Op X Reader - Blog Posts

the first thing you saw when you woke up was what seemed to be the infirmary, what happened..?

your head pounded still, so you didn’t move around too much. You were clearly laid down in of tge beds- you saw that were hooked up to some IV in your arm. carefully you sat up, against the wall behind you. what was this IV..? you couldn’t remember anything, besides passing out that is.

you heard the door open and close, but your eyes were closed as even the mere light from outside didn’t help your headache. you then felt somebody sit on the bed before speaking up.

“the hell were you thinking; pushing your body like that woman?” oh. it was Zoro.

“why would you care?” you groaned, opening your eyes to look at him. he seemed tense, there was eye bags under his eyes, yet he looked moodier than usual.

he glanced at you as he sighed, burying his face in one of his hands as he spoke. “because you’re my crewmate, idiot. you pushed it too far and your body practically gave up, you were out for two days straight.” he explained, you sat there quietly taking in this information.

“thought you’d be happy.” you scoffed, not caring to look at his bewildered expression that sat on his face as you spoke.

pt1

pt2

tags; @ghostfacefricker6969 @jellyslimesofficial

masterlist

─ Binding Shots

yandere! zoro x bartender! reader [gender neutral]

• fic type: oneshot

• summary: zoro couldn't get enough of the drinks you served, but he couldn't get enough of you even more.

• word count: 2.7k

• tw: obsessive thoughts, kidnapping, passing out

• a/n: i hope i didn't get too carried away and i really hope you enjoy this story!! i also may have included a little yandere captain luffy headcanon, since he pretty much gives zoro the ok to pursue y/n. also if i find the time i might make headcanons about y/n getting used to being with the strawhats, and more importantly zoro!

The bar pulsed with energy, the air thick with the scent of spiced rum, grilled seafood, and the occasional whiff of salt carried in from the docks.

Laughter echoed through the dimly lit space, drunken patrons toasting to their fortunes—or misfortunes, depending on the night.

You had long since mastered the art of blending into the chaos, weaving between customers with effortless grace, your hands a blur as you poured drinks, wiped down counters, and cracked jokes all at once.

The old fisherman at the counter huffed as he caught the glass you slid his way, his weathered face splitting into a grin.

"You're too damn cocky for a bartender, Y/n," he grumbled, taking a sip of the golden liquid.

"Flattery will get you nowhere—except another drink if you tip well," you shot back, smirking as you wiped the counter.

The old man let out a hearty laugh, shaking his head. "Damn menace, you are."

Before you could deliver another quip, the bell above the door jingled, signaling new arrivals. Your gaze flickered toward the entrance, and immediately, the atmosphere seemed to shift.

A small group strolled in, their presence commanding attention even in a bar full of hardened sailors. You recognized them instantly.

The Straw Hat Pirates.

Luffy led the pack, grinning ear to ear as he took in the bustling bar, his boundless energy practically radiating from him.

Usopp and Franky followed close behind, already deep in some ridiculous argument about whether or not cola could be turned into alcohol.

And then there was him.

Zoro.

Broad-shouldered, arms crossed, an air of quiet confidence surrounding him. His swords sat at his hip like an extension of his being, a constant reminder of his strength. But it was his eyes that caught your attention—sharp, calculating, always scanning, as if sizing up the world around him.

You’d met plenty of pirates before, but there was something different about him. Something... interesting.

They took their seats at the bar, Luffy slamming his hands onto the counter with his usual lack of subtlety. "Meat! Lots of Meat!" he declared, grinning wildly.

You arched a brow, already reaching for a bottle. "Well, if it isn’t the infamous Straw Hats," you mused, twirling the bottle between your fingers before popping it open. "What’ll it be, gentlemen?"

Usopp, ever the dramatic storyteller, ordered something fruity, a Mocktail being the first thing that came to mind.

Franky demanded something SUPER strong, his voice booming loud enough to rattle the glasses. It seemed like he'd enjoy a nice Whiskey Sour.

Luffy, as expected, wanted something with meat in it. You weren’t sure if you should be impressed or horrified.

Then your gaze flickered to Zoro, who had yet to say a word.

His arms remained crossed, his expression unreadable. Finally, he spoke. "Sake."

You snorted. "Predictable."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You got a problem with that?"

"Not at all," you said smoothly, already in the midst of making the other's requests. "Just saying, a guy like you doesn’t seem the adventurous type when it comes to drinks."

Zoro grunted, unimpressed, as you poured a variety of liquids into a cup and slid it toward him.

Before he could grab it, you rested your elbow on the counter, flashing him a smirk. "But hey, this one’s on the house."

That got his attention. His brows furrowed slightly, his gaze flicking from you to the drink and back again. There was a brief hesitation before he picked up the cup and took a sip.

The reaction was immediate.

His grip on the cup tightened ever so slightly, his expression shifting just enough for you to notice.

His tongue tingled with the rich, layered flavors—smooth, complex, and yet strong enough to rival his beloved sake.

He swallowed, exhaling slowly as the taste settled in. Then his dark gaze lifted to meet yours, something unreadable flickering in his expression.

"What the hell is this?"

"Like it?" You grinned, leaning forward slightly. "It’s a little something I came up with myself. Thought you’d appreciate it."

Zoro didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he took another slow sip, as if testing whether the first taste had been a fluke. It wasn’t. The drink was dangerously good.

Better than any sake he’d ever had.

That realization should’ve irritated him, but instead, he found himself staring at you, curiosity and something deeper settling in his chest.

He hadn’t paid much attention before, too focused on his drink, but now that he was looking—really looking—he noticed things.

The easy confidence in your posture, the way your lips curled in amusement, the glint of mischief in your eyes.

You were different. And for the first time in a long while, he was interested.

The island had a lot to offer—food stalls, markets, scenic cliffs—but for some reason, Zoro always found himself back at your bar.

It had started off as nothing. Just a casual drink, a place to sit while the others indulged in the island’s festivities. But by the third night, he didn’t even pretend he was there for anything else.

It wasn’t just the drinks—though, damn it, they were good.

Too good.

He’d never had anything quite like what you made for him, and each night, it was something better, something stronger, something just right.

But that wasn’t what kept him coming back.

It was you.

You, with your insufferable smirks, your sharp tongue, your easy laughter that rang over the low hum of the bar like a melody.

You didn’t shy away from teasing him, didn’t fawn over him like others did when they recognized his reputation.

You treated him like just another patron, another nameless face in the crowd, and yet—there was something else.

A warmth.

A familiarity.

Zoro wasn’t used to that.

And that kindness, that brightness—it was intoxicating. More so than any drink you poured.

He sat at the bar now, his usual spot, arms resting on the counter as he watched you work.

His drink sat untouched in front of him, forgotten the moment you started talking.

"You sure you’re not just using me for my drinks?" you teased, sliding a fresh glass to a customer beside him before leaning in slightly, giving him that familiar smug look. "Pretty sure this is your fourth night in a row."

Zoro scoffed, fingers tracing the rim of his cup. "Tch. You wish I was that desperate."

"You wound me, swordsman," you gasped dramatically, pressing a hand to your chest. "And here I thought we were forming a beautiful, booze-filled friendship."

Zoro shook his head, but there was the faintest twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips. "If you keep running your mouth, I might start looking for another bar."

You chuckled, leaning your elbow on the counter. "Yeah? Go ahead. Bet you won’t find another place that can make you forget about your precious sake."

He didn’t respond. He didn’t need to.

You both knew he wasn’t going anywhere.

Something about Zoro fascinated you. Maybe it was the contrast—the roughness of him, the way he carried himself like a warrior through and through, yet still sat here every night, lingering like he had nowhere else he’d rather be.

And, though you wouldn’t admit it outright, you found him... charming.

In his own gruff, quiet way.

The way his eyes followed you as you moved. The way he listened when you spoke, even if he acted like he didn’t care.

The way he never let his drink distract him from you.

You leaned in a little closer, lowering your voice just enough to make it feel like a secret. "You know, for someone who claims they’re not interested, you sure do look like you’re enjoying the view."

Zoro tensed, his grip tightening slightly around his glass.

His eyes flicked to yours, sharp and unreadable.

For a moment, you thought he might deny it. Scoff, roll his eyes, deflect like he always did.

But instead, he said, "Maybe I am." That caught you off guard.

You blinked, a slow grin creeping onto your lips. "Well, well. Look at you, actually admitting something for once."

Zoro just took a sip of his drink, but his gaze never left yours. "Don’t get cocky."

Too late.

The conversation moved on, the bar growing rowdier as the night stretched on. But Zoro wasn’t paying attention to the noise, or the people, or even his drink.

He was watching you.

The way your hands moved effortlessly, mixing, pouring, sliding drinks down the counter with practiced ease. The way you threw back your head when you laughed, unapologetically loud.

The way you leaned in when you talked to him, like it was second nature, like you wanted to be close.

Each night, his obsession grew.

It started off as simple curiosity, but now—it was hunger.

He wanted more.

More of your time. More of your attention.

More of you.

And he was starting to think he’d take it.

••••

The bar was alive with noise—the clinking of glasses, drunken laughter, the occasional outburst from some poor bastard who lost a bet.

But Zoro barely heard any of it.

He was too focused on you.

You were moving through the crowd with effortless ease, sliding drinks across the counter, cracking jokes that had customers roaring with laughter.

You had that insufferable, cocky grin on your face—the one you always wore when you knew you’d gotten under someone’s skin.

And damn it, it worked every time.

Zoro found himself watching the way your fingers moved as you mixed drinks, the precise way you handled each glass, like it was second nature.

The way you leaned in close when someone spoke, giving them your full attention, even when they were drunk off their ass and slurring nonsense.

You were good at this—too good. Too damn captivating.

And that laugh of yours—light, unapologetic, always laced with amusement at your own wit.

It was like an itch under his skin, one he couldn’t scratch.

Luffy was beside him, stuffing his face with whatever food he’d managed to get his hands on, crumbs scattering across the bar top.

Most of the crew were still doing their own thing, chatting with locals, admiring scenery or pathetically flirting with every woman in a 5 mile radius.

But then—something shifted.

Zoro didn’t notice at first, but Luffy had gone quiet.

He was watching him.

Not in his usual careless way, not with that absentminded curiosity he always had when he wasn’t focused on food. No—this was different.

Luffy’s eyes, normally bright with mischief, were unreadable, his face eerily still.

The realization sent a slow chill down Zoro’s spine.

Then, just as you walked away from the bar, Luffy turned to him. "You like Y/n?"

Zoro stiffened. A heavy silence passed between them, the background noise of the bar fading into a dull hum.

He could lie. Could brush it off. Could scoff and tell Luffy to mind his own damn business.

But he didn’t, he couldn't bring himself to lie to his captain. "...Yeah."

Luffy’s expression didn’t change. He just stared, unsettlingly calm. "Do you want Y/n?"

Zoro exhaled slowly, staring down at his half-empty glass.

Did he?

His first instinct was to say no. He wasn’t that kind of man. He didn’t take people, didn’t let his desires dictate his actions.

But the longer he sat with the question, the more it clawed at him.

The way you laughed. The way you looked at him. The way you spoke to him like he was just another guy, not a pirate, not a swordsman, not some wanted criminal.

He was a pirate though.

Pirates took what they wanted.

And he wanted you.

Zoro lifted his gaze, locking eyes with Luffy. His voice was steady, firm. "I do."

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then, Luffy’s lips curled into that wide, familiar grin. "If you want something, you should take it!"

Just like that, his usual energy returned, his eerie stillness vanishing like it had never been there. He clapped a hand on Zoro’s shoulder, grinning like this was the most obvious thing in the world.

"My crew gets whatever they want." His grin widened. "I’ll make sure of it."

Zoro’s grip tightened around his cup, heartbeat thudding in his ears.

Luffy wasn’t just talking about letting him go after you.

He was promising something.

And for the first time, Zoro let the thought settle, let it grow, let it take root.

••••

The night stretched long, and eventually, the last few customers trickled out, their drunken laughter fading into the distance as they stumbled into the night.

You exhaled, rolling your shoulders before reaching for the keys in your pocket. Another good night, another pocket full of berri.

The bar was silent now, save for the quiet clinking of glasses as you tidied up one last time.

You moved on autopilot, wiping the counter down with lazy strokes before finally heading toward the door. The lock clicked into place with a satisfying snap, sealing the building in its usual nighttime solitude.

Stepping out onto the dimly lit streets, you inhaled deeply, the salty sea air filling your lungs.

The cobblestone roads stretched before you, lined with flickering lanterns that cast long, wavering shadows against the alley walls.

For a moment, you just stood there, hands stuffed into your pockets, humming a tune under your breath.

And yet… something felt off.

A prickling sensation crawled up your spine, subtle but persistent. Like the weight of unseen eyes pressing against your back.

You froze, the night air suddenly too cold against your skin.

Your fingers twitched in your pockets, tightening around your keys.

You’re being paranoid, you told yourself. It’s just another quiet night.

You forced a breath, shaking your head. "Don’t be ridiculous, Y/n," you muttered under your breath. "No one’s watching you."

But then—

Footsteps.

Slow. Heavy. Deliberate.

Your stomach twisted.

You stopped walking, straining your ears.

Silence.

Your pulse thudded.

Then, just as you took another cautious step forward—

The footsteps resumed.

Closer this time.

Your breath hitched, heart hammering against your ribs.

You picked up your pace, forcing a laugh in a weak attempt to calm yourself. "Alright, if you’re a robber, just know I’m broke as hell—"

The footsteps sped up.

Panic surged through you like a lightning strike. You bolted.

The world blurred around you as your legs carried you forward on pure instinct.

Your home was just in sight, barely a block away—But then arms wrapped around you.

A strong, unyielding grip yanked you back before you could react. A hand clamped over your mouth, smothering the startled cry that tore from your throat.

You fought.

Your body twisted, legs kicking, fingers clawing at the arm restraining you. But the grip didn’t loosen. If anything, it tightened, pressing you flush against an unmovable chest.

And then—

A voice.

Low. Calm. Familiar.

"You’re safe."

Your breath hitched.

The voice was right by your ear, warm and steady despite the vice-like grip holding you still.

"I’ve got you."

Your body went rigid.

Your eyes widened, the realization slamming into you like a crashing wave.

"Zoro?!" The name came out muffled against his hand, but you knew he heard it.

"Shhh," he murmured, voice smooth, almost soothing. "Don’t struggle."

You did struggle, thrashing as hard as you could, but he barely budged.

"Zoro," you hissed, your voice strained against his palm. "What the hell are you—?"

"I won’t hurt you," he promised, his tone steady, as if that alone was enough to justify this.

Confusion tangled with the terror clawing at your chest.

Your mind spun. Why was he doing this?

You forced yourself to think, to breathe. You had to get free, had to—

But then—Sharp pain.

A precise, practiced pressure against the side of your neck.

The world lurched.

Your limbs went weak, your vision hazy.

Your breath shuddered as a wave of dizziness crashed over you.

"Wha…" Your words slurred, head tilting against Zoro’s shoulder. "The… hell…"

Your fingers twitched uselessly, your body going slack.

The last thing you saw was a flash of green hair, blurred by the darkness creeping into the edges of your vision.

And the last thing you heard—soft, unwavering—

"You’re mine now, Y/n."

─ Too Tight, Too Much

yandere! luffy x gn! reader

• fic type: oneshot

• summary: you felt like a burden to the strawhat pirate who constantly grew stronger by the day, especially Luffy. So you decided to do them a service by leaving the crew, little did you know Luffy doesn't like to let go.

• word count: 2.3k

• warnings: obsessive tendencies, kidnapping, possessive physical touch [nonsexual]

• a/n: I forgot to post this, sorry chat 🧍‍♀️,, also can be read as platonic or romantic. Also also,, I tried something different w/ this writing style! ^^

The decision had been made long before you ever set foot on that island. It wasn’t a fleeting impulse, nor was it born from doubt in Luffy’s dream. You believed in him—more than anything.

But belief wasn’t enough.

You saw the way the others grew stronger, how their names carried weight across the sea, how they each carved their place into history with their own hands. Zoro’s blade could cut through steel. Sanji’s legs burned brighter than the sun. Robin could summon a thousand hands to break an army.

And you?

You had no grand ambitions, no great power. No Devil Fruit, no Haki, no title whispered in fear. You weren’t weak, but you weren’t enough.

So you made your choice.

It was easier than you thought it would be. The town was alive with music and laughter, lanterns swinging in the ocean breeze. The crew was lost in their own celebrations—Zoro and Sanji already in the middle of another argument, Usopp animatedly recounting some grand tale, Chopper stuffing himself with sweets. Luffy was in the center of it all, as he always was, grinning wildly, a beverage in one hand and a drumstick in the other.

It was the perfect moment. He was happy.

Distracted.

You turned away before doubt could creep in. Your steps were silent, your presence barely a whisper in the wind as you moved through the streets. No hesitation, no second thoughts. You told yourself you were doing the right thing.

That this was for the best.

But deep down, you knew the truth.

Luffy would never forgive you for this. And you would never forgive yourself.

••••

The island had been peaceful. A quiet little stop along the trade routes, where merchants gathered to restock their ships, exchange goods, and barter over prices with a mix of tenacity and exhaustion. The scent of salt and various spices hung heavy in the air, blending with the distant hum of the waves.

You had taken up temporary work guarding one of the ships docked there—a simple trade of protection for passage. The work was easy enough. A watchful eye, a firm stance, and most left you alone. You were a ghost passing through, a nameless traveler in a sea of transient faces.

Or so you thought.

After fulfilling your end of the bargain with your employer and receiving your pay, you found yourself wandering the market area, searching for an inn. The moment your boots met the soft dirt of the market, something in the air shifted. It was subtle at first, a prickling sensation along the back of your neck, a whisper of something inevitable.

Then you felt it—him.

His presence wasn’t loud or forceful, but it was all-consuming. Overwhelming. Undeniable. And when you lifted your gaze, there he was. Luffy stood in the middle of the bustling street, his straw hat tilted slightly back, dark eyes shining beneath its brim. His grin stretched wide, the same carefree expression you had seen a thousand times before, as if no time had passed at all.

“Y/n!”

His voice shattered the din of the marketplace, rising above the merchants’ calls and the chatter of weary travelers. It was raw, unfiltered joy—too much joy.

Your muscles tensed.

For a moment, you considered running. You could slip into the crowd, weave through the alleyways, disappear before he got any closer. You had done it before. You could do it again. But your feet refused to move.

Because to run would be cruel. Even for you.

You watched as he closed the distance between you with long, eager strides, his sandals slapping against the dirt road. His arms were already outstretched, reaching, claiming.

And then, he was there.

The force of his embrace nearly knocked the air from your lungs. His arms wrapped around you like iron bands, pulling you in against the familiar heat of his body. He smelled like the sea, like sun-warmed cotton and something undeniably Luffy.

He held you tight. Too tight.

A moment passed. Then another.

Slowly, you exhaled, allowing your hands to lift—to rest lightly against his back. Not quite returning the embrace, but not rejecting it either. Luffy made a sound—a breathy, contented sigh—as if something within him had finally settled.

Then he pulled back just enough to look at you, his fingers still curled against the fabric of your shirt. His eyes burned bright, his grin never wavering.

"I knew I’d see you again," Luffy said, his voice warm and bright, like he had never once doubted this moment.

His arms were locked around you, his grip firm—too firm—as if he thought you might slip away if he let go. His fingers pressed into your back, not enough to hurt, but enough to make you aware. His breath was warm against your shoulder, carrying the scent of salt and something faintly sweet, like the remnants of a half-eaten meal.

“You’re back now.”

Your lips parted, the words forming before you could decide whether you even wanted to say them. “I—”

“I missed you.”

The words came quickly, cutting off whatever you might’ve said. Luffy met your gaze, his expression unguarded, open. His dark eyes gleamed beneath the brim of his hat, wide and too bright, like the sun reflecting off the waves. There was something in them—something you couldn’t quite place—and it sent a slow prickle down your spine.

You had known Luffy since childhood. You had seen him angry, sad, frustrated. You had seen him laugh until he couldn’t breathe. But this? This was different.

And it made your chest feel too tight.

Luffy continued to grinned, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. His fingers twitched against your sleeve, then tightened, his knuckles going white for just a fraction of a second before his grip relaxed again.

"Come on," he said, his voice light, casual, like this was any other day. Like you hadn’t left. Like he hadn’t spent who-knows-how-long searching for you. "The others are here, they’ll be happy to see you!"

You opened your mouth—to protest, to ask him to slow down, to breathe—but the words never left your throat.

Because before you could decide what to say, his fingers wrapped around your wrist.

And this time, he didn’t let go.

There was no force behind his grip, no sharp tug that demanded movement. But it was firm.

Unrelenting.

Final.

You hesitated. Just for a second.

That second was too long.

Luffy moved, and you moved with him, pulled effortlessly into his stride as he led you through the streets.

The market blurred around you—the murmur of voices, the clang of metal, the scent of spices and fresh bread—all of it faded into the background beneath the steady press of his hand.

People turned as you passed, their gazes flickering to the infamous Straw Hat Captain. Some whispered, some pointed, but Luffy didn’t even glance their way.

His attention was locked solely on you.

And for the first time since you’d known him, you weren’t sure if that was a good thing.

••••

The reunion was warm. Too warm.

The moment Luffy dragged you into the familiar chaos of the crew, you were engulfed. Arms thrown around your shoulders, voices overlapping, laughter echoing through the air. It was suffocating in its sincerity.

Zoro was the first to acknowledge you, though in typical fashion, he kept it brief. A smirk pulled at his lips as he crossed his arms over his chest. “Took you long enough,” he said, voice even, as if he had expected this outcome from the start.

Nami let out an exaggerated sigh, placing a hand on her hip. “You owe me for the stress you put me through,” she scolded, though there was no real anger behind her words.

Just relief.

Sanji, on the other hand, was all action. The moment you were seated, a plate was shoved in front of you, the aroma of a perfectly prepared meal filling your senses. “You’re too thin, Y/n-chan,” he fussed, already halfway to the kitchen to fetch more. “Have you even been eating properly?”

Usopp puffed out his chest, his hands gesturing wildly. “You should’ve seen what I did the other day! You’d have been impressed, I swear! I took down this massive sea beast with just—” he stopped mid-sentence, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Where were you, anyway?”

Before you could answer, Chopper had scrambled onto the chair beside you, pressing small hooves against your arm, his face scrunched in concern. “You’re healthy, at least,” he murmured, checking you over despite your insistence that you were fine.

Robin smiled knowingly from her seat, eyes studying you as if she already understood the story you hadn’t told.

Franky let out a booming laugh, giving you a hearty pat on the back that nearly sent you tumbling forward. “Took off on your own adventure, huh? Well, welcome back, bro!”

Brook, ever the performer, strummed at his guitar. “Ah, Y/n-san, I would ask if you missed me, but alas, I have no heart to feel longing, yohohoho~!”

Jinbe hummed lightly in approval, his eyes looking at you over the steaming cup of tea he'd raised towards his lips. "It is nice to have you back with it, Y/n."

It was almost too easy to fall back into place.

Almost.

Because Luffy never let go.

His eyes never left you, even as he laughed at Usopp’s exaggerated storytelling or tore through his usual mountain of food. His attention remained anchored to you, sharp and unwavering.

Every time you moved, his gaze followed. Every time you spoke, his attention sharpened. And then there was his touch. Fleeting, but constant.

A hand on your wrist when you reached for your drink. A brush of fingers against your shoulder when he leaned in to listen. The back of your shirt tugged absently when you shifted in your seat.

By the end of the night, you felt the weight of it. “I should go,” you finally said, standing up from the table. “I have a room at an inn.”

For a moment, just a second, something flickered in Luffy’s expression. A shadow, a hint of something unreadable, something wrong.

Then, just as quickly, his grin returned, wide and bright. “Alright,” he said, easy as ever. “I’ll see you later.”

Not goodbye.

Not see you around.

I’ll see you later.

But you didn’t think much of it.

Not then.

••••

You had fallen asleep easily, exhaustion pulling you under the moment your head hit the pillow. The day had been long, full of laughter and conversation, the warmth of old friends pressing in on you from every side.

You had thought you were safe.

But when you woke up, something was wrong. The air smelled different—saltier, thick with the scent of the open sea. The faint trace of damp wood and metal drifted into your senses, something familiar, yet out of place.

The bed was softer, the sheets heavier, and when you shifted, you could feel the subtle sway beneath you. The sound of waves was louder—too close, too steady.

Your stomach twisted.

Your eyes snapped open, and as your vision adjusted to the dim morning light filtering through the room, the cold weight of realization settled over you. This wasn’t the inn.

This was the Thousand Sunny.

More than that—this was the Captain’s Quarters.

Your breath came slow, controlled, even as the unease crept up your spine. You sat up carefully, scanning the space, noting every detail—your bag tucked in the corner, your shoes neatly placed by the door, as if you had never left. As if you had always been here.

The door creaked open.

“Morning!” Luffy’s voice was warm, easy, as if this were just another day on the ship. As if nothing was wrong.

He stood in the doorway, his straw hat pushed back slightly, dark hair ruffled from sleep. His grin was the same as always—wide, bright, too full of something you couldn’t name.

“Sanji made breakfast,” he added, stepping inside like this was normal.

Like this was where you belonged.

You stared at him.

Your expression didn’t change, your voice remained steady. “Luffy.” He tilted his head slightly, his bare feet padding softly across the wooden floor as he closed the space between you.

“Why am I here?” you asked. Luffy blinked, as if the question itself didn’t make sense to him. “Because this is where you’re supposed to be.”

Supposed to be.

You exhaled slowly, forcing down the cold weight pressing against your chest. “You took me from the island.”

Luffy laughed.

Not a nervous chuckle. Not a guilty one.

A simple, carefree laugh.

“Yeah,” he said, as if it was obvious. “You fell asleep, so I brought you home.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the sheets. “…You should’ve asked.”

“I didn’t have to.”

His certainty was unshakable. And that’s what made your stomach turn.

Luffy moved closer, his warmth radiating off him in waves. His hand landed on your shoulder, a light press of fingers—too warm, too heavy. But then, he curled his fingers.

Not enough to hurt. But enough to hold.

“Now that you’re back,” he murmured, “I can keep going.” You didn’t breathe for a moment.

Your lips parted slightly, a rare display of emotion flickering across your features.

Luffy’s grip tightened just a fraction.

“You’re my Emperor,” he said simply, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I can’t be Pirate King without you.”

Your heart thumped, slow and heavy.

The weight of his words settled over you like an anchor.

Your lips parted, words forming before you could stop them. “…You don’t need me, Luffy.” He grinned. Wide. Too wide. “Yeah, I do!”

His hand slid down your arm, fingers tracing your skin, slow, deliberate. He didn’t grab. He didn’t pull.

But he didn’t let go.

Instead, his fingers wrapped around your wrist, his thumb brushing lazily against your pulse.

Outside, the ship rocked gently with the waves. The world stretched endlessly in every direction, open and unreachable.

You weren’t on that island anymore.

And you wouldn’t be again.

Luffy turned toward the door, still holding your wrist, still smiling like nothing was wrong. “C’mon,” he said. “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

Your eyes flickered to his face, taking in the curve of his lips, the shadow in his gaze, the way he held you like he was afraid you might disappear again.

Your expression remained unreadable. But deep inside, something twisted.

This was Luffy.

And Luffy never let go.

─ Old Habits, Die Hard

✎ Strawhats x gn! reader

Luffy, Zoro, Sanji, Usopp [Separately]

• fic type: drabbles

• summary: Strawhat men with an s/o, who picks at their acne/scars; and they do whatever they can to help them try to break the habit.

• word count: 3.9k [Collectively]

• warnings: skin picking, acne picking

• a/n: These are based on my own experience with skin picking, which won't be like everyone else's. So I ask that you be considerate when reading, please! I kinda got carried away with Sanji and Usopp 🧍‍♀️

Luffy:

The sun beams down on the Thousand Sunny, its golden rays glinting off the calm ocean waves. You lean against the railing, your fingers drumming absentmindedly against the wood. Your gaze wanders toward the horizon, thoughts meandering as the ship cuts through the water.

You shift slightly, fingers brushing your shoulder. There it is again—the familiar itch of idle hands meeting your ever-stubborn acne. Before you can pick at it, a familiar voice snaps you out of your trance. “Y/n! Look at this!” Luffy’s voice rings out, cutting through the salty air. Turning, you see your captain sprinting toward you, holding something in his outstretched hands. Usopp trails behind him, yelling something about "not losing it this time."

Luffy skids to a stop in front of you, shoving a palm-sized beetle practically into your face. “Isn’t it cool? Usopp and I found it on the mast!” You lean back instinctively, raising an eyebrow. “Cool? It looks like it’s planning world domination.” Luffy cackles at your remark, his grin widening. “You’re funny, Y/n! But look at its horns! They’re huge!” You snort, glancing at the beetle. “Yeah, massive. Bet it benches twice my weight.” You flash a mock-serious expression before bursting into laughter, your tone dripping with pompous flair.

“Oi! Don’t insult Beetle-sama!” Usopp protests, pointing a dramatic finger at you. “He’s the strongest beetle in all the seas!” Rolling your eyes with a chuckle, you cross your arms. “Alright, alright, I concede. Beetle-sama is a paragon of strength and charm.” Luffy laughs again, his joy as infectious as ever. “See? Told ya it’s awesome!” He’s gone as quickly as he came, bounding off to show the beetle to Robin next. You shake your head, amused, as your fingers drift back to your shoulder.

“Stop that,” Chopper’s gentle voice interrupts, his small hoof swatting your hand away. “Caught red-handed, huh?” you reply with a sheepish grin. Chopper frowns, his little doctor’s coat billowing slightly in the breeze. “Y/n, you’ve gotta stop picking at it. It could leave scars or get infected. You should take better care of your skin!”

You sigh, nodding. “I know, Doc. It’s just...a bad habit, y’know? Boredom, stress—it happens.”Chopper nods sagely, but before he can respond, Luffy reappears, his curiosity piqued. “What are you two talking about?” Chopper hesitates, glancing between you and Luffy, but you wave him off. “It’s no big deal, just some skin stuff.”

“Skin stuff?” Luffy tilts his head, clearly not understanding. Chopper sighs, taking pity on him. “Y/n picks at their acne sometimes, especially when they’re bored or stressed. I’ve been trying to help them stop.”Luffy blinks at this, his rubbery brain gears turning. Then, with the sudden decisiveness only he can muster, he declares, “Alright! I’ll help too!” You blink, caught off guard. “Help? How?”

“By making sure you’re never bored!” Luffy grins, puffing out his chest like he’s just announced a grand plan. You laugh, shaking your head. “That’s a tall order, Captain.”

“Not for me!” Luffy insists, stretching his arm out and wrapping it around your waist. “C’mon, we’re gonna explore the ship!” And so it begins. Every time you find yourself sitting alone, fingers starting to twitch, Luffy appears like magic. Whether he’s dragging you off to explore a new island, shoving some bizarre food Sanji’s made into your hands, or excitedly ranting about his next dream, he always manages to keep your hands busy—and your mind off your habit.

One evening, after a particularly chaotic adventure involving angry sea kings and narrowly avoiding an ambush, the crew is sprawled across the deck, basking in the quiet. You sit alone near the bow, the familiar itch creeping up again. Your fingers twitch, drifting toward your shoulder, when—

“Y/n!

You startle as Luffy plops down in front of you, cross-legged and beaming. “Wanna hear about the biggest fish I’ve ever seen?” he asks, leaning in close. “Let me guess—it was this big?” You stretch your arms wide, grinning. “No, bigger!” Luffy laughs, mimicking your gesture but stretching his arms far past the point of realism. “It was huuuge!” You chuckle, shaking your head. “Sure it was, Captain.”

As he talks—animatedly describing a fish so large it could swallow the Sunny whole—you realize something. His hands have found yours, his fingers weaving through yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world. The urge to pick at your skin fades, replaced by a warm, calm feeling. You smile softly, letting yourself be swept up in his energy. “You’re really something, Luffy.”

“Huh? What do you mean?” he asks, cocking his head. “Just...thanks,” you say simply, your voice lighter than usual. Luffy grins, his face lighting up with joy. “Of course! You’re my crew, Y/n. And you’re my partner! I’ve gotta take care of you!" The sincerity in his voice catches you off guard, but you quickly mask it with your usual humor. “Aw, shucks. Flattery will get you everywhere, Captain.” He laughs, throwing his head back, and you join in, the sound of your laughter mingling with the ocean breeze.

Zoro:

The salty breeze of the ocean tickled your nose as you leaned on the Sunny’s railing, the waves sparkling under the sun. You were currently watching Luffy attempt to catch fish with his bare hands—unsuccessfully—and your amused chuckles were drowned out by his cries of determination.

“Don’t laugh!” he hollered. “I’m gonna catch the biggest fish in here!” You snorted, smirking. “Sure you are, Captain. At this rate, the fish are probably betting on who’ll pull you in first.” Luffy splashed water in your direction, though he was far too far away for it to land anywhere near you. You grinned, leaning back and crossing your arms. Being on the Thousand Sunny was never boring, and neither were the people on it. That was especially true when it came to Roronoa Zoro.

You felt his presence before you even saw him, his heavy footsteps and steady gait unmistakable. You turned just in time to see the swordsman approaching with his usual lazy scowl, swords at his side. He stopped a few feet from you, hands tucked into his haramaki. “Oi, you done slacking?” he asked. You grinned, tilting your head dramatically. “Slacking? My dear mosshead, I’m hard at work being me. It’s a full-time job, you know.”

Zoro rolled his eyes, but the corners of his lips twitched slightly. “Tch. You’re coming with me. Training.” You groaned, throwing your head back theatrically. “Again? Zoro, I’m not trying to become a human pretzel! Besides, what’s the point of training if I can already outwit you with my superior intellect?”

“That’s rich coming from someone who trips over their own feet,” Zoro retorted, grabbing your wrist. “I was testing gravity,” you deadpanned as he dragged you across the deck. “It still works, by the way.” You could hear Nami chuckling in the background, but Zoro ignored everyone, his grip firm yet not painful. You’d long since stopped resisting his training sessions, mostly because he was stubborn enough to carry you over his shoulder if you didn’t cooperate. Plus, you knew why he was doing it.

As the two of you reached the training area, Zoro handed you a practice sword. You stared at it with mock horror. “Oh no, not again. My arms still feel like noodles from the last time.” Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Good. Then you’re warming up faster.” You groaned but complied, holding the sword in a half-decent stance. Zoro began to correct your posture, his hands brushing yours briefly. You tried not to think too hard about it, focusing instead on his instructions.

“Stop slouching. Keep your wrist steady,” he said, circling you like a predator assessing its prey. “Sir, yes Sir,” you quipped. “Just focus, idiot,” he muttered, but you could hear the faintest trace of amusement in his tone. The training session lasted longer than you’d anticipated, and by the end, your muscles ached, and your bad habit had all but slipped your mind. Zoro had a way of keeping you so focused that there was no room for idle thoughts—or idle hands.

Later, as you sat on the deck with Chopper tending to a scrape on your hand, the little doctor gave you his usual stern look. “You need to stop picking at your skin, Y/n!” he scolded. “It’s bad for you, and you’ll get scars!” You gave him a sheepish grin. “Aw, c’mon, Doc, it’s not that bad.”

“It is bad,” Chopper insisted. “And Zoro’s been telling me you’re getting better about it. Don’t ruin the progress!” Your head snapped up, and you blinked. “Wait—Zoro’s been talking to you about it?” Chopper nodded as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. “He said you’re too stubborn to admit it, but the training helps keep you from doing it. I think he’s really proud of you.”Your face grew warm, and you glanced over to where Zoro was lounging in his usual spot, swords by his side. He was fast asleep—or so it seemed—but his presence felt... steady, grounding.

That night, as you sat beside him in the crow’s nest after he’d dragged you there “to keep him company,” you finally worked up the courage to ask. “Hey, Zoro,” you began, your voice softer than usual. “Hm?” He cracked an eye open, glancing at you. “Why do you... you know, keep bugging me to train with you?” He stared at you for a moment before closing his eye again. “You’re less annoying when you’re focused.” You snorted, leaning back against the wall. “Wow, I’m touched. Truly.”

A brief silence fell between you, but Zoro’s voice cut through it, lower and more serious. “...You’re not alone on this ship. So stop acting like you have to deal with everything by yourself,” he said. Your chest tightened at his words, and for once, you didn’t have a snarky comeback. Instead, you smiled, your voice light. “Thanks, mosshead.”

He smirked, leaning back with his arms behind his head. “Anytime, idiot.” And just like that, you realized how much Zoro cared in his own, gruff way. You didn’t need flowery words or grand gestures. His actions spoke volumes, and you silently vowed to keep working on your habit—not just for him, but for yourself.

Sanji:

The scent of sea salt mixed with the delicious aroma of baking bread wafted through the galley. You leaned against the counter, arms crossed, as Sanji expertly kneaded dough with the kind of finesse that only he could muster. His blond hair fell into his eyes, and you couldn’t resist the urge to tease him. “Careful, chef,” you said with a smirk. “You’re going to knead that dough into another dimension if you keep putting your back into it like that.”

Sanji shot you a look, one eyebrow arched in mock offense. “Oh? And what would you know about dough, my dear?” “Oh, I know plenty,” you replied, puffing up your chest dramatically. “I’ve got years of experience eating bread. That practically makes me an expert, don’t you think?” He chuckled, shaking his head as he transferred the dough into a bowl to rest. “You’re impossible, you know that?” “Thank you, I try,” you said with an exaggerated bow, laughing at your own antics.

As much as you loved joking around, you could tell Sanji was keeping an eye on you—specifically on your hands, which had started to wander toward your face. You were picking at a small spot on your cheek, absentmindedly scratching at the imperfection as you talked. His smile faded slightly, and he quickly stepped closer, gently catching your wrist before you could do more damage.

“Hey,” he said softly, his voice losing its teasing edge. “Don’t do that, Y/n.” You blinked, glancing down at his hand holding yours. “What? Oh, this?” You waved your free hand dismissively. “It’s fine. Just a little battle with my face, nothing serious.” “It’s not fine,” he insisted, his blue eyes locking onto yours. “You’re hurting yourself. I hate seeing you do that.” The earnest concern in his voice took you off guard, and for a moment, you felt a pang of guilt. “I’m not trying to hurt myself,” you said, your tone softer now. “It’s just... I don’t know. It’s a habit.” Sanji sighed, brushing his thumb over the back of your hand before letting it go. “I know, love. But it still worries me.”

There was a pause before you brightened up again, forcing a grin to lighten the mood. “Wow, look at you, Mr. Worrywart. What’s next? Are you going to start measuring my water intake?” He gave you a flat look. “If I have to.” You burst out laughing, unable to help yourself. “Oh, Sanji, you’re killing me! You’d make an excellent mother.” “And you make an excellent troublemaker,” he shot back, though his lips twitched into a reluctant smile. “But seriously, Y/n, I want to help.” Later that day, you found out what he meant by “help.”

Sanji had roped Chopper into his mission. You walked into the infirmary to find the little reindeer scribbling on a clipboard while Sanji paced back and forth like a man on a mission. “I feel like I’m walking into a conspiracy,” you announced, startling them both. “What’s going on here? Are you plotting my demise? If so, I’d prefer poison. Very dramatic, very Shakespeare.” Chopper turned to you, flustered. “N-No! We’re not plotting anything bad! Sanji just asked me for advice on how to help you with your… um… habit.”

You raised an eyebrow and turned to Sanji. “You went to Chopper for advice? What, are you worried I’ll pick myself into oblivion?” Sanji crossed his arms, clearly unamused by your humor. “I’m serious, love. If you can’t stop, I want to at least help you keep your hands busy. Chopper mentioned stress balls and fidget toys, but I figured you might like something more… hands-on.” “Hands-on?” you repeated, intrigued.

That’s how you found yourself in the kitchen later, standing next to Sanji as he handed you a cutting board and a knife. “If you’re going to be fidgety, you might as well put it to good use,” he said, grinning. “Wow, I’ve been reduced to junior chef status,” you said, pretending to look offended. “What’s next? Do I have to peel potatoes?” “Not today,” he replied, amused. “Today, you’re cutting vegetables. Think you can handle that?” “Oh, I’ll handle it all right,” you said, twirling the knife dramatically before starting to chop. “Watch and learn, chef.”

To your surprise, you found the task oddly soothing. The repetitive motion of chopping vegetables kept your hands busy, and having Sanji nearby made it all the more enjoyable. He’d occasionally lean over to check your work, offering tips or cracking a joke to keep the mood light. “You know,” you said after a while, “this isn’t half bad. I might actually be good at this.” “Of course you are,” Sanji said, giving you a proud smile. “You’ve got me as your teacher, after all.” You rolled your eyes but couldn’t help smiling back. “Don’t let it go to your head, love."

Over the next few weeks, Sanji made a habit of inviting you to join him in the kitchen whenever he had the chance. When he was too busy to cook with you, he’d leave behind recipes for you to try on your own—always tailored to your tastes. One evening, as you both worked side by side to bake a batch of cookies, you glanced at him and felt a wave of gratitude. “You know,” you said, breaking the comfortable silence, “you’re pretty amazing.”

Sanji looked at you in surprise. “What brought that on?” “Just… everything you do for me,” you admitted, your usual snark giving way to sincerity. “I know I joke around a lot, but I really appreciate it, Sanji. You’re kind of the best.” He blushed, his cigarette almost falling from his lips. “Y-Y/n, don’t say stuff like that so casually.” You laughed, nudging him playfully. “What, can’t handle a compliment? Poor Sanji, so unused to praise.”

He shook his head, smiling despite himself “You’re impossible.” “And you love it,” you said, grinning. “I do,” he admitted softly, his voice full of warmth. The moment hung in the air like the scent of freshly baked cookies, and for once, you didn’t feel the need to pick at your skin.

Usopp:

Usopp was on of the most interesting people you'd ever met. He had this magnetic way of weaving words, turning even the most mundane tasks into grand adventures. He was funny, brave (well, mostly), and, above all, kind. And somehow, despite the larger-than-life personalities around him, he made you feel like the most important person on the ship.

Which was why you were currently sitting on a barrel in the workshop, your hands idly fidgeting with a small mechanism Usopp had given you. He was pacing back and forth, gesturing wildly as he described the intricate designs for a new cannon he and Franky were working on. “And then,” he said, his voice rising with excitement, “the cannon will have this rotating mechanism that lets it fire in three directions at once! Can you believe that? Three! It’s genius, right?”

“Absolutely,” you replied with a grin, turning the small gear in your hand. “Though I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Usopp paused mid-step, his jaw dropping in mock offense. “Y/N! How could you? I’m sharing my brilliant ideas with you, and you’re not even trying to understand?”

“Hey,” you said, holding up the gear like it was a prize. “I’m doing my part. Look, I’m keeping my hands busy so I don’t accidentally pick at my face and send Chopper into another lecture.” At that, Usopp puffed out his chest, a smug grin spreading across his face. “Well, you are welcome, by the way. I did make those fidget toys for you, remember?”

You laughed, the sound ringing through the workshop. “Oh, don’t worry, Captain Usopp. I’ll sing your praises for the rest of my days. Truly, what would I do without you?” His cheeks flushed a deep red, but he quickly turned away, pretending to inspect a nearby toolbox. “Y-you don’t have to go that far,” he mumbled, though you caught the hint of pride in his voice.

You hopped off the barrel and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist in a sudden hug. “Thank you, though. Really. For noticing and for caring. It means a lot.” For a moment, he froze, his entire body going stiff. Then, as if on cue, his chest puffed out even more, and he placed his hands on his hips, striking a heroic pose. “Of course, Y/N! As your boyfriend, it’s my duty to look out for you!” You stepped back, biting back a laugh. “Wow, look at you. The very picture of chivalry.” “Darn right,” he said, grinning ear to ear.

Your days soon seemed to develop a rhythm, and you found yourself spending more and more time in Usopp’s workshop. Whenever he noticed you sitting by yourself, your fingers absentmindedly scratching at your skin, he’d beckon you over. “Y/N! Come here! I’ve got something cool to show you!”You’d roll your eyes but couldn’t help the smile that tugged at your lips. He’d hand you some little trinket—usually a part of a gadget he was working on—and challenge you to figure out how it worked.

“These gears fit together how exactly?” you’d ask, holding up two mismatched pieces. Usopp would smirk, leaning against the workbench with a cocky expression. “Ah, you see, that’s a trade secret. But I suppose I could teach you… if you’re nice to me.” “Nice? Oh, please,” you’d reply, your tone dripping with sarcasm. “I’m always nice to you, Love.” He’d chuckle, then launch into an enthusiastic explanation about the mechanism, complete with sound effects and exaggerated gestures. Half the time, you had no idea what he was saying, but you didn’t mind. Watching him light up, his voice filled with passion, was more than enough for you.

Then there were the quieter days. On those rare occasions when the crew wasn’t caught up in some grand adventure, you and Usopp would retreat to the aquarium. The peaceful hum of the water and the gentle swaying of the Sunny made it the perfect spot to relax.

The gentle gurgle of water and the soft, rhythmic swish of fish fins filled the aquarium, creating a tranquil symphony. The light refracted through the tank’s glass, casting wavy blue shadows across the floor. You sat shoulder-to-shoulder with Usopp on the cushioned bench, his hand clasped warmly in yours. Neither of you spoke, but there was no need for words—the silence felt full, not empty, like a soft blanket wrapping around you both.

Your thumb idly traced the callouses on his palm, a subtle reminder of the work he put into everything he cared about. Usopp’s hand fit perfectly in yours, rough yet comforting, like holding a tether to something steady in an unpredictable world. You could feel his heartbeat in the quiet stillness, a steady rhythm that mirrored the calm you felt whenever he was near.

Usopp’s gaze lingered on the tank, but you caught him sneaking glances at you out of the corner of your eye. His face softened whenever he looked your way, a quiet, almost shy smile tugging at his lips. For all his bluster and bravado, there was a gentleness to him in moments like these—an unspoken vulnerability that made your chest tighten with affection.

The fish glided lazily through the water, their vibrant scales shimmering under the soft glow of the tank lights. You wondered if Usopp saw the same beauty in them that you saw in him—bright, intricate, and endlessly fascinating.As if sensing your thoughts, Usopp gave your hand a small squeeze, grounding you. He didn’t say anything, but the action spoke volumes, You'd leaned your head against his shoulder, a quiet smile curling at your lips.

Over time, you started to notice a change in yourself. The fidget toys Usopp had made, the trinkets he gave you to tinker with, the quiet moments in the aquarium—all of it seemed to help. You weren’t picking at your skin as much. The urge was still there sometimes, but it was easier to resist. One evening, as you sat on the deck watching the sunset, you turned to Usopp. “Hey.” He looked up from the slingshot he was polishing, his eyebrows raised in question.

“Thank you,” you said, your voice soft but sincere. He tilted his head, confused. “For what?” “For everything,” you replied. “For noticing when I’m struggling. For finding ways to help without making me feel bad about it. For just… being you.” His eyes widened, and for a moment, he seemed at a loss for words. Then he smiled, a small, genuine smile that made your heart flutter. “Well,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck, “I guess I should say thank you too. For putting up with me. And, you know, for being you.” You laughed, leaning your head against his shoulder. “We’re a pretty good team, huh?” “The best,” he said, his voice full of confidence.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the sky in shades of orange and pink, you couldn’t help but feel grateful. Life on the sea was unpredictable, filled with dangers and uncertainties. But with Usopp by your side, you knew you could face anything. After all, he wasn’t just your boyfriend. He was your partner, your teammate, and, most importantly, your friend. And that was more than enough.

Just... wow.

If you write for him, could I ask for Sir Crocodile who is absolutely WHIPPED for reader? I loveee when he’s portrayed as a hopeless romantic for his partner and it’s even better when reader is the same way towards him ♡ sort of like Mortica and Gomez ^^ (I’m not normal about him I’m sorry LMAOWJDB)

           苦⠀⠀⠀℘𝗈𝖾𝗆𝖺𝗌⠀𝐞⠀⸺⠀𝒮ilenci̲o̲s⠀⠀٫

Pairings. Sir crocodile x fem!reader

summary. Whipped

— (a/n): i am so so super excited for that request, in fact I was waiting for crocodile for so long but got no idea.

⠀⠀   ⠀             ︵‿⭒                     ⠻ ‎❀ ‎⠟  

— He is devoted, not desperate.

Crocodile does not chase love—he does not stumble over himself to prove his worth, nor does he fall into the reckless behaviors of men who do not understand the meaning of control. He is not a man ruled by whims, yet when it comes to you, something inside him changes. He does not worship as poets or fools do; rather, he loves you as a man who fully understands what he owns. His love is deliberate, a silent force that weaves itself into your life without request, without question. He is not a beggar at the altar of your love—he is the altar itself, the ground upon which your love is built. His devotion is not a weakness; it is a law—unspoken, absolute, and completely unbreakable.

— Actions over words.

Crocodile is not a man who speaks in vain, nor does he waste his time on great declarations. Words are cheap. He has been a man of power for a very long time to believe in beautiful phrases and fleeting emotions. What he truly believes in is consistency. A gloved hand touching yours—not by accident, but because he wants to feel your presence. The way he ensures you walk on the safe side of the street, a silent habit that has become part of his nature. He watches over you not because he doubts your strength, but because the idea of something happening to you is not a possibility he can accept. Loyalty is not something he gives easily. But you? You hold his loyalty in a way no one else does, and even if he never says it out loud, you will know. You will always know.

— He indulges you—but only you.

Crocodile has no patience for fools. His subordinates know well not to waste his time, and he rarely engages in unnecessary conversations. But with you? His attention is yours alone. It does not matter if you are talking about something important or simply enjoying the sound of your own voice—he listens. He listens in a way that seems indifferent, reclining with a cigar in hand, occasionally letting out a hum or a low chuckle, but he does not miss a thing. He notices every change in your tone, every glance, every small smile that tugs at your lips. And when you turn to him expecting a reaction, he meets your gaze with that same knowing look—because of course he was listening. He remembers details no one else notices and indulges your whims in ways that are so subtle yet so profound that you do not realize how much he spoils you until you think about it.

— The little things he does to take care of you.

If you fight, your weapons are always in perfect condition—not because you asked, but because he made sure of it. There is no spectacle in the way he takes care of you, no unnecessary words or dramatic displays. He simply does. If you forget to eat, he will not scold or argue with you—he will place a plate in front of you, and he will not take no for an answer. If you are hurt, the entire world stops until it is taken care of. His hands—so accustomed to violence—become incredibly gentle when they touch you, his gloved fingers lifting your chin to examine even the smallest wounds. He does not make a fuss, does not overreact, but the tight set of his jaw says everything. His concern is silent but suffocating, woven into the very fabric of your life.

And if someone was the cause of your pain? That is an entirely different matter.

— His temper is controlled, but his rage is not.

Crocodile is not a man who acts on reckless emotion. He does not explode, does not waste his energy on unnecessary outbursts. His anger is quiet, cold, and patient. One glance from him can freeze a man where he stands, and a slow drag of his cigar is the only sign that he is deciding how to handle the situation. If someone hurts you—physically or emotionally—they will not know the moment they sealed their fate. There will be no warning. No second chances.

— He does not threaten. He does not need to.

Instead, things simply happen. Business partners disappear. “Accidents” occur. A man who dared to speak ill of you suddenly finds himself without allies, his empire crumbling beneath him. Revenge for him is easy, simple, effortless. He does not just remove problems—he erases them from existence as if they were never worth acknowledging in the first place.

And you? You do not even need to ask. By the time you mention the offense, it has already been dealt with.

— When he expresses his affection, it is with purpose.

Crocodile is not a man who wastes words. He does not say things he does not mean, and he certainly does not indulge in flowery phrases. But when he speaks to you, when his words are slow and measured, laced with something meant only for you—they carry weight.

“You are the only one who matters.”

Said in the dead of night, when the world is silent and his walls are at their lowest. His voice is rough, weary, but certain.

“I do not trust easily. You know that.”

A simple sentence, but the meaning behind it is undeniable.

And when he says “I love you”—on the rare occasions he does—it is never empty. Never casual. It is a statement, a fact, as unshakable as the empire he has built.

— He lets you in—truly in.

No one sees him as you do. No one sees past the Warlord, the businessman, the criminal. No one else knows what his silence truly means, what lingers behind those sharp amber eyes when no one else is looking. He is a man who does not trust, a man who has built his entire life on control, on keeping people at a distance.

— But you? You are different.

You see the rare moments when he is unguarded, when his head tilts back, eyes closed, exhaling a long breath as the tension drains from his body. When his hand—always gloved, always composed—finds its way to your waist, gripping just enough to remind himself that you are real. When he allows himself to sleep beside you, something he never does unless he is completely at ease.

To the world, he is untouchable. But to you? He is simply yours.

How delightful reading this was🧊🧡🍧🧡🍨🧡🍦🧡❄️🧡⚽️🧡

jealous ~ portgas d. ace x reader

2,000 words | she/her reader

summary: ace was not jealous of luffy's new sitter

masterlist

“She sounds like a witch.”

“Well that makes her cooler than you! Blah!” Luffy sticks his tongue out with a face.

“Ace.” Sabo calls sternly, “Don’t say those things about (Y/N).”

“I didn’t know that witches had names.” Ace mutters and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You’re the witch!” Luffy slaps Ace on the head before leaping from his chair.

Ace quickly turns in his seat, “You little brat!” He yells, trying to swat at the eight year old.

“You did insult his new sitter.” Sabo comments, setting the plate of cooked meat on the table, “Luffy! Come eat!”

“Meeeaaatt!” The small voice screeches, followed by the pitter patter of feet.

Ace scoffs, grabbing a piece before Luffy can get his grubby little hands over all of it, “Don’t see why we need her.” He takes an aggressive bite, “Poisoning his mind.”

“You’ve never even met her.” Sabo exasperates, “Besides, we need the help.”

Luffy inhales his plate, “And she’s the best!”

“See!” Ace points wildly, “Poison!”

Sabo rolls his eyes, “Just eat your food.”

Ace grumbles, doing as he’s told but not without some irritation.

It had been several weeks since Sabo had hired you to watch Luffy in the afternoons. Ever since Sabo had been assigned more responsibilities at work, he wasn’t able to pick Luffy up from school like he used to. Being that Ace takes Luffy to school in the mornings, he already compensates to stay later at his job.

So the only solution was to have Luffy spend a couple hours with someone during the in between.

Which was easier said than done.

They first tried Garp, but after Sabo had come home to Luffy unattended and trying to cook over an open fire in the trash can (more than once mind you), they realized they might need someone new.

Then there was Dadan, but after one little shaved eyebrow incident it was clear it wasn’t going to work out.

There were even more who lasted less, so when you showed up it was like a god send.

Ace had laughed his ass off after Luffy excitedly, and Sabo dejectedly, recounted the story of how Luffy managed to hide from you the entire afternoon. Only visible by the dozens of spitballs he landed on your face.

Sabo figured that was the end of it and was already writing up a new ad when you texted asking about dietary restrictions. He cautiously texted you that he’d be surprised if Luffy had any. He wasn’t trying to get his hopes up but when he came home the next day to find Luffy intently watching you frost cupcakes, he had a good feeling about this.

Luffy took to you almost as fast as he took to Ace and Sabo. Every day you had something new for him. Building blanket forts, playing pirates with foam swords, having him help prep tasty snacks, it was endless fun and Luffy never wanted it to stop.

Ace on the other hand wasn’t as pleased. While he never had the displeasure to meet you, he was getting a little tired of listening about the wonderful and amazing and super cool (Y/N).

How great could you really be?

“Besides,” Sabo continues, “You’ll finally get to meet her at Luffy’s soccer game this weekend.”

“What!” Ace shouts, slamming his hands on the table, “Why!”

Sabo ignores his brother’s overdramatics, “Luffy asked her too.”

“Yeah!” Luffy adds happily, “She’s gonna make me a sign!”

“I can make you a sign!” Ace pleads, “I can make you twosigns!’

“Ace. Get a hold of yourself.” Sabo snaps while rolling his eyes, “This is just pathetic.”

Sabo had assumed Ace had gotten over when he didn’t mention it in the days leading up to the match.

How wrong he was.

.

“Why’s that crap all over your face?”

“Language, Luffy.” Sabo calls over his shoulder.

“It’s for you.” Ace says, checking his spirit face paint in the mirror, “Because I’m your biggest fan.”

“You look like a clown.”

“A clown that’s gonna buy you ice cream if you win.”

“Really?” Luffy asks excitedly, “A double scoop too?”

Ace smiles to himself looking back at Luffy buckled in his seat, “If you score a point you can have a triple scoop.”

“Triple?!” Luffy screams followed by his muttering about which flavors he’s going to get.

“Bribery?” Sabo deadpans, “Really?”

“What? Needs a little motivation if he wants to win.” Ace defends himself.

“Right.” Sabo says sarcastically, “That’s what this is about.”

Ace ignores his brother, instead continuing to hype Luffy up with thoughts of ice cream and extra sprinkles after the match until they pull into the parking lot.

As soon as the car is parked, Luffy is a shot out of the car like a canon, sprinting to the field to see his friends.

“I think your pom poms are in the trunk if you want to grab them.” Sabo teases.

“Shut up.” Ace growls, “Sorry I’m just a bigger fan than you are.”

Sabo scoffs, choosing to ignore Ace’s comment in favor of heading to the bleachers.

Ace follows and from a distance can see Luffy sprinting off the field and to someone in the crowd.

They open their arms wide and catches Luffy as he collides against their chest. Even from so far away he can see Luffy talking a mile a minute and waving his hands all over the place. The person throws their head back with a laugh before pulling out a giant sign that Luffy accepts with stars in his eyes.

Wait a minute.

Ace roughly pulls Sabo back by the shoulder, “Who the fuck is that?” He whispers urgently.

“Who?” Sabo asks confused, eyes following to where you and Luffy are, “You mean (Y/N)?”

“That’s (Y/N)?” Ace hisses.

“Yeah?”

“Why didn’t you tell me she looked like that?”

“What do you mean?” Sabo shoots back, annoyed with Ace’s integration.

“What do you mean what do I mean?” He nearly shouts, “Look at her! She’s gorgeous!”

Sabo chokes on a surprised laugh, “You cannot be serious right now.”

“And you let me paint my face like an idiot!” Ace continues, starting to panic.

“I told you, you looked like an idiot.”

“Yeah, but…” Ace trails off, “Whatever! I don’t know how you could do this to me!”

“Get over yourself.” Sabo shrugs off Ace hand, “Now you like her because you think she’s hot?”

“She’s not hot.” Ace shoots back, disgusted Sabo would resort your appearance to such a trivial word, “She’s beautiful. She looks like she was crafted by Aphrodite herself!”

Sabo cocks his head, “When were you reading mythology?”

“That’s not important!” Ace stomps his foot, “I have to go, I can’t let her see me like this! I need to get-”

“Saboooo! Aceee!” A voice screams from across the field.

Ace feels like he’s in a horror film as he slowly turns to see his monster of a little brother waving them over.

Sabo gives him a shit eating grin, “Looks like you’re out of luck.” And then walks off to the two of you.

Ace follows, a little thankful for the face paint since it hides the deep blush on his face. Not that it would be as bad if he wasn’t wearing it in the first place.

“Look! Look!” Luffy is jumping up and down with the sign in his hands.

The words ‘Pirate King Luffy!’ are drawn in big block letters, along with the team’s strawhat insignia. Wow, Ace thinks to himself, beautiful and talented.

“That’s cool Luffy!” Sabo smiles, “Did you thank (Y/N)?”

Luffy whips his head in your direction, “Thank you (Y/N).”

“Of course, my little pirate king.” You smile while ruffling his hair. Ace swears your voice is like tinkling bell, “Although I’m sorry I didn’t go all out like some of your fans.”

And then your eyes cut to Ace and he partly wishes he had painted his whole body because there’s no way his flush hasn’t spread down his neck.

“Uhm, hi!” Ace blurts out before bowing, “I’m Ace.”

He watches as you lean into the palm of your hand with your elbow on your knee, “I’ve heard a lot about you. Glad to finally put a face to the name.” You say with a smile.

“Aha.” Ace laughs awkwardly, internally freaking out about whatever Sabo or Luffy might have said about him.

“What face?” Sabo cuts in with a smirk, “Can’t even see it.”

Ace tries to elbow Sabo in the gut while you giggle behind your hand.

“This is boring.” Luffy complains, “I’m leaving!” And then hands you the poster before sprinting back to the field.

“Good luck!” You call after him with a wave, “So?” You look at the brothers, “You two want to sit?”

And Ace is lightening quick to take the spot beside you while Sabo scoffs to himself.

There isn’t much time for talking when the game starts, because you are a surprisingly loud fan.

Cheering for Luffy and each of his teammates, waving the sign back and forth, laughing when Luffy tries to kick the ball at the wrong goal.

It’s surprising the Strawhats even win, had it not been for the goalie with the green hair that stopped every ball like he had a third hand or the boy with the swirly eyebrow who’s kicks sent the ball from one end of the field to the other, there was no way the other team members could have pulled it together.

But Luffy had fun, and that’s what mattered.

“Ice cream, ice cream, ice cream!” He screamed, running back to the three of you sitting in the stands, “Are we getting ice cream now?”

“Well the team did win” Ace nods, “I suppose you deserve it.”

“Yeah!” Luffy spins in a circle, before turning to you and tugging on your hand, “Did you see me out there! I kicked the ball just like we practiced!”

“You did!” You agree with a proud grin, and Ace and Sabo note you choose not to mention it was into the wrong goal, “I’m so proud of you!”

“You should come with!” Ace awkwardly shouts, drawing the attention of the group, “Uhm, for ice cream, if you’d like to join us, that is?”

“Oh.” You say, a little taken back by the offer. You had assumed Ace might have not liked you too much after the first quarter when he barely said a word. Each time you tried to engage him he’d rush out an answer before starring at the ground while Sabo shook his head beside him.

You had decided to instead spend your time cheering on Luffy, ignoring the small dejection in your stomach at his apparent dismissal.

“I’d love to join, if that’s okay?” Your eyes shift to Sabo who’s looking at Ace with a bit of surprise in his expression.

“But I thought you didn’t like (Y/N).” Luffy says from below, “Because she’s a witch!”

Anger and embarrassment flush through Ace’s body as he grabs Luffy by the back of the collar and drags him closer, slapping a hand over his mouth, “I never said that! Why would I say that?”

“Mhm!” Luffy shouts into Ace’s hand.

Ace laughs awkwardly, “That’s not nice Luffy, (Y/N) is much too pretty to be a witch.”

Sabo scoffs for the hundredth time that day, so over watching Ace’s pathetic attempts at flirting. “C’mon Luffy.” He grabs the boy from Ace, “Let’s go get you stuff.” Taking him to the field to pick up his bag, “We’ll be waiting in the car!”

“Luffy doesn’t know what he’s talking about.” Ace says quickly.

“It’s okay.” You hold up a hand with a smile, “I know a jealous big brother when I see one.”

Ace doesn’t respond, a little ashamed to think about how he’s behaved the last few weeks.

“But I suppose the only way to overcome that is to share my time with Luffy.” You hesitantly meet his eyes, “If you’d like that is.”

“I’d like.” Ace nods his head up and down, “Very much. And maybe without Luffy?”

You laugh at his forwardness, “How about we start with the ice cream?”

next chapter

Amazing, you hit my interest boxes 💖 👏🏻

in the eye of the beholder (portgas d. ace x reader)

req: You wanted an Ace request? 👀

How about Ace with a zoan mythical devil fruit reader that never really changes into their devil fruit form or variables of it because she felt like it would scare them or something, but when Ace is near death, the reader comes in full force and saves him

I don't know what type the zoan will be, but can you have it be a big creature like a dragon? I just love the trope of a person going ape shit for their beloved/crush

a/n: omg i love that trope too ;;0;; i love any trope that involves one person losing control in order to protect someone else dat shit Hits also oops i think i got a bit overenthusiastic with the descriptions of reader’s body changing so i hope it’s not too much for anyone :0 !

ALSO MORE ACE REQUESTS PLS AND THANK U MUAH

contents: somewhat gory descriptions of bodily harm(? but nothing too gross i don’t think), some angst, fluff, hurt/comfort!!

wc. 1.8k

wanna be on my taglist?

despite being your boyfriend for nearly two years now, Ace still doesn’t know what your full Zoan form looks like. he knows you have the Dragon variant of Devil Fruit but that’s pretty much the full extent of his knowledge, aside from the rare occasion you use your hybrid form to fly but even during those moments you move so fast his eyes can barely keep up

Ace would be lying if he said he wasn’t a tiny bit upset he’s never seen your full form–back when he was a fresh member of the crew he’d even pestered you quite a bit in hopes you’ll cave in and show him–but he understands why you’re hesitant to use it

“you do know it hurts her, right?” Thatch said out of the blue one day when Ace had nothing better to do and decided to watch him cook to kill time. 

“what does?” the second division commander replied through a mouthful of bread.

“transforming into her Zoan form,” the head chef continued. “i’ve seen it myself only twice but both times it was kind of hard to watch.” 

the more Ace listened to Thatch’s descriptions of the sounds of your bones cracking and flesh tearing as your human screams gradually turned into monsterish roars that shook the very earth, the more guilty he felt for all the times he’d asked you to show him. he’d seen Marco transform so many times, he ignorantly assumed the process was just as easy and painless for you. 

“the last time she did it,” Thatch added, “she scared some civilians by accident and they got hurt trying to run away. i think that fucked her up a bit for quite a while.”

it’s safe to say, he stopped asking you to transform after that. though the suddenness of it all surprised you, it was nice being able to hang out with him without worrying about being asked to show your Zoan form. a few months afterwards, you even end up dating him–something your past self never would have considered

Ace still is very interested in what your full form looks like but he can see himself spending the rest of his life with you so he’s sure he’ll see it one day–and soon he learns he’s right, he just never thought it would be under such dire circumstances

for the first time in a long time, Ace finds himself panicking on the battlefield. his heart pounds painfully against his ribcage and no matter how much air he tries to inhale, his lungs are constantly begging for more air. Ace’s vision blurs but he refuses to lose consciousness, blinking rapidly to clear his sight as he stares down at his blood soaked hands.

he’s not wounded, though. you are.

lying on the dirt in front of him as the two of you take cover behind an abandoned cottage, you gasp for air as fresh blood slowly pools beneath you; the red, hot substance pouring out from the bullet wounds in your torso and legs.

what was supposed to be a simple recon mission turned out to be an ambush by the marines. 

“stay awake, you hear me?” Ace shouts as he tilts your head to look at him, staining your cheek with your own blood from his hands. “give me one minute and i’ll be back. i just need a minute and we’ll be safe, okay?” his words are confident and firm, in stark contrast to his teary eyes and trembling hands; but you trust him with your life so you simply nod.

from where you lay, you can see most of the battlefield. you watch as he burns down the endless waves of marines almost effortlessly, like he always does, and you nearly break your promise as you’re nearly lulled to sleep by the familiar sense of security he brings you. in fact, you’re on the brink of dozing off when you’re startled awake by the sound of Ace screaming.

your eyes snap open as you frantically scan the area, bile rising up your throat as you struggle to find Ace. when you do finally see him, it takes all of your willpower not to puke out of fear.

at the feet of what looks like a Vice Admiral, he lies near-motionless, the only sign of life being the faint rise and fall of his chest and the hacking cough that tears its way out of his blood-filled mouth. the Marine orders his remaining soldiers to fall back and to “leave them to me.” with a sadistic smile painted on his face. he speaks to Ace briefly though you’re unable to catch what he’s saying and then, with a haki-imbued kick, he sends your lover flying across the battlefield in your direction.

wheezing and coughing as tears drip down his grimacing face, Ace reaches out to you with a trembling, blood-covered hand. his fingers brush against your own tear-stained face and with all the remaining strength left within him, he smiles at you.

“i… i’ll protect you… no matter what.” he mutters as you watch the Vice Admiral close the distance, taking step after step towards the back of your lover.

it’s in the moments that follow does Ace learn that Thatch’s description of your Zoan transformation did little justice to the real thing.

he watches helplessly as you begin to scream while you lift your upper body off the ground and at first he thinks it’s from the pain from your wounds but once your skin starts to turn into scales, he realises it’s so much worse. as your body grows in size, your limbs crack and shift and massive wings sprout out of your spine. your head’s tossed back as you shriek to the heavens while your eyes turn a golden yellow and your pupil transforms into a slit.

the ground trembles as your voice transforms into a deep roar that shakes even the faraway trees of the surrounding forest. too wounded to turn himself around, Ace can only guess the looks of terror on the marines’ faces from the sound of their panicked shouting and uncoordinated gunfire. he watches in awe as the bullets that reach your body fall uselessly to the ground.

Ace feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as his instincts scream at him to get away from the looming threat still approaching him from the back. under normal circumstances, he’s sure he’ll be able to get away from the Vice Admiral through sheer willpower alone, escaping death is nothing new to the young man–right now, though, he knows he’s safe when you lower one of your massive wings to shield him from the rest of the world.

he listens as the cries for mercy gradually die down into a peaceful silence composed of the evening wind, insects chirping and the crackling of small fires that are soon to fizzle out. although Ace can tell he’s not fatally wounded, his body hurts to the point where it feels hard to move–arrogance always was the achilles heel of logia users. 

the setting sun shines on him once more as your wing retracts while you slowly transform back to normal. he calls out your name but you don’t respond and for a moment, he feels the same sense of panic from before rising up in his chest. his poor heart only settles once he has your unconscious body cradled in his tired arms. you’re still badly wounded but your chest rises and falls steadily as you rest in his embrace.

Marco finds the second division commander and the Whitebeard Dragon asleep in each other's arms surrounded by nearly hundreds of dead marines, all burnt to a crisp. though most would naturally assume Firefist Ace was the main culprit, Marco suspects–just by looking at the faint scaly pattern still lingering on your skin–that you might have done all the work this time

Ace wakes up first, not in an infirmary bed like he thought he would but still on the battlefield, face-to-face with his close friend who’s leaning over to pull you out of Ace’s arms. it takes both men a second to realise the true extent of his protectiveness over you; and it takes another second before Marco starts making fun of the younger man for being so whipped

it takes a long time for you to wake up even after Marco uses his Devil Fruit abilities to help heal most of your wounds. “it takes a bigger toll on her than normal Zoan Devil Fruit transformations would,” the doctor had explained to a distraught Ace, “her body goes through a lot to become something so massive, y’know?”

being patient was never Ace’s strong suit but he has zero complaints while waiting for you to wake up. for weeks he stays by your bedside, talking to you about his day, playing with your hands, and taking naps whilst curled up by your feet. the other crew members who come in to check on you daily constantly poke fun at him and yet it’s these same people who leave snacks, drinks and comics for him to use while waiting by your side.

almost a full month passes by before you wake up to the feeling of something warm and heavy resting on your chest; and moments later, Ace is roused from his nap when he feels your fingers brushing through his hair.

“hey,” he whispers, head still resting in the valley of your breasts, tilted up just enough for his eyes to meet yours. his legs are tangled with yours as the infirmary bed blanket lays uselessly on the floor.

“hey,” you reply, voice hoarse from the dryness of your throat.

“you’re really cool,” Ace says, eyelids forming into crescents as he smiles–the simple expression almost infectious in the way you feel the corners of your own lips tugging upwards in spite of being reminded about the sheer agony of your Zoan transformation.

“it must’ve been shocking, huh?” you ask, “watching me transform? i’ve heard some people say it’s gross and scary–”

“no!” he cuts you off, eyebrows furrowing, “it was amazing.” Ace runs his warm fingers up and down your bare arms before trailing downward to meet your hands, all the while staying laid on top of you with his eyes locked onto your own. “you were amazing. i’d never felt safer in my life.”

you can’t help but sniffle as you feel your eyes begin to burn with tears. “it wasn’t disgusting? i… wasn’t disgusting?” shaking his head, Ace inches forward until the tip of his nose brushes against yours.

“you were beautiful,” he murmurs, “you are so beautiful.” 

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch

Law x reader fluff (established relationship, slight angst to fluff/nothing serious, slightly suggestive)

This is for you POOKIE @berryghostbunny but remember law is mine

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿　　

"Law how long are you planing on staying in here." You questioned from the opposite side of the desk as him.

"Until I'm done... You don't have to wait for me."

You pouted but he didn't notice.

You huffed and stomped out of his office hoping that he'll at least try and follow you to your shared room. Instead, you were met with Bepo trying to cheer you up but it didn't help.

Instead, he lulled you to sleep with stories of when he and law were little.

.

.

In the morning you were awoken by an arm moving up and down your waist, squeezing gently in certain places. You moaned and tried to turn around, but he gripped your waist and pulled you against him.

"Law?~"

"I'm sorry, love." He whispered against your neck, leaving small kisses.

"No you're not. You're gonna do it again tomorrow." You tried to wiggle out of his grasp but his grip was too strong.

"Doesn't mean I can't be sorry about making you wait for me."

"That's not why I'm upset. I'm upset because you know how important sleep is yet you hardly ever. It's stupid... You're stupid." You muttered the last part, relaxing in his grip.

"I know," He kissed the back of your neck, "I'll make it up to you." He rolls over to be on top of you. He starts kissing your cheek and slowly moving to your neck before you stopped him.

Pushing him onto his back while you straddle him you whisper, "you better, Captain."

✿✼:*ﾟ:.｡..｡.:*･ﾟﾟ･**･ﾟﾟ･*:.｡..｡.:*ﾟ:*:✼✿

Giant Duck Incident

When Luffy mistakes a giant duck for dinner and ends up getting a kiss instead

LUFFY X GN!READER ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ffs a bit cringe

masterlist | ko-fi

words count: 1.1k

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun was high, the sea was calm, and there were absolutely no signs of trouble.

Which, on the Thousand Sunny, meant one thing:

Trouble was coming.

“LUFFY, NO—!!”

Too late. You watched in horror as Monkey D. Luffy, your idiot-slash-sweetheart captain, launched himself full-speed off the ship.

“THAT’S A HUGE DRUMSTICK!!”

He landed with a wet splat on what you now saw was not, in fact, a drumstick, but a massive, living, very not amused yellow blob.

A duck.

A giant duck. Towering, glistening, waddling angrily in the shallows.

It honked—a sound that felt more like a roar—and thrashed its wings wildly, trying to throw the rubbery parasite off its back.

Luffy clung to its neck like a child to a carnival ride, cackling madly. “SHISHISHSHI IT’S THE SIZE OF A WHOLE BANQUET!!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “This man has the survival instincts of a particularly reckless bread roll.”

You glanced at the rest of the crew.

Zoro was asleep.

Sanji was busy sculpting carrot roses for Robin.

Robin was reading, obviously not surprised.

Nami looked up from her map just long enough to yell, “Not it!”

Usopp and Chopper screamed something about curses and jumped into a barrel together.

Which left you.

Of course it did.

—

The duck, still honking its fury to the high heavens, stomped in circles while Luffy attempted to bite its side. You sprinted down the ramp and into the shallow surf.

“LUFFY, GET OFF THE DUCK!”

“I’M TRYING TO TASTE IT!”

“IT’S A SENTIENT CREATURE!”

“BUT IT LOOKS SO CRISPY—”

The duck, insulted on a deeply personal level, launched itself upward in one majestic leap and sent Luffy flying through the air like a flailing meat meteor. He landed beside you, face in the sand, limbs splayed in defeat.

“…Ow,” he mumbled.

You sighed and knelt beside him. “You good?”

He gave you a thumbs-up, still face-down. “YUP! SHISHISHI”

You helped brush sand off his hat as he sat up.

“Luffy,” you said, trying to be calm, “you can’t eat random animals just because they’re big and vaguely drumstick-shaped.”

“But look at it!” he whined, pointing. “It’s got those golden thighs! The rotisserie energy! The juicy potential!”

“It has a name, probably. A family. A job.”

He squinted. “Maybe it’s an orphan with a deep desire to fulfill its destiny as dinner.”

You blinked then laugh at this. “… pftt! did you just create a duck backstory to justify your cravings?”

“Yes!” he said proudly. “That’s called empathy I think! SHISHISHI”

You stared at him, completely deadpan. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

He blinked. Then beamed. “You think I’m cute?”

“…That was supposed to stay in my head.”

“TOO LATE!” he yelled, springing to his feet and throwing his arms in the air like a victorious meat wrestler. “Y/N THINKS I’M CUUUUTE!!”

“Luffy!”

“I’M CUTE! I’M CUTE! EVEN CUTER THAN THE DUCK!”

The duck, now perched like a war god on a rock, glared at him with pure malice.

You sighed. “We’re gonna be hunted by poultry assassins. I can feel it.”

—

Back on the Sunny, after Luffy was physically restrained from offering the duck “one little nibble,” peace was finally restored. The sun dipped low, painting the sky in soft golds and purples.

You sat on the deck’s edge, feet dangling over the sea. Luffy flopped beside you, hat tilted back, grin wide.

“Hey, Y/N,” he said suddenly.

You braced yourself. “If you ask me to cook duck—”

“No, no,” he chuckled. “I was gonna say... I like when you laugh.”

You turned to him, surprised.

He was watching you. Not in the usual Luffy way — not like when he spotted meat across the room, or stared down an enemy. This was the kind of look that made your chest feel warm and your brain do a little somersault.

“Earlier,” he said, “you laughed when I said something about empathy”

“Thats not... I was mocking you!,” you replied. “I thought I was about to watch you get pecked into a new time zone.”

“But you still laughed,” he said, all sunny and smug. “You always do.”

“That’s because you’re ridiculous.”

“You like it,” he teased, nudging your shoulder.

You bit back a smile. “I tolerate it. Barely.”

He tilted his head, expression soft. “Zoro said it’s obvious.”

“…You talked to Zoro about me?”

“I asked if I could kiss you,” Luffy said bluntly. “He said ask you, not him.”

Your brain fizzled. “Wait. What—”

“So,” Luffy continued, turning fully to face you with that open, earnest joy you’d come to adore, “can I?”

“Can you what?”

“Kiss you,” he said like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Your breath caught. This was the same boy who just tried to eat a duck like it was a buffet item. Who once got stuck inside a vending machine trying to retrieve a stuck candy bar. Who sometimes forgot his shoes and didn’t notice for an hour.

And yet.

Your heart fluttered like it hadn’t gotten the memo about logic.

“…Yes,” you said, quiet.

His face lit up like a festival. “Yeah?!”

You nodded.

He scooted close—awkwardly but gently—and cupped your cheek, his hand warm and calloused. The kiss was clumsy, sweet, quick. His nose bumped yours, and when he pulled away, he had that stupidly big grin that made your stomach flip.

“WHOA,” he whispered.

“Yeah,” you whispered back.

He leaned back on his hands, practically glowing. “Gonna tell Zoro it worked!”

“LUFFY—NO—!”

Too late.

“ZORO!! I KISSED Y/N!! AND THEY SAID YES!! YOU WERE RIGHT!!”

You groaned and dropped your head into your hands as Zoro’s muffled “I don’t care!” echoed from the crow’s nest.

Sanji’s head whipped up from the kitchen door, his cigarette dangling dangerously.

“WHAT?!”

Luffy turned mid-skip. “I kissed Y/N!”

Sanji's eye twitched. “I leave you alone for ONE romantic sunset and you SNEAK AHEAD?!”

You, now partially hiding behind the mast, groaned. “Oh no.”

“Luffy, you absolute—! That was supposed to be MY kiss! I was going to bring you a fruit parfait! HOW DARE YOU KISS MY Y/N~CHWANNNNN!”

Luffy skipped back to you, unbothered and beaming. “Wanna kiss again?”

You peeked through your fingers. “If you promise not to announce it like a seagull with a megaphone.”

He nodded. “Fineee!. But I will write it in my logbook shishishi.”

“…You have a logbook?!”

“It’s mostly meat sketches and battle doodles. But now it has you.”

And your heart, traitor that it was, somersaulted again.

You sighed. “Fine. Just… no more trying to eat ducks.”

He tilted his head. “What if it asks nicely?”

You groaned, flopping back dramatically.

And somewhere in the distance, a vengeful honk echoed over the sea.

Shortest

Sacred Spaces masterlist, Heart Pirates reader-insert

Being the shortest in the crew has its perks and drawbacks.

Being the shortest came with its fair share of trouble with life on the Polar Tang.

For a submarine, the Polar Tang was built almost luxuriously. But the caveat was that it was built with height in mind. It was a blessing for many of your crew, those like Jean Bart and Shosai being able to navigate the halls comfortably for the most part (though the size of the navigation seats couldn’t be helped). It was a curse for shorter members like you, especially when you needed to get something from the kitchen cabinets.

‘Sugar’ glinted mockingly down at you in blocky letters, the container somehow set atop the uppermost shelf. Grumbling, you glanced around to make sure nobody was there before gingerly climbing atop the counter. Your fingers trembled as they fell a few scant inches short of the container.

How Risso managed to navigate the kitchen despite only being taller than you by a bit always stumped you.

Before you could do something drastic, a weight pressed into your back, pressing all the air out of you as someone invaded your space. Red strands of hair fluttered into your vision, and you muttered a curse as Shachi’s familiar voice rang in your ears. “Aw, does our wittol Taiwor need some help to get something from up high?” 

“Shut up!” You barked, trying to shake off the redhead’s bulk, lunging for the sugar, but too late as tanned fingers swooped them from the shelf. 

The man stepped back for you to hop down, and you did, whirling around to face him. Though he was the shortest of the Swallow Island quartet, he was still tall enough to easily keep the tin out of your reach as you reached.

“I just wanted some goddamn tea!”

“What’s the magic word?”

Incensed, you jumped at him, making sure your boots landed on his toes. “I’ll make a pincushion out of your ass, Shachi!”

***

Being the shortest did really come with its fair share of teasing. 

You ducked, avoiding the arm that Hakugan was throwing over you, ready to use you as an armrest. “Oi!”

The helmsman yipped, toppling over as he couldn’t correct himself in time. “Hey!”

His arm latched onto the back of your suit, bringing you down with him. You both landed on the navigation room floor with a thud, immediately breaking into a half-hearted squabble as the two of you wrestled on the floor.

“You idiot! Why’d you pull me down!”

“I was falling!”

Your fist bonked onto the forehead of his mask, not enough to damage anything, but strong enough for him to feel your ire. “I told you that you needed to stop putting your arm on my head!”

“But you’re so convenient as a table! Just the right height!”

“Shut up, Hakugan!” You gritted, one hand pushing back his own as you fought him from palming your face. “You’re not even that much taller than me!” 

You were ready to grapple him until a winner emerged, but a metaphorical rope was thrown your way when you saw the wobbly top point of a familiar hood. Muscles straining, you froze, pushing back Hakugan’s hands as you quickly hatched up a plan.

“Helmsman on the floor!” You yelled, scrambling off of him as some of the crew honed in on the sight.

It had the exact result you wanted.

“Dogpile Hakugan!” Clione yelled, diving on top of the already downed pirate.

That prompted a chain reaction for some of the other members present, Ikkaku and Shachi following suit. The masked man let out a weak wheeze underneath everyone that quickly turned to terror as thumping footsteps approached. The crew screamed as Bepo’s shadow fell over them.

“Bepo, no!”

“Please stop!”

“I’m gonna die!!!” 

You scuttled away before the navigator could turn on you.

***

Being the shortest meant that Bepo’s hugs enveloped you completely, even more so than any of your other crew members. There were many a time when you’d startled someone hidden in the depths of Bepo’s fur by responding to something. You often used that to your advantage, hiding within the safe confines of his bulk to de-stress

A questioning call of your name roused you from where you lay, swallowed up by Bepo’s fluff. After a moment of contemplation, you poked your head up. “Yeah?”

Tanaka screamed, a high-pitched note that rivaled Mozart’s, startling Bepo beneath you. He pushed his glasses up nervously and cleared his throat as you two leveled an unimpressed look at him. “Ahem. Sorry. Can you help fix my cap?”

A second look showed that he was wringing said brown cap in his hands, his jaw-length locks swaying free. From where you were, you could see the frayed threads, something that would most likely mean a painstaking session bent over your table. But despite your aching back, duty called. You sighed and began to struggle up from where you were lying. “Alright, let me s—”

The rest of your sentence was cut off by a yelp as Bepo’s arms latched around your midriff, pulling you back. He rolled to the side, locking you underneath hid arms. “No, sorry. Rest time.”

“B-But I’m the ship’s tailor!” You protested. 

“Captain’s orders. If it’s not major, then you’re not working,” Bepo murmured, nuzzling his head atop of yours. “Tanaka repair your own things. Sorry.”

~~~

Sometimes your height was useful to the crew in more serious ways.

Law handed you a slip of paper, a rough map drawn on it. A bar’s name was written and marked on top of everything, and you already knew what to expect. “Tailor-ya, think you can scout out this place for me?”

“Sure thing. The usual?”

“Yes. Dress down, and try not to interact with anything too much.”

You took the paper, scanning over the map before pocketing it for disposal later. “Got it, Captain.”

“Uni and some of the younger crew members will be on the island for supplies restocking, but they might not be around when you set out, so expect to be on your own.”

“Yes, sir.”

While the crew prepared their pre-docking procedures, you made your way back into your workshop, digging out an outfit in preparation for those going onto the island. It was during times like these that Law’s strict modus operandi came in handy. No unnecessary, garish, attention-seeking skirmishes, uniforms to blend in with each other as much as possible, and a fair amount of time being underwater ensured that the Heart Pirates’ individual identity still remained in a gray area. That, along with your height, made you especially unnoticeable compared to the other members. So once you took off the distinctive uniform and the more distinctive sunhat you wore out, you were the perfect person to move about unnoticed.

You were rummaging for a shirt when the overhead intercom system crackled to life, Law’s low voice filtering through. “Everyone, we’ve arrived.”

Ditching your current task, you followed your nakama up the metal stairs to the entrance doors. Uni, Clione, and the newer members (though not too new, since they’ve been with you all for a few months already) were readying to leave, the hooded man jumping and rushing over when he saw you.

The blonde shoved a small dagger into your hand, patting the appendage. “I heard you’re going out later. It’s nothing big but just in case.”

“Thank you,” you said gratefully, squeezing Clione’s hand before he pulled away to vault over the railing to the dock below (to Law’s loud chastising for him to ‘stop doing that goddamnit you’re gonna break your ankle!’).

You and Law watched the merry band head off, you waving, while Law was as stoic as ever. When the group disappeared around the corner, the man turned to head back into the submarine, and you followed suit.

“Do you need anything before you head out later, Tailor-ya?”

“No. I’ve got everything prepared. Should I join the crew to help with our post-docking procedures?”

Law exhaled through his nose. “I told you already. You don’t have to do that whenever I send you out for surveillance. Just rest up. I need you to be sharp for tonight.”

You gave him a joking salute and split off to head to your workshop. “Got it, Cap’n!”

Your workspace did need some tidying, so you puttered around in the little room until the sky outside the porthole got dark, shucking off your boiler suit and pulling on your outfit for the night. Something nondescript, darker to blend into the area, but not so that you’d look suspicious. One final glance at the map Law gave you confirmed where you were going before you shredded the paper and left.

Ikkaku poked her head out to say a quick goodbye as you breezed past, Risso following suit with a reminder to come back in time for dinner.

“I’m making the Captain’s favorite tonight!”

The thought of his warm food got you drooling. “Got it!”

The night air was gentle on your face as you stepped out of the submarine. Law was already on deck, and he turned to greet you. “Do you have everything?”

You nodded, patting your waistband where you hid Clione’s knife. “I have the dagger Clione left me.”

“Good.” Law tossed a rope ladder over the submarine side, and you began climbing down. “Don’t be reckless.”

Your boots hit the wood below you. “I won’t.”

The map was burned into your mind’s eye as you navigated deeper into the little island town. Even with the encroaching night, a few establishments remained lit. However, the number of souls on the street decreased as you headed closer to the bar of interest.

Noise slammed into you the moment you opened the doors, a disorienting contrast from the quiet outside. However, the chaos was an advantage as you slipped in without drawing any attention, eyes skimming over the area. Your ears caught the murmuring of a familiar moniker.

Bingo. Law’s information was true as always.

You slipped into the bar seat nearest to your target, ordering a lighter drink and settling down.

There were always a few things you kept a lookout for. Movements of other powerhouses, mentions, and bounties relating to the Heart Pirates. But the main one was anything relating to Doflamingo. It was a given, with your Captain’s past hanging over the crew. There was no one other than that man who everyone kept such vigilant eyes and ears out for, anything picked up relayed back to Law with haste. Depending on the nature of the information, it would set the course of your trip for the next few weeks, whether it be submerged deep below water or sailing at a breakneck speed to another place.

Their organizations, as well as any and all names the Donquixote leader went by, were long-memorized by you so that you could catch any and all information.

Your skin crawled at the mentions of slaves passed offhandedly between the men at the table. An auction, generously funded by Joker, on an island north of here. A rare commodity considering he never liked to dabble in this part of the Blue, so far away from his normal base of operations.

You stuck around for as long as you could, picking up the date and location passing between booze-loosened lips. Hearing enough, you paid for your drink and slid out of your seat, making your way to the bar exit. As you rounded the corners of the streets, you thought that everything went well enough, until the shuffle of footsteps fell in line behind you.

“Going somewhere so quickly? I’m surprised you didn’t stay for longer.”

You stilled, slowly pivoting to face the man behind you, feeling the way your body broke into a cold sweat. Though you didn’t show anything as you asked, “What are you talking about?”

“I thought we had a little rat listening to us. I just wanted to see what tidbits were swiped by greedy hands while my friends were discussing business.”

Resisting the urge to scoff at his cheesy words, you backed up, hand clasping over the hidden blade Clione forced into your hands earlier. Its handle was sturdy under your hands, but you didn’t have a chance to use it. Faster than you could react, he was in front of you. Pain exploded in your gut as he slammed a foot into it, sending you flying and hitting the wall of the opposing building and falling to the ground. You retched, stomach acid and spit coming up as you curled in to cradle your stomach. A shadow fell over your curled-over form, and you tensed, hand clenching the handle in your grip. Scuffed boots appeared at in your vision, and you struck, forcing battered muscles into overdrive as you swiped the dagger up, hoping it’d land.

The blade glanced harmlessly off him and the man slammed into you, vision exploding into stars before your air was cut off. You were dragged up, feet leaving the ground.

Oh no.

Though you haven’t been doing this for too long, you’d gotten careless at the ease in which the previous mission went.

You clawed at the vice-like grip around your neck, your borrowed dagger clattering to the ground as the man choking you out wretched your dominant hand to the side. The tips of your boots scrapped the ground beneath, barely making contact with the dirt. A glimpse of gleaming black on the limb holding you made you curse your luck.

Haki.

Damn him, you thought, baring your teeth in a desperate, animal display, ignoring the throbbing that came from the left side of your face. Even if you still had the knife in your grasp, you wouldn’t have escaped anyway. Someone with Uni’s stature or Moose’s strength could’ve handled it. But not you.

Jeering laughter echoed around you as you aimed weak kicks at the one holding you up.

“Who do you work for? Or are you just some nosy brat?” He asked, shaking you around like a rag doll.

Your eye bulged out of your head as he squeezed. The bones of your neck creaked like fragile butterfly wings within his hold. Against his size and abilities, you were helpless. A toy for the larger dogs to chew up. Your skin prickled as you felt eyes raking down your form, and you felt exposed without your usual thick, baggy boiler suit.

It shouldn’t have been like this.

Law was going to be upset.

“Hm, I could make you squeak. I’ll just have to take you back to my boys—”

“Let go of my nakama!”

The rest of his words were cut off by a grunt as something slammed into him. The world went sideways as you slipped from the man’s grasp, landing with a rough tumble as rocks and pebbles dug into your unprotected skin. Taking a few moments, you drew in wheezy gasps before trying to stand up. 

Hands caught you as your legs crumpled, and you were scooped up into warm arms.

“H-Hang on,” Bowser’s voice reassured you. “Don’t worry! Uni and Penguin’s got it covered, and we’re going to bring you to the captain!”

You tried to speak, but all that sounded was a hoarse rattle, the ring of fire around your neck aching like a brand. Breathing was equally difficult, and you relented to force wheezing, whistling breaths through your windpipe, limp in your nakama’s hold all the way until you were laid out on the infirmary bed, back in the Polar Tang again.

Through the haze of pain, you forced a smile at the figures hovering above you, unable to discern anybody due to the light shining down. You knew it must’ve been an unpleasant sight, the blood vessels in your eyes no doubt ruptured from the trauma.

Your name was said alongside Law’s familiar honorific. “Don’t worry. I’ve got you.”

That was all the reassurance you needed as Law’s Room flickered on. The feeling of his fruit sectioning you apart was familiar at this point, and you closed your eyes. Your full trust laid in your captain’s abilities as you fell into darkness.

For others, it would’ve been terrifying to be on the receiving end of Law’s powers, but you and the Heart Pirates have never been led wrong by him. 

By the time you awoke, you could breathe again. The deep inhale you did came with a dull ache, but nothing of the caliber that you felt before. Shuffling came from the side of your bed, and you glanced over to see your captain standing up from his chair.

“Don’t speak,” Law said brusquely, interrupting you before you could even begin. “You have two fractured ribs and severe bruising surrounding your neck and the facilities there. Luckily, nothing was broken. I did the best I could to realign everything, but there was not much I could do about the ruptured blood vessels. You’re on bed rest until you heal.”

You exhaled, the motion coming with a dull pain as the muscles around your jaws ached. Your captain didn’t meet your eyes, fussing with the various equipment on the bedside table next to you. A common sign of his guilt as he tried to act busy.

Reaching out, you grabbed the edge of his shirt sleeve and tugged, halting the man in his actions. You lifted a hand to mime writing something, which he understood right away. A pencil and paper were thrust into your hands, and you quickly got writing. When done, you shoved the pad at him.

‘Not your fault.’

Law huffed, passing the pad to you. He pressed a hand onto your head, pushing you down. “You’re literally in the infirmary bed right now. Because of a mission, I sent you on.”

‘I chose to go, I’m the best at it. It’s not like our lives are only full of sunshine and rainbows as pirates. And you fixed me up now, yeah?’

“You know better than to over-rely on me,” he scolded.

‘But you take care of us so well, Captain!’

Law scowled, tugging on his hat as he averted his gaze. You squinted, seeing a bit of pink flushing over his skin. “Whatever. Did you manage to gather anything important?”

At that reminder, you brightened, pencil flying across the paper. You wrote down all the information you heard from those men, ripping out the page and presenting it to Law with a flourish. He took it, scanning everything. Gold eyes widened as he comprehended the information written on it. He gingerly folded up the paper and tucked it into his pocket.

“Ah. I see. Thank you.”

Knocking echoed on the infirmary door, drawing your attention away. “Captain?” Bepo’s voice questioned through the door.

Law let out an aggrieved sigh. “The lot of you can come in. Tailor-ya’s awake.”

The door slammed open, and you jolted as a veritable pile of crewmates spilled in, with Bepo’s orange-bright suit in front. Law gave a final word of warning for them to be gentle before the group skidded to a stop in front of you. You smiled at them, ignoring the slight ache that bloomed where you got hit. You could see their hesitation and tilted your head.

“You had pretty bad bruising,” Law told you. “I removed most of the blood from the broken vessels, but the ones in your eyes are too delicate for me right now.”

He gritted his teeth, and you could see his silent decision being made. You could already see him looking for more medical texts the next time the Tang docked at an island.

“Are hugs allowed?” Somebody asked tentatively.

Law exhaled a sigh, lifting an arm to flap his hand dismissively. “Do whatever. It’s mostly cosmetic and very minor injuries left. But don’t be too rough, either way.”

That was all the approval you needed, and you opened your arms.

Bepo’s wrapped around you first, and you relaxed into the Mink, letting out a soft sigh as Law stepped back for more space. A hand landed on your head, ruffling your hair. Uni’s hand, based on the length of the fingers. More arms wormed beneath Bepo, over Bepo, but all of them wrapped around you. An offended squawk from the side signaled that even Law was roped into the mix.

Being the shortest in the crew had its drawbacks, sometimes serious ones. But you didn’t mind. You knew your nakama was there to support you.

HEYO, PEOPLE GO AND VOTE-

ONE PIECE POPULARITY POLL

for the first time ever, we get to vote worldwide for the op popularity poll !

you can vote everyday for one character until the end of february

i'll be making sure ace gets to top 100 ! go on and choose for your favorite character to vote <33

ONE PIECE WORLD TOP100

ONE PIECE WORLD TOP100

Get ready, it's time to vote!Who will you choose from ONE PIECE's treasure trove of characters to be your ichiban, your number one?!

Hmmm, how 'bout head canons of a taller s/o giving Corazón headpats

I saw there wasn't any Cora-san in your masterlist so let's change that

masterlists/requests

I actually do have plan for a rosinante x reader but I don't have any scenarios in my head for him and reader but hey thanks for the request (灬º‿º灬)♡

(requests are suppose to be close buuut I'm bored so🤝🤝)

Tall!S/O x Donquixote Rosinante (Corazon)

GN!reader,just fluff and soft stuffs nothing else

(I have mix feelings on this gif (´ . .̫ . `)

Whenever you pat his head, he would blush deeply like he would almost faint or will slip (due to his clumsiness) and you thought you broke him multiple times

Rosi loves your headpats! They're really the best for him and his face would lit up whenever your ruffle his hair

He can't live a day without one so if you ever forget to give him headpats that day he would bring you clues such as lowering his hood down and will sit his head on your lap

If you sat on his lap you facing him while his head is on your neck nuzzling while you give him headpats pls he really gets flustered and his face is so red that he almost drop his cigarette from his mouth

He would be downcast when you give little Law more headpats than him! Come on his there too notice him

I can also think that not you but he would also give you headpats too! He would laugh at you because on how your hair is now messed up

He do love it alright but he doesn't want his brother seeing you both doing it his brother would scold him like “She'll give you nothing but trouble, leave her alone brother” of course Rosi would not listen to his brother and will do as he like

He loves your headpats more than anything else; he will go protective real quick when other guys wants you to give them headpats too, he only gets to have that (excluding law,baby 5)

In your point view you really like how his hair is so soft that you want to ruffle and give him headpats always which of course Rosinante didn't mind as he like— nope love it very much

I'm not that type of person who writes for some fluffs so hope you like it and it fits his personality

you have a daughter with kid... but you're not a couple anymore

eustass kid x f!reader; fluff and a lil bit suggestive

Me: Searches for character x hispanic reader

All that shows up: Mexican reader/Extremely stereotyped reader

Me:

About me since I’m getting started…

Heyyyyyy! Excited to maybe start writing on tumblrr.. not as talented as most of you 😓😓. But to try this out I’ll start with an introduction.

My name is Jasmine.

I’m Mexican 🇲🇽🇲🇽‼️

I’m 19 years old.

Pansexual.

I live in California.

living off of music nd fashion 😭🙏🏼

I do have a job.. so if I do start writing i dont know if I would post as frequent.

I like watching some animee.. wouldn’t call myself a weeb or anything( if you have any recs lmkk 🙏🏼)

Currently watching: One piece + Blue lock + Ck season 6

I will write for (so far) :

Demon slayer

Jujutsu Kaisen

Cobra kai

^ Karate kid

On my block

Outer banks

Shameless

Naruto

Jude Bellingham

Neymar Jr

Joao Felix

Myb one piece..bc Zoro is so fine like DAMN but I’m not that far in but it’s js ZORO 😩😩

That’s all for now!

✌🏼✌🏼.

little family

in which zoro gets jealous of a tiny raccoon dog for unintentionally stealing his s/o’s attention

artists. roronoa zoro x gn! reader ft platonic! chopper

genre. very fluffy

warnings. none

notes. why is it that when when it’s just a random 3 am thought, i get carried away but when it’s anyone else i have a writer’s block like idk what English is

zoro glared at the blue nosed reindeer currently sat on his s/o’s lap. you two were just sitting somewhere on deck while he just finished his work outs at the crows nest up above.

he couldn’t make out what you two were saying, but both your laughters could be heard from where he was. zoro obviously knew neither of you had any other intentions, he just can’t help that he was the one with you.

he could see chopper had a book, most likely either a medical book or storybook — it could be a combination of both. you seemed to be the one reading and explaining to the little reindeer, occasionally pointing at the pages, so zoro assumed it was some type of storybook.

as much as the green haired liked the sight of you getting along with chopper so well, he wanted your attention. so, he asked you the best way he could.

by not asking.

zoro climbed down from the crows nest, only giving you a glance when you’d greeted him. when you noticed he was going the other way, you tilt your head in confusion before finally realizing what he’d wanted.

you picked up chopper from under his arms, surprising him and accidentally dropping the book.

“oh shoot, sorry, chopper.” you apologize, attaching chopper to your hip with one arm while you pick up the book with the other. “let’s go sit with roro, is that okay?”

chopper understood what your intentions were and happily nodded, “yeah! the more the merrier!”

you chuckle with him, walking towards the aquarium, one of your favorite parts about the thousand sunny.

upon walking in, you notice it was only zoro in the booth, and you assume everyone else was either in the kitchen or their respective work rooms. zoro looked over, surprised to see chopper attached to your hip and immediately blush rushed to his face.

‘people aren’t supposed to look that good as a parent— wait, they’re not even a parent. they’d look good as one though.’ zoro thought before shaking his head.

you smiled at him, giving him a kiss on the cheek before flopping next to him. you moved chopper where he could be comfortable sitting between you two.

“chopper and i saved some chapters for you to read. we think you might like them.” he hears you say, but he can’t help but think how domestic this is. it made his chest feel warm and nice.

despite his thoughts, he let out a chuckle, “oh yeah? c’mon chopper, what chapters did you want me to see?”

chopper happily flipped the story book, immediately going to a chapter with a picture of two samurais, one with three swords and another with two swords. “look! that katana looks like it’s your shisui.” he points at one of them.

zoro nodded, impressed at how the reindeer was able to spot that. “you’re right, it does. mind readin’ this story to me?”

chopper nodded, reading the story. close to the end of the story, you and chopper grew tired and took a nap. your head laying on his shoulder while chopper cuddled close to the two of you.

zoro smiled softly, feeling comfortable being with his significant other and chopper. he was about to fall asleep when he saw robin walking in.

seeing the sight, the ravenette smiled, “you three are like a family.”

zoro blushed profusely, embarrassed by her words. “i-it’s not like that. these idiots were just tired!” he immediately stopped talking once he felt you and chopper move slightly before cuddling into him more.

robin let out a tiny snicker, zoro’s attention going back to her. she had a finger pressed to her lips, “shhh. i won’t tell anyone and i’ll close the door to let you three rest.”

she smiled before leaving the room, going back to her observation room. just before she left, she looked over her shoulder to the swordsman, “being a little family isn’t a bad thing, you guys are really cute.”

zoro blushed once more, resisting the urge to yell out in embarrassment. however, he looked back down at you and chopper, smiling softly.

‘little family… yeah, i could get used to this.’

♡♡♡♡♡ Requests ♡♡♡♡♡

Hi all! My nickname is Ari, I am an artist and writer of fanfiction for various fandoms.

What will I write:

Angst

Fluff

Smut (but just something not too strange, for example 'urine kink' is very strange and I won't write about it)

Fem!reader + Fem!character (because I’m a woman and it’s more convenient for me to write this way)

Fem!reader + Male!character

Gn!reader + Fem/Male!character

Fandoms I write for:

One piece

Life Action One Piece (LAOP)

The Amazing Digital Circus

Hazbin Hotel/Hellova Boss

Batman Villains (Any Versions)

• Gorillaz

(the list will be updated after some time, so be ready!)

That's all for today! I will wait for your requests and in the future I will try to please you with more good fanfictions!That's all for today! I will wait for your requests and in the future I will try to please you with more good fanfictions!

ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ

❝​🇮​ ​🇰​​🇳​​🇴​​🇼​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇦​​🇹​ ​🇮​​🇹​ ​🇲​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​ ​🇸​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇲​​🇴​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇦​​🇳​ ​🇦​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇹​​🇹​​🇱​​🇪​ ​🇨​​🇷​​🇦​​🇿​​🇾​, ​🇧​​🇺​​🇹​ ​🇮​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇱​​🇮​​🇪​​🇻​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇰​​🇳​​🇪​​🇼​ ​🇮​ ​🇱​​🇴​​🇻​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇲​​🇪​​🇹​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇮​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇰​ ​🇮​ ​🇩​​🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇲​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇮​​🇳​​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇫​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇰​​🇳​​🇪​​🇼​ ​🇮​ ​🇱​​🇴​​🇻​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇲​​🇪​​🇹​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇮​ ​🇭​​🇦​​🇻​​🇪​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇪​​🇳​ ​🇼​​🇦​​🇮​​🇹​​🇮​​🇳​​🇬​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇲​​🇾​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇫​​🇪​.❝ ͠​🇸​​🇦​​🇻​​🇦​​🇬​​🇪​ ​🇬​​🇦​​🇷​​🇩​​🇪​​🇳​

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Slow burn, fluff, pre-love tension Word Count: ~1,200

______________________________________________________________

You only noticed it once Nami brought it up.

“You realize Zoro always puts himself in front of you during fights, right?” she said casually, barely looking up from her notebook.

You frowned. “Isn’t that just…what swordsmen do?”

Nami snorted. “No. He doesn’t do that for everyone. Just you.”

You had opened your mouth to argue, but your mind was already replaying moments from the past few weeks: Zoro stepping in front of you before an enemy lunged, catching a blade mid-swing. Blocking a flying piece of debris with the flat of his sword without even looking your way.

You had brushed it off. Coincidence. He was always intense about combat.

But then the island happened.

It was meant to be a simple supply run. A sunny, sleepy little port town. You were strolling back from the market, arms full of tropical fruit, when a voice behind you hissed: “Hand it over.”

You barely turned before someone rushed at you—blade raised high.

You did not even have time to flinch.

But Zoro was already moving—faster than the swing, faster than thought. His sword cut through the attacker’s strike before it could fall. One clean, practiced motion. Your would-be attacker dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Then Zoro turned to you.

“You okay?” His voice was tight, eyes scanning you head to toe.

You blinked. “I—I think so.”

There was no blood. No scratch. But Zoro’s jaw was clenched like he had failed at something anyway.

“Could’ve hit you,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “But he didn’t—”

“I let him get close.”

He said it low, more to himself than to you. That same dark expression—like the idea of someone even trying to hurt you was personal.

Later, you were hauling a crate of watermelons back to the Sunny. Your arms ached, but you were stubborn. You had it.

Until it was just… gone.

You blinked, turning to find Zoro walking ahead of you, the crate now slung easily over one shoulder.

He did not say a word. He did not look at you.

Just kept walking like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…Thanks,” you said, jogging to catch up.

He shrugged. “Looked heavy.”

That was all.

But the pattern only got worse.

You were in the library one morning, curled up in a chair with a book. Outside, the rhythmic shhhk-shhhk of a sword slicing air drifted in. You got up, peeked out the window.

There he was.

Training, shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin as he moved with deadly grace—right outside the window. You tilted your head. That was not even his usual training spot.

Coincidence.

Maybe.

The next day, you were sunbathing on the upper deck. The sunlight was warm, lulling you half to sleep, until a shadow crossed over you. You squinted.

Zoro.

Doing pushups five feet away. Barely glancing at you. Not saying anything.

He kept going for an hour.

Just…there.

Breathing heavy. Silent. Focused. But never quite leaving your orbit.

That evening, Sanji leaned across the dinner table with a grin and said, “You’re basically her guard dog, mosshead.”

Zoro scoffed. “Don’t start with me.”

But he did not argue further. He did not roll his eyes or bark something defensive like he usually would.

Instead, he fell quiet.

And that night, as the ship creaked under the weight of the sea and everyone else slept, Zoro stared up at the dark ceiling of his hammock, arms folded behind his head.

He told himself he was just being cautious. He was strong. That was what strong people did—they protected the weaker crew members.

But your face kept flickering through his mind. That damn blade. The way your nose scrunched when you laughed. The quiet way you had said thank you, like it meant something.

He shifted onto his side with a grumble.

“Guard dog,” he muttered under his breath.

But the next morning, he was already outside the library window before you got there.

Training.

Just in case...

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, slow burn, oblivious-to-suddenly-slammed-with-feelings Word Count: ~1,300 ______________________________________________________________

“Come see this!”

You barely had time to set your drink down before Luffy grabbed your hand and took off running across the deck, dragging you behind him like an excited kid with a secret.

“I just saw the biggest crab on the shore!” he beamed over his shoulder. “Its eyes were like—this big!”

You laughed, stumbling to keep up. “Luffy, I’m still chewing—!”

“Chew faster!” he called.

That was Luffy. Every moment, every laugh, every weird discovery—he wanted to share it with you. He never said why. Just acted like you were supposed to be there. Like it made sense. Like he could not imagine it any other way.

When the crew stopped at the next island for supplies, he grabbed your hand again.

“Let’s get snacks!”

“I thought Nami told you to get rope.”

“Yeah, but snacks first.”

He bought ten different fruits, devoured six on the spot, handed two to Chopper, gave one to Usopp, then stared at the last fruit in his hand.

And without even a beat, he handed it to you.

You blinked. “What about you?”

“You like those,” he said simply, licking juice from his fingers.

That was all.

Like it was just a given. Like it made sense in his brain. Like you were—his somehow.

It took you longer to notice that Luffy always sat next to you. Not across. Not near. Next to.

At dinner. On the deck. At the bar in town. If there was an open seat beside you, it was his. Even if he came in last, even if it meant awkwardly squeezing in or dragging a chair across the floor, that was where he landed.

You had once joked about it to Nami.

“I guess I’m Luffy’s emotional support human.”

But Nami had just raised an eyebrow and said, “You think he’s like this with everyone?”

You laughed, but something inside your chest fluttered. Uneasy. Warm.

Then came that night on the island.

It was a casual little tavern—nothing wild. The crew was spread out, music in the air, drinks flowing. You were leaning against the bar, laughing with a guy from the local fishing crew who had a lopsided smile and a good sense of humor.

And when you glanced toward the table where the others sat, Luffy was watching you.

Not smiling. Not laughing. Just…quiet.

You made your way back eventually, dropping into the seat beside him with your usual ease. “What, no food left for me?”

He blinked, like you’d knocked him out of a thought. “Huh? Oh—yeah. Here.”

He pushed a plate toward you, then fell quiet again.

You nudged his shoulder. “What’s with you?”

He stared at the wood grain of the table. “Do you like that guy?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to.”

You chuckled. “Oh, no. He was just funny. Told a story about getting bit by his own fishing hook.”

Luffy nodded slowly, but he was clearly still in some headspace.

You did not push it. But he did not say much for the rest of the night.

Back on the Sunny, Luffy lay on the figurehead, arms crossed behind his head, eyes on the stars.

Something was off. Weird. Uneasy.

He liked being around you. That made sense. You were fun. You made him laugh. You always split food with him. You let him nap on your shoulder sometimes, and you smelled nice, and your voice was soft when you woke him up—

He sat up suddenly.

He always sat next to you.

Always reached for your hand first. Always wanted you to see the cool things. Always gave you the last bite. Always saved the good seat for you.

He rubbed a hand down his face.

“…Why do I care who you laugh with?”

It came out in a whisper. A real question.

The realization didn’t slam into him like a battle or a punch. It just… settled. Quiet and obvious and real.

He was in love with you.

Oh.

The next morning, you stepped out onto the deck to find Luffy already there, legs swinging off the railing.

He grinned when he saw you, as bright and boyish as ever.

“Hey! Wanna have breakfast with me?”

You blinked. “You already ate.”

“I’ll eat again.”

You snorted. “You always do.”

You walked over, and without even needing to ask, he patted the spot beside him.

Right next to him.

Where you always sat.

Where you... belonged...

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, tension, oblivious realization Word Count: ~1,400

______________________________________________________________

The rain came out of nowhere.

One minute, you were lounging on the deck, enjoying the warm breeze, and the next, a downpour sent the crew scattering indoors like startled cats. You made a break for the galley—sliding in just as thunder cracked overhead.

Sanji glanced up from the stove, already smiling.

“Looks like you brought the storm with you,” he said, flipping something in the pan without looking. “Good thing I kept a seat warm.”

You laughed as you pulled up a stool. A mug was already waiting there.

Chamomile.

Your favorite on rainy days.

You had mentioned it once—months ago—after a cold, wet mission left you sniffling and grumpy. He had not forgotten.

You cupped the mug in both hands and said, “Didn’t know you had psychic powers.”

“Only when it comes to you, mon étoile.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, and he turned back to the stove. Heart-shaped steam rose from the pan.

Literally.

Sanji cooked for everyone, of course. Every meal, every day. It was love, it was pride, it was art.

But yours were different.

Little things.

A garnish shaped like a starfish because you said it reminded you of your childhood. A citrus glaze because you once joked about missing a specific island fruit. A perfectly diced corner of onions because you hated the texture whole.

He never made a show of it.

He just knew.

You sipped your tea, watching the rain race down the windows.

“Do you ever stop moving?” you asked softly.

Sanji looked up.

You gestured around. “You’re always doing something. Cooking. Cleaning. Serving. Flirting.”

He grinned at the last one. “You forgot being devastatingly handsome.”

You laughed. “Right. That too.”

But he paused for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly.

“…I like staying busy.”

“Even when no one’s asking you to?”

“I guess I like having a reason to look after people,” he said, plating something with practiced grace. “It’s easier than talking about it.”

He set the plate in front of you—a warm, colorful dish that smelled like nostalgia and citrus and something unnameable that made your chest flutter.

You raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Just something I thought you’d like.”

You looked down and—of course—there it was.

A tiny little orange peel shaped like a heart, resting on the side like a secret only meant for you.

Later, Nami strolled into the galley mid-rainstorm, dripping wet and grumbling.

“Sanji, please tell me you made something hot—”

She froze.

She looked at your plate.

Then at you.

Then at Sanji.

And then she smirked.

“You don’t act like that with us,” she said, towel in hand.

Sanji blinked. “Act like what?”

Nami pointed her towel at your dish. “That. The garnish. The candle. The literal ambience. What is this, a date?”

You nearly choked on your tea. “Nami!”

But she was already laughing, waving you off. “I’m just saying. He’s usually all googly-eyed and dramatic, but this? This is different.”

Sanji opened his mouth. Closed it. Frowned slightly.

“…I just like making things they’ll enjoy,” he said, quietly.

Nami arched a brow. “You sure that’s all it is?”

She left him with that.

Left both of you with that.

That night, the rain continued.

Sanji stood alone in the galley, hands in his pockets, staring out the window as the clouds rolled across the moon. He thought about Nami’s words. He thought about your laugh. The way you looked when you drank tea. The way you had smiled down at that plate like it made you feel safe.

He replayed the dozens—hundreds—of small things he had done without thinking.

He knew your favorite fruits. Your favorite colors. He could tell when your shoulders were tense from stress. He noticed when you were quiet too long and always managed to pass you your favorite mug before you even asked for it.

He did not do that for the others.

Not like this.

He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly.

“…Different,” he murmured.

He did not deny it.

The next morning, the sun was back. The deck was dry. The ship smelled like the sea and fresh citrus.

You stepped out, stretching your arms over your head—and froze.

There was a small tray waiting by your seat. A breakfast just for you.

A folded napkin. A steaming cup of tea. And another little garnish, this time in the shape of a flower.

You blinked, warmth curling in your chest.

From the galley window, Sanji watched you notice it.

And for the first time, he smiled not because he was trying to charm you.

But because he just loved the way you smiled back...

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Usopp x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, mutual pining, light comedy Word Count: ~1,400

______________________________________________________________

You looked up from the bits of broken wood on the deck, brow raised. “Half a mango?”

Usopp nodded sagely, one knee propped up like a heroic statue. “The juice distracted it long enough for me to strike. Right in the eye. Boom! It cried out across the heavens!”

You laughed, brushing sawdust from your hands. “Wow. Sounds like you saved the entire sky.”

He tried to act nonchalant, but the way his ears turned red betrayed him.

“Y-yeah, well… it was nothing.”

But your laugh echoed in his head for the rest of the day.

You started helping him fix a busted section of railing after an especially rowdy sea king scuffle. He handed you nails. You passed him planks. Somewhere in the middle, your hands brushed.

Not even a full second of contact.

But Usopp’s soul left his body.

He froze mid-movement, eyes flicking to your hand and then quickly back to the wood. His heartbeat tripped over itself like it had never learned rhythm.

“Y-You’re good at hammering,” he said.

You looked up with a smile. “You think so?”

Why did your smile do that? Why is my chest warm? Am I dying?!

That night, he told Chopper in the infirmary with the gravity of someone announcing a terminal condition.

“It was nothing. Just her hand. Brushed mine. Totally normal. My heart didn’t do a fluttery thing. Nope. Perfectly fine. Totally unaffected.”

Chopper blinked. “Usopp, your nose is bleeding.”

“SHH.”

A few days later, you found a tiny handmade crab figurine on your pillow. Wobbly legs. Big googly eyes. Clearly sculpted out of something like melted candle wax and hope.

There was a note attached:

“For luck!! – Captain Usopp”

You grinned.

The next time you saw him, you had it tucked into your pocket.

He pretended not to stare at it. But his eyes kept flicking down to where the crab peeked out.

“You, uh… kept it?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Of course I did. He’s good luck, right?”

Usopp nodded too fast. “Right! Super rare crab spirit. Repels bad dreams and seagulls. I read that somewhere. Definitely real.”

Your hand brushed his again when you tucked it back into your pocket.

Usopp made a noise like a squeaky kettle and practically moonwalked off the deck.

It was worse when you sat with him while he worked on a new slingshot prototype. Just the two of you, sunlight dappled through the sails, his tools scattered between you.

You picked up a rubber band, tilting your head. “What’s this one for?”

“Oh—that’s for the sky-splitting sonic burst function,” he said, then faltered. “Wait. I mean—it might be. It’s top secret. Probably. Still testing.”

You laughed again, that easy kind of laugh that always made him feel lighter somehow.

“You’re fun to build with,” you said.

He did not hear the ocean for a full five seconds after that.

The final straw was the map.

He had been doodling late at night—a fake island, covered in winding trails and strange beasts. In the corner, he scribbled a little stick figure version of himself. And beside him, another.

You.

Labeled “Sidekick!” with a star next to it.

He laughed to himself, soft and sheepish. Just a joke.

But the longer he looked at it, the more real it started to feel. The more right it felt.

The idea of you—beside him. On adventures. In stories. In dreams.

In everything.

Usopp blinked at the paper.

“…Oh.”

The next morning, you were helping Nami chart something in the observation room when Usopp peeked in, fidgeting with a new trinket in hand—some kind of polished shell creature on a string.

“For you!” he blurted, tossing it your way like a bomb and nearly missing.

You caught it mid-air. “Another lucky charm?”

“Uh, yeah! That one keeps your feet from falling asleep. And your heart. Maybe. I think.”

You gave him a bright, curious smile. “Thanks, Usopp. You’re always giving me the coolest stuff.”

He turned red to his ears. “Yeah, well… I give a lot of stuff to everyone.”

Nami glanced up from her maps and raised an eyebrow. “No, you do not.”

Usopp flinched. “I—I don’t?”

“You don’t give me weird shell creatures,” she said, smirking.

Usopp gave you a helpless shrug. Can’t a guy panic in peace??

You just laughed again.

He melted.

Again.

That night, he tucked the sidekick map under his pillow.

And for the first time in a long time, his dreams were not filled with made-up monsters or epic battles.

They were filled with you...

Sitting beside him...

Right where you belonged...

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Shanks x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, subtle tension, slice-of-life aboard the Red Hair Pirates Word Count: ~1,500

The deck of the Red Hair Pirates was alive with laughter.

A successful haul, good weather, and plenty of rum meant the crew was in high spirits. You sat near the edge of the gathering, warm drink in hand, watching the orange sky bleed into twilight.

Shanks was in the center of it all, as always—radiating charm, laughing loud, one arm thrown over Benn’s shoulder as he spun another story, likely exaggerated.

But his eyes kept flicking sideways.

To you.

Not obvious. Not intrusive. Just enough to check—Did you hear that part? Did it make you laugh?

When you smiled, he smiled wider.

You only noticed the seat-saving habit after the third or fourth time.

Someone else would head toward the empty spot next to him, and—without fail—Shanks would casually drop something there. A coat. His scabbard. A mug. A hand.

“Taken,” he would say, without looking up.

Eventually, you stopped hesitating. You would just settle beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was.

The crew was weaving through a tight port town a few days later, all noise and bustle and market chaos. You were trying to keep up, head turning to take in stalls of glittering goods, when you felt it—

A hand, warm and steady, against the small of your back.

Guiding.

No words. No big deal.

Shanks kept walking like he had not just casually laid claim to your existence in public. Like he had not sent your brain short-circuiting.

You glanced at him.

He was pointing out some ridiculous hat one of his crewmates had just bought, completely unaware that your heart had decided to do somersaults.

That night, you sipped wine under the stars, legs dangling over the edge of the deck. Shanks joined you, letting his boots thud softly beside yours.

He handed you a new drink without being asked.

“Trade,” he said.

“Mine’s not even empty.”

“Still,” he shrugged, “felt right.”

You raised your glass. “To pirates with good instincts.”

He smiled, clinked his glass gently to yours, and said, “To us.”

You blinked. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he said, then paused. “I mean—the crew. Obviously. Us as in… everyone.”

But his words had already left his mouth.

To us.

It kept happening.

“When we get to the next island—” “We should fix that railing before the storm—” “If we go north next time, we’ll hit better trade routes.”

We. Always we.

Like his plans just assumed you would be there. Like his future did not make sense without you in it.

He never seemed to notice.

But you did.

And so did Makino.

You were sharing a quiet moment in the galley, watching the rain hit the windows while Makino stirred tea. She gave you a look—gentle, but amused.

“You know he acts different when you’re around,” she said casually.

You raised an eyebrow. “Does he?”

She smiled knowingly, sliding a cup across to you. “He pours your drink first. Always. He does not do that for anyone.”

You tried to play it off. “Maybe I just sit closest.”

“Mm,” she said. “Sure.”

When she told him later—cornered him in that way only old friends could—he chuckled.

“Do I?” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Cool. Effortless. Unbothered.

Makino just raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even notice, huh?”

“…Guess not.”

She left him with that.

But Shanks sat there long after the lanterns dimmed, swirling untouched rum in his glass, staring out at the sea.

Thinking about the way he always looked for you in a room. The way he stepped closer in a crowd without realizing. The way “we” had slipped from his mouth like it had always belonged there.

“…Huh,” he said aloud, almost to himself.

And then, quietly—

“…Damn.”

The next morning, you climbed up to the crow’s nest for some air.

And found a fresh mug of tea already waiting there.

Still warm.

With a little note tucked beneath it, in a familiar, uneven scrawl:

“Thought you might come up. —Shanks”

You chuckled, holding the cup in both hands.

Down below, on the main deck, he looked up once.

Right at you.

And for once, he did not look away...

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Buggy x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Comedy, fluff, mutual pining, dramatic clown behavior Word Count: ~1,500

______________________________________________________________

“You’re my favorite. Obviously.”

Buggy slung an arm around your shoulders with all the grace of someone trying very hard to look casual. It would have worked—if he had not announced it loud enough for the entire crew to hear.

Again.

From across the deck, Cabaji raised a brow. Mohji sighed.

“You always say that,” someone muttered.

Buggy waved them off with his free hand, gripping you tighter with the other. “Yeah, but this time I mean it. Don’t tell the others, though,” he said in a loud stage whisper, “you’re my right hand.”

You blinked up at him. “Buggy, your actual right hand is floating three feet behind you.”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAID.”

It happened all the time. If someone tried to pull you away—say, for actual work—Buggy immediately staged a crisis.

“What do you mean you’re going with them?” he snapped one afternoon, arms flailing as you stepped toward a crew meeting. “You’re gonna ditch me for those losers? I’m WAY more fun! I’ve got charisma! Flair! A fabulous hat!”

“You also have a cannon aimed at the kitchen again.”

“Do not change the subject!”

The worst was during performances. Buggy loved an audience. Worshipped attention. But whenever you were nearby?

He shared the spotlight.

“Get up here, (Y/N)!” he shouted mid-act, dragging you center stage by the wrist. “Do the bit with the juggling fish guts!”

You stumbled into the limelight, grinning in spite of yourself. “Buggy, I’ve never done this in my life.”

“Yeah, but the crew loves you,” he said, a little too fast. “Not me. The crew. I’m just doing what they want. Obviously.”

You blinked.

“Obviously,” you echoed, half-smiling.

He looked away, face flushed, and waved his hand dramatically. “Focus, people! Back to me!”

Then there was the night you fell asleep on him.

It was accidental, obviously. You had just finished a long supply run, flopped onto the nearest bench in the captain’s quarters, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a quiet sigh.

Buggy froze.

Like, completely.

Did not move a single muscle for the next two hours.

He did not even detach anything. He just sat there, stiff as a mannequin, eyes wide, face bright red.

The crew peeked in and saw the scene.

No one said a word. They just closed the door and slowly backed away.

He did not bring it up. Not the next day. Not the next week.

But he thought about it constantly.

Like a glitch in his brain he could not fix.

That warmth. Your breath on his shoulder. The trust. The way your hair had tickled his coat—

“AGH!” he shouted, tossing a barrel across the deck in frustration. “Why is this haunting me?!”

Mohji, sweeping nearby, did not even flinch. “Still thinking about that nap thing?”

“NO!!”

You, of course, noticed none of this.

Or rather—you noticed the Buggy-ness of it all: the tantrums, the declarations, the dramatic stunts. But you figured that was just how he was with everyone.

Until one night, you casually asked, “Do you throw everyone into the spotlight, or am I just special?”

Buggy choked on his drink.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Come on, Captain. You drag me into your antics all the time.”

“That’s—That’s—That’s—!” he sputtered, pointing dramatically. “Crew morale! I am a caring leader! It is for the people!!”

You smiled, leaning in slightly. “So I’m not special?”

He froze.

Silence.

His face slowly turned crimson.

“Well- …I didn’t say all that.”

Later, you fell asleep in the crow’s nest, curled up in a blanket.

Buggy climbed up to check on you—totally not because he was worried—and paused when he saw you tucked in and breathing soft.

He sighed. Quiet this time.

Sat down beside you.

Did not touch. Did not talk.

Just… stayed.

And that night, he thought:

Maybe you really are my right hand.

But if anyone asked, he would say:

“Shut up!! It’s not like that or anything!!”

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Slow-Burn, Realization Moment Word Count: ~2,000

______________________________________________________________

You barely saw it coming—the moment Ace became a constant.

It was not dramatic. No fireworks. No grand gesture. Just… a shadow that always lingered a little longer near your shoulder. A voice that always found yours in the noise.

“You good?” he asked after every mission, every skirmish, even if you had not been on the front lines.

Casual tone. Easy grin.

But his eyes scanned your face for any sign of damage. Always.

The first time he handed you his hat, you were half-asleep on the deck, one arm draped over your eyes to block the sun. Without a word, something warm and worn settled across your face—the faded brim of his beloved hat.

You peeked out from under it. “You’ll get sunburned.”

He just shrugged. “You need it more.”

Then sat down nearby, arms folded behind his head like it was no big deal. But every few minutes, you felt his gaze flick over—just checking. Making sure it had not slipped. That you were still comfortable.

Like warmth, without the fire.

In group conversations, you were quiet.

Not shy—just the type who waited for your moment. But one afternoon, someone interrupted you before you could finish your thought.

Ace’s arm casually slung around a barrel, but his voice cut sharp and clear.

“Let them finish.”

Everyone blinked. The guy apologized. You picked up where you left off.

Ace just gave you a little nod, like it was automatic.

Because it was.

He brought you things. Dumb things. Random things.

A flower he said “looked kind of like your hair, if you squint.” A shell shaped like a spiral. A rock that sparkled faintly in the sun.

“Reminded me of you,” he said with a lazy grin and a shrug, like he did not think about it twice.

But he did think about it.

Later. Alone. Lying in his bunk, one arm behind his head, the other draped over his eyes as the ship creaked gently beneath him.

Why does everything remind me of them? Why do I look for something to give them every time we dock? Why is their smile the first thing I picture when I find something beautiful?

He never had answers. Just heat curling low in his chest.

And then came the day you got hurt.

It was not life-threatening. Just a deep gash across your arm from a surprise ambush while scavenging supplies.

But Ace saw red.

He was fire and fury and reckless rage—blasting forward, taking down three of the attackers in seconds, fists lit with flame and jaw tight with fury.

Marco had to hold him back. “They’re down, Ace. Let it go.”

He shook him off, breathing hard, chest rising and falling like a storm just barely held back.

When he finally made it back to you, his hands were shaking as he checked the wound. “Why were you out there alone? You should’ve waited. You should’ve called me—”

You blinked up at him. “Ace. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, look at this!” His voice cracked. He grabbed a cloth, hands too rough, trying to stop the bleeding like he could rewind time.

The others stood a little ways off, unsure whether to help or stay back.

Someone whispered under their breath, “…He’s acting like he’s in love with them or something.”

Ace froze.

Everything inside him stopped.

The cloth slipped from his hand.

His eyes flicked up to yours—wide, stunned, almost confused.

He’s acting like he’s in love with them.

Wait.

Wait...

Waitwaitwait-

Shit..!!!

You watched him go still. Watched his expression shift like tectonic plates—something slow, deep, irreversible.

“Ace?” you asked softly.

He blinked, like he was waking up.

And then he stood abruptly, muttering something about needing air. You watched the orange of his back fade down the corridor, swallowed by sunset.

Later that night, he came back.

Not with words. Not with an apology or confession.

But with a small box.

He handed it to you without a word, ears pink.

You opened it.

A piece of sea glass—perfectly smooth, the color of moonlight. Nestled beside a tiny sketch of you, drawn on a scrap of parchment. Rough, shaky lines. Obviously his.

“You drew this?” you asked, touched.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno. You were asleep on the deck and I got bored.”

You looked at the sea glass. Then at him.

And smiled.

“Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever realize something… let me know, okay?”

His eyes met yours.

Slowly, a grin tugged at his mouth. “I think I already did.”

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Subtle romance, emotional tension, hurt/comfort, slow realization Word Count: ~2,000

No one was allowed in Law’s space.

Not physically. Not emotionally. Not even Bepo got close without permission, and Bepo had known him the longest.

Except… you.

You did not even notice it at first. The way you stood beside him during briefings, how your arms brushed when you handed him charts. The quiet nights on the deck where you ended up sharing a coat when the cold got sharp.

And Law—silent, controlled, aloof Law—never said a word.

Never moved away.

He had a way of explaining things to you that felt like he had actually taken the time to translate his brain.

One evening, after a minor scuffle, he was treating Penguin’s bruised ribs. You came to check in, and Law started explaining the healing process—not in his usual clipped medical terms, but slower, gentler, clearer.

“I’ve asked you that same question,” Shachi grumbled from nearby. “You never explain stuff like that to me.”

Law did not even glance up. “They actually listen.”

But it was more than that. You made him want to talk. Made it easy to unravel the tightly wound pieces of himself, like pulling threads from a knot without it even hurting.

He did not know how you did it.

He just… let you.

He noticed things.

The way your hands fidgeted at your sides when you were nervous. The kind of food you gravitated toward after a rough day. The specific tone your voice took when you were genuinely excited—light and airy, eyes bright like sunrise.

He did not forget any of it.

You once mentioned liking a specific island pastry in passing. When the crew docked there weeks later, Law returned from an errand with a box of them in hand.

“Coincidence,” he said, handing it off without looking you in the eye.

“Law…”

“Coincidence.”

You got hurt once. A bit of a gash. Something another crew medic could’ve easily handled.

But Law was the one who showed up with the medical bag, silent and focused, gloves snapping on.

“I could’ve waited for Jean Bart,” you said, raising a brow.

Law avoided your gaze, inspecting the cut. “I do not trust their technique.”

“But it’s a shallow cut.”

He cleaned it anyway. Wrapped it slowly. Pressed a final strip of gauze on with careful fingers.

You looked at him. “You always take care of me.”

“I am the doctor.”

“That’s not why.”

He did not answer.

Then there was the laughter.

You had been talking to another pirate—a temporary alliance, nothing serious. Something the crew barely cared about.

But Law… noticed the way you laughed. How relaxed you were.

How someone else was the reason for that smile.

His chest tightened. It felt stupid. Irrational.

“That is not jealousy,” he muttered under his breath.

Bepo, beside him, gave a look so loud it may as well have spoken.

Law scowled. “It’s not.”

But he clenched his jaw the rest of the night.

The breaking point came with a question.

Simple. Offhanded. A crew member joking at dinner.

“What would you do if (Y/N) left the crew?”

Law froze.

Fork halfway to his mouth. Eyes suddenly unreadable.

The table went quiet.

You looked over at him, sensing something shift in the air.

He said nothing.

Because the real answer—the only answer—was this:

I would go after you.

I would leave everything.

I would not be okay.

And that terrified him.

Later, alone in the infirmary, he sat with a half-finished chart in his lap, hand motionless over the paper.

His mind replayed the question over and over.

Not what would happen to the crew. Not how it would affect his plans.

Just you.

Your absence. The silence of it. The hole it would leave.

I’m in love with them.

He exhaled, slow and quiet.

Shit...

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Sabo x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Love Realization, Slow Burn Word Count: ~2,000 ______________________________________________________________

With Sabo, it always felt like you belonged at his side—even before he realized how much that meant.

You were part of the Revolutionary Army—smart, capable, steady. A good comrade. A better friend.

At least, that was how he described you.

To himself.

To others.

And yet…

He started saving seats beside him.

It was not on purpose at first—just a spot left open next to him during meals, briefings, downtime. His coat draped across a second chair, or his hat tossed there like a marker.

If someone tried to sit, he’d glance up, confused. “Oh—sorry, that’s for (Y/N).”

He never thought much of it.

You did.

He asked your opinion on everything.

Not just mission plans or logistics. But things like, “Do you think this tie’s too formal for a peace talk?” or “Would this soup be better with ginger or mint?”

You laughed once and said, “Are you always this picky?”

He smiled, tilted his head. “Only when you’re around to help me choose.”

He shared the things that mattered.

Books that made him think. Photos of towns he wanted to rebuild. Quiet pieces of his past—the good ones, the ones untouched by fire and grief.

You saw a different side of him. One that sparkled quietly beneath the weight he carried.

And he saw you as the safe place to set it down.

But he also grew… protective.

One time, you volunteered for a high-risk scouting job. Nothing outrageous. But before you even finished explaining your plan, Sabo cut in.

“I’ll go instead.”

You blinked. “Sabo, I can handle it—”

“I know you can,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “But I’m more familiar with the terrain. It makes sense.”

You exchanged a look with Koala, who raised a brow behind him.

Later that night, she cornered him.

“You know you’re in love with them, right?”

Sabo laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Koala: “Mm. Sure. You nearly yelled at Hack because they almost got a splinter.”

Sabo: “That was different.”

Koala: “Okay.”

It was not different.

He brought you things.

Not in a flashy way—just little gifts. A worn book with your favorite theme. A pouch of dried fruit you liked. A scarf when the mountain air got too cold.

“Found it on the way back,” he’d say, casual, like he had not thought about you the whole trip.

But he had.

One night, after a celebration—small victory, small village—you danced with someone else.

Sabo smiled. Genuinely, at first.

Then you laughed—soft and free, head thrown back—and his chest tightened.

A twist of heat. A flicker of something sharp and unfamiliar.

He turned away before he could watch any longer.

Koala caught him staring at the wall with a far-off look. “You okay?”

He blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He was lying.

The realization came quietly.

You were late coming back from a solo mission. Just by an hour. But that hour stretched out into something tight and heavy in his ribs.

He stood by the gate, arms folded, trying not to pace.

Koala came to stand beside him. “They’ll be fine. You trained them yourself.”

“I know.”

But his voice was thin. Worried. Too worried.

When you finally returned—mud on your boots, smile crooked, only a scratch on your cheek—he let out a breath like someone had released a pressure valve inside him.

“You’re late,” he said.

You grinned. “Miss me?”

He did not answer.

Not out loud.

But later, alone, he sat on the edge of his bunk and whispered to the dark:

“…Yes.”

A few days later, someone asked him a simple question:

“If (Y/N) left the army tomorrow… would you follow?”

He did not even answer.

Just went silent.

Because the answer was yes. And that scared the hell out of him.

______________________________________________________________

CHAT. DID I EAT? AHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! I DID SO GOOD, I'M SO PROUD!

◯𓇋An Enemy's Kiss◯𓇋

Sysopsis; What happens when there's tension in-between two so-called enemies? What happens when you finally see why this pirate always got back up, because you let him?

----------------------------------------------

The sky was a molten red, the city beneath them reduced to little more than shattered bones and smoking rubble. The wind carried the acrid scent of destruction, howling through the skeletal remains of buildings, as if mourning the ruin left behind.

At the edge of the crumbling tower, you stood, bloodied and breathless, fists clenched at your sides. Across from you, Sanji exhaled sharply, rolling his shoulder, his usual easy grace marred by exhaustion. Ash clung to his tattered shirt, soot streaked his cheek, but still—that damnable fire in his eyes refused to go out.

“You just do not quit, do you?” Your voice trembled with rage, the weight of it pressing into every syllable. “Time and time again, you ruin everything! I build, you break. I rise, you knock me down. No matter what I do, no matter how many times I put you in the dirt, you just keep getting back up—like some cockroach that refuses to die!”

Sanji swiped at the blood trickling from the corner of his mouth and let out a short, humorless laugh. “You talk like I’m the problem,” he muttered, tilting his head. “Like you aren’t the one leaving wreckage in your wake.”

“You do not get to stand there and preach to me.” You took a step forward, voice sharp as a blade. “Not after everything. Do you have any idea how much easier things would be if you were gone?”

The words hung between you, heavy with something unspoken. The wind howled through the ruins, but neither of you moved, the tension coiled tight as a wire.

Then, after a beat, Sanji exhaled, shaking his head.

“You don’t mean that.”

Your nails dug into your palms. “And what makes you so sure?”

He took a step forward this time, slow and deliberate, his sharp eyes never leaving yours. “Because if you really wanted me gone,” he said, voice quiet but unwavering, “you would have done it by now.”

Your breath caught.

Sanji was close enough now that you could see past the exhaustion, past the bruises and cuts, past the ever-present smirk he wore like armor. His eyes—steady, piercing, frustratingly understanding—locked onto yours, searching.

And damn him, because he was right.

You had the chance before. More than once. A well-placed blow, a single ruthless strike, and he would not be standing here now. But every time, something held you back. Some invisible chain wrapped tight around your wrists, refusing to let you finish it.

You hated him for seeing it. Hated him for the way he still stood there, unwavering.

“You are insufferable.” The words came out as a whisper—low, bitter, almost pained.

Sanji’s lips curled, just slightly, in something that was not quite a smirk, not quite a smile. “Yeah?” he murmured. “So are you.”

The air between you shifted—dangerous, electric.

It was impossible to tell who moved first.

One second, you were standing at a distance, and the next, you had collided—hands fisting in his torn shirt, his grip firm at your waist, and then his lips crashed against yours in something desperate, reckless, inevitable.

The battle had raged for so long, but this? This was its own kind of war.

Fury burned between you, but so did something deeper, something raw and undeniable. The taste of blood lingered between your mouths, the scent of smoke curling in the air, but none of it mattered. Not when he was pulling you closer, not when your hands trembled against him, not when you realized just how badly you had wanted this—wanted him.

The moment stretched, sharp and breathless, before you finally tore yourself away, your forehead resting against his as your breathing came ragged.

Sanji’s fingers lingered at your waist, hesitant but unwilling to let go.

“This doesn’t change anything,” you rasped.

His breath was warm against your lips as he chuckled, low and rough. “Didn’t say it did.”

And yet, as he looked at you—eyes dark, gaze searching—something had shifted. Something had already changed.

And neither of you could take it back now.