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kleincantwrite · 9 days ago

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Can I ask for a strawhats x reader where the reader is a succubus and feeds off of negative emotion until they're an adult so after the time skip shes 20 and can see pink misty aura around Luffy and the other guys,save for Chopper and having no filter says something about it as she eats with them at dinner

(can reader be fem? If u even do this)

Echos of Emotion

｡𖦹°‧ Straw hat pirates x Reader

﹒⌗﹒🦇﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧

٠ ࣪⭑ Words: 11,354

٠ ࣪⭑ Warnings: sensual themes, body transformation, addiction metaphors, emotional dependency, possessive, marking, self starving, angst.

⊱ A/N: Hello! I’m back from my break. I know it wasn’t very long, but I’m feeling a lot better and believe I can finally provide everyone with the fics you deserve! I’d like to mention that I don’t know much about succubi, so a lot of this was basically a guess. I wasn’t quite sure what the anon wanted, but I did my best!

﹒⌗﹒🦇﹒౨ৎ˚₊‧

A tempest of gray, bruised clouds clawed at the sky the day you joined the Straw Hats, the rain a messy curtain disguising the blood on your skin as mere water. It was right after Usopp's boisterous declaration as their sniper, and your arrival on the Going Merry was anything but subtle—drenched to the bone, barefoot, and leaving a hideous, unnamed trail in your wake.

You collapsed face-down on the deck, utterly spent from a feeding gone horribly wrong. They didn't take long to realize you weren't quite human. Sanji, ever the gentleman, nearly keeled over when he tried to help you up, getting a dizzying taste of what you were. He siphoned off his anxiety like steam from a kettle, muttering, "What the hell are you?" eyes wide behind a veil of cigarette smoke. But Luffy? He just tilted his head, peered at you like you were some fascinating new insect, and then grinned, a smile that encompassed his entire face. "Wanna join my crew?"

You said no. Then yes. Then nothing at all for a long, long while. Yet, they made space for you. That was simply how they were.

You didn't initially bunk with Nami in the girls' quarters. Not because you disliked her – she was, in fact, one of the first to meet your gaze directly, speaking plainly without flinching or awkward pauses – but because emotions, raw and potent, bled stronger in the hushed embrace of night. Your hunger, a ceaseless gnawing, cared little for the comfort of others.

You fed on the unspoken pain, the anxieties they tucked away. Zoro's quiet resentment towards his own perceived limitations, for instance. You'd find him sprawled on the deck at night, staring at the stars as if demanding answers, and you'd sit nearby, not touching, just close enough to let his despair drift into you like a warm current through a fractured windowpane.

From Nami, you drank the tension that coiled beneath every breath she took. She didn't speak of Arlong at first, but you knew. Her grief was a bitter citrus, sharp and biting, a flavor that lingered on your tongue for hours afterward.

Usopp's fear, however, was your most frequent meal. He didn't mean for it to be – he genuinely liked you – but the lies he spun, the grand exaggerations, came with a heavy freight of shame that settled behind his teeth, thick and smoky. When you passed by, he'd unconsciously tense, and you'd catch a mouthful of his cowardice before he forced a grin and offered you some small trinket he'd crafted from scraps.

Sanji, ever observant, learned to temper his breathing around you. He began to hum in the kitchen when you entered, a soft, low melody. Sometimes, he'd even prepare dishes steeped in melancholy – salty, nostalgic flavors – just to witness the subtle reaction in your eyes as the taste hit, as you savored the emotion woven into every bite.

Chopper, with his innocent curiosity, once asked if feeding off sadness hurt. You told him no, but that wasn't the full truth. Pain wasn't sustenance; it was rot. And the longer you fed on it, the deeper it settled into your very bones. You'd learned to carry it well, to smile with it curled around your ribs like a sleeping cat.

Robin knew. She rarely spoke of it, but you felt her quiet understanding in her gaze when you accidentally staggered after passing too close to someone plagued by nightmares. Once, she handed you a steaming cup of tea, her eyes unreadable, her voice a soft murmur. "Would you like to read with me for a while?"

Franky made you laugh, a booming, infectious sound. His emotions were loud, undoubtedly, yet he possessed an odd consistency – sorrow never lingered long in his chest, and when it did, it arrived like a sudden thunderstorm, intense but quickly gone. You genuinely liked him; he never made you feel like a freak. You once found him late at night, welding alone, muttering to himself about family, and you fed then – just a small sip. You never took more than what naturally leaked.

And Luffy… Luffy felt nothing like food at all. You couldn't comprehend it. You'd tasted his rage, his grief, his disappointment. But it never bore the same flavor as others' emotions. It was distant, as though shielded by an unshakable core of sunlight you simply couldn't pierce. When you half-jokingly asked him about it once, he simply grinned. "You're weird too, huh?" And that was the end of that conversation.

You were seventeen when the world began to fracture. War, a venomous whisper, insinuated itself into every conversation, and shadows stretched long across the vast expanse of the sea. You fed less often. Their pain, once a readily available feast, became harder to stomach. Your own began to surface, sharp and insistent. You never told them you could see what they couldn't: the threads of exhaustion clinging to Nami's neck, blood-colored clouds swirling over Zoro's restless dreams, a slow, creeping quiet in Robin's chest that chilled you to the bone. You simply stayed. You stayed until the day everything came undone.

And then… two years passed.

When you returned, fully grown, no longer limited to the bitter taste of pain, you weren't entirely sure what kind of hunger you had become. For two years, you fought. You fought against the gnawing hunger, against men who saw your body as an open invitation, against the vast emptiness of the open sea and the haunting weight of your own reflection. You didn't return home, not truly. You sought out the whispered-about places, climbed through fever-drenched jungles, and slept in ancient ruins where the echoes of ghosts still lingered. You trained. You bled. You learned what it meant to grow not just stronger, but sharper.

Somewhere along the way, your hunger changed. You were twenty now, still a succubus – more so, in fact. But something within you had irrevocably shifted. The pain you once craved no longer satiated you as it once had. You could still taste it, still draw on it in a desperate pinch. But now… now there was something else. Something sweeter, like the exquisite moment before a kiss, like laughter bubbling up too fast in your chest, like the aching intensity of wanting. You didn't fully comprehend it, not yet. But you sensed it.

Desire. Affection. The subtle, unspoken things that lived in the lingering silence between glances. It clung to people like morning dew. And it was beautiful.

You learned to perceive it in colors now. Emotions had always possessed taste, but now they had light. Your hunger showed you the world in a delicate mist – ribbons of aura that curled from skin and clung to the very air. You kept your distance at first, uncertain what would happen if you fed on something so soft, so fragile.

Then came the day the call reached you. Sabaody Archipelago. Grove 42. Two years. The Straw Hats were reuniting. You didn't run; you walked. Barefoot, through the glowing, gnarled roots of the mangrove trees, your long coat trailing behind you, hair grown wild and long, horns now impossible to conceal. People instinctively parted before you. You no longer needed to feed on fear, but some things simply lingered.

The sun dipped low on the horizon when you finally saw them. Luffy was first – up ahead, standing with his arms clasped behind his head as if nothing had changed. His straw hat tilted back. His grin, precisely the same. But the sheer power rolling off him was suffocating now, older, sharper. And even still, he glowed. It wasn't red, not anger, not grief. It was pink – a faint mist curling around his shoulders like delicate perfume in the air. Soft, lazy, warm. Like the heat rising from skin that had just been gently touched. You blinked.

Then you saw Zoro, standing a little to the side, arms crossed. One eye now permanently closed, his face etched into something colder, harder, yet his aura mirrored Luffy's. Not an exact replica, but undeniably similar. Fainter, like tension just beginning to unravel. He missed you, you realized, the taste of it sharp and clear.

Sanji was next. He turned when he spotted you, choking mid-cigarette, a perfect ring of smoke billowing from his lips as he stared. His aura was nearly blazing pink – shot through with veins of gold and tangled with nerves like electricity beneath his skin. You felt the sheer weight of it hit your chest like a physical blow. "M-Mademoiselle…?" he whispered, barely audible. "That's you?"

You said nothing at first, your eyes drifting between the three of them, that mist thickening the longer their gazes rested upon you. Luffy's aura remained steady and uncomplicated, a smile curled in color. Zoro's flickered with something hot and tightly-wound. And Sanji… Sanji was practically trembling in a cloud of pink haze and rapid-fire heartbeats. None of them spoke of it, because none of them could see it. Only you. Only you could see how it twisted in the air, licking at the corners of their bodies like flame to paper.

You stepped forward, slow, deliberate. Luffy, with an almost childlike ease, grabbed your hand as if it were the most natural thing in the world and swung it once, grinning. "Told you you'd come back." Zoro said little, simply nodding and looking away, but his aura bloomed a little warmer as you stood beside him. The faint ache in your chest, one you hadn't even noticed until now, eased slightly.

Sanji remained frozen, a statue of surprise. And his aura – his was beginning to drip. Pale mist rolled from his fingertips and ears like steam from a boiling pot. You turned your head just slightly, and when your eyes met his, the mist spiked. He swallowed thickly, and you knew – he wanted something he didn't yet understand. And so did you.

You didn't feed then. But the hunger in your belly purred like it hadn't in years. And you smiled, just a little, as the rest of your motley crew came into view.

The crew coalesced like pieces of a puzzle falling back into place, their familiar rhythm returning without even needing to be sought. It was loud, gloriously messy, and warmly chaotic – Nami clouting Luffy over the head for some transgression, Chopper nearly sobbing as he launched himself into your arms, Robin's gentle smile holding a deeper understanding in her eyes. And all around them… the mist thickened, coalesced, became undeniably present.

You remained silent at first, your senses ablaze, utterly saturated. Sanji's aura had been obvious from the moment you saw him. But now, standing shoulder to shoulder with both Nami and Robin, it had become almost constant, a vibrant pink mist clinging to him like smoke from a perpetually lit candle wick – faint gold sparking inside it whenever he so much as looked at either woman. You watched it curl off him in real-time when Robin leaned forward to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. And when Nami leaned back, arms crossed beneath her chest? The mist widened. It billowed. Still Sanji. Still hopelessly, utterly him.

You could taste it now. Lust. That was what this was. Not desire in the sweet, hopeful way you'd first assumed. Not affection or longing or even love. This was raw, instinctive wanting. Skin to skin. Teeth. Breath. The way someone's mind goes utterly blank when they gaze too long at something they know they shouldn't touch. It hit you all at once, like the pin pulled from a grenade: this is lust. And you could see it now.

You no longer needed to feed on pain – didn't even want to, not in the way you once had. Now you could feel the heat that bubbled beneath conversations. The irresistible pull of glances held too long. The palpable tension that sparked when someone's thoughts slipped sideways into forbidden territory. You had evolved. Without even meaning to. And it was overwhelming.

Franky's aura surprised you. It wasn't as flamboyant, not bright or bursting – but it was undeniably there. A steady, tempered pink glow that hummed beneath his skin, especially when Robin spoke. You saw it rise slowly, like floodwater, thoughtful and strangely tender. His was admiration spun into curiosity. Almost soft.

Brook's aura struck harder. Not stronger than Sanji's – nothing came close to that – but heavier. Older. There was something profoundly solemn about his version of lust, as if it had been carefully folded and tucked away in a drawer for far too long. His jokes, the skeletal puns, didn't help; if anything, you could feel the immense weight behind them, the ache of years and a body he no longer possessed.

Usopp's was… quiet. Dormant. There was something in him, yes, but it didn't flare for Nami, and not truly for Robin either. You could see it only when Kaya's name was mentioned, like a whisper trying desperately not to be heard. His lust was stitched tightly to loyalty, a fragile thread barely fluttering in the breeze. You respected that.

Chopper, though? Nothing. Pure, untouched white space. Not a single wisp of mist. You smiled at that. Not all hunger had to be answered. He was still young. Untouched. Your instincts stepped aside for him, softened. You would never feed from that innocent heart.

But the others? Oh, they were glowing. And you… you were the reason for most of it.

You began to realize it slowly, then all at once. It wasn't just Sanji's aura thickening when he looked at Robin or Nami – it spiked when he looked at you. The same happened with Zoro, when you brushed past him to take your spot against the rail. His eye flicked toward you for just a second, and the air rippled. Barely. But enough. Luffy? Still hard to read. His aura danced, sometimes, when you laughed or when he shouted your name across the deck – but it wasn't quite lust. Not yet. Something else stirred there, deeper, warmer, still sleeping.

You were a succubus. And you were twenty now. No longer just a girl who siphoned pain in the dark, but a woman whose very existence stirred a palpable heat in the air. You didn't mean to draw it out. You didn't flirt. You didn't tease. You simply were. And that was enough. Seduction lived in your blood. Your voice. The subtle curl of your smile. Even if you said nothing, men (and some women) would desire you. Not because you asked for it. Because nature had carved that fate into your very bones.

You didn't speak of it yet. Didn't warn them. Didn't explain. You simply stood at the edge of the deck as the ship rocked gently beneath you, surrounded by the swirling pink mist, the vast sea open and waiting once more. The hunger inside you stretched. Pleased. Patient. You let it.

It was becoming an unbearable weight, the silence. You’d never been adept at keeping quiet, not truly, especially when such potent sensations surged through you. Now, every casual word, every peal of laughter, every step taken too close – you saw it. Pink. It drifted lazily in the air, a constant, teasing presence, coiling like smoke around their shoulders and throats, curling from the very heat of their skin. Your tongue felt heavy, thick behind your teeth. You didn't just want to look at it anymore. You wanted to consume it.

But you tried. Gods, you truly did. You attempted to be good, to be gentle, to let the burgeoning tension slide off your shoulders like rain from waxed paper. Yet, your very blood was not forged for denial, and every moment spent in their vicinity – your crew, your family – became a relentless test of restraint.

So, you flirted. Carefully. Quietly. You allowed it to leak from you, a subtle mist from a barely cracked door.

Zoro was the first. You stood beside him as he meticulously cleaned his swords, your body angled ever so slightly toward his. His aura, initially a low, subtle fog at his feet, intensified as your fingers skimmed down the curve of his arm, not quite touching, just close enough to brush the edge of his latent heat.

"You still smell like steel and sleep," you murmured, your voice soft, barely a whisper. "It suits you."

His hand stilled. His solitary eye twitched. The pink around him thickened, deepening into a richer hue. You caught the taste in the air, breathing deeply, quietly, carefully. His lust was sharp, heavy with a rigid control. He didn't let it rise freely; it fought to rise, a stubborn hunger that refused to bloom unless coaxed. And you? You were adept at coaxing.

Sanji, of course, was already dripping in it. You didn't even have to utter a word for the pink to bloom vibrantly around him. But you did anyway – because it tasted infinitely better that way.

"Sanji," you purred, the sweetness in your voice causing his knees to visibly lock. "Your voice changed. It's lower now. It sounds like wine in the back of my throat."

He emitted a sound somewhere between a strangled gasp and a desperate prayer. You stepped closer, not even touching, and his aura practically spilled into the air: rich, effervescent, cloyingly sweet. His lust tasted like a forbidden dessert – honey-slick, decadently rich, and far too easy to get drunk on.

Franky was more composed. A soft, steady bloom of pink enveloped him when you leaned over his shoulder at his workstation.

"Your hands are strong," you commented, your voice low, a little too close. "Bet they're gentle too."

He coughed, loudly, trying to mask it with a booming laugh, but the mist around him betrayed him. It glowed pale and warm, as if lust for him came secondary to a deep-seated curiosity, as if he yearned to know how you'd move, how you'd sound, if you would truly let him in.

Brook – you straightened his coat, your touch light. "Your voice still sounds like a man who remembers skin."

He froze for a beat, then chuckled softly, a bony hand lifting to adjust his top hat. "Ah, my dear, such a poetic compliment. I fear I'll crumble to dust." He wouldn't, though. His lust was ancient but not brittle. It carried a profound weight. And as the air pulsed faintly pink around him, you caught a distinct note of loneliness within it – how desire and memory sometimes twisted together, inseparable.

Usopp surprised you. He didn't light up for Nami, not as you expected. Not even for Robin. But when you stepped close, tilted your head, and hummed, "You have beautiful hands. All those tiny tools and knots. You could probably take something apart with your fingertips alone," he blinked. Then stammered. Then blushed. His aura didn't explode, but it shimmered, like dawn breaking through reluctant clouds. A hesitant lust, intricately tangled with admiration, tied to some wild, storybook version of you that he didn't quite know how to process. You liked that.

And Luffy… Luffy was the most perplexing of all. Not because he wanted you too much – no. He still didn't comprehend wanting in that profound way. But his aura – gods. It was potent. Pink like fruit peeled too soon. A storm of raw instinct and something deeper, something unknowable. It only flared when you got too close, like when you bumped his shoulder or tilted your head and asked if he'd missed you.

"Of course I did," he grinned, warm and wide, and the mist bloomed – quick, instant, almost feral. But fleeting. Gone again in mere seconds. Lust didn't linger long in Luffy. It rose, crashed, and vanished before even he knew it was there. Still… you tasted it. You tucked it away, a secret delight.

As for Nami and Robin – you had to work for those. It started simply. You brushed a hand along Nami's waist as you squeezed past her at the railing. "Your tan's deeper," you said casually. "Suits you. Brings out your eyes." She blinked, a little surprised, but not displeased. The tiniest pink tendril slid from her collarbone.

Robin, you sat beside on the steps, your knees just touching hers. "You have a different perfume now," you murmured, eyes half-lidded. "It smells like something you wear to bed. But not to sleep." Her laugh was quiet, low, but unmistakably amused. "My, my. You’ve become bold." You only smiled. Her mist was like ink in water – slow and elegantly curling around her with measured grace. But it was there.

And now? Everywhere you went, the ship glowed in shades of rose and blush and burgeoning heat. They didn't see it. Not yet. But you did. And your hunger was gloriously, terrifyingly awake.

It was too much. For years, you'd fed on pain – rage, sorrow, fear, exhaustion. You knew their crushing weight. You knew how they crept up the spine and coiled behind the ribs. Pain settled in your bones like an unforgiving frost: cold, familiar. But lust? Lust was heat. It was heady and warm and vibrantly alive. It danced. It thrummed. It filled your chest and made your pulse stutter, a low throb in your throat like a second heartbeat. When you consumed it – just a taste, a flicker – it settled under your skin like the softest lightning.

You still attempted to cling to pain, desperately scavenging it like breadcrumbs on a plate you were no longer meant to eat from: the dull ache in Sanji’s hands from the stove's scorching heat, the faint frustration in Zoro’s temple when he couldn't recall the exact number of reps he'd done, the lingering tension of a sleepless night. You tried. But lust was everywhere now. It shimmered like dew from Sanji's shoulders when he saw you enter a room. It pulsed off Zoro when you reached to grab something over his head, your chest brushing his arm. It sparked and danced from Usopp when your fingers grazed his knuckles passing the salt. Even Franky's was warming slowly, like steel in a furnace.

You could practically smell it in the air tonight. Dinner. The table was full, boisterous with laughter and the clinking of plates. Nami was teasing Luffy for stuffing an entire fish into his mouth. Robin smiled, stirring her tea. You sat between Zoro and Sanji – unlucky you. Or perhaps, not. The room was hot. Not just from the food. You kept your head down, trying to eat, but every motion, every glance, every voice had mist curling from it like fragrant incense smoke.

And then… something hit. Zoro, maybe. Or Sanji. Or – gods, perhaps even Luffy. You didn’t know who, not precisely. But someone’s lust spiked so fast, so violently, that it knocked the air right out of your lungs. Your fork trembled in your hand. You hadn’t touched anyone. Hadn't uttered a single word. And yet – it hit you in a wave. A pink-hot rush, like a furnace door slamming open, flooding your senses.

You dropped your fork. It clattered against the plate, the sound echoing too loudly in the cozy mess of chatter.

"Y/N?" Sanji blinked, midway through a laugh. "You alright?"

You stared at your food. At the still-steaming pasta and thick sauce that suddenly tasted like nothing in your mouth. You tried to breathe. Tried again.

"I—" Your voice cracked, brittle. You blinked slowly, heat crawling up your spine. "Someone needs to… calm down."

There was a pause. Nami raised an eyebrow. "What?" Robin tilted her head, intrigued. Zoro squinted. Luffy leaned forward like you’d just announced a treasure map was hidden beneath the table. Usopp's voice came slow, cautious. "Y/N… you okay?"

You dragged a hand over your face. Licked your lips. The hunger was burning now, worse than ever. You needed to say it. Needed to release some of the pressure, or you were going to take it. You sighed, slouching into your seat. "Okay. I can't not say it anymore. I've changed. My appetite's changed. I see… stuff now. Not just pain. Emotions. In color."

Robin leaned in slightly. "What kind of emotions?"

You hesitated, then met her eyes. "Lust."

Silence. For a breath, no one moved. Then – Sanji exploded. "L-L-Lust?!" He choked, face burning crimson. "As in – that kind of lust?!" You didn't even have to look to see how his mist went blazing pink. You winced, turning away.

Zoro muttered something under his breath. "Tch. That explains the way you've been lookin' at everyone."

Usopp went stiff, face pale. "Wait, wait, wait – can you see ours? Like right now? Like – live?!"

You nodded slowly, a little helpless. "I always could with pain. It's just… now it's not just pain. I evolved or whatever. It's part of me. I see it. I feel it. And some of you—" you glanced pointedly at Zoro and Sanji, "—need to breathe through your noses and think cleaner thoughts."

Sanji made a strangled noise. "I-I wasn't—! I didn't—! I mean—!"

Luffy blinked. "Is that why you were acting all weird during dinner?"

You nodded, pressing your palms to your thighs. "It was overwhelming. I'm not gonna do anything. I swear. I just needed to say it or I was gonna knock someone unconscious just to shut the heat up."

Robin, cool as ever, smiled softly. "So… the pink mist. That's lust?"

You gave a grim nod. "Everywhere. It's everywhere. You all glow like lanterns, and it's… sweet. It's too sweet. It's better than pain, and I'm starving, and—" You clamped your mouth shut.

Nami's eyes narrowed playfully. "So, wait. You flirted with me to get me to glow too, huh?"

You shrugged with a lazy grin, despite yourself. "What can I say? You taste like tequila and trouble."

Robin's laugh was low and quiet, but unmistakably amused. Zoro muttered, cheeks barely pink. "Tch. Should've known somethin' was off when she called my smell sexy." Sanji had still not recovered. Usopp looked somewhere between terrified and flattered. Luffy was just staring at you curiously, like you'd turned into a fun new animal.

And for a moment, it was quiet again. Not awkward. Just… still. You finally picked your fork back up.

"I'm sorry," you said, softly. "I just needed you to know. I'm trying not to feed off it. I don't even know if I can take it the way I used to take pain. But it's getting harder. You're all… very warm now."

Sanji cleared his throat, voice hoarse. "Well, if you ever need to feed, I, uh—my body is your temple, my dear—"

"Sanji," Nami snapped.

You just laughed into your plate, hunger still curling hot and bright behind your ribs. This was going to get complicated.

The Unintended Consequences

It got worse after they found out. You thought telling them would help. That naming it – lust – would somehow defang it, pull back the curtain, and cool the fervent fire behind your ribs. But the opposite happened. It was as if a door had been kicked wide open. Now that it was out there, now that they knew, the tension no longer settled quietly in the background. It lingered. Festered. Grew teeth.

Even when you weren’t feeding – especially when you weren’t feeding – you smelled it. Like warm skin in the dark. Like sweat on silk. A sweet, electric scent that clung to the backs of your knees and settled on your tongue no matter how many times you swallowed. You were addicted. Not just to the taste – but the sheer presence of it. The way it curled off their bodies. The way their voices got rougher when they were flustered. The fleeting flickers of want that followed their eyes before they remembered not to stare.

And you – gods, you were worse. You knew you were worse. You flirted more. Not always on purpose. But it leaked out of you, like perfume from a cracked bottle. A smirk here. A soft laugh there. A compliment delivered just a bit too close, a hand on a shoulder that lingered a second longer than necessary.

Zoro avoided your eyes now. But he never moved away. When you walked past him on the deck, he tensed. When you leaned in to speak to him, he held his breath. His aura never flared like Sanji's did – it throbbed. Deep and heavy and quietly desperate. You fed off of it once by accident – brushed his hand while handing him a whetstone – and had to step away because your knees buckled. He pretended not to notice. But after that, he started sitting further away at meals. And yet… he still always sat facing you.

Sanji was a disaster. A walking, talking neon sign of lust. Now that he knew you could see it, he played it up – draping himself dramatically, offering his neck like some noble sacrifice. But the hunger in his eyes was painfully real. His aura followed you like steam off hot pavement, thick and cloying. You didn't even have to touch him anymore – just looking at him fed you. It made your head spin. And your chest ache. Because he wanted you, but not always for the right reasons. Sometimes, you caught him looking at Robin. At Nami. And the mist curled off of him just the same.

Luffy confused you. Always had. But now it was worse. Sometimes, when your laugh caught him off guard or you brushed his arm mid-battle strategy, something would spark – bright and fast and blazing pink – and then vanish. It was pure. Untouched. Primal. You never fed off of Luffy. It felt wrong. Like trying to drink sunlight. But when it pulsed, when it spiked for a heartbeat and vanished – you ached for it. And he noticed. You didn't think he understood why, but he'd look at you now with his head tilted, his gaze strange. Like he was trying to puzzle out what part of him made your eyes go half-lidded and hungry.

Usopp avoided your touch completely. You didn't blame him. He still laughed with you, still talked with you about dials and tools and fish guts and weird dreams. But now there was a carefulness. A kind of wide-eyed reverence in how he looked at you, like a deer caught in a trap it didn’t know it had walked into. You caught him drawing you once. When you asked, he said it was for "an upgrade schematic." But you saw the paper later. And you were not wearing clothes. His aura flickered nervously every time you so much as glanced at him now.

Franky was the calmest. After the dinner conversation, he took you aside and asked – genuinely asked – how it worked. How it felt. What you needed. And you told him. He didn't flinch. Just nodded thoughtfully and offered you his wrist. You didn't take it. But he let the aura roll off him anyway. Gentle. Warm. Like firelight instead of lightning. You loved him for that.

Brook toned down the pervy jokes. He didn't stop them entirely – this was Brook, after all – but he stopped using them as bait. You noticed the change. His lust was still there, but he offered it without expectation. His was memory-colored and soaked in old affection. When you hugged him once, fully, without teasing, he said nothing. But his aura trembled like a chord plucked softly.

And Chopper – sweet, innocent Chopper – was the only one untouched. He didn't know about the dinner talk. You all agreed to keep it from him. You were gentler with him now than ever before. Always careful. Always distant enough. You would rather starve than take even a drop from him.

Nami and Robin noticed your change in behavior immediately. You tried to be subtle, but they were women. Sharp. Observant. Robin asked you over tea one afternoon if you were feeding properly. Her eyes said she already knew the answer. You didn't lie. "Not as much as I want to."

Nami confronted you in the hallway, arms crossed, leaning against the wall with that half-smile she wore when she knew something you didn't. "You're different," she said.

"I've always been like this," you replied. "I just used to be hungry for pain instead."

Her eyes narrowed, and she studied you a long moment. "Do I glow too?"

You nodded once. And when she leaned forward, her mouth close to your ear, her breath brushing your neck, she whispered, "Good."

You didn't flirt with the girls often. Not for feeding. But when you did – when you traced a finger along Robin's wrist during a game of cards, or complimented Nami's smirk after a successful con – their aura rose. Not as strong as the men. But stronger than they expected. Stronger than you expected. You said nothing. Because it was easier that way. To smile, to tease, to pretend you weren’t starving in a room full of dessert. You told yourself you wouldn't feed off their lust. That you wouldn't use it. That you couldn't hurt them. But you were starting to think you already had. Because now they looked at you differently. Like you weren't just part of the crew. But a storm they'd let inside. And you were still smiling. Because you didn't know how to stop.

You started starving yourself. Not entirely – never fully. But enough. You still took pain. You clung to it, actually. The ache of overworked muscles, the sting of scrapes and bruises, the slow-drip tension of a bad night’s sleep. You scavenged it like breadcrumbs on a plate you were no longer meant to eat from. But it wasn't enough anymore. Not after tasting what else was out there.

The pink – the lust – it sang to you like a siren, a warmth that crawled under your skin and begged to be touched. It was richer, fuller, intoxicating in ways you didn't even have words for. It lingered in your belly long after you'd swallowed, wrapping around your ribs like silk and heat. But you didn't take it. Not really. You let yourself taste it, yes – little things. The flicker of Sanji's aura when your fingers grazed his wrist. The way Zoro's heat bloomed when your thigh touched his during drills. A sigh from Usopp when you leaned over him too long. A glance from Robin. A smirk from Nami. But you took nothing deep. Because you didn't know what would happen if you did. What if you drained too much? What if it changed them – made them feel things they didn't mean to feel? You were a succubus, yes, but you loved them. And you wouldn't touch what wasn't given freely.

So you fed on the old way. Pain. And it started to rot you. It didn't hit all at once. Not like a fever. It was slow. Creeping. You got colder. Literally. Your fingertips went numb some mornings. You woke up with your spine aching and your lips dry no matter how much water you drank. The hollows under your eyes deepened. Your smile faltered more often, and your laugh got quieter. Even your tail twitched less – sluggish, dragging behind you like something wilting.

You thought you were hiding it well. You weren't.

Robin noticed first. She cornered you on the upper deck one night, moonlight turning the sea silver around you. "You're thinning," she said softly. "In places that don't show." You didn't answer. "You're only taking pain, aren't you?" Still, you said nothing. You didn't have to. Robin sighed, gently brushing windblown strands of hair from your cheek. "Even sunlight can burn if it's all you take."

You turned your face into her palm for just a second. Just one moment of warmth. "I don't want to hurt anyone," you whispered.

"Maybe," she said, "you're hurting them more by starving in front of them."

You didn't reply. Because later that night, Zoro found you slumped against the wall in the training room. Not passed out – just drained. Your fingers were twitching. Your breathing too shallow. You'd taken something too dark off a stranger in town, some bitter brew of grief and humiliation – and it hadn't sat right. He didn't say a word. Just picked you up and carried you to your hammock. You tried not to feed from the pulse of heat that poured off him when he did.

Sanji nearly dropped a plate the next morning when he saw your face. "Oi—what the hell happened to you?"

"Bad dream," you lied, but your voice cracked like old porcelain. You fed on his worry, just enough to stand upright. It wasn't lust. Not this time. But it helped.

Still, your body throbbed with hunger. Not just physical. It was in your blood. Your bones were buzzing with it. You were turning yourself inside out just to not consume what came naturally to you. Pain used to be enough. Now it wasn't. Now it tasted like ash. You knew it wouldn't be long. If something didn't change, you were going to lose control. Or worse… you were going to fade.

The hunger mutated, no longer a mere ache behind your ribs, but an insidious illness, something with claws and fangs crawling through your very veins. You weren’t just exhausted; you were deteriorating, piece by agonizing piece. Your body surrendered first. Bruises clung to your skin with stubborn tenacity. You began to sweat even in the cool air, and the gentle rocking of the ship sent you staggering as if caught in a tempest. When you dared to gaze into the mirror, your eyes appeared dull, their whites a sickly gray. Your tongue—once vibrant and sharp—had grown pale, a ghost of its former self.

You recognized the tell-tale signs. You were starving. This had nothing to do with food. Sanji’s exquisite cooking, no matter how rich the sauce or how warm the broth, couldn't touch it. This wasn’t about stomach or flesh. This was about essence. You were feeding your soul the wrong thing—siphoning sorrow and stress when your very biology had evolved beyond such meager sustenance.

So that night, as the crew gathered for dinner, as laughter echoed through the ship's walls and clinking glasses chimed beneath a sky studded with stars, you remained confined to your quarters. Because even from there, you could smell them.

Lust, thick in the air. Like smoke. Like sugar burning in a closed room. It drifted from the very wood of the ship like perfume soaked into silk. You could taste it on your tongue without even stepping out of your hammock. Luffy’s was a constant flicker—bright, volatile, unpredictably strong now. Sanji’s had spiked like wildfire, as always, thick and syrupy with longing. Zoro’s came in silent waves, pulsing whenever his name crossed your mind. Even Usopp, who barely let you near him these days, glowed more vibrantly now that the tension of your self-imposed distance had rekindled his curiosity.

You pressed a cold cloth to your forehead and shook uncontrollably. You didn’t trust yourself. You could barely control your breathing, your heart beating too loudly against your ribs. Your skin glowed faintly violet—a stark sign of depletion, of spiritual destabilization. You needed to shift.

So you locked the door. Lit a single candle. And allowed yourself to slip into your full form.

It was never without risk, never gentle. It rippled under your skin like a second soul unfurling—horns subtly sharpening, limbs lengthening, your features taking on that ethereal, impossible beauty that could unravel someone with a mere glance. Your pupils thinned to predatory slits. Your skin flushed with an unnatural warmth, as if starlight lived just beneath its surface. You stood before the mirror, trembling. This was your true form. You only embraced it when absolutely necessary—when your energy plummeted so low that every cell in your body screamed for what they were owed. And tonight? They were howling.

Your body was burning for something it could no longer synthesize on its own: reciprocated desire. Not forced. Not coerced. But offered. That was the new, agonizing requirement. Not pain. Not heartbreak. But the shimmering pink mist that floated above someone’s skin when they truly wanted you, whether they admitted it or not.

You knelt on the floor, sweat slicking your back, your tail twitching helplessly behind you. The hunger was eating you alive. You didn’t want to be a monster. You didn’t want to take. You didn’t even know what would happen if you drained someone now—not with your powers fully bloomed. You might leave them dizzy. You might leave them empty. You might bind them to you in ways you didn’t understand. And worse—you might like it.

So you stayed there, on the cold floor, away from dinner, away from their laughter and voices. You waited for the hunger to pass. It didn’t. Instead, it deepened, the mist seeping under your door like a seductive, pervasive fog. They didn’t know you were starving to death while they laughed over wine and grilled fish. And you couldn’t tell them. Not yet. Because you weren’t sure if, when the moment finally came, you’d have the strength to stop yourself.

There was a soft knock. Then another. Then came the familiar shuffle of Nami’s boots, a soft "Y/N?" muffled through the wood. You barely breathed. Then Luffy’s voice—loud, boisterous, utterly oblivious. "Oi! You sleepin’? Sanji made that fancy dessert again—y’know, the one with the fire and the twisty fruit thing!" More knocks. Zoro grumbling that if you were sick, someone should check. Franky offering to break the door down. Usopp nervously joking about how maybe you were just molting or something gross like that. Robin’s voice, calm and poised, asking if you were alright.

You pressed your forehead to the cool floorboards and begged the hunger to quiet down. You couldn’t face them. Not like this. Not with the pink fog rolling under the door like it was begging you to open it. Tempting. Sweet. Dizzying.

So you croaked out one word, hoarse and heavy. "Chopper."

A pause. Then shuffling. A quiet mutter—someone asking why—but they obeyed. Footsteps padded away. A few minutes passed. Then, gentle as a whisper, a tiny knock. "…Y/N?" Chopper’s voice was small, nervous, but laced with kindness. "It’s just me. I—I brought water."

You cracked the door open, just enough for his wide, brown eyes to meet yours. No pink. No hunger. No temptation. You pulled the door open farther and collapsed forward, into his arms. He caught you with a startled squeak and gently helped you back to your hammock, checking your pulse like he’d done a thousand times before. He didn’t flinch at the faint glow of your skin. Or the unnatural shimmer in your eyes. Or the almost imperceptible twitch of your tail that you hadn’t fully hidden.

"I didn’t want to scare them," you mumbled, your voice thick with exhaustion. "I didn’t want to hurt anyone."

Chopper didn’t say anything at first. He just wet a cloth and dabbed your forehead, his small hooves surprisingly careful. Then he brought a thermometer to your lips. Waited patiently as your teeth chattered around it. "You’re burning up," he said quietly. "And shaking. Like…like when Zoro doesn’t sleep for three days and pushes himself too far. But it’s different."

You turned your face away. "I’m starving."

He didn’t ask for what. He didn’t ask why your energy felt wrong. He didn’t press. Instead, he stood on his tiptoes to place a cool rag behind your neck. Then disappeared for a moment—returning with a plate of rice, plain and soft, easy on your ravaged body. When you tried to eat, your hands trembled so violently the fork nearly fell. He steadied it for you, cheeks flushed, but still gentle. No judgment. No questions. Just care.

"I know what it’s like to be different," he whispered finally, when the silence stretched too long. "You don’t have to tell me everything. Just let me help."

Your eyes stung with unshed tears. He didn’t understand exactly. How could he? He didn’t know the sickness in your bones, or the way the very scent of your crewmates could reduce you to trembling need. But he understood what it meant to feel wrong inside your own body. To be made of things others didn’t understand. And that was enough.

He kept the others away that night. Told them you had a fever. That you needed rest. You watched from behind the cracked door as they passed the message on. Robin nodded. Nami frowned. Zoro grunted. Luffy looked disappointed, but not angry. Sanji swore he’d make you something soft tomorrow. Usopp scratched his head and said he hoped you weren’t growing horns or anything weird. And they left it at that.

But Chopper—he lingered. Tucked your blankets tighter. Replaced the water. Sat with you a little longer even though you didn’t say anything. You didn’t tell him you were a succubus, in full bloom, finally starving for something good. You didn’t have to. He saw your pain, your shame—and treated it like a wound. Not a sin. And that made all the difference.

The night crept in, heavy and warm, pressing against the Thousand Sunny’s deck like a smothering blanket. The sea rocked her gently, but something was subtly off. Your door was open. Swinging lazily on its hinges, letting the scent of sea air and something else drift into the dark corridor. Cold. Empty.

They didn’t notice at first. Sanji was already halfway to town, heart-eyed and babbling about the local café’s soufflé. Zoro grumbled something about sake and disappeared down a side street. Nami had her eyes set on the bookstore. Luffy was chasing some wild rumor about a meat stand that used fireworks. It was just routine. Another port. Another errand run.

Until Chopper turned back. "She said she wasn’t going to come—" He stopped dead. Open door. Empty hammock. "No," he whispered. He ran back up the gangplank, stumbling a little on his hooves. "Guys!! Y/N—she’s gone! She left the ship!"

They all froze. Robin turned first, eyes sharp, already calculating. "Are you sure?"

"The door was open!" Chopper cried, his voice laced with panic. "She’s not inside, she—she said she was starving, that she didn’t want to hurt anyone, and I thought she’d rest but—"

"Shit," Zoro muttered, a low growl.

"Starving?" Nami asked, her face suddenly pale. "Wait… you mean…"

Robin’s mouth parted slightly, and her voice dropped to a low, chilling tone. "She’s feeding."

And it clicked. All at once. The way you’d been off. The way you’d withdrawn, and trembled, and skipped meals. The burning flush in your skin. The distant, glassy look in your eyes when too close to someone. The way you barely touched anyone anymore.

Sanji blinked, confused. "Feeding? But she’s not like—she wouldn’t hurt anyone, right?"

Robin exhaled slowly, her eyes darkening with a grim understanding. "She’s a succubus. She may not want to hurt anyone. But when instinct takes over…"

"She’s probably just taking little bits!" Chopper said quickly, defensive and scared. "She’s not bad—she’s just… hungry. And she couldn’t take it from us. She didn’t want to. So she—she went where no one would notice!"

Luffy’s grin had completely faded. He stood still now, unusually quiet. "She was that hungry?"

"She didn’t want you to see her like this," Chopper whispered.

—

And in the town, under the glow of golden lanterns and the sway of distant music, you moved like smoke. Your body glowed faintly in the alley light, your succubus form fully bared to the world. No shame. No hesitation. You didn’t seduce in the way humans expected. There was no kissing. No skin on skin. You didn’t need to. A hand on a shoulder. A whispered compliment in someone’s ear. A passing smile, veiled with mystery and heat, just enough to make someone’s heart skip a beat.

And the pink mist followed. Like perfume. Like incense. It poured off drunk lovers, off lonely travelers, off people dancing too close and drinking too deep. You tasted it—plucked it from the air like wine-soaked fruit, letting it hum through your starving veins. Your body relaxed. The tremors dulled. The ache in your stomach eased, just enough.

And yet—still not enough. Because this wasn’t the same. They didn’t know you. Didn’t love you. Didn’t want you, not truly. Only the heat you gave them. The pink was thinner. Pale.

You could still taste them. The crew. Even now. Sanji, fragrant and overflowing. Zoro, bristling and hidden beneath control. Luffy, confusing and raw, his lust woven with fascination and fire and… something else. And you’d turned your back on it. Because it was yours. Yours, but precious. Sacred. Safe. You couldn’t feed from that and stay whole.

You were half-glowing under the moonlight when they found you—Robin and Nami first, moving through the crowd like shadows. And they didn’t scold. They didn’t grab you. Robin just stepped close and whispered gently, "You don’t have to starve yourself for our sake." And from behind her, Nami—worried, her heart in her throat—said, "Let us help you next time. Please."

But they didn’t understand. Not yet. They couldn’t feel what you felt. How deep it went. What it truly cost to take. You turned your face away. Still glowing. Still haunted. You didn’t want to hurt them. But how long could you keep pretending that you weren’t already starting to?

The Unspoken Offer

By morning, you were back on the ship. Hair still tousled from the night wind. Skin warm but no longer fevered. You walked with steadier steps, no tremors curling your fingers. And your hunger—quiet. Tamed. Like the tide had finally gone out.

You took your seat at the galley table quietly. Everyone else already gathered��Sanji setting out the plates, Luffy inhaling steamed buns like they might vanish, Nami sipping coffee, Zoro dozing lightly with his arms crossed, and Robin calmly turning a page of her book. And they were…quiet. Not staring. Not accusing. Just…watching.

You didn’t look up much, didn’t speak as you ate, though Sanji’s cooking tasted like honey and ocean, and the scent of him—warm and steeped in that soft, rolling pink—was still dizzying. But you kept your hands to yourself. You swallowed slow. You didn’t dare take more than food.

When Chopper stood to leave, Robin’s voice was gentle, casual. "Chopper, could you go grab the herb box from my room? The one with the yellow string."

"Yeah!" he chirped. "I’ll be right back!" His hoofbeats faded down the hall.

And silence returned. Until Nami placed her coffee down softly and said, without pretense, "You starved yourself."

You looked up. Zoro wasn’t even pretending to nap anymore. Luffy had stopped chewing. Robin folded her book closed, her voice low and even. "You didn’t think we’d notice."

"I didn’t want to hurt you," you murmured, your eyes flitting between them. "I didn’t know what would happen if I took too much. It’s—lust is different from pain. It’s… full. Alive."

"And it’s yours," Robin said, her gaze steady, "by nature. You need it."

You opened your mouth, perhaps to argue—but Nami leaned forward on her elbows, serious. "We’re not mad. We’re worried. You don’t need to go hunting strangers in a town just to keep from touching us."

Luffy blinked, curious. "Is it really that tasty?" Your lips twitched.

Then Sanji, slow and confident, set down his empty tray, pulled a chair beside you, and said smoothly, "Then take mine."

You froze. The room didn’t. Zoro raised an eyebrow. Nami looked mildly exasperated but not surprised. Robin sipped her tea. Luffy just kept chewing his bread.

You stared at Sanji. "You have a lot of it," you said softly, your tone half-accusation, half-awe.

His grin was unapologetic. "Exactly. I practically sweat it. I wouldn’t miss a drop."

"Sanji—" you began, but he leaned closer, and for once, his tone held no flirtation—only sincerity. "I want you safe," he said. "I’d rather lose a little heat than see you burning alive from the inside out."

There was a long pause. You didn’t realize your hand had shifted closer to his until his pink aura—thick, almost syrupy—brushed your skin like steam. And oh, it was right there. You nearly leaned in, lips parting, lashes fluttering—

"Hey, I got the herb box! Oh, and I brought you extra gauze just in case!"

Chopper reappeared like a thunderclap in the middle of a storm. You jerked back so fast your chair squeaked. Sanji coughed, grabbing his coffee and hiding his smile behind the steam. Nami snorted into her mug. Robin, unreadable as ever, took the herbs with a serene, "Thank you, Chopper."

And you? You pretended not to see the soft swirl of pink still clinging to your fingertips. Later, maybe. Later, when no one would interrupt.

The day crawled by, slow like syrup dripping down a glass. Sanji avoided your gaze, not out of disinterest, but as if actively trying not to look too long. You caught the subtle tells: the whitening of his knuckles around the frying pan when you stepped into the kitchen, the tight, almost forced smile, the way he’d bury his face in the steam of a soup pot for far too long. And you… you felt it radiating off him in palpable waves. His pink aura had thickened—richer, glossier, like whipped cream imbued with pure desire. He was trying his best not to emit it, bless his earnest heart, but your mere presence dragged it out of him like sunlight through sheer, unwilling curtains.

You spent the entire day on edge, unable to settle. You couldn't sit near him without feeling overwhelmed, yet staying far away offered no solace either.

By nightfall, most of the crew had retreated to their beds. The ship swayed gently, docked on calm seas. Moonlight spilled in long, silvery beams through the galley windows. You couldn't sleep. So you padded barefoot down the dim hallway, your stomach twisted with a hunger that was no longer painful, but a persistent, needling ache, like an itch deep under your skin.

The kitchen door stood ajar. And he was there. Sanji. Leaning against the counter in a loose white shirt, collar undone, a cigarette glowing softly between his fingers. His hair was tousled, his eyes dark, lost in thought. He didn’t flinch when you stepped inside. You didn’t speak at first, simply… watched him. The pink mist danced around him like a slow-burning halo.

“I thought you’d be asleep,” he said, his voice low, hoarse from hours of subtle restraint.

“I could say the same to you.”

He looked over his shoulder at you, a faint smile gracing his lips. “You hungry?”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you stepped closer. The heat between you grew taut, almost palpable. You could smell him—him. Rich, warm, indulgent. Lust and sweetness and human kindness, all tangled together like smoke ribbons.

He set the cigarette down, his gaze meeting yours without a single flinch. "I meant it earlier," he said, his voice steady. "You can take some. From me."

You swallowed, your throat suddenly dry. “Only if you tell me to stop.”

He nodded once. And you stepped closer still.

Your fingers grazed his wrist first—his aura flaring brightly at the mere contact. You could feel the way his breath hitched, the frantic flutter of his pulse beneath his skin. You leaned in, just a little, your lips brushing the line of his jaw—not touching, not yet, but exquisitely close.

And then you slipped—no, you unfurled—a little more of your true form. Not the monstrous kind. Not the nightmare kind. The real kind. Curves softened into velvet, eyes dimmed like dusk settling over an ocean. Your skin shimmered faintly, too warm for moonlight, too hungry for innocence. Small, gleaming horns curled delicately through your hair, and something ancient, something undeniable, danced behind your smile.

Sanji’s breath caught. His pupils dilated like ink drops spreading in water. “Mon dieu…” he whispered, his voice dry and utterly reverent.

Your fingers drifted down his collarbone, dragging through the mist like a tangible current, and the taste hit you like fine wine. Sweet. Thick. So, so wonderfully warm. You hummed, your eyes fluttering closed in a moment of pure bliss. He was tipping forward, as if gravity itself had shifted its allegiance around you.

And then— “Stop.” His voice was barely above a whisper, but you felt it, a sharp, clear command. And you stopped. Immediately. You backed up a half-step, the pink slowly draining from your tongue. His cheeks were scarlet, lips parted, his chest rising and falling rapidly as if he’d just run laps around the ship.

“…Sorry,” you said softly.

He shook his head, one hand gripping the counter behind him for support. “No. No, it was—it’s okay. Just—damn, you’re really…” He didn’t finish the sentence.

You smiled crookedly. “I’m not gonna break you, Sanji.”

“Noted.” He exhaled shakily. “Maybe just… not when I’ve got a full galley shift in five hours.”

You laughed, a soft, genuine sound. He did too. And then—because it was safer—you stepped back into your human form and padded to the fridge for a bottle of water. You didn’t need more tonight. Not after that. But the hunger? It still curled somewhere deep in your chest. Sated. But not gone.

The days that followed were warmer. Easier. You moved softer in your body. The chill that had clung to your bones like frost began to melt, drop by slow drop. The tremors vanished. You laughed more, smiled without hiding it behind your hand. Even your skin seemed to possess a new, subtle glow—as if something deep within it had finally been lit after months in the dark.

Sanji was, of course, the first to slip. He’d been making breakfast again, expertly flipping eggs in the pan while humming a tune only he seemed to know. Brook had made a joke—something vaguely indecent, probably about panties—and Sanji, with zero grace, muttered, “Better that than nearly passing out from having your soul sucked out of you.”

You froze mid-sip of your tea. Zoro’s head turned. Robin’s brows lifted just slightly. Luffy’s spoon, halfway to his mouth, dropped, forgotten. Even Chopper paused in his chewing. Sanji blinked. Realized. “…Shit.”

You groaned, pressing your forehead to the table. “Sanji.”

“What?! It’s not like I said what exactly happened—”

“You kind of did, love,” Robin said, sipping her coffee calmly.

The room fell into a hush. You slowly lifted your head. And they were all looking at you. Curiously. Not with disgust. Not even truly with judgment. Just… with a profound curiosity.

“Was it bad?” Zoro asked eventually, his arms crossed over his chest.

You blinked at him. “…No.”

“Felt kinda nice actually,” Sanji admitted with a nervous laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “Light-headed after. But next day I was the most relaxed I’ve felt since—ever, honestly. Still tired, though. Like post-orgasm tired but with no orgasm.”

“Sanji!” You hissed, your cheeks warming with a blush.

Robin chuckled, a low, knowing sound. Luffy looked like he was trying to put a complicated puzzle together in his head. Brook said something about not having nerves to feel tired but being curious how his bones would react.

Then Usopp cleared his throat. And, with a surprising burst of sincerity, said, “So… if you needed more… I mean, for your health. I wouldn’t mind helping.”

The room shifted. Eyes slid to him. Your heart gave a sudden thud. He looked nervous, yes. But he also looked… honest.

“Really?” you asked, your voice soft with surprise.

“Yeah. You know, as long as it’s not—like—all of it or something. I trust you.”

That night, it was him. He offered his hand to you first. You were gentle. He sat on the edge of the upper deck, his hands trembling a little, and you let your fingers ghost along his arm. You didn’t even have to go far—his pink mist stirred at the softest touch, warm and stuttery like a breath held just beneath the surface. You leaned in, brushed your lips near the shell of his ear, and whispered something kind—just to see. It bloomed. And you took. Slow. Small. He leaned into it with a gasp, as if surprised by how good it felt. You didn’t shift into your full form that time. Just a flicker of your eyes glowing low and gold. Just enough to feel the power hum steady again in your chest. When it was done, he panted a little.

“…That was weirdly nice,” he mumbled, wiping sweat from his brow.

You kissed his cheek and thanked him.

Then there was Zoro. It took longer. He didn’t offer at first. But one day during training, you were watching him from the shade, quiet, unnoticed. And then he noticed you.

“What?” he barked, his voice gruff.

You raised a brow. “Your aura’s loud.”

He grunted. You waited.

“I’m not gonna beg to be sucked dry,” he muttered eventually, wiping his neck with a towel.

You bit back a smirk. “Didn’t ask you to.”

But that night, you found him still awake. Sitting on the edge of the crow’s nest, bottle in hand, bathed in moonlight. He didn’t say anything when you climbed up beside him. Just passed the bottle to you. You took a sip. Watched the night stretch endlessly.

“…You can,” he finally said, his voice low.

“What?”

“Feed. If you want.”

You turned to him, your gaze searching. “You sure?”

He gave you a look that was more challenge than anything. “You think I can’t handle it?”

That stirred something primal in your blood. You shifted—just a little. Your eyes glowing faintly. A subtle shimmer of your skin. Your fingers dragging with deliberate slowness against his wrist. He held perfectly still. Didn’t flinch. Didn’t move away when you leaned in and pressed your lips to the hollow of his throat. His aura burst around him, a silent explosion of pink. It tasted like raw heat, like smoke and sun-soaked blades and restraint strangling itself into submission. You took just enough to leave him lightheaded, a faint flush on his cheeks as he exhaled. You didn’t say thank you that time. You just rested your head on his shoulder and let him rest against yours.

Luffy was different. He was so full it was disorienting. Not constant like Sanji, but potent. Spikes and waves. The pink mist would flare around him unexpectedly—usually when you were close. Sometimes just when you smiled at him. It made you dizzy. One day you touched his hand—barely—and had to physically stumble back from the sheer weight of it.

Luffy blinked. "Are you okay?"

“…You’re really strong,” you whispered.

He grinned. "I know!"

You stared at him, bewildered. The pink light around him shimmered brighter.

Later, in the quiet of night, he came to you. "Hey," he said. "You can take some, right?"

You looked up from your book. “You offering?”

He nodded. "You’re hungry. And I’m not scared."

So you kissed his cheek, barely touching your lips to him. And it hit like a tsunami. You gasped and almost pulled away—but his hand caught yours, anchored you, letting you take what you needed in a slow, unspooling thread. It didn’t even make him tired. He just looked at you afterward, still smiling. "Did it help?"

You nodded.

"You’re weird," he added. "But cool." And that was that.

You had your favorites. Sanji was indulgent. A sweet meal. A lover’s scent. Zoro was a challenge. Sharp and savory. Like the burn after strong liquor. Usopp was surprising. Subtle, but sweeter when coaxed. Luffy? Luffy was something else entirely. And you were still figuring it out.

The first time they noticed the changes—it was Usopp. He was standing at the bow, polishing his goggles, the morning sea wind tousling his hair. And as he reached up to wipe sweat from his brow, Robin tilted her head. “…Your neck.”

He blinked. "What?"

She stepped closer, curious, calm. Her finger lifted, brushing just behind his ear. There—barely visible under the morning light—was a soft shimmer of something not-quite-silver. Like a crescent etched into his skin. Faintly glowing. A kiss mark. He didn’t remember it being there.

You passed by moments later, fresh from the shower, a towel looped around your neck and your full form slipping at the edges of your reflection in the galley window—eyes glowing, skin luminous, hair longer and darker than normal, like velvet ink dripping across your shoulders. Robin looked at you. Her gaze lingered. "Something’s changed," she said lightly.

You paused. “…A few things have.”

They showed up in different places. Sanji’s was on his collarbone—a brush of magenta like lipstick and stardust. Only visible when his heart rate was up. He discovered it while cooking one afternoon, flushed from the heat and frustration of over-whipped meringue, and caught the shimmer in the steel reflection of his knife.

Zoro’s was on the inside of his wrist. It only glowed when he was angry or in battle-mode—like a blade lit from within. He didn’t say anything about it at first. Not until you caught him staring at it in the mirror, then at you. You didn’t explain it. You just said, “You fed me. I guess I left something behind.” He grunted. But didn’t cover it.

You were changing. They saw it in the way you moved. Less drained. Less frantic. The constant tremble in your fingers—gone. The way your voice held weight now. Not louder, but fuller. When you got hungry, the marks would glow. When you felt too much—pain, joy, longing—your form would shift at the edges. Your eyes would flick gold. Your pupils slitted like a cat’s. Your skin would shimmer, like satin under moonlight.

They saw your full form, properly, one night when the sky was lit with stars and the sea was calm and silent like the world was holding its breath. You’d climbed the rigging to sit above them, your legs swinging lazily in the breeze. The moonlight hit you and the change rolled over you like a wave. Hair like ink and velvet. Horns curling like bone and smoke. Wings—barely visible—rippled behind you, feathered and translucent, the color of dusk. Your tail wrapped loosely around the beam you sat on. And from up high, you smiled, fangs just peeking from your lips.

None of them said anything. They watched. Luffy grinned. "You look cool." Usopp choked a little on his drink but nodded furiously. Zoro just leaned back against the mast, his lips twitching faintly. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers. Robin’s eyes glowed with interest, as if she were witnessing a goddess in motion. And you—just swayed, your head tilted toward the wind, feeling full and finally whole.

The marks weren’t dangerous. But they were intimate. Like a ghost of you stayed with them. A soft reminder—etched not in flesh, but in something deeper. When Zoro clenched his fists before a fight, his would burn just a little. When Usopp told a story and really got into it—his shimmered. When Sanji cooked, flustered and muttering, his bloomed like a rose. Luffy’s? You didn’t even know where it was. But you felt it. When he was near, something in your chest hummed. Like a tether was there, stronger than the rest. Sometimes you reached out and touched him gently, just to see if it would pulse. It always did.

You were stronger now. Not just in body—but in spirit. You felt like yourself. Like you could finally breathe. But still—you were careful. When you fed, you asked. When you took, you left something behind. A kiss, a smile, a shimmer. You never touched Chopper. Not once. Not even when he hugged you goodnight or fell asleep against your side. The pink mist never came near him. And you liked it that way. He was warmth and safety and innocence. A sacred reminder of restraint.

But the others? They gave. You took. And sometimes, when the moonlight hit just right, you all glowed.

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