Hii, I was waiting for the requests to open.
You had an exam right? Hope it went well.
So I've been thinking about katakuri a lot lately and about shanks and Shamrock too lol.
Could you please write something about katakuri? Like the reader is engaged to katakuri or maybe married to him, but then sanji comes to the whole cake island, to marry pudding, and he ends up having a crush on the reader, or maybe just forms an innocent friendship with her. But katakuri doesn't like it and gets all jealous🤔
stawp, coz im thinking abt making a fic for the twins cozz 😩😩 anw, here ya go tis not much but hope u like it!
Sweet Possessiveness
When Sanji arrives on Whole Cake Island and charms you with his friendly nature, Katakuri finds himself struggling with a new, unfamiliar emotion—jealousy.
katakuri x reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, ,sfw, slight possessiveness, wci arc, jealous katakuri, arrange marriage, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe, and akward word count: 1.2k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
The sun over Whole Cake Island gleamed like melted caramel, casting golden rays through the thick candy-glass windows of Sweet City’s castle. You stood on the upper balcony of your private quarters, arms resting on the edge of the railing, enjoying the faint scent of cocoa fields wafting on the wind.
“Miss (Y/N),” a soft voice called from behind. It was Galette, holding a delicate tray of tea. “nii-san sent this.”
You smiled, eyes flicking to the steam rising from the porcelain. Katakuri always sent you tea after his training sessions, as if wordlessly reminding you to hydrate and rest—because he wouldn’t.
“Thank you,” you murmured, picking up the cup. “Is he still in the training hall?”
Galette nodded. “And still scaring the walls half to death.”
You chuckled. “That’s our Katakuri.”
Your engagement had been arranged at first—Big Mom’s doing, naturally. A political match. You were strong, from a smaller but reputable family within Totto Land, and the Charlotte Matriarch deemed you suitable for her most powerful son.
But over time, real affection grew. Katakuri wasn’t one for grand declarations or flamboyant gestures. But his actions—silent protection, warm glances, small offerings like this tea—spoke louder than any words.
You sipped quietly, closing your eyes. Until a voice, bright and golden and unmistakably not Katakuri’s, broke your peace.
“Excuse me, mademoiselle,” the voice said, accompanied by the crisp rustle of fabric and the scent of freshly baked bread. “But are you the goddess responsible for making this castle look even more beautiful than it already is?”
You blinked, turning. Standing at the archway of your balcony, one hand over his heart and one knee bent in a dramatic bow, was none other than Vinsmoke Sanji.
Your brows lifted in amusement. “Are you always this dramatic with strangers?”
He looked up with a twinkle in his eye. “Only with beautiful women~”
You snorted and leaned back against the railing. “That line might work better if I weren’t engaged.”
He visibly startled. “Engaged? Oh no. What a cruel twist of fate!”
You laughed again. “Relax. I’m not offended. You’re charming, in a theatrical kind of way.”
Sanji sighed, placing a hand over his chest. “You wound me. But I’ll take what I can get. May I ask your name, mademoiselle?”
“(Y/N). And you’re Sanji from the strawhats, and the groom-to-be, right?”
He grimaced, but quickly masked it. “That’s me.”
You tilted your head, studying him. “Don’t look so thrilled.”
Before he could answer, another voice—low, gravelly, and dangerous—cut through the warm air like a blade.
“(Y/N).”
You turned to see Katakuri standing at the end of the hallway. His arms crossed, scarf wrapped high as always, and his mismatched eyes locked directly on Sanji.
Sanji straightened. “Oh. You must be—”
“Katakuri,” you said, walking toward him with a calm smile. “Sanji was just being friendly.”
Katakuri’s jaw ticked as he stared down the Vinsmoke. “Friendly.”
Sanji held up his hands. “No disrespect meant. I didn’t know she was—”
“Engaged to me,” Katakuri finished for him. “Now you do.”
You placed a hand on Katakuri’s leg gently. “It’s fine. No harm done.”
Katakuri didn’t respond, but his stare lingered for a beat too long before he nodded once and walked with you back inside.
That evening, you found Katakuri sitting in the shadows of your shared garden, back leaning against a lollipop tree. His scarf was lowered just enough to reveal his lips—soft, tense.
You approached quietly, barefoot, and sat beside him. “You’ve been brooding.”
He didn’t answer, just looked away.
You tilted your head onto his shoulder. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you my love. You’re too pretty when you’re calm.”
He grunted. “He looked at you like—like he could. Like you weren’t mine.”
You blinked, surprised at the raw honesty. “Katakuri…”
“I know I don’t always say things right. But I meant it when I told Mama I agreed to this marriage. You’re not just part of a plan to me.”
Your chest warmed. You reached up, gently touching his jaw. “I know. I never doubted that.”
“He flirts like breathing,” he muttered, still glaring into the distance. “You smiled.”
You chuckled. “I smiled because it was funny. You really think I’d trade you for a guy in a suit who flings hearts with every wink?”
He huffed, but the corner of his lip twitched. “You could.”
“But I won’t.”
There was a long pause. The air was warm. His fingers brushed yours. You leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to the side of his mouth, just shy of where his scarf would normally rest.
“Hey,” you said softly, drawing his gaze. “I chose you. Out of everyone here, even if this started as politics, it turned into something real. Don’t let one flirty cook ruin your peace.”
His voice was quiet. “You’re mine.”
“I am,” you whispered, and kissed him again—deeper this time. His hand found your hip, pulling you closer with a sudden need that made your breath hitch.
It didn’t go further. Not yet. But it left you breathless and glowing, curled up in his arms under the sugar-pink sky.
The next day, Sanji found you in the castle’s kitchens, humming while tasting a fresh fruit tart.
“You again,” you said with a grin.
“Guilty,” Sanji replied, adjusting his rolled-up sleeves. “I was told you’re the one who perfected the berry-glaze layering on the top-tier wedding cake.”
“Guilty,” you echoed, licking a bit of jam from your thumb.
Sanji stared just a second too long. Then caught himself. “Incredible work. I’m honestly impressed.”
“Thanks,” you said. “I like baking. It’s relaxing. Even more so when a certain someone’s not glaring holes through the walls.”
Sanji winced. “Right. About that. He doesn’t like me much, huh?”
“Katakuri’s just… protective. And quiet. He’s not the type to compete. He’s the type to eliminate threats.”
Sanji paled. “Oh. Good to know.”
You handed him a spoonful of the tart’s custard. “Taste?”
He blinked. “Seriously?”
“You’re a chef. I trust your opinion.”
He tasted it—and promptly moaned. Loudly. “This is divine. Like kissing a cloud of vanilla.”
“That’s the rosewater,” you said with a smile.
Of course, that was the exact moment Katakuri entered the kitchen.
He stopped short in the doorway.
You and Sanji froze—Sanji still holding the spoon near his lips like he was mid-proposal.
“...You’re dead,” Katakuri said flatly.
Sanji yelped and backed away, hands up. “I swear it’s just custard!”
You stepped in between, laughing. “Katakuri, stop. He’s not doing anything wrong.”
Katakuri didn’t look convinced.
Later that night, you found a tray in your room: a small custard tart, your favorite. In the center was a tiny sugar plaque that simply read:
“Only let me feed you sweets.” – K.
You flushed hot, grinning like a fool.
Things calmed after that. Sanji kept his distance (though he still greeted you warmly), and Katakuri eased up—slightly. Enough that he didn’t seem seconds away from smashing a wall every time your name and Sanji’s were in the same sentence.
One evening, a few days before the wedding, you and Katakuri found yourselves alone on the quiet balcony of his quarters. The sky bled crimson and honey, and the world was still.
“Your scarf’s down,” you noted, brushing your fingers over his cheek.
He didn’t reply—just leaned in and kissed you, slow and deep, as his large hand settled on the small of your back.
You melted into him, sighing into the kiss. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t possessive. It was… secure. As if he was finally certain you were his.
When you pulled back, your cheeks flushed, he murmured, “Don’t smile like that at anyone else.”
You laughed softly. “What kind of smile?”
“The one you give me. The one that makes it hard to think.”
“Then stop thinking,” you whispered, kissing him again.
He did.
