Hello, Hello, How Are You? Can I Please Ask You For A Story? Marco From The Shirohige Pirates Finds Out

Hi! Can you please do a reader that has a beauty at the same level as Hancock, and like some big names in pirates and marines are in to her. ( It's like a harem) And by the way she's a straw hats. That's all, thank you 😋

ohh! this is a nice idea! i hope u like this!

Queen of Chaos?

At the Grand Pirate Festival, your legendary beauty turns the entire world — pirates, warlords, and marines alike — into a chaotic, simping mess.

var! one piece x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, oocs, sfw, harem, chaotic

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: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Grand Pirate Festival, held once a decade on the neutral grounds of Fullalead Island, was in full swing — a dizzying mess of fireworks, endless banquets, and drunk pirates staggering from booth to booth.

The Straw Hat crew strolled through the chaos, you right at their center, laughing at Usopp's drunken juggling and dodging Sanji's hearts floating around his head. Your beauty — infamous across the seas — was enough to stop even the wildest pirates in their tracks.

Tonight was no different. If anything, the chaos was worse. Because everyone was here.

And everyone was looking at you.

“Oi, Y/N, stick close, yeah?” Zoro muttered, eyes sweeping the crowds warily, hand lightly resting on his sword hilt. Even though he was notoriously laid-back, there was something in his gaze that said I’ll end you to anyone who dared look at you for too long.

You rolled your eyes, grinning. “Relax, Zo~. They’re just looking. Nothing to worry about.”

“You act like she's not the most gorgeous thing on the island,” Sanji swooned, literally spinning around you in a circle like a lovesick fool. “My sweet Y/N-chwaan! Let me be your guard, your knight, your eternal—”

You gave him a small, amused smile but said nothing. Zoro, however, wasn’t having it. He shoved Sanji aside, muttering something about “too much sugar in your system.”

“Back off, curly-brow,” Zoro grunted, tugging you closer by the wrist almost possessively.

You just laughed, amused by their antics.

But then the real chaos started.

“Oi, Luffy! DAHAHAHA”

A loud, cheerful voice called out. You turned — and saw a man waving a sake bottle.

Shanks.

The Red-Hair Pirates were approaching.

And Shanks' eyes, bright and mischievous, were fixed directly on you.

“Well, well, well,” he grinned lazily, stepping close enough you could smell the sake on his breath. “You didn’t tell me you had someone this stunning on your crew, Luffy.”

He bent down slightly, his gaze sweeping over you with clear admiration.

“You free later, sweetheart? I think the stars would look better with you under 'em.”

“Hey, that's not fair, captain, you’re hogging her already!” Lime Juice complained, elbowing past, his grin just as shameless. “Let me have a shot!”

“Feh,” Benn Beckman exhaled smoke, giving you a long, appreciative look. Even the normally stoic first mate cracked a half-smile at you. “Gotta admit, even I’m tempted to ditch the booze for a dance.”

You blinked, caught between laughing and being slightly overwhelmed.

Then it got worse.

From the opposite end of the plaza, a booming voice interrupted.

“MAMAMA~MA! WHO IS THAT BEAUTIFUL GIRL?!”

You could hear Big Mom’s voice booming from across the plaza, followed by the thunderous approach of her children. Perospero was the first to make his way over, his usual air of arrogance only intensified by his infatuation.

“Charmed, darling~! You’re a sight for sore eyes,” he purred, reaching out to offer you an impossibly large tray of sweets. “Care for some delicacies?”

“I’m good,” you said politely, although you couldn’t help but chuckle as he continued to follow you like a lost puppy.

Katakuri, who stood behind him, was much less vocal but clearly just as entranced. His gaze never left you, and even his calm demeanor was cracking. He awkwardly cleared his throat, still not able to tear his eyes away from you.

You caught his gaze and smiled playfully. “You’re not bad-looking either,” you teased, giving him a wink.

His face turned red for a brief second, before he turned sharply and walked away in a hurry, leaving a very confused Perospero behind.

You gave a tiny, apologetic smile, scratching your cheek. You didn’t mean to be a magnet for attention.

But it wasn’t over yet.

The Warlords were here too.

Mihawk, Doflamingo, Crocodile, and…

Boa Hancock.

You felt the intensity immediately.

Hancock’s stare burned holes through your head.

"Who dares…" she hissed, crossing her arms, glaring at you like you'd personally offended her. "Who dares to outshine me?! Do you know who I am?!"

You tilted your head, smiling lazily at her — completely amused.

You had no intention of competing with her.

But it was hilarious how serious she took it.

Hancock bristled visibly.

Meanwhile, Mihawk approached, his cape billowing dramatically behind him. He simply stood in front of you, staring, hawk-like eyes unreadable.

“You,” he said at last, voice deep, almost admiring.

“You have a dangerous aura, There’s something about you."

You tilted your head, giving him a soft, mysterious smile. “Maybe that’s just my natural charm.”

Doflamingo was far less subtle. his hands on his pockets as usual, eyes scanning your figure with a look that could only be described as both calculating and interested.

He threw an arm casually around your shoulders, laughing, ignoring Sanji’s shriek of rage from somewhere behind you.

“Fufufufu~… How about ditching the kiddie table and coming with me, babe? I’ll show you a real good time.”

He got a faceful of Zoro’s sword hilt and a furious Nami slapping his hand off you before you could even respond.

Crocodile stood back, eyeing you thoughtfully from under his cigar smoke, offering you a slow, thin smile like he was plotting something dangerous.

“Not interested in brats, huh?” he said smoothly. “Good. You deserve someone…seasoned.”

You had to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from bursting out laughing.

The Whitebeard Pirates weren’t to be left out, and soon, the unmistakable figure of Whitebeard himself appeared at the edge of the festival. His massive frame was a sight to behold, and behind him, his crew was just as loud and rowdy as ever.

“woah~ look at this beauty-yoi” Marco said, a playful glint in his eyes. “You’ve certainly got everyone’s attention tonight, haven’t you?”

You smiled, giving him a knowing look. “I guess I can’t help it.”

Ace, ever the charmer, spotted you almost immediately and made a beeline for you. “Well, well, looks like my brother's crew have a beauty among them,” he said, a teasing grin spreading across his face. “You’ve got everyone at this festival wrapped around your little finger.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Seems like it. And I’m only getting started.”

“I can see why everyone’s after you, but they’d better step aside. I’ve already got dibs,” Ace continued, clearly enjoying himself.

Whitebeard himself gave a hearty laugh, slapping Ace on the back with enough force to send him stumbling forward.

And then there were the Beasts Pirates — or, more accurately, King and Queen, both leering from a distance.

“Pretty thing like that… should be on our side,” Queen slobbered, nudging King.

King just grunted, his red eyes glinting — but the stare he gave you was intense enough to count as flirting.

Heart Pirates weren’t any better.

“Trafalgar Law” tried to act cool, leaning against a wall, arms crossed.

But when you smiled at him, he actually choked on his own words and looked away, cheeks turning faintly pink.

Bepo padded up helpfully.

"Captain thinks you're very pretty!" he said loudly.

Law smacked him on the head, mortified.

"Shut up, Bepo!"

You covered your mouth to hide your giggles.

Even Eustass Kid, the angry, metal-covered mess, stomped over and glared down at you.

“Tch. Pretty people are annoying,” he grumbled.

But then he shoved a flower (a very crushed, mangled flower) into your hand and stomped away, muttering under his breath.

You stared at it, utterly bewildered.

Luffy howled with laughter.

And of course, your own crew was a disaster.

Sanji, in his usual fervor, was flipping out, his eyes barely visible behind his hearts. “Y/N-chwaaan! Please tell me I’m the only one worthy of your love!” he wailed dramatically, ignoring the fact that everyone was staring at you with hunger in their eyes.

Zoro just stood there, arms crossed, glaring at anyone who dared to approach you. His hand was on the hilt of his sword, ready to defend you at a moment’s notice. “You’re not getting anywhere near her,” he muttered under his breath.

Usopp was bouncing around, chest puffed out as if to say “I’ll protect Y/N from all these fools.” He was quick to start claiming that he, as the “Great Sniper Usopp,” was the only one worthy of guarding your heart.

Luffy — bless him — just laughed and slung an arm around your shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"She’s our nakama! You can't have her!" he declared proudly.

Nami, on the other hand, had already started haggling for a better deal on all the gifts you were getting. “Wow, you must be so useful,” she said to Mihawk, smiling as she held up a massive diamond necklace you’d just been handed. “Do you have more where this came from?”

Brook tried, too — asking you for your panties in his usual way — but you only patted his head like a grandpa, much to his disappointment.

The Marines were no better.

Smoker had a cigar nearly falling out of his mouth, jaw slack as he stared at you.

Kuzan gave you a lazy half-wave, actually bothering to open one eye and give a faint, approving “ararara~… a pretty girl...with bazookas.”

Kizaru practically teleported next to you, grinning like a devil.

“Whew~ you’re quite dazzling, aren’t you?~”

Koby, bright red from the ears down, could barely stammer out a hello without squeaking.

And from the shadows, a few SWORD agents watched you intently, whispering hurriedly to each other like gossipy schoolkids.

By the time night fell, you were absolutely buried in gifts: flowers, jewels, sweets, swords (from Mihawk?!), a flaming guitar solo (from one of the Red-Hair pirates), and a drunken marriage proposal (from Queen, who got punched by King before he finished the sentence).

You sat on a bench at the festival's edge, exhausted but laughing, surrounded by a mountain of unwanted trinkets.

Luffy flopped down beside you, grinning.

“Everyone’s weird. but you’re just Y/N, right? SHISHISHI”

You smiled at him — a real, warm smile.

“Right,” you said.

“Just Y/N.”

Across the festival, you caught Hancock staring at you still — seething, furious, clutching her fists.

You gave her a lazy wink.

She shrieked and turned to stone three random pirates by accident.

You just laughed and stretched your arms over your head, feeling the salty sea breeze wash over you.

It was chaotic. It was ridiculous. It was perfect.

Exactly the kind of night you wouldn’t trade for anything.

© ᵈᵒˡˡʸʷᵒⁿˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳˢ <³

The Ones Who Stayed Silent

They thought you didn’t know—but you saw everything, said nothing, and walked away with a shattered heart and silent grace… only to be seen again, happy and healed, with someone who would never make you feel like the only one.

shanks x reader | sanji x reader | ace x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: angst, sfw, ooc, heartbreak, cheating, betrayal

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

word count: 3.9k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

The sea was always loud around the Red Force. Wind in the sails, waves breaking across the bow, laughter from the crew. And yet, in moments like this — with your head tucked beneath Shanks’ chin and his arm wrapped around your waist — it felt like the whole world stilled just to let you breathe.

“You always sneak into my bed when it’s cold,” he teased, voice low and rough with sleep.

You smiled against his chest. “Because your furnace body hoards all the heat.”

“Furnace body,” he repeated with a chuckle, fingers drifting slowly down your spine. “You really know how to charm a man.”

“Mmhm. That’s why you keep me around.”

“Nah,” he murmured, lifting your chin with a curled finger. “I keep you around because you make everything better. Even the cold nights. Especially the bad ones.”

Your heart tightened with warmth. “Shanks…”

He leaned down and kissed you slow. Deep. Familiar.

“Love you, baby,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just melted into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you, too.”

You didn’t realize the first warning sign had come days earlier — a moment you almost forgot.

You had been leaning over the railing, watching the stars reflect across the ocean when Shanks walked up beside you, his presence easy and radiant as always. You’d barely noticed the woman trailing behind him — one of the newer crew members, tall and silver-haired, her laugh like syrup as it spilled from her throat.

She was laughing at something he said. You didn’t catch the joke.

You gave him a look. Not angry. Just questioning.

He smiled and curled an arm around your shoulder like it meant nothing. “She’s new,” he explained casually. “Still getting used to the crew.”

“She seems to be adjusting just fine,” you replied.

He pulled you closer. “Hey. Don’t go getting jealous on me, baby.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Good.” He kissed your temple. “Because there’s no one else, alright? You know that.”

You nodded, even though a small part of you felt unsure.

He always made things feel safe again.

Three nights later, you brought him a drink in the captain’s quarters after dinner. He was at his desk, boots kicked up, talking with that same woman again — her knee pressed just slightly too close to his. They both looked up when you entered.

“Baby,” Shanks greeted, brightening immediately. “Perfect timing.”

She excused herself politely, offering a warm smile before slipping out the door. Shanks took the drink from your hand and tugged you into his lap without hesitation.

“She’s around a lot lately,” you said quietly.

“She’s an eager crewmate,” he shrugged, nuzzling into your neck. “What, you wanna get rid of her?”

“Don’t joke.”

“Hey.” His voice softened, and he turned your face to meet his. “There’s nothing going on. I promise. You believe me, right?”

“…Yeah.”

His lips brushed yours, slow and certain. “You’re the only one I want, baby. Always.”

You leaned into the kiss, letting the reassurance sink in.

Still, that night, you couldn’t fall asleep right away.

You started noticing more of it after that.

The way her eyes lingered on him when she thought you weren’t looking. The shared laughs during dinner. The time you caught her slipping out of his cabin early in the morning — she claimed she’d been dropping off maps.

You wanted to believe him. You tried.

But the ache in your chest started to bloom quietly. Slowly.

A small doubt that pressed harder with each soft “baby” he whispered — the very word that used to feel like a prayer now sounded like a lie.

Still, you said nothing.

You waited. You watched.

And then… you saw everything.

It was almost midnight when you approached his quarters.

You held a small cloth bundle in your hands — a gift you'd picked up from a small island earlier that week. A pair of rare sea-glass earrings. He’d admired them in passing. You wanted to surprise him.

You opened the door without knocking.

And there she was.

Her fingers tangled in his red hair. His lips trailing down her neck. His voice — low, teasing, affectionate.

“You feel so good, baby…”

You froze.

He didn’t see you.

You didn’t speak.

You just stood there. Long enough to burn the image into your mind. Long enough to feel your throat close, your heartbeat stutter, your entire body go numb.

Then, quietly, you closed the door.

You dropped the earrings into the sea later that night.

You didn’t sleep that night.

You sat on the edge of your bed for hours, staring at the moonlight bleeding through the porthole, your chest hollow, your limbs heavy. There were no tears. No rage.

Just silence.

You kept replaying his words — not the ones he said to her, but the ones he said to you.

“There’s no one else, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

Each lie sounded sweeter than the last.

You didn’t go to him. You didn’t want an apology. You didn’t want to hear his mouth twist the truth into something manageable. Because now you knew — every time he held you, he’d already chosen someone else.

So you wrote.

Your hand trembled at first. But as the words poured out, your chest began to lighten — like you were finally breathing again.

Shanks, I hope this letter finds you — though I know it will, because I’m leaving it on your bed. Right where I used to sleep. Right where she’s probably sleeping now. I saw you. I saw the way you touched her. The way you said “baby” like it still meant something. The same way you said it to me just days ago — when you kissed me good morning, when you laughed in my arms. It used to make me feel special. Now, it just makes me feel stupid. You told me not to worry. That she meant nothing. That I was the only one. You were so good at saying it. So gentle. So convincing. I wanted to believe you — God, I did. Because I loved you more than anything. More than reason. More than pride. But you looked at her the way you used to look at me. And I can’t forget that. So I’m leaving. Not because I want to hurt you. Not even because I hate you. But because I can’t stay and pretend I’m enough for you when you already decided I wasn’t. I hope the sea gives you peace. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And I hope — one day — you realize what you threw away. Because I would’ve given you everything. But now? Now, I’ll give myself the one thing you never could. Freedom. Goodbye, — Y/N

You left before sunrise.

The docks were quiet, the crew asleep, and your bag packed light. No goodbyes. No farewells. You just vanished — like mist over the sea.

Shanks woke with a lazy grin, his arm stretched across the bed to pull you closer—

But there was no one there.

Only the rustle of sheets. The ghost of warmth.

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Maybe you were getting breakfast. Or with the crew.

Then he noticed it: a small folded note on the pillow.

His name written in your handwriting.

His heart dropped before he even opened it.

And when he did…

The world collapsed.

He read every line once. Then again. Slower. Disbelieving.

“I saw you.” “You called her ‘baby.’” “You told me I was the only one.”

He was up in seconds, barefoot and shirtless, bursting through his cabin door.

“Y/N?!” His voice echoed down the corridor. “Y/N, wait—!”

No answer.

He stormed toward your room — empty. Searched the deck — nothing. Sprinted to the galley, the crow’s nest, the storage bay. Every familiar hiding spot. Every place you used to sit and smile at him like he was the only thing in your world.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked the crew, trying to keep his voice level.

“No, Captain,” came the confused reply. “Did something happen?”

He didn’t answer.

He barged back into the woman's quarter slamming the door behind him.

The woman — the one he’d betrayed you with — was still pulling on her coat lazily, as if nothing had happened.

“Hey, what’s all the noise—?”

“Get out.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said get the hell out.” His voice was low, ragged, dangerous.

She laughed nervously. “Shanks, don’t be dramatic—”

“Out!” he roared, slamming his fist into the desk. The wood splintered. The room shook.

She scrambled, nearly tripping over herself as she fled.

And just like that, the silence returned.

He sank into the nearest chair, the note trembling in his hand.

You looked at her the way you used to look at me. I would’ve given you everything. Now, I’ll give myself the one thing you never could. Freedom.

Shanks closed his eyes, forehead resting on the crumpled page.

He tried to remember the last time he said he loved you — the last time you laughed in his arms. The last time you looked at him without doubt.

He’d called you baby with the same mouth that whispered it to someone else.

And now he couldn’t even call your name without shame.

The Red Force had never felt so quiet.

And Shanks had never felt so empty.

You found work on a merchant vessel at first. Later, you traveled alone. You didn’t speak of him. You didn’t speak of you. You let time do what it does best — wear grief down to a dull ache.

Until one day, someone else came into your orbit.

Dracule Mihawk was not the kind of man who chased after affection. But he noticed you — the quiet way you watched the world, the grief you wore like armor, the strength you didn’t flaunt.

He didn’t ask for your story. He just stayed long enough for you to offer it.

And when you did, he listened.

He didn’t make you promises. He didn’t call you “baby.” He simply treated you like you mattered.

He touched you with reverence. Looked at you with intention.

Loved you without lies.

And somehow, that was enough.

A Year Later

The festival lights painted the harbor gold, laughter echoing between stalls and taverns as music played softly in the distance. You walked beside Mihawk, his coat draped over your shoulders, your fingers laced with his.

You smiled — a real, easy thing — as he said something dry and clever under his breath, pulling a laugh from you. You leaned into him without thinking.

Then you felt it.

That weight. That familiar gravity.

You turned your head and saw him.

Shanks.

Standing beneath a lantern near the docks, cloaked in shadow but unmistakably there. His red hair tousled by the wind. His body frozen.

His eyes — wide, stunned, hollow — locked on yours like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t look away.

You simply turned slightly toward Mihawk and pressed your lips softly to his cheek, your hand never leaving his. Mihawk didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. His grip on you tightened just slightly, grounding you.

Shanks took a step forward.

But then… he stopped.

His mouth opened like he might speak — but no words came. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t arrive a year too late.

So you let the silence say it all.

You gave him one last look. Calm. Final. Then you turned and walked away, leaving him rooted to the edge of the world he once ruled.

He had seen a thousand sunsets at sea. Watched a thousand tides roll in. Weathered storms and battles and death itself.

But nothing ever gutted him like seeing you again — whole, radiant, untouchable.

You weren’t sad anymore.

You weren’t his anymore.

You had Mihawk. And Shanks could see it in every step, every touch, every soft smile you gave the other man — the peace he once swore to protect, now in someone else’s hands.

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate him.

You just didn’t care anymore.

And that, somehow, hurt more than any scream or slap ever could.

He stood there long after you disappeared into the crowd. Alone. Cold. Remembering the way your voice used to sound when you whispered, “I love you.”

And for the first time in his life, Shanks had no idea how to get something back.

Because you were gone.

And you weren’t coming back.

SANJI

The sun kissed the shores of a quiet island nestled along the Grand Line, where the Straw Hat crew had docked for rest and resupply. You sat on a small stone wall beside Sanji, a paper cone of roasted chestnuts between you, your legs swinging gently. His hand brushed yours now and again, but he never held it. You never said anything about that.

“Try this one,” he said, lifting a particularly dark, caramelized chestnut to your lips. You laughed and leaned forward to take it, but he tugged it back teasingly. “Say please.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Please, my oh-so-generous chef.”

“That’s more like it,” he grinned, letting you take it before resting his chin in his hand, eyes soft. “How did I get lucky enough to end up with someone like you, huh?”

The words stung.

Because you’d started to notice the way he said the same line to other women when he thought you weren’t listening. When he thought your back was turned. When you were supposedly out with Nami and Robin.

But you smiled. You always did. That’s what love looked like, didn’t it? Smiling even when your chest cracked.

Later that evening, the crew checked into a humble inn on the island’s edge. Nami and Robin wanted to browse the market, and they invited you along, but your head hurt and your heart hurt more, so you declined.

“Don’t wait up, we might stay out late,” Nami warned with a wink.

You waved them off and headed to your shared room with Sanji, telling yourself you’d rest, maybe write in your journal, maybe stop thinking about how the past few weeks felt like soft unraveling.

But Sanji wasn’t there. And the window was open. You stepped closer and overheard his voice—soft, but excited.

“…She’s out shopping. We should hurry before she comes back.”

Your heart dropped.

You froze in place, hand still resting on the windowsill. Another voice answered, female, flirty. You didn’t need to see her to know.

You sat on the bed and waited. You waited because you needed to see his face when he walked through that door. Needed to see what kind of lie he’d come up with. Needed confirmation for the truth you already knew.

It was nearly midnight when the door creaked open. Sanji looked surprised, almost guilty—but he caught himself too quickly.

“Oh—you're still up, my love?” he said smoothly. “Sorry, I thought you went out with the girls.”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

He walked over and sat beside you on the bed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?”

Still, silence.

He blinked, then tilted his head in concern. “You’re quiet tonight.”

You smiled. That same practiced smile you always wore. “Just tired.”

Sanji kissed your forehead and stood to change into his nightshirt, humming something under his breath. As if nothing had happened.

You left the next morning.

No confrontation. No fight. No angry tears.

Just a note.

Sanji, You used to look at me like I was your world. I should’ve known you just liked seeing your reflection in mine. I don’t even know what to say. I thought I knew you. I thought we had something. I thought you were different. But I know now—don’t I? I heard your words—your promises. You said, “We should hurry, while she’s out.” I never thought you could do this. Not to me. Maybe I’ve always been too trusting. Maybe I’ve been a fool. You lied with the kind of smile that made me question if I imagined it all. But I didn’t. I’m not mad. I’m heartbroken—there’s a difference. And the saddest part is, I would’ve forgiven you if you’d just told me the truth. But you let me rot in love alone. Don’t look for me. This is me leaving. Goodbye, Sanji. — Y/N

He found the note before breakfast. He read it once. Twice. Then again, each time slower. Robin noticed his shaking hand. Zoro asked where you were. Sanji couldn’t speak.

By midday, he was running through the island streets. Every alley. Every stall. He asked locals. Showed them your sketch.

No one had seen you.

You were gone. Completely. Like you’d never been there at all.

One Year Later

Rain lashed the docks of a bustling medical harbor. The Thousand Sunny had taken damage, and they stopped at a renowned doctor’s island to repair and rest.

Sanji didn’t smile as much these days. He still flirted, but half-heartedly, like a ghost of who he once was. Everyone noticed. No one said much.

He stood at the market stalls, bartering for fresh seafood when his heart stopped.

Because he saw you.

Hair a little longer. A warm coat drawn around your shoulders. Eyes brighter than they had any right to be.

You were laughing.

And beside you stood Trafalgar Law, umbrella tilted above you both, hand casually resting on your back as he pointed to a bouquet of herbs.

Sanji dropped the fish.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

He watched as you reached for Law’s hand, how he intertwined your fingers like it was second nature, like he had every right to. How you smiled at him like Sanji had only ever dreamed of.

Law said something, and you leaned into him, nodding, face soft with affection.

Sanji turned away.

He made it two steps before the weight in his chest buckled him. He stumbled into an alley and pressed a hand against the wall, gasping.

Tears fell freely.

He didn’t go back to the ship until sunset.

That night, there was another note. Not from you, but written long ago. One he’d found after too much wine.

A passage you’d once written in your journal, now burned into his mind.

“You called me baby like I was the only one. But I wasn’t. I was just the only one who stayed.”

ACE

Smoke curled into the sky like ghosts of promises you once believed. The air on Karavel Island was thick with ash and gunpowder—another battlefield in Ace’s chaotic, flame-laced life. But this was your life, too. You’d followed him here. Again.

“Over here!” Ace called, waving at you through the debris with a wide grin, flames dancing around his arms. “Bet you can’t beat my body count today!”

You rolled your eyes but jogged toward him anyway, heart tugging like it always did. He looked good with soot smudging his cheek and fire lighting up the storm in his eyes. Alive. Dangerous. The kind of man who kissed like the world was ending—and maybe it always was.

“You burn it all down yet?” you teased, reaching his side.

“Nah, was waiting for you,” he said, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Where’s the fun without you?”

And for a second, it was perfect.

Until that second ended.

It was the small things. Always the small things.

The way he took longer and longer to return from missions. The way he stopped writing when he was gone. The way he still called you “baby,” but his eyes didn’t stay on yours for long.

You didn’t want to doubt him. Not Ace. Not the man who held you when you cried, who called you his home.

But then came the night at the underground tavern.

You were helping a wounded civilian upstairs when you heard it—his voice, muffled, laughing. A giggle answered him. A girl’s voice. Slurred. Familiar.

You paused on the stairwell, heart already sinking.

“…Come on,” Ace’s voice teased. “We don’t have much time.”

Your breath caught.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered back.

“You’re the one who kissed me first,” Ace said, and your world tilted.

Silence.

Then another giggle.

Then the sound of lips meeting.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not even when the world twisted inside you. Not even when the lantern on the wall flickered like it knew the fire inside you had gone out.

You didn’t say anything when he came back to your shared room that night.

He acted normal—like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just touched someone else and then come to lie beside you.

You stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

In the morning, you were gone.

Ace, You once told me that fire doesn’t choose what it burns—it just does. I used to think that was poetry. Now I know it was a warning. You burned me, Ace. Not all at once. Just a little every day until I didn’t recognize my own heart anymore. I heard you. I saw you. And I still kissed you goodnight. Do you know what that does to a person? I gave you all of me, and you gave little pieces of yourself to strangers. I don’t hate you. I never could. But I can’t love you for both of us anymore. Don’t come looking for me. This is goodbye. — Y/N

The message was short. But it broke him anyway.

Ace stood in the ruins of the tavern, your letter clutched in his hands, his body shaking in a way fire couldn’t fix. He lit it aflame. Watched it turn to ash like everything else he touched.

He ran. Looked for you in every port. Asked the Revolutionaries. Asked pirates. Asked anyone.

You were gone.

One Year Later

It was raining in Yamabuki Port, but Ace stood still in the downpour, unmoving. The Whitebeard Pirates were resupplying, but he couldn’t focus—not when he saw you through the mist.

You were laughing.

Your coat was soaked, and your hair stuck to your forehead, but you looked so alive. So whole.

And beside you stood Zoro.

The swordsman from the Straw Hat crew — his brother's crew.

He was holding a paper umbrella above your heads, a quiet look in his eyes as he listened to whatever story you were telling. When you stumbled slightly in the mud, he caught your elbow. You smiled at him with a softness Ace had never earned.

Zoro reached up and brushed your hair from your face like it was second nature. You leaned into his touch without hesitation.

Ace felt it all in his gut. Like a blade through fire.

He didn’t approach.

Didn’t call your name.

Didn’t move.

You glanced across the square and your eyes met.

Just for a moment.

There was no hatred in your gaze. No anger.

Only peace.

You looked away.

And Ace knew—he was watching a version of you he’d never get to meet.

That night, Marco found him sitting alone on the deck, soaked to the bone even though the rain had stopped hours ago.

“You saw them, didn’t you-yoi?” Marco asked quietly.

Ace didn’t answer. Just stared at his hands.

“I thought I had time,” he whispered. “I thought… I could fix it.”

Marco said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Because some fires don’t go out.

They just move on without you.

Stuck on You

Some prankster superglues Marco’s hand to yours. You both pretend to hate it… but secretly enjoy staying glued together.

Marco x gn! reader | ONE SHOT

Tags: fluff, flirting, chaos, sfw

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🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

It all started with a prank.

A very bad prank.

One minute you were standing on deck, minding your own business, chatting with Marco about nothing in particular — and the next minute, someone (you had your suspicions) superglued your hand to his.

Literally.

Palm-to-palm.

Fingers intertwined.

"You have got to be kidding me-yoi," Marco muttered, staring down at your very stuck hands with the emotional range of a man who had survived actual wars but could not survive this level of annoyance.

You tugged.

Marco tugged.

Your hands stayed locked together like some sort of romantic death grip.

"…Well," you said, very eloquently.

"Well," Marco echoed, voice utterly dry.

From somewhere behind a barrel, muffled snickering erupted. You both turned in time to see a few crewmates (Ace, you would bet your next paycheck) sprinting away at full speed, laughing their asses off.

Marco sighed heavily. "Should've seen that coming, yoi."

You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. "You think they superglued us together… on purpose?"

Marco gave you a long look, deadpan as hell. "…No-yoi. It was a coincidence that someone left industrial-strength glue exactly where we were standing."

You snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. "Fair enough, Mr. Smartass."

He smirked, tugging lightly at your conjoined hands again. No dice. You were fused like some godawful romantic statue.

"Guess we’re stuck-yoi."

You both stared at your hands, at each other, at your hands again.

Slowly, you realized the entire deck was staring.

Crewmates leaned against rails, poked their heads out of doors, peered from crow’s nests. Watching. Waiting.

You could almost hear the bets forming.

You hissed under your breath, "Don't make a scene. Act natural."

Marco smiled, the slow lazy kind that made your heart do stupid cartwheels.

"You think we’re good at ‘natural' -yoi?"

You elbowed him (gently, because, you know, superglue). "Walk. Casual. Now."

He obligingly started walking, swinging your joined hands obnoxiously like you were newlyweds on a stroll. You tripped trying to keep up with his stupid long strides, and Marco had the audacity to chuckle under his breath.

"Oh, you're enjoying this," you accused, half-laughing, half-glaring.

Marco tilted his head innocently. "Why wouldn’t I enjoy being glued to such charming company-yoi?"

You blinked.

Heat flared up your neck.

Was that… flirting?! From Marco?!

You decided to play it cool. "Obviously, I'm the lucky one. Being stuck with the infamous cool guy of the crew."

He arched an eyebrow. "Cool guy?"

You nodded sagely. "Yeah. All mysterious and strong and… broody. You know. Classic heartthrob material."

Marco actually laughed, full-throated and amused.

"You've been spending too much time with Ace, yoi," he said, but his thumb was rubbing slow circles into your knuckles — absent-minded, soft — and he made no move to pull away.

You pretended not to notice.

The ship doctor declared the situation "temporarily incurable" unless you wanted to rip off some skin.

You did not want that.

So you and Marco were officially handcuffed together for the next few hours, possibly longer.

The announcement spread through the ship like wildfire. Everywhere you went, people tried to hide their snickering — and failed spectacularly.

At lunch, you had to sit next to Marco. (Technically, on Marco, because the bench was too narrow and you kept bumping into him.)

Passing plates was a disaster.

You dropped a spoon into Marco’s lap at one point, and he just gave you a look so dry it could set fires.

You grinned sweetly. "Oops."

"You’re doing this on purpose."

"Maybe," you sang, swinging your legs.

Marco grunted — but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.

After lunch, things got worse.

You tried to help Marco with paperwork.

Emphasis on tried.

"Hold still, yoi," he muttered, trying to shuffle through documents with one hand while your hand clumsily trailed after his.

"This is your fault," you whispered dramatically.

"You touched me first."

"You glued yourself to me!"

"You leaned into the glue puddle-yoi."

"You—!" you sputtered.

The tension snapped — you both cracked up, laughing so hard the pen rolled off the desk.

Sometime around sunset, you found yourself sitting on the figurehead of the ship, watching the ocean shimmer gold. Marco sat next to you, your hands still hopelessly, ridiculously intertwined.

The atmosphere shifted — soft, quieter.

A breeze tugged at your hair.

Marco turned his head lazily, regarding you out of the corner of his eye.

"You know," he said casually, "if you wanted to hold my hand… you could’ve just asked-yoi"

You almost fell off the ship.

"I did not plan this!" you yelped, cheeks burning hotter than a volcano.

Marco chuckled — that low, warm sound you could feel in your ribs.

"I know," he said, a little softer. "But still."

You glanced down at your hands — how perfectly they fit together, the way his thumb lazily traced circles over your skin without even thinking.

"…It’s not so bad," you admitted, voice small.

Marco smiled.

Not the lazy, cocky smirk he gave everyone else — a real, soft smile that made your heart flutter traitorously.

"Nah-yoi," he agreed, squeezing your hand. "Not bad at all."

When the glue finally wore off (courtesy of some miracle solvent the ship doctor whipped up late at night), you both sat there for a second.

Free.

Hands separated.

No excuse anymore.

Marco looked at you.

You looked at Marco.

Long pause.

"…We’re allowed to hold hands without glue, you know," you blurted, immediately wanting to jump overboard from sheer embarrassment.

Marco laughed — really laughed — and before you could hide your face, he caught your hand again, lacing your fingers together easy as breathing.

"No more excuses-yoi," he said, lips brushing your temple in a featherlight kiss.

You clung tighter.

Maybe being stuck together wasn’t such a bad thing after all.

Hi! Could you write about katakuri and his childhood sweetheart. Like they were pretty close friends since childhood, she has been friends with him from when he didn't used to cover his face. But they never said 'I love you' to each other. And now that they've grown up, Big mom has asked(ordered) the reader to marry Cracker/Oven. She maybe confesses her love to katakuri, but him being the perfect son he is, doesn't want to disobey his mom, so he let the marriage happen.

I know requests are off, but if you like the idea, please do write about it, idc even if it takes like a month or two. I'm absolutely in love with your writing.

oohh! that is good! tis not much but, hope u like this!

The Sweetness We Never Tasted

You’ve loved Katakuri since you were kids. But Big Mom has chosen another path for you—and he won’t fight her to stop it.

katakuri x reader

tags: sfw, arranged marriage, childhood sweethearts, angst

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

word count: 1.1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The air in Totto Land always smelled faintly of sugar, but today it was too sweet—so sweet it made your stomach twist.

You stood in the rose garden behind the Chateau, the very place where you and Katakuri used to sneak pastries as children, hiding behind the candy-cane columns and daring each other to steal more from the kitchen. Those days felt like dreams now—soft, distant, and a little too painful to look at directly.

And now, you were waiting for him.

You clenched your fists, heart pounding. He was late. Or maybe he was avoiding you.

No. He wouldn’t.

“(Y/N),” a deep voice rumbled behind you.

You turned.

Katakuri stood there, tall as ever, shadows cutting across his face from the low afternoon sun. His scarf was on, of course. He didn’t show his mouth anymore. Not to anyone.

Except you—once.

"You're late," you said, forcing a smile.

"I came as soon as I could."

There was always something different in his voice when he spoke to you. A softness hidden under the gravel. He glanced around before walking over to stand beside you, close enough that his arm nearly brushed yours. He didn’t touch. He never did. Not anymore.

"So..." You stared down at your boots, trying to summon the courage that had kept you alive in this family all these years. "Have you heard?"

He didn’t answer immediately. The silence dragged between you like the end of a rope—fraying, tension snapping strand by strand.

"Yes," he finally said. “Mama told me.”

You swallowed hard. “She wants me to marry Cracker.”

He didn’t move. Didn’t react. Only a subtle clenching of his jaw beneath the scarf gave him away.

“I didn’t think she’d do it,” you whispered. “I thought… I thought she’d at least ask me. Or you would. Before it got this far.”

Katakuri turned his face away, eyes focused on something in the distance. Maybe he was looking at the horizon. Maybe he just couldn’t bear to look at you.

“I’m not surprised,” he said. “It makes sense politically.”

You laughed bitterly. “Of course. Because that’s what marriage is in this family. Strategy.”

Another beat of silence. Your voice shook when you said his name.

“Katakuri.”

He looked at you now. Directly. It hurt.

“I need to know,” you said, barely above a whisper. “Did you ever feel it too?”

His shoulders tensed.

“When we were kids… when we were teens… when we’d sneak out after dinner to watch the stars from the rooftops… when you showed me your mouth and told me I was the only one you weren’t ashamed around… Did that mean nothing to you?”

You didn’t mean to cry, but the tears came anyway—quiet, burning down your cheeks.

“I always thought we’d have time,” you said. “That one day we’d stop pretending and actually say it. I waited for you to say it first. I waited for years.”

He took a step toward you. His hands twitched like he wanted to hold yours.

“I wanted to,” he said.

"Then why didn’t you?"

"Because I knew this would happen."

You blinked. “What?”

“I knew Mama would never allow it,” he said, voice low. “She doesn’t choose based on love. She chooses for power, for bloodlines, for strength. Cracker is a biscuit soldier commander—strong, obedient. You’ve always been one of her favorites. Of course she'd put you with someone she trusts.”

“But you’re her favorite too. More than Cracker. If you’d said something—if you’d just told her we wanted—”

“I couldn’t,” he cut in. “I’m not just her son, (Y/N). I’m her soldier. Her perfect creation. I do not defy her.”

You stared at him. “Not even for me?”

His silence was louder than any answer.

You stepped back like he’d slapped you. “You would’ve let me go without a word. Without knowing.”

“I thought it would be easier,” he said. “If you hated me. It would hurt less.”

You covered your mouth, choking on the sound that wanted to escape. “You coward.”

“I know.”

“I would’ve fought for you,” you said. “I would’ve burned everything down for you.”

“I know.”

You turned to leave. You didn’t want him to see you fall apart.

But his hand caught your wrist.

“(Y/N).”

You froze.

“I love you.”

Your breath hitched. You turned to face him again, slowly.

“What?”

He stepped closer. “I loved you then. I love you now. I’ll love you after the wedding, and I’ll hate myself every day for not stopping it.”

You stared at him, heart breaking in slow motion. “Then stop it.”

He shook his head. “I can’t.”

“Why?” Your voice cracked. “Why not fight for once? Why not just—”

“Because if I do, Mama will kill someone,” he said. “Maybe Cracker. Maybe you. Maybe one of your crewmates. You think she wouldn’t?”

Your voice died in your throat.

“I can’t risk your life,” he said. “I’d rather lose you than bury you.”

You collapsed into his arms without thinking, fists pounding against his chest.

“I hate you,” you sobbed. “I hate you for not loving me enough to try.”

He didn’t say anything. Just held you, trembling.

The embrace didn’t last long enough.

The wedding day arrived too quickly.

You wore the gown Mama picked. Something ridiculous and pastel with lace up to your chin and jewels that dug into your collarbones. Cracker looked pleased enough, though he kept grumbling about how annoying formal events were. He barely looked at you.

Your mind was elsewhere anyway.

Katakuri stood near the front, expression blank. You couldn’t read anything behind that scarf and those crimson eyes.

You were numb as the vows were spoken. Your lips moved, but they weren’t your words. When the crowd cheered, it felt like your ears had gone underwater.

Your heart stayed behind in that garden.

That night, you sat alone on the balcony while the festivities carried on below. Cracker was off getting drunk with Opera and Snack, bragging about how ‘lucky’ he was to get someone like you. You felt sick.

Behind you, the door creaked open.

You didn’t turn. You knew the footsteps.

“Shouldn’t you be with your husband?” Katakuri asked quietly.

You didn’t answer.

“I shouldn’t have come.”

“Then don’t stay.”

He hesitated. You could hear the tightness in his breath.

“Did you mean it?” you asked.

“Mean what?”

“When you said you love me.”

“Yes.”

“Do you still?”

“Yes.”

You turned to him. “Then why did you let them take me?”

He looked like he wanted to shatter.

“Because I thought I was strong,” he said. “But I’m just her puppet, (Y/N). We all are.”

You walked up to him, slowly.

“I would’ve run with you,” you said. “I would’ve left everything behind.”

He looked down at you. “You still could.”

“No,” you whispered. “Not anymore.”

You leaned up and kissed the scarf covering his mouth, just once.

Then walked past him, back into the room.

That night, Katakuri stood alone on the edge of the island, staring out at the moonlit sea.

He didn't cry.

But if he had, the ocean might’ve wept with him.

Please do a part two of Queen Of Chaos!! 😭😭 Like with a plot twist of the reader having a secret relationship with a lazy laid back man (Kuzan) 😉 and they're all shock!! Please 🙏🏻🥺

hii! its a good idea but unfortunately, queen of chaos is one shot only >< hope u understand!!

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.”

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.

Hello, please can I request a Shanks young apprentice x reader apprentice where she has gone many days without sleeping, she is very tired and sleepy, he finds her in the library of the gold Jackson reading one of the books that the dark king forced them to read.

If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you. "I'm not sleepy," you whispered, getting up to put the book back on the shelf. When you turned around, you saw Shanks in front of you. "You didn't notice me, did you?" "Adjusting Rader's hair."Do you have nightmares?" "Yes," you whispered. Shanks hugged her tightly to his chest and whispered in her ear."Reader

Sleep, I'll stay with you. The girl fell asleep upon feeling his warmth and Shanks's heartbeat. Shank took her in his arms before she fell to the floor

this sounds cutee!

Where the Quiet Finds You

hanks finds his fellow apprentice in the library, battling exhaustion and nightmares, and offers her the comfort she's too afraid to ask for.

Shanks x fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: sfw, fluff, sleeplessness, nightmares, soft comfort,

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: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

The ship creaked and groaned with age and travel, a sound that had become a lullaby to those who called the Oro Jackson home. Moonlight poured through the round, salt-speckled window of the ship’s small library, silvering the spines of thick maritime tomes and adventure logs that lined the shelves like ancient guardians of knowledge.

You sat at the far end of the room, curled on a stool with your elbows balanced precariously on the table, chin resting in the hollow of your palm. A book lay open beneath your sleepy eyes, but the words blurred together like waves in a storm. You blinked, fighting the pull of sleep for what must have been the hundredth time that night.

The scent of old paper and salt hung heavy in the air. You shivered slightly, not from cold, but from the exhaustion that crept deeper into your bones with every passing hour. You had stopped counting how many days you’d gone without real rest.

Rayleigh had given both you and Shanks a thick stack of reading as part of your apprenticeship under their wing—navigation theory, sea lore, ship maintenance, historical texts. You didn’t mind the learning; in truth, you craved the structure it gave you. But every time you closed your eyes, the nightmares came creeping in—half memories, half monsters. Faces you couldn’t save. Voices swallowed by the sea.

You were so tired your body hurt.

Footsteps padded softly behind you. Not threatening, but curious. Familiar.

“If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you.”

You turned slightly, recognizing the warm, teasing voice instantly.

“I'm not sleepy,” you whispered, even though your voice betrayed you with how hoarse and small it sounded.

You pushed yourself up from the stool, cradling the heavy book like a fragile piece of cargo, and made your way to the shelf to put it back. As you turned around, you nearly stumbled into Shanks.

He was standing right behind you now, closer than you expected, his red hair tousled and sticking out in odd angles. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, his shirt half-buttoned and feet bare. There was a softness in his gaze, not the usual joking sparkle you were used to, but something quieter. Something that felt too big for boys your age.

“You didn’t notice me, did you?” Shanks murmured, reaching out without hesitation to brush a few strands of hair from your face. His fingers were warm.

You looked away.

“Do you have nightmares?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

He didn’t speak again for a moment, just pulled you into him with a suddenness that didn’t feel rushed or awkward, just… instinctive. His arms wrapped securely around you, pressing your face into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat—steady and calm, like waves lapping against the hull. He smelled like salt and old parchment, and something uniquely him.

“Sleep,” he said softly against the crown of your head. “I’ll stay with you.”

You didn’t mean to, but your knees buckled a little, and before you could hit the floor, Shanks caught you. He scooped you up in his arms with surprising ease. You were light from not eating properly, worn down by sleepless nights. Your arms looped lazily around his neck as your eyes began to flutter shut.

“You’re not supposed to carry me,” you mumbled.

“I’ll tell Rayleigh I was rescuing you from literary drowning,” he teased, though his voice stayed soft, reverent.

He carried you down the corridor with care, the library door swinging quietly shut behind him. The ship’s wood was cool beneath his feet, but he didn’t mind. In the dim glow of the lanterns, he brought you to the shared cabin you and a few others used, but instead of laying you in your bunk, he sat against the wall, still holding you against his chest.

You didn’t stir.

Shanks looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed slightly. He’d noticed the signs—dark circles, the way your hands shook when holding your sword, how you’d drift off during training and then snap awake, eyes wide and frightened.

He hated seeing you like this.

“I get them too, sometimes,” he whispered, not expecting a reply.

But your breathing slowed, deepened.

You were asleep.

He rested his head back against the wood, holding you like glass. He didn’t know what the nightmares were about, but he didn’t need to. All he knew was that if you were with him, he’d make sure nothing hurt you—not dreams, not ghosts, not even the fear of being vulnerable.

The next morning, the sun broke over the horizon, its light spilling through the small round porthole in the corner of the room.

Rayleigh stood in the doorway, blinking down at the sight of the two youngest apprentices curled together like siblings shipwrecked on a safe shore. He said nothing, just gave a faint smile, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him.

That evening, after the day’s duties and sword drills were over, Shanks sat next to you on the deck, your shoulders brushing as you shared a piece of bread and a flask of juice.

“You drooled on my shirt,” he said, smirking.

“I did not.”

“You did. Right here.” He pointed to a barely-there damp spot. “You owe me laundry duty.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled. For the first time in days, your limbs didn’t feel like anchors. You’d slept all the way through the night.

“Thanks, Shanks,” you said quietly, looking out at the sea.

He nudged your knee with his. “Anytime. You can always come find me, okay? Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

You nodded.

“I mean it,” he added. “And if the nightmares come back... I’ll scare them off with a wooden sword and my dazzling grin.”

You laughed. He looked satisfied with that.

That night, just as he was drifting off in his bunk, he heard your light steps by the door. You hovered there, unsure.

He didn’t even open his eyes.

“Come here,” he said simply, lifting the blanket.

You crawled in beside him, neither of you saying anything more. You nestled against his side, and he rested a hand over your shoulder.

In the quiet of the Oro Jackson, with the ocean humming softly below, you both found rest.

Not because the nightmares had disappeared.

But because you weren’t alone.

Hot Springs, Hot Tempers

You and King accidentally end up in the same secluded hot spring. Cue awkward tension, steamy misunderstandings, and fluffy chaos.

King X gn! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, king being bad at flirting(?), ooc king, post-battle

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: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You had no idea the hot spring was co-ed.

Okay, to be fair, the old innkeeper had mumbled something about the “blessed harmony of nature,” but you’d tuned her out while ogling the steaming bath behind her. After all, after days of dodging explosions, clashing with marines, and nearly getting cooked alive by Kaido’s fire breath (which—honestly—should be illegal), you were in desperate need of a hot soak.

So, in you went.

Alone. Glorious. Gloriously alone. Or so you thought.

You sunk into the mineral-rich waters with a satisfied moan, stretching out your limbs like a boiled noodle.

“Finally,” you sighed. “Peace.”

And that’s exactly when you heard it—the sound of something massive stepping through the entrance behind you.

You froze mid-soak. Slowly turned your head.

And there he was.

King.

All 20-foot-something of him, broad shoulders covered in black scales and steam, towering at the threshold with his helmet already off, wings folded behind him like a damn mythical creature who forgot how personal space works.

He stopped, towel hanging over his shoulder, completely stone-faced as your eyes met.

“Oh no,” you said flatly, water sloshing around you.

King blinked. “...This is the private spring, isn’t it?”

You shot up, half-submerged. “I thought this was the solo spring!”

“You thought wrong.”

“You’re the one barging in here like some half-naked goth dragon!”

“I’m wearing a towel.”

“Barely!”

An awkward silence settled like fog on the water.

Then you noticed it—King’s expression faltering ever so slightly, as though realizing he had, in fact, just crashed a very vulnerable soak session.

“I’ll leave,” he muttered, turning on his heel with all the grace of a man who never once had to care about bathing etiquette.

“No, wait—ugh. Don’t.” You sighed, flopping back against the smooth rock ledge. “It’s fine. Let’s just pretend we’re two strangers in an awkward commercial.”

King paused. “A what?”

“Never mind.”

He stepped forward, water rippling violently with every heavy-footed motion, and settled into the far end of the spring. The opposite end. The farthest possible distance between you and his very large, very shirtless self.

Great. Now you had to pretend you weren’t occasionally glancing at his shoulders.

To be fair, you tried not to. But he was right there. With skin that shimmered like obsidian under the moonlight and muscles that made Greek statues look like soggy breadsticks.

And then he caught you looking.

You quickly looked away.

“I wasn’t—uh—I mean, nice... wings?” you blurted out.

His eyebrow raised. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

You groaned and covered your face. “I’m under pressure, okay?! You’re like—intimidating hot.”

King blinked. His cheeks, you could swear, colored faintly at the edges.

“Don’t call me hot.”

“Well don’t show up shirtless, glistening with steam like some overworked fanfic trope.”

A beat.

“…What’s a fanfic?”

“Forget it.”

Another silence.

Then, out of nowhere, King spoke. “I didn’t know you used hot springs.”

You side-eyed him. “I didn’t know you bathed.”

“I’m not a savage.”

“Well, jury’s still out.”

King huffed, turning his face slightly. For someone who once split a marine ship in two with his boot, he looked incredibly put out by your teasing. Almost pouty.

You smirked.

“Well, since we’re stuck here together… might as well enjoy it,” you said, leaning back against the stone and letting the warm water lull your muscles.

King tilted his head. “You’re not going to try anything stupid?”

“What, like seducing you with my wrinkly prune fingers?” you held up your soaked hands.

“…Yes.”

You snorted. “Please, you’d combust before anything happened.”

He grunted. “Fair.”

A few more moments passed. You dared peek again.

He was leaning back, steam coiling around his broad frame like silk, wings shifting with every subtle motion. You noticed he had a faint scar running along his collarbone—jagged, healed-over, and oddly… human.

“You have a scar,” you said before you could stop yourself.

King opened one eye lazily. “Observation. Noted.”

“No, I mean… I didn’t think Lunarians could scar.”

He was quiet for a beat. “I got it before the flame. Before I could heal.”

“Oh,” you murmured, eyes softening.

The mood quieted.

But then you, unable to help yourself, added: “...So you were a clumsy kid.”

He side-eyed you. “I fell from a sky cliff. That’s not clumsy. That’s survival.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m sure you looked very majestic doing it.”

“I did.”

You both cracked a small laugh. A real laugh.

And then—

SPLOOSH!

A wild monkey cannonballed into the spring.

You screamed. King leapt halfway out of the water with his wings flared.

“WHAT IN—?!”

The monkey screeched, flopped onto a rock, and began casually bathing itself with a smug little expression.

“…Are you serious?” you muttered.

King glared at the monkey. “It’s staring at me.”

You nudged closer. “Probably impressed by your wingspan.”

“Or your screaming.”

“Excuse me! That was a war cry of surprise.”

“I thought it was a kettle exploding.”

“You—!”

You were cut off by the monkey stealing your towel.

It yanked it from the side, chattered triumphantly, and bolted into the woods.

“HEY!!”

King, somehow, did not move to help. In fact, he looked… amused?

“Don’t you dare laugh,” you warned.

His lips twitched. “Consider it karma for calling me a ‘goth dragon’.”

You groaned and sank deeper into the water. “I’m gonna have to air dry now like a soggy noodle.”

“You’ll survive,” King said, voice warm with uncharacteristic amusement.

You both sat in steamy silence for a bit longer, the earlier tension melting with the mist.

After a few minutes, King shifted closer. Not much—just a foot or two. But it was enough to make your heart stutter.

“...You come here often?” he asked, in the most unintentionally awkward tone imaginable.

You blinked.

“…Are you hitting on me?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

You raised a brow. “That was absolutely a pickup line.”

“It was not.”

“You literally just asked, ‘do you come here often?’ in a secluded hot spring.”

“…Coincidence.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then—you burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe this. You’re terrible at flirting.”

King flushed. “I’m not trying to flirt.”

“Oh, no, of course not. That towel drop earlier was just an accident too, huh?”

“That was gravity’s fault.”

You giggled so hard you slipped slightly under the water, splashing like a drunk dolphin.

And then—you felt his hand.

Gentle. Large. Holding your elbow to steady you.

You froze.

He looked surprised at himself too, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to do that.

But he didn’t pull away.

“…Thanks,” you mumbled, suddenly very aware of the fact that your face was burning hotter than the water.

King’s gaze softened. Just slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

You both stayed like that, too long, too close. Until—

“HEY!!” someone called in the distance. “Is the spring free yet?!”

It was Queen.

You and King jumped apart like teenagers caught making out behind the gym.

“I should go,” you said.

“Yes. Right.”

You stood up, realized you still didn’t have a towel, and groaned.

King turned his back with a surprising amount of respect. “Take mine.”

“…Wait, seriously?”

“You’ll catch a cold,” he muttered, ears slightly red.

You wrapped it around yourself, stunned silent for once.

As you left the spring, water dripping and heart racing, you dared glance back at King—still chest-deep in steam, gaze lowered, face unreadable.

But there was a faint curl to his lips. Almost like a smile.

You didn’t know what that meant. But you did know one thing:

You were definitely coming back to this spring.

And next time, you might just forget to bring a towel again.

Hello, good morning. I'd like to request a story. Please.

Redheaded Shanks by Y/n Shanks, T/n, and Buggy were apprentices and friends on the Jackson Gold. T/n and Shanks had a strong relationship. After the crew abandoned their young apprentices and the crew disbanded, the trio of boys went their separate ways.

Years later, Shanks, without knowing anything about Y/n, found out she was in the Navy. He couldn't believe his eyes. He knew she hated the Marines. They were the ones who killed her family. So why is she with them?

When he was able to locate her, he found out she was a vice admiral in the Navy. He found her in a bar where his subordinates were eating. When she left to return to the ship, the redhead took her to a dark alley. The woman didn't recognize him, or rather, she didn't want to recognize him. She tried to leave him. Then he kissed her. The woman blushed, you idiot, leave me pushing him. Please.

hehe~ this is a nice idea! i hope this is to your liking!

𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

Years after you went to separate ways, fate and a stubborn redhead force old scars to the surface—and maybe, just maybe, a second chance too.

Shanks x gn! reader | ONE SHOT a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc tags: slight angst, sfw, fluff, reunion, persistent shanks word count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

It wasn’t often that Red-Haired Shanks was left speechless.

But there he was, jaw slack, hand frozen midway to his tankard of ale, staring at the newspaper Benn Beckman slapped onto the table like it personally offended him.

Vice Admiral (Y/N), the youngest rising star of the Navy.

Clear as day. A picture too — you, standing proud in a sharp white coat, sword at your hip, a grim smirk on your lips that Shanks knew wasn’t real.

"You're kidding," Shanks breathed.

"Afraid not," Benn muttered, biting down on his cigar. "They say this one's the 'Steel Lady' of the seas. Ruthless. Brilliant. Deadly."

"Sounds sexy," Lucky Roo said between mouthfuls.

Shanks didn’t laugh. He didn’t move.

You, wearing their uniform? Their colors? The ones who burned your home, slaughtered your family, the reason you once spat the word "Marine" like poison?

It didn’t make sense.

It hurt.

Buggy’s old shrill voice rang in his head — "She'd rather die than join the Navy, you dumbass!"

(Back then, they were just kids — him, Buggy, and you. Apprentices. Family.)

What the hell happened to you, (Y/N)?

Later That Night

The tavern was roaring with laughter, Red-Hair’s men in full swing, clinking mugs and howling songs.

Shanks barely heard them. His single eye was pinned to the entrance.

You walked in like you owned the damn place.

Your Vice Admiral coat fluttered behind you, and you barely spared a glance at the pirates crowding the booths. You ignored the gawking stares, the muttered curses. Just went straight to the bar, ordered a drink like it was any other Tuesday.

Cool as hell, Shanks thought numbly.

You nursed your whiskey quietly. No friends. No entourage.

A thousand memories burned behind his eyes — your laughter, your scowl, your hand tugging his when he was too slow, your voice mocking Buggy into oblivion.

You looked… older now. Stronger. Sharper.

Lonelier.

When you finished your drink, you slid a few beli across the counter, nodded at the bartender, and headed for the door without a backward glance.

Shanks was already moving.

The Alley

You sensed him before he touched you — instincts honed razor-sharp. You whirled around in the dark alley, hand already at your sword.

“Easy, easy," Shanks laughed, stepping out of the shadows, hands raised in surrender. "It’s just me, (Y/N)."

You froze.

For a heartbeat, your face was naked — shock, pain, longing — before you slammed the shutters down.

"I don’t know you," you said flatly, voice cold enough to bite.

Ouch.

Shanks smirked, tilting his head. "Oh, come on. That’s not very nice. After all those years?"

"Move." You sidestepped him.

He moved with you, blocking your path like a giant, infuriating wall of muscle and grinning teeth.

"I’m serious," you snapped, shoving his chest. "Get out of my way."

"You recognized me," he said smugly.

You scowled.

Big mistake.

Because that's when Shanks grabbed you — not rough, but firm, calloused hands catching your wrist and yanking you flush against him. You gasped, instinctively swinging your knee, but he twisted, laughing, spinning you into the wall.

"Still feisty," he chuckled, eyes gleaming.

You gritted your teeth. "Let go, Red Hair, before I make you regret it."

Shanks leaned closer, voice dropping. "Why, Vice Admiral? Scared you might miss me?"

You went still.

God, you hated him sometimes. Hated that he still smelled like salt and sunlight, like stupid wild freedom. Hated that your heart was hammering like it remembered every stupid kiss under stolen sunsets.

"You idiot," you muttered, voice cracking. "Leave me alone—"

He kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Messy.

You stiffened — then shoved him hard, breaking the kiss with a ragged gasp, fists pounding weakly against his chest.

"You— jerk!" you hissed, cheeks blazing, but the punch you threw was sluggish. Shanks caught your wrist again easily, tugging you back into him with a breathless, stupid smile.

"You’re still bad at punching," he teased, forehead pressed against yours.

"You’re still bad at thinking," you grumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He laughed, warm and rough and real.

Goddammit.

You wanted to cry. Or kill him. Or kiss him again.

Maybe all three.

You shoved him back and drew your sword in one smooth motion.

"I told you to leave," you growled, pointing the blade at his nose.

Shanks just grinned, one hand on his sword hilt. "If I beat you, you have to come have dinner with me."

You blinked. "What are you, twelve?"

"Is that a no?"

"You’re on, bastard."

The clash was fast and brutal.

You moved first, slashing low, testing — he parried lazily with the flat of his blade, laughing like he wasn’t even trying.

You scowled and sped up, strikes raining down like thunder. You weren’t a kid anymore. You were a Vice Admiral, for god’s sake. Stronger. Smarter. Meaner.

But Shanks wasn’t a kid either.

He was Shanks. Yonko. Legend.

He dodged your killing blows with maddening ease, ducking, weaving, flicking your sword aside with infuriating little nudges.

"You’re slower than Buggy," he teased.

"Take that back!" you snarled, aiming for his head.

He sidestepped and flicked your forehead with one finger.

You yowled, stumbling back.

"You did not just—!"

"Oooh, (Y/N)'s mad~," Shanks sang, dodging the next slash by an inch.

You tackled him.

Both of you crashed into a heap against the wall, laughing, panting, grappling like idiots.

Shanks pinned you easily, one knee on your stomach, both your wrists caught in one hand.

You glared up at him, chest heaving.

His smile faded, something soft creeping into his eyes.

"You grew up," he said quietly, thumb brushing your pulse.

"You didn’t," you muttered.

He barked a short laugh. "Guess not."

The fight bled out of you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other. Breathing each other in.

You never forgot how he looked — wild, free, infuriating. He never forgot you either — fierce, stubborn, brilliant.

"I missed you," Shanks said roughly, voice cracking.

You swallowed.

"Missed you too, idiot."

He let you go.

You didn’t run.

Instead, you slumped against the wall, arms limp at your sides, feeling like a ship run aground.

Shanks flopped down next to you, legs stretched out, shoulder bumping yours.

"You look good in white," he said, nudging your coat.

You snorted. "You look bad in red."

"Harsh."

"You deserve it."

He laughed again — that same easy, golden laugh — and for the first time in years, you smiled. Really smiled.

.

.

.

"So..." Shanks began after a long, comfortable silence. "Vice Admiral, huh?"

You picked at a loose thread on your glove. "Spy."

He blinked. "Huh!?"

"I’m not really with them," you said, voice dropping. "I’m... gathering information. Playing the long game."

"You’re a double agent?!"

"Keep your voice down, dumbass!"

He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes. "It’s complicated. But yeah. I’d never really join them. I just... needed a way to get close enough to tear them apart."

Shanks looked at you like you hung the moon.

"You’re insane," he said, utterly delighted.

"You're one to talk."

He grinned wide and stupid, then threw his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into a rough side hug.

"I always knew you were the coolest," he said proudly.

You mock-gagged. "Gross. Get off."

"Never."

You didn’t actually pull away.

Instead, you let your head fall against his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat. Steady. Warm. Real.

For the first time in years, you felt like maybe you weren’t carrying the weight of the world alone.

Somewhere, across the seas, Buggy sneezed violently. "Ugh," he sniffled, glaring at his crew. "Someone’s talking shit about me! I bet it’s those two idiots! I hate them!" (He didn’t. Not really.)

.

.

.

As dawn broke over the water, you and Shanks sat on the rooftop of a random tavern, legs dangling over the edge.

He was telling you some ridiculous story about losing his hat and arm ("It wasn’t my fault, okay?! There's a kid in East Blue who said the same thing as Captain Roger did, those same words of our captain!") and you were laughing so hard your ribs hurt.

You hadn't laughed like this in years.

Maybe... Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe you could still have something.

Him.

You glanced sideways — at his messy hair, his stupid, wide grin, the scar across his eye you hadn’t dared touch yet.

Maybe you could still have home.

"Hey," you said, voice soft.

He turned to you, eyebrows raised.

You leaned in — quick, reckless — and kissed his cheek.

"You owe me dinner," you said, grinning.

Shanks blinked, stunned for once.

Then he whooped loud enough to wake half the town, tackling you in a bear hug.

Somewhere between the laughter, the yelling, and the ridiculous wrestling match that followed, you realized something.

You weren’t lost anymore.