Shanks X Reader - Blog Posts

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.

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

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

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

this sounds cutee!

Where the Quiet Finds You

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

Shanks x fem! reader | ONE SHOT

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

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

masterlist | ko-fi

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

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

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

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

You were so tired your body hurt.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You looked away.

“Do you have nightmares?” he asked gently.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You didn’t stir.

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

He hated seeing you like this.

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

But your breathing slowed, deepened.

You were asleep.

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

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

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

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

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

“I did not.”

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

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

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

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

You nodded.

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

You laughed. He looked satisfied with that.

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

He didn’t even open his eyes.

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

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

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

Not because the nightmares had disappeared.

But because you weren’t alone.

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.”

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.

I love shanks so much😭😭

Are you able to write a story where reader is a captain of another crew? Their crew isn’t super famous but aren’t weak either. Their crew is staying at some island and a tavern there when the Red-Haired pirates show up and think that they might try to fight, but reader dgaf and decides to flirt with shanks and stuff. Don’t know if your readers are Gn or female, but could the reader be described as “as beautiful as the ocean” please? I thought that would be cute!

Thank you!

🌊

thats interesting! its not much but hope u like this~~

Trouble Walks In, and So Do You

shanks x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: fluff, ocs, flirting, chaotic crews

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: 1.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The tavern on Bellmouth Island had never known peace.

It was tucked into the port side of the island like a cozy scar—weathered, stubborn, and full of bad decisions marinated in rum. But even Bellmouth’s most seasoned barkeep hadn’t seen anything quite like The Siren’s Fang crew.

“Hey, Cap! Tall guy passed out again!” barked Kiji, the squad’s medic, gesturing to a pile of limbs slumped over a barstool.

“Is he breathing this time?” you asked lazily, twirling a glass of rum in your hand. You sat at the tavern’s center table, leg slung over the arm of your chair, adorned in sleek leather and gold-trimmed cloth, eyes half-lidded with amusement.

“Barely,” muttered Azel, your cook-slash-unofficial-grim-reaper, poking the unconscious man with a ladle. “He mistook my hot sauce for syrup. Natural selection.”

“His fault,” you sighed.

You were Captain [Y/N], the woman many whispered about as beautiful as the ocean—mysterious, wild, and just as likely to drown you as smile at you. The Siren’s Fang wasn’t a household name like the Straw Hats or the Emperors, but in the Grand Line’s undercurrent, your reputation had teeth. Rumors swirled of your crew taking down a fleet from Big Mom’s remnants and sinking a marine battleship like it was a toy boat in a bathtub.

Still, fame didn’t interest you. Fun did.

And Bellmouth was fun—cheap booze, rowdy locals, and just enough lawlessness to feel like home.

That was until the door slammed open.

Wind howled through the tavern. Bottles rattled. Even the drunks perked up.

The Red-Haired Pirates had arrived.

You didn’t need to look. You felt it. That magnetic, crackling air of too-powerful people walking into a space too small to contain them.

Shanks led the way, one hand on the hilt of his sword, the other resting on his hip as he scanned the tavern with lazy mirth. His crew spilled in behind him—Benn Beckman, Lucky Roux, Yasopp, the works.

Ten seconds passed. Then—

“Welp. Guess we’re fighting,” muttered Neri, your tactician, flipping her dagger.

“Can’t we go one week without a legendary crew showing up?” grumbled Hyun, your shipwright, who’d just managed to tape a window back together.

“Don't break my chairs,” called the barkeep, already ducking behind the bar.

You, meanwhile, took a sip of rum.

And then, slowly, gracefully, rose to your feet.

"Are we fighting?" asked Benn, eyes narrowing slightly.

Shanks tilted his head in your direction, gaze locking onto yours.

You didn’t draw your sword.

You smiled.

“No,” you said, voice like velvet. “But I do have something else in mind.”

The room collectively blinked.

You strolled toward them with the ease of a queen and the chaos of a siren in full swing. “You must be Red-Haired Shanks,” you purred, eyes scanning him with undisguised appreciation. “You're taller than I expected. That’s... hot.”

A pause.

Then—someone from your crew let out a wheeze of disbelief. Probably Toma. He’d bet two crates of rum you’d deck Shanks on sight.

Shanks arched a brow, lips twitching. “Not the usual greeting I get from a rival pirate captain.”

“I’m not your rival,” you said, stopping only a breath away from him. You craned your head up, voice dropping to a sultry whisper. “Unless you want me to be. Enemies to lovers? That your thing?”

Lucky Roux choked on his drink.

Shanks actually laughed, the rich, boisterous sound of someone genuinely caught off guard.

“Captain,” Benn said dryly, “I think we’re being hit on.”

“DAHAHA I know, right?” Shanks grinned. “This is way more fun than usual.”

Your crew was now in a full-on state of stunned chaos.

“I—she just flirted with a Yonko. Casually. Like she was ordering a drink,” Kiji mumbled.

“She’s going to get us killed,” muttered Neri.

“No,” corrected Hyun, “she’s going to get laid.”

“Pfft—HA!”

Meanwhile, Shanks tilted his head. “So what’s your name, Ocean Eyes?”

You gave him your full title, adding, “Captain of The Siren’s Fang. And yes, I live up to the name.”

“Mm.” He leaned in just slightly. “Should I be worried you’re trying to lure me onto the rocks?”

“I’m trying to lure you onto something, that’s for sure.”

Yasopp nearly fell off his stool.

Benn facepalmed. Lucky Roux laughed so hard he snorted beer through his nose.

“Join us for a drink?” you offered innocently. “Or are you too scared I’ll make you fall in love with me?”

Shanks held your gaze for one beat. Two. Then smiled.

“I’ve done dumber things.”

And just like that, the Red-Haired Pirates sat down with the Siren’s Fang.

Tension left the room like steam off hot rum. Chairs screeched. Drinks clinked. Somewhere, your sniper was trying to discreetly message your ship’s chronicler: CAPTAIN IS FLIRTING WITH SHANKS, SEND HELP.

“...And then the marine tries to arrest me, right? While I’m naked. In the bath!” Shanks crowed, halfway through a bottle of rum, hair falling into his eyes.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, clutching your side. “Please tell me you fought him like that.”

“I slipped! Broke his nose falling out of the tub!”

You and your crew howled.

A few tables down, Benn and Neri were having a quiet intellectual standoff that involved a lot of maps and dry sarcasm. Yasopp and Hyun were arguing over gun specs. Toma was getting arm-wrestled into oblivion by Lucky Roux. It was, in short, a tavern apocalypse.

“You’re fun,” Shanks murmured, voice low, only for you.

You tilted your head. “You expected me to be scary.”

“I expected you to swing first and ask questions never.”

“Ah. That’s just on Wednesdays.”

He chuckled. “You’re dangerous.”

“You like that,” you teased.

“I do,” he admitted. “But be honest. Is this all just to distract me while your crew steals our booze?”

You sipped your drink with a wink. “What do you think?”

From across the room, a yell: “WE’VE TAKEN THE BEER STORAGE!”

“DAMN IT, KOKO!”

Shanks stared.

You said nothing.

He grinned. “Marry me?”

“Buy me a boat first.”

“You already have a ship.”

“Yeah, but I want a red one.”

As the night wore on, chaos bloomed into something almost tender. The two crews, pirates feared across the seas, were now doing karaoke with a broken lute and a guy named Phil.

You leaned against the tavern doorway, watching the madness. The moonlight brushed your skin like seafoam, your hair tousled by the salt-laced wind.

Shanks joined you silently.

“You’re really not what I expected,” he said.

“Disappointed?”

He shook his head. “Enchanted.”

You turned your head to him, eyes soft now. “You’re pretty smooth for a pirate.”

“I’m usually drunker.”

You laughed, then reached up, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “You know, Red, if I weren’t a captain…”

“Yeah?”

“I’d ask you to run away with me.”

He caught your wrist gently, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“If I weren’t a Yonko,” he murmured, “I’d say yes.”

For a moment, it felt like the sea held its breath.

Then someone inside yelled, “THE CAPTAIN AND SHANKS ARE MAKING EYES AT EACH OTHER AGAIN!”

“TAKE PICTURES!”

“START THE WEDDING SONG!”

You and Shanks groaned in unison.

“Back to the madness?” he offered.

“Only if you dance with me.”

“Deal.”

And so the two of you dove back into the tavern storm, laughing, flirting, half-dancing, half-sparring with words, like the sea and sky in a constant, chaotic waltz.

No declarations. No promises.

Just two captains in the eye of a storm they both enjoyed far too much.

The Ones Who Stayed Silent

They thought you didn’t know—but you saw everything, said nothing, and walked away with a shattered heart and silent grace… only to be seen again, happy and healed, with someone who would never make you feel like the only one.

shanks x reader | sanji x reader | ace x reader | ONE SHOT

tags: angst, sfw, ooc, heartbreak, cheating, betrayal

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: 3.9k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

The sea was always loud around the Red Force. Wind in the sails, waves breaking across the bow, laughter from the crew. And yet, in moments like this — with your head tucked beneath Shanks’ chin and his arm wrapped around your waist — it felt like the whole world stilled just to let you breathe.

“You always sneak into my bed when it’s cold,” he teased, voice low and rough with sleep.

You smiled against his chest. “Because your furnace body hoards all the heat.”

“Furnace body,” he repeated with a chuckle, fingers drifting slowly down your spine. “You really know how to charm a man.”

“Mmhm. That’s why you keep me around.”

“Nah,” he murmured, lifting your chin with a curled finger. “I keep you around because you make everything better. Even the cold nights. Especially the bad ones.”

Your heart tightened with warmth. “Shanks…”

He leaned down and kissed you slow. Deep. Familiar.

“Love you, baby,” he whispered, brushing his nose against yours.

You didn’t say anything at first. You just melted into him, eyes fluttering shut.

“I love you, too.”

You didn’t realize the first warning sign had come days earlier — a moment you almost forgot.

You had been leaning over the railing, watching the stars reflect across the ocean when Shanks walked up beside you, his presence easy and radiant as always. You’d barely noticed the woman trailing behind him — one of the newer crew members, tall and silver-haired, her laugh like syrup as it spilled from her throat.

She was laughing at something he said. You didn’t catch the joke.

You gave him a look. Not angry. Just questioning.

He smiled and curled an arm around your shoulder like it meant nothing. “She’s new,” he explained casually. “Still getting used to the crew.”

“She seems to be adjusting just fine,” you replied.

He pulled you closer. “Hey. Don’t go getting jealous on me, baby.”

“I’m not jealous.”

“Good.” He kissed your temple. “Because there’s no one else, alright? You know that.”

You nodded, even though a small part of you felt unsure.

He always made things feel safe again.

Three nights later, you brought him a drink in the captain’s quarters after dinner. He was at his desk, boots kicked up, talking with that same woman again — her knee pressed just slightly too close to his. They both looked up when you entered.

“Baby,” Shanks greeted, brightening immediately. “Perfect timing.”

She excused herself politely, offering a warm smile before slipping out the door. Shanks took the drink from your hand and tugged you into his lap without hesitation.

“She’s around a lot lately,” you said quietly.

“She’s an eager crewmate,” he shrugged, nuzzling into your neck. “What, you wanna get rid of her?”

“Don’t joke.”

“Hey.” His voice softened, and he turned your face to meet his. “There’s nothing going on. I promise. You believe me, right?”

“…Yeah.”

His lips brushed yours, slow and certain. “You’re the only one I want, baby. Always.”

You leaned into the kiss, letting the reassurance sink in.

Still, that night, you couldn’t fall asleep right away.

You started noticing more of it after that.

The way her eyes lingered on him when she thought you weren’t looking. The shared laughs during dinner. The time you caught her slipping out of his cabin early in the morning — she claimed she’d been dropping off maps.

You wanted to believe him. You tried.

But the ache in your chest started to bloom quietly. Slowly.

A small doubt that pressed harder with each soft “baby” he whispered — the very word that used to feel like a prayer now sounded like a lie.

Still, you said nothing.

You waited. You watched.

And then… you saw everything.

It was almost midnight when you approached his quarters.

You held a small cloth bundle in your hands — a gift you'd picked up from a small island earlier that week. A pair of rare sea-glass earrings. He’d admired them in passing. You wanted to surprise him.

You opened the door without knocking.

And there she was.

Her fingers tangled in his red hair. His lips trailing down her neck. His voice — low, teasing, affectionate.

“You feel so good, baby…”

You froze.

He didn’t see you.

You didn’t speak.

You just stood there. Long enough to burn the image into your mind. Long enough to feel your throat close, your heartbeat stutter, your entire body go numb.

Then, quietly, you closed the door.

You dropped the earrings into the sea later that night.

You didn’t sleep that night.

You sat on the edge of your bed for hours, staring at the moonlight bleeding through the porthole, your chest hollow, your limbs heavy. There were no tears. No rage.

Just silence.

You kept replaying his words — not the ones he said to her, but the ones he said to you.

“There’s no one else, baby. You’re the only one I want.”

Each lie sounded sweeter than the last.

You didn’t go to him. You didn’t want an apology. You didn’t want to hear his mouth twist the truth into something manageable. Because now you knew — every time he held you, he’d already chosen someone else.

So you wrote.

Your hand trembled at first. But as the words poured out, your chest began to lighten — like you were finally breathing again.

Shanks, I hope this letter finds you — though I know it will, because I’m leaving it on your bed. Right where I used to sleep. Right where she’s probably sleeping now. I saw you. I saw the way you touched her. The way you said “baby” like it still meant something. The same way you said it to me just days ago — when you kissed me good morning, when you laughed in my arms. It used to make me feel special. Now, it just makes me feel stupid. You told me not to worry. That she meant nothing. That I was the only one. You were so good at saying it. So gentle. So convincing. I wanted to believe you — God, I did. Because I loved you more than anything. More than reason. More than pride. But you looked at her the way you used to look at me. And I can’t forget that. So I’m leaving. Not because I want to hurt you. Not even because I hate you. But because I can’t stay and pretend I’m enough for you when you already decided I wasn’t. I hope the sea gives you peace. I hope you find what you’re looking for. And I hope — one day — you realize what you threw away. Because I would’ve given you everything. But now? Now, I’ll give myself the one thing you never could. Freedom. Goodbye, — Y/N

You left before sunrise.

The docks were quiet, the crew asleep, and your bag packed light. No goodbyes. No farewells. You just vanished — like mist over the sea.

Shanks woke with a lazy grin, his arm stretched across the bed to pull you closer—

But there was no one there.

Only the rustle of sheets. The ghost of warmth.

He sat up, rubbing at his eyes. Maybe you were getting breakfast. Or with the crew.

Then he noticed it: a small folded note on the pillow.

His name written in your handwriting.

His heart dropped before he even opened it.

And when he did…

The world collapsed.

He read every line once. Then again. Slower. Disbelieving.

“I saw you.” “You called her ‘baby.’” “You told me I was the only one.”

He was up in seconds, barefoot and shirtless, bursting through his cabin door.

“Y/N?!” His voice echoed down the corridor. “Y/N, wait—!”

No answer.

He stormed toward your room — empty. Searched the deck — nothing. Sprinted to the galley, the crow’s nest, the storage bay. Every familiar hiding spot. Every place you used to sit and smile at him like he was the only thing in your world.

“Have you seen Y/N?” he asked the crew, trying to keep his voice level.

“No, Captain,” came the confused reply. “Did something happen?”

He didn’t answer.

He barged back into the woman's quarter slamming the door behind him.

The woman — the one he’d betrayed you with — was still pulling on her coat lazily, as if nothing had happened.

“Hey, what’s all the noise—?”

“Get out.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said get the hell out.” His voice was low, ragged, dangerous.

She laughed nervously. “Shanks, don’t be dramatic—”

“Out!” he roared, slamming his fist into the desk. The wood splintered. The room shook.

She scrambled, nearly tripping over herself as she fled.

And just like that, the silence returned.

He sank into the nearest chair, the note trembling in his hand.

You looked at her the way you used to look at me. I would’ve given you everything. Now, I’ll give myself the one thing you never could. Freedom.

Shanks closed his eyes, forehead resting on the crumpled page.

He tried to remember the last time he said he loved you — the last time you laughed in his arms. The last time you looked at him without doubt.

He’d called you baby with the same mouth that whispered it to someone else.

And now he couldn’t even call your name without shame.

The Red Force had never felt so quiet.

And Shanks had never felt so empty.

You found work on a merchant vessel at first. Later, you traveled alone. You didn’t speak of him. You didn’t speak of you. You let time do what it does best — wear grief down to a dull ache.

Until one day, someone else came into your orbit.

Dracule Mihawk was not the kind of man who chased after affection. But he noticed you — the quiet way you watched the world, the grief you wore like armor, the strength you didn’t flaunt.

He didn’t ask for your story. He just stayed long enough for you to offer it.

And when you did, he listened.

He didn’t make you promises. He didn’t call you “baby.” He simply treated you like you mattered.

He touched you with reverence. Looked at you with intention.

Loved you without lies.

And somehow, that was enough.

A Year Later

The festival lights painted the harbor gold, laughter echoing between stalls and taverns as music played softly in the distance. You walked beside Mihawk, his coat draped over your shoulders, your fingers laced with his.

You smiled — a real, easy thing — as he said something dry and clever under his breath, pulling a laugh from you. You leaned into him without thinking.

Then you felt it.

That weight. That familiar gravity.

You turned your head and saw him.

Shanks.

Standing beneath a lantern near the docks, cloaked in shadow but unmistakably there. His red hair tousled by the wind. His body frozen.

His eyes — wide, stunned, hollow — locked on yours like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

You didn’t flinch.

You didn’t look away.

You simply turned slightly toward Mihawk and pressed your lips softly to his cheek, your hand never leaving his. Mihawk didn’t ask. He didn’t have to. His grip on you tightened just slightly, grounding you.

Shanks took a step forward.

But then… he stopped.

His mouth opened like he might speak — but no words came. There was nothing he could say that wouldn’t arrive a year too late.

So you let the silence say it all.

You gave him one last look. Calm. Final. Then you turned and walked away, leaving him rooted to the edge of the world he once ruled.

He had seen a thousand sunsets at sea. Watched a thousand tides roll in. Weathered storms and battles and death itself.

But nothing ever gutted him like seeing you again — whole, radiant, untouchable.

You weren’t sad anymore.

You weren’t his anymore.

You had Mihawk. And Shanks could see it in every step, every touch, every soft smile you gave the other man — the peace he once swore to protect, now in someone else’s hands.

And the worst part?

You didn’t hate him.

You just didn’t care anymore.

And that, somehow, hurt more than any scream or slap ever could.

He stood there long after you disappeared into the crowd. Alone. Cold. Remembering the way your voice used to sound when you whispered, “I love you.”

And for the first time in his life, Shanks had no idea how to get something back.

Because you were gone.

And you weren’t coming back.

SANJI

The sun kissed the shores of a quiet island nestled along the Grand Line, where the Straw Hat crew had docked for rest and resupply. You sat on a small stone wall beside Sanji, a paper cone of roasted chestnuts between you, your legs swinging gently. His hand brushed yours now and again, but he never held it. You never said anything about that.

“Try this one,” he said, lifting a particularly dark, caramelized chestnut to your lips. You laughed and leaned forward to take it, but he tugged it back teasingly. “Say please.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Please, my oh-so-generous chef.”

“That’s more like it,” he grinned, letting you take it before resting his chin in his hand, eyes soft. “How did I get lucky enough to end up with someone like you, huh?”

The words stung.

Because you’d started to notice the way he said the same line to other women when he thought you weren’t listening. When he thought your back was turned. When you were supposedly out with Nami and Robin.

But you smiled. You always did. That’s what love looked like, didn’t it? Smiling even when your chest cracked.

Later that evening, the crew checked into a humble inn on the island’s edge. Nami and Robin wanted to browse the market, and they invited you along, but your head hurt and your heart hurt more, so you declined.

“Don’t wait up, we might stay out late,” Nami warned with a wink.

You waved them off and headed to your shared room with Sanji, telling yourself you’d rest, maybe write in your journal, maybe stop thinking about how the past few weeks felt like soft unraveling.

But Sanji wasn’t there. And the window was open. You stepped closer and overheard his voice—soft, but excited.

“…She’s out shopping. We should hurry before she comes back.”

Your heart dropped.

You froze in place, hand still resting on the windowsill. Another voice answered, female, flirty. You didn’t need to see her to know.

You sat on the bed and waited. You waited because you needed to see his face when he walked through that door. Needed to see what kind of lie he’d come up with. Needed confirmation for the truth you already knew.

It was nearly midnight when the door creaked open. Sanji looked surprised, almost guilty—but he caught himself too quickly.

“Oh—you're still up, my love?” he said smoothly. “Sorry, I thought you went out with the girls.”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him.

He walked over and sat beside you on the bed, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. “You okay?”

Still, silence.

He blinked, then tilted his head in concern. “You’re quiet tonight.”

You smiled. That same practiced smile you always wore. “Just tired.”

Sanji kissed your forehead and stood to change into his nightshirt, humming something under his breath. As if nothing had happened.

You left the next morning.

No confrontation. No fight. No angry tears.

Just a note.

Sanji, You used to look at me like I was your world. I should’ve known you just liked seeing your reflection in mine. I don’t even know what to say. I thought I knew you. I thought we had something. I thought you were different. But I know now—don’t I? I heard your words—your promises. You said, “We should hurry, while she’s out.” I never thought you could do this. Not to me. Maybe I’ve always been too trusting. Maybe I’ve been a fool. You lied with the kind of smile that made me question if I imagined it all. But I didn’t. I’m not mad. I’m heartbroken—there’s a difference. And the saddest part is, I would’ve forgiven you if you’d just told me the truth. But you let me rot in love alone. Don’t look for me. This is me leaving. Goodbye, Sanji. — Y/N

He found the note before breakfast. He read it once. Twice. Then again, each time slower. Robin noticed his shaking hand. Zoro asked where you were. Sanji couldn’t speak.

By midday, he was running through the island streets. Every alley. Every stall. He asked locals. Showed them your sketch.

No one had seen you.

You were gone. Completely. Like you’d never been there at all.

One Year Later

Rain lashed the docks of a bustling medical harbor. The Thousand Sunny had taken damage, and they stopped at a renowned doctor’s island to repair and rest.

Sanji didn’t smile as much these days. He still flirted, but half-heartedly, like a ghost of who he once was. Everyone noticed. No one said much.

He stood at the market stalls, bartering for fresh seafood when his heart stopped.

Because he saw you.

Hair a little longer. A warm coat drawn around your shoulders. Eyes brighter than they had any right to be.

You were laughing.

And beside you stood Trafalgar Law, umbrella tilted above you both, hand casually resting on your back as he pointed to a bouquet of herbs.

Sanji dropped the fish.

He couldn’t move.

Couldn’t breathe.

He watched as you reached for Law’s hand, how he intertwined your fingers like it was second nature, like he had every right to. How you smiled at him like Sanji had only ever dreamed of.

Law said something, and you leaned into him, nodding, face soft with affection.

Sanji turned away.

He made it two steps before the weight in his chest buckled him. He stumbled into an alley and pressed a hand against the wall, gasping.

Tears fell freely.

He didn’t go back to the ship until sunset.

That night, there was another note. Not from you, but written long ago. One he’d found after too much wine.

A passage you’d once written in your journal, now burned into his mind.

“You called me baby like I was the only one. But I wasn’t. I was just the only one who stayed.”

ACE

Smoke curled into the sky like ghosts of promises you once believed. The air on Karavel Island was thick with ash and gunpowder—another battlefield in Ace’s chaotic, flame-laced life. But this was your life, too. You’d followed him here. Again.

“Over here!” Ace called, waving at you through the debris with a wide grin, flames dancing around his arms. “Bet you can’t beat my body count today!”

You rolled your eyes but jogged toward him anyway, heart tugging like it always did. He looked good with soot smudging his cheek and fire lighting up the storm in his eyes. Alive. Dangerous. The kind of man who kissed like the world was ending—and maybe it always was.

“You burn it all down yet?” you teased, reaching his side.

“Nah, was waiting for you,” he said, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “Where’s the fun without you?”

And for a second, it was perfect.

Until that second ended.

It was the small things. Always the small things.

The way he took longer and longer to return from missions. The way he stopped writing when he was gone. The way he still called you “baby,” but his eyes didn’t stay on yours for long.

You didn’t want to doubt him. Not Ace. Not the man who held you when you cried, who called you his home.

But then came the night at the underground tavern.

You were helping a wounded civilian upstairs when you heard it—his voice, muffled, laughing. A giggle answered him. A girl’s voice. Slurred. Familiar.

You paused on the stairwell, heart already sinking.

“…Come on,” Ace’s voice teased. “We don’t have much time.”

Your breath caught.

“I shouldn’t,” she whispered back.

“You’re the one who kissed me first,” Ace said, and your world tilted.

Silence.

Then another giggle.

Then the sound of lips meeting.

You didn’t move. Couldn’t. Not even when the world twisted inside you. Not even when the lantern on the wall flickered like it knew the fire inside you had gone out.

You didn’t say anything when he came back to your shared room that night.

He acted normal—like nothing had happened. Like he hadn’t just touched someone else and then come to lie beside you.

You stared at the ceiling until he fell asleep.

In the morning, you were gone.

Ace, You once told me that fire doesn’t choose what it burns—it just does. I used to think that was poetry. Now I know it was a warning. You burned me, Ace. Not all at once. Just a little every day until I didn’t recognize my own heart anymore. I heard you. I saw you. And I still kissed you goodnight. Do you know what that does to a person? I gave you all of me, and you gave little pieces of yourself to strangers. I don’t hate you. I never could. But I can’t love you for both of us anymore. Don’t come looking for me. This is goodbye. — Y/N

The message was short. But it broke him anyway.

Ace stood in the ruins of the tavern, your letter clutched in his hands, his body shaking in a way fire couldn’t fix. He lit it aflame. Watched it turn to ash like everything else he touched.

He ran. Looked for you in every port. Asked the Revolutionaries. Asked pirates. Asked anyone.

You were gone.

One Year Later

It was raining in Yamabuki Port, but Ace stood still in the downpour, unmoving. The Whitebeard Pirates were resupplying, but he couldn’t focus—not when he saw you through the mist.

You were laughing.

Your coat was soaked, and your hair stuck to your forehead, but you looked so alive. So whole.

And beside you stood Zoro.

The swordsman from the Straw Hat crew — his brother's crew.

He was holding a paper umbrella above your heads, a quiet look in his eyes as he listened to whatever story you were telling. When you stumbled slightly in the mud, he caught your elbow. You smiled at him with a softness Ace had never earned.

Zoro reached up and brushed your hair from your face like it was second nature. You leaned into his touch without hesitation.

Ace felt it all in his gut. Like a blade through fire.

He didn’t approach.

Didn’t call your name.

Didn’t move.

You glanced across the square and your eyes met.

Just for a moment.

There was no hatred in your gaze. No anger.

Only peace.

You looked away.

And Ace knew—he was watching a version of you he’d never get to meet.

That night, Marco found him sitting alone on the deck, soaked to the bone even though the rain had stopped hours ago.

“You saw them, didn’t you-yoi?” Marco asked quietly.

Ace didn’t answer. Just stared at his hands.

“I thought I had time,” he whispered. “I thought… I could fix it.”

Marco said nothing. There was nothing to say.

Because some fires don’t go out.

They just move on without you.

One Month With You

In the final month of your life, you cherishes fleeting moments with your crew, hiding a terminal illness until only memories—and a letter—remain.

red hair pirates x reader | whitebeard pirates x reader | strawhats x reader | ONE SHOT tags: angst, sfw, ooc, major character death, grief, terminal illness a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 2.6k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

RED HAIR PIRATES

The sea was calm that morning, the kind of quiet that made even the waves seem to hold their breath. The deck of the Red Force was alive with chatter and light laughter, but you stood by the railing, letting the wind sweep through your hair. Your fingers curled around the wood, your gaze far off—not at the horizon, but somewhere past it.

One month. That’s what Hongo told you when he unknowingly confirmed your own suspicions. You’d been hiding the worsening symptoms for months—fatigue that sank deep into your bones, the relentless pain in your chest, the occasional blood you’d spit out into the sea, unnoticed.

You knew he’d figure it out eventually. He was too good not to.

But you hadn’t expected him to burst into your quarters the night before, shaking with barely restrained panic.

“What the hell is this?!” Hongo had yelled, thrusting a tattered medical report into your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you say something?!”

You couldn’t meet his eyes. “Because I didn’t want to be watched like a ghost who hasn’t died yet.”

Silence. Deafening.

“...You have a month, Y/N, maybe less. You’re—” His voice cracked. “You’re dying, and you're acting like it's nothing?”

“I have a month, Hongo,” you had said quietly. “Please… just let me have it. Don’t tell the others. Let me spend it with them. Please.”

He didn't answer for a long time. When he finally did, it was with a whisper: “You’re a fucking idiot.” But he pulled you into a hug and didn’t let go until your shoulders stopped shaking.

From that day, you lived more fiercely than ever. You laughed at Shanks’ dumb jokes and drank with him until the world blurred. You challenged Benn to silent stargazing contests, betting on how many shooting stars you’d catch. You dragged Limejuice to island carnivals and flirted shamelessly until his face burned red. You played cards with Hongo, even when your hands trembled too much to hold them.

They all noticed. The Red-Haired Pirates weren’t stupid.

“You’re real clingy lately,” Limejuice teased one night, bumping your shoulder with his. “You sure you’re not sick or something?”

You smiled, heart twisting. “Would you be mad if I said I might be?”

He laughed, oblivious. “Nah. I’d carry you myself if you keeled over.”

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned into his warmth.

Shanks was the hardest. He noticed too much. Noticed how often you disappeared below deck when the coughing fits hit, how your eyes stayed on the ocean longer than they should have.

“You thinking of leaving us?” he asked once, half-joking.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “No,” you lied.

Benn just watched. Always watched. He didn’t say much, but you could feel his eyes lingering on you, searching. You gave him your brightest smiles.

The day you left, the crew didn’t know.

You made breakfast with Chef-level effort, joking with the kitchen staff, slipping kisses to Limejuice's cheek and hugging Shanks tighter than ever. You sat with Benn for hours on the deck, your head on his shoulder, watching the sun creep across the sky.

“I think you’re my favorite,” you whispered, teasing.

He snorted. “Don’t let Shanks hear that.”

He didn’t know that was the last time he’d feel your heartbeat against his side.

That night, you slipped away. A letter for each of them tucked under your pillow. A note for Hongo too:

"Thank you—for letting me pretend I wasn’t dying. I love you all too much to say goodbye."

Morning broke in chaos.

“Where the hell is Y/N?!” Limejuice shouted, tearing through the ship.

“They’re not in the galley, or the crow’s nest!” Benn called out, panic rising in his usually calm voice.

Shanks was quiet, unusually still, staring at the empty hammock where your scent still lingered.

The notes were found soon after. One by one, hands shaking as they read your last words.

You didn’t say goodbye, but each letter bled with love.

“To Shanks — Thank you for making me feel like I belonged in the stars.”

“To Benn — You saw through me. Thank you for not saying anything.”

“To Limejuice — Thank you for reminding me how fun life could be.”

“To Hongo — I’m sorry I made you carry this alone. Thank you for letting me be selfish.”

They thought you ran. Were taken. Benn demanded a search party. Shanks was pale, silent, gripping your letter so tight his knuckles bled. Limejuice punched a wall. Hongo said nothing—for two days.

And then, he snapped.

He threw your medical file onto the table during a heated meeting, eyes wild. “They didn’t leave!....They died. And...I let them.”

The room fell to a breathless silence.

“You knew?” Benn whispered.

“They had a month. They begged me to let them spend it with us, like nothing was wrong. And I let them lie.”

Shanks stumbled back, as if struck. “No. No, they were… they were fine.”

“They were dying, Shanks! They couldn’t breathe without pain, they were—” Hongo’s voice cracked. “They spent their last strength loving us.”

No one spoke.

Limejuice fell to his knees. “We didn’t even say goodbye.”

Later that night, Shanks sat by the railing where you always stood.

“I hope you’re watching the stars from up close now, Y/N,” he murmured, tears streaking his face. “Because we’ll never stop looking for you in them.”

WHITEBEARD PIRATES

You’d always imagined dying quietly, maybe on an empty shore, wrapped in salt and wind. But fate had other plans. Your end would come not with isolation—but surrounded by laughter, drink, and the stubborn, unbearable warmth of the Whitebeard Pirates.

The diagnosis came on a cold, cloudy day—so ordinary it felt like a betrayal.

You'd passed out during training. Woke up with Marco’s worried face looming over you. He’d examined you in complete silence. But his shaking hands and tight jaw told you everything.

“It’s not good, is it?” you asked, voice barely a whisper.

“No,” Marco had said, the word cracking as it left him. “It’s... terminal. A rare degeneration of the lungs and heart. I don’t—there’s nothing I can do.”

You didn’t cry. Instead, you laughed. “So, what—you’re saying I won’t outlive my goldfish?”

He didn't laugh. He looked like he’d been stabbed. “You have a month. Maybe.”

You made him promise to keep it secret.

Just him and Whitebeard.

When Oyaji found out, he sat beside your bed and gripped your hand with those massive, shaking fingers. “You are my child,” he rumbled. “And if this is your last voyage… then let it be the greatest of your life.”

You had never cried before. But you cried then.

From that day, you threw yourself into every moment.

Ace was all fire and impulse, but when he was around you, something softer flickered beneath the surface. He took to dragging you along for sparring matches, even when you claimed your muscles ached.

“I need a challenge,” he’d smirk, sweat glistening down his neck.

“You just want to show off,” you’d tease, raising your fists anyway.

He was always careful not to hit you too hard. Not that you said anything—but he seemed to know. When you tripped one day, coughing blood into your sleeve when he wasn’t looking, he’d jogged over, helping you up without a word. His hand lingered on your arm just a second too long.

That night, you sat beside him, both of you perched on the edge of the ship with your legs dangling into the air.

“You’re weird lately,” he mumbled, eyes on the moon.

You bumped his shoulder with yours. “Just thinking how lucky I am.”

He blinked at you. “To be with us?”

“To be with you,” you said, gently. And he froze, eyes wide, like he didn’t know what to do with that.

“…You’re gonna break my heart, aren’t you?” he whispered.

You smiled, because you already had.

Izo became your confidant without even knowing it. With every eyeliner flick and matching kimono, you gave yourself permission to feel alive. They would hum as they painted your face, hands warm against your cheeks.

“You’re glowing,” they said once, adjusting the red ribbon they tied in your hair.

“Death becomes me, huh?” you joked, and they slapped your arm, scandalized.

“You joke about dying too much.”

You didn’t mean to, but your voice cracked. “It’s easier than pretending I’m not scared.”

Their fingers paused, lips parting. “…Are you scared?”

You looked at them in the mirror, the shimmer of gold powder across your eyelids catching the light. “Yeah,” you said. “But not when I’m with you.”

They smiled then, a bit sad, and leaned in to kiss your temple. “Then let’s live like hell until we drop, dear.”

Thatch was joy personified. It was impossible to be sad around him for long, and that’s what made it hurt worse.

He caught you sneaking dessert at 2 a.m. once and acted like you’d committed a crime.

“Oh-ho! So this is where my pudding went!”

“Your pudding? I thought it had my name on it.”

“I’ll accept bribes in the form of kisses or cleaning dishes.”

You kissed his cheek, and he nearly dropped the bowl.

Every stolen moment in the kitchen became a memory—dancing while covered in flour, whipped cream fights, drunken baking experiments that ended in fire. You’d laughed so hard your sides hurt, even as your lungs begged you to stop.

“You’re making memories,” he said one night, tousling your hair. “That’s what this is. You’ve been clingy lately. Like you’re trying to make every second count.”

You froze, the spoon halfway to your mouth. “…Would you hate me if I was?”

He blinked. “Nah. I’d probably try to hold on tighter.”

You didn’t tell him then. Just leaned into his side and let him talk about his dream of opening a cake café after he retires.

You knew you’d never see it.

Marco was the one who saw the cracks, and it destroyed him. You kept him close because you trusted him most—and that made it hurt more.

You caught him once crying at your door. He didn’t think you were awake.

You opened it, silently wrapped your arms around him, and whispered, “I’m still here.”

“You shouldn’t be this calm,” he rasped into your shoulder.

“I’m terrified,” you admitted. “But I’d rather spend what time I have being loved than dying slowly in a bed.”

He pulled back, staring at you with reddened eyes. “You could have told them.”

“They’d look at me like I was already dead.”

He said nothing, and you reached up to cup his cheek. “Promise me… promise you’ll wait. Let me leave on my own terms.”

“…Okay,” he whispered. “But I’ll hate you for it.”

You kissed his forehead. “I hope you do.”

You left them on a quiet morning.

Then you slipped away, leaving only a bundle of letters on Marco’s desk.

Your final message was simple:

“Don’t let them hate me for this. Please. Just let them think I ran.”

The ship erupted into panic by nightfall.

Ace punched through a wall. “They’re gone?! What do you mean GONE?”

Izo ran through the corridors, calling your name until their voice broke.

Thatch turned the kitchen inside out like he expected you to be hiding in the cupboards, laughing.

Marco couldn’t speak.

He stood at the rail, gripping the wood so hard it splintered beneath his fingers.

Whitebeard stood behind him, silent, his massive shadow cast across the deck like a shroud.

“Do I tell them?” Marco rasped.

“No,” Whitebeard rumbled. “Not yet. Let them rage. Let them mourn in their own way.”

“But—”

“They wouldn’t understand it now,” he said. “Wait.”

A week passed. Then two.

No sign of you.

Your room remained untouched. Your absence echoed louder than any cannon fire.

They scoured islands. Questioned strangers. Considered kidnappers, Marines, even betrayal.

Ace refused to accept it. “They wouldn’t leave us! Not without a word. Not without—something.”

He went to Marco, desperate. “You know something. Tell me.”

Marco finally broke.

He gave Ace your letter.

Ace read it once. Then again and again. Then crumpled to the ground, screaming into his fists.

“They died?! All this time—they were dying?!”

Marco stood frozen, guilt crawling like acid beneath his skin.

“They didn’t want you to mourn them before they were gone,” he whispered. “They wanted to be loved, not pitied.”

Ace couldn’t answer. He just sobbed, curled around your crumpled letter like it could still warm him.

That night, Whitebeard gathered his sons and daughters.

He read your letters aloud. One by one. Each one aching with truth, memory, and love.

“To Ace — You made me feel alive, even when I was already halfway gone.” “To Izo — Thank you for making me beautiful when I felt invisible.” “To Thatch — You made every day sweeter, even the ones I didn’t think I’d survive.” “To Marco — Thank you for holding my secret when it crushed you. I love you most for that.” “To Oyaji — You gave me a family when I had nothing left. Thank you… for letting me die a Whitebeard Pirate.”

By the end, the deck was silent.

No sobs. Just breathless grief.

They didn’t throw a funeral.

They held a feast.

Not because they weren’t mourning—but because they knew you’d hate to see them broken.

They told stories. Passed your favorite drink around. Laughed, cried, and danced with ghosts.

And when the fire died down, Ace stared at the embers and whispered, “I hope you found peace, flame-heart.”

STRAWHAT PIRATES

You didn’t plan on dying at sea, but the Grand Line has a way of making plans for you. The first signs were subtle: a lingering fatigue you chalked up to busy days, aches you blamed on training, the dull pain in your side that you laughed off when Chopper asked if you were okay.

You knew before he did. Deep down, your body had been whispering the truth long before the words made it onto paper.

It wasn’t until you collapsed in the hallway between the kitchen and the infirmary that Chopper realized something was seriously wrong. When you woke up, it was to the sterile smell of the medical bay and his wide, terrified eyes.

“I ran every test,” he said, voice trembling. “And then I ran them again. It’s… it’s bad. Really bad.”

You nodded. Your throat was too dry to answer.

“I—I can’t fix it. Not with what we have on board. Maybe if we got to a major medical port, but even then, I don’t know if—”

You reached out, resting a hand on his tiny shoulder. “How long?”

He hesitated, ears flattening. “A month. Maybe.”

You didn’t cry. Not then. Not even when he begged to tell the others.

“No. Please. Let me have this. Just a month, Chopper.”

“They’ll never forgive me.”

“They will,” you said. “If they knew now, it’d ruin everything. I don’t want pity. I want memories.”

So you began to live. Fully, recklessly, as if the pain eating away at you was just a shadow at your back.

You started with Sanji. He was the easiest to be around, the one whose affection was loud and constant. Every meal became a moment: you insisted on helping in the kitchen, even when he protested. You chopped vegetables until your hands hurt, stirred sauces while leaning against him, snuck little bites when he wasn’t looking.

“You’re here a lot lately,” he said one afternoon, handing you a bowl of soup.

“I like watching you work,” you replied.

He grinned. “You trying to steal my heart, love?”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek. “Maybe.”

He went quiet for a beat. Then, more softly, “You look at me like you’re memorizing my face.”

You didn’t answer. Just smiled.

Zoro came next. You sparred with him almost every day now, ignoring the way your lungs burned, the way your legs shook. He didn’t say anything the first time you collapsed mid-match, just silently carried you to the infirmary.

“You’re pushing too hard,” he said.

“I need to,” you whispered.

“Why?”

You looked at him, really looked. “Because I don’t want to forget what it feels like to fight beside you.”

He frowned. “You’re acting like you’re running out of time.”

You forced a smile. “Aren’t we all?”

That night, he found you on the deck, staring at the stars.

He sat beside you, arms crossed. “You’re not saying something. I don’t like it.”

“I’m just tired.”

“I’d carry you, if you asked.”

Your heart ached. “I know.”

Luffy was harder.

He didn’t notice at first. You were careful around him—too careful. You laughed with him during meals, ran across islands with him, challenged him to stupid games on the deck. But he began to notice the way you lingered during hugs. The way you stared at him too long. The way your smiles didn’t quite reach your eyes.

One evening, you lay beside him on the figurehead, watching the horizon.

He turned his head toward you. “Are you gonna leave?”

You blinked. “What?”

“You look like you’re saying goodbye.”

You looked away. “I’m not. Not yet.”

He was quiet for a while. “I don’t want you to go.”

“I don’t want to either.”

He wrapped his arm around your shoulder and didn’t let go until you both fell asleep.

ou made time for everyone else too.

With Nami, you spent lazy afternoons in the library, pretending to study charts. She taught you how to draw maps. You traced the oceans of the world with your fingers and imagined places you’d never see.

“You’re getting good at this,” she said.

“I want to leave something behind,” you murmured.

She didn’t understand then. But she would.

Usopp was a light in the dark. You asked for bedtime stories, exaggerated tales of heroism and romance. He performed them with full sound effects, arms flailing, voice booming.

“You always laugh now,” he noted one night.

“It’s easy, when I’m with you.”

He blushed, scratching the back of his head. “You’re acting like I’m the best part of your day.”

You smiled. “You are.”

Robin gave you quiet comfort. She didn’t ask questions. She simply read to you, let you rest your head in her lap, brushed your hair back from your face.

“You’re calm,” you told her.

“You’re storming,” she replied.

You didn’t deny it.

Franky built you a swing on the back of the Sunny, facing the sea. You spent hours there, feet brushing over the waves, eyes on the endless blue.

“Super chill, right?” he said, adjusting the ropes.

You nodded. “It’s perfect.”

He caught your hand before he left. “You’re not okay.”

You looked up at him. “No.”

“Okay,” he said, voice tight. “You don’t have to be.”

Brook played lullabies for you. Sweet, simple things. You danced with him once, slow and clumsy.

“If I still had a heart,” he said softly, “I think it would ache.”

You rested your head against his chest. “Mine already does.”

Chopper was breaking. Every day, he looked at you like you were already fading. You caught him crying in the storage room once, holding one of your jackets.

“I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“You’re stronger than me,” you said, hugging him.

“I hate lying.”

“I know.”

You waited until they docked at a small island for supplies.

You left at dawn.

Left behind the stargazer chair. The flowered book. The slingshot. The meals. The love.

Left behind a stack of letters in Chopper’s room.

When the crew realized you were gone, Luffy panicked first.

“They wouldn’t leave! They’d never leave!”

Zoro was already on the dock, scanning the shoreline. Sanji lit a cigarette with shaking fingers.

They searched the island. They waited at the ship. They called for you until their voices cracked.

You didn’t come back.

That night, Chopper gathered them in the infirmary.

“I didn’t want to break the promise,” he said, voice trembling. “But… they’re gone. They were dying.”

No one moved.

“…What?”

“They only had a month. They asked me to let them live… without pity.”

Nami burst into tears. "They should’ve told us,”

Zoro punched the wall.

Luffy stood in stunned silence, until he screamed your name into the ocean wind.

They read your letters together. All huddled in the infirmary, hearts shattered.

“To Sanji — You made me feel wanted, even when I felt like a ghost.” “To Zoro — You were my anchor. I always knew where I stood when I was beside you.” “To Luffy — Thank you for being the sun. I needed the light more than you’ll ever know.” “To the Crew — You made me part of a family. You made me more than a dying story.”

They held a quiet vigil on the deck.

Brook played your song one last time. Robin scattered petals into the sea. Chopper lit a lantern and let it drift across the water.

They stayed on that island for days.

Then, they sailed forward—quieter, heavier—but with your memory in their hearts.

You were their nakama.

You were their heart.

You always would be.

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

thats a nice idea~ hope u like this!

Six Months of Secrets, Five Minutes of Hell

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

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

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

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

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

Which made it the perfect cover.

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

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

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

It was going to be a long night.

Earlier That Evening

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You and Shanks snapped your heads around in unison.

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

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

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

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

You both stared after him.

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

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

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

"You love me," he sing-songed.

You did. God help you, you really did.

Dinner — Lime Juice: Menace Unleashed

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

Instead, you felt like you were on trial.

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

You felt sweat trickling down your back.

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

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

You stiffened.

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

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

You nearly knocked your plate off the table.

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

"I'M FINE," you wheezed.

The crew blinked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Meanwhile, the others were getting suspicious.

"Something’s weird," Bonk Punch muttered.

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

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

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

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

Even Monster the monkey was looking at you weirdly.

But Lime Juice wasn’t done.

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

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

The clang of Shanks dropping his fork was deafening.

You wanted to sink through the floor.

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

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

"Riiiight~" Lime said with an evil wink.

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

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

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

Everyone chuckled.

Except you and Shanks — who went rigid.

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

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

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

You froze, hand hovering mid-air.

The whole table turned toward you like vultures.

"...What?" you croaked.

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

He was describing Shanks down to the last goddamn freckle.

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

Bonk Punch's fork clattered to his plate.

Yasopp’s eyes widened.

Lucky Roux gasped.

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

"LIME!" you hissed under your breath.

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

Absolute silence.

Even Monster the monkey dropped his banana.

Shanks groaned into his hands.

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

Then —

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

Lime Juice’s grin split his face.

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

"YES," Shanks barked.

"FOR SIX MONTHS," you added miserably.

Dead silence.

Then all hell broke loose.

"WHAT THE HELL—"

"HOW?!"

"WHEN?!"

"WHY DIDN'T WE SEE IT?!"

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

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

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

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

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

The Aftermath

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

"It was flirting!" you shouted back.

"YOU BROKE A WINDOW!"

"IT WAS A SEXY WINDOW BREAK!"

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

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

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

Monster made gagging noises.

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

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

You were wrong.

They would not shut up.

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

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

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

"Don't answer that," Beckman muttered.

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

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

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

"You’re the reason we’re suffering!"

"I call it mutual destruction, baby."

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

Later — Peace (Sort of)

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

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

"You still mad?"

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

He slung an arm around you, pulling you in.

"You love me."

"Unfortunately."

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

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

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

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

© ᵈᵒˡˡʸʷᵒⁿˢ ᶠᵒʳ ᵗʰᵉ ᵈᶦᵛᶦᵈᵉʳˢ <³

Hello, good morning. I'd like to request a story. Please.

Redheaded Shanks by Y/n Shanks, T/n, and Buggy were apprentices and friends on the Jackson Gold. T/n and Shanks had a strong relationship. After the crew abandoned their young apprentices and the crew disbanded, the trio of boys went their separate ways.

Years later, Shanks, without knowing anything about Y/n, found out she was in the Navy. He couldn't believe his eyes. He knew she hated the Marines. They were the ones who killed her family. So why is she with them?

When he was able to locate her, he found out she was a vice admiral in the Navy. He found her in a bar where his subordinates were eating. When she left to return to the ship, the redhead took her to a dark alley. The woman didn't recognize him, or rather, she didn't want to recognize him. She tried to leave him. Then he kissed her. The woman blushed, you idiot, leave me pushing him. Please.

hehe~ this is a nice idea! i hope this is to your liking!

𝐑𝐞𝐝𝐡𝐚𝐢𝐫, 𝐖𝐡𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐩𝐬, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐎𝐥𝐝 𝐒𝐜𝐚𝐫𝐬

Years after you went to separate ways, fate and a stubborn redhead force old scars to the surface—and maybe, just maybe, a second chance too.

Shanks x gn! reader | ONE SHOT a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc tags: slight angst, sfw, fluff, reunion, persistent shanks word count: 1.4k

masterlist | ko-fi

It wasn’t often that Red-Haired Shanks was left speechless.

But there he was, jaw slack, hand frozen midway to his tankard of ale, staring at the newspaper Benn Beckman slapped onto the table like it personally offended him.

Vice Admiral (Y/N), the youngest rising star of the Navy.

Clear as day. A picture too — you, standing proud in a sharp white coat, sword at your hip, a grim smirk on your lips that Shanks knew wasn’t real.

"You're kidding," Shanks breathed.

"Afraid not," Benn muttered, biting down on his cigar. "They say this one's the 'Steel Lady' of the seas. Ruthless. Brilliant. Deadly."

"Sounds sexy," Lucky Roo said between mouthfuls.

Shanks didn’t laugh. He didn’t move.

You, wearing their uniform? Their colors? The ones who burned your home, slaughtered your family, the reason you once spat the word "Marine" like poison?

It didn’t make sense.

It hurt.

Buggy’s old shrill voice rang in his head — "She'd rather die than join the Navy, you dumbass!"

(Back then, they were just kids — him, Buggy, and you. Apprentices. Family.)

What the hell happened to you, (Y/N)?

Later That Night

The tavern was roaring with laughter, Red-Hair’s men in full swing, clinking mugs and howling songs.

Shanks barely heard them. His single eye was pinned to the entrance.

You walked in like you owned the damn place.

Your Vice Admiral coat fluttered behind you, and you barely spared a glance at the pirates crowding the booths. You ignored the gawking stares, the muttered curses. Just went straight to the bar, ordered a drink like it was any other Tuesday.

Cool as hell, Shanks thought numbly.

You nursed your whiskey quietly. No friends. No entourage.

A thousand memories burned behind his eyes — your laughter, your scowl, your hand tugging his when he was too slow, your voice mocking Buggy into oblivion.

You looked… older now. Stronger. Sharper.

Lonelier.

When you finished your drink, you slid a few beli across the counter, nodded at the bartender, and headed for the door without a backward glance.

Shanks was already moving.

The Alley

You sensed him before he touched you — instincts honed razor-sharp. You whirled around in the dark alley, hand already at your sword.

“Easy, easy," Shanks laughed, stepping out of the shadows, hands raised in surrender. "It’s just me, (Y/N)."

You froze.

For a heartbeat, your face was naked — shock, pain, longing — before you slammed the shutters down.

"I don’t know you," you said flatly, voice cold enough to bite.

Ouch.

Shanks smirked, tilting his head. "Oh, come on. That’s not very nice. After all those years?"

"Move." You sidestepped him.

He moved with you, blocking your path like a giant, infuriating wall of muscle and grinning teeth.

"I’m serious," you snapped, shoving his chest. "Get out of my way."

"You recognized me," he said smugly.

You scowled.

Big mistake.

Because that's when Shanks grabbed you — not rough, but firm, calloused hands catching your wrist and yanking you flush against him. You gasped, instinctively swinging your knee, but he twisted, laughing, spinning you into the wall.

"Still feisty," he chuckled, eyes gleaming.

You gritted your teeth. "Let go, Red Hair, before I make you regret it."

Shanks leaned closer, voice dropping. "Why, Vice Admiral? Scared you might miss me?"

You went still.

God, you hated him sometimes. Hated that he still smelled like salt and sunlight, like stupid wild freedom. Hated that your heart was hammering like it remembered every stupid kiss under stolen sunsets.

"You idiot," you muttered, voice cracking. "Leave me alone—"

He kissed you.

Hard. Desperate. Messy.

You stiffened — then shoved him hard, breaking the kiss with a ragged gasp, fists pounding weakly against his chest.

"You— jerk!" you hissed, cheeks blazing, but the punch you threw was sluggish. Shanks caught your wrist again easily, tugging you back into him with a breathless, stupid smile.

"You’re still bad at punching," he teased, forehead pressed against yours.

"You’re still bad at thinking," you grumbled, trying to look anywhere but at him.

He laughed, warm and rough and real.

Goddammit.

You wanted to cry. Or kill him. Or kiss him again.

Maybe all three.

You shoved him back and drew your sword in one smooth motion.

"I told you to leave," you growled, pointing the blade at his nose.

Shanks just grinned, one hand on his sword hilt. "If I beat you, you have to come have dinner with me."

You blinked. "What are you, twelve?"

"Is that a no?"

"You’re on, bastard."

The clash was fast and brutal.

You moved first, slashing low, testing — he parried lazily with the flat of his blade, laughing like he wasn’t even trying.

You scowled and sped up, strikes raining down like thunder. You weren’t a kid anymore. You were a Vice Admiral, for god’s sake. Stronger. Smarter. Meaner.

But Shanks wasn’t a kid either.

He was Shanks. Yonko. Legend.

He dodged your killing blows with maddening ease, ducking, weaving, flicking your sword aside with infuriating little nudges.

"You’re slower than Buggy," he teased.

"Take that back!" you snarled, aiming for his head.

He sidestepped and flicked your forehead with one finger.

You yowled, stumbling back.

"You did not just—!"

"Oooh, (Y/N)'s mad~," Shanks sang, dodging the next slash by an inch.

You tackled him.

Both of you crashed into a heap against the wall, laughing, panting, grappling like idiots.

Shanks pinned you easily, one knee on your stomach, both your wrists caught in one hand.

You glared up at him, chest heaving.

His smile faded, something soft creeping into his eyes.

"You grew up," he said quietly, thumb brushing your pulse.

"You didn’t," you muttered.

He barked a short laugh. "Guess not."

The fight bled out of you.

For a moment, you just stared at each other. Breathing each other in.

You never forgot how he looked — wild, free, infuriating. He never forgot you either — fierce, stubborn, brilliant.

"I missed you," Shanks said roughly, voice cracking.

You swallowed.

"Missed you too, idiot."

He let you go.

You didn’t run.

Instead, you slumped against the wall, arms limp at your sides, feeling like a ship run aground.

Shanks flopped down next to you, legs stretched out, shoulder bumping yours.

"You look good in white," he said, nudging your coat.

You snorted. "You look bad in red."

"Harsh."

"You deserve it."

He laughed again — that same easy, golden laugh — and for the first time in years, you smiled. Really smiled.

.

.

.

"So..." Shanks began after a long, comfortable silence. "Vice Admiral, huh?"

You picked at a loose thread on your glove. "Spy."

He blinked. "Huh!?"

"I’m not really with them," you said, voice dropping. "I’m... gathering information. Playing the long game."

"You’re a double agent?!"

"Keep your voice down, dumbass!"

He clapped a hand over his mouth, eyes sparkling.

You rolled your eyes. "It’s complicated. But yeah. I’d never really join them. I just... needed a way to get close enough to tear them apart."

Shanks looked at you like you hung the moon.

"You’re insane," he said, utterly delighted.

"You're one to talk."

He grinned wide and stupid, then threw his arm around your shoulder, tugging you into a rough side hug.

"I always knew you were the coolest," he said proudly.

You mock-gagged. "Gross. Get off."

"Never."

You didn’t actually pull away.

Instead, you let your head fall against his shoulder, listening to his heartbeat. Steady. Warm. Real.

For the first time in years, you felt like maybe you weren’t carrying the weight of the world alone.

Somewhere, across the seas, Buggy sneezed violently. "Ugh," he sniffled, glaring at his crew. "Someone’s talking shit about me! I bet it’s those two idiots! I hate them!" (He didn’t. Not really.)

.

.

.

As dawn broke over the water, you and Shanks sat on the rooftop of a random tavern, legs dangling over the edge.

He was telling you some ridiculous story about losing his hat and arm ("It wasn’t my fault, okay?! There's a kid in East Blue who said the same thing as Captain Roger did, those same words of our captain!") and you were laughing so hard your ribs hurt.

You hadn't laughed like this in years.

Maybe... Maybe it wasn’t too late.

Maybe you could still have something.

Him.

You glanced sideways — at his messy hair, his stupid, wide grin, the scar across his eye you hadn’t dared touch yet.

Maybe you could still have home.

"Hey," you said, voice soft.

He turned to you, eyebrows raised.

You leaned in — quick, reckless — and kissed his cheek.

"You owe me dinner," you said, grinning.

Shanks blinked, stunned for once.

Then he whooped loud enough to wake half the town, tackling you in a bear hug.

Somewhere between the laughter, the yelling, and the ridiculous wrestling match that followed, you realized something.

You weren’t lost anymore.

CLINGY MUCH? | ONE SHOT

Shanks x GN!Reader

Zoro x GN!Reader

Mihawk x GN!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, fluff, soft, ooc(?)

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

You were many things aboard the Red Force—calm, sharp-tongued, and painfully unbothered by Shanks’ endless antics.

You were also completely unaware of the fact that the most feared (and flirted-with) captain in the New World couldn’t seem to stop touching you.

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a romantic way… at least, not that you noticed.

He’d toss an arm around your shoulders like it was a habit. Rest his hand on your waist when laughing. Tug you into his side when something “dangerous” happened, like a slightly aggressive breeze or a seagull flying too low.

You just chalked it up to him being Shanks.

Until, one bright morning, the crew decided enough was enough.

It started with Benn Beckman sighing dramatically as he walked onto the deck.

“Do you two need a room or something?”

You blinked from where you stood, arms crossed. “We’re not even doing anything.”

Benn pointed. “His hand has been on your lower back for ten minutes.”

Shanks blinked down at his own hand like it betrayed him. “Huh. Didn’t even notice.”

You raised a brow. “Are you okay? Do you have tactile issues?”

Lucky Roux snorted as he passed by with a turkey leg. “Yeah, it’s called ‘falling for someone and not knowing what to do with your hands.’”

Shanks turned red. You remained… utterly unaffected.

“Touch-starved pirate disease,” Lime Juice muttered, jotting fake notes like a doctor. “Tragic. Symptoms include: prolonged physical contact, excessive grinning, and spontaneous cuddling in public.”

Hongo popped his head out of the crow’s nest. “I saw him brush your hair behind your ear during the storm last week.”

“That was because it got in their face,” Shanks defended.

You nodded. “He didn’t want me to get stabbed by my own bangs. Very heroic.”

“You’re wearing a braid,” Yasopp called from the helm.

A long pause.

“…Okay, I’m not good with excuses,” Shanks muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand bumped yours in the process.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Captain.”

“Yes?”

“You’re touching me again.”

“...I genuinely didn’t notice DAHAHAHA.”

The crew erupted into laughter.

You blinked slowly and glanced down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “You’ve been holding my hand for a minute now. You good?”

“Maybe.”

You stared.

He stared.

“…You’re kinda warm,” he added, grinning.

“I’m wearing gloves.”

“Exactly. Impressive.”

You didn’t smile, but your voice was flat with dry humor. “You wanna marry me, too? Get it over with?”

Shanks choked. “Whoa—what?”

“You’re already touching me like I’m your lover. Might as well commit.”

The crew howled.

“I’m starting to like them more than you, Cap,” Benn said, lighting a cigar.

“They’ve got more bite,” Lime Juice grinned.

Lucky Roux offered you a celebratory turkey leg like a sword. “You just proposed better than he ever could.”

You calmly took it, giving a single nod. “Thanks. I accept my own proposal.”

Shanks was still frozen. “Wait, are we actually engaged now?”

You took a slow bite of the turkey leg, deadpan. “Keep touching me like that, and you’ll owe me alimony.”

ZORO

You were minding your own business—arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, back leaned slightly against the Sunny’s railing—when a familiar weight thunked into your side.

Again.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t glance, didn’t even blink. Just spoke.

“Zoro.”

“What.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what.”

“Treating me like a living chair.”

He grunted. “You’re stable. And not annoying.”

“That’s a compliment?” you asked, still deadpan.

“Take it or leave it.”

The crew had noticed. Of course they had. This was the sixth day in a row Zoro had casually latched onto you like a sleepy barnacle.

“Oi, mosshead!” Sanji snapped, appearing from the galley with smoke swirling and a righteous fury in his eyes. “Get off them, you clingy cucumber!”

Zoro cracked open an eye. “Make me.”

“Oh, I will!” Sanji stomped over dramatically. “Y/N-chwaann shouldn’t have to carry your freeloading swordsman body weight! If anyone deserves to be close to them, it’s me!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You literally tripped into my lap yesterday trying to ‘tie your shoe.’ You were barefoot.”

“It was a metaphor!” Sanji cried. “For falling head over heels!”

Zoro scoffed. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Says the mossy limpet glued to their side like a touchy fungus!”

Zoro didn’t move. “Jealousy’s not a good look, curly.”

“You—!!”

“Guys,” Nami sighed, “can’t we go one day without turning affection into a shouting match?”

Brook leaned on his cane, chuckling. “Yohohoho! Young love… or something!”

Usopp squinted. “Wait. Has Zoro always been this clingy with Y/N?”

Robin smiled mysteriously. “Since thriller bark, at least.”

Franky nodded solemnly. “Saw him fall asleep on their shoulder mid-battle once. SUPER unconscious.”

“I thought he was dead,” Chopper added, horrified. “Turns out he was just really comfy.”

Zoro’s grip on your shoulder tightened very slightly, and you finally glanced sideways at him.

“Do you know you’re this touchy?” you asked.

He looked like he wanted to evaporate into the deck. “I… just don’t mind you being close.”

You blinked slowly. “Is that samurai code for ‘I like you’?”

Sanji audibly gagged. “Oi! Don’t flirt in front of me!”

“We’re not flirting,” you said.

Zoro mumbled, “Might be.”

Sanji died inside.

“Y/N-chwann” he said gravely, dropping to one knee. “I beg of you—pick me instead! I would never lean on you like a sweaty tree log!”

Zoro growled. “Because you’d faint from being close.”

“AT LEAST I’D DIE HANDSOME!”

You looked between the two of them and sighed.

“I just want to drink my tea without being fought over,” you muttered, walking off—Zoro immediately following, like a shadow with swords.

“You’re still touching me,” you noted.

“Didn’t say I’d stop,” he replied casually.

You stopped walking, turned, and looked him square in the eye.

“You’re aware this is very couple-coded, right?”

He blinked, then grunted. “Guess we should make it official then.”

You blinked right back. “That was fast.”

“Why waste time.”

You smirked just a little. “Romantic.”

He shrugged. “You’re warm. And you don’t talk too much.”

“That’s your idea of a proposal?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

From behind you, Sanji dramatically screamed into the ocean.

MIHAWK

Kuraigana Island was a wasteland of stone, wind, and uncomfortable silences. You didn’t mind. You were the type to thrive in eerie places — quiet, observant, and allergic to nonsense.

Which is probably why Mihawk didn’t bother with small talk.

Or... so you thought.

Lately, the world’s greatest swordsman had developed a habit of materializing wherever you were. You’d be cleaning a blade — and there he was, pouring tea. You’d sit on the crumbling stone wall for some air — and there he’d be, suddenly trimming the overgrown vines right next to you.

At first, you thought it was coincidence.

Until today.

“...You know you don’t have to sharpen every one of my knives,” you said flatly, watching him work silently at the bench beside you.

“I didn’t,” Mihawk replied, still honing the blade. “Only the dull ones.”

You blinked. “That was my butter knife.”

“Then it was very dull.”

From the far side of the ruins, Zoro grunted as he finished a set of squats. “He refilled their canteen twice this morning.”

“Once,” Mihawk corrected, still not looking up.

“Twice,” Zoro insisted. “Once after breakfast. Then again after they just looked at the sink.”

Perona floated down with a snort. “He also folded their coat. While they were still wearing it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. Is that why my sleeves were shorter for a second?”

“You had a wrinkle.”

“I always have a wrinkle.”

Mihawk looked up with that unreadable expression. “And now you don’t.”

Zoro huffed. “What even is this? He acts like a butler. But like, a scary one.”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not a butler.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Perona muttered, arms crossed. “You fixed the strap on their satchel too.”

Mihawk didn’t respond to that.

Perona raised a brow. “You gonna deny it?”

“No,” Mihawk said coolly, “because it was crooked.”

Zoro leaned against a stone pillar, towel around his neck. “He also moved your seat at the dining table.”

“That was my seat,” you said.

Mihawk finally gave you a long, side glance. “You’ve sat on the left for the past four mornings. I simply ensured it remained consistent.”

You deadpanned. “You rearranged the furniture.”

“Briefly.”

Zoro stared. “And when they tripped over that vine—”

“I cut the vine before they fell,” Mihawk snapped with a tone just shy of defensive.

“Bro. You lunged across the courtyard.”

Mihawk sipped his wine calmly. “It was in the way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And when you pulled me by the hood into the shade the other day?”

“You were overheating.”

“I wasn’t sweating.”

“You were blinking slowly.”

You stared. “That’s just how I blink.”

There was a long pause.

Then Perona gasped. “Wait, wait — you also fixed the strap on their scabbard!”

“I adjusted it. The weight distribution was uneven.”

Zoro clapped once, grinning. “So you are clingy.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, the glint in them sharp and dangerous. “I am not.”

You leaned your chin on your hand, amused. “Then what would you call this?”

He paused. “Awareness.”

Perona lost it. “You mean hyper-awareness. Of one (1) person.”

Mihawk ignored her. “It’s strategic. I simply ensure you're at your most efficient.”

“That’s not efficiency,” Zoro said, wiping his forehead. “That’s doting.”

Mihawk arched a brow. “You think a swordsman cannot be observant?”

“You folded their laundry in order of fabric weight.”

“They prefer it that way.”

You blinked. “I never said that.”

He side-eyed you, expression cool. “You didn’t need to.”

You blinked again.

Zoro grunted. “You see? He’s acting like we’re all weird for noticing.”

Perona jabbed a finger toward him. “He's totally doing the ‘if I act calm, no one will notice I'm obsessed’ thing.”

Mihawk finally gave a soft, tired sigh — the kind that said you people are exhausting.

Then, turning to you, he asked, “Would you like tea?”

“I haven’t said I was thirsty.”

He didn’t blink. “You will be.”

You stared. “Are you psychic?”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re predictable.”

You squinted. “...That sounds like flirting.”

Mihawk blinked slowly. “I don’t flirt.”

Perona groaned. “OH MY GOD—”

Mihawk stood up, cloak sweeping behind him, expression unreadable as always. He held out the canteen like he’d already won this conversation.

You took it with narrowed eyes, muttering, “Thanks... I guess.”

He nodded, calm as ever. “You’re welcome.”

Zoro crossed his arms. “Still denying it?”

Mihawk looked at all of them — then at you — and with perfect poise said,

“I’m just efficient.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

You stared after him, took a sip from the canteen, and sighed.

“…Efficiently annoying.”

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.

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.

OP/One Piece

Straw hat Pirates

Monkey D. Luffy

Roronoa Zoro

Vinsmoke Sanji

Others

Trafalgar D. Water Law

Dracule Mihawk

Red hair Shanks

Sabo

Charlotte Katakuri

Gol D. Roger

Portgaz D. Ace

Marco

Whitebeard

Koby

Status: The request box is open only for the monthly one-shot voting if the characters are chosen.

I need help

Hello, I'll be brief with this, but I've been looking for a One Piece fanfic for a while (I read it on Ao3). It was about Shanks, who was a merman or mermaid, he knew the reader when she was a girl and this is her 'soulmate', there was yandere behavior, and an obscenity, I'm sorry for any grammatical or spelling errors, English is not my first language , thank you very much for your help.