warriorheart13-blog - Tumblr blog

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Text

The Pink Umbrella.

A/N – I had an idea and I ran away with it and ended up with 7400+ plus words :3

Thatch is under the influence of a devil fruit….

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The Whitebeard pirates had won yet another battle and decided to go to a local tavern that was nearby in celebration of a win and freeing a village that was under siege from the enemy on the island they were currently on.

“Drinks all around!!”

“Hey!! That was MY meat-give it back! You don’t even eat meat you told me you’re vegetarian!!”

“Has anyone seen my belli bag?”

“Do you think this bone could be popped back in?”

The tavern was alive with laughter and cheers as the men threw their overfilled mugs in the air and sang their shanti’s for the hundredth time.

Thatch had gone to the counter to order another mug for himself and his lovely lovely wife. You.

“Two more mugs of your finest please! And if you have any of those cute little umbrellas that go in the drink, could I please have a pink one. My wife loves them,” Thatch said as he gave the bar girl a kind toothy grin and swayed his shoulder to the music being played by some of his crew. Clearly he was a couple mug in already.

The bar girl simply smiled and filled two more giant mugs and gently added the pink umbrella they had in stock into his wife’s drink as he requested. She handed the two mugs to him and brushed her fingers against his had for a split second, too quick for him to notice- ‘kill your wife, use whatever means necessary. No mercy.’ It was a mental message that spoke into his brain like voice whispered in the wind.

Thatch shook his head for a moment as he held the mugs in his hands then shrugged his shoulder and walked towards his wife he was sitting by Pops.

“I’m back my love!”

The bar girl was an enemy that had slipped through the battle and hid at the bar. She had killed the original bar girl knowing that the Whitebeards would come to this tavern as it was the only one nearby. She wanted to get revenge for her fallen crew and wanted to hurt them where it really counts. By having them hurt their loved ones-a sure way to indirectly stab and twist the knife into their hearts. Her devil fruit powers allowed her to enter the minds of others and control them after she’s made skin on skin contact. It only lasts for a day, which was enough time to cause irreparable damage. All it would take was the snap of her fingers for it to come into effect.

Once the crew drank the tavern dry, they all said their goodbyes to the seemingly sweet and attentive bar girl. She waved with a sweet smile and wished them safe travels.

“Have a great night everyone~”

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Snap

It was morning, early in the morning, when Thatch woke up and got ready like usual. Though this time he didn’t kiss you this morning like he usually does when he’s about to enter his shift. He was uncharacteristically quite and expressionaless too, usually he’d hum a quiet tune to himself as he dressed himself. Instead, he just leaves that shared bedroom after getting dressed.

You were in a deep sleep since the battle really wore you down so his lack of morning kisses went unnoticed for the time being.

The morning went smoothly like always, as soon as Thatch entered the kitchen his expression went back to normal. Tone chipper and with a pep in his step, he chatted it up with everyone and patted some on the back while he praised their hard work in the kitchen.

“Heyy! Great sauce I see the improvement-oh!” he made a 180 to stop another younger chef from adding wayyy to much salt in the soup’s broth. “That’s enough salt kid we’re not competing against the sea,” he belted a laugh and ruffled their hair. Thatch was never really the one to harshly scold his division as he was very familiar with making mistakes in the beginning.

Suddenly, a nagging thought was poking at his mind but he couldn’t really put it into words. It was more like a feeling that he needed to do something. That something gave him a mean knot in his stomach because he had a feeling it was something he did not want to do. He just couldn’t put his finger on it.

He stumbled a little as he made his rounds but blamed it on the uneven wooden floorboards and wiped some sweat off his brow. He loosened up his uniform’s collar and wondered if he was coming down with something.

Then it hit him like a slap in the face-he remembered he had to make his wife her breakfast. How could he forget, it was the first thing he always does when he enters the kitchen.

He rolled his sleeves up and got to work. He’d be dammed if he didn’t make it in time with breakfast in hand ready to serve you in bed. You’ve never had to get up to get breakfast on your own after getting with him. Thatch always provided with a smile and loving aura. He just loved you that much that it was never a problem for him to do so. He was at your beck and call.

He added the ingredients to his pan like clockwork one right after the other- ‘whatever means necessary…’ then without warning he blacked out then blinked his eye open with your breakfast made and in his hand outside the bedroom door.

“What the��?” he mumbled as he rubbed his eyes for a moment trying to figure out what just happened. How did he get from cooking in the kitchen to the bedroom dooor? He'll have to think about that later he didn’t want your food getting cold.

He entered the room with all the theatrics he’s known for and cheers with a smile seeing his beautiful wife barely sitting up and rubbing her eyes with a sleepy yawn.

“Ggggooodmorning honey!! Your breakfast has arrived! Your man is here with all your favorites like always aaand!” he strides over and places the tray of food on the nightstand and starts climbing onto the bed.

His heavy weight makes the bed dip and creak as he gets both knees on the mattress and reaches both his hands around your face to pull you in for a long sweet good morning kiss. He brushed his thumbs over your cheeks as he lets the kiss stretch then pulls back with rosy cheeks and a smile. “A smooch,” he says as he remains over you.

You giggled and placed your hands over his while they were still on your cheeks and leaned into his hold. “Good morning darlin’ thank you for breakfast. Were you almost late for your shift this morning? I usually wake a up a little when you give me a good morning kiss before you leave for your day but didn’t feel anything,” you questioned.

Thatch’s breath hitched for a second and furrowed his eyebrows. He doesn’t remember much of this morning now that he thinks about it. He only remembers fixing his uniform and getting to the kitchen, nothing before that. These little mind gaps are starting to worry him.

Deep in thought his hands start to unconsciously squeeze a little as his fingers ever so slightly start to dig into your face. It was until you spoke up that he snapped out of his thoughts.

“Thatch?” you questioned as you felt his hold tightening just a smidge and tried to pull his hands away to look at him better. You wanted to think that maybe he wanted to get a quicky in before he had to go back to work but the look on his face showed confusion and slight concern so that was out of the question. “You okay my love?”

Thatch immediately felt himself pop back into the present time and noticed your squished cheeks in his hands and let go as he straightened himself up. “Y…Yeah I’m alright, sorry I-was just thinking about something. Are you sure I didn’t give you a kiss? I always do hmm…”

You noticed his strange behavior but didn’t want to say anything about it thinking that it wasn’t something to really think too hard about. Maybe it’s just an off day, delayed fatigue from the battel. You fix your hair up into a bun in the meantime; a signal to him that you’re ready to eat.

He noticed your move and took out your little table he had made for you himself. This man LOVED you; he kisses the ground you walked on and would braid your hair with the stars above if you so much as asked.

He set it up and placed your meal on the table then kissed your head as he fixed his uniform once more before he headed out for the day. “Alright my love, enjoy. Leave the dishes on the side and I’ll come grab them later, take your time and I’ll see you out there when you’re ready. I love you.”

As he started walking towards the door he sang in a smooth practiced song voice “liiiike always a’wayyyyssss….!!” He winked at you as he shut the door leaving you smiling ear to ear with a blush.

“Goodness…this man is going to kill me one of these days with his cuteness.”

A couple of minutes into eating your meal and reading your book, your skin started to feel a little itchy. You dropped your book and spit your food out and noticed red welts starting to form on your hands and cheeks, your tongue started to feel thick and go numb as your breathing started to grow strained and ragged.

Something was wrong. You were having a severe food allergy reaction which was strange because Thatch knows all your allergies like the back of his hand-did someone else make it? You glanced over the meal and noticed there were finely crushed peanuts inside the meal and mixed into the sauce that covered it.

You swung the table down to the side and threw yourself off the bed to head to the door while you tried to breathe through your swollen esophagus. “Th…..atch…!!” you wheeze out using your nails to drag yourself to the door. “…-‘aaat…ch…!!!” you wanted your husband you needed him then suddenly the door busts open and it’s Marco with a horrified look on his face seeing his brother’s wife on the ground barely able to breathe and see from the growing hives ravaging your body.

He yelled your name and dropped to his knees while wrapping his arms around your almost limp form from lack of air and engulfs you in his healing flame. He soothes you with tender caresses trying to get your breathing under control. “Slow sweetheart…just like that…in and out…in and out…you’re ok now,” Marco cooed at you drying your falling tears and letting your dig your nails into his back trying to catch your breath.

You finally took a deep breath and sputtered out a cough. Marco kept the flames going just a bit longer to make sure every last hive burned away and waited for you to relax fully. He let you lean into his protective hold and stay there until you were okay to make a move on your own.

“That…what was that? I-” confusion. Absolute horrified confusion was plastered on your face wondering what just happened, well, you knew what happened but how it happened is what you wanted to know. Thatch wouldn’t knowingly put something you were deathly allergic to; it had to have been someone else’s mistake?

Marco was analyzing and studying your expression, seemingly knowing what you were thinking and gently tilted your chin up to him to break you out of your racing thoughts and get your attention. “We’ll get to the bottom of this. I swear. Let’s go bring this to his attention I’m sure he’d want to know,” he calmly said to you with a small smile.

You were hesitant because you knew it would stress Thatch out to no end, but he was your husband and needed to know.

You nodded in agreement then got up and dusted yourself off along with Marco who held your hand to give your support while you got your balance back. Once you’ve properly dressed yourself you met the first commander out the door and started walking towards the galley.

You let out a deep sigh lost in thought and rubbed your arms. Marco noticed your anxious state and gave you a slight bump on your hip with his breaking your train of thought. “Try not to stress too much about it. There has to be reason for this we both know Thatch knows better and so does his division. We’ll see what really went down so this doesn’t happen again. Are you still feeling off? Want my flames again?” he asked looking down at you as you both kept walking.

“No that’s fine, thank you Marco I appreciate it,” you huffed out a breath and patted your cheeks getting your groove back and walked with purpose to the galley now, Marco smiled liking that you were feeling yourself again. He hummed and kept walking.

You both arrive at the gally and stride right into the kitchen.

“Thatch? Sweetheart can I speak to you please?” you asked out loud in the busy kitchen now that it was late morning and everything was in full swing.

Thatch, who was in the middle of prepping veggies stopped his chops and cleaned his hands on the dish towel he had on his shoulder “Coming Honey!” he danced through the busy kitchen like it was second nature to him and once he reached you he leaned down to give you a kiss on the cheek before he noticed your expression and his brother standing closely behind you.

He stood back up and looked at the both of you. “Is everything ok?” he shifted his weight on one leg and crossed his arms over his chest staring right at his blond brother waiting for him to speak.

Before you could respond Marco beat you to it and started to speak, mirroring his brother’s crossed arms over his own chest. “I found her on the ground in your shared bedroom barely able to breathe and covered in hives. She had an allergic reaction to whatever she ate,” he simply stated with no sugar coating.

You gasped and looked up at the doctor shocked that he said it so bluntly. “Wait-I-no well yes I was on the ground but-”

“WHAT?? What do you mean barely able to breath-allergic reaction but-” the memory of him just showing up at the bedroom door from the kitchen out of no where popped into his head.

Something must have happened during that missing time. He wanted to mention these foggy feelings but couldn’t bring himself to do so right now. It was as if an invisible force was preventing him from doing so right now.

Thatch quickly leaned over and tilted your face up to look at him as he examined your features, making sure you were alright. He knew Marco’s healing flames left nothing untouched, but he just had to personally make sure. Once he got a good look he huffed out a relieved sigh seeing that you were ok.

He looked at you then at Marco “I’ll get to the bottom of this; I’ll look back on the ingredients and ask around to see if someone added something while I wasn’t looking.” Thatch was heartbroken, his meals are meant to make you feel good and happy. Not almost kill you, his gut was in knots at the thought of you gasping for air and in pain alone in the bedroom. He didn’t know what he’d do with himself if Marco didn’t show up when he did.

He walked over to Marco and hugged up tightly “thank you for saving her brother, thank you.” Marco knew from his brother’s tone of voice he was deeply bothered by the whole situation. Understandably so.

Marco gave his brother a pat on the back and nodded. “Of course, Thatch, we all care for her. She’s not getting hurt on our watch, okay?” he gave a reassuring smile towards his brother but took note at his concerned expression and sweat forming on his brows.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Later that evening. You had finished your duties for the day and now had time for yourself to relax.

You had rolled yourself a fat joint after taking a much-needed shower and wanted to prepare your appetite for a nice filling dinner with your husband and the rest of the crew in the gally.

You prop yourself up on a chair at the far end of the deck with the ocean breeze caressing over your skin and a glass of ice-cold water on the ground next to you.

You sparked up and took a long drag then rubbed your head as you exhaled still shaken up about this morning. You looked up at the full moon shimmering over the vast open sea thinking about how your husband has been acting strange all day and wondered if something was going on that he wasn’t saying to you or anyone.

Another drag.

“You good?” a voice you’re all too familiar with popped up behind you startling you out of your thoughts. Ace. “You had this look on your face just now that said ‘I’m deep in thought and need my favorite person to get me out of it’” he chuckled and sat on the railing in front of you extending his hand out to get a hit from your joint. You leaned over and handed it to him with a comforted smile.

“I’m fine. Thanks,” you said as you trailed your eyes to the side. “I…it’s just..ah it’s just Thatch has been acting funny lately and not funny funny like he usually is but..” you bit your lip trying to find the proper word that didn’t blow anything out of proportion.

“Strange? He’s been acting strange? I just spoke with him earlier he looked fine?” he took a long drag and blew a thick cloud into the air watching the wind take it. “What have you noticed?” he tapped the ash onto his hand and burned it into nothing.

You shifted in your seat a little and leaned back. Ace reached over and handed you back your joint then took another drag. This time you held the smoke in as you recollected your memories of the day.

You exhaled and grabbed your water “for starters,” you took a sip of your water “this morning I had a horrible allergic reaction to some food he served. I know for a fact he knows my allergies and wouldn’t even risk having the dangerous ingredients near my food. But even he didn’t have an answer in the end after asking everyone in his division if they added something to my food.”

Ace nodded along listening intently. He didn’t like the fact that you almost died this morning and no one told him, but he’d bring that up later at a different time.

“Then in the afternoon when I passed him in the hall he had this strange look I’ve never seen on him before, even in battle, he was expressionless which chilled me to my fucking core dude,” you shivered remembering the look and held your glass tighter.

Ace hummed and his eyebrows furrowed trying to think of an explanation. He noticed your strong grip on the glass cup which he gently took from you and took a sip himself.

“He NEVER walks pass me without giving me a hug or something and when I tried talking to him, he was reaching his hands slowly towards me. I thought he was going to hug me but I just got this…this feeling, ya know? I was gonna stop him and asked if he was okay but he snapped out of if as soon as Vista called him over for something but still didn’t acknowledge I was there.”

You shook your head and picked at the skin near your nails at the memory. You had this gnawing sensation at the back of your mind thinking about your husband’s body language and expression. This was causing you so much stress that your nervous habit you thought you got rid came back in full swing.

“And then while I was helping in the kitchen-you know how Thatch likes to have his fun with his crew and makes it a competition to have them hit the exact spot where he throws his right?” you took a drag then passed it to Ace. “I was reaching up at the cupboard trying to get some pots when all of a sudden, I feel something zip so close to me dude that I jumped at dropped the pots. Thatch had thrown the dagger so close to where I was standing it cut a couple strands of my hair-I” You sniffled and covered your mouth with the back of your hand to hide your wobbling lips. Everything was worrying you. Why was he acting this way? Why wasn’t he talking to you about it? Your body gave and you leaned forward over your knees trying to keep yourself from crying.

Ace jumped down from the railing not wanting to see you in so much distress and placed his hat on your head then pulled you out of your seat into a tight hug. He pressed your head into his shoulder and rubbed soothing circles in between your shoulder blades.

“Shhh…it’s ok…it’s ok. I’ll admit this does sound strange. But don’t worry, maybe it’s just…” Ace couldn’t think of a logical explanation. He was worried too seeing his brother’s wife so stressed that it brought her to tears but also knowing something was going on with his brother.

He lets you sob and cling onto him for a while to let you get everything out of your system with a steady hold.

“Everything will be ok. Why don’t you go and sit him down to have a one on one? And keep him there till you get the answers you’re looking for, hm?” he pulled you back a little to get a look at your puffy face and wiped your tears with his warm hands.

You hadn’t noticed until he pulled you back and felt the air around you make you shiver. He had been warming you up in his hold to keep the cold night air off you and keep you comfortable while you cried on him.

You stiffened up your lip and nodded letting your arms fall to your side. “Mm! I’ll go give him a piece of my mind; he has me worried sick!!” Ace chuckled at your sudden burst of energy and let you go completely.

“Yeah!! Knock him upside the head if you have to, I’ll hold him down if you want me to just say the word,” he laughed as he gave your shoulder a pat and squeeze.

You nodded and giggled at this offer then turned to make your way towards Thatch but before you did you looked over your shoulder. “Go ahead and finish that joint for me, thanks for listening Ace. Love ya,” you jogged to your destination now. The gally.

Ace waved his arm out with the joint in his mouth “Love ya too! Remember, lean in with your shoulder when you punch!!” he laughed out in the air watching you leave.

You asked around the gally asking where your husband was and how you needed to speak to him immediately.

“I think I saw him head towards the training room? He looked really stressed earlier so I think he’s just blowing off some steam,” said a member from his division who was washing the dishes for the night.

You thanked them and ran towards the training room yelling out ‘excuse me’s’ and ‘pardon me’s’ as you dodged crew members who were in your walking path.

Finally, you made it outside the training room doors and took a moment to catch your breath and steady your racing heart. You swallowed a lump in your throat and straightened up with your chest puffed out.

Time to face the music and get to the bottom of your husband’s strange behavior.

You opened the doors and cautiously entered the room in case Thatch was sparring with someone and didn’t want to interrupt but the first thing you noticed was that none of the lanterns were lit. It was dark in the room but heavy with heat and musk; clearly some training was going on but it was strange that it was being in the dark.

Thatch was many things, a people person, a lovable teddy bear towards you and everyone one, a ray of sunshine. So this. This darkness in the room was a red flag already.

You tiptoed in and quietly called out to your husband in the dark “Thatch?” nothing. “Sweetheart, are you here?” you walked into the center of the room and looked around for him.

“I just wanted to talk to you, you’ve been acting str-WOAH!!” you quickly dodged a dagger that zipped by your face, however, it grazed your cheek leaving a red line clear across your soft skin.

You froze. A cold sweat started to form around your body as your body started to tremble and feel the warm blood drip down the side of your face. You were a Whitebeard pirate. Able to handle monsters and villains no problem but this. If this was who you thought it was. You weren’t sure you could do it.

Suddenly another dagger shot out from the dark nicking your left calf, causing you to shriek and jump to the side only for a strong fist to land square on your cheeks knocking you down onto the ground. You held your head feeling a throbbing ache starting to form as your vision goes blurry; not good especially since it’s dark in the room, you were essentially blind and disoriented.

You didn’t want to believe it was who you thought it was but still…you called out “Thatch….? Dear? Is-is that you? Please, say something!! You’ve been acting weird all day. Is it you??” tears started to well up and your fire in you had shriveled down. Something was wrong. So so wrong.

You still couldn’t see clearly, though, you did see shadows moving around you too quick for you to keep your focus on. You got into a defensive stance ready for another attack. How you wished you were wrong and this was just an enemy who had gotten on the ship somehow and you needed to rescue your husband.

“C-come out!! Come out and fight me, what did you do to Thatch!!” you screamed with your trembling clenched fists, you were too deep in to the ship to call out for help at this point and had no choice but to face this on your own.

All of a sudden you were hit in the back with a cold blunt object making you crash into the benches that were in front of you. “OUCH-stop being a coward and show yourse-”

You gasped and your eyes widened in shock at who was in front of you. You covered your mouth and shook your head like you were seeing the end of the world happening before your very eyes.

It was Thatch.

But he looked different. There was no smile. No shine in his eyes. All the lovable aura that radiated off him was gone, a cold presence replaced it instead. In his hands were his twin blades now.

“Th-Thatch….?” You could barely speak, hell, you could barely breathe. The air was still and quiet, only your quick short breaths occupied the room.

He lunged with his right blade straight for you.

‘kill your wife however means necessary…make her suffer. Ruin her spirit and make her scream…’

Thatch’s POV: Moments before you entered the training room. The lanterns were on.

Thatch had been stressed beyond belief. There were too many gaps in his memory throughout the day and this damn headache wouldn’t go away.

He ate, drank plenty of water and even tried one of Marco’s nasty herb smoothies he swears has major health benefits. But that nagging headache wouldn’t go away. What killed him more was he remembered seeing you walked towards him in the hallway earlier in the day but before he could say anything he blinked and next thing he knew he was with Vista helping him with some random task.

He doesn’t remember speaking to you at all. He doesn’t remember if he gave you a hug or quick poke to the side. It was just blank. He landed a heavy blow to one of the heavy weight punching bag almost ripping it off its hook.

“What the hell is going on…” he muttered to himself as he grunted with each punch and sweat beaded down his face.

He only knows that this started happening after the battle. Or maybe after the tavern? He tsked his tongue and finally ripped that punching bag clean off its hook making a loud thump echo through the room.

He stormed towards his blades and started doing drills. Aside from cooking, his mind becomes sharper and more focused when he has his blades in his hold. He tried his hardest to pinpoint any strange occurrences during that time. But nothing, it was unreachable. His mind wasn’t able to think of anything specific.

He felt a presence come towards the training doors and perked up sensing that it was you, he decided he wanted to talk to you about what he’s been feeling-not that he could be really specific but he wanted you to at least be aware that something was going on with him. He wanted to also ask you if you remember having any conversations with him today. He put his swords away on his hip and took his first step towards the doors when everything faded to black once more.

The clock struck 12 AM. It was now the next day.

He blinked once more like all those times before only this time the headache has finally faded. His senses begin to fizzle back in gradually and the first thing that hits him is the scent of blood and the feeling of your nails digging into his hand.

He thought he was in hell. He had to have been if what he was looking at was real. You under him laying on top of broken and splintered wood and his blade straight through your side.

The muffled noise that he was beginning to hear instantly went crystal clear and your agonized screams flooded his ear canals. You were screaming his name over and over again telling him-begging him to wake up. You wailed that this wasn’t him and that he needed to fight whatever has a hold on him.

“THATCH PLEASE. PLEASE WAKE UP FIGHT-FIGHT DAMN IT. THATCH I LOVE YOU PLEASE I BELIEVE IN YOU,” you cried out and started to spit out some blood from your mouth and gripped his blade by the edges to keep him from pushing any further.

His breath trembled. His kneels buckled and he let out the most gut-wrenching terrified scream. His uniform was soaked through with sweat and blood. He reached for you with his hands but you shrieked and flinched hard still in fight or flight mode.

He wanted to die. He wanted to truly wake up from whatever nightmare this was. He hurt you? With his own hands? He caused this. You were in this condition because of him. He thought to himself.

The training room doors smashed open and in came Ace and Marco with their flames licking off their forms. They were finally low enough in the ship to hear your shriek and came to your rescue. Only, they were too late. The damage was gone.

Marco yelled first “OI OI WHAT HAPPENED HERE WHAT HAPPENED!!” he darted to your side and shot his flame towards you to start the healing process. “HANG IN THERE-DAMN YOU’RE REALLY BANGED UP. WHAT HAPPENED HERE THATCH?? WAS THERE AN ENEMY??”

He couldn’t speak yet he was still in shock at what he was witnessing.

Ace grabbed his shoulders and shook him looking him in the eye with furrowed eyebrows. “Thatch!! Think buddy, what happened. Was there an enemy??” the freckled man looked at his brother searching for an answer in his frozen expression.

Thatch finally snapped out of it and started breathing normal again, he hadn’t noticed he was super close to passing out from holding his breath. He looked at Ace then at you and Marco and shook his head. It was more like a twitch but a shake nonetheless.

“I…I have no idea..I-listen,” he stuttered out “I haven’t been feeling well. I’ve been having memory gaps throughout the day.” The adrenaline was starting to wear off and his panic for you started to set in. “I-oh my baby oh my love I’m sososososorryI’msosorry,” he trembled out through his hot tears streaming down his cheeks. “You gotta live babyohhhyou gotta live. I can’t live with you-I can’t!!”

“THATCH-it’s ok we know you didn’t do this. She knows too. We need you to breathe so you can think clearly. Marco is taking care of her, she’ll be ok,” Ace shook his brother’s shoulders again trying to get him to relax.

Meanwhile, Marco was able to remove the blade but not without you whimpering throughout the process and trying to stop him. It was incredibly painful from beginning to end until it was out. He put his all into the healing process now. The blue flames grew in size encasing you in a radiant blue orb of healing flames. The stab wound started to fizzle shut inch by inch until nothing was left. No scratch no scar.

He kept this up for another couple of minutes to make sure everything was healed properly. His work was always thorough but for you he would go the extra mile and give you the works.

“Alright, little dove. You should be ok now, lets get you out of there,” he said softly as he helped you up and off the broken benches.

You didn’t wait a second longer and thew yourself to Thatch and wrapped your arms weeping once more only this time from happiness as you recognized a certain spark in him once more.

“Thatch!! Thatch you’re back,” you sniffled hard and placed your hand behind his head to bring him into the crook of your neck and wrapped your other arm around his back. You cradled him firm against your body not letting him move an inch.

“You’re awake my love, you’re awake. I’m okay-I love you so much. This wasn’t your fault, I noticed a pink glow flash through your eyes before you woke up,” you were speaking through broken sobs as this was all too much for you, but you wanted to be there for you husband who was obviously losing it too. “It had to have been a devil fruit that lost it’s effect now. There’s no way otherwise!”

You would do anything for this man. Just like he would do anything for you.

Marco and Ace looked at each other and nodded. That would make sense because they would have sensed even the faintest haki by now if the enemy was really hiding themselves in the ship. They gave you two some room now that things seemed back to normal but would be close by just in case something happened.

Thatch couldn’t bring himself to wrap his arms around you. He didn’t feel worthy, he felt like he should just jump overboard and let the sea kings have him. He could still smell the blood in his nose and hear your screams in his soul.

He trembled in your embrace and choked a sobbed. Your name trembled out his mouth in a hush tone. Even your name felt wrong to say now. You hushed him and rocked him gently after you adjusted him to be more comfortable.

“It’s ok honey, it’s ok. I know it wasn’t you, it’s not your fault,” you tilted his chin to have him look at you in the eyes.

He made eye contact while the hot tears continued to pour down his face his. His lips wobbled into a light lipped frown and he slowly reached out to caress your face. You didn’t shriek this time or bat an eyelash; you let him take his time and touch your face.

Once you felt that warm touch make contact you leaned in and sighed happily. “There he is. My honey bun,” you cooed.

He ripped you down into this own embrace and sobbed onto the top of your head.

He yelled your name and held your head firmly against his chest and your body flush against his.

“I’M SO HAPPY YOU’RE ALIVE. I DON’T KNOW WHAT I WOULD HAVE DONE. I LOVE YOU SO MUCH I’M SORRY I SLIPPED UP AT SOME POINT AND SOMEONE MUST HAVE GOTTEN ME WITH THEIR POWER,” he nuzzled his cheek onto your head and tightened his hold on you. You let him. He needed to let it all out, so you did your best to breathe through the firm hold. You didn’t mind though you’d take this a million times over than what was happening earlier.

You have your hands pressed against his chest and give his chest some small rubs as your range of motion was restricted from his hold on you. “I love you too, I love you so much, welcome back,” you planted a kiss against his chest. “It’s not your fault we can think about that later. Right now, just hold me or I’ll end up crying again.”

He took in a big sniff to recollect himself and when he exhaled, he rolled you over onto him and gave you a giant bear hug while he rubbed his cheek against yours now. Your cheeks warmed and you couldn’t help but giggle loudly as the feeling of both your wet cheeks slip against each other.

His inner light started to flicker back at the beautiful sound of your giggles in his ears. He furiously peppered kisses all over your face as he sat up and kept you in his lap. His goatee tickling along your jaw and neck whenever he’d hear near certain areas which made you scrunch your shoulders up and squeak this time.

“Ok ok!! I can’t breathe over here!” you tried getting out of his hold by wiggling your body and kicking your legs out. He had you in a vice grip, you weren’t going anywhere any time soon unless he allowed it.

“I’m going to spend the rest of my life spoiling you rotten now. It’s what you deserve, it’s what I’ve been doing but this time times 10,” he said as he wiped your cheek with his hanker chief and then his own. “Whatever you want, whenever you want. You don’t even have to walk anymore if you don’t want to!”

Your cheeks flamed along with your neck at his declaration and couldn’t help but smile and avert your eyes to the side from getting too flustered. It was impossible for you to not get so flustered around him; he made you melt with even just a look.

“Don’t be ridiculous, I can walk I like to walk,” you playfully smacked his chest and shook your head.

Marco and Ace came back into the room smiling.

“We heard giggles and knew things were back to normal,” Marco said as he smiled directly at your burning face. You quickly turned your head towards your husband’s chest to hide your flustered expression.

Ace chuckled and walked over to crouch down and pat your head. “We’re happy things are back to normal,” he peeked up at Thatch and gave him a warm smile. “Welcome back Man.”

Thatch sighed with a smile and rolled his head forward right on top of yours making you jump and grumble. “Hey! You have a big head watch where you land that thing!” you puffed out and pinched his cheek.

He jerked and held his red cheek “Ouch! Hey I’m sensitive ya know, I just cried most of the water in my body have some sympathy!” he joked as he started to squeeze and tickle your belly. You broke into shrill laughter feelings more sensitive that ever from the freshly healed wounds making you double over and leaned against his chest for support.

The first and second commanders chuckled to themselves and took that as a sign that they should leave once more. Leaving you to fend for yourself for an entirely different type of attack.

“Don’t talk to me about sympathy!!” you wheeze out while you smacked his thighs. “Thatch stop it!!” you squealed out.

Despite your screams your heart felt 10 times fuller with joy. Your husband was back, you’re ok, and we figured out what the problem was.

Later that night after a deep shower you two shared a hearty dinner well after dinner hours and laid in bed with thatch big spooning like always while you face him. Your face was inches away from his chest feeling every bit of his body heat against yours.

“I love you sweetheart,” you whispered.

“I love you, mi vida~” he whispered against the shell of your ear which made you shiver and gasp.

This man. He knew. He knew what being called those sweet pet names do to you. You felt his fingertips lightly rake up your sides and spine making goosebumps rise from your skin.

You breathed heavy through your nose and curled your lips into a tight smile. You couldn’t resist and let out a soft sigh then look up at him through your lashes.

“Handsome~” you rubbed your thighs together already feeling the heat grow in between them. “Please take care of me.”

His expression changed to that of someone who was about to give the performance of a lifetime and make your cum your brains out. “Great use of your words darling. Now then,” he praised you and shifted himself over you and drinking you in with his eyes.

“Let me show you what I mean by spoiling you rotten times 10 means,” it was then he started lavishing your body with hot open mouth kisses till he reached your sweet clothed pussy.

“Cute underwear, I’m going to be ripping them off now,” he said as he used his teeth to rip the tiny fabric off not letting you get a word in.

The rest of that night was filled with loud moans and cries of ecstasy coming from your mouth. The air in the room was scented with sex and lust while Thatch took you body mind and soul with everything he had and you cum about 10 times before he stuck his dick in finally.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Morning came and Thatch decided he was going to take the day off and let his division run the kitchen for today.

He couldn’t dare break away from holding your naked body in bed. He was a natural early riser though, so he used this tranquil moment drink in the calm comforting silence and listened to the sound of your breathing. He took a nice deep breath and softly rubbed his chin over your head as he exhaled feeling so happy he was back to normal and with you in his arms alive and well.

He wasn’t joking even a little. Your life was forever changed; he was going to devote himself to you completely. Together forever and even in death you two will not part. He’ll come looking for you.

After word:

Marco and Ace had paid a visit to that tavern after getting out some vital information from Ace scouting shortly after. You guys weren’t that far from the island, so it was quick afternoon mission, they both finished in less than three hours.

That bar girl was not a problem anymore.

Fin.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Wow. What a roller coaster huh!! Haha!! I hope you guys enjoyed it!!

This wasn’t supposed to be that long but I just can’t help but be really detailed and specific about certain things. It’s (not) a problem!

Writing Thatch’s breaking point hurt me ohhh my goodness my baby!! Sorry Honey!!

Taglist: @corinnex7 @thatanonymouschocolate @jintaka-hane @thetempleofthemasaigoddess @ducky531

39 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Text

Always and Forever, Darling

You had known Beckman since you were in diapers, always teasing each other, running around the village, and training together. And while he grew big and muscular, with a dominating energy, you always stayed stealthier, preferring to run in the shadows. So it was only natural that when he joined the Red Hair Pirates, you stayed behind, continuing to pick up assassinations here and there.

Even though you didn't see him as often anymore, you were always in his mind. More often than not, Shanks would catch him staring out into the ocean, lost deep in thought with what could only be described as a lovesick expression, but he thought nothing of it; just thought the big guy was homesick.

As you both became stronger and more infamous, you found yourself collecting his wanted posters while he did the same, cutting them out of newspapers, storing them safely within his closet, though never out of reach from Shanks' comments.

"Hey big guy. What's with the cutouts? Don't tell me thats your secret wife or something. There's no way a woman that gorgeous would ever talk to you."

"Are you still a virgin? I ain't never seen you hook up with nobody on any of the islands we've docked at. Are you saving it for this woman~"

The day you crossed paths with him and the crew on your mission, Shanks thought he was going crazy. Poor guy saw you making out in the corner of the bar and the impact from his jaw hitting the ground probably created an earthquake. He never would've thought that Beckman was capable of love, let alone someone so different from him, so bright and gentle looking. He ran around the bar at least 10 times, double checking with the crew that his eyes weren't deceiving him, or that Lucky Roux hadn't poisoned him. But sure enough, you were one he gets those lovesick eyes for, the face that fills the holes in the newspapers.

After that, Shanks begged you to stay with them, knees and forehead bruised from begging (and probably some from Beckman's punches when Shanks exposed the foul mood he gets when he doesn't see your face in the paper). Despite his pleads, you had already spoken with Beckman and decided to continue living on your own, deciding that it was probably safer, though you exchanged numbers and promised to meet up every once in a while.

Spending your last few nights on the island together, you finally gathered the courage to ask the question that had been plaguing you since Shanks exposed Beckman. Wrapped tightly within his arms, you whispered, half asleep,

"do you really look for me in the paper?"

to which he replied,

"I look for you in the paper, and wish to the stars and the gods to keep you safe and for you to be in my arms once more. I love you so much that my crew has never seen a newspaper without holes".

"so you miss me then"

"Always and forever Darling."

21 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Text

when you're injured (benn beckman || red haired shanks || portgas d. ace)

summary: how they react when you get injured

a/n: the req asked for Beckman with Shanks or Ace being alternative options but i thought i’d do a more headcanons-style for this one so i wrote for all 3 :D

contents: fluff!!, big men being soft, very mild description of physical injuries (Shanks’)

wc. 1.3k

wanna be on my taglist?

Benn Beckman

no matter how extensive the injuries, he tends to remain calm. it would take an insane injury to make him sweat but 99.9% he’ll be pretty good at not panicking

for smaller injuries like a cut or a bruise Beckman prefers to tend to you himself

epitome of gentle giant :’)

like he aware he’s a BIG dude, his one hand could grab your entire face effortlessly

still, he’s super good at being gentle and soft when he’s patching you up

if you pout hard enough, you might even be able to coax a kiss out of him

for illnesses and more intense injuries, though, he’ll be quick to bring you to Hongo. it doesn’t matter how much you insist you’re fine, he can and will pick you up and bring you to the infirmary

if Hongo decides you need bedrest, Beckman won’t abandon his duties as First Mate (even if Shanks tells him it’s fine) but he will check in on you often throughout the day

“hey, darlin’.” you stir awake to a cold sensation on your forehead. in your sleep-ridden state you swear you hear a slight sizzle as the wet cloth lays on your feverish skin. “how’re you feeling?”

“like shit,” you groan, nose clogged and throat dry as hell. “can i have some water?” you lift up your arms to make grabby hands. Beckman chuckles as he pours you a glass and forgoes handing it to you entirely, opting instead to hold it up to your lips himself.

after inhaling the entire cup, you wrap your fingers around his wrist. blearily, you blink away the dryness in your eyes.

‘cute,’ the First Mate thinks to himself.

“take a nap with me?” you sniffle, the sound tugging at his heartstrings. it’s not very often you request such things from him, knowing how important his role is in the crew and the responsibilities that come with it.

“sure thing,” Beckman replies as he peels the cloth off your head and tosses it onto the bedside cabinet. scooting over, you make as much space as possible for him. it’s certainly a tight fit but he’s slept over in your quarters enough to be used to it.

once he settles into his usual position, you cuddle as closely to him as possible, curling into his chest. despite his cool and calm demeanor, you can hear how his heartbeat picks up.

“feeling shy, big guy?” you tease as you nuzzle into the crook of his neck.

“don’t be a brat,” he huffs lightheartedly but pulls you closer anyway.

–

Red Haired Shanks

contrary to how normal people would react, Shanks loves to overreact to small injuries and is always 100% calm during big ones

he still worries and panics on the inside, of course, but it’s because your life could potentially be in danger does Shanks feel the need to put on his Emperor persona. it won’t do anyone any good if he, of all people, starts to lose it

for small, tiny, insignificant injuries though he’ll go ALL OUT

cut your finger? he’ll gasp so loud the entire ship hears it. then he’ll stick your finger in his mouth to clean the wound but mostly to get you flustered

bump into a railing and get a bruise? he will threaten to cut down the entire structure in your honour

fall down the stairs? he will offer to carry you on his back for the rest of your lives so you’ll never have to use your legs again

you, and the entire crew, are already used to Shanks behaving this way–it’s just one of the ways he shows his love for you–so when he has a totally different reaction, everyone knows to brace for impact

the sound of your yelp snatches Shanks’ attention from across the battlefield as he deals a quick, final blow to his current opponent before spinning around to scan the landscape.

for a moment, it feels as though time itself slows to a crawl as the Emperor looks for your familiar face. he finds it several hundred of metres away and the sight punches the air straight out of his lungs.

there you are, weapon discarded and arms held back by two enemy pirates whilst a third mockingly brandishes a dagger in front of you. there’s a red patch already blooming across the lower front of your shirt.

in an instant, a wave of Conqueror’s Haki floods the entire area, rendering all enemies unconscious except for the dagger-wielder who’s merely knocked to the ground. you stumble backwards as you press your hand to your wounded torso, your sweaty face contorted in discomfort.

within the blink of an eye, Shanks’ appears between you and your assailant. from where you stand, all you can see is his tensed broad back. his remaining hand clenches the hilt of his sword so hard the veins in his forearm pop out angrily.

“y-you’re Red Haired Sh–”

“Hongo!” your captain and lover calls out abruptly, in a tone much too lighthearted considering the circumstances. “tend to my darling (Y/N), won’t you?” then he glances over his shoulder and shoots you a wink, “i’ll join you in a bit, my love.”

the crew’s doctor is quick to comply, even opting to carry you in his arms to prevent further aggravating the, admittedly, non-life threatening wound.

“don’t look,” Hongo warns with a laugh when he catches your eyes wandering behind him.

“i know.” you pout and glance away just as an agonised shriek tears through the air.

–

Portgas D. Ace

king of overreacting

this man cannot stand to see you in any kind of pain, it doesn’t matter how big or small

papercut? he’s rushing over with an alcohol swab and a bandaid

sprained ankle? he’s gonna carry you everywhere, no exceptions

that one time you actually almost kinda died? Whitebeard had to use his Conqueror’s Haki to knock him out cold because he was at risk of incinerating the entire island

it may seem excessive to outsiders but Ace’s moments of overreaction don’t tend to last very long because it’s more of an instinctive thing. once he’s gotten a grasp on what your condition is, he’ll calm down and proceed forth accordingly

Ace LOVES to fuss over you, though. so much so that sometimes you suspect he lowkey looks out for particular moments he can use as an excuse to glue himself to your side

“Ace, i literally still have my left hand.” you wave said appendage in front of his face. “i can feed myself just fine.”

“no, no, no,” he tuts, continuing to hold your bowl of soup and spoon hostage. “what kind of boyfriend would i be if i just let you eat while you still have a splint on?”

“a normal one?” you respond in a mildly annoyed tone but both of you know perfectly well how endearing you find all of this to be. “i’m not a baby, Ace, lemme eat by myself.”

“you’re not a baby but you’re my baby.”

he got you with that one, not gonna lie.

“yo-you can’t just say that!” you instinctively try to hide your face in your hands, only to let out a cry of pain when you move your injured arm without thinking. “owwwwwww…” you can’t help but groan and laugh at yourself at the same time.

“don’t move it!” Ace scolds, nearly spilling the piping hot soup onto his own lap when he jerks forward to hold your splinted arm in place.

although you continue to lightheartedly bicker with him, it isn’t lost on you how gentle his grasp on your injured arm is; and how much he starts to laugh as you continue to be annoyed.

his mouth might say, “stop being a pain and just drink the soup” but his eyes tell you: i love you more than words can say.

–

gen taglist: @irethepotato @i-reblog-fics-i-like @grierpilots @appalost @hyper-fic-ation @dressycobra7 @38lyra38 @chaseyui @paraparakiss @krooschl @teewon @olliesoxenfree @misstraffy @riftmage27 @aletch @somatchajade @kitsunechan707 @thesmolestsage @lunaizhere @saint-atlas @goldenpanda16 @jordan03400 @rebeccawinters @glorywielder101 @slytherinambitious @the0twst0shrimp0mc @stuckinmymind22 @lxpofthegods @huffle-my-puffs @imhwajaez @to-move-on-means-to-grow @fruitncandy @starchild-unnamed @sagyunaro @raebae0001 @stardust0709

330 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Text

Learning Lessons (S.R.)

Synopsis: You’re not even sure how it happened, but you’re in his bed, and you don’t want to go back Tags/Warnings: Rayleigh/F!Reader, smut, first time, swordswoman!Reader, marking kink, age gap, praise, degradation, creampie Word Count: 1420 Notes: This is the product of two requests for Rayleigh smut, which you can find here and here

AO3 | Fanfic Masterlist | Request Rules | Fic Trades Guide

I'm celebrating 500 followers - join the party and play some bingo

“That’s it sweetheart, you can do it.” He softly praised, and it sounded oddly like something he’d say in training, rather than with you spread out in his sheets. You moaned softly, back arching from the mattress, hips threatening to lift entirely, but a steel grip kept you pinned there. His fingers curled inside you again, brushing up against your g-spot and you couldn’t contain the whimper that rose from your chest.

“You wouldn’t even know you’d never done this before.” You could hardly even remember how this all started now, mind so clouded by the pleasure you were receiving.

You’d been training like usual, practising your form while Rayleigh watched on, waiting for you to either finish a series of moves or mess something up to comment on what you needed to adjust. He’d been training you for months now, and you’d not quite gotten to haki yet, but at least you were slowly becoming a competent swordswoman. All thanks to him. He barked out “stop,” as you did something wrong, and you paused exactly where you were so he could adjust your stance. It all went downhill from there.

It would take not having eyes to be unable to see how attractive Rayleigh is, but never once had you even considered that there was a chance of crossing the line between teacher and student to something more than that.

His fingers moved inside you and cut off your line of thought, an intense feeling building in your stomach, lip caught tightly between your teeth.

“Don’t keep those sounds from me.” Rayleigh scolded, his teacher voice emerging again, and then his finger prising your lip from between your teeth, allowing your mouth to fall open again with soft pants and moans.

You’d stood in the clearing, his chest against your back as he adjusted you, and for only a moment you’d wobbled on your feet, slightly unstable because of the way his leg was positioned between yours.

“Stand still.” He scolded, and you softly apologised, trying harder to maintain your stance. But you couldn’t help it, you didn’t have stable footing and so you wobbled again, your clothed cunt brushing against his thigh. The feeling was foreign and exciting, but you were determined not to show that it got to you. That was far too embarrassing, especially when Rayleigh undoubtedly had copious amounts of experience. But then it happened again, and that time you just hardly managed to muffle the sound that escaped you, but not enough for him to not notice it. Rayleigh stepped back slightly to inspect you, then stepped in toward your front in a way he never had before. His thigh returned to be between your legs, brushing directly against your clit, and you were screwed.

The fingers inside you withdrew just in time to prevent your orgasm, and you couldn’t even hope of preventing the whine that followed, or the needy buck of your hips chasing more friction.

“Needy thing,” he commented, standing to shed his trousers, revealing his long hard cock to you, “is this what you want?” He asked, and you nodded absently, eyes fixed on his length. It was huge. You wanted it so desperately, even if it was likely very ill advised. You watched as pre beaded at the tip, and licked your lips without truly processing what you’d done.

“Words.” He demanded firmly.

“Yes. Please.” Your voice came out soft, airy, hardly there at all, but that was enough for him. He stepped in closer at your side rather than crawling up the bed, and with a quick movement he had your wrist in his hand, and he guided you to touch him.

“You see what you do to me?” He asked with a smirk, and as you felt it twitch in your hand, you grew wetter. This was what you needed, and after this you weren’t sure you’d ever manage a full swordsmanship lesson again, but in that moment you weren’t sure you minded. When Rayleigh was satisfied with his teasing, he lifted himself over you onto the bed, one hand either side of your head. You watched eagerly as one hand drifted down your body, brushing over each of the marks he’d already left on your skin as he went, until his hand circled around the base of his length, guiding it to press against your entrance.

The heat of it made the moment more real. This was Rayleigh, your teacher, knelt between your thighs with his cock pressed against your entrance, waiting for you didn’t know what to begin to fuck you. His lips brushed lightly against yours, a small distraction from the situation, and then he was pushing inside you. You’d expected it to hurt more than it did, but you supposed he was experienced enough to know how to prepare you to help with that. A soft whine escaping you caused him to pause, pressing kisses down your neck.

“Don’t stop.” You encouraged breathlessly, and his chuckle made you near shiver.

“That’s it, pretty girl.” He praised. Your arms wrapped loosely around his neck, nails beginning to dig into one of his shoulders. Finally, he was fully seated inside you, and never had you thought feeling so full could feel so good. It was unlike anything you’d experienced before, and you knew you’d need it again and again.

“You’re going to ruin me.” You muttered.

“Sorry sweetheart, but I’m a selfish old man. Needed to have you.” He whispered against your ear, gently nipping it as he pulled away. He leaned into your neck to suck and bite, leaving behind a series of dark marks so everyone would know what you’d been up to. You clenched hard around him, and his hips stuttered, but he didn’t truly move, instead continuing his assault downward to your breasts. He took one nipple into his mouth, swirling around it with his tongue while he played with the other with his hand, pinching and rolling it between his thumb and pointer finger. You quickly became overwhelmed with the pleasure of it, head tipped back and eyes squeezed closed. You were going to fall apart, right there in his arms, without ever experiencing an orgasm.

“I’ve got you, pretty girl.” He cooed, borderline patronising, and then he began to rock his hips, giving shallow thrusts into you, just to start with. Though, that didn’t last long, he was pounding into you before you knew it, and all you could do was grip onto him and pray you didn’t lose your mind to his dick.

You’d heard your friends talk about sex before, but none of them described it like this. So all encompassing and overwhelming, but then maybe you were at an advantage with an older more experienced man pounding into you like it was more job than hobby. His lips brushed against your skin, a whisper of a kiss, and made shivers roll over your skin.

“You were made for this. To take a cock in that pretty pussy.” He murmured, and in a sudden flood of pleasure, that knot inside you unravelled all at once and an orgasm rushed through you. For just a moment, you were sure this was going to kill you, and then your vision returned and you could still feel his pulsing cock slamming into you with no reprieve, and wondered whether this very moment was heaven itself.

“Did you cum already? Naughty girl, cumming just from some light teasing and being full with cock from the first time. Don’t worry, there’s more where that came from.” He assured you, skilful fingers finding your clit to play with it as his thrusts persisted.

He hadn’t been lying, you had another two orgasms before he finally came, filling you with his seed, panting softly as he leaned over your body. Never had you expected for your first time to be like that, to lose your virginity and have an orgasm in the same night at all felt like a miracle, but three was something to brag about. Rayleigh pulled out slowly, and shuffled away to grab a cloth for you, which he tossed over from the bathroom doorway, where he leaned, wiping himself up too. You wiped yourself gingerly, cleaning your leaking hole with the lukewarm water.

“That was..” You finally said, and Rayleigh just chuckled.

“You enjoyed it then?” He asked, and you nodded quickly, “good. I think we’ll make this your new cardio training then. Next time you can be on top.”

Tag List: @claryeverlarkf @uselessboots @cainnoable @hyperfixationthingss @queenmimi2817 @fanaticsnail @mermaniaa

If you'd like to tip me you can head over to my Kofi

35 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Note

I’m sorry if this is a weird request but how Sanji would take care of a pregnant reader... Sanji can be reader’s partner or just a crewmate who wants to help out! I’m just curious how you see it ^ ^

I went ahead and added your craving idea right into the story!! Thank you so much for the request, it was super fun to write and I really appreciate you sending it in <3

🥰🍼 Only the best

Sanji x Pregnant Reader | Pregnancy Care | Domestic Fluff | Emotional Intimacy

The days had started to slow down, and so had you — just a little. Enough for Sanji to notice every shift, every sigh, every tiny stretch of discomfort across your face.

And the second he did, he was there.

Now, he barely let you do anything yourself.

Which was why you were sitting on a plush nest of pillows on the couch, your feet propped up and a silk robe loosely tied over your tank top, while Sanji stood in front of the stove — sleeves rolled up, apron on, concentration sharp as ever.

“Alright, my love,” he called over his shoulder, voice light but focused, “salmon, spinach, and sweet potato. Extra iron, high in folate, and yes — before you ask — the sauce is dairy-free and low-acid like Chopper suggested. How are we feeling about that?”

You smiled. “Honestly? I’m just glad you didn’t judge me for eating pickles dipped in ice cream at 2 a.m.”

He turned, offended in pure Sanji fashion. “Judge you? Never. I live to serve your whims. You want pickles and ice cream at 2 a.m.? Then I’ll be making crème brûlée with a dill pickle crumble at one-fifty-nine, just so it’s ready in time.”

You snorted — but the smile faded just a little as you shifted, hand resting against your belly, a small frown creasing your brow.

Sanji saw it instantly.

The stove went off. The towel came off his shoulder. And in seconds, he was kneeling in front of you, hands gently sliding up your calves as he looked up with those soft, ocean-deep eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

You hesitated. “Just… I feel huge today. My ankles are puffy. My clothes barely fit. I feel like a balloon with feet.”

Sanji didn’t laugh. He didn’t even smile.

He kissed your knee, then looked up at you like you’d said something sacred.

“You are growing life inside you,” he said, voice low and full of something raw. “There is nothing more beautiful than that. You are everything, mon amour. Always have been. Always will be.”

Your eyes welled — again. Stupid hormones.

You wiped at your face quickly. “God, I cry so much lately—”

And just like that, he was pulling you into his arms, gently rocking you as you pressed your cheek against his shoulder.

“No apologies,” he whispered, slipping a hand into his apron pocket. “And you know what I have right here?”

You blinked at him, sniffling. “What?”

He pulled out a chocolate bar like it was a grand reveal. “Crisis chocolate.”

You laughed through your tears. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m prepared,” he corrected, unwrapping it and breaking off a square for you. “Here. For my strong, gorgeous, life-growing goddess.”

You took it. And you felt better.

But he wasn’t done.

Later that night, you were stretched out on the bed, and Sanji was rubbing lotion into your belly with slow, tender hands. His touch was soothing, careful, reverent. The faint scent of cocoa butter filled the room.

“These are for strength marks,” he said, quietly. “Not stretch marks. You’re strong. That’s what they are. Proof.”

You reached for his hair, threading your fingers through it. “How do you always know what to say?”

“I love you,” he murmured, kissing your stomach. “And I pay attention.”

He massaged your feet next. Then your back. Then brought you water. You tried to get up to grab your sweater once — once — and he all but carried you back to bed himself.

“You don’t lift a finger,” he said firmly. “Not while I’m around. I’ve got you.”

But the moment that made your heart stop?

It came just before sleep.

He curled around you in bed, hand resting gently over your stomach, thumb brushing over the soft curve of where your daughter kicked.

“I promise I’ll be the best father I can be,” he whispered, voice almost broken with the weight of it. “She’ll never want for anything. She’ll never doubt how much I love her. How much I love you.”

You turned slightly, looking up at him. “She’ll be so proud to carry your name.”

But his expression flickered — just a little.

“I don’t know if I want her to,” he admitted softly. “The Vinsmoke name… it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s not who I am anymore. She deserves better than that legacy.”

You kissed his hand. “Then we give her a new one. A name that means love, and warmth, and safety. A name she’ll be proud of because it comes from you.”

He smiled at that — really smiled. And you felt him relax beside you.

“Mon trésor,” he whispered, brushing your hair back. “Whatever name she carries, she’ll carry it knowing she was made with more love than the whole damn world knows what to do with.”

You smiled, your heart so full it ached.

And as sleep finally pulled you under, his hand stayed exactly where it was — guarding, holding, cherishing the life the two of you had created together.

89 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Text

OP Men Headcannons

You hide an injury from them. Ft. Kid, Killer, Law, Sanji, Mihawk, Crocodile

Warnings: sfw, minor depictions of various injuries

Kid:

Lord help you if he finds out someone hurt you and you didn’t tell him

It happened during a fight against marines, you’d gotten hit in the ribs pretty hard during the one moment his back is turned

You don’t mean to hide it from him, you just don’t think it’s that’s bad

Takes him no time at all to notice, he’s always rough housing you and when the first jostle after the victory illicites a flinch- a real flinch- he’s already yanking you down to the med bay

Strips you down despite all protests, he’s not leaving any stone unturned and you soon find yourself standing in your skivvies being inspected

The bruises and busted blood cells along your ribs make him angry, but he gets really quiet and you’re almost scared

Normally Killer or Heat takes care of injuries on the crew, but today he does it himself, it’s sloppy work and he has to rewrap your bindings a few times but soon you’re all patched up, he makes you take a few pain killers, you don’t argue

You spend the entire time waiting for him to explode, his hands are shaking and he has to clench them often, you know he won’t take it out on you, but it’s surprising for him to bottle it up and not shout or threaten someone

It isn’t until that evening, after hes ordered the crew around and set a course, that he grabs your hand and drags you off

In the quiet of his cabin he asks ‘why didn’t you tell me’ you answer honestly, that you didn’t think it was that bad, that you’ve been hurt worse, that a few bruises didn’t matter

He explodes that of course it mattered, that he doesn’t want to ever find out you’re hurt hours after the fact, he threatens to not let you into battle again, though you both know he wouldn’t follow through

After a lot of arguing, him shouting and you deflecting, he finally admits that he was worried, that he thought he’d hurt you when he picked you up, you assure him you know he cares and apologize for not being up front

He doesn’t say sorry necessarily, but you can feel it as he gently cradles you in his sleep that night

Gives you princess treatment until the bruises are gone and though he complains about it constantly he will tie you to the bed if you try to do anything strenuous, and if he can’t supervise and assist you better believe Killer or one of the girls will

Killer:

You get hurt while cooking, accidentally spilling oil onto your leg, embarrassed you don’t tell him since you weren’t supposed to be in the galley anyways

Takes him a surprisingly long time to notice, he’s just so busy basically running the ship, it isn’t until he literally walks in on you days later changing the gauze bandage that he realizes something’s wrong

After he confronts you and realizes how long you’ve been able to hide this he feels awful, now you wearing pants all the time makes sense, not wanting to spar or cuddle

He’s upset with himself, he feels guilty that you didn’t wanna tell him you were hurt, now he’s questioning everything but showing no emotions, he starts to wonder if you’re scared of him or if you wanna break up

Baby boi spirals a bit so it’s up to you to bring him back to reality (or kid but let’s be real he’s not gonna help lol), you have to actively reassure him you love and trust him, that this was just embarrassing and you’re sorry

The second you say sorry he snaps out of it, insists you have nothing to apologize for, then he apologizes for not noticing and helping, he kinda overcompensates a little after that so just try to reign him in

He’s not letting you do a single thing after that, insisting you stay in bed and let him take care of your tasks for the next few days, don’t even try to argue or he’ll rope the rest of the crew and even Kid into this and you don’t want that

Please don’t hide things from him especially injuries, he’s insecure and will blame himself

Takes really good care of the wound and you heal way faster after his help

Law:

Probably knows you’re hurt before you do

You sprain your wrist while training, landing weird after deflected an ‘attack’ from Bepo

It’s not that serious so you just wrap it and move on, you’ve had sprains before, you have a few pain killers left over from a previous injury so you take those and apply a warm compress

He knows almost immediately something is wrong, he’s so obsessed in tune with you it’s easy for him to see the little signs of distress

You hold things with your non dominant hand, you sit or stand where your sore wrist won’t get bumped, you even skip drawing bc of it

He spends all of dinner trying not to say something, both bc the crew will tease him and bc he doesn’t know how bad it is yet, he’d hate to stress and injure you further in his worry

He summons you to the med bay after dinner, you’d honestly forgotten about the injury by now, but he asks to see your wrist

It’s puffy and a little more swollen than you expected when he rolls your sleeves up and takes your glove off, even with the pain meds you still flinch

He inspects you with an air of cold indifference, like he doesn’t care when that’s the furtherest thing from the truth, he’s panicking a little

You explain what happened and wave off his worry, much to his annoyance, when he’s done examining he lectures you about hiding injuries from your captain

Please take him seriously, he’s wound too tightly to take any teasing right now, not when it comes to your health and safety

Claiming you just didn’t think it was worth wasting his time, oh he nearly explodes, not in anger but exasperation, yeah you’re in for it now he’s pulling out charts and books on all the ways a sprained wrist could lead to death, you’re basically getting a college education on wrist sprains at this point, not to mention when you tell him you used heat for it

Yeah turns out you’re supposed to ice it for the first day or so then use heat, oops

He doesn’t take you off duties completely, he’s tempted but he knows he can’t show favoritism, but he does reduce what you do, Bepo taking on more out of guilt :(

He’s very gentle when handling you while you’re injured, but don’t you dare complain or he’ll give you a nasty glare, ‘maybe don’t hide shit from me and it won’t hurt’

If you’re really truly hurt though and need more care he’ll do it of course, but petty complaints will get you no where, especially after hiding it from him

Zoro:

He’s both observant and surprisingly dim, so it’s anyone’s guess what he’ll notice m, including injuries

You cut yourself while helping Sanji prep for lunch, it’s deep but not fatal so the cook just walks you over to Chopper to get a few stitches

Normally you would’ve mentioned it but then the ship got attacked by sea kings and you forgot, then the ship got attacked by another crew and you forgot

Soon enough it’s late at night, the crew finally sitting down to eat and in the hustle you end up sitting far away from Zoro, it isn’t until after the food is gone and the crew trickles to bed that everything comes to a head

Sanji refuses your help with clean up, saying you’ve already injured yourself helping him once today, Zoro freezes and it’s like all the air has been sucked out of the room, of course Sanji tries to badger Zoro into helping with dishes

Zoro asks what injury the cook is talking about, you show him the stitches on the side of your hand and he’s livid, Sanji makes it worse with his derisive comments like ‘how could you not know’ etc

It’s one thing for you to get hurt, that’s bad in and of itself, then you hide it from him that’s worse, and Sanji of all people knew before him? Yeah no he’s crashing out

Doesn’t matter that it was an accident, doesn’t matter that you didn’t mean to hide it from him, all that matters is he’s last to know (even if he’s not actually last he wasn’t first)

His frustration, worry, and shame all culminate in him fighting the cook again, once you get them separated and Zoro back in your bunk he’s shut down, acting like a petulant child

Doesn’t matter how you explain yourself, he’s upset and ashamed so he’s gonna stay that way, pouting in a corner sharpening his swords

Crawl into his lap and apologize, it’s the only way to break him, gently kissing his face would help too, finally he admits he feels like a bad partner for not noticing the issue sooner and for Sanji to be the one to tell him

His insecurities regarding relationships and protecting you run deep, it takes a while but eventually you get an apology and he’ll be back to normal

He won’t think to take over your tasks while you heal, but sees another crew member do so and jumps in as if he’d thought of it all along, you see right through him but it’s sweet how hard he tries

Sanji:

You may as well stab him, he’s so miserable anytime you’re hurt, it’s like both of you’ve been injured

So when you take a hit to the back of the head in a fight, you keep it between yourself and Chopper

The injury isn’t too bad, just a goose egg and a small cut, Chopper manages to close it with butterfly sutures, but you’re sore and cranky, you don’t feel like dealing with Sanji’s dramatics so you bribe the doctor with sweets to keep quiet

You manage to get through most of the week without incident, it’s only when Chopper slips up and asks about it while on deck that Sanji realizes you’re hurt

Cue the waterworks and rapid fire questions

Do you hate him, do you not trust him, do you not love him, do you wanna break up, do you hate him?

Somehow reassuring him is more painful than the actual wound, you eventually snap as he’s groveling on his knees literally, that shuts him up enough for you to lay into him

He lets you go off on him, about why you’d hide something like this in the first place, it’s really your only complaint in this relationship but it’s a major pain when it comes up

Once you’re done he’s back to blubbering, but it’s more subdued, once you reassure him that yes you still loved him and no you didn’t wanna break up, he asks if he could take care of you

You laugh and say how you’re honestly fine, just sore and tired, but he’s not having it, goes all out to make up for lost time

You get doted on long past the wound closing, each day filled with gifts and apologies, he takes over all your tasks without a single complaint

Please just tell him when something’s wrong, he might be a pain and a cry baby but he means well and he wants to take care of you

Mihawk:

Good fucking luck getting any past him, he’s too observant and nosey

It’s nothing serious, you literally just sprained your ankle while gardening, just a misplaced step and you went down

Mihawk was gone for a warlord meeting so you just ice and wrap it yourself, he calls you every evening on the den den mushi, but it’s always brief, he doesn’t have a lot of time and he can’t risk anyone overhearing him

So you don’t mention it, not like it’s painful or broken, just a little sore, he’s set to be gone for at least another week so it’ll most likely be better by the time he gets back, you go about your day as normal, just hobbling or using a makeshift crutch now

He notices something is off that very first call, you seemed like you’d started to say something but he’d been interrupted by a marine calling him back to the room, he’d tried to ask about it but you just told him you loved him and let him go, he barely paid attention in the meeting

He calls you much earlier the next day, making it clear to everyone not to disturb him for at least an hour or face Yoru, you’re pleasantly surprised and are so excited to talk with him it doesn’t occur to you something may be off, he notices it takes you longer to answer the snail than normal

Again he asks about your day, if you’re ok, if you’re safe, and you’re so sweet you think he means in the grand scheme of things, you assure him you’re fine and the island isn’t under attack or anything, he’s reassured but there’s still something that bothers him, you don’t even think to mention your ankle as you go on about the pair of cardinals you’ve observed lately and how you think they’re mates

It’s nice listening to you, but he can’t help but feel uneasy, he asks you several times if you’re alright, but your reassurances don’t soothe his nerves, so he leaves the warlord meeting, telling Sengoku to either let him leave or fight him, no one argues with him and soon he’s sailing straight back to you, of course you’re surprised and excited to see him

He’s horrified to see you, limping and flinching with each half step, his face is stoic but inside he’s devastated, he interrogates you fully, wanting to know why you’d hide this, of course you laugh it off but he’s so serious you finally realize how worried he is

Doesn’t care for your excuses, puts you straight to bed and does a complete inspection of you, checking for other injuries since ‘you like to hide things’ as he says, it may seem like he’s giving you the cold shoulder but in reality he’s just overthinking and worrying

Lectures you so harshly about keeping secrets from him that you actually cry, this makes him ease up and actually comfort and dote on you, he doesn’t let you leave the bed unless he’s carrying you, doesn’t matter what else he needs to do if you wanna be in the garden or library he’s carrying you there and propping your leg up, waits on you more than usual (which is already a lot tbh), no ask is too menial for him

Continues hovering and doting even after your ankle is better, you have to physically kick him away to get him to let you walk, once you’re better he lightly teases you about it, but please don’t ever do that again

Crocodile:

If it’s a soft tissue injury or bruises, he probably won’t notice for a while, but if you’re bleeding, good luck bc he’s got the nose of a blood hound

It was your fault honestly, he didn’t like you being around the Cross Guild or involved in any real crime, but you were a pirate as much as he was

You’d volunteered to supervise a transfer of goods, he was reluctant, but none of his own crew were available and he didn’t love the idea of only Buggy’s men handling such an important task so he agreed to let you go

It was smooth sailing, the entire trip had taken just under two days, you were sailing back when problems arose on deck, turns out you had a stowaway, the offender tried to single-handedly take over the ship, he didn’t get far before being cut down by you and the various clowns you’d been in charge of, however the bastard managed to land a lucky blow

None of Buggy’s crew seemed to notice your injury, a small laceration, just deep enough to need butterfly sutures, they were too busy tying the man up and lording their victory over him to care, so you quickly patched yourself up before the ship docked and the supplies were unloaded

Crocodile noticed right away, smelling the blood on you despite you changing your shirt, but when you didn’t immediately tell him, well he decided to wait, this was a common thing he did, wait to see how long before you confessed a transgression, tacking on ‘punishments’ as the minutes passed- usually ones of a risqué nature

You didn’t mention it bc you knew he would hold this over you the next time you wanted something, even if it was unrelated to piracy, it wasn’t the best idea but you thought you could hide such a small wound from him

So you acted nonchalant like always, not being too quiet or too loud, nothing to warrant scrutiny, though you did scale back how often you sought him out, trying to be subtle but of course he noticed

Crocodile made sure to stay on the side of the injured shoulder, accidentally jostling it often, watching to see you flinch up or cringe, he didn’t enjoy causing you pain (he kinda did), but he began to worry as days passed without you confessing

He’s not an insecure man at all, but he slowly stopped wondering why you didn’t confess and instead wonders why you didn’t confide, was he not someone you could trust, did you not know you could tell him everything, that yes he may tease and taunt but he was your lover, you should feel free to say anything you want to him

Suddenly this small wound you both keep dancing around, becomes more, he begins to escalate in the inside, questioning if you truly loved and trusted him, whether there was anything else you were trying to hide, if the injury was a cover, seriously someone please stop this man his thoughts are like a runaway train

He eventually confronts you about it, he’s so panicked and worried he legitimately asks if you injured yourself on purpose to distract him from another- worse- secret, he’s not crying but his voice and face look raw, the most open you’d ever seen him, so you admit what happened, and how you covered it up bc you knew he’d cite this as a reason not to let you fight

He’s both relieved and troubled by your confession, he believes you, once he calms down and has a chance to inspect the wound- now mostly healed- he is thinking more rationally, but he’s not pleased that you thought he couldn’t be trusted with this bc he’d use it as a weapon in the future, though he admits this is something he’d probably do and feel justified for

It leads to a long discussion over wine and cigars, lasting long into the night, about your dynamic, how it’s become less like partners and more ‘prisoner and warden’, something he detests, he loves your fiery nature and doesn’t want to stifle it, but he also worries as the world is dangerous and his even more so

Finally you both reach a point of understanding, he makes an effort to ease up his grip, and you promise to be more forthcoming, to not hide just bc of how he’ll react, this leads to you confessing a bunch of things he didn’t know about, like how it was you who accidentally threw out his cigar box thinking it was trash or how during the second year of your relationship you’d switched his coffee in the evenings to decaf so he’d come to bed sooner or how you’d faked sick once to get out of a boring meeting he was making you go to

He’s not even angry to learn all these little insignificant secrets, in fact he’s delighted, impressed that you managed to pull several over on him, it reignites his passion for you, reminding him why he pursued you in the first place, your ability to surprise and excite him, of course he keeps a stoic face and pretends to be upset but it’s obvious he’s smitten

He’s quick to remind you, that little cute secrets are one things- especially if you reveal them years later, he honestly finds that adorable- but don’t hide big secrets from him, you saw how he nearly fell apart over just a few days of uncertainty when it came to you, he spends the rest of your healing time being more attentive, carrying you like you were comatose, checking the wound often and even taking you to a doctor despite your protest, he also brings you more gifts- new weapons, jewelry, clothing, perfumes- as sort of an apology for not being more open

250 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Note

Can I ask for a Luffy x reader who is terrible at remembering faces and can only remember people by their distinctive traits so when the strawhat's reunite she's confused and doesn't Recognize Luffy until he gives her an over exaggerated kiss

A Kiss To Remember 𝜗ৎ

⋆˚࿔ Monkey D. Luffy x Reader ⋆˚࿔

⋆˙⟡ Words: 10,817

⤷ ゛Warnings: ˎˊ˗ emotional intensity/crying, memory loss themes, Public display of affection, profanity, fem reader

Sunlight poured into the room, illuminating dust motes dancing in the air. You sat at the kitchen table, a steaming cup of tea in front of you. The steam curled up, a ghost twisting into nothingness. Much like faces. You never remembered them. It wasn't a joke anymore. As a kid, it was cute—a quirk that would fade like baby teeth. But it never did.

You’d come back from a long summer at camp and stare at your grandparents, their faces smiling and warm, but a blank slate to you. Panic would rise in your throat, a bitter taste you were too familiar with, until your mother, her voice a lifeline, would tell you to give them a hug. And you would, as if you had known them your whole life.

It wasn't just faces. The world was in constant flux, a blurry watercolor painting. Birthdays, anniversaries, the names of your childhood friends—they all slipped away. The only way you navigated this ever-shifting world was by latching onto the concrete, the things that couldn’t be forgotten. The jagged scar above your father’s eyebrow. The way your best friend in elementary school always wore mismatched socks, one red and one blue. Your neighbor’s laugh, a sound like a flock of startled birds.

But if someone blended into the background, if their face was too ordinary, they vanished from you the moment you looked away.

The older you got, the harder it became. The weight of it all pressed down on you. You learned to pretend, to nod and smile and laugh as if you understood the private jokes and shared memories. You held onto fragments, a mosaic of memories and details that kept people anchored in your mind. Without them, they became strangers again. No matter how many times you’d met them, no matter how much you loved them, they would always slip into the blur.

In second grade, your teacher knelt beside your desk to help you with a math problem. You smiled at her, the way you would any kind stranger who offered help. When she said your name, you flinched, a cold dread washing over you. You didn't know hers, even though you saw her every day. Later, she caught you staring, a confused frown on your face. With a gentle hand, she tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, and you immediately locked onto the tiny silver star earring she wore. From then on, she wasn't Ms. Bailey to you—she was the teacher with the star earring.

At a middle school birthday party, you stumbled into an even more painful moment. A girl in a pink sweater handed you a soda, asking if you were having fun. You laughed, a sound that felt brittle and hollow, and pretended to know her. Her face, however, remained a blank. A flicker of hurt crossed her features as she frowned. "It's me, Y/N. Your best friend?" she said, and your stomach twisted. It wasn't until she raised her hand to push her hair back and her green charm bracelet caught the light that you finally recognized her. That was it—the only detail that made her real to you. The rest of her face might as well have been a stranger's.

High school was even crueler. You once walked right past your own mother in a crowded store, your shoulders bumping. You kept walking, not a flicker of recognition in your mind, until she called your name sharply. You turned, cheeks burning, realizing you had just ignored the woman who raised you. You told yourself it was the harsh fluorescent lights, the chaotic crowd, the way she'd changed her hairstyle. But deep down, you knew it was you.

And then there was the boy you liked. You never confessed your feelings, not because they weren't real, but because you couldn't hold onto him. His laugh echoed in your head like a favorite song, and his voice was a comfort. But his face? Each morning, with each fleeting glance, it slipped away. You tried to memorize him, staring a moment too long, burning every feature into your mind. But the second you looked away, the image blurred and smeared like wet ink on a page.

You've lived your life creating a catalog of people based on a single detail: a scar, a ring, a freckle, a hairstyle, a laugh. But never a face. Faces never stay. They never have.

The moment you stepped onto the deck, the air hit you—a sharp, briny taste on your tongue. The horizon stretched out before you, so vast and wide it was impossible to ever fully grasp it. And for the first time in your life, your forgetfulness didn't feel like a curse. On the Grand Line, people changed as fast as the weather. A friend one day could be an enemy the next, sometimes both in the same hour, and faces and names were as fleeting as a passing cloud. Pirates, Marines, bounty hunters, merchants… no one stayed long enough for you to need to remember them.

You found new ways to remember. The tavern keeper with the perpetually stained apron who always hummed a different sea shanty. The pirate with the ridiculous feathered hat that bobbed with every booming laugh. The bounty hunter who carried the distinct scent of gunpowder and oranges. These weren't just details; they were your anchors, enough for you to know who they were when it mattered and to forget them when they were gone.

This life of adventure suited you perfectly. The ocean was a living thing, restless and ever-changing, and you could finally melt into its rhythm without the familiar weight of guilt. Forgetting things no longer made you an outcast; it made you just another wanderer among countless others who drifted in and out of each other's lives. No one expected you to remember their name a week later, because they didn't remember yours, either. No one blamed you for staring blankly at their face, because by tomorrow they might be a ghost of a memory, lost to the tide.

Of course, it wasn't perfect. Sometimes, when your crewmates would laugh about something that had happened a month ago, you'd smile along, not remembering a thing. Sometimes you’d feel a jolt of panic when a stranger on the docks called out your name, a frantic scramble to place them. But you’d just tell yourself it didn’t matter. Out here, there was no past and no permanence—only the next island, the next storm, the next fight.

And maybe, you thought, just maybe, if you kept moving forward long enough, forgetting wouldn’t feel like losing anymore. It would feel like freedom.

You never intended to become known, but the Grand Line had a way of turning whispers into legends. At first, people just laughed at you—this peculiar girl who couldn't remember a face, who'd reintroduce herself twice in the same conversation, who'd call someone by the wrong name without a trace of shame. But your forgetfulness became a sort of charm. You were never cruel about it, just blunt. If you couldn't remember someone, you'd tell them straight. And somehow, people found it funny. Refreshing, even.

It helped that you never pretended to be more than you were. On Sabaody, when a group of mercenaries tried to start a fight with you, you beat them soundly—then, minutes later, you forgot who they were and asked if they wanted to grab a drink. In Alabasta, you saved a caravan from a sandstorm and promptly forgot the leader’s name three times in the same hour. He laughed until he cried, swearing he'd never met anyone like you. On Skypiea, you were celebrated not just for surviving the climb but for calling their High Priest "feather-hat guy" to his face.

Everywhere you went, you left people smiling, shaking their heads, retelling the stories of the strange traveler who couldn't remember faces but somehow remembered everything else.

Your journey carved a path few could ever claim. You walked among the women of Amazon Lily—an outsider, but accepted, because they admired your boldness and the way you laughed at their teasing without fear. You drank sake under the cherry blossoms of Wano, watching the lanterns float down the river, and the people there said you were odd but kind, and worth welcoming. You'd stood at the edge of the Florian Triangle, slept on Water 7's rooftops, and even stumbled through the frozen wastes near Drum Island.

It wasn’t always easy. You lost track of allies, sometimes even enemies. But you quickly learned that fame filled the gaps your memory couldn't. People recognized you even if you didn’t recognize them. They'd shout your name across a crowded harbor, tell stories of the places you'd been, the battles you'd fought, the sheer ridiculousness of your forgetfulness.

And so you made a name for yourself—not because you remembered the world, but because the world remembered you.

It had been years since you’d stepped foot on Amazon Lily, but the moment your ship touched the shore, the memories came rushing back—not of faces, not of names, but of a feeling. The smell hit you first: sharp and sweet, like sun-warmed fruit bursting open in the trees. The air itself felt heavy here, humming with life, sticky with the scent of blossoms that grew only on this island. You remembered the crunch of the soil under your bare feet, the way it always felt softer here, springy, and alive.

You couldn’t picture the people—you never could—but you remembered the little pieces of them, the fragments that stuck.

There was the tall woman with the feathered snake coiled around her shoulders, its beady eyes blinking as if it was just as curious about you as she was. There was another who always tied her hair up in thick braids and wore beads at the ends, so you remembered her not by her face, but by the clattering rhythm of those beads when she turned her head. And the trio of sisters—you remembered them because of their snakes. One snake had patterns that looked like painted flames, another was so big its shadow stretched farther than the hut roofs, and the third’s scales shimmered like emeralds in the sun.

You remembered the fruit they offered you—the one with a tough rind you needed a blade to cut through, but inside, it tasted like a mix of honey and citrus. You remembered the sound of the village waking up in the morning, women laughing as they fetched water, the steady drum of feet as warriors trained, and the wind whistling through the carved pillars that lined the paths.

Even now, standing on the dock again, you realized you couldn’t recall a single face waiting for you. But you remembered the warmth of the island. The smells. The songs that drifted through the jungle. The hush of the tide against the shore.

And that was enough to feel like coming home.

The moment your feet touched the docks, the island seemed to exhale around you. Voices rose all at once, familiar to them but strange to you—a chorus of laughter, gasps, and cries of your name. Women rushed toward you in a wave, their smiles wide, reaching for your hands and telling you how long it had been.

You blinked at them, caught off guard. Their faces swam in front of you, a blur of lines and shapes you couldn't hold onto. But then the details clicked into place: the clatter of braided beads, the shimmer of emerald scales, the feathered snake tilting its head in recognition. You smiled automatically, nodding, your laugh soft and a little awkward as you echoed their warmth back to them.

And then she came.

Boa Hancock, her presence like a blade in silk. The crowd parted without thought, heads bowing as she drew near. She stopped in front of you, her shadow long and elegant across the dock, her lips parted as though she were about to say something only she could say.

“It has been far too long,” her voice carried, low and rich. You froze. There was nothing to cling to here. No scar, no trinket, no detail bold enough to anchor her in your mind. Just a blur—someone impossibly striking, but faceless all the same.

The flicker of hurt in her eyes was sharp, almost hidden, but you caught it. “You… do not remember me?” she asked, her tone dipping into something dangerous. The women around her stilled, and the air tightened with tension.

You laughed nervously, shifting the bag from your shoulder. “I—I’m sorry,” you said honestly, because lying never worked for you. “Faces don’t stay with me. But…” you quickly pulled out the gifts you’d gathered from your travels: shells polished smooth by the waters of Water 7, a delicate hair ornament you'd bartered for in Wano, fruit seeds from an island that bloomed only under moonlight. You handed them out freely, and the women gasped with delight as they examined the treasures.

The tension cracked as the villagers’ joy bubbled over, their voices rising with gratitude, their hands touching your shoulders and arms. They didn’t expect you to remember them—most had long accepted that you never would.

But Hancock lingered, her arms folded, her face unreadable. She was “the most beautiful woman in the world,” after all. She had always believed beauty made her unforgettable. To realize even she could be erased from your mind felt like a wound she couldn't quite conceal.

And still, she didn't turn away. She watched you with a storm in her eyes, as if trying to decide if she was insulted, or if the fact you treated her like anyone else... somehow made her more human than she had ever been allowed to be.

For a long moment, Boa Hancock said nothing. Her gaze lingered on the seashell in your open palm—a soft shimmer of white and pink, carved smooth by distant tides. It was the kind of trinket no one would ever dare offer her. The Pirate Empress was showered in gold, silks, and jewels—treasures meant to prove devotion and worth. But a seashell? That was something a child might find and think beautiful simply because it was.

She hesitated, then—almost reluctantly—reached out. Her fingers brushed yours as she took it, a touch so delicate and careful it was as if she feared breaking something fragile. The crowd of women hushed, watching in stunned disbelief. Boa Hancock, who had once declared even kings beneath her, was accepting a seashell from a girl who couldn't remember her face.

But Hancock remembered you. She remembered the first time you set foot on Amazon Lily years ago, how your laughter had carried through the jungle like sunlight breaking through the clouds. She remembered your kindness, your curiosity, the way you never looked at her with fear or envy. You had treated her like a person, not a goddess, not a tyrant, not a slave marked by her past.

And now, standing before you, she felt something ache deep within her chest. You reminded her of a time before chains, before the Celestial Dragons, before her name was spoken with reverence and fear. You reminded her of an innocence she thought had been stolen from her forever.

The corner of her lips softened, almost against her will. She lifted the shell closer, cradling it as though it were the most precious thing in the world.

“Thank you,” she said quietly, so only you could hear, her voice stripped of its usual grandeur.

You smiled at her, your eyes bright, not because you knew who she was or what she carried, but because you were glad she liked it. That was all you ever wanted—to make people smile, to ease the weight they carried, even if you didn’t always understand the weight itself.

And maybe that was why she kept you close that night. Why she allowed you to sit beside her at the feast, why she let you chatter about the fruits you’d brought from other islands, and why she listened when she normally demanded silence.

Because in you, Hancock saw a piece of herself she thought long dead. And though you might never remember her face, she swore silently to herself—she would never forget yours.

The celebration stretched into the evening, lanterns swaying gently in the jungle breeze. You wandered between tables stacked with fruit and roasted meats, greeting women who waved you over. Their faces were a haze of indistinguishable lines, but you navigated the crowd with ease, letting their details guide you—braids, snakes, beads, scars.

And then you saw her.

A small, bent figure leaning on a gnarled staff, standing apart from the crowd with sharp eyes that seemed to miss nothing. You blinked, tilting your head, trying to place her. Her face wouldn't stay with you—already slipping away as you looked—but something tugged at your memory.

The cane. You remembered the sound it made when it struck the ground, a sharp thwack, thwack as she scolded warriors twice her size. And then, it clicked: the flower print robe she always wore, faded but stubbornly bright, as if she had stolen springtime for herself.

Your lips curved into a smile. “Ah! Flower-robe lady!” you said brightly, pointing at her as if you had just solved a riddle.

The old woman's eye twitched. With surprising speed, she raised her staff and brought it down on the top of your head with a resounding bonk.

“Ouch!” you yelped, clutching your head and laughing through the sting.

The woman’s voice was as sharp as ever. “Tch! You’ve got a worse memory than an old crone like me, girl!” she snapped, though a hint of amusement laced her words.

The gathered women burst out laughing, and even Hancock hid a smile behind her hand. You rubbed your head sheepishly, bowing a little as if the smack were a blessing instead of a scolding.

“I remember you,” you said, eyes bright despite the lump forming under your hair. “I just… don’t remember your face.”

Gloriosa snorted, clearly unconvinced, but the corner of her mouth twitched upward. “Hopeless child,” she muttered, shaking her head as she shuffled off. Still, you caught her sneaking another glance at you—something warmer than irritation hidden in her gaze.

And as the laughter rippled through the crowd again, you grinned. Even if you didn’t remember her, she clearly remembered you.

The forest behind Amazon Lily was a sea of green, thick with knotted vines and pierced by slivers of dappled sunlight. The air was a heavy perfume of damp earth and wild blossoms, and you let it pull you deeper into the quiet. Every leaf, every twist of root and curl of moss, was a new, fleeting wonder. A small thrill of solitude hummed through your veins, a moment you knew you'd cherish even if you forgot it by morning.

And then you saw them.

Two figures. Men. On Amazon Lily. Your heart seized. It felt impossible, a jarring note in the tranquil harmony of the jungle, and yet, there they were.

One was a young man, a force of pure, untamed energy. His hair was a chaotic mess of black ink, and his eyes, wide and bright with an almost ridiculous intensity, seemed to drink in the world. A straw hat hung crookedly on his back, and when he grinned, it was a grin too big for his face, a joyful, unburdened thing. He laughed like the world itself was a punchline only he understood, a sound that rang with a wild, infectious freedom.

Behind him, another man stood with a quiet authority that drew your eyes. Older, taller, his hair slicked back with streaks of gray. His presence was solid and purposeful, the build of a man who had weathered countless storms. A jagged scar ran down his left eye, a testament to battles fought and survived. He seemed to hold the chaos of the younger man at bay with a steady hand, a silent anchor in the whirlwind.

Your chest tightened, a small alarm buzzing in your mind. You stopped, ready to retreat. Then the older man's voice cut through the air, low and calm.

"Y/N."

Your name. It hit you like a physical force. Your heart stuttered, a familiar panic rising in your throat. You knew that voice. You knew it better than your own heartbeat, a sound that had been a silent anchor in your chaotic mind for as long as you could remember. And yet… the face remained a blur.

The young man with the straw hat shifted, his eyes sharp and alert as they darted between you and his companion. He had a lean, disciplined build, a body honed by countless hours of training. He was cautious but ready, every muscle poised. A brief, fractured image flashed in your mind—a memory of the two of them, the older man as a teacher, the younger as a student—but the moment you tried to grasp it, it crumbled into dust.

The older man, Silvers Rayleigh, offered a faint smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "You don't need to be afraid. It's just me. And... him." He gestured subtly at the boy.

Recognition clicked slowly, not with a jolt, but with a quiet settling of pieces. You knew this boy. You had known him before. Your stomach twisted. But the straw-hatted one? No, there was nothing. He grinned again, oblivious to your silence, and waved a lazy hand. "Hey! You're Y/N, right?"

You just blinked. Nothing. The chaos in your mind tried to match the chaotic energy radiating from him, but no faces came, no recollection of news, posters, or the Marineford headlines. Just a wave of heat, of life spilling from him in a way that made the ground feel unsteady.

"Are… you okay?" Rayleigh asked, his gaze as steady and calm as the sea on a windless day.

You nodded, because the overwhelming confusion in your chest was also… familiar. And in the blur of memory, you somehow knew you weren’t alone anymore.

You froze completely, blinking as if the forest had swallowed your thoughts whole. The two men watched you, but Rayleigh's expression softened as a weary kind of recognition dawned on his face.

He knew you. Of course, he did. He’d trained you years ago, taught you the basics, drilled you until you could barely stand. He had always been aware of your memory—or lack thereof. Faces didn't stick for you. Names rarely did. But he had thought, perhaps, after all those long days and nights together, that you might at least remember him.

Instead, you just stood there, your mouth opening and closing, your eyes wide with confusion. Finally, words stumbled out.

"Ruh... Reh... Re—" You pointed at him, your voice a little crooked, the syllables twisting into something unrecognizable.

He chuckled, the sound rich and warm, like sunlight breaking through the canopy of leaves above. And just like that—you remembered. Not his face, not his name perfectly, but that laugh. That exact laugh, low and carrying a weight of mirth, patience, and kindness. Your lips curved instinctively, and the first spark of recognition struck.

"R—Reh-ly!" you said finally, more of a shout than a sentence, and he laughed harder, shaking his head.

"Close enough," he said, amusement shining in his eyes. "I'll take it."

You blinked again, and then your voice took on a new lilt, a hopeful, uncertain thread. "You... taught me... the... the moves... the sword stuff... with the—uh, the big pirate?" You waved vaguely, trying to gesture at the memories you did hold. "And... you... Roger's crew? Yeah. Roger's crew!"

Rayleigh's smile softened, almost fond, and he shook his head. "Not bad," he said. "Not bad at all. You remember some of it, and that’s enough."

The raven-haired boy, who had been standing quietly beside him, watched your entire interaction. He tilted his head, a small frown of curiosity on his face. You were a whirlwind of memory and confusion, yet somehow... somehow, you had anchored Rayleigh. And for a moment, in the rustling quiet of the jungle, it felt as though the past and present had folded together, allowing fragments of old days to reach out and touch you again.

Before Rayleigh could reply, the straw-hatted boy erupted in laughter, a sound so loud it echoed through the trees. “Wait—Reh-ly? That’s what you call him?!” he howled, clutching his stomach and staggering slightly. “Man, I’ve never heard that before! Hahaha, that's great!”

Rayleigh groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, but you couldn’t help smiling. There was something infectious about the boy’s energy—it was carefree, wild, and utterly unbothered by etiquette.

He waved a hand at you, bowing slightly in a comical attempt at charm. “Hey! I’m Luffy! Monkey D. Luffy,” he said proudly, flashing a grin that was entirely too large for his face, but somehow, it suited him perfectly.

You hesitated for only a heartbeat before stepping forward and holding out your hand. He took it immediately, gripping it firmly, his eyes bright with excitement. He was around your age, maybe a bit taller, and you could feel the energy radiating off him like sunlight trapped in a bundle of motion.

“Nice to meet you,” you said cautiously, letting your fingers brush his. There was something simple about him, an easy honesty that was impossible to fake.

Luffy’s grin widened even more, as if you had just said the funniest thing he had ever heard. “Yeah! Nice to meet you too!” He gave your hand a hearty shake, up and down, up and down, almost enough to make you stumble, but you held on.

Behind him, Rayleigh shook his head, muttering something about "chaotic as ever," but you didn’t notice. Your attention was entirely on this energetic, laughing boy, whose presence somehow made the forest feel brighter, as if the leaves themselves were swaying in time with his excitement.

And for the first time that day, surrounded by confusion and forgotten faces, you felt a spark of certainty—at least about one person.

Sunlight filtered through the jungle canopy, casting bright, dappled patterns across the ground as you wandered with Luffy. He was a force of nature, running ahead and then doubling back with a laugh, pointing out strange, colorful fruits and bizarre-looking birds. He’d show you the perfect vine for a quick swing over a creek, and you’d laugh, sometimes stumbling to keep up. But every time you did, he was there, a steady, grinning presence, making sure you never fell too far behind.

He talked constantly, a rambling, joyful stream of everything and nothing, and somehow, it was the most comforting sound in the world. You noticed your stomach coiling and fluttering around him in a way it never had with anyone else. His energy wasn't overwhelming—it was protective, in a strange, effortless way. With him, the world felt safer, and you found yourself relaxing, your usual hyper-awareness of your surroundings fading just enough that you could finally breathe.

At some point, you stopped near a small waterfall, the mist a cool relief against your skin. Luffy perched on a slick rock, swinging his legs with an impossibly carefree air. You wanted to say his name—you’d been calling it in your head all day, trying to lock it down—but when you opened your mouth… your mind went blank.

“I… uh…” you stammered, blinking at him, your cheeks warming with a familiar embarrassment. “I… I can’t… remember your name.”

He tilted his head, a single eyebrow cocked, but the bright smile never left his face. “You… don’t remember?”

You shook your head, your voice small. “No. I have a bad memory. Faces… names… they just don’t stick. I can usually only remember little things about people. Something they do, or a small detail. Things that stand out. It’s… it’s hard sometimes.”

He laughed—a warm, booming, and entirely genuine sound that made the nerves in your stomach flutter and untwist into that familiar, easy coil. “Then I guess you’ll just have to remember me by this,” he said suddenly.

Before you could even ask what he meant, he leaned in, his lips pressing against yours. It was soft at first, but steady and surprisingly tender. Your heart thumped against your ribs so loudly you were sure he could hear it. Everything seemed to fall away—the dense forest, the weight of forgotten memories, the constant confusion—and all that remained was the warmth of his lips and the quiet rhythm of the moment.

When he pulled back, just slightly, he was grinning like it was the most natural thing in the world. You could only stare, cheeks burning, your heart still racing. Somehow, amidst all your forgetfulness, this—this kiss, this feeling—you knew you would carry it with you forever. Even if you forgot his name, you would always remember him.

You stumbled back a step, your face flushed and your words tumbling out in a flustered rush. “I—I… wha—” You ended up lightly smacking his shoulders, a clumsy, embarrassed attempt to regain control, but he just laughed, undeterred, his grin wide and his eyes sparkling with mirth. “Hey, hey! Calm down, Y/N! You’re all red!”

You huffed, pressing your hands to your burning cheeks, but a smile broke through. Somehow, his energy made everything feel lighter, warmer. There was no judgment in his eyes, only that chaotic, reassuring grin that made your stomach flutter in the best kind of way.

You spent the rest of the day wandering through the jungle with him, the sunlight filtering through the canopy in bright, dappled patches. You shared stories on sun-warmed rocks, laughed at each other’s clumsy missteps, and simply watched the world move around you. You lingered close, your arms brushing and your shoulders touching, and it felt natural, as if you had always been meant to be near him. You felt safe.

At one point, you watched Rayleigh train him. Luffy moved with an odd combination of carelessness and raw instinct, striking, dodging, and leaping as Rayleigh corrected him gently, occasionally rolling his eyes but never scolding too harshly. You leaned against a tree, fascinated by the dance between teacher and student, and by the way Luffy’s eyes always sparkled when Rayleigh smiled or nodded in approval.

Later, as you sat beside him by a trickling stream, he spoke softly about his crew. His tone shifted when he mentioned Ace, his voice heavy even though he tried to mask it with a small laugh. “He… he was my brother, y’know? And…” he trailed off, his fingers picking at the water’s surface. “Sometimes I feel like it was my fault… that I couldn’t save him.”

Your heart twisted at the pain in his words. You reached out, your hand brushing his, and looked him in the eyes. “Don’t you dare think that,” you scolded softly, your voice firm but comforting. “Ace… your brother… it’s not your fault. You were doing everything you could. Stop blaming yourself, Luffy.”

He looked at you then, really looked, and a small smile broke through the weight he had been carrying. You stayed beside him, and somehow, sitting there together, the two of you seemed to glow—not literally, but in the way the world seemed brighter when you were near him. The light caught in your hair and his eyes, warmth pooling in your chest, laughter spilling easily, comfort wrapping around you both like a shield.

For once, forgetting faces and details didn’t matter. Because here, in this moment, you remembered how he made you feel—and that was enough.

It became a silent pattern, a wordless agreement between the two of you. Whenever your mind slipped, and you opened your mouth to call him by the wrong name or blanked entirely, Luffy would simply grin and lean in, pressing a quick, reassuring kiss to your lips. It was never long or complicated—just a soft touch to anchor him in your mind. Every time, your chest would hum, your cheeks would warm, and your memories of him would solidify, even if only for a little while.

Months passed swiftly. You stayed on Amazon Lily longer than you ever had before—a week turned into two, and now it was closer to a year. You and Luffy were inseparable, your routines intertwined. You explored the forests, raced along the cliffs, and laughed under the sun. He would tell you stories of his crew and their adventures, his voice softening when he spoke of Ace. In return, you would listen, offering comfort when the past pressed on him too heavily, and he would fill your days with laughter and a gentle lightness.

But of course, secrets have a way of finding their way out. One afternoon, Boa Hancock appeared without warning, the air seeming to part for her presence alone. You had been laughing at something ridiculous Luffy had just done—he’d tried to swing across a vine and ended up sprawled in a pile of leaves—and when she saw the two of you, she froze.

Her eyes narrowed, sharp and glimmering, and her usually calm, composed demeanor faltered. Luffy was leaning close to you, his arm brushing yours, laughing freely as you teased him. And you… you were glowing in a way that wasn’t just from the sun. Your laughter, the warmth between you, the easy, comfortable closeness—it all spelled out the truth.

Hancock’s jaw tightened. She had always liked you—perhaps more than she would ever admit—and she had, foolishly, assumed Luffy’s attention would eventually come her way. She had imagined him noticing her first, always her. But now… she saw everything. Luffy liked you.

For a moment, she said nothing, then quietly, almost to herself, she muttered, “So… it’s her.”

You didn’t notice at first, lost in laughter with Luffy, until a sudden hush fell over the clearing. You looked up, cheeks still flushed, and met Hancock’s gaze. She said nothing else, but the weight in her eyes, a complex mix of jealousy and reluctant acceptance, told you everything you needed to know.

You glanced back at Luffy, who grinned like nothing had changed, completely unaware of the silent storm you had just witnessed. And you realized—half a year, a year—time on Amazon Lily had changed more than just your routine. It had changed you, it had changed Luffy, and now it had changed even the Pirate Empress in ways she hadn’t expected.

And somehow, despite the awkward tension, you felt safe. You felt… like you were home.

The day arrived far too quickly, and the air felt heavier than usual as your time on Amazon Lily drew to an end. Your hands trembled slightly as you packed your few belongings, your heart tight in your chest. You had never stayed anywhere this long before—never allowed yourself to grow so attached. Leaving Luffy, leaving this island, felt like ripping a piece of yourself away.

You found him waiting at the dock, his straw hat perched crookedly on his back. His grin was as bright as ever, but you could see the worry in his eyes, a small flicker of something he couldn't quite hide. You swallowed hard, forcing a smile to your lips.

"I… I’ll see you again, right?" you asked softly, your voice catching.

He stepped closer, tilting his head. "Of course! I’ll see you again. I’ve gotta sail with my crew for a bit, but… I will find you. And when I do, we’ll meet again, I promise." His grin widened, and it was impossible not to believe him. "You wait for me, okay?"

You nodded, your heart thumping, your hands tightening around the straps of your bag. "I’ll wait," you said, your voice barely a whisper. "I promise."

Luffy reached out, his hand cupping your cheek gently, and he leaned in. The kiss was soft but firm, a grounding, anchoring touch that made your chest ache with warmth. You could feel him in your mind, in your heartbeat, a piece of him solidifying so that even if your memory faltered, this moment would stay.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested briefly against yours. "Don’t forget me, Y/N," he said, his voice low, teasing, and filled with an absolute, unwavering certainty.

You blinked, your cheeks flushed, and you managed to whisper, "I… won’t."

He gave you one last brilliant grin, tugged his straw hat into place, and stepped back. "Then I’ll see you again, I promise."

And as your ship sailed away from the island, you pressed your hands to your chest, feeling the memory of his kiss burn bright against your skin. A deep, soulful ache of parting settled in, but you let yourself smile. Somewhere out there, you knew, Luffy would be keeping his promise—and somehow, you would find your way back to him.

The days on the ship blurred into a rhythm of wind, waves, and the endless horizon. Amid the constant motion, you felt a hollow ache of absence, a quiet weight in your chest. You remembered him—the feeling of him—more than anything. You remembered the warmth in his laugh, a sound that could make the sun feel smaller beside it. You remembered the way his grin was so big and bright it was almost impossible. You remembered the straw hat he’d plopped on your head whenever you looked lost, the careless tilt of it that somehow made you feel safe. You remembered the soft press of his lips, the way his energy seemed to fold around you and hold you steady when everything else felt uncertain.

But his face… that slipped. Slowly, inexorably, the edges blurred. The sharp tilt of his jaw softened, his messy black hair lost its texture in your mind, and even the brightness of his eyes began to fade. You tried, so desperately, to hold onto him, to memorize every detail, but it was like trying to clutch smoke. The harder you gripped, the faster it slipped through your fingers.

His name, too, twisted itself on your tongue. It was there one moment, teasing at the edges of memory, and gone the next. You found yourself stammering when you thought about him, calling him “the straw-hat boy,” or “the funny pirate,” anything to give shape to the empty spaces in your mind.

At night, when the ship creaked and the stars reflected off the dark water, you pressed your hand to your chest and felt the echo of his kiss. The warmth lingered like a memory that didn't need a face. You missed him fiercely—missed the way the world felt lighter with him near, missed the easy comfort of his presence, missed the spark that made your heart hum so violently.

Even as time moved forward, even as other faces and other places crowded into your memory, the space he had filled stayed hollow, a constant tug at your chest. And though you couldn't picture him clearly or say his name aloud without stumbling, you carried him with you—the way he made you feel, the way he made you remember being alive.

At every port, in every crowded harbor, your eyes searched desperately. You scanned faces in the streets, in the taverns, along the docks—searching for him. The one you could never quite remember fully, whose name slipped through your mind like water, whose face blurred no matter how tightly you clutched the memory.

You didn't know what you were hoping for, exactly—a spark of recognition, a familiar laugh, even the tiniest flicker that said he was near. But your chest twisted every time someone’s eyes weren't his. You found yourself tracing the curve of strangers’ smiles, the tilt of their hats, the careless energy they carried, hoping, always hoping, that it was him.

And always, it wasn’t.

A year passed in this pattern. You wandered from island to island, a part of your life consumed by the chase for someone you could barely remember. Each time a crowd parted and you glimpsed a flash of messy black hair or wide, laughing eyes, your heart would leap, your stomach fluttering as if it recognized something your mind could not name. And each time, it was a stranger.

Still, you refused to stop. You clung to the way he had made you feel, the warmth in your chest when he was near, the reckless safety of his presence. Even without a face to anchor, even without a name to hold, that feeling alone was enough to pull you forward, crowd to crowd, island to island, always searching, always hoping, always believing that someday—you would find him again.

You tried everything you could think of to lock him in your mind. Alone in the quiet of your cabin at night, you sat with your eyes closed, your hands pressed to your temples. You repeated the fragments you remembered over and over—his laugh, the weight of his grip, the careless tilt of his straw hat. You traced imaginary lines across his blurred features, willing your memory to pull him into focus, willing your mind to make him whole again.

You whispered names under your breath, one after the other, hoping one would stick. "R... Reh-ly?" No. "L... Luff—Luffa? Lufan?" You winced at each failed attempt. The syllables stumbled out wrong, twisting into shapes that weren't his, no matter how much you tried. You knew, somehow, that his name started with an "L," but even that small detail mocked you.

Sometimes you wrote it down, jotting combinations of letters over and over in your journal, crossing them out in frustration, tracing the lines with your fingers until your palms ached. You stared at the pages until the ink blurred, hoping the act itself would etch him into your memory, even as his face refused to come.

You tried to retrace your steps from Amazon Lily in your mind, recalling the warmth of the forest, the feel of his hand brushing yours, the way his energy seemed to fold around you like a shield. But all you could hold onto was the feeling—the fluttering in your stomach, the thrum in your chest—and the fragments of laughter and stolen kisses.

Every attempt ended the same way: a hollow ache, a failed name, a blurred face, and the stubborn, undeniable certainty that he existed somewhere out there, waiting for you to find him again. And so you kept trying, day after day, island after island, clinging to the hope that one day, the memory of him—and his name—would finally come back.

A year had passed—or maybe even longer—since you last saw him, since the straw-hatted boy had pressed a kiss to your lips and promised he’d see you again. Two years had passed since you first met him on Amazon Lily, and the memory of that day had become a constant ache and a quiet warmth all at once. The details were hazy, the faces blurred, but the way he made you feel… that lingered.

Now, you were on a small, unassuming island, one of the many waypoints travelers used to stock up on supplies, mend sails, or simply rest. It wasn’t a bustling hub like some of the Grand Line’s larger ports, but it had a quiet charm—a collection of low, sun-bleached buildings, marketplaces shaded by cloth awnings, and the salty tang of the ocean carried on the wind.

You’d been here for a while, known to the locals not by your face, but by your energy. They knew you by your bright laugh, by your kind words, and by the helping hand you always offered. Merchants greeted you warmly, children waved as you passed, and the few visiting pirates who lingered eyed you with curious respect. You had made a name for yourself here, just as you had across the Grand Line: the girl with the bright laugh, the strange memory, and the uncanny ability to make people feel seen.

Even so, every morning you would wander the island, your eyes scanning the small crowd of travelers, sailors, and merchants. You were half-hoping, half-praying to see him again. You didn’t know why you kept looking—the odds were impossibly slim—but your chest still ached for him, and no memory loss could erase the pull he had on your heart.

Some days, you helped a merchant carry crates, laughing at the way their parrot squawked angrily at your clumsiness. Other days, you sat by the dock, watching ships come and go, tracing the lines of their sails and imagining him among the crowds, imagining his grin appearing just over the horizon.

And even as you moved among people who knew and liked you, your eyes always searched the edges of the crowd. Always. Because somewhere out there, across oceans and islands and endless seas, he existed—and maybe, just maybe, today would be the day your paths crossed again.

You were weaving through the bustling marketplace, your eyes flicking over crates of fresh fruit and bundles of dried herbs, when someone bumped into you. It was a jolt, a stumble, and you looked up.

Standing before you was a man with curly hair and a long, unmistakable nose, his eyes wide and slightly apologetic. He was lanky, his arms long and a little awkward as he tried to balance the precarious stack of crates. A spark of recognition flashed through you, but your mind scrambled immediately. Long nose… his crew… that's right, isn't it? Or no? Did he even say that? You must be wrong…

"I—I'm sorry!" you exclaimed, stepping back to give him space.

"No, no, it's my fault! I wasn't paying attention—too many crates," he said quickly, shifting them in his arms. His voice had a nervous energy to it, and you noticed the way he twisted his mouth when he spoke, as if every word required extra effort.

Without thinking, you stepped forward and helped him adjust the load, stacking a few crates more securely. "Here, let me help," you said, your hands steadying one of the larger bundles. He blinked at you, his eyes slightly startled, then nodded gratefully.

As you worked together, your gaze lingered on him, trying to trace a memory. "Have… we met before?" you asked cautiously, your voice low. Your stomach coiled nervously. You didn’t know why the feeling of familiarity tugged at you—he wasn't him, but… something about this man made your chest flutter, like a tiny spark of recognition you couldn’t quite grasp.

He tilted his head, furrowing his brow. "I don't think so… unless you've bumped into a lot of people with long noses carrying crates," he said with a nervous laugh, brushing some stray curls from his forehead.

You chuckled softly, still staring at him as if hoping the right connection would magically appear. "Yeah… maybe… or maybe not. I just…" You paused, shaking your head slightly, frustrated with yourself. "I—I can't quite remember."

He smiled gently, still slightly flustered, and shifted the last crate into place. "Well, at least we're good now, right?"

"Right," you said, brushing your hands off and glancing at him again. There was something so familiar in the way he moved, in the nervous tilt of his head, in the careful way he balanced the crates. You couldn't place it, and it frustrated you endlessly. But still, a small warmth bloomed in your chest.

Maybe I’ll remember… eventually.

And for now, helping him had anchored you to the present, even if the past refused to reveal itself.

You followed the lanky man with the curly hair and long nose through the docks, carrying a few of the smaller crates beside him. He moved with a nervous energy, constantly glancing around and muttering about how heavy everything was and how the sun was “way too bright for this much work.” You couldn’t help but smile; there was something endearing in the way he fussed over every crate, adjusting them a dozen times before he deemed them “perfect.”

"Uh... so… you’re helping a lot," he said, scratching the back of his head, his voice a little high-pitched with embarrassment. "Most people would just watch me struggle or… or yell at me."

"Well," you replied, smiling, "I figure if someone’s struggling this much, I can help. It's easier together, right?"

His eyes lit up, and he nodded vigorously. "Yeah! Exactly! Together! You're… you're really nice." He looked away quickly, embarrassed, then muttered, "I'm Usopp, by the way. Long nose… yeah, that's me."

"Y/N," you said softly, offering your hand again. He blinked and shook it, careful as if it might break.

Together, you carried the crates toward a strange ship docked just beyond the pier. It was a beautiful vessel—curved and bright, with a figurehead of a lion smiling boldly. You didn’t quite understand what the Thousand Sunny was or why it mattered, but the ship seemed alive somehow, as if it belonged to people who were full of stories.

Usopp jabbered happily the whole way, telling you about how the ship could float on just about anything, how the decks were “super safe,” and how he always had to keep an eye out for pirates or any kind of danger. You listened, fascinated, feeling that flutter in your stomach again—not like before, not him, but the same kind of warmth that came from someone whose presence made you feel safe and alive.

When you finally stepped onto the ship, the first person you met was a woman with bright orange hair, sharp eyes, and a scolding glare that seemed to cut through Usopp’s nervous energy like a knife. She folded her arms and stared directly at you.

"Usopp! Why did you bring a stranger onto the ship without telling me?" she demanded, her voice firm but not unkind.

Usopp flinched, scratching his head. "I—I just… she was helping me with the crates! She's really good at it!"

You stepped forward, trying to smile, your hands raised a little in a calming gesture. "I'm sorry if this is… unusual. I didn't mean to cause any trouble. I just wanted to help."

The orange-haired woman’s eyes softened slightly as she studied you. She nodded slowly, but her gaze flicked back to Usopp, who was still mumbling excuses.

"I’m Nami," she said finally, turning her attention back to you. "And you… seem… earnest. That's rare. But Usopp better not do this again."

You chuckled lightly. "I'll be careful," you said. And though the first encounter was a little tense, there was a warmth in Nami’s gaze, like she recognized someone genuine—someone who cared without needing a reason.

Usopp breathed a huge sigh of relief beside you, muttering something about a “scary navigator,” and you laughed quietly, feeling the beginnings of a strange, new kind of family forming around you.

After setting down the last of the crates, you leaned against the railing of the Thousand Sunny, finally letting your shoulders relax. Your hands still smelled faintly of salt and fruit, and your heart still thumped from the day’s work—but you felt a small thrill in your chest. You had helped, truly helped, and no one had scolded you (well, not too much).

Usopp was busy fawning over the ship’s deck, pointing out how sturdy the wood was and how the railing was perfect for keeping a lookout. His long nose twitched as he chattered to himself, a constant murmur of nervous energy. You followed along quietly, curious about the ship, but also feeling a strange sense of anticipation.

Another figure appeared from below deck—tall, broad-shouldered, carrying a crate that seemed impossibly heavy. His hair was a vibrant green, short and slightly messy, and his eyes held a sharp, calculating edge. You knew, somehow, that he was someone important, someone strong, though the details of why escaped you. He set down the crate with a grunt, then glanced at you briefly, his gaze cutting through your quiet curiosity.

You noticed the way he moved—deliberate and precise—and the quiet confidence in his stance. Even without words, he gave off an aura of strength. Usopp immediately stiffened beside you, muttering, “Y-Yeah… that’s… that’s him… Zoro.”

“Zoro?” you repeated softly, a frown creasing your brow. It was strange to hear a name attached to a person you barely remembered—or maybe you had never seen him before. Still, the green-haired man gave you a brief nod before returning to his work, ignoring the nervous banter around him.

You watched him for a moment, cautious but captivated. There was something about the way he carried himself, that calm intensity, that drew your attention even as your memory refused to fully anchor him. You didn’t say anything, just observed, storing the impression—another piece of this strange new world you had stepped into.

Usopp, still flustered from the encounter with Nami, sidled closer to you. “Don’t worry about him,” he muttered nervously. “Zoro’s… scary sometimes, but he’s really strong. And he’s… well… he’s a good guy.”

You nodded, still keeping your gaze on the green-haired man. You sensed that this crew—these people—were going to be more than just names or faces. Somehow, you could already feel the warmth and the strange, new connection, even if you didn’t yet understand it fully.

You stayed near the crates with Usopp for a while, the two of you chatting as the sea breeze blew through the Sunny’s sails. Usopp was surprisingly easy to talk to—he had a way of filling silences with stories, sometimes grandiose, sometimes clumsy, but always full of a nervous, infectious energy.

“And then—boom!—with one shot, I saved an entire village from a massive fish-man army. Everyone was cheering my name: Usopp! Usopp the Brave Warrior of the Sea!” he declared proudly, hands on his hips, his chest puffed out.

You tilted your head, skeptical but amused. “Really? …all of that?”

“Of course!” Usopp nodded vigorously. “Why would I lie about that?”

Before you could answer, a man with blond hair swept over dramatically, hearts practically glowing in his eyes. His long legs carried him with a kind of dancer’s grace, and he practically skidded to a stop in front of you, bowing low enough for his hair to brush the deck.

“Mon chériiiiiii!” Sanji sang, his voice dripping with devotion. “A goddess has graced our ship! Please, allow me to cook you the finest meal you’ve ever had in your life! One taste, and you’ll never forget me—Sanji, your humble servant!”

Your face flushed red, caught off guard, and you laughed nervously, glancing at Usopp for backup. Usopp just rolled his eyes. “Here we go…” he muttered under his breath.

Sanji gently took your hand, looking at you as if you had descended from heaven itself. “What is your name, angel?”

Before you could answer, a tiny figure came bounding onto the deck—a reindeer? Dressed in a little hat and a backpack? You blinked, unsure if you were imagining him.

“That’s amazing!” the reindeer squeaked, staring up at you with big, round eyes. “You’re so pretty! Are you going to be sailing with us?! Can I check your vitals, just in case?!”

You laughed again, crouching down to eye level with the small creature. “You’re… talking?”

“Of course I can talk!” Chopper huffed proudly, puffing his little chest. “I’m the doctor of this crew!”

“Yeah,” Usopp added with a grin, “don’t let the size fool you. He’s a genius.”

Before you could properly respond, a tall, elegant woman approached, her dark hair flowing in the breeze and her calm eyes fixed on you. Robin’s presence was… different. She was serene, composed, and yet there was a quiet intensity in the way she observed you.

“A new face,” Robin said gently, her voice smooth as silk. “You must be the one Usopp invited aboard.”

You nodded slowly, feeling suddenly smaller under her gaze. “I… guess so.”

Robin smiled faintly, a reassuring expression instead of an intimidating one. “Don’t worry. You’re safe here.”

And before you could fully process that, the ship seemed to shake slightly, and a booming laugh echoed as a towering man with mechanical arms stomped across the deck. Franky’s shades glinted in the sunlight as he struck a ridiculous pose.

“SUUUUPER!!” he shouted, flexing his metal arms. “So you’re the cutie Usopp dragged aboard? Don’t worry, this ship’s my masterpiece—no safer place on the seas!”

You stared at him, baffled, while Usopp muttered, “Here we go again…” under his breath.

And then, as if the deck couldn't hold one more surprise, a tall skeleton in a suit and top hat strode forward, his cane tapping on the wood. He bowed with perfect form, his skull grinning endlessly.

“Yohohoho! What a vision!” Brook chuckled. “Might I see your pa—”

“BROOK!!” Nami’s furious voice cut through like a whip as she smacked him on the head.

You couldn’t help it—you laughed, the sound bubbling out of you like a release. The crew was chaos, pure chaos, and yet… the warmth of it tugged at something deep inside you.

Something that almost felt like home.

The deck was still buzzing with introductions when a familiar voice broke through the noise—sharp, bright, filled with life.

“Y/N!”

You froze. The world around you seemed to fall silent, your name hanging in the air. Slowly, you turned.

He was standing there—messy black hair, straw hat tipped back, and that smile. That smile.

Your breath caught in your throat. He was laughing, bounding toward you with the same careless energy as though no time had passed at all. “I knew I’d find you!”

Confusion rippled through you, your lips parting as if to speak, but the words wouldn’t come. “W-wait, I—”

Before you could piece it together, before you could ask who he was or why your chest suddenly ached with a forgotten memory, Luffy leaned down and pressed his lips to yours.

The crew erupted in shock.

“LUFFY?!” Nami’s voice cracked, her eyes wide as she grabbed the railing for balance.

“Oi, oi, oi! Since when—?!” Usopp yelped, nearly dropping the crate he was still holding.

Sanji’s cigarette fell straight out of his mouth, his jaw slack. “Wh-Wh-WHAT?!?!”

Chopper’s eyes bulged, his little hooves flailing. “LUFFY’S KISSING SOMEONE?!”

Brook staggered back with a rattling laugh. “Yohohoho! Young love right before my eyes—though I have no eyes!”

Robin’s smile grew soft, her eyes narrowing in quiet amusement.

Franky punched the air, booming, “THAT’S SUUUPER!!”

And Zoro… Zoro just lifted a brow, half-asleep where he leaned against the mast, muttering, “Finally.”

But you didn’t hear them—not really. Because the moment his lips touched yours, it all came rushing back.

The training grounds. His laughter. His hat on your head when you felt lost. The warmth of his hand in yours. His lips against yours when words weren’t enough.

The name you had struggled for months to recall was suddenly clear, ringing in your heart like a bell.

Luffy.

Tears welled in your eyes as you broke the kiss, breathless and staring at him. “It’s you,” you whispered. “I remember.”

Luffy grinned so wide it hurt, pure joy spilling out of him as he held onto you as if he’d never let you go again. “I told you I’d find you.”

And on that deck, surrounded by his stunned crew, your world finally felt whole again.

Your knees nearly gave out beneath you. One second you'd been unloading crates, politely meeting strangers, and the next—he was here. Him. The boy you'd been searching for, the boy whose face you could never quite remember, whose name always slipped through your fingers like water.

Now, he was holding you, smiling at you, his laughter ringing in your ears.

Your hands flew up to cover your mouth as your chest heaved. “It’s you—it’s actually you—oh my god, I—I couldn’t— I tried for so long, I—” The words tumbled out in a frantic rush, your voice breaking.

The Straw Hats were frozen in stunned silence, their eyes blinking between you and their captain.

Luffy just kept grinning, as if he couldn’t stop even if he wanted to. “I told you you’d remember me!”

You shook your head furiously, tears spilling before you even realized it. “No, no, you don’t get it—I lost you! I couldn’t even hold onto your name or your face. I only remembered little things. The way you made me laugh, the way my chest felt when you looked at me. The hat. Your smile. Your laugh. I—I kept looking in crowds, I kept trying to find you, but—” Your hands dropped helplessly to your sides as you let out a shuddering breath. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Nami’s eyes softened despite herself, her arms folding across her chest. “So… wait. You two actually know each other?”

Usopp’s jaw dropped. “Hold on—this is her? The girl you mentioned that one time?!”

“Wait, Luffy actually mentioned a girl before?” Sanji snapped, grabbing Usopp by the collar. “Why wasn’t I informed?! This is important!”

Chopper hopped up and down frantically. “Luffy, you—you didn’t tell us it was like this!!”

Robin tilted her head, her lips curving into the smallest of knowing smiles. “Interesting… very interesting.”

Brook let out a dramatic “Yohohohoho!” before clasping his hands together. “A reunion after so much time apart—this is romance!”

Zoro cracked open one eye and muttered, “Could’ve told us sooner, dumbass,” before leaning back again.

You let out a laugh through your mess of tears, looking at all of them in disbelief. “You’re… you’re his crew?” Your eyes bounced from their faces to the ship, to the flag fluttering high above. “The Straw Hats… I should’ve known.”

“Yeah!” Luffy laughed, pulling you closer to his side without hesitation. “They’re the best crew ever! And now you finally remember me.” His grin softened, his eyes locking with yours. “That’s all I wanted.”

You laughed again, breathless, still crying and still trying to explain yourself all at once. “I remembered the way you made me feel, Luffy, even when everything else slipped away. That’s why I couldn’t stop searching for you.”

The Straw Hats just stood there, wide-eyed, finally piecing it together. Their captain hadn't just found a girl during the timeskip—he had found someone who clearly meant the world to him.

And now she was here.

The sun began to set, painting the sky in fiery hues of orange and pink, but on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, the mood was warmer than the fading light. After a long, stunned silence, the crew finally seemed to be piecing together the full story. Luffy, with an unwavering grin, had pulled you over to the grassy deck, sitting with his arm slung around your shoulders as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Nami, her initial shock replaced by a mix of curiosity and soft understanding, was the first to approach. She sat down across from you, her gaze studying you with a gentle intensity. "So," she began, a small smile playing on her lips, "our captain mentioned you, you know. He kept talking about this girl who was 'kinda weird' but 'totally awesome.'" You flushed, and Luffy just laughed, squeezing your shoulder.

Usopp, his initial panic forgotten, sat beside Nami, his long nose twitching with fascination. "He said you were so strong you could take on a whole army! And you... you couldn't remember his face?" he asked, his voice filled with a genuine, childlike wonder. You nodded, and a wave of quiet understanding passed between you and the crew. They saw you not as an oddity, but as someone who had navigated the world with a unique kind of strength.

Later, Sanji brought out a tray of his famous desserts—a medley of cakes and pastries that looked almost too beautiful to eat. He presented them to you with a flourish, his eyes still shining with devotion. "For my goddess! A meal worthy of your beauty!" he declared, and you laughed, taking a small bite and marveling at the flavors. He watched you intently, a genuine smile on his face as you ate. You were no longer just a stranger to him; you were the one who made his captain's heart smile.

Even Zoro, after a few drinks, offered a gruff toast. "To the girl who can remember the important things," he muttered, taking a long swig of his sake. The words were simple, but they carried a weight of respect.

That night, as the stars twinkled above the Thousand Sunny, you sat on the deck, surrounded by laughter and conversation. Luffy had his arm around you, a silent anchor in the world that was once so confusing. You listened to the crew's stories, their voices a comforting symphony of chaos and joy. You couldn't remember every face perfectly, but you had a feeling you wouldn't need to. You had their kindness, their laughter, and the unwavering presence of the boy who had promised to find you. You were home.

348 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Note

.Can you do something with sanji with a 5 year old biological daughter who is like a ray of sunshine basically like the crew has to love her and her fav is Usopp lol and she loves cake and sweets . But she absolutely loves sanji like she loves him and all that love he didn’t get as kid she is giving to him right back and she calls him papa and runs up to him to hug him all the time .Can you do something with that?(single dad btw and his daughter lives on the crew with them) I just would wanna know how sanji would feel about her and juts her life on the crew . Please and thank you

I loved this!!! Sorry it took a while, hope you enjoy <3

Sunshine at Sea

Sanji & Daughter!Reader

The sea had always been Sanji’s home. The smell of salt, the roll of the ship, the hiss and crackle of pans in the galley—it was all familiar, a rhythm he’d long ago woven into himself. But none of it compared to the rhythm of her—the quick pitter-patter of tiny feet across the wooden deck, the sudden squeal of joy when she spotted him, the small but powerful weight of her little arms flung around his legs as she called out, breathless and bright, “Papa!”

His heart always stopped for a second. Every. Single. Time.

No one could have prepared him for the warmth that burst in his chest when he scooped her up into his arms, her hair smelling faintly of the sweets she’d stolen from his cooling trays, her cheeks sticky from some jam or frosting. She buried her face in his shoulder like he was her whole world—and in truth, she had become his.

The crew had taken to her as naturally as breathing.

Luffy treated her like his new playmate, carrying her on his shoulders and teaching her to stretch bubblegum with him (to Sanji’s horror). Nami fussed over her outfits, tying ribbons in her hair and making sure she never got lost when they docked. Robin read her stories at night, her calm voice weaving images that lulled her to sleep. Chopper checked her health obsessively, insisting she drink plenty of water after sweets. Franky built her little toys out of scrap. Brook wrote her silly songs.

But her favorite? Usopp.

She hung on every one of his stories like they were gospel, her little eyes sparkling as she gasped at his bravery. She’d tug on his pant leg, begging, “Tell me more, Uncle Usopp!” until he caved, puffing his chest out and spinning wild tales that made her clap her hands and cheer.

Sanji didn’t even mind—well, not much. As long as Usopp didn’t teach her any bad words.

But her love for the crew was nothing compared to her love for him.

Every meal he cooked, she was first to sit at the table, her little legs kicking excitedly as she waited for her plate. Every time he walked by, she stopped whatever she was doing to run at him, arms outstretched. At night, when the waves rocked the Sunny gently, she’d tug at his sleeve and whisper that she wanted Papa to tuck her in.

Sanji had never known love like this.

The Baratie had been survival. Zeff had been tough love and discipline. His own blood family had been… well. Nothing worth thinking about. But her? She gave freely. Without condition. She didn’t care about his failures, his regrets, his flaws. To her, he was Papa—the best cook in the world, the strongest man alive, the one who made the sea safe.

When she hugged him tight and whispered “I love you, Papa,” Sanji felt whole in a way he never thought possible.

Her life on the crew was as much chaos as it was joy. She learned to help Nami map stars, though she mostly ended up doodling suns and flowers on the charts. She tried to spar with Zoro once, only to fall on her bum giggling while he scowled at Sanji for laughing too hard. She joined in on Luffy’s dumb games, though Chopper hovered nearby just in case.

She adored sweets, of course—cake, pastries, candy, anything with sugar. Sanji made her desserts special, always decorating them with her favorite shapes, always saving her the first slice. Sometimes she’d toddle into the galley while he cooked, tugging at his apron until he let her “help.” Which usually meant flour on her nose, sugar spilled everywhere, and her stealing bites of batter when she thought he wasn’t looking.

But he didn’t mind. Not at all.

Because every time she grinned at him, her smile brighter than the sun, he thought— If this was the only treasure he ever found at sea, it was more than enough.

The fight had been a rough one. Not the worst the Straw Hats had seen, but enough to leave Sanji with bruises blooming under his shirt and a cut at his brow that Chopper was still fussing over. He was propped on a crate at the edge of the Sunny, a cigarette hanging forgotten between his fingers as he muttered his usual protests.

Chopper huffed, pressing a little harder than necessary with the antiseptic pad. “If you’d just stay still, this would go faster!”

Sanji grumbled, but before he could retort, the sound of tiny feet pattered across the deck.

“Papa!”

His daughter’s voice rang out like sunlight breaking through storm clouds, and suddenly, nothing hurt anymore. She barreled toward him, her little arms outstretched, and before Chopper could even warn her to be gentle, she’d flung herself into Sanji’s lap.

He caught her automatically, his arms strong despite the ache, pressing her close. She smelled of sugar again—someone had clearly snuck her sweets during the commotion—and her face was scrunched up with worry.

“You’re hurt,” she said, her tiny hands cupping his face where the cut was. Her eyes were wide, glossy with tears that hadn’t yet fallen.

Sanji’s chest tightened. He shook his head softly, brushing her hair back with his palm. “It’s nothing, my sweet pea. Just a scratch.”

“No!” she cried, little voice trembling. “Not nothing! You can’t get hurt, Papa! What if—what if you don’t come back?”

The crew had gone quiet around them. Zoro shifted uncomfortably. Nami looked away, lips pressed together. Usopp lowered his head, guilt flickering in his eyes because he knew exactly where her fear came from—pirate life was dangerous, and she was too young to pretend otherwise.

Sanji’s throat tightened, but he forced a smile as he kissed her forehead. “Listen to me,” he whispered, pulling her against his chest. “I will always come back to you. No matter what. You’re my whole world, my sunshine. Nothing could keep me from you.”

She sniffled, then clung tighter, her small body trembling. “Promise?”

“With all my heart.”

She finally relaxed, still tucked in his arms. And when she whispered “I love you, Papa” against his neck, Sanji couldn’t hold back the sting in his eyes.

For all the love he’d never gotten as a child, for all the cruelty of his past, the universe had given him this—pure, unshakable love in the form of a little girl who thought he hung the stars.

And he believed her.

Behind them, the crew pretended not to melt. Robin smiled softly, Nami wiped at her eye when no one was looking, and even Zoro muttered something about “damn sappy cook” under his breath.

But Usopp, her favorite, crouched down and ruffled her hair. “See? Your Papa’s invincible. Nothing’s taking him away from you.”

She turned in Sanji’s arms to nod fiercely at Usopp, her little smile returning. And Sanji, still holding her close, thought— He’d fight the entire world if it meant protecting that smile.

Dinner that night was lively, the long table crowded with plates and bowls—Sanji had outdone himself as usual. The clatter of utensils, the laughter, the bickering—it was home.

Sanji’s daughter sat right beside him, cheeks puffed out with food, legs swinging as she munched happily on her meal. She was quiet for a long while, unusually thoughtful. And then, as she set her fork down, she looked up across the table at Nami.

“Miss Nami?” she asked in her small, steady voice.

Nami paused, chopsticks halfway to her mouth. “Hm? What is it, sweetheart?”

Sanji looked at his little girl curiously, already ready to slip her an extra dessert when she inevitably asked for it. But instead, the question that left her lips knocked the air out of him.

“Can you be my mom? Since Papa likes you… and my real mom didn’t want me?”

The table went dead silent. Even Luffy stopped mid-bite, food forgotten on his plate. Sanji froze, the words digging into old scars, and for a moment, he didn’t know if he could breathe.

Nami’s eyes widened. She blinked once, twice, clearly taken off guard. But then she set her food down gently and leaned across the table.

She reached over, ruffling the little girl’s hair with a smile that was both soft and firm. “Listen, kiddo. Even if I don’t have the title ‘Mom’… I’ll always be here for you. Always. Just like the rest of us.”

The child’s eyes lit up, her little lips parting. “Really?”

“Really,” Nami said, nodding.

Franky raised his glass dramatically. “That’s right, little sis! You’ve got family here. Titles don’t matter—what matters is who’s got your back!”

“Yohohoho!” Brook chimed in, strumming a playful little tune on his violin. “And I’ll always play you lullabies if you can’t sleep, my dear. Mama, papa, uncle, auntie—call us anything you want. We’re yours!”

Robin smiled from her seat, adding calmly, “You have an entire ship full of people who love you. That’s more than most children could dream of.”

Usopp, of course, leaned forward with a flourish. “And don’t forget your favorite uncle! The bravest, strongest warrior in all the seas—at your service forever!”

The little girl giggled, her earlier vulnerability swept away by the wave of warmth. She looked around at all of them, then snuggled against Sanji’s arm.

Sanji’s throat burned, and for once, he didn’t have words. He just held her close, kissing the top of her head as quietly as he could, so the others wouldn’t see the way his hands trembled.

She looked up at him, eyes shining, and whispered, “See, Papa? I do have a family.”

And Sanji thought—Yes, my sweet. You finally do. And so do I.

The next morning, the Sunny was alive with laughter before breakfast even hit the table.

Sanji’s little girl was darting from crew member to crew member, testing out her new “family titles” with all the solemnity of a pirate captain naming her crew.

“Uncle Usopp!” she called, tugging at his long nose with both hands until he yelped. “Tell me a story!”

Usopp puffed up immediately, hands on his hips. “Of course! Let me tell you about the time I slayed a sea king twice the size of this ship—”

Zoro cut him off with a grunt. “Don’t fill her head with lies, long nose.”

The girl spun around, eyes narrowing like a tiny general. “Uncle Zoro, don’t be mean to Uncle Usopp!”

Zoro nearly choked. “Uncle—?!” His cheeks turned faintly red as the crew burst into laughter.

Franky leaned over, flexing one massive arm. “What about Uncle Franky? Doesn’t he get a turn?”

She squealed and ran over to him, immediately climbing onto his shoulder like it was a jungle gym. “Uncle Franky is the strongest!”

“That’s SUPER right, little sis!” he boomed, spinning her around until she shrieked with laughter.

Brook took a bow with his usual flair. “And what about Grandpa Brook, yohohoho! Would you like to hear a lullaby later?”

She clapped her hands. “Yes, Grandpa Brook!”

Sanji nearly fell over. “Grandpa?! Don’t make yourself sound ancient, you skeleton!”

Brook chuckled. “But I am ancient, Sanji-kun.”

Robin stepped forward with a gentle smile. “You can call me Auntie Robin, if you’d like.”

The girl gasped, nodding furiously. “Auntie Robin, can we read more books later?”

“Of course.”

Nami, who’d been leaning on the railing with an amused smirk, nearly dropped her orange when the girl shouted, “Auntie Nami!”

Sanji’s cigarette slipped from his lips, his face going beet red. “Auntie—?! Why stop at auntie when you could—”

Nami smacked the back of his head before he could finish. “Don’t push it, cook.”

The girl just giggled, hugging Sanji’s arm tight when he crouched down beside her.

“And what about me, huh?” he asked softly, already knowing the answer.

She didn’t hesitate. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face in his shoulder. “You’ll always be Papa.”

The world fell away for Sanji in that moment. His heart swelled so much it hurt, and for once, he didn’t care who saw the tears at the corners of his eyes.

The crew laughed and teased each other, arguing about their new “titles,” but Sanji only held his daughter close, whispering against her hair.

“I’m the luckiest man alive.”

The Sunny docked at a bustling port town, the kind that was noisy, colorful, and just a little dangerous if you weren’t careful. The crew fanned out—Nami and Robin to shop, Zoro already lost, Franky hauling supplies, Luffy and Usopp running off in search of food.

Sanji had his little girl’s hand in his, keeping her close as they wandered through the stalls. He was busy keeping an eye on the crowd when it happened—

A pirate from some no-name crew swaggered up, eyeing the sweets stand Sanji’s daughter had been staring at. He leaned down, sneering at her with a crooked grin.

“Well, well. Look at this one. Cute little thing. What’s your name, sweetheart?”

Before Sanji could react, his daughter straightened her back, her tiny chin tilted high. She gave him a sweet smile—the kind Sanji himself wore whenever he was about to destroy someone.

“You don’t talk to me like that,” she said firmly. “And don’t call me sweetheart. Only Papa can.”

The man blinked, thrown off. “Eh? You—”

And then she did it. She flipped her hair, stuck one tiny hand on her hip, and kicked him square in the shin with all the force her little legs could muster.

“Don’t mess with me!” she snapped. “Or my Papa will cook you into soup!”

Sanji froze. The pirate yelped and hopped on one leg, glaring down at her.

“You little brat—”

That was as far as he got. Sanji’s cigarette dropped from his lips as his boot connected with the man’s face, sending him flying across the marketplace. The crowd gasped. His daughter just clapped her hands together, eyes sparkling.

“Papa! Did you see me?!”

Sanji crouched down, scooping her up and twirling her once before pressing his forehead to hers. His chest burned with pride. “I saw you, mon petit chou. You were perfect.”

The rest of the crew trickled in from the chaos, Nami dragging her shopping bag, Zoro scowling with his swords already drawn, Usopp gawking.

“What the hell happened?!” Nami demanded.

“She…” Sanji couldn’t keep the grin off his face, “…kicked a man in the shin and told him only I can call her sweetheart.”

There was silence, and then the crew erupted.

Usopp wheezed with laughter, doubling over. Luffy threw his head back and howled. Franky pointed dramatically and shouted, “THAT’S SUPER DEFINITELY SANJI’S KID!”

Nami rubbed her temples, but there was a smile tugging at her lips. Robin chuckled softly, “The resemblance is… undeniable.”

Zoro smirked, shaking his head. “Poor kid didn’t stand a chance. She really is your daughter.”

Sanji’s little girl only puffed her chest out proudly from his arms. “I protected myself and my Papa!”

And in that moment, no one on the Grand Line could have convinced Sanji that she wasn’t the most incredible person alive.

The Sunny swayed gently under the evening sky, the horizon painted in deep orange and violet. The crew had gone ashore to gather supplies, explore, and—if Luffy had anything to say about it—find meat.

But Zoro was left behind on watch duty. He leaned against the railing, one hand resting on a sword hilt, eyes scanning the waves with that lazy, almost bored look that hid sharp focus.

Beside him, Sanji’s daughter sat cross-legged, a half-finished drawing on the deck in front of her. She’d been chattering on and off for a while—about sweets, about Uncle Usopp’s latest story, about how Papa’s cooking was the best in the world. Zoro only grunted here and there, though his eye kept flicking toward her.

Eventually, she looked up at him, brows furrowed.

“Uncle Zoro?”

“Mm?”

“You don’t talk much.”

Zoro raised an eyebrow. “Don’t need to.”

She squinted at him, clearly unsatisfied with the answer. Then, with the boldness only a five-year-old could have, she shuffled over and plopped herself right down next to him, tucking herself against his side like she belonged there.

Zoro stiffened. “Oi—what are you doing?”

“You’re warm,” she said simply. “And you make me feel safe.”

For a long beat, Zoro said nothing. His ears felt hot, though he’d rather die than admit it. He stared out at the sea, trying to ignore the little weight against his side. But when she yawned, her tiny head resting against his arm, something in him softened.

“Tch,” he muttered under his breath, shifting just enough so she was more comfortable. “Brat.”

She smiled, already drifting, and mumbled, “You’re nice, Uncle Zoro.”

Zoro’s lips twitched, almost into a smile. Almost. “Don’t go spreading lies.”

She didn’t answer—already dozing, safe against him.

When the others returned hours later, they found her curled up peacefully against the swordsman, his arm draped protectively around her without him even realizing.

Sanji froze mid-step, grocery bag in hand. “The hell—?! Mosshead, what do you think you’re—”

“Shut it, cook,” Zoro cut in, glaring but not moving an inch. “She fell asleep. That’s all.”

The rest of the crew exchanged knowing smirks. Nami muttered something about “softies when you least expect it,” and Usopp tried (and failed) to hold in his laughter.

Sanji sputtered, ready to argue, but his daughter stirred, clinging to Zoro tighter in her sleep. Zoro just sighed and leaned back against the railing again, letting her stay put.

And though he’d never admit it, he liked it. He liked her.

The battle had gone sideways.

The enemy—a sneering pirate with a strange Devil Fruit—had sapped the crew’s strength the moment the fight began. One by one, the Straw Hats collapsed to their knees, bodies heavy, willpower drained.

Sanji gritted his teeth, trying to rise, but his limbs felt like lead. “Damn it… I can’t… move—”

Around him, his family lay scattered. Nami gasping for breath, Robin too weak to lift her arms, Chopper trembling as he tried to stay conscious. Zoro’s swords clattered to the ground, even his cursed blade slipping from his grip.

And standing there, small and untouched by the Fruit’s power, was Sanji’s daughter.

The villain laughed when his eyes landed on her. “A child? Still standing? How amusing. Run along, girlie, before I decide you’re not worth keeping alive.”

Her little fists trembled. She looked at her Papa, struggling and broken on the ground, then at the others—their faces twisted in pain. Her family. Her crew.

Her heart pounded in her tiny chest, but she forced herself forward. “No! You leave them alone!”

The villain blinked. “You?” He sneered. “What do you think you’ll do, brat?”

Her eyes darted to the ground, to the blade lying inches from Zoro’s limp hand—the cursed sword, Sandai Kitetsu. She swallowed hard, every instinct screaming at her to stay back. But she reached down anyway, her small fingers wrapping around the hilt.

The moment she touched it, a strange heat surged through her body, chilling and heavy, as if the sword itself was laughing at her audacity. The weight of the katana nearly dragged her to the ground, but she tightened her grip with both hands.

“I’ll protect them,” she whispered, her voice shaking. Then louder: “I’ll protect my Papa!”

Something shifted. The cursed blade responded, its strange, malevolent will pouring into her tiny frame, lifting her arms, guiding her hands. Her eyes widened as her body moved almost on its own, the sword humming with dark power.

The villain lunged, mocking her. “Pathetic—”

But the cursed blade sang.

She swung, clumsy yet swift, the weight of the katana nearly toppling her but somehow connecting. A burst of energy lashed out, cutting through the villain’s attack. Again she swung, tears streaming down her cheeks, her little arms trembling as the sword carried her further than she thought possible.

And against all odds— She won.

The pirate crashed to the ground, defeated, his power flickering out like a dying flame.

The Straw Hats gasped as strength returned to their bodies. One by one they staggered to their feet, eyes wide with disbelief.

There she stood in the middle of the battlefield, the cursed sword slipping from her shaking hands, clattering to the ground. Her knees wobbled, her chest heaved. She turned to face them, tears streaming freely now, her little body trembling.

“I—I did it,” she hiccupped. “But… I was so scared! Papa—I was so, so scared!”

Sanji was on her in an instant, sweeping her into his arms and holding her tight against his chest, his whole body shaking. He buried his face in her hair, kissing her head again and again.

“You were amazing, mon ange,” his voice cracked, tears soaking into her hair. “You saved us. You saved me. But you never have to be scared alone—you hear me? Never.”

She clung to him, sobbing into his neck.

Around them, the crew gathered, silent but filled with awe. Zoro picked up his sword, his jaw tight, a strange respect in his eyes as he glanced at the tiny girl who had wielded it and won. Nami wiped her tears quietly. Usopp puffed out his chest, declaring her the bravest warrior of them all. Robin smiled, her hands pressed to her lips. Franky and Brook cheered, their voices loud enough to shake the sky. Luffy beamed, eyes sparkling with pride.

Sanji rocked her gently, whispering into her hair as if she were the only person in the world.

“You’re my sunshine. My hero. My daughter.”

And though she was still crying, still trembling, her little arms tightened around him, clinging to the only truth she needed—

She wasn’t alone. She had her Papa. She had her family. And they would never, ever let her go.

31 notes · View notes

warriorheart13-blog · 19 hours ago

Note

Hi hi! If you don't mind me asking and if you write for him, can I request Brook x reader who is like Emily from the corpse bride? (Emily is the name of the corpse bride of you didn't know :3)

Thanks!

Yesss, i love the Corpse Bride!! This was fun to write, thank you for your request!

Moonlit Bones

Brook x CorpseBride!Reader

The island was thick with fog, the kind that clung to skin like a damp shroud. The Straw Hats weren’t strangers to eerie places, but this one… it had the feeling of a graveyard masquerading as a forest. Trees twisted like reaching claws, flowers bloomed in shades too pale for daylight, and the air carried a faint sweetness, like old roses decayed in the vase.

That’s when they saw you.

Your dress looked like it had once been something beautiful—blue and flowing—but the hem was frayed and torn, dirt clinging to the fabric. Your skin was pale as candle wax, touched with a faint bluish hue. A veil trailed behind you, tangled in branches, and in your hand you carried a delicate bouquet of wilted flowers. You turned at the sound of crunching leaves, your eyes glowing faintly like stars caught in sorrow.

The crew froze, unsure if you were ghost or girl.

Luffy tilted his head, fascinated. Sanji nearly combusted from the gothic beauty of you, though he trembled, uncertain if he should flirt with someone who looked half a breath away from the grave. Nami and Usopp stepped back, whispering that this was definitely cursed. Zoro’s hand rested on his swords, cautious but not reckless. Robin just smiled, intrigued.

And then Brook stepped forward.

For a moment, it was like the two of you were alone in the moonlight. Bone meeting bone, death meeting death, yet somehow it wasn’t grim—it was tender. Brook’s empty sockets widened, as if he could truly see for the first time. You blinked slowly, recognizing something in him too.

“Another…” Your voice cracked, soft as brittle leaves. “Another who has crossed the veil.”

The crew shifted uneasily, but Brook raised his hand politely, his usual jovial tone gentler now. “My apologies, young lady… though I am but bones, I am still very much alive! Yohoho… at least, in spirit.” He bowed low, cane against the ground. “Might I ask your name?”

You tilted your head, veil slipping to one side, revealing a cheek streaked with faint tears that could never dry. “(Y/N).”

Luffy immediately grinned, ignoring the atmosphere. “She’s cool! Join my crew!”

The others groaned, but Brook couldn’t tear his gaze from you. Your sadness was stitched into your being, yet when you looked at him, there was a faint flicker of something warmer—recognition, perhaps even hope.

The night air felt less heavy as Brook reached out a bony hand. “It seems… we are both cursed, in our ways. Perhaps, if you’ll allow me, I could play you something.”

When his violin sang, the island grew quiet. Shadows leaned in to listen, the moonlight softened around you, and your lips curved into the smallest, most fragile smile. For the first time in a very long while, you didn’t feel so alone.

And Brook thought, maybe—just maybe—he had finally met someone who could understand the melody of his heart.

The fog hung lower as Brook’s violin faded, the last trembling note lingering in the air. You stood still, bouquet pressed against your chest, as though the song had sewn some long-forgotten heartbeat back into you. The Straw Hats shuffled uncertainly, but Brook didn’t move, his hand still outstretched in silent invitation.

Luffy broke the silence first, as always. “You should come with us! We’ll take you outta this creepy place!”

Nami smacked the back of his head lightly. “Don’t just blurt things like that, Luffy. We don’t even know if she can leave.”

You smiled faintly, lowering your gaze. “No one’s ever asked me before.”

That made the crew still. Robin’s eyes softened, Usopp’s throat went dry, and Sanji swore softly under his breath.

You let the bouquet fall, petals scattering across the moss like the remnants of a wedding long past. “I was meant to be a bride once. Long ago. I waited beneath the trees, veil ready, heart hopeful. But the man I loved never came. He promised me the world, but… he only wanted my dowry. I was left here, betrayed, and I… never quite moved on.”

Your hands twisted in your tattered skirts. “Since then, I’ve lingered. Neither living, nor dead, but something in between. A song unfinished. A vow unkept.”

The forest seemed to sigh around you, as though even the trees pitied your tale.

Brook stepped closer, his voice gentle, stripped of theatrics. “Yohoho… then we are alike. I too once waited, stranded alone in the fog of death, my crew gone, my promise to Laboon unfulfilled. Until I met these wonderful people.” He gestured to the Straw Hats, who—despite their usual chaos—stood in solemn support.

You blinked at him, eyes shimmering with spectral light. “And they let you stay?”

Luffy threw his arms up like it was obvious. “Of course! He’s our friend!”

Zoro smirked faintly. “We don’t really do ‘normal’ anyway. You’d fit right in.”

Nami crossed her arms but her voice softened. “If you want a new start… this crew knows how to give one.”

Usopp swallowed nervously but nodded. “Yeah, we’re… uh, good at picking up strays. In the best way.”

Sanji stepped forward, placing a hand on his chest. “A lady like you deserves more than rotting in a forest. You deserve the sea, the sky, and a table always set for you.”

Chopper sniffled, tears already brimming. “Y-you don’t have to be alone anymore!”

Franky flexed, grinning. “Besides, the Sunny’s got room for ghosts, babes, skeletons—whatever you wanna be called!”

Brook chuckled softly, but his gaze never left yours. “What say you, Miss (Y/N)? Would you let me… and us… accompany you away from this sorrow?”

You hesitated, staring at his bony hand. For so long, all you’d known was silence, betrayal, and the endless ache of waiting. Yet here was this strange, lively crew, looking at you not as a specter to fear, but as a person worth saving.

Your pale fingers slid into his skeletal ones. The fit was strange, yet perfect—two remnants of life holding onto one another. “Yes,” you whispered. “I think… I’d like to try again.”

The forest seemed to shiver, petals lifting on an unseen breeze, as if even the island itself released you.

Luffy whooped with joy, the crew cheering as Brook bowed low, his laughter—warm, not hollow—rising into the night. And for the first time since your heart stopped beating, you felt something like hope bloom inside you.

The Thousand Sunny’s dining hall glowed warm and golden, a stark contrast to the eerie gloom of the island you had left behind. Laughter bounced off the walls, cutlery clinked, and Sanji practically danced as he ferried dishes to the table. Platters of meat, bowls of steaming rice, fresh bread, and plates of fruit crowded every inch.

But at the end of the table, beside Brook, there were two delicate cups of tea.

You held yours carefully, fingers curling around the porcelain like it might shatter. The steam coiled upward, warm against your face. Brook lifted his own cup, and the two of you shared a look, an unspoken understanding.

Luffy was already face-first in a mountain of meat, talking with his mouth full. “So, (Y/N)! What kinda Devil Fruit did you eat to end up like that?”

The room stilled a little. Nami nudged him, hissing, “Luffy! Don’t just ask things like that—”

You set your cup down softly, the liquid untouched. “It wasn’t a Devil Fruit.”

Robin’s eyes sharpened with interest, leaning forward slightly. “Oh?”

You folded your hands in your lap, pale fingers ghostly against the blue tatters of your dress. “I’m cursed. Betrayal bound me. When I was… left beneath the trees, I should have gone to rest. But instead, sorrow rooted itself inside me. I became what I am now—caught between living and dead.”

Usopp swallowed hard, pushing his plate back a little. “So… like… an actual ghost?”

Franky tilted his sunglasses down, staring at you with awe. “That’s… SUPER metal.”

Chopper’s ears drooped, his little hooves clutching the table. “That’s so sad…”

You smiled faintly, but it was fragile, like cracked glass. “I don’t need food. I don’t need sleep. I don’t need much at all. Just… companionship. I never thought I’d find it again.”

Brook set his teacup down with a soft clink. “Then it seems fate was kind enough to bring us together, yohoho. A skeleton and a bride without a wedding… we make quite the pair.”

Sanji frowned, cigarette trembling slightly as he lit it. “A lady cursed by heartbreak doesn’t belong in some dark forest. You’ll have warmth here, cursed or not.”

Nami gave you a small smile. “You don’t have to explain yourself to us. Devil Fruit or curse, you’re one of us now.”

Zoro shrugged, chewing lazily. “Doesn’t matter what you are. You can hold your own and you’ve got guts. That’s enough.”

Luffy, predictably, was grinning again, crumbs stuck to his cheek. “Yeah! Who cares! You’re our friend now!”

The crew erupted back into chatter, the weight of your confession melting under their loud warmth. Sanji slid a plate of food in front of you instinctively, then paused, realizing. You shook your head gently and pushed it toward Luffy, who happily devoured it.

Instead, you lifted your tea again, sipping slowly. Brook mirrored you, and the two of you shared a quiet moment amid the chaos. His bony jaw couldn’t smile, but you felt it anyway. For the first time in centuries, the tea didn’t taste like ash—it tasted like belonging.

Life aboard the Sunny was loud—so loud, in fact, you began to feel your curse quiet just a little. No more endless silence, no more weeping forest. Instead, laughter, arguments, footsteps across wood, Sanji’s cooking scents curling through the air, and Luffy’s laughter shaking the deck.

But adjusting to you was… an adventure of its own.

For starters, you didn’t exactly walk. You drifted—bare feet gliding soundlessly across the Sunny, veil trailing like mist. Usopp nearly screamed the first three mornings when you appeared silently behind him. You swore it wasn’t intentional… but the faint little smile on your lips suggested otherwise.

Robin chuckled every time, calling it “a charming habit.”

Then came the clothes. Nami clasped her hands together one day, eyeing your tattered, dirt-stained gown with a grimace. “Alright, sweetheart, no offense, but you can’t keep running around in a ruined wedding dress. You’re part of the crew now, and you’re going to look the part.”

You tilted your head, curious. “I… only have this one.”

Nami’s response was to shove a bundle of skirts, blouses, and belts into your arms. “Try these. And no complaints.”

So you did. The first blouse slipped over your shoulders easily, soft linen instead of stiff satin. But as you buttoned it, the crew waiting outside the women’s quarters heard a very distinct tearing sound.

When you stepped out, smiling innocently, the entire left side of the blouse gaped where fabric could not—would not—cover the skeletal ribs exposed through your pale skin. A clean, macabre split, like the corset bone structure had simply given up centuries ago.

Sanji fainted.

Usopp screamed into his hands.

Chopper skittered forward, horrified. “Y-your ribs are right there! I can see them! Doesn’t it hurt?! Should I—should I try to wrap you up?! Or—or glue them?!”

You looked down at yourself, blinking. “Oh. I forgot.” You tugged the blouse closed, ribs still gleaming faintly through the gap. “It doesn’t hurt. It never does. I’m… more ornament now than organ.”

Luffy poked a rib experimentally, fascinated. “Cool! You’re like Brook!”

Brook, ever the gentleman, coughed politely. “Yes, though I must say Miss (Y/N) has a… far more charming figure. Yohohoho!”

Zoro muttered from the corner, hand covering his face. “We’re sailing with a skeleton and a zombie bride now. This ship is cursed.”

“Cursed?” Franky laughed, slamming a hand on Zoro’s shoulder. “Nah—this ship is SUPER!”

Robin simply smiled, calm as ever. “I think it suits you, (Y/N).”

You looked down at the torn blouse again, then back up at them. “Does this mean I failed the dress code?”

Nami groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “No. It just means I’m going to have to tailor things around your… unique figure.”

Sanji still lay twitching on the floor, a nosebleed trailing.

And through it all, you stood with that faintly eerie, almost serene smile—half ghost, half bride, all Straw Hat.

Days passed on the Sunny, and you slowly shed the last remnants of your old world. The tattered wedding dress was folded away, a relic you no longer needed. In its place, you wore the clothes Nami had forced—lovingly—upon you: flowing skirts, loose blouses, belts cinched at odd angles.

No matter what you wore, though, the faint gleam of ribs peeked through the gap at your side. The crew had, in their own way, adjusted:

Usopp avoided sitting directly across from you at mealtimes, because every time the light hit your bones just right, he swore they were winking at him.

Chopper fussed constantly, threatening to “patch” you up with bandages, tape, or glue, despite your assurances that nothing could heal what was never meant to heal.

Sanji, after recovering from his initial fainting spell, started designing meals he thought you might enjoy—teas flavored with fruit, delicate pastries you could at least nibble for taste. He never pressured you to eat, but the small plates that “just happened” to appear by your teacup said enough.

And Brook… well. Brook stayed close.

One night, while the others bickered loudly over a card game inside, you slipped to the deck. The moon spilled across the water, turning it silver. You leaned against the rail, hair catching the glow, bones gleaming faintly through the loose blouse. The sea breeze caught your veil—no, not a veil anymore, just a shawl Nami had given you—and made it flutter like a ghost’s whisper.

Brook joined you quietly, violin tucked beneath his arm. For a moment, neither of you spoke. You were both used to silence, after all.

Finally, you murmured, “It feels strange. To wear another’s clothes. To laugh again. To… not wait anymore.”

Brook rested his bony hands on the rail beside yours. “I know that strangeness. I wandered for fifty years, waiting for my promise to Laboon. A gentleman keeps his word, no matter how much it hurts. But when I met this crew, I learned something else… sometimes, you’re allowed to begin anew.”

You turned your head, studying the empty sockets of his eyes. Somehow, they felt softer than any gaze you’d ever known. “And do you regret it? Choosing to stay?”

Brook chuckled low, shaking his skull. “Not for a second. Yohohoho. They gave me a song again. And perhaps…” His voice softened, his free hand tapping lightly near your exposed ribs. “They’ve given you one too.”

The touch didn’t hurt—it never could—but it lingered, warm in a way you didn’t think your body could remember.

From inside, Luffy’s voice bellowed: “OI! (Y/N)! BROOK! GET IN HERE, WE NEED A TIEBREAKER!” followed by Usopp shrieking something about cheating and Zoro yelling that he was going to flip the table.

You laughed softly, a sound both brittle and beautiful. “Perhaps they have.”

Brook raised his violin, bow gliding into place. “Then may I accompany you, Miss (Y/N), as you begin your new verse?”

The song that followed wove into the night, carrying laughter from inside and your smile on the deck. Even cursed, even broken, you belonged.

And your bones—gleaming faintly in the moonlight—looked less like decay, and more like silver threads in the fabric of your new life.

Dinner that evening was lively as usual—Luffy slurping noodles loud enough to rattle the bowls, Usopp spinning tales of his heroism while Chopper gasped, and Nami trying (and failing) to keep order. You sat near the end of the table, sipping your tea, ribs glinting faintly beneath the fabric of your borrowed blouse.

Sanji, though, kept sneaking glances at you. Finally, cigarette smoldering low between his fingers, he leaned forward. His voice was softer than usual, not the lovesick sing-song he used for Nami or Robin—this was genuine curiosity.

“So, mademoiselle… forgive me if this is too bold, but… how did it happen? Your curse. The moment it… bound you?”

The table quieted, eyes flicking toward you. Even Luffy paused mid-bite, noodles dangling from his mouth.

You tilted your head, thinking. Then, with the same calmness you’d explain the weather, you said, “I was murdered. As soon as the dowry was paid.”

Silence.

Utter, bone-deep silence.

Usopp dropped his fork. Chopper squeaked. Nami’s knuckles went white around her glass.

Zoro muttered, “Well. That’s… blunt.”

Sanji’s eyes widened, cigarette trembling at his lip. “Murdered?!”

You nodded slowly, not a hint of theatrics. “Yes. He never intended to marry me. He wanted the gold. Once it was his, I was no longer needed. So he killed me beneath the trees where I waited.”

The crew stared. The casual way you said it unsettled them more than the words themselves—like you were talking about misplacing a scarf rather than the moment your life ended.

Brook, seated beside you, reached for his teacup with a steady hand. “Yohoho… that’s rather ghastly, Miss (Y/N).”

You smiled faintly, looking down at your cup. “It’s been years. Decades. The sadness burned itself out long ago. What remains is… emptiness. The worst part wasn’t the betrayal, or even the death. It was the loneliness. Being forgotten. No voice but my own for so long.”

Your gaze lifted, sweeping over each of them—their shocked faces, the warmth of their company, their very aliveness. Your smile softened, fragile but true. “But now I have you. And that loneliness… it’s gone.”

Chopper burst into tears, leaping across the table to cling to you. “That’s so sad but also so sweet! You’re not alone anymore!”

Nami’s expression tightened, but she reached out, touching your hand gently. “You’re safe with us now.”

Franky sniffled behind his sunglasses. “That backstory is SUPER tragic.”

Usopp muttered, still pale, “I’m never sleeping on a spooky island again.”

Sanji leaned forward, steadying his cigarette at last, and gave you the kind of look reserved for things delicate and precious. “For what it’s worth, mademoiselle… that man was a fool. To harm someone like you. You deserved better then—but you’ll have better now.”

Brook set his cup down with a clink, his voice carrying quiet weight. “And should the loneliness ever whisper back, Miss (Y/N), know that my music—and this crew—will always drown it out.”

The table filled with voices again—comfort, laughter, promises. And as their warmth surrounded you, your smile grew.

You no longer felt like a forgotten bride. You felt like a crewmate, a friend, a song finally being played again.

The ship rocked gently against the night tide, the air still, the sea whispering in its endless hush. You stood at the rail, eyes lifted to the pale, glowing moon. It bathed you in silver, gleaming faintly across your exposed ribs, turning the shawl Nami had given you into a veil of starlight.

Above, Zoro sat in the crow’s nest, silent, pretending not to notice the way you stared at the horizon like it might answer questions long buried.

Footsteps tapped lightly across the deck. You didn’t need to turn to know who it was. Brook’s violin rested under his arm, his cane tapping against the wood. He stopped a few paces from you, the faint creak of bones filling the quiet.

“You look beautiful in the moonlight, Miss (Y/N),” he said softly, voice without its usual showmanship.

You smiled faintly, gaze still on the moon. “I used to dream about this, you know. Nights like this. I wanted to marry beneath the trees, then dance beneath the stars. I wanted to see the sea with someone beside me. I wanted… a life. Something simple. Something warm.”

Brook rested his bony hands on the railing beside you. His empty sockets tilted toward the sky as if he could see your dreams in the stars. “And yet those things were taken from you.”

“Yes.” You turned, your pale features softened by the moonlight. “But now… I have another chance. Not as I imagined it, but perhaps even better. A crew, laughter, a place to belong.” Your lips curved with the faintest smile. “Though… I never did get that dance.”

Brook’s spine straightened, the gentleman in him rising like an old memory. He clicked his cane against the deck, bowing low. “Then, Miss (Y/N), may I have the honor of giving you your first dance? Even if my body is but bones, I assure you my manners remain intact.”

For a moment, you froze. Then you placed your hand into his, skeletal fingers wrapping gently around yours. “I’d be honored.”

The violin came to life beneath his chin, bow gliding smoothly, the melody sweet and mournful all at once. He played one-handed, guiding you with the other, leading you into slow, graceful steps across the deck.

The sea became your ballroom. The moon your chandelier.

Your skirts swirled, your bones glinted, your laughter—soft and fragile—rose into the night air. Brook’s playing wrapped around you both, and for once, the music didn’t ache with loneliness. It felt like fulfillment. Like promise.

Above, Zoro leaned in the crow’s nest, watching briefly. He muttered to himself, “Cheesy skeleton bastard,” but there was no bite in it—just the faintest curve of a smile.

As the song ended, Brook dipped you low, bowing his skull over your hand. “There. Your first dance, Miss (Y/N). And I pray, not your last.”

You looked up at him, eyes shimmering like starlight. “It was everything I hoped for.”

The curse hadn’t lifted. Your ribs still gleamed in the moonlight. But for the first time since betrayal had chained you to this form, you didn’t feel broken. You felt whole.

And Brook’s music carried your heart into the sea, no longer forgotten.

The night blurred into something timeless. The two of you danced through song after song, sometimes slow and careful, sometimes clumsy when Brook made you laugh so hard you forgot the steps. The moon waned into dawn, stars fading one by one until the horizon blushed pink.

By the time you finally stopped, your hands were still clasped in his, your cheeks warmed with a flush you hadn’t felt in centuries. Brook guided you to sit, settling on the deck with a pot of tea Sanji had left cooling the night before. Steam curled between you as the ship rocked gently, and you talked.

About everything. About nothing.

You told him about the silly things you once dreamed of—tending a garden of bluebells, learning to swim, having a song sung for you. He told you about Laboon, about his old crew, about music as a thread that ties memory together.

By the time the rest of the crew began stirring, the two of you were side by side, teacups in hand, soft laughter spilling from you like morning light.

The first to appear was Zoro, climbing down lazily from the crow’s nest. He stretched, yawning, his single open eye flicking toward you both. His gaze lingered on your posture—still tilted toward Brook, hands almost brushing on the deck between you.

He smirked. “You two were dancing all night, weren’t you?”

Your hand froze halfway to your teacup. The warmth that had bloomed so naturally last night turned into something else entirely—heat rising to your cheeks, stiff and startling. For the first time in decades, you looked utterly flustered.

“I—ah—no, well—yes, but—that isn’t—” you stammered, pale skin glowing faintly under the sunrise. You pressed your cup to your lips as if it could hide your expression.

Brook chuckled softly, ever the gentleman but unable to resist. “Yohohoho! Indeed we did, Swordsman-san. The lady has quite the natural grace, though I fear I may have tired her out.”

“Not tired!” you blurted, far too quickly, gripping your cup. “Just—just—” Your ribs glinted as your blouse shifted, betraying the way you squirmed.

Zoro arched a brow, enjoying the sight of someone other than him or Sanji being embarrassed for once. He muttered as he walked past toward the galley, “Cheesy skeleton… and you’re worse for letting him.”

Brook tilted his skull toward you, voice gentle despite the teasing lilt. “Miss (Y/N), are you… blushing?”

You gave him a flat look, though the corner of your lips betrayed the smile fighting its way free. “I don’t blush. Not anymore.”

“Ah, then forgive me. Perhaps it’s the morning sun reflected on your lovely face.” He bowed slightly, sipping his tea.

You huffed, turning away, but the smile bloomed fully now. The curse had dulled your heart for so long, but sitting there, tea in hand, Brook beside you, you could feel it again—alive, racing, flustered, foolish.

And you liked it.

By the time breakfast was on the table, word had spread. Whether Zoro had let it slip in that smug, offhand way of his or whether the crew simply knew (as Straw Hats somehow always did), the air in the galley was buzzing.

You sat between Robin and Brook, sipping your tea quietly. Too quietly. The air was thick with the effort of pretending nothing had happened, but it was doomed from the start.

Nami leaned across the table, chin in her hand, eyes gleaming. “So…” she drawled. “Did you have fun last night?”

You blinked, feigning innocence. “Fun?”

Usopp leaned in on the other side, grinning. “Oh, come on! Zoro saw you. Dancing on deck with Brook. All night.”

Sanji, who was still plating fruit, nearly crushed an apple in his hand. “Dancing all night?!” He turned, scandalized. “With a lady as beautiful as you, and he didn’t even—” He froze, realizing mid-sentence he was about to condemn Brook while also swooning over you. He pivoted gracelessly. “I mean—HOW COULD HE TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOUR DELICATE INNOCENCE LIKE THAT?!”

Brook raised his bony hands in surrender. “Yohoho! I assure you, gentlemen, it was entirely respectable. Merely dancing, sipping tea, and conversing.”

Nami’s smirk sharpened. “Mmhm. Entirely respectable. That’s why our dear (Y/N) came into breakfast this morning looking like she’s been blushing.”

Your teacup nearly slipped in your hand. “I—I don’t blush.”

“Then what’s that?” Usopp pointed gleefully at your face, where the faintest heat still lingered across your cheeks.

Chopper scrambled into your lap, staring up at you with wide, teary eyes. “You’re alive again! Look! You’re blushing! That’s amazing!”

You covered your face with your hands, groaning. “This is mortifying.”

Franky slapped the table, roaring with laughter. “Our spooky zombie bride got her first dance, and now she’s glowing! That’s SUPER romantic!”

Robin only chuckled softly, touching her chin as if observing some long play unfold. “It suits you. You should allow yourself more of these moments.”

Luffy, cheeks full of meat, grinned ear to ear. “So are you two married now?!”

You choked on your tea. Brook nearly dropped his violin case.

Zoro, smirking from his seat, drawled, “Give it time.”

The galley erupted with laughter, chatter, teasing that seemed endless. You sat there, bones glinting faintly through your blouse, tea trembling in your hands. For the first time in centuries, you didn’t mind being flustered, teased, or embarrassed.

Because it meant you were alive again—among friends, among family. And maybe… just maybe… something more.

And across the table, Brook’s empty sockets met your gaze. His bow tapped gently against the table, and though he couldn’t blush, his aura carried the same warmth.

Your first dance wasn’t going to be your last.

38 notes · View notes