. “I figured as much,” you replied, looking around the small space. “It’s just... I’m not used to being this close to someone who’s this big. It’s kind of hard to ignore.”
Jinbei remained silent for a moment, his thoughtful expression never leaving his face. He could sense your discomfort but didn’t want to make a bigger deal out of it. “If it helps,” he said finally, “I will remain as still as possible. My presence should not overwhelm you.”
It was such a Jinbei thing to say, always considering the other person’s feelings and making sure they felt comfortable, even when he was stuck in an uncomfortable situation himself. But there was only so much stillness could do. Every shift you made, trying to create a little more space, seemed to only bring you closer to him. The tight space was unavoidable, and with Jinbei so close, you could feel the subtle pressure of his body against yours. His broad shoulders, his large frame... it was a lot to take in, especially when you had nowhere to move.
“I’ll try to stop fidgeting,” you said with a forced laugh, but it was hard to ignore how cramped you were. “This isn’t really what I had in mind when I thought of ‘hiding.’”
A slight smile breaking through his usually serious demeanor. “I did not expect our hiding spot to be so... limited in space either.” His eyes softened. “I can see how this might be uncomfortable for you. If you need a break from the closeness, feel free to let me know.” Despite his towering size, his voice was gentle and considerate, as if he truly wanted you to be at ease. He wasn’t making a big deal of the situation, but it was clear he wanted to respect your boundaries.
“It’s fine, really,” you said quickly, trying to reassure him, even though the tightness was becoming harder to ignore. “I just... didn’t think it’d be this close. You’re so tall. I feel like I’m almost... leaning into you.”
Jinbei seemed to think about that for a second, his gaze flicking down at you. His lips parted as if he were going to say something, but then he paused, and his gaze softened. “I suppose, under the circumstances, you are correct,” he said with a quiet chuckle, though it was almost more of a knowing smile. “We are quite... close, aren’t we?”
You were about to say something else, but just then, the sound of footsteps drew closer, and you both froze, silently holding your breath. The moment passed quickly, and you both let out a soft sigh of relief, but now the tension in the air was different. The enemy had passed, but the quiet, almost unspoken understanding between you and Jinbe hung there for a moment longer.
Jinbei shifted, his body just slightly adjusting, but still, he was close. His warmth surrounded you, and for a brief moment, you realized that the space between you wasn’t entirely uncomfortable anymore. It was a strange kind of closeness, but one that you weren’t sure how to label.
After a moment of silence, Jinbei’s deep voice rumbled softly. “I am not used to being so close to someone like this. I hope it hasn’t caused you too much discomfort.”
You found yourself nodding, your voice quieter than usual. “I think we’re okay. I mean, I wasn’t expecting it, but... it’s not so bad.”
Jinbei gave a quiet nod in return, his large hand gently resting near you, as if offering a sense of security. “Good. I am grateful for your patience.”
Synopsis: Sometimes, on a ship like the Thousand Sunny, you need to take advantage of the time you get
Tags/Warnings: Jinbei/M!Reader, disabled!reader, established relationship, fluff, platonic straw hats relationships mentioned
Word Count: 954
A blind date for my dear @jinbeioyabun for this event
There was only so much to be done on a ship like the Thousand Sunny. It wasn’t small by any measure, not considering there was only eleven members to your crew, but there was just only so many things to do. You also spent the vast majority of your time either taking down corrupt governments or sailing, so there wasn’t a lot of time spare to spend on land enjoying the company of your partner.
But, you and Jinbei are adults - you can make the most of that. Anything can be a date if you make it so. So, when you both had chores in the same area of the ship, you made an event of it. With your pain issues, you couldn’t do chores that involved bending down, so Jinbei handled scrubbing the floors while you took charge of dusting higher areas, one hand on the duster and the other on your cane to keep you stable. The air between you was quiet, with much of the crew being in other areas of the ship, so for at least a while it gave you some semblance of privacy.
When you took a break to sit down, Jinbei shuffled calmly over to sit beside you, lifting you into his lap rather than simply sitting beside him, because he loved just having you close. He pressed his lips to the top of your head, arms wrapping loosely around your waist so as to not cause discomfort.
“Are you doing alright, dear?” He asked softly, thumbs rubbing soothing circles over your hips, not intended to relieve any pain but just to be tender and comforting.
“I’m alright. Just needed a little break.” Jinbei hummed in understanding, allowing the quiet to settle between you again as he pressed a gentle kiss to your temple. Somewhere distant, through the mostly closed door, you could hear Brook singing a tune which Chopper had joined in on, clearly tending to chores of their own. It was a pleasant backdrop for the quiet moment.
“Do you ever wish we did more together?” Jinbei asked after a moment, the movement of his thumbs pausing as he tilted slightly, leaning over your shoulder to look down at you, wanting to see your face for the topic at hand to be able to fully gage your reaction. It took you a moment to process the question, and then confusion settled in. Do more together?
“We’re together all the time.” You replied, twisting slightly for yourself so the two of you could look straight at each other.
“Rarely alone.” He pointed out, hands instinctively adjusting so you’d remain comfortable in his lap.
“That’s true, but I don’t mind it. We get our moments, like this.”
“I know we do, but don’t you ever wish it was.. more? More special, I suppose.” He questioned.
“Do you?”
“I cherish all the time we have together.”
“Then stop worrying. Anything can be a date or a special moment, if we decide it’s one.” You said firmly. Carefully, and with his assistance, you adjusted in Jinbei’s lap to be facing him, and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. He returned it without hesitation, hands cradling you reverently, making sure to keep you from hurting yourself.
For a long moment, the two of you remained there, nestled into a corner and ignoring the chores you were supposed to be doing in favour of just being close, kissing each other gently, tenderly. It was the simple things that made the day to day beautiful, that made a life at sea more bearable. A knock at the door made you both part, glancing over to see a disembodied arm of Robin’s, giving you warning that she was on her way in case you were indecent. She always was so considerate.
By the time Robin walked in, Jinbei had helped you back to your feet, his hand resting on the small of your back.
“All done in here?” She asked, glancing around the space.
“Just a few spots left to dust.” You told her, gesturing up to the edges of the ceiling. Several arms sprouted to cast away cobwebs, then disappeared in an abundance of petals. Had you mentioned how considerate she was?
“Go get some more of your things done.” She encouraged, holding the door open. You and Jinbei weren’t going to argue with that. You held your cane in one hand, using that to help you along as you crossed the deck, Jinbei on your other side just in case you became unstable or a larger wave caught you off guard and made you unsteady on your feet, and of course it was an excellent excuse to have a hand on you, not that he needed one.
You passed by Luffy, Ussop and Zoro on your way down to the boys’ cabin, getting ready to help with laundry. It was an easy enough chore, and one that Jinbei always assisted with when you were assigned to it, since it tended to strain your back. Though you could’ve worked in silence, there was something comforting about the soft humming Jinbei did, a tune you didn’t recognise but seemed beautiful anyway. You suspected that had something to do with the lips the tune was coming from. And once everything was done, Jinbei lifted you up into his hammock with him, because the use of them tended to be good for your pain, though you struggled to get back out - you couldn’t struggle if he was there to carry you.
If you fell asleep there, a basket of dirty laundry on the feet beside the hammock? Well, Brook wasn’t going to scold you, he just quickly swanned away with it in his arms.
Tag list: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @queenmimi2817 @fanaticsnail @villainousace @hellkaiserinphoenix
If you'd like to tip me you can head over to my Kofi
If your requests are still open? May I please request a story about Jinbe with a human girlfriend who meets Jinbe's old friends the sun pirates? Like the strawhat crew go to this random island, and they just so happened to run into the sun pirates while they were there, that's when Jinbe introduces them to his girlfriend and the sun pirates adore her?🥰
If not then I understand😁
The island had a warmth to it that felt different from the Thousand Sunny.
Not just the weather, though the sun sat comfortably overhead and the ocean breeze carried a soft saltiness through the air. It was something deeper than that. The kind of place where laughter came easily, where the streets felt lived in, where the atmosphere wrapped around you like you had been there before even if you hadn’t.
You stood near the edge of the port, watching the crew scatter in their usual fashion. Luffy had already vanished toward the smell of food without a second thought. Usopp and Chopper were darting between stalls, pointing at anything remotely interesting. Nami was already calculating prices in her head while pretending she wasn’t. Sanji lingered nearby, scanning the area while trying not to look like he was scanning for pretty women.
It was normal.
Familiar.
Comforting.
And yet, beside you, Jinbe stood a little differently than usual.
Still calm. Still grounded. But quieter in a way that wasn’t just his usual composure.
You glanced up at him, tilting your head slightly. “You’re thinking about something.”
“I am,” he replied, voice steady but distant.
You followed his gaze across the port, your eyes landing on a group that had just stepped into view. Several fish-men, broad-shouldered and confident, moving like they belonged wherever they stood. There was an energy about them that felt… familiar, even to you.
And then it clicked.
“Oh,” you murmured softly. “Are those…?”
Before you could finish, one of them looked up.
Recognition hit instantly.
“Jinbe?!”
The shout cut through the air, loud and disbelieving, and in seconds the distance between them closed. They surrounded him with ease, laughter breaking out as they clapped his shoulders and spoke over one another.
“It’s really you!”
“Where the hell have you been hiding?!”
“You look the same!”
Jinbe didn’t pull away. Instead, something in him softened in a way that made your chest tighten just a little. His posture relaxed, his voice warmer, quieter.
“It has been some time,” he said.
You stepped back instinctively, giving them space. This wasn’t your moment. This was history, shared experiences, bonds that ran deeper than you could fully understand just by watching.
But you didn’t feel excluded.
You felt like you were witnessing something important.
They talked over each other for a moment longer, laughter mixing with disbelief, until one of them finally glanced past Jinbe and spotted you.
“Hey… who’s that?”
The shift was immediate.
All eyes turned to you.
You froze for a second, caught off guard by the sudden attention, before offering a small, polite smile. “Hi.”
Jinbe turned slightly, looking at you with that same calm steadiness, but there was something softer in his expression now.
“This is my partner.”
The words were simple.
But the way he said them carried weight.
It made your chest warm in a way you couldn’t quite explain.
For a brief moment, the group went quiet.
Then everything hit at once.
“Your partner?!”
“Since when?!”
“You didn’t tell us anything!”
You let out a small laugh, rubbing the back of your neck. “Yeah, I guess that would’ve been useful information, huh?”
One of them stepped a little closer, not in a threatening way, just curious. His eyes moved over you briefly before settling into something thoughtful.
“A human.”
“Yeah,” another added, crossing his arms with a faint grin. “Didn’t think Jinbe would settle down.”
You felt your face heat slightly at that, but before you could respond, Jinbe spoke again.
“She is important to me.”
That was all.
No elaboration.
No hesitation.
And somehow, that was enough.
The atmosphere shifted almost instantly. The teasing didn’t disappear, but it changed, softened into something warmer, something more accepting.
“Well, if Jinbe says that, then you must be someone worth knowing.”
“Yeah, we trust his judgment.”
“Name?”
You introduced yourself, feeling the tension in your shoulders ease just a little. Their curiosity wasn’t sharp. It wasn’t judgmental. It was open.
“And you’re really with him?” one of them asked, clearly amused.
You glanced at Jinbe for a moment, then nodded. “Yeah. I am.”
They exchanged glances, something unspoken passing between them.
Then, one by one, they nodded.
“Alright.”
“Welcome.”
It wasn’t flashy.
It wasn’t dramatic.
But it felt real.
One of them clapped you on the shoulder a bit too hard, and you stumbled slightly before laughing it off.
“Sorry about that!” he said quickly, though he didn’t look too sorry.
A steady hand came to your side, grounding you instantly.
“Careful,” Jinbe said.
“I’m okay,” you replied, smiling up at him.
He didn’t remove his hand immediately.
They noticed that too.
The small things. The way you leaned into him without thinking. The way he adjusted around you naturally, without making a big deal of it.
“…you treat her well,” one of them said, looking directly at Jinbe.
“I do my best,” he replied.
“You better,” another added with a grin. “We’ll be watching.”
You laughed softly. “I feel like I just got interviewed.”
“You did,” someone said without missing a beat. “We’ve gotta make sure he’s not slacking.”
“Hey,” another chimed in, nudging you lightly this time, more careful. “You hungry? We were about to grab food.”
Your eyes lit up. “Yeah, actually.”
“Good. You’re coming with us.”
It wasn’t a suggestion.
It was an invitation.
One you didn’t feel like refusing.
You glanced at Jinbe, and he gave a small nod.
“It would be good for you to spend time with them,” he said.
“I’d like that.”
And you meant it.
As you all began walking together, the conversation flowed naturally. They asked you questions, not invasive ones, just curious. Where you were from. How you met Jinbe. What you liked.
You answered easily, laughter slipping into your voice without you realizing it.
At some point, one of them leaned toward another, speaking just low enough that they probably thought you wouldn’t hear.
“She’s good for him.”
“Yeah,” the other replied. “She fits.”
You pretended not to notice.
But you felt it.
Jinbe glanced down at you briefly, catching the small smile you tried to hide.
“You are comfortable?” he asked quietly.
“Yeah,” you said. “I really am.”
He nodded once, satisfied.
And as the group continued down the lively streets, laughter mixing with the sounds of the port, it didn’t feel like you were meeting strangers anymore.
It felt like stepping into a story that had been going long before you arrived…
And somehow, being welcomed into it like you had always belonged.
~
an: i see you supernatural...i am making a spn blog soon heh
