Hello! I Saw Some Of Your Posts And Was Wondering If U Could Wright Something With Sanji From One Piece

Hi! I'm the anon who requested oblivious ace x reader and i must say I REALLY LOVE IT IVE BEEN SCREAMING FOR FIFTEEN MINUTES. God i love him so much, i love you so much, thanks a lot! Sorry in advance for me might be request more in the future <3 have a nice day!!

hi! thank youu sm! im glad u like itt~ 💞

ill make sure to be ready w ur requests then🥰🤭😳

Hello, hello, how are you? Can I please ask you for a story? Marco from the Shirohige Pirates finds out by chance that he's going to be a father. 🤣

T/n is Ace's sister, a Marine, and a vice admiral. And Marco's partner, although they see each other occasionally. Marco found out. She had been acting strange the last time they saw each other.

Aunque se ofreció a examinarla, ella se negó porque, según ella, no sería objetivo con su diagnóstico. Días después, T/n se embarcaría en una nueva misión: escoltar a nobles mundiales.

T/n was leaning on her desk, feeling a little dizzy. It's lucky her assistant gives all the orders to the others while she's feeling ill. Not even her haki has been working well these past few weeks. Hello...

T/n dio un salto y casi tiró un vaso de jarabe para el mareo que le había traído el médico del barco. T/n retiró el vaso discretamente, pero Marco lo notó. Siempre estaba tan claro, pero yo no lo había notado.

Y/n, "Hey, what's going on here? I think our next appointment is in two weeks, don't you darling?" Trying to sound normal. Covering herself with her coat. A few folders were falling.

T/n tenía que proteger su secreto. Seguramente, si él lo descubría, la arrastraría. No peor. Probablemente se enojaría con ella por no haberle dicho nada.

Vice Admiral, we're ready. The doctor asks if she's feeling better yet. Seeing the pirate in front of her, Wait, Marco, don't do it. But Marco was faster. The man was already unconscious on the floor. Y/N got up worriedly to check on her subordinate, but Maco grabbed her wrist. She was even thinner than the last time he saw her.

sounds cool tried my best >< tis not much but hope u like it, i apologize in advance if its not that accurate lolol

Blue Flames and Baby Rumors

When you starts showing unusual symptoms, Marco begins connecting the dots—and ends up with the surprise of his life.

Marco the phoenix x reader

tags: fluff, sfw, secret relationship, light drama

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 ship rocked gently under the pull of the current, but your head swam like you were being thrashed in a whirlpool. Vice Admiral or not, no amount of rank could prepare you for the unpredictable wrath of morning sickness.

Leaning on your desk, you pressed two fingers to your temple, squinting at a report you weren’t processing. Your assistant was already barking orders outside your office door—thank the heavens. You hadn't given a single command since sunrise.

Then, like a damn ghost in broad daylight—

"Hello."

You jumped, nearly upending a glass of syrup meant to settle your stomach. It sloshed dangerously before you caught it, hurriedly sliding it behind a folder.

And there he stood. Marco the Phoenix.

Golden hair, calm ocean-blue eyes, and a presence that had always made your heart ache in the worst and best ways. Your partner, occasional lover, and the last person you wanted to see right now.

"...Hey," you started, voice too casual. “What’s going on here? I think our next appointment is in two weeks, don’t you, darling?” You tugged your coat tighter over your chest as a few folders slipped off your desk.

Marco didn’t smile. His gaze flicked toward the now half-hidden glass. “Motion sickness?” he asked, and his tone was far too neutral.

“Long voyage,” you replied quickly. “The escort mission has been dragging through choppy waters.”

The look in his eyes made it clear he wasn’t buying that.

You forced a light laugh, walking around the desk to pick up the fallen papers. “I’m not made of sea-stone. Even Vice Admirals get woozy sometimes.”

“You wouldn’t even let me examine you last time-yoi” he said, stepping closer. “You said I wasn’t objective.”

“I stand by that.”

He tilted his head. “You didn’t even let me try.”

You swallowed. No way in hell were you going to talk about this. You were already gambling every inch of this mission by just standing here, trying to keep a secret from the one man who literally healed people for a living.

"Vice Admiral!" your assistant called from outside. "The nobles are waiting. The doctor asks if you're feeling better yet."

You could see the moment the dots fully connected in Marco's sharp gaze.

"Wait—Marco, don't—"

Too late. In one swift movement, Marco disappeared in a flash of blue and reappeared outside. You dashed after him just in time to see your medic crumple to the ground with a startled grunt.

"Marco!"

You dropped to check your subordinate’s pulse—he was unconscious, not harmed seriously—but Marco’s hand clamped gently but firmly around your wrist.

“You’re thinner than before-yoi” he muttered. “You’ve been exhausted. Your Haki’s off. And now motion sickness?”

You stared at him. “Marco, I swear, if you say it—”

“You’re pregnant.”

The words hung in the air like cannon smoke.

You looked away, breath caught in your throat. “It’s none of your—”

His grip tightened slightly, only to loosen as you flinched.

“I didn’t mean to scare you.” he said. “But you are, aren’t you-yoi?”

Silence.

Finally, you exhaled. “...Yes.”

He stepped back. “Is it mine?”

Your head snapped toward him. “What? Of course it’s yours! You—! We—! I haven’t been with anyone else, you idiot!”

Marco blinked. “I just—sorry. I wasn’t accusing. Just… processing.”

He ran a hand through his blond hair, the tension in his usually relaxed frame tangible now.

You crossed your arms, trying to look like the proud Vice Admiral you were instead of the world’s most irresponsible soon-to-be parent. “I didn’t tell you because I thought you’d drag me back to the Grand Line and throw me in a nest of phoenix feathers.”

“You were going to hide my kid from me-yoi?”

“I was going to figure things out myself first,” you said, quieter now. “I didn’t want you to worry. We barely see each other as it is.”

“Because we’re on opposite sides of the damn sea.”

“Exactly.”

A long pause. You shifted uncomfortably, ignoring the familiar twist of nausea.

“I get it,” Marco finally said. “But you should’ve told me-yoi”

You frowned, defensive. “You think I don’t know that? It’s not like I’m thrilled about this, Marco. I’m a Vice Admiral. You’re a pirate. Ace—Ace would’ve flipped if he knew.”

Marco smiled faintly. “Ace would’ve been smug as hell. He always said we’d end up together.”

That made your eyes sting, unexpectedly. “...Don’t do that. Don’t talk about him like he’s still here.”

Marco stepped closer, resting a hand on your shoulder. “You’re not alone in this-yoi.”

“You’re not exactly on call, either.”

“Then I’ll make myself available.”

Your brows shot up. “You’re serious?”

“Dead serious,” he said. “You’re having my kid. I might be a pirate, but I’m not irresponsible. I’ll be there.”

You stared at him, seeing not just the Phoenix, the First Division Commander of the Whitebeard Pirates—but Marco. The man who always showed up exactly when you needed him, even if you didn’t say it aloud.

He took your hand and pressed it to his chest. “You don’t have to hide anymore-yoi”

You let out a long sigh, finally allowing yourself to lean into his warmth. “I still have to finish this mission.”

He groaned. “Of course you do.”

You smirked. “I am a Vice Admiral.”

“You’re a pregnant Vice Admiral.”

“Don’t remind me.”

Later that night, you found yourself leaning against the rail of the ship, the cool breeze easing your nausea better than the syrup. Marco leaned beside you, arms crossed, watching the sea.

“So… how far along?” he asked.

“Almost two months.”

“...Was that before or after I gave you that weird seaweed stew in Alabasta?”

You snorted. “Definitely after.”

He grimaced. “I hope the baby doesn’t remember that-yoi”

You laughed, and for the first time in weeks, it felt real. “Thanks for coming, Marco.”

He turned his head slightly. “I’ll be back before the baby’s born. Promise.”

“You better be,” you replied. “Or I’m naming it Garp.”

Marco's face turned pale. “You wouldn’t.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Try me.”

He stared, then smirked. “...Fine. But I’m putting ‘Phoenix’ on the birth certificate.”

“Oh, absolutely not.”

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.

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

Thoughts on Prince from SWORD? Would you write something for him?

hmmm, he a lowk fine shyt w his silly hat so yea, i might write something for him in the future, since i dont have any ideas for him just yet. but if u have lmk!!

Omg I absolutely love your posts. You're super good. Here, have my heart ❤

waahh! thank uu so muchh~ 💝(˶˃⤙˂˶)

it made me happy!

Espionage and Eavesdropping

You just wanted to surprise your Yonko boyfriend with something sweet. Shanks, however, misunderstands everything and thinks you're hiding a lover aboard.

shanks x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, chaotic

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: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You should’ve known better than to try anything secretive on a ship full of pirates with nothing better to do.

But here you were, crouched behind a stack of rum barrels in the ship’s lower deck, notebook clutched in one hand, whispering into a den den mushi like you were planning a military coup.

“I just need it by Thursday,” you hissed. “And don’t forget the edible glitter! It has to sparkle like Shanks’s ego.”

The den den mushi blinked at you slowly, mimicking your furrowed brows. “Sparkle. Got it. Any other unreasonable demands?”

“Make it look dangerously romantic, but also incredibly cool.”

“Sounds like you want a wedding cake without the wedding.”

You paused. “…Don’t say that out loud. He’ll hear it and assume I’m trying to marry someone else.”

And two decks above you, curled beneath a conveniently placed hammock and eavesdropping like a man twice his age, Shanks the Red-Haired Yonko of the Sea, whispered into his own den den mushi.

“I think they’re marrying someone else.”

“What?” Benn Beckman’s voice was dry.

“I just heard them say ‘don’t say that out loud, he’ll think I’m marrying someone else.’ That’s exactly what someone who’s definitely hiding an affair says, right?!”

“Shanks—”

“I KNEW they were too beautiful to be loyal.”

“You’re the most dramatic man on this ship.”

“I’m going to fake my own death and see if they cry.”

The misunderstanding began three days ago, when you asked Lucky Roux to quietly sneak into town and pick up something discreet and delicate. You’d given him a long list with unnecessary glitter stars and bold underlines, swore him to secrecy, and told him, “Tell no one. Especially Shanks. Not even if he’s dying. Especially not if he’s dying.”

Unfortunately, someone else heard that.

And Shanks? He took it personally.

Now you were organizing a surprise celebration for his birthday (which he had claimed he didn’t care about, like a liar), enlisting crew members with the stealth of a sea cat, and every time Shanks looked at you, you panicked like a criminal caught red-handed.

So of course he thought something was going on.

You’d whisper to Yasopp, run away from Hongo, disappear for hours, and dodge Shanks with the finesse of someone avoiding a breakup talk. He started following you in secret, wearing a cape and fake mustache, hiding behind crates that were nowhere near his size.

Benn walked past him one day and muttered, “This is why we can’t have normal relationships.”

Day Four.

You were on the main deck, whispering into your notebook.

“Benn’s distracting him with fake wine. Hongo’s handling the fireproof sparklers. Yasopp is swearing on his son’s life not to tell. I just need to—”

“—tell me who you’re seeing.”

You jumped so hard you nearly tossed the notebook overboard.

“Shanks! What the hell—how did you sneak up on me like that?!”

He was squinting suspiciously, arm on his hip, shirt loose, and hair windblown in a way that made him look far too attractive to be pulling this level of paranoid nonsense.

“I have connections,” he said ominously.

“Okay?”

“Lucky Roux saw you give a note to a pigeon.”

“First of all, it was a cake-ordering pigeon, and second—wait, that’s not the point. What?”

“You’ve been sneaking around. Whispering into things. Saying suspicious phrases like ‘don’t tell Shanks even if he’s dying.’ What am I supposed to think?!”

“That I’m planning something nice?”

“That you’re cheating!”

You blinked. Then blinked again.

“…Cheating? Shanks. Darling. Love of my life. Who on this ship could I possibly be cheating on you with?!”

He pointed dramatically toward the horizon. “Someone from another crew! A beautiful stranger with a strong jawline and a charming laugh—”

“That’s literally you.”

“Wait. Is this a reverse surprise? Am I the stranger?!”

“No!” you laughed, smacking his chest. “I’m planning a surprise party for you, you idiot!”

“…Oh.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you… spy on me?”

Shanks hesitated. Then lifted one leg onto a crate like a theater actor mid-monologue. “I’ll have you know I was on a noble quest for truth, love, and the prevention of heartbreak.”

“You wore a mustache and tried to climb the rigging, didn’t you.”

He coughed. “Irrelevant.”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “Unbelievable. You thought I was cheating, so you started counter-spying?”

He nodded solemnly. “It was a matter of pride. Also, Benn said if I was wrong, I owed him all my sake.”

“…And were you wrong?”

Shanks looked at you. Then at the crew. Then back at you.

“…Maybe. But in my defense, you are very suspicious when you whisper.”

Cue Party Day.

Despite the chaos, the confusion, and the unnecessary disguises, the party was perfect.

The deck was transformed with string lights, stolen silk drapes, a truly dangerous amount of glitter, and a cake shaped like his own face (your idea, obviously). A very confused seagull in a bowtie delivered the final decorations.

Shanks walked into the surprise party pretending to be shocked—even though he’d definitely heard the band warming up from below deck—and laughed like it was the greatest moment of his life.

“You did all this for me?” he beamed.

You crossed your arms. “Yes. Even though you accused me of having a secret affair.”

He grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Well, I would cheat on me for you, so I get it.”

“…That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to. I’m handsome.”

He kissed your cheek before you could argue, then pulled you onto the dance floor—barefoot, wild, and surrounded by pirates singing off-key. At some point, Lucky Roux accidentally ignited the fireproof sparklers (which were not fireproof), and Benn had to douse the deck while muttering about retirement.

You and Shanks ended the night lying on a picnic blanket made from stolen tavern tablecloths, eating leftover cake straight from the tray.

“Next time you plan a surprise,” he mumbled, mouth full, “just… tell me it’s not a secret affair.”

You poked his cheek. “Only if you don’t go full spy-movie mode again.”

He smiled. “Deal. Unless you start whispering to birds again. Then all bets are off.”

The next morning, you woke to find Shanks crouched on the figurehead, holding a long telescope and muttering, “The pigeon is back. I repeat. The pigeon. Is. Back.”

You dragged a pillow over your face and groaned.

Some things never change.

Hello, thank you so much for writing this story about Marco. I loved it. I've never read a good ending to the war. One of the best. You're a goddess.

hii~ thank uu sm! i really appreciate it!! im worried that its still missing some things but either way im glad u enjoyed it!

You Punched a Yonko?

In which the reader, quietly trying to study Poneglyphs in peace, accidentally punches a Yonko and ends up entangled with the flirtatious chaos.

PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN READ PONEGLYPH

red hair pirates x fem!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: shanks, benn, limejuice, hongo

tags: fluff, sfw, harem, soft

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

words count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You really weren’t trying to punch a Yonko.

In fact, your goal for the day was to peacefully study a centuries-old Poneglyph hidden beneath a sleepy island temple. Instead, you were now standing in front of a red-haired man grinning at you with blood trickling from his nose, surrounded by his crew, who all looked one second away from drawing their weapons.

“…Okay,” you breathed. “In my defense, you startled me.”

“You punched him in the face,” a blond man in sunglasses said, his voice straddling awe and amusement.

“Yeah, but like—accidentally.”

Shanks wiped his nose with the back of his hand, still smiling like you’d just offered him a drink. “DAHAHAHA strong punch though! You train often?”

“I didn’t know you were behind me! I thought you were a thief trying to steal the stone!” you pointed at the half-buried Poneglyph glowing faintly behind you. “You snuck up on me!”

Benn Beckman gave an exaggerated sigh from where he was puffing on his cigar. “He always does that.”

“You should wear a bell,” Hongo added dryly, as he examined your clenched fists. “You nearly broke his nose.”

“I think I’m in love,” Shanks muttered, still grinning at you like an idiot.

You blinked.

“…What?” You deadpan at him.

Lime Juice snorted. “I told you not to lean in so close when people are muttering to themselves. She was clearly in the zone.”

“I was reading an ancient, world-changing text,” you snapped, still frazzled. “I didn’t expect someone to breathe down my neck!”

“To be fair,” Benn chimed in smoothly, “not many people can actually read those things.”

That made you hesitate. Your breath caught in your chest. Most people only guessed at what the stones meant. And those who could decipher them—like the Ohara scholars—were erased for it.

The crew noticed your shift.

Shanks tilted his head. “Hey… you alright?”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re being very casual about all this.”

“Well, you punched me.” He rubbed his jaw. “That kinda earns you a place at the table.”

“What table?”

“Our lunch table,” Lime Juice said, gesturing broadly to a blanket on the grass behind the trees. “We were picnicking. Captain wandered off to chase ‘Poneglyph energy.’”

“You tracked me?”

Shanks shrugged. “You glow like a beacon when you read those stones.”

Your jaw dropped. “That’s not—?! That’s not normal!”

“Nope,” Hongo agreed. “Very intriguing.”

“And very pretty,” Shanks added.

You turned on your heel. “I’m leaving.”

“No wait!” Shanks called after you. “Join us for lunch! I promise not to get punched again!”

You paused, hesitating. The idea of eating with the Red-Hair Pirates seemed… suicidal. You’d spent years hiding your ability, keeping a low profile, ducking Marines and bounty hunters alike.

But they didn’t look like they were planning to turn you in.

And the smell of roasted fish was really good.

“…I’m watching all of you,” you muttered, stomping over.

“Great!” Shanks beamed. “You can sit next to me! DAHAHAHA”

“Absolutely not.”

Lunch with the Red-Hair Pirates was insane.

You had to admit: they were nothing like you’d expected.

Shanks, despite being a Yonko, acted more like a chaotic older brother than a fearsome warlord. He kept nudging plates toward you like a golden retriever trying to feed its owner, all while regaling you with stories that involved an alarming number of explosions and nudity.

Benn Beckman, calm and poised, sat at your other side. He didn’t say much, but you noticed how his eyes never left you—watchful, calculating, but not in a threatening way. More like… protective.

“You always travel alone?” he asked quietly.

You nodded. “Easier to hide.”

He hummed. “Doesn’t sound easier to live.”

His words stuck with you longer than you cared to admit.

Lime Juice kept trying to impress you with “tricks,” most of which involved lighting things on fire or juggling knives. When he tried to balance a plate on his head and walk backward up a tree, you genuinely feared for his life.

“I’m very flexible,” he claimed proudly as he slipped and crashed into Shanks’ lap.

“Yeah, flexible like a bag of rocks,” Hongo muttered under his breath, flipping through a medical book beside you. Occasionally, he asked you questions about ancient glyphs and your translation methods, clearly more interested in your brain than your punching skills.

Which, okay, was kind of flattering.

You didn’t know when it happened, but by the end of the meal, you were… laughing.

You were laughing with people you’d met barely an hour ago. People who, by all logic, should’ve either kidnapped you or sold your secret to the highest bidder.

Instead, they argued about who could get you to smile the fastest.

“You like wine?” Benn asked, offering you a rare vintage.

“You like beer?” Shanks grinned, popping open a keg.

“You like really strong mystery juice I made last night?” Lime Juice offered, holding a bubbling bottle that Hongo promptly knocked out of his hands.

“Do you guys always compete like this?” you asked, bewildered.

“Only when it’s worth it,” Shanks winked.

You choked on your drink.

The day slipped by quickly after that.

You showed Hongo how Poneglyphs resonated when you hummed certain tones. He looked at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world and scribbled notes furiously.

You sparred—lightly—with Lime Juice, who was surprisingly nimble when not setting himself on fire.

You chatted with Benn about navigation, philosophy, and—when Shanks wasn’t listening—what kind of wine pairs best with sea-king meat.

And Shanks? Shanks hovered. Endearingly. Annoyingly. Constantly.

“You know, I could protect you,” he offered at one point, lying back on the grass beside you with a grin. “If you joined us. Nobody would ever dare come after you again.”

“Why would I ever trust a Yonko?” you teased, resting your chin on your hand.

Shanks tapped his temple. “Because I’m handsome and charming.”

“Debatable.”

“Because I didn’t press you about your ability.”

You paused.

“…Less debatable.”

He turned his head toward you, more serious this time. “I know what it means. What you can do. I know the world will hunt you for it. And I also know—without a doubt—anyone who tries will have to go through me first.”

You stared at him, heart hammering. “That’s very dramatic.”

“Have you met me?” he grinned.

Before you could reply, Benn’s voice called over, “Captain, stop seducing our guest and help clean up.”

“I am helping,” Shanks called back. “With my charm.”

Benn just groaned and threw a towel at his head.

Night fell.

You sat with Lime Juice and Hongo near the fire while Shanks played a drunken game of darts with a tree (he kept missing) and Benn nursed a glass of something expensive, eyeing his captain like a babysitter on overtime.

Lime Juice offered you his coat when the wind picked up. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “you’re kind of amazing.”

You turned. “Me?”

“Yeah. Punching a Yonko. Reading the un-readable. And laughing at my jokes. Triple threat.”

You laughed. “Thanks, I think?”

“Don’t let Shanks hog you too much,” he added. “Some of us want a shot too.”

Hongo hummed behind his book. “I’ll second that.”

You looked between them, blinking. “Wait, what?”

Benn walked over, his cigarette glowing faintly. “They’re not joking.”

Shanks stumbled into the circle, arms wide. “Did I hear flirting?! I object! You’re all banned.”

You stared at the four of them.

“You’re telling me,” you said slowly, “that all of you are flirting with me… at the same time?”

There was a beat.

Then Shanks, Benn, Lime Juice, and Hongo all nodded in sync.

You buried your face in your hands. “This is absurd.”

Shanks grinned. “Absurdly charming.”

“I need a drink,” you muttered.

Benn passed you his glass without a word.

You didn’t leave the next morning.

Or the next.

Or the next after that.

Somewhere between watching Shanks get his foot stuck in a barrel, Lime Juice trying to build you a “romance swing,” Hongo diagnosing him with “chronic dumbassery,” and Benn pulling you aside just to ask how you were holding up, you realized something:

You were happier than you’d been in years.

For the first time, you weren’t hiding.

You weren’t running.

You were laughing. Living. Loved.

And sure, maybe the world still wanted your head.

But you had a Yonko, his second-in-command, a chaotic firecracker, and a broody medic wrapped around your finger.

If the world wanted to come for you?

Let it.

You had your crew now.

Strings in Crimson

When our enigmatic Y/n accidentally lands in Dressrosa, it sets off a chain of chaos, power displays, and dangerously intoxicating tension with Donquixote Doflamingo.

PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN USE THE INFINITY STONES

doflamingo x reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: doflamingo

tags: sfw, v!ol3nce

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

words count: 786

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Dressrosa was too bright.

Even from the moment you stepped onto the sun-bleached cobblestones, the place reeked of forced cheer. Laughter too loud, colors too vibrant. Like a festival that refused to end. You hated it immediately.

You’d landed by accident — or as close to an accident as someone like you could. Space liked to rip when you snapped your fingers too hard. One careless flick, a shimmer of stars, and there you were. Smack in the middle of the city square while a nearby woman screamed about her missing child.

You sighed.

A blonde in pink feathers clocked you instantly. It was impossible not to. Tall and lean, Donquixote Doflamingo practically radiated threat.

“Fufufufu~ well, well,” he crooned from above, perched like a smug vulture on a balcony. “A new face. And what a face.”

You didn’t answer. Not out of caution. You just didn’t care.

Instead, you turned a nearby pigeon into a tiny floating star just to see if you could.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Doflamingo’s grin sharpened.

In a blur, he appeared before you, a slash of color and power.

“Name,” he demanded.

“Y/n.”

“Devil Fruit user?”

“No.”

He tilted his head, intrigued. “Then what the hell are you? fufufufu~”

You glanced at the ground. It cracked under your gaze, spreading like glass under a hammer.

“Complicated.”

A chuckle. Low, dangerous. “I like complicated.”

He brought you to his palace. You let him. Not because you trusted him, but because you were bored.

His executives bristled. Trebol whined about taking in strays, Pica rumbled disapproval, Diamante preened. You ignored them all. Your presence was a storm in still air, and they felt it, even if they didn’t understand why.

“Test them,” Doflamingo ordered, one hand languidly swirling wine.

Buffalo charged first.

You didn’t move.

A thought, and space folded. He disappeared with a yelp, reappearing upside down, tangled in the palace’s chandelier.

Gladius tried next.

You blinked. His exploding fists paused mid-detonation, the tiny fragments suspended in mid-air.

“Cute trick,” you murmured, then rewound time by a second, leaving him disoriented and vomiting from vertigo.

The room fell silent.

Doflamingo leaned forward, interest gleaming.

“You could kill them all.”

You shrugged. “Could.”

“And me?”

A small, crooked smile tugged at your lips. “Wouldn’t be polite.”

He laughed. A real one. Not the shrill cackle, but something darker, lower.

“You’re mine now.”

“No.”

“Eventually.”

You poured yourself a drink, letting reality bend just slightly to fill the glass from a bottle across the room.

Weeks passed.

You became a ghost in the palace, appearing where you pleased, vanishing when bored. You rewound time to catch falling glasses, bent space to avoid dull conversations. The staff flinched when you passed. Doflamingo watched you with something dangerous, something almost fond.

He’d invite you to dinners you rarely attended. When you did, it was chaos.

Once, a rival warlord visited. He made the mistake of grabbing your wrist.

You didn’t react.

He blinked — and found himself standing in the middle of the sea, a thousand yards offshore.

Doflamingo’s grin nearly split his face.

“That was a gift,” he told you later, eyes gleaming.

You shrugged. “Didn’t like him.”

Neither did Doflamingo.

Trouble came in the form of a foreign warlord and a double-crossed deal. Not one for subtlety, the fool marched right into Dressrosa’s palace with a small army and a head full of bad ideas.

You found Doflamingo in the gardens, pristine and grinning, standing atop a mound of broken bodies like a crimson-clad god, not a scratch on him as enemies circled, too stupid to realize their doom.

“Care for a hand?” you asked mildly.

He bared his teeth in a grin. “Thought you’d never offer.”

You raised a hand. Reality convulsed.

Half the enemy force vanished into a pocket dimension of black nothingness. The rest scrambled, confusion thick in the air.

One bold lieutenant lunged. You tilted your head, and the man’s soul flickered visibly from his body — a ghostly echo you plucked between your fingers like a thread and snapped.

Doflamingo whistled, low. "You are a vicious thing."

“I get bored.”

Within minutes, the garden was a graveyard of twisted perceptions — enemies trapped in loops of false victories, others suspended mid-air like grotesque marionettes.

You dusted off your coat. "Clean enough?"

Doflamingo stepped over a dying man, his grin sharp and fond. “Marry me.”

“Pass."

He chuckled, licking blood from his teeth. "You’ll come around."

You would, maybe. Or not.

But for now, you flexed space one last time, leaving the remnants of the coup in a shivering bubble of frozen time, an unbroken reminder of what it meant to cross either of you.