Hiii! Can you write mihawk x bold perverted reader like reader is obsessed with his pecs (man boobs) and can't keep her hands to herself so she teases him a lot👀
A/N: I saw the potential of making it a preference for all our big chest men of one piece.
Masterlist
Zoro
He would never admit it, but he gets really flustered.
He is a feared swordsman, praised by his muscular body but always from the distance.
And here you are, touching his pecs and even biting them like he is your personal stressball.
But still, he lets you do it by pretending he is taking a nap so you can come and place your head on his chest to rest.
He likes it, even though it gets him to reconsider his grumpy personality.
Dracule Mihawk
He doesn't know how to react.
He is always a very classy and prepared man, but your hand on his pecs thru the shirt while telling him how good of a man he is... was not on his list.
Even a small hint of blush gets onto his face, you always manage to make him skip a heartbeat.
He lets you be, but that doesn't mean he won't blush and even let out a small grunt.
Eustass Kid
He is very proud of his image and mostly of his chest.
And you touch it like is some kind of fidget toy.
He like the praise from the distance, cause once your fingers are on his, he can't help but blush and he can't do that, he is Captain Kidd.
He tries to laugh and don't care about it, saying that his beautiful partner is obssesed with his figure.
But he is really sensitive there and you are pushing the limit.
Killer
Since you can't see his face, he already expected that you take interest in other parts of him.
And he is really proud of his figure (not on Kid's level) but still surprised that you always seem to bury your face on his chest when you both are hugging.
He is more than glad that you can't see his face cause he is smiling about your affection.
He really loves to just put his chest onto your display to take a nap.
Sr. Crocodile
He is a big but also polite man, he has mastered the trade and the criminal world.
And now he is letting his partner give him massages on the pecks.
He won't admit it but is relaxing, he is also a little worried about your manic look while you touch him but tries to brush it off.
It feels like some kind of weird intimacy between you both.
The first time you suggested it, he almost chocked on his cigar.
Characters: Roronoa Zoro, Vinsmoke Sanji, Portgas D. Ace, Sabo, Eustass Kid, Killer, Trafalgar D. Water Law
Content Warnings: Kid is an ass and Law is a loser
Roronoa Zoro
I think Zoro would be really normal about it and respectful. He’s a swordsman and a lot of his life has been dedicated to his art, he won’t judge you for something as small as not losing your virginity. I also believe he would feel very honored if you chose him to lose your virginity with. Everyone likes to think Zoro is a stoic guy but deep down he really does care for his crewmates and friends. He would make sure your first time would be very romantic (even if he has to secretly ask Sanji how to do that!) He takes very good care of his body and works out often so he can go for as long as you need him for!
Vinsmoke Sanji
I don’t know why people think Sanji is a virgin when so many women canonically LOVE this guy. If you told him about your status, I wholeheartedly believe it wouldn’t even register in his mind what you said. Why would he care? A beautiful woman is a beautiful woman. If you told him you want to lose your virginity with him, that would be a whole other story. You would probably see a truckful of roses shipped onto the Sunny in preparation for the night. Boxes of chocolate and bundles of candles galore, everything a perfect evening needs, you’ll get. Sanji does things right.
Portgas D. Ace
Ace is most definitely a virgin. So when you tell him you’re one, he’s very relieved to be in the same boat. When you tell him you want to lose your virginities together he probably will burst into flames. You’re most likely his first partner too! There’s not a lot of people to talk to on that island besides Dadan, his little brother, and Makino. Between doing stuff for Whitebeard, watching over Luffy, and general boyfriend duties for you, Ace is a busy guy. He may not have the most sophisticated set up planned for the two of you, but he’ll sure as hell make the night worth your time.
Sabo
Oh Sabo. When you’re trying to save the world from an evil government and train an army there is little time for fooling around. I don’t think Sabo would blame anyone in the Revs or even himself for being a virgin at this point. If you ever get a break from work to talk about it or even act on the idea, of course he’s going to be ushering you out of the room and into the nearest hotel. As the One Piece World resident gentleman you can expect a night of pampering, but also maybe some fumbling around and questions about protection.
Eustass Kid
Kid is not a virgin, but he’s probably into girls who are virgins. Sorry, I just get those vibes from him. He was running gangs in the South Blue so he definitely had multiple side chicks. That being said, I don’t think he would look at you as greater or lesser for your virginity. Sure, it’s a kinky novelty, but you’re his girl and that’s what matters more. Even if he is the first guy to shag you, he’s just proud to be shagging you. Losing your virginity with kid would probably be great. He is definitely one of the more experienced guys on this list.
Killer
Did I say Kid is one of the more experienced guys on this list? Killer is the most experienced man on this list. The thing is, he never talks about his hookups or past flings so you would never know. If you tell him you’re a virgin he shrugs it off and doesn’t let it change your relationship. When you decide to lose it with him he’ll make sure to rock your shit. He’s both a romantic and a rough lover, just don’t expect that mask to be coming off any time soon.
Trafalgar D. Water Law
Yikes. Wrong guy to confess to. Law is a virgin too and he’s way too overeager to lose it with you. He knows what bodies look like from anatomy textbooks but that’s way different from actually touching someone. When you tell him you want to lose your virginities together he flips through a million different hentai scenarios through his head before actually living through the moment and just making a move on you. Please someone get this man away from comics and porn.
requested ; hi there! could I possibly request some headcanons of growing old with sabo from one piece and what a long term relationship with him would look like with his fem reader, please? love how you set up your blog btw, it looks so cool! thank you for your time! rock on!
a/n: i added killer & sanji to the line-up! our lovely blond boys <3 i'll be changing my layout for headcanons & fics because i find my old layout a little clunky...
♡ loving sanji for decades means watching him slowly trade grand romantic gestures for quieter ones, not because he loves you any less, but because he learns that love doesn't always need fireworks. it can exist in the way he peels fruit before handing it to you, in the way he automatically walks on the side closest to the road, in the way he remembers exactly how much sugar you take in your tea without ever asking again.
♡ in your twenties, he wants to impress you every day. by your forties, he no longer feels the need to. he already knows you're his home, and he becomes wonderfully comfortable in that certainty. he still flirts shamelessly, though. every morning begins with, "good morning, beautiful," even when your hair is sticking up in every direction and you're still half asleep.
♡ domestic life with him feels warm in every possible sense. the house almost always smells like fresh bread, simmering soup, herbs drying by the window, or vanilla from desserts he insists aren't finished until you've tasted them. somehow, no matter how old either of you become, he still finds excuses to cook your favorite meals "just because."
♡ arguments become gentler with age. younger sanji has a habit of apologizing immediately, even when he isn't entirely wrong. older sanji learns that problems aren't solved by surrendering. instead, he'll sit beside you in silence until emotions settle before softly asking, "can we talk now?" neither of you raises your voice much anymore. you've learned that protecting each other's hearts matters more than winning.
♡ making up almost always happens in the kitchen. one of you wanders in first, pretending to be hungry. sanji quietly starts cooking while you lean against the counter. eventually your fingers brush, then intertwine, and somehow the conversation becomes easier between the chopping board and the stove.
♡ marriage doesn't really change your relationship. he loved you like his wife long before there was ever a ring. if anything, it only makes him softer. he never stops wearing his wedding band, often absentmindedly twisting it whenever he's thinking about you.
♡ there are routines that quietly become traditions without either of you noticing. sunday breakfasts eaten on the porch. sharing dessert from one plate because "it tastes better this way." slow evening walks after dinner where neither of you talks much. every anniversary, he recreates the first meal he ever cooked specifically for you, even if the recipe has become far better over the years.
♡ physically, age settles on him gracefully. there are silver strands hidden among blond hair that he pretends not to notice. faint wrinkles appear beside his eyes from decades of smiling at you. his hands become rougher, marked by years of cooking, protecting people, and simply living. you think he's never looked more handsome.
♡ emotionally, he grows calmer. the insecurities left behind by his childhood never disappear completely, but your steady love slowly teaches him that he deserves happiness without needing to earn it every single day. he begins accepting compliments instead of immediately brushing them aside.
♡ when you're older, he's almost annoyingly attentive. if your knees ache, he quietly brings over a chair before you ask. if your back hurts, he'll massage it while pretending he just wanted an excuse to touch you. when your eyesight starts worsening, he casually reads books aloud in the evenings without making a big deal out of it.
♡ in his forties, he's confident and playful. in his fifties, he's patient enough to spend hours gardening beside you or teaching grandchildren impossible cooking techniques they absolutely shouldn't attempt alone. beyond that, he becomes wonderfully sentimental, often finding himself staring at you across the room with the exact same lovestruck expression he wore decades ago.
♡ there are habits he never outgrows. kissing your forehead every morning. pulling your chair out before you sit. fixing your collar. brushing crumbs from the corner of your mouth. absentmindedly reaching for your hand whenever you're nearby. calling you "my love" as naturally as breathing.
♡ the most remarkable thing about growing old with sanji is that he never stops discovering reasons to love you. every wrinkle becomes another story. every gray hair another year survived together. every laugh line proof that you've spent a lifetime making each other smile. some mornings he simply watches you watering flowers or humming while folding laundry and thinks, completely overwhelmed after all these years, there she is. the greatest thing that's ever happened to me.
♡ loving killer for a lifetime feels less like standing in the middle of a roaring fire and more like sitting beside one after everyone else has gone to sleep. his love has always been quiet, but over the years it becomes something so deeply woven into your life that you almost forget where he ends and where you begin. he rarely says "i love you" first, yet somehow you hear it in a hundred different ways every single day.
♡ when you first begin dating, he's awkward with affection. he worries about saying the wrong thing, about whether he's enough, about whether you can really love someone as scarred and reserved as he is. years later, those fears don't disappear completely, but they lose their voice. your consistency teaches him that love isn't measured by perfection. it's measured by showing up.
♡ domestic life with him is wonderfully peaceful. your mornings are slow, rarely rushed. he'll already be awake before you, quietly making breakfast or sharpening tools outside while the world is still quiet. when you shuffle into the kitchen half asleep, he simply slides a warm mug toward you before pressing the gentlest kiss against your temple. words aren't necessary anymore.
♡ he isn't naturally talkative, but living together means learning his language. the way he fixes things around the house before you notice they're broken. the blanket folded over your lap when you fall asleep reading. fresh fruit sliced because he remembered you skipped lunch. love becomes something practical, dependable, steady.
♡ arguments happen, but they're never explosive. killer has seen enough violence in his life to know that home should never feel like a battlefield. when he's upset, he becomes quieter rather than louder. sometimes he'll need a few hours alone to gather his thoughts before returning to you with an apology that comes straight from the heart. he always believes difficult conversations deserve honesty instead of pride.
♡ making up usually ends with both of you sitting somewhere outside. maybe on the porch, maybe on the deck of the ship beneath a blanket of stars. he'll gently reach for your hand without looking directly at you, rubbing slow circles across your knuckles until one of you starts talking. somehow those conversations always end with both of you laughing at something completely unrelated.
♡ marriage feels almost sacred to him. he doesn't make a spectacle out of it. he simply slips the ring onto your finger with hands that tremble ever so slightly, looking at you as though he still can't believe you've chosen him. after that day, he absentmindedly brushes his thumb over his own wedding band whenever he misses you.
♡ little routines quietly become traditions. every evening, no matter how exhausting the day has been, the two of you take a short walk together. every birthday, he carves something by hand instead of buying a gift. once a year, you revisit the place where he first realized he loved you, even if neither of you mentions why you're there.
♡ physically, age settles on him gently. his muscles remain strong, but his movements become more careful than quick. silver begins threading through his hair, and the lines around his eyes deepen from years spent smiling at you when no one else is looking. he wears every scar with the quiet dignity of someone who survived.
♡ emotionally, he's almost unrecognizable from the man you first met. he laughs more easily. he trusts more freely. he no longer feels the need to carry every burden by himself because you've spent decades proving that love means sharing the weight. he still has difficult days, but now he lets you stand beside him instead of pushing you away.
♡ when you begin growing older too, his protectiveness changes. instead of shielding you from every danger, he focuses on making life gentler. he'll carry heavy baskets before you can reach for them. he'll quietly adjust the pillows behind your back if you're sore. when your hands begin aching with age, he wordlessly takes over whatever chore you're struggling with, never once making you feel incapable.
♡ in his forties, he's confident in a quiet, grounded way. in his fifties, younger people naturally come to him for advice because there's something reassuring about his presence. beyond that, he becomes softer than anyone ever imagined possible. children climb into his lap without fear. animals seem to seek him out. you swear he's smiling more than he ever did in his youth.
♡ there are habits he never loses. reaching for your hand while walking. resting his forehead against yours after particularly difficult days. instinctively standing between you and danger, even when there isn't any. remembering every tiny preference you've ever mentioned. watching you with that calm, almost hidden smile whenever you become absorbed in something you love.
♡ after decades together, killer still catches himself falling in love with ordinary moments. you humming while hanging laundry. reading beside the window with your glasses slipping down your nose. laughing so hard you have to wipe tears from your eyes. sometimes he'll simply stop whatever he's doing to look at you, quietly thinking that if he had to live every difficult moment of his life again just to find you once more, he would. every single time.
♡ growing old with sabo is like watching sunlight mellow into golden evening. he never loses his brightness, but it becomes gentler with the years. the reckless young revolutionary who once threw himself into danger without a second thought slowly learns that there are people waiting for him to come home now. most importantly, there's you.
♡ when you first fall in love, he is always moving. meetings, missions, rescue operations, long nights spent planning with the revolutionaries. years later, he's still devoted to changing the world, but he finally understands that building a life with you is just as meaningful as rebuilding society. he'll leave paperwork unfinished just to sit beside you while you drink tea on the porch.
♡ your home is never perfectly tidy because sabo has a habit of leaving books open where he was reading, jackets hanging over chairs, and half-written notes scattered across tables. you tease him endlessly for it. every single time he promises he'll do better. every single time another pile mysteriously appears the following week.
♡ despite that, domestic life with him is wonderfully alive. music drifts through open windows. flowers somehow end up in little jars around the house because he picked them during a walk. dinner conversations stretch late into the evening because the two of you always have something to talk about. even after decades, neither of you runs out of stories.
♡ arguments with sabo usually happen because he's trying to carry too much on his own. he'll insist he's fine after returning from dangerous work, even when he's exhausted. you know him too well to believe it. eventually he'll sigh, rub the back of his neck, and admit you were right. he's learned that letting you worry alone hurts far more than admitting he needs comfort.
♡ making up often involves laughter. one of you says something completely ridiculous in the middle of a serious conversation, and suddenly you're both smiling despite yourselves. sabo has always believed love should leave room for joy, even after disagreements. he'll pull you into a hug before the conversation is truly finished, mumbling, "i missed you," even if you've only been upset for an hour.
♡ marriage feels natural, almost inevitable. he doesn't see it as the finish line of your relationship but another adventure the two of you get to experience together. he absolutely cries during the ceremony, though he'll insist later that it was "just the wind." nobody believes him.
♡ quiet routines become the heartbeat of your life together. sunday mornings are reserved for sleeping in just a little longer than necessary. every evening, the two of you share tea before bed regardless of how busy the day was. whenever one of you leaves home, even if it's only for a few minutes, the other receives a goodbye kiss. that tradition never disappears.
♡ physically, time leaves its marks with kindness. blond hair slowly becomes threaded with silver, especially near his temples. the scar over his eye fades a little but never truly disappears. laugh lines settle around his smile because you've given him countless reasons to laugh over the decades. his hands become rougher, but somehow every touch feels even more gentle.
♡ emotionally, he becomes steadier. younger sabo carries guilt for lost years and loved ones he couldn't protect. older sabo still remembers every part of his past, but he no longer lets grief define his future. instead, he pours that love into the family he's built with you. he becomes the kind of man who makes everyone around him feel safe.
♡ when you begin growing older, he becomes wonderfully attentive without being overbearing. he'll quietly warm your side of the bed before you climb in on colder nights. if your joints ache after a long day, he'll offer his arm without saying a word. when your eyesight starts changing, he reads letters, books, or newspapers aloud, occasionally getting distracted because he starts acting out the characters until you're laughing too hard to keep listening.
♡ in his forties, he's still energetic enough to challenge younger revolutionaries to races he almost always loses because he gets distracted halfway through. in his fifties, he becomes the cheerful mentor everyone secretly depends on. beyond that, he grows into the sort of grandfatherly figure children instinctively trust, always carrying sweets in his pockets and stories that somehow get more dramatic every time he tells them.
♡ there are little habits that never fade. he still kisses the back of your hand whenever he thinks you look especially beautiful. he still absentmindedly plays with your fingers while you're talking. he still reaches for you in his sleep, even after decades of sharing the same bed. every time you laugh, he unconsciously smiles too.
♡ after all those years, sabo never grows used to you. he'll still pause in the middle of ordinary days just to admire you folding laundry, tending a garden, reading by the window, or smiling at something only you can see. sometimes he'll catch himself wondering how it's possible that the woman he's loved for half a lifetime somehow becomes more beautiful every year. then he'll walk over, wrap his arms around your waist from behind, rest his chin on your shoulder, and think, with complete certainty, if i had another lifetime, i'd spend that one loving you too.
𐔌 ᛝ taglist .ᐟ : @chocolateshortcakesblog
this fic is written by qwehwa 2026 / please do not feed any of my work into ai, copy, plagiarize, nor translate them into any other language— i will snap your neck.
-Shanks notices something’s off almost immediately, he’s surprisingly sharp when it comes to you.
“Oi, what’s this? You’re hurt?” His tone is lighthearted, but there’s genuine concern in his eyes as he inspects you.
-He chuckles and ruffles your hair. “You thought you could hide this from me? Come on, don’t you trust me?”
-Shanks takes a laid-back approach, gently tending to your injury while cracking jokes to keep you smiling. “You know, you’re lucky I’ve got steady hands for this. Imagine if I was drinking.” (He definitely was drinking.)
-Afterward, he pulls you into a warm hug, wrapping you in his coat as if to shield you from the world. “Next time, just tell me, alright? I can’t have you getting hurt on my watch.”
-If the injury was caused by someone else, Shanks’ smile turns razor-sharp, and you know he’ll be having a “talk” with them.
-Later, he keeps you close, pouring you a drink (or some tea if you’re not feeling up to it) and teasing you to lighten the mood.
“You’ve got to look after yourself better. Who else is going to keep me entertained, huh?” His words are playful, but the way he lingers by your side shows how much he genuinely cares.
-You might catch him glancing at you more often than usual, as if making sure you’re really okay. But, in true Shanks fashion, he plays it cool, effortlessly balancing concern with his carefree charm.
Eustass Kid
-Kid finds out you’re hurt, and let’s just say he’s not happy about it. “The hell? Why didn’t you say anything?!”
-He’s rough around the edges, so his frustration comes out in angry words, but it’s clear he’s worried.
-He’s surprisingly gentle when he checks your injury, muttering things like, “Idiot… You could’ve made it worse.”
-If someone else caused your injury, Kid is ready to hunt them down immediately he doesn’t let anyone mess with what’s his.
-After cooling off, he sits beside you with a gruff, “Don’t hide stuff like this again. I mean it.” His tone softens just enough to show he cares.
Killer
-Killer is the silent but observant type, so he notices your injury even if you try to hide it.
“You’re hurt,” he states plainly, no room for argument. He’s calm but firm as he insists on treating you.
-His movements are careful and precise, and though he doesn’t say much, his actions speak volumes about how much he cares.
-Killer’s worry is subtle, but you can hear it in his voice when he says, “You need to be more careful.”
-Later, he sits with you in comfortable silence, keeping you close and making sure you know he’s there if you need him.
Hello, this is Short Queen part 2 anon, thank you for responding to my ask, so I guess for the characters I want, can you maybe do Shanks, Crocodile, Mihawk, Katakuri, Smoker, and maybe Killer?
Short & Sweet pt.2 (Shanks, Crocodile, Mihawk, Katakuri, Smoker, Killer)
Pairings: Shanks x Reader; Crocodile x Reader; Mihawk x Reader; Katakuri x Reader; Smoker x Reader; Killer x Reader
Summary: Their reaction to having a small girlfriend
Warnings: Fluff, some angst & comfort, Female Reader
A/N: Thank you for the ask!! I hope you like it <3
[Part 1: Luffy, Sanji, Zoro, Ace, Law, Kid, Sabo]
[One Piece Masterlist]
_____
- Shanks -
Shanks absolutely adores your smaller form and adores having you in his hold for as long as possible. He is one who loves to tease his partner so (as long as he knows you are comfortable) he will cherish the light pout on your lips as he playfully prods at your small stature. One of his favourite things to do is to pull you into him after a long day - it doesn't matter where - and hold you to him until he feels the stress melt away; you just fit so perfectly against him.
If he ever learns that you are insecure about your looks, he is there to quickly reassure you. He will be utterly livid if he learns that your insecurities stem from those around you and their unkind words; he is not above using his powers as Emporer to put people in their place. Ultimately, it would result once again with you buried in his chest as he murmurs comforts into the depths of your skin.
"Come here babe, you're all I need."
- Crocodile -
Crocodile doesn't pay too much mind to the height or stature of his partner. As long as they are strong and cunning and kind as you are, he could scarcely complain about anything else. In saying this, however, he truly adores the feeling he gets when you look up at him with your pretty eyes. Though he does not voice compliments often, they would be reserved just for you in isolated rooms where it was just you and him; murmurs of your fawlessness only for you to hear.
If he ever learns of your insecurities, he will listen in silence as you pace the room, concerns slipping from your mouth alongside your comparisons with other women you come by. Your doubt would cause a crease to form between his brows but he continues to listen anyway knowing you needed the rant. After he sees that you are done or are starting to work yourself up, he would rise from where he observed you, quick to offer his embrace and surprising words of comfort.
"You love, are the only thing that's perfect in this world. Don't doubt yourself."
- Mihawk -
Mihawk adores you in subtle ways, and so he adores your figure in subtle ways too. He would trace your smaller hand in his as you slept by him in the early mornings. He would pull your petite form to him as he sits and reads the newspaper, your flustered expression causing a subtle smile to reach his face. He would lean down and capture your lips before he leaves his Island for whatever duties he had as a Warlord of the sea. He loves the way you would look up at him afterwards, asking him to come home safe.
You were so perfect to him, encapsulating all he could ever want from a partner and your beauty was honestly unmatched. That is why, if he hears of your insecurities he will be utterly shocked, maybe even disappointed in himself. He is usually so observant when it comes to you and your thoughts, but because of his bias of your flawlessness, he had let your concerns dictate your mind. He would be quick to pull you into his chest, deep words murmured comfortingly into your ear until you forget your insecurities.
"Love, you are utterly exquisite."
- Katakuri -
Katakuri, being one who often looms over others anyway, barely pays any mind to your stature or height. He would rather pay more mind to the things that matter, such as your loyalty and kindness and love. In fact, sometimes he would be envious of others who don't have to duck and lean down through doorways to go about their day. He does, however, adore the way you would compare your smaller hand to his on dark nights, cuddle into him as he envelops you fully, and feel your light caresses whenever he has a stressful day.
You were just perfect to him, and so if you were ever insecure of your stature, he would be utterly confused. He would be quick to comfort you, but he also cannot fathom how you feel such a way when you are just so flawless to him. If you compare yourself to other women who reside in Whole Cake Island and nitpick at your figure, he interrupts you with a kiss on the corner of your lips and his kind gaze on you.
"Love, every part of you is beautiful, it’s those qualities that make you who you are."
- Smoker -
Smoker is another who does not pay too much mind to the height or stature of his partner. He simply adores you. He may not speak of it often but he shows it in the way his touch searches for yours and in the depths of his gaze. He loves the way you would silently understand his subtle love. He loves the way you look up to him through your eyelashes or hold his larger hand in yours, a cheeky smile on your face that has him almost breaking his facade.
If he ever learns that you are insecure about your figure or height he is almost dumbfounded at the fact. The stoic marine would feel his heart crumble a bit. He may even internally scold himself for not speaking up about how perfect you were to him and affirm you that you would be all he could ever need. He would be quick to reassure you muttering words lowly to you as he pulls you into him.
"How can you think that way when you are flawless love?"
- Killer -
Killer absolutely adores you, and that adoration extends to every part of you including your figure and height. He loves how you pout up at him when you need help getting something from a higher shelf. He loves how you wrap your arms around him, barely able to contain him in your smaller embrace. He loves how you fit so perfectly into his side and how adorable you are when you smile up at him. He loves you.
If you ever tell him of your insecurities, however, he is always there to listen to them. Instead of diminishing them immediately because he knows insecurities cannot be wiped away so easily, he will listen as you rant to him about your concerns. He often mimics the way you comfort him of the face he beholds under his mask. He would pull you into him, carving his hands into the depths of your hair as he utters words of reassurance.
"You're perfect princess. Don't listen to anyone who says otherwise."
Tags: Fem!Reader; Lots and lots of swearing; Mature Audiences (I'll always tag the NSFW chapters); Modern Day AU; Anger issues; Emotionally constipated reader; Emotional trauma; Abandonment issues; Eventual fluff;
Special Warning: English is not my first language, I apologise for any possible spelling or grammar mistakes.
Special Warning 2: This is a spinoff of Imperfect, Kid's story from the Meet-Cute series. The Killer featured here is the one I portrayed there. This can, however, be read as a standalone, although I do recommend reading Kid's story for more background on Killer. The one thing you need to know for sure, if you don't want to read that one, is that Killer was injured in the army while protecting Kid (thus the bandana covering his face), and that in Kid's story, he fell in love with the reader and was left brokenhearted.
Summary: You working at Baratie never felt like a choice; it was an obligation after Zeff took you off the streets. And since cooking was the only thing that eased the constant anger gnawing at you, you were fine with it. Until a mysterious bandana-covered biker walked in and turned everything upside down.
Notes: Where to begin... I wasn't going to post this yet. Honestly, I only have two and a half chapters completed, even though this isn't going to be a big fic... But it's been a long while since I've posted something, and I've missed you guys! I'm also hoping your comments and love will help give me the boost to finish this! *fingers crossed* So far, I'm having a blast writing this. The reader this time is a spicy little nacho, and I can't wait for you guys to read this! I do hope you enjoy it! Please let me know!
“Could you be any more of a fucking klutz?”
Red everywhere.
Your mouth hung open in shock. Big, fat droplets of red slipping down your fingers, catching at your wrist, and dropping unceremoniously onto the pristine kitchen floor.
Your whites: ruined. Your apron: a crime scene.
Your temper… “Of course I fucking can! Just watch me, you old fart!” …gone the moment the jar of homemade tomato sauce slipped out of your fingers, shattering on the counter and spilling onto the floor.
“Don’t you dare,” Zeff, your mentor, held a pointy finger up, his braided moustache bristling as his eyes flashed in anger. “Don’t you fucking dare, you brat.”
“Brat?!” you exclaimed, ears turning red while Patty and Carne muffled their snickers behind their hands. “I’m a fucking adult!” As you needed to constantly remind the man who took you off the streets when you were a starving, angsty teenager.
“Then act like one and clean up the mess you made!” Zeff stamped his wooden leg with a loud clang. “Then you’re washing the dishes for the rest of the night.”
Indignation burned the back of your throat, stung your eyes, and accelerated your heart.
“The fuck I am!” you protested, swallowing a sob. You were the best goddamned cook in the whole goddamned restaurant. “You can’t tell me what to do! You’re not my father!”
Childish. Immature. Downright unreasonable.
He was every bit your father, even if not by blood. But you were too damn proud to reclaim the words. Even when Zeff stumbled back, as if hit by the force of your contempt. Even when Patty and Carne busied themselves watching the pasta water boil.
Even as Zeff retreated into his office and closed the door without another argument.
“Well, fuck.”
-*-
“Will ye be home for Christmas this year?” Kid’s voice could barely be heard over the sound of the pouring rain hitting the aluminum roof Killer was currently sheltering under.
“Aye,” Killer answered, shaking his head when a fat droplet of rain slithered inside the collar of his shirt. It was October, and the weather kept making that fact clearer every day, making it harder for him to stay on the road.
He had been roaming the Sambas Region for two whole months now, and it was time to head home, spend the winter with good friends, and be in good spirits so he could get back on the road again come spring.
After three years of travelling the world without returning home, he was due for a visit.
“I miss ye, dipshit,” Kid taunted with a boisterous laugh, and Killer smirked. Happiness became his friend, and he owed it all to Kid’s current girlfriend. City Girl.
The one Killer had let escape through his fingertips.
“I miss you, too, you big cunt,” Killer’s retort only made Kid cackle louder. Fuck. He would sacrifice his own happiness all over again just to see this much light shining in his best friend’s eyes. “It’s good to hear you laughing. I’m glad things are going well.”
Kid nodded absently, his gaze softening as he shifted on the couch, looking to his left, where his girlfriend headed after saying goodbye to Killer.
“More than well,” he replied, making Killer smile behind his bandana.
It no longer hurt to think about her. He still felt slightly empty, a space in his heart that would never be filled, he supposed, but it was bearable. He’d come to terms with reality and learned to accept it.
His travelling and the distance had helped cement that fact, and Killer had finally let go. He had found true peace on the road and true happiness near the hot flame of the stove, buried in the scent of spices, learning new recipes, and compiling his book.
It was only when he talked to Kid and saw how happy and domestic he was that a pang hit his heart, and loneliness assaulted him. He wanted that—the domesticity, someone to come home to. But then again, he also clamored to be free and on the road. And who would want to settle down with him while not settling down? Because now he couldn’t see himself creating roots in one place. Now that he had tasted true freedom, he had learned that this was what had been missing from his life.
Even if it meant that the space in his heart would always be there, waiting to be filled, never complete.
Killer looked up, reaching one hand outside the safety of his rickety shelter as the rain relented. “Aye mate,” he started, staring at his phone. “The rain’s stopped, finally. I’ll be heading out before it begins pouring again. Talk soon, aye?”
They spent another moment saying goodbye and insulting each other before Killer hopped on his motorcycle and returned to the road. There was only one last place for him to visit before heading back to the Calm Belt.
The Baratie.
-*-
You avoided Zeff’s office like the plague, even though all you wanted to do was storm in there and apologize, but the old man didn’t step out either, so maybe he didn’t really care that you were at odds with one another. Again!
You cleaned the kitchen floor with a vengeance, snapped at Carne because he stepped on the freshly washed floor, and almost bit Patty’s head off for spilling a bit of water on the place you had just cleaned.
Then, when the new waiter—a scrawny girl with pigtails, fidgety and always scared—announced that a customer had spilled sticky juice on the floor, you took it out on her, and she crawled into the bathroom crying.
Again, you felt bad, but your pride stopped you from doing something about it.
And still, when you stepped out the kitchen doors, armed with a mop and a bucket, you could feel all that pent-up anger vibrating underneath your skin, like a smoldering ember waiting to burst into flames.
You were always angry. Always.
“Watch it!” you growled, barely sidestepping out of the way when a massive form almost slammed into you. The water sloshed inside the bucket, turning you off balance, and the mop slipped from your fingers, headed straight for your head.
You closed your eyes waiting for the hit, except… it never landed.
“Careful,” the man said. His voice sounded steady, firm, and gentle. You opened your eyes slowly, narrowing them again when the figure didn’t match the gentleness in the tone.
He was massive. Broad-shouldered, tall, with blonde hair tied up in a man-bun, with some strands covering a set of big blue eyes. A skull bandana covered the lower half of his face, but by the leather of his jacket and the helmet hitched on his forearm, you could tell he was a biker.
His hand was wrapped around the mop stick, keeping it away from your face. When you didn’t say anything, he tried again, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with a soft smile you couldn’t see.
“I think your mop wants to kill you.”
What the fuck?
“My mop is fine! You’re the one standing in front of the kitchen door like a goddamned rock! Move!” you demanded, face flushing from embarrassment.
“Aye, aye, you're right,” he chuckled softly, raising one hand in the air while the other one still held the mop in place. “Are you going to take this, though, or should I just let it hit you in the face?”
You could feel your face burning. With a growl more animal-like than human, you snatched the mop from his hands, grabbing the handle so hard it groaned. “Move!” you yelled again.
The biker raised his other hand and stepped aside.
“Can I sit anywhere?” he asked, that same gentleness in his voice, even after you were a jerk to him.
“Suits me. Do I look like a goddamned waiter?” you replied without looking back, dipping the mop into the water and sloshing it around.
He mumbled something back, but you chose not to pay attention, drowning all sounds with a rambling of curse words inside your mind, a way to try and release all the emotions burning beneath your skin: rage, anger, that fire inside your chest you could only put out when you were cooking.
You had no idea why you were like this—why everything set you off, and why screaming and getting angry seemed like the perfect solution to everything. It just did. That’s why growing up with Zeff had been both a blessing and a curse: you and he were pretty much two faces of the same coin. While you had bonded by learning everything he had to teach you about food, you clashed with everything else.
You still loved him like a parent, and every argument festered inside your chest like a badly-healed wound.
With a sigh, you finished cleaning the sticky juice off the floor, rinsed the mop, and turned around to return to your post as dishwasher, as Zeff ordered. You took one step before you quirked your brow, your upper lip twitching in annoyance.
“Why are you still leaning against the counter like a creep? Didn’t I say you could sit down?” you frowned, raising one finger accusingly at the big biker with the bandana from before.
“Actually, no. You asked if you looked like a goddamned waiter, to which I responded, ‘No, you don’t,’ so I’m still waiting for a waiter to show me to my seat. I don’t want to occupy a reserved spot by mistake.
What the actual fuck?
“Look, man, sit anywhere. Seriously. This is not a Michelin star restaurant, it’s—where the fuck is that damn girl?” you growled, looking around. Was the new waiter still crying in the bathroom?
Zeff was going to kill you.
“For fuck’s sake…” You sighed, rushed inside the kitchen, setting the bucket and mop aside and reaching for a clean apron, letting out a loud curse with every breath. When you entered the restaurant area again, the biker was in the same place, one raised eyebrow being the only indicator of his curiosity. “Follow me.”
You started walking, without even checking if he was following you, and snatched one of the menus from the counter, leading the man towards one of the window seats, out of everyone’s way since he was getting weird stares from the small-minded folks.
“Sit here,” you said through gritted teeth, your eyes darting around looking for Pigtails. If she was back there writing a resignation letter, you were fucked. It would be the third employee leaving because of you.
And that was just this month.
Zeff still held the record, though, so you could throw that in his face.
“Here,” you shoved the menu in front of his face, and he made a garbled sound before grabbing it. “What do you want?” Maybe if you annoyed the hell out of him, he would just leave, and you could look for Pigtails in the bathroom. Would she stay in the restaurant if you threatened her? Or would that just make her bolt faster?
The biker handed you the menu back without opening it, his eyes crinkling again as if he were smiling. “Your choice. I hear everything’s good. I trust your judgement.”
What. The. Fuck.
You stared at him like a deer caught in headlights. Who was this man, and why the hell wasn’t he demanding to see the manager after the way you’ve been treating him?
A slight pang in your chest made you aware of your shame. You shouldn’t really be treating customers like this, but you were never a people person—never good at human interactions. That’s why you loved your job; the only people you were required to interact with were Patty, Carne, and Zeff. Sometimes the waiters, but that was it.
“You shouldn’t,” you said, color flushing your cheeks again. “Trust my judgment, I mean. I—fuck. I’ll bring you something good.” You sighed again, rolling your eyes and returning to the kitchen. You owed him that, at least—a good meal. You wouldn’t get a tip, that was sure, but it might be your way of apologizing for treating him like that.
You started to move away, but then cursed again and returned. “Drink?”
You hated waiting tables.
“Water would be perfect,” he said, leaning back and placing one arm on the back of the booth. You realized that somewhere between the counter and his table, he had removed his jacket and, boy, was he ripped. There was also some scarring coming from his neck, but you didn’t want to stare, so you returned your gaze to his blue eyes. “Or coffee. Whatever is easier for you to get.”
What?
“Have you ever been to a restaurant, buddy?” you said with a sneer. “You’re not supposed to accommodate your wants to my needs. It’s the other way around!” You were still angry, and this man was making you feel both frustrated and flustered. You were used to being yelled at, to be forced to apologize for the inconvenience you caused, and to let all your anger burst out of you with confrontation.
This man was aggravating because he wasn’t fighting back.
“Well, I want to be accommodating. I can see you’re stressed, you’re clearly not a waiter, and maybe all you need is a nice customer instead of an asshole. So bring me water, or coffee, or nothing. I won’t complain. I really just want to try the food,” he said, never taking his gaze off yours. “Please,” he added as an afterthought, as if he’d been anything close to rude.
“You’re unbelievable,” you whispered, more to yourself than him. But when he didn’t say anything, only tilted his head to the side, letting out another one of those soft chuckles, you cursed, took the menu from his hands, and walked away.
“Pigtails is missing,” you announced as soon as you entered the kitchen. “I’m making a customer’s order. Someone needs to go wait tables or drag the girl from the bathroom by her hair.”
Patty and Carne looked at you in disbelief. You weren’t the sous-chef; Patty was, though that position was meant for you, someday, if you learned to behave. Which was ironic as hell because all the cooks in this kitchen had a dirty mouth and a poorer attitude.
When none of them moved, you growled, throwing a pan on top of the burner with much more force than necessary. “Well, chop, chop, gentlemen! I’m supposed to be washing dishes, anyway, so unless you want to explain to your boss why there is no one waiting tables, one of you better get to it!”
Once they started fighting to see who would draw the shorter stick, you concentrated on the food and the pans in front of you, a quiet finality settling in your bones, a soothing rush through your veins.
The world could be falling apart around you, but as long as you were cooking, all was well.
-*-
The dish was perfect.
You always tried to perfect your dishes. That was the truth, but you got bored cooking the same menu over and over again. And even when it changed, Zeff was the one who chose the dishes, and they were usually on rotation.
The simple fact was that you cooked better when you improvised. You didn’t make the rules; it was just how it was.
So the creamy pasta carbonara you whipped up for the biker looked mouth-watering. You wiped your hands on the kitchen towel hanging on your waist and then grated more Parmesan on top of the pasta.
This wasn’t even on the menu. It was your own dish. Why you had decided to cook this one for the insufferable biker, you had no idea.
Before you had the chance to chicken out, you cleaned the plate, filled up a glass of water, and took both items through the kitchen door and into the restaurant floor. Carne had managed to talk to Pigtails (maybe you should learn the girl’s name, if she were to stay), and she was waiting tables. You ignored how she flinched away from you when you passed by her and headed straight to the window booth.
“Here you go. Enjoy,” you said, sliding the plate in front of him. He removed his blue eyes from the window to stare back at yours, and you averted his gaze. Now that you had cooked your anger away, you felt even more ashamed of your attitude before. You were even considering apologizing to Zeff.
But first, you wanted to see what the stranger had to say about your food.
You were expecting him to remove the bandana to eat. You were even willing to admit to yourself how curious you were to see what he was hiding underneath. Was he hideous? Was he missing a nose? Teeth? Had a curly mustache? The possibilities were endless, but he didn’t remove the article.
“Thank you, this looks incredible,” he said, making you grit your teeth. Why was he so damn polite if he looked like he belonged in one of those gangs that housed murderers and drug-dealers?
You fidgeted your hands against your apron, feet shifting restlessly on the floor. You should have left the patron alone to eat, but you didn’t want to. You needed to know what he thought of your new dish.
He seemed to realize you were waiting for him to have a taste, so he lifted his bandana slightly and shoved a forkful of pasta into his mouth.
You held your breath as he chewed, watching closely for his reaction. He paused, eyes widening, finding yours, and then he kept chewing again, a soft exhale shivering his bandana as he swallowed.
“This… this is amazing,” he exclaimed. “What did the chef do differently?” the biker asked, using his fork to try to separate the ingredients on his plate. “It’s pancetta…” he seemed to be talking more to himself than to you. He selected a few pieces of food and placed another forkful into his mouth. “Hmm… smoked? Aye, definitely smoked. And fresh linguine, obviously!”
He looked at you, making pleasurable sounds as he chewed and swallowed. You nodded. He was getting the ingredients precisely right. You were flabbergasted. Who was he? He couldn’t be a regular biker…
“The Parmesan is obvious, but there is something else that makes it different… could it be the eggs?”
What?
“What are you?” you asked, breathlessly. The way he was enjoying your food sent shivers down your spine. “Are you a chef?”
He chuckled again. It always sounded soft, like he didn’t want anybody to hear him laugh.
“Not even close. Just an amateur cook. But, holy hell! This is unreal,” he admitted, taking another bite of the food. The plate was almost clean. He kept making the most delightful noises as he ate, and you found yourself flushing again, your heart pounding faster than a hummingbird’s.
You were used to people liking your food. You were good, and you weren’t shy about it. But his praise was unexpected.
You snorted, trying to gain the advantage of the conversation again, chasing any kind of vulnerability away. “Unreal? Have you been starving or something? Maybe you’re just not used to good food?”
The man swallowed the food in his mouth, still humming in delight, and looked at you again. That intensity in his blue eyes burning.
“Oh, I’m plenty used to good food. Trust me. But there’s something exceptional about this dish. I’ve heard a lot about the chef here, Zeff, is it? He’s supposed to be a legend. I can see why.”
Well, that got you riled up again.
“Zeff didn’t cook that.”
“No?” the biker asked, raising one eyebrow. “Did you?” The way the corner of his eyes crinkled made you realize you walked into his trap. You weren’t going to admit to being the cook or give up any secret, but now he knew you had been the one preparing the meal. “What’s the deal with the eggs, then?”
You frowned, your upper lip twitching in annoyance as you crossed your arms defensively over your chest.
“They’re duck eggs.”
His eyes lit up. And you physically took a step back.
“Duck eggs?” he let out a huff of breath, pushing the empty plate away from him and taking a sip of water. “Of course. They’re much richer and creamier. Not to mention the pasta seemed to be darker. That’s very clever of you.”
You felt hotness in your cheeks again, so you took a deep breath, trying to steady all these feelings happening inside of you.
“Yeah. I’m a prodigy,” you deadpanned. He chuckled again. “Fuck,” you said, not able to contain the curse word when the sound he made churned your stomach. “I gotta go. Kitchen is understaffed and—”
He reached, holding your wrist as you were trying to scramble away from the booth. His touch seared your skin, making you gasp and stop dead in your tracks.
“Wait,” he started, scooting over the booth to get closer to you. Too close! “I’m travelling the world on my bike and…” he sighed, his eyes averting yours for a second, “I’m collecting recipes. I want to write a cookbook about my experience. I came here because, as I said, Zeff is a legend, and I would love to talk to him. Do you think he’d like to meet me?”
Zeff. Fucking Zeff, who was absolutely pissed at you, and who you should be apologizing to. He hated it when people came and asked for his recipes. He only mentored two people directly in his life: Sanji and you. He taught recipes to Carne and Patty and any other cook who came and went working at the Baratie, but he was only ever a mentor to both of you. There was no way he would sit and teach this blonde contradiction of a man a few of his recipes.
“I doubt it. He hates people. Hates it even more when people want to pry on his recipes.”
You looked down. He was still holding your wrist.
You flexed your hand, giving it a small tug, but he didn’t relent.
“Please? Just a little word? It’s really important to me, and it’s not like I need to take up much of his time. I just want his permission to use the recipes in my book. Whichever ones he chooses. And I’ll credit him, obviously. This carbonara can be one of them; it’s delicious.”
You tugged your hand harder, brows furrowing in anger again.
“Well, too bad. That’s not even his recipe.” He released you, and you sighed, hiding your arm behind your back because you were sure his fingers had left a burn mark. You were feeling hot all over. “Go home, or wherever the hell you came from. Just leave us alone.”
And you didn’t even give him a chance to say anything else. You turned and walked back into the kitchen.
-*-
You didn’t go back out for the next hour, not until the kitchen shift was over. It was closing time, and Pigtails still had trouble with the register, so you splashed some water on your face, ready to go outside your domain.
You hadn’t been able to concentrate since you handed the biker the pasta dish. He was so… kind and gentle. You were used to people being loud, in your face, and demanding. He was none of that.
He had only asked for something. So softly, so surely. And you had wanted to help. For a split second, you felt you wanted to help him get what he wanted. You just couldn’t explain it. You were not the giving type. You were selfish and ruthless, like the streets taught you to be before Zeff took you in. That never went away.
So why had that feeling changed when that stranger asked for something?
“Get your shit together, for fuck’s sake,” you whispered and pushed the doors open.
All the air was sucked out of your lungs once you looked at the counter and found him sitting there, sipping on a cup of coffee.
“Shit,” you muttered. “We’re closing,” you said louder. He heard you, his head tilting to the side, the corner of his eyes crinkling. Was this man ever mad? Was he always just smiling? God!
“Aye, I know. I wanted to thank you for the food.”
You rolled your eyes to the back of your head, rushing toward the register so you could get your shift over and done with. “You already did that.”
“Aye,” he sighed, running a hand through his bangs. “I guess I wanted to apologize, then.”
What? Was this man for real?
“I didn’t mean to upset you about the recipes. It’s okay…” But the way he said it made it clear that it was not okay. Whatever he was doing here, it was clearly important to him.
You looked straight into his eyes and regretted it immediately. But you didn’t waver. Instead, you swallowed a lump in your throat and tried to smile. The gesture was so foreign, you were sure you were grimacing instead.
“Look, pal, you look… decent. Which is one of the reasons you don’t fit here. But Zeff won’t talk to you. He hates people more than I do. So whatever this ‘Eat, Pray, Love’ thing you're doing is… just drop it. Move on.”
His chuckle this time sounded more like an airy laugh. And that did an even worse number on your stomach, sending all kinds of flutters about.
“Thing is… I’ve been dropping important things to me for quite some time now… and I’ve decided that what I want matters. So I won’t drop it. Not without a fight.”
Your eyebrows furrowed. He kept piercing you with his blue gaze, the intensity of it making you squirm. And then you scoffed, taking away his coffee cup, whether he was finished with it or not.
“That’s empowering shit right there. Good for you, buddy, put it on a shirt or something.” You smirked. “It’s still a no.”
The biker got up, helmet in one hand, leather jacket in the other. Balancing both in one hand, he took out a bill and placed it on the counter. It was a big tip.
“Aye. See you tomorrow, then.”
“You’re wasting your time,” you bristled.
“Don’t mind me, then.”
For fuck’s sake. “Take it somewhere else!” you shouted, but he just waved and pushed the doors to the exit.
“See you tomorrow, Chef!”
“I’m not—” The doors closed behind him, leaving your words unfinished. Fucking hell. “Unbelievable.”
He didn’t even say his name. But one thing you were certain of. He would come back tomorrow. And you already knew he was going to be trouble.
Thought for the day - I believe there are two types of boys in One Piece in their relationships with girls, let me explain.
There are those where, outsiders, would never say that the two of you are in a relationship. You walk steps apart, exchanging only the essentials of words between you. However, anyone who looked closely could see that many times, some favors were done just for you, that his eyes always seemed to follow you at every step, protecting you even from afar. It was the type of situation in which the person who dared to mess with you would barely know where the blow would come from. However, when the two of you are alone, prepare for a clingy pair. He loves to make up for all the moments away when it's just the two of you - he holds you in bed for a few more minutes, stealing several kisses before facing the reality of the day, he always offers to accompany you on your explorations, just so he can drag you to hidden places in the city and enjoy the time alone, he will love you (aka fuck) as if that were the last night he would have you in their bed, after all, the next day, you both would just be crewmates again.
Law, Zoro, Marco, Killer, Katakuri, Mihawk, Smoker, Rob Lucci, Sabo (u can't tell me this loverboy wouldn't be the clingest guy in the alone time)
These people practically have your name tied to their existence. He don't exist without remembering your name immediately, accompanied by a smile, after all, anyone who saw - even if they didn't know you two - would know that you were made for each other - even if you are copies of each other's personality or are completely the opposite - you spark something in him that is sharp. They are super protective, yes, but they don't need to worry about following you far away, they know that no one would have enough balls to mess with his girl. Whenever they got into trouble, they immediately asked you for help after all you were one of the people he trusted most. With everyone already knowing about the two of you, he didn't need to make an effort to hide something, whether when he walked hand in hand with you, when he took the lead and asked who dared to interfere with their partner, or when they took advantage of any time free to love you (again, aka fuck) in a messy way, leaving marks and not sparing the noise. After all, everyone already knew that you belonged together.
Luffy, Crocodile, Ace, Kid, Sanji, Katakuri (he can be both versions, I'm sorry whoever disagrees), Franky, Shanks, Rayleigh, Buggy, Sabo (again, this sweetie fits for any side here)
-
a/n: I don't think anyone was missing, but if you have any suggestions, feel free to leave them here
[SUMMARY] trying to keep yourself awake in the crow's nest during your turn as night's watch, you sing yourself an old lullaby. you didn't expect anyone to hear you, though.
[PRONOUNS] gender neutral
[GENRE] soft (?)
[POV] second person
[WORD COUNT] 952
[CONTENT] bonding | late night talks | dialogue heavy
[A/N] got the idea for this listening to lullaby by lord huron btw. highly recommend
“I didn’t know you could sing.”
You froze, shoulders going rigid and mouth clamping shut at the unexpected voice. You looked over your shoulder to spot Killer, half-in and half-out of the crow’s nest, mask pointed directly at you.
“I, uh, I can’t. Not really.”
It was the dead of night and you’d been assigned lookout. Everyone was asleep, save for a few oddballs here and there that tottered around the ship, doing who knows what. It appeared that Killer was one such oddball on that particular night, and he’d caught you.
“Sounded like you could to me.” He shrugged, and then hoisted himself all the way in, crowding you. The crow’s nest was decently sized, but with his large frame he took up a large percentage of the space, causing you to push yourself against the edge.
A fake laugh burst past your lips, and you shook your head. “Oh, that? No, I was just messing around, trying to keep myself awake.” You waved your hand dismissively, hoping that the first mate would get the hint and drop the topic.
He didn’t. “What’s the name of that song? I don’t think I’ve heard it before.”
“You’re not gonna let this go, are you?” You sighed, watching as Killer made no movement and continued to stare at you. Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you could feel them. “…It’s a lullaby from my home. I don’t think it has a name, everyone just called it ‘Lullaby.’” You shrugged. “Never forgot it, I suppose.”
“Can you sing it again?”
Once again you froze, staring at Killer with eyes as wide as saucers. “What? No! Of course not! Why would you ask that?”
Killer shrugged and leaned against the rim of the nest, looking out to the sea. “I can’t sleep, and you said it’s a lullaby.” You opened your mouth to argue, but he cut you off before you could get a sound out. “And you have a nice voice.”
Silence overtook the two of you, then. You clenched your jaw and looked away, trying to calm the racing heart in your chest with deep breaths. Killer thought you had a nice voice? This big, strong, scarred, masked man couldn’t sleep, and wanted you to sing a lullaby to him? It sounded absurd, absolutely and positively absurd.
So, you told him that. “You’re crazy. Why would you want to fall asleep in the crow’s nest, anyway? It’s not comfortable up here at all. Just go do what Kid does and drink until you pass out or something.”
“I wanted to see you.” He said it like it was the simplest thing in the world, and the overwhelming urge to leap from the nest overcame your body. “But if you don’t want to hang out, I can just go-”
“No,” You cut him off, a foreign panic rising up your throat at the thought of him leaving. You swallowed it down. “Stay. It’s fine. Just… Don’t ask me to sing for you.”
“You got it.” Killer eased back into his spot, well, as much as he could in the tight quarters. How he wasn’t freezing in his shirt and jeans was a question you didn’t want to ask, and to busy yourself, you shifted your focus to the world around you.
A generous amount of time passed in blissful silence, you and the first mate falling into a contentedness to just exist together for the moment. It was rare to experience silence on the Victoria Punk, and rarer still for that silence to be peaceful, so when the opportunity presented itself, you knew to seize it with both hands.
“If you’re self conscious about your singing, you might want to get a bit better at hiding it.” Killer spoke up without warning, drawing your attention back to him. “You know how much Kid enjoys music. If he hears you, he won’t let you just slink off and say ‘no.’ Especially not during karaoke night.”
You groaned and raked your hand over your face. “There’s a reason I hide during those.” You sighed and shook your head. “But really, I don’t get what you’re on about. Kid enjoys good music. I’m tolerable at best.”
“I disagree.” Killer shook his head and folded his arms across his chest. Apparently sensing your prickliness, he rushed to defend himself. "I’m not asking for you to sing, I'm just saying that I wouldn’t be opposed to hearing you again. That's all.”
A warm feeling swelled in your heart at his words. With a huff you pulled your knees to your chest and looked away, pursing your lips into a pout. “Stop trying to sweet talk me, Killer. I’m supposed to be on watch. I can’t get distracted.”
“Sweet talk you?” He echoed, sounding amused. “Well, is it working?”
“You-!”
He chuckled, low and muffled as he ducked his head to hide the sound. The frustrated look on your face melted away as you watched him, an easy smile crawling to your lips as you listened. “I like your laugh.” All sounds and movements ceased from the man, and were you not aware of his complicated feelings towards his laugh, you would have panicked. But you were, so all you did was continue to smile and elaborate. “It makes me happy. It makes me want to laugh, too.” Killer didn’t move, didn’t speak; in fact, you thought he stopped breathing.
In an effort to diffuse the tension radiating off of him, you threw an arm over the rim of the nest and rested your chin on it, looking out at the pitch black sea.
And, with a deep breath in and a deep breath out, you began to sing again.
