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celestedangelica · 16 hours ago

Note

Hello! I'd like to please request a little scenario for multiple characters if possible; I'm especially interested in your take on this with Law, Sanji and Ace given their backstory. If you're open to writing for the ladies as well then adding Robin into the mix would be appreciated! My idea is simple; an S/O with a child, and the aftermath of discovering that fact. I don't mind if it's an established relationship and there just wasn't an opportunity to meet the kid before or something else, I just like the idea of these characters dealing with the concept of surprise family/parenthood, the angst that may arise from dealing with the role of a stepparent if they want a relationship (and its happy ending if possible!) Good luck with all the requests, I hope you have fun with them!

Found Family (Reader with a Kid)

gn!reader

characters: law, sanji, ace, nico robin

tags: under each character + secret child

a/n: I started it with a fem!reader in mind and changed it to gender neutral only later since the post didn't mention the gender, so please if I missed some changes please tell me

words count: around 0.8k - 1.7k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Law:

Tags: Established Relationship, Surprise Family, Angst to Comfort, Fluff

The wind blows soft through the port town. Law steps off the ship, coat flapping behind him, hands in his pockets. He’s quieter than usual, eyes scanning the street ahead. He’s not here on a mission. He’s here for you.

You sent a letter three weeks ago.

Just one line: “I need to talk. Come if you can.”

Law doesn’t like surprises. But he comes.

He finds you standing outside a small house with peeling paint and flower pots on the windowsill. You smile when you see him, but it’s tight, like you’re scared.

He frowns “You alright?”

You nod “Yeah… I just—can we go inside? I don’t want to do this out here.”

Law follows you in. It’s warm. Smells like soup and soap. A small jacket hangs on a hook by the door. Not yours. Too small.

His sharp eyes catch it, but he doesn’t say anything yet.

You lead him to the living room and sit. He stands. Watches you.

You look down “There’s something I never told you.”

Law’s voice is low “I figured.”

You breathe in deep “I… have a kid.”

Silence.

You look up. His face is unreadable. Like ice. You hate that expression, it means he’s trying to think without feeling. To stay calm.

He speaks finally “How old?”

You blink “She’s five.”

He does the math. That means before him.

“She yours?” he asks, even though he already knows.

You nod “Yes. Mine. The... other parent's gone. Completely.”

He nods slowly. His voice is cold, but not cruel “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I was scared.” You twist your hands “We met during a war. We never talked about kids, or… futures. Then we got together, and things felt good. I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You thought this would ruin it?”

“I thought you might walk away.”

He looks away “You didn’t trust me.”

“That’s not fair,” you say, standing now too “I’ve been through things. I didn’t know how you’d react. You’re not… You don’t talk about family. You barely talk about your past.”

His jaw tenses. You hit a nerve.

You try softer “I wanted to wait for the right moment. But there never was one. Until now.”

Silence again.

Then small footsteps.

You freeze.

Law turns just as a tiny figure walks into the room, clutching a stuffed rabbit.

“Who’s this?”

Her eyes are big, curious. Law stares.

You kneel “Sweetheart, this is Law. He’s… He’s my friend.”

Law doesn’t speak. He just looks. She hides behind your leg.

You don’t blame her.

“She’s shy,” you say “But she’s smart. She reads pirates like storybooks.”

Law kneels too, finally, lowering himself to her level. His voice softens.

“I’m not here to hurt anyone,” he says “I’m just… surprised.”

Your daughter peeks out “You talk funny.”

Law blinks.

You laugh nervously “He’s from the North Blue.”

“Oh.” She tilts her head “Do you have a boat?”

Law nods “A submarine.”

Her eyes widen “Cool…”

She steps forward. He doesn’t move.

Then she offers her rabbit “You wanna hold Mr. Bun?”

You almost cry.

Law takes it. Careful. Gentle. Like it’s glass.

He looks at you over her head. Still unsure. Still quiet.

But he’s here, and he’s not walking away.

The rabbit sits on the table between you.

Law hasn’t said much since dinner. He eats quietly, politely. Your daughter sits beside him, munching rice balls like they’re treasure. She’s talking to him. A lot.

“Do submarines have beds?”

“Yes.”

“Do you sleep in them?”

“Sometimes.”

“Do you dream of fish?”

“…No.”

You nearly laugh into your cup. Law sends you a look. It says help me. You shrug. You’re doing fine.

When she finishes eating, you ask her to brush her teeth. She runs off with Mr. Bun in her arms. The house falls quiet again.

Law leans back in his chair.

“You didn’t even flinch,” you say “When she offered you the rabbit.”

He shrugs “She trusted me. I didn’t want to break that.”

You nod, chewing on your lip “That means a lot, Law.”

He looks at you. Eyes sharp but not cold “I’m not angry.”

“Really?”

“I’m hurt.” His voice is honest now “You didn’t tell me. I could’ve helped. Been there. Or at least known what I was walking into.”

“I know,” you whisper “I was scared. I didn’t want to push you away.”

“I’m not made of glass, Y/N. I’ve lost family. I’ve lost everything. But I never said I didn’t want to build something new.”

You look down at your hands “She’s my whole world.”

“I can see that.”

“And now that you’ve met her… what do you want?”

He pauses.

That pause stretches long and sharp between you.

Then, softly “I don’t know.”

You nod. You expected that. You’re not mad. Just scared again.

Law stands and walks to the window “She’s a good kid. Brave. You raised her well.”

You smile a little “She’s got my temper.”

“I noticed.”

You walk over to him. You both stare outside. The moon is bright tonight.

“I’m not asking you to be her father,” you say “You don’t have to… take that role if you don’t want it.”

He turns “What if I want to?”

Your breath catches.

“I don’t know how to be that,” he continues “A father. A parent. I’m… I’m a surgeon. A pirate. I know how to fight, how to cut, how to survive. Not how to raise a child.”

You place your hand over his “She doesn’t need perfect. Just present. Just kind. Even I didn’t know how to be a good parent.”

He watches you. Something cracks in his expression.

“I want you.” he says.

“I want you too.”

“But I can’t lie to you… I’m afraid. I don’t want to mess this up.”

You squeeze his hand “We’ll learn together. She’s not looking for perfect either. She just wants someone who doesn’t leave.”

That hits hard.

He nods and then tiny footsteps again.

Your daughter peeks from the hallway “Hey... can he read me a story?”

Law blinks “Me?”

She nods “You have a cool voice.”

You laugh softly “What do you say?”

He hesitates. Then walks over.

“Alright, let’s try.” he says “But only one.”

She beams.

You stand in the hallway, listening through the door. His voice is low, slow, careful. Reading a picture book about sea creatures. She’s tucked in, eyes half-closed. The rabbit is between them on the bed.

Law finishes the page. She murmurs, “You’re not scary like someone said.”

You gasp quietly. Betrayal.

Law chuckles “Someone said that?”

“Mhm. They said you’re all sharp eyes and brooding. But you’re kinda soft.”

Law mutters, “I am never going to live that down.”

You grin and walk back to the living room.

He stays. Finishes the story. Even tucks her in.

When he comes out, he looks… changed.

“You did good.” you say.

“I didn’t even sweat.”

“Liar.”

He sighs, then smirks “Okay, maybe a little.”

You take his hand again “So…”

“So.” he echoes.

“You staying the night?”

He raises a brow “You asking?”

You smile “I have tea. And a couch. Or a bed, if you behave.”

He smirks “I’ll try my best.”

── .✦ Sanji:

Tags: Flirting Sanji, Soft Sanji, Humor, Fluff, Unexpected Bonding, Found Family

Sanji flirts with you every time he sees you.

At the market “Ah, Y/N! Did the sun rise just to see your face today?”

At the docks “Want me to carry those for you, my love? Your hands are far too lovely for heavy lifting!”

Even after the battle in your city, where the Strawhats helped “You’re even more beautiful covered in blood. Should I be worried about how much I love that?”

You never fall for it. You roll your eyes. You walk away. You don’t even blush.

It drives him insane.

“You’re difficult to get,” he says one afternoon, following you through town “but I like that.”

“I don’t fall,” you say flatly “Especially not for men with hearts in their eyes.”

“Ahhh, but my heart is sincere!”

You stop and face him “Sanji. You don’t even know me.”

“I want to.”

You pause. He’s annoying, yes. But not bad. He’s never pushed you too far. Never said anything mean. Just flirty. Charming. Too charming.

You sigh “Fine. You want to know me?”

He lights up “Yes! Of course!”

“Then come with me.”

You lead him through town, away from the market, away from the noise. Into a quiet part of the island. A garden path. A small house tucked in the trees.

He’s still smiling “So this is where the beautiful Y/N hides. A date, then?”

You don’t answer. You open the door. Inside, it’s neat. Warm. Lived-in. There are toys in the corner. A tiny pair of shoes by the door.

Sanji frowns “Is this… your house?”

“Wait here.” you say.

You go into the back room. A few seconds later, you return, holding a small child. Sleepy-eyed. Holding a stuffed whale. While another lady leaves the house as if her job there is finished.

You look Sanji in the eye.

“This is my daughter.”

Sanji freezes.

Dead silent.

You wait.

You expect a nervous laugh. A fast goodbye. A dramatic “I’m not ready for this!” speech.

But it doesn’t come.

Instead…

“Her hair’s like yours,” he says softly “She’s beautiful.”

Your daughter rubs her eyes, looks at him “Who’s that?”

You answer “Just... a friend.”

Sanji kneels slowly “Hi, sweetheart. I’m Sanji. Can I say hello?”

She shrugs. He waves. She waves back with the whale.

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Whale.” Sanji says seriously.

You blink.

She giggles.

You didn’t expect this.

You make tea. Sanji helps. He insists, actually.

“She can’t have sugar this late.” you say.

“Then honey,” he says “Gentle on the stomach.”

You watch as he puts her cup in front of her like a butler. Bows. She bows back. You nearly choke on your tea.

“Do you cook?” she asks.

“Oh yes,” he says “Better than anyone.”

She claps “Make us dinner!”

Sanji glances at you. You nod. Why not?

He makes a simple meal. It smells amazing. Your daughter eats two full plates.

After, she sits in his lap and shows him a book of sea animals. He listens. Really listens.

You don’t understand what’s happening.

You were trying to scare him away.

Instead, he’s… perfect.

When she falls asleep, he carries her to her bed. Quiet. Gentle.

He tucks her in, fixes her whale beside her, and kisses her forehead.

You follow him back to the living room in silence.

“Well...” you say, still confused “That wasn’t what I expected.”

He smiles but smaller this time. Softer.

“I flirt because it’s fun,” he says “But I stayed because I wanted to see you.”

You stare at him “You weren’t scared?”

“I was shocked,” he admits “But not scared. You’re a single parent. That’s strong. She’s lucky to have you.”

You look away “I thought it would make you leave.”

“I’m not that easy to get rid of.”

You smile at that and look at him again. This time longer.

Sanji isn’t just charm. He’s heart. He’s warmth.

And… maybe you were wrong about him.

Your daughter’s asleep.

Sanji’s sitting on the couch, arms stretched over the backrest like he belongs there. His jacket is off, sleeves rolled up, and a soft smile on his lips.

He looks so… calm. Like this is normal. Like he wants this.

You sit across from him, legs tucked under you. You sip your tea. Your hands are shaking just a little, but you hide it well.

“Thanks for dinner,” you say “She loved it.”

“She’s adorable,” he says, smiling “And polite. You’ve done an amazing job.”

You stare into your cup “I didn’t do it alone. But… it’s been a long time since I shared her with someone.”

Sanji watches you quietly. No teasing now. Just listening.

You swallow. Here goes nothing.

“So,” you say “I’ve decided something.”

He leans forward “Oh?”

You lift your eyes to meet his “I’m saying yes.”

His brows lift “Yes to what?”

You smile “A date.”

He freezes “Wait. A—really?”

You nod.

“I mean, I’ve been asking for weeks, but I thought you hated me.”

“I didn’t hate you,” you say “I just didn’t believe you.”

“And now?”

“Now I do.”

He stares at you for a second. Then a slow, beautiful grin spreads across his face. Like he’s won a war. Like the clouds finally moved for the sun.

He exhales like he’s been holding his breath for days.

“You—you have no idea what this means to me, Y/N.”

You chuckle “I might have some idea.”

“Do you want flowers? Candles? Music? Should I wear a suit? I’ll cook, of course—”

You laugh softly “Just come as you are.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly flustered “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy.”

You sip your tea again. Calm on the outside.

But inside? Your heart is thundering. So loud it feels like it echoes in your chest. And he doesn't even know your heart is actually beating faster than his own.

You’ve had to be strong for so long. For your child. For yourself. Love always felt like a luxury you couldn’t afford.

But Sanji… he’s something else.

Not because he’s charming.

But because when it really mattered, he stayed.

And now, you let yourself fall a little deeper.

You stand. Walk over. And press a soft kiss to his cheek.

He goes still.

You pull back and say quietly, “Can't wait for the date.”

His eyes widen, then fill with something warm surprised, happy, maybe even a little nervous.

“You… really?” he asks, softer than you’ve ever heard him.

You nod “Don’t make me regret it.”

His laugh is breathless “Never.”

You smile, heart pounding, but you don’t let it show. He doesn’t need to know yet how much this means.

A few nights later for your first date Sanji goes all out, but not in a flashy way. It’s thoughtful. Intimate.

He sets up dinner on the ship’s deck. Small candles, soft music from a den den mushi radio, and a view of the sea under stars. He cooks something warm and comforting, not fancy, just full of love.

You talk for hours. About silly things, quiet things, your pasts and dreams. It’s easy. He listens more than he speaks, and when he does talk, it’s gentle.

No cheesy lines. Just Sanji. Real and warm.

After dessert, he walks you home in silence. Not awkward, just peaceful. The kind of quiet where you don’t need to fill space.

At your door, he looks at you with hopeful eyes but doesn’t move in. He’s waiting for your choice.

So you step closer.

You kiss him.

Soft. Sure. Just once. But it’s full of everything you’ve been holding back.

When you pull away, he blinks like he’s just been hit by a wave.

You smirk “You were taking too long.”

He laughs, dizzy and full of stars.

And for the first time in a long while, so do you.

── .✦ Ace:

Tags: Friends with Benefits, Angst, Humor, Emotional Reveal, Mutual Feelings Hidden, Teasing to Serious, Marine Conflict

The sun burns above you. You’re lying on the deck of your ship, one leg over the other, a half-empty bottle between your fingers. Ace is beside you shirtless, grinning, sweat on his brow, flame flickering off his fingers like it’s breathing with him.

“You always steal my rum.” you say, kicking him lightly.

“You always keep it warm,” he shoots back “I’m doing you a favor.”

You roll your eyes “Your idea of favors sucks.”

He leans closer, his voice lazy and smug “You didn’t say that last night.”

You groan “Get a new line, fire boy.”

He grins wider. You punch his arm. He fake-winces, like it hurt. It didn’t.

That’s the two of you: teasing, biting, half-fighting, half-kissing. No promises. No labels. Just good fun and bad timing.

Pirate life is rough. You take what joy you can.

“Hey,” you say after a long silence, watching the sky “Wanna hear a secret?”

Ace smirks, eyes still closed “If it’s about that thing you did in the galley with the honey—”

“No, dumbass. A real secret.”

That makes him open his eyes. He turns to look at you “Alright. Hit me.”

You sit up. Serious now. The bottle rests on your knee.

“I have a son.”

Ace snorts “You what?”

You nod, eyes still on the horizon “Yeah. He’s five. His name’s Ren.”

He blinks. You go on before he can interrupt.

“I had him before all this, before the piracy, before you. I got caught in something messy with the Marines. To keep him safe, I left him with my parents. Changed my name. Ran.”

Ace stares.

You keep talking “I go see him when I can. Disguised. Just for a day or two. He thinks I’m some traveling doctor or something. He doesn’t know who I really am.”

You pause. Swallow.

“It’s hell, leaving every time. But I’d rather he grow up safe than have him hunted.”

Ace starts laughing.

You blink “What the hell?”

He’s full-on laughing “Holy shit, you got me! I thought you were serious. What is this, some new kink? Roleplay? Mommy pirate stuff?”

You just look at him.

Dead quiet.

No grin. No tease.

Ace’s smile dies instantly. The flame on his fingers goes out.

“…Wait,” he says “You’re not joking?”

You don’t say anything.

His expression changes fast… shocked, confused, then something close to guilt “You really…?”

You nod once “I’m not playing around.”

He runs a hand through his hair, suddenly tense “Shit.”

“Yeah,” you say, dry “That’s usually the first response.”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Tries again “Why are you telling me this now?”

You shrug “I don’t know. Maybe because you’re the closest thing I’ve had to a real connection in years. Or maybe I just got tired of lying all the time.”

He stares at you.

You look away “I didn’t expect you to laugh. That sucked.”

“…I’m sorry.”

“Forget it.”

“No,” he says quickly “I’m serious. That was a shitty reaction. I just… I didn’t think you were the kind of person to hide something that big.”

You exhale “Turns out, I’m full of surprises.”

The silence between you is heavy now. Not like before.

Then Ace says quietly, “What’s he like?”

You blink “Huh?”

“Your kid. Ren. What’s he like?”

You smile a little “Stubborn. Smart. Messy. Loves drawing fishes. Hates carrots. Thinks I have the coolest boots in the world.”

Ace nods, quiet. He looks down, then up at you again.

“I meant what I said,” he murmurs “I’m sorry for laughing. And I’m… kinda honored you told me.”

You raise a brow “Didn’t peg you for the emotional type.”

He shrugs, eyes soft “Didn’t peg you for someone with a child.”

Touché.

Ace doesn’t talk much for the next few days.

No flirting. No teasing. Just quiet looks when he thinks you’re not watching.

You try to act normal with some old jokes, same smug grin as always, but you feel it too. Everything changed with that one secret. The space between you now holds more than just fun.

It holds truth. Real, heavy, warm truth.

You’re standing at the helm when he walks up beside you.

“I want to come.” he says.

You glance at him “Come where?”

“When you go see your son.”

Your hands tighten on the wheel “Ace—”

“I’ll stay out of sight. I swear. I just… want to see him. I want to understand what you gave up. What you’re protecting.”

You study him for a moment. His eyes don’t waver. There’s no joke. No smirk.

Just Ace. Real. Honest.

You nod.

Months later — The island is quiet. A small village with stone houses, chickens in the streets, a little bakery that still smells like your childhood.

You pull your hood low. Ace wears a cap, sunglasses... he looks ridiculous, but no one’s looking at him. Just another traveler.

Your parents’ house is at the end of the road. Garden full of wildflowers. Paint peeling on the fence.

Your son is playing outside.

He doesn’t see you at first. He’s chasing butterflies. Laughing. Barefoot.

Ace stops walking.

“That’s him?” he asks, voice rough.

You nod “Ren.”

Ace just stares. His hands slowly curl into fists.

You call out softly, “Ren?”

The boy turns. His face lights up.

He runs to you screaming. You drop to your knees and catch him in your arms. He’s warm. Real. Solid.

Ace looks away.

Inside, your parents keep things short. They know who Ace is. You warned them. They’re not happy, but they trust you.

You all sit outside. Ren sits on Ace’s lap by accident. You try to grab him, but Ace just holds him steady.

“It’s okay,” he says “He’s light.”

Ren shows him a toy ship made of sticks “I made this!”

Ace chuckles “Really? That’s better than some ships I’ve sailed on.”

You stare.

Ren grins proudly “My parent used to tell me stories. About pirates and fire powers. Did you know there’s a pirate who can set his fists on fire?”

Ace raises a brow “Sounds dangerous.”

Ren gasps “But so cool!”

You laugh softly. Ace sends you a small look. It’s gentle. A little sad.

Later, when Ren naps, you and Ace sit on the back porch.

“He’s amazing.” Ace says.

“I know.”

“You’re amazing,” he adds “You left this. For his safety.”

You stare at the grass “I think about quitting all the time. Just staying here. Being at his side full time. But… the world’s not kind. And if they find me—”

“I get it,” he cuts in “You’re doing what you have to.”

You glance at him “I didn’t expect you to care so much.”

He shrugs “Neither did I.”

Then he adds, “But now I can’t stop.”

Your heart stumbles.

“He’s got your eyes.” Ace says softly.

“Don’t get attached.” you warn “This life… it’s dangerous.”

“So is mine,” he says “But that didn’t stop you from letting me in.”

You look at him. Really look.

“I didn’t plan for this...” you whisper.

“Neither did I.”

But here you both are.

And suddenly, fun doesn’t feel like the right word anymore.

The sound of quiet laughter wakes you.

You blink against the morning light, still groggy, still warm under the blanket. It takes a second to remember where you are... your parents’ house, back in your old bed.

And then you hear it again.

Ren’s voice.

And Ace’s.

You sit up, heart skipping.

You slip out of bed, still barefoot, and pad toward the living room. And there they are.

Ren sits cross-legged on the floor, his little wooden ship in one hand, while Ace sits across from him, mimicking an enemy pirate voice.

“Noooo! You got me again, Captain Ren! My ship is sinking!”

Ren giggles and throws a pillow at him “That’s what you get, bad guy!”

Ace dramatically falls back, hands in the air “Ughhh… defeated by the mightiest pirate on the seas…”

Your heart squeezes.

Ace looks so natural. Hair messy. Eyes full of warmth. Like he belongs here.

But then your parents come in.

They freeze when they see the scene.

Ace doesn’t notice at first, he’s laughing with Ren, his smile unguarded.

“Ren.” your mother says, sharply.

Your son turns.

“Come away from him,” your father says quickly, stepping forward “Now.”

Ace blinks, confused “I—”

“Ren,” your mother repeats “Come here.”

Ren looks at you, unsure.

You step in “What’s going on?”

Your father’s jaw tightens “We don’t want him near the child.”

You stare “Excuse me?”

“He’s a pirate,” your mother hisses “A famous one. Fire Fist. He’s dangerous.”

“He’s also sitting on the floor playing ships...” you snap.

Your parents say nothing.

“You trusted me enough to come here with him,” you continue, voice rising “Now you’re trying to pull Ren away like he’s some kind of monster?”

“We’re protecting our grandson.” your father says coldly.

“From what? A man who’s been nothing but kind to him?”

“You don’t know what kind of life he brings.”

“I do,” you shout “I live it too. If you forgot. And yes, it’s dangerous. Yes, it’s hard. But Ace has done nothing but respect my family, protect me, and treat Ren with more care than anyone ever has!”

They go silent.

You’re shaking now, fists clenched.

“And for your information, I love him.”

The words fall like a hammer in the room.

Ren blinks.

Your parents’ eyes widen.

Ace just stares at you.

You don’t move.

You didn’t mean to say it... not like this, not loud, not angry... but it’s out.

And real.

You look at Ace, heart thundering “I love you.”

A beat.

Then Ace stands slowly, eyes locked on yours. He walks to you, quiet. The room holds its breath.

He stops in front of you.

“I wasn’t sure if I should say it first,” he says, voice low “Didn’t want to scare you off. But you beat me to it.”

You blink.

“I love you too.” he says.

He reaches out, gentle, and takes your hand.

Your parents stay silent. Ren looks between the two of you, then claps once like it’s the best thing he’s ever seen.

“Can I have pancakes now?” he asks.

You and Ace laugh at the same time, breathless.

And just like that, the tension cracks.

── .✦ Nico Robin:

Tags: Established Relationship, Soft Confession, Emotional Intimacy, Bittersweet Past

It’s late.

Most of the crew has gone to bed, except you and Robin. You're both in the library room. She’s reading. You’re not. You're just holding the edge of a piece of paper... frayed, uneven, and pulsing with life.

A vivre card.

You don’t have to look at it to know it’s still there. Still pointing somewhere far away, where you can’t be.

Robin closes her book softly “Is that what’s been on your mind all day?”

You glance over.

Of course she noticed.

You nod “Yeah.”

She tilts her head slightly “Can I ask who it’s for?”

You hesitate.

You’ve never told her. Not because you didn’t trust her, but because it always felt like a story that belonged to a different version of you. The you from before the sea. Before the Straw Hats. Before her.

But she’s already part of everything now.

So you answer.

“My son.”

Robin says nothing but her gaze sharpens. Attentive. Careful.

“He’s with his other parent now,” you continue, voice quiet “I raised him alone before I joined the crew. He’s the one who said it was okay. Actually, we were always together, in another small crew. Then he wanted a different kind of life. One with… peace. So we contacted his other parent.”

Robin nods, slow “He sounds mature.”

“He was always like that. Smarter than me, I think.”

There’s a short silence.

You look at the vivre card “I haven’t seen him since I joined. We talk through letters, sometimes den den mushi. But I don’t know when I’ll be able to see him again.”

Robin’s eyes soften “Do the others know?”

You shake your head “No. Just you.”

She reaches out. Her fingers brush yours, just enough to touch the vivre card “Thank you for trusting me.”

You smile, small but real “I didn’t know how to bring it up. I didn’t want you to see me differently.”

Robin hums “I already see you. Clearly.”

You blink.

She looks at you steady and kind “You carry something heavy. And still laugh with the crew. Still help cook. Still stand beside me in battle. That’s not weakness.”

Your chest aches in the best way.

She pauses, then adds, “If one day… you want to try and see him again, I’d go with you.”

Your voice catches “Really?”

She nods “Of course. I’d like to meet him. He sounds like someone I’d admire.”

You look down at the vivre card.

Still warm. Still burning.

Maybe not as far away as it feels.

It’s just past dinner.

You’re with Robin as she asked you to stay close. A soft excuse about helping her with some documents. You're both sitting on the floor, back against the wall, a soft lamp between you.

You have the vivre card on the table. You don't always keep it out, but tonight you felt the need to hold it.

You glance at the Den Den Mushi nearby.

You hesitate.

Then pick it up and dial a number you’ve had memorized since your hands first held his.

The snail blinks sleepily… then perks up.

“Hello?”

Your chest tightens at the voice.

You smile “Hey, kiddo.”

A pause, then, “IT’S YOU!!”

You laugh, caught off guard by the pure excitement.

“Oh my god—FINALLY! You didn’t forget me, right? You didn’t sail into a storm and disappear forever, right?”

Robin lifts an amused brow, watching you with quiet interest.

“I didn’t forget you,” you say softly “You know that.”

“Just making sure. I’ve been drawing so many sea monsters lately you would not believe. I made a kraken with three hats.”

You laugh again, voice cracking slightly “Three hats? He must be important.”

“Very.” He pauses, then adds, “...I missed you.”

You shut your eyes “I missed you too.”

Robin looks away respectfully, but stays close.

Then, from the snail: “Hey, wait—who’s near you? Are you with someone?”

You glance at Robin, who blinks, caught.

“She’s... a friend.” you say carefully.

Robin speaks, her voice soft “I hope I’m more than just a friend.”

The Den Den Mushi mimics a shocked face.

“...OH MY GOD. IS THIS YOUR GIRLFRIEND??”

You bury your face in your hand.

Robin chuckles lightly, graceful even when embarrassed “Hello. I’m Robin. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

There’s a long pause.

“...You sound really cool.”

Robin smiles “Thank you. So do you.”

“Wait—how much do you know about them? Like... do you know about the time they tried to cook without instructions and set the wall on fire?”

You groan “Don’t tell her that.”

“It was a microwave! The noodles caught on fire!”

Robin’s shoulders shake with laughter.

You shoot her a glare that holds no heat “I regret this entire call.”

“No you don’t.”

And he’s right. You don’t.

Not even a little.

Later, when the call ends, you sit in silence.

Robin’s hand reaches for yours “He’s amazing.”

You nod, voice soft “Yeah. He really is.”

She squeezes your hand gently “He has your spark. And your chaos.”

You smile through the ache in your chest “He’s better than I’ll ever be.”

Robin rests her head against your shoulder.

“You’ll see him again. When the time is right. And I'll be with you... if you want me.”

"Of course I do."

And somehow, with her beside you, that feels like a promise you can believe in.

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece fanfic #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece fanfiction #one piece fluff

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celestedangelica · 17 hours ago

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Alber "King" MODERN AU: Government Experiment Survivor | Underground Fighter

Alber, who was taken from an orphanage at just 3 years old, labeled "unclaimed" and selected for a government experiment that erased his identity before it ever formed.

Alber, whose childhood was replaced with laboratories and locked rooms, trained like a weapon and shaped through years of genetic editing and violent physical conditioning.

Alber, whose body was designed to endure what others could not — with muscle density beyond normal, reinforced bones, suppressed empathy, and a nervous system that learned to silence pain before it could reach his brain.

Alber, the most successful prototype they ever created — silent, obedient, inhumanly resilient — until he disappeared at 17 during a transport blackout, killing two handlers and vanishing into smoke and silence.

Alber, who no longer existed in any system, who gave himself a new name — King — not as a title, but as a shield. A way to hide in plain sight while the government still hunted ghosts.

King, who stands at 2 meters tall — that’s 6 feet 7 inches of broad, quiet mass. A man built like a fortress, with a presence that fills any room he walks into, even when he says nothing at all.

King, who fights in illegal underground circuits, cash-only, off-grid, nameless — known only by bruised mouths and broken ribs.

King, whose reputation carries further than his voice ever has: undefeated, silent, merciless. A myth in the flesh. Rumors say he doesn’t feel pain. No one knows where he goes after the match ends.

King, who moves like he’s still being watched. Who fights with brutal efficiency — a fusion of military kill-strikes and raw street brawling. There is no waste in his motion, only intent.

King, whose back is carved with a massive black wings tattoo — spanning shoulder to hip, inked with precision and grief. A monument to what he was supposed to be, and what they tried to take.

King, who lives above a junkyard in an abandoned apartment, walls stained with oil and silence. A mattress on the floor. Taped-over mirrors. A punching bag swinging like a pendulum in a room that never changes.

King, who eats the same meals. Who trains every morning. Who fixes bikes and cars for cash and does side security at a bar where no one makes eye contact.

King, who doesn’t let anyone close. Who doesn’t speak unless it matters. Who makes every word feel like a loaded gun.

King, whose body is all survival but whose soul still flickers behind burned-out eyes. Who isn’t cruel — just disconnected. Emotionally shut down, because nothing inside him was ever allowed to grow.

King, who watches the door even when it’s locked. Who never sleeps through the night. Who wakes up mid-fight, fists clenched, breath caught in a memory that doesn’t belong to this world.

King, who carries phantom pain and names he doesn’t say out loud. Who remembers the screaming, the silence, the training rooms painted red.

You, who didn’t flinch when he walked in bloodied and silent. Who didn’t ask for explanations. Who didn’t treat him like a threat — or a myth.

You, who spoke to him gently. Who handed him a clean towel. Who called him by name like it wasn’t something stolen.

You, who kept showing up. Who never pried, never demanded. Who looked at him like he was human, not haunted.

He never thought he could want. Not anything real. Not softness. Not warmth. Not you.

He doesn’t know how to touch gently, but he learns. Slowly. With still hands and shallow breath. He learns to stay when everything in him says run.

He tries to keep you away. Puts up walls that don’t speak, closes doors that never truly lock. You find your way in anyway. And that’s what terrifies him most — not that you’ll leave. But that you’ll stay. And someone will find you. And someone will hurt you. And it will be because of him.

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#one piece #one piece fanfiction #one piece fiction #one piece king #one piece alber #king one piece #king alber #alber one piece

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celestedangelica · 1 day ago

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"Hate to see you leave, but love to watch you go…‘cause of your butt."

— Kisuke Urahara, to Yoruichi

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ robin chwan re blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#of course he does #things they'd totally say #kisuke urahara

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celestedangelica · 1 day ago

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Your colors

Summary: (fem) Reader sucks at makeup but luckily, Izou helps her to see her beauty.

Note: He is UNDERRATED. And I am so happy to write for so many underrated characters. It is mostly g/n but not fully, as a female reader was in mind for this.

A comfort one, so, remember my friends, YOU ARE PERFECT.

✦═════✦═════✦

You were never the type for delicate things.

Nail polish, lipstick, eyeliner — all those graceful, fine touches that seemed to come so easily to others, especially someone like Izou, always left you feeling clumsy and out of place. Smudges, crooked lines, shaky hands. You’d long accepted you weren’t “that” kind of woman.

But today... well, today you’d decided to try.

A little crush had bloomed in your chest, whether you liked it or not. One you were sure would never notice you unless you stood out a bit more — looked more polished, more... elegant.

Your attempt had gone about as well as expected: lipstick too uneven, your nails blotchy and full of streaks, your eyeliner an accidental battle scar more than a charming wing.

You were mid-frustrated sigh, perched on a crate, cotton pad smudging away another failed attempt, when a shadow fell across you.

“Having trouble, darling?”

That smooth, silk-soft voice could only belong to one man.

Izou.

You stiffened a little, caught like a child with her hand in the cookie jar. He stood there, poised as ever — perfectly applied makeup, the scent of something sweet and expensive lingering around him. A man made for grace.

You offered a halfhearted shrug, chewing your lip. “I wanted to... try something different.” You waved vaguely at your mess of beauty supplies. “But I’m no good at it.”

Izou tilted his head, a small smile curving his lips, both knowing and fond.

“Different?” he echoed, stepping closer, folding gracefully to sit beside you. “For who?”

Your throat tightened. “Just... wanted to look nice, that’s all.”

His eyes softened, though the teasing lilt never left his voice.

“Y/N, you’ve always been ‘nice’ to look at. But if you want a little help...” His fingers reached out, featherlight against your chin, tilting your face ever so slightly. “I’d be honored to assist.”

You hesitated, cheeks already warming. Letting him see you like this — vulnerable — felt far more intimate than you expected.

But Izou, as always, was gentle. His hands were steady, the soft brush of makeup over your skin like silk. He worked in comfortable silence, smoothing away imperfections without judgment, highlighting features you’d never thought much of.

When he finally leaned back, inspecting you with a slow, approving nod, you blinked at your reflection in the small hand mirror.

You looked... beautiful. Not like anyone else. Not like someone pretending to be graceful. Just you. Polished, but still you.

“See?” Izou murmured, voice like velvet. “It wasn’t about changing yourself. Just learning to show off what was already worth admiring.”

Your heart gave a traitorous little flutter, but before you could thank him, you noticed the smallest flicker of something in his expression. Something quiet.

Like maybe you weren’t trying to impress the right person at all.

You swallowed, lowering the mirror. “You’re good at this.”

His fingers brushed a stray hair from your face, lingering a little longer than necessary.

It wasn’t a confession. Not quite. But it was enough to leave your stomach in soft knots, and your lips a little too aware of how close he still sat.

“I’ve had practice,” he replied, the corner of his mouth tugging up. “And... I happen to like the subject.”

Neither of you spoke the words — but they lingered there, painted between you like the softest brushstroke.

But you couldn’t sleep.

The sun had long since dipped below the horizon, painting the sea in deep indigos and violet shadows. The crew had scattered for the night, the world around you gone quiet except for the soft lap of waves against the ship’s hull.

Not after earlier. Not after the way Izou had touched you — so gentle, so steady — or the way he’d said those words, lingering on the edges of a confession.

You found him on the upper deck, as expected, perched in his usual spot, tending to a small tray of nail polish bottles. His sleeves rolled neatly to his elbows, hair pinned back just enough to avoid falling into his eyes.

You lingered in the doorway for a moment before softly calling his name.

He glanced over, always poised, but his expression immediately softened when his gaze landed on you. “Can’t sleep, darling?”

You wandered closer, sitting beside him, curling your knees up to your chest. “Not really.”

A comfortable silence stretched between you, broken only by the sound of the tiny glass bottle clicking softly against the tray as he capped it.

You picked at the hem of your shirt, voice quieter now. “Earlier... when you said you liked the subject... did you mean me?”

His hands stilled. Just for a second. The only crack in that polished, graceful armor he wore so well.

His eyes slid sideways, studying you in the dim light, and his lips tugged into a slow, quiet smile. One of those rare, real ones — the kind that stripped away all the performative charm.

“I did.”

Simple. Honest. Heavy.

Your throat felt dry, but your heart fluttered like the sails catching wind. You looked away, flustered, but his fingers gently curled around yours, steady and warm.

“You never needed to change a thing, you know,” he added softly, brushing his thumb along the back of your hand. “I noticed you long before you ever thought to impress anyone.”

Your chest tightened, a laugh bubbling up unbidden — light, shaky, but genuine.

“You’ve always been better at hiding your feelings than me,” you mumbled, squeezing his hand.

Izou tilted his head, voice low and teasing, but there was a softness beneath it:

“Well, you’ve got a way of making me want to stop hiding.”

And before you could gather the nerve to say another word, his free hand lifted to your cheek, guiding you forward — his lips brushing against yours in the kind of kiss that was as careful as it was deliberate. Nothing rushed. Nothing messy. Just right.

When he pulled back, his smile returned, easy and a little smug, as if your flustered expression was exactly what he’d expected.

“See?” he whispered. “You were already perfect.”

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#damn #wish it was me #one piece x reader

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celestedangelica · 2 days ago

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My favorite Disney princess

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#this cute little giant 😍😍😍#one piece #one piece loki #elbaf

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celestedangelica · 2 days ago

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Can you do a King x reader, like the reader was a straw hats and have a mysterious power that can let her take someone's shadow and make them her own army?? You can decide what the plot and ending are, thank you 🐱

hmm~ interesting... not much but hope u like it!

Shadowplay

A member of Straw Hat with the ability to control shadows clashes—and flirts—with King during the Onigashima raid, blurring the line between enemies and something more.

king X fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: sfw, ooc king, v!olence 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

You had no idea how the hell you ended up becoming part of the Straw Hat Pirates. Maybe it was fate. Maybe it was boredom. Or maybe you just really liked screwing around with people's shadows and Luffy liked your weird energy.

Your Devil Fruit was unlike any other: the Kagekiba Kagekiba no Mi — the Shadow Fang Fruit. It allowed you to rip shadows from people (if you overpowered them), then mold those shadows into creatures — beasts, warriors, serpents, anything — and command them as your loyal army. The catch? You couldn’t steal the same shadow twice, and if the original owner died, the shadow crumbled to ash. But still… you were kind of overpowered, and you knew it.

Wano had been a chaotic ride — from the streets of the Flower Capital to sneaking around with Shinobu and Robin, to the moment you stole the shadow of one of Orochi's men and made it dance for coins to distract the guards. Classic you.

"Hey Y/N, what's this one supposed to be?" Luffy poked the looming shadow beast at your side — a spindly, four-armed creature with blades for hands.

You shrugged. "I got bored. Stole the shadow of a samurai who insulted my coat and made it into this. I call him 'Petty.'"

Usopp paled. "You’re terrifying sometimes.”

“Thanks,” you chirped.

Zoro passed by with a sigh. “Just don’t make one of my shadow, got it?”

You raised a brow. “Tempting. But yours would probably be too drunk to be useful.”

You didn’t know then that your antics would draw the attention of one of Kaido's right-hand men.

During the Raid — Onigashima

The battle had just begun, chaos reigning across the skull dome. You weren’t on the roof with the Monster Trio; you had your own assignment: clear out the courtyard and take down any commanders who got in the way.

Your shadow army — around a dozen beast-like creatures — swept across the battlefield, cutting down gifters and foot soldiers. You twirled a black-bladed shadow sword lazily between your fingers as you strolled through the carnage.

That’s when you saw him.

King.

Wings spread, sword glinting, fire trailing behind his body like the tail of a comet.

He landed with a resounding thud in front of you, his mask catching the flickering flames of the battlefield.

Your smirk widened. “Oof. You’re even hotter in person.”

King tilted his head. “You’re the one playing with shadows.”

You winked. “You’re the one playing with my heart.”

He drew his sword.

You snapped your fingers.

Two of your shadow beasts lunged — but King sliced them in half in one movement.

“Rude,” you huffed. “Those took like, thirty minutes to make.”

“You’re not a priority. Move, or die.”

“Oh, sweetheart.” You twirled your blade, shadows forming claws beneath your feet. “I never move for a man unless he’s buying me dinner first.”

The two of you collided in a flurry of steel and shadows. King was fast — impossibly so — his fire singeing the air itself. But your shadows twisted like liquid, shielding you, parrying, striking.

You knew he was holding back. And so were you.

He dodged a sweeping tendril of shadow and flew above, raining down flame. You created a dome of pure shadow to block it, then slid out behind him and caught him across the ribs with your blade.

He barely flinched. “Hmph. Cheap trick.”

You grinned. “I prefer 'strategic surprise.'”

His hand shot out — and you blinked, surprised as he caught your wrist and yanked you forward. You stumbled into his chest.

"You shouldn't play with monsters, little thief."

"Please." You smirked. "You're not a monster. You're a bad boy with wings and a fire fetish."

There was a pause. You could almost swear his mask twitched in amusement. And then he let you go — only to kick you straight into a wall.

You groaned. “Okay, fair.”

Later That Night — Separated from the Straw Hats

You were bleeding, bruised, and separated from your crew. You ducked into a ruined hallway, shadows curling protectively around you.

You looked up — and your heart skipped. Not because it was someone you cared about.

But because it was him again.

King.

"Stalking me now?" you panted. "I get it. I'm charming."

“You’re not worth killing. Yet.” He approached, slow and steady. “But I want to know. Why are you here?”

You raised a brow. “Uh, war? Revolution? Chaos? Take your pick.”

“Don’t mock me.”

You sighed, sliding down the wall to sit. “Fine. You really wanna know?”

He waited.

You looked at the floor. “Because… this place reminds me of the world I came from. Oppression. Control. Someone standing at the top, deciding who gets to live free. I’m here because I want to change that. Because people like Luffy, like the Straw Hats, make things better.”

King stared silently. “That’s naive.”

“Maybe,” you said, meeting his eyes. “But it’s better than giving up.”

The silence stretched. And then—

“You’re strong.”

You blinked. “That… almost sounded like a compliment.”

“I don’t compliment enemies.”

“Well, if it helps,” you said, tilting your head flirtatiously, “you’re the hottest guy I’ve fought all week. And I’ve fought a guy with dinosaur teeth.”

His wings twitched.

“You’re ridiculous.”

You grinned. “You love it.”

When you rejoined the battlefield, King was gone — off fighting someone else, you assumed.

Zoro found you half an hour later, unconscious next to a collapsed Numbers beast and a dozen shadow corpses.

“Damn it, Y/N.” He hauled you up. “Stop trying to take on armies alone.”

You gave him a bloody grin. “It’s not alone. I’ve got shadows. And, like… your grumpy encouragement.”

Later, as Zoro faced off against King in that fiery aerial battle, you watched from the sidelines, shadows flaring weakly around your form.

You didn’t interfere. Not because you couldn’t.

But because something told you King needed that fight. That pride.

So you let Zoro win.

And when King fell, mask cracked and breath heavy, you just smiled faintly.

“Maybe next time, hot stuff.”

Days After the Raid

You were lounging on the edge of the newly-freed Flower Capital, sipping sake with Robin and Nami.

Robin smiled. “So. I heard you had a run-in with a certain Lunarian.”

Nami grinned. “You didn’t actually flirt with Kaido’s right-hand man, right?”

You smirked, swirling the cup. “Depends on your definition of flirting.”

From the shadows behind you, a flicker of movement. A faint warmth in the air.

No one else noticed.

You didn’t turn around. Just sipped your drink.

Because deep down, you knew he was watching.

And one day, maybe when the world was less on fire, you’d get that dinner.

After all, what’s life without a little danger?

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#oh my god!!!?.#this is good!!!!#one piece #one piece x reader #one piece x you #one piece x y/n #one piece king x reader #king the wildfire #king the wildfire x reader #king one piece #king x reader

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celestedangelica · 2 days ago

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⊹ ࣪ ˖ A Killers Promise ⊹ ࣪ ˖

Straw hats x reader

⋆. 𐙚 ̊ Words: 8,948

⭑.ᐟ warnings: Violance and gore, Childhood trauma, panic attack, emotional angst, brief unsettling imagery, nightmares, shower scene (DOES NOT SHOW ANYTHING, hinted F! reader.

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Summery: Y/N, a quiet member of the Straw Hat Pirates with a hidden past. Though she steadfastly refuses to fight, her crew believes it's simply a preference or a lack of skill. What they don't know is the terrifying truth: Y/N is a formidable killer, honed by a brutal childhood war fought for her family and island. After witnessing a loved one's death, she made a solemn vow to abandon violence forever, but what will happen when she’s put in a position where she has to make a choice, break the promise— or save her new found family; the strawhats.

masterlist ( ˘ ³˘)♥︎

｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ

The rhythmic creak of the Thousand Sunny’s mast was a lullaby, a stark contrast to the cacophony that once defined your world. Here, amidst the boisterous Straw Hats, you were an anomaly. They knew you didn't fight, a fact you’d established early on with a quiet, unwavering resolve. Luffy, bless his guileless heart, probably thought you just preferred cheering from the sidelines. Zoro, perhaps, assumed you hadn't the knack for it. Nami, ever practical, likely saw you as valuable in other ways. They were all wrong. So terribly, fundamentally wrong.

God, you could fight. You were a symphony of calculated strikes, a whirlwind of precision and power. The memory of steel in your hand felt as natural as breathing, the taste of adrenaline a familiar tang on your tongue. Before the Sunny, before this semblance of peace, there was only war.

You were barely a teenager when the drums of conflict began to beat, echoing across your island, a relentless rhythm of oppression under a cruel government. Your hands, still small and slender, learned to grip a blade before they truly knew how to hold a pen. You fought for them, for your family, for the very ground beneath your feet. There was a raw, undeniable craving for blood then, not born of malice, but of desperation. Each swing, each parry, was a prayer for survival, a desperate plea for freedom.

The air on those nights was thick with the scent of fear and smoke, illuminated by the orange glow of burning homes. You were a phantom in the chaos, a blur of motion, driven by an instinct to protect. You remembered the sickening crunch of bone, the wet thud of bodies hitting the ground, and the desperate cries that mingled with your own ragged breaths. You were good at it, terrifyingly so. Every move was etched into your muscle memory, a brutal dance perfected through countless skirmishes.

Then came the night the island finally cracked. The citizens, pushed to their breaking point, rose up in a desperate, last-ditch effort to reclaim what was theirs. You were in the thick of it, a whirlwind of fury and hope. The shouts of defiance mingled with the crack of gunfire, a chaotic crescendo. You saw your brother, his eyes wide with a mixture of terror and determination, just meters away. And then, the sickening crack, the way his body crumpled, a dark stain blossoming on his chest.

You were there in an instant, cradling him, your hands slick with his lifeblood. His breath hitched, a desperate gurgle in his throat. His eyes, already clouding, found yours. "Y/N," he rasped, his voice barely a whisper, "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace."

Your own sobs tore through you, a raw, primal sound that was swallowed by the surrounding cacophony of battle. "No… no, please," you choked, tears streaming down your face, mixing with the blood on your hands. But his gaze, unwavering even in death, held you captive. And through your agony, through the despair of watching your people fall, you made the promise. A promise whispered to a dying boy, a vow to forsake the very thing you were terrifyingly good at.

The weeks that followed were a blur of grief and hollow victory. The island was free, but at what cost? Your hands, once so quick to grasp a weapon, now trembled at the thought. The very sight of a blade sent shivers down your spine. The craving for blood, once a driving force, was replaced by a profound nausea. You sought solace in quiet, in the simple rhythm of everyday life. You learned to cultivate a garden, to mend torn sails, to appreciate the quiet hum of a peaceful existence.

The years stretched on, each one a testament to that solemn vow. The killer within you, once a roaring inferno, was carefully, painstakingly banked. You embraced a new path, one of gentle understanding and quiet observation. The Straw Hats saw a calm, collected presence, a kind soul who offered comfort and support. They saw your refusal to fight as a quirk, perhaps even a weakness. They never knew the raging storm you had tamed, the monstrous capability you held in check, all for the sake of a promise made to a dying brother. And you would keep that promise, no matter what.

They didn't see the killer you had been, or the one you still held at bay. They saw the person who’d zone out at the sight of blood, a distant look clouding your eyes as memories, sharp and unwanted, pricked at the edges of your consciousness. They saw the one who’d stay behind when they went to fight, a silent sentinel on the deck, watching the chaos unfold from a safe, agonizing distance. And they saw the one who refused to even hold a weapon, your hands always empty, even when a spare blade or a discarded pipe lay conveniently nearby.

This was the person they had taken onto their ship, a non-combatant in a crew defined by their fighting prowess. Most of them didn't understand it, least of all Luffy, your captain. He tried—he really did—to make sense of your pacifism.

"Hey, Y/N!" Luffy would shout, bounding over to you with a wide grin, a rusty old pipe already in his hand. "Look! This looks like a fun weapon! Wanna try swinging it?" He'd offer it to you, his eyes bright with genuine enthusiasm, completely missing the subtle tightening of your jaw, the faint tremor that would run through your fingers. You'd just shake your head, a small, polite smile fixed on your face. "No thank you, Luffy. I'm not really good with weapons." He'd deflate for a moment, then shrug, already distracted by the next shiny object or the promise of meat.

Another time, during a particularly chaotic skirmish with some minor thugs, you found yourself near Zoro, who'd lost one of his swords in the fray. It lay glinting on the deck, just inches from your foot. "Y/N! The sword!" he grunted, fighting off two assailants. For a split second, your gaze locked onto the hilt, your fingers twitching with an involuntary, phantom grip. The muscle memory screamed, pick it up, it's right there, you could end this. But then, your brother's dying eyes flashed in your mind, and the brief surge of adrenaline receded, leaving behind a cold dread. You simply nudged the sword with your foot, pushing it closer to Zoro, and mumbled, "Here, Zoro, it's just by your hand." He snatched it up, giving you a quick, puzzled glance before diving back into the fight, none the wiser to the internal battle you'd just won.

Even Nami, ever observant, once tried to hand you a small, ornate dagger she'd acquired, thinking it might be a good self-defense tool. "It's just for emergencies, Y/N," she'd said kindly. You'd held it for a moment, the cool weight of the metal strangely familiar, and then, with a deep breath, handed it back. "I'm sure you'll make better use of it, Nami," you'd replied, a lightness in your tone that belied the tension in your shoulders.

They saw your calm demeanor, your quiet support, your occasional bouts of distant silence. They saw a crewmate who chose not to fight, and they, in their own unique ways, respected it. They didn't see the constant vigil, the unyielding strength it took to keep the killer buried deep, all for the sake of a promise whispered to a dying brother on a war-torn island.

For the most part, they accepted your unique stance, but sometimes, the teasing would come, lighthearted jabs that still managed to prick. Zoro, ever the blunt one, would sometimes just snort when the topic of fighting came up, a dismissive sound that spoke volumes without a single word. You'd just offer him a small, unreadable smile in return.

Usopp, in his usual dramatic fashion, would often proclaim, "See, even Y/N's more afraid than me when the fighting starts! At least I try to fight, even if I get scared!" He'd puff out his chest, completely oblivious to the quiet strength it took for you to simply be there, unmoving, while chaos erupted. Chopper, bless his innocent heart, would sometimes fret, "Are you sure you're okay, Y/N? You always look a little… sad when everyone else is fighting." You'd reassure him with a gentle pat on his head, a warmth in your eyes that masked the underlying ache.

Franky, with his boisterous enthusiasm, once tried to entice you. "C'mon, Y/N! Imagine the SUPER moves you could do with a custom weapon! We could build you something amazing!" You just laughed, a genuine, melodious sound. "I'm sure you could, Franky, but I think I'll stick to enjoying your creations from a safe distance."

But there were always those who saw more. Sanji, ever the gentleman, would instantly spring to your defense. "Leave her alone, you louts! Y/N does plenty for this ship! She doesn't need to fight! Who do you think keeps track of our supplies so meticulously? Or helps Nami with her charts? She's an invaluable member of this crew!" He'd glare at the others, apron fluttering dramatically, while you offered him a grateful, soft smile.

And then there was Robin. She didn't tease or bully. Her eyes, perceptive and ancient, saw past the surface. She saw how, when blood bloomed on the deck during a skirmish, you didn't pale, shake, or even run. Instead, you paused. It was a fleeting moment, a subtle stiffening of your shoulders, a sharpening of your gaze that lasted only an instant before it softened again.

She'd seen you, for instance, when Luffy had taken a nasty cut across his arm. While others gasped or rushed to tend to him, you simply watched, your eyes momentarily distant, focused not on the wound itself, but on the way the dark red liquid spread. There was no revulsion in your expression, no fear. Just a profound, almost analytical stillness, as if you were recalling something, reliving a moment only you could see. Then, as quickly as it came, the intensity would fade, replaced by your usual calm demeanor as you moved to grab bandages for Chopper.

Another time, when a low-level pirate had been knocked unconscious, a trickle of blood emerging from his temple, your gaze had drifted to it. You didn't flinch. Instead, your fingers had subtly flexed, an almost imperceptible clenching and unclenching, as if recalling the sensation of a blade. Robin had caught it, a flicker of recognition in her own eyes. You were a mystery to most, a gentle soul among a crew of fighters. But to Robin, you were a locked book, and she, with her quiet observation, was slowly deciphering the chapters within.

It was supposed to be a normal stop, a quaint little island with kind villagers, bathed in the soft glow of a perpetually setting sun. Usually, this was your cue to stay back, watch the Sunny, enjoying the quiet solitude of the ship while the others explored. But the Sunny needed repairs from the last brutal skirmish, a gaping hole in her hull and a splintered mast calling for Franky’s immediate attention.

"You stay put, Y/N," Franky had boomed, already surrounded by tools, "I need to get this baby shipshape. You go have some fun!" When you offered to stay with him, a quiet assurance that you preferred the calm of the ship, Nami had practically pulled you away, a determined glint in her eye. "No way, Y/N! You've been cooped up on the ship too long. Robin and I need your keen eye for shopping! You need a break from watching the Sunny!"

So, you went. It was a rare occurrence, walking alongside the entire crew into town. Luffy, Zoro, Nami, Usopp, Sanji, Chopper, Brook, and you—a motley parade heading for supplies.

Luffy, predictably, was already causing a stir, pointing at every food stall with an eager cry of "Meat!" Chopper bounced excitedly beside him, mesmerized by a street performer’s juggling act. Usopp was haggling loudly over what appeared to be a very ordinary slingshot, convinced it was a rare, ancient artifact. Sanji, ever the doting chef, was already flirting with a local baker, his eyes practically turning into hearts. Nami, ever practical, had her nose in a map, muttering about good deals, while Robin calmly browsed a book stall, a serene smile on her face. Brook, of course, was asking every woman he passed if he could see their panties, much to Nami’s exasperated groans.

You walked a little behind them all, taking in the sights and sounds. The smell of freshly baked bread mingled with the salty sea air. Children laughed, chasing each other through the narrow streets. For a moment, a fragile peace settled over you.

Then, it went to hell.

Luffy, in his usual boundless enthusiasm, had tried to "help himself" to a giant, glistening leg of roast meat from a grumpy vendor’s stall. The vendor, clearly not used to pirates, let out a furious bellow, brandishing a cleaver. One thing led to another, a spilled drink, a mistaken shove, and suddenly, the entire market erupted.

"You damn pirates!" a burly man roared, swinging a fist at Usopp. Tables overturned, baskets of fruit scattered, and the air filled with the angry shouts of villagers. This wasn't a organized enemy, just a furious, uncoordinated mob.

Zoro was already a blur of green, dodging flailing arms and legs, his hands instinctively going for his swords, but holding back, clearly not wanting to cut down civilians. Luffy, surprisingly, was having trouble, overwhelmed by the sheer number of angry hands grabbing at him, pulling his rubber body in every direction. He wasn't fighting back with full force, merely trying to escape the human tide.

Nami shrieked as someone tried to snatch her bag, retaliating with a well-aimed kick that sent her attacker sprawling. Sanji was a whirlwind of kicks, protecting Nami and Robin, but visibly holding back, his precision strikes aimed at disabling, not injuring. Chopper, in Brain Point, was frantically trying to administer first aid to accidentally injured villagers while dodging clumsy swings. Usopp was firing pop greens, creating clouds of smoke to disorient the crowd, his usual bravado replaced by genuine panic. Even Brook was struggling, his cane-sword parrying blows, but the sheer chaos of the unarmed, enraged villagers made it difficult to fight without causing serious harm.

The Straw Hats, used to fighting hardened criminals and powerful marines, were struggling. This wasn't a battle; it was a riot. They were holding back, trying not to hurt these innocent, albeit furious, people, and that hesitation was costing them. Punches landed, kicks connected, and the sheer weight of the mob began to push them back, deeper into the narrow, winding streets of the island town. The gentle sounds of the market were replaced by shouts, screams, and the dull thud of bodies. And in the midst of it all, you stood, a quiet observer as the world around you dissolved into chaos, the familiar scent of blood beginning to prick at your senses.

They weren't winning. They were losing. The sheer force of the furious villagers, fueled by indignation and misunderstanding, was overwhelming. Luffy, usually invincible, was being dragged through a fish stall, momentarily tangled in a net. Zoro, still holding back, found himself pinned against a wall, his swords sheathed, his brow furrowed in frustration as he tried to disarm rather than wound. Nami was pushed into a fruit cart, scattering apples and oranges everywhere, her weather egg useless against a mob.

And you? You just froze.

The sounds of the riot, the shouts, the thuds, began to warp, twisting into the familiar cacophony of another time. The smell of fresh blood, now mingling with the scent of spilled produce, brought it all rushing back. Your brother’s face, pale and streaked with dirt and blood, swam before your eyes. The gurgle in his throat. The final, desperate plea. "Promise me… promise me you'll stop. Stop this… this bloodshed. Live, little sister. Live for peace." The memory was a physical weight, pressing down on your chest, stealing your breath. Your hands, the ones that had cradled his dying form, felt cold, clammy, and useless.

You were vaguely aware of the chaos around you, a swirling vortex of anger and fear, but it was distant, muffled by the roaring in your ears. Your gaze was fixed on nothing, seeing everything. The way the light caught a splash of blood on the cobblestones, mirroring the dark stain on his shirt. The panicked look in Chopper’s eyes as he was shoved, reminding you of the fear in your brother's before it faded. The sheer, overwhelming helplessness of that night, replicated here, now.

"Y/N! What are you doing?!"

The shout pierced through the fog of your memories, a sharp, insistent demand. It was Usopp, his face streaked with dirt, his nose a little crooked from a glancing blow. He was struggling, pinned against a wall by a burly fisherman, but his eyes, wide with fear and exasperation, were fixed on you.

"Even if you're weak, Y/N, now is not the time to freeze and not do anything! Just do something! Anything! Throw a punch, trip someone, scream!" His voice cracked with a mixture of fear and genuine frustration. He probably meant it to snap you out of it, to shake you into action, but his words, especially "weak," struck a raw nerve, twisting the knife in the wound of your past.

The world tilted. Your brother’s dying words echoed, demanding peace, demanding an end to violence. But then, the faces of your crew flashed before you—Luffy, struggling to stand, Zoro grimacing in pain, Nami yelling in distress. Their faces, trusting and desperate.

The promise you made to your departed brother, a sacred vow etched in blood and tears, warred with the silent, desperate plea of your found family. To fight, or not to fight? To embrace the killer within for their sake, or to honor the peace you had so painstakingly built? The choice was agonizing, a chasm opening beneath your feet, demanding you leap one way or the other. You stood there, trembling, caught between a sacred past and a terrifying present.

You couldn't let anyone die. Not again. The thought, cold and sharp, sliced through the fog of memory, shattering the chains of your promise. The terrified look on Usopp’s face, the strained grunts of Zoro, the desperate shouts of Nami—they were alive, right now, and they were in danger. The ghost of your brother’s fading breath was overridden by the visceral need to protect.

Something deep within you snapped.

The world around you, once muffled and distant, sharpened into brutal focus. Every angry face, every flailing limb, every shouted threat became a target, a problem to be solved. The tremor in your hands vanished, replaced by a terrifying steadiness. The gentle, peaceful persona you had meticulously built over years disintegrated, revealing the chilling efficiency beneath.

Your first move was instinctual, a blur of motion. A burly man, still grappling with Usopp, suddenly gasped, his eyes wide with shock as he was effortlessly lifted and then sent sprawling with a single, precise strike to his midsection. He landed with a sickening thud, unconscious before he hit the ground. You didn’t even look at him.

You moved like a predator, a silent, deadly force. There was no hesitation, no wasted motion. Your fists became weapons, each strike delivered with devastating power. A flurry of blows, so fast they were almost invisible, connected with a group trying to overwhelm Sanji. There was the sharp crack of bone, the sudden collapse of bodies, a choked gasp here, a pained groan there. You weren't just fighting; you were destroying.

A man lunged at Chopper, a heavy wooden club raised. Before he could bring it down, you were there. Your hand shot out, catching his wrist with an iron grip. There was a faint pop as something dislocated, and then, with a terrifyingly casual twist, you spun him around, using his momentum to slam him headfirst into a nearby fruit stand. The stand splintered, fruit exploding on impact, and the man slumped, unmoving amidst the wreckage.

Your movements were fluid, graceful, yet utterly brutal. Each punch was designed to incapacitate, each kick to shatter. There was no anger on your face, no fear, no relief—just a chilling devoidness of emotion. Your eyes, once soft and empathetic, were now flat, vacant pools, reflecting the chaos without absorbing it. You moved through the mob like a reaper, a terrifying force of nature. The sounds of the villagers’ shouts began to turn to whimpers, then to silence, as those who hadn't fallen scrambled away in terror.

The Straw Hats, moments ago struggling, slowly began to realize the shift. Luffy, finally free, stared, his rubber limbs frozen mid-stretch. Zoro’s eyes, usually so sharp, widened in a mixture of awe and something akin to fear. Sanji, usually so quick to defend you, now watched, mouth agape, as you effortlessly dispatched three men with a rapid succession of strikes that were almost too fast to follow. Nami clutched her head, her face pale, as she saw a woman go down with a single, precise strike to the temple, utterly silent. Chopper whimpered, burying his face in Usopp's side, while Usopp himself stood paralyzed, his earlier taunts dying in his throat. Even Robin’s serene expression cracked, a flicker of something unreadable passing through her eyes as she witnessed the cold, efficient savagery you unleashed.

You were hovered in blood, not your own, but the splashes and smears from those you had incapacitated. Your clothes were untidy, your hair a little disheveled, but there was not a drop of sweat on your brow, not a hint of exertion in your posture. You stood amidst the broken bodies and scattered debris, the quiet returning to the square, save for the distant cries of a few fleeing villagers.

The Straw Hats stared at you, their breathing ragged, their own fights now over. The air was thick with the scent of fear, and a new, unsettling aura. You were still their Y/N, the quiet, kind crewmate. But now, they had seen the shadow, the terrifying truth of the killer who had laid dormant. And it was scary.

The square was eerily silent now, save for the distant sounds of alarmed shouts from those villagers who had retreated, too terrified to approach. Some lay groaning on the ground, others were utterly still. They looked at you, the figure now covered in the blood of their family, friends, their eyes wide with unadulterated horror. You were no longer the quiet, unassuming visitor. You were a nightmare made manifest.

It was in this chilling tableau that the Straw Hats saw you commit the final, grotesque act that solidified their terror. A lone villager, bolder or perhaps more desperate than the rest, had stumbled out from behind an overturned stall, a small, desperate cry on his lips. In his hand was a transponder snail, already open, its receiver crackling to life, no doubt attempting to summon help. You turned, a slow, deliberate movement, your eyes locking onto the small device. There was no rage, no malice, just an almost detached calculation.

Before anyone could react, you moved. With a frighteningly swift and precise motion, your hand shot out, not towards the man, but towards the snail. Your fingers closed around the device, crushing it with a sickening crunch. The small receiver let out a final, distorted squeal before dying. Then, with the same casual ease, you brought your fist down, the now-shattered pieces of the transponder snail still embedded in your knuckles, directly onto the man's temple. It was a single, clean strike. He crumpled, unconscious, a faint smear of blood blossoming on the cobblestones. The act was so quick, so devoid of emotion, that it was utterly chilling.

That was the moment the Straw Hats knew. This wasn't just a fight. This was something else entirely. Luffy, his face pale, was the first to murmur, "Run."

Just as you took another step towards a cowering figure huddled behind a well, Zoro moved. He was there in an instant, his hand clamping around your arm, his grip surprisingly gentle yet firm. "That's enough, Y/N," he rasped, his voice low, a mix of warning and something akin to a desperate plea. He didn't ask, he didn't question. He simply pulled you away from your soon-to-be victim, guiding you with an almost desperate urgency.

"Everyone! To the Sunny!" Nami shrieked, already turning and sprinting back the way they came.

The rest of the crew didn't need to be told twice. Luffy, shaking himself from his stupor, bounded ahead. Sanji scooped up a still-dazed Chopper, sprinting after him. Usopp, his earlier fear replaced by a new, profound terror, scrambled after them, Brook hot on his heels. Robin, her eyes still on you, moved with a quiet, efficient speed, her expression unreadable.

You offered no resistance as Zoro pulled you. Your movements were still fluid, your body coiled, but you allowed him to guide you, your eyes still distant, unfocused on the fleeing forms of the villagers, or even on the worried glances of your crew. You were a weapon sheathed, but the terrifying capability still hummed beneath the surface.

As you ran through the stunned silence of the town, the image of your bloody knuckles, the shattered snail, and the unconscious man echoed in the minds of the Straw Hats. They had always thought they knew you. But now, as they fled with the living ghost of a killer in their midst, they knew they had been terribly, terribly wrong.

The dash back to the Sunny was a blur of ragged breaths and pounding feet. The salty sea air, usually so invigorating, now felt heavy, thick with unspoken questions. As the first of the crew scrambled aboard, Franky emerged from the lower deck, grease smeared on his face, a wrench in hand.

"You guys are back early, what—" he began, his booming voice cutting off abruptly as his eyes swept over the group. His gaze snagged on Luffy's slightly bruised face, Usopp's trembling hands, Nami's wide, fearful eyes, and then, finally, landed on you.

You stood on the deck, a silent, stark figure, drenched in blood that wasn’t your own. Streaks of crimson marred your clothes, flecked your hair, even stained the skin of your face and hands. It was a visceral, horrifying sight. Franky’s jaw dropped, the wrench clattering to the deck with a metallic clang. "Holy—" he managed, his voice barely a whisper.

Before anyone else could react, Zoro’s arm was around you, a firm, almost possessive grip that guided you aboard. He didn't say a word, just steered you towards the grass deck, the softest spot on the ship, and gently, but firmly, put you somewhere to sit. You offered no resistance, your body moving with a strange, disconnected compliance.

You were dull. Zoned out. Your eyes, still wide and empty, stared blankly at the railing, seeing nothing. Your mind was not there, lost in some terrifying echo of the past, or perhaps, simply numb.

Chopper was the first to approach, his small hooves padding softly on the deck. "Y-Y/N?" he whispered, his voice trembling. He held out a clean cloth, but you didn't react. It was Nami who gently took the cloth from him and, with a sigh that was more tremor than breath, began to clean you up. She started with your hands, wiping away the dark, sticky residue, her movements slow and deliberate, as if unsure of how much pressure to apply.

Sanji, for once, was silent, hovering nearby, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a profound unease. He watched Nami, then you, a cigarette dangling unlit from his lips. Luffy, having finally caught his breath, plopped down beside you, cross-legged, his usual boisterousness completely absent. He tried a shaky, forced smile. "Hey, Y/N... d-did you see that guy fly when Usopp hit him with a Pop Green? He went, like, whoosh!" His attempt at a joke fell flat, the silence on the deck stretching, thick with unspoken questions and profound worry.

Usopp, still a little pale, tried too. "Y-yeah! And remember when I tripped that big guy? Classic! You know, I'm pretty sure I heard him say 'owwie'!" He even forced a nervous chuckle, but his eyes darted to you, then to the blood-stained deck, then quickly away.

Robin sat a little distance away, observing, her gaze unblinking. She didn't speak, but her posture, usually so relaxed, held a subtle tension. Brook stood beside her, his skull tilted, a silent, profound sorrow in his empty eye sockets. Franky, meanwhile, was still staring, his large hands clenching and unclenching.

No one dared to directly ask what had happened, not when faced with your utter unresponsiveness. They just hovered, their worry palpable, a heavy blanket descending upon the ship. You remained still, a statue carved from trauma, while the kind hands of your crew tried to wipe away the crimson evidence of the monster you had unleashed.

The quiet hum of the Sunny’s engines filled the tense silence, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. Nami had finished cleaning your hands, but the blood on your clothes remained, a stark testament to the sudden, brutal shift in your demeanor. Your eyes were still distant, unfocused.

It was Robin who stepped in. She knelt beside you, her movements fluid and unhurried, her voice a soft, steady murmur that cut through the lingering shock. "Y/N," she began, her tone gentle, almost hypnotic. "You did what you had to do. You protected your crew." Her words were a balm, not an accusation. She understood the unspoken truth, the desperate need that had driven you. "It was a difficult situation. They were going to hurt us, weren't they?" A pause, allowing the words to sink in. "You ended the conflict swiftly. Efficiently." She reached out, her hand resting lightly on your shoulder, a gesture of quiet understanding. "You've been through a lot, Y/N. It was a rough fight. You should take a shower and get some rest."

You didn't speak, didn't make eye contact. You simply nodded, a slow, deliberate movement. Then, with a quiet sigh, you rose, your blood-stained clothes clinging to you, and turned towards the women's quarters, presumably to take a shower and find the rest Robin had suggested. The door clicked shut softly behind you, leaving the rest of the crew in a stunned, uncomfortable silence.

The moment the door closed, the dam broke.

"Holy crap," Usopp whispered, his voice trembling. He clapped a hand over his mouth, his face a sickly green. "Did you guys see her? That guy... the one with the snail... she just... she just..." He couldn't finish the sentence, a shiver wracking his body. "We don't kill people! Not like that! We just rough them up, maybe break a few bones, but innocents?! She just... she was like a demon!"

Luffy, unusually subdued, was sprawled on the deck, staring up at the mast. "She was strong," he murmured, almost to himself, a hint of awe in his voice, but also something else – a flicker of confusion. "Really strong."

Sanji finally lit his cigarette, taking a long, shaky drag. "She protected us, you idiots," he snapped, though his own voice lacked its usual fire. "They were going to hurt Nami-san and Robin-chan! Y/N did what was necessary." He exhaled a cloud of smoke, his eyes narrowed. "You saw how they were closing in. We were holding back too much."

"But... the way she did it," Chopper whispered, still clinging to Usopp. "Her eyes... they were empty. Like she wasn't even there."

Zoro, who had been quietly wiping blood from his own clothes, finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly. "She’s always been like that, I bet." Everyone turned to him. "Just saw it for the first time. The real Y/N." He met their gazes, his own steady. "She's not weak. Never was. And she didn't just hurt those guys. She ended them. Fast."

"That's what scares me, you moss-head!" Nami exclaimed, pacing agitatedly. "It was so... cold! We don't fight like that! We're pirates, not murderers of innocent people!"

"They weren't innocent the moment they started attacking us with murderous intent," Sanji retorted, though his defense felt a little hollow, even to him.

Robin, ever calm, finally added, "Y/N has always been a gentle soul. But as I said before, some books are written in a language only a few can understand. Perhaps we've only just begun to read this one." Her gaze lingered on the women's quarters door. There was concern in her eyes, yes, but also a profound, unsettling curiosity.

The air hung heavy with their fear, their concern, and the dawning realization that the quiet, gentle Y/N they knew held a terrifying, deadly secret. What did this mean for their crew? For her? The silence that followed was filled with unspoken questions, questions that, for now, had no answers.

Back in the women's quarters, the small, enclosed space felt oppressive. You stood before the sink, your reflection a distorted mess in the fogged mirror, the crimson smears on your clothes a shocking contrast to the pale fabric. Your fingers, still trembling slightly, fumbled with the buttons of your shirt, then the clasp of your trousers. Each piece of bloodied clothing fell to the floor in a silent heap, a grim testament to the violence you had just unleashed. The cool air on your skin was a stark reminder of the heat that had flared within you.

You stepped into the shower, the spray immediately hot against your skin. You watched, mesmerized, as the water sluiced over your body, carrying with it the red, swirling down the drain in a macabre dance. It was mesmerizing, and horrifying. With each streak of crimson that vanished, another image surfaced, sharp and unwelcome.

The water became the rain on your island, cold and relentless, washing away the blood of the fallen. You saw your brother, his eyes wide and fading, the dark stain on his chest spreading, mirroring the blood now swirling around your feet. You heard his gasping breath, the wet, desperate sound that haunted your every quiet moment. The cries of your island, the screams of the innocent, the metallic tang of fear and death in the air – it all came rushing back, not as distant memories, but as a visceral, present reality.

Your breath hitched. The walls of the shower seemed to close in, the steam thick and suffocating. You squeezed your eyes shut, but the images persisted, playing on the inside of your eyelids: the flash of steel, the desperate scramble, the way the light had caught the glint of a government soldier's bayonet. Your own hands, so small then, stained with a lifetime of violence that had started far too young.

A choked sob tore from your throat, raw and painful. You pressed your palms against the tiled wall, trying to steady yourself, but your legs felt like water. The sobs escalated, rattling through your chest, stealing your breath in ragged gasps. Your vision blurred with tears, the hot water scalding your skin unnoticed. You slid down the wall, collapsing onto the shower floor, curling into a tight ball.

"No… no…" you gasped, the words thin, reedy, lost in the roar of the water. Your chest tightened, a crushing weight making it impossible to draw air. You clawed at your throat, desperate for a breath that wouldn't come. Your body trembled uncontrollably, wracked by the force of the panic attack, a culmination of years of suppressed trauma finally breaking free. The peace you had built around yourself, the quiet, gentle facade, shattered, leaving only the terrified, broken girl who had seen too much, fought too hard, and made a promise she couldn't keep. The blood continued to wash off, but the indelible stains on your soul remained.

The porcelain gleamed, reflecting the harsh fluorescent light of the shower stall. With a raw, guttural cry, you punched the wall, the impact jarring your already trembling body. The dull thud echoed in the small space, a physical manifestation of the turmoil raging within. Sliding down the tiled wall, you collapsed onto the cold, wet floor, your hand pressed hard against your heart, as if to physically contain the frantic drumbeat against your ribs. You broke the promise to your brother—you… you broke it. The words, unspoken, screamed in your mind, each syllable a fresh wound. The image of his fading eyes burned behind your own, accusing and sorrowful.

Sometime later, the sobs subsided, leaving you emotionally hollowed out. Your skin was pruned from the long shower, the water now cold. You mechanically dried yourself, pulling on the softest, most comfortable clothes you owned, careful to avoid the bloodied pile on the floor. Every movement felt heavy, labored.

You left the shower room, the soft glow of the hallway lights a welcome, gentle contrast to the harshness of the shower stall. The ship was quiet, the crew’s earlier agitated voices having faded into hushed murmurs. You didn't stop to listen, didn't want to. Your only goal was the familiar sanctuary of your bed.

You slipped into your bunk, the mattress yielding softly beneath your weight. Staring up at the wooden ceiling, you lay perfectly still, your mind a churning maelstrom of thoughts. The ceiling boards, usually a comforting pattern, seemed to shift and blur, each plank a record of your fractured past. The weight of your broken promise pressed down on you, heavy and inescapable. You had chosen your crew, chosen to fight, but the cost felt astronomical. The killer, buried deep for so long, had clawed its way back to the surface. And now, you didn't know how to put it back.

Sleep, when it finally came, offered no refuge. It was a descent into the very hell you had so desperately tried to outrun. The darkness behind your eyelids coalesced, morphing into the familiar, agonizing scene. You were there again, on the war-torn streets of your island, the cacophony of battle a deafening roar. In your arms, impossibly heavy, lay your brother. His blood, so much of it, seeped into your clothes, warm and terrifying. His eyes, once bright with youthful dreams, were clouded, fixed on you with an unbearable sadness.

"You promised, little sister," he rasped, his voice a ghost of its former strength, yet piercingly clear in the nightmare. "You promised to stop the bloodshed."

His grip on your hand, so weak in reality, was impossibly strong now, holding you captive in your guilt. The light in his eyes flickered, dimming with each word, each accusation. "You brought the monster back, didn't you? The one you buried. The one that craved… violence." His chest hitched, a terrible, wet sound. "Look at what you've done. You're a killer, Y/N. A killer."

Your throat was raw, but no sound escaped. You wanted to beg, to explain, to plead for his understanding. You wanted to tell him it was for them, for your new family, but the words were choked by a wave of suffocating shame. His face, so young, so full of innocent trust, twisted in pain, not from his wounds, but from your betrayal.

"How could you?" he whispered, his voice fading now, barely a breath. "After everything… after I died for peace… you brought the war back into your hands. You're horrible, Y/N. You broke your promise. You broke me."

His eyes closed, and his hand went limp in yours. The life drained from him, leaving behind only the cold, heavy weight of your failure. The battlefield around you seemed to mock your grief, the sounds of distant gunshots morphing into the rhythmic thud of your own heart, beating a frantic tattoo against your ribs.

You awoke with a gasp, bolting upright in your bunk, your body drenched in a cold sweat. Your heart hammered against your ribs, a frantic bird trapped in a cage. The silence of the women's quarters was a jarring contrast to the phantom screams of your nightmare. Disoriented, you blinked, trying to orient yourself, your mind still caught in the agonizing loop of accusation and regret. Through the small porthole, the morning light shone, a stark, unwelcome brightness against the darkness of your shattered sleep. The nightmare was over, but its chilling message lingered, a fresh wound in your already tormented soul.

The lingering chill of the nightmare clung to you, a cold skin you couldn't shed. The morning light, usually a gentle comfort, felt harsh, exposing the raw edges of your turmoil. Every muscle ached with the tension of your restless sleep, and your throat felt tight, still raw from the phantom cries. Yet, the rumble in your stomach was undeniable, a grounding reminder of mundane needs.

Pushing back the covers, you swung your legs over the side of the bunk. The floor felt cool beneath your feet. You dressed quickly, pulling on clean, simple clothes that felt like a uniform against the chaos of your mind. As you stepped out of the women's quarters, the familiar scent of Sanji’s cooking drifted from the kitchen – eggs, bacon, fresh bread – a comforting aroma that warred with the acrid memory of blood and panic.

You could hear them, the hushed, tired tones of the morning Straw Hats. The usual boisterous energy was muted, replaced by a quiet somberness. Still, Luffy's voice eventually rang out, though even his usual exuberance was softened, a little less joyful than normal. He was probably already demanding extra portions.

With each step towards the kitchen, the weight in your chest seemed to grow. You knew what awaited you – the questions in their eyes, the unspoken fear. The knowledge of what they had seen, what you had done, settled like a cold stone in your gut.

You finally made it to the kitchen doorway, stepping into the warm, inviting space. The clatter of plates, the soft murmur of voices, all of it went silent the moment they saw you. Every head turned. Luffy stopped mid-chew, a piece of bacon dangling from his mouth. Usopp swallowed hard. Nami’s hand paused on her teacup. Chopper looked up from his plate, his wide, innocent eyes filled with an unreadable mixture of concern and apprehension. Zoro, who had been leaning against the counter, simply watched you, his gaze steady, perceptive.

You didn't meet their eyes. The silence was deafening, thicker than any fog. You moved to your usual spot at the long table, the simple act of sitting down feeling like an immense effort. You could feel their gazes on you, a collective apprehension that prickled at your skin. Your own emotions were a tangled mess – a profound weariness, a deep shame, and a chilling sense of isolation.

The quiet stretched, taut and uncomfortable, until Sanji broke it. He approached you, his footsteps unusually soft, a plate piled high with a perfect omelet, crispy bacon, and golden toast in his hands. His usual flourish was subdued, his voice a gentle murmur as he placed the plate before you. "Bonjour, ma petite fleur," he said, his French endearment and the familiar cute pet name offered in a quieter, almost hesitant tone than usual. "Eat up. You'll need your strength." He didn't linger, just gave a small, concerned nod before returning to the stove, leaving you with the comforting scent of food and the still heavy weight of their silence.

The fork felt heavy in your hand, each movement a deliberate act. You brought a small piece of omelet to your mouth, the flavor surprisingly muted on your tongue. The silence in the kitchen was thick, almost suffocating, broken only by the faint clinking of cutlery from other crew members who, like you, had resumed eating with an almost desperate normalcy.

Then, Luffy broke it. His voice, usually so full of boundless cheer, was uncharacteristically quiet, yet utterly blunt. He wasn't looking at you, but staring at his own plate, as if the words were too heavy to deliver while meeting your gaze.

"Y/N," he began, and your heart hitched. "Yesterday… you were so strong. Really, really strong. But you always said you wouldn't fight. You refused to touch a weapon. So… why is that? Why now?"

The question hung in the air, raw and personal. You could feel Nami stiffen beside you, ready to intervene. "Luffy!" she hissed, a sharp reprimand in her tone, but before she could launch into a full scolding, you spoke.

Your voice was raspy, a little shaky from disuse and the lingering emotional strain, but it was clear enough to halt Nami. You didn't look up, instead focusing on the swirling patterns in your half-eaten omelet.

"I made a promise," you began, the words tasting like ash in your mouth. "A long time ago. To my brother." You paused, the image of his dying face flashing behind your eyes. "He was hurt. Shot. We were losing. Our island… it was a war. I was just a kid, but I fought. I was… good at it. Too good." A shiver ran through you, a cold memory. "He made me promise to stop. To never fight again. To live for peace." You finally lifted your gaze, meeting the stunned, silent faces of your crew. Your eyes, still tired, held a profound weariness. "Yesterday… I broke it."

Utter silence descended upon the kitchen, heavier and more profound than before. Luffy’s half-chewed bacon fell from his mouth unnoticed. Nami’s hand hovered, forgotten, above her teacup. Every eye in the room was fixed on you, the silence stretching taut, filled with the echo of your confession. They were processing your words, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. Now, it all made sense. How you acted before—the flinching from blood, the refusal of weapons, the quiet retreats—it was all a desperate shield, a fragile barrier against a terrifying past.

You, however, just continued to eat, picking at your omelet with a practiced calm that belied the turmoil within. Your gaze, however, was drawn inevitably to your hands, resting on the table. Your knuckles were raw, abraded, and still a little swollen from punching people, a stark visual testament to the violence you had unleashed.

"So… that's why," Chopper whispered, his voice small, filled with a heartbreaking understanding. "You were afraid of being that person again."

Usopp, who had been nervously picking at his bread, finally dropped it. "You… you fought in a war? When you were a kid?" His voice was laced with a new kind of respect, tinged with horror. "That's… that's insane."

Sanji, for once, didn't snap. He simply sighed, running a hand through his hair. "A promise made to a dying brother… that's a heavy burden, Y/N-chan." His voice was soft, laced with a rare tenderness. "No wonder you never touched a weapon."

Luffy, surprisingly, was the first to break through the somber atmosphere with a more characteristic declaration, though his usual boundless cheer was still tempered by gravity. "But you chose us, didn't you, Y/N?" He grinned, a wide, hopeful smile that somehow cut through the tension. "You broke your promise for us! That means we're important to you, right?"

Nami, ever the pragmatist, but with genuine worry creasing her brow, added, "It must have been so hard for you to do that, Y/N. To go back on something so personal." She paused, then glanced at your knuckles. "Are you… are you okay now?"

Zoro, who had remained silent, watching you intently, finally pushed himself off the counter. He walked over and clapped a heavy hand on your shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort from the taciturn swordsman. "Don't look like that," he grunted, his voice gruff but not unkind. "You did what was necessary. We're your crew. We fight for each other. No apologies needed."

You didn't respond to their words, just kept your eyes on your battered hands. The weight of their understanding, the absence of judgment, was almost as overwhelming as the nightmare itself. They saw you, truly saw you, for the first time. And in their faces, you saw not fear, but a complex tapestry of concern, empathy, and a new, deeper respect. The silence now was different; it was filled with acceptance.

The rest of breakfast continued in a strangely comforting silence. The tension had eased, replaced by a shared understanding. No one pressed you further, allowing you to eat your fill in peace. You could still feel their glances, but now they were laced with curiosity and a newfound respect, not fear.

When you finished, you quietly gathered your plate and fork, washing them meticulously at the sink. The simple, domestic act was a small anchor in the storm of your emotions. Without a word, you then headed out onto the deck, needing the open air, the vast expanse of the sea.

A Day of Quiet Understanding

The sun was high when you stepped out, casting a warm glow across the Thousand Sunny. The crew, in their various states of morning routine, seemed to gravitate towards you, their interactions subtle yet significant, each revealing a deeper layer of their acceptance.

Luffy was the first to bounce over, a wide, excited grin now firmly back on his face. "Hey, Y/N! You were amazing yesterday! Super strong! I didn't know you could do that!" He flexed his arm. "Your punches were even stronger than mine, probably!" His honesty was disarming, devoid of any lingering fear. You just offered a small, tired smile in return.

Zoro approached you later, while you were leaning against the railing, staring out at the waves. He didn't say much, just leaned beside you, mirroring your pose. "So," he grunted, "you just held all that back, huh? Impressive." He then gave you a rare, almost imperceptible nod of approval. "Guess we were wrong about you preferring to stay on the sidelines." His words, for Zoro, were a profound compliment.

Nami found you by the ship's helm. She touched your arm gently. "I'm sorry, Y/N. For not understanding." Her voice was soft, laced with genuine remorse. "It must have been incredibly difficult to carry that burden all these years. And for us to just... not see it." She squeezed your arm. "You don't have to explain anything else. Just know we're here for you."

Later, while you were helping Chopper organize his medical supplies, he looked up at you, his eyes wide and earnest. "Y/N, you're not scary! You were protecting us. Like a doctor protects patients! It was just… very powerful." He then added shyly, "If you ever… need to talk about it, I'm here."

Usopp, still a little shaken but trying to act tough, approached you with a hesitant smile. "Y-Y/N! So, uh, I heard... I mean, I saw you take down that guy with the snail! That was... that was like something out of one of my stories! But, uh, way more real." He scratched the back of his head. "I guess I was wrong about you being more scared than me, huh? You're actually, like, super brave for holding back all that power."

As you helped Sanji chop vegetables for lunch, he kept glancing at you, a new thoughtfulness in his movements. "To live with that kind of strength, and choose peace… that takes a different kind of power, Y/N-chan," he murmured, his voice uncharacteristically reflective. "It must have been excruciating yesterday. You did well."

Even though he wasn't there, Franky had obviously heard the full story. He found you near the mast, inspecting a repaired sail. "So, Y/N!" he boomed, a wide, enthusiastic grin on his face. "Even though I wasn't there, I heard you went SUPER yesterday! Taking down all those guys with just your fists! That's gotta be one of the most manly things I've ever heard! We were totally wrong thinking you just stayed out of fights 'cause you didn't know how!" His usual boisterousness was a welcome return to normalcy, devoid of any judgment.

Later in the afternoon, Robin joined you in the library, a quiet presence by your side. She simply smiled, a knowing, gentle expression. "The truth always reveals itself, Y/N. And it is rarely as simple as it first appears. It seems your past has a depth none of us truly appreciated." She didn't press for details, just offered her silent, unwavering acceptance.

As evening approached, Brook approached you on the deck, his signature "Yohohoho!" a little softer than usual. "Y/N-san, to carry such a burden, such skill, and choose not to wield it… that is truly admirable. Though, I must admit, I was quite surprised to see such ferocity from someone so serene. It simply goes to show, one should never judge a book by its cover, or a lady by her lack of fighting, yohohoho!"

By the time the stars began to pepper the darkening sky, a sense of quiet calm had settled over you. The raw edges of your panic attack had softened, replaced by a profound weariness, but also, surprisingly, a hint of peace. They understood. They didn't fear you. And for the first time in a very long time, the heavy weight of your secret felt a little lighter.

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#one piece x reader #one piece x y/n #one piece x you #one piece #reader insert #straw hat pirates #straw hats #straw hats x reader

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celestedangelica · 2 days ago

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Why muz he be soo hawt? *fans self*

@r473n @villainsrtasty @toxictaicho @azur3sunsettia @darthwhorecrux @bleachbabee @koalaoffandoms @myrottingbrain

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#he's too hot for me!!😫🥵#he is so beautiful #he is so fine #shunsui kyoraku #sexiest head captain #bleach anime #bleach tybw

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celestedangelica · 2 days ago

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Not Like That (Izou x Reader)

The crew’s always making comments.

You’re not surprised anymore, just half-annoyed, half-used to it. Marco smirks when he passes by you and Izou sitting shoulder to shoulder on the deck. Thatch makes little heart gestures behind your back. Even Ace, not the most observant when it comes to love, raises a brow now and then.

You laugh it all off. So does Izou.

“Not like that,” you always say, even though lately, it doesn’t come out as easily.

_____

~ 5.000 words

The sun’s sinking on the horizon, painting everything in warm colors, when you find Izou in your usual spot, the quiet corner of the upper deck tucked behind a row of crates. He must have been waiting for you for quite some time, legs folded beneath him, with a book in one hand.

He doesn’t look up when he speaks.

“You’re late,” he says, voice smooth as ever. “I nearly finished the chapter without you.”

You roll your eyes and drop down beside him, your shoulder knocking lightly into his. “You could’ve waited.”

“I could have,” he agrees, flipping to the next page. “But you’re always ten minutes late when you say you’ll be here shortly.”

You don’t bother denying it. You just lean sideways, peering over his arm. “What page are we on?”

He taps the line with one finger, and you nod. The spine of the book creaks as he shifts to make more room for you, and without a word, you settle in, thigh pressed lightly to his. The two of you read like this often, cramped in the same space, sharing a single copy, breathing in sync without realizing it.

You’ve been doing it for so long it barely feels unusual.

You read for another half hour like that, heads bent close together, voices brushing against the dusk. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder. At some point, he starts reading every line aloud, and you don’t stop him.

Then someone shouts across the deck.

“Oi, you two! Still pretending you’re just friends?”

You sit up. Groan. “God, Thatch, we’re reading.”

“So that’s what they’re calling it now,” he calls back, winking.

Izou sighs, not even lifting his head. “You know it’s not like that.”

“Oh, sure,” Thatch says, dramatically dragging out the words. “Completely innocent shoulder resting. Just textbook literature appreciation under the stars.”

You roll your eyes, and Izou mutters, “You’re impossible.”

Thatch just laughs and waves it all off. “Yeah, yeah. Come on, lovebirds. Drinks are flowing and we’re losing daylight. Get over here!”

Izou closes the book slowly, marking the page with a sliver of ribbon. “Sounds like chaos is about to start any moment.”

Thatch just grins. “Nah, sounds like a great way to spend the night. You two are always hiding in corners like some dramatic lovers from a romance novel.”

You throw a pebble at him, which you find right next to you. He ducks it easily.

“Come on,” he says again, stepping back. “Ace already started trying to outdrink himself, so we could use the adult supervision.”

Izou rises first, dusting off the back of his kimono. He offers you a hand—familiar, casual. He’s done it a hundred times before, and you’ve always taken it without thinking.

But this time your fingers tingle when they curl around his. His grip lingers a beat too long.

He lets go when you’re steady, and neither of you says a word about it.

_____________

The corner of the deck where the others have gathered is warm with lantern light and low laughter. Someone’s even lit a fire in a metal barrel, and of course, there’s sake and rum passed around in mismatched mugs.

Thatch has already claimed the best seat, a crate turned sideways, and is pouring drinks with clearly too much alcohol in them. One of those concoctions might be enough to make you blackout drunk.

Marco leans against a post, half-lidded gaze flicking to the two of you as you arrive, and Ace sits cross-legged on the deck, already pink-cheeked, grinning for no reason.

“Look who finally decided to grace us with their presence,” Marco says lazily.

Izou drops down beside you, elbow brushing yours as he tucks his legs under himself. “You act like we missed something.”

“You did,” Ace says. “Thatch tried to convince Marco to dance. It almost happened.”

“It absolutely did not,” Marco mutters, and Thatch winks.

“He was tempted.”

You snort as you accept a drink from Thatch, fingers brushing Izou’s briefly when you pass him his. You barely notice it, but they do.

Marco arches a brow at the exchange and Ace nudges Thatch and stage-whispers, “They do this all the time.”

“Do what?” you ask truly not knowing what they mean, but already guessing that it’ll be another comment on your and Izou’s friendship.

“The little touches. The looks. The looonging,” Ace says, drawing it out like it’s something scandalous.

“We’re friends,” Izou says smoothly, taking a sip of his drink.

“Yeah,” Thatch adds, grinning. “And I’m a virgin.”

You nearly choke on your drink. Even Izou coughs beside you and then smiles into his cup like he’s trying not to laugh.

“I don’t know what you’re all imagining,” you say after a beat. “We just read together.”

Marco hums. “It’s the just that’s doing a lot of work in that sentence.”

Ace leans back, tilting his head dramatically. “Honestly, if they don’t kiss by the end of the week, I’m filing an official complaint.”

“Do it,” Thatch says. “Make it formal.”

Izou raises a hand. “Do I get to review this complaint?”

“Denied in advance,” Marco mutters, then takes another sip.

You look over at Izou. He looks back, that same unreadable softness in his expression again—calm on the surface, like always, but there’s something else flickering behind his eyes. Something you can’t quite name.

Your legs are touching. Your hands brush again when you both reach for the same snack. Neither of you moves away and that’s okay. Friends are supposed to be comfortable around each other.

So, you try not to think about it too much, enjoying the evening drinking and laughing with your brothers instead.

And eventually, the night deepens as more and more stars are beginning to peek through and the buzz of Thatch’s drinks settles in your bones. You’re on your second cup of whatever Thatch poured, your skin already flush and your head pleasantly light.

Izou notices before you can say anything. He always does.

He shifts just slightly, his shoulder brushing yours more firmly, the motion steadying. His fingers graze your wrist, just once, and then again more deliberately.

“You alright?” he murmurs, low enough that the others won’t catch it.

You smile, just for him. “M’fine.”

He watches you a second longer, then pushes the small bowl of roasted chestnuts toward you. “Eat a little.”

“I already did.”

“You picked out the peanuts and left the rest.”

You laugh and nudge him with your knee. “And you know this how?”

He lifts a brow. “Because I know you.”

You go quiet for a second, not because you don’t have something to say, but because of how easy that sounded. Like a truth. Like something he didn’t mean to say out loud.

So, you take one of the chestnuts just to appease him, unaware of the fact that Ace’s watching you both from across the fire with his chin in his palm, grin pulling wide. “You know, I’m starting to get why you fell in love with Izou.”

“It’s the little things,” Thatch adds, grinning just as wide as Ace.

Marco sips his drink, and without looking up says, “I think they’re actually worse than any couple I’ve ever seen.”

“We’re not—” you start, but Izou calmly cuts in at the same time:

“—together,” he finishes, smooth as ever. But his eyes flick toward you with a softness that makes your stomach flip.

You open your mouth, maybe to echo it, maybe to say something else, but then Izou gently tugs your cup away from you.

“You’ve had enough,” he says, not unkindly, already pouring you a bit of water from a clay jug.

You wrinkle your nose. “I’m fine.”

“I know,” he says quietly. “But I’m still taking care of you.”

Ace makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “Can you not be sweet for one damn second?”

“Let them,” Marco mutters, hiding his smile behind the rim of his cup. “I think they’ll eventually admit it to each other.”

You snort, cheeks warm. Whether from the alcohol or Izou or both, you’re not sure anymore. Izou hands you the water without another word, the pads of his fingers brushing yours like always. Thoughtful, careful. Second nature.

And just like that, the night grows louder as the drinks keep flowing. Laughter comes easier, shoulders loosen, and Thatch breaks out into awful attempts at a sea shanty that has Ace howling with laughter and Marco visibly debating whether to walk overboard into the sea.

But you just lean against Izou’s side now without really thinking about it. He hasn’t moved away, hasn’t commented on it, just adjusted slightly to make it more comfortable, like he always does.

You don’t even notice that Ace’s attention has moved back toward you two until he speaks again, louder this time. “Seriously, how long are you two going to pretend?”

You blink. “Pretend what?”

“That you’re not in love.”

You laugh, too fast, too loud. “We’re not.”

“Right,” Thatch chimes in, pointing between you and Izou. “So if we dared you to kiss right now, it wouldn’t mean anything, huh?”

You sit up straighter. “It’d mean nothing.”

Izou doesn’t flinch. He just exhales a quiet breath, smooth as silk. “We kiss if it’ll shut you all up.”

Suddenly, everybody around you quiets. Then Marco snorts. “Don’t do it because we told you to yoi.”

“No. Actually, let’s do it,” you nod agreeing to the whole plan. “This might finally end the conversation.”

So, next Izou turns toward you slightly. His expression is unreadable again—gentle, careful. His hand rises, not to pull you close, but to steady your chin with a featherlight touch.

“They’re like children sometimes,” he murmurs, so low only you hear it.

“Absolutely,” you nod, chuckling, happy that he somehow managed to ease the tension with just one comment.

So, suddenly feeling more at ease, you lean in. Easy. Like breathing. And Izou meets you halfway, calm and certain.

The kiss is soft... softer than you expected. His lips press to yours, sharing its warmth in a slow and deliberate manner, not rushing anything or demanding more than you’re already giving.

It’s rather tender.

His lips move gently against yours like he’s memorizing the feel of your mouth in that one brief touch. And then it ends, just as simply as it began.

You both pull back slowly. Barely. Your noses are still close, breath mingling and neither of you speaks for a long time.

Until Ace breaks the silence with a whistle. “Holy shit!”

“That was not a ‘we’re just friends’ kiss,” Thatch points out, delighted.

You blink, still feeling dazed. “It was just to prove a point.”

Izou, voice barely audible and eyes not moving from yours, adds. “We told you that before we kissed…”

Then, finally, you sit back, suddenly very aware of the way your body is still leaning into his. You try to steady your hands and your thoughts. Everything inside you feels like it’s glowing.

Marco’s watching with narrowed eyes like he sees something neither of you are ready to admit.

“You two are exhausting yoi,” he says, tipping his drink toward you.

And finally, no one says anything else. They let it go – for now, even though Izou leans in slightly again, just enough that his shoulder touches yours again, grounding and familiar.

You don’t move away. You never do, so why should you now?

You’re still just friends.

And eventually, one by one, the crew retires to their beds until you and Izou are the only ones left. He hasn’t moved much since the kiss. And neither have you because the warmth between you feels comfortable still.

But somehow heavy in a way it wasn’t before.

Izou breaks the silence first, voice low. “They’ll be talking about that for weeks.”

You let out a soft huff. “They never needed a reason before.”

He hums, almost a laugh. “True.”

Another pause. But you don’t fill it with anything this time. Neither does he.

You glance at him. He’s watching the fire, jaw relaxed, eyes soft. But there’s tension in his hands, subtle, but you know him well enough to see it. He’s thinking too much. So are you.

You shift, just a little, brushing your shoulder against his again. Not enough to make a statement. Just enough to remind him you’re still there.

His voice is quieter this time when he says, “You didn’t have to go through with it.”

“I know.”

“You could’ve said no.”

“I know,” you say again, softer now.

Izou finally looks at you. There’s something hesitant in his expression like he’s waiting for you to take it back. Waiting for you to laugh it off. Waiting for you to tell him it meant nothing.

“It was just to prove a point,” you say.

His mouth lifts at one corner. “Right.”

“Just to shut them up.”

“Of course.”

Another long stretch of quiet passes. You should move. Stand up. Head below deck. But you don’t want to and neither does he. So, you two continue to sit by the fire, the taste of the kiss still lingering on your lips.

______________

The next morning you find yourself in the galley, claiming that the sunlight’s far too bright as you walk in, seeing that breakfast’s already laid out on the wooden tables. In front of everybody are bowls of rice, grilled fish, and something Thatch insists is soup but smells suspiciously like hangover remedy.

You shuffle past a few tables, hair a mess, eyelids heavy. Izou’s already there, seated at the end of your table. His cup of tea steams quietly in front of him. He doesn’t look tired. Of course, he doesn’t.

He glances up as you enter and offers you a small smile. Warm. Familiar. Safe.

Your stomach does something it has no business doing, so you push it down as you slide into the spot beside him like always.

And that’s when Thatch pounces. “Well, well, well. Look who decided to wake up late after her scandalous little kiss.”

You groan and drop your head to the table.

Marco, across from you, doesn’t even look up from his breakfast. “I was wondering how long it would take yoi.”

Ace grins around a mouthful of rice. “I give it three days before one of you breaks and confesses.”

You lift your head just enough to glare. “There’s nothing to confess.”

“That’s what makes it sadder,” Thatch says, mock-wounded. “You're already acting like a couple but too emotionally constipated to admit it.”

Izou calmly sips his tea. “She and I are friends.”

“Right,” Marco says, flicking his eyes between the two of you. “Friends who kiss.”

“Once,” you mutter. “To make you all shut up.”

“Didn’t work,” Ace points out cheerfully.

You grab a rice ball from the center plate and chuck it at him. He catches it with his mouth and nearly chokes from laughing.

Thatch leans forward on his elbows, his voice dropping like he’s about to start narrating a romance novel. “They were just two friends… sipping tea… sitting shoulder to shoulder in the quiet glow of firelight…”

“Thatch.”

He ignores the warning in Izou’s tone.

“…their lips met in a passionate attempt to end all speculation…”

“Thatch.” That one’s from you.

He’s grinning like a cat at you. “… but little did they know, that single kiss would awaken something forbidden. Something deep. Something—”

You whip a spoon at him. It clatters off his shoulder. “Finish that sentence and I’ll dump soup over your head.”

“Feisty,” Ace chuckles, while Marco’s chuckling into his coffee.

And just as the teasing has finally started to die down and you think you might finish the rest of your breakfast in peace (mostly because you’ve stopped reacting and Izou’s gone quiet in that way that makes people nervous), does Ace speak up again.

His voice is perfectly innocent. Too innocent. And his expression doesn’t match, because there’s a glint in his eyes, a smug little twist to his mouth that sets off alarm bells before he even finishes his thought.

“Well, I was thinking…” he begins, drawing the words out slowly like he’s savoring them. “If kissing friends is just something we do now…”

You pause, fork halfway to your mouth. “Don’t.”

“… and Izou and I have known each other longer than you two have…”

Izou doesn’t look up from his plate. “I’m warning you.”

“… then shouldn’t I get a turn too?”

The table goes silent for a second. Then Thatch immediately chokes on a mouthful of food, coughing into his fist, while Marco leans back with a faintly amused smirk like he’s settling in for the show.

“Don’t encourage him,” you mutter, though you can already feel a laugh building in your throat.

Ace, of course, only grins wider and starts sliding around the table, slow and exaggerated, like a cartoon villain with both hands raised in mock innocence. “C’mon, Izou. Just a little kiss between bros. For science.”

Izou doesn’t even flinch. He just sets his utensils down. “I will shoot you.”

There’s a beat.

Ace falters mid-step. “Wouldn’t be the first time a gun was involved in one of my dates,” he quips, though he’s definitely reconsidering his choices.

“You’re not helping yourself,” Izou says flatly, pushing his chair back with sudden purpose.

“Okay, okay, just a peck—!” Ace doesn’t get the chance to finish.

With a smooth, practiced motion, Izou draws his flintlock from his belt and levels it right at Ace’s head. The click of the hammer being pulled back is sharp and deadly in the morning air.

“Fuck!” Ace yelps and quickly dives behind Marco like a coward, knocking into the bench in the process.

Thatch loses it completely, doubling over, face red, laughing so hard he’s crying. “Oh my god! He was deadass serious!”

Even you can’t hold it in anymore. A laugh bubbles up and escapes, and you have to cover your mouth with one hand to stop yourself from completely losing composure.

Marco doesn’t even flinch as Ace huddles behind him. “You brought that one on yourself,” he says simply, sipping his coffee like this is all a routine part of breakfast.

From beneath the table, Ace’s voice pipes up again, wounded but still amused. “Hey! At least now we know Izou wouldn’t kiss any of his friends!”

Izou, ever the picture of calm, lowers his gun and sets it neatly back on the table. His face is unreadable, but the faintest pink stains the tips of his ears.

“Try it again,” he says, tone icy, “and I will make it count next time.”

Naturally, the laughter around the table doesn’t die down right away. Thatch is still wiping tears from his eyes, and Ace stays crouched behind Marco like a man in hiding, though even he’s grinning now. Moreover, someone makes a joke about how easily Izou’s gun comes out these days, and someone else starts taking bets on who’ll be the next target.

But then the noise finally begins to fade, the teasing shifting to other things.

And when you glance over at Izou, he’s sitting next to you again, cradling a fresh cup of tea that someone – probably Marco – slid in front of him while the commotion was still going. However, he hasn’t taken a sip yet.

You catch the tight line of his shoulders. The set of his mouth. The way he stares into the steam curling from his cup like it’s something he has to brace himself for.

Then you reach out quietly, slipping your hand over Izou’s, your fingers brushing against the side of his palm. He startles, just slightly, but doesn’t pull away. So, you lean in, your voice low. “I’ve got watch duty in ten. If you’re done threatening your brothers, you can come with me.”

His eyes finally meet yours.

You give his hand a gentle tug and add, “I’d like the company.”

Izou doesn’t answer, but he rises immediately, silent, composed, tea cup abandoned.

The moment you step away from the table, however…

“Oh no!” Thatch wails, dramatically clutching his chest. “They’re walking away together. What does it mean?”

“Ten-to-one they make out behind the cannon stacks,” Ace calls, peeking out from Marco’s side like a raccoon.

Marco barely glances up. “Put me down for five. They’ll just stare at the ocean and suffer in silence.”

You keep walking, tugging Izou along by the hand, pretending not to hear the rising laughter behind you.

But you do hear Izou mutter under his breath, “Next time I’m not hesitating. I’ll shoot them all.”

You glance sideways as you walk, your fingers still laced lightly with his. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s steady. Measured. Like everything with Izou. But there’s tension running up his arm, shoulders drawn a little too straight, jaw set just a little too firmly.

“They really do act like children,” you say, voice calm and dry. “Honestly, it’s impressive they haven’t all been court-martialed for emotional damage.”

That earns a faint huff beside you, almost a laugh. Almost.

You bump your shoulder gently into his. “You know they only tease because they’re jealous, right?”

“Jealous?” he echoes, glancing at you with a raised brow.

You nod, trying to keep a straight face. “Absolutely. You have it all: The looks, the aim, and the best friend on the ship, which is me, of course.”

Izou snorts under his breath, a sound you rarely get to hear, and the corner of his mouth twitches like he’s trying not to smile.

“You forgot humility,” he murmurs.

“Oh, I left that out on purpose. We can’t both be perfect.”

“Right,” he says, and now the smile breaks through, faint but real. “That would be unfair to the others.”

You grin. “Exactly. We’re doing them a favor by keeping our brilliance to just the two of us.”

Finally, his steps feel lighter and his shoulders have eased out of their rigid set. Moreover, the air between you softens again, returning to the familiar, comfortable rhythm that always seems to settle in when you’re alone together.

And maybe it’s your imagination—but his thumb brushes once, slow and deliberate, across your knuckles. Just once. Like a thank-you he doesn’t say out loud.

You don’t mention it. Just squeeze his hand in return and keep walking.

On deck, you settle into your usual spot by the railing, where the sea stretches endlessly in every direction. Izou stands beside you, arms folded neatly across his chest, one hip leaning against the balustrade.

You glance up at him. “Thanks for coming.”

His gaze stays on the horizon for a beat longer before he replies, voice quiet. “Didn’t need much convincing.”

That makes you smile, though you try to hide it by looking back out at the sea. The wind shifts, brushing a loose strand of hair across your cheek, and before you can move, Izou’s hand lifts gently, and tucks it behind your ear.

You turn to him slowly, your breath catching just a little.

He doesn’t pull his hand away immediately. His fingers linger at your temple, warm and steady, like he’s memorizing the shape of you.

“I really thought the kiss might shut them up, you know,” you eventually sigh, feeling the sudden need to fill the silence.

“Looks like it did more damage,” Izou adds, voice dry but softer now.

“They act like it meant something even though we tell them it didn’t,” you groan, putting your face in your hands. “We could kiss thousands of times and they wouldn’t stop teasing.”

There’s a pause, just long enough to notice it.

Then Izou says, low and careful, “Maybe we could try?”

You freeze. Your hands lower slowly from your face, and when you look at him, he’s watching the sea again, but there’s a tension in his jaw, in the line of his shoulders, like he’s bracing for something. Like he hadn’t meant to say that out loud. Or maybe he did and just wasn’t sure what you’d do with it.

“Try,” you echo, quietly. “You mean…”

“To kiss again,” he says, still not facing you. “No audience. No reason. Just to see.”

Just to see.

The wind picks up again, cool and salt-sweet, tugging at your sleeves, your hair, the fragile quiet stretched between you. And you realize you could make a joke. Shrug it off. Pretend the butterflies in your stomach are from the sea breeze and not from him.

But you don’t want to… Not this time.

So, you shift, turning to face him fully and nudge his arm with your own. “Okay.”

Izou finally looks at you. There’s surprise there, but it softens quickly—gives way to something steadier. Like relief. Like hope.

You don’t speak again. You just lean in, slow and certain, similar to how you did it last night. But like Izou already pointed out, there’s no audience. No pressure. No need to pretend anymore.

Izou meets you halfway, just as calm, just as deliberate. The kiss begins soft, barely there. A quiet question. A breath shared between mouths. His lips are warm against yours, steady and patient like he’s afraid to rush something that might shatter if handled too roughly.

But when you don’t pull away after some while… when you lean into it instead, fingers brushing lightly against the edge of his coat something shifts.

You feel it in the way his hand rises, finds your jaw, his thumb resting at the corner of your mouth. On the way, he draws in a slow breath through his nose like he’s trying to stay grounded like he didn’t expect this to happen, and now he’s afraid it might end too soon.

And so the kiss deepens. Bit by bit, like a tide coming in.

Your lips move together with growing confidence, not rushed, but more certain. There’s no hesitation in the way he tilts his head slightly, pulling you in just a little closer like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth, the sound of your breath, the warmth of your body against his.

Like he’s pouring every unsaid feeling into this one moment, quiet longing, quiet wanting, all the things he hasn't dared to name.

And when the kiss finally breaks, it does so slowly… reluctantly. A few short parting touches. A final brush like he doesn’t quite want to let go. So, you stay close, foreheads nearly touching, hearts knocking a little too fast beneath the surface.

“Izou…” you whisper, not really sure what you mean to say.

He opens his eyes, gaze sweeping over your face like he’s trying to commit every inch of it to memory. His thumb strokes just once along your cheekbone, the faintest, reverent touch.

“You’re okay?” He whispers.

“Yeah,” you admit, unable to not smile softly at him. “I wouldn’t mind kissing you again.”

His breath catches, just faintly, but you feel it. Moreover, for a moment, Izou doesn’t speak. He just watches you, something softer and unguarded growing behind his eyes. And then, slowly, his lips curl into the barest smile.

“Good,” he murmurs. “Because I was thinking the same thing.”

His hand slides from your cheek to cradle the back of your neck, fingers slipping into your hair like he’s done it a hundred times in dreams he’d never admit to having. And when he kisses you again, it’s deeper from the start. No lingering uncertainty.

Just want.

Just the kind of aching sweetness that makes the world fall away.

You tilt into him, your hands finding his chest, his shoulder—anything to keep you close. His other arm slips around your waist, steadying you, grounding you, but not pulling you too close. He still handles you like something precious.

“Well, well, well,” Marco drawls, looking far too satisfied. “Looked like a pretty meaningful watch shift from up here.”

You jolt, just barely, and Izou sighs deep and from the soul, his forehead dropping to rest against yours for one last second before he straightens.

Up on the upper deck, Marco leans lazily over the railing, arms folded, a slow grin spreading across his face like he’s been waiting all morning for this exact moment.

“I swear to god,” Izou mutters under his breath.

But it’s too late. Because now Thatch pops up behind Marco, practically vibrating with excitement. “Did they kiss again?! Did I miss it?! Marco, you said you’d signal me!”

“I did signal you,” Marco replies blandly. “You just didn’t react yoi.”

“I thought the hand wave meant someone fell overboard!” Thatch wails. “You need a better system!”

“You two are disasters,” you hiss, face burning hot as you try to duck behind Izou’s shoulder… not that it helps.

“Oh, c’mon,” Thatch grins, leaning over the rail so far it looks unsafe. “We knew there was tension. We just didn’t know it was gonna burst into flames!”

Then comes Ace, swinging in from a rope like he’s auditioning for a different genre entirely. “Congrats! I give it three days before they start sneaking into each other’s rooms!”

“I’m literally going to kill all three of you,” Izou growls, voice low and dark.

“Oh no, he’s doing the voice,” Ace stage-whispers, already crab-walking backward toward the nearest rope. “He’s gonna get the gun. He’s gonna get the gun!”

“Izou…” you warn, but he exhales like a man preparing for battle.

Then he lets go of your hand slowly, carefully, almost reverently, and pulls his flintlock from his belt in one smooth motion, like he’s rehearsed it.

Instantly, Ace bolts up the rigging with alarming speed, practically leaping two steps at a time. Even Thatch lets out a shriek and dives behind Marco similar to how Ace did it today morning.

“Thatch, you said he wouldn't actually pull it!” Ace yells from halfway up the mast.

“I thought he’d hesitate!” Thatch howls from the floor. “He usually hesitates!”

“He didn’t hesitate this morning!”

You’re laughing now, absolutely breathless, wheezing as you grab Izou’s arm with both hands. “Don’t shoot them!”

“I’m just scaring them,” Izou replies calmly, flintlock raised with unnerving precision.

You eye the gun and the glitter of the hammer cocked back. “You cocked it.”

He sighs like you’re asking the impossible. “Fine. Scaring them a lot.”

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#I'm giggling and kicking my feet!!!!;#this is so cute #izou one piece #izou x reader #whitebeard pirates #one piece #op izou #oneshot

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celestedangelica · 2 days ago

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hello hello! How are you? I hope you are okay. May i req a kuzan x reader? some angst since you love it.... maybe reader is angry at kuzan because he joined blackbeard plus kidnapped a 16 y o and attacksd garp. She may feel like she doesn't know him anymore and broke up with him 👀

Drift

Warnings: angst, breakup, post-canon (Blackbeard era), emotional fallout, betrayal, unspoken love, cold distance

Word Count: 860~

Pairing: Kuzan (Aokiji) x Reader

crossposted on AO3

You’d never expected to feel afraid of him.

Not him. Not Kuzan.

But the headlines hit like a cannon blast. And somewhere in the cracks of those ink-soaked words, in the shadows between names like Marshall D. Teach and Shiryu and Pizarro, sat his. Quiet. Present. Kuzan.

Your hands shook for an entire day.

At first, you tried to deny it. Maybe it was a mistake. Maybe he was there to stop it. Maybe he was doing something bigger—something you couldn’t see. But those excuses wore thin fast. You knew him. You knew that silence wasn’t passive. It was calculated.

He used to tell you the hardest part of ice wasn’t the cold. It was the stillness. The way things died beneath it without ever making a sound.

He didn’t come home that night. Or the next. And you didn’t send a single message.

You waited. Eyes fixed on the door, the clock, the paper curling in your hand. Until finally, two days later, he strolled up to your little house on the bluff like nothing was wrong—his hands in his pockets, long coat trailing behind like some worn out memory.

He gave you a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“You’re early,” he said lazily, like it was just another night.

Your throat went dry.

“I read what you did,” you said, low and flat, brittle as cracked sea-glass.

His brows barely lifted. Not with surprise. More like… weariness.

“It’s not that simple,” he said after a beat.

Your voice rose, sharp and cold. “She’s sixteen, Kuzan. Sixteen. A kid. And you just stood there—!”

“I didn’t touch her.”

“You didn’t stop them either!”

The silence that followed was worse than shouting.

You stared at him, heart racing, willing him to give you something. A reason. A lie. A justification. Anything. But his eyes—those heavy, half-lidded eyes—just watched you with something unreadable beneath them.

Your voice cracked as you tried again. “You stood by while they took Garp. Garp, who raised you. Who fought beside you. Who trusted you.”

Still, he said nothing.

And that was the moment your heart finally split in two.

You shook your head. “I don’t recognize you anymore.”

Something flickered in his expression. Regret, maybe. Shame. But not enough.

“Whatever you are now,” you whispered, “it’s not the man I—”

You stopped. The word was right there, aching in your mouth. Loved. But saying it would only make it real. Saying it would break you.

He must’ve heard it anyway.

“I never wanted you to see me like this,” he murmured.

You stared at him. The way his broad shoulders still slouched like a man who didn’t care what the world thought of him. The way frost still clung faintly to his boots, leaving pale smudges on your wooden floor. The way his hands, once gentle on your skin, now looked like weapons he didn’t bother to sheathe anymore.

“And yet here you are,” you breathed.

He looked away. The silence stretched so thin, so sharp, it nearly cut through your chest.

You wanted him to say something. Anything. That he had no choice. That it was undercover. That he was biding time, playing a role, protecting someone. That Garp ordered it. That the girl was safe. That this was all a part of some grand scheme he couldn’t tell you about.

But he didn’t.

He just stood there—taller, colder, and somehow smaller than he used to be.

You remembered the nights you used to fall asleep against his chest, listening to his heartbeat, lulled by the steady rise and fall of someone you thought was immovable.

Now… he felt like drift ice. Floating. Detached. Quietly dangerous.

“I loved you,” you said finally, the truth clawing out of your throat like it needed to bleed.

He didn’t flinch.

“I still do,” he replied, soft. Like it hurt to admit.

And maybe that made it worse. Because love wasn’t enough anymore. Not now. Not like this.

You stepped back. Just one pace. Enough to draw the line neither of you wanted to name.

“I can’t do this,” you said, voice shaking. “Not when I don’t know who you are. Not when you don’t know anymore, either.”

Kuzan didn’t chase you.

He never was the chasing type. He moved like glaciers—slow, steady, irreversible. He’d always let people come to him, and once, that had been comforting.

Now it just felt like surrender.

You watched him for a few more seconds, memorizing the curve of his face, the tired crease of his mouth. The deep sorrow in his eyes that he didn’t even try to explain.

You turned and left.

He didn’t call your name. Didn’t ask you to stay. Didn’t offer you the closure you needed.

Outside, snow began to fall—soft and silent. You hated how beautiful it was. How familiar.

Just like him.

You didn’t look back. But if you had, you might’ve seen the frost blooming along his boots again. You might’ve seen the way he clenched his fists. You might’ve heard the way he finally exhaled, long and broken, like something in him had just shattered too.

But he stayed silent. Still.

Like ice.

tagging @witchy-scribblings because I know she enjoys the ice man as we do

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#I had a great day.... but then i read this....#one piece kuzan #one piece #op kuzan #kuzan one piece #aokiji kuzan #aokiji one piece #kuzan x reader #kuzan x y/n

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celestedangelica · 3 days ago

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sweetdou3_

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅

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celestedangelica · 3 days ago

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Cyclone (One Piece x OP!Reader)

Hi im at marineford in the anime and its making me so anxious so i wanted to write a happy ending marineford where everyone is friends and reader is OP as fuck. Thank you and enjoy.

You joined the Straw Hats between Brook and Sabaody. The timing had felt perfect—like fate. Just long enough to bond, to laugh, to bicker over dumb things, to be part of the crew. To be one of them.

And then Kuma happened. You were the first to disappear.

He didn’t even touch you. Just stood there, all impossibly huge and quiet, and said one thing:

“Where do you want to go?”

You never answered. Didn’t matter.

You woke up coughing up saltwater on a warm wooden dock, surrounded by gentle voices and the scent of grilled fish. A kind fisherman’s village on a quiet, reef-cradled island. Not a bad place to be flung, all things considered.

But the ache in your ribs and the weight in your chest told you something was very wrong. You were alone.

The villagers took care of you—wrapped your wounds, fed you, gave you a bed to rest in. And you did, for three full days. Dreamless. Exhausted. Unmoving.

On the fourth day, the news came like a gut punch.

PORTGAS D. ACE TO BE EXECUTED. WAR IMMINENT. WHITEBEARD TO RETALIATE.

You nearly tore the paper apart rereading it, heart climbing into your throat. Luffy. His brother. Your captain’s brother. You'd met him before joining the Straw Hats, friendly but fleeting. You found yourself fond of him, enjoying his free spirit.

You don’t remember shouting. Just moving. Urgently. Frantically. Asking the villagers for a ship. Any ship. They gave you their fastest boat. A sleek, wind-bitten thing with a strong rudder and a high sail. A miracle.

You packed lightly. Supplies. Weapons. A small photo of the crew that Robin had once tucked into your hand with a smirk.

You didn’t even know if Luffy would be there. Didn’t know if you’d be too late. But you had to go.

Even if it killed you.

The wind’s in your favor. You steer like hell. No sleep. No real food. Just determination and salt spray and sheer will.

Three days. You beg the wind to hold. You whisper to the sea like it’s a god.

“Don’t take me yet. I have to try.”

You cry only once—at night, when the stars make you feel too small and Ace’s name burns behind your eyes like fire. You weren’t even that close with him. But Luffy was. And Luffy was your captain. Your friend.

... And you kinda liked Ace okay?!

So you sail. Like a fool. Like a hero. Like a Straw Hat.

To Marineford. To the heart of hell. To a war you have no place in—except for the one you carved with your own hands.

The air at Marineford reeks of tension—salt, blood, gunpowder, and the kind of heat that comes from fury, loss, and the raw scream of fate.

You arrive just as the war truly begins.

The island is a theatre of madness—Whitebeard’s quake has split the sea itself, Marines scramble like ants on a sinking ship, and Luffy— Luffy is already running, punching straight through the frontlines, roaring Ace’s name like a promise.

You feel it. In your bones. This is it.

Your boat cracks as you leap from it, the force of your wind launching you like a cannonball into the fray. You spiral mid-air, body cloaked in a shimmering ripple of pressure and speed.

The Cyclone Fruit. The world-breaker. The reason you always held back.

But not today. Not here.

You hit the first Pacifista like a thunderclap. Your sword—a sleek blade forged to withstand your storms—sings as it slices through metal. Wind whips around it in a halo, splitting circuits and steel with one clean, howling arc.

Another Pacifista lifts its arm. You twist your fingers. The air around it compresses, a sharp hiss preceding an explosion of force. It crumples like paper. Then another. And another. They fall like dominos.

A breeze carries your scent across the battlefield—your power. Eyes snap toward you. Even Whitebeard himself turns.

You land in front of him just in time.

A blade meant for his heart swings toward the Yonko from Squard’s trembling hands. You don’t think. You move.

The air shrieks as you launch forward, faster than any human should. Your arm moves on instinct. Your blade meets Squard’s mid-swing— And it shatters. Not yours. His.

The fragments scatter like sharp rain. Squard stumbles back. Whitebeard’s eyes are wide.

“…What the hell…” The old man’s voice is gravel and disbelief. You pant, hair whipping around your face like ribbons in a storm.

“I don’t have time to explain.” You flash a crooked, exhilarated grin. “Don’t die.”

Then you’re gone— A gust, a blur, a tempest.

Luffy is in the distance. Your heart soars at the sight of him, scrambling over Marines, ducking cannon fire, still running on sheer will and love.

You vault over a crumbling platform. Wind cushions your fall. You spin mid-air, landing with a gale so strong it sends Marines sprawling like leaves.

“I’m here!” you shout, voice echoing over the ice.

Luffy doesn’t look back - he doesn't hear you over the swords and cannon fire.

You fight with the wind itself. Your body moves faster than sight, your blade slicing with the whisper of a hurricane. Each swing pushes enemies back. Gusts snap bones. Barrages of air pressure knock entire squads aside.

You are the eye of the storm. And you are furious.

Every injustice the Marines ever committed—every loss, every sacrifice, every friend lost to their so-called "justice"—you feel it. And you let it all out.

You're the Cyclone. The destroyer of fleets. The whisper before the end.

And today, you fight for Luffy. You fight for Ace. You fight for the family that Kuma tried to rip from you.

Today, the storm favors the Straw Hats.

The Marines are crumbling. Like brittle old crackers left in the sun. They fall in droves, scattered by invisible hands, winds so sharp and sudden they cut through steel.

You land on one knee, sword dragging across the stone like lightning in disguise, air swirling tight around you like a second skin. Another gust spirals outward—a shockwave of pressure and force. Entire formations are gone.

And everybody sees.

Luffy skids to a halt mid-charge, rubber limbs drawn back for another wild punch. His eyes bulge, lips parting in a slack-jawed "EH?!"

“(Y/N)?!?” His voice cracks like a whip. He hadn’t seen you since Sabaody. Hadn’t known if you were alive, let alone here. And this?! He knew you were cool, yeah, but this?! You’re breaking the war apart.

“THAT’S SO COOL!!” he shouts, stars in his eyes despite the chaos, and then—“HEY!! LOOK OUT BEHIND YOU—!!”

You flick a hand. A wall of wind slams a Marine general so hard into a tower that it collapses. Luffy gapes. You wink at him with a wide grin.

Jinbei blinks in disbelief, calm face tightening with caution and awe. “Another force of nature…” he mutters. “No. Not a force. A storm given form.”

He watches as you cleave a marine ship in half from across the harbor with a single blade swipe and a cyclone gust to finish it off.

“She has the same energy as Luffy. Unstoppable.” And Jinbei smiles faintly, because maybe—maybe—the tides are finally turning.

“Oh HELL no.” Buggy dives behind a barricade of his own followers.

“What the hell is that?! Why does she look like someone sneezed and turned it into a weapon?!” He peeks through his fingers just in time to see a Pacifista implode from within—caught in an air bubble so dense it collapsed like a black hole. “I’M ALLERGIC TO PEOPLE LIKE THIS!!” But he’s secretly impressed. And terrified. Mostly terrified.

Crocodile watches you with narrowed eyes, cigar clenched so tight the tip splits. “She’s not Navy. Not one of Whitebeard’s…”

He clicks his tongue, tension behind every move. You slice the mast off a battleship with a gesture, the wind spiraling into a tornado that shreds the deck. “…And not someone I’ve seen before.”

But you have his interest now. "Wind and sand, huh," he mutters, grinning darkly. “Let’s see which storm wins.”

You haven't reached Ace yet. He's still high on the execution platform, still shackled, but his head is tilted, watching the chaos.

When the wind shifts, brushing his face like a memory, he knows.

“…No way,” he breathes. That breeze—he’s felt it before. Soft. Always playful. You used to ruffle his hair with it when he was tired.

Then he sees you. A blur of speed. A howl of power. Knocking Marines skyward like flies, slicing cannonballs mid-air. Fighting for them. For him.

And his heart aches. Because he doesn’t deserve it. But gods, he’s glad you’re here.

Above the war, the air pressure shifts—like the breath before a scream. You don’t stop. You can’t stop.

Because Luffy is fighting for his brother. Ace is still in chains. And the Marines think they can decide who lives and who dies.

You’re here to remind them— Some storms don’t ask for permission.

You feel it. The heat before it hits. The burning air, the smell of scorched stone, the wrongness that comes with him.

Akainu. All fire and fury and false justice.

He rises like a volcano given legs, magma leaking from his fist like hell’s own blood.

He glares down at you from a platform of flame. “Pirates like you… pests like you… your kind doesn’t deserve to live.” He raises his arm.

“Meteor Volcano.”

The sky cracks. Molten fists rain from the heavens like god’s wrath, blotting out the sun.

Screaming. Panic. Marines and pirates both scattering as burning death descends.

You stand still. Sword at your side. Eyes gleaming.

No more holding back. Not today. Not when Ace is in chains. Not when Luffy is fighting to the bone. Not when the world still believes they get to decide who is worthy of saving.

“Fuck that.”

You rise.

Air rushes upward with you, the wind beneath your feet forming into invisible spirals. You slash your sword once— And the world screams.

A gust, no—a hurricane, howling through the heavens, shreds the magma meteors like they’re made of smoke.

Each one is obliterated, scattered in the sky like dying embers. The battlefield stares in shock as not one drop of fire reaches the ground.

You hover in the air, clothes whipping around your body, your sword glowing faint blue from the sheer speed of your swing.

Akainu looks up. You’re already there.

Wind wraps your form, dragging you forward like a living bullet. You slice.

The force of the cut is silent. That’s what makes it terrifying.

Akainu doesn’t even get a second to react. One moment he’s standing. The next— He’s flying backwards, the air around him exploding as your blade carves through magma like butter.

He hits the wall of a Marine tower with such force it collapses, crushed beneath the pressure of your wrath. Stone crumbles. Dust floods the square.

You land hard, sword dragging behind you, cutting grooves into the ground. Your chest heaves. Your pupils are pinpricks. Your hands are shaking.

You’re angry. Livid. The kind of fury that only grief and helplessness can fuel.

You look at what’s left of the battlefield. The Admirals are watching you now. Kizaru, unreadable. Aokiji, frozen in place—uncertain. And Akainu, buried.

You spit to the side. “Your justice is broken.” You raise your sword. The air tightens. “I’m here to end it.”

The air hasn’t settled. Won’t settle. Not while you’re still standing.

Not while the ground still stinks of justice warped into a weapon.

Akainu’s crater smokes behind you. The Admirals are cautious now—watching, weighing, waiting.

And the Warlords begin to move.

Mihawk is first—drawn not by duty, but curiosity. His eyes track your every motion like a beast sizing up another predator.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, lifting his massive blade. “A storm in human skin.”

You brace. You feel the air pull around you. If he strikes, you can move. You can counter. You can match him.

But before he swings—

Another figure dances in.

Boa Hancock.

She lands with the grace of a goddess, serpents writhing beneath her heels, perfume clinging to the wind. Her eyes glitter with sharp jealousy.

“You dare stand in Luffy-sama’s way,” she says, but she’s staring through you, not at you.

You prepare to meet her head-on—your cyclone churning. But then—

“SHE’S WITH ME, HANCOCK!” Luffy’s voice—raw and loud, tearing through the chaos like a whip crack.

Hancock freezes. Her whole body jerks.

She looks toward him with hearts already pulsing in her eyes. “Luffy-sama… called for me…” she whispers, hands rising to her chest.

Her glare snaps back to you. A pause. A smirk. “Hmph. I suppose I’ll forgive you,” she declares, voice tight, trying not to look impressed. “Just this once.”

You raise a brow. “Thanks?”

She glares harder. “Don’t get too close to him.” Then she backflips away, spinning into a flurry of deadly kicks aimed at any Marine dumb enough to be nearby.

Doflamingo chuckles behind his shades, strings twitching from his fingertips. “She’s got the Marines pissing themselves and Boa blushing like a schoolgirl…”

He tilts his head at you, sharp grin stretched wide. “Wanna join my crew instead, sweetheart?”

You slam your boot into the earth—sending a wind burst that knocks him back a full ten meters. “Try that again and I’ll string you up,” you growl.

His laugh howls as he floats away like a lazy balloon.

Kuma—or what’s left of him—doesn’t flinch. Another Pacifista slams down. You meet it in the air, blade-first, slicing its head clean off with a twisting cyclone that carves an entire path through the battlefield.

You feel Luffy getting closer now. Your winds carry the sound of his heartbeat—racing, loud, alive.

He leaps onto a tower that hasn’t collapsed yet, sweaty and bleeding, but smiling so wide you think your ribs might crack.

“You’re CRAZY strong!!” he shouts at you, absolutely beaming. “Why didn’t you tell me you were that awesome?!”

You blink at him, wind tousling his hat slightly. You grin. “Didn’t really come up.”

He laughs so hard he almost falls off the ledge.

You flick your blade toward the rising platform. “Let’s go get your brother.”

The wind shifts. You feel it. Something’s wrong. Something’s happening.

From your perch near Luffy, laughter and flame, blood and chaos all swirling beneath you— You see Sengoku rise. Golden light radiating off him like a false sunrise. Massive. Mythic. Terrifying.

He’s done waiting.

He raises his fists. Stands over Ace. The executioners hesitate, backs pressed to the wall from the earlier quake. But Sengoku—he doesn’t hesitate. He lifts his fists to bring them down on Ace himself. No speeches. No theatrics. Just death.

“I won’t make it in time.” Even Luffy—running, rubber burning— He won’t make it.

But you can. You have to.

You push off the ground with such force it shatters, a crater blooming where your foot once was. You tear through the battlefield like a blade through silk—

Aokiji forms an ice wall. You blow it to dust. Kizaru tries to flash in your path—your cyclone cancels his light. Akainu, dragging himself from rubble, roars your name— You scream back, louder than a hurricane.

Your vision tunnels. The world is a blur. All you see is Ace. The chains. The execution platform. The moment time is meant to run out.

“Not today.”

You overshoot. Wind crackles around you like lightning, control slipping— Too fast, too much force, too high. You redirect mid-air, slicing into a steel scaffolding to slow yourself.

A sword pierces your shoulder. You don’t stop. You don’t even feel it.

You slam into Sengoku mid-strike. Fist to golden jaw. Air booms outward. Sengoku—THE Sengoku—goes flying. Hits a tower. Cracks it from base to top.

The Marines scream. The platform shakes. Ace blinks, stunned. Blood at the corner of his mouth. His lips part like he’s not sure you’re real.

You pant, trembling, your left arm limp at your side, the sword still embedded deep. But your right hand moves. Fast. Precise. Determined.

You grip the chains around Ace’s wrists— And twist the air itself.

The manacles explode outward with a snap of wind. Shrapnel rains.

Ace stares at you like you’ve split the ocean.

You grin, bloody and wind-whipped. “Miss me?”

He laughs—a raw, incredulous sound. And for the first time in what feels like a century— He’s free.

The battlefield is silent. The skies are clear. Not a single Marine stands.

Sengoku? KO’d. Akainu? Slammed into the magma so hard he's now just very angry sediment. Kizaru? Spinning gently in orbit from a wind kick to the jaw. Aokiji? Frozen himself to avoid further embarrassment. The Warlords?

Let’s just say Doflamingo “accidentally” tied himself to a flagpole. Crocodile asked to join your fan club. And Boa Hancock is still dramatically fainting every time Luffy speaks her name.

“Did he say ‘Hancock’?! Hhhaaaaahn~” thud

Ace is free. Luffy is safe. Whitebeard... is alive, somehow. He just stood back up and cracked his neck like:

“Mm. That nap hit different.”

He pats you on the back. You fly 30 feet forward and crash into a victory buffet table.

The Marines surrender. Not because they wanted to. But because you stormed their entire fleet, turned one of their ships into a kite, and wrote "SORRY NOT SORRY" in the clouds.

The wind spelled your name.

Cut to: You, Ace, and Luffy standing on a tall Marine podium (now renamed the "Winner Stage") as the sun sets.

You have a fist raised. A cape of wind. And a sparkly Denden Mushi in one hand, blaring your highlight reel.

🎥 "—AND HERE’S ME YEETING AKAINU INTO THE CENTER OF THE EARTH—" 🎥 "—SENGOKU? GONE. JUST GONE." 🎥 “—THIS CLIP’S CALLED PACIFISTA POPCORN.” 🎥 “—KUMA WHO? NEVER HEARD OF HIM.”

The Denden Mushi sobs. It’s been recording for hours.

The World Government? Dissolved. Instantly. The moment your wind sliced the words "CEASE AND DESIST" into the red line.

Far away, on Onigashima… Kaido, still drunk, sits up sharply. Sweating. Eyes wide.

“Why do I feel like someone cooler than me just woke up?” He panics. Trips. Falls off the island.

Dead. From fear.

Cut to: Your crew lifting you up. (They got here by...Whale Sharks?) Luffy’s laughing, Ace is holding your other arm, Jinbei’s crying softly into a rice ball. Even Buggy is cheering for you like it was his idea all along.

You’re handed a crown made of cannon parts and rose gold. The crowd chants:

“MVP! MVP! MVP!”

You dab. Robin sighs. Sanji weeps. Zoro glares like he’s considering joining Kaido in the afterlife, but ultimately sighs and mutters,

“...Yeah, that was cool.”

The world is at peace. Forever. There’s a yearly holiday named after you now. No one dares to pick a fight—every time a villain thinks about it, a breeze ruffles their collar and whispers:

“Don’t.”

And somewhere… deep in the wind… You swear you hear Luffy laughing. Ace calling your name. The crew bickering. The sound of a dream, still sailing.

And you? You’re still standing at the bow of it all.

Wind in your hair. Sword at your back. And the world at your feet.

#જ⁀➴ ⋅˚₊‧ ୨ Robin chwan re-blog! ୧ ‧₊˚ ⋅#one piece #luffy #sanji #nico robin #nami #tony tony chopper #ace #law #marineford

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