hummingbird24220

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Seventy: Petals, Pollen, and Post-Battle Pampering

Sanji carried you bridal style all the way to the bath, holding you at arm’s length by the time you arrived—not out of disrespect, but because you were dripping green slime and crushed flower bits all over the floor.

“Sanji,” you croaked dramatically, paw flopped over your forehead, “I smell like decomposing potpourri.”

“You smell like the corpse of spring,” he muttered, opening the door with his foot.

He set you down gently, peeled off your goo-covered coat, and sighed like a man in the middle of a war he could not win.

“I’m gonna need a whole new mop.”

The bath steamed gently, the scent of fresh herbs rising from the water—clearly not from the garden variety that had just tried to kill you.

Sanji rolled up his sleeves. “Get in.”

You stared at the water.

Then at him.

Then slowly began to climb into the tub like a dramatic little gremlin, letting out a hiss as the hot water met your sticky fur.

“It burns with cleanliness!”

“Shut up and sit down.”

He dunked you.

Gently, but without warning.

You came up sputtering, fur now a soggy puff, petals floating around you like little grave markers.

Sanji started combing through your hair with his fingers.

“…There’s literally a seed in your ear,” he muttered.

“Leave it. I might grow stronger.”

He flicked it across the room.

You glared.

You relaxed as he scrubbed gently behind your ears, his fingers methodical, warm.

“Y’know,” he said softly, “you scared me a little. When the vines grabbed you. I didn’t know if I’d see you again.”

You opened one eye, leaning into his touch. “Takes more than sentient plant trauma to kill me.”

He smiled faintly.

“I know. You’re like a cockroach. A very fluffy, dramatic one.”

“Thank you.”

Eventually, Zoro knocked on the door.

“Done yet?”

“No!” you and Sanji shouted in perfect sync.

Zoro walked away, muttering something about fur clogging the drains.

By the time you stepped out of the bath—fresh, fluffy, and sparkling clean—you smelled like lavender and victory.

You swished your tail proudly, now fluffed to maximum volume.

Sanji wrapped you in a towel with more reverence than a holy relic.

“You look like a pastry.”

“I feel like one.”

“A well-fought, chaos-fueled, slightly-burned pastry.”

You grinned.

“Perfection.”

–

You were fresh from your glorious bath, fur fluffed to peak softness, wrapped in a towel like a smug cinnamon roll, and strutting through the Sunny with the satisfied pride of a chaos creature who survived floral warfare.

Sanji followed behind you with a comb in one hand and a towel in the other, muttering about hydration and detangling, but you were too powerful now to be stopped.

You flopped dramatically into the middle of the deck where the rest of the crew lounged, basking in the sun like a fluffy queen.

“Look upon me and weep,” you said, sprawled out. “For I have been scrubbed.”

“Why do you smell good now?” Luffy sniffed you, then sneezed. “Like soap and… plant stuff?”

You blinked.

“...No,” you said slowly, eyes narrowing. “Sanji, you used the lavender oil, right? Not garden soap?”

He looked up from wringing out your towel. “Of course. The expensive stuff. Why?”

Chopper trotted over. “...Hey, uh. Your tail’s glowing.”

“Excuse me?”

You twisted around, craning your head to look at your tail.

Something green was sticking out of it.

And not just stuck there. Sprouting.

A little vine had curled its way from the base of your tail fluff, twitching softly like it was stretching.

“NOPE,” you shouted, jumping three feet in the air.

Robin tilted her head. “...Is that a sprout?”

“GET IT OUT,” you shrieked. “I AM NOT A PLANT.”

Chopper ran to get gloves. Zoro immediately drew a sword. Luffy yelled, “YOU’RE EVOLVING!!!” Nami just sighed. “This is why we don’t lick feral garden clones.”

“I DIDN’T LICK HER,” you snapped. “I licked a flower! It provoked me!”

Chopper returned with tweezers, examining the sprout carefully.

“It’s not rooted deep… I think it just got lodged in your fur and started reacting to your body heat and—well—whatever weird energy you’ve got going on.”

Robin hummed. “You did absorb a lot of pollen. Possibly magical pollen.”

You sat, very still, as Chopper slowly plucked the wriggling green thing from your tail and held it up in the light.

It immediately curled toward the sun.

“Nope,” Sanji said. “Burn it.”

Zoro nodded. “Agreed.”

Chopper put it in a jar.

“Why would you keep it?!” you yelped.

“For science,” he said, cheerfully skipping away.

You collapsed dramatically onto your side. “I’m gonna wake up with vines coming out of my ears.”

Luffy plopped beside you and grinned. “Then we can plant you in a pot.”

“I will bite you.”

The sprout was gone. Your tail was safe. Your body was clean. But your soul… was suspicious.

You curled into a fluffy loaf on the deck, scowling into the wind.

“…I’m gonna be haunted by salad, aren’t I.”

–

You sat at the dinner table.

Fluffy. Clean. Comfy.

But also haunted.

Not by ghosts.

Not by trauma.

But by the salad bowl sitting directly across from you.

It was too leafy. Too perky. Too... alive.

Your eyes narrowed.

Robin noticed first. “You haven’t touched your food.”

You leaned closer to the salad. It leaned back (probably not really, but it felt like it).

Sanji paused mid-serve. “You alright, fluff?”

You didn’t blink. “...The lettuce is looking at me.”

Usopp spat out his drink. “It’s a salad.”

“Is it?” you hissed.

“...Yes?”

You leaned closer again. “It’s green. So was the plant that tried to grow in my tail. Coincidence? I THINK NOT.”

Zoro grunted, shoving food into his mouth. “Are you gonna eat or start interrogating vegetables again?”

“It’s the lettuce that wants answers,” you muttered. “It knows.”

Sanji pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s a kale blend.”

“Even worse. Cultured.”

Chopper carefully slid your salad bowl away. “How about just meat tonight?”

You perked up instantly. “Acceptable.”

Still.

The rest of dinner, you kept side-eyeing every green thing on the table.

Sanji handed you a tomato.

You sniffed it, then squashed it dramatically with your paw. “Just in case.”

“Y’know,” Luffy said between bites, “if a plant did try to control you, you’d probably like it.”

You blinked. “Why?”

“Free snacks.”

You paused.

“...Fair point.”

By the end of the meal, you were lounging across three laps (somehow), belly full, tail twitching lazily.

But as Sanji picked up the dishes and passed your untouched salad bowl to Franky—

You squinted at it.

Just once.

You could’ve sworn it winked.

–

The ship was calm. The moonlight was soft.

The crew had long since settled into their hammocks, bunks, or (in Luffy’s case) wherever he landed after bouncing off a wall.

You, however?

You were not sleeping.

Because across the room—on Chopper’s desk—was the jar.

The sprout-in-a-jar.

The one plucked from your tail.

And it was doing weird shit.

It pulsed.

Gently.

Like it was breathing.

Then it twitched.

Once.

Twice.

Then again.

You stared at it from your nest of blankets with narrow eyes and a slow, annoyed tail flick.

“…Nah.”

You stood, blanket cape dragging behind you, eyes locked on the cursed produce. You crept toward the desk like a thief in the night. And stood over the jar.

The sprout twitched again, curling toward the moonlight coming through the porthole.

You tapped the glass.

It twitched faster.

You tapped harder.

It squeaked.

“NOPE.”

You snatched the jar, popped the lid, and held it up to eye level.

“Listen here, you little chlorophyll-having parasite,” you growled. “I have had enough.”

It chirped at you.

Yes. Chirped.

Like a cheerful little plant gremlin.

You stared.

Then you shook it.

Vigorously.

Like a maraca from hell.

By the time you were done, the sprout was upside down, half wilted, and thoroughly dizzy. You marched up to the upper deck like a cat on a mission.

You passed Robin. She looked up from her book.

“Taking a midnight stroll?”

“Botanical execution,” you said calmly, still holding the jar.

She nodded. “Have fun.”

You found a quiet spot.

Drew a chalk circle on the deck for maximum drama.

Poured the sprout onto the wood.

It wobbled. Twitched one last time.

And you set it on fire.

Not dramatically.

Not ritualistically.

Just... casually.

With one of Sanji’s cooking lighters and no hesitation.

“No more garden arcs.” you said flatly, watching it shrivel into ash.

You kicked the remains into the sea.

“BE GONE, SALAD DEMON.”

Then you yawned, flicked your tail, and trotted back down to your blanket nest like it was just another Tuesday.

Chopper found the empty jar in the morning and said nothing. He knew.

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Nine: Bloom No More

The first strike was blinding—golden thorns like spears shot out in all directions as the garden girl let out a shrieking, unnatural howl.

Petals slashed the air like blades. Vines cracked like whips. Roots twisted to trap your feet.

You dodged sideways, claws slashing. Sanji leapt high, flames bursting from his leg as he spun and kicked one of the massive vines into ash.

But even together, it wasn’t enough.

The boss was huge.

And your crew was still trapped—contained inside golden vine-domes, just out of reach.

Your ears twitched toward Luffy’s muffled yells.

They needed you. And you needed them.

You twisted around to face Sanji.

“Cover me!”

“Always.”

You sprinted straight at the edge of the vine prison surrounding your crewmates.

The Garden Bloomed launched more petals like throwing knives, but Sanji intercepted them mid-air—kicking one so hard it exploded, showering glittering pollen across the battlefield.

You dove into the side of the nearest vine wall—Zoro and Luffy inside, pounding against it.

“Hold on,” you growled, claws glowing faintly, chaotic energy practically pulsing from your paws.

And you tore it open.

The vines screamed.

Zoro blinked. “Took you long enough.”

Luffy cheered. “YAY CAT’S BACK!”

You were immediately tackled into a four-limb hug.

You wheezed. “Save it for later! We’ve got a boss fight!”

Zoro drew his swords. “Let’s carve her like a bonsai.”

You pointed toward the next dome. “Robin’s next. MOVE!”

The team exploded into motion—Sanji and Zoro side by side (bickering, of course), Luffy bouncing between enemy vines and tearing them apart with glee.

You led the charge to Robin and Chopper’s prison, snarling as more golden vines tried to grow around your ankles.

“NOT TODAY, PHOTOSYNTHESIS.”

Robin’s dome split open under a combined flurry of claws and Chopper’s hoof-punch.

Chopper immediately hugged you. “You’re safe!”

“I’m always safe when I’m being chaotic,” you wheezed, dragging them both out of the wreckage.

Robin calmly dusted pollen from her shoulder. “Let’s bring this garden down.”

With the crew reunited, you all charged as one.

Zoro carved a path through thick, living brambles—his swords glowing with intensity.

Sanji launched into the air, foot blazing, screaming insults as he dive-kicked one of the Garden Bloomed’s (improv villain name) many thorned limbs.

Robin’s hands bloomed from petals mid-air, grabbing vines and snapping them like brittle stems.

Luffy grinned so wide it split his whole face.

“I’M GONNA PUNCH HER RIGHT IN THE PHOTOSYNTHESIS!”

–

You rode on Luffy’s shoulders mid-fight, claws ready, launching off to bite the base of the main flower stalk, digging into the stem as you scrambled and hissed, utterly feral.

“I’M THE WEED IN YOUR LAWN, BITCH!”

Petals cracked. Vines recoiled.

The Garden Bloomed screamed.

You rejoined the others mid-charge, panting, fur wild, eyes gleaming.

Together, you closed in.

Final attacks readied.

Luffy pulled back his fist. Zoro took stance. Sanji lit both legs. Robin’s arms bloomed like wings. You? You crouched low, grinning wide.

The Garden Bloomed reared back one last time.

And you all struck at once.

The explosion was glorious.

Petals scattered like stars. The thorns snapped. The sky cleared.

The scent of sugar and poison burned away.

The Garden Bloomed collapsed, her floral form crumbling into dust, swirling into the air like ash and glitter.

You stood in the aftermath, panting, fur matted, surrounded by the crew.

Zoro sheathed his swords. “Let’s not go to any more ‘flower islands.’”

“I liked the colors,” Luffy said.

“I hated the vibes,” you growled.

Sanji ruffled your head. “You were brilliant.”

You smiled, tired and full of adrenaline.

“Told you I was chaos-proof.”

–

The Sunny rocked gently at its dock, sails half-lowered and crew on standby, unaware of the floral apocalypse that had just unfolded a few miles inland.

At least until you appeared on the gangplank.

Staggering.

Covered head to toe in plant goo, pollen stuck to every inch of fur, multiple green stains across your clothes, and—

“Is that… a stem in your mouth?” Nami blinked.

You blinked back.

Paused.

Then pulled a half-chewed petal from your teeth.

“Self-defense,” you mumbled.

Brook stepped forward. “Yohoho, were you… eaten?”

You raised a hand. “No. I did the eating.”

Behind you, the others trailed up the ramp—Zoro with torn sleeves and sap in his hair, Sanji soaked in petal juice and smugness, Luffy covered in dirt and still yelling “WEED WINS” every few seconds.

Chopper had a thorn in his antler. Robin had a literal bouquet stuck in her bun.

Franky squinted. “Did you fight a greenhouse?”

You dropped face-first onto the Sunny’s deck.

“Worse,” you groaned. “We fought a botanical nightmare dressed as a little girl who grew a flower monster that made a clone of me and tried to turn me into a metaphor.”

There was a beat of silence.

“…Yeah, that tracks,” Usopp said, nodding slowly.

Nami knelt beside you and pulled a twig out of your hair with a wince.

“Did you bathe in the garden?”

“She fought herself,” Robin said lightly.

“And won,” Sanji added proudly.

“Then she bit the boss,” Luffy chimed in.

“Why does that not surprise me at all?” Nami muttered.

Zoro crossed his arms. “She was the most unpredictable one out there. Garden couldn’t handle it.”

You weakly raised a paw. “Battle jazz.”

Franky pointed. “You’re leaving pollen trails.”

Brook peered closer. “Would you like me to gently play ‘Taps’ while you recover?”

“No music. Only snacks,” you moaned.

Sanji lifted you like a soggy gremlin burrito. “Hot bath first. Then food.”

You flopped in his arms, sticky with leaves and glory.

“I’m never eating salad again.”

“I’ll prepare something with meat,” Sanji promised.

“And cheese.”

“Of course.”

Robin handed you a cloth. “You’re full of metaphors and mulch.”

You snorted weakly.

“Chaos cat prevails again.”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Eight: Chaos Cannot Be Cultivated

You and Sanji charged deeper into the tangled garden, vines lashing from the canopy, petals slicing through the air like blades—but you were grinning.

Because something had changed.

You could see it in the way the plants hesitated.

They’d adapted to Robin’s strategy. To Zoro’s strength. To Luffy’s explosive power. To Sanji’s precision.

But you?

They didn’t know what the hell to do with you.

One vine lunged.

You bent backward like a broken action figure mid-sneeze, kicked off the ground with one leg, and corkscrewed into the nearest carnivorous tulip with claws and teeth. It shrieked, folded in half, and promptly disintegrated into mulch.

Sanji blinked mid-kick. “What the hell was that?!”

You grinned, tail twitching. “Battle jazz. I improvise.”

A flower snapped toward you.

You leapt onto it.

Flipped off its face.

Bit a vine mid-air and used it to swing into a second one.

The plants tried to constrict, predict, adapt—

But they couldn’t.

Because there was no pattern.

One second you were ducking under Sanji’s leg as he launched a flaming spin-kick, the next you were running on all fours through a hedge, reappearing on the other side with half a flower still dangling from your teeth like a chew toy.

You slid beneath a massive sunflower that had opened to reveal rows of thorny teeth, tail lashing—

Then popped out behind it and kicked it in the back of the stem. “NO BACKSIES.”

Sanji was full-on cackling now. “You are a menace.”

You flashed him a toothy smile. “They can’t prune what they can’t predict.”

One of the vines tried to copy your movements.

You promptly did a handspring into a feral shoulder charge and took it out by headbutting a rosebush.

As more vines closed in, trying to mimic your momentum, your attacks got dumber.

You bit.

You bounced.

You rolled like a barrel.

You tripped—on purpose—and clawed your way up a tree and then leapt off the branches like a sugar-high cryptid straight into a crowd of snapping lilies.

They couldn’t learn.

Because your fighting style wasn’t something you trained.

It was instinct.

Impulse.

It was you.

The garden was struggling now.

The once-choking sweet scent had turned into something bitter, souring in the air.

Petals fell. Vines sagged.

The garden couldn’t keep up with your madness.

And the garden girl—wherever she was—felt it.

Somewhere deeper in the heart of Bloomhollow, she snarled.

“She’s ruining the balance.”

You flipped through the air and landed beside Sanji, panting, bloodied but buzzing, eyes gleaming.

He looked at you like you were part adorable and part war crime.

“...I think I’m in love.”

You beamed. “You say that every day.”

“Yeah, but I mean it more each time.”

—

The garden was failing.

Wilting, twitching, confused.

All around you and Sanji, the chaos you unleashed had shredded the petals and patterns into chaos mulch. The garden couldn’t adapt to you because you didn’t make sense—your claws zigged when logic zagged, and you’d headbutt a plant while upside down with no warning.

You broke their algorithm.

And somewhere in the heart of Bloomhollow…

That pissed someone off.

“Fine,” the garden girl hissed.

She stood deep within the roots of the island, in a chamber pulsing with light and rot, surrounded by corrupted flora and twisting vines that hummed with her breath.

She reached down into the flowerbed before her.

And plucked something.

Not a bloom.

Not a vine.

But a body—malleable and strange, forming from the garden's magic and stolen memories. From the way you leapt, the way you spun, the way your tail moved when you were plotting something truly stupid.

It took shape quickly.

Smaller than you.

Furrier.

Cuter.

And evil.

Eyes narrowed. Sharp claws twitching. A mockery of your silhouette—crafted for one purpose.

“Let’s see how you handle yourself.”

Back in the chaos, you and Sanji slowed your pace as the air around you grew quiet again—too quiet.

The plants weren’t attacking.

They were... parting.

Making room.

Creating an opening in the forest path ahead.

You squinted.

Sanji lit a cigarette, exhaling through his nose. “That’s not ominous.”

“Nope,” you said, flexing your claws. “Let’s go.”

You both stepped into the clearing—

And stopped.

Because standing there, in the middle of the garden—

Was you.

Sort of.

Your evil twin.

Smaller. Sleeker. With glowing eyes and a perfect, smug little smile. Same ears. Same tail. But where yours twitched with mischief, hers twitched with malice.

“…I’m gonna fight it,” you said flatly.

“Obviously,” Sanji muttered, shrugging off his suit jacket.

Evil You blinked once.

Then hissed.

And lunged.

You met her mid-air with a snarl, claws clashing in a flurry of fur and fury. She moved like you—fast, erratic, unpredictable. But you could already feel it.

She was trying to mirror you.

And that was her biggest mistake.

You weren’t a reflection.

You were a storm in a tea cup. You were wrong on purpose. You were chaotic neutral in the most physical way.

Sanji dodged out of the way as you rolled across the clearing with Evil You, biting and slashing and hissing.

She tried to mimic your backflip—face-planted into a bush. You laughed and bit her ankle.

“Only one disaster cat allowed per ship!”

She tried to roll mid-pounce—landed on her tail. You threw a stick at her for good measure.

It became clear very quickly that:

She could copy your moves.

But not your intent.

You didn’t fight with strategy.

You fought like a problem.

She was trying to think. You were trying to win.

So when she zigged?

You licked her forehead mid-pounce.

She screamed.

Sanji watched from the side, leaning casually against a tree, arms crossed, grinning like a proud older brother watching a rabid raccoon destroy a mirror.

“…She’s got this.”

Finally, Evil You stood panting, fur frizzed, eyes wide.

You crouched low.

Smiled wide.

And whispered:

“I bet you don’t even like snacks.”

She gasped.

And that was her final mistake.

You tackled her into a flowerbed so hard the ground cracked.

The petals curled up.

And she burst into a puff of sparkles and smoke.

Gone.

Defeated.

Gremlin status: Unmatched.

You stood up, breathing hard, fur messy, smiling like the chaos queen you were.

Sanji offered you a hand.

“Feel better?”

“Immensely.”

From somewhere deeper in the garden, you heard the garden girl scream.

You cracked your knuckles.

“Good. She’s next.”

–

You and Sanji pushed forward—your fur still singed, his shirt torn, but both of you buzzing with adrenaline and righteous chaos.

The forest was breaking down.

–

The sky above Bloomhollow had dimmed, the once-too-perfect pastel clouds now streaked with angry violet, like the island itself was beginning to rot from the inside out. The floral perfume turned bitter in your nose. The vines didn’t attack anymore—they recoiled.

You’d broken the garden’s rhythm.

Now it was time to break the gardener.

“Wait.”

Sanji’s hand shot out to stop you at the edge of a narrow bridge made of twisting roots. Just beyond it lay a clearing glowing faintly gold, the very heart of the island.

“Look.”

Across the way—the crew.

Robin, Zoro, Luffy, and Chopper stood on the opposite side.

Luffy lit up the moment he saw you. “CAT!”

“LUFFY!”

Zoro raised a brow. “Took you long enough.”

Robin smiled. “We were wondering when the chaos would arrive.”

You sniffled dramatically. “I was fighting a little me. She sucked.”

“Did she?” Zoro asked. “Did you fight yourself or... lose to yourself?”

You flipped him off with a paw. Sanji grinned.

But then—

The light around the clearing shimmered.

And the bridge between you twisted and vanished.

Instantly replaced by a dome of golden vines sprouting around your friends, cutting them off from view.

“NO—!” you shouted, claws digging into the bark.

Luffy’s muffled voice shouted your name.

Then silence.

A soft voice echoed around you, calm and cruel:

“You really are stubborn.”

The garden girl stood ahead, in the glowing clearing.

Not a child anymore.

Tall. Elegant. Crowned in thorns. Gown made of layered petals that curled like armor. Her eyes were made of blooming spirals, like hypnotic rosebuds blooming in reverse.

“You’ve wrecked my roots. Poisoned my balance. I gave you visions of your own fears, your own friends, and still, you wouldn’t yield.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yield to what?”

She extended a hand.

“To peace. To perfection. No more chaos. No more pain. No more loss.”

You stepped forward, voice low and steady.

“You want a garden that doesn’t grow. That doesn’t change. That’s not peace. That’s death with glitter.”

Sanji stepped beside you, wind lifting his hair. “You messed with the wrong crew.”

The garden girl’s expression turned cold.

“So be it.”

The earth shook.

The trees groaned.

And from behind her, an enormous flower burst from the ground—each petal lined with golden thorns, glowing with pulsing magic.

She stepped into the center of it.

And the final boss bloomed.

A monstrous fusion of woman and flower, thorns like swords, petals like blades, vines rising into the sky.

“Let’s prune this nonsense,” you muttered, cracking your neck.

Sanji lit his foot aflame.

“You ready, furball?”

You bared your teeth.

“Ready to puke up some grass!”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Seven: The Death of a Poet (Not Literally)

You lay spread-eagled across the deck, tongue out, tail limp, notebook draped over your face.

A soft breeze rustled the page containing Zoro’s poem—the last of them.

You didn’t move.

You didn’t blink.

You were done.

Luffy tiptoed over and crouched beside you.

“…You okay?”

You let out a dramatic death groan. “No.”

Chopper popped up on the other side. “Are you sick?!”

You slowly peeled the notebook off your face and stared into the void above you.

“I have poured my soul into rhyme and reason,” you croaked. “I have exposed the very fabric of your emotional underwears.”

Sanji leaned against the railing, arms crossed. “She means hearts. Emotional hearts.”

“No,” you said flatly. “I stand by it. Underwears.”

Robin chuckled from her reading chair. “Feeling creatively spent?”

“I’m a husk, Robin. A mewling, ink-stained, soul-shriveled husk.”

Usopp handed you a glass of juice. You dumped it over your face.

Zoro sat down beside you, page of your poem still folded neatly in his pocket. “So no more poems?”

“No more metaphors. No more similes. No more deeply personal observations dressed in clever wordplay.” You clutched your notebook like a fallen soldier. “I’m going back to stealing things.”

Brook tilted his skull thoughtfully. “So... no haiku about my bones?”

You hissed like a cat who’d seen a cucumber.

Sanji offered you a snack.

You perked up.

“Unless it’s about snacks,” you said. “I could still write odes to cheese.”

“You already did,” Nami called. “Three of them. One was a limerick.”

“I peaked with the gouda line.”

Robin smiled. “You’ll write again.”

You groaned, dramatically curling into a ball. “Only if someone else gets emotionally vulnerable first. I’m on strike.”

Luffy nodded solemnly. “Poet nap time.”

“YES,” you agreed, already crawling toward your blanket pile. “Poets deserve naps. And snacks. And worship.”

“You’re not a god.”

“I’m retired now. I can be whatever I want.”

By the time the sun dipped low, you were swaddled in every blanket the Sunny had, surrounded by snacks, notebooks sealed away.

You were free.

A gremlin reborn.

You sighed contentedly, tail twitching.

“Fuck that poetry shit.”

–

You were just starting to enjoy your poetry retirement.

Lazing on the deck like a cat queen. Sneaking snacks. Organizing your stolen treasures. Judging Zoro’s workouts with increasing smugness.

But the Grand Line had other plans.

It started with a scent.

Not Sanji’s cooking. Not sea air. Not the crew’s usual mix of sweat, salt, and chaos.

Something sweet.

Too sweet.

Like rotting flowers and syrup left in the sun.

You blinked from your sunspot, nose twitching.

“…That’s weird.”

Luffy had already climbed onto the figurehead, sniffing wildly. “It smells like dessert!”

“No,” Sanji said, stepping out of the kitchen, brow furrowed. “That’s not dessert. That’s... artificial.”

Robin looked up from her book. “It’s coming from that island.”

The crew gathered at the rail.

An island.

Covered in flowers.

Bright. Unnaturally bright.

Fields of tulips and vines and massive trees that looked like they were made of sugar glass. A sickeningly perfect rainbow arched over it. Birds chirped in melodic harmony that didn’t sound real.

You squinted.

“That’s suspiciously Disney.”

Nami groaned. “We’re going to investigate, aren’t we?”

“Yes,” Luffy said immediately.

“No,” Nami replied.

“Yes,” you echoed. “I need to do crimes again.”

Robin closed her book. “Let’s be cautious.”

“Let’s not,” Luffy beamed, already stretching his arms toward the shore.

The Island of Bloomhollow.

Too quiet. Too colorful. Too... wrong.

You, Zoro, Sanji, Luffy, Robin and Chopper made landfall while Nami, Usopp, Brook and Franky stayed back to guard the ship.

The grass crunched underfoot like dried candy.

“Don’t eat it,” Sanji said firmly.

You already had a blade of it between your claws. “...I was just smelling it.”

The scent got thicker the deeper you went in.

Too-sweet flowers. Empty trees. No bugs. No birds.

But then—

You saw her.

A girl. Young. Bright eyes. Pale pink dress. Smiling from the center of a garden clearing.

“Welcome,” she said, her voice like chimes. “We’ve been waiting for you.”

Luffy waved. “Hi!”

You frowned. “That’s not creepy at all.”

Zoro’s hand was already near his swords.

Robin took a step forward. “Who’s ‘we’?”

The girl giggled.

And all at once—the flowers around you twitched.

Not with wind. With movement.

Vines slithered. Buds opened with blinking eyes. Petals sharp as razors. The air grew thicker.

The girl smiled wider. Too wide.

“Oh,” she said sweetly. “The garden’s hungry.”

—

The moment the girl's too-wide smile stretched across her face, all hell broke loose.

Vines shot from the ground like snakes, lashing through the air with wet snaps. Flowers twisted unnaturally, their petals sharpening into jagged edges like jaws made of petal and thorn.

The “sweet” scent turned heavy—cloying and choking, like sugar rotting in a sealed jar.

You hissed instinctively, fur bristling, tail puffing up as you leapt back into a low, feral crouch.

“It’s alive—it’s all alive!” Chopper shouted, already half-shifted into his guard form.

“No shit!” Zoro growled, blades drawn as he sliced through a vine heading for your face.

You offered him a thumbs-up. “Thanks, Sword Dad.”

He groaned.

Luffy launched forward without hesitation, Gum-Gum arms stretching wide to punch the smiling girl directly in the face—

Only for her body to burst into a cloud of petals, fluttering around his fists before reshaping behind him.

Robin’s hands bloomed across her shoulders, but vines intercepted, curling tightly around the limbs like they knew where she’d summon them.

“This place is reacting to us,” Robin said tightly, dodging a rosebud that hissed as it passed her head.

“Smart plants?” Sanji barked, already kicking through a cluster of tulips with teeth. “Are you kidding me?!”

One vine tried to grab you by the ankle.

You bit it.

It screamed.

You flipped backward, landing beside Chopper, tail lashing as you unsheathed your claws.

“They’re testing us. Like... seeing how we fight.”

“Like they’re learning,” Chopper breathed.

You made a face. “I hate that.”

Luffy twisted through the air, smacking back tendrils like they were piñatas. “LET ME PUNCH THE GIRL!”

“She’s not real!” Robin shouted.

“She will be!” he replied. “When I FIND HER!”

Then the ground split open.

With a sound like tearing meat, the flower-covered earth cracked—long, jagged canyons slicing beneath your feet.

Sanji grabbed your wrist just in time as the ground collapsed below you.

“Don’t even think about falling into weird flower pits, furball—”

“Too late!!” you yelped.

And then the vines surged again—

Grabbing Chopper. Dragging Robin. Pulling you and Luffy backward. Tearing Zoro through the flowerbed.

The group was scattered.

Pulled into the shadows of the garden. Swallowed by roots and blossoms.

The last thing you saw was Sanji reaching for you, his voice hoarse as he shouted your name—

And then darkness.

Sweet, perfumed, choking darkness.

You woke somewhere else.

Alone.

The air was warm. Still. Too sweet.

You were lying on a bed of rose petals.

"Hello again," said the girl’s voice, soft and calm.

You turned slowly.

She stood there, watching you with that same perfect smile.

“Let’s see what grows when we dig deep into you.”

–

Your claws sank instinctively into the soft bed of petals beneath you as you rose slowly, eyes narrowed, ears flat. Every inch of your body screamed that this was wrong.

Too perfect. Too symmetrical. Too staged.

The girl—if she even was a girl—watched with unblinking interest, hands clasped behind her back, head tilted slightly.

“What do you want?” you asked, voice low and dangerous.

She giggled lightly. “To see what you are when everything else is stripped away. What blooms when you're finally... still.”

Your tail lashed behind you like a whip. “Yeah, good luck with that. Ive probably got undiagnosed ADHD, babe.”

–

You turned to run, only to slam face-first into a wall of thick vines. You snarled, tried to claw through—only for the thorns to coil away just before you touched them, mocking you with their refusal to fight back.

And then the whispers started.

You froze.

Dozens of voices, all yours, all distorted—echoing through the heavy floral fog.

“They only like you when you're cute.” “What do you do, really? Steal? Joke? That’s not strength.” “They’d be better off if you weren’t always in the way.”

You hissed, claws trembling, ears twitching from side to side.

“I didn’t say that.”

“You thought it,” the girl said from behind you. Her voice had changed—less chime, more cold. “Your crew loves you, but you think about it all the time, don’t you? When will they get tired of the mess?”

Your breath hitched.

The petals beneath your feet turned black.

Images flickered through the fog.

Sanji, arms crossed, looking disappointed.

Zoro, walking away.

Nami, saying nothing at all.

Robin closing her book.

Luffy, looking confused.

Chopper flinching.

Franky stood stoic, arms crossed and frown on his face. 

Brook stopping playing his tune when he caught sight of you.

You stood in the middle of it, still and quiet, as the petals rose like ash around you.

“Stop.”

“You’re not strong.” “You’re just a pet.” “They’ll leave eventually.” “You’re replaceable.”

Your hands clenched at your sides.

Your ears trembled.

Then—

You snarled.

Loud and guttural and real.

“I said STOP!”

And with a sudden swipe of your claws, you tore through the illusion in front of you—

And the entire garden shook.

The images vanished.

The girl recoiled slightly, expression faltering.

You stood there, panting, tail bristled, eyes glowing with fury.

“I’m annoying. I’m loud. I steal everything that isn’t nailed down and some things that are. I make messes. I eat like a beast. I nap in people’s beds and cry when I get scared— and they still love me anyway.”

You stepped forward.

“I don’t have to be perfect.”

Another step.

“I don’t have to be useful all the time.”

Another.

“I don’t have to be anyone else but me.”

You lunged.

Your claws struck the ground—where the girl had been.

Gone.

The fog began to lift.

The petals shriveled. The walls receded. The whispers faded.

You stood in the quiet, catching your breath, heart pounding.

Then you heard it—

A crash. A yell. Distant fighting.

The crew.

You grinned, teeth bared.

“Good. I’m ready.”

–

You sprinted through the wilted remains of the dream-garden, claws cutting through the last wisps of fog. The air still smelled sweet, but not in the cloying, mind-twisting way it had before. Now it just smelled like wilted roses and revenge.

Up ahead—a crash.

Then a voice, sharp and familiar:

“I said—BACK OFF!”

Sanji.

You bolted faster, tail streaming behind you as you weaved through drooping sunflowers with spiked stems and bushes that snapped at your ankles. One dared try to grab you again.

You bit it in half.

The clearing opened suddenly—twisted, thorned trees framing the scene like a jagged stage.

Sanji stood in the center, one sleeve torn, flame still crackling from his heel, eyes narrowed.

Vines coiled around him from all sides, baring thorns and snapping in rhythmic, breathing pulses. Like they were waiting for him to tire.

He hadn’t noticed you yet—gritting his teeth as another vine whipped at him.

You didn’t hesitate.

You leapt.

Straight at the nearest vine. Claws first.

It shrieked as you ripped it apart, landing beside him in a low crouch.

Sanji blinked down at you.

“…You’re a vision,” he muttered.

“You look like a soggy crouton,” you replied.

His grin came fast and shaky—like someone who’d been holding his breath.

“God, I missed you.”

You didn’t say anything. Just threw yourself at him and wrapped your arms around his waist. He staggered a little—then held you tight.

“Did they mess with your head?” he asked quietly, nose buried in your hair.

“They tried.”

His voice dropped low. “What’d they show you?”

You pulled back and smirked, blood still pumping, eyes gleaming.

“Things that aren’t true.”

Sanji looked at you for a long moment.

Then kissed your forehead.

And stepped forward, cracking his knuckles. “Good,” he growled. “Because I’m in the mood to burn this damn garden to the ground.”

Side by side, you tore through the clearing, flame and claw, laughter mixing with growls.

One flower tried to regenerate. You kicked it in the face.

A vine tried to strangle you. Sanji set it on fire.

And then—

More voices.

To the west: “Oi, furball? That better not be your blood I smell.” Zoro.

To the north: “Are you two okay?! Follow the lilies—I left a path!” Robin.

To the east: “I KICKED A TREE’S FACE IN!” Luffy.

You and Sanji shared a look.

He adjusted his tie—singed and slightly frayed.

“I think the gang’s all here.”

You grinned wide, tail twitching.

“Let’s go water the plants—with violence.”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Six: Super Verse for a Super Guy

You’d been watching Franky for a while.

He didn’t really ask for a poem. Didn’t nudge you. Didn’t hound you like Luffy or burst into tears like Chopper.

But you noticed how his eyes sparkled when others got theirs. How he’d hover a little closer during your dramatic readings. How he quietly helped fix your notebook when a corner got torn.

So you decided—without fanfare—to write one just for him.

No teasing. No irony. Just something true.

You found him in the workshop, welding something big and loud and probably explosive. Sparks flew around him like fireflies, his shades reflecting the light as he worked.

You stepped in with your notebook tucked under your arm and cleared your throat.

He didn’t look up right away.

“Whatcha need, fluffball?”

“I wrote your poem.”

The torch went out with a hiss.

He froze mid-motion.

Then turned slowly.

“…For real?”

You nodded.

He scratched the back of his neck, eyes a little wide.

“Well… uh. Lay it on me.”

You sat on a stack of metal scraps, tail flicking against the side, and began to read.

“He’s bolts and fire, flame and chrome, A shipwright made with steel and soul, He built our home with calloused hands— Each screw, each line, each daring plan.”

Franky blinked behind his shades.

“He’s loud, and bold, and super bright, A walking beam of neon light— But under plates and silly dance, He’s carved with care and second chance.”

You glanced up—he was very still now, hands resting on the workbench.

“A cannon laugh, a booming voice, A foundling who remade his choice— To build again. To start anew. To hold the wreckage—and the crew.”

Your voice softened.

“And though he shines in metal parts, It’s not the steel that makes his heart— It’s that he never lets us sink. He builds the parts that help us think— That home is not a place or plan— It’s something made… by Franky’s hands.”

Silence.

A long one.

Then Franky let out a shaky breath and crossed his arms quickly, trying to look cool as ever.

“That’s… super cheesy,” he said. “Super sappy. Super lame.”

His lip wobbled.

You smiled.

“Super accurate.”

He turned away for a second, sniffed, then muttered, “Gotta tighten some bolts or something... 'scuse me.”

You walked over and hugged him from the side—careful not to touch anything sharp—head against his arm.

“…Thanks for building our home.”

His voice cracked just a little when he replied:

“…Thanks for seeing it.”

Later, he laminated the poem and bolted it to the wall of his workshop.

Right next to a blueprint titled “Upgraded Snack Dispenser (For Gremlin Use).”

—-

Brook was one of the last ones.

Not because you didn’t want to write about him. But because, frankly, you didn’t know how.

He wasn’t easy to pin down.

He was jokes and music and sudden quiet. He was a man who had died and kept laughing. A skeleton with a soul. A gentleman with a cane, and a sharp edge behind every bow.

How do you write a poem for someone who lived twice?

So you waited.

Watched him pluck at his violin in the moonlight. Saw how gently he hummed when someone was sad. Noticed how often he watched the sea, quiet and thoughtful when no one else was looking.

And then, one night, when the ship was calm and the stars were bright, you walked to him on the deck with your notebook in hand.

He smiled warmly when he saw you.

“Ah, my little poet! Do you bring words for my weary bones?”

You nodded, but softer than usual. “Yeah. For you.”

He adjusted his bowtie and stood straight, cane at his side, already half-grinning.

“Then I am all ears! Ah—wait, I have no ears. Yohohoho!”

You rolled your eyes fondly and began.

“He dances where the dead would sleep, With hollow laugh and pain beneath— A skeleton, but not alone, He sings, and makes this ship a home.”

Brook’s grin faded just a little, his sockets focused entirely on you.

“A shadow passed, and still he stands, With aching song and gentle hands— He lost his heart, and still it plays, In every note, in bright displays.”

The violin he held lowered slightly.

“He’s death, but never dread or gloom— He’s music spun through every room— He walks with ghosts, and yet he stays, To light the dark with brighter days.”

You glanced up—his back was very straight, his head tilted ever so slightly.

Your voice dipped to a whisper:

“And if his bones are bare and white, Then let them dance with firelight— For Brook, who sings what others fear, Is proof the soul will always hear.”

Silence.

Not even the sea dared to crash too loudly.

Brook bowed his head.

Then let out a long, shaky breath.

“I have no eyes,” he said softly, “but I believe… I may be crying anyway.”

You walked over and gently bumped your forehead to his chest.

It clacked.

He laughed—soft and warm.

“…Thank you, dear one.”

He reached down, took your paw, and placed a ghost of a kiss on it.

“I’ve waited decades for someone to write me a song.”

You smiled. “You’ve been writing your own the whole time.”

Later that night, his violin played a new melody.

It was soft. Slow. Sad and sweet and full of warmth.

The kind of song only someone who’d walked through silence and come back could write.

And everyone on the Sunny fell asleep to it.

—-

You’d been holding onto Robin’s poem.

Not because you couldn’t write it—oh, it came to you easily.

She was made of poetry.

Every word she spoke, every motion she made, every soft glance across a page or smirk after a witty jab—she carried weight like stories carved in stone. But writing about Robin wasn’t like writing for the others.

It felt… sacred.

And part of you wanted to get it right more than anything.

So you waited. Watched. Listened.

Until one quiet evening when she was alone on the upper deck, seated at her usual reading spot with a book open and the sky slowly bruising with sunset.

You padded up softly and sat beside her, hugging your notebook.

She glanced at you with that small, knowing smile.

“Is it my turn?” she asked.

You nodded.

“…Ready when you are.”

You took a breath.

And spoke.

“She reads the world in ancient breath, In words that danced before our death. With eyes like dusk, and hands like flame, She holds her past without the shame.”

Robin’s eyes softened. Her fingers stilled on her page.

“She bloomed through fire, bloomed through pain, With roots in loss and watered rain— Her petals sharp, her silence deep, She’s lived what others couldn’t keep.”

Luffy had wandered into earshot—he sat nearby, quiet for once.

Chopper hovered above on the railing, tail swaying, watching.

“But still she smiles, and still she learns— For knowledge is the way she burns. A spark in ink, a flame in thought— She never kneels. She can’t be caught.”

You looked at her, voice quieter now:

“She grew from ruins, walked through ash, With stories stitched into her sash— And though her past would chill the sun, She found a crew— she let us come.”**

Robin’s lips parted, a slow inhale.

You finished the last lines barely above a whisper.

“So here’s a verse for calm and storm— For brains, and grace, and shapely form— For Robin, strong with blooming hands… Who finally let someone understand.”

The silence that followed was heavy with meaning.

Then she reached out, fingertips brushing the edge of your notebook.

“That,” she said softly, “is the most beautiful thing anyone has ever written for me.”

You grinned, tail flicking behind you. “You deserve a whole library.”

She chuckled. “Just a little corner with your writing would be enough.”

She leaned down, pressing a kiss to your forehead—gentle, almost reverent.

“Thank you.”

You flushed, ears warm. “Anytime.”

Later that night, you caught her writing in her own journal. One hand scribbling gently. The other resting protectively over the page.

—

You’d been saving Zoro for last.

He didn’t ask for a poem. Didn’t hover. Didn’t beg like Luffy, or sniffle like Chopper. He just... waited.

Quietly. Like a challenge.

Every now and then, you’d catch him looking up when you were scribbling in your notebook. Sometimes he’d grunt if someone else’s poem made the others cry. But never once did he ask, “Where’s mine?”

Because that would mean admitting he wanted it.

And Zoro never asked for anything.

But you knew. You always knew.

So you waited.

Until one night, when most of the crew was asleep and the moonlight spilled silver across the deck, you found him alone—doing push-ups by the mast, sweat glistening on his arms, sword resting against the rail nearby.

You stood in front of him with your notebook in your arms.

“…It’s time.”

He didn’t stop. Didn’t look up.

Just said, “For what?”

You smirked.

“For the only poem I rewrote five times because your stupid face made it hard to be vulnerable.”

He exhaled through his nose. “Tch. What an honor.”

But he stopped his push-ups. Sat back. Rested his arms on his knees.

“...Alright, poet. Let’s hear it.”

You flipped open your notebook, heart pounding slightly harder than usual.

Because this one wasn’t flowery. Or clever. It was honest.

The kind of truth only someone who watched him could write.

You began.

“He walks alone before he’s called, With silence thick and shoulders tall— A blade in hand, a world away, And all his pain he never says.”

Zoro’s brows furrowed slightly. He didn’t speak.

Just listened.

“He bears the weight of every scar, A soldier carved from flesh and star— He bleeds in battle, not in sound, And holds the line while we rebound.”

You looked up.

He was staring straight at you now.

“He gets lost, but never breaks, He takes the fall, the burn, the ache— And though his words are sharp and spare, He’s always, always there.”

Your voice dipped low, steady.

“He’s not our leader. Not our flame. But gods—he guards us, all the same.”

You took a breath.

And gave him the last, softest line:

“So here’s a poem for a blade not bent— For the man who protects, and calls it… strength.”

The air between you was still. Heavy.

Zoro didn’t speak for a long time.

Then finally, he stood.

Walked over.

And held out a hand.

You blinked. “...What?”

“I want the page.”

You stared at him.

“Wait—you liked it?”

He didn’t meet your eyes. “It was... fine.”

You smirked, handing him the neatly torn-out page.

“You’re blushing.”

“I’m sweating.”

“It’s your eyes.”

“It’s your poem.”

“…You’re welcome, mosshead.”

He rolled his eyes.

Then gently tucked the page into the front of his waistband like it belonged next to his swords.

You swore you saw the corners of his mouth twitch upward.

And as he turned away, he muttered—almost too quiet to hear:

“…Thanks, furball.”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Five: The Bard of the Sunny

From that moment on, your new role aboard the Thousand Sunny was made official.

You were dubbed, very dramatically by Luffy, “Gremlin Poet of the Straw Hats,” and the title stuck—because unfortunately for everyone, you leaned into it hard.

Notebook? Constantly on hand. Dramatic readings? Daily. You’d perch on the railing like a smug, wind-blown prophet, tail flicking as you scribbled down phrases like “sword boy’s longing silence” and “Captain chaos in the sunlight.”

Sanji cooked for you like a muse. Robin kept sneaking you new pens. Luffy asked for an encore of his poem every day.

But next on your poetic hit list?

Nami.

You approached her mid-afternoon, stalking across the deck like a feline Shakespeare with an attitude.

She was stretched out under the sun with sunglasses on, a map across her lap and a drink in hand.

You cleared your throat loudly. She didn’t look up.

“…Nami.”

Nothing.

You tried again, more dramatic. “Nami of the tangerines, mistress of the skies and sass, breaker of wallets—”

She peeked one eye open. “...What are you doing?”

“I have written you an ode,” you declared, tail curling behind you like a punctuation mark.

“Will it make me cry?”

“Only if you’ve ever been in love with yourself, which you should be.”

She smirked. “Alright. Hit me.”

You cleared your throat. The wind paused. The sea leaned in. Your audience (Chopper, Luffy, and Usopp lying nearby) hushed.

You began.

“She maps the world in strokes of fire, Charts the seas with quiet ire, Eyes like storms that make men weak, A smirk, a snap—no need to speak.”

Nami raised a brow, intrigued.

“She spins her rage with heels and flair, A goddess draped in orange glare— She doesn’t steal, she reclaims wealth, And threatens lives with frightening stealth.”

Usopp whispered, “I knew she had goddess energy.”

“She leads with reason, not with sword, No blade could strike as sharp a word— She tames the pirates, storms, and skies, And all she does, she does wise.”

You paused, standing tall, then gave the final line with a bow.

“Our Nami, queen of thunder’s sound, Who keeps our hearts—and gold—unbound.”

Silence.

Nami blinked behind her sunglasses. Slowly sat up.

“…Okay. That was… actually amazing.”

You beamed. “I wrote it in between stealing snacks and making Luffy wear a leaf crown.”

She reached over and mussed your hair, gently, fondly.

“I’ll allow you to live. And maybe even steal from me. Maybe.”

Chopper cheered. Luffy started chanting “Nami’s the thunder queen!” Usopp immediately begged you to write a poem about his greatness and rugged beauty.

You grinned, twirling your pen between your claws.

“Next victim, please.”

—-

Usopp cornered you after dinner.

Literally cornered you.

Pressed you between the snack shelf and the mop bucket with wide, sparkly eyes and a dramatic pose.

“You promised,” he said, clutching his chest like a tragic hero. “You said I was next. Nami got a poem. Zoro got one about his arms. I need my moment.”

You squinted at him.

“I already gave you a whole epic about the sea king you made up.”

“That was weeks ago! I’ve grown since then!”

You paused, gave him a slow up-down stare, tail flicking thoughtfully.

“…Alright,” you said at last. “But you have to sit still for five whole minutes.”

He immediately ran to the nearest bench and sat down like he was posing for a royal portrait.

Chopper and Luffy gathered at your feet.

Zoro was on the upper deck, very obviously not listening (but not walking away either). Sanji leaned in the doorway, arms crossed but smiling.

You tapped your notebook with your pen, stared at Usopp, and said:

“For the sniper with the wild soul.”

You began.

“He stands where giants wouldn’t dare, With shaking hands and golden flair— A storyteller, bold and loud, A coward’s heart, but head unbowed.”

Usopp’s mouth dropped open.

“He builds his truth with words and string, With sugar, spark, and rubber fling— And in the chaos, fear, and flame, He laughs and shouts his made-up name.”

You turned your gaze to him with a grin.

“Captain Usopp, king of flair, With lies so grand they fill the air— But here’s the truth behind the mask: He’s always risen to the task.”

Usopp blinked rapidly.

His hands were in his lap.

No words.

Just a stunned, round-eyed silence.

“He runs. He hides. Then turns to fight, His courage born from darkest night— He holds no fruit, no iron grace, But still—he earns his place.”

The last lines came soft.

“He fears, he boasts, he shouts, he tries— And still he stands where heroes rise.”

You stepped back and gave a deep, dramatic bow.

A pause.

Then—

“I’M A LEGEND!!!” Usopp shouted, standing so fast he knocked over the bench.

Chopper burst into applause. Luffy hugged him mid-spin. Sanji was whistling and clapping. Even Zoro gave a tiny nod from the railing.

Robin, passing by with a book, smiled. “A fitting tribute.”

You puffed your chest. “He earned it.”

Usopp was still crying a little. “You rhymed mask and task! That’s high-level stuff!”

You patted his cheek.

“I am a genius, yes.”

—

You’d put off Chopper’s poem.

Not because you didn’t want to write it.

But because every time you looked at that little doctor—hooves clicking on the wood, scarf flapping in the wind, always running around trying to help everyone with snacks and bandages and tiny scribbled notes—you felt that tightness in your chest again.

He wasn’t flashy. He didn’t need a battle cry. But somehow he was the most important piece of the ship.

The little pulse that kept everything going.

You wrote his poem slowly. Carefully.

No jokes.

No drama.

Just truth.

You found him after lunch, out on the deck, sitting with his notebook in his lap and tongue poking out as he scribbled down symptoms from memory.

You padded up, notebook hugged to your chest.

“...Chopper?”

He looked up, ears perked. “Yeah?”

You sat down beside him, cross-legged.

“I wrote your poem.”

His eyes went wide.

“I—I get one?! Really?!”

You nodded. “I had to wait till I could do it right.”

He looked so small suddenly, hooves fidgeting, cheeks already flushing pink beneath his fur.

“I’m ready,” he whispered.

The wind blew soft.

You cleared your throat.

And began.

“He heals with more than poultice, gauze, More than stethoscope or laws— He heals with warmth and tiny hands, A laugh, a note, a heart that stands.”

Chopper’s ears twitched. He blinked fast.

“He runs, he hides, he shouts, ‘I’m strong!’ He fears he’s weak—but he’s been all along The bravest one with trembling knees, Who steps through fire just to ease.”

Luffy had stopped bouncing his ball nearby.

Robin peeked around the corner.

Zoro quietly folded his arms. Sanji lit a cigarette and didn’t say a word.

“He sees our blood, our breaks, our strain, He sees what aches beneath the name— And when we fall, we do not fear— Because we know... he’s always near.”

Your voice cracked.

Just a little.

You paused. Swallowed. Tried to blink the blur away.

“He patches wounds and broken pride— And every time, he’s by our side— Our smallest light, our dearest star… Doctor, friend, and heart by far.”

Silence.

The poem hung in the air like morning mist.

Chopper sat still. Notebook in his lap. Lower lip wobbling. Eyes full of tears.

Then—he launched forward and tackled you into a hug.

You oof’d, then melted instantly, burying your face in his little scarf as he cried into your neck.

“I—I don’t know what to say,” he hiccupped.

“You don’t have to,” you mumbled, clinging just as tight. “I meant every word.”

Sanji quietly handed Chopper a tissue from behind his back. Robin wiped her eyes. Luffy sat beside you both and leaned his head on your shoulder. Zoro was staring off into the sea like he wasn’t listening (but he was).

That night, Chopper kept the poem under his pillow.

And you?

You scribbled something new in your notebook.

“Sometimes softness is the strongest thing we carry.”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Four: The Gremlin Poet Rises

It started innocently enough.

You were perched dramatically on the figurehead, wind ruffling your fur, eyes half-lidded like some sort of tragic muse lost to time and snacks.

Robin sat nearby, reading.

Brook played a soft, haunting tune in the background.

The sea sparkled.

Your tail flicked once. Twice.

And then—like lightning from the brain of someone with no filter and too much flair—you stood suddenly and declared:

“I AM A POET NOW.”

Robin looked up, calm as ever. “Oh?”

You nodded solemnly.

“I am overcome with emotion and must express it through artful anguish.”

Brook struck a chord on his violin. “Ah! A tortured soul of the sea!”

You raised your paw dramatically to your forehead.

“O salty wind, you fickle breeze, Caressing fur and chapping knees— I cry, I pine, I nap, I steal, And no one knows how deep I feel—””

Sanji, just stepping onto the deck, blinked. “Did you just rhyme knees with... steal?”

“Don’t interrupt my process, Stove Legs.”

From that moment on, it became a thing.

You declared your new hobby to the entire crew over dinner.

“I’m a poet now,” you said between bites of fish. “All of you are my muses. Especially Zoro’s arms.”

Zoro choked.

Sanji glared. “You wrote an ode to his arms?!”

You pulled out a crumpled page. “Would you like a reading?”

“O muscled limbs, like rolling stone, That lift me up when I groan. Three swords, two eyes, one scowl so deep— I ponder thee while half asleep.”

Zoro looked like he wanted to walk into the ocean.

Usopp asked for a poem. You gave him an epic called “Lies and Bravery: The Ballad of Long Nose the Bold.”

Chopper got a medical-themed haiku: “Fuzzy hooves of cure, Candy breath and tiny joy— Doctor of my heart.”

Luffy’s was five lines of nonsense and ended with “MEAT IS GOD.” He cried. Said it was beautiful.

You had a new notebook. A stolen quill. Ink stains on your fingers. And zero shame.

Robin, naturally, adored it. Brook offered to turn one into a song. Sanji was still waiting for his poem, arms crossed and huffy.

You were saving his for the most dramatic time possible. Obviously.

That night, you climbed up to your nest with your notebook tucked under your arm, tail flicking proudly.

You scratched down one last line before sleep:

“Among pirates, blades, and flame-kissed stew, My favorite poem is this dumb crew.”

—

The sun was just beginning to set, streaking the sky with gold and pink, when you gathered the crew with all the dignity and drama of an artist about to ruin everyone's emotional equilibrium.

You stood atop the table in the galley, notebook clutched to your chest, tail swishing with anticipation.

Sanji leaned against the counter, arms crossed, pretending not to care—while very obviously staring directly at you.

“You’ve written poems for everyone,” he muttered. “Where’s mine?”

You turned slowly.

Met his eyes.

And grinned.

“Oh,” you purred, flipping open your notebook with flair, “I’ve been saving yours.”

You cleared your throat, slapped the notebook shut (for effect), and recited entirely from memory:

“O flame of stove and heart alike, With brow so furrowed, sharp and bright, Your kicks are fierce, your meals divine, And when you smile? Stars realign.”

Sanji blinked. His cigarette drooped.

“You call me gremlin, beast, and brat, You feed me snacks and pat my hat— But when I see your eyes go soft, I think... perhaps you like this cat.”

Usopp fell off his chair. Chopper made a squeaky noise. Luffy was whispering “he likes the cat he likes the cat” under his breath.

Sanji’s face was turning bright pink.

You closed the poem with one last flourish, voice soft and teasing:

“So here’s your verse, my dear chef sweet, Who burns his heart and cooks with heat— I’d write you volumes, page by page... But let’s not make Zoro die of rage.”

The room exploded.

Brook yelled “YOHOHOHOHO!” Nami was wheezing. Robin was elegantly choking on her tea. Zoro stood up, said “I’m going outside,” and walked directly into the pantry by mistake.

Sanji had gone perfectly still.

Then slowly—very slowly—he approached the table, eyes locked with yours, looking like a man standing in the path of a love tornado.

“You…” he said, voice hoarse, “wrote me a love poem.”

You leaned down, smug and grinning. “Guilty.”

He reached up, cupped your cheek with one warm hand, and whispered—

“Don’t move.”

Then turned to yell at everyone else:

“GET OUT. ALL OF YOU. NOW.”

-

Sanji didn’t tell you to get out.

He told everyone else to get out.

But you?

You were his anchor in that moment of red-faced, heart-struck spiraling.

Still crouched on the table, grinning like a gremlin bard who just dropped a weaponized love bomb, you tilted your head and cooed, “Sanji~?”

He blinked, dazed.

“…You think my smile realigns the stars?”

You nodded, tail swishing. “Mhm. You’ve got sparkles in your soul.”

He made a noise that was somewhere between a breathless laugh and a whimper, swaying slightly like you’d punched him in the chest with feelings.

Then he sort of just… melted.

Slid down into the nearest chair, face in his hands, mumbling to himself.

“Okay. Okay. No big deal. I’m fine. I’m normal. I’m gonna marry her. It’s fine. I’m fine.”

You smirked, hopped down, and pressed a gentle kiss to his temple.

“Simmer down, Chef Boyardee.”

“I’m so in love with you it’s awful.”

“Good.”

Meanwhile—

Out in the hallway, the rest of the crew was absolutely losing it.

Nami was wiping tears from her eyes. Usopp was begging you to write one for him next. Robin already had her notebook out. Zoro pretended to be uninterested but kept following the group with his arms crossed and a scowl that screamed emotionally compromised.

“Oi,” Luffy chirped, poking his head out of the hammock room, “do I get one?”

You blinked. Paused. Then slowly pulled your notebook back out.

“You know what? Yeah. Yeah, you do.”

You stepped back onto the table like it was your stage and cleared your throat dramatically.

“For the Captain,” you said, and immediately all chatter died.

Luffy leaned forward, eyes wide and excited.

You began.

“With straw upon his crownless brow, And dreams too big for sky or sound, He laughs like storms, he fights like flame, He calls the broken by their name.”

Luffy’s mouth fell open slightly. Usopp gasped. Zoro squinted like he didn’t want to like it.

“He stretches far, but never thin— The world may bend, but not that grin. His heart’s a feast, his hands hold stars, He lets us be exactly ours.”

Robin’s eyes glistened.

“So here’s a verse, no gold can buy— For you, who points us to the sky— O Captain, chaos, king-to-be— You’re home. You’re hope. You’re family.”

Silence.

Then—

“THAT’S ME!!!” Luffy screamed, leaping three feet in the air. “I’M A POEM!!!”

He tackled you in a hug so big your notebook went flying, your tail curled around his arm, and you couldn’t stop laughing.

“That’s the best thing EVER!! Write more! Write one about ME and ME again!!”

“You get one, King Gremlin!”

“I want a poem too!” Chopper wailed. “Same!!” cried Usopp. Robin smiled. “I’d like to hear mine next.”

Zoro: “…tch. Whatever.”

You pointed at him slowly.

“You’re last. I’m gonna write something so nice it’ll make you cry in push-up position.”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Three: Sleep Schedule

Morning rolled in soft and bright, sea breeze fluttering through the Sunny’s open corridors.

You woke slowly, blinked once, stretched—

—and immediately heard the voice of your Captain.

“HEY!”

You flinched.

Zoro flinched.

You both looked toward the open door where Luffy stood in the hallway, pointing dramatically into the room.

“You’re in Zoro’s bed!!” he accused.

Zoro rubbed the bridge of his nose. “It’s a hammock.”

Luffy’s face scrunched. “You said I could sleep next to her next time!”

You tilted your head, still wrapped in Zoro’s blanket like a very smug cinnamon roll. “...Did I?”

“Yes!! I asked while we were eating and you nodded!”

“I was eating rice off someone’s plate. I might’ve nodded to the plate.”

Luffy stormed in like a betrayed gremlin, puffed cheeks and pout fully activated.

“Not fair.”

Zoro rolled his eyes. “She climbed in here. Not like I invited her.”

Luffy gasped. “That’s WORSE.”

Not five minutes later, Sanji appeared in the doorway with a tray of breakfast and the sharpest glare known to mankind.

“Why,” he said flatly, “is she still in mosshead’s bed?”

“She SNUCK IN,” Luffy shouted.

“She’s MY blanket thief!” Sanji snapped.

You sat up slowly and blinked at all three of them.

Then stretched. Yawned. And said, very calmly:

“Okay. New system.”

They paused.

You held up one clawed finger.

“Rotation.”

A moment of silence.

Zoro: “...What?”

“You each get one night,” you said, folding your arms like a little CEO of Chaos. “No fighting. No jealousy. Simple. Zoro last night. Sanji tonight. Luffy tomorrow.”

Luffy gasped. “I get a turn?!”

Sanji’s eye twitched. “That’s not—I’m not sharing you like a sleep chart!”

“Too late. It’s a cuddle roster now.”

Zoro blinked slowly. “That’s the dumbest—”

“I made a spreadsheet!” you chirped, pulling out a very crumpled, very chaotic paper covered in doodles, names, and stars.

Nami’s voice echoed down the hall. “Are you assigning your affections again?!”

“Yes!!”

Robin’s laugh floated from somewhere in the library. “Let me know if I need to book a slot.”

Sanji groaned into his tray. “Why do I feel like I just got custody rights in a weird divorce?”

You grinned, tail flicking smugly.

“Because you did.”

—

It was Sanji Night.

As per your Very Official™ cuddle schedule, you found yourself freshly bathed, fur fluffed, and climbing into Sanji’s bunk while holding two mugs of tea and a bag of snacks like a gremlin on a sleepover mission.

Sanji blinked from his spot, sitting on the edge of the bed in a tank top and pajama pants, hair damp from his own bath.

“You’re really committing to this, huh?”

You handed him a mug. “I never do anything halfway.”

He took it with a chuckle, scooting back and patting the space beside him.

You flopped down without hesitation, tail curling around your legs, and leaned against him with a sigh.

“…You smell like caramel,” you mumbled.

“That's 'cause I made toffee earlier.”

“I love you.”

He smiled into his tea. “I know.”

At first, you both just lay there, sipping quietly, legs brushing, the room filled with the soft creaks of the Sunny and the occasional distant sound of Luffy yelling in his sleep.

But then—conversation started. Slow at first. Comfortable.

“Ever think you’d end up here?” he asked softly.

You tilted your head. “Sleeping in bed rotation between a mosshead, a future Pirate King, and a leggy simp chef?”

He chuckled. “I meant on a crew.”

“…No,” you admitted. “I always thought I’d stay on my own. Just me, my claws, and a trail of stolen goods.”

He hummed. “Doesn’t sound like you now.”

“I still steal,” you said proudly.

“Yeah, but now you leave us stuff too.”

You grinned. “I give back. It’s called balance.”

The conversation kept going—flickering between quiet admissions and dumb jokes.

Sanji told you about failed recipes from his early days. You told him about weird things you’ve eaten out of desperation (“one time I gnawed on a sock. Don’t ask why.”).

You leaned your head on his shoulder at some point, and he didn’t move.

Didn’t tease. Didn’t flirt.

Just rested his cheek on the top of your head and listened.

By the time the tea was cold and the snacks forgotten, the two of you had gone quiet again.

Not from discomfort.

Just that soft, sleepy quiet of people who trusted each other.

You were curled into his side, tail twitching occasionally against his leg.

He was warm. You were sleepy. And the world, for once, felt perfect.

“…Thanks for always feeding me,” you mumbled.

Sanji smiled, eyes closed.

“Thanks for always being here to feed.”

Neither of you said “goodnight.”

You just drifted off, still tangled up, tea mugs left half-full on the nightstand.

The next morning, no one could deny:

Sanji looked the most well-rested he had in weeks.

–

Luffy Night began—as all things Luffy-related did—with chaos.

You barely got your head on the pillow before he threw himself into the hammock, arms and legs spread like a human starfish, already grinning with his entire face.

“I’ve been waiting all day!” he cheered, grabbing you immediately like a teddy bear with ears. “Zoro said you kick in your sleep, so I’m gonna test it.”

“I do not kick,” you said, already squirming under him. “I flail. It’s very different.”

“It’s okay. I’ll flail too!”

And he did.

You spent the first ten minutes bouncing like a dryer full of rocks. But eventually, he settled—curling around you, head on your chest, completely relaxed.

“...You're really warm,” he mumbled.

“So are you,” you whispered, wrapping your arms around him like the world’s weirdest comfort plush.

Before either of you could fully drift off, there was a knock.

A very gentle one.

The door creaked open.

Robin peeked in.

“If there’s room…” she said with a soft smile.

Your ears perked up.

“Absolutely. Get in here, pretty lady.”

Luffy threw a hand up. “Cuddle train!”

Robin chuckled, slid into the hammock on your other side with surprising grace, and nestled close, long fingers brushing soothingly over your fur.

You were instantly boneless. Maximum relaxation.

“...You smell like libraries,” you mumbled dreamily.

She smiled. “And you smell like mischief.”

The moment was perfect. Quiet. Cozy. Peaceful.

Until—

“HEY—are cuddle signups still open?”

Usopp.

Leaning into the doorway, pillow tucked under one arm, looking slightly sheepish.

“…Seriously?” you asked, blinking.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ve never been in a cuddle pile. I wanna try.”

Luffy waved him over. “Get in! I’ll be the middle!”

You were rapidly being swallowed by warmth and limbs, tail flicking once in protest before giving in.

By the time everyone was settled, you had:

Robin gently stroking your head,

Luffy snoozing against your side like a happy octopus,

And Usopp awkwardly clinging to your legs like a nervous koala.

The door creaked open again.

Brook leaned in, skull gleaming, eyesockets hopeful. “May I also—?”

You blinked. Then glanced at the already-too-full hammock.

“Brook... you don’t have skin.”

“Ah, yes. That does make me a bit bony for snuggles. Yohoho.”

He bowed with exaggerated flair and disappeared.

A moment later, Franky stuck his head in.

You looked at him. Looked at your squishy, gremlin-safe cuddle pile.

He raised a brow. “I’m made of steel and sharp angles. I know. Don’t worry.”

You reached out and high-fived him. “You’re cuddle-worthy in spirit.”

“SUPER.” He left.

Eventually, Luffy's snores filled the air. Usopp quietly mumbled something about warmth and heaven. Robin was already half-asleep, her breathing calm and even.

And you?

You purred.

Tail twitching. Heart warm. Safe in a pile of pirates who—somehow—had all become your family.

You smiled into the dark.

You love it here.

—-

You awoke tangled in a nest of limbs, warmth, and at least three people softly snoring.

One leg was definitely not yours. Luffy drooled on your shoulder. Robin had you cradled like a treasured relic. Usopp’s arm was somehow under the hammock

You stretched just enough to pop one shoulder, yawned into your paw, and purred contentedly.

Then the door creaked.

And Chopper stepped in with a clipboard.

“…I need to study you.”

You blinked at him. “Come again?”

He cleared his throat, adjusting his little doctor’s coat like a serious researcher.

“I want to observe your cuddle habits across different conditions,” he said, stepping in with all the authority of a tiny deer scientist. “You’ve exhibited behavioral patterns I’ve never seen before—comfort-seeking, aggressive nuzzling, spontaneous purring, tail wraps, and ‘the noodle flop.’”

You tilted your head. “The what now?”

He flipped the page. “Where you melt bonelessly across someone’s chest. You do it with Zoro a lot.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Are you spying on me?”

“I’m a doctor. It’s research.”

You blinked slowly.

Then patted the space beside you. “Get in, nerd.”

A minute later, you were in a fresh cuddle test pile. The others had gotten up or flopped to the side, giving you and Chopper enough room for controlled observation conditions.

You curled around him like a heat-seeking fluff missile. He froze. Then slowly relaxed. His hoof tapped the clipboard once. Scribble scribble.

“Immediate engagement,” he whispered. “Tail-to-torso contact. Low growling. Possible territorial affection.”

You rested your head on his shoulder and started to gently knead at his arm.

His ears turned pink.

“Purring confirmed… subject is grooming me with tiny licks now. That’s new.”

“Peer bonding,” you murmured against his fur.

“You’re making things up,” he hissed, hiding a smile.

“You’re writing it down.”

“…Touché.”

Robin passed by in the hallway, glanced in with a smirk. “Doctor-patient boundaries going well?”

“Very professional,” Chopper said quickly.

“Extremely,” you added. “This is medical-grade affection.”

By the time your "session" ended, Chopper had filled two pages with notes—most of which were lightly crumpled from where you'd tried to steal the clipboard halfway through.

You patted his head gently as he stood to leave.

“Thanks for the checkup, doc.”

He beamed. “Thanks for the… fur therapy, I guess.”

You gave him a lazy wink.

“Come back any time. I accept payment in head pats and snacks.”

[hummingbird24220]

Chapter Sixty Two: Snip Snip, Gremlin Edition

You were lounging in your observation nest, sketchbook open, tail swaying behind you as you doodled Luffy balancing a teacup on his nose. It was a masterpiece.

That’s when Nami walked by, paused mid-step, and said very casually:

“…Your hair is a disaster.”

You blinked up at her.

“Excuse me. I am a natural work of art.”

“You have three twigs in it and a noodle stuck behind your ear.”

“…Statement still stands.”

But once she grabbed a comb and pulled you out into the sunlight, you began to suspect that perhaps… she had a point.

Your hair—wild, long, windswept, slightly cursed—was everywhere. Your bangs half-covered one eye, and your ends were… chewed?

Sanji winced when he saw you. “What have you been doing to it?”

You shrugged. “Living?”

Zoro muttered, “Looks like it’s been attacked by a weed whacker.”

Chopper poked at it with a pencil. “There might be a nest in there.”

You hissed. “You’re just jealous you don’t have my volume.”

Nami cracked her knuckles, comb in hand.

Robin sipped her tea from a distance, smiling. “I vote we give her something soft. Wispy. Chaos chic.”

“I vote we don’t touch it,” you grumbled, ears back. “What if it’s the source of my power?”

“Then you’ll be slightly less powerful and easier to look at,” Nami said.

Eventually, a compromise was made:

Nami would cut it.

Robin would supervise.

Sanji would hold your snack plate.

You were promised one (1) treat per inch snipped.

Zoro was banned from making comments unless he wanted to be next.

The moment the scissors clicked, you froze.

“Wait, wait—what if I look like a normal girl?!”

“You’ve never looked normal,” Nami reassured.

Snip. Snip. Snip.

You twitched every time a lock fell.

“I’m going to look so innocent and sweet,” you whispered. “They’ll never suspect the crimes.”

“That’s the plan.”

By the time she finished, Sanji turned around with a fresh slice of cake—stopped short.

You blinked up at him, newly trimmed, fur brushed back and clean, bangs framing your face just enough to leave room for crimes.

“…Whoa,” he said, genuinely breathless.

You tilted your head. “Well?”

He placed the cake on your lap and crouched low.

“You look dangerously cute.”

You purred smugly.

“Excellent. My final form.”

Luffy leaned over from behind the couch.

“You look like you’re gonna convince a whole town to commit arson.”

You grinned wide.

“Maybe I will.”

—----

Dinner was loud as usual.

Luffy was balancing a spoon on his nose.

Usopp and Chopper were locked in a very serious argument about whether dragons could be pirates.

 Nami was leaning into Robin, whispering something that made the older woman laugh behind her hand.

Brook played something soft in the corner.

And Sanji floated between them all like a practiced dancer, pouring tea and flicking crumbs off the table with quick flicks of a towel.

The Sunny was full. Warm. Bright.

And you sat there in the middle of it all, poking your food.

Quiet.

Still.

Something about tonight had settled in your chest in a way that felt… different. Not heavy, exactly. But new.

You looked down at your plate—still warm, carefully prepared, given to you with nothing expected in return. You had a seat. A plate. A place.

It hadn’t always been like that.

You thought back—back to dim nights and hard beds, stolen crusts, whispers in alleys, always watching your back, always running. You didn’t trust anyone. You didn’t get gifts. You didn’t get dinner. Not like this.

You’d fought for scraps, for survival.

Now there were seconds.

Laughter.

People who saw you.

Your fork trembled just a little in your hand.

You blinked quickly, ears flattening as you stared down at your food, suddenly blurry.

No one was looking. You weren’t making a scene.

But your throat ached. And something warm rolled down your cheek before you could stop it.

You swiped at it fast.

Too late.

Sanji caught the motion mid-step, still holding a pitcher.

He paused.

“...Hey.” His voice was soft. “You okay, furball?”

You kept your head down. “I’m fine.”

He didn’t push.

Just knelt beside your chair, resting a hand lightly on your back.

You felt the weight of it—gentle, steady.

You swallowed hard, still staring at your food.

“I didn’t used to have this,” you whispered, voice barely audible.

Sanji didn’t say anything at first.

Then:

“Well, you’ve got it now.”

You looked up—eyes glassy, trying not to crumble.

He smiled. Warm and sad and just a little bit crooked.

“And you’re not losing it.”

Luffy peeked over the table, smiling gently.

“You’re one of us. You know that, right?”

Usopp leaned around Chopper. “You’re the weird little glue that holds all of us together.”

Zoro grunted. “You smell, you steal, and you talk too much.”

You looked at him.

He smirked. “You’re not going anywhere.”

You sniffed, tears falling despite your attempt to keep cool.

“...I’m not crying,” you lied.

“Of course not,” Sanji said, brushing a finger beneath your eye. “You’re just emotionally leaking.”

Luffy reached out and offered you his dessert.

You took it without a word, biting into it with a little hiccup.

Then smiled.

Because yeah.

You had it now.

And you weren’t giving it up.

—--------

Later that night, the Sunny was quiet.

The sea was calm, waves rocking gently beneath the hull. Moonlight stretched across the deck in pale streaks. Most of the crew had already gone to bed, the galley cleared, the laughter faded—but the warmth still lingered.

You padded softly down the hallway, bare feet and twitching tail, wrapped in one of the blankets from your nest. Your new haircut fluffed slightly in the salty breeze drifting in from the open porthole.

You couldn’t sleep.

Not because of bad dreams. Not because of lingering fear. But because of how full you felt.

Like your heart had eaten too much and didn’t know what to do with it.

You found yourself outside one of the doors.

You didn’t knock. You just slipped in.

Zoro was asleep in his hammock, one arm over his eyes, his swords leaning by the wall.

You stood there for a moment, watching the slow rise and fall of his chest, the calm strength in his breathing.

“...Zoro,” you whispered.

One eye cracked open.

He blinked once, then gave a tiny grunt.

You stood there with your blanket, hesitant, suddenly shy.

Then he sighed and lifted the edge of his blanket without a word.

You immediately crawled in, curling up like a cat at his side.

“Didn’t think you were the cuddly type,” you muttered.

“I’m not,” he said, already closing his eyes again. “You’re just stubborn.”

You smiled.

“Thanks for not making me say it.”

He didn’t answer. Just shifted slightly, arm resting behind your head, letting you burrow in close.

You thought you’d feel awkward.

Instead?

You felt safe.

Warm.

Like the day’s emotion had finally found its place.

Just as your eyes drifted shut, you heard a sleepy, quiet voice beside your ear.

“…Glad you didn’t get married to that creep.”

You laughed softly, tail curling around his leg.

“Me too.”

[hummingbird24220]

Hi! Can i request Zoro x male reader that is similar to Ahab from moby dick?

Helloooo! Thank you for the request! Ive not read or seen Moby Dick, so had a little google and i think i did okay with the personality. Let me know! Hope you like it :)

The One-Eyed and the One-Legged

Zoro x Male Reader

The sea was calm. Too calm.

The Straw Hats had met their fair share of eccentric allies and terrifying enemies. But none of them were like you.

You stood at the bow of your ship—The Harrower—your long coat flapping in the wind, peg leg locked steady against the wood. Your right arm, a prosthetic of strange alloys and rotating gears, shifted with a soft hiss, the fingers tightening into a three-pronged hook before unfurling again with mechanical grace.

Luffy had found you fascinating.

Zoro had found you infuriating.

You'd appeared out of nowhere, chasing a monstrous sea king that had once taken your leg and arm. You weren’t out for revenge, though—that would have been simple. No, you wanted to understand the thing that had maimed you. Hunt it. Face it again. It had become your obsession—like a ghost of iron and blood that wouldn't let go.

And somehow, you’d gotten yourself wrapped into the Straw Hats’ business. At least temporarily.

"You're gonna fall off the ship staring like that," Zoro muttered, leaning on the railing beside you as the Sunny cut through the waves.

You didn't look at him. "If the sea wants me back, she can come collect me herself."

Zoro scoffed. "You sound like Brook."

"I sound like a man who's been swallowed whole before and clawed his way back out."

He eyed your prosthetic arm as it shifted again—this time into a flintlock mode. No trigger. Just the shell of it. You liked to intimidate.

"That thing ever shut off?"

"Only when I'm asleep. Or dead. Which I’m not. Yet."

The tension between you crackled like a storm in the sky. You weren’t enemies. But you weren’t friends either. Not yet.

Chopper had examined your prosthetics with awe. You’d let him poke around, even grinning when he activated a grappling hook by accident and flew backward into Franky’s chest.

Nami didn’t trust you at first—but when you redirected a cannon blast mid-battle with your magnetic gauntlet mode, she begrudgingly gave you a smirk.

Sanji brought you coffee without asking. You never thanked him. He never minded.

Robin read your logbooks when you weren’t looking.

Luffy kept calling your ship a “metal whale,” and honestly, you liked that.

But Zoro?

Zoro challenged you the moment you stepped aboard.

“I don’t trust men who carry ghosts around,” he told you the night after your first shared battle.

“I don’t trust men who never ask questions,” you replied coolly.

It started with sparring.

You weren’t a swordsman. But your prosthetic arm had a curved, heated blade mode, and your fighting style was a strange hybrid of acrobatics, flamethrower bursts, grappling hooks, and raw ferocity. Your peg leg? Hollow and reinforced. It concealed a spring-loaded spear. You were like a walking weapon.

And Zoro respected strength.

But he hated restraint even more. And that’s what you were—an ocean of fury locked behind clever gears and cool words.

"You're holding back again," he snarled during a match.

"So are you," you said, panting, as the tip of his katana pressed to your throat. Your blade-arm hissed with heat, but didn’t move.

"...Why?"

"Because if I let go," you murmured, "I’ll fall. And I don’t know if I’ll come back up again."

Zoro blinked.

That was the moment things began to change.

On moonless nights, you found each other on the deck. Quiet. Tense. Close.

You once asked him: “What would you do if you lost your swords?”

He answered: “Get them back. Or die trying.”

You nodded. “Then you understand me more than most.”

The first time he kissed you, it was after you’d nearly drowned fighting the sea king again. It had returned—massive, scaled, older, cleverer. You leapt into its mouth with a bomb in hand. You carved your way out.

You collapsed onto the Sunny’s deck in a heap of blood, seawater, and metal. Zoro was the one who carried you to your quarters. He didn’t say anything. Not until you grabbed his collar.

“You mad?” you rasped, coughing.

“Of course I’m mad, you insane bastard,” he hissed. “You didn’t even say goodbye.”

And then he kissed you—rough, angry, but real. You didn’t resist.

Your prosthetic fingers twitched at his jaw. Gentle.

“I didn’t say goodbye,” you murmured, “because I knew I’d come back.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Next time,” he growled, “you say goodbye anyway.”

Now, when you stand at the edge of the world, Zoro is often just a step behind.

Not to stop you. Not to guide you. But to remind you that you're not chasing ghosts alone anymore.

And if the sea comes calling again—well, she’ll have to take both of you this time.

[hummingbird24220]

Can you do a strawhats x reader (not romantic) where the reader was a former slave and didn’t tell the strawhats and can you give the reader a laid back sorta attitude as well as really strong haki or a zoan devil fruit sorry if this is to much to ask take your time!

Hello! Thank you for your request! Hope you enjoy <3

Some Chains Just Rust Away

One Piece x Reader (non-romantic)

It started like most things on the Sunny — with chaos and shouting.

You were reclined in the crow’s nest hammock, boots kicked up, arms behind your head, listening to the crew’s usual lunchtime noise drift upward. Luffy and Usopp were arguing over meat again. Zoro was probably asleep with one eye open, and Nami was two threats away from violence.

You didn't feel like getting involved.

The sun was warm. The ship was safe. And nobody asked too many questions about you — just the way you liked it.

You’d joined up after Enies Lobby. You helped them out of a tight spot on some Marine-infested rock, and Luffy, in typical fashion, had grinned and gone, “Wanna join?” You blinked. “Sure.”

They hadn’t asked much about your past. And you hadn’t offered.

What would you even say?

"I spent most of my childhood in chains. Ate dirt. Learned to smile with a broken jaw. Then one day, I stopped bleeding and started biting back."

No. Didn’t matter now. You weren’t a slave anymore. You were a Straw Hat — laid-back, overpowered, and terminally under-motivated unless someone was bleeding.

You didn’t fight often. You didn’t need to.

The first time Sanji saw you punch a Sea King off the ship deck with one fist — no wind-up, no Devil Fruit glow, just raw, hard-packed Haki — he dropped his cigarette.

“Did… did you just—?”

You yawned. “Thing was loud. I’m trying to nap.”

You never bragged. Never barked. Never warned.

You were calm until the second you weren’t — and by then, it was too late for whoever stood in your way.

Zoro respected that. Robin too. Nami pretended you annoyed her, but when she couldn’t sleep, she usually found you stargazing and sat quietly beside you. You didn’t say much. You didn’t have to.

They didn’t know who you used to be. And that was the point.

One day, a slaver ship drifted near. Mistook the Sunny for some rich pleasure craft.

Bad call.

You were the first one over the railing.

You didn’t wait for orders. Didn’t ask permission. Just vanished mid-sentence — BOOM — gone in a sonic shock of Haki-enhanced speed. The crew barely caught a glimpse of your silhouette, gliding on invisible air.

Luffy shouted after you, “Save some for me!”

But by the time they reached the enemy deck, it was over.

Slavers unconscious. Collars smashed. Chains melted.

You stood in the wreckage, breathing even, a bit of blood on your sleeve.

“Yo,” you called lazily. “We’re good.”

Luffy blinked. “What happened?”

You shrugged. “Didn’t like their faces.”

He grinned. “Nice.”

Robin’s eyes lingered on the broken collars for a moment longer than the others.

You kept walking.

That night, you sat near the ship’s edge, feet dangling. Watching the moon ripple over the sea like silver chain links dissolving in ink.

Chopper sat beside you.

“They were scared of you,” he said, voice small. “The slavers. I heard one say, ‘it’s one of them.’”

You said nothing.

“…Were you a slave?”

The wind blew.

“…Don’t ask questions you don’t wanna carry the answers to, Chopper.”

He looked down, ears low. “Okay.”

You bumped his side lightly with your elbow. “But thanks for not treating me like glass.”

He smiled — just a little.

You didn’t need them to know. Not really.

You weren’t hiding it. You were just… done with it.

You had your hammock, your freedom, your crew. That was enough.

Let the past rust in peace.

-

It was supposed to be a simple supply run.

An island known for fresh fruit and strong liquor — a break, Nami said, after days at sea. You’d peeled off from the main group, doing your usual thing: no fuss, no attention, hands in your pockets, ears sharp. Always sharp.

You knew something was wrong when the air got too quiet.

Then the ambush hit.

A mercenary crew with bounties just high enough to be cocky. They'd been tracking the Straw Hats for weeks. Wanted to make a name. And you — the quiet one — looked like the easiest target.

They didn’t know better.

Not yet.

You took down the first three before they could blink. No Devil Fruit. No tricks. Just clean, terrifying Armament Haki — fingers hard as obsidian, a single strike each.

Then one of them got smart.

They hit you from behind.

Tackled you to the dirt. Pinned you face-first into the ground.

And your breath stopped.

It wasn’t the pain. You’d had worse. It was the position.

Face down. Arms wrenched behind you. Weight pressing into your spine. Dirt in your mouth.

Your body went stiff.

You couldn’t breathe — couldn’t move — not because they were stronger, but because this was familiar. Too familiar.

You saw chains. Heard laughter. Felt a boot on your neck.

Something deep inside you screamed.

The world snapped.

A pressure burst from your body like a storm detonating from your chest.

The attacker on your back went flying — body arcing mid-air as blood sprayed from his nose and ears.

The rest froze.

Because they felt it now.

Conqueror’s Haki.

Pure. Unfiltered. Violent.

It wasn’t neat. It wasn’t royal. It was feral.

Uncontrolled and personal.

Half of them dropped without warning. Eyes rolled back. Mouths foaming.

The rest stumbled away, eyes wide and wet, as you stood — slow, shaking, breathing like a wild animal.

The crew found you ten minutes later.

You were standing in the center of the broken battlefield, arms limp at your sides, breathing low and tight. Not a scratch on you, but your hands were trembling.

Luffy grinned. “WHOA. That was your Haki?! That was AWESOME!”

You didn’t answer.

Zoro narrowed his eyes. He noticed the way your shoulders were tight. Too tight. How you flinched when Sanji stepped too close.

“Oi,” he said carefully. “You good?”

You smiled. Too fast. Too forced. “Yeah. Just got worked up.”

Robin watched you a little too long.

Chopper looked like he wanted to say something — but didn’t.

You walked past them all. Calm. Controlled.

Back on the Sunny, you found your quiet corner, laid down on the wooden deck, and closed your eyes.

You’d trained so hard. Buried it so deep. Learned to laugh, to sleep, to fight on your own terms.

But for one second, face-down in the dirt, you were that scared kid again. The one they chained up and beat for sport. The one who used to bite guards because her fists were too small.

You pressed your hand flat to the deck, breathing in the warm wood, the sound of the ocean, the faint laughter of the crew.

You weren’t there anymore.

You were here.

Still free.

Still strong.

-

Dinner was loud that night.

Luffy was inhaling food like someone would steal it. Usopp was embellishing your earlier fight with grand, inaccurate gestures. Sanji was fussing over a new seafood dish. Nami and Franky were arguing about whether they needed another Weather Egg or more Cola tanks.

You were at the edge of the table, elbow propped, staring into your untouched bowl. The laughter and clatter buzzed around your ears like white noise.

You were calm. Quiet.

Like always.

Then someone said it.

It wasn’t meant to hurt.

It was just a joke.

“He fought like a slave trying to earn his freedom,” Usopp said, laughing with a mouthful of rice. “Crazy intense!”

There was a pause.

Nami laughed politely. Luffy didn’t even blink. Sanji rolled his eyes.

But your spoon stopped.

Very gently, you set it down.

You stood.

The bench squeaked. Everyone glanced over.

“’Scuse me,” you muttered, and turned away.

Not fast. Not storming.

Just… gone.

You didn’t go far. Just to the upper deck, where the stars cut clean through the night sky. You gripped the rail until your knuckles paled.

You weren’t mad at Usopp.

He didn’t know. None of them did.

But the word landed like a whip crack in your ribs. You could still feel it — the instinctive curl of your spine, the locked breath in your throat, the sound of distant laughter from men with keys at their belts.

You stared at the sea. Counted the waves. Ground yourself like you always did.

“Breathe. Don’t act out. Don’t let them see you snap.”

Then came the quiet voice.

“I figured it out just now,” Robin said, stepping beside you.

You didn’t move.

Didn’t deny it.

Didn’t say a word.

“I’ve seen a lot of things,” she continued, hands resting gently on the railing. “Read too many books filled with cruelty. And the way you reacted… I’ve seen it before. That silence. That discipline.”

You kept your eyes on the sea.

“I’m not going to tell them,” she said softly.

That made you glance at her — just once.

She met your gaze with calm, deep understanding. Not pity. Not sympathy. Just truth.

“Do you still feel chained?” she asked.

You took a breath.

“…Only when someone touches my back without warning.”

Robin nodded.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

The night was soft. Wind slow.

Eventually, she said, “You’re not alone on this ship. You don’t have to tell them. But you don’t have to carry it solo, either.”

You snorted. “I’m not carrying anything. Just… walking a little heavy sometimes.”

Robin gave the tiniest smile.

Then, quiet as a whisper, she summoned a phantom hand — her own — from the railing beside yours. It hovered there in reach.

No pressure.

Just presence.

You didn’t grab it.

But you didn’t flinch from it, either.

And that was enough.

Back below, Usopp was still laughing, completely unaware.

But Robin watched you return to the table with a neutral face and slow steps — and the tiniest flicker of tension around your eyes.

She said nothing.

But she knew.

And from that day forward, whenever your voice got quiet or your fists clenched too hard — she noticed.

And she never let you spiral alone again.

-

Sabaody Archipelago was heat and noise and tension wrapped in sunlight.

The crew had split to shop and resupply, agreeing to meet by Grove 21 at sundown. You wandered near the edge of a vendor-lined path, arms crossed, shoulders low. Watching. Always watching.

Then you felt it.

That disgusting shift in the air — like rot dressed in gold. That hollow silence swallowing every sound.

The crowd around you fell to their knees like wheat beneath a scythe.

A single name hissed from trembling lips: “Celestial Dragon.”

You didn’t drop. You didn’t blink.

You locked eyes with the one walking past.

And fate, cruel as ever, gave him your old master’s face.

Saint Varlos.

Fat with self-importance. Powdered skin. Dripping silks and arrogance. He rode atop a slave’s back like a stool with legs, face flushed with heat and wine. And when his eyes passed lazily over the crowd— —they stopped on you.

Your jaw clenched so tight your teeth ached.

The man blinked.

Then smiled.

You saw it — that slow, dawning recognition.

“Well, well…” he drawled. “If it isn’t my favorite little dog.”

The world tilted.

You stood like a statue, nails biting into your palm. Behind you, you could feel the crew’s confused glances. Luffy’s head tilted. Nami’s brow furrowed.

You didn’t speak.

“Thought you were dead,” Varlos continued, voice loud and gleeful, “but I suppose trash has a habit of floating.”

He chuckled, waving his hand in lazy circles. “What’s wrong, mutt? Forgotten how to crawl? Kneel, or I’ll remind you.”

Robin was watching your face now. Her fingers twitched. Something clicked behind her eyes.

Still, the crew stood frozen.

Too stunned.

Too unsure.

And you… you just glared.

No shouting. No shaking.

But the air was beginning to vibrate.

Varlos narrowed his eyes. “Still got that look. Always hated that look. Like you thought you were more than a toy.”

He leaned forward slightly on his moving perch, lips curling.

“You’re not a person. You’re a thing. A stolen weapon. I own the bones in your body, girl.”

Sanji flinched.

Zoro’s hand went to his swords — slowly.

But still, they didn’t understand.

Not yet.

Not fully.

Because all they saw was you, standing still.

But you were back in that gilded cell, collar burning, hands cracked from stone floors. Back to the taste of blood and metal. Back to nights when the stars were just pinholes in the ceiling of your cage.

Your vision blurred.

But your feet held.

You said nothing.

You didn’t need to.

Because the air shifted again.

Heavy. Sharp. Wrong.

Conqueror’s Haki curled around your shoulders like a storm.

Varlos felt it. His sneer faltered.

“You dare—?”

Still, you didn’t speak.

But you took a step forward.

One slow, deliberate step.

And for the first time… Saint Varlos leaned back.

-

The silence was unbearable.

The kind that presses behind your eyes and under your ribs, where pain becomes pressure, and pressure becomes rage.

You had taken one step forward. Just one.

Saint Varlos was already nervous — eyes darting, lips wet. He remembered now. You weren’t the obedient pet from before. You were something else.

You were free.

And your Haki was boiling.

“(Y/N),” came Robin’s voice — quiet, close.

You hadn’t even noticed her move beside you. One hand was raised, not touching you, but near your shoulder. A lifeline, not a leash.

“Breathe.”

You did. Shaky. Ragged. A single breath.

And you pulled back.

Turned on your heel.

The crowd stared, still kneeling.

The crew followed slowly. Zoro’s knuckles were white on his hilt. Sanji’s jaw was locked. Luffy was frowning, deep and uncharacteristically serious.

They knew now.

Not the full story. But enough.

You were just about past him when Varlos laughed — a sharp, mocking bark.

“You think walking away makes you strong?” he spat. “You’ll always be property. Even if you kill me, girl, you’ll still be a broken little thing. A dog playing human.”

You stopped.

Still facing away.

Robin’s hand tensed midair.

Your shadow didn’t move.

Then—

You turned. Fast.

And the moment your eyes met his— the world shattered.

Your Conqueror’s Haki exploded out like a black tidal wave, crashing over the plaza. Stone cracked. Trees bent. People collapsed in waves — unconscious, frothing, twitching.

Even your crew staggered, wide-eyed at the force of it.

Varlos’s eyes rolled back before he could scream.

He collapsed, twitching in his gilded chair.

Unmoving. Unconscious. Powerless.

And you stood there — eyes glowing with fury, chest rising and falling with every ragged breath. Not shaking. Not broken.

Just done.

The plaza was silent except for the rustle of leaves.

Then Luffy walked past you.

Looked down at the Celestial Dragon.

“Serves him right,” he said flatly. “Let’s go.”

You followed. Quietly. No more words needed.

But Robin walked just behind you, and you felt it — her quiet strength, her quiet care. The way she hovered close enough to catch you, if you slipped.

You didn’t.

Not this time.

--

You sat on the deck of the Sunny as the sun dipped low, painting the wood in amber.

The wind was soft. The tension wasn’t.

No one had spoken since you returned. Not really.

Not about that.

Luffy had gone straight to eating again. Classic. Zoro was polishing his swords like nothing happened, though his eyes hadn’t left you once. Chopper kept glancing at you over the rim of a juice box.

You were fine with the silence. You liked it, even.

Until Nami broke it.

“So…” she started, arms crossed, tone tight. “Do you want to tell us what that was? Because—” she faltered, “—because that could’ve gone very badly.”

You blinked up at her, unimpressed. “Did it, though?”

“You attacked a Celestial Dragon,” she snapped. “We’re lucky Marines didn’t show up!”

“She didn’t attack him,” Robin said smoothly. “He fainted from standing too close to the truth.”

Zoro snorted.

Nami pinched the bridge of her nose. “I’m not saying he didn’t deserve it, okay?! I just… I don’t get it. You were just standing there. Then you exploded.”

“I was,” you said. Calmly.

Sanji, leaning on the mast, tilted his head. “You knew him.”

You nodded.

“He was your master,” Robin added gently.

Silence again.

You looked at each of them in turn — the ones who stared, the ones who waited, the ones who looked away.

And then… you spoke.

“I was taken when I was a kid. Don’t remember what island. Doesn’t matter now.”

Your voice didn’t shake. You didn’t cry. This wasn’t new to you.

“I spent years in the Holy Land. Celestial Dragons think the sky starts at their feet and ends at the collar around your neck.”

Chopper’s hands curled into little fists.

“They called me ‘dog.’ Not even a name. Used me for sport. Made me fight. Made me kneel. Broke bones just to hear them snap.”

You exhaled, jaw clenched.

“Until one day, I snapped back.”

You opened your hand and let a flicker of Armament Haki crackle across your knuckles.

“Snuck food. Trained in secret. Hit harder than they expected. I killed three guards and ran barefoot across five miles of steel. Hid in a crate bound for the lower islands. Burned the collar off my own neck with hot metal.”

They didn’t speak.

Not because they didn’t care — Because they didn’t know how to respond.

“I didn’t tell you,” you added, “because I didn’t want your pity. And I didn’t want that name — ‘slave’ — to be the only thing you saw when you looked at me.”

Robin spoke first. “I don’t pity you. I respect you.”

Luffy’s voice followed. Firm. “You’re not a slave. You’re our crewmate.”

You looked at him.

He looked back, unwavering. “I don’t care what they did. You’re here. With us. That’s what matters.”

Sanji gave a small bow. “If I’d known, I’d have handled that bastard myself.”

Zoro crossed his arms. “That Haki blast? Worth it.”

Even Nami, who still looked stressed, softened. “Okay, yeah — maybe don’t do it right in public again, but… honestly? Screw that guy.”

Then, as if on cue, the ship's transponder snail buzzed.

It was the harbor official. His voice crackled through: “Hey! Heard about what happened! That Celestial Dragon’s unconscious and wet himself! Free drinks at Grove 31 for whoever dropped him!”

The crew blinked.

Usopp burst out laughing.

“See?” Franky beamed. “JUSTIFIED.”

You smiled for real, just a little.

Because they knew now.

And no one looked at you differently.

Not as broken. Not as weak. Just as you.

The chains were gone.

And in their place — a seat at the table.

[hummingbird24220]

Trick or Treat: Santoryu Edition

Small halloween ha ha - inspired by a tiktok.

The Thousand Sunny swayed gently in the water, lanterns swinging with each roll of the waves as the evening settled into a warm, pumpkin-orange sky. Inside, the crew had just sat down for dinner when—

Knock knock knock.

Everyone paused.

“…Did someone just knock on the dining room door?” Sanji blinked, spatula in hand. “We’re… already inside.”

Franky peeked over the edge of the table. “Oi, is someone prankin’ us?”

Another round of exaggerated knocking. KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK.

Robin set her tea down. “Perhaps we’re being haunted.”

Zoro groaned from where he sat near the door. “Fine. I’ll open it before Luffy decides to tackle it.”

He swung the door open with a scowl—and froze.

There you stood.

Green bandana tied around your head, a ridiculous short green cape flapping behind you. Three cheap, plastic swords strapped to your side—one awkwardly taped near your mouth. You had even drawn a little scar over your eye with eyeliner, your expression locked in a deep, squinty frown.

“Trick or treat, mosshead.”

Zoro blinked. “...What the hell are you supposed to be?”

You adjusted your toy katana. “Isn’t it obvious? I went to the costume store and said: ‘Make me look stupid.’”

You planted your feet in a dramatically wide stance, two swords out, and pretended to hold the third in your mouth, speaking around it: “SANTORYUUUU!” You waved your arms like a maniac, mimicking Zoro’s attack poses with all the grace of a noodle in a storm.

Zoro's brow twitched. “I don’t stand like that.”

“Yes you do,” you said immediately.

“No I don’t.”

“Zoro, you do exactly that,” Nami snorted from behind the table.

Brook peered over your shoulder. “Yohoho! You even got the angry eyebrow tilt right!”

Usopp wheezed, leaning into Sanji. “They nailed the walk too! That overly serious stomp-stomp-stomp—”

“Oi!” Zoro barked, but you were already pacing in slow circles, swinging your fake swords and mumbling serious things under your breath like “where’s the map,” “I’m not lost,” and “shut up, curlybrow.”

“Why is this sword taped to your face?” he asked, deadpan.

You grinned. “It’s the only way to mimic your ‘I’m-so-cool-I-fight-with-my-teeth’ style.”

Luffy clapped loudly. “This is the best Halloween ever!”

Zoro dragged a hand down his face. “I hate this holiday.”

You poked your head in through the still-open door. “Well, trick or treat?”

Franky tossed you a lollipop. Robin offered you a little wrapped candy with a smile.

Zoro, still grumbling, snapped, “You’re lucky I don’t cut down idiots.”

You pointed a sword at him dramatically. “Then come at me, Pirate Hunter! Let’s see who the real Zoro is!”

“…You’re standing like a pigeon with arthritis.”

“You always look like that when you’re serious!”

“I do not!”

“You do!”

Cue another round of laughter as Zoro tried (and failed) to prove otherwise while you mimicked every stance he did—more exaggerated, more dramatic, and somehow still perfectly him.

[hummingbird24220]

Pierced

Heyooo - this is a small fart of an idea i had, and thought it was cute. Enjoy!

The sun was just dipping below the horizon, casting a golden glow over the Thousand Sunny as dinner was served. Laughter and clinking cutlery filled the air. Plates were passed, mugs clinked, and somewhere between Luffy trying to stack dumplings and Chopper telling a story with wild hand motions, your eyes drifted—again—to Zoro.

Not his face this time.

His earrings.

Those three little danglers danced whenever he moved, glinting against the fading light. You watched them

catch the glow as he chewed, as he leaned forward, as he turned his head when Usopp said something dumb. They swayed when he fought too—jungle-like, dangerous and sharp.

“I think I want my ears pierced,” you said casually, breaking into the conversation like it was nothing.

Most of the crew paused mid-chew.

“Huh?” Luffy perked up with food still in his mouth. “Why?”

You shrugged, “I dunno. I’ve been watching Zoro’s earrings for weeks. They move when he moves. They look cool.”

Zoro, who had been quietly sipping from his cup, blinked. Then, with the barest hint of interest, said, “Did mine myself.”

That caught everyone’s attention.

“You what?” Nami blinked. “Zoro—”

“Old school,” he continued. “Ice, needle, done.”

“Of course you did,” Sanji muttered from the side, biting down on a rolled-up napkin like it was the only thing keeping him from screaming. “What kind of caveman—”

Zoro ignored him and looked at you. “You wanna do it now?”

You hesitated. “Right now?”

He shrugged. “Why not?”

Before you could reply, Robin passed you a clean cloth-wrapped ice pack with a mysterious smile. “You’ll want this.”

Which is how you ended up sitting cross-legged on the deck, one ice pack pressed against your left earlobe, and Zoro kneeling in front of you with another pressed to your right. The closeness was strange—not awkward, just… oddly quiet. Intimate. He was focused, careful. His fingers were calloused and warm against the cold.

“Hold still,” he murmured, voice lower now that the excitement had quieted around you.

You nodded.

He drew the needle out of flame-sterilized metal with practiced ease. The crew was silent.

“On three,” he said. “One—”

The prick happened on one. Clean. Sharp. Almost painless.

Your breath hitched, but it didn’t hurt nearly as much as you’d braced for. “That was—wait, that was it?”

He hummed in approval, already moving to your other ear. “Didn’t flinch.”

Sanji let out a long, strained noise from the sidelines. “If he butchers her ear, I’m going to kick his head off.”

“She’s fine, cook,” Zoro grunted.

“I know she’s fine! That’s the problem!”

Luffy had his hands raised. “Can I go next?! I want earrings!”

“No,” Nami and Usopp both said instantly.

You blinked as Zoro pulled back, gently pressing a cloth to both lobes. “There. Clean. Just don’t yank on them.”

You reached up slowly, touching the tiny silver studs he’d placed there. You’d forgotten where he got those from. Probably his bag of weird sword-guy trinkets.

“...They look good,” Zoro said after a second, and then stood up like he hadn’t said anything at all.

The crew exhaled, like a spell had been broken. Luffy pouted. Nami elbowed him. Sanji looked like he was about to cry and fight someone at the same time.

You just sat there, fingertips brushing the new weight in your ears—smiling.

--

It was another lazy port day—just the way you liked it.

The sun was warm, the breeze gentle, and the marketplace was teeming with life. The scent of fresh bread, sizzling skewers, and spices swirled through the air, mingling with the noise of bartering, clinking coins, and squawking birds overhead.

You walked with your usual crew—Zoro with his arms crossed and a slightly annoyed scowl, Sanji already wooing a baker for the “perfect flaky croissant,” and Robin taking her time, pausing to admire handmade journals and ornate bookmarks.

Then you saw it. A glint. A sparkle. A stall.

Jewelry.

You veered off without a word, fully in “you” mode. The others didn’t even blink—they knew the drill by now.

Rows and rows of earrings lined the stand, some hung from twisted wire trees, others nestled into velvet trays. Your eyes roamed over them like a jeweler on a mission.

“Hmm… not sparkly enough. Too sparkly. Oof—those are cheap. And those are criminally overpriced. Who set these prices? Crocodile?” you muttered, nose scrunching.

Eventually, your fingers paused over a pair that caught the light in the perfect way.

Small sapphire-blue crystals, cut in a swirl like ocean waves, dangling from a tiny silver chain. They reminded you of clear skies, calm seas, and the sharp, focused presence of someone who always knew more than she let on.

You smiled. Robin.

You kept looking.

Next was a single set that stood out for its boldness—sleek and black, almost matte, with a tiny blood-red stone at the tip of a short, curved fang. Clean. Sharp. Confident. Minimalist, but no less dangerous.

Zoro.

Then you found them. Tiny orange-gold orbs set into short chains that shimmered like sunlight off a flame. Elegant but playful, dramatic but balanced. They jingled slightly when you flicked them, and you swore they smelled faintly of tobacco and spice.

Sanji.

Three pairs.

Not over-the-top. Not loud. Just sparkly enough, and they didn’t get in the way. Dangly—but purposeful.

You were still admiring your choices when the footsteps approached.

“You vanish for five minutes and end up here,” Sanji said, mock-dramatic, a puff of steam nearly leaving his ears when he saw the jewelry in your hands. “You’re not letting him near your ears again, right?”

Zoro sighed. “I didn’t even do it wrong.”

Robin peered over your shoulder with a soft smile. “Beautiful choices. Are they for someone?”

You tucked the pairs into a small pouch, grinning. “Mm. You could say that.”

Sanji tilted his head. “You’re blushing.”

“No, I’m not.”

Zoro narrowed his eyes, catching sight of the red stone glinting between your fingers. “…That better not be what I think it is.”

You only smiled wider and looped your arms through theirs, tugging them all toward the next stall.

“Come on. I have my treasure. Now it’s your turn.”

They didn’t ask again—but you caught the way Zoro glanced at your pouch every so often. And how Sanji walked just a little closer than usual. And how Robin smiled at your reflection in every shop window.

Yeah. Definitely your kind of day.

--

Dinner on the Sunny was always a lively affair—voices overlapping, plates scraping, the occasional food-flinging from Luffy, and Sanji flitting around like a mother hen with a cigarette.

You were wedged between Robin and Nami tonight, their laughter easy and warm in the glow of lantern light. Somewhere across the table, Usopp was trying to convince Chopper that pickles were a food group. Luffy was arguing with a roast chicken. Business as usual.

You popped a piece of grilled pineapple into your mouth, humming thoughtfully. “You know… I think I’ve got the piercing bug.”

Robin glanced over with a mild look of interest. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you said, twirling your fork. “I’ve been thinking. Maybe a second ear piercing? Or a belly button one. Nose, maybe? Lip?” You grinned. “Or all of the above?”

Nami leaned in, propping her chin on her hand. “Mmm. A belly button one could be so cute. Especially if you ever wear those cropped tops again.”

Robin nodded with her soft smile. “I can see it. Minimal, but eye-catching.”

You were about to make a joke about being the ship’s sparkle gremlin when a shadow shifted beside you.

You turned—and there he was.

Zoro.

Expression neutral. Ice block in one hand. A fresh stud in the other.

You blinked. “...You’ve gotta stop doing that.”

He shrugged. “You said you wanted one. Might as well do it now.”

You blinked again, then broke into a grin, pushing your chair back. “Damn, my personal piercer now, huh?”

Sanji, several seats down, had his apron shoved between his teeth, watching with wide, horrified eyes like he was witnessing a crime scene in slow motion.

“You’re just letting him stab you? Again?” he choked, muffled through cotton. “Without gloves?? He’s a swordsman, not a piercer!”

Zoro ignored him completely, kneeling beside you. You lifted your shirt just enough to expose your lower belly, a small bit of your stomach catching the lamplight.

He pressed the ice gently to the skin below your navel. It was cold, but not unpleasant—his hand steady, movements efficient. The noise of dinner faded behind the bubble of focused silence.

“You ready?” he asked, low and almost amused.

“Always.”

A small pinch. That was it.

You let out a quiet breath as he placed the tiny stud in—just a little twinkle of silver with a gem no bigger than a freckle.

You sat back, still grinning. “Well, that was easy.”

Nami leaned over to admire it. “Cute,” she confirmed.

Robin sipped her wine. “Clean work, as usual.”

“You are my personal piercer now,” you teased Zoro.

He scoffed lightly. “Don’t get greedy.”

Nami snickered. “Careful, Zoro. Her nips are next.”

You choked on air.

Zoro went stiff, eyes wide, ears instantly flushed red.

Sanji full-on screamed, practically throwing his chair back like the table was on fire. “OVER MY DEAD BODY—”

You covered your face with both hands, heat blooming across your cheeks.

“I—! That’s not what I—!”

Robin smiled serenely. “Oh dear.”

And amidst the chaos—Luffy shouted something about piercing his eyebrow, Usopp yelled “NO,” and Chopper asked how a nipple piercing worked—you couldn’t help but laugh so hard your stomach hurt.

Right where the new piercing sat—glinting proudly.

[hummingbird24220]

Your French is Showing

Sanji x Reader

Another short drabble.. im nearing the end of Marineford (im a slow watcher ok) and i miss him. everything is scary and i just need some domestic chef.

ENJOY!

Dinner on the Sunny was loud, warm, chaotic — as always.

Bowls clinked, Luffy slurped something unidentifiable, and Usopp was telling a definitely real story about how he once wrestled a Sea King barehanded with only sea salt and courage.

You sat next to Sanji, who was currently buttering a fresh roll with a bit too much flourish. His sleeves were rolled just enough to show forearm, his cigarette dangled from the corner of his mouth, and he was muttering under his breath as he fixed your plate—just the way you liked it.

“Mon dieu... une touche de romarin, et voilà. Parfait…” he murmured, eyes focused, voice low.

You blinked. And then smirked.

“Careful,” you said, tilting your head, “your French is showing.”

He froze.

A beat passed.

Sanji turned to you, one eyebrow slowly arching, the cigarette bobbing as his lips curved into a grin. “Oh?” he said, voice suddenly silkier. “Do you like it when it does, ma chérie?”

You choked on your drink.

Nami burst out laughing. “Oh my god, don’t encourage him—”

Zoro scowled from across the table. “Can someone just pass the damn rice and ignore the horny chef.”

Luffy paused mid-bite. “What’s French?”

“Sanji is,” you coughed, face burning. “Apparently.”

“Très, très français,” Sanji purred beside you, leaning in just slightly, his voice practically dripping with charm now. “Would you like a private lesson in pronunciation after dinner?”

You turned your head, slowly, steadily, giving him the flattest look imaginable.

“I’m going to throw you in the sea.”

He didn’t stop smiling. “Even better if we share a towel after.”

Nami threw a spoon at him. Usopp screamed. Brook offered to play romantic music. And through it all, Sanji just kept grinning — because you were flustered, and he lived for it.

“Mon amour,” he added just for good measure, whispering it into his wine glass with a wink.

You were going to kill him. …Maybe after dessert.

[hummingbird24220]

Weighty Concerns

Sanji x Reader

This is just a fun little hehe drabble. Lemme know if you like it! Enjoyyyyy!

Dinner on the Sunny was lively as ever. Luffy was inhaling meat like it owed him money, Zoro was nursing a bottle of sake while pretending not to listen to Usopp’s exaggerated tales, and you were sitting peacefully next to Nami, who was enjoying her orange slices with a wine spritzer.

Sanji was flitting around the table like a graceful waiter at a Michelin-starred restaurant—serving, complimenting, and doting. His eyes sparkled every time they landed on you, which was a lot, and it wasn’t long before he set a perfect plate in front of you and slid into the seat beside you.

He leaned in a little closer than usual. “So, uh… just out of curiosity,” he began casually, chin resting on his palm, “how much do you weigh?”

The table quieted.

Even Luffy paused mid-bite, which was more impressive than stopping time.

You didn’t miss a beat. With a delicate smile and a calm sip of your drink, you replied:

“Unless I’m sitting on your face, my weight should be none of your concern.”

Silence. Then—

“BWAAHAHAHAHA!!” Usopp nearly fell off the bench.

Chopper choked on a rice ball. “S-Sitting on his—?!”

Nami covered her mouth with one hand and pointed at Sanji with the other. “Oh my god, you broke him.”

Zoro spat out his sake and actually wheezed, banging a fist on the table.

Brook was crying ghostly tears. “Yohohoho! May I perish again—what a line!”

Franky was already yelling “SUUUPER!” like it was the greatest quote of the century.

And Sanji? Oh, Sanji.

Face scarlet, mouth hanging open, nose gently leaking the beginnings of a blood fountain—he blinked once. Twice.

Then, in the quietest, most reverent tone, he whispered:

“…I would like to make your weight my concern.”

The table exploded again.

You just picked up your fork with grace, a little smirk on your lips. “Then I hope you can bench press the weight of a mountain, sweetheart.”

Sanji fainted.

Zoro leaned in and muttered, “If he proposes before dinner’s over, I’m walking into the sea.”

You just laughed, enjoying your food like nothing happened while Sanji slumped down his chair, fading out of consciousness.

-

Sanji was out cold—cheeks flushed pink, little hearts circling his spinning head like satellites.

Luffy leaned over and poked him with a chopstick. “Oi, Sanji, you dead? Can I eat your plate if you’re dead?”

“No, Luffy,” you said sweetly, never looking up from your food. “He’s just… processing.” You twirled your fork, smiling slightly. “Let the poor guy reboot.”

Chopper had rushed over to check his pulse. “He’s fine! His heart’s just going crazy! I think he’s overheating—wait, is he… purring?”

“Oh my god,” Nami groaned, rubbing her temples. “I told him to stop asking women their weight. This is the fourth time he’s tried it.”

Franky wiped a tear from behind his shades. “That was romantic as hell, bro. That line? Top ten pickup lines in Sunny history.”

Brook nodded solemnly. “May I write a song about this moment? ‘The Weight of My Heart Is the Weight of Your—’”

“NO,” Nami, Usopp, and Chopper said in unison.

You finally looked over at Sanji, who was blinking awake, a dreamy look in his eyes like he’d just had the best fever dream of his life. “I... saw the light,” he mumbled. “And it was shaped like your thighs.”

You tilted your head. “Feeling better, loverboy?”

He slowly sat up, straightened his tie with the poise of a man reborn, and took your hand—dramatic as ever.

“I swear to you,” he whispered, staring into your eyes with all the intensity of a telenovela lead, “one day I will be strong enough to carry you. No matter your weight, I’ll do it—without wobbling. Even if you do flatten a mountain.”

Zoro rolled his eyes so hard you swore you heard a crack. “God, just marry her and get it over with.”

“I would,” Sanji said without hesitation, eyes still locked on yours.

You raised an eyebrow. “Only if you can handle the weight of commitment, too.”

The entire crew howled again.

Luffy laughed so hard he fell backward off the bench.

Brook played the first few romantic notes on his violin.

And as the dinner continued—with laughter, teasing, and a new running joke at Sanji’s expense—he only had eyes for you.

And you? You finished your plate, stole one of his cigarettes, and blew him a little kiss.

“Better start training those legs, curly-brow.”

He fainted again.

----

The battle had gone sideways—fast. It was supposed to be a routine island skirmish. A cocky warlord’s henchmen, some poorly constructed golems, and one annoyingly strong lieutenant who had decided you were the biggest threat on the field.

"Guess word spreads fast," you muttered after punching a crater into the ground where his partner used to stand.

But before you could react, a flash of light—then BOOM.

He got behind you. A wicked grin. Then a kick that sent your body rocketing upward like a cannonball.

“(Y/N)!” voices screamed from below.

The world spun. Clouds whirled around you. The air thinned.

And then— Gravity took you back.

You were falling. Fast. No wings. No footing. No fancy powers to slow your descent.

Your scream split the air. Arms flailing. Panic rising in your chest like a tidal wave.

From the ground below—Sanji saw everything. His cigarette fell from his lips.

“…Tch.” He slammed his feet apart into the earth, a faint crack forming beneath his heels. He slapped both thighs like a sprinter prepping for launch, jaw set tight, eyes hidden in the shadow of his hair.

The wind kicked around him like he was conjuring a storm. He didn’t move an inch.

You saw him—just barely—his figure steady like a statue. Like a promise.

“SANJI!!” you screamed as the ground neared. “I’M GONNA—!”

WHUMP.

He caught you.

Full weight. Full velocity. Body-to-body impact. His knees dug into the dirt from the force—but he didn’t fall. Arms locked around you like steel. Chest trembling. But still upright.

You clutched at him, breathless, your hair tangled in all directions, your heart in your throat.

He looked down at you with wide, gentle eyes and said—softly, almost like a secret:

“You’re not heavy at all.”

The words made you choke.

“Y-you idiot,” you gasped, voice cracking as your arms tightened around him, “I told you I crush mountains!”

“And I told you,” he smiled faintly, “that I’d carry you. No matter what.”

Tears stung your eyes before you could stop them—fear, relief, the overwhelming sound of your pulse still thundering in your ears.

Your lip trembled. “Sanji…”

But he just leaned his forehead to yours, eyes softening completely.

“Besides—if I get crushed under anyone, I want it to be you.”

You punched his chest weakly. “That’s not romantic!”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not!”

“...I thought it was kinda hot,” Usopp called from somewhere in the distance.

Zoro, wiping blood off his blade, just muttered, “If he drops you now, I wouldn’t blame him.”

“SHUT UP, MOSSHEAD,” Sanji barked.

You were still trembling in his arms, but your laughter bubbled up anyway. You couldn’t help it.

Eventually, your breathing slowed.

Sanji didn’t let go.

He didn’t even wobble.

-

Back on the Sunny, hours after the battle ended and wounds were patched, things had finally settled. Mostly.

You were still buzzing. Not from adrenaline—no, that had drained hours ago—but from the fact that Sanji had caught you. Stuck the landing. Carried you like a champ with full dramatic flair and a whispered line that lived rent-free in your chest.

“You’re not heavy at all.”

Pfft.

Liar.

You were a mountain-smasher. A walking natural disaster. You could crater boulders with a punch.

And yet… he held you like you were weightless.

Which is exactly why you knocked on the door to the men’s shared quarters later that evening with a wicked glint in your eye.

“Come in—” Sanji’s voice called from inside, and you swung the door open, hand on your hip.

He looked up, shirt halfway unbuttoned, cigarette dangling from his lips.

You stepped in slowly. “So… earlier today.”

He blinked. “Are you alright? You didn’t re-open a wound or—”

“No, no. I’m fine. Just…” You gestured vaguely. “Been thinking.”

He gave you a smile that could melt steel. “About what, mon amour?”

You closed the distance between you and him in three strides.

And straddled his lap.

Sanji froze.

His cigarette fell out of his mouth.

You leaned in close, your face inches from his, breath warm on his skin. “You said I wasn’t heavy…”

His pupils dilated. “Y-yeah.”

“And that if anyone were to crush you, it should be me?”

He swallowed hard, nodding slowly like a man walking into the gates of heaven—or hell, depending on how long he could survive this.

You leaned forward, placing your weight down fully. Fully. A challenge.

“So,” you purred, eyes sparkling, “let’s test that theory.”

A beat of silence.

Then another.

Sanji’s jaw tensed, lips parting just slightly. His voice dropped several octaves into something dark and reverent.

“I have never been more ready to die.”

Outside the door, Luffy was whispering, “Are they fighting in there?”

“No,” Nami said, sipping tea. “They’re working something out. Spiritually.”

Zoro was already walking away. “I don’t get paid enough for this.”

Inside, Sanji had one hand on your hip, the other braced on the chair’s armrest like it was the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

You tilted your head. “Still not heavy?”

He looked up at you like you were the moon itself.

“You could flatten me into the afterlife and I’d thank you.”

You broke into laughter, and before you knew it, you were both clinging to each other—laughing, panting, and definitely igniting a flame that wouldn’t be put out anytime soon.

[hummingbird24220]

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.

[hummingbird24220]

Sharp Tongues, Sharper Blades (Part 5)

Yes i did a self indulgent part 5 - sue me. Im mid way through Marineford and it is KILLING ME >:( I need everyone to be happy, friends and hold hands and kiss each other a little bit.

You weren’t sure what you expected from Buggy the Clown.

But the second you stepped aboard his garish, glitter-splattered ship and saw the sheer amount of fireworks, banners, and one very nervous crewmember holding a cake that said “WELCOME SWORD MOM”—you realized this was going to be a lot.

“WELL WELL WELL!” boomed a familiar voice, echoing across the deck. “If it isn’t the legendary, the magnetic, the dangerously sharp—”

You raised a brow. “If you say ‘sexy,’ I’m leaving.”

Buggy staggered mid-strut. “I was gonna say sparkly!” he lied badly. “Obviously.”

He was in full showman mode—arms wide, cape flapping dramatically despite zero wind, and a grin that was both smug and slightly terrified.

You folded your arms. “You’ve been licking your blades.”

He blinked. “Excuse me?”

“They told me.”

Buggy froze.

One of his swords—strapped to a juggler’s belt—whispered smugly in your head: “He said it enhances the flavor of battle.”

You gave him a withering stare.

“I—okay, maybe once! Or twice! Or whenever they taste like victory!”

“They taste like salt and irresponsibility,” you muttered, yanking the nearest blade from its sheath and inspecting the edge. “And this one’s chipped from being thrown into a wall.”

Buggy huffed. “That wall deserved it.”

You sighed, pulling out your tools. “Alright. Show me the rest. And no more tongue.”

—

The hours blurred together.

Buggy had more blades than you expected—knives, sabers, a pair of scissors you weren’t entirely convinced were for fighting—and you set up a mobile forge on the deck using scrap metal, a very confused crewmember, and your ever-handy firestarter kit.

Buggy hovered the entire time.

He paced. Commented. Asked you five times what a tang was. Tried to juggle your hammers (you stopped him with a glare). And slowly… you started to realize something.

He wasn’t just chaos.

He was kind of… endearing.

Like a weird circus dog who kept barking but just wanted a nap in the sun.

He gasped dramatically when you pulled out the throwing knives.

A whole set—sleek, sharp, balanced to perfection. Polished with your signature burnish and engraved with tiny stars on the hilts.

Buggy nearly wept.

“These… these are beautiful,” he whispered, holding one up like it was a sacred relic. “Do you… do you love me?”

“No,” you said. “But I do love good metallurgy.”

He cleared his throat, straightened up, and pointed dramatically at the crew.

“THIS,” he bellowed, “calls for a celebration!”

You raised a brow. “Please don’t say it’s a blood sacrifice.”

“No! No, no, nothing weird. Just a… totally normal… totally tasteful…” He coughed into his sleeve. “...celebration of your hotne—TALENT. Talent! I said talent.”

You smirked. “Sure you did.”

“I DID,” he insisted, face going red under the paint. “I’m just... celebrating the sharpness of your mind! And… uh… arms.”

You patted his shoulder. “You’re lucky I like you, Clown.”

Buggy blinked. “You do?”

You smiled, returning to your forge. “Against my better judgment.”

Buggy turned away, clearly trying to hide the stupid grin taking over his whole face.

From your belt, one of the new knives whispered proudly: “He’s glowing.”

Yeah.

You noticed.

-

The party had been—against all odds—fun.

Buggy’s crew didn’t know how to do anything halfway. There were fireworks. Confetti cannons. A knife-juggling contest (you judged). And at one point, someone tried to roast a fish with sparklers.

Somehow, you ended up dancing—twirling in circles with mismatched pirates under glowing paper lanterns, laughing until your stomach hurt, mug in hand, soot on your cheeks.

And Buggy?

Buggy never left your side.

He hovered. Fussed. Repaired a banner just so it wouldn’t fall on you (it still did). Tried not to look like he was watching you every time you smiled.

Even when you caught him juggling the knives you’d made for him—again—and you shouted, “THOSE ARE FOR THROWING, NOT FOR DROPPING,” he’d only winced, flashed you a sheepish grin, and said, “It was accidental.”

You didn’t believe him. But you forgave him anyway.

—

You were leaving the next morning.

Your little boat was packed, tools tucked away, Whitebeard’s repaired forge folded down like a secret, and your hair tied back against the sea breeze.

You were standing at the edge of Buggy’s ship, preparing to disembark, when he found you.

Not with trumpets.

Not with shouting.

Just… quietly.

He padded up, fidgeting with his gloves, mouth opening and closing like he was swallowing half a dozen punchlines he couldn’t figure out how to say.

You turned to him. Smiled.

“Well, I survived. And nothing exploded.”

“That was one time,” he muttered, then paused. “…Okay, three.”

You laughed. “You’re not so bad, Buggy.”

He blinked. Visibly startled.

Then huffed, crossing his arms with a dramatic flair. “Don’t say stuff like that. I have a reputation.”

You tilted your head. “A reputation for glitter?”

“For terror,” he corrected, then shoved something toward you before he lost his nerve.

“Here.”

You blinked. Took it.

A pair of gloves. Leather. Worn in, but clearly taken care of. Not fancy—practical. Stitched with thick thread, reinforced at the palms. And painted with little clown motifs around the cuffs that looked very hand-done.

“For your hands,” he said quickly. “Y’know. Sword stuff. Forge stuff. You said you burn yourself sometimes. Which is dumb. But—”

You looked up. He was red under the makeup.

“If you’re wearing something of Shanks,” he muttered, almost pouting, “you should have something of mine, too.”

Your chest ached a little.

You slid the gloves on.

Perfect fit.

You flexed your fingers, then gave him a crooked smile. “Guess I’m part clown now.”

Buggy sniffed. “You wish.”

You stepped into your boat, wind catching your coat—Shanks’ coat—gloves on your hands now, gifted from Buggy, the world’s most dramatic disaster.

You raised a hand as the crew waved behind him, the sky already streaked with twilight.

“Bye, Buggy.”

He tried not to look too soft when he waved back.

“Come back sometime!” he shouted. “Or—or at least send me another knife!”

You turned toward the horizon with a grin.

“Only if you promise not to lick it!”

“NO PROMISES!”

And just like that, you sailed into the night—coat billowing, gloves snug, another piece of yourself tied to another strange, chaotic pirate.

One more ridiculous man thinking of you as you vanished over the waves.

One more string in the web you’d been weaving across the world.

Because the swords weren’t the only ones whispering anymore.

The people were, too.

-

You should have known.

You should have known the peace wouldn’t last.

After so much laughter, after glowing blades and glittery pirates and mango-sweet farewells—you should have known.

Because that night—quiet, star-flecked, soft as silk—you weren’t watching the shadows.

You were watching the sky.

And the Marines?

They were watching you.

You didn’t see it coming.

You’d made camp near a quiet cove, just you and your tools, a small fire crackling while your gloves dried nearby. You were humming softly, a blade resting in your lap, whispering its secrets to you. Not a scream. Not a sob. Just stories.

You liked those nights.

But then came the boots.

The hands.

The sound of metal drawing from sheathes.

By the time you stood, you were surrounded. A circle of white and blue uniforms. Faces like stone. Swords drawn—not for battle, but punishment.

“Don’t move.”

You didn’t.

Not because of fear.

But because you were confused.

“What’s this about?” you asked, even as they stepped forward. “Is this about the Vivre Cards? I can pay a fine.”

One of them grabbed your wrist.

You didn’t resist.

You didn’t have to.

Your Devil Fruit—the Blade-Whisper Whisper Fruit—was never meant for fighting. Never meant for escape. You could talk to swords. Not command them. Not bend them.

You heard their thoughts.

You couldn’t stop the hand that held them.

They didn’t even bother with sea prism cuffs.

Just a chain.

Heavy. Cold. Iron biting your wrists.

You still didn’t understand.

Not until they dragged you through the dark halls of a marine stronghold—some off-the-map fortress you didn’t recognize—and threw you into a stone cell that stank of rust and silence.

You sat there for what felt like hours. Or days.

Time blurred.

When the door finally opened, you looked up.

And the commanding officer stared at you like you were a rabid animal.

“You’ve made too many powerful friends.”

You blinked. “What?”

He stepped closer. “Yonko. Commanders. Warlords. Pirates who listen to you. Trust you. Let you near their weapons. You’ve inserted yourself into dangerous circles.”

You frowned, confused. “I just fix things. I’m not—”

“You are a liability,” he spat. “An information hazard. A rallying point. A walking breach in the balance.”

Your mouth went dry.

“This… this is a mistake.”

He smiled coldly.

“Your execution is in three days.”

You blinked.

“Oh.”

That was all you could say.

Oh.

What a lame way to go.

Not in the belly of a sea king. Not in a dramatic forge fire. Not falling from the heavens on a dragon’s back.

No.

Just… caged. Quiet.

Forgotten.

The beatings came next.

Not to kill.

Just to remind you.

The food stopped coming. The light stopped reaching your cell.

But the swords…

The swords wept.

The ones they used on you—standard issue, factory-forged, barely touched—still cried.

“We’re sorry.”

“We don’t want to hurt you.”

“You helped us.”

“We don’t understand.”

They screamed into your skull with every slash. They begged with every cut. One of them trembled so badly it nicked its wielder’s hand by accident.

And you—shaking, bruised, half-starved—curled into the corner of your cell.

Not from pain.

But from grief.

Because for once, you couldn’t save them.

You couldn’t save any of them.

And the swords cried louder.

-

The sky was grey.

Not stormy—just still. Soft clouds layered like mourning cloth. The air held no heat, no chill. Just quiet. Too quiet.

The kind of quiet where the world already decided you wouldn’t be part of it much longer.

They dragged you from your cell.

Chains still cold around your wrists, boots scraping against broken earth. You didn’t fight. What was the point? You couldn’t out-run this. Couldn’t out-talk it.

You’d been condemned not for what you’d done…

But for who you knew.

For what you meant.

They led you across a clearing—remote, secluded, just as promised. A stage of cracked stone and rotted wood. No crowds. No spectacle. Just an execution out of sight, out of mind.

No one would even know you were here.

You were forced to your knees.

The wooden platform groaned beneath you.

Your hair hung over your face, blood still crusted on your cheek. Your hands—those same hands that used to heal swords and whisper back life into steel—were cuffed and shaking. Bare. Your gloves had been taken.

You stared at the boards below you. At the grains of wood blurred by tears you didn’t have the energy to shed.

How did it come to this?

You remembered a forge. A hammer. The hiss of quenched metal. You remembered laughter. Mango juice. Glitter bombs. Yoru calling you a cretin. Ace sitting beside your fire. Buggy handing you gloves with paint still drying on the cuffs.

You fixed weapons. You listened.

And now—

Now you were a threat?

Your head was yanked forward. Harsh hands. Cold fingers.

The executioner stepped up behind you.

You didn’t even glance at them.

But the blade in their hands—

You heard it.

“I’m sorry.”

“I’ll make it quick.”

“May you be reborn where blades sing kindly.”

The sword rose.

You closed your eyes.

This is it.

You waited for pain.

Waited for death.

Waited for silence.

But instead—

There was a snap.

A twang.

And then—

Nothing.

You opened your eyes.

The blade hadn’t landed.

It hovered, suspended in air just inches from your neck.

Coated in something translucent. Shimmering.

Sticky.

Your brow furrowed.

“…Gum?”

The executioner tugged, grunted, cursed.

The sword wouldn’t move.

You blinked, slowly lifting your head.

The guards were panicking now, stepping back, scanning the horizon, barking confused orders.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Because in the distance—cutting across the shoreline like a golden sun rising from the sea—

Was a ship.

Bright.

Stupidly shaped.

Roaring across the water like a laughing storm.

At the bow—

A lion’s head.

Wide-grinning.

Majestic.

And familiar.

You stared.

Disbelieving.

A broken whisper tore from your throat.

“…Sunny?”

And then you felt it.

A pressure in the air.

Heavy.

Wild.

Alive.

Something you hadn’t felt since that night on the deck when you joked about squirrels and Zoro’s shirtless mirror routine.

A presence.

Louder than words.

Bigger than life.

It hit you like a wave.

You smiled, broken and stunned.

“Oh my god… they came.”

-

It should have been over.

You were supposed to die.

Quietly. Forgotten. Just another name struck from the record.

But the sword never swung.

And now—now the air was alive.

The ground trembled beneath you as more ships broke the horizon. Not just one. Not two. Dozens.

Your breath hitched.

There—cutting through the waves in bright red, glittering chaos—was Buggy’s ship, music blaring, cannons loaded with fireworks and pride.

Beside it, sleek and elegant as a blade drawn under moonlight—Mihawk’s skiff, the black flag of death fluttering. Yoru vibrated with disdain for the cheap Marine swords around you.

Then—the Red Force, majestic and lazy-looking as ever, but with Shanks standing on the bow, hand on the hilt, eyes glowing with fury.

Behind them—white sails. Big. Towering. Like a ghost.

The Moby Dick.

And Marco was already in the air, flames trailing behind him like a comet of vengeance.

Your head swiveled.

There—the Thousand Sunny, sailing fast and furious, a lion’s grin wide and defiant, as if daring the world to stop it.

“Y–YOU!” the Marine officer barked at no one in particular, “WHAT IS—WHO ARE THESE—”

A glint above.

P-TING!

A sniper round exploded the execution stand’s platform post beside you, splinters flying. The sword fell harmlessly from the executioner’s hands.

Your eyes widened as the line trailed back, far above… to Usopp, standing proud and furious atop the Sunny’s mast, goggles down and sniper locked.

“GET YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF OUR SMITH!”

And just like that—

Chaos.

The first cannonball exploded against the Marine barricade. Mihawk flicked a hand and split a wall with Yoru like paper. Buggy's crew screamed battle cries like circus performers on bloodthirsty sugar highs. Marco hit the ground in a blaze, and swords all around you sang.

They reached for you in your mind—swords you knew, ones you mended, ones you calmed in the night, ones that once wept in your hands.

“They came.”

“They came for you.”

“We told them.”

You were too stunned to move. Knees buckled. Drenched in confusion and pain.

And then—

Luffy.

He landed in front of you with a crack of rubber and rage, grabbing your chains and snapping them like they were wet twine.

You gasped, falling forward, but he caught you with both arms. You blinked at him, dazed.

“…Luffy?”

He grinned—wide and full of sunshine—but his eyes were glinting with tears and fury.

“We thought we lost you,” he said, voice shaking. “But we didn’t.”

He held up something in his hand.

Tattered.

Crumbling.

A piece of paper—faded, burnt at the edges, barely hanging on.

Your Vivre Card.

Your piece.

You stared at it, realization dawning slow and aching.

And behind Luffy—Sanji, Zoro, Robin, Chopper, Brook, Nami, Franky—every one of them was already in the fray, fighting through Marines like waves parting around fate.

You blinked at the card, hoarse.

“…The cards.”

Luffy nodded. “You gave ‘em out. All of ‘em.”

Your mind reeled.

Buggy had one. Shanks had one. Marco. Mihawk. Crocodile.

Even Crocodile was here, emerging from a haze of sand like a bitter, well-dressed ghost, scowling as if this whole thing inconvenienced him.

You stared in disbelief as he cut down a Marine and snarled, “You owe me blade oil.”

“You all came… for me?”

Luffy beamed. “Duh.”

Around you, the swords howled.

And for the first time in days, you didn’t cry because you were hurt.

You cried because you were loved.

-

The battle was over faster than it had any right to be.

The Marines—outnumbered, outgunned, and out-devotioned—fell like paper before a storm. No one dared call for reinforcements. There wouldn’t have been time.

Now, silence settled heavy over the island. The field smoldered. Ash and heat clung to the air like sweat.

But no one left.

No one moved.

The execution stand was gone, splintered to memory. The only thing left in its place was you—still kneeling, still shaking, surrounded by chaos, legends, gods of the sea—and somehow, still the center of it all.

And that center was tense.

You could feel it—see it in the twitch of Mihawk’s eye as he glanced at Buggy. In the way Crocodile's coat rippled just so, his hook twitching like he was ready to gut someone just to feel control again. Shanks’ hand drifted to his hilt. Zoro’s eyes flicked toward Mihawk like instinct.

The temperature dropped by degrees.

Tension crackled.

A beat away from—

Nothing.

Because the weapons didn’t move.

You felt it in your chest like a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. You heard it, too—in that way only you could.

Swords that once burned for blood now hummed with warning.

“No.”

“Not here.”

“Not now.”

Crocodile’s hook didn’t rise. Mihawk’s Yoru sat still. Even Zoro’s trio remained quiet, unflinching.

They weren’t just holding back.

They were… refusing.

You blinked, wide-eyed, gaze sweeping across the deck, the clearing, the battlefield now turned into something else entirely.

The Yonko.

The Warlords.

The villains.

The friends.

All of them were standing here—not because of a bounty. Not because of power. Not even because of war.

But because of you.

You’d fixed their blades. Listened to their swords. Whispered into steel and soot and sorrow. You gave them care when the world only gave them blood.

And now?

They wouldn’t fight.

Because you were in the middle.

You were still kneeling.

Still dazed.

Still…

Breathing.

You finally exhaled, chest tight, everything catching up to you in a crashing wave. The tears started before you realized they’d begun.

A hiccup of relief. Of disbelief.

You laughed once—choked and breathless.

“…Kaido and Big Mom didn’t even show,” you wheezed, shoulders trembling. “Thank god.”

And then your knees buckled.

You didn’t even fall so much as melt—legs weak, vision blurry, the sheer weight of it all crushing down like the sea. The beatings. The cell. The blade. The voices.

The love.

All of it.

Overwhelming.

Surreal.

You were crying. Sobbing. And for the first time in what felt like years—you weren’t crying in fear.

You were crying from happiness.

From shock.

From being alive.

And then hands—so many hands—reached out.

Ace grabbed you first, arms warm with fire and panic. “I got you,” he breathed, frantic.

But Luffy dove at the same time, grabbing your other side. “No—I got them!”

Zoro and Sanji bumped shoulders, both reaching in. “Back off, cook.” “They’re falling, moss-for-brains—”

Buggy flailed, trying to shove past. “MOVE, PEASANTS! I HAVE GLOVES ON THEM!”

Crocodile scowled. “You’re all idiots.” And still tried to lift you.

And Shanks—cool, calm, red-haired menace—just waded in with a smirk, casually elbowing Buggy aside. “Make room.”

There was a loud bonk.

Then a shout.

“STOP TOUCHING ME—”

“YOU TOUCHED ME—”

“OI I SWEAR TO—”

“MAYBE IF YOU WEREN’T SO SLOW—”

The squabble erupted right over your collapsing body, a flurry of elbows, complaints, and one nose honk that definitely came from Buggy.

You couldn’t help it.

You laughed.

Through tears, through the ache in your ribs, through the haze of disbelief—you laughed. Laughed like an idiot.

Because you were alive.

You were held.

You were loved.

And all around you, the greatest pirates on the sea were bumping heads trying to catch you—because somewhere along the way…

You became someone worth saving.

Someone swords wept for.

Someone they couldn’t let go.

And in the middle of it all, dazed and tear-streaked, you whispered:

“…I was just fixing things.”

And Luffy grinned down at you, hugging your side like it was the only thing tethering him to earth.

“You fixed us, too.”

-

The battlefield, if it could still be called that, shimmered with the heat of aftermath.

No one moved to fight.

No one even breathed wrong.

You were cradled in the chaos—held by too many arms, supported by too many hearts—and every direction you looked, someone was there.

Buggy blinking tears behind his nose. Sanji lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers. Zoro’s hand subtly on your back, steady as stone. Ace whispering something soft against your temple. Luffy, just beaming—like this was what he lived for. Crocodile hovering protectively, like he couldn’t figure out why. Shanks, eyes crinkled, quietly watching, letting everyone else have their turn.

And then—

A soft cough behind the crowd.

You turned your head—slow, aching, teary—and saw a black coat flicker at the edge of the circle.

A tattooed hand adjusting a hat.

Law.

He didn’t say anything.

Just offered the tiniest nod, like a secret shared only between those who’d crawled out of death’s mouth and lived to breathe.

Behind him, pirates of all colors and sizes filled the edges of the field—Buggy’s crew grinning ear to ear, Shanks’ lot elbowing each other like proud uncles. Marco hovering mid-air, flickering with flame. Even Whitebeard, impossibly alive, standing tall with a grin like thunder on his face.

“I knew they’d raise hell for you,” he said, voice booming with pride. “Didn’t know it’d be this fun.”

You could barely manage words. Your lips trembled.

“...Thank you,” you whispered. Then louder. “Thank you.”

It was all you had.

The only thing your heart could manage.

But they heard it.

And then—off to the side—Mihawk sighed.

You turned just as he stepped away from the crowd, already walking.

Yoru shifted on his back.

Twitched.

Then—

CLANG.

The sword wrenched itself free of Mihawk’s back and hurled toward you.

Everyone gasped.

You didn’t flinch.

The blade stopped just short of you, quivering mid-air, vibrating with emotion.

You touched it gently.

She sobbed in your mind.

“You’re alive.”

“I missed you.”

“I thought—I thought I’d never hear you again.”

Your breath caught.

“…You split the island.”

“I screamed.”*

“I screamed for you.”

You gripped the hilt with shaking fingers.

The moment shattered like glass.

Because then—

all the swords started trembling.

Rattling.

A chorus of voices poured into your head, overwhelming and deafening, a surge of relief, rage, joy, confusion—

“I felt it!”

“You were hurt—why didn’t they protect you?”

“You promised you’d come back!”

“I knew you wouldn’t die.”

Some blades even sneaked closer—tugging gently from scabbards, sliding across the grass on their own. Like children too shy to approach but too desperate to stay away.

You were crying again—but not because it hurt.

Because it didn’t.

Because you weren’t scared.

And then—

A shift in the air.

Something new.

Gasps all around you.

Sanji froze mid-smoke. Zoro stiffened like lightning hit him. Shanks’ grin faltered.

Because suddenly—

They could hear them too.

Buggy stumbled back, eyes wide. “Wait—wait—was that my dagger just now?! It talked?!”

Zoro’s eye twitched. “Why is Wado saying she likes me now?! I THOUGHT SHE HATED ME—”

Sanji stared at his saber in horror. “Did you always think my shoes were tacky?!”

Shanks blinked down at Gryphon as it whined softly and pressed against his hip.

Crocodile’s hook hummed, grumbling in his ear like a disgruntled dog.

Even Mihawk turned—eyes slightly wide—as he heard Yoru sobbing faintly in a voice no longer just for you.

They were all hearing them.

Their weapons.

Their partners.

Their oldest, sharpest companions—

Speaking.

Because of you.

Because you’d pulled that thread tight enough, tied it through forge and fire, through every repair, every whisper, every kindness.

And now?

The swords were finally heard.

And you?

You were at the center.

Where you’d always belonged.