Hands Off, Gabriela! (Various One Piece Men x Fem!Reader)
Lolita's Note: okay, i can't stop writing headcanons. i really want to write a serious fic but like, I HAVE SO MANY THOUGHTS! 🤦🏻♀️ and i'm getting really antsy waiting for new episodes and chapters 😔 to keep myself from going insane i made these really short… im so sorry :'3
ー reader is a really feisty and protective one who doesn't like it when others get into her coop (*•̀ᴗ•́*)و ̑̑also i can't stop listening to katseye??? hello? gabriela, gnarly and gameboy are bops. and the dances are soooo hot. baddies fr.
𓍯 cw: swearing, mild aggression, slight angst on crocodile's, alcoholism, hint of an open relationship on rayleigh's and just a really feisty reader (●｀ε´●)
Luffy
look, he's not really the type to have women fawning around him often because he moves around a lot and is everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
the only times you'll find yourself protecting him is when obnoxious pirates/rookie marines who aren't aware of his true power decide to disturb him while he's busy eating, partying or doing his usual luffy antics.
there was one time where a pirate decided to get handsy with him and offered him a spiked drink.
"hey. i know what you put in that drink." you were beside luffy watching the scene unfold, already glaring daggers into the pirate's eyes. luffy turns to you and is about to ask but when the pirate attempted to run, you immediately caught them and forced the drug infused cocktail down their throat.
he'll be like 😯 then 😁 and he's slapping your back laughing saying something like, "you got them good!"
whenever things like that happen again he chooses to sit back and watch with a huge, proud smile on his face.
Zoro
secretly loves it.
sometimes he lets women flirt with him just to see your reaction, but he never flirts back. he just looks at you and smiles to himself, enjoying the way you get so pissed off.
"why don't we take this somewhere private, handsome?" the lady caresses his arm. zoro doesn't really respond and just continues what he's doing, because he knows what's about to happen.
"zoro~" you say with a very taunting smile as you sat next to him, kissing his cheek while side eyeing the woman who took a chance on him as if to threaten tell her that "he's already taken."
the woman panics and excuses herself, and now it's his turn to face your anger.
you get into an argument when these things happen. things will get heated… and then… the rest is up to you ;)
Sanji
you don't mind it when he gets really clingy towards nami and robin and does the same things he would for you.
when you see him ogle at models in magazines, or heck, even cry about how he misses vivi, you could care less.
the thing that will really get you is when strangers blatantly flirt with him and try to insult you while you're around.
"i can't believe you with someone who's…"
she didn't get to finish the sentence bc you slapped her face so hard she almost collapsed.
sanji gets taken aback and considers helping the lady get up, then he realizes you're still there. he'll look at you with a mix of fear and adoration.
apologizes and makes it up to you by buying what you want/making your favorite food back at the ship.
this is why you never take him to a red light district ☝🏻🤓
Law
i'm sorry but this guy has no game. at all.
he's that one guy at a bar who stands in a corner (or is sitting at the counter) while everyone is dancing and partying, having a moment for himself.
gets really awkward around women so you indulge his reaction when someone finally flirts with him.
of course you don't let it get to a point where the lady can make any more advances. and law would rather leave than entertain her any further.
almost heaves a big sigh of relief and stops himself from saying "thank god!!" when you sit next to him.
"i'm sorry, he's already taken." you say with a threatening smile.
she immediately apologizes and leaves embarrassed.
you'll tease him about it for days. and he'll be speechless about it since, well, you're not wrong.
Kid
he has huge anger issues and women are actually scared of getting near him most of the time because he quite literally SNARLS at them.
"hah?!" "what the fuck do ya want?!" are what he often says to anyone disturbing him.
seriously, even you don't know how you fell in love and got in a relationship with him.
that said, it's not like there aren't any ladies who will shoot their shot.
not before you catch them at least.
"need something from him?" you ask coldly, looking over from kid's shoulder.
"well, i was just wondering if he's free for the taking." the lady bites back.
suffice to say, she didn't come home unscathed.
like zoro, kid finds it hot when you do that. he likes his girls hot and feisty ;)
Ace
ooooohhhhh giiiirllll… this man…
you already know how much he attracts attention from men and women alike.
it doesn't help that he carries the manners that makino taught him as a kid. women totally love how respectful he is.
however, he's usually oblivious about it. until you start practically shooing everyone who even dares to make a move on him.
when he realizes that, you're def gonna try to make each other jealous. like a contest on who caves in and goes to the other to finally stop this impromptu flirting shenanigans (you do. every single time).
"hey, who is she?" when he hears that tone in your voice, he freezes and thinks of a million ways to apologize to you. and you weren't even angry yet.
after that, the whole crew immediately noticed the tension between you two.
it will take a bit of cuddling and silly pick-up lines jokes for you to forgive him.
Sabo
here's another heartthrob incoming…
he's usually very polite about it, and unlike ace, he doesn't really entertain flirts because he already has you.
doesn't mean he hates it, though.
"care for a drink, pretty boy?"
"no thank you, i've got enough company for tonight." sabo grins, then he moves aside and gestures towards you, who already has an eyebrow raised and arms crossed over your chest.
lowkey has a thing for showing you off every time that happens.
Katakuri
you will never catch this man in a bar, or anywhere else outside the whole cake chateau (unless he's on a mission). plus, he values his merienda (way too much) and would rather use that time to eat sweets and drink tea with you.
Rosinante
who wouldn't fall for a silly, clumsy man like him?
one time, he tripped while walking on the street and it caused the bags of groceries to topple over.
"do you need help?" someone asked, with no intention of flirting…
he was about to thank them when he heard your footsteps
"i can do that for him, thanks!" you say, almost giving away that you're pissed.
poor stranger, they just wanted to help.
rosinante laughs it off and ruffles your hair, finding the whole situation unnecessary and your protectiveness, adorable.
Shanks
two words. good luck.
he revels in your reaction every time he gets hit on. he even goes as far as calling you over (much to the stranger's dismay and disbelief) just to tease you about how much of a slut hot he is to have people fawning over him like that.
it's a perfect way to rile you up, honestly. bonus points if you're both too drunk.
"what the hell do you think you're doing, woman?" you slur at the lady beside him, who's brazenly caressing his arm, slamming the mug of beer on the table.
"easy, sweetheart. she's not gonna hurt me." he tries to calm you.
everyone at the bar could swear you must've used conqueror's haki the second you glared at him. he got so taken aback.
but this was what he's looking forward to.
you chugged another mug of beer, gave him an earful (with the stranger forgotten), and he didn't sleep beside you that night.
makes it up to you in the morning with… whatever he can think of, if you know what i mean.
Beckman
he looooves making you sit/stand next to him, like a guard dog with watchful eyes.
like shanks, he adores seeing you be so protective over him.
he always notices when someone would try to flirt with him, and he always notices how your aura will just be so strong that you don't even give them a chance to walk and start a conversation with him.
you don't even need to speak a single word to let them know that he's yours.
"relax, i'm not going anywhere." he chuckles, hand on the small of your back.
Crocodile
being with him is already a power struggle in and of itself.
so when women flirt with him, you choose not to bother, even if you want to. it's not like what you have is something that's gonna end up in marriage…
you do, however, try to confront him behind closed doors.
it will blossom into an argument. and if you're someone who gets offended easily, you'll most likely end up receiving quite a bit of hurtful words from him.
he's gonna say things like "what you're doing is pathetic."
good luck thinking of witty comebacks to keep him on edge ;)
Mihawk
he is another katakuri. unless he's out making underground deals with the cross guild, he'd rather be alone or spend time with you.
you won't really need to be protective over him since he will reject them outright. no questions asked.
i mean, why would he entertain someone else when he already has you?
you'll be the one watching in amusement when those poor unsuspecting flirts are about to have an embarrassment to remember in their life.
Rayleigh
my prayers go out to you…
he's always out drinking and there's probably some occasional one-night stands, but it's never with the same people.
he has a habit of going MIA for months, but he will return and stay for a bit… only to do the same thing again 😭
on the VERY rare times you're out together, he won't really entertain anyone besides you.
it's very casual and endearing, and even if it's not obvious, people will definitely feel that you two are a power couple.
and no one will dare to mess with you both. especially you!
He shifted in the bed, tucking you closer to his chest as though that would help at all to soften the argument from outside. “My children?” he repeated, voice thick with sleep.
You huffed and shifted around in his arms, giving him a look that he probably couldn’t even see in the dark room. “They’re in the hall,” you pointed out. “And it’s the middle of the night.”
“And what do you want me to do about that, love?”
“Make them quieten down.”
He grumbled something under his breath but pushed himself upright, taking most of the warmth with him. You immediately stole his side of the bed, pressing your feet into the heat he’d left behind.
The door creaked open and a strip of lantern light stretched across the floorboards. Two familiar voices rose with it, Buggy sharp and indignant and Shanks whispering just loudly enough to make everything worse, before Rayleigh cleared his throat and the hall went blissfully quiet.
“Can you two go fight outside the captain’s room instead? His snores will drown all this nonsense out.”
“But he was in my bed!”
“Buggy said –”
“If it’s not life-threatening, I don’t particularly care. Somebody else in this room is still a little sick and doesn’t appreciate being woken up.”
“Fuck off,” you muttered. “I got over that cold last week.”
Two heads emerged around the cracked-open door a second later, expressions carefully quiet as they peeked toward your bed. You sighed and lifted your head slightly from the pillow to look at both of them.
They both cautiously tiptoed over and Rayleigh, like the traitor he was, let them both in.
“Are you dying?” Buggy asked.
“Yup,” Rayleigh said with a smile you knew meant trouble. “She’s developed a chronic allergy to loud noises. Too many and she’ll just drop.”
You rolled your eyes but unfortunately, the two young boys were far too tired to distinguish lies from truth and both of their expressions fell.
“What?” Buggy exploded. “But we live on a pirate ship! Old man, you better take her off right now before the Marines attack again! She’s going to die from the first cannon going off!”
“Buggy!” Shanks whispered, still far too loud. “You’re shouting!”
“I am not!”
You groaned and reached out to catch Buggy by the wrist. He squirmed like an angry cat as you dragged him onto the mattress and tucked him beneath your left arm, pulling the blanket up around him before he could wriggle free.
“There,” you said. “Now sleep. Shanks won’t bother you.”
Rayleigh cleared his throat. “Love, I don’t know if you’ve noticed but you’re bringing the noise source into our bed.”
Buggy was settling though, still muttering under his breath about angry old women, but quieter. It was the easiest way to stop him from flopping around like a dead fish.
“I know,” you said. “But it took you too long to make them quiet so I’ll do it. Go to sleep.”
“I don’t want to sleep in your stupid bed!” Buggy barked even though he’d stopped squirming and was now lying deathly still.
“Allergic to loud noises,” you mumbled.
You glanced toward the edge of the bed to find Shanks staring at you, a small smile on his face. You sighed and shuffled closer to the wall, moving to your back.
“Fine.”
He immediately scrambled over both of you, causing another round of protests from Buggy that you hushed with a sharp pinch to his cheek. Shanks tucked himself between you and the wall, clearly smug and you put a hand on his head before he started anything.
Rayleigh closed the door to the hall, sending the room into the darkness. “My kids, hm?”
“Loud noises,” you told him even though he was, by far, the quietest person in this room. “Buggy, if you don’t stop kicking, we’re all going to sleep on the floor. Shanks, stop antagonising him.”
“I’m not!”
“You are. Sleep facing the other way.”
“But I don’t like sleeping that way!”
“Too bad.”
Rayleigh chuckled softly. “I’m not sure there’s space for me anymore.”
“There is. Just don’t squish one of them.”
You didn’t remember exactly when you fell asleep but the next morning, you woke up to find Buggy snoring half across your chest, both arms wrapped around Shanks. You grumbled at the weight, moving him to the side so they were lying together before you shifted closer to the warm chest next to you.
Rayleigh brought an arm around you, pulling you closer to him. “I don’t like having kids in our bed,” he mumbled. “They move around too much.”
“They’re your kids,” you said.
“Roger found them. They’re technically his.”
“Roger couldn’t keep a fish alive if he tossed it in the ocean.”
Rayleigh chuckled softly and moved you slightly more onto his chest, pressing a lazy kiss to the top of your head. “Is this a one-time thing or do you plan on kidnapping them every time they fight at night?”
“It shut them up quickly,” you pointed out. “Faster than you did it.”
“You could have given me a minute before snatching one.”
“A minute was too long for them to still be talking.”
Of course, your peace could hardly last forever because no sooner had they woken up than they started arguing again. Though thankfully Rayleigh handled it with a warning tone that had them both scrambling for the door even if that meant you got stepped on a little.
You’d almost forgotten about his tease from the previous evening until you reached the breakfast table. Roger was already laughing heartily but the moment they saw you, both kids launched at him, angrily hushing him.
He caught them on instinct, freezing up at their insistence. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re going to kill her!” Buggy snapped. “She’s allergic to loud noises!”
“You have to laugh quieter,” Shanks implored.
Roger looked over to you and you shrugged.
“Can’t be helped, can it doc?” you asked, looking at Crocus. “Just came upon me last night when I heard some yelling in the hall.”
He scoffed. “Sounds more like a hangover. But if you want an allergy, have an allergy.”
Buggy pointed at you. “You can’t be hungover! You weren’t drinking yesterday!”
“No,” you confirmed.
“See!” he implored Roger, shaking the captain’s coat.
Roger was trying his hardest to hold in his laughter, chest shaking with the effort that only redoubled when he met Rayleigh’s eyes. That did nothing to soothe the children’s panic as they looked toward the first mate.
“I do prefer her alive,” he acknowledged.
“Boys,” you said before one started getting properly upset. “Get off the captain. You can climb all over him again when you’ve eaten your breakfast.”
They listened, despite their glares.
You put their plates down a good distance apart and Shanks immediately tried to move his closer to Buggy’s. You sighed and sat between them on the bench before that could turn into a fight. They’d really been riling each other up something awful lately.
Rayleigh leaned over you to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “Should I get you something to eat, darling?”
“I would appreciate it.”
He hummed in a way that said far more than words. You gave him a look and he smiled placatingly as he stepped away.
“Are we docking today, Captain?” you asked.
Roger was slowly turning red in the face from his desperate attempts not to laugh. The moment you looked at him, a half-stopped chuckle managed to break through, loud enough that Buggy immediately jumped up and tried to cover your ears. Shanks did the same a second later and that broke every ounce of self-restraint left.
Roger laughed louder than you’d heard him before, a deep, belly-aching sound that bounced around the dining hall. Both kids pushed harder against your ears to try and stop you from hearing it.
You sighed and took your plate from Rayleigh as he sat across from you, smile amused. You mouthed your thanks and waited for the captain to be done, wondering if you should stop this little deception or if it would turn out useful.
By the time he’d managed to calm down, the children were complaining almost as loudly as he had been laughing, something you could absolutely still hear through their tiny hands.
“Boys,” you said and they both quietened. “Breakfast. Now.”
They both glared at the rest of the crew before they let you go. Rayleigh held out a napkin and you used it to wipe some food from your cheek. You caught Shanks’ hand before he could go back to his plate and cleaned off his fingers.
“So, land today?” you repeated.
Roger’s grin looked almost painful. “Yes, we’ll dock,” he said. “Think we need to restock on some good drinks. All we got left in the hold is that swill from two islands ago.”
“She’ll be staying on the island,” Buggy said confidently. “Because pirate ships are too loud. Especially with you here!”
“Is she now?” Rayleigh asked. “My bed’s going to be awful cold then. Maybe I should see if I can win myself some company for the night.”
You gave him a sharp look. “Not without me there, you won’t.”
He smiled. “That would be even better.”
“You’re staying on land?” Shanks asked. “But you belong on the ship. You can’t just stay here.”
“I’m not staying on a random island,” you corrected him. “I’m just going shopping. And I’m taking you two with me because you’re needing new clothes. Look at the tear in your shirt.”
“Just keep an eye out,” Roger noted, a slight seriousness bleeding into his tone despite his smile. “We’re expecting you-know-who to try again soon.”
Your lips twisted into a slight grimace but you nodded.
“Who?” Buggy asked. “If it’s that stupid Marine again, I’m not scared. He doesn’t stand a chance!”
You didn’t answer, just pulled Shanks a little closer and pressed a kiss to the top of his head. He frowned up at you, clearly confused by the sudden affection. You squeezed his shoulders and made as though you were untangling a knot from his hair.
“Nothing you two should worry about.” You looked up at Rayleigh. “Are you coming with?”
He nodded. “Of course. I can’t expect you to watch both of them by yourself.”
That reassured you considerably. Managing two seven-year-olds was easier with him there, but it was more than that. He carried himself with such unhurried confidence that most people with sense knew better than to come too close.
By the time the Oro Jackson eased against the dock, the afternoon sun had turned the harbour bright enough to sting your eyes. You caught the straw hat before the wind could carry it into the water during the squabble on deck and planted it on the wrong child’s head as you walked past, ordering both of them to follow you.
Shanks snatched it back immediately, glaring at Buggy as though the theft was his fault.
“How loud is too loud anyway?” he asked as he hurried to catch up to you on the gangplank. “Because it’s really loud here. And one of the ships blew its horn.”
“I’ll tell you when it’s too loud.”
Rayleigh caught your arm before a porter shouldered past with a crate and guided you to his other side, placing himself between you and the busiest part of the dock. The boys fell into line at your heels, still yapping at each other over who had nearly lost the hat as Rayleigh’s hand settled warm and steady over your lower back.
“Thank you,” you hummed, leaning slightly into his touch.
“I don’t see why they’re only mine,” he said, voice low against your ear in a very distracting way. “The rest of the crew deserves some of the blame.”
You leaned slightly against him. “Are you this scared of fatherly responsibility, love?”
“All I’m saying is they haven’t learned their poor manners from me.”
“Are you certain? Because that hand of yours seems to be forgetting we’re in public.”
“Hm?” He hummed innocently and made no move to remove it from where it was slipping further down your spine.
You checked over your shoulders to make sure the boys were still following and hadn’t been distracted by anything. It would have to be an early night for them if everybody was going to go out drinking.
You found yourself rather looking forward to it when Rayleigh was touching you like that.
“Want to flip a coin for Buggy?” you asked. “Then we’ll meet for an early dinner afterward.”
“I’ll take heads.”
It was tails. Sometimes you really benefited from his gambling luck. You smiled innocently and tucked the coin back into your pocket.
“Shanks, you’re coming with me, okay? Buggy, you’re going with Rayleigh.”
“What? Why?” Buggy complained loudly. “I don’t even need new clothes!”
“Yes, you do and because I said so.”
Shanks smirked proudly. “It’s because I’m quieter.”
“No! You’re way louder than me!”
“Funny,” Rayleigh chuckled. “Seems neither of my kids want to go with me.”
“For the same reason the others don’t go shopping with you,” you pointed out. “You get too distracted when you find things you want me to wear. Although, I’d save your money for this evening. You’re not getting anything more when you blow it.”
He leaned closer, stubble tickling your cheek as he kissed the corner of your mouth. “I shouldn’t have wasted all my luck getting you. I have none left for the tables.”
You laughed at the flattery. “Still a no, but with such nice words, you may get lucky tonight no matter what the cards say.”
“Is that so?”
There was a shout and you sighed, looking over at the two boys before they got into a proper fight. “Come,” you said. “The faster this is over with, the faster we can go find something to eat.”
Shanks was a delight to shop for most of the time. Mainly because he didn’t really care about clothes as long as they were loose enough. You were just grateful that you didn’t have to shop with Buggy who was an absolute menace. Still, Rayleigh had a bag and a sulking child when you met up with them again, which was the best possible result.
The boys didn’t seem too interested in eating though as they both immediately fixated on a group of children playing in the square outside.
“They’re racing,” Shanks said excitedly.
You looked over and hummed, taking a seat at one of the tables. “They are. Don’t start any fights.”
The two of them grinned at each other in a way that made you severely doubt your request would be followed but they both bolted before you could give them further orders. You shook your head and Rayleigh settled into the seat next to you.
“They’re going to start a fight.”
“At least it will be over there,” you said. “I’m not responsible when they’re over there.”
You nudged his knee with your own and he caught it before you could pull it back, thumb brushing idly over your thigh as his hand slid higher.
“Behave,” you warned.
“I’m doing nothing.”
“That hand moving on its own?”
He looked down as though surprised to find it there. “Strange.”
You tried not to smile too obviously when your drinks were brought. Beyond the server, you spotted the boys both arguing over positions on the starting line and you sighed, raising your voice just so before they began elbowing.
“If you don’t behave, you’re not allowed to race anymore!”
They both immediately froze, looking over at you and slowly lowering their arms. They didn’t answer, but their argument dissolved into quiet muttering instead. You shook your head and thanked the server for your drink.
“Those two yours?” she asked, amusement warming her expression.
“They are,” you agreed.
She laughed and moved away.
The race began and you left them to it, deciding that you could handle the problems that came when one won later. They were considerably faster than most of the other children so you had no doubt it would be one of them.
You looked back toward Rayleigh when he lightly squeezed your thigh, his smile small but unbearably pleased.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You’re smiling far too smugly for it to be nothing.”
“I’m having lunch with a beautiful woman. Surely, I can enjoy myself.”
You shifted closer, catching his jaw to bring him in for a quick kiss before you grabbed his hand and slid it back down to a much more appropriate spot on your knee.
The racing continued far longer than it had any right to. Shanks kept edging ahead of the starting line whenever nobody was looking and Buggy blocked anyone who came close enough to pass him, both of them shouting accusations the moment another child returned the favour. They were pirates. You could hardly expect anything better.
By the time your food arrived, they were red-faced and dusty. One of the parents who had organised it called them over for a small prize and you laughed, watching as they ran back at full force to where you were sitting, each gripping one side of something fluffy.
“We won!” Shanks announced.
“I won!” Buggy corrected.
“I helped!”
You nodded to their plates. “Eat now. You can fight later.”
They looked at each other and then, with matching pride, they held out their prize toward you. A pair of thick, fluffy earmuffs.
“They block noise,” Buggy said.
“For your allergy,” Shanks added.
Rayleigh snorted next to you and you kicked his ankle. “Were there no other prizes?” you asked.
“They were the only good ones,” Buggy huffed.
You took the earmuffs carefully. They were a little too large for you and the fur was an alarming shade of purple but both boys were grinning as though they’d just brought back the best treasure across the Grand Line.
“You won these for me?” you asked.
“You need them,” Shanks said.
You put them on. They were more for keeping your ears warm than they were for blocking sound but you smiled at both of them.
“Perfect.”
Shanks beamed and Buggy’s chest puffed up. You caught both of them before they could escape and pressed a kiss to the top of their dusty heads.
“They’re sweaty,” Rayleigh commented.
“They’ll just have to bathe later.”
Buggy immediately started protesting the idea of him being sweaty while Shanks stayed exactly where he was, clearly pleased with himself. They both settled in to eat and you were certain it wouldn’t be long until they were far too tired.
Your assumption proved true before you’d even finished paying. Buggy’s chin kept dipping toward his chest between bites while Shanks had gone boneless against the back of his chair, one dusty hand still curled around the edge of the table.
You looked at Rayleigh and he only shook his head, already amused. It took more effort than you expected to lift Shanks from his chair. His legs hung lower against yours now, his weight settling solidly into your arms in a way it never used to, and a faint sadness pressed beneath your ribs. You weren’t going to be able to carry him like this for much longer.
He curled into your chest on instinct, his cheek warm against your shoulder, asleep before you had properly settled him. Rayleigh tucked Buggy beneath one arm and gathered the shopping with the other, the boy’s soft snores almost lost beneath the noise of the square.
“They absolutely cheated,” you mentioned as you walked back.
“Of course. They’re pirates and they’re yours. You always cheat at cards.”
You shifted Shanks a little higher against your chest and smiled. “Oh, do I now? Or is that just you being distracted when I wear something low-cut enough?”
“I can’t help what I’m weak to,” he said. “But they didn’t learn to play dirty from me.”
You brushed some dirt from Shanks’ cheek as best you could because they probably weren’t going to be awake enough to bathe that evening.
“At least it’ll make them good pirates,” you said. “Though they are ours. I wouldn’t expect anything different.”
“Thought they were mine.”
“They are.”
Rayleigh chuckled softly. “Alright. As long as you’re not wanting a third, I think I can accept it.”
- Benn lies on his stomach when he lies with you in the night, he has a few back problems with age and experience of being a pirate,
- Keeping that rifle steady and his shoulders squared whilst hes covering Shanks during enemy and ally encounters has done some damage,
- Benn usually slings an arm over your lower back, his calloused thumb rubbing patterns across your skin to help you fall asleep, moving his hands soothes him too. Hes always doing something with his hands, either cleaning his rifle, or pulling the ropes for the sails, or dragging you by the collar back to his side when a stray bullet hits,
- The pillows are covered in grey hairs, Benn always takes his low ponytail out when he goes to sleep, its long so sometimes you even braid it loosely to help him fall asleep when his back is giving him problems,
- Benn's voice is more raspy in the morning, his left eye always cracks open first, half lidded as he grins, watching you wake up,
"Mornin y/n, ready to face the day? Captains gonna be making barbeque out of that crews ship"
- Benn always makes the bed in the morning, sometimes, on the very rare occasions that Benn's tired, youll do it and pull the blanket back over his as you go on deck to get a few tasks done to make his day easier,
- Shanks has a habit of putting his cold feet by yours in the morning, usually to test if you're still aslewp so he can blame you that hes stayed in bed a bit longer, cat rules, he cant move because hed disturb the cat (you),
- Usually it ends up with you kicking him under the covers and he laughs,
- Shanks always sleeps shirtless so its usually soft muscle that you wake up on, Shanks is usually pretty cold so its damn good to sleep next to him with all of the summer weathered islands,
"Haha! Ow y/n, cmon! Im cold, you wouldnt hurt me, im your captain!"
- As much as the Red Haired pirates are usually quite chaotic, Shanks enjoys the peaceful and slow mornings immensley when your asleep beside him,
- Shanks, my my, that man loves to be the little spoon,
- Why the hell wouldnt he want to lay in your arms, with his head against your chest,
- Shanks' crimson eyes are half lidded as he just keeps his arm around your waist, feeling the blanket get pulled over his shoulders again,
- Usually Rayleighs cloak is draped over you when your asleep in his arms, Rayleigh always wears boxers and just a white linen shirt,
"Hmm, keeping it warm for me love? Good"
- Rayleigh sleeps on his back, with his arm around your waist, his other arm rested behind his head,
- If Rayleigh wakes up before you, hes usually reading some book that the Roger pirates had nabbed,
"You're staring again"
- Rayleigh says, a smirk on his lips, getting up,
- Rayleigh always has messed up hair in the morning, when he eventually gets up and pulls his cloak from the floor, he licks his hand and slicks his hair back, cracking his sword welding arm and pulling his glasses on, only to readjust them, and then take them off to clean them,
- Rayleigh makes a habit of pulling your shirt back over you in the morning, usually kissing your collarbone before buttoning up the rest and grinning,
- Off to deal with whatever nonsense the crew was getting up to next,
- Its quiet in the mornings at Shakky's bar in Sabaody, as with age, well, what's more to do whilst you wait then drink and share memories? So you were both hungover,
- Rayleigh finds it hard to sleep without the rocking waves, even all these decades later, he still misses the creaking wood planks of the Oro Jackson,
- But the quiet after a hangover? Maybe he was a bit thankful for that, and you still in his arms of course, though, Rayleigh usually sleeps on his side now, his arm usually rested under your head, his head rested against your upper back,
"Y/n, my arms going numb"
- But he never makes any attempt to move, you're no fool, age may have made Rayleigh age, but his body was still more put together then people believed,
- Sometimes Rayleigh presses a few kisses them. The long beard hed grown usually making you shift from how it tickled your skin,
- Rayleigh still pulls the cloak over you, still makes that same damn joke, Rayleigh won't admit it, but he really does like feeling the warmth of you when he wears it,
- This man has biceps that could crush mountains, let alone his axes, he always sleeps only in his boxers,
- There is no way that you are getting out of the cuddle in the morning until he wakes up. That man has a death grip on you lol,
- Gaban's axes are always rested by his side of the bed,
- Gaban usually drops his sunglasses on the nightstand or he just forgets to take them off all together and sleeps with them on,
"Ugh, damn things"
- Hed grumble as he goes to rub his eyes and ends up poking himself in the eye by pressing his fingers to the lense of his glasses,
- Gaban likes sleeping so hes facing you, laying on his side as he keeps you close, your head rested against his chest,
- Gaban is a deep sleeper, he doesnt wake up until he feels something off, or something coming, there have been moments where he has accidentally slept in and had to fight in his damn underwear before,
"Tch, we dont talk about that sweetheart"
- Is all Gaban says, as he can hear you start laughing, those encounters are something that the crew teases him about, but even then? Theres a sharp grin as he 'scolds' you,
- Gaban will quietly tap some sort of secret language that you'd both made up during your time together on your thigh to test if your still asleep, if you laugh? Then he knows you're not, if you dont? Then that means he gets a bit longer in bed,
- Gaban lies on his stomach now, man needs a damn hydraulic press on his back, and you my dear, will be his makeshift hydraulic press now. Sometimes you will press your elbow into part of his shoulder blades and hell groan as he wakes up, relief flooding through for a bit,
"Thanks sweetheart, thats been bothering me for a while"
- Gaban claims he is still the big spoon, absolutley no way would he ever be the little spoon, but over the years? He has become the little spoon, he loves it when you lay across his back, your head resting on his upper back as you sleep,
- Gaban keeps a calloused hand on your leg when you both cuddle. Your leg rested by his hip, usually he drags you by the leg, grinning like a moron as he drags you onto his back,
"Cmon. Time for bed."
- Gaban grunts and squints whenever the light filters in, he wakes up at the first light, usually leaning his head back and craning it over his shoulder to kiss you in the morning,
- Every morning, without fail, Gaban will defintley make some sort of sex joke, theres no escape and their always so bad,
- Roger keeps his chest pressed to your back, his head rested on the crook of your neck, the hairs from his moustache usually irritating your skin or tickling it,
- Roger is a stupidly tall man, so one of his legs is always hanging out from the blanket,
"Mhn. Ready for another adventure? We're getting close now, I can feel it. Just a bit longer"
- Roger would say as that sleep, wide grin would grace his lips,
- Roger usually drapes his cloak over you both to act like a blanket, that was in the very early days of the crew before you had done a marine raid and grabbed a few blankets for the boat,
"Stay a while love, Captain's orders"
- Unfortunately Captain's orders meant fuck all when he gets up pretty much immediately because Rayleigh and Gaban can only enable him with so much nonsense,
- As Rogers illness sets in, he starts sleeping on his back, sleeping on his side makes him cough more and you had found a few straw pillows to help prop him up,
- You'd rest your head near his heartbeat. Making sure you can still hear it but making sure your not putting pressure on anything,
Silvers Rayleigh x Reader
Length 11.5 K+
Rating: 18K+
Warnings: Human Trafficking, Physical Assault, Canon Typical Violence, Threats and Coercion, Telepathy, Classism, Arranged Marriage, Age Gap
for @hiimhappysblog
Next
-X-Bond Awakening-X-
The rain on Sabaody always smelled like metal. It clung to the air, sharp and restless, sinking into your clothes until it felt like you were breathing rust. Tonight, it made the alleys shine like oil, black and slick beneath the sprawling roots of the mangrove trees. Every drop that fell seemed to echo, like the whole archipelago was holding its breath.
You waited beneath the roots, watching the shapes move through the fog. Three of them, just as promised. Bounty hunters. You could tell by their posture before you even saw their faces. Men who strutted instead of walked. Men who carried weapons not for protection but for pleasure. Confident, careless, the kind of predators who thought cruelty was simply another cost of doing business.
The oldest one stepped forward and tossed a coin purse into the mud. It hit with a wet thud. “Payment first,” he said, voice rough and disinterested, like he’d said the same words a hundred times before.
You bent to pick it up, careful to keep your head low. The weight was right. Heavy enough to pass, though you knew it would barely buy back half the freedom he was about to sell you. Behind him, the second man shifted, and you caught the faint sound of a chain sliding over his glove. It set your teeth on edge. You didn’t look at him. You’d learned long ago that looking was an invitation.
You’d done this before. Dozens of times, in back alleys and forgotten groves. Buy what you could. Bribe whom you couldn’t. Pray that the ones you freed made it onto the ship waiting at Grove Twelve before anyone noticed they were gone. But tonight something felt different. Wrong in a way you couldn’t name. Maybe it was the way the fog swallowed sound, or the way the oldest hunter smiled too easily, like he already knew the ending to a story you hadn’t even started telling.
“Where are they?” you asked, your voice steady despite the cold rain trickling down your collar.
“In the cart,” he said, jerking his chin toward the wagon half-hidden in the mist. The tarp covering it was soaked through, sagging under the weight of the rain. “Four of them. Two adults, two kids. Fresh catch from the West Blue.”
The words made your stomach twist. Fresh catch. He said it like he was talking about fish, not people.
You stepped closer, hand tightening around the pouch in your coat. The mud sucked at your boots, and for a moment, you could hear the faintest sound from beneath the tarp—a cough, a muffled sob, or maybe just your imagination.
You handed over the second pouch of berri. The leather was slick beneath your gloves, the rainwater seeping through the seams, mixing with the sweat on your palms. You could feel your pulse in your fingertips. The man caught the pouch one-handed, his movements easy, practiced. He didn’t bother looking at you. His gaze lingered on the wagon instead, as if the sight of it entertained him more than the deal itself.
He weighed the pouch in his palm. The coins inside shifted with a dull, rhythmic clink that felt louder than it should have in the quiet between you. Then he smiled.
It wasn’t the kind of smile meant for business. It was slow, oily, the kind that stretched too far across his face without ever touching his eyes. It was the smile of a man who’d already decided how the night would end.
“Pleasure doing business,” he said finally.
But he didn’t move toward the cart.
You waited. The rain came harder, drumming against the mangrove roots overhead, seeping into the mud until it sucked greedily at your boots. Water ran down your spine, cold enough to make you flinch. Somewhere nearby, the wind rattled through the hollow roots like a sigh. From farther off came the faint echo of a tavern trying to drown out the weather, music, and laughter carried thinly on the storm.
Still, the wagon didn’t move. The shapes beneath the tarp stayed silent, still as corpses.
“Open it,” you said, forcing your voice to stay level.
The man with the chain shifted closer. You heard the slow drag of the links as they scraped together, each one glinting wetly in the lamplight. His smile was smaller but meaner. “No rush,” he said, his tone deliberately light, playful in the way a cat plays with something dying. “You in a hurry, sweetheart?”
The word landed like a slap.
Your throat went tight. You took a slow step back, heel pressing into the mud until it squelched beneath your boot. The mangrove roots loomed behind you, their slick bark closing off your escape. The shadows there were deep and still, thick enough to swallow light whole.
Your stomach turned to lead. You knew a trap when you saw one. You’d walked into plenty before: Marine stings, bounty ambushes, crooked smugglers who’d sooner sell you than trade with you, but something about this one was colder. More deliberate.
“Where are they?” you asked again, quieter now, every syllable laced with warning.
The man’s grin widened, showing a mouth full of yellow teeth. “Gone,” he said easily. “Sold ’em half an hour ago.”
You blinked once, the words slow to sink in through the rain. “You sold them?”
He shrugged, the motion lazy, rolling the chain between his fingers like a pet snake. The links whispered against his glove, wet iron glinting under the faint lantern light. “Not my fault you’re late.” His eyes dragged over you, taking in the cut of your coat, the leather at your belt, the tremor that ran through your stance. He tilted his head, the grin widening until it was nothing but teeth. “But don’t worry,” he said softly. “You’ll make a fine replacement.”
The other two moved in without a word. The space between you shrank fast, the smell of rain and sweat and gun oil thick in your nose. Your hand went for the pistol at your hip, the cold weight of it a small comfort in the chaos. You barely had the grip before the nearest man slapped it away. The weapon hit the mud with a dull splash, spinning once before it disappeared under the water pooling at your feet.
One of them reached for your arm. You swung instead, grabbing at the coin purse and using it to crack against his jaw. The seam split, coins scattering like a burst of dull stars. He staggered, but only for a second, then laughed through blood and rain.
“Feisty.”
“Let me go.”
“Not yet.”
The chain lashed out before you could move again, snapping around your wrist with a sting that tore through your glove. You twisted hard, but the cuff only bit deeper, cutting into the skin beneath. The nearest man shoved you back, driving your shoulders into the mangrove trunk behind you. The impact knocked the air out of your lungs. Bark tore through the back of your coat, splinters scraping skin as the roots dug into your spine.
“Pretty thing like you shouldn’t be out here alone,” he said, his breath hot and sour against your cheek. “Now, why don’t we make this easy? Take off the necklace. Earrings too.”
You froze. “What?”
“Your jewelry,” he said, tapping the chain against your throat. Each tap left a faint red mark on your skin. “All of it.”
“It’s worthless,” you managed.
He smiled, slow and cruel. “Then you won’t mind.”
His hand came up, fingers finding the clasp at your neck. You jerked back, but the chain around your wrist held tight. The necklace broke with a sharp metallic snap, the sound cutting through the rain like a gunshot. He let it fall into the mud and moved for your earrings. You felt the sharp tug, the flare of pain as metal tore free, the wet warmth of blood running down your ear before the rain washed it away.
The men stepped back, admiring their work.
“Look at that,” one said with a low laugh. “Didn’t even fight.”
“Gullible little thing,” another added, voice thick with amusement. “Must be nice, thinking everyone plays fair.”
You said nothing. The air tasted like rust. Your pulse roared in your ears. Your hands trembled. Not from fear, but from the cold that had started to spread through you. It began where the chain had touched your skin, a creeping chill that slid down your throat, curling beneath your ribs until it felt like the world itself was narrowing around you.
The rain blurred their faces until they became little more than shapes in the fog, smudged silhouettes moving against the glow of the lamps. The light wavered, thin and sickly, like it, too, was afraid of what lingered beneath the mangrove roots. You could hear your own heartbeat beneath the storm, steady, angry, and growing louder with every breath.
You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Your chest rose and fell too fast, the ache in your ears sharper than the sting of their laughter. It echoed through the hollow space under the roots, bouncing off wet bark and slick stone until it felt like the whole grove was mocking you. You wanted to spit, to curse, to draw your gun from the mud and remind them who you were, but the words stuck behind your teeth. The air was too heavy to breathe, thick with iron and ozone and something you couldn’t name.
Then it happened.
The world pulled sideways.
The sound of the rain warped, dulling into a low hum. Every noise. The laughter, the wind, the waves all folded in on themselves until it felt like the air had been scooped out of the world. The ache in your chest deepened, sharp and electric, until it felt as though something inside you was cracking open, spilling light into the dark.
And then, beneath the storm, you heard it.
A voice. Quiet. Rough around the edges. “Is this…?”
You froze.
It wasn’t spoken aloud. You would’ve sworn it came from inside you. The words brushed against your thoughts like fingertips tracing fogged glass, gentle and searching.
“I can feel your panic,” it said, low and certain. “Are you okay?”
Your breath caught. You stumbled back, boots sliding in the mud. The rain hammered harder, each drop like a nail against stone. The bounty hunters were still laughing, still talking, but their voices had turned distant, muffled, as if you’d fallen underwater.
The voice came again, clearer now, threaded with calm authority. “You’re bleeding.” A pause, soft but heavy with something ancient and unfamiliar. “Where are you?”
You didn’t understand what you were hearing. All you knew was that something vast and old had stirred awake inside you, something that hummed in your bones and behind your eyes like the vibration of a blade drawn from its sheath.
The world snapped back into focus all at once. The rain. The roots. The men closing in again. There was nothing to lose, and if you were going crazy, you’d do it in style.
You could taste blood in your mouth, salt and iron, and for the first time that night, you weren’t afraid.
“Sabaody, in Grove Eleven!”
You thought it as loud as you could, half expecting nothing, half praying for a miracle. The thought tore through you like lightning, bright and desperate.
For a moment, there was only silence.
Then the voice shifted, warmer now, closer. “Good girl. Now stay calm, and share a visual of what’s happening.”
Something unseen stirred in the air, a ripple that cut clean through the rain. The nearest bounty hunter frowned, glancing over his shoulder as if he sensed a shadow move behind him. The storm had changed. Each drop seemed slower, heavier, stretching in the lamplight like time itself had thickened.
You could feel him then, whoever he was, threading through your thoughts with calm precision. His mind felt steady, practiced, like a man who had been through worse storms than this.
“Three of them,” he murmured in your head, reading the scene through your eyes. “Oldest one’s armed on the left hip. The chain, don’t fight it. Loosen it.”
Your breath caught. You swallowed hard, the rain cold against your tongue. “What are you?” you thought, dizzy from adrenaline and disbelief.
“Someone who hates seeing good people cornered,” came the dry reply. “When I tell you, duck.”
The bounty hunter with the chain leaned closer, his grin twisting as he yanked your wrist upward. “Thought you could buy freedom with pocket change? You’re lucky we don’t sell you instead.”
“Now,” the voice said.
You dropped.
The chain snapped upward, catching only air. You didn’t understand what had happened until you saw it.
The chain had struck the lamp behind you, snapping back with brutal force. The iron links whipped straight into the bounty hunter’s face. His smirk froze, and he dropped, crumpling into the mud with a wet thud.
The others turned sharply, shouting, their boots slapping through puddles as they tried to make sense of it. You stumbled back, heart hammering so loudly you could barely hear the rain.
“Good,” the voice said inside your head, calm and certain. “One down. Two left. Keep moving, to the left.”
You flinched, gripping your wrist where the broken chain still hung. “How—”
“No time,” he interrupted. “They’re circling. Step left.”
You obeyed without thinking. A blade flashed past your cheek, close enough to cut a strand of your hair. The man who swung it cursed, overbalanced, and slipped in the mud.
“Now run,” the voice ordered. “Keep to the roots. Stay low.”
You bolted. The mangroves loomed like pillars in the fog, their roots slick and tangled, the air alive with the sound of pursuit. Mud splashed up your legs, cold and thick, but you didn’t stop. The voice in your mind stayed with you, steady and unhurried, as if this were all routine.
“Left again. There’s a slope ahead. They’ll try to cut you off. Take the incline, not the path.”
You skidded up the embankment, boots sliding, breath burning your throat. Behind you, one of the men shouted that he saw you. A shot cracked through the rain, splintering bark inches from your shoulder.
“Don’t panic,” the voice murmured. “Let them aim where you were, not where you’re going. Keep your head down and count to three.”
You did. One. Two. Three.
The roots ahead shifted beneath the waterlogged ground, a slow, creaking sound like a groan from the earth itself. The mangrove dipped with the weight of the storm, sending a surge of muddy water over the hunters below. They swore, blinded for an instant.
“That’s your opening,” the voice said. “Go.”
You sprinted. The fog opened for a heartbeat, revealing the faint shimmer of a narrow walkway leading toward the distant grove. Lantern light glowed in the distance—Grove Twelve, where your bon chari bubble bike would be waiting. You could almost smell the salt of the sea beyond the storm.
“Don’t stop until you’re inside,” the voice continued. “These are the type to hold a grudge.”
You vaulted over a broken railing, your coat snagging on a root before tearing free. Behind you, someone shouted, or maybe just cursed. You didn’t turn to find out.
The rain pounded harder, stinging your face, but the voice remained calm, close, almost at your shoulder now.
“You did well,” he said quietly. “Keep moving. Stay low and steady.”
You stumbled once, nearly falling, but the path leveled out beneath your feet. The glow of the grove widened ahead, lanterns swaying in the wind. You didn’t dare look back.
You reached the edge of the walkway, chest heaving, heart wild. The storm swallowed everything: the shouting, the waves, even the sound of your own footsteps. All that remained was the voice in your head, steady and low, a single calm note against the chaos.
“Almost there,” he said, gentler now. “You’re safe for tonight.”
The path curved beneath the hanging roots, slick and glistening like veins under glass. Lanterns swung in the wind, their flames stuttering against the downpour. You slipped once, your boot skidding over the slick planks, and caught yourself on a railing slick with moss. The wood creaked under your weight. Every breath came out white and shaking.
Then, through the veil of rain, you saw the bon chari, half-submerged beneath the mangrove roots. Its round hull reflected the lantern light, gleaming like a glass trapped between worlds. The propeller fins turned lazily in the current, waiting.
You slid down the slope toward it, boots splashing through puddles, mud clinging to your clothes. A shadow passed overhead—just a bird, you hoped—and then the wind shifted, carrying the smell of salt and metal. Your hands fumbled with the latch, numb from cold, but the hatch gave way with a hiss of pressurized air.
You climbed inside and sealed it shut behind you. The outside roar vanished instantly, replaced by a muffled hum. The sudden quiet felt almost violent after the storm. The air was warm, dry, and faintly sweet with recycled oxygen. The walls glowed with soft amber light, the kind that made it hard to tell where the machine ended and the sea began.
The bon chari rocked once, as if testing your weight, then began its slow ascent. The shift in pressure made your ears pop. You pressed your palms against the glass dome and watched the world sink away.
The roots disappeared first, their tangled shapes swallowed by darkness. Schools of tiny fish scattered from the glow of your vessel, flashing silver as they darted into the murk. Bubbles rose around you like drifting stars.
For the first time since the ambush, you exhaled. The sound came out shaky, uneven. The silence that followed pressed around you, heavy and unreal, the kind of silence that felt alive. You rested your head against the glass, watching the mangrove roots fade into the dark below, their long shadows vanishing into the still black water.
You leaned your forehead against the glass. The faint warmth of the interior seeped into your skin, a small mercy after the cold bite of rain. Beyond the dome, the mangrove forest faded into shadow, its roots stretching down like the fingers of some ancient god. The faint hum of the vessel blended with your heartbeat until you couldn’t tell which was which.
Your reflection hovered over the dark water, pale and ghostly. Mud streaked your cheek, and blood still clung to the torn edge of your ear where the earring had been ripped away. You reached up to touch the spot, and your hand trembled.
Only then did the weight of what had happened start to settle. The fact that you were unharmed at all felt impossible. Every nerve in your body buzzed with leftover adrenaline, every breath sharp as glass.
You closed your eyes, letting the soft hum of the bon chari’s engine fill your ears. It was rhythmic, almost soothing, a mechanical heartbeat against the chaos that had come before. The storm was still raging above, its muted thunder rolling through the water, but down here in the dim cocoon of the vessel, it felt distant. Safe, almost.
From here, it was supposed to be a simple trip. Up through the roots, across the shallows, and straight to the glass-fronted hotel where you were expected to be fast asleep—warm, dry, respectable, and not soaked in mud and blood, not trembling in a smuggler’s pod beneath the sea.
You let out a soft, humorless laugh. The sound fogged the glass.
Then, quietly, the voice returned. “You made it.”
You startled, eyes flying open, searching the cramped cabin as if someone might be hiding inside. “You’re still here?”
“I hope so,” he said, voice warm and edged with dry amusement. “If the rumors are to be believed, I’d say I’m here for good.”
You blinked, breath catching. “Rumors?”
“That soulmates exist,” he said. “And that when one of them nearly dies, the other tends to notice.”
You pressed a hand to your chest, the faintest tremor running through your fingers. “Soulmates? You’re joking.”
“Not at all,” he said with a soft chuckle. “But I think we can both agree this isn’t the usual way to meet someone. So, my dear, you are in Sabaody then. I suspect you don’t normally reside on the lower piers.”
You sank back into your seat, unsure whether to laugh or cry. “So this isn’t… my head being unusually useful?”
“Just a bit,” he said gently. “But also me. You’re loud, by the way. I could feel you halfway across the sea. Probably for the best, seeing the trouble you were in. Soulmates then.”
You huffed, torn between indignation and relief. His tone carried an easy confidence, the kind that came from someone who had seen far too much and found very little left to fear. He was calm, measured, and, you suspected, far too perceptive for his own good. You got the sense he was humoring you, careful not to push too hard.
“I suppose not,” you said, managing a weak smile. “And you seem awfully composed for someone who just had a stranger crash into their head.”
“Ah, but you didn’t crash,” he said lightly. “You knocked. Quite insistently, I might add.”
You let out a slow breath, the tension in your shoulders easing just a little. The glass beneath your palm vibrated with the steady hum of the ocean current. “Perhaps… you could tell me where you are?”
“New World,” he replied, and you could hear the soft sound of waves threading through his words. “A week or so from Sabaody, give or take. Calm waters tonight. Stars are out.”
The image was so vivid you could almost see it: the dark expanse of the Grand Line stretched around him, the soft roll of the deck beneath his boots, salt wind tangled in his hair. A man alone on the sea, half a world away, speaking as though he were standing beside you. Dangerous waters, and potentially, a dangerous man.
“The New World?” You thought, oddly elated, “What do you do?”
“Sailing.” He replied quickly, “How are you feeling?” he asked, voice quieter now.
You looked down at yourself. Your gloves were still smeared with mud. The fine hem of your coat was torn where the mangrove bark had caught it, and a faint bruise was already forming where the chain had bitten into your wrist. Your reflection in the glass looked pale, hollow-eyed, and very small.
“In one piece,” you said finally, your voice thin but steady. “Somehow.”
“Good,” he said, and there was genuine warmth in the word. “You did well. Most people freeze in their first real fight. You kept your head.”
You almost laughed. “Barely. Normally, the slavers are so consumed with greed at the sight of berri that they just let me be, but I got cocky going out after dark myself.”
“Very much so,” he said, amused. “But the sea favors the stubborn.”
You found yourself smiling, despite everything. Something in his voice reminded you of the ocean itself. Deep, unpredictable, and strangely kind beneath its roughness. The bon chari continued its quiet ascent, drifting upward through the calm dark. The light from the groves began to pierce the water above you, soft and green, like sunlight seen through glass. The hum of the engine had steadied, low and rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat.
You hesitated, chewing the inside of your cheek. “Would you…” Your voice came out small in the silence. “Would you tell me what you mean by soulmates?”
For a moment, he didn’t answer. You heard only the whisper of waves through the connection, the faint creak of a ship somewhere far away. Then his voice returned, warm and amused. “Ah. So you truly don’t know the stories.”
“I know of them,” you said. “Children’s tales. Myths for sailors and lovers who can’t bear the silence.”
“Perhaps,” he said. “Or perhaps they’re a little truer than most would like to admit.” His tone softened, edged with something older, deeper. “Two halves of a soul, parted in birth and found in life again, if the world is merciful. That’s the short version.”
You let out a breath that was more a laugh. “And which half are you, then?”
He chuckled, the sound low and rough, like the sea rolling against the hull of a ship. “Not to reveal too much of myself, but I have been waiting for you for a very long time.”
Your breath caught. “Waiting for me?”
“Aye,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “Long enough to think perhaps I had dreamed it all. Then tonight happened, and I hear a voice in my head calling from Sabaody, angry, frightened, alive.”
You pressed your palm against the glass, the faint vibration of the current humming beneath it. The world outside blurred in motion, streaks of green light drifting through the water like ghostly veins. The reality of the moment wavered, fragile as a reflection in the sea.
“Are you sure you’re not just a hallucination?” you whispered.
He laughed softly, the sound warm enough to chase away the cold that still clung to your skin. “If I am, then you’re a very convincing one too.”
You flushed, torn between disbelief and something perilously close to wonder. “It’s unbelievable,” you said, your voice catching somewhere between awe and exhaustion.
“It’s rare, yes,” he admitted. His tone softened, as if he were smiling. “But not impossible. We’re talking now, aren’t we? The connection must have been blocked until something jolted it open.” He hesitated, thoughtful. “Jewelry, maybe?”
Your heart sank. The earrings—The necklace.
They appeared in your mind instantly, the small gold set your mother had left you, worn smooth at the edges from years of use. They had been her pride, a token of old money and old love, the last real piece of her you had left. You remembered how the gold had caught the light when she laughed, how she’d fastened the clasp at your throat before her last voyage. You had worn them every day since she died until tonight.
“I… left them behind,” you said quietly. The words trembled as they left your mouth, the images of the jewelry flashing in your mind. “They took them.”
“I thought so,” he said, his voice low, threaded with sympathy. “If they were lined with seastone, that would’ve masked the bond. The moment you lost them, it opened up.”
You sat there, staring at your reflection in the curved glass, the bruise forming at your wrist, the smudge of dirt on your cheek, the space where stone should have glinted. The truth of it settled like a weight in your chest.
“They were the only thing I had left of my mom,” you said softly.
“I know,” he murmured. “But oftentimes disappointment leads to opportunity. Perhaps they were meant to keep you safe until now.”
You swallowed hard, the ache behind your eyes sharp and sudden. “Safe,” you echoed, the word hollow. “That’s a generous interpretation for having a man in my head.”
He chuckled gently, the sound rich and unhurried. “You’re alive, aren’t you? Despite being capable of speaking across the sea with this strange man. How old are you, darling?”
You let out a shaky laugh, the kind that came more from exhaustion than amusement. “Old enough to know better than to answer that question,” you said.
“Ah,” he replied, voice teasing but kind. “Smart and evasive. Good. You’ll need both.”
Despite the ache in your chest, a small smile tugged at your lips. The bon chari continued its slow ascent, the pressure easing as it rose. Above, the faint green glow of the groves brightened into something closer to daylight, the promise of safety shining through the murky water. You couldn’t see him, this man whose voice filled your thoughts, but somehow, he felt real. Solid. A thread of calm woven through the storm still echoes in your bones.
You swallowed hard, the words rough in your throat. “Who are you?”
There was a pause, the faint creak of rope and the roll of a wave through the connection, as if he’d turned to look out over the sea. “Rayleigh,” he said finally. “I’m a sailor. First mate on a ship out of the West Blue. Nothing glamorous, but it keeps me busy.”
A sailor. The simplicity of it made you smile. He said it like someone who had stopped needing to prove himself long ago. His voice carried the ease of someone who’d seen too much of the world to be shaken by much anymore.
“Rayleigh,” you repeated softly, tasting the name like salt on your tongue. “Thank you. For saving my life.”
“I can’t take much credit,” he said, amusement curling around the edges of his words. You could almost hear the smile in his voice, the faint lilt of someone who found joy in understatement. “I would have preferred to be there myself—It puts a bad taste in my mouth to think what could have happened. However, you are clearly exceptionally capable. I just gave you a nudge in the right direction in a tight spot.”
“Some nudge,” you murmured, leaning your head against the glass. “You might’ve just saved my life.”
“Then it was an exceptional introduction for the two of us,” he said lightly, and somehow, even with an ocean between you, you could feel him smiling. “Just imagine our first real meeting.”
You blinked and took a breath.
“Meet?”
Rayleigh paused for a moment, as if he had been taken a little off guard.
“Is there a reason we shouldn’t?”
You hesitated, fingers tracing the condensation on the bubble glass. “I can’t have a…romantic soulmate.”
“Oh?” He replied, thoughtfully, “Are you married already?”
“Oh, no, but I am expected to marry wealthy,” you said quietly. “Very wealthy. My family’s arrangement, duty, and all.”
For a long moment, he said nothing. Then he chuckled, low and good-natured. “Duty’s a hard thing to argue with. But I’ve learned not to fight fate too much.”
“Fate is a fancy excuse for poor decisions,” you replied, “I prefer carefully weighing fair odds.”
He chuckled.
“I can see I’ll have my hands full.”
You sniffed, regardless of the smile at the edge of your lips. “You’re welcome to think so, Rayleigh.”
The buzz between you flared brightly as he hummed at your voice, wrapping around his name.
“Rest easy tonight, my dear,” he said at last, his voice softening. “We’ll figure it out—The sea’s funny like that. It always finds a way to bring people together.”
The connection faded again, gentle as a tide going out. You sat in the quiet of the bubble, the hum of the current beneath you, your hand still pressed to the glass.
By the time the bon chari reached the upper docks, dawn was still a whisper on the horizon. The rain had eased to a mist, leaving the world washed and gleaming beneath the mangrove lights. You slipped out unnoticed, coat drawn close, keeping to the back paths that wound between the roots and bridges of the upper groves.
The hotel came into view just as the sky began to pale. Its glass walls caught the faint light like a mirage, reflecting the glow of the sea below. You entered through the servants’ corridor, moving quietly past the night clerks who were too tired or too polite to ask questions.
Your father’s suite was still dark. You could hear his heavy breathing from the next room. The deep, rumbling sleep of a man too accustomed to comfort to imagine danger could reach him here. You paused at his door for a moment, watching the faint flicker of the den den mushi lamp through the crack, then turned away. He didn’t need to know what had happened. Not yet.
In your own room, you peeled off the wet clothes, leaving them in a heap by the wash basin. The mirror caught your reflection: hair tangled, bruises shadowing your wrists, a cut along your collarbone where the chain had grazed you. You looked like someone else entirely. Someone who had crawled up from the ocean floor.
You washed in silence, scrubbing away the mud and blood until the water ran clear. When you finally sank into the bed, exhaustion swallowed you whole. The sheets were warm, scented faintly of sea salt and expensive soap.
But sleep didn’t come easily.
Your mind kept circling back to him. Rayleigh. The stranger who had spoken inside your head as if he had always been there. His voice lingered, low and steady, like the echo of a tide against stone. You found yourself reaching for it, testing the edges of whatever this connection was.
It wasn’t hard to feel where he was. His presence sat like a faint light across some vast distance, dim but steady, just beyond the edge of your thoughts. You could sense him, close enough that, if you reached out, you might find him listening.
Experimentally, you drew a boundary in your mind. A wall, gentle but firm, separates your mental space from his. You thought of it like a street between two houses: yours lit and quiet, his across the way, windows open but respectful. If you called out, he would hear you. But unless you did, he stayed still.
The first few times, you could feel him testing the edges of it too, careful not to push. A ripple of thought brushed against yours, polite, restrained.
“Can you hear me?”
You smiled faintly in the dark. “Only if I let you.”
“Good”, came his quiet reply. “Your mind is a beautiful thing. Keep it well guarded.”
You felt the faint pulse of warmth before he pulled back, retreating to his side of the current.
You turned onto your back, staring at the ceiling as the first light of morning crept through the glass. Somewhere far out at sea, you imagined him standing on a deck, watching the same dawn you were. It was a strange comfort, this tether between two strangers, and stranger still how natural it felt.
Before sleep finally claimed you, you caught the faintest trace of his voice again, softer than a sigh.
“Rest easy, darling. I’ll keep watch from here.”
-X-Strange Happens-X-
You and your father were in Sabaody on business. That was the official reason, at least.
He owned one of the largest shipping companies in the South Blue—Chevel Maritime Trading—its name painted in gold on the sides of every vessel that left your family’s docks. The company specialized in high-end cargo: fine silks, aged wines, preserved fruits, rare teas, and other luxuries that found their way into the hands of nobles and Celestial Dragons. Half the Grand Line relied on your father’s ships to deliver indulgence and elegance to their tables.
Your father handled the visible side of things. The handshakes, the dinner parties, the kind of meetings that required charm, wit, and a well-rehearsed smile. He was good at it, too. He could flatter a broker or a Marine officer with the same polished ease, and people often mistook that warmth for naivety. It was a mistake that always worked in his favor.
You preferred the quieter part of the work. You managed the ledgers, balanced the accounts, monitored the freight manifests, and tracked the shifting tariffs of every island your family traded with. Numbers made sense to you. They stayed honest. They never smiled to your face while plotting behind your back. It was your handwriting on every agreement, your careful arithmetic that kept the company running as smoothly as its finest ship.
It had been your idea to come to Sabaody this time. The new Grand Line tariffs were being renegotiated, and several Celestial brokers had suggested that your family’s participation might help smooth the transition. You had agreed. Partly out of duty, partly out of curiosity. You liked Sabaody in theory: the glowing mangroves, the luminous air, the way the city seemed to float between sea and sky. But every visit reminded you how thin that light really was. The wealth shimmered above while the lower groves sank deeper into decay.
You were staying on Grove Fifty, in one of the high-rise hotels that overlooked the shipbuilders’ district. He liked to say that proximity to power was good for business. You knew better. You preferred to stay behind the scenes, focused on balance sheets, listening to his smooth voice through the walls as he entertained clients with imported wine and exaggerated laughter.
It was strange, then, to think how close you had come to being taken beneath those same mangroves last night. The irony of nearly being sold into slavery on an island famous for its auctions was not lost on you.
As light filtered through your window, you could hear your father stirring in the suite next door. His voice carried through the thin partition, smooth and composed, speaking with the staff as though nothing in the world had shifted overnight. He requested his morning papers, the latest trade reports, and a fresh pot of coffee from South Blue beans. Beneath it all, you could hear him humming under his breath, some old sea shanty he used to sing when you were small, back when ships still smelled of salt and wood instead of polish and perfume.
For him, the world had already settled back into its usual rhythm. He would attend his meetings later, dressed in fine wool and confidence, his cufflinks glinting like coins in sunlight. He would shake hands with brokers and investors, speak about supply lines and tariffs, and boast that his ships were the most reliable on the seas. And you would be there beside him, quiet and composed, ledger in hand, ready to fill in the numbers that turned charm into profit.
He didn’t need to know what had happened. Not yet. How could you possibly explain it? The voice that had spoken to you through the storm, calm and familiar, as if it had always been waiting for you? A voice that now lingered faintly at the edge of your thoughts, polite but present, as if standing just outside a doorway and waiting to be let in.
The only difficult thing to explain that morning had been the absence of your mother’s necklace and earrings. You had told your father you’d misplaced them, perhaps left them behind when you packed. He had frowned but said nothing, though you’d seen the disappointment in his eyes. Those heirlooms had been part of your family’s image, symbols of old wealth and respectability. To appear at breakfast without them had been careless. To him, it was just another sign that you were too absorbed in numbers and not enough in presentation.
If only he knew.
You stirred your coffee in quietness as he read the morning paper, every page rustling like a secret you could not share. If he ever discovered where you had really been last night, what you had been doing while he drank wine with shipwrights, it would ruin everything.
No respectable company dealt in idealism, and certainly not in rebellion. The Celestial brokers were ruthless, their wealth built on chains. To expose yourself as someone freeing the very slaves they auctioned would destroy your family’s business, your father’s reputation, and your place in a world that rewarded silence.
You stared into your cup, the dark surface reflecting the faint shimmer of light through the window. The scent of rain still clung to your hair, sharp and metallic. You could almost feel the mud on your boots again, the weight of the chain around your wrist, the cold voice that had cut through the storm to reach you.
Most of the week passed in a blur of business. Your father spent his days in meetings, shaking hands with Celestial brokers and high-ranking traders, securing new contracts and polishing old ones. You followed where expected, sitting through dinners where every smile was a transaction and every toast a performance. When you weren’t by his side, you worked quietly in the hotel’s study, balancing ledgers, reviewing cargo reports, and arranging shipments bound for Marie Geoise.
But you sent others to handle the work that mattered most: the work he could never know about. You met your intermediaries through coded notes and discreet messengers, coordinating what you could from the shadows. The networks you’d built were fragile and small, but they had saved lives. This time, though, success was harder to come by. The markets were shifting, the buyers growing paranoid, and the smugglers who had once taken your bribes now looked over their shoulders before meeting your gaze. You were losing ground, and you knew it.
“Why do they matter to you?” Rayleigh asked one evening, his tone thoughtful, not accusing. “The slaves?”
You froze, your pen hovering above the inkpot. The question hung there, suspended in the quiet of your room, calm and curious; the kind of question only someone who already suspected the answer would dare to ask.
Outside, the city murmured. Sabaody was never truly silent; even at night, the groves hummed faintly with life, the soft pulse of air bubbles and distant laughter from the taverns below. The lamplight shimmered across your desk, catching the edges of open ledgers and the faint glint of gold ink pressed into the paper margins.
You set the pen down slowly, the faint scent of ink and salt mixing in the air. “Because someone should care,” you said at last. Your voice came out quieter than you intended, steady but tired. “My mother cared.”
The silence that followed wasn’t empty. You could feel him there, far away yet somehow close enough to touch, his attention steady and deliberate. It wasn’t prying, only listening, the way a sailor listens to the sea before it changes course.
You leaned back in your chair, tracing the ink stain on your thumb with your opposite hand. “She used to smuggle food to the servants when she thought no one noticed,” you continued. “Said that being kind was the one rebellion we should strive for.”
There was a faint pause before he spoke again, his voice softer now. “She was a brave woman.”
“She was,” you whispered. “And foolish. It got her killed.”
The faint hum of the bond shifted, like the sound of waves retreating from the shore. You could almost feel the wind over distant water, a breeze carrying sympathy from somewhere far away.
“I’m sorry,” Rayleigh said quietly. “Loss has a way of carving into us, refining us.”
You huffed, trying to laugh, but the sound came out uneven. “It’s nothing. It’s pathetic, really. She did so much more. I just push numbers around and pretend it makes a difference. People who have far less than I.”
“Most people in your position wouldn’t risk it,” he said after a moment, his tone thoughtful again. “They’d look away. Your desire to honor her and do good is commendable.”
You tipped your head back, staring at the ceiling. The light from the mangroves outside filtered through the curtains, painting faint ripples across the walls. “I wasn’t raised to look away,” you said quietly, “but looking doesn’t stop it from being wrong. And it doesn’t excuse me for staying silent when it’s convenient.”
You could feel his presence shift again, patient and listening, as though he wanted to reach through the space between you but knew better than to try. The hush between you stretched, filled only by the faint scratching of the pen you still held and the slow rhythm of your own breathing.
“Would you choose freedom?” he said at last, his tone measured, quiet enough that you almost thought you’d imagined it. “If it meant leaving what you have now? To live free and help others, but be poor as a sailor?”
The question rooted itself deep in your chest, heavy and dangerous. You stared at the ledger before you, at the neat columns of numbers that represented your family’s fortune, your father’s empire, your inheritance. The ink shimmered faintly in the lamplight, each mark a record of the life you were supposed to protect.
“Is this a hypothetical question?” you asked, setting the pen down. Your voice came out steadier than you felt. “Or is this a soulmate pitch?”
For a heartbeat, the connection was silent. Then came his laugh; low, genuine, and unmistakably amused. It rolled through your mind like distant thunder, warm enough to make you forget for a moment that you were speaking to someone a sea away.
“A pitch?” he said. “I can see I’ve met my match. I apologize for being so transparent. Do I sound like I’m trying to convince you?”
“You sound like you might be,” you replied, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Freedom, purpose, noble causes. It’s a very persuasive combination. All things you think you can offer the strange woman in your head.”
“You’re not wrong,” he said. “But no, it’s not a pitch. It’s a question. Soulmates or not, you strike me as someone who’s been living inside the same cage for a very long time. Someone who is pushing a token effort for real change, but missing the mark.”
You leaned back in your chair, the leather creaking quietly under your weight. The lamplight shimmered in your teacup, the faint steam curling upward like smoke. Outside, the mist had begun rising, a soft whisper against the window that made the world feel smaller, more private.
“It’s a comfortable cage,” you said at last.
“That’s the most dangerous kind,” Rayleigh said softly. “The ones built of silk and gold are harder to escape than iron.”
You let out a quiet hum, neither agreeing nor denying, your gaze drifting back to the ledger on your desk. Every column was perfect, every figure precise, the numbers a reflection of the life you had built, or perhaps the one built around you.
The ink glimmered faintly in the lamplight, each mark a promise you had made to keep the machine turning, to play your part in a world that rewarded obedience. And yet, somewhere deep inside, his words had lodged like a splinter. A small, aching wound, impossible to ignore.
You closed the ledger gently, as if afraid of waking it. “Even cages can provide use, if you know how to work them,” you said quietly. “Protection, safety… boundaries.”
He laughed, the sound soft and genuine, carrying through the bond like the faint roll of waves against a hull.
“My apologies,” he said, the warmth in his tone unshaken. “I can see that I’ve crossed a line.”
You almost smiled. “You’re remarkably self-aware for a man prying into another person’s head.”
“I try to be polite,” he replied. Then his voice softened, losing its humor. “You feel like a mystery, you know. A secret I’m trying to unravel, but also a comfort I’ve been missing. A piece of me I always knew was gone and didn’t realize could be found again. Makes a man half-mad, having a comfort like this.”
You froze, every thought falling silent for a beat. His words sank through the quiet between you like stones into water.
Until he said it, you hadn’t realized it yourself—that the feeling wasn’t one-sided. His presence had settled into your mind like something natural, inevitable. It wasn’t loud or demanding, but steady, harmonic, like the sound of a piano key being tuned to its perfect pitch, or a number finally fitting into the equation where it belonged.
The realization left you still. Not frightened, exactly, just aware in a way you hadn’t been before. You could feel him even now, faint but certain, his presence a low hum against your own thoughts, neither intruding nor retreating.
You exhaled slowly, fingers tracing the closed edge of the ledger. The air between you hummed with a strange warmth, unsettling and familiar all at once. “You shouldn’t say things like that,” you murmured, half under your breath. “I told you… I’m promised to another.”
He chuckled softly, the sound low and smooth, like the sea lapping against a hull. “Promises,” he said, his tone lazy with amusement, “are fickle things. People change. Circumstances change. Hearts, too.”
You smiled faintly despite yourself. “You sound like trouble.”
“Only to those who don’t listen,” he said. You could almost hear the grin in his voice. “But fine, I’ll behave—for now. On one condition.”
You tilted your head. “And what would that be?”
“Wear something covering tomorrow.”
You raised a brow, unable to stop the small laugh that escaped you. “Covering? That’s a curious request.”
“Bad weather,” he said, voice dipping just enough to make it sound like more than a simple warning. “I heard it’s going to be rainy in Sabaody.”
You leaned back in your chair, still smiling. “And you care about the weather here?”
“I care about you walking around in silk and pretending it’s armor,” he replied easily. “So yes, I do.”
You didn’t have an answer for that. The pause that followed wasn’t awkward; it was charged, like the air before a storm.
The connection softened after a moment, fading back to that quiet hum that lived just beneath your thoughts. He didn’t say goodbye, but you could feel it in the way his presence ebbed away, patient, steady, unwilling to linger too long.
Outside, the breeze shifted, carrying the faint scent of rain through the open window. The curtains moved like lazy waves, the air heavy with salt and something else, something waiting. You caught yourself smiling, the kind of smile that made no sense and didn’t need to.
“Covering,” you muttered, shaking your head as you gathered your papers. “The Den Den said the weather is supposed to be good.”
You crossed to the window, brushing the curtain aside. The horizon beyond the mangroves shimmered with the faintest trace of silver, visible over the bright lights of the amusement park. The city below was still hopping, boats pushing off from their docks, vendors calling, the distant song of a shell radio drifting through the air. The theme park never stopped, even with bad weather.
But as you looked closer, you noticed it. The clouds forming far beyond the groves, dark and slow-moving, curling over the horizon like smoke.
-X- Through the Looking Glass -X-
The morning air in Sabaody carried the scent of salt and promise, brisk, lively, and threaded with tension. By the time you and your father stepped out of the hotel, the streets were already awake. Merchants shouted from stalls built beneath the mangrove roots, their voices overlapping in a chorus of trade. Marine officers moved through the crowds with their usual show of authority, boots splashing in puddles left over from the night’s rain.
Your father adjusted the cuffs of his coat, elegant and pressed despite the humidity. “We’ll take the longer route through Grove Forty,” he said. “The shipwrights are hosting the brokers there this morning. It’ll make a good impression if we’re early.”
You nodded, tucking your ledger under one arm. He didn’t notice the way your gaze kept drifting toward the docks, where rumors always spread faster than smoke. The whispers had been everywhere since dawn: sightings of pirate ships near the outer groves, a few smaller vessels turning back toward the open sea.
It wasn’t unusual for pirates to pass near Sabaody, but the tension in the air felt different this time. Dockhands spoke in low voices, eyes flicking toward the horizon. A few of the richer merchants had already canceled appointments, citing “security concerns.”
Your father, of course, was unbothered. “If we ran every time someone flew a black flag, we’d never get anything done,” he said when you mentioned it. “Pirates chase gold. We move it. There’s a difference.”
You followed him down the polished boardwalk that circled the upper groves, the sound of your shoes clicking against wet wood. The mangroves glowed faintly beneath your feet, light pulsing through the trunks like veins. Above, the sky was thickening again, clouds rolling in where the sun had been.
“I told you to bring an umbrella,” you said without looking back.
“The Den Den said good weather,” He replied, though his attention was elsewhere. The Marine patrols had doubled since yesterday, their ships lined like teeth near the inlet. You caught sight of a Den Den Mushi operator on the corner, shell pressed to his ear, his expression tense.
“Which pirates?” you asked one of the attendants as you entered the carriage.
The man hesitated, then said quietly, “No one’s sure. But some say it’s a crew from the Grand Line—someone important. Maybe even from the New World.”
Your father scoffed. “Old sailor tales. The big-name pirates have no reason to come here, besides coating their ships on the lower docks. It’s just nerves from the last auction scandal.”
You nodded, though something in your stomach tightened. The air had that charged feeling again, the same quiet warning Rayleigh had given you the night before.
The carriage began to move, its wheels humming softly over the slick, rain-dark boards. Outside, the mangroves swayed in the growing wind, their roots shifting with the slow pull of the tide. The air smelled of salt and sap, heavy enough to cling to your tongue.
You leaned back against the seat, letting the steady motion lull you. The hotel disappeared behind the veil of mist, and with it went the fragile sense of safety you had managed to rebuild over the past few days.
Then, as soft as a passing thought, something brushed against your mind. Familiar. Warm.
“Got any plans today, sweetheart?”
You startled before you could stop yourself, then smiled faintly, realizing the voice wasn’t aloud.
You chuckled under your breath, careful to keep your expression neutral. Your father sat across from you, muttering about tariffs and schedules, too focused on his notes to notice.
“Meetings, ledgers, the usual glamour of a shipping dynasty,” you thought. “And you?”
“Trying not to drown, mostly,” Rayleigh replied, his voice carrying a soft humor that rippled through your mind. “The sea’s decided to keep me busy today. Thought I’d check on my landlocked half and see if she was behaving.”
“Barely,” you answered, hiding a grin as the carriage jolted over uneven planks. “Apparently, there are rumors of pirates near the groves. My father says it’s nonsense, but everyone’s tense.”
There was a pause, and you felt something shift across the connection, a faint pull of thought and concern.
“Ah,” he said at last, his tone light but with a weight beneath it. “Rumors can be dangerous things. Maybe don’t test your luck today.”
You glanced out the window, watching the ripples in the water between the roots. “You sound like you know something I don’t.”
“That’s entirely possible,” he said, amusement threading through the words. “But think of it as friendly advice.”
You bit back a laugh. “You and your friendly advice are starting to sound extremely suspicious.”
“Bad weather, darling. Just promise me you’ll stay close to your father.”
“Hardly, he flutters around like a butterfly. I can hardly keep pace.”
The rain had started again by the time your father’s carriage arrived at the auction house. The sky above Sabaody was the color of tarnished silver, and the air hung heavy with salt and the scent of the mangroves. Even before you stepped inside, you could smell the place: perfume, polish, and the faint, sour tang of fear that no amount of incense could disguise.
The building rose out of the grove like a cathedral, its marble walls gleaming wetly under the lantern light. A line of carriages stood waiting out front, their passengers disappearing one by one into the grand entrance.
Your father adjusted his coat as he stepped down, his polished shoes splashing lightly against the flooded boards. “Remember,” he said, offering his arm as if the two of you were attending a social function. “We are here to do business, not to judge it. The Celestial brokers are watching everything today.”
You nodded, forcing a polite smile that did not reach your eyes. Inside, the noise and light hit like a wave. The chandeliers gleamed, the polished floors reflected the crowd, and behind all the luxury, you could hear the faint metallic rattle of the cages waiting beyond the curtain.
“Sign in,” your father said, moving to the back rooms. “Then check the tariffs. We will want copies for the company records.”
You moved toward the registration desk, trying not to look at the men and women waiting in the shadows. Your heartbeat was steady, but your palms were slick. You had been here before, not as a guest, but as a thief of freedom, slipping between the roots under cover of darkness.
Then you heard a voice behind you. Rough. Familiar.
“Well, well. Look who came crawling back.”
You froze. The sound of the crowd faded until all you could hear was the steady pounding of your own pulse. Slowly, you turned.
Three men stood at the edge of the hall, half-hidden by a marble column. You recognized them instantly, the bounty hunters from the mangroves. The one in front still bore the mark across his cheek where your chain had struck him. His smile was wide and ugly.
“Thought we’d lost you that night,” he said. “Didn’t realize you’d cleaned up so well.”
Your throat went dry. “You’re mistaken,” you said quickly, your voice cool but trembling at the edges. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
The scarred man’s grin widened. He stepped closer and grabbed your wrist, his grip hard enough to bruise. “No use lying. I never forget a face. Especially one that cost me a pretty penny.”
You tried to pull free, but his hand tightened. “Let go,” you said, louder this time. “You’re making a mistake.”
The man’s companions closed in behind him, their boots scraping against the marble floor. The crowd began to murmur. Some turned to watch, curious, while others pretended not to see. The auction clerks looked away. No one intervened.
The scarred man leaned in close, his breath hot and foul. “You think you can play the lady after running off? You cost us good money.”
The sound of steel clicking shut froze you where you stood. Before you could react, he had snapped a shackle around your wrist. The cold bit through your skin, sharp and merciless, dragging up memories you thought you had buried.
“I’m not,” you began, but he yanked the chain hard enough to pull you off balance. You stumbled, hitting the marble floor with your shoulder. The pain shot through you, sharp and immediate. Laughter followed from behind him, harsh and ugly, echoing off the vaulted ceiling.
“Sure you’re not,” he said, his grin spreading. “Go on then. Try to run again.”
The chain pulled tighter. The iron bit into your skin, tearing at the tender flesh of your wrist. You could taste blood from where you’d bitten down on your lip to keep from crying out. The noise of the hall blurred; the shuffle of footsteps, the murmur of bystanders pretending not to see, the faint clink of coins as someone placed a bet on what might happen next.
And then a voice broke through it all. Calm. Smooth.
“Now that’s no way to treat a lady.”
The voice carried across the marble hall, calm and steady, yet it held enough weight to still every sound around it. It wasn’t raised, but it didn’t need to be. The laughter stopped mid-breath. Conversations died. Even the bounty hunter’s hand faltered on the chain as he turned, startled by something he couldn’t quite name.
The crowd shifted without being told to, parting as though an unseen tide had drawn back from the shore. Through the space that opened, a man approached. He moved unhurried, each step deliberate, the sound of his boots echoing against the polished marble. He walked with the confidence of someone who had stood at the center of storms and learned long ago that panic only made the wind worse.
He looked like the sea had claimed him once and decided to let him live. His long dark coat hung heavy with rain, the edges damp and curling slightly where the salt had dried into the fabric. His shirt, open at the collar, revealed a glimpse of tanned skin and the faint glint of a sword resting against his waist. The scent of brine and tobacco followed him, faint but distinct, the quiet signature of a man who had spent too many years chasing horizons.
His hair was a deep gold, still wet, slicked back in places but falling freely in others. Strands clung to his temple and the side of his neck, where droplets of rain traced the curve of his jaw. A magnificent jaw with four careful lines of scruff. His glasses caught the light, obscuring his eyes for a moment before he adjusted them with an easy motion. When the glare shifted, his gaze met the crowd’s; dark, sharp, and full of quiet amusement.
He was taller than most of the men in the room, perhaps in his forties, but there was nothing diminished in him. If anything, time had only refined him. His face bore the kind of strength that comes from surviving, from laughing in the face of danger and walking away from it. The faint lines around his mouth hinted at a man who smiled often, though not always kindly. A thin scar cut across his left eye, pale against sun-browned skin, the only rough note in an otherwise composed face. Somehow, it didn’t mar him; it just made him fascinating.
A murmur rippled through the onlookers as recognition began to set in. The older brokers whispered to one another, voices hushed, names half-formed. A few of the Marines at the edge of the room shifted uneasily, as though instinct alone warned them to stay quiet.
The bounty hunter scoffed, too ignorant or too stubborn to notice the sudden change in the room. “Mind your business. This one’s property.”
The blond man smiled faintly, the expression small but disarming. “Property,” he repeated, his tone mild. “You’ll have to forgive me. I’ve always had trouble telling the difference between men who own chains and men who wear them.”
The hunter bristled, taking a step forward, but the stranger didn’t flinch. His eyes, half-hidden by the glass, glinted with something sharp and knowing. There was no tension in his stance, no visible readiness to fight, yet the air itself seemed to shift around him. It was subtle, electric, as if the room had suddenly remembered how dangerous silence could be.
And then, for just a moment, his gaze flicked toward you. The noise, the crowd, the light, all of it seemed to fade. The quiet hum in your chest, the one that had haunted your thoughts since that night under the mangroves, flared to life. You knew him before he even spoke your name.
Rayleigh.
He stopped a few paces away, studying the scene with quiet amusement, his gaze steady but not cruel. He had the kind of handsomeness that didn’t need to announce itself; refined, weathered, and confident, the kind that came from living fully rather than chasing youth.
The bounty hunter sneered, trying to recover his authority. “We got a problem?”
The blond man didn’t look at him immediately. His eyes found yours first, and the noise of the hall seemed to fade around you. His expression softened, and something within you stirred in recognition. A quiet hum, deep and steady, moved through your chest, familiar and grounding.
You couldn’t have explained how you knew him, only that you did. He felt like something you had always been meant to find.
“You all right, sweetheart?” he asked softly, mouth tilting up.
You nodded once, too stunned to speak.
He smiled faintly, then looked back at the man holding the chain. “Funny thing,” he said, his tone conversational, almost amused. “I’ve seen plenty of slaves in my time. None of them wear silk with that much conviction.”
“Walk away before you get hurt,” the scarred man growled.
The stranger tilted his head slightly, his expression thoughtful, as if he were weighing the idea. “All right,” he said finally. “But before I go…”
He moved.
It happened so fast you didn’t see it, only felt the rush of air as something snapped. The chain fell to the floor with a metallic clang. The bounty hunter stumbled back with a strangled cry, clutching his arm where the blond man’s hand had struck.
“Best let her go,” he said quietly. “You’re out of your depth.”
The remaining men hesitated. The stranger didn’t draw his sword or raise his voice, but the weight of his calm was more dangerous than any threat. No one else moved.
When the stillness finally broke, it was only with the sound of rain against the windows.
The man brushed a bit of water from his sleeve and looked down at the hunter sprawled on the floor. “Good,” he said. “Then we understand each other.”
You were still kneeling, breathing hard, your pulse loud in your ears. He turned to you, his expression softening. “You should stand,” he said. “Before someone decides to make another mistake.”
You hesitated, your breath still uneven, then reached for his hand. His palm was warm and calloused, his grip steady in a way that made the rest of the room fade into background noise. The scent of rain and salt clung faintly to him, grounding you after the chaos of the last few minutes.
He held your gaze for a moment longer than was proper, the faintest curve lifting the corner of his mouth. “Good to meet you face to face,” he said, his voice quiet and unhurried. “And just as pretty as I imagined.”
The words caught you completely off guard. Your face went hot before you could stop it, your pulse jumping wildly in your throat. You opened your mouth to speak, but nothing coherent came out, only a half-formed sound that could have been thanks, or protest, or both.
Before you could recover, you heard familiar footsteps pounding across the marble floor.
“By the stars—what in heaven’s name happened here?”
Your father’s voice sliced through the stunned silence. He looked between you, Rayleigh, and the two men groaning on the ground, his face pale with fury and confusion. “Who are you?” he demanded, turning on Rayleigh. “What have you done?”
Rayleigh released your hand with deliberate gentleness, straightening as though the outburst hardly concerned him. “Me?” he said lightly, brushing a drop of rain from his sleeve. “Only helped your daughter out of a bit of trouble. Those men seemed confused about who she belonged to.”
“Belonged to?” your father repeated sharply, his outrage turning toward the bounty hunters sprawled at Rayleigh’s feet.
You found your voice then, your pulse still racing. “They attacked me,” you said quickly. “They said I was someone else—a runaway slave. They tried to take me.” You looked down at the broken shackle still hanging from your wrist. “If he hadn’t intervened—”
Your father’s expression softened instantly, horror replacing anger. He reached for you, his hands hovering near your face, as though afraid to touch you and confirm you were truly unharmed. “My dear, are you hurt?”
“I’m fine,” you said quietly, though the tremor in your voice betrayed you. “He stopped them.”
Your father turned back to Rayleigh, his tone cautious now. “You have my gratitude, sir. I don’t know what would have happened if you hadn’t stepped in.”
Rayleigh smiled politely, but his eyes glinted with something faintly amused. “No need for gratitude,” he said. “I don’t much care for bullies. Besides, I was only passing through.”
Your father nodded stiffly, already motioning to the nearby guards. “Passing through or not, I insist you come by our suite tonight. A drink, at least. It’s the least I can offer.”
Rayleigh inclined his head, his tone smooth. “Perhaps. If the lady insists.”
You blinked, still trying to gather your composure. “I—”
Your father interrupted, oblivious to the subtle exchange. “Good. It’s settled. Now, let’s get you cleaned up.”
As he turned away to summon the attendants, Rayleigh’s gaze met yours again. That quiet hum stirred in your chest, gentle and familiar, like the echo of a heartbeat not your own. He smiled, a small, private, knowing thing.
“You really do have a talent for trouble,” he murmured.
You managed a shaky smile, your voice barely above a whisper. “Do you have a habit of showing up at just the right time?”
A/N: thank you anon for requesting "Could you please write for rayleigh x f reader who work with him in his coating job? Nsfw if you want 🙏" I'm really sorry that it took so damn long and that it got smuttier than intended, i feel like i got a bit carried away sorry
Word count >6900
Plot: you are working with Rayleigh and had been trying to get his attention for quite some time now your brat like attitude finally earned you his attention but it is more intense than expected
Warnings: NSFW, reader is a bit of a brat, Shakky and Ray have an open relationship, fingering, oral (receiving), edging, p in v, restraints, brat taming?, fear of getting caught in public, use of [Y/N], not proofread, MDNI 🔞⚠️
Characters: Rayleigh x FReader, Shakky (minor side character)
The humidity of Grove 13 always seemed to cling to your skin like a second layer of resin, but, the heat wasn't just coming from the Sabaody sun. It was radiating off the man who was currently ignoring your very pointed sighs.
Silvers Rayleigh was a master of many things, apparently including, the infuriating ability to remain completely unbothered while you were vibrating with annoyance and trying to get his attention once again.
You slammed a heavy brush into a bucket of resin, the wet noise echoing against the hull of the galleon you were both coating.
"You’re doing it wrong," you snapped, wiping a smudge of grease from your forehead. "If you keep thinning the coat like that, the pressure at ten thousand meters is going to crack this ship like an eggshell. Do you even want to get paid, or are you just here to look like a retired legend?"
Rayleigh didn't even look up. He moved with a frustrating, rhythmic grace, his brush strokes long and even. "Patience, (Y/N). The wood needs to breathe before the final seal. You’re always in such a rush to finish."
"It's called efficiency, Ray! Some of us don't have decades of pirate fame to fall back on. And the more ships I get done the more money I get paid," you huffed deep down knowing that he was right which only infuriated you even more.
You marched over to him, intending to snatch the brush from his hand. You were half his age and lacked his height, but you made up for it with a bratty streak that most people in the Archipelago knew better than to provoke.
As you reached out, his hand shot out, not to push you away, but to catch your wrist. He didn't use force, just a firm, calloused grip that sent a sudden, traitorous spark of heat straight up your arm and down your body.
When he finally looked down at you those dark eyes behind the glasses weren't annoyed, they were amused. Darkly so.
"You’ve been snapping at my heels all morning," he murmured, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating in the small space between you. "Is it really the resin you’re upset about, or are you just looking for my attention?"
Your breath hitched. You tried to yank your arm back, but he held just gihtened his grip, stepping into your personal space. The scent of salt, expensive rum and something manly and distinctly him overwhelmed the chemical smell of the coating.
"I don't need attention from a gambling addict who can't stay in one place for more than an hour and works like a fossil," you hissed, though your bravado was wavering.
Rayleigh tilted his head, a slow, predatory smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He leaned down, his silver hair brushing against your temple as he whispered into your ear.
"And yet, you’re the only one brave enough to talk to the Dark King like he’s a common apprentice. It’s a dangerous game, little lady. Eventually, I might decide to teach you some manners."
His words made you shudder and you felt the heat pool low in your stomach before he finally let go of your wrist, but the skin there felt like it was still on fire. He turned back to the ship, humming a low tune, leaving you standing there with a racing heart and a very sudden loss for words.
Once the shift was over, after you had refused to talk to him after what had happened, ypu followed him, as always to Shakky's bar. You were slumped over a glass of whiskey, your muscles aching from the day’s labor and your pride still stinging.
Shakky slid a refill toward you, her dark eyes glinting with a knowing sharpness as she glanced over at Rayleigh, who was casually leaning back at the end of the bar, nursing a drink of his own.
"Careful, honey," Shakky whispered, leaning in close so only you cpuld hear her. "You’ve been poking the lion all day. Rayleigh has a very particular reputation for dealing with difficult apprentices. He has a natural gift for handling those who are too loud and sharp tongued, little brat."
You scoffed, tossing back the amber liquid. "He’s just an old man with a gambling habit, Shakky. I can handle him."
Shakky just chuckled, a dry, rhythmic sound. "Don't say I didn't warn you. He likes it when they fight back... right up until he decides they’ve fought enough and he takes control."
You just groaned at her words not believing it a bit. You had been working with Rayleigh for weeks now and he had not once gone further than a reprimand when you complained or teased him.
For the next two days nothing changed but then on the third Shakky's "warning" became a reality.
The coating job on a merchant vessel had gone south. You had spent the afternoon shouting over Rayleigh’s shoulder, criticizing his pace, teasing him about being old and eventually throwing a wrench into the hull out of pure, unadulterated frustration. You expected him to laugh it off as usual, to step closer lecture you and everything would be back to normal.
But he didn't.
When the sun dipped below the mangroves, Rayleigh didn't head for the bar. He caught you by the back of your collar as you tried to storm off, dragging you into the shadowed belly of the dry dock.
"I believe we’re overdue for a private conversation, (Y/N)," he said. Gone was the relaxed, jovial veteran. In his place stood the man who had once been the first mate to the pirate king and had commanded the respect of every sea in the world.
He pinned you against the rough wood of the ship's hull, his body a solid wall of muscle and heat. When you tried to snap a retort, his hand didn't go for your wrist this time, it cupped your jaw, his thumb pressing firmly into the sensitive dip beneath your ear.
"You’ve been a very loud, very demanding little thing lately," he murmured, his strength flaring up just enough to make the air feel heavy, thick and it felt impossible to breathe, making your knees buckle instinctively. "You think because I’m patient, I’m soft?"
He leaned in, his teeth grazing the shell of your ear making you shiver. The man who was dealing with those too loud and sharp tongued Shakky spoke of was out in full force now. You tried to regain your defiance but he moved again his hand sliding to your waist to pull you flush against him, as a low, deep rumbling reached your ears and you felt that heat pool low in your stomach again
He toyed with you with the same precision he used on a ship, finding exactly which buttons to push to turn your sharp tongue into a breathless stammer. He didn't need a sword to make you beg, nor did he use his real powers he just needed that calm, terrifyingly focused attention.
"Tell me," Rayleigh hummed, his eyes dark with a hunger that made your heart hammer against your ribs. "Are you going to keep snapping at me, or are you finally going to learn your place?"
Your bratty resolve crumbled. You weren't shouting anymore. You were clinging to his cloak, your voice a mere whisper as you realized exactly why people feared the Dark King and exactly why you were never going to win this fight.
Rayleigh’s smirk widened as he felt the tremors racking your frame. He had spent years reading the currents of the Grand Line, reading the reactions of your body was child’s play in comparison.
"So sensitive," he rumbled, his voice a low vibration that seemed to settle deep in your bones as his thumb drew circles on your hip.
His hands, calloused and large from decades of labor and combat, slid upward beneath the hem of your shirt. The warmth of his palms against your skin made you gasp, your back arching instinctively against him. When his fingers finally breached the lace of your bra, capturing your aching peaks between his thumbs and forefingers, the sound that left your throat was nothing short of a wreck.
"Is this the same girl who was screaming at me on the deck?" he teased, his thumbs rolling over the hardened points with agonizingly slow, rhythmic pressure. "You’ve gone remarkably quiet, (Y/N)."
You tried to pull together a shred of your usual defiance, but as he leaned his weight into you, trapping your thighs between his own, your head fell back against the wood. You were a mess of breathless moans, your fingers digging into the thick fabric of his cloak just to stay upright.
He wasn't rushing. Rayleigh moved with the calculated patience of a man who knew he had already won. He began to trail open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat, his beard grazing your skin just enough to tickle slightly and elicit a sharp shiver.
"You're shaking," he noted, his voice thick with dark amusement. He nipped at the sensitive junction where your neck met your shoulder, his hands never ceasing their torturous, expert friction. "I think you've spent so much time trying to be the boss that you forgot how good it feels to let someone else take control or maybe this was what you wanted all along, to get the old man's attention," he hummed.
"N-no, that's — haaa — not true" you stammered your words obviously a lie because since your first day here you wanted him to notice you, you wanted his attention.
He shifted his grip, one hand leaving your breast to slide down, his palm flat against your stomach, inching toward the button of your trousers. He paused there, his eyes locking onto yours behind his glasses, piercing and entirely predatory.
"I could stop," he offered, though the wicked glint in his gaze said otherwise. "You could go back to your barbs and your temper tantrums. Or..." He leaned down, his lips ghosting over yours, teasing you with the scent of expensive rum while one hand kept fondling your nipples, the other tracing a finger along your waistline. "You could admit that this is exactly what you were begging for all that time. "
You whimpered, the sound broken and desperate, your tough and sharp mouthed exterior finally shattering under the weight of his absolute command. You didn't just want him to continue you were vibrating with the need for him to stop toying with you and finally finish what he started.
"Hnnng Ray — n-not h-here" you gasped but he just smirked
"Thinking of fighting back now?" Rayleigh’s chuckle was a low, dangerous sound that vibrated against your chest. "A bit late for that, don't you think?"
As your hands flew up to swat at his busy fingers, your movements were frantic and uncoordinated compared to the man who had dodged Kizaru’s light-speed kicks. With a speed that blurred, he caught both of your wrists in a single, massive hand. He didn't just hold them he hoisted them high above your head, pinning them against the rough timber of the ship.
He reached into the pocket of his cloak and pulled out a length of sturdy, silken rope, the kind used for delicate rigging. "I told you, (Y/N)," he murmured, his eyes dark and focused. "This is a lesson in manners."
With the practiced ease of a veteran sailor, he lashed your wrists together, securing the rope to a rusted iron ring-bolt set into the hull. You were stretched out, your chest thrust forward, ypur shirt ridding up over your belly button and you felt completely exposed and utterly at his mercy.
"Fuck... Ray, please," you whimpered, your defiant spirit finally replaced by a raw, trembling desperation.
"Please what?" he countered, his hand returning to your trousers. The button had already popped and now he made quick work of the zipper. "Please stop? Or please show you exactly what the man Shakky wanred you about is capable of?"
He didn't wait for an answer. He slid his hand inside the opening of your pants, his palm hot against your skin. At the same time, he leaned in, capturing one of your perked nipples through your shirt with his teeth, biting down just hard enough to make you cry out. The sensation of the rough wood against your back and his expert touch at your core was an overwhelming sensory assault.
"You’ve spent all week trying to rattle me," he whispered against your skin, his fingers finally finding the slick, heat of your center. He circled your sensitive nub with a torturous, steady rhythm that had your hips bucking against him instinctively. "Now look at you. Trembling for me. Begging for me.So wet for me already. "
He increased the pressure, his fingers sliding deep inside you while his thumb worked relentlessly on the outside. You were a gasping, moaning mess, your head thrashing back and forth as he toyed with you. Every time you tried to voice a protest, he silenced you with a deep, soul-stealing kiss that tasted of aged rum and dominance.
"You're going to stay right here," he growled into the kiss, "and you're going to take every bit of this until you remember who’s actually in charge of this dock."
With a series of sharp, deliberate tugs, the fabric of your shirt and the lace of your bra gave way after Rayleigh didn't have the patience for buttons and clasps when he was intent on a lesson. The cool night air hit your bare skin with a shock that made your breath hitch, but it provided no relief from the heat Rayleigh was stoking within you.
He tossed the ruined scraps aside, leaving your chest exposed to the flickering lantern light and his hungry gaze. Then, with an agonizingly slow movement, he reached down and shoved your trousers and panties past your hips until they pooled around your ankles, leaving you completely shackled by the rope above and your own clothes below.
"Ray... Ray, someone might... hnnn!" You cut yourself off with a sharp cry as his tongue swiped across your sensitive hardened nipple. "Someone could see! Please!"
"Let them look," he rumbled, his voice thick with a terrifyingly calm authority. He didn't even glance toward the shipyard entrance. "Let them see exactly what happens to a young lady who doesn't know when to hold her tongue and feels the need to be a little brat."
He smirked and began to draw it out with agonizing precision. He used his teeth on your sensitive neck nipping slowly at the soft skin before letting his tongue trace over the small bite marks making you arch. His calloused warm palms began to worship every inch of your exposed skin, tracing softly over your collarbone over the swell of your breasts pinching and rolling your nipples teasingly but not enough to give you any friction before he oh so softly let his fingertips run down your sides and stomach sending a small ticklish feeling through your body. But he made sure to avoid giving you the release you were vibrating for. His fingers worked you with a rhythmic, heavy pressure that had you weeping, your thighs trembling so violently you could barely stand and your core feeling slick with need.
"You're so loud now," he teased, his eyes glinting as he watched your face contort with desperate pleasure as he inserted one finger into you. "Where's all that sharp wit? Where are the insults, (Y/N)?"
"I... I'm sorry!" you sobbed, your head lolling back against the hull. The embarrassment of being exposed in the open air, combined with the overwhelming sensation of his hands, was breaking you. "Rayleigh, please... I’ll be good, just—"
"You’ll be good?" He chuckled, a dark, rich sound. He inserted a second finger, stretching you open, his thumb finding that overheated spark of nerves of your clit and pinning it down with a firm, steady grind. "I don't want you good. I want you screaming for me. I want you focused on nothing but the fact that I own every moan you make."
He leaned in, his chest pressing against your bare breasts, trapping you in a cage of heat and wood. He didn't stop, even as your cries turned into high-pitched, broken whimpers. He kept the pace punishingly steady, driving you right to the jagged edge of a peak and then slowing down just enough to make you whine in protest, forcing you to endure the unfulfilled tension inside you until you were truly, utterly exhausted and his.
"Say it," he commanded, his voice a low growl against your lips. "Tell me who you belong to out here."
"You — I — hnnngh — belong to you haaa" you moaned.
"Good girl," Rayleigh purred, the approval in his voice sending a fresh wave of heat through your veins that was almost as overwhelming as his touch.
His fingers found your g spot again curling just right and hitting your walls over and over while his other hand was driving your poor sensitive nipple into madness but he didn't let the momentum carry you over the edge. Just as your vision began to blur and your back arched in the beginning of a climax, he abruptly stilled his hands. You let out a broken, frustrated wail, your bound wrists straining against the ropes as you tried to find that friction again, trying to move against his fingers but it was futile.
"Shh," he hushed you, though there was no kindness in it only the firm command of the former first mate of the pirate king. "You’re being too loud again, (Y/N). Do you want the night watchman to come over and see you like this? Bare, bound, dripping and begging for an old pirate?"
The shame burned hotter than the salt air. You shook your head frantically, tears of pure overstimulation leaking from the corners of your eyes. "N-no... please, Ray... I'll be quiet..."
"You'll be quiet because I told you to be," he corrected sharply. He leaned in, his teeth sinking into the sensitive skin of your shoulder, marking you as his own. His other hand never left your chest, his rough thumb and forefinger twisting and plucking at your perked nipples with a rhythmic cruelty that kept you on the verge of a scream you had to swallow.
"Look at you," he murmured, his gaze traveling over your trembling, exposed form. "So much fire in your belly during the day, yet here you are, shaking like a leaf because I’m giving you exactly what you pushed for. You’re nothing but a bratty little stowaway in over her head."
He started again, his fingers sliding back into your slick heat with a sudden, forceful depth. He didn't tease this time he drove into you with a relentless, heavy pace that mirrored the crashing of the tide against the Grove’s roots.
"Every time you snap at me from now on," he whispered, his hot breath burning against your skin as he felt your internal muscles clench around him, "I want you to remember the feeling of this wood against your back. I want you to remember how it feels to have your voice taken away, how I made you feel."
You tried to keep your promise to be silent, but as he hit that perfect, devastating spot over and over, your composure shattered. You buried your face in the crook of his neck. "Ray — please — now!" You cried your voice muffled and vibrating against his skin.
He finally relented, his thumb pressing down with a final, dominant grind that sent you crashing over the edge. Your world exploded into white light and the scent of resin, your body shuddering in a long, violent release that tore a scream of his name from your lips and left you sagging against the ropes, completely spent and utterly tamed.
Rayleigh’s only response was a low, vibrated hum against your skin, a sound that signaled he wasn't nearly finished with his this lesson. He ignored your protests, his hands sliding under your thighs to hook them over his shoulders.
"I didn't say you were dismissed, (Y/N)," he murmured, his voice thick and honey-dark. "A girl like you needs to be thoroughly reminded of her place. One peak isn't enough to burn out that attitude of yours."
When his mouth made contact with your sensitive center, the world felt like it was being thrown upside down. His tongue was firm and practiced, moving with the same devastating precision that had made him a legend on the seas. You let out a high, broken sob, your bound hands fisting the air as you tried to find purchase.
"R-Ray... please! I can't... I’m too sensitive— haa!"
He didn't listen. He used his beard to graze your inner thighs, the friction causing a delicious, agonizing sting that only heightened the pleasure. He toyed with you, his suction rhythmic and demanding, pulling another desperate moan from your throat that echoed off the hulls of the nearby ships. You were terrified of being heard, but the sensation was so intense that your vow of silence was forgotten or more impossible to uphold.
Every time you tried to pull away, his large hands gripped your hips like iron vices, pinning you in place. He was relentless, driving you toward a second, even more violent climax. Your brain felt like it was melting, your earlier sass and teasing fire completely extinguished by the sheer dominance of the man between your legs.
"Look at me," he commanded, pulling back just enough to lock his eyes onto your tear-streaked face. You looked down, breathless and trembling, seeing the Dark King looking back at you with absolute possession.
"From now on," he rasped, "when I give you an order on the docks, you'll follow it through withouth complaint because you ’re going to remember exactly how it feels to have me silence you when you don't. Understood?"
"Y-yes... Rayleigh... yes," you whimpered, your head falling back as he dove back in for the final, soul-crushing finish, lapping and sucking at your core till you felt the orgasm built hard and wash over you with even more intensity than the one before.
"Hnnng — Ray — fuck — haaa" you screamed.
When he finally stopped, you were a boneless, weeping mess, held up only by the ropes at your wrists as he carefully put your feet back down. He stood up, looking entirely composed while you were completely undone. He reached up, untying the silk rope with a single flick of his wrist and caught you as your legs gave out.
The sudden silence of the shipyard felt heavy, broken only by the distant sound of the sea and your own ragged, uneven breaths. Rayleigh watched you for a moment, his expression softening from the hard, predatory edge of the Dark King back into the familiar, weathered calm of the ship-coater teacher.
He worked with a quiet efficiency, pulling your clothes back into place. When he realized your shirt and bra were nothing more than useless scraps of fabric, he didn't hesitate. He shrugged off his own heavy overshirt, the fabric still holding the warmth of his skin and the faint, comforting scent of sandalwood and tobacco.
He draped it over your trembling shoulders. It was far too large, the sleeves hanging past your fingertips and the hem reaching your mid-thigh, acting as a heavy, protective shroud against the night and the shame of your exposure.
Rayleigh stepped closer, his large, calloused hand reaching out to tilt your chin upward. His thumb gently brushed a stray, damp lock of hair behind your ear, his touch now incredibly tender compared to the roughness of moments ago.
"You're shaking," he noted softly, his eyes searching yours. The dominance was still there, lurking in the depths of his gaze, but it was tempered by a genuine, grounding concern. "Are you alright, (Y/N)?"
You tried to find your voice, tried to summon even a flicker of the bratty fire that usually defined your interactions but your throat was tight and your body felt like lead. All you could manage was a slow, exhausted nod, your forehead eventually dropping to rest against his bare, scarred chest.
He let out a huff of a laugh, a sound that was almost a purr and wrapped a heavy arm around your waist to keep you upright.
"Good. Let's get you back to the bar," he murmured, his voice rumbling against your ear. "I suspect Shakky has a bottle of something strong waiting and you look like you could use some calm right now."
As he guided you out of the shadows, his hand remained firm on the small of your back, a constant reminder of the strength that had just broken you. You walked with trembling legs, hidden beneath his oversized shirt, finally understanding why even the most dangerous pirates in the world gave the Dark King his space.
The next morning started as the sun was barely over the horizon, casting long, golden streaks across the mangroves, but the humidity was already rising. You moved with a strange, quiet focus, the usual biting remarks dying in your throat every time you looked at Rayleigh. Your body felt heavy in a way it hadn't before, a lingering ache in your thighs.
When he reached over to adjust your grip on the resin trowel, his skin briefly grazing your knuckles, you didn't pull away or snap a sarcastic comment. You actually listened as he explained the subtle grain of the wood.
"There," he murmured, standing close enough that you could feel the heat radiating off his back. "If you follow the natural line, the resin bonds deeper. Less effort, better result."
"Right," you whispered, your voice slightly breathless.
Rayleigh paused, his hand lingering near yours. He turned his head, catching the way you were biting your lip, your eyes darting away from his intense gaze. A slow, knowing smirk played on his lips, the look of a man who knew exactly what ghosts were haunting your mind.
“Don’t look at me like that,” he teased, his voice dropping into that lower, gravelly register that made your knees feel like jelly. It was softer than last night, but it carried a weight that promised he hadn't forgotten a single second of your submission. “If you keep tempting me, I won’t stay the gentleman much longer. And we still have a whole deck to finish.”
You felt a flush creep up your neck, the brat in you wanting to tell him off, but the memory of his hands and lips kept you anchored. You took a shaky breath and focused back on the wood.
"I'm just doing my job, Rayleigh," you muttered, though the lack of bite in your tone told him everything he needed to know.
"Are you?" He stepped even closer, his shadow falling over you. He reached out, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw just like he had in the dark. "Because from here, it looks like you're waiting for another lesson."
You looked at him and bit your lip again before smirking softly and then feeling a blush creep up your neck making you turn your head away quickly to hide it.
That smirk though was your undoing. It was a flicker of your old spirit, but the way it dissolved into a frantic, crimson blush told Rayleigh exactly how much power he still held over you.
He didn't let you hide. He chuckled, a low, rich sound and caught your chin with his fingers, gently but firmly tilting your face back toward him. He wanted to see every bit of that flustered heat.
"There's that look again," he whispered, his thumb grazing your lower lip, pulling it down just enough to reveal the dampness where you had been biting it. "You’re trying so hard to be the perfect apprentice, but your heart is thudding against your ribs like a trapped bird."
He leaned in, his glasses slipping slightly down the bridge of his nose as his eyes locked onto yours. The air between you grew thick, the smell of salt and sun-warmed skin suddenly much more intoxicating than the resin.
"You know," he murmured, his breath ghosting over your lips, "the thing about girls like you is that they always need a little... refresher course. Just to make sure the lesson really took root."
You let out a shaky breath, your hands trembling as they gripped the handle of your brush. "Rayleigh... the ship... we have a deadline."
"The ship isn't going anywhere," he countered, his hand sliding from your chin to the nape of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair. He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear as he spoke in a tone that made your core ache. "And neither are you. Not until I'm satisfied that you’ve truly learned how to behave."
He glanced toward the heavy cabin door of the galleon, then back at you, a wicked glint in his eyes.
"So," he challenged, his voice a low, teasing rumble. "Are we going to finish this coat, or are you going to show me just how much you’ve learned since last night?"
You bit your lip again and then looked from him to the cabin and then back again before taking his hand and the moment your fingers curled around his, Rayleigh’s smirk softened into something more predatory, more satisfied. He didn't need words your silent choice spoke volumes. You were surrendering that stubborn, bratty streak in favor of the fire he had ignited in you the night before.
"Wise choice," he murmured, his large hand enveloping yours as he led you toward the heavy oak door of the captain’s cabin.
The transition from the bright, scorching Sabaody sun to the cool, dim interior of the ship felt like stepping into another world. The air inside smelled of old parchment, cedar and the faint, lingering scent of the sea. As soon as the door clicked shut behind you, Rayleigh didn't waste a second. He pressed you back against the wood.
"Now," he whispered, his hands finding your waist and lifting you easily until you were sitting on the edge of a sturdy chart table. "Where did we leave off? I believe you were promising to be a much more... attentive partner."
You wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, your earlier blush deepening as you felt the solid heat of him. "I'm being attentive," you breathed, your hands sliding up his chest to rest on his shoulders wrapping loosely around them. "I haven't talked back once today."
"True," he agreed, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of your throat, right where he had marked you the night before. "But I can still see that spark in your eyes. You’re just waiting for me to turn my back so you can start acting up again."
He pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression mock-stern. "I think we need to make sure you’re far too exhausted to even think about being bratty for the rest of the week."
His hands moved to the hem of the your shirt and he began to unbutton it, this time no ripping it, his eyes stayed locked on yours the whole time, daring you to protest.
But you didn't. Instead, you arched into his touch, a small, needy whimper escaping you when his calloused palms finally met your bare skin again.
"That's it," he encouraged, his voice a dark, soothing rumble. "No more shouting. No more snapping. Just this."
He leaned in to claim your lips in a deep, demanding kiss that tasted of victory. He was going to deliberately undo every defense you had left until you were trembling and begging for him all over again.
You reached up and helped him out of his own shirt before you moved to his pants but as your fingers fumbled with the buttons of his trousers, fueled by a sudden surge of bold desperation, Rayleigh’s hands came down like a warm shackle over yours. He didn't just stop you he held your wrists firmly, pressing them back down onto the paperwork covered table.
"Easy now," he scolded, his voice dropping into that terrifyingly smooth, low register. "I don't recall giving you permission to take charge, (Y/N)."
You looked up at him, your breath hitching at the intensity in his eyes as a playful pout formed on your lips for a second. "I was just trying to help, Ray. You’re the one who said we have a deadline."
He chuckled, a dark, vibrating sound that made the wood beneath you hum. "Trying to help, or trying to rush me? I thought we established last night that you don't dictate the pace anymore."
He leaned over you, his bare, scarred chest looming large in the dim light of the cabin. "A brat who tries to take control before she's earned it needs a reminder of why she's on the table in the first place."
He let go of your wrists only to slide his hands behind your thighs, pulling you flush against the edge of the desk so there wasn't a breath of space between you. He didn't let you touch him again and instead made you watch as he slowly, deliberately dealt with his own fastenings, his eyes never leaving yours. The sight was a different kind of torture a visual scolding that made you feel small and entirely his.
"Hands on the table," he commanded, his voice sharp enough to make you obey instantly. "Flatten them out. Don't move them until I tell you to."
You did as you were told, your palms pressing into the cold parchment of whatever charts were laying there while your body burned. He moved back into your space, his hands finding your hips and bruising them slightly with the sheer weight of his grip.
"See? Much better," he whispered, leaning down to nip at your jawline. "You’re much more beautiful when you’re waiting for my lead. Now, keep those hands still while I show you exactly what happens to girls who forget their place."
He began to worship your body, his eyes dark, tracking every flicker of emotion across your face as his hands and lips descended all over your skin. He wouldn't give you what you wanted not until you admitted that you didn't want to be in charge at all. You just wanted him.
"Say it," he said, his voice a gravelly command as his thumb traced the trembling line of your thigh. "Tell me how much you love being handled like this. Tell me you prefer this to your little tantrums."
"I... I love it," you sobbed out, your fingers twitching on the table, desperate to break his rule and grab him. "I love when you... when you take over. Please, Ray."
He let out a low, satisfied huff, finally satisfied with your total surrender. "Good girl. Now, hold on to me."
As soon as the words left his lips, you broke. Your hands flew from the table, wrapping tightly around his thick neck, pulling his heat toward yours. Rayleigh leaned over you as he moved his weight between your legs. He didn't rush though he hovered at your entrance, the tip of his length teasing your slick heat until you were arching off the table, whimpering his name like a prayer.
Then, with a slow, deliberate thrust, he finally filled you.
The breath left your lungs in a sharp, broken gasp. It was a heavy, grounding sensation, the feeling of being completely possessed by the man you had spent weeks trying to rattle and get his attention. Rayleigh groaned deep in his chest, his forehead dropping to rest against yours as he stayed still for a moment, letting your body adjust to the sheer size of him.
"There," he rasped, his hands sliding under your thighs to lift you even closer, making the connection deeper. "No more games. Just you and me."
He began to move, his pace steady and authoritative, much like the rhythmic strokes of his coating brush. Each thrust was a reminder of his strength, driving the last of your defiance into the shadows of the cabin. You buried your face in the crook of his neck, tasting the salt on his skin, your moans muffled against his shoulder as he took you further and further away from the docks and into a world where only his touch mattered.
The professional in Rayleigh knew the clock was ticking, even if he wanted to keep you pinned to that table until sunset. He could hear the distant sounds of the shipyards reminding him that this was a gamble, even for a man like him.
"We have to be quick, little one," he growled, his voice thick with a sudden, urgent heat. "But I’m going to make sure you remember every second of it."
He didn't pull back. Instead, he deepened the pace, his thrusts becoming more powerful and rhythmic, shaking the heavy desk beneath you. You were a gasping, wide-eyed mess, your legs locked around his waist as the friction began to build into a wildfire.
Then, he brought his hand down. His fingers found your sensitive, swollen clit, his thumb applying a firm, circling pressure that worked in perfect, torturous harmony with the way he was filling you. It was too much. The dual sensation was a sensory overload that shattered whatever was left of your composure.
"Ray — oh god, Rayleigh!" you cried out, your fingers digging into the muscles of his back, your nails leaving faint red marks on his tanned skin.
"Be quiet now," he whispered, a wicked smirk crossing his face even as his own breath became labored. "Unless you want the owners to walk in and see exactly how I’m teaching you right on their charts table."
The threat only made it more intense. The fear of being caught, combined with the expert movement of his hand and the relentless depth of his body, pushed you over the edge. You stiffened, your back arching off the maps as a violent, toe-curling climax ripped through you. You buried your face in his chest to stifle a scream, your entire body vibrating against his.
Rayleigh followed you shortly after, his movements becoming heavy and desperate until he let out a low, guttural groan, pinning you to the table one last time as he found his own release.
For a long minute, the only sound in the cabin was the heavy thudding of two hearts and the distant cry of a seagull. Rayleigh didn't move, keeping his weight on you, his head resting in the crook of your neck as your breathing slowly leveled out.
"There," he finally panted, pulling back just enough to look at your dazed, tear-streaked face. He reached out, gently wiping a smudge of resin from your cheek with a thumb that was surprisingly tender. "I think that’ll keep you from talking back for at least... oh, three or four hours," he teased making you bit your lip again.
After getting dressed again and leaving the cabin the sunlight hit you like a physical weight. You were still slightly unsteady on your feet, your legs feeling like jelly beneath your trousers, but Rayleigh transitioned back into his professional persona with a terrifyingly smooth ease.
By the time the ship's owners rounded the corner of the dock, Rayleigh was already standing by the hull, a coating brush in his hand as if he had been analyzing the grain for the last hour.
"The seal on the lower deck is holding well," he called out to the approaching pirates, his voice calm and authoritative, without a trace of the gravelly heat that had been vibrating against your ear moments ago. "But my apprentice here thinks we should give the stern one more pass just to be safe. Isn't that right, (Y/N)?"
You blinked, your brain still fuzzy and clouded by the lingering high. You stood there for a second too long, clutching a bucket of resin like a lifeline, before his sharp gaze flicked toward you.
"Right! Yes," you stammered, clearing your throat and forcing a professional stiffness into your shoulders. "The pressure at the deeper currents... we want to be thorough."
The clients nodded and began discussing the final payment with Rayleigh. You turned back to the wood, your hands shaking slightly as you dipped your brush, trying to focus on anything other than the way your body still hummed from his presence.
As the clients moved toward the bow to inspect the rudder, Rayleigh stepped up behind you. To any outsider, it looked like he was simply checking your work, leaning over your shoulder to point at a spot on the hull.
But as he leaned in, his silver hair brushed your temple, and his voice dropped into a whisper that only you could hear.
"Good girl," he murmured, his breath hot against your ear, sending a fresh shiver down your spine. "Keep that focus. But don't get too comfortable, I’m thinking we’ll continue that refresher course back at my place tonight... and I won't be stopping for a deadline then."
He pulled away with a wink, leaving you to stare wide-eyed at the resin bucket, your heart racing all over again as you realized that the he was far from finished with you.
Taglist: @jintaka-hane @fleetadmiralsoffice @hakiofdreams @welcome-to-the-grandline @sailing-to-laugh-tale @legends-of-the-grandline @devilfruitdiaries @waannty @luna-the-moon-guardian @sweetsaltygingerbitch (once again I'm just reminding you that if you want me to stop tagging you please tell me or if someone wants to get added)
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.
Do you have any opinions on one piece yanderes who react well or poorly to their darling acting out intentionally for attention? I think sanji would drop anything in order to give you attention! I also think this would work with like, doflamingo or sir crocodile but WATCH OUT!!! I think it wouldn't work at all on Mihawk. He could outlast us so easily. Even at my most annoying I don't think he'd break. Messed up.
It would absolutely work on Sanji. You don't even really need to act out, just sighing loud enough would have him tripping over himself to cater to you lol
The rest under the cut because this got long
Other characters that this would work on:
Luffy, but also like I can't imagine you would ever NEED to. He's already glued to your side. Demanding more attention is just kinda greedy at that point.
Ace is honestly almost as bad as Sanji when it comes to spoiling his darling. He feels guilty that you're "stuck" with him and is always trying to make it up to you. But if spending even more time with you is what you want he will be on cloud 9. This is an absolute win in his book.
Usopp isn't surprised that you want more attention he is, of course you wanted more of him! Who wouldn't? He's going to talk your ear off for the rest of the day.
Robin feels a little bad once she realizes what you're doing. She does have a tendency to lose herself to the books she's reading, so she understands where you're coming from and offers to read with you. This backfires on you and makes you feel bad for acting out.
Franky rolls with the punches. This does not phase him. You're not doing anything worse than what members of the Franky family would do. He'll drag you into his workshop with him and tell you all about what he's working on, so I hope you're into that sort of a thing.
Brook is flustered that you're so down bad for him that this is what you're resorting to. You just can't get enough of him! Control yourself! Or don't. He won't actually complain.
Bartolomeo is potentially a bigger simp than Sanji, so he'll be sobbing and begging for your forgiveness. He didn't mean to spend four hours worshiping the Luffy shrine! It won't happen again! it will
Buggy gets very bent out of shape over you saying he isn't doing enough with you. How dare you! He's a very busy clown! Do you think this circus runs itself??? But then he's miserably sucking up to you and doing literally anything to gain your approval. Please don't be mad at him :(
Shanks is flattered and lets your outburst go straight to his head. Yeah, he is all that, isn't he? Of course you want more of his attention.
Works but watch out:
Doflamingo makes this a real gamble, but either way you'll regret it. He'll either not have the patience for it, or he'll decide to "humor" himself with you since you wanted his attention so badly.
It probably won't work on Crocodile. He's good at ignoring you when he's busy, which is often. If you do manage to do enough to fully get his attention on you... thoughts and prayers.
Perona will get very indignant at your insinuation that she isn't giving you enough attention. How rude! She sets aside the rest of the day for you, but she is extremely passive aggressive the whole time.
Does not work:
Nami will be annoyed by your audacity. She'll spend time with you later after she's done with her sea charts. Relax.
Boa is Nami x1000. How dare you demand more of her? She's hitting that bent over backwards stance and pointing at you while demanding an apology.
Mihawk and Zoro are much the same here. They'll both hit you with the unimpressed are-you-done-now look and then go back to whatever they were doing.
Jimbei also has a lowkey disappointed dad vibe to him when you act out. If you want to spend more time together, just ask. You'll feel embarrassed by the time he's done scolding you.
Rayleigh is unbothered by your outburst. Quit whining, he'll spend some time with you as soon as he wins this card game. He proceeds to lose immediately and now he's on a prison break sidequest. Just go hang out with Shakky.
Smoker is hitting you with the silent stare until you stop.
This fanfiction is NSFW and made for mature audiences, and is not suitable for those under 18 years of age, even if all material is pure fiction.
00: Dracule Mihawk had taken your life. He thrust your body into a raging sea of flame, spitting up the taste for all things sex and sanguine into your veins and laying demonic whispers unto your tongue. In a holy sanctuary, he called out to the night, and the two of you were branded vampires. But, he left you lying there. And being alone with amnesia and your own darkness and pain, you shouted and chose to try and taint the world— only getting yourself hurt once more. As you awake after your hundreds of years of sleep, you struggle with the changed world and can only helplessly seek out Mihawk himself, hoping to avenge yourself by devouring him. This journey will not be an easy one, and there's no telling what you'll encounter on the path to decay.
In this work there are explicit sexual themes and scenes, cannibalism, vampirism, religious themes, and various other dark topics. It is important to note that the inclusion of these subjects does not mean they are tolerated at all in real life, and it does not mean that every taboo subject will automatically be included in this work of fiction.
Take a bite...
Meal Plan.
1) Nico Robin, a human archaeologist affiliated with the Adventurer's Guild, smarter than you're willing to give credit for.
2) Vinsmoke Sanji, a foolish runaway prince with a heart far too soft for this world.
3) Portgas D. Ace, an easygoing yet infuriating werewolf with particular tastes.
4) Silvers Rayleigh, the laidback Guildmaster with a colorful past that knows far too much than he is letting on.
5) Shakuyaku, a mysterious woman who insists you call her "Shakky", bearing a breathtaking beauty.
6) Nami, the fashionable woman who loves picking pockets and locks just as much.
7) Shanks, a famous and well traveled adventurer well versed in combat and people pleasing.
8) Benn Beckman, a well-known adventurer who has been at Shanks' side for the better part of two decades.
9) Roronoa Zoro, a vampire hunter seeking to take the heads of every last one of you— for coin, of course
10) Usopp, the cowardly elf that left his grove in search for his father, aiming to become a brave adventurer.
11) Donquixote Doflamingo, an incubus in disguise as a noble, seeking to manipulate the current emperor and take the throne for himself.
12) Trafalgar D. Water Law, a young doctor interested in unconventional research subjects.
13) Dracule Mihawk, a vampire.
Some love interests will appear in later chapters and will consequently have a longer wait!
Guide...
00: PROLOGUE, "Why Do You Bite?" (Posted, linked.)
01: CHAPTER 1, "Killing My Dreams."(Posted, linked.)
02: CHAPTER 2, "Carry Your Cross."
??: INTERLUDE, that night.
03: CHAPTER 3, "CH3"
04: CHAPTER 4, "CH4"
More to come...
CONTENT INCLUDED/WARNINGS:
These are the main components of the story, but content warnings will be added at the beginning of each chapter.
*Subject to change since this is a WIP.
**Rape/non-con won't be added.
EXPLICIT SEXUAL CONTENT. Gore, Cannibalism, Violence, Profanity.
Kink Content:
Dom/Sub Dynamics, Pain-related kinks, more to be seen...
!! Updates are not done at a set schedule and may be infrequent. !!
A/N 1: This work is a rewriting of a previous series I was working on, redone to be a bit "darker" but not entirely depressing. I changed a few story elements, will still retain some light and comedic elements and have made it 10000% more kinky. I don't normally write dark stories and decided that now is the time to work on my skills, I also just wanted to make sure there's more kink content here.🌝 I will 1000% change the layout later on.
Edited June 6th, added "Kink Content" section beneath warnings.
