Hi! Could You Write About Katakuri And His Childhood Sweetheart. Like They Were Pretty Close Friends

Hello!! Please do a reader that has a relationship with shanks, they're like a admirable couple but one day Shanks cheated on the reader, and she said to shanks that she knows it from the very first that he was cheating on her ( unfortunately shanks has been cheating on her for so long now, and even though she knows what his been doing she still loves him. But, now she had enough). After they broke up, the reader left the red force. And, after 3 years, they meet again. But, she is now with another man's arm which is King of the beast pirates. Hehehe please make this, im begging you! 😭😭

hello! unfortunately requests are off atm since i have a pooling requests to make.

and also i alr made a similar one already which is this one , soo im sorry🥺🫶🏻

Omg I absolutely love your posts. You're super good. Here, have my heart ❤

waahh! thank uu so muchh~ 💝(˶˃⤙˂˶)

it made me happy!

Hello, hello, hello, beautiful, gorgeous, divine

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

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

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

Teach Tried It, I Survived It

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

Marco the phoenix x reader tags: slight angst, sfw, ooc, bl00d/v!olence, happy ending, betrayal, a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe word count: 2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"I found something interesting," he said proudly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Scuffle.

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

Your heart dropped into your stomach.

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

"Teach?!" you gasped.

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

Without hesitation, you leapt into action.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You couldn’t chase him.

Your body was failing you.

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

.

.

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

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

Then, finally, the miracle happened.

You groaned.

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

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

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

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

The world froze.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your throat tightened.

You stared at him for a long, tense moment.

Then you cracked a wicked smile.

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

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

Ace's banana hit the floor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blinked.

Your heart fluttered.

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

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

.

.

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

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

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

You nodded, bowing your head respectfully.

"Teach..." you began.

Whitebeard’s eyes narrowed.

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

Whitebeard grunted, the sound low and displeased.

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

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

"—Will be immense," Whitebeard finished.

You nodded grimly.

There was a long silence.

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

You bowed again and left, heart heavy but determined.

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

He looked up, immediately easing when he saw you.

"Hey, yoi," he said softly.

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

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

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

Finally, you spoke, voice quiet against his chest.

"Thank you."

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

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

Marco’s throat bobbed as he swallowed hard.

"You heard me?" he whispered.

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

Marco closed his eyes, pressing his forehead to yours.

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

"You didn’t," you promised.

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

"I’m not going anywhere," you said.

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

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

You chuckled softly, your heart full despite the pain.

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

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

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

Hello How are you? 🤔 Your stories are great ☺️ Um, what is your native language? ☺️What country are you from?

hello! im doing great! thank you! i just started writing weeks ago, and im working on some requests as of now~ im from kyoto! and currently residing in Ph with my father's relatives!

I really like your work!! 🤩😍

thank u~

i appreciate it!!

Hello, please can I request a Shanks young apprentice x reader apprentice where she has gone many days without sleeping, she is very tired and sleepy, he finds her in the library of the gold Jackson reading one of the books that the dark king forced them to read.

If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you. "I'm not sleepy," you whispered, getting up to put the book back on the shelf. When you turned around, you saw Shanks in front of you. "You didn't notice me, did you?" "Adjusting Rader's hair."Do you have nightmares?" "Yes," you whispered. Shanks hugged her tightly to his chest and whispered in her ear."Reader

Sleep, I'll stay with you. The girl fell asleep upon feeling his warmth and Shanks's heartbeat. Shank took her in his arms before she fell to the floor

this sounds cutee!

Where the Quiet Finds You

hanks finds his fellow apprentice in the library, battling exhaustion and nightmares, and offers her the comfort she's too afraid to ask for.

Shanks x fem! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: sfw, fluff, sleeplessness, nightmares, soft comfort,

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

The ship creaked and groaned with age and travel, a sound that had become a lullaby to those who called the Oro Jackson home. Moonlight poured through the round, salt-speckled window of the ship’s small library, silvering the spines of thick maritime tomes and adventure logs that lined the shelves like ancient guardians of knowledge.

You sat at the far end of the room, curled on a stool with your elbows balanced precariously on the table, chin resting in the hollow of your palm. A book lay open beneath your sleepy eyes, but the words blurred together like waves in a storm. You blinked, fighting the pull of sleep for what must have been the hundredth time that night.

The scent of old paper and salt hung heavy in the air. You shivered slightly, not from cold, but from the exhaustion that crept deeper into your bones with every passing hour. You had stopped counting how many days you’d gone without real rest.

Rayleigh had given both you and Shanks a thick stack of reading as part of your apprenticeship under their wing—navigation theory, sea lore, ship maintenance, historical texts. You didn’t mind the learning; in truth, you craved the structure it gave you. But every time you closed your eyes, the nightmares came creeping in—half memories, half monsters. Faces you couldn’t save. Voices swallowed by the sea.

You were so tired your body hurt.

Footsteps padded softly behind you. Not threatening, but curious. Familiar.

“If you're sleepy, you should sleep. If the captain finds out you're not sleeping, he'll scold you.”

You turned slightly, recognizing the warm, teasing voice instantly.

“I'm not sleepy,” you whispered, even though your voice betrayed you with how hoarse and small it sounded.

You pushed yourself up from the stool, cradling the heavy book like a fragile piece of cargo, and made your way to the shelf to put it back. As you turned around, you nearly stumbled into Shanks.

He was standing right behind you now, closer than you expected, his red hair tousled and sticking out in odd angles. He looked like he’d just rolled out of bed, his shirt half-buttoned and feet bare. There was a softness in his gaze, not the usual joking sparkle you were used to, but something quieter. Something that felt too big for boys your age.

“You didn’t notice me, did you?” Shanks murmured, reaching out without hesitation to brush a few strands of hair from your face. His fingers were warm.

You looked away.

“Do you have nightmares?” he asked gently.

“Yes,” you whispered, not trusting yourself to say more.

He didn’t speak again for a moment, just pulled you into him with a suddenness that didn’t feel rushed or awkward, just… instinctive. His arms wrapped securely around you, pressing your face into his chest. You could hear his heartbeat—steady and calm, like waves lapping against the hull. He smelled like salt and old parchment, and something uniquely him.

“Sleep,” he said softly against the crown of your head. “I’ll stay with you.”

You didn’t mean to, but your knees buckled a little, and before you could hit the floor, Shanks caught you. He scooped you up in his arms with surprising ease. You were light from not eating properly, worn down by sleepless nights. Your arms looped lazily around his neck as your eyes began to flutter shut.

“You’re not supposed to carry me,” you mumbled.

“I’ll tell Rayleigh I was rescuing you from literary drowning,” he teased, though his voice stayed soft, reverent.

He carried you down the corridor with care, the library door swinging quietly shut behind him. The ship’s wood was cool beneath his feet, but he didn’t mind. In the dim glow of the lanterns, he brought you to the shared cabin you and a few others used, but instead of laying you in your bunk, he sat against the wall, still holding you against his chest.

You didn’t stir.

Shanks looked down at you, eyebrows furrowed slightly. He’d noticed the signs—dark circles, the way your hands shook when holding your sword, how you’d drift off during training and then snap awake, eyes wide and frightened.

He hated seeing you like this.

“I get them too, sometimes,” he whispered, not expecting a reply.

But your breathing slowed, deepened.

You were asleep.

He rested his head back against the wood, holding you like glass. He didn’t know what the nightmares were about, but he didn’t need to. All he knew was that if you were with him, he’d make sure nothing hurt you—not dreams, not ghosts, not even the fear of being vulnerable.

The next morning, the sun broke over the horizon, its light spilling through the small round porthole in the corner of the room.

Rayleigh stood in the doorway, blinking down at the sight of the two youngest apprentices curled together like siblings shipwrecked on a safe shore. He said nothing, just gave a faint smile, turned on his heel, and closed the door behind him.

That evening, after the day’s duties and sword drills were over, Shanks sat next to you on the deck, your shoulders brushing as you shared a piece of bread and a flask of juice.

“You drooled on my shirt,” he said, smirking.

“I did not.”

“You did. Right here.” He pointed to a barely-there damp spot. “You owe me laundry duty.”

You rolled your eyes, but you smiled. For the first time in days, your limbs didn’t feel like anchors. You’d slept all the way through the night.

“Thanks, Shanks,” you said quietly, looking out at the sea.

He nudged your knee with his. “Anytime. You can always come find me, okay? Even if it’s the middle of the night.”

You nodded.

“I mean it,” he added. “And if the nightmares come back... I’ll scare them off with a wooden sword and my dazzling grin.”

You laughed. He looked satisfied with that.

That night, just as he was drifting off in his bunk, he heard your light steps by the door. You hovered there, unsure.

He didn’t even open his eyes.

“Come here,” he said simply, lifting the blanket.

You crawled in beside him, neither of you saying anything more. You nestled against his side, and he rested a hand over your shoulder.

In the quiet of the Oro Jackson, with the ocean humming softly below, you both found rest.

Not because the nightmares had disappeared.

But because you weren’t alone.

sooo what if reader and shank,established relationship,and they keep their relationship pretty hidden for a long while until one day one of their crew m mates found them making out/kiss(?) by accidentally but that crewmate keeps that secret hidden but slowly teasers them during dinner(which made the others confused) but soon after they kind of reveal their relationship and the crew goes shocked or something

thats a nice idea~ hope u like this!

Six Months of Secrets, Five Minutes of Hell

Keeping a relationship secret on the Red Force is hard — especially when your crewmate catches you making out and decides to turn dinner into your personal hell.

Shanks x gn! reader | ONE SHOT tags: sfw, fluff, secret relationship, banter, chaotic crew, red hair pirates shenanigans, humor a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Red Force rocked lazily on the evening tide, the low hum of laughter and clinking mugs filling the warm air. As always, dinner aboard the Red-Haired Pirates was less a meal and more a festival of chaos. Plates clattered, arguments erupted over who cheated at cards, and somewhere in the back, Lucky Roux and Bonk Punch were having a loud, messy food-eating contest that Makino would absolutely kill them for if she were around.

Amidst the noise, you and Shanks sat far apart — as usual. It had always been that way: yelling across the deck, trading jabs and insults like candy. To the crew, you were the ship’s resident cats-and-dogs duo: always ready to bite each other’s heads off, throwing punches (mostly playful, mostly), and causing drama like your lives depended on it.

Which made it the perfect cover.

Because behind closed doors — in stolen moments under the stars, behind barrels, in empty storerooms — you and Shanks weren’t fighting at all. In fact, if Lime Juice hadn't turned the wrong corner half an hour ago and seen his beloved captain pressed against you, hand tangled in your hair while your legs wrapped tight around his hips, he would still be as blissfully oblivious as the rest of them.

Instead, now he sat at dinner looking like a man who had seen the very fabric of reality torn apart.

You caught his eye across the table. He twitched violently and immediately looked away, face burning. Shanks, the bastard, just kept eating, hiding his smug smile behind a mug of sake.

It was going to be a long night.

Earlier That Evening

It wasn’t supposed to happen. You both knew better. But Shanks had looked at you a certain way, had that lazy, half-lidded, I'm about to ruin your life grin — and well, one thing led to another.

You were tucked away in the shadowy corridor near the storage rooms, your back to the wall, Shanks’ mouth trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses along your neck. Your hands fisted the fabric of his shirt, tugging him impossibly closer. His hand splayed along your hip, anchoring you there like he never planned to let go.

"You know," you gasped between kisses, "someone’s gonna catch us one of these days—"

"Let 'em," Shanks muttered into your skin. "I'll kiss you right in front of them."

The taste of him — rum, sea salt, and something recklessly him — made your head spin.

"we're really pushing our luck here." he murmured against your mouth, hands skating under your shirt to press warm palms against your lower back

You kissed him harder in answer, swallowing the grin tugging at his lips. "You’re the one who dragged me back here, Captain."

He hummed, low and pleased, nosing along your jawline before trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your throat. His beard scratched deliciously, making you shiver and clutch at his shirt.

"Couldn’t help it," he muttered, voice rough. "You looked too good tonight. Wanted to —" Another kiss, wetter, deeper. "— ruin you a little."

Your laugh dissolved into a gasp when he tugged you flush against him, hands greedy, mouth finding that spot just below your ear that made you tremble.

You twisted your fingers into the front of his open shirt, tugging him even closer, losing yourself in the heat, the hunger, the low rumble of approval he made when you bit his lip—

—and that's exactly when Lime Juice rounded the corner.

You barely had time to flip him off before you heard a yelp — a very familiar yelp — and the clatter of dropped crates.

You and Shanks snapped your heads around in unison.

Lime Juice stood there, frozen like a deer in headlights, mouth opening and closing uselessly like a goldfish. One of the barrels he was carrying had rolled away, leaking pickles everywhere.

"...Oh" he said faintly. "Oh no."

"Yo, Lime," Shanks greeted casually, still holding you scandalously close.

You elbowed Shanks hard in the ribs, making him grunt and finally step back. Lime Juice immediately spun on his heel and sprinted away, arms flailing.

You both stared after him.

"...Think he’ll keep his mouth shut?" you asked.

Shanks grinned, cocky and unbothered. "Depends. Might have to bribe him."

You rolled your eyes. "You're insufferable."

"You love me," he sing-songed.

You did. God help you, you really did.

Dinner — Lime Juice: Menace Unleashed

Dinner was supposed to be your safe zone. Laughs, food, and maybe some semi-violent card games.

Instead, you felt like you were on trial.

Lime Juice sat across from you, sipping soup very pointedly. Too pointedly. He kept darting glances at you and Shanks, grinning into his cup like he knew something the rest didn’t.

You felt sweat trickling down your back.

Shanks was no better. His fake casual air was cracking at the seams — his laughter a little too loud, his drinking a little too fast.

"Oi, [Name]," Lime Juice drawled suddenly.

You stiffened.

"If someone was, say, very... energetic... tonight, would it be because they had a good workout?"

"...Workout?" Yasopp repeated, confused.

You nearly knocked your plate off the table.

"You good?" Yasopp asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I'M FINE," you wheezed.

The crew blinked.

"Yeah," Lime said smoothly. "Like, I dunno. Someone looked... very physically satisfied coming to dinner."

You choked on your drink so violently that Benn Beckman actually looked concerned.

"Oi," Lucky Roux said, frowning, "what are you going on about, Lime?"

"Nothing~," Lime Juice sang innocently. "Just making observations."

Benn Beckman narrowed his eyes. "You’re being weird."

Shanks shot Lime Juice a murderous look. Lime Juice only smiled wider, sweet as poison.

"And you, Captain," Lime said innocently. "You seem... loosened up. Someone helping you relieve that tension?"

You squeezed your eyes shut. He's going to kill us. He's actually going to kill us.

Meanwhile, the others were getting suspicious.

"Something’s weird," Bonk Punch muttered.

"Maybe they're possessed," Hongo said wisely.

Beckman was watching you two now, sharp-eyed. "You’re twitchier than Shanks at a wine-tasting."

"I am NOT twitchy," Shanks snapped way too fast.

You kicked him under the table. He kicked you back.

Even Monster the monkey was looking at you weirdly.

But Lime Juice wasn’t done.

A few minutes later, while you were mid-bite, Lime leaned back and loudly said:

"Captain~ Been... getting lucky lately?"

The clang of Shanks dropping his fork was deafening.

You wanted to sink through the floor.

The table stared at him. Shanks cleared his throat, cheeks darkening.

"Just... lucky at cards," he said weakly.

"Riiiight~" Lime said with an evil wink.

Hongo scratched his head. "Is he drunk already?"

"I don't get it," Bonk Punch muttered. "What's Lime talking about?"

"Maybe he's implying Shanks got laid," Yasopp joked, laughing.

Everyone chuckled.

Except you and Shanks — who went rigid.

Lime Juice just smiled, swinging his legs casually like a cat about to knock over a full glass.

When dessert arrived, Lime Juice decided to finish you off.

"Say, Y/N," he said loudly, as you reached for a slice of pie. "Didn't realize you had a thing for redheads."

You froze, hand hovering mid-air.

The whole table turned toward you like vultures.

"...What?" you croaked.

"Redheads," Lime Juice said innocently. "They're so... passionate, right? Bit clumsy. Lots of scars. Missing limbs, sometimes."

He was describing Shanks down to the last goddamn freckle.

"So, Cap. Hypothetically," he said, voice dripping fake innocence, "if you were secretly dating someone hot and chaotic, who throws knives at you for fun... would you keep it hidden? Or would you, say, be caught making out behind the supply crates?"

Bonk Punch's fork clattered to his plate.

Yasopp’s eyes widened.

Lucky Roux gasped.

"Wait," Benn said slowly, staring at you both. "Wait a damn minute."

"LIME!" you hissed under your breath.

"WAIT," Yasopp said. "ARE YOU SAYING—"

Absolute silence.

Even Monster the monkey dropped his banana.

Shanks groaned into his hands.

You dropped your forehead to the table with a loud thunk.

Then —

Shanks groaned and buried his face in his hands. "Fine. You win. Whatever."

Lime Juice’s grin split his face.

"Wait," Lucky Roux said, slowly connecting the dots. "Are you two actually—"

"YES," Shanks barked.

"FOR SIX MONTHS," you added miserably.

Dead silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

"WHAT THE HELL—"

"HOW?!"

"WHEN?!"

"WHY DIDN'T WE SEE IT?!"

"I THOUGHT THEY HATED EACH OTHER!" Yasopp screamed.

"BECAUSE THEY ACT LIKE THEY WANT TO KILL EACH OTHER!" Bonk Punch yelled.

"That’s called foreplay, Bonk," Lime Juice said helpfully.

"WHAT THE FUCK?!" Bonk Punch yelled..

Beckman just sighed like a man sixty years too old for this shit and took a long drag of his cigarette. "I'm gonna need another drink. Maybe ten."

The Aftermath

"You threw a chair at him last week!" Hongo yelled at you.

"It was flirting!" you shouted back.

"YOU BROKE A WINDOW!"

"IT WAS A SEXY WINDOW BREAK!"

Shanks just slung an arm lazily over your shoulder, laughing so hard he was hiccupping.

"So what," Shanks slurred, grinning. "You guys are just mad you didn't notice how hot we are together?"

"I'M MAD I HAVE TO THINK ABOUT IT!" Yasopp howled.

Monster made gagging noises.

Lime Juice beamed with the pride of a man who had lit the match and dropped it into a fireworks factory.

You thought, maybe after the initial explosion, they’d move on.

You were wrong.

They would not shut up.

"So, Shanks," Yasopp smirked. "Who's on top?"

You hurled a bread roll at his head. He caught it and winked.

"Oh my god, did you guys bang in the crow’s nest?" Bonk Punch gasped.

"Don't answer that," Beckman muttered.

"You’re gonna answer that later, right?" Lucky Roux asked you, waggling his eyebrows.

"I’M LEAVING," you shouted, standing up so fast your chair toppled over.

Shanks caught your wrist, laughing. "Aw, come on, Y/N. You can't leave me alone to suffer."

"You’re the reason we’re suffering!"

"I call it mutual destruction, baby."

You kicked him lightly under the table. He kicked you back. Several of the crew made knowing noises.

Later — Peace (Sort of)

You slumped against the rail later that night, exhausted and mildly traumatized.

Shanks sidled up beside you, bumping his hip into yours.

"You still mad?"

"I’m plotting your death," you muttered.

He slung an arm around you, pulling you in.

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

Across the deck, Lime Juice cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted: "USE A CONDOM NEXT TIME!"

You flipped him off so hard you nearly dislocated your wrist.

Shanks just roared with laughter, burying his face in your shoulder.

Maybe getting caught wasn't the worst thing after all. Not when you had this.

© ᵈᵒˡˡʸʷᵒⁿˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳˢ <³

Sea Kings, Smart Mouths, and Stolen Hearts

A wandering scholar with the rare ability to read the Poneglyphs finds themselves entangled in the chaotic world of the Whitebeard Pirates.

PART 3 OF READER WHO CAN READ PONEGLYPH

whitebeard pirates x gn!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: Ace, Thatch, Izou, Marco

tags: fluff, sfw, harem, soft

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

word count: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Moby Dick was a floating temple of chaos.

You’d been on board for exactly three hours when you witnessed a fistfight over the last bottle of rum, a man juggling knives while drunk off his ass, and someone trying to arm-wrestle a literal sea king. And for some reason, every single one of them tried to rope you into it.

You were sitting on a barrel near the railing, minding your own damn business, when a piece of driftwood floated by — a small, smooth thing, carved with ancient script.

Your fingers twitched.

The words called to you. Whispered in a tongue long dead to the world. It was harmless, but old. You reached out, brushing your fingers over it, murmuring softly.

“Hey, what’re you doin’?”

You didn’t even flinch when the voice broke your concentration. You finished reading the last word before looking up. A man stood there, grin too big for his face, hair looks like bread, scar on side of his eye. He's sun-browned and scarred, and a bottle swung lazily in his hand.

“Talking to wood,” you said dryly.

He barked out a laugh. “Name’s Thatch. I like you already.”

“Is it because I didn’t scream?”

“Nope. It’s ‘cause you look like you’re about to either murder someone or seduce ‘em. That’s a rare vibe to pull off.”

You quirked a brow but said nothing. Thatch clapped you on the back anyway, nearly sending you overboard.

“C’mon,” he said. “You can sulk better at the fire.”

Dinner on the Moby Dick was less of a meal and more of a battle royale.

Men shouted, meat sizzled over open flames, and ale flowed like water. You sat at the edge of it, quietly nursing a cup of something that tasted like regret and old socks.

A man with fiery freckles and a grin to match dropped into the seat beside you. He immediately reached for your drink.

You grabbed his wrist without looking.

“Mine.”

He blinked, then grinned wider. “Name’s Ace. You’re the new one, huh?”

“No,” you deadpanned. “I’m the old one. I’ve just been invisible this whole time.”

Ace snorted. “Smartass.”

Thatch appeared behind him, slinging an arm around both your shoulders. “Told you, Ace — they’re my favorite.”

You were already plotting his demise.

It didn’t take long for the others to circle.

A man with long, flowing hair and sharp eyes introduced himself as Izou. He looked you up and down like you were a puzzle with missing pieces.

“You’re strange,” he said, not unkindly.

“Thanks.”

“I like strange.”

You raised your cup in salute.

And then there was Marco.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you from across the fire, golden eyes flickering like dying embers. When he finally approached, you were standing alone on the deck, staring up at a sky so thick with stars it made your teeth ache.

“You’re not like them,” Marco said quietly.

“Observant.”

He smirked. “What’s your deal?”

You hesitated. But the truth felt easier here, in the dark.

“I read things,” you said. “Things I shouldn’t be able to. Ancient things.”

“Poneglyphs.”

You stiffened, and Marco’s smirk turned sharp.

“Relax,” he murmured. “Your secret’s safe. Pops wouldn’t give a damn. Most of us wouldn’t either.”

You eyed him. “And you?”

“I find it interesting.”

You snorted. “You would.”

His laugh was soft. “Smartmouth.”

The next day, some poor idiots tried to attack the Moby Dick.

They came in hot — four ships bristling with cannons and swords, foaming at the mouth about bounties and revenge. You barely blinked.

The crew went feral.

Ace leapt into the fray with fire on his heels, Thatch laughing as he tossed knives with deadly precision. Izou shot a man out of mid-air, unfazed as blood misted the deck.

One fool broke through the chaos and made a beeline for you.

“Oi, scholar!” he sneered. “You’re worth a fortune!”

You sighed.

Raising a hand, you spoke a word older than kingdoms, and the man’s sword crumbled to dust in his grip.

He paled.

You spoke again, and the air around him shimmered — his boots turned to brittle stone, cracking beneath him. The third word sent him flying backward with a force that shattered the nearest mast.

The crew went dead silent.

Ace let out a long, low whistle. “Yo.”

“Did you see that?” Thatch yelped. “That was badass.”

Izou eyed you like you’d just turned into his favorite thing.

Marco, perched on the highest beam, grinned.

“Not helpless, then.”

You rolled your eyes. “Hardly.”

After that, you became a sort of legend.

The scholar who spoke to stones and made enemies vanish with a word. The one even sea kings gave a wide berth.

And the harem started forming before you could stop it.

Thatch started bringing you food, drinks, and increasingly ridiculous trinkets (“This is a seashell shaped like a butt, you’re welcome.”).

Ace followed you everywhere. Literally everywhere. You once found him outside the bathroom.

“What,” you demanded.

He shrugged. “Felt like it.”

"tsk."

Izou taught you how to braid hair. His hands were surprisingly gentle for a man who could blow your head off without blinking.

And Marco? He made it worse.

Sitting beside you at night, speaking of things he shouldn’t remember. Old places, lost names. His hand brushing yours when no one was looking.

You should’ve run.

You didn’t.

And the comedy never stopped.

Like the time Ace tried to fight a giant crab to impress you and got pinched in a place no man should ever get pinched.

Or when Thatch bet you couldn’t outdrink him and passed out three shots in, leaving you to doodle a mustache on his face.

Or when Izou declared you’d look better in one of his kimonos and actually wrestled you into one. (It did look good. You never admitted it.)

Even Marco wasn’t safe. You caught him napping once, a seagull perched on his head. You didn’t tell him. You let it happen.

Then came the Poneglyph.

Buried in the heart of a ruined island, half-sunken beneath the sea. You felt it before you saw it — an ache in your chest, a pulse beneath your skin.

The crew followed you in.

“This place gives me the creeps,” Thatch muttered.

“Maybe ‘cause it’s cursed,” Ace said, poking a skull.

“Both of you shut up,” Izou hissed.

You found the slab in the heart of the ruin. Black stone, ancient words glowing faintly. It sang to you.

And like an idiot, you answered.

You spoke the words.

Power thrummed through the ground, the air, your bones. The sea roared. The sky cracked.

The world shifted.

When you opened your eyes, you were on your knees. Marco was crouched beside you, worry in his gaze.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded, breathless. “Yeah.”

“What did it say?”

You hesitated. “War’s coming.”

His jaw tightened.

But then Ace clapped you on the back, nearly toppling you. “If anyone’s startin’ a war with you on our side, they’re screwed.”

Thatch grinned. “Dibs on being your right-hand man.”

Izou smirked. “I call left.”

Marco chuckled. “I’ll be wherever you need me.”

You sighed. “You’re all idiots.”

But you didn’t feel alone anymore.

That night, on the deck beneath a sky bleeding silver, Marco sat beside you.

“You belong here, y’know,” he said quietly.

You didn’t answer.

“Not just as some scholar. As one of us.”

You stared at the sea. “Even if I’m dangerous?”

He shrugged. “So are we.”

He touched your hand, fingers curling around yours.

“Besides,” Marco added, a grin tugging at his lips, “you still owe me a drink.”

You smiled.

For the first time in years, it felt easy.

“Deal.”

Hot Springs, Hot Tempers

You and King accidentally end up in the same secluded hot spring. Cue awkward tension, steamy misunderstandings, and fluffy chaos.

King X gn! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, king being bad at flirting(?), ooc king, post-battle

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

word count: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You had no idea the hot spring was co-ed.

Okay, to be fair, the old innkeeper had mumbled something about the “blessed harmony of nature,” but you’d tuned her out while ogling the steaming bath behind her. After all, after days of dodging explosions, clashing with marines, and nearly getting cooked alive by Kaido’s fire breath (which—honestly—should be illegal), you were in desperate need of a hot soak.

So, in you went.

Alone. Glorious. Gloriously alone. Or so you thought.

You sunk into the mineral-rich waters with a satisfied moan, stretching out your limbs like a boiled noodle.

“Finally,” you sighed. “Peace.”

And that’s exactly when you heard it—the sound of something massive stepping through the entrance behind you.

You froze mid-soak. Slowly turned your head.

And there he was.

King.

All 20-foot-something of him, broad shoulders covered in black scales and steam, towering at the threshold with his helmet already off, wings folded behind him like a damn mythical creature who forgot how personal space works.

He stopped, towel hanging over his shoulder, completely stone-faced as your eyes met.

“Oh no,” you said flatly, water sloshing around you.

King blinked. “...This is the private spring, isn’t it?”

You shot up, half-submerged. “I thought this was the solo spring!”

“You thought wrong.”

“You’re the one barging in here like some half-naked goth dragon!”

“I’m wearing a towel.”

“Barely!”

An awkward silence settled like fog on the water.

Then you noticed it—King’s expression faltering ever so slightly, as though realizing he had, in fact, just crashed a very vulnerable soak session.

“I’ll leave,” he muttered, turning on his heel with all the grace of a man who never once had to care about bathing etiquette.

“No, wait—ugh. Don’t.” You sighed, flopping back against the smooth rock ledge. “It’s fine. Let’s just pretend we’re two strangers in an awkward commercial.”

King paused. “A what?”

“Never mind.”

He stepped forward, water rippling violently with every heavy-footed motion, and settled into the far end of the spring. The opposite end. The farthest possible distance between you and his very large, very shirtless self.

Great. Now you had to pretend you weren’t occasionally glancing at his shoulders.

To be fair, you tried not to. But he was right there. With skin that shimmered like obsidian under the moonlight and muscles that made Greek statues look like soggy breadsticks.

And then he caught you looking.

You quickly looked away.

“I wasn’t—uh—I mean, nice... wings?” you blurted out.

His eyebrow raised. “That’s the best you’ve got?”

You groaned and covered your face. “I’m under pressure, okay?! You’re like—intimidating hot.”

King blinked. His cheeks, you could swear, colored faintly at the edges.

“Don’t call me hot.”

“Well don’t show up shirtless, glistening with steam like some overworked fanfic trope.”

A beat.

“…What’s a fanfic?”

“Forget it.”

Another silence.

Then, out of nowhere, King spoke. “I didn’t know you used hot springs.”

You side-eyed him. “I didn’t know you bathed.”

“I’m not a savage.”

“Well, jury’s still out.”

King huffed, turning his face slightly. For someone who once split a marine ship in two with his boot, he looked incredibly put out by your teasing. Almost pouty.

You smirked.

“Well, since we’re stuck here together… might as well enjoy it,” you said, leaning back against the stone and letting the warm water lull your muscles.

King tilted his head. “You’re not going to try anything stupid?”

“What, like seducing you with my wrinkly prune fingers?” you held up your soaked hands.

“…Yes.”

You snorted. “Please, you’d combust before anything happened.”

He grunted. “Fair.”

A few more moments passed. You dared peek again.

He was leaning back, steam coiling around his broad frame like silk, wings shifting with every subtle motion. You noticed he had a faint scar running along his collarbone—jagged, healed-over, and oddly… human.

“You have a scar,” you said before you could stop yourself.

King opened one eye lazily. “Observation. Noted.”

“No, I mean… I didn’t think Lunarians could scar.”

He was quiet for a beat. “I got it before the flame. Before I could heal.”

“Oh,” you murmured, eyes softening.

The mood quieted.

But then you, unable to help yourself, added: “...So you were a clumsy kid.”

He side-eyed you. “I fell from a sky cliff. That’s not clumsy. That’s survival.”

“Uh-huh. And I’m sure you looked very majestic doing it.”

“I did.”

You both cracked a small laugh. A real laugh.

And then—

SPLOOSH!

A wild monkey cannonballed into the spring.

You screamed. King leapt halfway out of the water with his wings flared.

“WHAT IN—?!”

The monkey screeched, flopped onto a rock, and began casually bathing itself with a smug little expression.

“…Are you serious?” you muttered.

King glared at the monkey. “It’s staring at me.”

You nudged closer. “Probably impressed by your wingspan.”

“Or your screaming.”

“Excuse me! That was a war cry of surprise.”

“I thought it was a kettle exploding.”

“You—!”

You were cut off by the monkey stealing your towel.

It yanked it from the side, chattered triumphantly, and bolted into the woods.

“HEY!!”

King, somehow, did not move to help. In fact, he looked… amused?

“Don’t you dare laugh,” you warned.

His lips twitched. “Consider it karma for calling me a ‘goth dragon’.”

You groaned and sank deeper into the water. “I’m gonna have to air dry now like a soggy noodle.”

“You’ll survive,” King said, voice warm with uncharacteristic amusement.

You both sat in steamy silence for a bit longer, the earlier tension melting with the mist.

After a few minutes, King shifted closer. Not much—just a foot or two. But it was enough to make your heart stutter.

“...You come here often?” he asked, in the most unintentionally awkward tone imaginable.

You blinked.

“…Are you hitting on me?”

“No,” he said too quickly.

You raised a brow. “That was absolutely a pickup line.”

“It was not.”

“You literally just asked, ‘do you come here often?’ in a secluded hot spring.”

“…Coincidence.”

You stared at him. He stared back.

Then—you burst out laughing.

“I can’t believe this. You’re terrible at flirting.”

King flushed. “I’m not trying to flirt.”

“Oh, no, of course not. That towel drop earlier was just an accident too, huh?”

“That was gravity’s fault.”

You giggled so hard you slipped slightly under the water, splashing like a drunk dolphin.

And then—you felt his hand.

Gentle. Large. Holding your elbow to steady you.

You froze.

He looked surprised at himself too, eyes wide like he hadn’t meant to do that.

But he didn’t pull away.

“…Thanks,” you mumbled, suddenly very aware of the fact that your face was burning hotter than the water.

King’s gaze softened. Just slightly.

“You’re welcome.”

You both stayed like that, too long, too close. Until—

“HEY!!” someone called in the distance. “Is the spring free yet?!”

It was Queen.

You and King jumped apart like teenagers caught making out behind the gym.

“I should go,” you said.

“Yes. Right.”

You stood up, realized you still didn’t have a towel, and groaned.

King turned his back with a surprising amount of respect. “Take mine.”

“…Wait, seriously?”

“You’ll catch a cold,” he muttered, ears slightly red.

You wrapped it around yourself, stunned silent for once.

As you left the spring, water dripping and heart racing, you dared glance back at King—still chest-deep in steam, gaze lowered, face unreadable.

But there was a faint curl to his lips. Almost like a smile.

You didn’t know what that meant. But you did know one thing:

You were definitely coming back to this spring.

And next time, you might just forget to bring a towel again.

Can you do Kuzan (aokiji) ?? Like, the reader was rumored witch and when he heard that, he goes excited suddenly and wanted to find that witch? ( You can do what ever you want with the ending. But please add a smut hehehe, thank you!!

hii this is a good idea!! i apologize, as of the moment, i don't plan on writing that includes s3x anytime soon:< but theres some kissing scene tho idk if kissing is considered as smut? dahaha but i hope you enjoy this! let me know what u think! ><

Frostbite and Witchcraft

When a bored ex-admiral hears rumors of a dangerous "witch" living near a chaotic port town, he can't resist hunting her down—only to find himself ensnared in a slow-burn game of teasing, ice, and forbidden heat.

Aokiji (kuzan) x fem! reader Tags: fluff, flirty, slow burn(?) neck kissing / collarbone kissing, minor bondage (ice restraints), a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe and oc word count: 1.5k MINORS DNI!!

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

It all started with a stupid rumor.

"The witch will curse you if you look her in the eye!" "She flies around naked at midnight!" "She turned Old Man Jeb into a chicken. True story."

The entire port town was drunk on gossip, and Aokiji—bored, freshly unattached to any real responsibility—found himself very interested.

"I dunno," he said lazily, nursing a drink at the local tavern, "sounds kinda hot."

The table of sailors stared at him like he'd grown a second head. "Hot?! She’s dangerous!"

Aokiji just grinned, finishing his drink and standing up. "Dangerous women are the best ones."

He tracked you down that same night.

Eventually, he found himself standing at the edge of a very cliché-looking creepy forest. A broken, hand-painted sign read:

"BEWARE: WITCH LIVES HERE. (also wolves.)"

Aokiji, grinning lazily, shrugged. “Eh. Wolves are fine. I’m here for the witch.”

He wandered in, hands in his pockets, whistling tunelessly. Half an hour later, after being chased by a very angry (and definitely not magical) goat, he finally stumbled upon a crooked little house. Smoke curled from the chimney, and wind chimes made from bones (probably fake… probably) tinkled eerily.

Your crooked little house at the edge of the forest was half-charming, half-terrifying, lit up with candles and what looked suspiciously like floating lights (actually just fireflies, but hey, let the idiots believe).

You were perched on your porch, barefoot, wearing a thin, flowy dress that clung to your body in the humid air, holding a cup of tea and looking entirely too smug.

“You lost, stranger?” you called, voice honey-sweet but laced with trouble.

Aokiji whistled low under his breath. Damn, the rumors didn’t do you justice.

Aokiji approached slowly, hands in his pockets. “Hey. I’m here for the witch."

You looked him up and down like he was a particularly stupid animal. "You the guy with more balls than brains?"

He laughed—a slow, deep rumble. "Depends who you ask."

You raised an eyebrow, sipping your tea. “And what if she curses you?"

Aokiji's grin widened. He leaned his tall frame casually against a tree, watching you with the lazy hunger of a man already planning how fast he could lose the upper hand—and liking it.

“I dunno... kinda sounds like fun," he said, voice low, smooth. "Especially if she's the kind of witch who knows a few...bad tricks.”

And thus began the harassment.

Day 1: He brought you a dead fish. "Thought witches liked weird offerings."

You squinted at it, then at him. "That’s mermaid bait, dumbass."

He shrugged and left it on your porch anyway.

Day 3: He challenged you to a "spell duel" and got his ass kicked by a very territorial goat you "accidentally" sicced on him.

Day 5: You caught him napping under your tree, snoring like a dying lawnmower.

You threw a bucket of water on him. He woke up, grinning, ice instantly forming on his clothes.

"You’re gonna have to try harder to cool me off, sweetheart."

You stomped inside before he could see the stupid smile on your face.

Day 7: You found a neatly folded note on your porch:

"Dear scary witch lady, Teach me magic? Also, your hair looks nice. Yours frostily, Aokiji"

You rolled your eyes so hard you nearly fell over. But you smiled too.

He kept coming back. Sometimes he’d just sit nearby, pretending to "guard" your house from wolves. Other times, he’d lazily help you gather herbs (crushing half of them because he was clumsy as hell). You started leaving out a second cup of tea without thinking about it.

He was stupidly tall, annoyingly charming, and somehow managed to look both lazy and sharp at the same time. He made you laugh when you hadn’t laughed in months.

And gods, when he smirked at you… when he leaned a little too close when handing you a flower… It was getting hard to pretend you didn’t notice.

One evening… You sat by the porch, braiding herbs absently. The sky blazed orange, and Aokiji lounged nearby, watching you with open amusement.

"You ever curse anyone for real?" he asked.

You smirked. "Maybe. You wanna find out?"

He whistled low, pretending to wipe sweat from his brow. "Man… you’re dangerous when you talk like that."

You tossed a dried sprig of lavender at him. He caught it, lazy-fast.

There was a pause.

Then he got up—moved toward you—slow, deliberate.

You looked up, heartbeat thudding. He loomed, tall and close enough that you could smell his skin: cold like fresh rain, sharp and clean.

His hand brushed a stray leaf from your hair—fingers lingering just a second too long.

"Y'know," he murmured, voice low and wrecked, "I think you did curse me."

You tried to laugh it off—but it came out breathless.

"Oh yeah? What’s the curse?"

He smiled—a real one this time, a little crooked, a little too soft.

"I can’t stay away from you."

The tension snapped.

You surged up, grabbing his jacket and dragging him down; he met you halfway, crashing his mouth onto yours.

The kiss was everything you expected from him: messy, greedy, starving. His tongue slid against yours immediately, tasting, teasing, claiming you. You gasped into him—he groaned low in his throat—his hands roaming your sides, cool fingertips skating fire trails along your heated skin.

You bit his lip playfully; he retaliated by lifting you effortlessly onto the porch railing, pressing between your thighs.

"You’re lucky," you panted against his mouth.

"Yeah?" he chuckled, kissing down your jaw, voice thick with want.

"Not everyone survives kissing a witch."

He grinned against your throat, cold breath making you shiver.

"Guess I’m built different."

And then he kissed you again—deeper, hungrier—like he was determined to drown in you.

You decided you’d let him.

You barely had time to catch your breath before Aokiji’s mouth was on you again—only this time, lower.

His lips trailed messy, open-mouthed kisses down your jawline, slow and deliberate, sending shivers wracking your entire body. When he reached your neck, he paused, smirking against your pulse like he could feel it racing for him.

"You always this jumpy," he teased in a low growl, "or is it just me?"

You opened your mouth to sass back—but then he bit your neck, just enough to make you gasp, and you forgot how words worked.

His tongue followed immediately after, soothing the sting, cold and warm all at once. You arched into him instinctively, and he groaned deep in his chest, like the feel of you was driving him insane.

"Aokiji—" you tried to say, but it came out a whimper.

"Mm," he murmured against your skin, "I like how you say my name. Say it again."

Instead, you tugged at his messy hair, earning a delighted chuckle from him. He pressed you harder against the porch railing, one hand sliding under your thighs to keep you perched there like you belonged to him.

And then he got even bolder.

His mouth moved lower, ghosting along your collarbone, teeth scraping lightly before he kissed the delicate skin with maddening gentleness.

Your hands clutched at the fabric of his jacket, trying to anchor yourself. You could feel his breath—cool and teasing—against the thin fabric of your dress, making your whole body burn.

"You’re trembling," he whispered, smug. "Cold?" he asked, voice dripping pure sin, "or somethin' else?"

"Y-you're cheating," you managed to choke out, laughing breathlessly.

Aokiji just grinned wickedly against your collarbone.

Suddenly, you felt it—a cold, delicate grip around your wrists.

You looked down to see thin rings of ice curling around them, not painful, but firm—anchoring you gently against the railing behind you.

Your breath hitched. Your heart slammed against your ribs.

"Aokiji…" you whispered, wide-eyed.

He looked up at you, lazy and devastatingly cocky.

"Relax," he purred, mouth brushing your ear. "You can melt 'em anytime… if you ask real nice."

You swallowed hard, feeling the cold of the ice and the burning heat of his mouth on your skin, the impossible contrast driving you absolutely insane.

He kissed your shoulder—slow, reverent—then trailed back up to your neck, biting a little harder this time, earning a shaky, desperate moan from your lips.

"You sound so pretty," he rasped, like he was barely holding himself back.

You tugged at the ice instinctively, but it only made the sensation sharper—being half-pinned, half-teased, at his mercy.

"You want me to stop?" he asked, lips ghosting over yours, voice infuriatingly smug.

You glared at him, cheeks flushed and heart racing. "Don't you fucking dare."

Aokiji laughed—a real, dark, hungry laugh—and then captured your mouth again in a kiss so deep, so filthy, you forgot what planet you were on.

You kissed him back just as desperately, your hips grinding against his without even thinking.

The ice melted instantly under your heat, but you didn’t even notice—you were too busy tugging him closer, swallowing each other whole.

When you finally broke apart, gasping, he rested his forehead against yours, smirking like the cocky bastard he was.

"You’re trouble," he whispered, voice wrecked and affectionate.

You smiled, tugging his collar.

"So ruin me already, Ice Man."

And from the wicked glint in his half-lidded eyes, you knew he fully intended to.