The Ones Who Stayed Silent

Sugar & Spite

Forced into an arranged marriage, you and Katakuri are bound by name but not by heart — and certainly not by patience.

(CH 1/3) (CH 2/3) (CH 3/3)

katakuri x fem!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, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers typeshi(?) warnings: poorly written, ooc maybe idk word count: 539

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The wedding had been painfully formal — too many flowers, too many eyes, and not nearly enough escape routes. You stood beside Charlotte Katakuri like a statue, your fingers locked at your front, refusing to even brush against his hand.

You could feel the judgment. The curiosity. The pity.

You were the outsider. The political pawn.

And he?

He was the perfect son.

Powerful. Respected. Feared.

You didn’t even like donuts.

The wedding ended with hollow applause and a shared bow. No kiss. Not even a glance. Just the stiff, practiced movements of two people doing their duty.

Now, days later, the newlywed suite might as well have been a battlefield drawn in invisible lines.

He sat at the far edge of the room, sipping tea and glaring at a book like it had insulted his mother. You lounged on the couch, polishing your weapon with a cloth, utterly unbothered.

"You’re getting the floor dirty,” he muttered without looking up.

You didn’t even pause. “You’re getting the air tense.”

A beat of silence.

“You always this disrespectful?”

You shrugged. “Only when I’m right.”

Katakuri exhaled sharply. Not quite a sigh. More like frustration being carefully filed down into indifference.

It was always like this.

A dance of verbal jabs, curt nods, polite venom.

You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. Maybe because he was good at being cold. Too good. No cracks. No warmth. You weren’t looking for love — the marriage had nothing to do with that — but the least he could do was treat you like a person instead of a contract.

The only time you had seen a flicker of humanity was during training. You'd passed by the sparring ring the day after the wedding and found him mid-battle with Oven — fluid, ruthless, and sharp.

He didn’t know you were watching.

And maybe that’s why he looked... alive.

But here, back in the room, he was stone again.

“You don’t have to try so hard to ignore me, you know,” you said, resting your chin on your hand. “I already know you didn’t want this marriage.”

He glanced at you, eyes unreadable.

“I didn’t say that.”

“No. You just act like it.”

That earned you a long stare. Then, calmly: “I don’t waste energy on things I can’t change.”

You smirked. “Wow. And here I thought you just didn’t like me.”

“…I don’t.”

That made you laugh, just a little. “Well, at least you’re honest.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with shared annoyance and something else — something that hadn’t settled yet.

You eventually stood up and dusted off your coat. “I’ll be in the training yard.”

He didn’t respond, so you paused in the doorway.

“For the record,” you said, glancing back, “you’re not the only one who didn’t want this. But I don’t see the point in wasting it, either.”

That made his brows lift slightly. A rare reaction.

“Who said I’m wasting it?” he asked quietly.

You looked at him for a long moment. He didn’t look smug. Just… still.

The question didn’t sound like a challenge.

It sounded like a mystery.

You didn’t have an answer — not yet — so you gave a half-smile and walked off.

Sugar & Spite

Shared silences, reluctant teamwork, and one very accidental merienda — things are slowly shifting between you and Katakuri, whether you like it or not.

(CH 1/3) (CH 2/3) (CH 3/3)

katakuri x fem!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, arrange marriage, enemies to lovers typeshi(?), fluff warnings: poorly written, ooc maybe idk words count: 767

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Married life, for all its dramatics, was remarkably uneventful.

You trained. He trained.

You ate. He ate — alone.

You slept on opposite sides of the suite, a whole couch separating your twin futons like it were a chasm made of disdain and mutual discomfort.

Still, the quiet had begun to change.

Not soften. Just… fill with different things.

You noticed it when you trained together.

At first, Katakuri wouldn’t spar with you — only watched from the sidelines with crossed arms and a face carved from stone.

But one morning, without a word, he stepped into the ring and beckoned.

You raised a brow. “You sure? Wouldn’t want to chip your perfect reputation.”

“Try not to die,” was all he said.

You lunged.

The fight lasted minutes. Sharp. Calculated. Brutal. Neither of you held back — not out of aggression, but something more primal. Something like curiosity. Respect hidden under heavy layers of sarcasm.

He pinned you once.

You flipped him once.

And by the time you both were catching your breath, you realized… this was the first time you’d looked him in the eye without wanting to throw a plate at his face.

It happened again the next day. And the next.

Soon, the guards were placing bets.

Another shift came during a mission.

You were sent together to oversee a transport of rare ingredients for Big Mom’s banquet — the sort of job usually given to siblings who worked well together.

You were not those siblings.

But despite the chilly atmosphere, the operation was smooth. Efficient. Maybe even too efficient, because when the job ended early, you found yourself in a quiet café at the edge of Totto Land.

Sharing tea.

“You always this quiet when not throwing punches?” you asked.

Katakuri sipped. “You always this nosy when not polishing your weapon?”

You snorted. “Fair.”

Silence. Then:

“…You’re not bad in the field.”

You blinked.

“…You too,” you replied cautiously, like the words were delicate glass.

Then, dryly: “Though you’re kind of a pain.”

His mouth twitched.

Was that a smile?

You blinked and looked away.

Nah. Must’ve been the wind.

It happened the next afternoon.

You came back to the estate early, your footsteps light, mind still buzzing from the strange calm that had started forming between you two. You hadn’t seen Katakuri since morning. Probably training. Or brooding.

You turned the corner of the west hall and—

Crunch.

You froze.

There he was.

Not in battle stance. Not dressed for war.

Just… sitting under the shade of a sugar apple tree in the inner garden, cross-legged on a blanket, a tall pile of donuts beside him.

Mouth uncovered.

Eyes closed.

Chewing slowly, almost in bliss, like he was savoring the flavor with his whole soul.

You blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Then, without thinking, your boot tapped a rock.

His head snapped toward you.

Time stopped.

You met his eyes. His real ones. Clear, sharp — and full of horror.

He reached for his scarf too late.

“You—” he started, standing up so quickly the plate of donuts nearly flipped. “You weren’t supposed to—”

“What, see you enjoying your afternoon snacks?” you said slowly.

His face hardened. “Don’t mock me.”

You crossed your arms. “Why would I mock you?”

“You’re going to tell the others. Or laugh. Or—”

You tilted your head. “You’re kinda handsome.”

He froze.

“What?”

“I said,” you repeated, unfazed, “you’re kinda handsome.”

“You—”

“Don’t get cocky. I said kinda.”

He gaped at you like you’d grown a second head. You, in turn, gave him a blank stare as if it were the most normal thing in the world.

Then added, just to twist the knife: “Your mouth is a little big, though.”

“You—!!”

You smirked, turning to walk away.

“Wait.”

His voice was quieter now. Not angry. Confused. Almost… vulnerable.

You turned back.

He looked at you like you were a puzzle with missing pieces. Like he didn’t understand why you weren’t disgusted. Why you weren’t laughing.

“You’re not gonna say anything?”

You shrugged. “Not my business. But hey—”

You tossed a donut from his plate into the air, caught it, and took a bite.

“—thanks for the snack.”

He stared.

You winked.

And then left him there, standing under the tree, mouth still slightly agape, eyes tracking the place where you’d stood.

That night, for the first time, you found a small box of freshly made donuts placed carefully on your side of the suite.

No note.

Just a silent offering.

You smiled faintly and popped one into your mouth.

Maybe this marriage wouldn’t be so cold after all.

So I was watching Supernatural the other day, and I was wondering what would the Strawhats think about a reader who is a supernatural hunter also Sanji might have a big crush on her?🤭

hii, this would be a great fic, but sorry >< i havent watch the supernatural yet t~t. but in some other time ill try to watch some of it so i can make ur req soon

ヽ(o´3`o)ﾉ

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

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.”

Not a request but a shout out to the MVP asks that have been submitted that are greatly detailed requests

lmaoaoao i swear its every writers dream n i love it lolol big shout out to them fr. i have 4 more requests n its so long and detailed 😭😭😭🥰

Y/n is part of the navy, a daughter of Roger's navy, Shirojige wouldn't allow it. He ordered one of his sons to capture her and bring her to him. The one chosen for this mission was his closest son, Marco. He had previously sent other ships. My sons, they all returned badly injured. Oh, he simply evaded them. That young lady had a bad temper. Shirojige laughed while drinking. Y/n was in her office on the ship. Her men had debarked for supplies. She stayed on the ship finishing some paperwork. Her next mission was to go to Mary Georgina. She was supposed to escort some world nobles. She got up and took two jugs, filling them with sake. I thought this time she would send Ace, but she sent her brightest jewel. Hello, I look at him, smiling. Drink and go, please. Tomorrow we'll set sail and I'll be very busy, darling.

turning his folder so he wouldn't see the information for his next mission

got a bit confused with some parts, i apologize if its not accurate, but i hope i delivered ur request well! 💝(˶˃⤙˂˶)

Chasing Embers

A Navy captain and Roger’s daughter, Y/N, faces off against Marco, Whitebeard’s fiercest son — but not every battle is meant to be fought with swords.

Marco the phoenix x fem! reader tags: fluff, slight angst, sfw, forbidden relationship 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: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun dipped low, casting an orange glow over the docked ship as the men scurried about, leaving their captain behind to handle "boring work," as they called it. Y/N stayed behind in her quarters, papers spread across her desk — reports, maps, and tomorrow’s orders, neatly organized. Her next mission was… delicate, and one she wasn't looking forward to: escorting some stuck-up World Nobles to Marijoa.

She let out a sigh and pushed the folder a little further from reach. No need for prying eyes.

Outside, the sea was too still. Too quiet.

It didn’t surprise her when a presence flickered at the edge of her Haki — steady, powerful, familiar in a way that made her chest tighten.

Another one of Whitebeard’s sons.

Again.

With an almost lazy motion, she grabbed two jugs, filled them with sake, and stood up, just as a shadow slipped inside through the open window like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Yo," the man greeted smoothly, tilting his head with a slight, teasing smirk.

Marco.

Not one of the reckless ones this time. No — the one. Whitebeard's right-hand man. The one smart enough not to pick a fight first.

Y/N smiled sweetly, offering a jug out toward him. "I thought this time he'd send Ace," she mused, voice light, almost amused, "but no. He sent his brightest jewel instead."

Far across the sea, aboard the Moby Dick, Whitebeard let out a hearty laugh, a massive sake cup in hand, surrounded by his sons. "That young lady has a bad temper," he boomed, slamming the cup down with a grin that stretched wide across his weathered face. "You boys were too soft with her."

Marco chuckled low and warm as if hearing his father’s voice echo in his memory. Stepping closer, he accepted the jug from her with a brush of his fingers against hers. "Ace volunteered," he said simply. "Oyaji said no."

"Smart man," she said, tapping her jug against his before tipping it back for a long sip. "Drink and go, darling. Tomorrow we'll set sail, and I'll be very busy."

She moved casually, spinning her folder closed with a flick, keeping the classified orders out of his sharp blue gaze.

Marco’s eyes flickered briefly to the desk but didn't push it. Instead, he leaned his hip against the table, the wood creaking softly under his weight. His stare was steady, but there was no hostility there — only a quiet patience that made her skin prickle.

"You always this welcoming to people sent to kidnap you?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Only to the pretty ones," she said, grinning.

Marco huffed a small laugh through his nose, amused but unconvinced. "Flattery won't save you-yoi."

"Wasn’t trying to save myself," she replied smoothly, leaning back against her chair. "Just trying to enjoy my last few hours of peace before everything goes to hell."

A silence settled between them, not uncomfortable, but heavy — like the weight of everything they both carried. Two people born into impossible legacies.

He swirled the sake in his jug lazily, glancing at her from the corner of his eye. "You're Roger's daughter."

"You sound surprised."

He shrugged a broad shoulder. "Not surprised. Just… funny-yoi. You ended up in the Navy, of all places."

Y/N smirked, taking another sip. "Thought it would piss more people off that way."

Marco chuckled again, the sound low and warm. "Definitely pissed off Oyaji," he admitted. "But he's more worried about you getting yourself killed-yoi"

"I can take care of myself."

"I know." His voice was serious now, no teasing in it. "That's the problem."

Their eyes locked, something sparking between them — raw, unspoken.

Y/N set her jug down carefully. "So," she said, her tone light but her fingers tightening around the edge of the desk, "what's the plan, Marco? Tie me up? Drag me kicking and screaming? Gonna knock me out?"

Marco finished his drink in one smooth pull and set the jug aside, pushing off the table to stand tall in front of her. He was close enough now that she had to tilt her head up slightly to meet his gaze.

"No," he said simply.

"No?" she echoed, narrowing her eyes.

He smiled — slow, confident, infuriatingly calm. "I'm gonna ask you nicely-yoi."

She blinked. "You're kidding."

"Come with me. We'll tell Oyaji you put up a good fight. Save you from the idiots who'll try again after me."

Her jaw clenched. Part of her wanted to laugh. Part of her wanted to throw the jug at his head.

"You think I can just walk away from everything? From my duty?"

"You think they'd hesitate if it was you in their way?" he asked softly.

It stung because it was true.

Marco took a step closer, close enough now that she could feel the heat rolling off him. His hand brushed her wrist, not grabbing, just… there. An invitation.

"You're not the enemy-yoi," he murmured. "You never were."

For a long moment, Y/N just stared at him, the weight of the decision pressing down on her chest. Her crew, her mission, her life — or the freedom that whispered at her through Marco’s touch.

"I can't," she whispered finally, voice tight.

Marco didn’t look disappointed. He just nodded, like he already knew.

"Then," he said, giving her a wry little smile, "I guess I'll have to carry you after all."

Before she could react, the window behind him shattered — a warning shot from one of her lieutenants returning with supplies. The crew was back. Reinforcements.

Y/N cursed under her breath, grabbing the hilt of her sword from behind the desk, while Marco just sighed like this was all mildly inconvenient.

"Guess that's my cue-yoi" he said, flashing her a grin.

"You’re not getting off that easy!" she snapped, lunging at him.

He dodged easily, the blue flames of his devil fruit flaring briefly around his arms as he vaulted back out the window, vanishing into the night.

But not before calling out over his shoulder:

"I'll be back for you,-yoi!"

Y/N stood there breathing hard, sword still in hand, heart hammering against her ribs.

Damn him.

Damn him and that stupid smile.

hellooo I really like your work and would like to request some angst

maybe like reader dies or gets close to it. some more uncommon charcters too like nami, usopp, or franky please!!

thank you for really cool work and I hope you can do this!!

hii! thank u sm~ oohh~ thats a great idea, ive decided to put them all together, hope u like it!

What Remains

The Straw Hats survive a Marine superweapon test — but only because you don’t. You made a choice to save them all, and they didn’t see it coming.

strawhats x platonic gn! reader tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, platonic bonds, grief 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: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Smoke curled upward from the scorched ruins of the Marine testing island. The sky was dim, bleeding orange as the sun tried and failed to burn away the choking clouds.

They found your body beneath the collapsed structure—arms still raised like you were shielding the others even in death.

It wasn’t the injuries that broke them. It was the look on your face.

Peaceful.

Like you knew.

ONE WEEK EARLIER.

"These weapons..." Franky said, examining the diagrams. "They’re worse than anything Vegapunk ever dreamed up. They’re built to erase islands."

“And they’re testing them here?” Nami’s voice trembled with disbelief.

Usopp peered over the map. “That’s not all. Some of this... it’s Poneglyph script. These freaks are mixing history with firepower.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just stared at the map. Quiet. Calm. Like a storm on the horizon no one else had seen yet.

“We have to stop this,” you said.

Of course, everyone agreed.

But none of them saw what you saw. None of them realized the cost yet.

Not even you.

THE BATTLE.

The Straw Hats split into teams. Luffy and Zoro drew the front lines away. Robin sabotaged the comms. Brook and Jinbei distracted the guards. Chopper tended to wounded civilians trying to escape.

You were supposed to go in with Franky and Usopp.

You didn’t.

You slipped away the moment they weren’t looking, whispering your last words to Nami before disappearing into the smoke.

“I trust you. Don’t look back.”

You found the core buried deep underground.

A thrumming vault of seastone and ancient script, glowing with stolen knowledge and raw destruction.

You knew what it meant.

You could read the Poneglyph fragments embedded in the weapons.

You knew what would happen if they were activated.

So you made a choice.

A selfish, irreversible choice.

You overloaded the core.

THE AFTERMATH.

When the blast hit, it carved a crater into the earth.

Luffy felt it first—his scream carried across the island like a cannon blast. “(Y/N)!!”

Franky’s stomach dropped. He bolted toward the smoke, ignoring everything—orders, pain, fire.

Usopp followed. Nami, too. She didn’t even speak. Her Clima-Tact sparked wildly, emotions bleeding into weather.

They dug with bare hands and bleeding fingers.

And finally, they found you.

Still. Burned. Crushed.

But unmistakably you.

And unmistakably gone.

THE SUNNY.

Franky hadn’t spoken in two days.

He sat in the engine room, back turned to everyone, arms blackened with soot and oil. He worked until his hands bled, building gods knew what.

Chopper had tried to check on him. Franky didn’t even look up.

Usopp wandered the deck in silence, eyes red, mouth dry. He hadn’t told a single story since they left the island.

He’d tried. He opened his mouth once to make a joke, and nothing came out.

So he just sat with your grave marker, talking to it like you were there.

And Nami—Nami was broken in a way no one had ever seen.

She didn’t cry loudly. She didn’t scream. She just shut down.

She went days without food. Sat curled in the crow’s nest, staring out to sea, clutching the note you left her in your final moments.

"Don’t look back."

She hated you for it.

She loved you for it.

She never stopped shaking.

NIGHT.

Luffy stood by the railing, his hat pulled low, wind in his face.

Sanji stood beside him in silence.

“You knew they were gonna die,” Luffy said suddenly. His voice wasn’t angry. It was hollow.

Sanji lit a cigarette, fingers shaking. “I knew they weren’t coming back.”

Luffy didn’t answer.

“They saved all of us,” Sanji added after a long pause.

“I didn’t want saving,” Luffy whispered.

Then he turned and walked away.

FRANKY.

The machine he was building exploded.

He didn’t flinch.

Robin found him hours later, crouched beside the wreckage, staring into space.

“They’d have slapped me for this,” he said quietly.

Robin knelt beside him. “For what?”

“For not stopping them.”

“They knew what they were doing.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

Robin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It never does.”

USOPP.

He buried the dials you used in a small, unmarked box.

Every trap you helped him design, every gadget you tweaked. Gone. Hidden away like a secret.

“I’m never going to be that brave,” he whispered.

Then he broke.

Ugly, shaking sobs that echoed across the deck.

NAMI.

She didn’t speak for three days.

Then, she found Franky. Slammed him into a wall.

“You let them go alone!” she screamed.

Franky didn’t fight back. “I know.”

“YOU PROMISED—YOU PROMISED ME THEY’D COME BACK—!”

He wrapped his arms around her mid-swing, held her as she sobbed, her fists pounding against his chest until they were too weak to lift.

ONE WEEK LATER.

Luffy called everyone to the deck.

No one knew why.

When they arrived, they found him standing in front of a small, newly-built monument.

A single beam of the destroyed fortress. Carved with your name.

And beneath it—your jacket. Cleaned. Pressed. Folded neatly.

Luffy didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

They stood together. Silent.

One by one, they left offerings.

Sanji placed a bottle of sake.

Robin left a single violet flower.

Chopper tied a string of charms around the wood.

Zoro leaned his sword against it for a moment. A quiet nod of respect.

Brook played a low, mournful tune on his violin.

Jinbei lit a lantern and pushed it into the sea.

Usopp placed a small slingshot on the beam.

Franky left a blueprint.

And Nami… Nami placed your note. The last one you ever wrote.

“Don’t look back.”

She whispered, “I’m going to.”

Then she walked away.

.

.

.

They kept your room the way it was.

No one said it aloud—but they all visited.

Nami would sit on your bed when the nightmares came.

Usopp would fix the shelves you always overloaded with junk.

Franky recharged your tools every week, even though you weren’t there to use them.

And Luffy…

Luffy would sit on the figurehead, facing forward, holding your jacket in his lap.

He never cried where anyone could see.

But the jacket was always warm.

As if it still remembered 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.