Giant Duck Incident

shanks x reader with a cat-like or cat based zoan devil fruit?

sounds cool www

Claws, Cuddles, and Catnip Chaos

Shanks will do anything to win over the crew’s mischievous cat-like Devil Fruit user—even if it means competing with Benn and surviving a sneak-attack nap.

shanks x reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, light romance, nap cuddles, clingy antics, catnip a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff a bit cringe, akward, and confusing word count: 991

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

There were exactly three things the Red-Haired Pirates learned about you very quickly:

You were a certified menace in a cat’s body.

You had zero respect for personal space—unless it was Shanks’s.

You absolutely, unapologetically favored Benn Beckman.

"She purrs for you, Benn?! I've fed her, I've scratched her ears, I even gave her that weird fish jerky from Dressrosa!"

Shanks was sulking—again—as you laid sprawled across Benn’s lap like a lazy feline sunbathing, flicking your tail with royal indifference while he casually stroked between your ears.

“She lets me pet her when she’s in a good mood,” Benn replied calmly, taking a drag of his cigar. “Maybe try not throwing her off your shoulder when she lands there mid-meeting.”

“She knocked over seven mugs in ten seconds!”

“I was clearing the table for snacks,” you muttered, not opening your eyes.

“You yeeted a map. Into the ocean.”

You rolled onto your back, belly up, tail flicking toward Benn’s arm. “Benny understands me. Right, Benny?”

Benn chuckled, slow and satisfied. “You’re a little gremlin, but you’re my gremlin.”

Shanks practically burst into flames from jealousy. “That’s MY gremlin!”

"Ownership implies consent," you said, still not moving.

“You SLEPT ON HIS DESK FOR THREE HOURS!”

“I was asserting dominance.”

Shanks’s eye twitched.

Flashback: The “Desk Incident”

You’d sauntered into the war room mid-strategy meeting, tail high, whiskers twitching with curiosity. No one questioned it. You did this all the time.

Except this time, instead of knocking over a globe or licking a compass like a weirdo, you simply walked across the table, plopped down on Benn’s open map, and curled up into a ball.

Then you snored.

For three hours.

Shanks tried to nudge you off gently at first.

You bit him.

When Benn reached over and scratched your chin, you purred like a motorboat and flopped onto your side.

"Traitor," Shanks muttered.

Back to the Present

"Alright, that's it," Shanks declared, standing on a barrel dramatically. "From now on, I'm enacting Operation: Make Cat Fall in Love with Me."

Benn raised an eyebrow. "That’s the name you’re going with?"

"YES," Shanks snapped. "Step one: catnip. Step two: fish. Step three: ultimate snuggles."

"She’ll see right through it," Benn said, but he was smirking.

You stretched and yawned loudly. “I can hear you, you know.”

“I’m not hiding it!” Shanks declared. “I’m wooing you.”

“Woo me and you die.”

“You’re saying that now,” he said, pointing dramatically. “But just wait.”

Operation: Catastrophic Success

Step one was—predictably—catnip.

You were wise to his games this time, narrowing your eyes at the sprig he dangled like a bribe.

“I’m not falling for it again.”

“Come on,” Shanks wheedled. “Just a sniff.”

“Nope.”

Shanks leaned in, holding it under your nose like a shady merchant. “High-quality, imported, no sticks.”

You hissed and batted it out of his hand.

Then you lunged and stuffed it in your shirt.

“…I said I wasn’t falling for it, not that I was above stealing it.”

Shanks blinked. “...Fair.”

Step Two: Fish Diplomacy

Shanks cooked. Personally.

The crew avoided the galley like it was on fire.

When you walked in, the smell of something vaguely edible reached your nose. Shanks stood with a crooked smile, apron inside out, face smudged with flour, and a suspiciously burnt fish in hand.

“For you.”

You sniffed it.

You stared.

“Did… did you use rum instead of oil?”

“I panicked!”

You padded over to Benn and took the jerky he always kept in his coat pocket.

Shanks’s soul left his body.

Step Three: Ultimate Snuggles

It happened completely by accident.

You were curled up on your usual sunspot near the helm, tail twitching softly as the Red Force cut through calm seas. You’d been lounging near Benn earlier, of course, but he’d gone to smoke and you felt… restless.

The sun was warm.

The wind was soft.

Shanks was lying in the hammock like a lounging idiot, one leg up, book on his face, softly snoring.

And for some reason, your legs just walked over. Your ears twitched. Your instincts went haywire.

And before you could even think, you leapt into the hammock like a heat-seeking missile and curled up on his chest.

Shanks woke with a loud OOF.

He froze.

He blinked up through his book… and found you, kneading his chest absentmindedly, eyes already half-lidded, clearly ready for a nap.

“Wha…”

“Shh,” you mumbled. “You’re warm. Good pillow.”

He nearly died on the spot.

She’s on me, he thought. She chose ME. Over Benn.

He let his arm slowly wrap around you like he was defusing a bomb. Then he just laid there, stiff as a board, trying not to breathe too loudly.

When Benn walked by and raised a brow, Shanks grinned like a victorious maniac.

“She came to me,” he mouthed.

Benn just puffed his cigar and said, “Try not to scare her off.”

“She’s purring,” Shanks whispered smugly. “She likes me now.”

“I give it five minutes before she sneezes and claws your face.”

Five Minutes Later

You sneezed violently.

Your claws came out.

“OH GOD MY NIPPLE.”

Later That Night

You sat on the railing, brushing your tail as the moonlight washed over the deck. Shanks sat nearby, nursing his dignity and some scratch marks under his shirt.

“…Still worth it,” he mumbled.

You side-eyed him. “You’re a masochist.”

“I like a challenge.”

You flicked his forehead with your tail. “You’re annoying.”

He grinned. “But you like me.”

“…No comment.”

You hopped off the rail and stretched. Then, casually, you flopped down and laid your head in his lap.

He froze again.

“…Are you trying to kill me with happiness?”

You yawned. “You’re comfy. Better than your fish, that’s for sure.”

He beamed.

“You like me more than Benn?”

“Don’t push it.”

“But—”

You shot him a glare. “I will go scratch his beard and nap in his bunk again.”

Shanks shut up real fast.

“…I’ll take the win.”

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.

Hii! Can you please write something for Garp? I mean the young Garp, he has my heart.

finally! someone gets it!! dahaha young garp is just 😋🥵

Clash of Fists and Hearts

In their early days as Marines, Garp and Y/n are the chaotic, unstoppable duo no one dares challenge — sparring with fists, flirting with grins, and slowly realizing they’re doomed for each other.

Young Garp × GN!Reader

tags: fluff, sfw, flirty banter, chaotic duo, friends-to-lovers vibes, cheesy

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: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Marine base was buzzing with noise. Recruits barked drills across the training grounds, seagulls squawked overhead, and somewhere deep in the mess hall, someone dropped a tray with a resounding crash. But none of it compared to the chaos he brought with him.

"You call that a punch?!" Young Garp — brash, grinning, unstoppable — hollered across the field as he blocked a poor recruit’s trembling fist with one hand.

You sighed heavily from where you leaned against the base’s stone wall, arms crossed, watching him with a mixture of amusement and second-hand exhaustion.

"Maybe you should let the poor kid live, Garp," you called lazily. "You’re going to knock him into retirement before he even gets a pension."

Garp turned at your voice, that wild, boyish smile lighting up his face. "Hey! If he can’t survive me, how’s he gonna survive the Grand Line?"

The recruit looked like he might pass out at any second. You rolled your eyes and pushed off the wall, strolling over with a casual swagger that made Garp’s grin twitch wider.

"Maybe start with something a little less life-threatening," you teased, reaching out to ruffle the poor recruit’s hair. "Like paperwork."

Garp shuddered visibly. "Paperwork’s more dangerous than pirates."

You snorted. "Only because you can’t read half the time."

"Oi!" Garp barked a laugh and pointed at you, puffing up like a kid ready to wrestle. "Say that again, Y/n, and I’ll make you spar me instead!"

The challenge gleamed in his eyes. You raised an eyebrow, smirking. "I’m not scared of you, Monkey D. Garp."

The recruits nearest you gasped like you’d just insulted the gods themselves. One even dropped his sword. Garp whistled low, striding forward until he was towering over you, arms crossed over his broad chest.

"You should be." His voice dropped into something almost playful, almost daring.

Your heart skipped before you could scold it. You stood your ground, tilting your head up stubbornly. "Last time we sparred, you ended up eating dirt, remember?"

Garp barked out a laugh that turned every head on the field. "Only 'cause you cheated!" he accused, grinning like a fool. "You kissed me on the cheek, you sly bastard!"

Heat crept into your face. "It was a distraction!"

"A damn good one," he said, tapping his chin thoughtfully, still grinning that reckless grin. "Might’ve fallen a little bit in love with you after that."

You choked. The recruits exploded in scandalized whispers.

Garp leaned closer until you could see the crinkle of mischief around his eyes. "What’s wrong, Y/n? You can punch a Sea King but you can’t take a little flirting?"

You resisted the very strong urge to punch him instead — or kiss him again, you weren’t sure which would be worse.

Later that afternoon, you found yourself trapped with Garp in the base's strategy room, surrounded by piles of boring reports. This time, you were the one who dragged him in.

"If you don't finish this," you warned, slapping a thick folder into his calloused hands, "the commander said he'll make you scrub the training grounds with a toothbrush."

Garp scowled like you'd sentenced him to death. "Y/n... you're cruel. Beautiful, but cruel."

You snorted and kicked your boots up onto the table. "Flattery won't save you."

"It might," he said hopefully. When you didn't respond, he sighed dramatically, sprawling out on the chair like a defeated dog.

You watched him struggle through the first report, tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth in concentration. There was something weirdly endearing about it — this rough, reckless man trying (and failing) to look serious.

Without thinking, you plucked a pen from his ear (how did it even stay there?) and clicked it against his forehead. He looked up, blinking.

"You’re hopeless," you said fondly.

"And you're stuck with me," he shot back with a grin. "Unless you plan to jump ship?"

You shrugged. "Maybe. I hear that some pirates are recruiting."

Garp gasped, scandalized. "You traitor! I'll have to arrest you myself."

He lunged dramatically across the table. You yelped, laughing, trying to dodge — but he caught your wrist in a gentle, warm grip. The room stilled for a beat, laughter fading into something quieter.

"You’re not really going anywhere, right?" Garp said, voice low and suddenly serious.

You stared at him — at the raw, open trust in those reckless eyes. A slow smile curled your lips.

"Not unless you come with me, Monkey."

He beamed so brightly you thought you might go blind.

A Few Weeks Later

Word got around the base like wildfire. Garp and Y/n were a nightmare duo. During drills, they were unbeatable. During downtime, they were unbearable.

Their teasing matches were the stuff of legend. So were the unspoken glances. The way they always ended up side-by-side without realizing. The way they laughed louder together than with anyone else.

One evening, after a brutal round of training, you collapsed next to him under the fading sun. Both of you were dusted with dirt and sweat, chests heaving from exhaustion.

"You’re not half bad," you teased breathlessly, elbowing him.

Garp grinned, flashing those wolfish teeth. "You too. For a weakling."

You nudged him harder. He shoved back playfully, sending you sprawling onto the grass with a yelp. You caught his wrist before he could retreat, dragging him down with you in a chaotic heap.

There was a moment — a heartbeat where the world faded — and it was just the two of you, tangled together, breathing each other’s air.

You could feel the rumble of Garp’s laugh against your shoulder. "Maybe we should just stay like this," he said lazily. "Nice and comfy."

You rolled your eyes, pretending your heart wasn’t hammering. "You're heavy."

"Muscle weighs more than fat, sweetheart."

You slapped his arm lightly. "Keep sweet-talking me like that, and I might just marry you," you joked without thinking.

Garp stilled for a second. Then — "Good," he said, voice low and warm. "You’re mine anyway."

Your cheeks burned hotter than a cannon blast. But you didn’t pull away. And neither did he.

Espionage and Eavesdropping

You just wanted to surprise your Yonko boyfriend with something sweet. Shanks, however, misunderstands everything and thinks you're hiding a lover aboard.

shanks x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, chaotic

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

word count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You should’ve known better than to try anything secretive on a ship full of pirates with nothing better to do.

But here you were, crouched behind a stack of rum barrels in the ship’s lower deck, notebook clutched in one hand, whispering into a den den mushi like you were planning a military coup.

“I just need it by Thursday,” you hissed. “And don’t forget the edible glitter! It has to sparkle like Shanks’s ego.”

The den den mushi blinked at you slowly, mimicking your furrowed brows. “Sparkle. Got it. Any other unreasonable demands?”

“Make it look dangerously romantic, but also incredibly cool.”

“Sounds like you want a wedding cake without the wedding.”

You paused. “…Don’t say that out loud. He’ll hear it and assume I’m trying to marry someone else.”

And two decks above you, curled beneath a conveniently placed hammock and eavesdropping like a man twice his age, Shanks the Red-Haired Yonko of the Sea, whispered into his own den den mushi.

“I think they’re marrying someone else.”

“What?” Benn Beckman’s voice was dry.

“I just heard them say ‘don’t say that out loud, he’ll think I’m marrying someone else.’ That’s exactly what someone who’s definitely hiding an affair says, right?!”

“Shanks—”

“I KNEW they were too beautiful to be loyal.”

“You’re the most dramatic man on this ship.”

“I’m going to fake my own death and see if they cry.”

The misunderstanding began three days ago, when you asked Lucky Roux to quietly sneak into town and pick up something discreet and delicate. You’d given him a long list with unnecessary glitter stars and bold underlines, swore him to secrecy, and told him, “Tell no one. Especially Shanks. Not even if he’s dying. Especially not if he’s dying.”

Unfortunately, someone else heard that.

And Shanks? He took it personally.

Now you were organizing a surprise celebration for his birthday (which he had claimed he didn’t care about, like a liar), enlisting crew members with the stealth of a sea cat, and every time Shanks looked at you, you panicked like a criminal caught red-handed.

So of course he thought something was going on.

You’d whisper to Yasopp, run away from Hongo, disappear for hours, and dodge Shanks with the finesse of someone avoiding a breakup talk. He started following you in secret, wearing a cape and fake mustache, hiding behind crates that were nowhere near his size.

Benn walked past him one day and muttered, “This is why we can’t have normal relationships.”

Day Four.

You were on the main deck, whispering into your notebook.

“Benn’s distracting him with fake wine. Hongo’s handling the fireproof sparklers. Yasopp is swearing on his son’s life not to tell. I just need to—”

“—tell me who you’re seeing.”

You jumped so hard you nearly tossed the notebook overboard.

“Shanks! What the hell—how did you sneak up on me like that?!”

He was squinting suspiciously, arm on his hip, shirt loose, and hair windblown in a way that made him look far too attractive to be pulling this level of paranoid nonsense.

“I have connections,” he said ominously.

“Okay?”

“Lucky Roux saw you give a note to a pigeon.”

“First of all, it was a cake-ordering pigeon, and second—wait, that’s not the point. What?”

“You’ve been sneaking around. Whispering into things. Saying suspicious phrases like ‘don’t tell Shanks even if he’s dying.’ What am I supposed to think?!”

“That I’m planning something nice?”

“That you’re cheating!”

You blinked. Then blinked again.

“…Cheating? Shanks. Darling. Love of my life. Who on this ship could I possibly be cheating on you with?!”

He pointed dramatically toward the horizon. “Someone from another crew! A beautiful stranger with a strong jawline and a charming laugh—”

“That’s literally you.”

“Wait. Is this a reverse surprise? Am I the stranger?!”

“No!” you laughed, smacking his chest. “I’m planning a surprise party for you, you idiot!”

“…Oh.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Did you… spy on me?”

Shanks hesitated. Then lifted one leg onto a crate like a theater actor mid-monologue. “I’ll have you know I was on a noble quest for truth, love, and the prevention of heartbreak.”

“You wore a mustache and tried to climb the rigging, didn’t you.”

He coughed. “Irrelevant.”

You groaned, laughing despite yourself. “Unbelievable. You thought I was cheating, so you started counter-spying?”

He nodded solemnly. “It was a matter of pride. Also, Benn said if I was wrong, I owed him all my sake.”

“…And were you wrong?”

Shanks looked at you. Then at the crew. Then back at you.

“…Maybe. But in my defense, you are very suspicious when you whisper.”

Cue Party Day.

Despite the chaos, the confusion, and the unnecessary disguises, the party was perfect.

The deck was transformed with string lights, stolen silk drapes, a truly dangerous amount of glitter, and a cake shaped like his own face (your idea, obviously). A very confused seagull in a bowtie delivered the final decorations.

Shanks walked into the surprise party pretending to be shocked—even though he’d definitely heard the band warming up from below deck—and laughed like it was the greatest moment of his life.

“You did all this for me?” he beamed.

You crossed your arms. “Yes. Even though you accused me of having a secret affair.”

He grinned, wrapping an arm around your shoulder. “Well, I would cheat on me for you, so I get it.”

“…That doesn’t make any sense.”

“It doesn’t have to. I’m handsome.”

He kissed your cheek before you could argue, then pulled you onto the dance floor—barefoot, wild, and surrounded by pirates singing off-key. At some point, Lucky Roux accidentally ignited the fireproof sparklers (which were not fireproof), and Benn had to douse the deck while muttering about retirement.

You and Shanks ended the night lying on a picnic blanket made from stolen tavern tablecloths, eating leftover cake straight from the tray.

“Next time you plan a surprise,” he mumbled, mouth full, “just… tell me it’s not a secret affair.”

You poked his cheek. “Only if you don’t go full spy-movie mode again.”

He smiled. “Deal. Unless you start whispering to birds again. Then all bets are off.”

The next morning, you woke to find Shanks crouched on the figurehead, holding a long telescope and muttering, “The pigeon is back. I repeat. The pigeon. Is. Back.”

You dragged a pillow over your face and groaned.

Some things never change.

Fractures in the Silence

When a moment of anger turns into a lasting scar, both Shanks and the one he loves must learn how to heal from wounds they never meant to inflict.

shanks x reader ౨ৎ🖤 ONE SHOT

main characters: shanks

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

tags: angst, sfw, angst with comfort

words count: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The tavern was loud with laughter, the scent of spiced rum and sea salt thick in the air. The evening had started light, stories swapping like currency, the Red-Haired Pirates gathered together in their floating haven. You leaned against the wall, watching them with a small, fond smile. Shanks’ voice rang louder than the rest, that familiar carefree grin on his face — but there was tension in his shoulders tonight. Something was off.

You knew him better than most did. The way his laughter faltered half a second too soon, how his jaw clenched when no one was looking. It wasn’t the drink. It was something heavier. A rumor? A betrayal? You weren’t sure.

But it was only a matter of time before it boiled over.

“Captain,” Benn Beckman’s voice was low, cautious. “We can deal with this later.”

Shanks scoffed, slamming his cup down on the table hard enough to spill rum across the wood. “Later’s too damn late.”

You stepped forward, reaching for his arm gently. “Hey,” you murmured, “whatever it is, it’s not worth losing your head over tonight. You’ll handle it. You always do.”

But his eyes — dark, stormy, and burning with a mix of anger and helplessness — didn’t soften. Not like they usually did when you spoke to him. Not this time.

And then it happened. Too fast to stop it.

His hand shot out, sharp and unthinking, an open palm meant for the air — a gesture born from frustration, meant to chase away his demons, not hurt you.

But you were too close.

The slap connected with your cheek, a crack splitting the room’s noise in two. The sting bloomed instantly, white-hot against your skin. A sharp, horrible silence swallowed the room whole.

Shanks froze.

His eyes widened in horror, color draining from his face as if he couldn’t comprehend what his own hand had done. You blinked at him, your own shock mirrored in his expression, your skin throbbing.

“I—” his voice broke, barely a whisper. “Y/N…”

You forced a tight, almost too-wide smile, the taste of copper on your tongue. “It’s fine,” you said too quickly, waving a hand like you could swat away the moment. “Just… an accident. No big deal.”

But you saw it in his face. The guilt. The way his hand trembled as he lowered it. The way his whole body seemed to recoil from itself.

Benn Beckman stood up then, murmuring something about giving you both space as the rest of the crew quietly filed out, heavy boots against wood the only sound in the suffocating quiet.

You didn’t look at Shanks. Not when the world was spinning, not when you felt too much and too little all at once.

“You should sit,” he rasped, voice frayed.

“I’m fine.”

But you weren’t.

And for the days that followed, you kept pretending.

The bruise faded quickly enough, but the damage didn’t. Not the kind you could see.

Every time Shanks lifted his hand to run it through his hair, to gesture wildly in a story, to reach for you — you flinched.

It was a small thing, barely noticeable if you weren’t looking for it. But he saw it every time. And every time it cut deeper than any blade could.

He stopped raising his hands altogether.

Stopped reaching.

And the distance between you, once so easy, so natural, stretched like a wound neither of you could name.

“Y/N,” he tried, days later, as you sat alone on the deck under a half-lit sky.

You didn’t look up. Couldn’t.

“I… I need to say something.”

You forced a weak smile, pulling your knees to your chest. “You don’t have to. It was an accident. I get it.”

“But you’re scared of me.”

The words cracked in his throat like breaking glass. You finally looked up, meeting his gaze — and saw it. The raw, aching guilt in his eyes. The weight he’d been carrying since that night.

“I’m not scared of you,” you lied.

His shoulders sagged. “Y/N… please. Don’t… don’t lie to me.”

Your throat tightened. “I’m not scared of you. I just…” You trailed off, closing your eyes as the memory hit you again, unbidden. The sting. The shock. The way your body instinctively flinched when he moved too quickly now, no matter how much you told yourself it wasn’t real.

“I hate that I did this to you,” he whispered. “I swear on my life — on the sea, on everything I am — I never wanted to hurt you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek before you could stop it, hot and blinding. “I know.”

Silence stretched between you, thick with all the things neither of you could say.

“I love you, Y/N,” Shanks said quietly. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me. Not now. Maybe not ever. But I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure you never have a reason to flinch around me again.”

You swallowed, wiping your cheek roughly. “I love you too, you stupid idiot.”

A broken, shaky laugh escaped him then — the first real sound in days. He didn’t move closer, didn’t reach for you. Instead, he sat a few feet away, letting the space stay. Letting you control it.

“Can I tell you a story?” he asked softly.

You nodded.

And so he talked. About old battles, about mistakes, about fear and fury and the weight of being captain. About how sometimes anger takes the shape of something monstrous when you’re too exhausted to hold it in.

About how it doesn’t excuse anything.

But how it could maybe, one day, be forgiven.

By the time the sun rose, the space between you felt a little less jagged.

Weeks passed. It wasn’t perfect. You still flinched sometimes. Shanks still froze every time you did. But little by little, the distance closed.

The first time he reached for your hand again, he moved slow — giving you every chance to pull away.

You didn’t.

His calloused fingers brushed yours gently, and your heart stuttered. But you didn’t flinch.

“You okay?” he murmured.

You nodded. “I’m okay.”

And you were.

Not all the way. Not yet.

But enough to hold on.

Enough to let him stay.

Enough to know you’d both heal, slowly, piece by piece, in the quiet places between the crashing waves.

And maybe one day, the memory would stop hurting.

But for now, his hand in yours was enough.

It was hope.

Hello, great and wonderful writer. Please could you write some romance? Y/n is part of the navy. A high-ranking officer handled sensitive information. A few years ago, she was recruited, or rather kidnapped, by Shirohige's pirates. The reason was the younger sister of one of their crew members. I looked at her from across the stone bars of the sea. Her head, parts of her face, and ribs were bandaged. You should at least listen to me. Was so much violence against your brother necessary? Go away, you whispered. I hate you for bringing me here. Tell that scoundrel Phoenix that he's a coward. Maco x Y/n

hii! this is a good fic, but im afraid I might need more details and context... i apologize, but im having a bit of confusion picturing some scenarios. i just need some clarification on these parts, then ill start writing it 1. "she was requited/kidnapped by shirohige's pirate and the reason was the younger sister of one of their crew members." - is she "kidnapped" because yn had an affiliation with one of the crew members' younger sister? or is it because she caught the younger sister of a member of the crew? or something else? 2. "I looked at her from across the stone bars of the sea. Her head, parts of her face, and ribs were bandaged. You should at least listen to me. Was so much violence against your brother necessary? Go away, you whispered. I hate you for bringing me here. Tell that scoundrel Phoenix that he's a coward." - this part is a bit confusing for me, should yn be the one to say this? or someone else was saying it? thanks!!

Hi, could you write something about Fukaboshi (shirahoshi's brother) and a strawhat reader? And/or maybe something with Blackbeard (ik he's hated a lot, hell I hate him too, but uh he's like super powerful soooo...)

oohh, fukaboshi...hes so underrated, good looking among his brothers too wwww~ here's some fluff w fukaboshi, hope u like it! as for blackbeard...hmmm idk abt it yet, i dont really have an idea for the guy lolol

Shell Shocked

A peaceful shell collecting date on Fishman Island turns into a hilariously competitive (and surprisingly romantic) showdown between you and Prince Fukaboshi

Fukaboshi X gn! reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, sfw, beach date, shell hoarding, goofy flirting, (post-fishman Island arc, straw Hats visiting for a break)

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: 845

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

You were supposed to be relaxing. That was the plan.

A peaceful afternoon on the sands of Fishman Island. Just you and Fukaboshi. No Luffy accidentally declaring war on someone. No Zoro getting lost. No Sanji turning into a nosebleed geyser.

Just shells. Sunlight. Maybe some hand-holding.

But no.

Because somewhere between “let’s go shell collecting” and “whoever finds the rarest shell wins,” the Crown Prince of the Ryugu Kingdom had decided this was combat.

“Twenty-seven shells and counting!” Fukaboshi shouted triumphantly, holding up a glimmering blue conch like it was the One Piece.

You scowled. “You tackled me for that last one.”

“You hesitated. The battlefield shows no mercy.”

“I blinked, you lunatic.”

“You blinked slowly.”

You hurled a clam shell at him. He caught it with one hand, smirked, and added it to his basket.

This had all started when the Straw Hats returned to Fishman Island for a celebratory visit after the chaos with Hody Jones. Fukaboshi had offered to show you around. You—being the only Straw Hat who actually knew how to relax without causing international incidents—agreed.

It was just supposed to be a beach stroll. Maybe a little flirting. Very light competition.

But you forgot one crucial fact:

Fukaboshi was insanely competitive. Even in a calm, handsome, princely way.

You’d said, “Let’s collect shells!”

He heard: “Let’s engage in psychological warfare, armed with nothing but beach debris and sexual tension.”

Now you were knee-deep in a tidepool while your royal date was wrestling an octopus to get to a rare cowrie.

“Fuka—babe, please,” you said. “That mollusk looks pissed.”

“I’m not afraid of a cephalopod,” he grunted, prying the shell free.

The octopus slapped him with a tentacle and slithered off in a huff.

You stared.

He held the shell up triumphantly. “Worth it.”

You sighed and tossed a coral chunk into your bucket. “I’m going to tell your brothers you lost a duel with a sea pancake.”

“They’ll understand.”

“No, Ryuboshi will write a song about it.”

“He would, too.”

You flopped onto a rock to eat the snacks Fukaboshi had packed—sweet kelp rolls, bubble-fruit, and some very smugly presented coral chips “for champions only.”

“Do you get like this during formal events too?” you asked, nibbling.

“Only when I care about the outcome.”

“Oh? And you care about shell collecting?”

“I care about beating you at shell collecting.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop smiling.

He noticed.

“Admit it,” he said smugly. “You’re having fun.”

“No,” you said flatly. “This is miserable.”

“You’ve been smiling for an hour straight.”

“That’s because I’m hallucinating from heatstroke.”

“Romantic heatstroke,” he corrected.

You snorted, nearly choking on your snack.

The chaos escalated when Luffy showed up.

“WHOA! Are you guys FIGHTING?!”

Fukaboshi and you exchanged a glance of pure dread.

Before either of you could speak, Luffy had launched himself into the tidepools, shouting, “I WANNA HELP Y/N WIN!”

Fukaboshi froze. “That’s illegal.”

“THERE ARE NO RULES!” Luffy cackled, slapping at the water like a hyperactive seal.

From a distance, you heard Nami shout, “DON’T ENCOURAGE HIM!” and Sanji yell something about “shells of love.”

You sighed and palmed your face.

Fukaboshi leaned over and whispered, “We need to relocate.”

“Agreed. Before he brings a sea king into this.”

Eventually, you found a quiet spot away from your crew’s chaos. Just you, Fukaboshi, and the sound of gentle waves lapping against coral sand.

You crouched by a tidepool and picked up a pink scallop. He leaned over your shoulder, the heat of his body warm even through the water.

“That’s a nice one,” he murmured.

“Better than anything in your bucket.”

“I disagree.”

He nudged his collection closer.

Your jaw dropped. “You have forty. Are you building a shell throne?”

“Yes,” he said seriously. “So you can sit beside me.”

You blinked.

“Oh,” you said, voice small.

He smiled. “Caught you off guard?”

“Just didn’t expect my boyfriend to flirt mid-shell war.”

“I contain multitudes.”

Later, as the sun filtered down through the water above, casting rainbows through the kelp canopy, you both sprawled out on the sand.

Tired. Salty. Happy.

“I think it’s a draw,” you said, yawning.

“No way,” he said. “I clearly won.”

“You got slapped by an octopus.”

“You fell into a crab pit.”

“You pushed me into it.”

“It was a tactical move.”

You threw a shell at him. He let it hit him in the chest and then dramatically collapsed like you’d slain him in battle.

You scooted closer, nudging him. “Still breathing?”

“Barely. Your power overwhelms me.”

You chuckled and rested your head on his arm. “Thanks for today.”

He turned to look at you, expression warm.

“Thanks for coming back,” he said quietly. “Fishman Island feels brighter when you’re here.”

Your heart did a little somersault.

“…You’re just saying that because I beat you at shell collecting.”

“You wish.”

You kissed his cheek, salty and sun-warmed. “Rematch tomorrow?”

He grinned. “I’ll bring blueprints for our shell fort.”

You laughed. “I’ll bring Luffy as a distraction.”

“Unfair.”

“All’s fair in love and mollusks.”

The Lost Reader

A mysterious reader of Poneglyphs finds a new home among the Straw Hat Pirates, slowly becoming an irreplaceable part of their crew as their love for them grows.

READER WHO CAN READ AND SPEAK PONEGLYPH

Strawhats x Poneglyph gn!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT

main characters: luffy, zoro, sanji, nami, robin

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

words count: 1.9k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

It started with silence.

Not the heavy kind that suffocates—but the quiet peace of wind brushing through trees, waves lapping against the sand, and birds singing above crumbled ruins. Your only companions were time-worn Poneglyphs, mossy stone relics, and the hollow ache of knowing you shouldn’t exist.

You didn’t know what you were—only that you could read them. The Poneglyphs. Their words came to you like breath, like blood. It wasn’t learned. It just… was.

And then one day, the silence broke.

“WOOOOAAAHH! What a weird island!!”

You looked up from a worn page, blinking at the explosion of sound.

A rubber man had landed face-first in your tomato garden.

You blinked again, rubbing your eyes to make sure you weren’t imagining the scene before you. The man—his limbs were stretched at impossible angles, and his face was, well… currently smushed into the dirt of your carefully cultivated tomato patch.

“Luffy!” a woman’s voice shouted from the shore. “Stop crashing into things!”

You stared in disbelief, watching as a circus of chaos disembarked from a sunny, lion-faced ship. At least, that’s what it looked like to you.

“Wha—?” You stumbled back, half-wondering if you’d stepped into some sort of dream. But no, the crew’s laughter was real. Loud, boisterous, utterly chaotic, and very much present.

Before you could comprehend the whirlwind that had just descended upon your quiet life, a figure bounded toward you. The rubber man—Luffy—was grinning at you like you were the most interesting thing he’d seen all day. And, for all you knew, you were.

“Hey! Who're you? you live here? cool! SHISHISHI” Luffy asked, already sitting cross-legged on the ground as if he hadn’t just completely flattened your garden. “Wanna eat with us?”

You blinked, still too stunned to form a coherent sentence. “I… guess?...Im Y/N”

And so began your first real encounter with the Straw Hat Pirates.

Nami, with her keen eyes and sharp questions, immediately assessed the situation, interrogating you about your maps and supplies like she was about to audit your entire existence. Sanji, the ever-romantic chef, started cooking a feast so lavish that you were half-tempted to check if the food had its own backstory. The man even had heart-shaped eyes every time you praised his cooking.

Usopp, ever the over-the-top self-proclaimed hero, proudly handed you a coconut with a grin that could only be described as a “friendship orb.” “From me to you,” he declared, as if he had just made the world’s most profound offering.

And then there was Chopper, who took your pulse the second he saw you, declaring that you had “island person syndrome” and needed immediate attention.

Robin, however, watched you closely. Her gaze sharp but gentle, as if trying to figure out a puzzle no one else could see.

“You can read those stones, can’t you?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.

You stiffened. The question sent a shiver through your spine, a fleeting reminder of the secret you kept buried deep within. You didn’t answer. Not immediately.

She smiled, soft and knowing, her eyes never leaving yours. “We’ll talk later.”

Zoro, ever the brooding figure, glanced at you and muttered under his breath, “You don’t look dangerous.” It seemed like a funny thing to say, considering he had just been trying to slice a boulder in half mere moments earlier.

It didn’t take long for you to realize what was happening: You were trapped in their orbit. In their madness. In their chaos.

And you couldn’t have been more content.

The Thousand Sunny became your new home—bright, loud, and utterly unpredictable.

Sanji insisted on cooking you all your meals. Breakfast, lunch, dinner—each time, his cooking came with a full-on serenade, and if you didn’t finish your plate, he might just shed a tear. “It’s not just food,” he’d say. “It’s love. It’s my soul in a dish!”

Nami dragged you into shopping sprees with no regard for your dwindling supplies or your protestations. “You need to look fabulous, Y/N. Don’t you want to blend in with the rest of us?” she’d tease, while tossing a dozen new outfits into your arms. You always ended up spending more than you intended, but there was something so infectious about her enthusiasm that you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Robin was the one who quietly fascinated you. You’d find her at all hours of the day, absorbed in reading a book or studying the surroundings with quiet intensity. There was something about the way she looked at you, like she already knew your secrets but would never pry.

And then there was Luffy. Always smiling. Always laughing. He treated you as though you were already part of the crew. No pretense, no hesitation. You didn’t even need to be invited. You were just… in.

“Wanna ride on top of the mast?” Luffy asked one morning, as casually as if he were asking if you wanted a snack.

You stared up at the towering mast, then back at him. “Is that… safe?”

“Nope! shishishi” he beamed, looking excited about the prospect.

Somehow, that made it make sense to climb up there with him. He helped you up like it was nothing, laughing all the while. The wind whipped through your hair, and for the first time in a long while, you felt alive. You weren’t just existing anymore.

Zoro, ever the silent guardian, began training near you. You noticed him constantly observing your movements, his gaze intense but not unwelcome. One day, you lost your footing on deck, but before you could even react, his hand shot out and steadied you.

He didn’t say much, just stared at you for a moment, before clearing his throat and muttering, “Watch your step, dumbass.”

Romance, clearly.

It crept in slowly. Unnoticed, at first.

Sanji’s compliments, light-hearted at first, began to hold a different weight. “You look beautiful today, Y/N~chwann” he’d say with a soft smile, not just as a joke, but as something that meant more.

Nami’s teasing turned into lingering glances, moments where her eyes softened when she thought no one was looking.

Robin’s hand on yours during those quiet late-night reading sessions made your heart skip a beat, like it was a shared secret, a connection you didn’t have the words to describe.

Zoro’s silence, once intimidating, became your comfort. When he was near, you didn’t need to talk. You didn’t need to explain yourself. He was just there, a steady presence.

And Luffy’s laughter—oh, Luffy’s laughter. It started to feel like home, like the sound of safety, of warmth. A constant reminder that with him around, there was nothing to fear.

But you kept your secret.

That was until one night, when you and Robin stood over a relic you had no business being near. It was buried deep beneath the cursed island’s soil, half-buried like a forgotten truth. Robin stood behind you, arms crossed, waiting for you to decipher it. You already knew what it would say, but that didn’t stop the rush of dread that surged within you as your fingers traced the ancient glyphs.

“You know what it says, don’t you?” Robin’s voice was barely a whisper. It wasn’t a question. It was a statement.

You stiffened.

“It’s just a story,” you muttered, voice low.

Robin smiled, a soft and knowing smile, one that suggested she understood far more than she let on. “Then you should know—they’d kill you for it.”

You didn’t answer, didn’t have the words. You just continued to trace the lines, the ancient language flowing effortlessly from your mind, sinking into the earth beneath your fingertips.

Everything changed when you found the half-buried Poneglyph on a cursed island.

It was a trap. Not for Luffy. Not for the Pirate King in the making.

For you.

You read the stone aloud, your voice quiet, shaking slightly. And for the first time in your life, the stone responded.

The words were not just etched into stone, not just an inscription—it was a message. A message that burned through the world like a beacon.

“The last of the Whisperers,” it said. “Hunted. Hidden. Forbidden.”

The ground shook. The air turned electric. The Poneglyphs around you shimmered, the glyphs becoming light, illuminating the island with a soft, ethereal glow.

The Straw Hats arrived just as you stumbled backward, your eyes wide, heart pounding, the power coursing through you like an uncontrollable force. The glyphs pulsed, and the power in your veins burned bright.

“What’s happening?!” Usopp screamed, looking ready to fight a ghost.

You looked at them—at your crew—and whispered, “They were hunting us. People who could read these stones. I shouldn’t exist.”

There was silence.

Then Luffy stepped forward, his voice unwavering, “You’re not alone.”

The Marines came shortly after.

You fought, of course you did.

For the first time in your life, you let the power in your blood surge freely. The words of the stone became light, flames of energy erupting from the ground as you slashed through the battlefield, carving the very earth with your newfound strength. You cracked the island’s crust. You didn’t even know you could do that.

Sanji’s hand grabbed yours as the ground beneath you cracked, pulling you from the collapsing cliff. Zoro fought beside you, silent and determined. Robin’s steady hand on yours kept you grounded in the chaos.

When the battle was over, and the last Marine had been driven back, you passed out.

You woke in the infirmary, Chopper hovering over you, his worried eyes darting around like he was waiting for you to disappear again. Franky was sitting beside you, sobbing into a bowl of soup.

“You scared us, you moron,” Nami whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. Her voice was soft, a rare tenderness that made your heart ache.

Robin kissed your temple as she hovered over you, whispering, “You’re more than your gift.”

Sanji didn’t say anything, but his presence was unmistakable. He curled up beside you, pressing his forehead to your shoulder, a silent vow of protection.

Zoro sat across from you, cleaning his swords. “Don’t ever do that alone again.”

And Luffy… Luffy beamed at you, that infectious smile lighting up his face as he exclaimed, “You’re stuck with us forever now!”

The tension unraveled like fraying rope.

Nami kissed you when you least expected it, quick and teasing, a spark of affection.

Robin kissed you in the library, with parchment between your hands, and the world felt like it stopped turning for a moment.

Sanji kissed you with all the intensity of someone who had been waiting for years, every touch filled with longing.

Zoro kissed you like it was the only thing that made sense, his hands warm and steady.

And Luffy—Luffy’s kiss was upside down, playful, and completely unexpected, but perfect in the way only Luffy could be.

Usopp ran away screaming, “AAAH! ROMANCE ATTACK!”

Chopper fainted. Twice.

Brook played a love song with three verses about your “sultry stare” that made everyone uncomfortable except Sanji, who wept.

Franky asked if you wanted to build a heart-shaped cannon to “blast your feelings at the world.” You said yes. It now sits in the garden.

Jinbei just gave you a nod and said, “It’s about time.”

You weren’t a secret anymore.

You were theirs.

Not claimed, not owned—but cherished. Loved, wholly and fiercely.

And though the world may hunt you, you had a crew that would burn it down before they let anyone take you.

hellooo I really like your work and would like to request some angst

maybe like reader dies or gets close to it. some more uncommon charcters too like nami, usopp, or franky please!!

thank you for really cool work and I hope you can do this!!

hii! thank u sm~ oohh~ thats a great idea, ive decided to put them all together, hope u like it!

What Remains

The Straw Hats survive a Marine superweapon test — but only because you don’t. You made a choice to save them all, and they didn’t see it coming.

strawhats x platonic gn! reader tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, platonic bonds, grief 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: 1k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

Smoke curled upward from the scorched ruins of the Marine testing island. The sky was dim, bleeding orange as the sun tried and failed to burn away the choking clouds.

They found your body beneath the collapsed structure—arms still raised like you were shielding the others even in death.

It wasn’t the injuries that broke them. It was the look on your face.

Peaceful.

Like you knew.

ONE WEEK EARLIER.

"These weapons..." Franky said, examining the diagrams. "They’re worse than anything Vegapunk ever dreamed up. They’re built to erase islands."

“And they’re testing them here?” Nami’s voice trembled with disbelief.

Usopp peered over the map. “That’s not all. Some of this... it’s Poneglyph script. These freaks are mixing history with firepower.”

You didn’t say anything.

You just stared at the map. Quiet. Calm. Like a storm on the horizon no one else had seen yet.

“We have to stop this,” you said.

Of course, everyone agreed.

But none of them saw what you saw. None of them realized the cost yet.

Not even you.

THE BATTLE.

The Straw Hats split into teams. Luffy and Zoro drew the front lines away. Robin sabotaged the comms. Brook and Jinbei distracted the guards. Chopper tended to wounded civilians trying to escape.

You were supposed to go in with Franky and Usopp.

You didn’t.

You slipped away the moment they weren’t looking, whispering your last words to Nami before disappearing into the smoke.

“I trust you. Don’t look back.”

You found the core buried deep underground.

A thrumming vault of seastone and ancient script, glowing with stolen knowledge and raw destruction.

You knew what it meant.

You could read the Poneglyph fragments embedded in the weapons.

You knew what would happen if they were activated.

So you made a choice.

A selfish, irreversible choice.

You overloaded the core.

THE AFTERMATH.

When the blast hit, it carved a crater into the earth.

Luffy felt it first—his scream carried across the island like a cannon blast. “(Y/N)!!”

Franky’s stomach dropped. He bolted toward the smoke, ignoring everything—orders, pain, fire.

Usopp followed. Nami, too. She didn’t even speak. Her Clima-Tact sparked wildly, emotions bleeding into weather.

They dug with bare hands and bleeding fingers.

And finally, they found you.

Still. Burned. Crushed.

But unmistakably you.

And unmistakably gone.

THE SUNNY.

Franky hadn’t spoken in two days.

He sat in the engine room, back turned to everyone, arms blackened with soot and oil. He worked until his hands bled, building gods knew what.

Chopper had tried to check on him. Franky didn’t even look up.

Usopp wandered the deck in silence, eyes red, mouth dry. He hadn’t told a single story since they left the island.

He’d tried. He opened his mouth once to make a joke, and nothing came out.

So he just sat with your grave marker, talking to it like you were there.

And Nami—Nami was broken in a way no one had ever seen.

She didn’t cry loudly. She didn’t scream. She just shut down.

She went days without food. Sat curled in the crow’s nest, staring out to sea, clutching the note you left her in your final moments.

"Don’t look back."

She hated you for it.

She loved you for it.

She never stopped shaking.

NIGHT.

Luffy stood by the railing, his hat pulled low, wind in his face.

Sanji stood beside him in silence.

“You knew they were gonna die,” Luffy said suddenly. His voice wasn’t angry. It was hollow.

Sanji lit a cigarette, fingers shaking. “I knew they weren’t coming back.”

Luffy didn’t answer.

“They saved all of us,” Sanji added after a long pause.

“I didn’t want saving,” Luffy whispered.

Then he turned and walked away.

FRANKY.

The machine he was building exploded.

He didn’t flinch.

Robin found him hours later, crouched beside the wreckage, staring into space.

“They’d have slapped me for this,” he said quietly.

Robin knelt beside him. “For what?”

“For not stopping them.”

“They knew what they were doing.”

“That doesn’t make it easier.”

Robin placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It never does.”

USOPP.

He buried the dials you used in a small, unmarked box.

Every trap you helped him design, every gadget you tweaked. Gone. Hidden away like a secret.

“I’m never going to be that brave,” he whispered.

Then he broke.

Ugly, shaking sobs that echoed across the deck.

NAMI.

She didn’t speak for three days.

Then, she found Franky. Slammed him into a wall.

“You let them go alone!” she screamed.

Franky didn’t fight back. “I know.”

“YOU PROMISED—YOU PROMISED ME THEY’D COME BACK—!”

He wrapped his arms around her mid-swing, held her as she sobbed, her fists pounding against his chest until they were too weak to lift.

ONE WEEK LATER.

Luffy called everyone to the deck.

No one knew why.

When they arrived, they found him standing in front of a small, newly-built monument.

A single beam of the destroyed fortress. Carved with your name.

And beneath it—your jacket. Cleaned. Pressed. Folded neatly.

Luffy didn’t speak.

He didn’t need to.

They stood together. Silent.

One by one, they left offerings.

Sanji placed a bottle of sake.

Robin left a single violet flower.

Chopper tied a string of charms around the wood.

Zoro leaned his sword against it for a moment. A quiet nod of respect.

Brook played a low, mournful tune on his violin.

Jinbei lit a lantern and pushed it into the sea.

Usopp placed a small slingshot on the beam.

Franky left a blueprint.

And Nami… Nami placed your note. The last one you ever wrote.

“Don’t look back.”

She whispered, “I’m going to.”

Then she walked away.

.

.

.

They kept your room the way it was.

No one said it aloud—but they all visited.

Nami would sit on your bed when the nightmares came.

Usopp would fix the shelves you always overloaded with junk.

Franky recharged your tools every week, even though you weren’t there to use them.

And Luffy…

Luffy would sit on the figurehead, facing forward, holding your jacket in his lap.

He never cried where anyone could see.

But the jacket was always warm.

As if it still remembered you.

So I was watching Supernatural the other day, and I was wondering what would the Strawhats think about a reader who is a supernatural hunter also Sanji might have a big crush on her?🤭

hii, this would be a great fic, but sorry >< i havent watch the supernatural yet t~t. but in some other time ill try to watch some of it so i can make ur req soon

ヽ(o´3`o)ﾉ