When Love Grows Quiet
When Love Grows Quiet
Four different loves — each unraveling in its own way, where silence cuts deeper than swords and love isn't always enough to stay.
shanks x reader | zoro x reader | law x reader | mihawk x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, heartbreak, emotional neglect, falling out of love, hurt/no comfort, isolation, miscommunication 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: 2.5k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
SHANKS
The bar was loud, filled with the buzz of half-drunken laughter, tankards slamming against tables, and music that you once loved but now loathed. You sat in the farthest corner, away from the warmth of the crowd, clutching a half-empty glass of something you didn’t order. The ice was melting fast — like the slow disintegration of what used to be your heart.
Shanks was at the center of it all.
Again.
He always was.
“Another round!” he bellowed, raising his cup high in the air as the Red-Haired Pirates cheered. The crew adored him. They should — he was charismatic, fierce, warm, and generous with his attention.
Just not with you. Not anymore.
Your gaze lingered on him. His hair, a fiery halo in the dim light, his grin — that same one that once made you feel like the most important person in the world — now belonged to everyone else.
He didn’t even notice you when you walked in.
“Y/N, there you are!” Lucky Roux called from across the bar, waving at you with his usual cheer. “C’mon, join us!”
Shanks looked over his shoulder, eyes falling on you for a split second. There was recognition — maybe even guilt — but it was gone too fast. He raised his cup in your direction. No words. No movement. Just a lazy toast.
You forced a smile, then looked away.
You’d been with him for two years. It had started with stolen moments under stars, whispered promises between waves. “When this is all over, I’ll settle down. With you,” he’d say, voice dipped in warmth, hand on your cheek. You believed him.
But it never ended. And you stopped asking.
There were always more islands to visit, more allies to meet, more enemies to fight, and more nights he stumbled back to the ship reeking of rum and adrenaline, too tired to remember your name.
You stayed because you loved him.
Or maybe you stayed because you were afraid of what your life would look like without him in it.
But tonight felt different.
You pushed your glass aside and stood, your legs numb from sitting too long. You crossed the room, weaving through sailors and crewmates until you reached him.
“Shanks.”
He looked at you, surprised. Like he hadn’t expected you to speak first.
“Can we talk?”
His smile faltered. “Now? Can it wait? We’re just—”
“No,” you said, quieter, firmer. “It really can’t.”
He followed you outside without protest. The night air was cool, the moonlight bathing the ship in pale light.
You turned to him. “Do you remember what you promised me?”
He blinked. “Which one?”
You almost laughed. “That says everything, doesn’t it?”
“Y/N…”
“You told me we’d settle. That you’d come back for me. That I wasn’t just another stop along your journey. Do you even realize how long I’ve been waiting?”
“I know,” he muttered. “But it’s complicated.”
“No. It’s not. Not really. You just never made space for me.” Your voice trembled. “I don’t need riches or islands. I don’t even need peace. I just needed to know I mattered.”
He took a step forward. “You do matter.”
“Do I?” You looked up at him. “When was the last time you asked how I felt? When was the last time you chose me over adventure? Over your crew? Over another drink?”
He opened his mouth, but no answer came.
You continued, softer now, each word heavy. “I used to believe I was lucky to be loved by you. But now I realize… maybe I was just convenient. Someone to come back to when the world wasn’t enough.”
“That’s not fair,” he said, jaw clenched.
“Neither is loving someone who only loves you when it suits them.”
A silence settled. Heavy. Final.
He looked away. “What are you saying?”
You took a shaky breath. “I’m leaving.”
His eyes snapped to yours. “You don’t mean that.”
“I do. I have to. Because if I don’t now, I never will.” You paused. “I loved you so much, Shanks. But I’m tired of waiting for you to love me back in the way I deserve.”
You turned before he could say more, before the tears spilled.
The crew watched you go. No one stopped you. Maybe they knew too.
Shanks didn’t follow.
Maybe he couldn’t.
Maybe deep down, he knew you were already gone.
And this time, no promise would bring you back.
ZORO
The clatter of blades in the training room echoed through the ship like thunder.
Again.
You stood outside the door, hand hovering just above the wood, listening. Zoro had been in there since sunrise. The sun was beginning to set.
You pressed your palm flat against the door. It was warm.
He didn’t hear you. He never did when he was training.
You opened the door anyway.
He stood in the center, shirtless, sweat clinging to his skin, his chest rising and falling with exertion. His swords were laid neatly on the rack nearby, save for the one still in his hand — his favorite. Wado Ichimonji. His first love.
You didn’t speak right away.
He noticed you after a few seconds, green hair clinging to his face. “Oh. Hey.”
“That all you’ve got for me?” you asked, arms crossed.
He shrugged. “Been training.”
“You were supposed to meet me. Two hours ago.”
Zoro blinked. “Shit. Was that today?”
A beat passed. You tried not to let the disappointment crack through your voice. “Yeah. It was today.”
It wasn’t the first time.
Zoro wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t dismissive in the way that most would notice. He was just… focused. Sharpened, like his blades, honed only for one goal: to become the strongest swordsman in the world.
And you had once admired that. Loved it, even.
But lately, it felt like you were always chasing his shadow, always making room for his dreams, even if it meant shrinking your own.
You walked into the room, picking up the cloth he used to wipe his sweat, tossing it to him. “You forgot again.”
“I didn’t mean to,” he said, running it over his forehead.
“I know,” you whispered.
And maybe that’s what hurt the most.
The days blurred.
Dinner conversations turned into one-sided stories from you. Nights became silent, save for the occasional grunt as Zoro collapsed into bed, already half asleep. You missed the way he used to fall asleep beside you — not just near you — like you were a harbor in his storm. Now, he drifted in and out like a ghost, always just beyond reach.
You finally snapped one quiet night.
“Zoro, do you even love me?”
He looked up from cleaning his blade, brow furrowed. “What kind of question is that?”
You sat on the bed, fingers twisting in your lap. “One I keep asking myself.”
He stood up, face unreadable. “Of course I love you.”
“Then why don’t I feel it?”
The silence that followed was thick. Not awkward — just empty. Like a room without furniture.
“I’m doing this for us,” he finally said. “Everything. My training. My dream.”
“No, you’re doing it for you. And that’s okay, Zoro.” Your voice broke. “But stop pretending I’m part of that dream when I’m just an afterthought.”
“That’s not fair,” he said.
“I used to think that too,” you whispered. “But you keep showing me otherwise.”
The next morning, you packed.
Not everything — just what you needed. You didn’t want to make a scene.
When you turned to leave, he was there. Leaning against the doorframe, arms folded.
“You’re leaving?” he asked, voice rough with sleep and disbelief.
You nodded. “Yeah.”
He stared for a long time. “Why now?”
“Because if I stay, I’ll start hating you. And I don’t want to hate you.”
Zoro opened his mouth, then closed it again. “I never meant to hurt you.”
“I know.”
He took a step forward. “Don’t I get a chance to fix it?”
“You’ve had a hundred chances,” you said, gently. “I gave you all of them.”
He looked down, the tension in his body visible.
You moved past him. He didn’t stop you.
Not physically.
But god, you wished he would.
You heard the sound of blades again as you walked down the corridor, echoing from the training room.
Zoro was already back at it.
Maybe it was easier for him to fight with steel than with words.
And maybe that’s why you couldn’t stay — because you needed someone who could choose you the way you kept choosing him.
Even if it broke your heart.
LAW
The Polar Tang was quiet at night.
Most of the crew had gone to sleep, their laughter faded into distant echoes through the metal halls. You sat alone in the infirmary, the light above flickering in tired pulses, casting shadows across the empty bed beside you.
It used to be your place. Your shared space.
Now it was just another cold room.
The door slid open with a mechanical hiss. Law stepped inside, coat trailing, his presence commanding — but not unkind. His face was the same as always. Calm. Collected. Impenetrable.
You didn’t turn to greet him.
“You’re still awake,” he said, voice low.
“So are you.”
He paused. “Long day.”
“Every day is a long day with you.”
That made him pause longer than usual. You saw it — the subtle twitch of his hand, the way his gaze lingered on you before shifting to the medical charts on the wall, as if reading them gave him a reason not to face you.
You finally stood, arms crossed. “You didn’t even ask how I’m doing.”
“You’re not injured,” he replied, like that explained everything.
You laughed bitterly. “You think that’s all that matters?”
He looked at you now. Really looked.
“You’re not bleeding,” he said, “so I assumed you were fine.”
“And that’s the problem, Law,” you snapped, “you only know how to fix things you can see. But what about everything else?”
He was always distant. He didn’t mean to be — it was just how he survived. You knew that going in. Law was brilliant, brave, and wounded in ways most couldn’t see. He didn’t wear his pain on his sleeve; he buried it deep, under layers of strategy and silence.
You once thought love could bring him peace.
Instead, it made you feel invisible.
He sat on the edge of the bed, removing his gloves with surgical precision. “If you’re upset, just say it.”
“I’m always saying it,” you said. “I say it in every look you don’t return, every time you walk out without a word. I’m screaming it, Law, and you don’t hear me.”
His brow furrowed. “I’m trying.”
“No, you’re managing. There’s a difference.”
You took a step forward, throat tight. “Do you even want me here?”
He didn’t answer.
Not for a long time.
When he did, it was quiet. “I don’t know what I’d be without you.”
“That’s not the same as wanting me.”
You turned away, swallowing the burn behind your eyes. “I need more than this. I need to be seen. Heard. Held.”
“I’m not good at that.”
“I know,” you whispered. “And I’ve been patient. God, I’ve been so patient.”
He stood. “Then what do you want from me?”
You turned back to him, tears finally slipping down your cheek.
“I want to stop being the person waiting for you to feel something.”
There were so many things he could have said. So many things he didn’t.
No promises. No pleas. Just silence.
You left the room, footsteps echoing down the corridor. He didn’t follow. You didn’t expect him to.
Law wasn’t cruel. He was just… unreachable.
And you couldn’t keep drowning in his silence.
Later that night, he stood in the infirmary, alone, looking at the chair where you always sat.
He didn’t cry. He didn’t break.
But he whispered your name once — as if it would echo back.
It didn’t.
MIHAWK
Perched on the windowsill of Kuraigana Island's cold, stone castle, you watched the sun slip beneath the horizon. Even the sunset here felt distant — as if the colors were afraid to bloom fully, like the love you once thought lived within these walls.
Behind you, the quiet hum of Mihawk’s sword being cleaned was the only sound.
You didn’t turn. You didn’t speak.
Neither did he.
You’d once thought the silence between you was peaceful — now it felt suffocating.
When you first arrived, you mistook his quiet for serenity. Mihawk was a man of discipline, of stillness, and you found comfort in his control. He didn’t make empty promises, didn’t raise his voice, didn’t falter. It made you feel safe.
Until the days stretched long and the silence became unbearable.
You would speak to him at dinner, only to be met with the clink of cutlery. You would try to initiate conversation, only to find him more engrossed in wine than words.
You once thought you were an oasis for his loneliness.
Now you realized you were just another presence he tolerated.
“You haven’t looked at me once today,” you said finally, staring out at the orange light dying over the sea.
Mihawk paused, the cloth in his hand stilling on Yoru’s blade. “I saw you this morning.”
“That’s not what I meant.”
No response.
You stood slowly, turning to face him. He was sitting in that grand, throne-like chair by the fireplace. His posture was perfect. Controlled. Remote.
“Do you even care that I’m unhappy?”
“I care,” he replied after a beat. “But unhappiness is inevitable.”
You blinked. “That’s your answer?”
“I do not pretend to be something I’m not,” he said, voice even. “You knew who I was when you came here.”
“I knew who you seemed to be,” you said sharply. “But I thought — I hoped — that underneath all of this control, you might want to be known. That you might let me in.”
“I have let you in.”
“To your house. Not your heart.”
The air crackled.
Mihawk stood, moving with quiet authority. “I do not offer affection like others. I offer stability. Loyalty.”
“I never wanted gifts. Or flattery. I just wanted to feel chosen.” You laughed, bitter. “But all I’ve felt is... tolerated. Like I’m just another item in your collection of things that don’t rust or change.”
He said nothing.
You stepped closer. “You haven’t said you love me. Not once.”
“I do not speak lightly,” he said, almost offended.
“I’m not asking for flowery words. I’m asking for anything that tells me you feel something when you look at me.”
He stared at you — intense, golden eyes sharp as any blade.
“I would not have allowed you to stay if I did not value you.”
A pause. And then your voice, quiet, almost broken:
“That’s not love, Mihawk. That’s possession.”
The silence that followed was vast.
And it said everything.
You turned away, heading for the door.
“You’re leaving.”
“Yes.”
“You may find no comfort in the world beyond this place.”
“Maybe not,” you whispered. “But at least I’ll feel something.”
He did not follow. He did not stop you.
And that hurt worse than any goodbye.
Later, long after you’d gone, Mihawk stood alone in the great hall, Yoru resting silently on the stone altar. A storm gathered beyond the window, wind rushing over the sea like a howl.
He did not weep.
But he looked at the spot where your chair had been pulled out, slightly askew — and he didn’t move it back.
More Posts from Sh4nksslvt and Others
Stuck on You
Some prankster superglues Marco’s hand to yours. You both pretend to hate it… but secretly enjoy staying glued together.
Marco x gn! reader | ONE SHOT
Tags: fluff, flirting, chaos, sfw
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: 3.3k
MINORS DNI!!
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
It all started with a prank.
A very bad prank.
One minute you were standing on deck, minding your own business, chatting with Marco about nothing in particular — and the next minute, someone (you had your suspicions) superglued your hand to his.
Literally.
Palm-to-palm.
Fingers intertwined.
"You have got to be kidding me-yoi," Marco muttered, staring down at your very stuck hands with the emotional range of a man who had survived actual wars but could not survive this level of annoyance.
You tugged.
Marco tugged.
Your hands stayed locked together like some sort of romantic death grip.
"…Well," you said, very eloquently.
"Well," Marco echoed, voice utterly dry.
From somewhere behind a barrel, muffled snickering erupted. You both turned in time to see a few crewmates (Ace, you would bet your next paycheck) sprinting away at full speed, laughing their asses off.
Marco sighed heavily. "Should've seen that coming, yoi."
You blinked up at him, wide-eyed. "You think they superglued us together… on purpose?"
Marco gave you a long look, deadpan as hell. "…No-yoi. It was a coincidence that someone left industrial-strength glue exactly where we were standing."
You snorted, trying to suppress a laugh. "Fair enough, Mr. Smartass."
He smirked, tugging lightly at your conjoined hands again. No dice. You were fused like some godawful romantic statue.
"Guess we’re stuck-yoi."
You both stared at your hands, at each other, at your hands again.
Slowly, you realized the entire deck was staring.
Crewmates leaned against rails, poked their heads out of doors, peered from crow’s nests. Watching. Waiting.
You could almost hear the bets forming.
You hissed under your breath, "Don't make a scene. Act natural."
Marco smiled, the slow lazy kind that made your heart do stupid cartwheels.
"You think we’re good at ‘natural' -yoi?"
You elbowed him (gently, because, you know, superglue). "Walk. Casual. Now."
He obligingly started walking, swinging your joined hands obnoxiously like you were newlyweds on a stroll. You tripped trying to keep up with his stupid long strides, and Marco had the audacity to chuckle under his breath.
"Oh, you're enjoying this," you accused, half-laughing, half-glaring.
Marco tilted his head innocently. "Why wouldn’t I enjoy being glued to such charming company-yoi?"
You blinked.
Heat flared up your neck.
Was that… flirting?! From Marco?!
You decided to play it cool. "Obviously, I'm the lucky one. Being stuck with the infamous cool guy of the crew."
He arched an eyebrow. "Cool guy?"
You nodded sagely. "Yeah. All mysterious and strong and… broody. You know. Classic heartthrob material."
Marco actually laughed, full-throated and amused.
"You've been spending too much time with Ace, yoi," he said, but his thumb was rubbing slow circles into your knuckles — absent-minded, soft — and he made no move to pull away.
You pretended not to notice.
The ship doctor declared the situation "temporarily incurable" unless you wanted to rip off some skin.
You did not want that.
So you and Marco were officially handcuffed together for the next few hours, possibly longer.
The announcement spread through the ship like wildfire. Everywhere you went, people tried to hide their snickering — and failed spectacularly.
At lunch, you had to sit next to Marco. (Technically, on Marco, because the bench was too narrow and you kept bumping into him.)
Passing plates was a disaster.
You dropped a spoon into Marco’s lap at one point, and he just gave you a look so dry it could set fires.
You grinned sweetly. "Oops."
"You’re doing this on purpose."
"Maybe," you sang, swinging your legs.
Marco grunted — but the corner of his mouth twitched upward.
After lunch, things got worse.
You tried to help Marco with paperwork.
Emphasis on tried.
"Hold still, yoi," he muttered, trying to shuffle through documents with one hand while your hand clumsily trailed after his.
"This is your fault," you whispered dramatically.
"You touched me first."
"You glued yourself to me!"
"You leaned into the glue puddle-yoi."
"You—!" you sputtered.
The tension snapped — you both cracked up, laughing so hard the pen rolled off the desk.
Sometime around sunset, you found yourself sitting on the figurehead of the ship, watching the ocean shimmer gold. Marco sat next to you, your hands still hopelessly, ridiculously intertwined.
The atmosphere shifted — soft, quieter.
A breeze tugged at your hair.
Marco turned his head lazily, regarding you out of the corner of his eye.
"You know," he said casually, "if you wanted to hold my hand… you could’ve just asked-yoi"
You almost fell off the ship.
"I did not plan this!" you yelped, cheeks burning hotter than a volcano.
Marco chuckled — that low, warm sound you could feel in your ribs.
"I know," he said, a little softer. "But still."
You glanced down at your hands — how perfectly they fit together, the way his thumb lazily traced circles over your skin without even thinking.
"…It’s not so bad," you admitted, voice small.
Marco smiled.
Not the lazy, cocky smirk he gave everyone else — a real, soft smile that made your heart flutter traitorously.
"Nah-yoi," he agreed, squeezing your hand. "Not bad at all."
When the glue finally wore off (courtesy of some miracle solvent the ship doctor whipped up late at night), you both sat there for a second.
Free.
Hands separated.
No excuse anymore.
Marco looked at you.
You looked at Marco.
Long pause.
"…We’re allowed to hold hands without glue, you know," you blurted, immediately wanting to jump overboard from sheer embarrassment.
Marco laughed — really laughed — and before you could hide your face, he caught your hand again, lacing your fingers together easy as breathing.
"No more excuses-yoi," he said, lips brushing your temple in a featherlight kiss.
You clung tighter.
Maybe being stuck together wasn’t such a bad thing after all.
You Punched a Yonko?
In which the reader, quietly trying to study Poneglyphs in peace, accidentally punches a Yonko and ends up entangled with the flirtatious chaos.
PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN READ PONEGLYPH
red hair pirates x fem!reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT
main characters: shanks, benn, limejuice, hongo
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: 1.4k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
You really weren’t trying to punch a Yonko.
In fact, your goal for the day was to peacefully study a centuries-old Poneglyph hidden beneath a sleepy island temple. Instead, you were now standing in front of a red-haired man grinning at you with blood trickling from his nose, surrounded by his crew, who all looked one second away from drawing their weapons.
“…Okay,” you breathed. “In my defense, you startled me.”
“You punched him in the face,” a blond man in sunglasses said, his voice straddling awe and amusement.
“Yeah, but like—accidentally.”
Shanks wiped his nose with the back of his hand, still smiling like you’d just offered him a drink. “DAHAHAHA strong punch though! You train often?”
“I didn’t know you were behind me! I thought you were a thief trying to steal the stone!” you pointed at the half-buried Poneglyph glowing faintly behind you. “You snuck up on me!”
Benn Beckman gave an exaggerated sigh from where he was puffing on his cigar. “He always does that.”
“You should wear a bell,” Hongo added dryly, as he examined your clenched fists. “You nearly broke his nose.”
“I think I’m in love,” Shanks muttered, still grinning at you like an idiot.
You blinked.
“…What?” You deadpan at him.
Lime Juice snorted. “I told you not to lean in so close when people are muttering to themselves. She was clearly in the zone.”
“I was reading an ancient, world-changing text,” you snapped, still frazzled. “I didn’t expect someone to breathe down my neck!”
“To be fair,” Benn chimed in smoothly, “not many people can actually read those things.”
That made you hesitate. Your breath caught in your chest. Most people only guessed at what the stones meant. And those who could decipher them—like the Ohara scholars—were erased for it.
The crew noticed your shift.
Shanks tilted his head. “Hey… you alright?”
You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re being very casual about all this.”
“Well, you punched me.” He rubbed his jaw. “That kinda earns you a place at the table.”
“What table?”
“Our lunch table,” Lime Juice said, gesturing broadly to a blanket on the grass behind the trees. “We were picnicking. Captain wandered off to chase ‘Poneglyph energy.’”
“You tracked me?”
Shanks shrugged. “You glow like a beacon when you read those stones.”
Your jaw dropped. “That’s not—?! That’s not normal!”
“Nope,” Hongo agreed. “Very intriguing.”
“And very pretty,” Shanks added.
You turned on your heel. “I’m leaving.”
“No wait!” Shanks called after you. “Join us for lunch! I promise not to get punched again!”
You paused, hesitating. The idea of eating with the Red-Hair Pirates seemed… suicidal. You’d spent years hiding your ability, keeping a low profile, ducking Marines and bounty hunters alike.
But they didn’t look like they were planning to turn you in.
And the smell of roasted fish was really good.
“…I’m watching all of you,” you muttered, stomping over.
“Great!” Shanks beamed. “You can sit next to me! DAHAHAHA”
“Absolutely not.”
Lunch with the Red-Hair Pirates was insane.
You had to admit: they were nothing like you’d expected.
Shanks, despite being a Yonko, acted more like a chaotic older brother than a fearsome warlord. He kept nudging plates toward you like a golden retriever trying to feed its owner, all while regaling you with stories that involved an alarming number of explosions and nudity.
Benn Beckman, calm and poised, sat at your other side. He didn’t say much, but you noticed how his eyes never left you—watchful, calculating, but not in a threatening way. More like… protective.
“You always travel alone?” he asked quietly.
You nodded. “Easier to hide.”
He hummed. “Doesn’t sound easier to live.”
His words stuck with you longer than you cared to admit.
Lime Juice kept trying to impress you with “tricks,” most of which involved lighting things on fire or juggling knives. When he tried to balance a plate on his head and walk backward up a tree, you genuinely feared for his life.
“I’m very flexible,” he claimed proudly as he slipped and crashed into Shanks’ lap.
“Yeah, flexible like a bag of rocks,” Hongo muttered under his breath, flipping through a medical book beside you. Occasionally, he asked you questions about ancient glyphs and your translation methods, clearly more interested in your brain than your punching skills.
Which, okay, was kind of flattering.
You didn’t know when it happened, but by the end of the meal, you were… laughing.
You were laughing with people you’d met barely an hour ago. People who, by all logic, should’ve either kidnapped you or sold your secret to the highest bidder.
Instead, they argued about who could get you to smile the fastest.
“You like wine?” Benn asked, offering you a rare vintage.
“You like beer?” Shanks grinned, popping open a keg.
“You like really strong mystery juice I made last night?” Lime Juice offered, holding a bubbling bottle that Hongo promptly knocked out of his hands.
“Do you guys always compete like this?” you asked, bewildered.
“Only when it’s worth it,” Shanks winked.
You choked on your drink.
The day slipped by quickly after that.
You showed Hongo how Poneglyphs resonated when you hummed certain tones. He looked at you like you were the eighth wonder of the world and scribbled notes furiously.
You sparred—lightly—with Lime Juice, who was surprisingly nimble when not setting himself on fire.
You chatted with Benn about navigation, philosophy, and—when Shanks wasn’t listening—what kind of wine pairs best with sea-king meat.
And Shanks? Shanks hovered. Endearingly. Annoyingly. Constantly.
“You know, I could protect you,” he offered at one point, lying back on the grass beside you with a grin. “If you joined us. Nobody would ever dare come after you again.”
“Why would I ever trust a Yonko?” you teased, resting your chin on your hand.
Shanks tapped his temple. “Because I’m handsome and charming.”
“Debatable.”
“Because I didn’t press you about your ability.”
You paused.
“…Less debatable.”
He turned his head toward you, more serious this time. “I know what it means. What you can do. I know the world will hunt you for it. And I also know—without a doubt—anyone who tries will have to go through me first.”
You stared at him, heart hammering. “That’s very dramatic.”
“Have you met me?” he grinned.
Before you could reply, Benn’s voice called over, “Captain, stop seducing our guest and help clean up.”
“I am helping,” Shanks called back. “With my charm.”
Benn just groaned and threw a towel at his head.
Night fell.
You sat with Lime Juice and Hongo near the fire while Shanks played a drunken game of darts with a tree (he kept missing) and Benn nursed a glass of something expensive, eyeing his captain like a babysitter on overtime.
Lime Juice offered you his coat when the wind picked up. “You know,” he said, voice quieter now, “you’re kind of amazing.”
You turned. “Me?”
“Yeah. Punching a Yonko. Reading the un-readable. And laughing at my jokes. Triple threat.”
You laughed. “Thanks, I think?”
“Don’t let Shanks hog you too much,” he added. “Some of us want a shot too.”
Hongo hummed behind his book. “I’ll second that.”
You looked between them, blinking. “Wait, what?”
Benn walked over, his cigarette glowing faintly. “They’re not joking.”
Shanks stumbled into the circle, arms wide. “Did I hear flirting?! I object! You’re all banned.”
You stared at the four of them.
“You’re telling me,” you said slowly, “that all of you are flirting with me… at the same time?”
There was a beat.
Then Shanks, Benn, Lime Juice, and Hongo all nodded in sync.
You buried your face in your hands. “This is absurd.”
Shanks grinned. “Absurdly charming.”
“I need a drink,” you muttered.
Benn passed you his glass without a word.
You didn’t leave the next morning.
Or the next.
Or the next after that.
Somewhere between watching Shanks get his foot stuck in a barrel, Lime Juice trying to build you a “romance swing,” Hongo diagnosing him with “chronic dumbassery,” and Benn pulling you aside just to ask how you were holding up, you realized something:
You were happier than you’d been in years.
For the first time, you weren’t hiding.
You weren’t running.
You were laughing. Living. Loved.
And sure, maybe the world still wanted your head.
But you had a Yonko, his second-in-command, a chaotic firecracker, and a broody medic wrapped around your finger.
If the world wanted to come for you?
Let it.
You had your crew now.
Strings in Crimson
When our enigmatic Y/n accidentally lands in Dressrosa, it sets off a chain of chaos, power displays, and dangerously intoxicating tension with Donquixote Doflamingo.
PART 2 OF READER WHO CAN USE THE INFINITY STONES
doflamingo x reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT
main characters: doflamingo
tags: sfw, v!ol3nce
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc
words count: 786
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
Dressrosa was too bright.
Even from the moment you stepped onto the sun-bleached cobblestones, the place reeked of forced cheer. Laughter too loud, colors too vibrant. Like a festival that refused to end. You hated it immediately.
You’d landed by accident — or as close to an accident as someone like you could. Space liked to rip when you snapped your fingers too hard. One careless flick, a shimmer of stars, and there you were. Smack in the middle of the city square while a nearby woman screamed about her missing child.
You sighed.
A blonde in pink feathers clocked you instantly. It was impossible not to. Tall and lean, Donquixote Doflamingo practically radiated threat.
“Fufufufu~ well, well,” he crooned from above, perched like a smug vulture on a balcony. “A new face. And what a face.”
You didn’t answer. Not out of caution. You just didn’t care.
Instead, you turned a nearby pigeon into a tiny floating star just to see if you could.
Gasps rippled through the crowd. Doflamingo’s grin sharpened.
In a blur, he appeared before you, a slash of color and power.
“Name,” he demanded.
“Y/n.”
“Devil Fruit user?”
“No.”
He tilted his head, intrigued. “Then what the hell are you? fufufufu~”
You glanced at the ground. It cracked under your gaze, spreading like glass under a hammer.
“Complicated.”
A chuckle. Low, dangerous. “I like complicated.”
He brought you to his palace. You let him. Not because you trusted him, but because you were bored.
His executives bristled. Trebol whined about taking in strays, Pica rumbled disapproval, Diamante preened. You ignored them all. Your presence was a storm in still air, and they felt it, even if they didn’t understand why.
“Test them,” Doflamingo ordered, one hand languidly swirling wine.
Buffalo charged first.
You didn’t move.
A thought, and space folded. He disappeared with a yelp, reappearing upside down, tangled in the palace’s chandelier.
Gladius tried next.
You blinked. His exploding fists paused mid-detonation, the tiny fragments suspended in mid-air.
“Cute trick,” you murmured, then rewound time by a second, leaving him disoriented and vomiting from vertigo.
The room fell silent.
Doflamingo leaned forward, interest gleaming.
“You could kill them all.”
You shrugged. “Could.”
“And me?”
A small, crooked smile tugged at your lips. “Wouldn’t be polite.”
He laughed. A real one. Not the shrill cackle, but something darker, lower.
“You’re mine now.”
“No.”
“Eventually.”
You poured yourself a drink, letting reality bend just slightly to fill the glass from a bottle across the room.
Weeks passed.
You became a ghost in the palace, appearing where you pleased, vanishing when bored. You rewound time to catch falling glasses, bent space to avoid dull conversations. The staff flinched when you passed. Doflamingo watched you with something dangerous, something almost fond.
He’d invite you to dinners you rarely attended. When you did, it was chaos.
Once, a rival warlord visited. He made the mistake of grabbing your wrist.
You didn’t react.
He blinked — and found himself standing in the middle of the sea, a thousand yards offshore.
Doflamingo’s grin nearly split his face.
“That was a gift,” he told you later, eyes gleaming.
You shrugged. “Didn’t like him.”
Neither did Doflamingo.
Trouble came in the form of a foreign warlord and a double-crossed deal. Not one for subtlety, the fool marched right into Dressrosa’s palace with a small army and a head full of bad ideas.
You found Doflamingo in the gardens, pristine and grinning, standing atop a mound of broken bodies like a crimson-clad god, not a scratch on him as enemies circled, too stupid to realize their doom.
“Care for a hand?” you asked mildly.
He bared his teeth in a grin. “Thought you’d never offer.”
You raised a hand. Reality convulsed.
Half the enemy force vanished into a pocket dimension of black nothingness. The rest scrambled, confusion thick in the air.
One bold lieutenant lunged. You tilted your head, and the man’s soul flickered visibly from his body — a ghostly echo you plucked between your fingers like a thread and snapped.
Doflamingo whistled, low. "You are a vicious thing."
“I get bored.”
Within minutes, the garden was a graveyard of twisted perceptions — enemies trapped in loops of false victories, others suspended mid-air like grotesque marionettes.
You dusted off your coat. "Clean enough?"
Doflamingo stepped over a dying man, his grin sharp and fond. “Marry me.”
“Pass."
He chuckled, licking blood from his teeth. "You’ll come around."
You would, maybe. Or not.
But for now, you flexed space one last time, leaving the remnants of the coup in a shivering bubble of frozen time, an unbroken reminder of what it meant to cross either of you.
Sugar & Spite
Forced into an arranged marriage, you and Katakuri are bound by name but not by heart — and certainly not by patience.
(CH 1/3) (CH 2/3) (CH 3/3)
katakuri x fem!reader a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe and oc tags: sfw, arranged marriage, enemies to lovers typeshi(?) warnings: poorly written, ooc maybe idk word count: 539
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
The wedding had been painfully formal — too many flowers, too many eyes, and not nearly enough escape routes. You stood beside Charlotte Katakuri like a statue, your fingers locked at your front, refusing to even brush against his hand.
You could feel the judgment. The curiosity. The pity.
You were the outsider. The political pawn.
And he?
He was the perfect son.
Powerful. Respected. Feared.
You didn’t even like donuts.
The wedding ended with hollow applause and a shared bow. No kiss. Not even a glance. Just the stiff, practiced movements of two people doing their duty.
Now, days later, the newlywed suite might as well have been a battlefield drawn in invisible lines.
He sat at the far edge of the room, sipping tea and glaring at a book like it had insulted his mother. You lounged on the couch, polishing your weapon with a cloth, utterly unbothered.
"You’re getting the floor dirty,” he muttered without looking up.
You didn’t even pause. “You’re getting the air tense.”
A beat of silence.
“You always this disrespectful?”
You shrugged. “Only when I’m right.”
Katakuri exhaled sharply. Not quite a sigh. More like frustration being carefully filed down into indifference.
It was always like this.
A dance of verbal jabs, curt nods, polite venom.
You weren’t sure why it bothered you so much. Maybe because he was good at being cold. Too good. No cracks. No warmth. You weren’t looking for love — the marriage had nothing to do with that — but the least he could do was treat you like a person instead of a contract.
The only time you had seen a flicker of humanity was during training. You'd passed by the sparring ring the day after the wedding and found him mid-battle with Oven — fluid, ruthless, and sharp.
He didn’t know you were watching.
And maybe that’s why he looked... alive.
But here, back in the room, he was stone again.
“You don’t have to try so hard to ignore me, you know,” you said, resting your chin on your hand. “I already know you didn’t want this marriage.”
He glanced at you, eyes unreadable.
“I didn’t say that.”
“No. You just act like it.”
That earned you a long stare. Then, calmly: “I don’t waste energy on things I can’t change.”
You smirked. “Wow. And here I thought you just didn’t like me.”
“…I don’t.”
That made you laugh, just a little. “Well, at least you’re honest.”
Silence stretched between you, thick with shared annoyance and something else — something that hadn’t settled yet.
You eventually stood up and dusted off your coat. “I’ll be in the training yard.”
He didn’t respond, so you paused in the doorway.
“For the record,” you said, glancing back, “you’re not the only one who didn’t want this. But I don’t see the point in wasting it, either.”
That made his brows lift slightly. A rare reaction.
“Who said I’m wasting it?” he asked quietly.
You looked at him for a long moment. He didn’t look smug. Just… still.
The question didn’t sound like a challenge.
It sounded like a mystery.
You didn’t have an answer — not yet — so you gave a half-smile and walked off.
I'm the one who requested kuzan's one shot, and i love it!!! Thank you so much!! ☺️😍
hiii!! im gladd you lovee it! it makes me happy~
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!!
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.
Perfect pair
Y/n lands on the forsaken island of Kuraigana, crossing paths with the world’s greatest swordsman, Dracule Mihawk.
PART 1 OF READER WHO CAN USE THE INFINITY STONES
dracule mihawk x reader ౨ৎ💗 ONE SHOT
main characters: mihawk
tags: fluff, sfw, soft, lots of v!ol3nce
a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc
words count: 968
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
Kuraigana Island was a corpse of a land.
Fog hung like a wet cloth. Gnarled trees clawed at a grey sky. Castles lay in ruin. Crows perched on broken battlements, staring like tiny, judgmental gods. The humandrills lurked in the shadows, half-watching, half-measuring you with the unsettling intelligence of creatures that knew too much and bowed to nothing.
You arrived with no fanfare — a split in space, a ripple in air, and there you stood.
The swordsman was already waiting.
Golden eyes sharp as his blade, Dracule Mihawk took you in without surprise. Just a flick of his gaze, the briefest narrowing of lids.
“You’re not from here.”
“...”
A beat. Then a faint smirk.
“State your business.”
You glanced around. The entire island radiated don’t bother, but you liked the silence.
“Needed a place to land.”
Mihawk regarded you a moment longer, then turned away.
“Don’t get in my way.”
You didn’t answer. You never did.
There he stood, placing the wine aside. Up close, he was taller than you expected, broad-shouldered and impossibly composed, moving like liquid death. The sort of man who didn’t need to raise his voice to command a room.
“I don’t know where you came from,” he said, approaching with unhurried grace, “but I can tell you this island is no place for a traveler. It devours the weak.”
“I’m not weak.”
Something in his eyes sharpened. “Prove it.”
A sword materialized in his hand—a black-bladed cross almost as tall as you were.
You didn’t blink.
He smirked, and in a blur of movement, brought the blade down.
You raised a hand.
The world stuttered. Time hiccupped.
His strike slowed to a crawl, the blade inches from your face.
“Cute,” you murmured, tilting your head. You could feel the hum of cosmic power rising within you.
With a flick of your wrist, you stepped out of sync with the moment. Time resumed, his blade cleaving harmlessly through empty air.
You were leaning against a column now.
“Done?” you asked, voice flat.
Mihawk turned, eye narrowing. A slow, dangerous smile curved his mouth.
“Well, Aren’t you interesting.”
Days bled together.
Mihawk didn’t ask you to leave, and you didn’t offer. He trained in the ruins. You wandered. A routine of unspoken tolerance.
Occasionally, the hum of his blade slicing the mist would pause as you flexed space to pluck fruit from high branches, reversed time to catch a falling stone before it shattered, or made entire sections of the crumbling wall rebuild themselves just for fun.
Once, a particularly bold baboon lunged at you. Mihawk turned just in time to see it dissolve into stardust.
You held its still-beating heart in your palm for a moment, then let it fall.
The humandrills kept their distance after that.
He said nothing, but his eyes followed you longer after that.
He asked about your powers one evening, rare curiosity threading his tone.
You sat by a fire you didn’t need, lazily manipulating the flame into twisting shapes.
“Are you a god?”
You considered it. “Complicated.”
He hummed. “Good. I hate gods.”
The corner of your mouth twitched. “Noted.”
Tension hung between you like fine wire. Neither speaking it. Neither breaking it.
When pirates landed, drunk on courage and legends of Mihawk’s title, you watched from a stone wall.
Twenty men.
They charged.
Mihawk moved like death made flesh, blade a dark glimmer. He cut through them like wind through leaves.
One survivor crawled toward you, gasping, reaching.
You tilted your head.
The man froze. His body peeled apart into strings of light, unraveling like an old tapestry.
Mihawk watched, bloodied and silent.
You met his gaze. “Messy work.”
He smirked. “Efficient.”
Weeks later, a storm hit.
Lightning split the sky. Waves devoured the shore.
A galleon, unfamiliar flag, shattered against the cliffs.
Mihawk and you stood at the shore. Bodies in the water. Survivors clinging to wreckage.
“Yours?” you asked.
He shook his head.
A captain, foolish and loud, cursed and called Mihawk out by name.
Mihawk’s blade lifted — but you stepped past him.
A simple gesture. A ripple in reality.
The ocean bent, swallowing the survivors. The ship’s remains vanished, leaving only empty, perfect water.
Silence.
“You stole my kill,” Mihawk said.
You shrugged. “They bored me.”
He stared at you a long moment, then laughed. Low, rare.
“Stay,” he said.
You did.
Because for once, you weren’t bored.
One dusky evening, Mihawk invited you on a hunt.
“A nuisance on a nearby island,” he said. “A former Warlord pretending to hold dominion.”
You quirked a brow. “And you need me?”
“I don’t need anyone,” he replied smoothly. “But you might amuse me.”
You smirked and stepped through a portal, Mihawk following.
The island was a lush jungle, overrun with hostile fauna and even more hostile men.
They expected Mihawk. They didn’t expect you.
One tried to cleave your head from behind.
You stopped time.
Walked around the frozen scene, plucking the man’s weapon away, rewinding his attempted strike into a trip and face-first fall into mud.
When time resumed, Mihawk didn’t flinch, but you caught the slight twitch of his lip.
“You enjoy showing off.”
“I enjoy being alive.”
You flicked a finger. Space warped around a group of enemies, their bodies crushed into a single, compacted orb of air before disappearing.
Mihawk cut down the rest, his precise strikes a sharp contrast to your cosmic chaos.
Afterward, the island was silent save for the wind and the cawing of carrion birds.
Mihawk sheathed his sword.
“You might be dangerous company.”
“You might be boring,” you countered.
Another smirk. “Then we’ll keep testing that.”
You stepped back into Kuraigana’s misty air together.
The humandrills stared harder than usual.
And you, for the first time in centuries, considered the notion of staying.
Sugar & Spite
One stolen moment, one shared night, and a love neither of you saw coming—proving that even the coldest bonds can bloom into something warm.
(CH 1/3) (CH 2/3) (CH 3/3)
katakuri x fem!reader a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc tags: sfw, arrange marriage, enemies to lovers typeshi(?), fluff warnings: poorly written, ooc maybe idk words count: 1.3k
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
It was strange, waking up and realizing you didn’t hate him anymore.
Stranger still? Realizing he’d never hated you either.
After the merienda incident, things shifted in quiet, deliberate ways. Katakuri started coming back to the suite earlier. You noticed the scarf coming off more often. Sometimes, he didn’t even bother tying it back on at all when it was just the two of you.
You began training together in the mornings and winding down together at night — not with arguments, but silence, companionable and calm.
One evening, you both ended up sprawled on the same couch — you flipping through a book, him finishing his tea.
You felt his gaze on you more often now. Less guarded. More curious.
"You always this quiet when you're not teasing me?" you asked, voice soft.
"You prefer the teasing?"
You smiled, just a little. "Maybe."
He watched you, his expression unreadable. “You're not what I expected.”
You leaned your head back. “Good or bad?”
“…Good.”
A beat of silence passed before he added, “You saw my face. You didn’t laugh. You didn’t flinch.”
You turned to him. “Because I didn’t see a monster.”
His eyes softened. The silence between you grew warmer.
"Come here," he said suddenly.
You blinked. "Excuse me?"
"I want to show you something."
He reached for your hand, tugging gently. You followed him through the estate, through familiar halls now tinged with something new. Trust. Anticipation.
He led you to the garden where you’d caught him before — the sugar apple tree still blooming, a blanket laid out, steam rising from a fresh pot of tea. And donuts. Of course.
But this time, he didn't sit on the other side.
He sat beside you.
And when you looked at him — really looked — you found him already watching.
"You make it hard to keep walls up," he said, low and honest.
“Good,” you replied. “You don’t need them with me.”
A long pause passed before he reached out, fingers brushing your jaw. “May I?”
Your heart thudded once — loud, steady — and you nodded.
He leaned in. The kiss was slow. Gentle. A question you both already knew the answer to.
When you pulled apart, his hand lingered on your cheek.
"I didn’t want this marriage,” he whispered, “but I’m glad I got you.”
That night, something changed.
The couch between your futons disappeared. So did the futons.
You shared a bed for the first time — not out of obligation, but choice.
And in the quiet of the dark, when his hand found your waist and your breath caught in your throat, you realized how easily the cold could melt.
His lips found yours again, slower this time, deeper — less guarded. Your fingers curled in his hair, pulling the scarf loose, revealing the mouth you’d grown fond of.
He worshipped you like you were made of sugar and fire.
You returned the favor, gently, deliberately — showing him with every touch that he was wanted, that he was safe, that you weren’t going anywhere.
Soft sighs, heated whispers, and tangled limbs followed.
You didn’t fall asleep until hours later, curled against him, your head on his chest and his arms wrapped tightly around you.
"Y/N," he murmured, almost asleep.
"Yeah?"
“…'m glad you're here.”
A Few Years Later…
There were two sets of tiny feet running through the garden now.
A little girl with your eyes and Katakuri’s frown chased her brother, who was trying very hard to climb a tree — and failing spectacularly.
“Be careful!” you called, hands on your hips.
“Papa said I could!” the boy shouted.
You gave Katakuri a look. He shrugged from where he was lounging nearby, half a donut in his hand and an unbothered smile on his face.
“I said try, not succeed.”
You rolled your eyes and settled beside him. “They’re gonna break something.”
He glanced at you. “Like I broke my reputation falling for you?”
You blinked. “Did you just flirt with me?”
“…Maybe.”
You chuckled and leaned against him. “I liked it.”
He kissed the top of your head.
The children squealed in the background, fighting over who got the last donut.
You sighed. “They're exactly like you.”
“Smart, strong, and addicted to sugar?”
You snorted. “Exactly.”
He looked at you then, warm and full of pride. “I never imagined I'd have this.”
You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers with his.
“Neither did I.”
But you were glad you did.
BONUS SCENE:
You were only five months pregnant when the entire Big Mom household decided that you officially needed a twenty-four-hour protection detail.
Not because of enemy threats.
No — because you’d launched a fruit knife at Oven when he tried to touch your mochi-stuffed chocolate croissant.
It missed his ear by an inch.
“She’s hormonal,” Katakuri said flatly, standing behind you with his arms crossed and the most terrifyingly calm face in the room.
“I’m pregnant, not weak,” you muttered, throwing your legs over Katakuri’s lap and reaching for the aforementioned croissant. “Touch my food again and I’ll stab with accuracy next time.”
The room was silent.
Snack visibly gulped.
Perospero whispered something like “remind me never to get on her bad side” which made Katakuri shoot him a glare so sharp he nearly choked on his tongue.
“Don’t comment on my wife,” Katakuri said darkly, one hand resting protectively over your belly.
You grinned. “Aww. Look at you. Already a possessive dad.”
He cleared his throat and looked away.
You were used to him being ridiculously overprotective since you started showing. He’d physically moved an entire dinner table because he thought the seat was too close to the fire. When you sneezed, he’d almost called the family doctor. When your ankles started swelling, he threatened to drag Smoothie to personally drain the excess fluids from your legs.
It would’ve been annoying… if it wasn’t kind of adorable.
“You’re not allowed to walk without me,” he said one evening while tucking you into bed. “Or lift anything heavier than a spoon.”
You stared. “What about a fork?”
“…I’ll think about it.”
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m in love.”
That shut you up.
Because, yeah… he was. And so were you.
You went into labor a few weeks early.
Katakuri didn’t panic — but he did punch through a wall on the way to the birthing room. Cracker helped you get there while yelling at him to focus, while Smoothie held your hand and ordered everyone else out with a wave of her sword.
You refused to scream. You were too damn stubborn.
Instead, you gritted your teeth and glared at Katakuri every time the contractions hit. “This is your fault.”
He held your hand and nodded solemnly. “I know.”
“And if you ever breathe on me the wrong way again after this—”
“I won’t.”
“You better still want more kids after this.”
“…We’ll talk.”
The moment your first baby cried, everything stopped.
Katakuri froze — eyes wide, mouth open, like someone had just dropped the world in his lap.
You looked at your daughter, then at him.
He held her with the gentleness of a man who’d spent his whole life holding back — and was finally allowed to let go.
“She looks like you,” he whispered.
You smiled weakly, exhausted and dazed. “No, she’s prettier.”
He kissed your forehead, then your hand.
“Thank you,” he murmured.
“For what?”
“For being mine.”
A Year Later…
“You’re sure she doesn’t have mochi powers?”
“I think she just likes chewing on her brother.”
Katakuri sighed as he watched your daughter nibble on her twin’s arm like a teething donut. You sipped your tea, watching them from the garden swing, belly already swelling with your third.
“You said you wanted a big family.”
“I didn’t know I’d be outnumbered.”
You smirked and leaned against his shoulder. “You’re a war general. You’ll survive.”
He kissed your temple, arms wrapping around you.
And in the sunlight, surrounded by kids, chaos, and too many donuts, the two of you found peace in the most unexpected place.
Each other.
Where were you? I didn't know you existed.
Hello, I'll be your new follower. You have wonderful stories.
but I would like to request one please
Gol D. Ann oh Portgas D Anne oh simply Anne the younger blood sister of Ace Portgas and sworn sister of Luffy and Sabo
Unlike her siblings, she followed the path of her adoptive grandfather Garp and became a marine. Against all odds, with the help of Garp, who hid his identity. But she was assigned as a pupil of Admiral Akainu, who trained her severely (unaware that she was the daughter and sister of two pirates). With her great talent, and as Akainu's pupil, the young woman rose rapidly within the Navy, rising to the rank of Rear Admiral of the Fleet.
Nobody knew that the young woman they believed to be loyal to the navy fell into the clutches of love, and none other than a pirate, and not just any pirate, but one who is a friend of her brother, Marco the Phoenix.
After her brother Ace was captured by the Navy, her grandfather forbade her from visiting him in the jungles. He even somehow arranged for her to be assigned a special mission so she wouldn't participate in the execution. Or rather, so she wouldn't intervene, since Garp knew her well.
When Akainu attacked Luffy and Ace stepped in. A small figure wrapped in a large white cloak Was wearing a clown mask Stayed in the middle with a Haki-filled sword between Akainu's sword arm and Ace's back She was able to briefly stop the enormous blow of power, using everything she had and managed to knock Akainu back a couple of steps But sacrificing her swords and mask The boys, upon seeing who it was, froze when they recognized her Ace An Luffy sister Anne didn't say anything, her eyes were on Akainu, she knew he shouldn't let his guard down Although he also seemed somewhat confused As did the other pirates nearby and a certain blond man who was covering his face with his hand Anne, idiot, that's a terrible way to block it, you almost ruined everything. You still haven't learned Haki by looking at his brothers. Approaching and kicking them hard, they landed right in Jimbe's arms. That's your way out, Sea Knight Jimbe. No, wait, Anne, the boys shouted as Jimbe started running again.
Akainu looked at the young woman, disappointed. While Anne wiped a trickle of blood from the corner of her lips, The traitorous Akainu prepared to attack Anne, but before that, Whitebeard attacked him. Anne's hands were still shaking from holding the swords so tightly. She gave up on the rest, feeling dizzy. But before she could fall, Marco held her.
Marco Anne, idiot Anne, calm down, it's fine. Order the retreat. Then you'll discipline me, looking at her lover with a smile.
Please excuse me for bothering you. I'm sure you can make something of that information and create a great story that humiliates Akainu, saves Ace, and makes Anne and Marco fall in love. I can give you a little gift if you want
thank u for the compliments! im glad u like my works, also thank u and no need for gifts but i appreciate it either way! <3 here u go! its not well written but, i hope u like it! 😅
Where the Fire Lives
In the chaos of Marineford, Anne risks everything — her life, her duty, her heart — to save the brothers she swore to protect.
Marco the phoenix x female oc
tags: slight angst, soft, sfw, ooc, near-death experience, platonic bonds, hidden identity, happy ending, oc, bl00d/v!olence
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: 3.3k
masterlist | ko-fi
: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭ ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊
The sun was merciless in Marineford as Rear Admiral Anne stood at perfect attention, her fists behind her back, posture drilled into her over years of Akainu's brutal training. Her dark navy coat fluttered slightly in the sea breeze, the crimson sash at her waist marking her as a Rear Admiral. Her name—simply "Anne"—was carved into the records of the Marines as one of its youngest rising stars, a combat prodigy in the mold of Garp the Hero.
Everyone knew she was Garp’s adoptive granddaughter. But no one knew she was the daughter of Gol D. Roger, or the blood sister of Portgas D. Ace. And only a precious few knew that when she vanished from Marineford for a week every few months, she was disappearing into the arms of Marco the Phoenix.
“Rear Admiral Anne,” came a sharp voice behind her.
She didn’t need to turn to know it was Sakazuki—Admiral Akainu.
“Reporting, Admiral,” she answered smoothly.
“You’ve been assigned to eliminate the remnants of the Valkor Pirates in West Blue,” Akainu growled, his boots echoing on the stone dock. “I want their ship sunk. No survivors.”
Anne internally winced, knowing Capone Valkor’s crew was more bark than bite these days. But she nodded. “Understood, Admiral.”
Akainu narrowed his eyes at her. “Don’t disappoint me, girl.”
She didn’t flinch. “I never do.”
“Anne!”
She barely dodged the flaming cannonball that tore through the mast behind her.
“Geez, Valkor’s boys are still this reckless?” she muttered, haki flaring around her fists.
In under five minutes, she dispatched the entire crew—most of whom leapt overboard after she shattered the deck with a single haki-charged stomp.
A call came through her Den Den Mushi as she stood triumphantly among the wreckage. “Mission complete. All enemies neutralized.”
“Very good, Rear Admiral~” came the smooth, amused voice of Borsalino—Admiral Kizaru. “Though you might’ve left a few more survivors. Paperwork, you know.”
“I’ll bring you souvenirs next time,” Anne deadpanned.
A week later, Anne was standing under the starlight of Sabaody Archipelago, pretending to look out over the ocean. But she wasn’t waiting for the view. She was waiting for him.
“You’re late,” she said as a blue flame flickered into existence behind her.
Marco emerged in full phoenix mode before shifting into his human form, brushing off his coat with a sheepish grin. “I’m technically a pirate. Time management isn’t our strong suit-yoi”
Anne turned to face him. “You’re lucky you’re handsome.”
“You’re lucky I like Marines with secrets-yoi” Marco shot back.
She smirked. “Careful, Marco. If Akainu ever finds out I’m dating a pirate, he’ll turn me into a lava puddle.”
He kissed her forehead. “He’d have to get through me first-yoi”
They didn’t talk about the danger of their affair. About how, if her identity as Gol D. Roger’s daughter came to light, the world would shatter.
Two months later, Anne was aboard a Marine ship tracking pirate movements in the New World.
“Rear Admiral,” a young Ensign called. “Reports indicate Portgas D. Ace was spotted with Whitebeard’s crew nearby.”
Anne tensed, then forced a casual shrug. “We’ll move in. Be cautious.”
As they neared the island, she took point, moving ahead of her men. The moment she landed, a burst of fire greeted her.
“I was wondering when the Marines would show up,” Ace called from a cliff.
Anne smirked. “You’re not as impressive in person as your bounty poster.”
Ace blinked. “Excuse me?”
“Portgas D. Ace. 550 million berries. Famous for being reckless and wearing the same shorts in every poster.”
Ace gawked. “Anne, it’s me! You’re seriously pretending we don’t know each other?”
She gave him a warning glare. “Keep your voice down, idiot.”
From behind a boulder, Marco peeked out with a choked laugh.
“Wait,” Ace whispered harshly, realizing. “You’re… oh no. You’re the Rear Admiral who Marco’s been sneaking off to see?”
Anne just crossed her arms, utterly unimpressed. “Congratulations. You’ve blown three secrets in ten seconds.”
Whitebeard’s laughter could be heard from the distance. “I like this girl. Smart and terrifying.”
Ace tried to recover, pointing dramatically at her. “She’s not that scary!”
Anne kicked him in the stomach.
He landed on Marco, groaning. “Okay. I take that back.”
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Anne sat with Marco on the edge of the cliff, feet dangling.
“Someday, all of this is going to fall apart,” she murmured.
Marco nodded. “And when it does?”
She squeezed his hand. “I’ll still choose you.”
He smiled. “You’re the only Marine I’d ever break the world for-yoi”
They watched the stars together, unaware that soon, everything would change.
Rear Admiral Anne stood at the training grounds of Marineford, sweat glistening down her brow as she completed her fifth round of drills. Her haki-enhanced strikes shattered practice dummies with ease. Spectators—young recruits and seasoned captains alike—watched with a mix of awe and wariness.
"She's terrifying," one whispered. "Like Vice-Admiral Garp, but with fewer laughs and more death stares."
Anne sheathed her sword and rolled her shoulders. She had a rendezvous scheduled soon, but appearances needed maintaining.
"Rear Admiral Anne," Vice Admiral Tsuru approached, folding her arms behind her back. "I heard your last mission was executed flawlessly."
Anne gave a crisp salute. "Yes, ma'am. Pirate remnants neutralized. Minimal Marine casualties."
Tsuru's eyes twinkled. "Good. You're making waves, girl. Maybe even too many."
Before Anne could answer, a new voice chimed in.
"Too many waves means you’re swimming upstream. Dangerous for someone your size."
Anne groaned inwardly. "Hello, Aokiji-san."
Admiral Aokiji, casually dressed even in the fortress of order that was Marineford, gave her a lazy nod. "I saw your form earlier. Your haki’s improving. You punch like a cannon now."
"Thanks," she replied dryly. "Maybe one day I’ll hit hard enough to knock the lazy out of you."
"Scary." Aokiji mock shivered.
Tsuru chuckled and dismissed herself. As she left, Garp appeared from a nearby barracks hallway, munching on rice crackers.
"Brat," he barked.
Anne turned. "Grandpa."
Garp waved away a few curious recruits and yanked her into his office.
The moment the door closed, he slammed a fist into the desk, causing it to groan. "You’ve been meeting with that Phoenix boy again, haven’t you!?"
Anne didn't deny it. "Yes. And before you say anything—I’m not stupid. We’re careful."
"Careful won’t stop an imprisonment if someone finds out. You think Sengoku wouldn’t throw you in Impel Down if he knew what you’ve been doing—"
"I know, Grandpa." Her voice cracked, soft but firm. "I know the weight I carry. I chose this life because you believed I could change things from inside. I still believe that. But I won’t stop seeing Marco."
Garp sighed, sitting heavily. "You remind me too much of your brothers sometimes."
Anne smiled faintly. "Isn’t that a compliment?"
Garp just shoved more crackers into his mouth and grumbled. "Don't do something you’ll regret!”
That night, under the shroud of darkness and an overcast sky, Anne rendezvoused with Marco again—this time on a quiet island dock in the New World. After exchanging a few quiet, stolen moments together, Marco's expression shifted from his usual warm smile to something a bit more serious, as if he was weighing his words carefully.
“Weeks without seeing you feels like three years,” Marco murmured as he landed in his hybrid form.
Anne leaned into him. “Says the man who literally caught fire to dodge my last message Den Den.”
He chuckled. “You scare me when you're annoyed. And your last note said, ‘We need to talk.’ That’s usually not romantic-yoi"
“I had to make it sound like a Marine order. Just in case.”
Marco lifted her chin. “You sure you still want this? With everything heating up out there… war might not be far.”
Anne nodded, gaze resolute. “I’m sure. Besides… my heart decided before my rank did.”
They kissed, long and desperate, like time itself might steal the moment. For now, there were no emblems. No ranks. Just warmth.
"Anne," Marco sighed, his brow furrowing. "I need to talk to you about something serious. Teach killed thatch and stole his devil fruit…and Ace—he's going after teach-yoi"
Anne’s face grew serious as she listened, her heart tightening with concern. "He’s after teach?" she repeated softly, her mind racing. "Marco, I’ve got bad feelings for this… this bad feeling that something’s off. I don’t want him to go after Teach without understanding what he’s truly up against."
Marco nodded, but his worry didn't quite vanish from his eyes.
Later, after the night faded into silence and after they shared their warmth in a stolen kiss, Anne left with a heavy heart.
A few weeks passed before Anne crossed paths with Ace again. This time, he was alone, his usual smirk replaced by something harder, a look that spoke of a man who had made a decision. She stopped dead in her tracks as their gazes locked. “Ace,” Anne’s voice cut through the silence between them. “I heard. About Teach. You’ve got to be careful. He’s not someone you can just take down with fire alone.” She looked at her brother, seeing the stubbornness in his eyes, but also the uncertainty that she had been fearing. “Promise me you’ll be cautious.” Ace chuckled, ruffling Anne’s hair. “Of course. You’re still the overprotective little sister, huh?” But then his expression softened. “I’ll be careful, Anne. I’m not looking to get myself killed. But Teach won’t just sit around. I need to end this before it spirals out of control.” Anne nodded, her voice quiet but firm. “I know. Just don’t let that man get the better of you.” She kissed his cheek before pulling away, her eyes scanning the horizon like she could see the storm brewing in the distance. “And I’ll make sure Marco knows how to get in touch with me, in case things go sideways.”
Back at Marineford that evening, Anne stood atop the tower, looking at the sea.
She felt a presence behind her and spoke without turning.
“Kizaru-san. What now?”
The Admiral leaned casually against the railing. “You’re quite the enigma, Anne-chan~”
“Am I?”
“You train like a soldier, vanish like a thief, and fight like a demon...Even Sakazuki’s starting to wonder...about you~”
Anne stayed silent.
Kizaru smiled faintly. “You remind me of Roger’s crew... I fought them once, you know...Your eyes? Same fire~”
Her heart stuttered.
“But~” he continued, “you fight for us... So I won’t ask questions... Not yet~”
He vanished in a glimmer of light, leaving her breathless.
Later that night, Anne found herself in Garp’s office again.
“You’re being watched,” he warned her.
“I know.”
He sighed. “Something’s coming, Anne. You need to decide which side you’re truly on.”
She looked up, eyes glowing with resolve. “I already chose. I just don’t think the world’s ready for that choice yet.”
The jungles of the New World were thick and wild, but Anne moved through them like a ghost, her mind elsewhere.
She should have been at Marineford. She should have been at her brother’s side.
Instead, her grandfather Garp had sent her here, on a special mission. A mission that conveniently kept her far from Ace’s execution. Anne wasn’t stupid. She knew exactly what Garp had done — and why.
He knows I would have tried to stop it.
And he was right.
Because no matter her rank, no matter her duty, she would have torn the world apart to protect Ace and Luffy.
The day of the execution, Anne felt it.
The shift in the air.
The roaring Haki that seemed to tear the sky apart.
The terror.
Without thinking, she dropped everything. Her orders, her mission — none of it mattered. She boarded a small craft and forced it through the raging seas toward Marineford, her heart pounding louder than the crashing waves.
She arrived in the middle of chaos.
The war was already at its peak. Pirates and Marines clashed like titans across the shattered ice and broken ships. Screams filled the air. Blood stained the ground.
Anne didn’t hesitate.
She threw a large white cloak over herself, pulled a battered clown mask over her face, and sprinted toward the execution platform.
She arrived just in time to see Akainu aiming a killing blow at Luffy’s exposed back.
Ace moved instinctively — but Anne moved faster.
With a burst of Haki, she hurled herself between Akainu’s magma fist and Ace. Her sword, coated in everything she had left, clashed against the Admiral's burning attack.
The ground shook beneath them.
Anne gritted her teeth, feeling her arms tremble violently from the impact. Her sword cracked under the overwhelming heat and pressure, and her mask shattered, falling from her face.
The world seemed to freeze.
Ace’s eyes widened in horror.
“Anne?!” Ace gasped, horror and relief blending in his voice.
Anne’s lips curled into a small, defiant smile, even as blood dripped down her chin.
She didn’t speak. She couldn't. All she could do was push with everything she had.
For one, brief, shining second — she knocked Akainu back.
The Admiral stumbled, his magma fist withdrawing for the first time.
Anne staggered, the broken remains of her swords falling from her hands. She barely registered the shocked gasps from the surrounding pirates — or the way a certain blond man was covering his face with a shaking hand.
"Anne, you idiot," Marco muttered under his breath, torn between pride and absolute panic.
Anne wiped the blood from her mouth and turned her head just enough to see Ace and Luffy, still frozen in shock.
"Go," she rasped, her voice barely more than a whisper. "Now."
You ended up kicking both Ace and Luffy square in the stomach, sending them flying into Jimbe's waiting arms.
“Jinbe!” Marco barked. “Get them the hell out of here!”
“No! Anne!” Luffy screamed, reaching out as Jinbe grabbed him and bolted, Ace struggling in his grip.
Anne didn’t turn to look. She couldn’t.
Her focus was still locked onto Akainu, who had recovered from his stumble and was now glaring at her with cold fury.
“You… traitorous brat!” Akainu growled, his fists crackling with magma. “You dare betray justice!?”
Anne gave a tired, mocking smile. "If your 'justice' means killing my brothers," she said hoarsely, "then I'll betray it a thousand times over."
Anne dropped into a shaky stance, barely able to lift her fists. She didn't care about justice anymore.
All she cared about was Ace and Luffy’s safety.
Akainu charged, magma exploding from the ground around him. Anne dodged and weaved, her body moving on instinct, using her smaller size and speed to slip past his heavy, devastating blows.
A magma fist scorched the air inches from her face — she spun under it and slashed his side with a quick, Haki-laced strike, leaving a shallow cut across his coat.
The nearby pirates gawked.
Anne, barely able to stand minutes ago, had injured an Admiral.
Akainu snarled in fury and attacked again, faster and more vicious.
Anne ducked under a molten punch, then headbutted his chin with a burst of Haki so fierce it sent him staggering back two steps.
The Whitebeard Pirates watching in the distance let out a stunned cheer.
"Get him, brat!" someone yelled.
Anne wiped the blood from her forehead, grinning fiercely.
"What's wrong, Akainu?!" she taunted, voice dripping with sarcasm. "Getting beaten by a 'brat' half your size?"
Akainu’s face twisted in rage, steam pouring from his body.
He slammed his fists into the ground, magma exploding upward in a deadly wave.
Anne charged right through it.
Her cloak caught fire. Her boots melted. But she kept going — straight at him.
With a wild, reckless cry, she jumped and drove the hilt of her broken sword into his face, cracking his nose with a brutal crunch.
The battlefield fell silent.
Anne landed in a crouch, panting hard, the remains of her sword still clutched tightly.
Akainu staggered back, one hand flying to his bleeding nose.
The Admiral of Absolute Justice, humiliated — by a girl he once called nothing more than a "soldier."
Anne smirked up at him, cocky despite the blood dripping from her mouth.
But it couldn't last.
The moment passed.
Akainu roared, his entire body exploding with magma and fury, and Anne had no more strength left to dodge.
She raised her battered arms in a last, defiant stance—
Akainu surged forward, rage burning brighter than ever—but before his blow could land, a massive quake shook the battlefield.
Whitebeard.
The old pirate crashed into Akainu with a roar, sending the Admiral flying back with a devastating blow of his bisento.
Anne gasped for breath, her vision swimming. Her legs buckled—
—and Marco caught her before she hit the ground.
"Anne," Marco muttered, his voice thick with emotion. He cradled her against him, his hands glowing faintly with phoenix energy to try and slow her bleeding.
"Marco," she whispered weakly, clinging to his jacket.
"You idiot," he repeated, forehead pressing briefly against hers. "You almost got yourself killed."
Anne gave a faint, bloodied smile. "But… worth it, right?"
Marco swallowed hard. He couldn’t deny it. She had saved Ace. She had saved all of them.
He lifted her easily into his arms. “We’re retreating. Now.”
As the Whitebeard Pirates gathered to pull back, carrying their wounded and fallen, Anne closed her eyes against Marco’s chest, finally letting the exhaustion consume her.
Aftermath
Anne woke up to the sound of the ocean.
She was aboard a ship — not a Marine ship, but one of the Whitebeard Pirates’ vessels.
Her body ached from head to toe. Every muscle screamed in protest. Her hands were wrapped in thick bandages, her ribs tightly bound.
She tried to sit up — and immediately fell back with a groan.
“Don’t even try it.”
Marco’s voice drifted from the side of her bed. She turned her head to see him sitting there, arms crossed, looking more exhausted than she’d ever seen him.
"You broke both your arms, cracked three ribs, burned your hands, and gave yourself a concussion," he said flatly. "And somehow you still thought it was a good idea to stand in front of Akainu."
Anne winced. "Is Ace…?"
Marco’s expression softened.
"He’s safe. Thanks to you. Him and Luffy both."
Anne sagged with relief, tears burning her eyes. She scrubbed at them weakly with the back of her bandaged hand.
Marco reached out and caught her hand gently.
"Thank you," he said quietly. "For saving our family."
Anne squeezed his fingers weakly. "Always."
Meanwhile, back at Marine Headquarters:
Garp sat on the edge of a ruined wall, staring blankly at the sea.
Sengoku stood beside him, arms folded.
"You knew she’d do it," Sengoku said quietly.
Garp let out a loud, boasting laugh. "Of course I did! She's my granddaughter after all!"
He closed his eyes.
“She’s got the blood of monster running through her veins. And the heart of a fool.”
Sengoku didn't argue. He simply laid a hand on Garp’s shoulder and squeezed once, silently.
They had all lost today.
And yet, somehow, Anne had managed to save something precious.
Later, on the Whitebeard ship:
Under the blanket of stars, Anne sat on the deck, wrapped in a thick coat, watching the ocean drift by. Her hands still trembled, but she didn’t mind.
Marco dropped down beside her, handing her a cup of hot tea.
They sat in silence for a long time, the night air cool and salty.
Finally, Anne spoke.
"I'm sorry," she whispered.
"For what?"
"For worrying you."
Marco snorted quietly. "You're a pirate now, Anne. Worrying me is part of the deal."
She gave him a crooked smile.
Then, softly, Marco reached over and pressed his forehead against hers again.
"You’re family now," he murmured. "And we protect our own."
Anne closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of his presence against the cold night.
For the first time since the war had started, she let herself believe—
Maybe everything wasn't lost after all.
-
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