~You break, you buy (人*´∀｀)｡*ﾟ+ ~Owner not included in policy (;ŏ﹏ŏ) ~Call me Knacks (´∩｡• ᵕ •｡∩`) ~Level 20 human• Level 7 writer and artist ʕ´•ᴥ•`ʔ ~Crazy for One Piece (个_个) And Mochi Men (ʃƪ＾3＾）~
I've noticed that navigating a Tumblr page for people's original content was a bit tricky. Sometimes you don't want to see the millions of things that the artist has reblogged, sometimes you just want to see their art or other stories, which is fine! Or maybe that's just me, hehe.~
Anyways, I went allllll the way back to my first original posts and tagged them accordingly to help you navigate my Tumblr better!
Original Art: #knacks art
Original Stories: #knacks writes
Other Original Misc Posts (no reblogs): #knacks
Request Posts: #knacks' requests
Now the people who, for whatever reason, want to see just stuff that is mine, and not the posts I reblog can just type those tags into my Tumblr search bar and peruse what they want!
I need an opinion, guys, because I want to know if I'm stupid or not
So, like, I've gotten two comments on my "Bippity, Boppity, Boom?" Katakuri x Reader over the past couple of days, both of them complimenting the flow of my story, attention to detail and a whole bunch of nice things, right? I felt so flattered and responded with gratitude to both, but the problem is the second one.
This was the second comment, (I learned later that the first comment similar to this was deleted) but I genuinely thought this person just really liked my story??? And that them providing there socials was so I could see any art they wanted to make?? Like I've seen so many artists on here literally make art of scenes from their favorite fanfics, so I just thought that's what this was???
So like I go and follow this girl on Instagram, mind you there is NO ART anywhere on it, her tag line when I found it was "hasta la vista" but idk, I still followed because I wanted to interact with her over an ASSUMED mutual interest in Katakuri! Right???? WRONG.
To cut a long story short, SHE messaged ME on Instagram and continued the convo we left off on AO3 and eventually I realized that she wasn't just like saying she wanted to draw a scene from my fanfic, she was setting up a commission from me to her! At no point did she herself mention commission or anything like that! And then when I explicitly say, "no I didn't realize you wanted a commission, I'm not interested in that for my story" she was like "Why?"
HUHHHH??
WDYM WHYYYY??? YOU DIDN'T SAY THIS WAS A COMMISSION UNTIL I ASKED ABOUT YOUR SHADY WORDING WTFFFF???
Then tell me why when like an hour later I go back to her page to unfollow her, she changed her tag line to actually say she was a commission artist for authors, which is a reason I gave her as to why I said no.
This the only story I've posted on AO3 and she claims guidelines there don't allow people to mention commissions?? Is that true? Am I just stupid and prideful for not picking up on this sales tactic and just thinking someone genuinely liked my story enough to wanna draw something from it? 😭
Here's all the messages we exchanged on Instagram, I blocked out her username and pfp cause I'm not trying to blast her, I genuinely want an opinion on this whole interaction.
I have a lot to talk about these three and it also reflects from their childhood clothing too.
But my english is ass.
I always wonder what Oven and Daifuku's perspective of the change. Because they're his day 1s and probably hung out with him the most then one day their brother just change out of nowhere and closed himself off, for some greater good. Maybe it can be seen as selfless?
Oven never changed much still the same bowtie and striped socks, his opinion of his brother never change over the years. And even then he still has this false narrative that whether true or not he would not question his brother's choices or whatever mask Katakuri put up. Maybe this also reflects his neverending to highkey unhuman level of loyalty he has for his mother where he most likely is aware why it happened but only acting when something changed.
Daifuku had a total change I think he just like Oven also kept the so called 'pact' or whatever narrative that what Katakuri is doing as some novel thing. Maybe he sees it in a more logical way where now they feel less pressure because Katakuri now gets most of the responsibility. And it makes it easier, he is also seen to support Katakuri to be the next in line as captain because of his power. In his case its more on 'is it really necessary to change what is already working?' Because by this point it's already been done for so long do you even remember when he isn't like that?
Omg, I love the way you think about these three! I love Katakuri as a character, and always think about his different dynamics with his many siblings and how they really feel about his new role as the main protector of the family! The Whole Cake Arc doesn't focus on it very much, but it's obvious from everyone expectations of him and their reactions at his loss to Luffy that everyone kind of kept their head down and accepted their brother's personality being irreversibly changed because of childhood trauma! It's like an elephant in the room that everyone saw but no one wanted to address.
The only one shown to have any care for him behind the protector role is Brulee, but I like to think that the three brothers took the time to talk after Big Mom left to chase after Luffy. I wanna see what's become of him now that Big Mom is gone and Pudding is kidnapped, omg! 😭
If the TLC movie doesn’t have some millennial ass optimistic song like Counting Stars playing while the Rampion crew is finally together and happy in the end, what’s even the point 🧍♂️
Lol I had actually seen Katakuri before I started watching One Piece. He’s actually one of the reasons I wanted to start watching OP I thought he looked cool! I ended up getting an amazing story along the way. He was definitely worth the wait.
Omg, same! I saw him way before Whole Cake, and fell in love with him, so now I'm obsessed, if you couldn't tell by my page, hehe. Spent the entire arcs leading up to it, especially Dressrosa and Zou, waiting for his appearance! Was very happy to see that he had much more depth than being a brooding, strong villain for Luffy!
my elevator pitch on why you should read the mirror visitor quartet is that it is THE slowest burn possible and reads like a studio ghibli movie in the way it is about a young girl finding herself in a strange, whimsical, bizarre world that wants to eat her from the inside out.
Been reading through the series for the first time, and this is so valid 😭 I was going through the twelve stages of grief and telling Ophelia to leave his ungrateful ass through the last half of book 2 and most of book 3 like a toxic best friend because WHY DOES HE KEEP DOING THINGS??? I hated him so bad it hurt, but now I'm at peace 😌 I am one with tranquility ☺️ Their marital problems bother me no more 🙂↔️ because I understand now: The ragebait was ALWAYS a part of their romance.
Before reading the series, I saw a review on Goodreads that said it was a slow burn and I'm like "hey, I love me a good slow burn. I am an enjoyer of enemies to lovers slow burn. I KNOW slow burn"
Ladies and gentlemen of the court, as you know, I did NOT know slowburn and my hubris has been corrected severely. But now my trials are over, they've finally said it and done it. And I will go into book 4 a new woman.
💜🖤Bippity, Boppity. . . Boom? (Katakuri x Fem!Reader)🖤💜
💚 = Lime/Lil Spicy
💛 = Lemon
💙 = Sad
❤️ = Angsty (won't do many of these unless prompted)
💜 = Fluff
💔 = Heartbreak (rare unless prompted)
🖤 = Normal
A/n: Although a few days late, I am glad I finally got around to finishing up this Katakuri fanfic that's been in the works for MONTHS the week of his birthday!~ Hope you enjoy, my lovelies, and hopefully I can get my other two fanfics that are close to being done finished this year!~ They're both my rare non-Katakuri based stories!~
(Also, I reposted this on my profile bc I first posted it in a One Piece community, and for some reason it doesn't show on your profile when you do that?? Idk, but I know not everyone following me is in that community, so here you go!~ Now I know for next time!~)
Synopsis: A story that challenges the thought that fairy godmothers can only be old ladies with wands. What if they came packaged in leather, abs, morality struggles and beautiful eyes?
Word Count: ~16.5 k
"Nooo, don't leave it there! We were just getting to the good part! Let's play for one more -"
"NO!"
The resounding and synonymous response to my starting plea made it quite clear that I was the only one with enough energy to continue our campaign tonight. Everyone had wanted to end it earlier, but after my incessant whining agreed to continue until the end of our last battle in this area. A relenting huff blew my character sheets about as I began gathering everything together with an indignant pout.
"Jeez, you don't have to be rude about it."
Our DM, Devin, let out a tired chuckle at my pout but was obviously in agreement with everyone else, as evident by his heavy eyelids.
"Sorry, Y/n, all of us don't have your boundless energy for the night after our real jobs like you do. I'm sure you can wait till next week to see what happens, though I'm not sure how much longer your bard, Illysa, will last." One of his dark eyes winked at me, and I returned it with a rueful smile at his jabs.
"I guess I'll have to wait till next week to beat your secret 300 health boss."
It took a moment for everyone to realize what I said in their sleepy states. Devin was the first to react with tired eyes widening into ones of surprise and betrayal. Everyone else's minds slowly caught up, and by the time I was out the door with my character and papers juggled in my arms, they were all shouting at a flailing Devin with varying levels of anger and desperation.
"Y/n! You motherfu-”
His insult was cut off as I slammed the storefront door behind myself and rushed down the dark sidewalk towards my apartment a few blocks away. Infectious giggles were drawn from my lungs, leaving a trail of smoke behind me in the cold November air as I put some distance between me and my angry friend.
I slowed down when I got to the next corner to catch my breath and to try to put away my DnD stuff into my satchel. As the giddiness of being with my friends wore off, the anxiousness of being alone in the middle of a big city so late took its place.
My eyes darted around, watching every person that went by closely as I reached my hand back into my satchel to grab my mace. I was starting to regret leaving the store without someone to accompany me home, but I was too scared to turn around either. I'd rather be kidnapped than go back to the shitstorm I left behind.
Just when I was starting to try and relax again, I heard a metal clank. It sounded like the jingle of keys, so maybe someone dropped their keys? More rhythmic clanks resounded around the street akin to footsteps. ‘Okay, not keys, not keys!’ Fear clawed its way back into my throat as I twisted my mace open and got ready to use it.
‘I'd very much like to be back in that shit storm, please!’
Metallic footsteps were starting to become clearer, and without having to turn around, I could tell that it was coming from behind me. This only skyrocketed my nerves, and I picked up my pace to attempt to add some distance.
‘I'm not too far now, just two more blocks to my apartment! And Barty was there to get rid of this creep! He'd knock him straight for me for sure!’
"Hey, excuse me, ma'am."
‘Oh my god, it was a guy, and he was following me! I was hoping it was just me being paranoid and skittish, but there really was a creep following me! Why would I just stop and turn around just because you called for me? I'm not stupid!’
Continuing to ignore him, I walked faster, just short of a full run, but the guy kept pace, even letting out an exasperated sigh.
"Look, I'm not trying to kidnap you, you just-" I could feel him getting too close for my liking, so I tried to catch him off guard. With a quick 180 turn, I began spraying like crazy in front of me while screaming bloody murder.
"Liar! I know I'm fragile, weak, and totally kidnappable, but I can totally bite your dick off if you try anything!"
Assuming he was at least momentarily incapacitated, I took a few steps towards the road to cross to the other sidewalk. Before I could even try to run off, my outstretched hand and mace bottle was completely enveloped by a much larger hand, which stopped my flailing spray.
Of course, it didn't stop there, no, no, no. With his new grip on me, he yanked me back to the sidewalk. Time seemed to slow down as the adrenaline in my veins pounded loudly in my ears. I could feel myself falling, and the sickening feeling that came with it churned in my stomach beside dread.
‘This was it.
No more late night DnD sessions.
No more projects.
Duke would be fine at home, I'm sure Barty has hidden keys to my apartment.
I didn't even try to fuck around but still found out.
They'll never find my body.
Hopefully, there will be such little evidence that some Youtuber will make a cryptic video about my disappearance.
Maybe my friends will give me a nice moniker like, ‘The Disappearing Bard'.
Yeah, that's got a nice ring to it.’
Just as I was accepting my fate, a bright red and yellow convertible van came careening around the corner we were on. Not one road law was obeyed as the car full of what seemed to be college kids boasted with loud laughter, screams, and Japanese pop music. Not a second later, a black cherry red Jeep made the same maneuvers in the convertible's path with similar sounds but hard rock music blaring louder.
"STRAW HAT!!!" Someone from the second car screamed as they disappeared down the street.
Huh.
The shock of almost being run over by a bunch of, probably drunk, kids wore off rather quickly when I remembered that I was in the middle of being assaulted. My head whipped back to the man still holding onto my hand, and realized this was the first time I had actually tried to look at him.
For starters, he didn't even seem fazed by my attempt to mace him because the spray didn't even reach his face. He had to have been at least 6'5". I sprayed into his exposed washboard stomach that was still dripping with the useless aerosol, littered with a bunch of scars and body hair from what I could see in the dim light. The lack of a shirt was the least surprising part since everything he wore was made of leather in the form of a biker gang outfit consisting of a vest, pants, and knee tall combat boots. Oh, and let's not forget the skull belt buckle on the front of his pants and pink gang looking tattoo across his torso!
It was at this moment I knew. . . I fucked up.
Trailing my gaze up to his face, the first thing I noticed was his dark eyes that bore down on me with furrowed eyebrows just screaming annoyance. It was like he was looking at something disgusting on his shoe as he met my misty eyes. He didn't even seem fazed by the close encounter with those crazy drivers. Unfortunately for me, he was wearing a black medical mask that covered the rest of his face.
‘That's great, that's just wonderful, I can just tell the police that I was assaulted by a ripped biker dude with dark pink hair and piercing eyes that bore into my being and told my soul it wasn't good enough. Would that be before or after they find and stitch all my pieces back together?’
"Don't look at me like that.”
. . .
‘It's even worse! He's delusional about what's happening here, and I'm gonna be locked up in a basement for the next 20 years of my pitiful life!’
Before I could continue thrashing in his grip, his other hand raised towards me. At first, I flinched away with my eyes closed, thinking he was going to hit me, but when nothing happened, I slowly opened them to be greeted by. . . Illysa's flirtatious face?
This delusional biker guy that looked like he could snap me in two right now was just. . . returning my minifigure that I dropped?
A different feeling dripped down my spine and settled heavily in my stomach. Something far worse than the chill that was making my extremities edge closer towards frostbite the longer I stayed outside. The heat of embarrassment stung my cheeks, spreading to my ears and throat. Now that I wasn't panicking, I realized that at no point did he try to restrain or hurt me.
‘He only grabbed my hand earlier to stop me from getting his pecks wet and becoming another drunk driving statistic! He wasn't even holding my hand very tightly anymore!’
I threatened to bite his dick off.
"I am so so sorr-"
"You're fine. Just take your figurine. I already knew you were going to freak out, it's almost 2:30 in the morning and I'm a large, unknown man approaching you on a dark street. You're cautious. If I were anyone else your pepper attack and. . . colorful insults would probably have been enough to let you escape. Though, they wouldn't have been able to save you from the antics of the local college kids." He didn't seem offended or angry at me, just annoyed, but was definitely regretting trying to help me in the first place.
A squeak was all I could muster as the remorse for how I acted towards him caught in my throat. I slowly brought my clenched hand from his now gentle grip to my chest, and reached out my free hand to gingerly take my figurine from his black gloved fingers. Once it was out of his hold, he let his hand fall to his side in a balled up fist. I still couldn't believe he was shirtless out here in only a sleeveless leather vest.
"I live nearby, you can come-"
"No, thank you. You shouldn't invite strangers to your home just because you feel bad, that's how you get hurt. I think I've frightened you enough, so I'll take my leave. You shouldn't encounter any more trouble on your way home, just keep track of your things."
He turned around and walked back the way we had come. I hadn't noticed it until now, but there was a taller than average, idling Mercedes back there which was obviously his. If he really did want to kidnap me, he could've easily picked me up and shoved me in his car. That metallic clanging noise was back and looking down to his boots, I could see the glint of spurs attached to the back of them.
‘What an oddly dressed man.’
I stared after him until he got into his car and drove off down the road away from me, just clutching my mace and figurine to my chest. The only trace of him was the echoes of his backfiring car. Once he was entirely gone, I turned back towards my apartment complex shining at the end of the block.
Everything replayed in my mind as I numbingly walked towards it. When I pushed open the clear doors, the excited voice of Barty filled my ears as he came closer. The words didn't really register until he stopped talking and put a hand on my shoulder, making me jump and snap my gaze up to his worried orange eyes.
"Are you okay? You didn't even respond to me talking about Luffy's recent prank on campus! And you've just been staring at your minifig. Did something happen?"
"Oh. Sorry, it's just late and I was thinking about what to do in my next session."
Not wanting to rile Barto up about something that ended up being nothing, I stuffed the character into my bag and patted Barto's cheek which elated his demeanor that had started to edge towards anger.
"How about you tell me about everything that happened tomorrow over some coffee? The usual spot downtown?" The offer had the tall man before me squealing and nodding vigorously.
"Of course! My shift isn't until 10 tomorrow night, so we can go anytime, Y/n-sama -er I mean, Y/n!" I gave him a playful warning glare at the slip up before turning to head into the elevator with a flippant wave behind me.
"I'll text you what time to meet up when I get inside."
The last thing I saw was Barto waving back to me before he heard a loud car outside and ran out, screaming profanities at the guilty party. How he kept this job with his brash bias against 99% of people, I'll never know. It wasn't until I was back in my own home, showered and cuddling with my fluffy, brown dog, Duke, in bed did my mind wander back to the encounter I had with the mysteriously tall biker man.
Despite the run-in starting off frightening and me accepting my theoretical fate way too quickly, the guy seemed to be nice enough. He was very direct and cordial, but not mean. Very much a “no funny business” attitude. A warmth enveloped my cheeks as my mind wandered, eventually getting too imaginative over an, admittedly, buff stranger for my liking. With a quick dive into the fluff of my snoozing pup, I softly screamed to myself.
‘How crass of me to daydream of a kind stranger that I'd never see again. But how could I not? His physique alone is enough to send any woman swooning. The mask he wore only added to the mysterious air accompanying his bold yet stylish fashion choices. I definitely wouldn't mind being split in two by his probably large-’
A tinkling chime cut off my thoughts with a startled jump before snatching up my phone from the bed. Sounds akin to a delirious helium balloon man at a comedy show spilled out of me as I tried to focus on the person who texted me. Upon seeing the culprit, I stopped all noises and sat up in bed, eyes full of disbelief.
AlwaysSunday: Hello, sorry for the late message. Is this Miss Mesh from HappyCos?
<コミ☆<コミ☆<コミ☆<コミ☆<コ。
The next morning was filled with more excitement than I had anticipated. Instead of entering the coffee shop normally, I barged in and sang my way to my waiting friend. The moment I came in, Barty donned a bright smile, and my contagious elation only widened it. He was already sitting at our usual table with both of our orders as I practically pranced over.
"Y/n! What's going on, why the earlier meet time? Not that I mind! I'm always happy to spend more time with you, but you seem very happy about something."
Even as I took my seat to avoid the annoyed glances of the coffee shop's other occupants, I couldn't sit still and reached across the table to take a hold of Barty's shoulders to shake him.
"She texted me last night, it was all so sudden for me, and I can hardly believe this is happening! Why me? How am I special enough to even be thought of by her?" My ranting only procured a more confused face from my shaken friend, but I could care less because he would see soon enough who I was talking about.
Just as I was about to spill into another babble session, something behind Barty caught my eye. A familiar head of magenta hair stunned me into silence. With a tilt of my head, my view was unobscured and confirmed that it was indeed who I thought about: Mr. Hot Biker Man from last night was sitting a few tables away from us!
He seemed to be preoccupied with something on his computer, his gaze so focused on it until he turned his head to check the time on his watch. I couldn't help but stare at him, admiring the clearer view I had of him in his entirety. If I thought he was a snack last night, the daylight only fed that thought. The biker clothes from the night before were nowhere to be seen, and in its place was a more casual, yet still edgy, outfit.
A black body con shirt was tucked into black washed cuffed jeans, covered by a deep plum bomber jacket with black stitched silk lining and finished off with more tasteful, black ankle leather boots pulling it all together. From the top left of his collar, I could see the bright pink of his chest tattoo peeking out on his neck.
Unfortunately, I was too preoccupied with my new subject of interest to realize that Barty had also taken notice of who I was staring at. His face turned from confusion to disgust in a matter of moments.
"Why are you staring at that degenerate, pink haired man? He looks like he knows what the inside of a jail cell looks like." Of course, the entire store quieted just as he said that, drawing the attention of almost everyone.
Anxiety shot through me like an archer's arrow as I snapped my attention back to him. Before he said anything else, I reached up and pinched his mouth close. For good measure, I hooked a finger through his nose ring and dragged his face closer to mine with it. His muffled cries of pain did little to curry my sympathy.
"Shhhh! Shut up, you look like you're on a list, which you should be! I'll tell you later, but please keep your voice down!"
When I shushed the upset Bartolomeo, I ducked my head closer to the table in an attempt at discretion. Once I was sure that Barty would keep his trap shut, I let go of him and peeked around his shoulder to see if there was any damage done.
To my utmost horror, biker hottie was staring straight at us. He was glaring into Barto's back, but when I raised my head, his piercing eyes switched to me.
The scrutiny of them was even worse than last night, but it didn't last long as surprise washed away most of the anger when he recognized me. My face skyrocketed in temperature the longer we held our eye contact, mortified that I was now associated with Barty in this way and that he knew I was staring at him before he noticed us.
It was hard not to notice with our current predicament and the incredible lighting on his face, but his eyes seemed to be more of a deep pinkish color rather than the gaping abyss I saw last night. They were so mesmerizing.
Now I was starting to feel like a creep.
Thankfully, the sound of my phone's alarm snapped me from the awkward staring contest as I read what it was ringing for. I could've thrown up on the spot as it reminded me of my meeting, and I jumped up like someone lit a fire under my ass.
"Shit, we gots to go, Bart, or I'll be late! I can't be late for this woman!"
I tugged him from his chair as he grabbed our drinks. As I was grabbing my purse from my chair, I saw in my peripheral that Biker Hottie was closing his laptop and looked like he was going to head over here. His gaze was still zeroed on me but thankfully not as angry as before.
As much as I wanted to learn more about him after last night, I still felt too ashamed by what just happened to even try to talk to him properly. Not to mention that who I was meeting was much more important than some random man that chose not to kidnap me last night. That thought drove me to push Bartolomeo in front of me and use him as a human shield to shove our way through the crowd at the door and escape the impending encounter.
"Sorry, excuse us! Gotta blast!"
"Fuck, move outta the way asshat! Ah, Y/n-sama, c-could you maybe slow down, please? I'm gonna spill your drink! If you're worried about that guy-"
"No time for all that silly stuff! Don't worry about him or our drinks, we gotta get to the park!"
Despite my dismissal of our beverages, he did his best to preserve most of its contents as I led him through the bustling sidewalk. A glance behind us showed that our pursuer had been slowed by the crowd we slipped through in the cafe, filling me with relief.
"Who is this lady anyway? Hey, watch where you're going, bub!" Before Barto could try to tear the random office worker that bumped into us a new one, I jerked him along towards the nearby park.
"You'll see! She's the best, and I can't miss it for the world! But you have to come in case this is too good to be true and it's another kidnapper." Upon hearing I brought him along for my protection, he threw our hot and cold coffees behind him onto an unlucky suited man and took on a more serious tone.
"Of course! I shall protect you from any wench or unsurly-" My hand slapped over his mouth, quieting yet another lengthy vow to me. They got old after a while.
"Shush, shh! None of that weirdo stuff, we're here! Be cool! Or at least not so mean, please!" I gave him a quick pleading look before stepping in front of him, smoothing out my skirt, cardigan and blouse and greeting the ravenette sitting regally on a park bench with a book.
"Miss All Sunday!" "Senpai?"
Time slowed.
My psyche shattered into a million pieces.
This was it. I was finally going to kill this boy.
With a sweet smile cemented on my face, I creaked back around to stare deep into the confused eyes of Bartolomeo. Oh, the many ways I was imagining how to kill him with my bare hands alone.
Just five minutes.
That's all I asked for.
That's all I wanted.
Just to be able to say, I talked to The Miss All Sunday normally.
He couldn't even give me five seconds.
My hands were moving on their own towards his neck as my smile grew more crazed when the most beautiful laughter I'd ever heard iced over my boiling bloodlust. It was like hearing Heaven's gates open to give me a taste of what I'd never have. With my hands still halfway to a life sentence, I cracked my head back around to see the woman we were meeting covering her mouth with her hand as she laughed at us.
"Hello, Rooster-kun. I didn't know you were friends with the famous female cosplayer, Mesh. Nice to meet you." Everything blanked from my mind as I tried to process what the words she just uttered so perfectly meant.
You mean to tell me that the same man that almost dropkicked children for running into me on multiple occasions. . . was friends with THE ETHEREAL MISS ALL SUNDAY??
I have got to be in an alternate reality.
As I stood there, bewildered, confounded even, Barty went around me with a wide, blushy smile I'd only seen him have when I'm in cosplay or when he's talking about his idol, Luffy.
"Robin-sama! I didn't know you were the one Y/n-sama was meeting this morning or I would've brought a proper tribute gift! My offer to be your manservant still stands!"
I choked on the suddenly sparse air at the left field comment. Miss All Sunday, as graceful as ever, kept her closed eye smile while responding to him. I knew what was coming. It was why she was my favorite fellow cosplay influencer.
"I'd rather die." This blatant insult didn't even shake poor old Bart as he just blushed more and shyly backed away.
"Of course, how could I be so bold? My apologies, senpai!" Miss All Sunday's attention turned to me as she put in her bookmark and patted the bench beside her.
"Come, sit, Miss Mesh. Let's talk about this collaboration." It took a moment for my mind to catch up again, but once it did, I stood up straight and did as she requested. I was almost as whipped for her as Barty, but I wasn't about to propose myself as her maid anytime soon. Probably.
"Of course! N-Nice to meet you, Miss All Sunday."
"Oh, please, call me Robin. Any friend of Rooster-kun is a friend of mine. He seems to hold you in high regard from what I've heard, Miss Mesh." Her lilting laughter brought a warmth to my chest as I flailed for a proper way to respond.
"Ah, uh, then call me Y/n, please. I don't know what goes on in his brain to think so highly of me, but at least he's stopped getting nosebleeds every time I talk to him." It felt really hot now, and I was sure I was turning into a red light. Was talking about Barto's weird habits the right choice?
"I see, so you're his mysterious famous friend. Fufufu, and here I thought the elusive Y/n was another delusional relationship of his." It seems his weirdness extended to anyone he admired.
Once the intros were over, the conversation of each of our recent anime convention experiences and collabs started. I was still nervous about meeting someone I revered so highly in this way, which resulted in me tripping over my words a lot. She was nothing if not the peak of grace and maturity which is why it was so hard to believe that I was eight years older than her.
Robin expressed her joy at watching my cosplay skits of different characters, especially the cuter ones, and wanted to do a joint cosplay with me at the upcoming anime con coming to Grand Line in two months. She had a sponsor lined up for both of us who would help fund anything we needed for materials if we promoted their brand in cosplay at the event. To say I was ecstatic was an understatement. Once again, I wasn't sure what to say to her for a hot minute since I'd never had an opportunity like this. Up until this point, I had had regular video sponsors, but I mostly did everything for my own enjoyment. This was making it more real than just niche internet fame.
"I would love to-"
"YOU DICK! I'M GONNA KILL YOU!"
A loud, angry scream cut off my acceptance. It sounded like whoever yelled was getting closer to us, but before I could turn my head to see what was going on, something hit me in the temple.
Hard.
The unexpected nature of it had me knocked to the side disorientingly fast. A loud cry clawed its way out of me at the initial force, and amplified when my head bounced off the back of the bench. I reached up to hold my throbbing head while curling into myself for comfort. Despite how fast it all happened, Robin was quick to try to help. Everything was getting fuzzy as hot pain jumbled my senses. Every beat of my heart caused a loud pound in my ears, drowning out most of the noise that followed my assault.
I heard the muffled yet fiery shout of Bartolomeo and the softer but cold voice of Robin accompanying it as she moved closer to wrap her arms protectively around me. Words were being said, but I couldn't understand them. They were talking to someone who was equally as loud as Barty.
I didn't care. Everything in my head hurt, and I just wanted it to stop!
No more pain!
No more noise!
I felt something trickle down my fingers, and pulled a hand away to see it was blood. This only heightened my panic, shortening the breaths I took. The pain was making it hard for me to think, and the screaming was only worsening everything. Hot tears burned my eyes and dripped down my nose as I curled into Robin to try and reciprocate some of her calm. Every alarm bell in my body was ringing as darkness encroached on the edges of my vision.
Was it an angry fan?
Did I anger someone that bad on my way out of the cafe?
My mind ran a mile a minute trying to figure out what I did wrong and how to stop the searing pain.
"Stop.. please stop. . ." I hiccuped, just wanting everything to be quiet.
But no one heard me, and the argument continued. The only person paying any attention to me was Robin, who sounded like she was trying to ask me something while talking to someone else. With all these dizzying things happening at once, I could feel nausea rising from my gut.
Just as I was sure I was going to throw up, a deeper, more soothing voice cut through all the jabber. It instantly silenced the unfamiliar arguing voice, but the angry protests of my self-proclaimed body guard continued louder in response to the new voice. The smooth, rumbling response lasted longer, which elicited a reply from Robin. It seemed whatever Robin said quelled Barty's anger enough for him to stay silent.
The bile that was slowly creeping up my throat paused as everyone stopped talking but did nothing to calm my sobs. Although my head was still pounding with electric pain, I could feel that someone was coming closer to me but couldn't care less. Protective arms tightened around me at the approach, but the person paid no mind to my silent guard and kneeled down in front of me.
The quiet plea I had been chanting was still repeating off my tongue like a prayer even as silence fulfilled half my wish. Large, warm hands gently enveloped my arm and nudged my face towards them. Tears blurred my vision, and all I could see was a nice shade of pink that eased me out of my curled up position. The panic that had been rising stalled as I searched all over the blurry mess of colors trying to get my attention.
"Where does it hurt, miss?"
His words weren't clicking in my head as I kept hyperventilating and shaking my bloody hands in my lap. The agony and hysteria was consuming my thoughts and body, so it was all I could focus on as cries uncontrollably spewed out of me.
"What's her name?" He asked. A pause before Robin answered him. His large hands moved from my arms to my hands, hiding the blood away.
"Y/n, I need you to take some deep breaths, and focus on my voice. Feel my hands. They're warm and it's cold outside. Your friend is warm too, she's hugging you. Don't worry about the blood. You're going to be fine. When you're able to, can you tell me the color of my watch?"
The smoothness of this guy's voice was so familiar yet the name was just out of reach. He talked so precisely and low, like I was the only person here that needed to hear his words. Him taking the blood from my sight, and the grounding techniques started to calm me down. After a few minutes of deep breaths, the fuzziness of my thoughts sharpened and my vision with it. I was still bent into myself and staring at my hands now enveloped entirely by this man's. The pain was still persisting in my temples but I pushed through it to focus. He had on a black leather watch with gold accents.
"Black and gold." I whispered out gingerly.
"That's good. Now can you tell me everywhere it hurts? I need to know where you're injured." His words were processed very slowly in my hazy mind, but I was at least able to answer him eventually.
"My head, all over. Something hit my head, a-and then I hit the seat, n-now there's blood and I don't know what-!" My words blubbered into incoherent cries again as the pain of trying to figure out and explain what happened to this assumed EMT was still too much for me right now. The shame I felt for being such a mess at a simple question had me trying to quiet my sobbing but they just bubbled and slipped through my shaky lips against my best efforts.
"Miss Y/n-" The worried voice of Barty was abruptly cut off by the helpful man.
"Ma'am, we need to take you to get looked at. Do you think you can stand at all?" I let out a noise of disapproval amidst my crying, unable to speak again just yet. Now that all the arguing was gone, I could hear Robin more clearly as she barred the man.
"Although we appreciate your help, Mr. Charlotte, I've already called the police and they can sort this out when they arrive. This is an assault case."
The name address of this man threw a wrench in my EMT assumption, but I couldn't bring myself to ask right now. I wish I had, though, because in a moment, Barty erupted with anger again and rushed towards the man trying to help me sit up slowly now. His sudden movements brought the other loud voice with him, who was trying to keep my friend away. I whimpered at the explosion of pain that assaulted my senses once again, this time leaning into the man in front of me for support as I tried to burrow away from the noise. An exasperated sigh sounded from my new crutch as he held my arms steadily.
"At this point, I'd rather you just bite my dick off than deal with these two any longer." He murmured more to himself, but I, unfortunately, heard him fine. Despite the confusion muddling my brain again, his comment clicked his identity for me.
It was Hot Biker Man again.
. . .
It was Hot Biker Man again!
My face burned with more self inflicted shame, and I wished now that whatever
had hit me had knocked me out. A watery groan of both pain and chagrin escaped me as I mentally cursed my continuous bad luck. All I wanted was to meet my cosplay idol. Was that too much to ask?
Apparently, the answer was yes because the next thing I knew, I was being swooped up bridal style, much to Robin's displeasure. The sudden change in position stirred my stomach and left me more open to the berating argument I was trying to escape, but didn't protest. All I did was try to keep my tear-soaked face hidden in his solid chest. She stood up with us and put a restraining hand on Mr. Charlotte's arm.
"Where are you taking her?”
"Away from the screaming match and the attention of our new audience. You know who I am, so you will also know that I am correct in saying that things will only get much worse for you and your friends if the police from this area show up."
Robin fell silent at his words, and I was sure that even if I didn't have this disorienting injury, I would be just as confused as I was now. Another whimper sounded from me as sharp agony continued to pierce my temple. My mortification from being held like this disappeared in the face of my unrelenting injury.
"I don't care who you are anymore. Just get me away from these two idiots and to a doctor, please. . ." I mumbled weakly into his neck. A chuffed laugh lifted me on his chest as he began walking with Robin following closely alongside.
"Who am I to deny a lady's request for help? Especially when she asks so nicely this time around."
"You two seem to have met before? Maybe I misjudged the type of company you keep, Miss Mesh." There was a disappointed skepticism in Robin's voice that I didn't understand. My transport answered before I could.
"It's not like that. We just ran into each other last night on the street and again in the cafe nearby. Truthfully, I only came over here because I was looking for her." Robin let out a dry laugh.
"So you mean you were stalking her? How gentlemanly."
"Not stalking, I just recognized her. Our meetings were purely coincidental."
"You would know a lot about convenient coincidences, right?"
The conversation coldly ended there as I tried not to move too much to avoid any more suffering. Although I had no idea who this masked stranger was exactly, Robin seemed to. Unfortunately, that comforted me minimally since she seemed to treat him like a criminal. Maybe he was. The air was tense because of their barely veiled hostility, but I hadn't the energy to try and ask why when each of his heavy steps sent a painful jolt through my head.
We quickly arrived at a car, which he unlocked and carefully sat me in the backseat. Robin was quick to join me via the other side to monitor my condition as Biker Hottie started the car. Before we could drive away, rapid and harsh knocks sounded from the driver’s window that made me jump against Robin. He didn't roll it down, but we could hear the unnamed man's voice that had been arguing with Barty loud and clear.
"Nii-chan, where the hell are you going? Where have you been? Why are you giving this random bitch more attention than your own family, who you haven't talked to in two years?!" Exasperation and hurt was strung between the angry words. Silence weighed for a second from my masked savior before he spoke loud enough to be heard through the window.
"I'm cleaning up your mess, as usual. Please be more respectful towards the woman you assaulted. Deal with the police when they arrive. Don't tell anyone you saw me." His clipped tone suggested this was more of a command than a request and didn't wait for the other guy to reply before speeding out of the parking lot.
Despite our quick getaway, I heard the angry shouts after us. No one spoke as we were driven to wherever this guy decided to take us. Robin was now my only lifeline in this situation. How quickly we went from me unable to speak five words to her, to me leaning on her in the backseat of a stranger's car while bleeding from my head. She had been protecting me ever since I got hit, which I was deeply grateful for in my incapacitated condition.
Speaking of Robin, I saw out of the corner of my eyes that she had gotten her phone out and was texting someone named Franky. It was a smart idea to let someone know what had happened to us since Barty was left in the park.
The stabbing pain that plagued me at the initial assault had slowly dulled to a constant, uncomfortable throbbing as the warmth and smooth purr of the car soothed me. All my adrenaline had dissipated, leaving me drained as I leaned more into Robin's warmth. The alluring call of sleep was as tantalizing as a siren's song that I was slowly giving in to, but Robin started patting me awake.
"I'm sorry, Miss Y/n, but I can not allow you to sleep until we know there's no threat of a serious concussion. I'd hate for our first meeting to end in you becoming a vegetable, unable to do anything for the rest of your life." Despite her tapping, my grogginess persisted and made me whine childishly at her touch.
"No, I just wanna nap, no vegetables. Just ten minutes." A small sigh from her fanned across my face.
"How much longer until we get to wherever you're taking us, Mr. Charlotte? I'm not sure how long I can keep her-"
"We're here."
The smooth rumbling of the car came to a stop, much to my disappointment. Even more upsetting, my door was opened by this Charlotte guy, which blasted me with outside's cold air. A frown tugged down my lips as I slowly turned my head to glare at the man leaning in the doorway with a blood smeared hand outstretched.
"Nico Robin is right. I don't need you comatosing in my backseat. You can sleep after we get you checked out. Can you walk or do I need to carry you again?"
It was obvious my need to sleep wasn't going to be allowed anytime soon, so I huffed and sat up leisurely with a wince. The throbbing worsened, but I was too stubborn to let him carry me again. Especially not when he had that teasing tone about him.
"Walk." Was all I said but still took his hand to help me out.
Robin had already gotten out the other side and moved to hold me steady. I was glad she did because the world began spinning as I stood and took a few steps before stumbling into her ready arms. Neither of them commented on my shaky steps as Robin carefully guided me to the house we had pulled up to. When we eventually made it to the door, Mr. Charlotte knocked.
There was a shout from inside and footsteps padded to the door. They paused for a second before the door was opened. It was a pale man with a mess of blonde hair that was shaved on the sides, glasses, and a sharp jaw littered with a six o'clock shadow. His clothes consisted of an open purple shirt that showed off a big tattoo on his chest and dark blue pants.
"Marco!" Robin was the first to speak, her voice full of relief at the reveal of this man.
"Nico Robin-yoi. What a sight to see you here, and with Katakuri-yoi of all people. And what seems to be a drugged. . ."
His surprised words trailed off as I assumed he noticed the sticky blood on my head and two sets of hands, killing whatever joke he was about to make about me being high. I was soon taken from Robin's hold and into yet another set of strong arms that carried me inside. Was I really that light, or do all these guys today just work out? This Marco guy was cursing under his breath as he set me on his couch, leading me to believe that this was not a scheduled house call.
"You could've at least called ahead. I'm not a 24/7 clinic, ya know?"
"I didn't know you were the doctor he was taking us to." "There was no time and you were closer."
My two companions spoke at the same time, Robin sounded apologetic while, who I now know fully as, Katakuri couldn't care less. Marco made a sound of disgruntlement at the latter but still began assessing my condition. His unnaturally warm hands gently lifted my lolling head to make me focus on him. His face was much kinder than how he sounded a moment ago.
"Can you tell me what happened, ma'am?” It took me a moment to focus as I thought back to the incident that brought me here. My head hurt at the effort since getting out of the car had taken a toll on me, but I was able to recall the major details.
"I was at the park with Robin and Barty. We were talking. Someone yelled at us, and then I was hit in the head with something hard. My head hit the bench. I don't know what happened between that and when Biker Hottie showed up from the cafe. I was freaking out ‘cause of the pain and blood but someone. . . Biker Hottie calmed me down. I thought he was an EMT. Barty and some dude started arguing loudly again, so we left and came here. I think the guy arguing with Barty was the one who threw something at me, but I can't be sure."
A broad smile stretched across the tired face of Marco when I looked back at him as his eyes slid to the side. A staccato chuckle from him was followed by a subdued giggle from Robin. Confusion and annoyance momentarily overshadowed my pain as I glared at the man in front of me.
"Glad to know my assault story is so amusing so soon. You could've at least given it a couple of hours."
"Apologies, Miss Y/n, but we're not laughing at the entire story of your misfortune. Just your creative nicknames."
"I've heard Charlotte Katakuri-yoi called a lot of things, but "Biker Hottie" is definitely a new one, and I'm saving it."
The slip of saying what I had been calling Katakuri in my mind mortified me to the bone. I just couldn't catch a break today, huh? That all too familiar sinking cold in my stomach slithered back into place. I swear I could throw up from shame alone. My silence rendered me guilty, and I couldn't think of a way to defend myself since my mouth was as dry as the Sandora desert. I didn't dare even look towards Katakuri, who I'm sure was cringing to himself behind that mask of his.
"Okay, that alone was worth this unexpected visit. Thank you, Y/n?" My screwed up face of distress was hidden in my own hands as I leaned my head back into the couch.
"Yes, ugh. I'm Y/n L/n, the dumbass." My muffled reply came. Another chuckle sounded from Marco as he gently tugged my hands from my hot face.
"As horrible as you may feel right now, Y/n, that tells me that you don't have any memory loss-yoi. Though, you got a nasty scratch and bumps forming on both temples, and it sounds like you had a panic attack, so I'd still like to examine you." I reluctantly agreed and sat up with his help so he could continue the examination.
As my head was being cleaned and bandaged, I heard the heavy footsteps of Katakuri head out the door in a rushed way. That only made me feel worse, fearing that I had made the man uncomfortable. Despite his rough exterior, he had been nothing but kind and helpful in his own way towards me during each of our chance encounters. All I've done is bring him trouble.
Marco asked me a few questions about my state of mind since the incident, and I gave simple, preoccupied answers. At some point, he began questioning Robin on events, so I zoned out to drown in my thoughts. My gaze was glued to the door Katakuri had left out of, wondering if he decided to leave Robin and I here because of my comment. I wouldn't blame him if he did.
"Alright, Y/n, I'm done with my examination-yoi. You seem to have a mild to moderate concussion from the initial hit and subsequent recoil hit, but nothing serious. I would like you to stay awake for another hour or so just to make sure. The cuts on your head looked worse than they were and shouldn't scar. I'll get you some painkillers to take some of the edge off."
All I could do was hum in response to his diagnosis with my tired gaze still lazily fixed on the door as I sunk back into the cushion. Marco left for a few moments to grab the pain pills. While he was gone, Robin got a call and excused herself to the kitchen to take it.
The doctor came back with a box of prescription pain pills, and now that everything was settled down, I was starting to question the shadiness of this whole home doctor visit. Should a licensed doctor even have prescription medicine in his home? Despite my unease on that topic, my main focus stayed on the masked giant that still hadn't come back yet.
I couldn't lie to myself that I wouldn't be sad if he left without saying goodbye. I wanted to know more about him and try to return all the favors he'd done for me over the last forty-eight hours. Being lost in my thoughts, I failed to realize that Marco had stayed here with me. It wasn't until he spoke up in his slow, baritone voice, scaring me out of my thoughts, that I looked away from the door and focused my attention on him.
"I'm not exactly sure what all happened for you to meet Katakuri, but you must've really caught his interest-yoi.” A confused furrow of my brow had him chuckling and explaining further. “Not only did he help you when you were in trouble, with his little brother, no less, but he brought you here instead of dumping you at a hospital and a blank check."
Amusement made home in his grey eyes and smile as he stared at my fidgeting form. It felt like he was purposely being vague about Katakuri's life out of privacy, but it just sowed more unease in my gut. Robin was acting the same way earlier, but I was too out of it then to question it. Now, all I had was time to think about it all. My lackluster ability to hide the squirming feeling in my gut from my face seemed to show cause the blonde sighed and leaned forward to talk more seriously.
"Look, Y/n, I know we don't know each other very well, and it's not really my place to tell you all his business, but I'll just say that he's not as scary as he seems. Though, I think you already got past that part.” His joke fell a bit flat as questions were still running through my mind with my eyes trained on the painkillers on the table. I heard him get up from his chair but didn't spare him a glance. "Just go talk to him, kid. He's not gone yet, and it sounds like he just got off the phone." I wasn't sure how he heard that, but waited for no reply and left into the kitchen with Robin before I could ask.
"I'm not a kid. I'm a nice forty."
Mumbling that to myself definitely didn't help my case, but it didn't matter either way. I grabbed the box of pain pills and took one with a drink of the water left with it. A sigh left me as I leaned back into the couch to think again. Marco's words echoed in my mind as I tried to hype myself up to take his advice. I couldn't go to sleep for a little while, and if I didn't do something I was going to worry myself into the coma I had already avoided.
At the very least, I need to apologize and thank him, I reasoned with myself. It was a good reason, and ultimately, the one that spurred me to finally get up once the pain relief started kicking in. The embarrassment and nervousness that had temporarily escaped me earlier had come back full force as I remembered all the stupid things I'd done to this man.
My feet detoured me to a bathroom in the hallway to wash the dried blood off my hands before dragging me back to the front door where I hesitated. I didn't hear any talking from the other side of the door. Marco could be wrong, though, and Katakuri could be long gone. I'd look like an idiot going out here to look for him!
You already look like an idiot!
My excuses weren't even good enough for myself, so, with heavy reluctance, I opened the door. The first thing that hit me alongside the cold was a sweet smell. Looking around, I saw an empty box of donuts abandoned on a table. It was a regular dozen sized box, and not one was left. Not that it surprised me much, since Katakuri was a sizable man and it was only natural for his appetite to match.
The source of most of my thoughts lately was leaning on the porch railing, staring silently out into the woods. He didn't turn to acknowledge me, but he took a deep breath, which I took to mean he at least knew I was here. I took this silence to gather my thoughts since everything seemed to blank once I was in his presence again. Butterflies fluttered from my gut to my head, scrambling my thoughts. So much for not being a kid.
"Hey, uh, Katakuri, was it?" He let out a hum of affirmation but didn't move.
"Right. So I just wanted to start by saying I'm sorry for all the trouble I've caused you. Not only today, but last night as well. Truth be told, if you had taken me to the hospital, it would've only been a matter of time before my fans found out, and that would've been a whole thing-"
I cut myself off because I could tell I was rambling. His silence did nothing to ease my nerves, and I felt like I was drowning in this one-sided conversation. I wanted nothing more than to run back inside and slip into that slim chanced coma, but steeled my nerves to, at the very least, say what I came out here to say. My parents raised me better than that. I took a few steps closer to the still silent man and leaned back against the railing next to him. Maybe if I wasn't facing him, I could do this better.
"Also, I wanted to say thank you for everything you've done. Returning my figurine, saving me from being run over by a bunch of drunk college kids, not reporting me to the police for assaulting you, helping me with the assault from your brother, calming me down and last, but not least, taking me to a private doctor for my injuries." I took a breath from the long-winded list, letting out a stressed chuckle. "Jeez, when I list it all out, I probably should be in jail."
My smile dropped into a frown as I fiddled with the promise ring my parents gave me when I was a teenager. A promise that they'd always protect me, even when they weren't around. The thought tightened my throat as I tried not to cry.
"And I know I barely know you, and I just learned your name over the last two hours, but. . . I still think that you deserve the proper recognition for all that and everything else I may be forgetting right now."
Towards the end of my second tangent, my emotions got the better of me as a few tears slid down my face. I felt silly for crying like this, but it had been a long, stressful couple of hours. Saying all of it out loud just made it all really hit home.
Just as I was going to wipe my tears away, a magenta cloth was offered to me. More specifically, a handkerchief with black initials "C.K." embroidered on the corner. My tears iced in the cool air as I raised my head to see Katakuri half turned towards me with his hand still outstretched.
With the mask in the way, all I could see were those tantalizingly deep pink eyes that looked at me with such kindness and gratitude. Although I was caught in the spell of his eyes, I didn't want to keep him waiting. Gratefully, I took the handkerchief and wiped my face. An apology was already forming on my tongue when Katakuri finally spoke.
"Don't feel bad for your emotions or reactions. They're natural. As for all things that have transpired between us. . . don't worry about it too much. I'm just sorry you had to be on the receiving end of one of my brother's temper tantrums.” A watery laugh left me at his disgruntled tone. I was glad he wasn't ignoring me. Maybe he just didn't know what to say, either.
"Oh, I'm sure Barty's tantrum was just as bad, or possibly even worse. I can almost guarantee that Barty did something to him, and I just got caught in the crossfire. Their screaming made me wish I had been knocked out." We both laughed at that before settling into a less suffocating silence. Now that the ice was broken, talking to Katakuri didn't seem as daunting. Occasional cars driving in the distance mixed with the loud mating calls of different birds hiding in the surrounding trees filled the air.
My surmounting curiosities involving this man only piled up in my mind the longer I stood by his mysterious side. Who was Charlotte Katakuri? A seemingly perfect idea to find out popped in my mind as I faced him again, clearing my throat a bit.
"Well, now that all that's out of the way, I would like to know more about you. I'm sure you have some questions of your own about me too, seeing as you followed me into the park, so I propose a game of twenty questions. We each get one skip, and I can't make you tell the truth, but I'd appreciate it if you did. I will, no matter how badly I don't want to answer."
As childish as I felt asking him this, the casual form of twenty questions was the only way I could learn more about him without feeling too nosy. I stared up at him through my eyelashes with a hopeful look. The pros and cons seemed to be rattling around in his head as he looked around the porch. Finally, with a lasting hum, he looked back at me and nodded his head.
"Okay, I accept. You're right about me having questions."
A smile broke out on my face at his acceptance but reeled in a giggle to save some face. Just to seal the deal, I held up my hand with my pinky raised to him.
"Pinky promise to tell the truth?"
My companion seemed taken aback at my question, looking from my hand to my face to see if I was joking. Although I was still smiling, I was serious about the promise. It took a few more seconds of us staring at each other before a muffled laugh sounded from behind his mask, and he gently locked his larger pinky with mine. I shook our hands once before letting go and putting my hand in my cardigan.
"You can go first. I gotta narrow down my questions." I mused, a bit nervous about what questions he had for me.
I honestly didn't think he had actually given me any second thoughts other than me being the girl that tried to assault him last night. The attempted approach in the cafe initially seemed like one of confrontation, but maybe I was just too panicked at the time. The anxious beating of my heart spurred me to begin lazily pacing the large porch as I awaited his questions. He turned around to face me, leaning against a support beam.
"Okay. Where were you coming from so late last night?"
That definitely was not where I thought he was going to start.
"Oh, uh, I was coming from a DnD session with my friends. Our DM owns a retro gaming store around there where we have them. Our session just ran later than usual because of me, actually." Clear confusion tugged down his brow as I spoke, leaving me to laugh a little self consciously before explaining further.
"Sorry, it's hard to remember I'm a nerd when I'm always surrounded by bigger nerds. DnD stands for Dungeons and Dragons. It's a roleplaying fantasy game. A DM is a dungeon master, and they control the story of the game. That figurine you picked up for me was my character, Illysa. Like a table top “choose your own adventure” type game, but with way more shenanigans." My explanation seemed to clear some things up enough for the wrinkle on his forehead to loosen.
"I see. Your turn." Many questions were eager to be answered in my mind that had been building up ever since we met, but there was the obvious first one.
"Why did you have spurs on your boots last night?" A quirk of his eyebrow but no other comment before he answered.
"I think they're cool, and they make a nice sound."
That answer alone told me this was a good idea.
We continued like this for a while, both of us learning a bit more about the other. Most of my questions were pertaining to his point of view of what happened last night, how he knew Robin too, and a few prying follow up questions that yielded short and guarded answers that I chose to drop after the third one. As much as I wanted to know about what Marco and Robin were alluding to about him, I wanted to keep the lighthearted banter we had created.
He asked about Bartolomeo, how I knew Robin, general questions about my life, and once he pried out of me that I was a cosplayer for a living, he dug more into that. Although I did answer his questions truthfully, I was hard pressed to easily let him figure out my unorthodox job, and let him go through four of his questions before I relented the whole truth he was after.
"I asked what your job was. You could've told me that when I asked the first time.”
“I said my job was to make people happy, which isn't wrong! I have to make people happy with my cosplays to get money!"
"You know that's not what I meant."
"Technicalities, sir!"
My childish response made him roll his eyes for the thousandth time since we started playing, and all I could do was laugh each time. By now, I had stopped pacing the porch and sat in a rocking chair. There were a lot of chairs of varying sizes set everywhere. The empty donut box caught my attention, and I lit up at the realization I never asked about it.
"Now that you've gotten the answer you so desired, my turn! Did you really eat that whole box of donuts?" I saw his body stiffen at the inquiry, and his gaze darted from me to the offending culprit. I got the feeling that I had asked another personal question somehow and began backtracking.
"I mean, it's not a bad thing -"
"Yes, I did. I was hungry because I missed my lunch earlier. Donuts. . . are my favorite food."
I was definitely surprised that he answered me when he looked uncomfortable. His eyes didn't meet mine after he replied, still staring at the box. He divulged more than I had asked for, which was contradictory to how he seemed to feel about answering.
"Donuts are delicious. If I had as big of a stomach as yours, I'd probably eat a whole box of them too."
No laugh came this time, but I saw his mask shift, indicating a smile maybe. We both had two more questions each left. I let the silence hang so he could take his time to continue. Katakuri always seemed to be lost in thought after I asked a difficult question. I just hope I wasn't bringing up bad thoughts. A few moments passed before he cleared his throat and focused back on me.
"Do you really think I'm hot? I mean, unless I'm misremembering or confused about who you were referring to, I'm sure you called me "Biker Hottie" earlier when you were recounting what happened in the park. Is that what you've been referring to me as before you learned my name?"
Coming off of such a solemn silence, I wasn't expecting him to sucker punch me with that flustering question. My entire face flushed with heat as I whined and bent over to hide my face in my skirt. I had prayed to everything holy that he had forgotten about that. Turns out he was just saving it to hit me when I least expected it. Half of his face was hidden, and I wasn't looking at him, but I could practically feel the amusement radiating off of him at my response.
"Please don't make me answer."
"You already used your skip when I asked what your YouTube channel was so I could see your work."
"Fuck me." I whispered to myself. Obviously, I didn't whisper it soft enough because he started chuckling.
"Technicalities, ma'am." He parroted back to me. If I weren't so embarrassed and he weren't so big, I'd strangle him.
"Okay, jeez, fine! But you asked two questions and I'm only answering the first one. Yes, I do think you're hot. Is that so surprising when the first encounter I had with you is when you were dressed up in leather biker clothes with your abs out? Any woman in their right mind would swoon."
His main response was just deep chuckling as I flailed during my answer, my face only getting hotter with the deeper hole I dug myself into. His laughter was so nice, even if it was at my expense.
"You were swooning too?"
"Is that your last question?" He thought about it for a moment and relented with a sigh.
"No, I have one more important question to ask you, but I'll figure that one out later."
"Like hell you will."
His eyes crinkled again in another assumed smile. I wish he'd take the mask off, but maybe he was worried about getting sick. Though, he wouldn't have touched my blood earlier if he was that worried about germs. Maybe it's just a fashion statement. Despite my own internal questions, I already had my next question set and wasn't going to waste it on questioning his fashion choices.
My gaze drifted back down to my hands as they fiddled with my skirt. The jitters I felt when I first came out here sprouted back into my mind, leaving me unable to face the man I was growing very fond of as he stared at me expectantly.
"I guess for my next question, so I wanted to know. . . what you thought was so special about me?" Once again, Katakuri seemed a bit taken aback by my words but stayed silent. To get a proper answer, I decided to add context.
"It's just that Marco said something about you doing all the stuff you've done for me? How you weren't the type of person to go that far out of your way to take care of someone you didn't know unless they interested you. And. . . I just wanted to know what you thought was so special about me, if he's right in his observation."
The silence hung thick as I refused to look up from my twiddling fingers tugging at my skin and clothes. Ever since Marco had said something about it, the question had been stuck in my mind.
Why was I so special?
Katakuri definitely seemed like a busy and attractive man that had better things to worry about, so what about me made him want to return a little figure I dropped? Help me through a panic attack? Drive me to a doctor's house to be looked at? It never seemed so out of place until he brought it to my attention, and now the curiosity was gnawing at my nerves.
"I was sitting in my car when you ran out of that shop like someone was chasing you. I got out after you passed to see what was happening. No one followed you out, but I heard you drop something. Your figurine." He began, shifting in place as he thought about his words but kept his eyes on me. "It wasn't a good night for me, and I was gonna leave it, but. . . then I heard you laughing about something. Had a real big smile on your face. You seemed to be having a better night than I was, and I wanted to help keep it that way. Obviously, I didn't mean to frighten you like I did. That was actually why I tried to approach you in the coffee shop to make sure you didn't harbor any ill feelings towards our interaction. And to maybe give your green haired friend a lesson on manners, but I'm past that now."
He grumbled the last part to himself, but I still caught it. Though, despite his selflessness touching my heart, that didn't really answer my question.
"I mean, that's very sweet of you to want to help me like that, I'm still very grateful, but. . ." His eyes narrowed.
"But what?"
"That tells me why you approached me, yeah, but that doesn't explain all the other stuff."
"Pretty sure it does."
"No! Literally, nobody else stepped in to help when your brother assaulted me and started making a scene, but you did." The arched eyebrows on his face contorted into a look of confusion.
"You answered your own dilemma: it was my younger brother causing you trouble. Of course, I stepped in because I knew he was a hothead idiot, and you looked badly hurt. No one else stepped in because no one wanted to be in the middle of that mess.”
I was getting flustered, and I wasn't sure why. Was I fishing for the answer I hoped he'd give? That he approached me because he thought I was pretty or interesting? I searched his confused eyes, mouth agape with words I knew weren't coming anymore. A small whine left me as chagrin burned my cheeks. How pretentious of me to think that this was anything more than chance meetings. Maybe this whole cosplay gig has gone to my head a bit too much.
Katakuri was still watching me as I deflated in my chair as if my form would speak where I could not. Perhaps he heard something I said without words because he made an 'ah' sound and leaned back against the rail.
"Okay, I understand your question now. You want to know why I chose to do those things for a stranger. Why you, in particular?" I raised my head a little to peek up at him before giving a meek nod.
"Well, I suppose my answer to that is less personal than you might think. To be a bit frank, I've caused a lot of people pain in my lifetime. Consequently, for a while now I've been trying to help more people than I've hurt one good deed at a time. It seems that you needed a lot of good deeds when I came around." He nodded in finality at his measured words, seemingly satisfied with his explanation.
Although this did answer my question, it still left undeserved disappointment in my chest. This wasn't a fairytale where he fell in love at first sight with me. He just felt I was a person in need of help. How selfish of me to try and twist such a gesture.
"I see. So I guess I was just a good karma farm for you." He thought for a moment before replying.
"Assuming you mean that our meetings were nothing but a lucky occurence purely benefitting me and my goals, I wouldn't say that. I don't believe in coincidences."
The way he said the last part made my heart stutter. Maybe I was still trying to rationalize my own fantasy, but the way he looked at me so intensely kept that rosy hope from dying out completely. I was definitely grateful I'd met him, for more than all the things he's done. We held eye contact for an eternity, each of us waiting for the other to continue. It was his turn for his last question, so I broke the staring contest and let out a shaky breath. I had to keep my heart under control.
"You gave that information up willingly, so I still have a question left." There was a pause before that soothing rumble of laughter floated through the cold air. It made my body warmer than it should be after sitting outside for so long.
"Fair enough.”
His last question was about to be asked when his phone made a notification noise. He looked at it, and that crease came back to his eyebrows with a vengeance as he analyzed whatever was on his screen. Those deep pink eyes of his seemed to darken with anger the longer he stared at the offending technology.
I tried not to stare since this didn't involve me, but I didn't like that something seemed to make him so upset in such a short amount of time. He looked better when he wasn't so serious. Perhaps it was his brother. Katakuri didn't seem to want to talk to him before. Despite my best judgement telling me to mind my business, my nose seemed to have a mind of its own.
"Is everything all right?"
My soft voice cut through the building silence that had tensioned the air just like when I first came out here. I seemed to break him out of whatever angering thoughts he was entranced in because his gaze snapped to me with that contained fury. I jumped at the intensity suddenly directed towards me, and seeing my reaction he shut his eyes to calm himself.
"I have to go." He said quietly before moving away from the railing to grab his empty donut box. It was all so sudden, and he moved so fast to go inside to, presumably, throw the box away. For such a large guy, he moved with such purpose and speed. I stood up and was about to follow him inside when he came right back out, followed by a disgruntled Marco and stony Robin. The former slid in front of the taller man who stopped with a burning stare. Marco seemed unfazed by it as his chill smile crept back up, tinged with wavering annoyance.
"Jeez, you burst in with a partially concussed internet star, stay for a little snack, then disappear. Can't you find some other hobby, Charlotte-yoi?"
"I'll repay you for the sudden visit." Marco just chuckled and shook his head.
"Not what I was getting at, but I'll never refuse money. Not like you're using it."
Katakuri moved to step around the blonde when Robin caught his arm. He could've easily shrugged her off, but stopped again to face her dissatisfied frown.
"Yes, Nico Robin?" His voice was dripping with exasperation.
"Although I don't quite understand why you helped us today, given your history with Luffy and my friends. . . I still want to thank you for diffusing the situation and providing aid to my new colleague." All she got in acknowledgement was a nod but she still accepted it and let go.
He started down the porch but I was still scrambling to figure out what to say. He couldn't leave just like that! What if there were no more coincidences? I still wanted to repay him for all the things he's done for me!
"W-We're not done! We each still have one more question left!" I called out after him, following his quick steps towards his car. A small thrum in my temples urged me to slow down, but I couldn't let him slip away. Curse my swelling heart.
"I'm sorry, but I need to attend to-" I ran in front of him and slipped myself between his oncoming hand and the driver's handle.
"But you promised!" Once again, despite my age, I was acting like a child, but he wasn't my fairy godmother. This man couldn't just waltz into my life, pop up in my times of need for two days, and then disappear!
He looked like he was about to argue, but I held up my pinky finger in his face. We stared challengingly at each other, and the longer we stood there with my pinky pointed towards him like a loaded gun, the more irritation drained from his face. A relenting sigh signified my victory as he leaned back from towering over me to cross his arms.
"Ask your last question."
"It's your turn." I was fixed with a blank stare before he devolved into humorless chuckles.
"Of course it is. Okay, fine." Taking a step away from me, he looked around the yard, pondering something. Despite the nerves tickling my gut, I definitely felt accomplished with getting him to finish our game. I already had my final question locked and loaded, but I was curious to see what he came up with. Based on how long he stayed silent, it seemed he was actually pondering his last question instead of asking something to get me out of the way.
"You know, I don't know if I have any right to ask this of you, but since you insist on us completing our agreement now, I'm going to gamble a little." After migrating away from me a few steps to think, Katakuri came back to cage me against the side of the car with his broad body, and reclaim my gaze. He hesitated again, seemingly searching my face for something as he held his breath.
"Y/n, will you go out with me?"
The question was breathless as he let it all tumble out in a taut voice. I only heard him because he was so close and was anticipating his every word. Our close proximity had stolen my full attention and breath. To say that was not at all what I was expecting was an understatement. My face flourished in a blush as I stalled on what to answer with.
So he did have an interest in me like I did him.
Those piercing dark pink eyes glittered with red as they consumed my focus while I tried to come up with an answer. I wanted to say yes, but there were nagging reservations holding me back.
"I need to ask my question before I answer."
"Go ahead."
"Are you a dangerous person?" That furrow dug itself back into his brow at the question. It seemed we were throwing each off with our final questions.
"I don't. . ." His sharp gaze unfocused as it shifted from my eyes to stare at the bandages taped to my temples. There was a war going on behind his eyes, but this time I didn't feel bad for asking the forward question. I needed to know if he was as dangerous as he felt at times.
"I used to be. . . but I haven't been in a while. Like I said before, I'm trying to change." The clarity returned to his eyes and he held my gaze once more.
"I wouldn't ask you out if I didn't think you'd be safe involving yourself with me.”
"You sound like a mafia boss."
"Is that a good thing?"
"Only if you're a retired one with no lingering enemies. I don't have time to be kidnapped for ransom."
"I've saved you twice before, so the third time's the charm."
"But you've already charmed me."
Our banter was cut short as he dropped his head to laugh to himself. With our closeness, I could see some redness start to tint his cheeks, which widened the small smile that had wormed its way back onto my face. He really was an attractive man, and the shyness that momentarily took hold of him just now only amplified the observation.
"Yes, I will go out with you, Mr. Charlotte. And with that, our very sacred pinky promise is completed." I slid to the side to allow him access to his driver door as he recovered from his laughing fit. When he looked back at me, there was a kind sparkle about him that washed away my worries.
"Why thank you, Miss L/n."
"Oh, you make me feel old, please call me Y/n.”
"Then it's only fair if you call me Katakuri."
The look he gave me made me feel like I was a teenager again getting the attention of the boy I liked in school, though he was no mere boy. Katakuri unlocked his car and reached into the center console to retrieve a piece of metal the size of a business card. It was a sleek, obsidian black card with the only blemish being his initials in gold script. The sleek accessory was held out to me.
"Here, it has all my contact information you would need. Just tap it to your phone, and the NFC should be read automatically. Please hold onto it. I don't give my information out to anyone." My eyes were blown wide as I stared down at the elegant business card, only taking it after he bounced his hand to encourage me along. It was cool to the touch and heavy in my hand as I pressed it to my chest. This only confirmed that he was super rich, if that wasn't clear enough by now. When I looked back at Katakuri, he was getting into his car and starting it up. The window rolled down before he drove off, and we made eye contact in his side mirror.
"Text me whenever you're ready. I'll make time for you." If my face got any warmer, it'd be steaming in the cold air, but I couldn't let him have the last word.
"Don't go around scaring any more women at night, Biker Hottie." The quip elicited another laugh from the tan man as he gunned his gas and sped off down the long driveway. Maybe this was my version of a fairytale. The thought made me giggle as I made my way back to Robin, who had stayed on the porch the whole time. Concern seemed to have replaced the anger she held towards Katakuri earlier as she followed me inside, though she voiced no thoughts to me on what just happened.
"I have some friends on their way to pick us up. They'll be retrieving Rooster-kun from the park as well."
"Thank you, Robin. I hope we can continue our collaboration despite its rocky start." She smiled sweetly and nodded.
"I'd love to."
<コミ☆<コラミ☆<コシミ☆<コミ☆<コミ☆<コミ☆<コミ☆<コシミ☆<コシミ☆
We waited in Marco's house for another hour, talking further of our cosplay plans that were cut short earlier. Our conversation paused when a loud commotion was heard outside. Laughter, shouting, and the distinct sound of something being hit by a car worried me. Robin and Marco seemed to know the source of it all with the latter looking to age ten years at the sound of his property being destroyed.
"Robin! We're here to save you!”
A scream came as a lot of people let themselves into the house. There were a lot more than I was expecting, and all of them were talking all at once to fret over the smiling ravenette sitting across from me. Although sweet, the loudness did no favors for my healing head. The loudest one was an energetic kid with a straw hat who seemed to be looking for someone to fight. I also couldn't help but notice the bulky blue haired man that was hugging Robin close and crying into her shoulder as she patted his broad back.
The first person to acknowledge me was Barty as he let out a cry and ran over to grovel at my feet while crying into my skirt about his failure as my bodyguard. I tried my best to comfort him, but didn't get very far when a blonde from the new group came prancing over to kneel beside me on the floor.
"Mademoiselle!~ If my eyes don't deceive me, you are Miss Mesh, a popular cosplayer just like our Robin-chan!~ Your beauty is even more radiant in person!~ I'm Sanji, and it's a delight to meet you!~" He took my hand and kissed it as his lovestruck eyes stayed on me. The sudden flirty attention had me giggling in amusement, but Barty obviously wasn't fond of the affection and tried to push Sanji away. That turned into a scuffle as they fought each other on the ground. Eventually, after greeting and reassurances were had, we all piled into a vaguely familiar, custom-built yellow and red passenger van to head back into town.
Robin began recounting the events that occurred from when I was assaulted to when I was bandaged up at Marco's house. Since I already knew all the details, I zoned out and used the card that Katakuri gave me. It worked exactly as he said it would, automatically adding his contact information to my phone. I stewed on whether to text him now or wait at least a few hours, not wanting to seem too eager or distant.
"Woah! So he brought you two to Pineapple-head's house after your dress up friend got hurt? What a nice guy! I knew he wasn't all bad, haha! I'll have to thank him properly next time I see him!" A bright smile decorated the face of the straw hat kid as he talked to Robin from the passenger seat.
"Oh, shut up, Luffy! You ran in there wanting to fight that monster!" Yelled a curly haired boy in overalls.
"That was before I knew he saved Robin. I thought he kidnapped her!"
"We told you that wasn't the case over and over!" Reprimanded many of his friends, but the boy just laughed.
I had been staring at the blinking cursor on the open text conversation for the person in question this whole time, really trying to decide. My blank behavior seemed to have caught the attention of the orange haired girl sitting to my right because she leaned over to look at my screen before gasping.
"Oh my gosh, you're texting that Charlotte guy? Do you like him or something? He's kind of bad news, if you ask me." Her comment caught Robin's attention sitting in the row behind us.
"You're not seriously thinking of going out with him, right Miss Y/n? I know he helped you out a few times over the past few days, but he has a family that I don't think you want to get mixed up with." Being put on the spot, all I could do was shy into myself as they seemed to condemn the guy I had fallen for. Did he lie to me about not being a shady character? Maybe he really was a mafia boss or a part of the yakuza. He did have that pink tattoo and was wearing leather clothes last night. Was leather exclusively for shady people?
“I mean, I was going to give him a chance. He said he was trying to be a better person and that he wouldn't have asked me if he thought I'd be in danger." The longer we talked, the more everyone paid attention to our conversation and began adding their two-cents.
"Y-You're trying to date that criminal?" Stuttered overalls boy.
"Oh my, how scandalous! It's like a drama, yohoho!" Laughed a lanky, afro clad man.
"Aow! Talk about a SUPER quick recovery!" Shouted the bulky man sitting beside Robin with his arm around her.
"That bastard, I'm gonna kick his ass!" Bellowed Sanji and Barty together. They looked at each other and seemed to begin scheming an attack plan.
Everyone seemed to have a different opinion on my newfound love interest, and some of them heightened my returned concern I had before Katakuri assured me. Was he really a criminal like they're saying? Was I too swept up in his deep voice, good looks and mystery to realize he was lying to me? A flurry of worry and unease swept through me as I tried to make sense of it all.
"Katakuri wouldn't lie to her." Came the surprisingly serious voice of Luffy. Everyone quieted at his declaration, surprised at his change in demeanor. Even I was inclined to listen to what he had to say. Orange-haired girl scoffed and leaned forward to hit the boy's shoulder.
"You don't know what you're talking about, Luffy! Katakuri's a dangerous guy with an even more dangerous family! She's too normal for-" The lean boy turned around in his seat to face her with a steadfast look about him that silenced the girl mid-sentence.
"I know him! He fought really hard to protect what was precious to him, and he kept his word during our fight! He has honor! So if he says she'll be safe, then she will be!" He turned to face me directly.
"And if he doesn't, you come tell me, lady, and I'll kick his ass again!" I felt compelled to nod at his resolution despite the fact that he admitted to fighting Katakuri at some point, won and was willing to do it again. Something about his determined eyes told me he would beat up the mountain of a man I was trying to date.
No one else contested his words as he huffed and turned back around in his seat at the insistence of the generous bearded man driving the van. The green haired boy to my left chuckled to himself and opened his non-scarred eye to spare me a glance.
"Well, it looks like you got a backup if things go wrong for you, woman. Our captain doesn't go back on his word." A few groans and chuckles floated around the van as everyone moved past the topic to something else. I didn't care, though. I finally had my answer to my dilemma. Soon, we arrived at my apartment, where Barty and I got out. We were waving everyone goodbye, but before they drove off, Luffy stuck his head out the window.
"Katakuri's favorite food is donuts!"
A pause.
"Oops, that was a secret!"
"What the hell kind of a secret is that?!” I laughed at them as they drove off. It wasn't much of a secret since he already told me, but the sentiment was sweet. Barty started rambling as we went into the lobby but was held back by the property manager to be yelled at for not calling out of work properly. I slipped away into my apartment and sighed as I flopped onto my bed next to Duke.
Today was a long day.
Despite the tiredness seeping into my body, I cleaned myself up before lying down for the night. Once comfortable under my sheets, my attention was drawn back to the blank message thread for Katakuri. This time, though, I knew what I wanted to say.
Me: Hey, biker cutie, this is your number one good karma farm ;P How about for our first intentional meet-up, we head to this really cool arcade that I know? I need to see how good you are at retro games before this relationship can start in earnest.
Assuming he'd be busy, I turned off my phone to watch TV but was stopped when it chimed a minute later.
Biker Boi: Is it open now?
Me: Yeah, it's a late night one, but we don't have to go tonight. I'm sure you're sick of my troublesome face. >_<
Biker Boi: I don't like the wrong assumptions you seem to like making. Is this going to be a habit of yours? If you're not tired, I'm free now.
I was tired, but the thought of seeing Katakuri so soon under better circumstances exhilarated the energy back into me.
Me: Not anymore. I'll send you my address, text me when you get here.
I sent that message, but before I could send the subsequent address
text, he responded.
Biker Boi: Don't ask how, but I'm already here out front.
Me: Hooooowwww do you know where I live??
Biker Boi: You don't know how to follow directions, huh?
Me: You're actually joking rn.
Biker Boi: Vroom vroom, bang bang.
I was super confused by his reply until I heard a car revving outside, followed by some familiar backfiring. My widened eyes met with Duke's dopey ones before I scrambled to my curtains and threw them open. Lo and behold, sitting halfway in his sleek, black car with the driver door open, was the magenta haired man I was texting.
His gaze was down, looking at his phone before it lifted to scan the apartment complex windows. Once he got to the one I was staring at him from, I could faintly see his mask shift in the street lamp's glow. I think he was smiling at me. He gave a little wave before looking back down at his phone. My phone dinged, and I looked at it with a disbelieving grin.
Fav Stalker: If you come down, I'll explain. Swear I'm not a creep. At least not any more than your green haired friend who's coming to try to beat my ass right now.
I looked back out to see Barty stomping towards Katakuri, who didn't move from his car. Despite his nonchalance, I decided to get dressed and head down. If only to save Barty.
The extra nip in the night air made me glad for the outfit I chose. Dark wash, ripped black jeans, a white, long sleeve turtle neck, a cropped winter leather jacket with fuzz on the hood I dug out of the recesses of my closet and what felt like mandatory ankle high leather combat boots. No one had to know this was a cosplay for a character, but it fit surprisingly well to Katakuri’s apparent liking for leather. The scene I walked out to coming from the lobby was comical.
Katakuri was still sitting halfway in his car, leaning through his downed window to stare lazily up at an explosive Bartolomeo telling him to get lost. I rolled my eyes and pulled the rambunctious man away from my date by the shoulder once I got close enough. He turned to begin yelling at me too when he realized who I was and did a complete 180. Talk about bipolar.
"Y/n-sama!~ I'm sorry if I was being too loud, you didn't have to come down here for this riff raff!~ I won't let him bother you anymore, he's just a creep, a bozo! Let me redeem myself for earlier today by beating this bastard up!" He was about to make his way back to Katakuri when I stepped in front of him with crossed arms and an angry stare that my self proclaimed bodyguard wilted under.
"Leave him alone, Barty. I asked him to come. He's my. . . date tonight. And no, he's not forcing me to go! I want to." The sharp toothed man before me deflated like a kicked puppy at my insistence that Katakuri's presence was not only allowed, but welcomed. I could see he wanted to argue against it, but kept quiet as he turned around with a dejected slump.
"I see Y/n-sama. W-Well, if you ever still need any use for this. . . washed up, useless protector of yours, all you have to do is. . . call!" The last word was said with obvious tears as he ran back inside like a teenager from an anime drama. An exasperated groan escaped me at his antics but the man behind me couldn't help but find this all hilarious as he began laughing not so quietly to himself.
"Am I going to have to go through your yapping chihuahua every time I want to see you?" I finally turned to face Katakuri with an annoyed visage.
"Ugh, I hope not. I'll talk to him about this more later. Let's just go before he gets a second wind."
"As you wish." His words brought back those fluttering feelings in my chest as I moved to get in the passenger side. Before I could open it, though, Katakuri appeared beside me to gently catch my hand and shake his finger like I had done something wrong.
"I can't let a lady open a door for herself. I skim the state laws from time to time, so I'm sure there's a clause about it somewhere in there.” The entirety of my hand was enveloped in his larger one as he tugged me away from the car door so he could open it fully. With a gentle nudge, he led my hand back towards the seat. The whole interaction had grown an enamored smile on my face as I took the gentlemanly offer and sat in the car.
Giggles couldn't stay contained in my chest at the old fashion feel of it all. Not because I thought it was outdated, but because of all the tingling feelings of infatuation bubbling in my chest. My door was shut as softly as possible before Katakuri slipped into the driver's side beside me. The entire car smelled like a bakery, just like him.
"Ready to go, Y/n? I think I'm prepared to beat you at Street Fighter."
"Oh ho, that's some big talk, I hope you have the combos to back it up, mister. I've been playing since I was born."
"Which one of us is older?" As I gave him the address and he was inputting it to his gps, his phone rang through the car for a call. It was someone named Perospero that Katakuri froze at. The reaction worried me and I looked from the ringing car screen to his glued gaze. I didn't want to see that anger storm back into his mood just as we were starting our date, but it was only natural that he had more pressing obligations.
"Do you have to take that? I can wait if it's important." He blinked and began to slowly shake his head before declining the call and putting his ringer on ‘do not disturb’.
"No, it's not that important. What, trying to get rid of me already?" The hesitant answer followed by his joke threw me off, but I went with it and smiled while throwing a wink at him.
"I think I've learned my lesson that I can't shake you, no matter how many times I almost die, but if you need to take a call-"
"Hey, I said I'd make time for you, didn't I? This is your time. I didn't invite you out just for you to wait on me to take calls.” Once again, those damn eyes caught the words in my throat. The sincerity they swam with killed any further argument I could have made up. Not that I wanted to argue with him.
"Okay. Let's spend our time wisely, Mr. Stalker. . . seriously how did you get my address, weirdo?” A smile broke out on my face as I punched his muscled arm, and with that, we drove off down the quiet street, his rolling, deep laughter the wonderful soundtrack to the start of our night. I wanted nothing more than to hear it all night.
"Would you be mad if I said I followed you last night to make sure you got home safely?”
I didn't have time to draw something for my favorite man's birthday with Thanksgiving and a lot of other things happening this week, so have this appreciation post of all the Katakuri art I've made from my very first to my most recent!~
Happy Birthday, Charlotte Katakuri, one of my favorite one piece men!~ 🍩
Ft. Jinbe, Kiyotaka and Rengoku on the two doodle pages, which are some of my other favorite characters!~ They're just here to celebrate Katakuri's birthday!~
Maybe I can get my Katakuri fic finalized this week as a belated birthday gift!~
TUTORIAL FOR TUMBLR WRITERS: How to Retain Formatting when Copy-Pasting your Writing from a Word Processor to a Tumblr Text Post
Hey guys! People often ask me, “Blake, what sorts of redeeming qualities do you have to offer to society?” to which I reply, “None! But I can tell you my foolproof way to retain formatting (like italicizations) when copy-pasting fanfics into the Tumblr textpost editor!”
Are you a fanfiction writer who hates having to go through your whole fic again after pasting it into Tumblr’s textpost editor, just so you can re-italicize things? Do you write long things with specific formatting that you’d like to easily transfer to Tumblr? Look no further!
In this post, I will provide detailed instructions on how to do just that. As a fanfiction writer, I discovered this technique is the best way to ensure that my italicizations, bolded texts, quotation mark directions, space-forced paragraph indents, and other formatting features of my stories will transfer over cleanly from my word processor to Tumblr. The process involves copying the rich text, using the work text editor box on the website https://archiveofourown.org/ as a rtf-html converter, and pasting the html into Tumblr. It is a clean, simple, and efficient process that I’ll outline in just 8 easy steps.
A few things to keep in mind before delving in:
Use a computer. I think it is easier to input text from a computer than it is from a phone. This tutorial details how to easily transfer text from a computer, but I’m sure you could try it out from your phone, if you think it’s possible.
DON’T WRITE LONG POSTS ON TUMBLR DIRECTLY. Please, oh please, do not make this mistake. This godforsaken website tends to crash, reload, or otherwise render itself nonfunctional at the most inopportune times. You do not want to find yourself in the tragic position of having to reconcile lost work, all because you were writing something in Tumblr’s unreliable text editor. (In fact, I’m writing this tutorial post currently on an iCloud backed-up note on my computer!)
You’ll need to have (or make) an AO3 (i.e. Archive of our Own) account in order for this technique to work. I know there are websites that’ll convert rtf files into html, but I tend to eschew internet downloads out of fear of downloading malware (which I’ve done on accident). AO3 has worked well for me.
Alright. Here are the steps!
1. Open your completed, ready-to-publish fanfic or work of writing. I write and edit my fanfics entirely on Google Drive (as seen below in the screenshot) but you could also do this from Word or any other word processor. For the purposes of this tutorial, I’m using the text from Chapter 1 of my Queen/Almost Famous crossover fanfic It’s All Happening (read it here!!!). You can see how I have formatted at least two lines of italicized text (my first two lines). If I were to copy-paste from Drive into Tumblr, that italitization will sadly disappear.
2. Copy all of the text to your clipboard, and open https://archiveofourown.org/ . You will want to log in to your AO3 account.
3. On the home page of AO3, hover your cursor over “post” on the top right-hand side, and select “New Work.”
4. This will take you to the “Post New Work” page. Scroll down to the very bottom of the page, to the editor box that says “Work Text*”. Don’t paste your text yet. First, click on the button that says “Rich Text” on the right-hand side of this editor box.
5. Now that the Rich Text editor button is selected, paste your writing into the editor box. You should see that the italicizations are still intact.
6. Now, click on the button that says “HTML.” Control+A and then copy the entire HTML code onto your clipboard. You’ll see that this HTML contains coded instructions for italicizations and other formatting.
7. Next, go to https://www.tumblr.com/ in a new tab on your browser, and log in to your Tumblr blog. Click the “new post” button and select “Text.” Click on the little Settings icon at the top-right of the textpost editor. Go down to the row that says “Text Editor,” which should default to “Rich Text” but you’ll want to select the option HTML.
8. Paste the HTML code in your clipboard into the HTML text box on Tumblr. (Troubleshoot: if it didn’t work the first time, go back to AO3 and re-copy the HTML text, and try pasting onto Tumblr again.) Scroll up to the top of the Tumblr textpost editor, click again on the Settings icon at the top right, and change the Text editor back to “Rich text.”
BOOM! VOILÀ! Your work of writing should now be perfectly formatted into a Tumblr textpost with minimal work and without having to go back through your writing and re-format everything!
At this point, you may add my appropriate headers, any photos/GIFs you’d like to include in the text, tags for other blogs (such as in my taglist), tags, embedded links (they may have copied over but idk for sure) etc!
I hope this tutorial helped in some way/shape/form, my fellow writers! Please reblog to share this post if you found this helpful! Thank you so much ♡ —Blake ( @sweet-ladyy )
Literally about to crash out trying to italicize ONE sentence in a paragraph only for it to italicize the ENTIRE paragraph the minute I click away!~ Not to mention the length of my story lagging my tablet like I'm running Android 1.~
So thank you, so so much, this will keep my sanity in check for a few more days.~ 🙏
Remember how you said you have to format in AO3 again cus Tumblr doesn't copy formatting.
Well, I figured out how to have it copy formatting. It includes...
Using HTML.
Okay! Let's go!
First, this only works on desktop or on mobile browser, not the Tumblr app. So, make sure to use one of those.
You open up a post on Tumblr and go to Edit.
Then your chapter will open and that will be in its default formatting called Rich text. So, it is open. Then you go to the right top corner and click on the cog wheel.
The cog wheel opens a menu where you will find some more stuff. It will look like this.
You scroll down. You will find Text Editor. The one shown will be Rich text. Like this:
You click on the bar where that's shown, and more options will be shown. You click on the HTML option.
then, you click out of the menu by clicking anywhere outside of it. Now, your post will be in HTML. Like this!
For Desktop, all you have to do is click on the text, Ctrl+A to select all and Ctrl+C to copy the selection. On mobile browser, you highlight a text, a menu will pop up, you choose "Select All" and then it will highlight everything. Then you can choose "Copy" and all the text will be copied!
Okay! Then you exit the edit blog by choosing the X and you click on Discard. That way, it returns to its original Rich text edit form.
Now, you go to AO3. Either New Post or Add Chapter. The creation menu will appear. You scroll down.
And you pick HTML.
And now, all you have to do is enter the text box, and for desktop Ctrl+P to paste, and for mobile, just tap on it (hold it longer until the menu appears) and select Paste.
And then all your HTML text will be pasted! Your italics, bolds, dividers and all those things will stay! You can also if you have a title in the post and you already have it in AO3 you just delete that particular text + the code that surrounds it, it is usually in < and > marks that mark beggining and end of code in HTML and done.
Fizzy out!
@physics-of-one-piece
Dang, Fizzy, you are the wizard of secret knowledge, thank you! EVERYONE THANK @physics-of-op-main!
Reblogging for later if I ever stop being lazy and move my current and future stories to Ao3!~ Thank you, Fizzy, that has been killing me reposting to other sites!~
A/N: I got sick and wanted to be spoiled so here’s a blurb to tide everyone over while I get better. Vics DayQuil and NyQuil are actually so amazing I can’t believe I never thought to take a shot of liquid cough drops before, but this stuff has made this the easiest cold I’ve had in years.
Word Count: About 550
Master List
“Once again, I don’t want more soup,” you say as you sneeze directly into the bowl. “I already had some while you napped.”
“Then what do you want?” your husband asks, sincerity in his eyes. “One bowl of soup isn’t enough.”
You roll your eyes and reach for the box of tissues. If you had realized he’d be somehow more overbearing when you got sick, you have tried to hide it a bit. He basically put you in lockdown the second you admitted you were starting to feel under the weather, rushing you to bed and fetching the doctor. Thankfully, it’s just a cold, but you already knew that. If only your husband wasn’t so worried about you all the time.
“Well, since you insist,” you drag out the words. “How about a pot roast, a casserole, a charcuterie board, and lava cake to round it all up? A fine 3 course meal all right.”
Katakuri fumbles for a pad of paper, and you shake your head. He’s far too worried to even notice the sarcasm. Though, you don’t usually get sarcastic with him so maybe he just doesn’t realize you get sarcastic.
“Oh dear,” you sigh and grab his jacket. “Katakuri, love, I’m messing with you.”
He pauses, and you can almost see the panic in his eyes. What’s he going to do if you actually get hurt or more seriously sick? He’s doting on the best days, almost overbearing on a day like today. You want to hold him close and tell him you’ll be fine. On the other hand, you want to insist that he leave you be so he doesn’t get sick.
“Soup isn’t enough.”
“I know.” You pat his arm lovingly. “But I need rest more than I need to eat. Besides, I don’t think I could eat a pot roast right now. How about we start smaller and then try to get more food, okay?”
His brows furrow and he almost seems like he’s pouting. How dare you deny him the opportunity to smother you in food and pillows and all the things you need? Yet you know he needs to take it easier than he is or you’ll have to spoil him when he gets sick.
“But,” he starts to protest.
“But nothing. I’ll let you know when I start to get hungry, but for now I need water and rest.” You smile softly. “How about you get me a cup of ice water and a straw? Maybe a book? I feel like I’ve done nothing but sleep.”
Katakuri presses a kiss to the top of your head. “If you think that’s all you need for now.”
You raise an eyebrow at his back. “I know my body well enough to say that I don’t want a second bowl of soup, that’s for sure.”
You lean back into the mound of pillows as you watch him fill a glass of ice. You’ll one hundred percent have to nurse him when he catches this cold from you. Sure, there’s a say that idiots don’t get sick, but he’s not dumb. He just cares about you far more than he cares about himself. It almost makes having the sniffles worth it.
As Katakuri settles into bed next to you, you feel so grateful to have him. You can’t remember the last time someone took such good care of you when you were sick. There’s something so special about having someone you love treat you like you’re the most important thing, even when you feel miserable. Coughing into your sleeve, you feel him gently rubbing your back. You’ll let him spoil you for a little bit longer, as long as you don’t have to have more soup.
Pictures from the spectacular @mewiyev, One Two Three
4/4: Katakuri x Reader
Length: 12 K+
Rating: 18+
Warnings: Major age gap (platonic until characters are of age; slow-burn to the extreme) Katakuri has feelings and hates it, Sexual content, Swearing / Crude Humor, Size difference thirst (aggressive), Unhealthy levels of yearning, bondage/restraint, forced proximity, protective/possessive love interest
Your impulsive hijack drops you straight into Katakuri’s life, kitchen, and sanity; complete with mochi prisons, unasked-for tips, and an ongoing battle of restraint versus relentless mischief.
Previous
For @uvupotatogirl
Interested in being in the taglist? HERE
-X-SIT-X-
The door to the side hall clicked shut behind you. Finally, quiet.
Katakuri still hadn’t put you down. His hands were a little tighter than necessary, jaw set like he was physically holding in the things he wanted to say.
You beamed up at him like you’d just won a lifetime supply of cupcakes.
“This is nice,” you said, all sunshine and calm. “Just us. Finally married. No pirates chasing me. No one trying to kill me. No—”
The door slammed open.
“BRO!” Daifuku’s voice boomed, followed by his actual head sticking into the room. “What the hell was that? You’re just gonna marry some mystery woman with a veil like it’s—”
The door slammed shut again via Katakuri’s foot.
Katakuri sighed through his nose. “I will deal with him later.”
You patted his shoulder comfortingly. “You’re doing great.”
He gave you a look that could curdle milk. “You hijacked my wedding. You are smiling about it.”
“Of course I am. I got what I wanted.”
“…And what was that?”
“You,” you said simply, like it was the most obvious answer in the world.
For a moment, his grip faltered, just slightly, as if the weight of that landed in a way he hadn’t prepared for.
The door cracked again. “Katakuri, Mama says—”
“GET OUT,” he barked without looking. The door shut faster than it had opened.
You snorted. “You’re popular. I like them, your family.”
“Do not test me right now.”
You reached up, brushing a bit of stray lace off your shoulder. “You know, for someone who’s mad, you’re still holding me like I’m made of spun sugar.”
His jaw flexed. “…I am resisting the urge to lock you in a safe until I figure out why you thought this was a good idea.”
“It was a great idea. Now I’m your wife. You can’t get rid of me.”
He stared at you for a long moment. Then he closed his eyes and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like a prayer.
The door creaked open again. This time it was Brûlée, leaning in with an absolutely smug grin. “Mama says time for the banquet.”
Katakuri’s head turned slowly toward her. “Leave. Now.”
She winked at you. “Welcome to the family, sis.”
The door closed.
You waved after her. “I am a very big fan of Brûlée.”
“I am surrounded,” Katakuri muttered, but the bond was thrumming in a way that betrayed him; full of warmth, relief, and reluctant joy.
There was nothing to do but to continue on.
The main hall had been transformed for the wedding feast. Tables groaned under mountains of pastries, roasted meats, candied fruit, and enough cake to feed a small navy. The air was thick with the scent of sugar and something warm and spiced that made your stomach rumble.
Katakuri guided you to the head table. ‘Guided’ being generous. It was more like you were relocated with the firm precision of a man who didn’t trust you to wander unsupervised.
You didn’t mind. The seat was comfortable. The view was incredible. And you were married.
Big Mom sat at the far end, already halfway through what looked like a triple-tier chocolate mousse cake. She spotted you instantly, her whole face lighting up like a bakery window.
“MY NEW DAUGHTER-IN-LAW!” she bellowed, voice shaking the goblets. “COME HERE, COME HERE!”
You blinked, pointing to yourself. “Me?”
“YES, YOU, SILLY! LOOK AT THIS AUDACITY!” she roared, clapping her massive hands together. “SAILING ALL THE WAY HERE, STEALING THE BRIDE SPOT—HAHAHA! BRILLIANT!”
Katakuri’s jaw flexed beside you. “Mother—”
“Don’t interrupt me, boy,” Big Mom said, wagging a finger the size of your forearm at him. “She’s got SPARK. And GUTS. And she’s not afraid of you. I like her.”
Brûlée leaned forward from her seat two chairs down, grinning like a fox. “Told you Mama would approve.”
“Stop encouraging this,” Katakuri said flatly.
But you were already waving at Big Mom, smiling. “Thank you! Your son’s been very polite so far. I mean, for a pirate.”
Big Mom howled with laughter, pounding the table so hard the plates jumped. “OH, I LOVE HER.”
Food came out in great, steaming platters. Roasts, glazed fruits, towers of delicate confections filled the table, and you tucked in happily while Katakuri mostly sat there radiating silent marital doom. Every time you looked at him, he was either glaring at a cousin who had dared to smirk at you or scanning the hall as if someone might still try to steal you.
The celebration went on far too long. Toasts were made. Songs were sung. More wine was poured. At some point, someone started chanting your names together like it was already his theme-song.
Finally, with much drunken revelry surrounding the table, Katakuri reached over and lifted you out of your seat. His ears turned bright red at the chorus of cheers and teasing, but he ignored them and rose to his full height with you in his arms.
“Come,” he said quietly.
Brûlée appeared almost instantly with her broom over her shoulder and a knowing grin. “Straight to Komugi, I take it?”
Katakuri gave a short nod, already moving you toward one of her standing mirrors tucked against the far wall. The glass shimmered like moonlit water as Brûlée tapped it with the bristles.
The banquet hall vanished the moment you stepped through. Cool, still air replaced the noise, and the dim light of the Mirror World wrapped around you. Brûlée led you both to another exit, the surface rippling before opening into a sunlit porch framed by Komugi’s lush greenery.
Katakuri stepped through with you still in his arms. The air smelled of sugarcane and sea salt. The quiet house beyond had wide windows that caught the fading afternoon light.
“Home,” Brûlée announced with satisfaction, sweeping her broom in a little flourish before stepping back into the mirror. Her grin lingered in the glass for a heartbeat, then vanished into silver ripples, leaving you alone with Katakuri.
“Komogi, your home island.” You said softly, recognizing the name. Where you do most of your duties as minister of flour.”
He nodded, pace incredibly slow as he walked beside you towards the house.
“I reside here alone. Staff occasionally come by, but I prefer the quiet."
You beamed up at him. He sighed.
“I used to reside here alone. Now, it is yours. Everything I have, and anything you need, I shall provide.”
The house was quiet, the air scented faintly with sugarcane and the clean salt of the sea. Pale light filtered through tall windows, glinting off polished wood floors. You caught a glimpse of a wide hall lined with doors, the suggestion of an open kitchen at the far end, and a flash of green from the gardens outside.
That was all you saw.
Katakuri moved with deliberate purpose, not giving you a chance to linger on the view. Two of his large fingers closed firmly around your wrist, not rough, but not lazily either, and he guided you down the hall with long, silent strides. The thud of his boots against the floorboards matched the steady, clipped beat of his breathing. He was moving exceptionally slow for his height, in a thoughtful bid to not push you into a run.
He stopped before a heavy door, opened it, and all but steered you inside.
The bedroom was vast and dimly lit, the air cooler here, the scent of clean linen mixing with something warmer; faint traces of cinnamon and sugar that clung to him. A bed dominated the far wall, its carved frame dark against the pale bedding, the mattress high enough that you could imagine needing a step to climb onto it.
The door closed behind you with a solid click. It did not sound like a courtesy. It sounded like a verdict.
Katakuri stood just inside the room, one hand still on the door, his shoulders rising and falling in measured breaths as though he was trying to force something sharp and heavy back down into his chest.
He was quiet. Too quiet. You had already learned that this was far more dangerous than any shouting.
You went on the edge of the massive bed, kicking your heels and grinning like the cat who had stolen the cream, the wedding, and possibly her husband’s sanity.
“Well,” you said brightly, “that was a fun adventure.”
“Fun,” he repeated. His voice was cold enough to frost glass.
“Yup. Traveled the Grand Line. Got married. Ate cake. Met your mom. She didn’t eat me. I would call that a successful day.”
His head turned toward you, slow enough that you felt the weight of it. “You call that a success? How in the name of Nika did you get here?”
“Boat, mostly.” You leaned back on your palms, studying him like he was the one being unreasonable. “Then mirror.”
He stepped closer, the floorboards groaning under his weight. You immediately believed why his very name convinced a group of pirates into choosing not to attack you, he could be terrifying all enormous and shadowy looming like that.
“You sailed the most dangerous waters on this planet.”
“Yep.”
“You somehow tricked my Mother, alone, to go along with your plans to freeze me into marriage. An Yonko.”
“Your mom did call me her new daughter-in-law, so unless you plan to argue with her….”
His eyes narrowed. “And now you think you’re going to get rewarded for it. With snuggles. Possibly plans even more suspect.”
You tilted your head innocently. “Well, I am your wife now. I think that’s how this works.”
You reached for him, fully intending to wrap your arms around his arm and drag him down into a kiss. Two fingers caught your wrist halfway.
“No.”
You blinked. “No?”
“You don’t get to touch me. Not tonight, and not until you understand just what you have done..”
You stared at him, wide-eyed. “…Excuse me?”
“This is your punishment.”
You gave him a slow once-over, eyes lingering on the sharp lines of his chest and the way his scarf was just a little out of place. “You think you can stand there, looking like that, and tell me I can’t touch you?”
You could almost swear he was flushed red. Regardless, he was firm.”
“Yes. Not only did you lie, you are still only eighteen. I am thirty-three and three times your height. You are thinking with your lizard teenager brain, and it’s my duty to ensure your safety until you’re not.”
You leaned forward, resting your chin in your hand. “You’re cruel.”
He crouched down so you were eye-level, the bond humming between you with restrained heat. “You’re reckless.”
“Donut Husband,” you said brightly. “Will you forgive me?”
His head lifted. The look in his eyes wasn’t all anger exactly. It was… something sharper. Hungrier. The kind of thing that made your pulse jump even though his voice came out flat.
“I am not prepared,” he said slowly, “to have a wife I like.”
You blinked. “…What?”
He stepped forward, every inch of him as deliberate and heavy as the tide. “Do you understand me? I don’t… do this. I don’t have this. I was prepared to marry someone I could ignore. Someone I could keep at a distance. Someone I could protect without…”
“Without what?”
“Without wanting.”
You tilted your head, already halfway grinning. “So you do like me.”
His jaw flexed. “Restrain yourself for your own health. Or I will.”
You leaned back on your elbows, eyes bright. “That sounds like a challenge.”
“It’s a warning,” he said, voice low enough to make the bond hum between you. “You’ve already pushed me further than I meant to go. And I am not the man you climb without consequences.”
You sat up and swung a leg toward him like you were testing the perimeter of a very large, very dangerous animal. “I sailed across the ocean, married you under your mother’s nose, and survived the feast. You think I’m scared of you now?”
His hand caught your ankle mid-air, the size of it circling it completely. He didn’t squeeze. Just held it there; steady, unshakable.
“You should be,” he said quietly.
Katakuri had been staring at you for the better part of a minute, all broad-shouldered stillness and an expression you couldn’t read under the layers of fabric.
“You’re plotting something,” he said finally.
You smiled. “I’m plotting to kiss my husband.”
His eyes narrowed. “No. You’re… circling me. Like you think you can get more.”
“I know I can get more.”
That earned you a long, slow exhale. Then, with the kind of deliberation that made the room feel smaller, he reached up and untied the knot at the back of his neck.
The scarf slid free.
And then you saw it; a mouth full of razor-like teeth, sharp as a predatory eel’s, glinting faintly in the lamplight, jutting out from his lips. Perfect for tearing through armor… or a person. The kind of thing sailors whispered about in taverns, the monster behind the man.
“This,” he said, low and deliberate, “is why you don’t get close to me. This is why I keep you away. I am not safe. I can immediately book you passage back to your hometown and—”
He paused. You weren’t screaming. You weren’t recoiling.
You just thoughtfully tilted your head instead. “…Oh.”
“…‘Oh’?” he repeated, baffled.
“Yeah. Oh. Does it hurt? I need to know so I can be careful when I kiss you.”
His brows drew together. “You are supposed to be afraid.”
“I am,” you admitted. “Just… not of that.”
“What, then?”
You smiled, small and a little dangerous. “Of how much I want to touch you anyway.”
For the first time since you’d met him, Katakuri actually looked caught off guard. He yanked the scarf back into place with a muttered curse, turning away as if that would hide the sudden, restless energy in the bond. He recoiled from you.
“Restrain yourself,” he warned again, quieter this time. “Or I will.”
You jump up, back on the bed, entirely too pleased. “Guess we’ll find out which one of us breaks first.”
He looked scandalized.
The bed was huge, easily the size of a ship’s deck, but somehow, Katakuri still made it feel like there wasn’t enough room to breathe. He didn’t lie down. Not fully.
You’d heard the rumors from sailors and mercenaries: Charlotte Katakuri never lays on his back. Sleeps sitting up. Never fully at rest.
Now you were seeing it firsthand. He sat against the headboard, legs stretched out, one knee propped, back straight as a mast.
However, it was much less a myth than, he refused to lay flat next to a handsy pasty wife.
You flopped onto your side, head propped in your hand. “You’re really going to sleep like that?”
“Yes.”
“You know, for someone who just got married, you’re kind of bad at the whole married thing.”
He didn’t even look at you. “I am good at the alive thing. Which is why I’m keeping you over there.”
“Over here?” you repeated, and rolled just close enough that your arm brushed his thigh.
That did it. In one smooth movement, his arm looped around your waist and pulled you bodily into the blankets; not in the romantic way. In the containment way.
It took you a moment to realize you couldn’t move your arms. Or your legs.
“Katakuri?” you mumbled.
He was standing at the foot of the bed, calmly tucking the last corner of the sheet into what could only be described as a blanket burrito. You were the filling.
“Hey!” you wriggled, but he’d swaddled you with the precision of a man who’d clearly done this before.
“You’re relentless,” he said simply, stepping back to inspect his work. “I adapt.”
“Adapt?” you echoed. “You tied up your wife in bedding!”
“Yes.”
“That’s… not very romantic.”
“I’m not aiming for romance,” he replied, voice flat. “I’m aiming for distance.”
You thought that was the end of it, until he crouched down and started pulling mochi from the floor itself, shaping it with broad, practiced hands. In seconds, he’d built a kind of marshmallow-soft pod on the far side of the room.
He lifted you, burrito and all, and deposited you neatly into the mochi bed. It instantly molded to your shape, cradling you like a smug, edible coffin.
“Katakuri, this is absurd.”
“This is safe,” he corrected.
“For who?”
“…Yes.”
You craned your neck to glare at him, but the mochi was already hugging you back into place.
“This is a prison.”
“It’s a bed,” he said, turning to leave.
“A bed you can seal shut.”
He smirked. “That’s the point.”
-X-Domestic Mystery-X-
Being Katakuri’s wife was… complicated.
For one thing, he was sixteen feet tall and built like a fortress. For another, he was utterly convinced that if he so much as rolled over in his sleep, he’d squash you flat like a pancake and made contingencies.
Even worse, he would not kiss and touch you romantically.
This meant nights were less marital bliss and more prisoner-of-war logistics.
You had already learned that he never lay on his back before others, ever, and now that you were married, he doubled down. If he stayed upright, you couldn’t climb on him. And if you couldn’t climb on him, he could keep the bond on a leash.
The Containment Protocol was enacted every night, without fail. Often when you exited the staff showers (as his were too large for you).
Step One: Come out of nowhere like a goblin and burrito wrap you in the bedding so you couldn’t move your arms or legs.
Step Two: Construct a mochi bed across the room, a pillowy pod of sweet, springy confinement that molded to your shape and hugged you like a smug marshmallow prison.
Step Three: Deposit wife into mochi pod. Seal. Walk away.
“Katakuri,” you called from inside the pod the first night he did it, “this is ridiculous.”
“This is safe,” he said without turning around.
“For who?”
“Yes.”
You quickly discovered that he’d built the pod with a slow-release system; if you pushed too hard, it absorbed the force and bounced you back. Getting out was possible, but not without waking him, and waking him meant being picked up like errant laundry and stuffed back inside with even more layers.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want you. It was that he really wanted you… and was convinced indulging was an exceptionally unfair dynamic he was tasked with avoiding.
So, over the space of one very long year, you had the arduous task of loving Katakuri without physical touch. Much harder in person where he could stop your shenanigans.
But you did. Because loving him meant learning to read the silences under his scarf. It meant catching the way his hands would twitch, just slightly, when you leaned too close, like he was fighting the instinct to pull you in.
It meant understanding that his distance wasn’t coldness. It was fear. Not of you, but of himself.
And still… you couldn’t help teasing him about it.
“You know,” you murmured one night, curled up inside your mochi pod, “most men would be flattered if their wife wanted to jump them.”
“Most men,” he replied from across the room, “aren’t built to crush what they love. Most women aren’t soulbound as children and have options.”
You smiled in the dark. “I’ve seen other options. Guess I’ll just have to make you realize you were the best.”
The bond pulsed, warm, sharp, wanting, and for a heartbeat, you swore he almost got up.
But his resolve was ironclad. Frankly, he was a menace of self-control.
Even the soulbond, now happy that you were together, did little to reveal thoughts. Like a cat that had successfully pushed off a vase from a table, it deepened less into intrusive thoughts, and more into ‘vibes’.
From the outside, your marriage to Katakuri made no sense.
He was the most feared son of Big Mom; a sixteen-foot wall of muscle, menace, and mochi who could kill a man with a glance. You were… well, you. Smaller. Softer. Allegedly mortal.
And yet within the year of the wedding, you had done the impossible.
You took his kitchen. Not borrowed. Not “shared.” Took.
It started small; an offhand comment about how his knives weren’t sharp enough. By day two, the cutlery was yours. By day five, the pantry had been reorganized your way, labeled with neat little tags that somehow even the homies obeyed.
By day seven, you were standing in the doorway of the main kitchen with your arms crossed, watching a sugar homie sheepishly dump its smuggled contraband at your feet.
“That’s what I thought,” you told it, and it slunk away.
The worst part? Everyone liked you.
Perospero stopped by one afternoon just to taste-test the cookies you’d made. Smoothie declared you “refreshingly unafraid.” Even the quieter siblings started dropping in for tea, which you served without a hint of intimidation.
And the homies, Big Mom’s soul-infused creations, adored you. They actually listened when you told them to knock it off, something even Katakuri struggled with.
Meanwhile, your husband watched this domestic coup unfold with an expression that could curdle milk.
“She’s terrifying,” Oven muttered once, watching you scold a wayward bread homie until it apologized.
“She’s effective,” Daifuku countered.
“She’s going to get herself killed,” Oven argued.
Katakuri just folded his arms. “Don’t look at my wife.”
Big Mom had not only forgiven the bride switch, she was thrilled.
“Ohhh, Katakuri, you lucky boy,” she’d cackled at the wedding feast, smacking him on the back hard enough to make the tableware jump. “She’s got guts! And look at her, fitting right in with the homies. That’s a wife.”
Katakuri had clenched his jaw so tightly you swore you could hear enamel crack.
But Big Mom wasn’t just an older woman. She had insight and you quickly learned why she was feared across the seas. Her mind was a steel-trap, and she saw through Katakuri like sugar-glass.
She wanted grandchildren.
You had barely been baking when you got the most recent girls-only invitation. Or rather, the summons.
“Tea with Mama” sounded harmless enough. You’d pictured pastries, gossip, maybe a little gentle ribbing about the bride switch. Instead, you found yourself in a pastel parlor surrounded by half a dozen of Big Mom’s daughters and daughters-in-law, all done up in their tea finery and chatting like this was the most ordinary thing in the world.
Big Mom herself presided at the head of the table, pouring tea into cups so delicate they looked like they’d dissolve in her hands.
You hadn’t thought much of the invitation. Big Mom loved her little get-togethers; an excuse for cake, gossip, and putting her children’s spouses on display like particularly lucky collectibles.
The parlor was all lace tablecloths, towering layer cakes, and tea that smelled like a dentist’s worst nightmare. She poured you a cup herself, chatting idly about who had worn what to last month’s tea and whether Perospero was dating again.
It was nice.
Warm tea.
Good cake.
Everyone was politely ignoring that you’d technically stolen Katakuri at the altar.
Halfway through, Big Mom clapped her hands. “Oh, I have just the thing for our new family member.”
From a velvet-lined tin, she pulled out the strangest fruit you’d ever seen. Pink and white stripes swirled over a glossy, candy-like skin. It looked like something from a children’s fair. A decorative piece, maybe.
You tilted your head. “What is it?”
“A little treat,” she said smoothly, sliding it toward you. “Gives you… flexibility. Might help with your marital arrangements.”
The girls giggled into their cups. Nobody looked alarmed. Not one person leaned over to whisper a warning.
You, having no knowledge of Devil Fruits or why they might be a life-altering decision, assumed this was just some rare dessert you hadn’t heard of.
“You’ve been such a good addition to the family,” she said warmly, her enormous hands folding with a strangely dainty grace. “So eat up.”
You smiled, thanked her, and bit in.
It was awful. Not just bad, but aggressively wrong. Like saltwater and burnt sugar had declared war inside your mouth, and both sides had lost. Your tongue recoiled. Your teeth wanted to back out of the deal entirely.
Before you could even decide how to swallow politely, the atmosphere in the room shifted. The homies went still, eyes darting toward the hall. The low hum of chatter died.
A sharp crack of wood echoed from somewhere beyond the doorway. One homie shrieked, the sound high and panicked. Then came the footsteps; heavy, deliberate, and close enough to rattle the glassware.
A shadow spilled across the threshold.
You swallowed, but it was not out of manners. It was fear.
Katakuri filled the doorway a heartbeat later, broad enough that the light seemed to dim around him. The scarf at his face had shifted slightly out of place, and the air clung to him like static before a storm. His aura snapped at the edges, coiled tight and ready to strike. Observation Haki rolled off him in waves so sharp you swore the air itself thinned.
“What,” he said, his voice low and dangerous enough to raise the fine hairs on your arms, “did you just put in your mouth?”
You flinched like a chihuahua caught in the trash, the bite still half-chewed.
Blinking up at him with what you hoped passed for innocence, you mumbled, “Fruit?”
His gaze dropped to the striped rind in your hand. His jaw tightened, a muscle ticking sharply under the fabric. The scarf shifted again with the force of his clench.
“Mother.”
The single word landed like a dropped anchor.
Big Mom waved him off with the lazy flick of someone shooing a buzzing fly. “Oh, stop fussing. She didn’t even know what a Devil Fruit was. Now she does.”
You blinked, the taste still clinging to your tongue. “Wait, what’s a Devil Fruit?”
Every woman at the table nodded approvingly, their smiles bright and conspiratorial, like you had just achieved some rare rite of passage. The room seemed suddenly too warm, the sugary air pressing in, but you had no idea why everyone was looking at you like you had crossed some invisible line.
Katakuri, however, looked like someone had just lit a match and dropped it straight into the blueprint of his future. The sharp red of his eyes locked onto you for a fraction of a second, and then snapped to his mother.
“Mother—”
It was more than his voice. It was the way his whole presence shifted. The set of his shoulders tightened, his Observation Haki crackling through the room like static before a lightning strike.
And somewhere deep in your chest, the bond stirred. Not the faint hum you were used to, but something deeper and stronger, as if it had just woken from a long sleep and stretched, flexing to see how far it could reach.
She waved him off again, more firmly this time, her smile turning almost smug. “You’re so worried about size problems, I’m solving them. You’re welcome.”
For a second, there was nothing but silence, broken only by the faint, rhythmic creak of Katakuri’s gloves as his hands flexed. His gaze stayed locked on her, and you could feel the sharp edge of unspoken words running through the bond. A pulse of pure disbelief laced with protectiveness that made your pulse skip.
You had no idea what she meant by “size problems,” but judging by the way Katakuri’s jaw set, you were going to find out, and it was going to be soon.
Katakuri looked at you like you had just detonated a cannon in his kitchen.
The homies whispered nervously from the corners, their eyes darting between you, Katakuri, and Big Mom. She smiled into her cup, clearly enjoying every second. And somewhere deep in the bond, you felt his thoughts slide into focus, a low, unyielding vow: I am never leaving you alone with her again.
He crossed the parlor in three strides, his shadow cutting across the table as he came to stand behind you.
“Up,” he said. The word was flat, but the weight in it was enough to rattle the silverware. One large hand curled around the back of your chair, the leather creaking under his grip.
You barely had time to blink before it happened.
Your hand, the one still holding the rind, stretched.
Not figuratively. Not a trick of the eye. Your forearm elongated in a smooth, impossible pull, like molten sugar being drawn into a ribbon. The fingers at the end stayed locked around the rind as they glided halfway across the table, knocking over a sugar bowl with a soft crash.
You froze. “…Um.”
Katakuri froze.
You stared at your own arm as it trembled in place, still stretched like some surreal puppet limb. “What…?”
Then, without warning, the fruit slid back toward you as your arm recoiled to its original length with a sharp, elastic thwip.
The skin felt wrong. Warm under your palm, pliant when you pressed, springy in a way that made your stomach twist. Almost… chewy.
Katakuri froze mid-step, every muscle going rigid. Big Mom’s eyes caught the light, a spark of something almost hungry flashing in them. Around the table, the other women looked mildly impressed, as though you had just shown off an intricate new embroidery stitch rather than an anatomical impossibility.
“What… what was that?” you asked, your voice thin enough to betray the fact that you were already dreading the answer.
Big Mom smiled like a cat toying with a mouse. “That, my dear, was potential.”
“I— no. That was wrong. My arm—” You kept staring at it like it might peel itself off and wander away on its own.
Big Mom’s grin widened until it showed nearly every tooth. “See? Perfect. Laffy Taffy for my favorite daughter-in-law.”
Half the daughters clapped politely, the other half leaned toward one another in eager whispers.
Katakuri’s hand clamped firmly around your upper arm. It was large, warm, and blessedly normal, his grip grounding you when your own body no longer felt like it belonged to you. “We’re leaving. Now.”
You barely registered the pull as he tried to get you to your feet. “My arm just… it wasn’t… did you see—?”
“Yes,” he bit out. “And you’re not using it again.”
“But what was it?”
“Later.”
The chair legs screeched against the floor as he dragged you bodily away from the table. You clutched at the skirt of your dress, still dazed, your shoes scraping against polished marble.
Your foot slipped. You almost stumbled, but instead of falling, you felt it. Your ankle elongating in a sickening stretch, hooking the leg of the table behind you before snapping back into place with that same elastic snap.
Your mouth went dry. “That’s not… normal.”
Big Mom’s laugh rolled through the room, warm and fond in a way that was somehow worse than outright fury. “It is now.”
Katakuri did not slow his stride. The bond between you throbbed like a struck drum, sharp with panic and threaded through with something hotter and heavier that you could not name. Whether it was aimed at the fruit, his mother, or you, you could not tell. Whatever it was, it burned in the space between your ribs.
All you knew was that your fingers still tingled like warm caramel cooling on a countertop, and you had no idea what you had just swallowed into your life.
You were still half in shock when Katakuri all but marched you out of the parlor, his hand a solid weight on your shoulder, as if he thought you might turn back and try for another bite just to spite him.
The hallway was colder than the parlor. The marble underfoot swallowed the sound of your steps while the air felt tight and still, like the walls themselves were listening. The bond between you pulsed in uneven beats, knotted through with his frustration, heavy enough to make your chest ache.
Finally, you found your voice. “Your mom just… spiked me. With magic.”
“Not magic,” he muttered, steering you around a corner with zero ceremony. “A Devil Fruit.”
“That sounds like magic.”
“It is worse than magic.” His tone was clipped and deliberate, like every word was measured before it left his mouth. “She does that.”
You blinked up at him. “She does that? As in… this is a thing? A habit?”
“Yes.” He did not even look at you. His eyes dropped to your hands, and his voice went quieter. “And I am very mad.”
Something about the flat delivery almost made you laugh, except your fingertips were still tingling and your stomach was still settling around the thought that you had eaten something that might never leave your system.
“She drugged me,” you insisted, your voice rising in laughter, “With a cursed fruit. At tea.”
“Yes.”
You threw your hands up in exasperation and watched in horror as they stretched, the skin and bone lengthening in a seamless pull. You yanked them back to your chest so fast the snap of recoil stung your palms. “Oh my god.”
His jaw tightened under the scarf. “Stop testing it.”
“I am not testing it. It is testing me.”
A small homie in the shape of a wall sconce leaned forward as you passed, its glass eyes glittering. “Your fingers are taffy now,” it chirped cheerfully.
You let your hands drop into your lap, fighting a grin you probably should not be wearing right now. “It sounds like you’re threatened by my potential.”
Katakuri’s shadow stretched across the floor as he closed the space between you in two slow, deliberate steps. “I am not threatened. I am concerned.” His tone was measured, but the bond betrayed him with a low, restless pulse that made your stomach turn. “You have no control over this yet. That makes you a target.”
You blinked. “So… a stretchy target.”
His gaze darkened. “A vulnerable one.”
Something about the way he said it made the joke die in your throat.
Katakuri crouched in front of you, the floor creaking under his weight. His scarf shifted with the motion, revealing just enough of his mouth to remind you that there was something dangerous under there, something most people never got close enough to see. His voice dropped lower. “Do you know what happens when someone eats a Devil Fruit?”
“Uh… they get stretchy arms?”
His eyes narrowed. “They lose the ability to swim.”
You stilled.
“If you fall in the water, you sink. You will drown before I can reach you unless I am right there.” His hand lifted like he was going to touch your face, but he stopped himself and let it curl into a fist instead. “That is why I am rattled. That is why I am angry. And that is why you will not use it until I say you are ready.”
You swallowed. “So this isn’t about the scarf.”
His gaze held yours for a long, heavy beat. “The scarf is a separate issue.”
The look on his face was somewhere between outrage and abject fear for his sanity. His scarf twitched like it might jump in to defend him.
“You are not—” He cut himself off, dragging a hand down over his face as if that might physically wipe the conversation away. “You are impossible.”
You leaned back in your chair, fingers absently stretching and curling like they had their own opinions about the matter. “I’m adaptable.”
“Reckless,” he corrected, still glaring like that might convince you to recant. “You do not understand what you’ve been given.”
“I understand enough,” you said, your voice softer now. “It means I might actually stand a chance. And if that’s what she wanted… maybe she’s not entirely wrong.”
His arms crossed again, broad shoulders tense under the weight of something heavier than irritation. “She wanted to make you harder to kill.”
“Mission accomplished,” you said lightly, though you felt the flicker of unease beneath your ribs. “Now I can bounce off walls and live to annoy you another day.”
The bond between you shifted then, no longer the sharp thrum of panic but a slower, steadier current. He didn’t like this, but he liked the alternative even less.
Finally, he exhaled, the sound low and resigned. “You will train. Every day. No arguments.”
You tilted your head. “Like… right now?”
His gaze dropped to your hands, still stretching absently toward the edge of the desk. “Now.”
And that was how you ended up barefoot in the center of the room while Katakuri stood over you, looking like he was preparing for either a sparring session or a hostage negotiation.
Katakuri pinched the bridge of his nose, the one moment of visible defeat you’d seen from him all day, then muttered, “Stay. Here.”
“Uh-huh,” you said innocently.
“I mean it,” he rumbled. “Don’t… do… anything.”
“Right.”
He gave you one last long, suspicious look before striding out and slamming the door with a force that made the mirror on the wall rattle. The bond between you was all frayed irritation and a very loud I’m going to kill my mother.
You sat there for… about twenty seconds.
Then your hand accidentally stretched to the nightstand from halfway across the room.
You froze, fingers wrapped around a pen you had not stood up to get.
The pen waved cheerfully. You waved it back.
A pillow homie waddled closer. “That was amazing! Do it again!”
“No, no,” the lampshade homie hissed. “She should try bouncing! Like the captain does when he dodges bullets!”
“Or she could wrap herself in the curtains!” the wardrobe chimed in. “Dramatic!”
You looked around Katakuri’s immaculate, organized space. “Yeah… I could see how that would annoy him.”
Ten minutes later, the room looked like a spider’s nest made entirely of fabric and questionable decisions. The curtains sagged under the weight of your experimental “wrap attack.” The pillows were strung together in a bizarre chain that reached from the bedpost to the desk. You’d tried “bouncing” once and accidentally launched yourself into the wardrobe, which now listed slightly to the left.
The lampshade homie beamed like a proud coach. “She’s a natural!” The pillow homie was tangled in a loop of your stretched arm. “This is the best day of my life.” You were halfway through tying a blanket into what you were calling a “soft whip” when the bond gave a sharp, cold jolt.
You froze mid-knot. The air in the hall shifted. Heavy, deliberate footsteps.
The lampshade whispered, “Uh-oh.”
The door swung open.
Katakuri stood there, scarf askew, clearly fresh from yelling at someone. He took in the sight, you hanging from the ceiling by your legs, the homies cheering, and a pillow halfway lodged in the wall. Then he closed his eyes for a long, strained moment.
He filled the doorway, a bag in one hand and an expression that suggested he had walked in on a crime scene. His gaze swept from the curtains, to the pillows, to you holding the blanket like a guilty cat with stolen yarn.
The bond went very quiet, except for one loud thought that hit you like a mallet: I told you to stay still.
“I was gone for ten minutes.”
You grinned. “Yeah. And now I know I can hang from things.”
He exhaled slowly, like a man trying to remember his vows. “Get down.”
“Why? I could swing over and kiss you from here.”
“Down.”
Katakuri took one slow, deliberate step into the room, his height blotting out the doorway like an incoming storm.
You dangled from the ceiling fan like a very smug chandelier ornament.
“You have exactly ten seconds to come down on your own.”
“Or what?” you challenged, smirking. “You gonna climb up here and—”
You did not finish, because he did.
One enormous arm shot upward. You yelped and instinctively stretched away like a pulled rubber band. He caught nothing but air.
“Oh-ho-ho,” the lamp homie gasped. “She’s slippery.”
“Stop moving,” Katakuri ordered.
“Nope,” you chirped, bouncing across the room in one very ungraceful arc and landing on the dresser. Your legs coiled, ready to spring again.
He reached and you twisted out of his grasp like warm caramel.
He lunged again and you slipped under his arm.
“Come back here,” he growled.
“Come get me.”
It went on for nearly a full minute, the most ridiculous game of predator and prey, except the prey was laughing too hard to be afraid.
And then he stopped.
The air shifted. That heavy, iron weight of Armament Haki rolled off him, snapping over the bond like a locked door.
You barely had time to gasp before you felt it. Your limbs pulled back into place, every bit of elasticity gone in an instant, leaving you completely normal and very, very caught.
Katakuri scooped you off the dresser like you weighed nothing and set you firmly on the bed.
The bond between you went taut, vibrating with something sharp and desperate.
He did not speak right away. He just looked at you with a focus so intense you felt it in your teeth.
When he finally spoke, his voice was low, as if it had been pulled up from somewhere deep and dangerous. “You are not supposed to be able to make me do that.”
You blinked at him, still catching your breath from laughing. “What, use Haki?”
His jaw flexed, a muscle ticking once before settling into stone. “That much. That fast. On you.”
You tilted your head, curiosity pushing past the lingering adrenaline. “Oh. Fun.”
Something shifted in the air between you. The weight of his gaze seemed to press against your skin, heavy enough to make you aware of every point where your body touched the mattress. His hands tightened on the bedding on either side of you, the fabric bunching under his fingers as if holding himself in place was the only thing stopping him from doing something else entirely.
“That,” he said at last, each word slow and deliberate, “is one word for it.”
The bond pulsed with a heat that was not anger, though it had the same sharp edges. You could feel the restraint in him, the careful balance between control and the urge to move closer.
-X-Five Minutes-X-
Katakuri had not paced this much since the day Oven accidentally set the west pantry on fire. That incident had at least involved a clear threat, a plan of action, and the satisfaction of tossing his brother out into the courtyard by the scruff of his neck.
This was worse.
He was in his own room. You were also in his room because it was also your room. And now you had Devil Fruit powers. Elastic Devil Fruit powers. And ideas.
Very bad ideas.
You sat cross-legged on the bed, idly stretching one leg until your toes tapped the base of his desk, then letting it snap back with a little bounce. He tried not to look at you. He failed.
“Stop that,” he muttered, turning on his heel to pace in the other direction.
“Stop what?” you asked innocently, sending your arm across the nightstand to flick the corner of a book.
His scarf shifted as his shoulders tensed. “That.”
“But I need to practice,” you said, keeping your tone light. “You’re the one who said I have to train.”
“I meant combat training. Control. Not… whatever this is.”
You tapped the side of your head as if this were an actual strategy meeting. “It’s mental warfare. I can feel the frustration building.”
He stopped mid-step and gave you the kind of look normally reserved for enemies who had just made a critical mistake. “You think irritating me is training?”
“Seems effective,” you said, stretching your arm across the room to poke the wardrobe. “Honestly? I just need five minutes. Five minutes and I’ll break you down.”
The bond pulsed with his restraint, tight and low. You could feel him trying to ignore you, and that only made the urge to keep going stronger.
You plucked a pillow from the other end of the bed without moving an inch, hugging it to your chest with a self-satisfied smile. “See? Useful.”
Katakuri resumed pacing, muttering something under his breath that might have been a prayer or a death threat. The lines around his eyes were sharp. His hands flexed at his sides.
It took another two minutes before he stopped again, planted his hands on the edge of the bed, and leaned over you. The shadow he cast swallowed you whole.
“You,” he said quietly, “are going to make me lose my patience.”
You tilted your head, smiling just enough to be dangerous. “That sounds like a challenge.”
The bond pulsed again, sharp and hot, and you could almost hear the thought in his head.
You had not actually expected to win. Not really.
But five minutes of deliberately poking at Katakuri’s patience had been a calculated risk. You could feel it in the bond, the way his restraint tightened with every stretch of your arm to snag a book, every absent bounce of your foot against the desk, every time you smiled at him like this was a game you had already decided to win.
By the fifth minute, he had stopped pacing entirely.
He stood with his hands braced on the edge of the bed, the scarf around his neck shifted out of place, his breathing heavier than before. His eyes were fixed on you, unreadable and dark.
You tilted your head. “You going to tell me why you keep acting like I’m made of glass?”
Silence.
The bond between you prickled, restless.
“I can feel it,” you said quietly. “You want to touch me. You want this. But you won’t.”
His jaw flexed, once, twice. “Because you deserve better.”
The words hit harder than you expected. You blinked, searching his face. “Better than what?”
“Better than me,” he said, low and firm. “Better than my world. Better than the danger that follows me into every room. You have no idea what you would be agreeing to if you let this happen.”
Your chest felt tight, but not with fear. “You think I cannot handle you? That I cannot choose for myself?”
His voice was sharp now. “I think you do not understand what it would mean. The people I fight. The family I protect. The enemies who would use you to get to me. I could survive losing anything. Not you.”
For a moment, neither of you moved. The bond between you thrummed, full and volatile, your heartbeat and his syncing in a jagged rhythm.
You leaned forward until you were close enough to feel the warmth radiating off him. “You are not protecting me by keeping me at arm’s length. You are just deciding for me.”
His eyes narrowed, a flicker of frustration breaking through his calm. “And if I let go of that distance? If I stop holding back?”
You smiled, soft but certain. “Then you would finally stop lying to yourself about what we both want.”
That was the moment the restraint in the bond snapped, the invisible thread between you tightening into something hot and undeniable.
He did not move for permission. He reached for you like the decision had already been made, pulling you into him with a force that made every earlier second of distance feel like a waste.
His grip on the bedframe was tight enough that you could hear the faint groan of wood under his fingers. You could feel the storm in him through the bond, hot and unsteady, like it was one sharp word away from breaking.
You met his gaze without flinching. “I’ve seen others,” you said, voice steady. “I know exactly what’s out there. And you are still the best thing I’ve found.”
Something in his expression shifted, the last piece of armor giving way. The bond between you swelled, a rush of heat and disbelief and want, until it was hard to tell which feelings belonged to you and which were his.
Your hands lifted before he could say anything else. You hooked your fingers into the edge of his scarf and pulled it down, slow enough that he could have stopped you. He didn’t.
The lower half of his face was bared, and for a moment you just looked at him. Really looked. Then you leaned in and kissed him.
The first press of your mouth to his was enough to snap the rest of his control. His breath caught like he had not expected you to actually follow through, but he did not move away. One large hand slid to your jaw, fingers spanning the curve of it with a careful strength that told you he was holding back more than he wanted to admit. The other curled into the bedding beside your hip, steadying the weight of him as he leaned in closer.
The kiss started slow, testing, as if he was mapping the shape of your mouth, the way you breathed, the places your lips lingered. But the longer it went on, the more the pace shifted. His restraint frayed, and the hunger he had been holding back bled through; not desperate, but deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every inch of you from the inside out.
The bond between you thrummed, warm and deep, carrying the pounding of your heartbeat alongside his. It was steady, but too taut to stay that way for long.
When he finally drew back, his forehead pressed to yours. His voice came low, roughened by something he had not managed to wrestle back into order. “You really want to see what happens if you can’t get away?”
The bond pulled tighter. Not painful, but sharp enough to make your pulse falter in your throat. “Depends,” you said, keeping your voice as even as you could, “on whether you’ll let me go again.”
His eyes moved over you, deliberate, almost calculating. The gaze was heavy enough to make you feel pinned without his hands on you. “I wouldn’t.”
You swallowed, and it felt loud in the silence. “You sound very sure.”
“I am very sure.” Katakuri stepped forward at last, the distance between you closing until his shadow spilled across the bed. The air seemed to thin as he stopped over you, and you could feel the weight of his presence as if the walls themselves had shifted to make space for him. “But I’m deciding if I’m ready to find out how far you’ll push before you stop laughing.”
The air between you carried a charge, sharp and metallic, like the moment before lightning struck.
“Then do it.”
The words were a dare, quiet but clear, and something in him finally gave way.
The tension in the bond snapped into motion, surging through you both like a pulled tide. His hand came up to the back of your neck, not rough but unshakably firm, pulling you in before you could blink. The kiss was nothing like the first. This one hit deep and fast, an unrestrained sweep that sent your breath scattering. His other arm slid around your waist, hauling you forward until you were flush against him, until you could feel every slow, steady breath he drew between the press of his mouth on yours.
You felt the shiver of his control breaking; not in the way he touched you, but in the way he refused to let go. The bond roared, thick and consuming, until you could not tell if your heartbeat belonged to you or to him.
When he broke for air, he didn’t step back. His forehead stayed against yours, his breath warm, his voice low and certain. “You wanted it. Now you’re not getting away.”
-X-The Climax-X-
Katakuri’s mochi fortress was nothing like the chaos of the rest of Whole Cake Island. The clean, white chamber stretched high above you, its sculpted walls arching in smooth curves that gave the place the hush of a cathedral. Every line and surface had been shaped with precision, the glossy mochi gleaming faintly in the light like polished marble. It felt more like a sacred space than a sparring room. A place that demanded quiet, even if no one ever said so out loud.
No one else came here.
No homies. No siblings. No noise.
Just him… and donuts.
And now… you.
The air was warmer than you expected, faintly sweet, and every footstep he took seemed to echo against the white walls. You could feel the bond humming like it recognized where you were, as if the space itself belonged so entirely to him that stepping inside meant stepping into his shadow.
Katakuri stood with you pressed lightly against the smooth mochi wall he had conjured, motionless but impossibly aware. Even this close, you had to tip your head back to meet his eyes, the height difference making him feel less like a man and more like a looming, deliberate choice you had just made. His scarf hung loose around his neck, as though he had not decided whether to keep it or let you take it.
He looked at you the way someone might look when they give an unexpected offering, as if whatever happened next would be entirely yours to claim.
“Hold still,” he said, the words slow and almost ceremonial, as if he were setting a condition neither of you would be able to walk back from. “This will be… controlled.”
You arched a brow. “Controlled? This already sounds like a trap.”
His gaze didn’t waver. “Only if you break the rules.”
“What rules?” you asked, though your pulse was already jumping in your throat.
He stepped forward until the wall pressed against your back, the cool surface a stark contrast to the warmth radiating from him. The sheer difference in height made him feel impossibly close. Leaning in would take no effort at all, yet it felt like the most dangerous choice you could make. One of his hands came up to brace against the wall beside your head, his palm flat and steady, while the other hovered inches from your waist. The restraint in that almost-touch carried more weight than contact ever could.
“You tell me if I need to stop. You push me away if I am too much,” he said quietly, each word deliberate and heavy under the pull of the bond. “You decide when to go.”
The bond vibrated between you, warm and tight, as if testing the truth of what he had just said. His eyes stayed fixed on yours, unblinking, the kind of focus that made the rest of the room dissolve until there was only the two of you.
You swallowed. “And if I do not want you to go?”
Something shifted in his expression. It was not a smile, not quite, but a slow and unmistakable softening around the edges. His hand lowered that final inch, fingers brushing your hip in a touch so careful it made your breath catch in your throat.
“Then,” he said, his voice a shade lower, “I stay until you say otherwise.”
In one smooth motion, he shifted you in his grip as if you weighed nothing at all. One arm slid beneath your thighs, the other braced solidly at your back, anchoring you to him. The heat radiating from his body was dizzying, wrapping around you in a way that felt both protective and possessive. The bond was stretched so tight it felt like it was humming through your bones, an unbroken line that connected every inch of you to him.
You looped your arms around his neck, your fingers brushing the warm skin just above his collar. “So what are we doing, then?”
“Finding out if you can handle me,” he said simply. His voice was low, unshakably certain, as if the answer had already been decided.
Your pulse jumped hard enough to make you swallow. “You think I can’t?”
“I think,” he murmured, lowering his head until the loose end of his scarf brushed across your cheek, “you are about to find out what you married.”
When his mouth finally found yours, it was overwhelming. The world beyond the walls fell away, leaving only the heat of him, the steady press of his chest, and the taste of something faintly sweet lingering between you. His hand tightened on your thigh, keeping you exactly where he wanted you while the mochi beneath your feet softened.
The mochi shifted beneath you, reshaping into a yielding, pliant surface that held you as securely as his hands did. The kiss deepened slowly at first, then with a growing hunger, as though he was mapping every angle of your mouth, learning the rhythm of each breath, committing every small tremor you gave him to memory. The bond thrummed in time with your heartbeat, steady and unbroken, carrying the weight of everything neither of you had dared to say aloud.
You broke away just far enough to murmur, “You won’t ever let me go again, right?”
“No.” His answer was absolute, delivered without hesitation. “Not now. Not ever.”
You tested your new powers, letting your body stretch just enough to roll your hips against him. His eyes narrowed, a sharp flicker of focus crossing his face. You could feel the change in him, the stillness that came before a decisive move.
“Then maybe you should stop pretending you don’t want me climbing you,” you teased.
His response was wordless at first, a shift in weight that brought you fully against the nearest mochi wall. The heat of his body pressed into you, his presence sealing off any escape. “Climb all you want,” he said, voice low enough to scrape along your spine, “but you will not be the one in control.”
The bond tightened in that instant, a pull that left you lightheaded. And then you were both moving, without another word spoken. His hands guided you exactly where he wanted you, the mochi shifting and molding under his command to cradle your back, support your legs, and keep you steady against him. Every movement was deliberate and unhurried, carrying a quiet certainty, as though he had already decided the outcome and had no intention of letting you change it.
You rose on your toes, palms braced against the hard plane of his chest for balance, and pressed a kiss right between his teeth.
The sound he made was not a growl, not exactly. It was closer to a choked exhale, low and sharp, the kind of sound that came from being caught completely off guard.
“You,” he said at last, his voice rougher than before, “are not tall enough to be doing things like that without consequences.”
You tilted your head, unbothered. “Small enough to fit here, though.”
His gaze swept down the length of you and back up, deliberate and assessing. For a fleeting moment, the size difference felt almost absurd. Then his hands slid around you, fingers spanning nearly the whole of your back, and the sheer scale of him was impossible to ignore. In one smooth motion, he lifted you as though you weighed nothing.
“You are ridiculous,” he murmured, holding you so that your face was level with his.
“Maybe,” you said, looping your legs around his waist without hesitation, “but you are holding me anyway.”
“That is because if I let you go,” his mouth brushed yours as he spoke, each word carrying the faintest vibration of restraint, “you are going to keep doing reckless things.”
“And if you keep holding me,” you countered, leaning in until your lips nearly grazed his, “I am going to keep doing reckless things.”
He kissed you. It was deep, slow, and hot enough to make your toes curl even where they were hooked behind him. His teeth grazed your bottom lip, not biting but testing, a silent dare to see if you would pull away. You didn’t.
For the first time since you had met him, Katakuri looked like a man who had no intention of letting go.
The kiss did not end so much as shift, his mouth taking more space, his grip tightening just enough to make it clear that whatever was happening, he was still the one in control. The mochi at your back firmed and shaped itself to fit you perfectly, holding you steady in a position that made retreat impossible.
“Still think you can handle me?” he asked between breaths.
“Pretty sure I can wrap you now,” you said, grinning just before you tried it. You stretched your leg in a smooth, slow arc around his back and over his far shoulder.
Katakuri froze. Not in shock. In calculation.
“Interesting,” he murmured.
His hands shifted, sliding lower and spreading wider to test exactly how far you could bend. The bond hummed in response, thick with his curiosity, his Haki sharpening as it turned inward, mapping every movement and the way your body reacted to his touch.
“Doesn’t even hurt,” you said, drawing the words out as you tested a deliberate, slow twist.
“It will if you keep provoking me,” he warned. His voice was slipping lower, rougher, the edges softening into something dangerous.
You leaned in until your nose brushed the line of his jaw. The warmth of his skin met the faint salt of the sea air still clinging to him. “You’re not mad?”
“Mad?” His lips almost grazed your ear now, his breath warm enough to raise a shiver down your spine. “No, love. I am adjusting strategy.”
The way he said it made you still. Then his palm slid up your spine with slow, deliberate pressure, the heat of it sinking through your clothes until you felt the shape of every finger. He used that shift in your body to draw you in tighter, winding you into place like you were a length of ribbon meant to be secured.
The mochi wall at your back stirred as if it had heard him, molding into smooth curves that supported you without biting in. Every time you tried to shift, it redirected you closer to him. The texture was soft but firm, pliant under your fingertips yet unyielding in its hold, almost like the moment between an inhale and an exhale; when everything is still, waiting.
“This fruit,” he murmured, his voice low enough you could feel it in your ribs, “is going to be a problem.”
“For who?” you asked, letting your smile show even as your pulse kicked.
His eyes found yours and didn’t move. The silence stretched, long enough for your own breath to catch. “Me.”
The space between you dissolved. You felt it first in the subtle tightening of his grip, the controlled strength flexing through his arms as if testing how much of you he could hold. The sharp precision of his Haki shifted, its edge blurring into something warmer and heavier.
Then the mochi moved again, responding without his conscious command, cupping your hips and bracing your legs until you were suspended against him. The heat of his body radiated into yours, the sound of his breathing slowing until each exhale slid over your cheek like a tide pulling you under.
“Katakuri,” you breathed, testing the limit of your new stretch by winding yourself closer around him.
The sound he made was low and rough, a break in the careful composure he carried like armor.
“You really do not know what you have started,” he said, the warning softened by the weight of his voice.
“Then maybe,” you murmured, eyes half-lidded, “you should show me.”
His answer was wordless, the kind that pressed into you with heat and intent. The bond pulled tight, dragging you past the point of retreat. Every inch of him became something you could climb and claim, your legs curling higher, your arms anchoring against the strength in his shoulders.
His hands mapped you slowly, deliberately, his thumbs brushing over the curve of your hips in a way that felt like a silent claim. The mochi behind you firmed, cradling your back and locking you in, holding you just high enough that he didn’t have to break eye contact when his mouth finally claimed yours.
It was not graceful when you both crossed that line. It was a rush of heat and sound, the mochi shifting in time with the pull of the bond, pulsing like it had its own heartbeat. Somewhere in the middle of it, you realized the mochi was not just keeping you there for ease. It was holding you still so he could move without losing you, an unspoken reminder of who was bigger.
The second you felt the spark of wanting the taut, controlled hold of him his breath caught.
“Oh,” he said, the word almost reverent.
“…Oh?” you echoed, flushed and smiling against him.
“New problem,” his voice rasped. “I am not going to be normal about this.”
By the time you finally slumped against him, your breathing shallow and your pulse still struggling to find a steady rhythm, you knew exactly what he meant. The mochi still cupped and supported you, warm from the heat you had both left in it, your legs draped where it had held them in place for so long. Every slight shift sent a ripple through it, slow and deliberate, a reminder of how it had been shaped to his will.
You were too far gone to care. The restraint, the sheer size of him, the way the mochi kept you exactly where he wanted you, the heat of his body, the weight of his hands… all of it folded into the bond until you could not tell where one ended and the other began.
The bond was sated but far from quiet. It hummed in your bones, low and steady now, threaded through with the weight of his claim. His arms stayed around you, one broad hand resting at the small of your back, the other under your thigh, holding you like the thought of setting you down had never crossed his mind. His chest rose and fell against yours, each exhale brushing over the crown of your head in slow, steady waves.
Somewhere in the haze, past the warmth and the faint ache of being wound so tight for so long, lived a dangerous little truth. You had just given the most self-controlled man in Totto Land a kink that involved restraining you completely and seeing how much you could take. And he had liked it. A lot.
His grip tightened just enough to remind you he could. The smallest pulse of strength, like an unspoken test of whether you would try to move. You did not. You only sank closer, letting the heat of him soak into you.
When you finally let your head rest fully against his chest, your legs still looped lazily where the mochi had held them, you could feel his heartbeat pounding as hard as yours.
And he was never going to let it go.
Your legs felt like overcooked noodles. That would have been fine, except every attempt to stand ended with you sliding helplessly back into the soft, sticky mochi Katakuri had shaped into a bed.
The first time you tried to push yourself upright, he caught you without even looking. One huge hand anchored on your thigh, his voice low. “No.”
“I need water,” you protested.
“You will have water here.”
“That is not how that works.”
“I am not concerned.”
You huffed and tried again, this time rolling sideways with all the grace of a ship tipping over. You made it approximately one and a half feet before the floor under you rose in a slow, deliberate wave and deposited you right back into the mochi bed.
Your jaw dropped. “You made the floor betray me.”
His eyes slid toward you, calm and unreadable.
“That is—” You sat up, pointed at him, and realized your finger was also stuck in mochi. “—unfair.”
“Correct.”
You tried a different tactic. “Katakuri, you cannot just keep me here.”
“Yes, I can.”
“I am your wife, not a pet.”
“Wives are easier to keep track of when they are exactly where you left them.”
“That is not—” You waved your free hand in frustration. “—marriage.”
“It is now.”
The bond purred in the back of your mind, lazy and satisfied, as if it agreed with him. It did not help your case that his tone was not sharp at all. It was quiet. Almost gentle. Like he thought you might drift away if he let you go.
You sighed and flopped back into the mochi. “Fine. But you are carrying me everywhere from now on.”
“That was already the plan.”
He did not even hesitate.
-X-CAUGHT-X-
Life in the mochi castle settled into a new rhythm. A loud, sticky, occasionally smoke-filled rhythm.
You had taken full possession of his kitchen. Not in the polite, “I’ll just borrow this counter” way. No. The entire thing was yours now.
Homies he had trained for years to slice, stir, and measure with military precision now marched under your command. The rolling pin homie carried you to high shelves without complaint. The oven homie hummed lullabies when your bread was rising. The spoon homie flat-out refused to stir anyone’s tea but yours.
Katakuri no longer got a say in the matter.
He would walk in for a quiet cup of coffee only to find you halfway across the room, stretched like saltwater taffy between three different workstations. One hand kneading dough, the other stirring caramel, one leg hooked around the freezer handle to keep it from popping open.
And the worst part? It worked.
The food was good. Too good. The kind of good that made him grit his teeth, because it meant you had won.
You would turn, cheeks flushed from the oven heat, hair tied back with a ribbon, and grin at him like he hadn’t just watched his personal sanctuary transform into an unholy fusion of pâtisserie and circus act.
The smell of sugar and yeast filled the air. Mochi tiles still clung faintly to the soles of your feet. He could see the satisfaction in the set of your shoulders, the sparkle in your eyes. And every time you caught him watching, your smile said you knew exactly how far you had pushed him… and that he was going to let you.
“Morning, my love,” you would say, popping a fresh donut in his hand. “Taste test?”
He would take it without a word, because no matter how much he wanted to lecture you about safety or order or boundaries, the bond would hum in his chest, and the pastry would be warm and perfect (even when it was not).
At night, you still tried to sneak into his bed.
At first, he always caught you mid-stretch and returned you to your mochi nest, muttering about “safety” and “sixteen feet of potential disaster.” But now, with the fruit in your veins, you could bend and stretch and twist without fear. You could not be squashed. You had proven it once by curling yourself around him like a ribbon until he had finally stopped trying to peel you off.
That night, when you tried again, he did not move you. He did not even scold.
Instead, he shifted back, making space against the line of his body, and let you settle in. One massive hand rested at your hip, not pinning you, but keeping you close.
The bond hummed, warm and steady.
You pressed your face to his chest, listening to the low, even sound of his breathing. He smelled faintly of spice and sugar.
“You’re letting me stay,” you murmured, almost teasing.
“You cannot be crushed now,” he said quietly. His voice was low, almost thoughtful. “It is different.”
You smiled at him. “Different’s not bad.”
“No,” he agreed after a moment. “It’s not.”
Later, as you drifted toward sleep, the mochi beneath you kept its gentle, pliant shape, warm from the heat you both had left in it. He stared at the ceiling, his arm still around you, each rise and fall of his chest a steady anchor against your side. He thought of the kitchen you had conquered, the peace he had lost, and the warmth now anchored at his side.
And for once, he didn’t mourn it.
“I love you,” he said softly, so low you might not have heard if not for the bond.
Your fingers curled against his chest. “I know, Donut Daddy.”
He went still for a fraction of a second, the tips of his ears flushing before his eyes narrowed in that dangerous, focused way you knew meant trouble. The bond caught the sharp flicker of heat that followed, the kind that made your own pulse skip.
“You will regret that in the morning,” he murmured.
And you absolutely did.
-X-Honeymoon-X-
Cosmic Joke Status: Mochi Entanglement, Permanent
Congratulations.
You are now spiritually, emotionally, and (if the way he glares at anyone who looks at you is any indication) aggressively married to a sixteen-foot wall of muscle who answers to “Katakuri” in public and “Donut Daddy” in the privacy of your kitchen.
Because somewhere between him physically carrying you out of trouble and the way his scarf slips when he’s laughing at you in spite of himself, you realized: this isn’t overprotection. It’s possession. The good kind. The kind you’re not planning to give back.
It is done, I finished it all today, and mourn that I cannot spend 4 more hours reading more of it.~ Thank you, gav-san for this beautiful work of art, I will name you in my will purely for this.~ You are a national treasure.~
