Apr 3, 2025
Update on my one piece ship series!!
seen from United States
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seen from Hong Kong SAR China
seen from Pakistan
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seen from Malaysia
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Update on my one piece ship series!!
sitting on his lap (full nsfw ver.)
Pairings: Zoro x fem!Reader, Sabo x fem!Reader, Law x fem!Reader, Ace x fem!Reader
Word Count: 1,000 - 1,500 each character
tags: smut, nsfw, praise kink, derogatory kink, bathroom sex, thigh fucking, idk pls let me know what should i include on tags
my masterlist here ♡
Since I am at One Piece re-read, I found that I've never posted this fan art(from year...2022?). Well. I still like...the way I drew clouds here :D
Ain't no way this Barbie is 45
One Month With You
In the final month of your life, you cherishes fleeting moments with your crew, hiding a terminal illness until only memories—and a letter—remain.
red hair pirates x reader | whitebeard pirates x reader | strawhats x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, grief, terminal illness a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 2.6k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
RED HAIR PIRATES
The sea was calm that morning, the kind of quiet that made even the waves seem to hold their breath. The deck of the Red Force was alive with chatter and light laughter, but you stood by the railing, letting the wind sweep through your hair. Your fingers curled around the wood, your gaze far off—not at the horizon, but somewhere past it.
One month. That’s what Hongo told you when he unknowingly confirmed your own suspicions. You’d been hiding the worsening symptoms for months—fatigue that sank deep into your bones, the relentless pain in your chest, the occasional blood you’d spit out into the sea, unnoticed.
You knew he’d figure it out eventually. He was too good not to.
But you hadn’t expected him to burst into your quarters the night before, shaking with barely restrained panic.
“What the hell is this?!” Hongo had yelled, thrusting a tattered medical report into your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?!”
You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to be watched like a ghost who hasn’t died yet.”
Silence. Deafening.
“...You have a month, Y/N, maybe less. You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re dying, and you're acting like it's nothing?”
“I have a month, Hongo,” you had said quietly. “Please… just let me have it. Don’t tell the others. Let me spend it with them. Please.”
He didn't answer for a long time. When he finally did, it was with a whisper: “You’re a fucking idiot.” But he pulled you into a hug and didn’t let go until your shoulders stopped shaking.
From that day, you lived more fiercely than ever. You laughed at Shanks’ dumb jokes and drank with him until the world blurred. You challenged Benn to silent stargazing contests, betting on how many shooting stars you’d catch. You dragged Limejuice to island carnivals and flirted shamelessly until his face burned red. You played cards with Hongo, even when your hands trembled too much to hold them.
They all noticed. The Red-Haired Pirates weren’t stupid.
“You’re real clingy lately,” Limejuice teased one night, bumping your shoulder with his. “You sure you’re not sick or something?”
You smiled, heart twisting. “Would you be mad if I said I might be?”
He laughed, oblivious. “Nah. I’d carry you myself if you keeled over.”
You didn’t say anything. Just leaned into his warmth.
Shanks was the hardest. He noticed too much. Noticed how often you disappeared below deck when the coughing fits hit, how your eyes stayed on the ocean longer than they should have.
“You thinking of leaving us?” he asked once, half-joking.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No,” you lied.
Benn just watched. Always watched. He didn’t say much, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you, searching. You gave him your brightest smiles.
The day you left, the crew didn’t know.
You made breakfast with Chef-level effort, joking with the kitchen staff, slipping kisses to Limejuice's cheek and hugging Shanks tighter than ever. You sat with Benn for hours on the deck, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun creep across the sky.
“I think you’re my favorite,” you whispered, teasing.
He snorted. “Don’t let Shanks hear that.”
He didn’t know that was the last time he’d feel your heartbeat against his side.
That night, you slipped away. A letter for each of them tucked under your pillow. A note for Hongo too:
"Thank you—for letting me pretend I wasn’t dying. I love you all too much to say goodbye."
Morning broke in chaos.
“Where the hell is Y/N?!” Limejuice shouted, tearing through the ship.
“They’re not in the galley, or the crow’s nest!” Benn called out, panic rising in his usually calm voice.
Shanks was quiet, unusually still, staring at the empty hammock where your scent still lingered.
The notes were found soon after. One by one, hands shaking as they read your last words.
You didn’t say goodbye, but each letter bled with love.
“To Shanks — Thank you for making me feel like I belonged in the stars.”
“To Benn — You saw through me. Thank you for not saying anything.”
“To Limejuice — Thank you for reminding me how fun life could be.”
“To Hongo — I’m sorry I made you carry this alone. Thank you for letting me be selfish.”
They thought you ran. Were taken. Benn demanded a search party. Shanks was pale, silent, gripping your letter so tight his knuckles bled. Limejuice punched a wall. Hongo said nothing—for two days.
And then, he snapped.
He threw your medical file onto the table during a heated meeting, eyes wild. “They didn’t leave!....They died. And...I let them.”
The room fell to a breathless silence.
“You knew?” Benn whispered.
“They had a month. They begged me to let them spend it with us, like nothing was wrong. And I let them lie.”
Shanks stumbled back, as if struck. “No. No, they were… they were fine.”
“They were dying, Shanks! They couldn’t breathe without pain, they were—” Hongo’s voice cracked. “They spent their last strength loving us.”
No one spoke.
Limejuice fell to his knees. “We didn’t even say goodbye.”
Later that night, Shanks sat by the railing where you always stood.
“I hope you’re watching the stars from up close now, Y/N,” he murmured, tears streaking his face. “Because we’ll never stop looking for you in them.”
WHITEBEARD PIRATES
You’d always imagined dying quietly, maybe on an empty shore, wrapped in salt and wind. But fate had other plans. Your end would come not with isolation—but surrounded by laughter, drink, and the stubborn, unbearable warmth of the Whitebeard Pirates.
The diagnosis came on a cold, cloudy day—so ordinary it felt like a betrayal.
You'd passed out during training. Woke up with Marco’s worried face looming over you. He’d examined you in complete silence. But his shaking hands and tight jaw told you everything.
“It’s not good, is it?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.
“No,” Marco had said, the word cracking as it left him. “It’s... terminal. A rare degeneration of the lungs and heart. I don’t—there’s nothing I can do.”
You didn’t cry. Instead, you laughed. “So, what—you’re saying I won’t outlive my goldfish?”
He didn't laugh. He looked like he’d been stabbed. “You have a month. Maybe.”
You made him promise to keep it secret.
Just him and Whitebeard.
When Oyaji found out, he sat beside your bed and gripped your hand with those massive, shaking fingers. “You are my child,” he rumbled. “And if this is your last voyage… then let it be the greatest of your life.”
You had never cried before. But you cried then.
From that day, you threw yourself into every moment.
Ace was all fire and impulse, but when he was around you, something softer flickered beneath the surface. He took to dragging you along for sparring matches, even when you claimed your muscles ached.
“I need a challenge,” he’d smirk, sweat glistening down his neck.
“You just want to show off,” you’d tease, raising your fists anyway.
He was always careful not to hit you too hard. Not that you said anything—but he seemed to know. When you tripped one day, coughing blood into your sleeve when he wasn’t looking, he’d jogged over, helping you up without a word. His hand lingered on your arm just a second too long.
That night, you sat beside him, both of you perched on the edge of the ship with your legs dangling into the air.
“You’re weird lately,” he mumbled, eyes on the moon.
You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”
He blinked at you. “To be with us?”
“To be with you,” you said, gently. And he froze, eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to do with that.
“…You’re gonna break my heart, aren’t you?” he whispered.
You smiled, because you already had.
Izo became your confidant without even knowing it. With every eyeliner flick and matching kimono, you gave yourself permission to feel alive. They would hum as they painted your face, hands warm against your cheeks.
“You’re glowing,” they said once, adjusting the red ribbon they tied in your hair.
“Death becomes me, huh?” you joked, and they slapped your arm, scandalized.
“You joke about dying too much.”
You didn’t mean to, but your voice cracked. “It’s easier than pretending I’m not scared.”
Their fingers paused, lips parting. “…Are you scared?”
You looked at them in the mirror, the shimmer of gold powder across your eyelids catching the light. “Yeah,” you said. “But not when I’m with you.”
They smiled then, a bit sad, and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Then let’s live like hell until we drop, dear.”
Thatch was joy personified. It was impossible to be sad around him for long, and that’s what made it hurt worse.
He caught you sneaking dessert at 2 a.m. once and acted like you’d committed a crime.
“Oh-ho! So this is where my pudding went!”
“Your pudding? I thought it had my name on it.”
“I’ll accept bribes in the form of kisses or cleaning dishes.”
You kissed his cheek, and he nearly dropped the bowl.
Every stolen moment in the kitchen became a memory—dancing while covered in flour, whipped cream fights, drunken baking experiments that ended in fire. You’d laughed so hard your sides hurt, even as your lungs begged you to stop.
“You’re making memories,” he said one night, tousling your hair. “That’s what this is. You’ve been clingy lately. Like you’re trying to make every second count.”
You froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Would you hate me if I was?”
He blinked. “Nah. I’d probably try to hold on tighter.”
You didn’t tell him then. Just leaned into his side and let him talk about his dream of opening a cake café after he retires.
You knew you’d never see it.
Marco was the one who saw the cracks, and it destroyed him. You kept him close because you trusted him most—and that made it hurt more.
You caught him once crying at your door. He didn’t think you were awake.
You opened it, silently wrapped your arms around him, and whispered, “I’m still here.”
“You shouldn’t be this calm,” he rasped into your shoulder.
“I’m terrified,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend what time I have being loved than dying slowly in a bed.”
He pulled back, staring at you with reddened eyes. “You could have told them.”
“They’d look at me like I was already dead.”
He said nothing, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “Promise me… promise you’ll wait. Let me leave on my own terms.”
“…Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll hate you for it.”
You kissed his forehead. “I hope you do.”
You left them on a quiet morning.
Then you slipped away, leaving only a bundle of letters on Marco’s desk.
Your final message was simple:
“Don’t let them hate me for this. Please. Just let them think I ran.”
The ship erupted into panic by nightfall.
Ace punched through a wall. “They’re gone?! What do you mean GONE?”
Izo ran through the corridors, calling your name until their voice broke.
Thatch turned the kitchen inside out like he expected you to be hiding in the cupboards, laughing.
Marco couldn’t speak.
He stood at the rail, gripping the wood so hard it splintered beneath his fingers.
Whitebeard stood behind him, silent, his massive shadow cast across the deck like a shroud.
“Do I tell them?” Marco rasped.
“No,” Whitebeard rumbled. “Not yet. Let them rage. Let them mourn in their own way.”
“But—”
“They wouldn’t understand it now,” he said. “Wait.”
A week passed. Then two.
No sign of you.
Your room remained untouched. Your absence echoed louder than any cannon fire.
They scoured islands. Questioned strangers. Considered kidnappers, Marines, even betrayal.
Ace refused to accept it. “They wouldn’t leave us! Not without a word. Not without—something.”
He went to Marco, desperate. “You know something. Tell me.”
Marco finally broke.
He gave Ace your letter.
Ace read it once. Then again and again. Then crumpled to the ground, screaming into his fists.
“They died?! All this time—they were dying?!”
Marco stood frozen, guilt crawling like acid beneath his skin.
“They didn’t want you to mourn them before they were gone,” he whispered. “They wanted to be loved, not pitied.”
Ace couldn’t answer. He just sobbed, curled around your crumpled letter like it could still warm him.
That night, Whitebeard gathered his sons and daughters.
He read your letters aloud. One by one. Each one aching with truth, memory, and love.
“To Ace — You made me feel alive, even when I was already halfway gone.” “To Izo — Thank you for making me beautiful when I felt invisible.” “To Thatch — You made every day sweeter, even the ones I didn’t think I’d survive.” “To Marco — Thank you for holding my secret when it crushed you. I love you most for that.” “To Oyaji — You gave me a family when I had nothing left. Thank you… for letting me die a Whitebeard Pirate.”
By the end, the deck was silent.
No sobs. Just breathless grief.
They didn’t throw a funeral.
They held a feast.
Not because they weren’t mourning—but because they knew you’d hate to see them broken.
They told stories. Passed your favorite drink around. Laughed, cried, and danced with ghosts.
And when the fire died down, Ace stared at the embers and whispered, “I hope you found peace, flame-heart.”
STRAWHAT PIRATES
You didn’t plan on dying at sea, but the Grand Line has a way of making plans for you. The first signs were subtle: a lingering fatigue you chalked up to busy days, aches you blamed on training, the dull pain in your side that you laughed off when Chopper asked if you were okay.
You knew before he did. Deep down, your body had been whispering the truth long before the words made it onto paper.
It wasn’t until you collapsed in the hallway between the kitchen and the infirmary that Chopper realized something was seriously wrong. When you woke up, it was to the sterile smell of the medical bay and his wide, terrified eyes.
“I ran every test,” he said, voice trembling. “And then I ran them again. It’s… it’s bad. Really bad.”
You nodded. Your throat was too dry to answer.
“I—I can’t fix it. Not with what we have on board. Maybe if we got to a major medical port, but even then, I don’t know if—”
You reached out, resting a hand on his tiny shoulder. “How long?”
He hesitated, ears flattening. “A month. Maybe.”
You didn’t cry. Not then. Not even when he begged to tell the others.
“No. Please. Let me have this. Just a month, Chopper.”
“They’ll never forgive me.”
“They will,” you said. “If they knew now, it’d ruin everything. I don’t want pity. I want memories.”
So you began to live. Fully, recklessly, as if the pain eating away at you was just a shadow at your back.
You started with Sanji. He was the easiest to be around, the one whose affection was loud and constant. Every meal became a moment: you insisted on helping in the kitchen, even when he protested. You chopped vegetables until your hands hurt, stirred sauces while leaning against him, snuck little bites when he wasn’t looking.
“You’re here a lot lately,” he said one afternoon, handing you a bowl of soup.
“I like watching you work,” you replied.
He grinned. “You trying to steal my heart, love?”
You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Maybe.”
He went quiet for a beat. Then, more softly, “You look at me like you’re memorizing my face.”
You didn’t answer. Just smiled.
Zoro came next. You sparred with him almost every day now, ignoring the way your lungs burned, the way your legs shook. He didn’t say anything the first time you collapsed mid-match, just silently carried you to the infirmary.
“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.
“I need to,” you whispered.
“Why?”
You looked at him, really looked. “Because I don’t want to forget what it feels like to fight beside you.”
He frowned. “You’re acting like you’re running out of time.”
You forced a smile. “Aren’t we all?”
That night, he found you on the deck, staring at the stars.
He sat beside you, arms crossed. “You’re not saying something. I don’t like it.”
“I’m just tired.”
“I’d carry you, if you asked.”
Your heart ached. “I know.”
Luffy was harder.
He didn’t notice at first. You were careful around him—too careful. You laughed with him during meals, ran across islands with him, challenged him to stupid games on the deck. But he began to notice the way you lingered during hugs. The way you stared at him too long. The way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes.
One evening, you lay beside him on the figurehead, watching the horizon.
He turned his head toward you. “Are you gonna leave?”
You blinked. “What?”
“You look like you’re saying goodbye.”
You looked away. “I’m not. Not yet.”
He was quiet for a while. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to either.”
He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and didn’t let go until you both fell asleep.
ou made time for everyone else too.
With Nami, you spent lazy afternoons in the library, pretending to study charts. She taught you how to draw maps. You traced the oceans of the world with your fingers and imagined places you’d never see.
“You’re getting good at this,” she said.
“I want to leave something behind,” you murmured.
She didn’t understand then. But she would.
Usopp was a light in the dark. You asked for bedtime stories, exaggerated tales of heroism and romance. He performed them with full sound effects, arms flailing, voice booming.
“You always laugh now,” he noted one night.
“It’s easy, when I’m with you.”
He blushed, scratching the back of his head. “You’re acting like I’m the best part of your day.”
You smiled. “You are.”
Robin gave you quiet comfort. She didn’t ask questions. She simply read to you, let you rest your head in her lap, brushed your hair back from your face.
“You’re calm,” you told her.
“You’re storming,” she replied.
You didn’t deny it.
Franky built you a swing on the back of the Sunny, facing the sea. You spent hours there, feet brushing over the waves, eyes on the endless blue.
“Super chill, right?” he said, adjusting the ropes.
You nodded. “It’s perfect.”
He caught your hand before he left. “You’re not okay.”
You looked up at him. “No.”
“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “You don’t have to be.”
Brook played lullabies for you. Sweet, simple things. You danced with him once, slow and clumsy.
“If I still had a heart,” he said softly, “I think it would ache.”
You rested your head against his chest. “Mine already does.”
Chopper was breaking. Every day, he looked at you like you were already fading. You caught him crying in the storage room once, holding one of your jackets.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered.
“You’re stronger than me,” you said, hugging him.
“I hate lying.”
“I know.”
You waited until they docked at a small island for supplies.
You left at dawn.
Left behind the stargazer chair. The flowered book. The slingshot. The meals. The love.
Left behind a stack of letters in Chopper’s room.
When the crew realized you were gone, Luffy panicked first.
“They wouldn’t leave! They’d never leave!”
Zoro was already on the dock, scanning the shoreline. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.
They searched the island. They waited at the ship. They called for you until their voices cracked.
You didn’t come back.
That night, Chopper gathered them in the infirmary.
“I didn’t want to break the promise,” he said, voice trembling. “But… they’re gone. They were dying.”
No one moved.
“…What?”
“They only had a month. They asked me to let them live… without pity.”
Nami burst into tears. "They should’ve told us,”
Zoro punched the wall.
Luffy stood in stunned silence, until he screamed your name into the ocean wind.
They read your letters together. All huddled in the infirmary, hearts shattered.
“To Sanji — You made me feel wanted, even when I felt like a ghost.” “To Zoro — You were my anchor. I always knew where I stood when I was beside you.” “To Luffy — Thank you for being the sun. I needed the light more than you’ll ever know.” “To the Crew — You made me part of a family. You made me more than a dying story.”
They held a quiet vigil on the deck.
Brook played your song one last time. Robin scattered petals into the sea. Chopper lit a lantern and let it drift across the water.
They stayed on that island for days.
Then, they sailed forward—quieter, heavier—but with your memory in their hearts.
You were their nakama.
You were their heart.
You always would be.
Got another idea of One Piece x Demon Slayer crossover
[2]
Kanao, but instead of the Kocho sisters, she was found and adopted by the Whitebeard Pirates instead. Reincarnated Kanao or just Kanao? I don't know, the idea was made without much thought lol.
It came from the thought that Kanao had so many biological brothers and sisters she never got to know of, what happened to them, etc etc (probably died or sold off earlier) so I just tossed Kanao in another family found a bunch of misfits.
AGHH Found family💥💥💖
I. How they react to reader being a Zoan cat user
Synopsis: What happens when the pirates raid a treasure site and find a cat there too?
Pairing: Marco x Fem!Reader, Shanks x Fem!Reader.
Content warning: Fluff, disabilities (deafness and inability to speak), most of it will be platonic, maybe I will spark a little romance here and there because why not, major tomfoolery, a couple of innuendos but nothing too serious, canon violence (plus scratching, biting, just cat stuff), kidnapping, mentions of trauma, a bit of angst but it ends well.
Author’s note: English is not my first language.
Each crew will have a cat with a different fur color, I know that’s not very self insert of me, but dude, I don’t know, imagine you’re wearing a wig or something 😔.
Did I write this the night before a job interview because I was too nervous to sleep? Yeah. Did I get the job? Well, I just hope I get through the interview without fumbling in my third language 😭.
Mini update: I THINK I GOT THE JOB!!!
Also, @dragonanon I hope you enjoy this :)
It was simply a matter of her being in the right place at the right time, napping on top of a treasure chest when a group of pirates barged in. Naturally, they took everything with them—including the cat sleeping on the chest.
Straw Hats — Orange cat
Luffy had beef with the cat. He spotted her lounging on top of a treasure chest, tail flicking like she owned the place, and decided to yank it open without so much as nudging her off. Not his brightest move—not by a long shot.
The second he cracked the lid, the cat launched herself at him, claws out, hissing like a tiny, furry demon.
It was a full-on cat brawl, utterly pointless since Luffy’s rubber body just bounced her attacks right back. Still, she went for it, scratching and yowling like she could actually win.
When Luffy finally pried her off, she skidded back, arched her back, fur puffed up, and shot him a glare that could’ve melted steel. Luffy, being Luffy, just grinned, completely unbothered. “Heh, you’ve got guts! I like you!” he declared, eyes sparkling with that reckless admiration he reserves for anyone—human, animal, or otherwise—who dares to challenge him.
“Do you wanna join my crew?” he asked, not five minutes after meeting this hissing ball of orange fury, who was still glaring at him with all the spite in the world. Classic Luffy—zero logic, all heart. The cat hissed again, louder, but he just laughed it off, scooping the chest over one shoulder and the cat over the other like she was a sack of flour.
The poor thing was terrified. This stretchy, grinning lunatic who couldn’t be scratched and smiled brighter than the sun itself had just kidnapped her.
Worse, she was a Zoan Devil Fruit user—a cat Zoan, to be exact—who’d been dodging pirates and Marines her whole life to avoid exactly this kind of chaos. Now she was being dragged into the heart of it.
On the ship, she met the crew, and—oh boy—what a crew. A blue-nosed reindeer doctor, a living skeleton strumming a guitar, a cyborg with a pompadour, and a fish-man bigger than most houses. Were these the circus pirates? No, wait, those were Buggy’s clowns.
So who the hell were these weirdos?
It clicked when she saw the flag—a skull with a straw hat.
The Straw Hats. She’d heard whispers of their insanity but hadn’t thought of Luffy as the Straw Hat Luffy. Rookie mistake.
She was about to go full human, scare the daylights out of them, and bolt—until a gentle hand started scratching behind her ears. Her defenses crumbled instantly. She melted, purring without shame, as Nami and Robin took turns petting her. Nami cooed, “Oh, you’re just a little sweetheart, aren’t you?” while Robin smiled that serene, knowing smile of hers. The cat was weak for them.
Luffy, of course, opened his big mouth again. “Oi, we’ve got a new crewmate! The Straw Hats need an official pet—y’know, besides Chopper!”
“Wha—?!” Chopper squeaked, flailing. “I’m not a pet, you idiot!”
Zoro cracked one eye open from his nap, glancing at the orange fluffball being smothered with love by Nami and Robin. “What’s he yammering about now?” he muttered, clearly unimpressed.
Sanji swooped in, hearts in his eyes. “Oh, what a darling creature! So elegant, so refined! What shall we name this lovely lady?” He was already imagining gourmet cat treats.
“MEAT!” Luffy shouted, and the cat—offended on a spiritual level—sank her teeth into his arm. “Ow! You’re a meanie!” he whined, shaking her off, but his grin didn’t falter.
“To be fair, that’s a terrible name,” Sanji said, adjusting his tie with a smirk. The cat decided she liked this guy. He got it.
Nami tilted her head, studying the cat’s orange fur. “She’s orange, so… how about Orange? Simple and cute.”
It was a basic name, but it came from Nami, so the cat let it slide. She flicked her tail in approval, and Nami beamed.
“Let me see, let me see!” Chopper bounced up and down, starry-eyed. Usopp and Franky leaned in from one side, while Brook and Jinbe peered from the other, all curious about the new “crewmate.”
“Orange, huh? Yo ho ho! Her soul shines like a sunny chord!” Brook said, strumming an imaginary riff. “I can already hear her song!”
“Oranges are tasty,” Luffy added, drooling. “Oi, Sanji, make some orange juice! And meat!”
“You just ate, you bottomless pit!” Sanji snapped. “And who mixes orange juice with meat?!”
A week passed, and the cat could’ve revealed her Zoan secret any time. But she was mischievous—and honestly, too comfy. She decided to test if these weirdos would ever figure it out. Spoiler: they didn’t.
So she leaned into the domestic cat life, and—damn—she loved it.
She still had beef with Luffy. Just when she started warming up to his chaotic charm, he’d get too clingy—smothering her in hugs—or say something so monumentally stupid she’d hiss and swipe at him. Her scratches did nothing but make him laugh harder, which pissed her off even more. She’d storm off, tail high, throwing him the nastiest glare she could muster.
She gravitated toward the chill ones: Robin, Jinbe, and the king of not giving a damn—Zoro. Zoro was her favorite, purely because he didn’t care. In cat language, that was love. She’d nap on his chest while he dozed on the deck, his steady breathing like a lullaby. Every now and then, he’d give her a lazy pat, like a begrudging dad. Once, he even offered her sake. She lapped it up—because, y’know, human taste buds—and Zoro didn’t bat an eye when she got tipsy, sprawled out next to him. “Heh, you’re alright,” he muttered, clinking his bottle against her paw.
Robin was her queen, her everything. The woman could summon a hand from nowhere to scratch just the right spot, turning the cat into a purring puddle. Franky, on the other hand, was peak dad energy—awkward at first, poking her like she was a science experiment. “Yo, what’s with this thing?” he’d mumble. But soon, he and Usopp were crafting SUPER cat toys—laser pointers, spring-loaded fish—playing with her on the deck. She acted aloof but secretly loved it, especially when their faces lit up.
Usopp was obsessed with her. He’d ramble on about his “legendary adventures” while tinkering, glancing at her like she was his personal hype man. She’d sit there, tail swishing, letting him feel important. Truth be told, she found his pathetic charm oddly endearing.
Sanji? Her prince. He’d whip up gourmet dishes—for a cat—presenting them with a flourish. “For you, my dear Orange, a delicate fish mousse with a hint of saffron!” She’d purr like an engine, even if he just smiled at her. The man was too sweet for his own good.
Jinbe was a saga of its own. Early on, her Zoan brain saw “giant fish-man” and thought, snack time. She chomped his arm, expecting a fishy treat. Jinbe didn’t even flinch—just lifted her, still dangling from his skin, and asked calmly, “What are you doing?” His zen vibe made her cringe at her own stupidity.
Luffy’s rubbing off on me, she thought.
She meowed an apology, and Jinbe just smiled, all sharp teeth and warmth. From then on, she couldn’t be mean to him. His hugs were like being wrapped in the ocean—safe, warm, and grounding.
Nami went full cat mom, planting orange trees next to her tangerines to “honor” her new pet. She’d spoil Orange with collars, bows, and little hats, cooing, “You’re too cute for this ship!” The cat ate it all up.
Brook was… extra. He treated her like a person, not a pet. He’d play ballads for her, once even slow-dancing with her—lifting her gently, holding one paw, and swaying across the deck. “Yo ho ho, such a graceful partner!” She humored him, mostly because he gifted her a tiny top hat that matched his. When she meowed in delight, Brook did a little jig, overjoyed.
The reveal came during peak Straw Hat nonsense. Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper were dumb enough to try waking Zoro from a nap to “test his reflexes.” Spoiler: bad idea. The cat watched from the railing, tail flicking, as Zoro grabbed Luffy by the neck and pinned him to the wall with a murderous glare. Usopp and Chopper bolted, screaming. The cat, distracted, slipped and muttered, “Damn, we’re hitting new levels of stupid here.”
The deck went silent.
Realizing her mistake, she sighed—poof—and transformed. A redheaded woman, like autumn in human form, sat on the railing with a sheepish grin. “Whoops.”
“NO WAY!” Luffy’s eyes bulged, sparkling with excitement. “You’re a person! That’s SO COOL! You’re definitely joining now!”
“You’re… not a cat?” Sanji’s jaw dropped, then hearts filled his eyes. “BUT A RADIANT GODDESS! Oh, my autumnal muse, your beauty is like fallen leaves dancing in the breeze!” He leaned against the railing, swooning.
She blinked, flustered. Zoro, still gripping Luffy, just growled, “Oi, you idiots made the cat talk. Now disappear before I slice you.”
After the shock wore off, the crew treated her the same—cat or human.
Whitebeard Pirates — White Cat
Ace found her sprawled atop a treasure chest, snoozing like she owned the place. Classic Ace — didn’t even hesitate. He scooped up the cat, grinning wide, and hugged her like she was his long-lost sister.
In his head, this was a brilliant plan.
The cat, though? Terrified. She clawed at Ace’s chest, leaving red streaks as she bolted, tail fluffed up like a bottlebrush. Poor thing was scared out of her wits, heart pounding from the sudden wake-up call.
What Ace didn’t know — and let’s be real, he’s not the sharpest when it comes to details — was that the cat was deaf. Getting yanked from her cozy nap by a shirtless pyromaniac? That’s the stuff of kitty nightmares.
Later, Ace tried a gentler approach. He crouched down, speaking slowly, flashing that big, goofy grin of his. The cat, wary as hell, took cautious steps toward him. Only when she realized he wasn’t gonna eat her did she relax, bumping her head against his leg with a meow so loud it could wake the dead. Ace, being Ace, didn’t care about the volume — he just laughed, “That’s my girl!”
Now, Ace was a dog guy through and through, always rambling about some scrappy mutt he’d befriended on an island somewhere. But five minutes with this white fluffball? Done. Smitten. He was calling her “my little princess” once he figured out she was female, cooing in that ridiculous baby-talk voice he swore he’d never use.
No shame, not even a hint.
Thatch, of course, lost it. “Oi, Fire Fist, you’re embarrassing yourself!” he cackled. He mocked Ace into the next dimension, but — plot twist — Thatch was just as bad. One meow, and the Fourth Division Commander was a goner, sneaking her bits of fish and muttering, “Who’s a good girl, huh?”
The two idiots marched straight to Whitebeard, doing the classic “can we keep it?” routine, like kids begging for a pet. Ace was practically bouncing, and Thatch was trying to play it cool but failing miserably.
Whitebeard, towering on his throne-like chair, squinted down at them. He could go one of two ways — either he’d melt for the cat like he did for every stray his crew dragged in, or he’d pull the full Dad Act.
“You can keep it, but I ain’t cleaning up after it,” he rumbled, sipping his sake.
Or maybe, “I don’t like cats. Never have. Keep that thing away from me.”
Spoiler: by week’s end, Pops was caught red-handed, petting the cat with one massive finger, a pink ribbon collar dangling from his other hand.
The cat, though, had a secret. She wasn’t just a cat — she was a Zoan Devil Fruit user, soaking up the crew’s affection while dodging the one guy who’d clock her instantly: Marco. For a whole week, she managed to unintentionally avoid the First Division Commander, slinking through shadows or napping in places his lazy ass wouldn’t bother checking. Lucky for her, Marco was too busy stitching up the crew after their latest raid to notice Ace’s “new pet.”
But Marco’s no slouch. His Observation Haki pinged her the second he laid eyes on her. Zoan vibes? Oh, he knew.
He just didn’t expect her to straight-up ignore him when he called out. She was strutting across the Moby Dick’s deck, tail high, not even twitching at his voice.
Vibrations from footsteps? Sure, she felt those — but Marco talking? Nope.
So, Marco, being Marco, took it personally. “Oi, yoi,” he drawled, grabbing her by the scruff and hoisting her to eye level. Those piercing blue eyes — half-lidded but sharp as hell — locked onto her. “Why’re you ignoring me, huh?”
The cat froze, wide-eyed, freaking out. Not only was she dangling like a sack of potatoes, but this pineapple-headed guy was staring through her soul like he knew her game.
Which, yeah, he kinda did.
“I know you’re not just a cat, yoi. Quit playing,” he said, voice calm but firm.
She stared at his lips, confused, not responding. Marco noticed, raised an eyebrow, and then — poof — she transformed. A woman in a flowing white dress, snow-white hair cascading down, still awkwardly held midair until Marco set her down, muttering, “Tch, sorry, yoi.”
“Now, explain yourself before I drag you to Pops,” he said, arms crossed.
She frowned, hesitated, then started signing. Marco’s jaw dropped. Deaf. That’s why she ignored him. That’s why she was glued to his lips. “You’re deaf, yoi?” he asked, slower this time, enunciating clearly.
She nodded.
“But you can read lips, right?” Another nod. “Alright, that makes things less complicated.”
She gestured that she could write, and scribbled out her story: she’d planned to reveal herself, but the crew’s overwhelming love — Ace’s hugs, Thatch’s treats, even Jozu’s goofy toy-chasing sessions — sucked her in. She was living the high life as their spoiled princess. Marco sighed, running a hand through his hair.
She looked nervous, clearly worried about being hauled to Whitebeard for judgment. Marco softened. “Relax. You’re not in trouble — yet. But you’re coming to dinner tonight, human form, and spilling the beans.”
That night, the mess hall went dead silent when Marco strolled in with a white-haired woman, blue eyes glinting like the cat’s, pink ribbon still tied around her neck.
Marco, the eternal workaholic who’d rather nap than flirt, with a girl? Thatch nearly choked on his rice.
“Oi, where’s my cat?!” he bellowed, storming in and pointing at Thatch. “You stole her, didn’t you, you bastard?”
“She’s right here, moron,” Marco deadpanned, gesturing to the woman.
Silence.
Then a shy wave from her, a silent “hi”.
“No freakin’ way,” Ace gasped. “You turned my cat into a human?!”
“Do I look like I’ve got that kinda power, yoi?” Marco shot back, rolling his eyes. “She’s a Zoan user, you idiot.”
“GURARARARA!” Whitebeard’s laugh shook the ship. “The lass fooled us all, pretending to be a regular cat! What’s your excuse, girl?”
She glanced at Marco, who translated for her. “Pops, she’s deaf. Can’t hear a thing, yoi.”
“MY POOR BABY!” Ace wailed, diving across the table to hug her, not caring one bit about her human form. “You’re still my little princess!” She froze, then melted into the hug, relieved the crew wasn’t mad. If anything, they were more obsessed.
From then on, she was family.
She preferred her cat form — it just felt right — and the crew treated her the same either way. Ace slept with her curled on his chest, snoring like a thunderstorm, but since she couldn’t hear, she was the only one that could actually stand sleeping next to him.
Jozu, tough as diamond, crouched to dangle strings for her. Namur crafted cat toys from driftwood. Haruta teased her relentlessly until she’d shift to human form, cross her arms, and scowl at him to knock it off.
Thatch whipped up gourmet fish dishes, making sure she could see his lips as he bragged, “Only the best for our princess!”
Marco, Izou, Vista, and Whitebeard took a chiller approach — the kind that made her, in cat logic, gravitate to them. Whitebeard, post his “I hate cats” phase, loved her napping on his shoulder, stroking her with a finger the size of a log. When Marco told him white cats with blue eyes were often doomed to be deaf and extra reliant on humans due to genetics, Pops got misty-eyed. “Poor thing needs us, then,” he muttered.
Marco, though, bonded with her human side. One day, he stunned her by signing a few shaky sentences — he’d been practicing, the nerd. Her eyes lit up, and she was hooked.
She often teased him with a doodle of a cat chomping a bird, but Marco flipped it on her, smirking, “Hunter or prey, I’m still the one in charge, yoi.”
And just like that she would become a flustered mess.
He was gentle, though — scolding Ace for startling her, teaching the crew basic signs, even keeping tabs on her health since white cats were prone to health issues.
He made her feel safe, loved, seen.
Vista, ever the romantic, wove her tiny flower crowns, plopping them on her head with a fatherly pat before walking off like it was nothing.
Izou? Total diva. He’d dress her up in Wano-style ribbons, smirking, “You’re too pretty to be a plain alley cat.” The crew always knew when Izou’d been at her — she’d strut around looking like a samurai’s pet.
In the end, the Whitebeard Pirates were over the moon to have their cat — human or not — aboard the Moby Dick. She was their princess, their mascot, their family. And she? She was just happy to bask in the chaos and love of the world’s wildest crew.
Red Hair Pirates — Tuxedo Cat
Like father, like son, Shanks’ first run-in with the cat was, to put it mildly, a total shipwreck. At least he didn’t get clawed to bits like Luffy—just spectacularly annoyed.
The little beast woke up before Shanks could startle her into the next universe, perched atop the treasure chest like she owned it, locking eyes with him. Her squint was so sharp it felt like she was peering straight through his Haki, sizing up his soul.
“Oi, furball, that’s my treasure!” Shanks barked, his voice booming with that mix of authority and mischief only an Emperor of the Sea could muster, his red hair practically bristling with indignation.
The cat? She yawned, flicked her tail, and started licking her paw with the kind of swagger that said, “You? Impress me.”
“OI! I SAID GET OFF!” Shanks leaned in, pointing at her.
The cat paused, mid-lick, and—Shanks would swear on Davy Jones’ locker—stuck her tongue out at him. A human-level taunt that hit like a Sea King’s tail to the gut. “How dare you?!” he roared, hand flying to Gryphon’s hilt. “I’m Red-Haired Shanks, Emperor of the Sea! I stop wars! I—OI, DON’T YOU DARE IGNORE ME!”
By now, Shanks was full-on dueling a cat in a war of wills. When Benn Beckman strolled up, he took one look at the scene—a forty-something pirate legend waving his sword at a tiny black-and-white feline who looked bored out of her mind—and sighed.
“What in the New World are you doing, Captain?” Benn asked, his voice dripping with the exhaustion of a man who’d babysat this nonsense far too long.
“I will not be disrespected by some fancy-pants cat!” Shanks declared, swinging Gryphon again—missing the cat entirely, who didn’t even blink.
The cat leapt off the chest, dodging Shanks like he was a clumsy rookie, and sauntered over to Benn without a glance back. She bumped her head against his leg, purring like she’d found her new best friend. This guy? Calm, collected, not a red-haired lunatic yelling about emperors and wars. Benn crouched, scooping her up to inspect the creature his captain was losing his mind over. Just a cat, meowing softly, looking harmless.
“You’re saying you won’t stand for disrespect… from a cat?” Benn raised an eyebrow, cradling the purring feline.
“I’m telling you, Benn, that thing’s got devil eyes!” Shanks jabbed a finger at the cat, who was now nuzzling into Benn’s hand.
“Devil eyes? She’s adorable, you lunatic,” Benn said, setting her down. The cat, clearly smitten, bumped her head against his leg again, tail high. “Playful little thing, aren’t you?” Benn muttered, scratching her ears. She purred louder, practically vibrating with smug satisfaction.
Shanks stomped past, visibly irked that the cat was cozying up to his first mate. “Yeah, yeah, we get it—she likes you.”
“Jealous, Captain?” Benn smirked, catching the sulky edge in Shanks’ voice.
“Not a chance,” Shanks huffed like a sulky kid.
To twist the knife, the cat flopped onto her back, showing her belly to Benn—the ultimate feline trust move. Benn chuckled, scratching her tummy. “Think I might keep her.”
Now, neither of them had clocked that this cat was no ordinary feline—she was a Zoan user, wielding a Devil Fruit that let her shift between human and cat forms. Maybe she shouldn’t have leaned so hard into the pet life, purring for head scratches and acting adorable to get better treats, but Benn’s gentle scratching was too good to pass up. She decided to play along, curious if these rowdy pirates would ever catch on.
When she met the rest of the Red Hair Pirates, their sheer presence took her breath away.
These weren’t small-time sailors. They were rough, rowdy, capable of sinking fleets with a single blink. And the red-haired lunatic she’d been toying with? That was Shanks, the Red-Haired Yonko, Akaige no Shanks, a man whose name made the New World tremble. All that talk about ending wars and ruling the seas? Not just hot air—every word was true.
And she didn’t give a single damn.
Shanks kept treating her like a rival, bickering as if she were Kaido himself instead of a cat. She loved how easily she could rile him up without saying a word—just a flick of her tail or a smug yawn sent him into a spiral.
The crew found it hilarious. Yasopp cackled so hard he nearly choked on his grog, and Lucky Roux got in on it, mimicking Shanks’ dramatic sword swings while clutching a chicken leg. “Oi, Captain, she’s got you beat!” Roux roared, slapping his knee.
Slowly, though, Shanks’ grudge started to crack.
One day, the cat was sprawled on the deck outside his quarters, soaking up the afternoon sun, belly up, not a care in the world. She felt a towering shadow loom over her and cracked an eye open, squinting. Shanks. Great. Another pointless showdown with the red-haired idiot—except it wasn’t even a fight, just him being his loud, stupid self.
But Shanks looked… calm. Hazy from a nap, hair a mess, eyes half-lidded like he’d just rolled out of a hammock. He plopped down beside her, surprisingly quiet, and she tensed, waiting for him to explode into some nonsense about “Emperor of the Sea pride.” But he didn’t.
Maybe this was when he’d finally try to toss her overboard.
Instead, he just started petting her. Out of nowhere.
Oh.
Oh.
This was… actually really nice.
She couldn’t help it—she started purring, loud and unashamed. Shanks’ face lit up, his grudge melting into acceptance. “You’re not so bad, furball,” he said, scratching behind her ears.
She got bolder, climbing into his lap, curling up for warmth as he kept petting her. “Actually, you’re not bad at all,” he chuckled, completely smitten.
The man was hooked.
Shanks declared her an official Red Hair Pirate, slapping a collar on her with his Jolly Roger etched in, grinning like he’d recruited a new sniper. Though Benn was the one who’d taken her in, he barely got a moment with her—Shanks monopolized her like she was his personal treasure. He’d parade her around ports, hoisting her up like a trophy. “Behold, my cat!” he’d bellow, as if Benn wasn’t the one feeding her and dragging her to Hongo for checkups.
Hongo, grumbling about not being a vet, still gave her the full doctor treatment, muttering, “If I can patch up you idiots, I can handle a cat.”
Benn, ever the doting cat dad, made sure she was fed and even bought her a red bow tie. “Tuxedo cat’s gotta be a boss or a magician,” he mused, tying it on while she preened.
Then one day, unexpectedly, something wild happened.
It started with a kidnapping.
Yeah, kidnapped—in cat form, snatched by some lowlife pirates who thought they could ransom a Red Hair Pirate’s pet.
She didn’t expect a rescue. No way these guys cared that much about a cat, right?
She spent a couple of days curled up in a cramped cage, hunger and exhaustion gnawing at her. In that tiny space, her Zoan powers slipped, and she shifted back to human form, limbs aching, barely fitting. When a guard came to toss her a measly scrap of food, he froze, staring at a woman in a tuxedo with a red bow tie instead of a cat. Confused but not entirely heartless, they shuffled her to a bigger cell.
As she was being moved, hands bound, a massive explosion rocked the ship.
“What the—?!” The guard’s words were cut short—a blade sliced clean through him, blood spraying.
She bolted, bruised and malnourished, her run more of a zigzag stumble. She tripped when she slammed into something solid, sprawling on the deck. A pirate lunged, grabbing for her arm, but before his fingers could graze her, a gunshot cracked through the air, dropping him like a sack of flour.
Now she was genuinely freaking out, scrambling to find anywhere safer than this chaos.
Suddenly, the air was knocked from her lungs, her knees buckled, and she hit the deck hard. An invisible weight pressed her down, like a Sea King was stepping on her spine. All around, the kidnappers were flattened too, groaning under the same force. All except one man—Shanks stood tall in the center of the carnage. He stalked toward the enemy captain, a mountain of a man, and grabbed him by the neck, lifting him like he weighed nothing.
“Where’s my cat?” Shanks’ voice was low, his eyes burning with a fury that could make islands quake.
The captain, red-faced and gasping, pointed shakily behind Shanks. “Th-there!”
Shanks glanced back, spotting her. His grip tightened. “That’s not a cat—that’s a woman!”
Her eyes widened. She’d never seen the Red Hair Pirates in action, not like this. For all her teasing and tail-flicking at Shanks, she’d gotten off lucky with his lighthearted bickering. She wouldn’t want to be in these pirates’ shoes.
It clicked then: the two men who’d gone down before she stumbled were hit by a sword and a sniper’s bullet—Benn and Yasopp.
Her blood ran cold. These people cared about her. It took them a while to track her down, but now they were wiping out the enemy in a matter of seconds.
Shanks, meanwhile, was studying her. The woman had half-white, half-black hair, those same sharp feline eyes, the tuxedo, the red bow tie… Oh. It was his cat. “Why is my cat a woman?” he asked, turning back to the captain, who was fighting for his last breaths.
Shanks dropped the man to the deck with a thud, his curiosity now fixed on her. He’d deal with the trash later. “Shanks,” she muttered, still in shock, her voice barely a whisper.
He crouched in front of her, tilting his head, that trademark grin creeping onto his face despite the chaos. “Are you really my cat?”
She nodded slowly, her heart pounding.
“Well, now, this is a twist I didn’t see coming!” Shanks chuckled, his voice light but his eyes sharp, taking her in. “Gotta say, you’re quite the stunner, love.” He offered his hand, helping her sit up. She was weak, trembling, and he noticed right away, his thumb brushing gently over a bruise on her cheek. His grin faded, replaced by a look that promised hell. “These savages’ll learn their lesson, don’t you worry.”
The ship didn’t last long. Shanks sank it like it was nothing, the Red Hair Pirates moving like a well-oiled war machine. What happened to the kidnappers? She didn’t know. Maybe a few survived, maybe none. She tried not to dwell on it as she sat in the Red Force’s infirmary, Hongo patching her up, trying to ease her shaken nerves.
Being kidnapped and caged? Not her finest hour, to put it mildly. She might’ve been a bit traumatized, if she was honest.
But back on the Red Force, surrounded by the crew’s chaotic warmth, she felt safe.
Guilt crept in. She’d kept her Zoan powers a secret, playing the pet card. If they were mad about her hiding the truth, she’d get it.
She braced herself for the lecture.
But it never came. Instead, the crew loved her more. Yasopp slung an arm around her, cackling, “You’re a cat and a lady? That’s legendary!” Lucky Roux offered her a rack of meat, grinning wide. “Gotta fatten you up after that mess!” Even Benn, usually stoic, gave her a rare smile, adjusting her bow tie. “Knew you were trouble, but this? Next level.”
Shanks, of course, was the worst. He kept calling her “my cat-lady,” parading her around like she was his new favorite crewmate. “Oi, Hongo, make sure she’s got no fleas!” he teased, dodging her weak swat with a laugh.
From then on, she shifted freely between her cat and human forms, and the Red Hair Pirates treated her like royalty either way.
Shanks, though? He was falling hard—and the crew could barely watch. Every attempt to impress her was a spectacular disaster. The man who could stop wars would hand her a bucket of roses, only for them to end up smashed when he tripped over a rope. And when she squinted at him in human form, those sharp feline eyes boring into his soul, the crew swore they saw their fearless captain sweat.
She found it oddly endearing, how this intimidating man could be such a mess, fumbling like a rookie because of her?
It was bizarre, but it tugged at her heart.
After his latest failed romancing attempt, when his confidence was at low tide and he started acting like a normal person instead of a flirtatious show-off, she started to like him back.
But no way was she making the first move—not with Shanks’ reputation.
One night, the crew was gathered around a table, sake flowing, laughter roaring. Shanks was drunk and clingy as hell, his arm slung around her shoulders. She didn’t mind—she was used to the crew’s affectionate roughhousing, their head scratches and back-pats, whether she was a cat or a woman. She soaked it up like a sunny deck.
But drunk Shanks? A different beast. He was either an annoying mess, whining about his “tragic love,” or a relentless flirt, smooth as polished steel. And damn, he was good—annoyingly good, words sliding out like honey, making her heart skip despite herself.
Her insecurities gnawed at her, though. Shanks was a notorious womanizer, charming every barmaid from East Blue to the New World. She wasn’t special, not the one, just another port in his endless voyage. No way was she getting her hopes up just to be left high and dry.
Tonight, though, she got playful Shanks, not the suave charmer. “Why’re you always dressed like a penguin, huh?” he slurred, sake fumes hitting her face as he leaned in, grinning like a kid. “So fancy.”
Lucky Roux piped up, a drumstick in hand. “More like a magician! Bet she’s got a top hat stashed somewhere!”
“Actually,” she said, a shy smirk tugging at her lips, “I am a magician.”
Shanks spat out his sake. The crew choked in unison, mugs clattering.
“No way!” Yasopp hollered, slamming his fist on the table, eyes gleaming.
“Do a trick!” Shanks begged, his grin wide as the Grand Line, eyes sparkling like a kid at a festival. “Pretty please, magic cat-lady?”
So she humored him—a classic coin-behind-the-ear bit, her fingers deft from years of practice. Shanks lost his damn mind, laughing like that was the greatest performance he had ever seen. From then on, every bar they hit, he’d hoist her cat form up like a trophy, shouting, “Behold, the magic cat!” She’d shift to human, pull flowers from her sleeve, or make coins vanish, and grizzled pirates in the crowd roared louder than any festival crowd, tossing belis and demanding encores.
The slurred compliments, the rough back-pats, and the rowdy cheers were better than any kid she’d ever performed for.
Shanks was smitten, and it wasn’t just the magician thing. The man had a serious weakness for circus types—clowns, acrobats, magicians, you name it.
But his flirting changed. The playful winks and smooth lines stopped, replaced by something quieter, more serious. It threw her off.
One night, he pulled her aside, away from the crew’s racket, his usual grin replaced by a nervous frown. “I’m only asking this once,” he said, voice low, like he was bracing for a fight. “If you say no, I’ll stop bothering you, promise.”
“Why so serious? You’re freaking me out,” she said, half-expecting him to drop some terrible news.
“Oh, no, no, no, nothing bad!” Shanks waved his hand, flustered. “Just, uh… hear me out.”
“Then spit it out,” she said, crossing her arms, her feline eyes narrowing.
“Would you… be my… my formal lover?” The words fought their way out.
She arched an eyebrow, amused. “Your formal lover? What’s that, your girlfriend?”
“Y-yeah, that!” Shanks stammered, rubbing the back of his neck, his face redder than his hair. “I mean, you don’t have to say yes, I know I’m… y’know, me…”
This was Shanks—the Shanks, the man who could charm a room full of ladies in ten seconds flat, who vanished at every port and came back grinning like a winner. And now he was fumbling, tripping over his words… over her? It was absurd.
She barely heard his nervous rambling. “So, you want me to be your lover, or just a lover?” she asked, tilting her head, testing him.
“I’d die for you,” he blurted, eyes wide.
She choked on air, her composure cracking.
What the hell kind of messy love confession was this?
“Okay… uh, yeah,” she managed, trying to keep her cool despite her racing heart.
“You’re saying yes?” Shanks asked, hope lighting up his face like a sunrise.
“I’m saying yes,” she said, jabbing a finger at him. “But if you break my heart, I’m gone. You’ll never see me again.”
“I’d never,” he said, his smooth charm sliding back in. “You’re stuck with me, magic cat-lady.”
And damn, he lived up to the hype. The tales she’d heard from barmaids didn’t do him justice. He was a phenomenal kisser, an even better lover, and every moment with him left her grinning like an idiot. The crew knew exactly why—she’d catch Yasopp’s smirks or Roux’s teasing winks, and her face would burn.
Embarrassing? Sure. But she loved being a Red Hair Pirate too much to care.