One Month With You
One Month With You
In the final month of your life, you cherishes fleeting moments with your crew, hiding a terminal illness until only memories—and a letter—remain.
red hair pirates x reader | whitebeard pirates x reader | strawhats x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, grief, terminal illness a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 2.6k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
RED HAIR PIRATES
The sea was calm that morning, the kind of quiet that made even the waves seem to hold their breath. The deck of the Red Force was alive with chatter and light laughter, but you stood by the railing, letting the wind sweep through your hair. Your fingers curled around the wood, your gaze far off—not at the horizon, but somewhere past it.
One month. That’s what Hongo told you when he unknowingly confirmed your own suspicions. You’d been hiding the worsening symptoms for months—fatigue that sank deep into your bones, the relentless pain in your chest, the occasional blood you’d spit out into the sea, unnoticed.
You knew he’d figure it out eventually. He was too good not to.
But you hadn’t expected him to burst into your quarters the night before, shaking with barely restrained panic.
“What the hell is this?!” Hongo had yelled, thrusting a tattered medical report into your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?!”
You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to be watched like a ghost who hasn’t died yet.”
Silence. Deafening.
“...You have a month, Y/N, maybe less. You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re dying, and you're acting like it's nothing?”
“I have a month, Hongo,” you had said quietly. “Please… just let me have it. Don’t tell the others. Let me spend it with them. Please.”
He didn't answer for a long time. When he finally did, it was with a whisper: “You’re a fucking idiot.” But he pulled you into a hug and didn’t let go until your shoulders stopped shaking.
From that day, you lived more fiercely than ever. You laughed at Shanks’ dumb jokes and drank with him until the world blurred. You challenged Benn to silent stargazing contests, betting on how many shooting stars you’d catch. You dragged Limejuice to island carnivals and flirted shamelessly until his face burned red. You played cards with Hongo, even when your hands trembled too much to hold them.
They all noticed. The Red-Haired Pirates weren’t stupid.
“You’re real clingy lately,” Limejuice teased one night, bumping your shoulder with his. “You sure you’re not sick or something?”
You smiled, heart twisting. “Would you be mad if I said I might be?”
He laughed, oblivious. “Nah. I’d carry you myself if you keeled over.”
You didn’t say anything. Just leaned into his warmth.
Shanks was the hardest. He noticed too much. Noticed how often you disappeared below deck when the coughing fits hit, how your eyes stayed on the ocean longer than they should have.
“You thinking of leaving us?” he asked once, half-joking.
You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No,” you lied.
Benn just watched. Always watched. He didn’t say much, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you, searching. You gave him your brightest smiles.
The day you left, the crew didn’t know.
You made breakfast with Chef-level effort, joking with the kitchen staff, slipping kisses to Limejuice's cheek and hugging Shanks tighter than ever. You sat with Benn for hours on the deck, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun creep across the sky.
“I think you’re my favorite,” you whispered, teasing.
He snorted. “Don’t let Shanks hear that.”
He didn’t know that was the last time he’d feel your heartbeat against his side.
That night, you slipped away. A letter for each of them tucked under your pillow. A note for Hongo too:
"Thank you—for letting me pretend I wasn’t dying. I love you all too much to say goodbye."
Morning broke in chaos.
“Where the hell is Y/N?!” Limejuice shouted, tearing through the ship.
“They’re not in the galley, or the crow’s nest!” Benn called out, panic rising in his usually calm voice.
Shanks was quiet, unusually still, staring at the empty hammock where your scent still lingered.
The notes were found soon after. One by one, hands shaking as they read your last words.
You didn’t say goodbye, but each letter bled with love.
“To Shanks — Thank you for making me feel like I belonged in the stars.”
“To Benn — You saw through me. Thank you for not saying anything.”
“To Limejuice — Thank you for reminding me how fun life could be.”
“To Hongo — I’m sorry I made you carry this alone. Thank you for letting me be selfish.”
They thought you ran. Were taken. Benn demanded a search party. Shanks was pale, silent, gripping your letter so tight his knuckles bled. Limejuice punched a wall. Hongo said nothing—for two days.
And then, he snapped.
He threw your medical file onto the table during a heated meeting, eyes wild. “They didn’t leave!....They died. And...I let them.”
The room fell to a breathless silence.
“You knew?” Benn whispered.
“They had a month. They begged me to let them spend it with us, like nothing was wrong. And I let them lie.”
Shanks stumbled back, as if struck. “No. No, they were… they were fine.”
“They were dying, Shanks! They couldn’t breathe without pain, they were—” Hongo’s voice cracked. “They spent their last strength loving us.”
No one spoke.
Limejuice fell to his knees. “We didn’t even say goodbye.”
Later that night, Shanks sat by the railing where you always stood.
“I hope you’re watching the stars from up close now, Y/N,” he murmured, tears streaking his face. “Because we’ll never stop looking for you in them.”
WHITEBEARD PIRATES
You’d always imagined dying quietly, maybe on an empty shore, wrapped in salt and wind. But fate had other plans. Your end would come not with isolation—but surrounded by laughter, drink, and the stubborn, unbearable warmth of the Whitebeard Pirates.
The diagnosis came on a cold, cloudy day—so ordinary it felt like a betrayal.
You'd passed out during training. Woke up with Marco’s worried face looming over you. He’d examined you in complete silence. But his shaking hands and tight jaw told you everything.
“It’s not good, is it?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.
“No,” Marco had said, the word cracking as it left him. “It’s... terminal. A rare degeneration of the lungs and heart. I don’t—there’s nothing I can do.”
You didn’t cry. Instead, you laughed. “So, what—you’re saying I won’t outlive my goldfish?”
He didn't laugh. He looked like he’d been stabbed. “You have a month. Maybe.”
You made him promise to keep it secret.
Just him and Whitebeard.
When Oyaji found out, he sat beside your bed and gripped your hand with those massive, shaking fingers. “You are my child,” he rumbled. “And if this is your last voyage… then let it be the greatest of your life.”
You had never cried before. But you cried then.
From that day, you threw yourself into every moment.
Ace was all fire and impulse, but when he was around you, something softer flickered beneath the surface. He took to dragging you along for sparring matches, even when you claimed your muscles ached.
“I need a challenge,” he’d smirk, sweat glistening down his neck.
“You just want to show off,” you’d tease, raising your fists anyway.
He was always careful not to hit you too hard. Not that you said anything—but he seemed to know. When you tripped one day, coughing blood into your sleeve when he wasn’t looking, he’d jogged over, helping you up without a word. His hand lingered on your arm just a second too long.
That night, you sat beside him, both of you perched on the edge of the ship with your legs dangling into the air.
“You’re weird lately,” he mumbled, eyes on the moon.
You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”
He blinked at you. “To be with us?”
“To be with you,” you said, gently. And he froze, eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to do with that.
“…You’re gonna break my heart, aren’t you?” he whispered.
You smiled, because you already had.
Izo became your confidant without even knowing it. With every eyeliner flick and matching kimono, you gave yourself permission to feel alive. They would hum as they painted your face, hands warm against your cheeks.
“You’re glowing,” they said once, adjusting the red ribbon they tied in your hair.
“Death becomes me, huh?” you joked, and they slapped your arm, scandalized.
“You joke about dying too much.”
You didn’t mean to, but your voice cracked. “It’s easier than pretending I’m not scared.”
Their fingers paused, lips parting. “…Are you scared?”
You looked at them in the mirror, the shimmer of gold powder across your eyelids catching the light. “Yeah,” you said. “But not when I’m with you.”
They smiled then, a bit sad, and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Then let’s live like hell until we drop, dear.”
Thatch was joy personified. It was impossible to be sad around him for long, and that’s what made it hurt worse.
He caught you sneaking dessert at 2 a.m. once and acted like you’d committed a crime.
“Oh-ho! So this is where my pudding went!”
“Your pudding? I thought it had my name on it.”
“I’ll accept bribes in the form of kisses or cleaning dishes.”
You kissed his cheek, and he nearly dropped the bowl.
Every stolen moment in the kitchen became a memory—dancing while covered in flour, whipped cream fights, drunken baking experiments that ended in fire. You’d laughed so hard your sides hurt, even as your lungs begged you to stop.
“You’re making memories,” he said one night, tousling your hair. “That’s what this is. You’ve been clingy lately. Like you’re trying to make every second count.”
You froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Would you hate me if I was?”
He blinked. “Nah. I’d probably try to hold on tighter.”
You didn’t tell him then. Just leaned into his side and let him talk about his dream of opening a cake café after he retires.
You knew you’d never see it.
Marco was the one who saw the cracks, and it destroyed him. You kept him close because you trusted him most—and that made it hurt more.
You caught him once crying at your door. He didn’t think you were awake.
You opened it, silently wrapped your arms around him, and whispered, “I’m still here.”
“You shouldn’t be this calm,” he rasped into your shoulder.
“I’m terrified,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend what time I have being loved than dying slowly in a bed.”
He pulled back, staring at you with reddened eyes. “You could have told them.”
“They’d look at me like I was already dead.”
He said nothing, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “Promise me… promise you’ll wait. Let me leave on my own terms.”
“…Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll hate you for it.”
You kissed his forehead. “I hope you do.”
You left them on a quiet morning.
Then you slipped away, leaving only a bundle of letters on Marco’s desk.
Your final message was simple:
“Don’t let them hate me for this. Please. Just let them think I ran.”
The ship erupted into panic by nightfall.
Ace punched through a wall. “They’re gone?! What do you mean GONE?”
Izo ran through the corridors, calling your name until their voice broke.
Thatch turned the kitchen inside out like he expected you to be hiding in the cupboards, laughing.
Marco couldn’t speak.
He stood at the rail, gripping the wood so hard it splintered beneath his fingers.
Whitebeard stood behind him, silent, his massive shadow cast across the deck like a shroud.
“Do I tell them?” Marco rasped.
“No,” Whitebeard rumbled. “Not yet. Let them rage. Let them mourn in their own way.”
“But—”
“They wouldn’t understand it now,” he said. “Wait.”
A week passed. Then two.
No sign of you.
Your room remained untouched. Your absence echoed louder than any cannon fire.
They scoured islands. Questioned strangers. Considered kidnappers, Marines, even betrayal.
Ace refused to accept it. “They wouldn’t leave us! Not without a word. Not without—something.”
He went to Marco, desperate. “You know something. Tell me.”
Marco finally broke.
He gave Ace your letter.
Ace read it once. Then again and again. Then crumpled to the ground, screaming into his fists.
“They died?! All this time—they were dying?!”
Marco stood frozen, guilt crawling like acid beneath his skin.
“They didn’t want you to mourn them before they were gone,” he whispered. “They wanted to be loved, not pitied.”
Ace couldn’t answer. He just sobbed, curled around your crumpled letter like it could still warm him.
That night, Whitebeard gathered his sons and daughters.
He read your letters aloud. One by one. Each one aching with truth, memory, and love.
“To Ace — You made me feel alive, even when I was already halfway gone.” “To Izo — Thank you for making me beautiful when I felt invisible.” “To Thatch — You made every day sweeter, even the ones I didn’t think I’d survive.” “To Marco — Thank you for holding my secret when it crushed you. I love you most for that.” “To Oyaji — You gave me a family when I had nothing left. Thank you… for letting me die a Whitebeard Pirate.”
By the end, the deck was silent.
No sobs. Just breathless grief.
They didn’t throw a funeral.
They held a feast.
Not because they weren’t mourning—but because they knew you’d hate to see them broken.
They told stories. Passed your favorite drink around. Laughed, cried, and danced with ghosts.
And when the fire died down, Ace stared at the embers and whispered, “I hope you found peace, flame-heart.”
STRAWHAT PIRATES
You didn’t plan on dying at sea, but the Grand Line has a way of making plans for you. The first signs were subtle: a lingering fatigue you chalked up to busy days, aches you blamed on training, the dull pain in your side that you laughed off when Chopper asked if you were okay.
You knew before he did. Deep down, your body had been whispering the truth long before the words made it onto paper.
It wasn’t until you collapsed in the hallway between the kitchen and the infirmary that Chopper realized something was seriously wrong. When you woke up, it was to the sterile smell of the medical bay and his wide, terrified eyes.
“I ran every test,” he said, voice trembling. “And then I ran them again. It’s… it’s bad. Really bad.”
You nodded. Your throat was too dry to answer.
“I—I can’t fix it. Not with what we have on board. Maybe if we got to a major medical port, but even then, I don’t know if—”
You reached out, resting a hand on his tiny shoulder. “How long?”
He hesitated, ears flattening. “A month. Maybe.”
You didn’t cry. Not then. Not even when he begged to tell the others.
“No. Please. Let me have this. Just a month, Chopper.”
“They’ll never forgive me.”
“They will,” you said. “If they knew now, it’d ruin everything. I don’t want pity. I want memories.”
So you began to live. Fully, recklessly, as if the pain eating away at you was just a shadow at your back.
You started with Sanji. He was the easiest to be around, the one whose affection was loud and constant. Every meal became a moment: you insisted on helping in the kitchen, even when he protested. You chopped vegetables until your hands hurt, stirred sauces while leaning against him, snuck little bites when he wasn’t looking.
“You’re here a lot lately,” he said one afternoon, handing you a bowl of soup.
“I like watching you work,” you replied.
He grinned. “You trying to steal my heart, love?”
You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Maybe.”
He went quiet for a beat. Then, more softly, “You look at me like you’re memorizing my face.”
You didn’t answer. Just smiled.
Zoro came next. You sparred with him almost every day now, ignoring the way your lungs burned, the way your legs shook. He didn’t say anything the first time you collapsed mid-match, just silently carried you to the infirmary.
“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.
“I need to,” you whispered.
“Why?”
You looked at him, really looked. “Because I don’t want to forget what it feels like to fight beside you.”
He frowned. “You’re acting like you’re running out of time.”
You forced a smile. “Aren’t we all?”
That night, he found you on the deck, staring at the stars.
He sat beside you, arms crossed. “You’re not saying something. I don’t like it.”
“I’m just tired.”
“I’d carry you, if you asked.”
Your heart ached. “I know.”
Luffy was harder.
He didn’t notice at first. You were careful around him—too careful. You laughed with him during meals, ran across islands with him, challenged him to stupid games on the deck. But he began to notice the way you lingered during hugs. The way you stared at him too long. The way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes.
One evening, you lay beside him on the figurehead, watching the horizon.
He turned his head toward you. “Are you gonna leave?”
You blinked. “What?”
“You look like you’re saying goodbye.”
You looked away. “I’m not. Not yet.”
He was quiet for a while. “I don’t want you to go.”
“I don’t want to either.”
He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and didn’t let go until you both fell asleep.
ou made time for everyone else too.
With Nami, you spent lazy afternoons in the library, pretending to study charts. She taught you how to draw maps. You traced the oceans of the world with your fingers and imagined places you’d never see.
“You’re getting good at this,” she said.
“I want to leave something behind,” you murmured.
She didn’t understand then. But she would.
Usopp was a light in the dark. You asked for bedtime stories, exaggerated tales of heroism and romance. He performed them with full sound effects, arms flailing, voice booming.
“You always laugh now,” he noted one night.
“It’s easy, when I’m with you.”
He blushed, scratching the back of his head. “You’re acting like I’m the best part of your day.”
You smiled. “You are.”
Robin gave you quiet comfort. She didn’t ask questions. She simply read to you, let you rest your head in her lap, brushed your hair back from your face.
“You’re calm,” you told her.
“You’re storming,” she replied.
You didn’t deny it.
Franky built you a swing on the back of the Sunny, facing the sea. You spent hours there, feet brushing over the waves, eyes on the endless blue.
“Super chill, right?” he said, adjusting the ropes.
You nodded. “It’s perfect.”
He caught your hand before he left. “You’re not okay.”
You looked up at him. “No.”
“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “You don’t have to be.”
Brook played lullabies for you. Sweet, simple things. You danced with him once, slow and clumsy.
“If I still had a heart,” he said softly, “I think it would ache.”
You rested your head against his chest. “Mine already does.”
Chopper was breaking. Every day, he looked at you like you were already fading. You caught him crying in the storage room once, holding one of your jackets.
“I can’t do this,” he whispered.
“You’re stronger than me,” you said, hugging him.
“I hate lying.”
“I know.”
You waited until they docked at a small island for supplies.
You left at dawn.
Left behind the stargazer chair. The flowered book. The slingshot. The meals. The love.
Left behind a stack of letters in Chopper’s room.
When the crew realized you were gone, Luffy panicked first.
“They wouldn’t leave! They’d never leave!”
Zoro was already on the dock, scanning the shoreline. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.
They searched the island. They waited at the ship. They called for you until their voices cracked.
You didn’t come back.
That night, Chopper gathered them in the infirmary.
“I didn’t want to break the promise,” he said, voice trembling. “But… they’re gone. They were dying.”
No one moved.
“…What?”
“They only had a month. They asked me to let them live… without pity.”
Nami burst into tears. "They should’ve told us,”
Zoro punched the wall.
Luffy stood in stunned silence, until he screamed your name into the ocean wind.
They read your letters together. All huddled in the infirmary, hearts shattered.
“To Sanji — You made me feel wanted, even when I felt like a ghost.” “To Zoro — You were my anchor. I always knew where I stood when I was beside you.” “To Luffy — Thank you for being the sun. I needed the light more than you’ll ever know.” “To the Crew — You made me part of a family. You made me more than a dying story.”
They held a quiet vigil on the deck.
Brook played your song one last time. Robin scattered petals into the sea. Chopper lit a lantern and let it drift across the water.
They stayed on that island for days.
Then, they sailed forward—quieter, heavier—but with your memory in their hearts.
You were their nakama.
You were their heart.
You always would be.
More Posts from Sh4nksslvt and Others
Omg I absolutely love your posts. You're super good. Here, have my heart ❤
waahh! thank uu so muchh~ 💝(˶˃⤙˂˶)
it made me happy!
Can you do Kuzan (aokiji) ?? Like, the reader was rumored witch and when he heard that, he goes excited suddenly and wanted to find that witch? ( You can do what ever you want with the ending. But please add a smut hehehe, thank you!!
hii this is a good idea!! i apologize, as of the moment, i don't plan on writing that includes s3x anytime soon:< but theres some kissing scene tho idk if kissing is considered as smut? dahaha but i hope you enjoy this! let me know what u think! ><
Frostbite and Witchcraft
When a bored ex-admiral hears rumors of a dangerous "witch" living near a chaotic port town, he can't resist hunting her down—only to find himself ensnared in a slow-burn game of teasing, ice, and forbidden heat.
Aokiji (kuzan) x fem! reader Tags: fluff, flirty, slow burn(?) neck kissing / collarbone kissing, minor bondage (ice restraints), a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe and oc word count: 1.5k MINORS DNI!!
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
It all started with a stupid rumor.
"The witch will curse you if you look her in the eye!" "She flies around naked at midnight!" "She turned Old Man Jeb into a chicken. True story."
The entire port town was drunk on gossip, and Aokiji—bored, freshly unattached to any real responsibility—found himself very interested.
"I dunno," he said lazily, nursing a drink at the local tavern, "sounds kinda hot."
The table of sailors stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Hot?! She’s dangerous!"
Aokiji just grinned, finishing his drink and standing up. "Dangerous women are the best ones."
He tracked you down that same night.
Eventually, he found himself standing at the edge of a very cliché-looking creepy forest. A broken, hand-painted sign read:
"BEWARE: WITCH LIVES HERE. (also wolves.)"
Aokiji, grinning lazily, shrugged. “Eh. Wolves are fine. I’m here for the witch.”
He wandered in, hands in his pockets, whistling tunelessly. Half an hour later, after being chased by a very angry (and definitely not magical) goat, he finally stumbled upon a crooked little house. Smoke curled from the chimney, and wind chimes made from bones (probably fake… probably) tinkled eerily.
Your crooked little house at the edge of the forest was half-charming, half-terrifying, lit up with candles and what looked suspiciously like floating lights (actually just fireflies, but hey, let the idiots believe).
You were perched on your porch, barefoot, wearing a thin, flowy dress that clung to your body in the humid air, holding a cup of tea and looking entirely too smug.
“You lost, stranger?” you called, voice honey-sweet but laced with trouble.
Aokiji whistled low under his breath. Damn, the rumors didn’t do you justice.
Aokiji approached slowly, hands in his pockets. “Hey. I’m here for the witch."
You looked him up and down like he was a particularly stupid animal. "You the guy with more balls than brains?"
He laughed—a slow, deep rumble. "Depends who you ask."
You raised an eyebrow, sipping your tea. “And what if she curses you?"
Aokiji's grin widened. He leaned his tall frame casually against a tree, watching you with the lazy hunger of a man already planning how fast he could lose the upper hand—and liking it.
“I dunno... kinda sounds like fun," he said, voice low, smooth. "Especially if she's the kind of witch who knows a few...bad tricks.”
And thus began the harassment.
Day 1: He brought you a dead fish. "Thought witches liked weird offerings."
You squinted at it, then at him. "That’s mermaid bait, dumbass."
He shrugged and left it on your porch anyway.
Day 3: He challenged you to a "spell duel" and got his ass kicked by a very territorial goat you "accidentally" sicced on him.
Day 5: You caught him napping under your tree, snoring like a dying lawnmower.
You threw a bucket of water on him. He woke up, grinning, ice instantly forming on his clothes.
"You’re gonna have to try harder to cool me off, sweetheart."
You stomped inside before he could see the stupid smile on your face.
Day 7: You found a neatly folded note on your porch:
"Dear scary witch lady, Teach me magic? Also, your hair looks nice. Yours frostily, Aokiji"
You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly fell over. But you smiled too.
He kept coming back. Sometimes he’d just sit nearby, pretending to "guard" your house from wolves. Other times, he’d lazily help you gather herbs (crushing half of them because he was clumsy as hell). You started leaving out a second cup of tea without thinking about it.
He was stupidly tall, annoyingly charming, and somehow managed to look both lazy and sharp at the same time. He made you laugh when you hadn’t laughed in months.
And gods, when he smirked at you… when he leaned a little too close when handing you a flower… It was getting hard to pretend you didn’t notice.
One evening… You sat by the porch, braiding herbs absently. The sky blazed orange, and Aokiji lounged nearby, watching you with open amusement.
"You ever curse anyone for real?" he asked.
You smirked. "Maybe. You wanna find out?"
He whistled low, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. "Man… you’re dangerous when you talk like that."
You tossed a dried sprig of lavender at him. He caught it, lazy-fast.
There was a pause.
Then he got up—moved toward you—slow, deliberate.
You looked up, heartbeat thudding. He loomed, tall and close enough that you could smell his skin: cold like fresh rain, sharp and clean.
His hand brushed a stray leaf from your hair—fingers lingering just a second too long.
"Y'know," he murmured, voice low and wrecked, "I think you did curse me."
You tried to laugh it off—but it came out breathless.
"Oh yeah? What’s the curse?"
He smiled—a real one this time, a little crooked, a little too soft.
"I can’t stay away from you."
The tension snapped.
You surged up, grabbing his jacket and dragging him down; he met you halfway, crashing his mouth onto yours.
The kiss was everything you expected from him: messy, greedy, starving. His tongue slid against yours immediately, tasting, teasing, claiming you. You gasped into him—he groaned low in his throat—his hands roaming your sides, cool fingertips skating fire trails along your heated skin.
You bit his lip playfully; he retaliated by lifting you effortlessly onto the porch railing, pressing between your thighs.
"You’re lucky," you panted against his mouth.
"Yeah?" he chuckled, kissing down your jaw, voice thick with want.
"Not everyone survives kissing a witch."
He grinned against your throat, cold breath making you shiver.
"Guess I’m built different."
And then he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier—like he was determined to drown in you.
You decided you’d let him.
You barely had time to catch your breath before Aokiji’s mouth was on you again—only this time, lower.
His lips trailed messy, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, slow and deliberate, sending shivers wracking your entire body. When he reached your neck, he paused, smirking against your pulse like he could feel it racing for him.
"You always this jumpy," he teased in a low growl, "or is it just me?"
You opened your mouth to sass back—but then he bit your neck, just enough to make you gasp, and you forgot how words worked.
His tongue followed immediately after, soothing the sting, cold and warm all at once. You arched into him instinctively, and he groaned deep in his chest, like the feel of you was driving him insane.
"Aokiji—" you tried to say, but it came out a whimper.
"Mm," he murmured against your skin, "I like how you say my name. Say it again."
Instead, you tugged at his messy hair, earning a delighted chuckle from him. He pressed you harder against the porch railing, one hand sliding under your thighs to keep you perched there like you belonged to him.
And then he got even bolder.
His mouth moved lower, ghosting along your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly before he kissed the delicate skin with maddening gentleness.
Your hands clutched at the fabric of his jacket, trying to anchor yourself. You could feel his breath—cool and teasing—against the thin fabric of your dress, making your whole body burn.
"You’re trembling," he whispered, smug. "Cold?" he asked, voice dripping pure sin, "or somethin' else?"
"Y-you're cheating," you managed to choke out, laughing breathlessly.
Aokiji just grinned wickedly against your collarbone.
Suddenly, you felt it—a cold, delicate grip around your wrists.
You looked down to see thin rings of ice curling around them, not painful, but firm—anchoring you gently against the railing behind you.
Your breath hitched. Your heart slammed against your ribs.
"Aokiji…" you whispered, wide-eyed.
He looked up at you, lazy and devastatingly cocky.
"Relax," he purred, mouth brushing your ear. "You can melt 'em anytime… if you ask real nice."
You swallowed hard, feeling the cold of the ice and the burning heat of his mouth on your skin, the impossible contrast driving you absolutely insane.
He kissed your shoulder—slow, reverent—then trailed back up to your neck, biting a little harder this time, earning a shaky, desperate moan from your lips.
"You sound so pretty," he rasped, like he was barely holding himself back.
You tugged at the ice instinctively, but it only made the sensation sharper—being half-pinned, half-teased, at his mercy.
"You want me to stop?" he asked, lips ghosting over yours, voice infuriatingly smug.
You glared at him, cheeks flushed and heart racing. "Don't you fucking dare."
Aokiji laughed—a real, dark, hungry laugh—and then captured your mouth again in a kiss so deep, so filthy, you forgot what planet you were on.
You kissed him back just as desperately, your hips grinding against his without even thinking.
The ice melted instantly under your heat, but you didn’t even notice—you were too busy tugging him closer, swallowing each other whole.
When you finally broke apart, gasping, he rested his forehead against yours, smirking like the cocky bastard he was.
"You’re trouble," he whispered, voice wrecked and affectionate.
You smiled, tugging his collar.
"So ruin me already, Ice Man."
And from the wicked glint in his half-lidded eyes, you knew he fully intended to.
Imagine Gear5!Luffy And normal luffy fighting over reader.......
wait! this is so smart! i like ur idea! dahaha
Double Trouble
When a freak accident splits Luffy into two, chaotic Gear 5 Luffy and sweet Normal Luffy — both versions hilariously compete for your heart, dragging the entire crew into the madness until everything returns to normal… mostly.
LUFFY X GN!READER | ONE SHOT
tags: fluff, sfw, love triangle(both are luffy lol)
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe
word count: 1.1k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
It all started with a bang — literally.
One moment, you were helping Nami reorganize the treasure room. Next, the whole Thousand Sunny lurched with a loud BOOM, rattling the floorboards and sending gold coins scattering like fireworks.
"What now?" Nami groaned, hands on her hips.
You rushed topside with the others, weapons drawn or fists clenched — expecting an attack.
Instead, you got... two Luffys.
One perfectly normal, grinning Luffy. And one... not so normal.
The second Luffy floated lazily above the deck, hair glowing brilliant white, pupils swirling hypnotically, laughter bubbling from his lips like music.
"Y/N!!" both Luffys shouted at once when they saw you.
You took an instinctive step back.
"Nope," Zoro said immediately, reaching for his swords.
"Is it a mirror fruit?!" Usopp yelped.
"Did the Captain eat himself?!" Chopper wailed, clinging to Sanji's leg.
Robin tilted her head, studying the scene with polite interest. "Fascinating..."
Franky just laughed, "SUUUUPER confusing!"
"Focus!!" Jinbei barked, trying to corral the chaos.
But it was already too late. Both Luffys made a beeline for you, tripping over each other and crashing into your legs like toddlers desperate for attention.
Nami pressed two fingers to her temple. "I need a raise," she muttered.
You quickly learned that having two Luffys was both better and worse than you could imagine.
Better, because they were extra affectionate — offering you food, carrying your things, cheering whenever you smiled.
Worse, because they were in full competition mode.
Gear5!Luffy (as Chopper breathlessly called him) kept showing off — stretching his limbs into ridiculous cartoonish shapes, bouncing around like a rubber band on crack, pulling faces until you doubled over laughing.
"Look, Y/N!" he crowed one afternoon, turning his whole head into a massive heart, complete with a squeaky heartbeat sound.
Normal Luffy was no slouch either. He stuck to his strengths — stubbornness and sincerity.
"I don't need crazy powers," he told you solemnly, handing you a slightly squashed rice ball he'd made himself. "I'm already the best for Y/N!"
You bit into the rice ball, smiling despite yourself.
Meanwhile, the crew took sides — shamelessly.
"I bet the crazy one wins!" Franky announced loudly.
"No way," Sanji scoffed. "Y/N deserves normalcy."
"Technically," Robin mused, "both versions are Luffy."
"Yeah, but one’s glowing," Usopp said. "Glowing automatically makes you cooler."
Zoro snorted. "Idiots."
Brook just laughed. "Yohoho! Twice the Captain, twice the chaos!"
You wanted to protest — this isn’t a contest! — but then you’d look up and catch two sets of hopeful, sparkling eyes gazing at you, and the words would die on your tongue.
At first, it was cute.
They followed you everywhere — two shadows glued to your heels. They fought over who got to sit next to you at dinner, who got to carry your stuff during island stops, who could make you laugh harder.
Gear5!Luffy once turned the entire galley into a giant bouncy castle trying to impress you. Sanji screamed for three hours cleaning it up.
Normal Luffy responded by dragging you up the mast one night, pointing proudly at the sea of stars and whispering, "I wanted you to see somethin' only I can reach."
You sat there, high above the world, heart hammering against your ribs, wondering how you were supposed to choose between them.
But the tipping point came one evening.
The crew was gathered on deck — a rare, peaceful moment under a pink-streaked sky. Dinner plates were scattered everywhere, Brook strumming a soft tune on his violin.
You leaned against the railing, smiling at the sight.
Then — disaster.
Gear5!Luffy and Normal Luffy both lunged at you at once, trying to hand you a flower they'd picked from a nearby island.
Their arms tangled. They tripped. And with a yelp, they toppled overboard — dragging you with them.
The splash was enormous.
You resurfaced, spluttering and coughing, the two Luffys flailing beside you.
"Y/N!! Are you okay?!" they shrieked in perfect unison.
From the deck, Sanji was screaming bloody murder.
"YOU IDIOTS!! YOU COULD'VE DROWNED THEM!!"
Chopper was already tossing a lifesaver. Usopp was sobbing dramatically. Zoro just sighed, clearly contemplating letting you all drown to solve the problem.
Somehow, you all clambered back aboard, dripping wet and exhausted.
You sat there, shivering slightly, as the two Luffys crowded you again, guilt written all over their faces.
"I’m sorry," Normal Luffy whispered.
"Me too," Gear5!Luffy mumbled, his glow dimming.
You sighed heavily, wringing out your clothes. "You guys can’t keep fighting over me. You’re the same person, you know?"
They blinked at you.
"You both care about me. I care about you too. But... not if you hurt each other."
The deck fell silent.
Then, very slowly, the two Luffys turned — and smacked their foreheads together in a show of stubborn apology.
Thump.
You couldn't help it — you burst out laughing.
The tension shattered instantly. The crew joined in, cheering and clapping, Brook playing a jaunty tune.
"Looks like the Captain(s) learned their lesson," Robin said, smiling.
"Finally," Jinbei rumbled, folding his arms.
"Can we have just one Luffy now?" Nami pleaded.
You grinned, ruffling both Luffys' wet hair. "I'll take both for now."
They beamed at you — two idiots, one heart.
That night, you fell asleep curled between them on the deck, watching the stars wheel overhead.
For the first time in days, everything felt peaceful again.
You woke to soft snoring against your shoulder.
Blinking sleepily, you sat up — and found just one Luffy curled against you, straw hat sliding down to cover his eyes.
His hair was black again.
No swirling pupils. No crazy glow.
Just your Luffy.
You stared at him for a long moment, heart pounding in your chest.
The rest of the crew was stirring around the deck, yawning and stretching.
"Looks like whatever split him wore off overnight," Chopper said, checking Luffy’s vitals. "His heartbeat’s normal again."
"Amen," Sanji muttered, dragging a broom across the ruined galley.
Zoro shot you a sidelong look. "Guess you don’t have to choose anymore, huh?"
You smiled softly, brushing Luffy’s hair back from his forehead.
"No," you murmured, "I already chose."
Because whether he was wild or serious, glowing or not — he was still Luffy.
Yours.
Always.
And even if he didn’t remember everything that happened while split... The way he instinctively curled closer to you in his sleep said enough.
You leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to his forehead.
"Idiot," you whispered fondly. "I love you too."
The sun rose over the horizon, golden and bright, as the Thousand Sunny sailed on, carrying you, your crew, and the boy who had somehow, impossibly, stolen your heart twice over.
CLINGY MUCH? | ONE SHOT
Shanks x GN!Reader
Zoro x GN!Reader
Mihawk x GN!Reader
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc
tags: sfw, fluff, soft, ooc(?)
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
SHANKS
You were many things aboard the Red Force—calm, sharp-tongued, and painfully unbothered by Shanks’ endless antics.
You were also completely unaware of the fact that the most feared (and flirted-with) captain in the New World couldn’t seem to stop touching you.
Not in a creepy way. Not even in a romantic way… at least, not that you noticed.
He’d toss an arm around your shoulders like it was a habit. Rest his hand on your waist when laughing. Tug you into his side when something “dangerous” happened, like a slightly aggressive breeze or a seagull flying too low.
You just chalked it up to him being Shanks.
Until, one bright morning, the crew decided enough was enough.
It started with Benn Beckman sighing dramatically as he walked onto the deck.
“Do you two need a room or something?”
You blinked from where you stood, arms crossed. “We’re not even doing anything.”
Benn pointed. “His hand has been on your lower back for ten minutes.”
Shanks blinked down at his own hand like it betrayed him. “Huh. Didn’t even notice.”
You raised a brow. “Are you okay? Do you have tactile issues?”
Lucky Roux snorted as he passed by with a turkey leg. “Yeah, it’s called ‘falling for someone and not knowing what to do with your hands.’”
Shanks turned red. You remained… utterly unaffected.
“Touch-starved pirate disease,” Lime Juice muttered, jotting fake notes like a doctor. “Tragic. Symptoms include: prolonged physical contact, excessive grinning, and spontaneous cuddling in public.”
Hongo popped his head out of the crow’s nest. “I saw him brush your hair behind your ear during the storm last week.”
“That was because it got in their face,” Shanks defended.
You nodded. “He didn’t want me to get stabbed by my own bangs. Very heroic.”
“You’re wearing a braid,” Yasopp called from the helm.
A long pause.
“…Okay, I’m not good with excuses,” Shanks muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand bumped yours in the process.
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Captain.”
“Yes?”
“You’re touching me again.”
“...I genuinely didn’t notice DAHAHAHA.”
The crew erupted into laughter.
You blinked slowly and glanced down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “You’ve been holding my hand for a minute now. You good?”
“Maybe.”
You stared.
He stared.
“…You’re kinda warm,” he added, grinning.
“I’m wearing gloves.”
“Exactly. Impressive.”
You didn’t smile, but your voice was flat with dry humor. “You wanna marry me, too? Get it over with?”
Shanks choked. “Whoa—what?”
“You’re already touching me like I’m your lover. Might as well commit.”
The crew howled.
“I’m starting to like them more than you, Cap,” Benn said, lighting a cigar.
“They’ve got more bite,” Lime Juice grinned.
Lucky Roux offered you a celebratory turkey leg like a sword. “You just proposed better than he ever could.”
You calmly took it, giving a single nod. “Thanks. I accept my own proposal.”
Shanks was still frozen. “Wait, are we actually engaged now?”
You took a slow bite of the turkey leg, deadpan. “Keep touching me like that, and you’ll owe me alimony.”
ZORO
You were minding your own business—arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, back leaned slightly against the Sunny’s railing—when a familiar weight thunked into your side.
Again.
You didn’t flinch, didn’t glance, didn’t even blink. Just spoke.
“Zoro.”
“What.”
“You’re doing it again.”
“Doing what.”
“Treating me like a living chair.”
He grunted. “You’re stable. And not annoying.”
“That’s a compliment?” you asked, still deadpan.
“Take it or leave it.”
The crew had noticed. Of course they had. This was the sixth day in a row Zoro had casually latched onto you like a sleepy barnacle.
“Oi, mosshead!” Sanji snapped, appearing from the galley with smoke swirling and a righteous fury in his eyes. “Get off them, you clingy cucumber!”
Zoro cracked open an eye. “Make me.”
“Oh, I will!” Sanji stomped over dramatically. “Y/N-chwaann shouldn’t have to carry your freeloading swordsman body weight! If anyone deserves to be close to them, it’s me!”
You raised an eyebrow. “You literally tripped into my lap yesterday trying to ‘tie your shoe.’ You were barefoot.”
“It was a metaphor!” Sanji cried. “For falling head over heels!”
Zoro scoffed. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Says the mossy limpet glued to their side like a touchy fungus!”
Zoro didn’t move. “Jealousy’s not a good look, curly.”
“You—!!”
“Guys,” Nami sighed, “can’t we go one day without turning affection into a shouting match?”
Brook leaned on his cane, chuckling. “Yohohoho! Young love… or something!”
Usopp squinted. “Wait. Has Zoro always been this clingy with Y/N?”
Robin smiled mysteriously. “Since thriller bark, at least.”
Franky nodded solemnly. “Saw him fall asleep on their shoulder mid-battle once. SUPER unconscious.”
“I thought he was dead,” Chopper added, horrified. “Turns out he was just really comfy.”
Zoro’s grip on your shoulder tightened very slightly, and you finally glanced sideways at him.
“Do you know you’re this touchy?” you asked.
He looked like he wanted to evaporate into the deck. “I… just don’t mind you being close.”
You blinked slowly. “Is that samurai code for ‘I like you’?”
Sanji audibly gagged. “Oi! Don’t flirt in front of me!”
“We’re not flirting,” you said.
Zoro mumbled, “Might be.”
Sanji died inside.
“Y/N-chwann” he said gravely, dropping to one knee. “I beg of you—pick me instead! I would never lean on you like a sweaty tree log!”
Zoro growled. “Because you’d faint from being close.”
“AT LEAST I’D DIE HANDSOME!”
You looked between the two of them and sighed.
“I just want to drink my tea without being fought over,” you muttered, walking off—Zoro immediately following, like a shadow with swords.
“You’re still touching me,” you noted.
“Didn’t say I’d stop,” he replied casually.
You stopped walking, turned, and looked him square in the eye.
“You’re aware this is very couple-coded, right?”
He blinked, then grunted. “Guess we should make it official then.”
You blinked right back. “That was fast.”
“Why waste time.”
You smirked just a little. “Romantic.”
He shrugged. “You’re warm. And you don’t talk too much.”
“That’s your idea of a proposal?”
“Worked, didn’t it?”
From behind you, Sanji dramatically screamed into the ocean.
MIHAWK
Kuraigana Island was a wasteland of stone, wind, and uncomfortable silences. You didn’t mind. You were the type to thrive in eerie places — quiet, observant, and allergic to nonsense.
Which is probably why Mihawk didn’t bother with small talk.
Or... so you thought.
Lately, the world’s greatest swordsman had developed a habit of materializing wherever you were. You’d be cleaning a blade — and there he was, pouring tea. You’d sit on the crumbling stone wall for some air — and there he’d be, suddenly trimming the overgrown vines right next to you.
At first, you thought it was coincidence.
Until today.
“...You know you don’t have to sharpen every one of my knives,” you said flatly, watching him work silently at the bench beside you.
“I didn’t,” Mihawk replied, still honing the blade. “Only the dull ones.”
You blinked. “That was my butter knife.”
“Then it was very dull.”
From the far side of the ruins, Zoro grunted as he finished a set of squats. “He refilled their canteen twice this morning.”
“Once,” Mihawk corrected, still not looking up.
“Twice,” Zoro insisted. “Once after breakfast. Then again after they just looked at the sink.”
Perona floated down with a snort. “He also folded their coat. While they were still wearing it.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. Is that why my sleeves were shorter for a second?”
“You had a wrinkle.”
“I always have a wrinkle.”
Mihawk looked up with that unreadable expression. “And now you don’t.”
Zoro huffed. “What even is this? He acts like a butler. But like, a scary one.”
Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not a butler.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Perona muttered, arms crossed. “You fixed the strap on their satchel too.”
Mihawk didn’t respond to that.
Perona raised a brow. “You gonna deny it?”
“No,” Mihawk said coolly, “because it was crooked.”
Zoro leaned against a stone pillar, towel around his neck. “He also moved your seat at the dining table.”
“That was my seat,” you said.
Mihawk finally gave you a long, side glance. “You’ve sat on the left for the past four mornings. I simply ensured it remained consistent.”
You deadpanned. “You rearranged the furniture.”
“Briefly.”
Zoro stared. “And when they tripped over that vine—”
“I cut the vine before they fell,” Mihawk snapped with a tone just shy of defensive.
“Bro. You lunged across the courtyard.”
Mihawk sipped his wine calmly. “It was in the way.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And when you pulled me by the hood into the shade the other day?”
“You were overheating.”
“I wasn’t sweating.”
“You were blinking slowly.”
You stared. “That’s just how I blink.”
There was a long pause.
Then Perona gasped. “Wait, wait — you also fixed the strap on their scabbard!”
“I adjusted it. The weight distribution was uneven.”
Zoro clapped once, grinning. “So you are clingy.”
Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, the glint in them sharp and dangerous. “I am not.”
You leaned your chin on your hand, amused. “Then what would you call this?”
He paused. “Awareness.”
Perona lost it. “You mean hyper-awareness. Of one (1) person.”
Mihawk ignored her. “It’s strategic. I simply ensure you're at your most efficient.”
“That’s not efficiency,” Zoro said, wiping his forehead. “That’s doting.”
Mihawk arched a brow. “You think a swordsman cannot be observant?”
“You folded their laundry in order of fabric weight.”
“They prefer it that way.”
You blinked. “I never said that.”
He side-eyed you, expression cool. “You didn’t need to.”
You blinked again.
Zoro grunted. “You see? He’s acting like we’re all weird for noticing.”
Perona jabbed a finger toward him. “He's totally doing the ‘if I act calm, no one will notice I'm obsessed’ thing.”
Mihawk finally gave a soft, tired sigh — the kind that said you people are exhausting.
Then, turning to you, he asked, “Would you like tea?”
“I haven’t said I was thirsty.”
He didn’t blink. “You will be.”
You stared. “Are you psychic?”
“No,” he said simply. “You’re predictable.”
You squinted. “...That sounds like flirting.”
Mihawk blinked slowly. “I don’t flirt.”
Perona groaned. “OH MY GOD—”
Mihawk stood up, cloak sweeping behind him, expression unreadable as always. He held out the canteen like he’d already won this conversation.
You took it with narrowed eyes, muttering, “Thanks... I guess.”
He nodded, calm as ever. “You’re welcome.”
Zoro crossed his arms. “Still denying it?”
Mihawk looked at all of them — then at you — and with perfect poise said,
“I’m just efficient.”
And with that, he turned and walked away.
You stared after him, took a sip from the canteen, and sighed.
“…Efficiently annoying.”
O̲̅N̲̅E̲̅P̲̅I̲̅E̲̅C̲̅E̲̅ M̲̅A̲̅S̲̅T̲̅E̲̅R̲̅L̲̅I̲̅S̲̅T̲̅
ℛ𝓊𝓁ℯ𝓈
𝘉𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦.
𝘕𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘙𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘦𝘵𝘤., 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺.
𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴' 𝘋𝘕𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, (𝘐𝘧 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 — 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦!)
𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 , 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭.
𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦!, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘺.
ℛℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉 ℰ𝓉𝒾𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ
𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨! (𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘰 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵!)
𝘉𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈 "𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦" 𝘢𝘯𝘥 "𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶" 𝘨𝘰 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺.
𝘉𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 (𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.), 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵!
𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵! 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦.
𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 — 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴!
𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦! 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥.
𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴.
Quick a/n: 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.
also special mention to the creator of these dividers<33
FLUFF ANGST ko-fi
S̲̅T̲̅R̲̅A̲̅W̲̅H̲̅A̲̅T̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 GIANT DUCK INCIDENT - luffy x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Say something - strawhat x psychic!femreader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Lost Reader - strawhat x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 CLINGY MUCH? - Zoro x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Got married by Accident… Thanks, Vegapunk? - luffy x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Wait… Luffy’s WHAT?! - luffy x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Double Trouble - luffy x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 What Remains - strawhats x platonic gn! reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - sanji x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 One Month With You - strawhat x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Ones Who Stayed Silent - sanji x reader | angst | O.S
R̲̅E̲̅D̲̅H̲̅A̲̅I̲̅R̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 You punched a Yonko? - red hair pirates x fem!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Fractures in the silence - shanks x reader | light angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 CLINGY MUCH? - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Flustered Fury - beck x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 - shanks x reader | fluff/slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - beck x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Six Months of Secrets, Five Minutes of Hell - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 One Month With You - red hair pirates x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Ones Who Stayed Silent - shanks x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Trouble Walks In, and So Do You - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Six Months of Secrets, Five Minutes of Hell - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S
W̲̅A̲̅R̲̅L̲̅O̲̅R̲̅D̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Perfect pair - mihawk x reader | fluff, v!ol3nce | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Strings in Crimson - doflamingo x reader | fluff, v!ol3nce | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 CLINGY MUCH? - mihawk x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - crocodile x reader | fluff/slight nsfw | O.S
W̲̅H̲̅I̲̅T̲̅E̲̅B̲̅E̲̅A̲̅R̲̅D̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸Sea Kings, Smart Mouths, and Stolen Hearts - whitebeard x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Clueless hearts and full plates - ace x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Where the Fire Lives - marco x oc | fluff/slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 I won't leave you - ace x sister! reader | slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Teach Tried It, I Survived It - Marco x reader | fluff/slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸Fractured Allegiance - marco x reader | slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Stuck on You - marco x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 One Month With You - whitebeard pirates x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Ones Who Stayed Silent - ace x reader | angst | O.S
H̲̅E̲̅A̲̅R̲̅T̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Doctor Trafalgar, Love Expert? - law x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Confined Hearts - law x gn! reader | fluff | O.S
B̲̅I̲̅G̲̅ M̲̅O̲̅M̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Sugar & Spite - katakuri x reader | fluff | series, 3 chapters
B̲̅E̲̅A̲̅S̲̅T̲̅S̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Hot Springs, Hot Tempers - king x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 King’s Helmet Mystery - king x gn! reader | fluff | O.S
K̲̅I̲̅D̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
M̲̅A̲̅R̲̅I̲̅N̲̅E̲̅S̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Clash of Fists and Hearts - young garp × gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - smoker x reader | fluff/slight nsfw | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Frostbite and Witchcraft - aokiji x reader | fluff/slight nsfw | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Captain for a Day - smoker x reader | fluff | O.S
C̲̅P̲̅9̲̅
˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Secrets in Stone - CP9 x reader | fluff | O.S
Hi, could you write something about Fukaboshi (shirahoshi's brother) and a strawhat reader? And/or maybe something with Blackbeard (ik he's hated a lot, hell I hate him too, but uh he's like super powerful soooo...)
oohh, fukaboshi...hes so underrated, good looking among his brothers too wwww~ here's some fluff w fukaboshi, hope u like it! as for blackbeard...hmmm idk abt it yet, i dont really have an idea for the guy lolol
Shell Shocked
A peaceful shell collecting date on Fishman Island turns into a hilariously competitive (and surprisingly romantic) showdown between you and Prince Fukaboshi
Fukaboshi X gn! reader | ONE SHOT
tags: fluff, sfw, beach date, shell hoarding, goofy flirting, (post-fishman Island arc, straw Hats visiting for a break)
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe
word count: 845
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
You were supposed to be relaxing. That was the plan.
A peaceful afternoon on the sands of Fishman Island. Just you and Fukaboshi. No Luffy accidentally declaring war on someone. No Zoro getting lost. No Sanji turning into a nosebleed geyser.
Just shells. Sunlight. Maybe some hand-holding.
But no.
Because somewhere between “let’s go shell collecting” and “whoever finds the rarest shell wins,” the Crown Prince of the Ryugu Kingdom had decided this was combat.
“Twenty-seven shells and counting!” Fukaboshi shouted triumphantly, holding up a glimmering blue conch like it was the One Piece.
You scowled. “You tackled me for that last one.”
“You hesitated. The battlefield shows no mercy.”
“I blinked, you lunatic.”
“You blinked slowly.”
You hurled a clam shell at him. He caught it with one hand, smirked, and added it to his basket.
This had all started when the Straw Hats returned to Fishman Island for a celebratory visit after the chaos with Hody Jones. Fukaboshi had offered to show you around. You—being the only Straw Hat who actually knew how to relax without causing international incidents—agreed.
It was just supposed to be a beach stroll. Maybe a little flirting. Very light competition.
But you forgot one crucial fact:
Fukaboshi was insanely competitive. Even in a calm, handsome, princely way.
You’d said, “Let’s collect shells!”
He heard: “Let’s engage in psychological warfare, armed with nothing but beach debris and sexual tension.”
Now you were knee-deep in a tidepool while your royal date was wrestling an octopus to get to a rare cowrie.
“Fuka—babe, please,” you said. “That mollusk looks pissed.”
“I’m not afraid of a cephalopod,” he grunted, prying the shell free.
The octopus slapped him with a tentacle and slithered off in a huff.
You stared.
He held the shell up triumphantly. “Worth it.”
You sighed and tossed a coral chunk into your bucket. “I’m going to tell your brothers you lost a duel with a sea pancake.”
“They’ll understand.”
“No, Ryuboshi will write a song about it.”
“He would, too.”
You flopped onto a rock to eat the snacks Fukaboshi had packed—sweet kelp rolls, bubble-fruit, and some very smugly presented coral chips “for champions only.”
“Do you get like this during formal events too?” you asked, nibbling.
“Only when I care about the outcome.”
“Oh? And you care about shell collecting?”
“I care about beating you at shell collecting.”
You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.
He noticed.
“Admit it,” he said smugly. “You’re having fun.”
“No,” you said flatly. “This is miserable.”
“You’ve been smiling for an hour straight.”
“That’s because I’m hallucinating from heatstroke.”
“Romantic heatstroke,” he corrected.
You snorted, nearly choking on your snack.
The chaos escalated when Luffy showed up.
“WHOA! Are you guys FIGHTING?!”
Fukaboshi and you exchanged a glance of pure dread.
Before either of you could speak, Luffy had launched himself into the tidepools, shouting, “I WANNA HELP Y/N WIN!”
Fukaboshi froze. “That’s illegal.”
“THERE ARE NO RULES!” Luffy cackled, slapping at the water like a hyperactive seal.
From a distance, you heard Nami shout, “DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!” and Sanji yell something about “shells of love.”
You sighed and palmed your face.
Fukaboshi leaned over and whispered, “We need to relocate.”
“Agreed. Before he brings a sea king into this.”
Eventually, you found a quiet spot away from your crew’s chaos. Just you, Fukaboshi, and the sound of gentle waves lapping against coral sand.
You crouched by a tidepool and picked up a pink scallop. He leaned over your shoulder, the heat of his body warm even through the water.
“That’s a nice one,” he murmured.
“Better than anything in your bucket.”
“I disagree.”
He nudged his collection closer.
Your jaw dropped. “You have forty. Are you building a shell throne?”
“Yes,” he said seriously. “So you can sit beside me.”
You blinked.
“Oh,” you said, voice small.
He smiled. “Caught you off guard?”
“Just didn’t expect my boyfriend to flirt mid-shell war.”
“I contain multitudes.”
Later, as the sun filtered down through the water above, casting rainbows through the kelp canopy, you both sprawled out on the sand.
Tired. Salty. Happy.
“I think it’s a draw,” you said, yawning.
“No way,” he said. “I clearly won.”
“You got slapped by an octopus.”
“You fell into a crab pit.”
“You pushed me into it.”
“It was a tactical move.”
You threw a shell at him. He let it hit him in the chest and then dramatically collapsed like you’d slain him in battle.
You scooted closer, nudging him. “Still breathing?”
“Barely. Your power overwhelms me.”
You chuckled and rested your head on his arm. “Thanks for today.”
He turned to look at you, expression warm.
“Thanks for coming back,” he said quietly. “Fishman Island feels brighter when you’re here.”
Your heart did a little somersault.
“…You’re just saying that because I beat you at shell collecting.”
“You wish.”
You kissed his cheek, salty and sun-warmed. “Rematch tomorrow?”
He grinned. “I’ll bring blueprints for our shell fort.”
You laughed. “I’ll bring Luffy as a distraction.”
“Unfair.”
“All’s fair in love and mollusks.”
Your stories make my heart burn. I love them. I don't know whether to laugh or cry because you make me so happy to be able to read you. You are truly wonderful
thank u for ur kind words! i really appreciate it and itmakes me happy~
Strings in Crimson
When our enigmatic Y/n accidentally lands in Dressrosa, it sets off a chain of chaos, power displays, and dangerously intoxicating tension with Donquixote Doflamingo.
PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN USE THE INFINITY STONES
doflamingo x reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT
main characters: doflamingo
tags: sfw, v!ol3nce
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc
words count: 786
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
Dressrosa was too bright.
Even from the moment you stepped onto the sun-bleached cobblestones, the place reeked of forced cheer. Laughter too loud, colors too vibrant. Like a festival that refused to end. You hated it immediately.
You’d landed by accident — or as close to an accident as someone like you could. Space liked to rip when you snapped your fingers too hard. One careless flick, a shimmer of stars, and there you were. Smack in the middle of the city square while a nearby woman screamed about her missing child.
You sighed.
A blonde in pink feathers clocked you instantly. It was impossible not to. Tall and lean, Donquixote Doflamingo practically radiated threat.
“Fufufufu~ well, well,” he crooned from above, perched like a smug vulture on a balcony. “A new face. And what a face.”
You didn’t answer. Not out of caution. You just didn’t care.
Instead, you turned a nearby pigeon into a tiny floating star just to see if you could.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Doflamingo’s grin sharpened.
In a blur, he appeared before you, a slash of color and power.
“Name,” he demanded.
“Y/n.”
“Devil Fruit user?”
“No.”
He tilted his head, intrigued. “Then what the hell are you? fufufufu~”
You glanced at the ground. It cracked under your gaze, spreading like glass under a hammer.
“Complicated.”
A chuckle. Low, dangerous. “I like complicated.”
He brought you to his palace. You let him. Not because you trusted him, but because you were bored.
His executives bristled. Trebol whined about taking in strays, Pica rumbled disapproval, Diamante preened. You ignored them all. Your presence was a storm in still air, and they felt it, even if they didn’t understand why.
“Test them,” Doflamingo ordered, one hand languidly swirling wine.
Buffalo charged first.
You didn’t move.
A thought, and space folded. He disappeared with a yelp, reappearing upside down, tangled in the palace’s chandelier.
Gladius tried next.
You blinked. His exploding fists paused mid-detonation, the tiny fragments suspended in mid-air.
“Cute trick,” you murmured, then rewound time by a second, leaving him disoriented and vomiting from vertigo.
The room fell silent.
Doflamingo leaned forward, interest gleaming.
“You could kill them all.”
You shrugged. “Could.”
“And me?”
A small, crooked smile tugged at your lips. “Wouldn’t be polite.”
He laughed. A real one. Not the shrill cackle, but something darker, lower.
“You’re mine now.”
“No.”
“Eventually.”
You poured yourself a drink, letting reality bend just slightly to fill the glass from a bottle across the room.
Weeks passed.
You became a ghost in the palace, appearing where you pleased, vanishing when bored. You rewound time to catch falling glasses, bent space to avoid dull conversations. The staff flinched when you passed. Doflamingo watched you with something dangerous, something almost fond.
He’d invite you to dinners you rarely attended. When you did, it was chaos.
Once, a rival warlord visited. He made the mistake of grabbing your wrist.
You didn’t react.
He blinked — and found himself standing in the middle of the sea, a thousand yards offshore.
Doflamingo’s grin nearly split his face.
“That was a gift,” he told you later, eyes gleaming.
You shrugged. “Didn’t like him.”
Neither did Doflamingo.
Trouble came in the form of a foreign warlord and a double-crossed deal. Not one for subtlety, the fool marched right into Dressrosa’s palace with a small army and a head full of bad ideas.
You found Doflamingo in the gardens, pristine and grinning, standing atop a mound of broken bodies like a crimson-clad god, not a scratch on him as enemies circled, too stupid to realize their doom.
“Care for a hand?” you asked mildly.
He bared his teeth in a grin. “Thought you’d never offer.”
You raised a hand. Reality convulsed.
Half the enemy force vanished into a pocket dimension of black nothingness. The rest scrambled, confusion thick in the air.
One bold lieutenant lunged. You tilted your head, and the man’s soul flickered visibly from his body — a ghostly echo you plucked between your fingers like a thread and snapped.
Doflamingo whistled, low. "You are a vicious thing."
“I get bored.”
Within minutes, the garden was a graveyard of twisted perceptions — enemies trapped in loops of false victories, others suspended mid-air like grotesque marionettes.
You dusted off your coat. "Clean enough?"
Doflamingo stepped over a dying man, his grin sharp and fond. “Marry me.”
“Pass."
He chuckled, licking blood from his teeth. "You’ll come around."
You would, maybe. Or not.
But for now, you flexed space one last time, leaving the remnants of the coup in a shivering bubble of frozen time, an unbroken reminder of what it meant to cross either of you.
Confined Hearts
A routine supply run turns chaotic when you and Law get trapped below deck — but maybe being stuck alone isn't such a bad thing after all.
Law X gn! reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, secret relationship, trapped a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 1.4k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
The steady hum of the Polar Tang was strangely comforting. Somewhere above, the Heart Pirates went about their usual routines: cleaning, charting, fixing whatever needed fixing after their last chaotic encounter with a Sea King. You lounged lazily against a stack of crates in the storage bay, a small smirk tugging at your lips as you watched Trafalgar Law pick through supplies, his brow furrowed in mild annoyance.
He looked… good. Way too good for your heart to handle.
Denim jeans that hung low on his hips, simple white t-shirt slightly damp from the humidity, his tattoos curling like secret messages down his arms and up his throat. You tried not to stare, but it was hard when you knew just how warm and soft that skin was under your fingers.
Not that anyone else could know. Not that the crew — bless their oblivious souls — had the faintest idea.
Being in a secret relationship with your stoic, sharp-tongued Captain was its own kind of dangerous thrill. One wrong move, one wrong look, and Shachi or Penguin would never let you live it down.
Law glanced over his shoulder at you, one eyebrow lifting ever so slightly.
"You planning to help, or just stand there like a useless lump?"
You snorted. "Bold talk from a guy who's been glaring at the same box for five minutes."
"Planning," he drawled, straightening up and cracking his neck. "Unlike you, who specializes in doing absolutely nothing."
You tossed a rag at his head. He dodged it with irritating ease, a faint smirk flashing across his mouth before it disappeared into his usual deadpan stare.
You fought a grin. God, you loved being able to push his buttons.
"Fine, Captain," you said dramatically, hopping off the crate. "Tell me what you want, and I'll do everything in my power to serve you."
There was the tiniest flicker in his expression — a shift only you would notice. The kind that made your stomach flutter and your mind race with all the things you could do if you weren't surrounded by supplies and crates and the whole damn crew upstairs.
Law turned back to the stack, voice low enough that you almost missed it. "Later," he murmured. "If you're good."
A shiver ran down your spine. You swallowed hard and tried to act normal.
You really, really hoped no one was coming down here anytime soon.
.
.
The moment it happened, it was pure chaos.
One second you were moving a particularly heavy crate like Law asked — the next, the ship rocked violently. Somewhere far above, there was a muffled shout and the shriek of metal. The crate slipped from your grip, slamming into the wall with a loud THUD.
Before you could react, the heavy storage door — that was supposed to stay propped open — swung shut with a bone-shaking bang.
You froze.
Law cursed under his breath, lunging for the handle. You rushed to help him, heart hammering in your chest.
He yanked on it. You yanked on it. Nothing.
"Locked," he growled, rattling it harder. "Dammit."
"No way." You shoved at the door uselessly. "We're stuck?!"
Law's face was grim. He jiggled the handle again, then pulled a Den Den Mushi out of his pocket. Static crackled. No signal.
"Great," you muttered. "Metal walls. Thick metal walls. We're basically in a fridge."
"It's temporary," Law said, though even he sounded annoyed. "Someone will notice we're missing."
"Yeah, after they realize we’re not up there helping fix whatever the hell broke!"
You leaned against the door, groaning. Being stuck alone with your secret boyfriend was not the worst thing in the world. But being stuck with Law, who was a menace when he got bored? Dangerous.
You felt his eyes on you and cracked one open.
"What?"
He was studying you in that way he did sometimes — silent, sharp, as if he was dissecting your entire existence.
"You panicking already?"
You huffed. "No. Just… strategizing."
"Mm."
You shifted awkwardly. "And you? Cool as a cucumber, huh?"
He shrugged. "Trapped with you? Could be worse."
You blinked, thrown off by the softness in his voice.
You opened your mouth to reply — but then he moved, striding toward you with that slow, deliberate gait that meant trouble. The kind that usually ended with you pressed against a wall, dizzy and breathless and wondering how a man so outwardly composed could make you feel like you were the only thing that mattered in the world.
Law stopped inches away, tilting his head slightly.
"No crew," he said lowly. "No interruptions."
Your pulse spiked. "Y-Yeah?"
He smirked — slow, devilish, rare.
"An advantage."
.
. Before you could react, Law's hand was sliding up your arm, slow and deliberate, sending sparks shooting across your skin. His other hand braced next to your head, caging you in.
"Cold?" he murmured.
"A little," you managed, your voice breathy.
He leaned in closer, nose brushing your temple, lips ghosting over the shell of your ear.
"Good," he whispered.
You shivered, and not just from the temperature.
His fingers traced lazy patterns on your arm, and you closed your eyes, savoring the rare moment. Law wasn't usually this openly affectionate — not where anyone could see. But here, with only the dim overhead lights and the smell of metal and salt around you, he was different. Softer. Greedier.
"You smell like engine grease," you teased, voice shaking.
He chuckled — a low, rare sound — and nipped lightly at your earlobe.
"Not complaining when you're the one who started this."
You laughed — and Law grinned, wide and boyish, before capturing your mouth in a kiss that stole every coherent thought from your head.
God, he kissed like he owned you. Deep, slow, unhurried. Like you had all the time in the world.
You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, feeling the solid weight of him against you. His hands skimmed down your sides, lingering at your waist, before sliding under the hem of your shirt to rest against bare skin. You gasped softly against his mouth.
"Law…" you murmured.
He pulled back just enough to look at you — really look at you. His thumb brushed your cheekbone, tender.
"You okay?" he asked, voice rough.
You nodded. "More than okay."
He kissed you again, softer this time. Almost reverent.
Minutes slipped by — slow, honey-thick minutes where all you could feel was the heat of his mouth, the calluses of his fingers, the way his heart thudded against yours.
Eventually, you broke apart, resting your forehead against his.
"I can't believe we're stuck," you whispered, laughing a little.
He smirked. "Best damn accident this ship's ever had."
You laughed again, biting your lip.
Law tilted his head, studying you. "You think the crew suspects?"
You thought about it. "Honestly? They're either oblivious or think we're mortal enemies."
Law hummed thoughtfully. "Maybe we should give them a real show after this."
You gawked at him. "You? Public affection?"
He shrugged. "Shock value."
You grinned wide. "You're evil."
"And you love it."
"Yeah," you said, softer now. "I do."
Something shifted between you — something heavier, more real. Law's expression softened. He tucked a strand of hair behind your ear, gentle in a way he never was with anyone else.
"I love you too," he said simply.
Your breath caught.
Law rarely said it. He didn’t have to — you saw it in every careful look, every small touch, every stolen moment. But hearing it out loud still sent warmth flooding through you.
You cupped his face, smiling.
"Guess being trapped isn't so bad," you said.
He kissed your palm.
"No," he agreed. "Not bad at all."
.
. Hours later, when Shachi and Penguin finally managed to force the door open — sweaty, out of breath, and triumphant — they found you and Law sitting side-by-side on the floor, looking suspiciously flushed and suspiciously content.
"Uh, Captain..." Shachi said, blinking. "Everything good?"
Law stood up smoothly, brushing imaginary dust off his pants. "Fine," he said blandly. "Just trapped."
You fought the urge to giggle.
Penguin narrowed his eyes. "You two sure you didn’t kill each other?"
Law smirked — a private, dangerous thing — and tossed an arm around your shoulders with casual ease.
"Not yet," he said.
You caught the startled looks the two crewmates exchanged — and laughed all the way back to your shared cabin, tucked securely against Law’s side.
Maybe being trapped wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
Smoke Break
A collection of fiery, smoky encounters where passion burns as hot as the cigars and blunts exchanged between you and some of the world’s most dangerous daddies i mean men — every kiss laced with smoke, heat, and unspoken desire.
Benn beckman x reader x sanji x smoker x crocodile | ONE SHOT
Tags: fluff, flirty, smok!ng, w3ed mentions, blvnt smok!ng, cigarette smok!n, mouth-to-mouth sm0ke sharing, minor spit description, light nsfw tension
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc
word count: 3.3k
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
Is it hot in here or is it just me?
I'm so high in here, been smokin' on this weed
Only drug a bitch is on is the tree
But I lasted ten rounds like a freak
Like a G
Benn Beckman
The deck still stank of gunpowder and sea salt by the time you slumped onto the steps leading up to the helm, boots heavy with exhaustion. Your knuckles throbbed from the earlier brawl with some no-name pirate crew dumb enough to pick a fight with the Red Hair Pirates. You won, obviously—but victory didn’t erase the tight coil of stress still buzzing under your skin.
You dragged your hood up over your head, shielding your face from the low sun. Hands steady, you pulled out a battered little tin from your pocket, the familiar ritual already soothing your frayed nerves. You broke down the nug slowly, fingers working with careful, practiced motions. You barely even registered the distant sound of boots approaching.
Benn Beckman stopped a few feet away, cigarette halfway to his lips, brows lifting slightly at the sight of you hunched over the tray.
He leaned against the rail, arms crossed.
"Rough day?" he drawled.
You didn’t look up right away, just finished rolling your blunt with a lazy flick of your thumb. When you finally glanced his way, your gaze was cool, detached—like you were sizing him up and decided he wasn’t worth worrying about.
"Nothing a smoke can't fix," you muttered, voice low and even.
Benn whistled low under his breath, impressed.
"Didn't think you were the type to roll your own medicine."
You snorted, lighting the blunt with a snap of your lighter.
"Cigs are for rookies," you said, plucking the cigarette from his fingers without asking. You tucked the blunt between his lips instead, your touch casual, intimate.
Benn played along, inhaling deep. His eyes hooded slightly as the taste hit him—stronger, sweeter than he expected.
"Holy shit," he coughed out, laughing.
You took the blunt back from him with two fingers, tapping it lightly against the railing.
"Too much for you, old man?" you teased, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of your mouth.
He chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated in his chest.
"Old enough to know better. Dumb enough not to care."
You offered the blunt again—not by hand this time, but by leaning in, smoke trailing from your lips in a lazy, tantalizing swirl. Benn caught on quick, closing the small distance between you. His mouth brushed yours just enough to catch the exhale directly, smoke passing from your tongue to his.
The heat flared instantly.
Before you could pull back, he tilted his head slightly, deepening it into a kiss—slow, languid, tasting of smoke and adrenaline. His hand found your jaw, rough thumb grazing your cheekbone with a kind of reverence that didn’t match how fucking cocky he was about it.
When you finally parted, a thin, silver thread of spit clung stubbornly between your tongues until it snapped, leaving a hot smear of want in its wake.
You sat back, lazily dragging the blunt between your lips again. Your expression barely shifted—still that same unreadable cool—but your hooded eyes glittered with something dangerous, something alive.
Benn wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grinning like he just won the biggest prize in the world.
"You always this generous after a fight?" he asked, voice low and rough.
You exhaled slow, letting the smoke roll between you both like a secret.
"Depends who's asking."
Benn’s grin widened, cigarette long forgotten at his side.
"Good," he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell the faint whiskey on his breath.
"'Cause I’m not planning on being just a one-time habit."
Sanji
The galley was quiet at night, all the chaos of the day gone still. It was your favorite time—when the ship seemed to breathe slow and easy, and nobody was around to bother you.
You sat perched on the counter, blunt half-rolled between your fingers, working fast but precise. You glanced around — no way in hell you could borrow a lighter from anyone without exposing your little habit.
Of course you didn’t bring yours. Of course.
You sighed through your nose and hopped down from the counter, moving toward the stovetop. You twisted the burner’s dial, letting a tall flame lick up from the gas, the soft click click whoosh breaking the silence.
You leaned into the flame, lighting the tip of your blunt directly against it, shielding it with one hand like an old habit.
That’s when you heard a low whistle behind you.
"You know," Sanji’s voice drawled from the doorway, lazy and amused, "most people come to the kitchen for food. Not... that."
You turned slightly, the blunt between your lips, glowing softly as you took your first pull. You held his gaze through the smoke, your expression unreadable, unbothered.
"Guess I’m not most people," you said coolly, exhaling a slow, thick ribbon of smoke into the low light.
Sanji didn’t flinch. Didn't fawn.
Instead, he grinned, a slow, dangerous curve of his mouth as he stepped into the kitchen, cigarette tucked behind his ear, hands sliding easily into his pockets.
"You could've just asked for a light," he teased, voice like silk and heat. "I would've given it to you. Anything you want."
You shrugged one shoulder, casual.
"Not exactly advertising my hobbies."
Sanji stopped a few feet away, head tilting just slightly, studying you. You could feel the weight of his gaze — not heavy, not invasive — just... there, like a hand trailing just over your skin without touching.
"You're full of surprises," he murmured, voice dipping lower.
You took another hit, slow and deliberate, letting the thick taste settle on your tongue. As you exhaled, Sanji moved closer, crossing into your space so naturally it felt like gravity.
"Mind if I...?" he asked, eyes dropping to the blunt between your fingers.
You raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, parting your lips just enough to offer the smoke right to him.
Sanji caught the game instantly.
He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and set it on the counter. Then he leaned in, mouth brushing dangerously close to yours—not kissing, not yet—and drew the smoke straight from your mouth with a slow, deep inhale.
His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing the warm skin behind your ear.
When he exhaled, it was right against your lips, warm and intoxicating.
The space between you crackled.
You barely had time to process before he closed the gap completely, his mouth pressing to yours in a kiss that was all slow burn, all slow claiming. His grip tightened just a little, guiding you against the counter behind you without force—just the kind of confident pressure that made your stomach flip.
You kissed him back, matching his heat with your own, the taste of smoke and fire mixing between your tongues. When you finally parted, a thin, sticky thread of spit clung between you, snapping when you tilted your head back, breathless but still wearing that same cool smirk.
Sanji stayed close, his forehead brushing against yours, his fingers still tangled loosely in your hair.
"You," he said, voice low and warm, "are way too dangerous to be left alone in my kitchen."
You chuckled, flicking ash into the sink.
"Then don’t leave," you said, voice lazy, teasing.
Sanji smiled against your cheek, teeth just grazing your skin as he whispered,
"Wasn't planning to."
And from the way his hand slid down to your hip, you knew he meant it.
Smoker
The port was busy, noisy, and reeking of salt and sweat.
Perfect place to disappear for a while.
You slipped between two battered brick buildings, finding a patch of shade away from the main street. No patrols, no Marines. Just the low hum of the sea and the sharp scratch of your lighter as you tried, once, twice — and cursed under your breath.
Dead. Perfect.
You rolled the unlit blunt between your fingers, considering your options. Borrowing a lighter wasn’t on the table — too many judging eyes. Especially for someone like you, already treading too close to the Navy's leash.
"Problem?"
The deep, rough voice made you freeze. A shadow stretched into the alley. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.
Vice-Admiral Smoker stepped into view, coat draped over his broad shoulders, two cigars clamped between his teeth, smoke curling around his head like a storm cloud.
You gave him a flat look, the blunt dangling lazily from your lips.
"No lighter," you said simply.
Smoker snorted, amused in that dry, almost imperceptible way of his. He pulled one cigar free and tucked it into his coat, flicking his silver lighter open with a smooth motion.
He lit his remaining cigar, took a deep drag — and then, without saying a word, held the lighter out to you.
You raised an eyebrow but leaned forward, cupping a hand around the flame as you lit the blunt, your face close enough to his chest that you could smell the faint scent of smoke, leather, and something warmer underneath.
You inhaled slow, savoring the first pull, then leaned back against the rough brick wall with a sigh.
"Didn't peg you for the sharing type," you said, smoke curling from your mouth.
Smoker grunted, replacing the cigar between his lips.
"Don't make me regret it," he said, but there was no real bite in his voice.
For a moment, you just stood there, passing slow, lazy pulls between you. The world outside the alley blurred into meaningless noise.
Then, bold from the buzz creeping in your veins, you leaned forward again—holding the blunt between your fingers—and offered the smoke directly to him, a silent challenge.
Smoker’s gaze sharpened slightly, amused. He plucked the cigar from his mouth and stepped into your space, his broad chest almost brushing yours.
Without hesitation, he caught the smoke straight from your lips, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of him — and then, instead of pulling back, he kissed you.
It was rough at first, full of the same heat and tension that always seemed to spark between you. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, fingers pressing firmly as he tilted your head back just slightly.
You opened for him without thinking, the kiss deepening into something slower, hotter — tongues brushing, breath hitching between you. His mouth tasted of smoke and salt and something that was just him.
The world outside the alley dissolved entirely.
When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t messy — just breathless, lingering. His forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath in the haze of smoke curling between you.
"You," he muttered, voice low and thick, "are nothing but bad news."
You smirked against his lips, your hands still fisted loosely in the fabric of his coat.
"Good thing you’re terrible at saying no," you murmured.
Smoker let out a rough, half-laugh, half-growl, and kissed you again—deeper, slower, like he had no plans to stop this time.
And honestly, neither did you.
You barely had time to settle into the heat of Smoker’s mouth again, the slow grind of his body pressing yours back against the brick wall, when—
"S-smoker-san?!"
The sharp voice cracked through the alley like a gunshot.
Both of you froze.
Smoker broke the kiss with a low, almost feral growl under his breath, his hand still curled possessively around your waist.
You cracked one eye open lazily, barely lifting your head from Smoker’s shoulder to glance toward the entrance of the alley.
Tashigi stood there, sword awkwardly bumping against her hip, her entire face rapidly turning the color of a boiled lobster.
"I— I— I was looking for you to discuss patrol routes— but I can—! I can come back later!" she sputtered, already halfway turning on her heel, practically tripping over herself to get away.
Smoker let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, the kind of breath that usually meant someone was about to get absolutely wrecked—but he didn’t move away from you. His hand stayed right where it was, fingers still flexing slightly against your hip.
"You’d better," he said, loud enough for Tashigi to hear as she fled back into the chaos of the port.
You couldn't help it—you laughed. A low, smoky sound that vibrated against his chest.
"Think we traumatized her," you said, voice rough with amusement.
Smoker shot you a sideways glare, but there was no real fire behind it. If anything, he looked... pleased. Dangerous. Like a man who didn’t give a damn who saw what he wanted.
"Serves her right for barging in without knocking," he muttered, gruff.
You arched a brow, grinning lazily up at him.
"Maybe you should install a door in your alleys."
Smoker huffed a laugh — a real one, low and brief — and bent to kiss you again, less careful this time. Hotter, a little messier. His free hand finally dropped the half-burned cigar, grinding it under his boot as he pressed you back into the wall, fully claiming your mouth again like he had all the time in the world.
And honestly, for once, you hoped he did.
Crocodile
The lounge was dim, soaked in the kind of golden light that made everything seem a little more expensive than it probably was.
Low jazz music played from hidden speakers, and the soft clink of chips and whiskey glasses filled the background.
You slouched lazily in a velvet armchair near the back, rolling the blunt between your fingers, cool and unbothered. No one really noticed you here — not with the heavyweights and high-rollers stealing the spotlight.
But, of course, he noticed.
You felt it before you saw him — a shift in the room’s atmosphere, a change in the way conversations dropped to murmurs.
Crocodile’s presence was like a thundercloud creeping over sunny skies.
You kept your expression blank, indifferent, even as you realized your lighter was nowhere to be found.
Perfect.
Exactly what you needed.
You sighed, the blunt sitting unlit between your lips, considering your next move.
A shadow fell across your table. You didn’t bother looking up.
"Need something?" Crocodile’s voice rumbled, amused.
You tilted your head slightly, fixing him with a bored stare, the blunt still balanced at the corner of your mouth.
"Seems I’m short a flame," you said, voice dry.
Crocodile’s lips curled around his cigar, eyes gleaming with something sharp and entertained.
He didn’t say a word.
Instead, he bent slightly at the waist — slow, deliberate — bringing the burning tip of his cigar close to the end of your blunt.
Too close.
He stopped just shy, forcing you to lean in to meet him.
You exhaled through your nose, slow and steady, and leaned forward, lips brushing barely near his cigar, lighting your own off the glowing ember. The flame caught with a faint crackle, a tiny hiss.
The whole time, Crocodile didn’t move an inch.
The smell of smoke, expensive leather, and something faintly spiced wrapped around you like a second skin.
You leaned back into your chair, taking a long, slow pull from the newly lit blunt. The first hit bloomed warm in your lungs. You exhaled lazily toward the ceiling, your eyes half-lidded.
"You're welcome," Crocodile said, voice dripping with dry amusement, straightening to his full height.
You tapped ash into a crystal ashtray nearby without even glancing at him.
"Didn’t say thank you," you replied coolly.
He chuckled — a low, dangerous sound that vibrated in the base of his chest.
"Didn't expect you to."
For a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension crackled softly between you, thick and slow, like molasses dripping from a knife.
Crocodile shifted, the gold of his rings catching the low light as he pulled a chair up to yours — close enough that his knee brushed yours under the table.
Deliberate.
Territorial.
"You planning to cause trouble tonight?" he asked, cigar smoke curling lazily around his words.
You blew out another cloud of smoke, just as lazy, just as unbothered.
"Depends," you murmured, voice low. "You planning to stop me?"
Crocodile smirked around his cigar, eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry.
"Not tonight."
He sat back, perfectly relaxed, the image of a king amused by the antics of his favorite piece.
You could feel his eyes on you as you smoked, weighing every slow drag, every lazy exhale.
Watching.
Waiting.
The house always won in places like this.
And tonight, it was clear you weren’t going anywhere.
The minutes slipped by in a slow, heavy haze.
The blunt burned low between your fingers, each drag slower than the last. Across the small table, Crocodile watched you like a predator sizing up easy prey — not rushing, not moving, just waiting for the exact right moment.
You met his gaze through the rising smoke, your face blank, but your heart starting to thrum a little harder behind your ribs.
He shifted finally, leaning forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees. The gold of his rings caught the light again, flashing like a warning.
"Come here," he said lowly, almost conversational, like you were a thing he fully expected to obey.
You didn't move immediately. You took another lazy pull from your blunt instead, blowing the smoke off to the side with a small smirk. Testing him. Pushing.
Crocodile huffed a small laugh under his breath, all amusement gone razor sharp.
Without warning, he reached across the table, hand catching you by the wrist — not rough, but firm, dragging you forward until you were pulled out of your chair and into his space.
The blunt dangled forgotten from your fingers as he leaned in — close enough that you could see the faint scar cutting across his face, the glint of amusement and warning in his heavy-lidded eyes.
He reached up with two fingers, plucking the blunt casually from your grip and setting it in the ashtray with a careless flick.
"You’re slow," he murmured, voice like warm gravel. "Let me show you how it's done."
You barely had time to process it before Crocodile’s lips crashed into yours.
It was rough — like he was making a point. His mouth devoured yours with an intensity that was unexpected, yet exactly what you needed. His cigar still burned between his fingers, and before you even had the chance to think about it, he tilted the cigar toward your lips, offering the smoke as you kissed.
The warm, glowing tip of the cigar hovered near your mouth, and you instinctively opened up, taking in the deep, spicy taste as you inhaled. The heat of it filled your lungs, mixing with the taste of Crocodile’s kiss — rich, dangerous, intoxicating.
You pulled back just a bit, lips brushing against his, then exhaled slowly, the smoke curling out from your mouth and into his.
Without breaking eye contact, Crocodile inhaled the smoke you gave him, his gaze darkening as he held it in for a beat, then exhaled it slowly, sending it back toward you.
The air was thick now, saturated with smoke and the lingering taste of him. Every breath felt like it stretched the moment, making it last forever, and yet, you knew it was only a brief exchange.
When he pulled away, his lips were curved into that same smug, dangerous smirk.
"Better," he muttered, voice rough with satisfaction. "Now you’re getting it."
You smirked back, though your chest felt a little tighter than it had before.
"You’re insufferable," you said, the words coming out softer than you intended, but your heart was still racing in your chest.
Crocodile chuckled low, the sound like a dangerous promise.
"Only when it suits me," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking another slow drag from his cigar. He didn’t look at you directly but you could feel the weight of his gaze on your lips. "You’ll learn, eventually. That’s how the game is played."
You stayed there, breathless and still, as the tension simmered between you.
The house always won.
And tonight, you were playing Crocodile's game
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