Thoughts On Prince From SWORD? Would You Write Something For Him?

you are great

hehe~ thank uu sm! u flatter me~

O̲̅N̲̅E̲̅P̲̅I̲̅E̲̅C̲̅E̲̅ M̲̅A̲̅S̲̅T̲̅E̲̅R̲̅L̲̅I̲̅S̲̅T̲̅

ℛ𝓊𝓁ℯ𝓈

𝘉𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘵𝘧𝘶𝘭, 𝘉𝘢𝘴𝘪𝘤 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥𝘯𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘯-𝘯𝘦𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦. 

𝘕𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘰𝘧 𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘥, 𝘙𝘢𝘤𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘩𝘰𝘮𝘰𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘱𝘩𝘰𝘣𝘪𝘢, 𝘴𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘴𝘮, 𝘦𝘵𝘤., 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘤𝘬𝘦𝘥 𝘪𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵𝘭𝘺. 

𝘔𝘪𝘯𝘰𝘳𝘴' 𝘋𝘕𝘐 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵, (𝘐𝘧 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘭𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘣𝘭𝘦 — 𝘢𝘥𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘰𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨 𝘵𝘺𝘱𝘦!)

𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘴𝘪𝘰𝘯 , 𝘙𝘦𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘨𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘓𝘖𝘝𝘌, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘥𝘰𝘯’𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘱𝘺 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘢𝘭. 

𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘴𝘢𝘧𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦!, 𝘐’𝘮 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘨𝘰𝘰𝘥 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦𝘴, 𝘧𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘰𝘮 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘪𝘵𝘺.

ℛℯ𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓈𝓉 ℰ𝓉𝒾𝓆𝓊ℯ𝓉𝓉ℯ

𝘊𝘩𝘦𝘤𝘬 𝘪𝘧 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘰𝘱𝘦𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢𝘯𝘺𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨! (𝘐’𝘭𝘭 𝘶𝘱𝘥𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘮𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘣𝘪𝘰 𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘪𝘯𝘯𝘦𝘥 𝘱𝘰𝘴𝘵!) 

𝘉𝘦 𝘱𝘰𝘭𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘯 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘈 "𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦" 𝘢𝘯𝘥 "𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯𝘬 𝘺𝘰𝘶" 𝘨𝘰 𝘢 𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘨 𝘸𝘢𝘺.

𝘉𝘦 𝘴𝘱𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘧𝘪𝘤 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘧𝘭𝘦𝘹𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦, 𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘮𝘦 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶’𝘥 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 (𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴, 𝘷𝘪𝘣𝘦, 𝘦𝘵𝘤.), 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘐 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘱𝘶𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘵𝘸𝘪𝘴𝘵 𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘵! 

𝘕𝘰 𝘳𝘦𝘱𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘴𝘱𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨. 𝘐𝘧 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘰𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘯 𝘵𝘰 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵 𝘺𝘦𝘵, 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵! 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮 𝘢𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘰𝘸𝘯 𝘱𝘢𝘤𝘦. 

𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘦𝘤𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘦 𝘢 𝘳𝘦𝘲𝘶𝘦𝘴𝘵, 𝘸𝘩𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳 𝘪𝘵’𝘴 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵, 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘷𝘦 𝘧𝘭𝘰𝘸, 𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘴 — 𝘯𝘰 𝘩𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘧𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴!

 𝘈𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘢𝘳𝘦 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘦! 𝘉𝘶𝘵 𝘳𝘶𝘥𝘦 𝘰𝘳 𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘰𝘱𝘳𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘰𝘯𝘴 𝘸𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘣𝘦 𝘥𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘥. 

𝘐𝘮𝘱𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘵 𝘯𝘰𝘵𝘦: 𝘐'𝘮 𝘢 𝘶𝘯𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘪𝘵𝘺 𝘴𝘵𝘶𝘥𝘦𝘯𝘵, 𝘴𝘰 𝘴𝘤𝘩𝘰𝘰𝘭 𝘭𝘪𝘧𝘦 𝘤𝘢𝘯 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘤𝘩𝘢𝘰𝘵𝘪𝘤! 𝘗𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘐’𝘮 𝘴𝘭𝘰𝘸 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦𝘴.

Quick a/n: 𝘐 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘫𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘳𝘵𝘦𝘥 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘴𝘰 𝘱𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘸𝘪𝘵𝘩 𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘣𝘦 𝘨𝘳𝘢𝘮𝘮𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘤𝘢𝘭 𝘦𝘳𝘳𝘰𝘳𝘴 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦 𝘢𝘸𝘬𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘥 𝘮𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘴 𝘪𝘯 𝘮𝘺 𝘸𝘰𝘳𝘬. 𝘐 𝘸𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘴𝘰 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘮𝘦𝘯𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘪𝘯 𝘢𝘥𝘷𝘢𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵, 𝘶𝘯𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘵𝘶𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘥𝘰 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘱𝘭𝘢𝘯 𝘰𝘯 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘳𝘦𝘮𝘦 𝘕𝘚𝘍𝘞 𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘮𝘶𝘵 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘯𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨, 𝘢𝘭𝘵𝘩𝘰𝘶𝘨𝘩 𝘐 𝘮𝘢𝘺 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘭𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘧𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦. 𝘈𝘥𝘥𝘪𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺, 𝘐 𝘸𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘱𝘶𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘺 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘧𝘶𝘯, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘴𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘌𝘯𝘨𝘭𝘪𝘴𝘩 𝘪𝘴 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘮𝘺 𝘧𝘪𝘳𝘴𝘵 𝘭𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘢𝘨𝘦, 𝘐 𝘢𝘱𝘱𝘳𝘦𝘤𝘪𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘱𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘶𝘯𝘥𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘯𝘥𝘪𝘯𝘨.

also special mention to the creator of these dividers<33

FLUFF ANGST ko-fi

S̲̅T̲̅R̲̅A̲̅W̲̅H̲̅A̲̅T̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 GIANT DUCK INCIDENT - luffy x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Say something - strawhat x psychic!femreader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Lost Reader - strawhat x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 CLINGY MUCH? - Zoro x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Got married by Accident… Thanks, Vegapunk? - luffy x gn!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Wait… Luffy’s WHAT?! - luffy x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Double Trouble - luffy x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 What Remains - strawhats x platonic gn! reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - sanji x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 One Month With You - strawhat x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Ones Who Stayed Silent - sanji x reader | angst | O.S

R̲̅E̲̅D̲̅H̲̅A̲̅I̲̅R̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 You punched a Yonko? - red hair pirates x fem!reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Fractures in the silence - shanks x reader | light angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 CLINGY MUCH? - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Flustered Fury - beck x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬 - shanks x reader | fluff/slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - beck x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Six Months of Secrets, Five Minutes of Hell - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 One Month With You - red hair pirates x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Ones Who Stayed Silent - shanks x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Trouble Walks In, and So Do You - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Six Months of Secrets, Five Minutes of Hell - shanks x reader | fluff | O.S

W̲̅A̲̅R̲̅L̲̅O̲̅R̲̅D̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Perfect pair - mihawk x reader | fluff, v!ol3nce | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Strings in Crimson - doflamingo x reader | fluff, v!ol3nce | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 CLINGY MUCH? - mihawk x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - crocodile x reader | fluff/slight nsfw | O.S

W̲̅H̲̅I̲̅T̲̅E̲̅B̲̅E̲̅A̲̅R̲̅D̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸Sea Kings, Smart Mouths, and Stolen Hearts - whitebeard x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Clueless hearts and full plates - ace x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Where the Fire Lives - marco x oc | fluff/slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 I won't leave you - ace x sister! reader | slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Teach Tried It, I Survived It - Marco x reader | fluff/slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸Fractured Allegiance - marco x reader | slight angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Stuck on You - marco x reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 One Month With You - whitebeard pirates x reader | angst | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 The Ones Who Stayed Silent - ace x reader | angst | O.S

H̲̅E̲̅A̲̅R̲̅T̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Doctor Trafalgar, Love Expert? - law x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Confined Hearts - law x gn! reader | fluff | O.S

B̲̅I̲̅G̲̅ M̲̅O̲̅M̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Sugar & Spite - katakuri x reader | fluff | series, 3 chapters

B̲̅E̲̅A̲̅S̲̅T̲̅S̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Hot Springs, Hot Tempers - king x gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 King’s Helmet Mystery - king x gn! reader | fluff | O.S

K̲̅I̲̅D̲̅ P̲̅I̲̅R̲̅A̲̅T̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

M̲̅A̲̅R̲̅I̲̅N̲̅E̲̅S̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Clash of Fists and Hearts - young garp × gn! reader | fluff | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Smoke Break - smoker x reader | fluff/slight nsfw | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Frostbite and Witchcraft - aokiji x reader | fluff/slight nsfw | O.S ˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Captain for a Day - smoker x reader | fluff | O.S

C̲̅P̲̅9̲̅

˖°𓇼𓂃 𓈒𓏸 Secrets in Stone - CP9 x reader | fluff | O.S

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.

Hi! Hope you have a nice day. If it's okay with you, may i request something for the charming firefly, ace?

Something like ace is vv oblivious to the reader's flirting, just thinking everything just a coincidence, like their seat on the dining table are next to each other, or when he's thirsty or hungry, the reader will always have a drink or snack/food ready. While actually it's happening because of the reader and their observations.

Sorry if it's too long, thanks for your time for reading this! (Completely okay if you're not ok with writing this, i just wanna say thank you)

a/n: wahh! thiss is soo cutee! hope u like thiss ><

Clueless Hearts and Full Plates

Ace doesn’t realize the reader’s affection is behind every perfect coincidence—until one finally clicks.

Ace X gn! reader

tags: fluff, sfw, flirting, ooc, ace being oblivious

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

word count: 1.1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

It was always a coincidence.

At least, that’s what Ace thought.

Every meal, every shared moment, every little “accident” that placed you beside him was chalked up to fate, luck, or the universe just being weirdly nice to him that day.

Like this morning.

The Moby Dick rocked gently with the waves, and the crew had begun their daily scramble to the galley. Ace, still half-asleep with bedhead and one sandal barely on, made his way to the table. As usual, the crew’s chatter filled the room with the kind of loud, familial chaos only the Whitebeard Pirates could manage.

And, also as usual, the seat beside you was the only one open.

“Hey,” Ace greeted, plopping down with a yawn and no suspicion.

“Morning,” you replied, already pushing a glass of orange juice in his direction without a second thought.

He blinked. “Whoa, you read my mind. I was just thinking I was thirsty.”

You smiled. “Coincidence, I guess.”

Ace grinned, utterly unaware of how long you’d been keeping track of the way he always reached for juice in the morning, never coffee, never water. Just juice. Always.

After a minute, he added, “Also kinda hungry… I forgot to grab a roll or somethin’.”

You wordlessly slid a small plate of warm bread and butter closer to him.

He gasped, delighted. “Seriously, you’re magic! You always have just what I need!”

You bit your lip to hide the fond curve of your smile. “Lucky timing, huh?”

Lucky timing.

That’s what he called it the other day when he tripped coming down the deck stairs and nearly face-planted—only to find your hand catching him in time. It’s what he called it when he accidentally left his hat on the upper deck and you “just so happened” to come by with it a few minutes later.

You didn’t mind. Not really.

It was kind of… endearing. In an Ace-way. He wasn't cold or careless—he just genuinely didn’t see it. The thought that you might be observing him, remembering the things he liked, and subtly trying to show him how much you cared? It never even crossed his mind.

You watched as he messily buttered a piece of bread, crumbs falling on the table. He looked content, humming a tune and swinging his feet like a child in a giant’s chair. And when he caught you watching, he gave you a bright smile—one so open and warm it made your stomach flutter.

“Y’know,” he mumbled around a bite, “you’re always around. It’s kinda nice.”

“Kinda?” you teased.

He nodded, mouth still full. “Mm-hmm. Like, comfy.”

The word hit somewhere soft in your chest. He didn’t even realize he was flirting back.

Later that day, a few of the crew were setting up for poker in the corner, but you were more interested in the commotion coming from the training area. You leaned against the railing, watching Ace spar with Marco. He was shirtless, flames licking at his fingertips as he dodged and laughed, clearly having fun.

Your gaze lingered on him. How could it not? He was strong, fast, alive with every movement.

And when he collapsed on the deck in dramatic defeat—Marco having pinned him with a blue-flamed armbar—he wheezed out, “Water… I need water…”

By the time Marco released him, you were already at his side, bottle in hand.

“Holy crap,” Ace said between breaths. “You’re, like… everywhere.”

“I told you,” you said casually, helping him sit up. “Lucky timing.”

He chuckled, leaning back on his palms and chugging half the bottle. “At this point, I’m starting to think you’re my guardian angel or something.”

You raised a brow. “You think your guardian angel would watch you get elbowed into the deck before offering water?”

Ace grinned. “Gotta build character, right?”

You rolled your eyes, but your chest was warm with something fond and frustrating. How could he be so oblivious?

The truth was, you noticed everything about him. The way he only got grumpy when he was too hot or too tired. How he always tried to hide his hiccups when he laughed too hard. How he made sure the youngest crewmates never felt left out during meals, even if it meant giving them the last piece of meat on his plate.

You didn’t just like him. You admired him.

So yeah, maybe you rearranged your seat every meal to end up next to him. Maybe you kept his favorite snacks in your jacket pockets during long shifts. Maybe you started carrying an extra bottle of water—just in case a certain fire fist decided to exhaust himself in a sparring match.

He never asked. You just… wanted to.

And he just… didn’t notice.

It wasn’t until one particular night, under the stars, that things finally shifted.

You were both sitting on the edge of the deck, feet dangling above the sea. Most of the crew was asleep or out of sight. Ace had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders, and you handed him a second one without saying a word.

“Man, it’s like you read my mind,” he said for the hundredth time.

You sighed softly. “Maybe your mind is just easy to read.”

He looked at you, puzzled. “Huh?”

You gave a small, nervous smile. “I mean… I always seem to know what you need, right? I guess I just pay attention.”

There was a pause. The kind of pause where your heart beats a little faster, wondering if maybe, finally, he might catch on.

Ace blinked. “Oh. So you’ve got like, observation haki or something?”

You stared at him.

Deadpan.

“…Yeah. Sure. Let’s call it that.”

He beamed. “That’s so cool!”

You dropped your face into your hands.

But then—something changed in his tone.

“…Wait.”

You peeked up through your fingers.

Ace’s smile was still there, but it was… slower. Thoughtful. You could practically see the gears turning in his head. Every juice, every meal, every seat, every snack.

And then, like someone lit a match under his brain, realization bloomed across his face.

“…Wait.”

You watched the faintest red spread over his cheeks. He sat straighter. “Are you—? Have you been—? This whole time—?”

You tilted your head, lips twitching. “You’re cute when you put the puzzle together.”

He gawked. “So it wasn’t just coincidences?!”

You snorted. “Ace, I’ve been flirting with you for weeks.”

He opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.

And then he laughed. It was loud, a little embarrassed, but full of warmth.

“I’m such an idiot.”

“A lovable idiot,” you corrected, nudging his shoulder.

“…So does this mean,” he said slowly, “you like me? Like, like like?”

You raised a brow. “Only if you like me back.”

He leaned in, pressing his forehead gently to yours with a shy, crooked grin. “Well, now that I know… I’m definitely gonna start paying attention.”

You chuckled, nudging the bottle of water into his hand again. “Start with drinking water. Then we’ll work our way up to romance.”

Ace laughed, and this time, he didn’t call it luck.

Hello, hello, hello, beautiful, gorgeous, divine

I love your story Marco nooo I love all your stories you are fantastic

I love you, please beg for something. Can you create a Marco the Phoenix story for y/n? Where y/n saves Thatch's life by stopping Teach's attack? Thatch was injured, but not seriously, losing the yami yami nomi. However, y/n was seriously injured protecting her nakama. Marco and Ace, his brother, are very worried. More so Marco 😏 Since the young woman wasn't waking up, When she regained consciousness, she played a joke on Marco for being so worried, Pretending not to recognize them 🤣 Later, Y/n spoke to Whitebeard, discussing the traitor and how dangerous he would become in the future. When she returned to Marco, she lay down next to him, thanking him for taking care of her all that time, and that even though she couldn't answer him, she always heard him calling her. Please, I implore you.

lmaoao this is funny i like it! dahaha u can support me through ko-fi, but please know that tips are never expected but always deeply appreciated! also I hope this is to ur liking!

Teach Tried It, I Survived It

After stopping Teach’s betrayal and nearly dying, you wake up in Marco’s arms—and decide that pranking him with fake amnesia is exactly what he deserves before finally falling into the comfort of home and love.

Marco the phoenix x reader tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, bl00d/v!olence, happy ending, betrayal, 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: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The sun blazed high over the open sea, casting golden light across the deck of the Moby Dick. The battle was well underway — a scrappy band of pirates had made the monumental mistake of challenging the Whitebeard Pirates. Bad for them. Good for everyone else who needed a bit of exercise.

You ducked under a wild swing from some random enemy pirate, spun on your heel, and delivered a solid punch to his gut. He crumpled with a satisfying oof.

"Oi! Y/N!" Thatch shouted from a few feet away, grinning like a maniac, a strange fruit in his hand. "Check this out!"

You sliced another pirate across the side with your blade (nothing fatal, you were feeling merciful today) and jogged over.

"What did you find this time?" you asked, breathing hard, a spark of excitement lighting your eyes.

Ace clambered over a fallen mast to join you. "Yo, Thatch, whatcha got?"

Thatch held the thing out like it was a newborn kitten. The fruit was round and black with swirling violet patterns, almost like the night sky had been trapped inside it.

"I found something interesting," he said proudly.

Ace squinted. "Ohhh... is that a Devil Fruit?"

You leaned closer. "Looks like one. Wonder what it does."

Behind you, a presence stiffened. You glanced over your shoulder.

Teach — good ol' big, laughing Teach — was standing there, his usual grin stretched way too tight. His forehead was shiny with sweat despite the easy fight. When he noticed you looking, he barked out a laugh that didn’t reach his eyes.

"Heh! Devil Fruit, huh? Zehahaha! Who knows? Maybe it's a lame one, like making your farts turn into explosions!"

Ace snorted. "Wouldn't put it past the sea."

You shook your head, laughing, not noticing the way Teach’s hands clenched at his sides.

That night, the Moby Dick was peaceful. The waves lapped lazily against the hull. Most of the crew was sprawled across the deck or below, snoring, laughing, or drinking.

You had just curled up in your hammock when a strange noise cut through the stillness.

Scuffle.

You bolted upright, instincts screaming. Without a second thought, you grabbed your weapon and padded silently toward the sound.

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

There, in the dim lantern light, was Teach — stabbing Thatch through the side.

"Teach?!" you gasped.

Thatch grunted, struggling, but Teach was too strong. His eyes were wild, desperate, like a man possessed.

Without hesitation, you leapt into action.

"THAT'S ENOUGH! TEACH! HOW DARE YOU!?" you roared, slamming into Teach with everything you had.

The two of you crashed into the deck. Your blade flashed; Teach snarled and swung a fist, and you met it with a grimace, blocking the worst of the blow. It was chaos — wood splintered under your feet as you battled, the sounds waking a few of the closer crewmates.

But Teach was slippery. He was fighting like a man who had nothing left to lose, and with one last shove, he pushed you back, making you stumble.

Your foot caught the edge of a broken beam, and before you could react, Teach's fist landed squarely on the side of your head. The world spun instantly, your vision going blurry as the impact sent you crashing to the ground.

“Y/N!” Thatch cried weakly from where he was still slumped, blood dripping from his side.

You blinked hard, trying to regain your senses. A searing pain throbbed in your head, and the edges of your vision blurred even further. You could barely hear anything over the ringing in your ears as your body felt like it was on fire.

Just as you tried to push yourself up, Teach took his chance, grabbing the mysterious fruit from Thatch’s weakening grip. His sinister laugh filled the night air as he turned and bolted into the shadows, vanishing before anyone could stop him.

You couldn’t chase him.

Your body was failing you.

With a grunt, you collapsed to the floor, dizziness consuming you. Your world tilted, everything spinning as blood pooled beneath you. The last thing you heard was the frantic sound of footsteps.

.

.

When you cracked your eyes open, it was to the blinding white of the infirmary ceiling. Everything hurts, your head hurts.

The room was filled with silence, save for the steady beeping of the heart monitor beside the bed. Marco sat slumped forward, elbows on his knees, head bowed in exhausted vigilance. He hadn’t left your side in days — barely eating, barely sleeping. Even Ace, who was normally a ball of chaotic energy, was quieter than a graveyard at midnight, sitting against the wall and anxiously tossing a small ball between his hands.

Then, finally, the miracle happened.

You groaned.

Marco was upright so fast he nearly knocked over the chair. "Y/N?!"

Your eyes fluttered open, squinting against the light. Slowly, you turned your head, taking in the sight of Marco — disheveled, wide-eyed, hopeful — and Ace, who had shot to his feet, mouth hanging open in disbelief.

You blinked a few times. A mischievous thought bubbled up. You couldn't resist. Then you tilted your head in confusion.

"...Who are you?" you rasped, your voice hoarse from disuse.

The world froze.

Marco actually stumbled back a step, his mouth parting in horror. "W-What?"

Ace dropped the ball he'd been tossing — it hit the floor with a pathetic little bounce. "No way," he muttered, eyes wide as saucers.

You frowned, genuine confusion painted across your features. "Where am I? What happened? Are you... my doctors?"

Marco choked on air. "Doctors?! w-well, I am! but..." His voice cracked, his wings briefly puffing out in shock. "Y/N—it's me! It's Marco-yoi!"

You gave him a pitying, bewildered look, like he was some delusional lunatic. "I'm sorry, I... I don't know any 'Marco.'"

Ace ran a hand down his face, whispering to himself, "Oh my god, oh my god, Pops is gonna kill us."

Marco dropped to his knees by the bed, panic etched into every sharp line of his face. "Y/N, please, listen! It's me! You—you always called me 'birdbrain'! Remember? And Ace—he's the loud one! You always yell at him!-yoi"

You gave a tiny, skeptical squint at Ace. "He does look like he yells a lot," you mumbled thoughtfully.

Ace put a hand over his heart, wounded. "Hey!"

"Y/N..." Marco reached for your hand, his own trembling. "Please tell me you're joking."

You pulled your hand away, shrinking back against the pillows dramatically. "S-sir!, I don't even know you! Why are you touching me?!"

Ace looked between you and Marco, starting to sweat buckets. "She really doesn't remember us?! Oh my god—I'm not ready to raise someone! I can barely keep my plants alive!"

Marco paled. "Ace, this isn't about raising—"

"We'll have to teach her everything again!" Ace wailed. "How to walk! How to talk! Oh no—do you even remember how to eat?"

You blinked at him, deadpan. "I don't know... can you show me?"

Ace immediately picked up a banana from a nearby fruit basket and started dramatically demonstrating how to eat it, like some crazed tutorial video.

"First you PEEL it," he said loudly, yanking the peel down and waving it in your face. "Then you put the FOOD PART in your MOUTH—"

"Enough!" Marco barked, his voice cracking with desperation.

He turned back to you, gripping the edge of the mattress. His eyes were so blue and so full of heartbreak that you nearly cracked right there.

"Y/N..." he whispered, voice raw. "Even if you don't remember me... I'll stay with you. I'll protect you until you remember. I swear it."

Your throat tightened.

You stared at him for a long, tense moment.

Then you cracked a wicked smile.

"...Dumbass," you wheezed, voice croaky but full of teasing mischief. "Of course I remember you, pineapple head!"

The silence was so thick you could hear a pin drop.

Ace's banana hit the floor.

Marco stared at you, eyes wide, processing... and then, "WHAT?!"

You burst into a fit of raspy laughter, clutching your sides painfully. "Oh my god, the LOOK on your face—!" you cackled, tears forming at the corners of your eyes.

"You little—!" Marco sputtered, half lunging at you and half hugging you at the same time.

"You should've seen yourselves!" you wheezed. "Ace was about to teach me how to chew!"

Ace pointed an accusing finger at you. "You gave me a heart attack, Y/N! I was ready to start teaching you object permanence!"

Marco collapsed onto the side of the bed, groaning into your blanket. "I can't believe you did that-yoi. I was ready to—!" His voice broke again.

You smiled softer now, reaching out and brushing his messy blond hair back from his face. "I'm sorry, Marco... couldn't resist. You were just too easy."

He lifted his head, cheeks flushed slightly, a trembling smile forming. "You're the worst," he said hoarsely, voice thick with relief.

"And you love me for it," you teased.

"...Yeah," he whispered back, no hesitation at all.

You blinked.

Your heart fluttered.

Ace, oblivious as usual, was still dramatically re-enacting how he was going to "re-educate" you with flashcards and alphabet songs in the background. You and Marco stared at each other, soft and quiet amidst the chaos, and for a moment, the world was right again.

You were safe. You were alive. You were home.

.

.

Later, once the fuss had died down (and Ace had finally been dragged off to sleep), you found yourself summoned to Whitebeard’s quarters.

The old man sat on his throne-like chair, the steady pulse of his IV a soft, constant background noise.

"You fought well, little one," Whitebeard said, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. His gaze was heavy, serious. "But you were lucky."

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully.

"Teach..." you began.

Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed.

"He was after that fruit," you said grimly. "It wasn’t random. He knew what it was. And if he went so far as to attack Thatch, his own crewmate..." You shook your head. "He's dangerous. More dangerous than we realized."

Whitebeard grunted, the sound low and displeased.

"A traitor among my sons," he murmured, anger flashing in his gaze. "We will hunt him down."

You hesitated. "He has the Yami Yami no Mi now. I don't know much about it, but I saw enough. That fruit... it's not normal. His power—"

"—Will be immense," Whitebeard finished.

You nodded grimly.

There was a long silence.

"You did well protecting your brother," Whitebeard said at last, his expression softening. "Rest now. Heal. We have a long road ahead."

You bowed again and left, heart heavy but determined.

When you returned to the infirmary, Marco was there, perched like a golden phoenix on the edge of the bed.

He looked up, immediately easing when he saw you.

"Hey, yoi," he said softly.

You didn’t say anything. Instead, you limped over and, without asking, slid onto the bed beside him.

Marco froze, startled — and then melted, wrapping an arm carefully around your shoulders so you didn’t jostle your injuries.

For a while, you just lay there, breathing together.

Finally, you spoke, voice quiet against his chest.

"Thank you."

He tilted his head down, puzzled. "For what-yoi?"

"For staying," you murmured. "For talking to me even when I couldn’t answer. For calling me back."

Marco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"You heard me?" he whispered.

"Every word," you said, smiling faintly. "Even when I was somewhere dark... you were there."

Marco closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

"You scared me so bad," he whispered, voice raw. "I thought I'd lost you-yoi"

"You didn’t," you promised.

He kissed your forehead, the gentlest brush of lips, barely a touch.

"I’m not going anywhere," you said.

Marco smiled — a real one, full of love and hope and lingering fear.

"Good," he said, pulling you closer. "Because I’m not letting you out of my sight-yoi."

You chuckled softly, your heart full despite the pain.

"Guess you're stuck with me," you teased.

"Wouldn’t have it any other way," Marco said against your hair.

And for the first time since everything had gone to hell, you felt truly safe.

requests are off for now

hi guys! just letting you know that, requests are not gonna be available for maybe a week(?) tho im not completely sure about the exact days. as for the reason, my exam is coming up and i need to study n such. but i will keep posting some of my drafts. also, i apologize for the people who already submitted a request. im afraid that its going to be postponed for a while, but don't worry it wont take that long, ill make sure to post it maybe in 2-3 days. and actually im brainstorming a one piece x modern reader (harem) series too, and im still contemplating whether i do it or no, coz i lose interest quickly. that's all! i hope you have a nice day! thank you for ur understanding!

I love shanks so much😭😭

Are you able to write a story where reader is a captain of another crew? Their crew isn’t super famous but aren’t weak either. Their crew is staying at some island and a tavern there when the Red-Haired pirates show up and think that they might try to fight, but reader dgaf and decides to flirt with shanks and stuff. Don’t know if your readers are Gn or female, but could the reader be described as “as beautiful as the ocean” please? I thought that would be cute!

Thank you!

🌊

thats interesting! its not much but hope u like this~~

Trouble Walks In, and So Do You

shanks x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, ocs, flirting, chaotic crews

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: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The tavern on Bellmouth Island had never known peace.

It was tucked into the port side of the island like a cozy scar—weathered, stubborn, and full of bad decisions marinated in rum. But even Bellmouth’s most seasoned barkeep hadn’t seen anything quite like The Siren’s Fang crew.

“Hey, Cap! Tall guy passed out again!” barked Kiji, the squad’s medic, gesturing to a pile of limbs slumped over a barstool.

“Is he breathing this time?” you asked lazily, twirling a glass of rum in your hand. You sat at the tavern’s center table, leg slung over the arm of your chair, adorned in sleek leather and gold-trimmed cloth, eyes half-lidded with amusement.

“Barely,” muttered Azel, your cook-slash-unofficial-grim-reaper, poking the unconscious man with a ladle. “He mistook my hot sauce for syrup. Natural selection.”

“His fault,” you sighed.

You were Captain [Y/N], the woman many whispered about as beautiful as the ocean—mysterious, wild, and just as likely to drown you as smile at you. The Siren’s Fang wasn’t a household name like the Straw Hats or the Emperors, but in the Grand Line’s undercurrent, your reputation had teeth. Rumors swirled of your crew taking down a fleet from Big Mom’s remnants and sinking a marine battleship like it was a toy boat in a bathtub.

Still, fame didn’t interest you. Fun did.

And Bellmouth was fun—cheap booze, rowdy locals, and just enough lawlessness to feel like home.

That was until the door slammed open.

Wind howled through the tavern. Bottles rattled. Even the drunks perked up.

The Red-Haired Pirates had arrived.

You didn’t need to look. You felt it. That magnetic, crackling air of too-powerful people walking into a space too small to contain them.

Shanks led the way, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other resting on his hip as he scanned the tavern with lazy mirth. His crew spilled in behind him—Benn Beckman, Lucky Roux, Yasopp, the works.

Ten seconds passed. Then—

“Welp. Guess we’re fighting,” muttered Neri, your tactician, flipping her dagger.

“Can’t we go one week without a legendary crew showing up?” grumbled Hyun, your shipwright, who’d just managed to tape a window back together.

“Don't break my chairs,” called the barkeep, already ducking behind the bar.

You, meanwhile, took a sip of rum.

And then, slowly, gracefully, rose to your feet.

"Are we fighting?" asked Benn, eyes narrowing slightly.

Shanks tilted his head in your direction, gaze locking onto yours.

You didn’t draw your sword.

You smiled.

“No,” you said, voice like velvet. “But I do have something else in mind.”

The room collectively blinked.

You strolled toward them with the ease of a queen and the chaos of a siren in full swing. “You must be Red-Haired Shanks,” you purred, eyes scanning him with undisguised appreciation. “You're taller than I expected. That’s... hot.”

A pause.

Then—someone from your crew let out a wheeze of disbelief. Probably Toma. He’d bet two crates of rum you’d deck Shanks on sight.

Shanks arched a brow, lips twitching. “Not the usual greeting I get from a rival pirate captain.”

“I’m not your rival,” you said, stopping only a breath away from him. You craned your head up, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Unless you want me to be. Enemies to lovers? That your thing?”

Lucky Roux choked on his drink.

Shanks actually laughed, the rich, boisterous sound of someone genuinely caught off guard.

“Captain,” Benn said dryly, “I think we’re being hit on.”

“DAHAHA I know, right?” Shanks grinned. “This is way more fun than usual.”

Your crew was now in a full-on state of stunned chaos.

“I—she just flirted with a Yonko. Casually. Like she was ordering a drink,” Kiji mumbled.

“She’s going to get us killed,” muttered Neri.

“No,” corrected Hyun, “she’s going to get laid.”

“Pfft—HA!”

Meanwhile, Shanks tilted his head. “So what’s your name, Ocean Eyes?”

You gave him your full title, adding, “Captain of The Siren’s Fang. And yes, I live up to the name.”

“Mm.” He leaned in just slightly. “Should I be worried you’re trying to lure me onto the rocks?”

“I’m trying to lure you onto something, that’s for sure.”

Yasopp nearly fell off his stool.

Benn facepalmed. Lucky Roux laughed so hard he snorted beer through his nose.

“Join us for a drink?” you offered innocently. “Or are you too scared I’ll make you fall in love with me?”

Shanks held your gaze for one beat. Two. Then smiled.

“I’ve done dumber things.”

And just like that, the Red-Haired Pirates sat down with the Siren’s Fang.

Tension left the room like steam off hot rum. Chairs screeched. Drinks clinked. Somewhere, your sniper was trying to discreetly message your ship’s chronicler: CAPTAIN IS FLIRTING WITH SHANKS, SEND HELP.

“...And then the marine tries to arrest me, right? While I’m naked. In the bath!” Shanks crowed, halfway through a bottle of rum, hair falling into his eyes.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, clutching your side. “Please tell me you fought him like that.”

“I slipped! Broke his nose falling out of the tub!”

You and your crew howled.

A few tables down, Benn and Neri were having a quiet intellectual standoff that involved a lot of maps and dry sarcasm. Yasopp and Hyun were arguing over gun specs. Toma was getting arm-wrestled into oblivion by Lucky Roux. It was, in short, a tavern apocalypse.

“You’re fun,” Shanks murmured, voice low, only for you.

You tilted your head. “You expected me to be scary.”

“I expected you to swing first and ask questions never.”

“Ah. That’s just on Wednesdays.”

He chuckled. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like that,” you teased.

“I do,” he admitted. “But be honest. Is this all just to distract me while your crew steals our booze?”

You sipped your drink with a wink. “What do you think?”

From across the room, a yell: “WE’VE TAKEN THE BEER STORAGE!”

“DAMN IT, KOKO!”

Shanks stared.

You said nothing.

He grinned. “Marry me?”

“Buy me a boat first.”

“You already have a ship.”

“Yeah, but I want a red one.”

As the night wore on, chaos bloomed into something almost tender. The two crews, pirates feared across the seas, were now doing karaoke with a broken lute and a guy named Phil.

You leaned against the tavern doorway, watching the madness. The moonlight brushed your skin like seafoam, your hair tousled by the salt-laced wind.

Shanks joined you silently.

“You’re really not what I expected,” he said.

“Disappointed?”

He shook his head. “Enchanted.”

You turned your head to him, eyes soft now. “You’re pretty smooth for a pirate.”

“I’m usually drunker.”

You laughed, then reached up, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “You know, Red, if I weren’t a captain…”

“Yeah?”

“I’d ask you to run away with me.”

He caught your wrist gently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“If I weren’t a Yonko,” he murmured, “I’d say yes.”

For a moment, it felt like the sea held its breath.

Then someone inside yelled, “THE CAPTAIN AND SHANKS ARE MAKING EYES AT EACH OTHER AGAIN!”

“TAKE PICTURES!”

“START THE WEDDING SONG!”

You and Shanks groaned in unison.

“Back to the madness?” he offered.

“Only if you dance with me.”

“Deal.”

And so the two of you dove back into the tavern storm, laughing, flirting, half-dancing, half-sparring with words, like the sea and sky in a constant, chaotic waltz.

No declarations. No promises.

Just two captains in the eye of a storm they both enjoyed far too much.

Perfect pair

Y/n lands on the forsaken island of Kuraigana, crossing paths with the world’s greatest swordsman, Dracule Mihawk.

PART 1 OF READER WHO CAN USE THE INFINITY STONES

dracule mihawk x reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: mihawk

tags: fluff, sfw, soft, lots of 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: 968

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Kuraigana Island was a corpse of a land.

Fog hung like a wet cloth. Gnarled trees clawed at a grey sky. Castles lay in ruin. Crows perched on broken battlements, staring like tiny, judgmental gods. The humandrills lurked in the shadows, half-watching, half-measuring you with the unsettling intelligence of creatures that knew too much and bowed to nothing.

You arrived with no fanfare — a split in space, a ripple in air, and there you stood.

The swordsman was already waiting.

Golden eyes sharp as his blade, Dracule Mihawk took you in without surprise. Just a flick of his gaze, the briefest narrowing of lids.

“You’re not from here.”

“...”

A beat. Then a faint smirk.

“State your business.”

You glanced around. The entire island radiated don’t bother, but you liked the silence.

“Needed a place to land.”

Mihawk regarded you a moment longer, then turned away.

“Don’t get in my way.”

You didn’t answer. You never did.

There he stood, placing the wine aside. Up close, he was taller than you expected, broad-shouldered and impossibly composed, moving like liquid death. The sort of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.

“I don’t know where you came from,” he said, approaching with unhurried grace, “but I can tell you this island is no place for a traveler. It devours the weak.”

“I’m not weak.”

Something in his eyes sharpened. “Prove it.”

A sword materialized in his hand—a black-bladed cross almost as tall as you were.

You didn’t blink.

He smirked, and in a blur of movement, brought the blade down.

You raised a hand.

The world stuttered. Time hiccupped.

His strike slowed to a crawl, the blade inches from your face.

“Cute,” you murmured, tilting your head. You could feel the hum of cosmic power rising within you.

With a flick of your wrist, you stepped out of sync with the moment. Time resumed, his blade cleaving harmlessly through empty air.

You were leaning against a column now.

“Done?” you asked, voice flat.

Mihawk turned, eye narrowing. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.

“Well, Aren’t you interesting.”

Days bled together.

Mihawk didn’t ask you to leave, and you didn’t offer. He trained in the ruins. You wandered. A routine of unspoken tolerance.

Occasionally, the hum of his blade slicing the mist would pause as you flexed space to pluck fruit from high branches, reversed time to catch a falling stone before it shattered, or made entire sections of the crumbling wall rebuild themselves just for fun.

Once, a particularly bold baboon lunged at you. Mihawk turned just in time to see it dissolve into stardust.

You held its still-beating heart in your palm for a moment, then let it fall.

The humandrills kept their distance after that.

He said nothing, but his eyes followed you longer after that.

He asked about your powers one evening, rare curiosity threading his tone.

You sat by a fire you didn’t need, lazily manipulating the flame into twisting shapes.

“Are you a god?”

You considered it. “Complicated.”

He hummed. “Good. I hate gods.”

The corner of your mouth twitched. “Noted.”

Tension hung between you like fine wire. Neither speaking it. Neither breaking it.

When pirates landed, drunk on courage and legends of Mihawk’s title, you watched from a stone wall.

Twenty men.

They charged.

Mihawk moved like death made flesh, blade a dark glimmer. He cut through them like wind through leaves.

One survivor crawled toward you, gasping, reaching.

You tilted your head.

The man froze. His body peeled apart into strings of light, unraveling like an old tapestry.

Mihawk watched, bloodied and silent.

You met his gaze. “Messy work.”

He smirked. “Efficient.”

Weeks later, a storm hit.

Lightning split the sky. Waves devoured the shore.

A galleon, unfamiliar flag, shattered against the cliffs.

Mihawk and you stood at the shore. Bodies in the water. Survivors clinging to wreckage.

“Yours?” you asked.

He shook his head.

A captain, foolish and loud, cursed and called Mihawk out by name.

Mihawk’s blade lifted — but you stepped past him.

A simple gesture. A ripple in reality.

The ocean bent, swallowing the survivors. The ship’s remains vanished, leaving only empty, perfect water.

Silence.

“You stole my kill,” Mihawk said.

You shrugged. “They bored me.”

He stared at you a long moment, then laughed. Low, rare.

“Stay,” he said.

You did.

Because for once, you weren’t bored.

One dusky evening, Mihawk invited you on a hunt.

“A nuisance on a nearby island,” he said. “A former Warlord pretending to hold dominion.”

You quirked a brow. “And you need me?”

“I don’t need anyone,” he replied smoothly. “But you might amuse me.”

You smirked and stepped through a portal, Mihawk following.

The island was a lush jungle, overrun with hostile fauna and even more hostile men.

They expected Mihawk. They didn’t expect you.

One tried to cleave your head from behind.

You stopped time.

Walked around the frozen scene, plucking the man’s weapon away, rewinding his attempted strike into a trip and face-first fall into mud.

When time resumed, Mihawk didn’t flinch, but you caught the slight twitch of his lip.

“You enjoy showing off.”

“I enjoy being alive.”

You flicked a finger. Space warped around a group of enemies, their bodies crushed into a single, compacted orb of air before disappearing.

Mihawk cut down the rest, his precise strikes a sharp contrast to your cosmic chaos.

Afterward, the island was silent save for the wind and the cawing of carrion birds.

Mihawk sheathed his sword.

“You might be dangerous company.”

“You might be boring,” you countered.

Another smirk. “Then we’ll keep testing that.”

You stepped back into Kuraigana’s misty air together.

The humandrills stared harder than usual.

And you, for the first time in centuries, considered the notion of staying.

Smoke Break

A collection of fiery, smoky encounters where passion burns as hot as the cigars and blunts exchanged between you and some of the world’s most dangerous daddies i mean men — every kiss laced with smoke, heat, and unspoken desire.

Benn beckman x reader x sanji x smoker x crocodile | ONE SHOT

Tags: fluff, flirty, smok!ng, w3ed mentions, blvnt smok!ng, cigarette smok!n, mouth-to-mouth sm0ke sharing, minor spit description, light nsfw tension

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

word count: 3.3k

MINORS DNI!!

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Is it hot in here or is it just me?

I'm so high in here, been smokin' on this weed

Only drug a bitch is on is the tree

But I lasted ten rounds like a freak

Like a G

Benn Beckman

The deck still stank of gunpowder and sea salt by the time you slumped onto the steps leading up to the helm, boots heavy with exhaustion. Your knuckles throbbed from the earlier brawl with some no-name pirate crew dumb enough to pick a fight with the Red Hair Pirates. You won, obviously—but victory didn’t erase the tight coil of stress still buzzing under your skin.

You dragged your hood up over your head, shielding your face from the low sun. Hands steady, you pulled out a battered little tin from your pocket, the familiar ritual already soothing your frayed nerves. You broke down the nug slowly, fingers working with careful, practiced motions. You barely even registered the distant sound of boots approaching.

Benn Beckman stopped a few feet away, cigarette halfway to his lips, brows lifting slightly at the sight of you hunched over the tray.

He leaned against the rail, arms crossed.

"Rough day?" he drawled.

You didn’t look up right away, just finished rolling your blunt with a lazy flick of your thumb. When you finally glanced his way, your gaze was cool, detached—like you were sizing him up and decided he wasn’t worth worrying about.

"Nothing a smoke can't fix," you muttered, voice low and even.

Benn whistled low under his breath, impressed.

"Didn't think you were the type to roll your own medicine."

You snorted, lighting the blunt with a snap of your lighter.

"Cigs are for rookies," you said, plucking the cigarette from his fingers without asking. You tucked the blunt between his lips instead, your touch casual, intimate.

Benn played along, inhaling deep. His eyes hooded slightly as the taste hit him—stronger, sweeter than he expected.

"Holy shit," he coughed out, laughing.

You took the blunt back from him with two fingers, tapping it lightly against the railing.

"Too much for you, old man?" you teased, the faintest smirk curling at the edges of your mouth.

He chuckled, a low, rich sound that vibrated in his chest.

"Old enough to know better. Dumb enough not to care."

You offered the blunt again—not by hand this time, but by leaning in, smoke trailing from your lips in a lazy, tantalizing swirl. Benn caught on quick, closing the small distance between you. His mouth brushed yours just enough to catch the exhale directly, smoke passing from your tongue to his.

The heat flared instantly.

Before you could pull back, he tilted his head slightly, deepening it into a kiss—slow, languid, tasting of smoke and adrenaline. His hand found your jaw, rough thumb grazing your cheekbone with a kind of reverence that didn’t match how fucking cocky he was about it.

When you finally parted, a thin, silver thread of spit clung stubbornly between your tongues until it snapped, leaving a hot smear of want in its wake.

You sat back, lazily dragging the blunt between your lips again. Your expression barely shifted—still that same unreadable cool—but your hooded eyes glittered with something dangerous, something alive.

Benn wiped the back of his hand across his mouth, grinning like he just won the biggest prize in the world.

"You always this generous after a fight?" he asked, voice low and rough.

You exhaled slow, letting the smoke roll between you both like a secret.

"Depends who's asking."

Benn’s grin widened, cigarette long forgotten at his side.

"Good," he said, leaning in close enough that you could smell the faint whiskey on his breath.

"'Cause I’m not planning on being just a one-time habit."

Sanji

The galley was quiet at night, all the chaos of the day gone still. It was your favorite time—when the ship seemed to breathe slow and easy, and nobody was around to bother you.

You sat perched on the counter, blunt half-rolled between your fingers, working fast but precise. You glanced around — no way in hell you could borrow a lighter from anyone without exposing your little habit.

Of course you didn’t bring yours. Of course.

You sighed through your nose and hopped down from the counter, moving toward the stovetop. You twisted the burner’s dial, letting a tall flame lick up from the gas, the soft click click whoosh breaking the silence.

You leaned into the flame, lighting the tip of your blunt directly against it, shielding it with one hand like an old habit.

That’s when you heard a low whistle behind you.

"You know," Sanji’s voice drawled from the doorway, lazy and amused, "most people come to the kitchen for food. Not... that."

You turned slightly, the blunt between your lips, glowing softly as you took your first pull. You held his gaze through the smoke, your expression unreadable, unbothered.

"Guess I’m not most people," you said coolly, exhaling a slow, thick ribbon of smoke into the low light.

Sanji didn’t flinch. Didn't fawn.

Instead, he grinned, a slow, dangerous curve of his mouth as he stepped into the kitchen, cigarette tucked behind his ear, hands sliding easily into his pockets.

"You could've just asked for a light," he teased, voice like silk and heat. "I would've given it to you. Anything you want."

You shrugged one shoulder, casual.

"Not exactly advertising my hobbies."

Sanji stopped a few feet away, head tilting just slightly, studying you. You could feel the weight of his gaze — not heavy, not invasive — just... there, like a hand trailing just over your skin without touching.

"You're full of surprises," he murmured, voice dipping lower.

You took another hit, slow and deliberate, letting the thick taste settle on your tongue. As you exhaled, Sanji moved closer, crossing into your space so naturally it felt like gravity.

"Mind if I...?" he asked, eyes dropping to the blunt between your fingers.

You raised an eyebrow but didn’t answer with words. Instead, you leaned forward slightly, parting your lips just enough to offer the smoke right to him.

Sanji caught the game instantly.

He plucked the cigarette from behind his ear and set it on the counter. Then he leaned in, mouth brushing dangerously close to yours—not kissing, not yet—and drew the smoke straight from your mouth with a slow, deep inhale.

His hand came up to cradle the back of your neck, thumb brushing the warm skin behind your ear.

When he exhaled, it was right against your lips, warm and intoxicating.

The space between you crackled.

You barely had time to process before he closed the gap completely, his mouth pressing to yours in a kiss that was all slow burn, all slow claiming. His grip tightened just a little, guiding you against the counter behind you without force—just the kind of confident pressure that made your stomach flip.

You kissed him back, matching his heat with your own, the taste of smoke and fire mixing between your tongues. When you finally parted, a thin, sticky thread of spit clung between you, snapping when you tilted your head back, breathless but still wearing that same cool smirk.

Sanji stayed close, his forehead brushing against yours, his fingers still tangled loosely in your hair.

"You," he said, voice low and warm, "are way too dangerous to be left alone in my kitchen."

You chuckled, flicking ash into the sink.

"Then don’t leave," you said, voice lazy, teasing.

Sanji smiled against your cheek, teeth just grazing your skin as he whispered,

"Wasn't planning to."

And from the way his hand slid down to your hip, you knew he meant it.

Smoker

The port was busy, noisy, and reeking of salt and sweat.

Perfect place to disappear for a while.

You slipped between two battered brick buildings, finding a patch of shade away from the main street. No patrols, no Marines. Just the low hum of the sea and the sharp scratch of your lighter as you tried, once, twice — and cursed under your breath.

Dead. Perfect.

You rolled the unlit blunt between your fingers, considering your options. Borrowing a lighter wasn’t on the table — too many judging eyes. Especially for someone like you, already treading too close to the Navy's leash.

"Problem?"

The deep, rough voice made you freeze. A shadow stretched into the alley. You didn’t even have to look up to know who it was.

Vice-Admiral Smoker stepped into view, coat draped over his broad shoulders, two cigars clamped between his teeth, smoke curling around his head like a storm cloud.

You gave him a flat look, the blunt dangling lazily from your lips.

"No lighter," you said simply.

Smoker snorted, amused in that dry, almost imperceptible way of his. He pulled one cigar free and tucked it into his coat, flicking his silver lighter open with a smooth motion.

He lit his remaining cigar, took a deep drag — and then, without saying a word, held the lighter out to you.

You raised an eyebrow but leaned forward, cupping a hand around the flame as you lit the blunt, your face close enough to his chest that you could smell the faint scent of smoke, leather, and something warmer underneath.

You inhaled slow, savoring the first pull, then leaned back against the rough brick wall with a sigh.

"Didn't peg you for the sharing type," you said, smoke curling from your mouth.

Smoker grunted, replacing the cigar between his lips.

"Don't make me regret it," he said, but there was no real bite in his voice.

For a moment, you just stood there, passing slow, lazy pulls between you. The world outside the alley blurred into meaningless noise.

Then, bold from the buzz creeping in your veins, you leaned forward again—holding the blunt between your fingers—and offered the smoke directly to him, a silent challenge.

Smoker’s gaze sharpened slightly, amused. He plucked the cigar from his mouth and stepped into your space, his broad chest almost brushing yours.

Without hesitation, he caught the smoke straight from your lips, leaning in so close you could feel the heat of him — and then, instead of pulling back, he kissed you.

It was rough at first, full of the same heat and tension that always seemed to spark between you. His hand came up to cradle your jaw, fingers pressing firmly as he tilted your head back just slightly.

You opened for him without thinking, the kiss deepening into something slower, hotter — tongues brushing, breath hitching between you. His mouth tasted of smoke and salt and something that was just him.

The world outside the alley dissolved entirely.

When he finally pulled back, it wasn’t messy — just breathless, lingering. His forehead rested against yours, both of you catching your breath in the haze of smoke curling between you.

"You," he muttered, voice low and thick, "are nothing but bad news."

You smirked against his lips, your hands still fisted loosely in the fabric of his coat.

"Good thing you’re terrible at saying no," you murmured.

Smoker let out a rough, half-laugh, half-growl, and kissed you again—deeper, slower, like he had no plans to stop this time.

And honestly, neither did you.

You barely had time to settle into the heat of Smoker’s mouth again, the slow grind of his body pressing yours back against the brick wall, when—

"S-smoker-san?!"

The sharp voice cracked through the alley like a gunshot.

Both of you froze.

Smoker broke the kiss with a low, almost feral growl under his breath, his hand still curled possessively around your waist.

You cracked one eye open lazily, barely lifting your head from Smoker’s shoulder to glance toward the entrance of the alley.

Tashigi stood there, sword awkwardly bumping against her hip, her entire face rapidly turning the color of a boiled lobster.

"I— I— I was looking for you to discuss patrol routes— but I can—! I can come back later!" she sputtered, already halfway turning on her heel, practically tripping over herself to get away.

Smoker let out a long, slow exhale through his nose, the kind of breath that usually meant someone was about to get absolutely wrecked—but he didn’t move away from you. His hand stayed right where it was, fingers still flexing slightly against your hip.

"You’d better," he said, loud enough for Tashigi to hear as she fled back into the chaos of the port.

You couldn't help it—you laughed. A low, smoky sound that vibrated against his chest.

"Think we traumatized her," you said, voice rough with amusement.

Smoker shot you a sideways glare, but there was no real fire behind it. If anything, he looked... pleased. Dangerous. Like a man who didn’t give a damn who saw what he wanted.

"Serves her right for barging in without knocking," he muttered, gruff.

You arched a brow, grinning lazily up at him.

"Maybe you should install a door in your alleys."

Smoker huffed a laugh — a real one, low and brief — and bent to kiss you again, less careful this time. Hotter, a little messier. His free hand finally dropped the half-burned cigar, grinding it under his boot as he pressed you back into the wall, fully claiming your mouth again like he had all the time in the world.

And honestly, for once, you hoped he did.

Crocodile

The lounge was dim, soaked in the kind of golden light that made everything seem a little more expensive than it probably was.

Low jazz music played from hidden speakers, and the soft clink of chips and whiskey glasses filled the background.

You slouched lazily in a velvet armchair near the back, rolling the blunt between your fingers, cool and unbothered. No one really noticed you here — not with the heavyweights and high-rollers stealing the spotlight.

But, of course, he noticed.

You felt it before you saw him — a shift in the room’s atmosphere, a change in the way conversations dropped to murmurs.

Crocodile’s presence was like a thundercloud creeping over sunny skies.

You kept your expression blank, indifferent, even as you realized your lighter was nowhere to be found.

Perfect.

Exactly what you needed.

You sighed, the blunt sitting unlit between your lips, considering your next move.

A shadow fell across your table. You didn’t bother looking up.

"Need something?" Crocodile’s voice rumbled, amused.

You tilted your head slightly, fixing him with a bored stare, the blunt still balanced at the corner of your mouth.

"Seems I’m short a flame," you said, voice dry.

Crocodile’s lips curled around his cigar, eyes gleaming with something sharp and entertained.

He didn’t say a word.

Instead, he bent slightly at the waist — slow, deliberate — bringing the burning tip of his cigar close to the end of your blunt.

Too close.

He stopped just shy, forcing you to lean in to meet him.

You exhaled through your nose, slow and steady, and leaned forward, lips brushing barely near his cigar, lighting your own off the glowing ember. The flame caught with a faint crackle, a tiny hiss.

The whole time, Crocodile didn’t move an inch.

The smell of smoke, expensive leather, and something faintly spiced wrapped around you like a second skin.

You leaned back into your chair, taking a long, slow pull from the newly lit blunt. The first hit bloomed warm in your lungs. You exhaled lazily toward the ceiling, your eyes half-lidded.

"You're welcome," Crocodile said, voice dripping with dry amusement, straightening to his full height.

You tapped ash into a crystal ashtray nearby without even glancing at him.

"Didn’t say thank you," you replied coolly.

He chuckled — a low, dangerous sound that vibrated in the base of his chest.

"Didn't expect you to."

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The tension crackled softly between you, thick and slow, like molasses dripping from a knife.

Crocodile shifted, the gold of his rings catching the low light as he pulled a chair up to yours — close enough that his knee brushed yours under the table.

Deliberate.

Territorial.

"You planning to cause trouble tonight?" he asked, cigar smoke curling lazily around his words.

You blew out another cloud of smoke, just as lazy, just as unbothered.

"Depends," you murmured, voice low. "You planning to stop me?"

Crocodile smirked around his cigar, eyes gleaming with something dark and hungry.

"Not tonight."

He sat back, perfectly relaxed, the image of a king amused by the antics of his favorite piece.

You could feel his eyes on you as you smoked, weighing every slow drag, every lazy exhale.

Watching.

Waiting.

The house always won in places like this.

And tonight, it was clear you weren’t going anywhere.

The minutes slipped by in a slow, heavy haze.

The blunt burned low between your fingers, each drag slower than the last. Across the small table, Crocodile watched you like a predator sizing up easy prey — not rushing, not moving, just waiting for the exact right moment.

You met his gaze through the rising smoke, your face blank, but your heart starting to thrum a little harder behind your ribs.

He shifted finally, leaning forward slightly, elbows braced on his knees. The gold of his rings caught the light again, flashing like a warning.

"Come here," he said lowly, almost conversational, like you were a thing he fully expected to obey.

You didn't move immediately. You took another lazy pull from your blunt instead, blowing the smoke off to the side with a small smirk. Testing him. Pushing.

Crocodile huffed a small laugh under his breath, all amusement gone razor sharp.

Without warning, he reached across the table, hand catching you by the wrist — not rough, but firm, dragging you forward until you were pulled out of your chair and into his space.

The blunt dangled forgotten from your fingers as he leaned in — close enough that you could see the faint scar cutting across his face, the glint of amusement and warning in his heavy-lidded eyes.

He reached up with two fingers, plucking the blunt casually from your grip and setting it in the ashtray with a careless flick.

"You’re slow," he murmured, voice like warm gravel. "Let me show you how it's done."

You barely had time to process it before Crocodile’s lips crashed into yours.

It was rough — like he was making a point. His mouth devoured yours with an intensity that was unexpected, yet exactly what you needed. His cigar still burned between his fingers, and before you even had the chance to think about it, he tilted the cigar toward your lips, offering the smoke as you kissed.

The warm, glowing tip of the cigar hovered near your mouth, and you instinctively opened up, taking in the deep, spicy taste as you inhaled. The heat of it filled your lungs, mixing with the taste of Crocodile’s kiss — rich, dangerous, intoxicating.

You pulled back just a bit, lips brushing against his, then exhaled slowly, the smoke curling out from your mouth and into his.

Without breaking eye contact, Crocodile inhaled the smoke you gave him, his gaze darkening as he held it in for a beat, then exhaled it slowly, sending it back toward you.

The air was thick now, saturated with smoke and the lingering taste of him. Every breath felt like it stretched the moment, making it last forever, and yet, you knew it was only a brief exchange.

When he pulled away, his lips were curved into that same smug, dangerous smirk.

"Better," he muttered, voice rough with satisfaction. "Now you’re getting it."

You smirked back, though your chest felt a little tighter than it had before.

"You’re insufferable," you said, the words coming out softer than you intended, but your heart was still racing in your chest.

Crocodile chuckled low, the sound like a dangerous promise.

"Only when it suits me," he said, leaning back in his chair and taking another slow drag from his cigar. He didn’t look at you directly but you could feel the weight of his gaze on your lips. "You’ll learn, eventually. That’s how the game is played."

You stayed there, breathless and still, as the tension simmered between you.

The house always won.

And tonight, you were playing Crocodile's game

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.”