Jun0

When you came on the ship, you were indeed,,,, very attractive,,,, but also very shy

And ofc, this is the Thousand Sunny, a grand luxurious ship, perfect for you, well

Sanji thinks that

When you did meet everyone, the first person you met was Zoro and yes, he was lost, he said everyone else got lost but him 💀💀💀 lying isn't v nice Zoro

And ofc the only other person who got lost WITH him was a blond curly brow love cook. His name was Sanji or smth idk

As soon as he saw Zoro trying to help a LADY he came running over and bonked him on the head yelling at him for perving on you

Even though he was looking respectfully👀

But then Sanji calmed down when he saw how flustered you got, hiding behind a simple mask, pulling it down to try and discourage violence

But ofc Chad had to have heart eyes and ogle all over you, resulting in Zoro hitting Sanji.

The two lead you back, you being naive smh this ain't build a bimbo

Latched onto Sanji's arm, him telling you it's fine and leading you back to the Ship

"Well then Mellorine-chan! This is our ship!! The Thousand Sunny!!"

You pulled your little mask down, your jaw falling with it as Sanji admired the rest of what was your hidden face. As you slowly, unfortunately, detach from his arms, walk up to it.

"Can, I uhm.. go on?" You being nervous didn't help because Sanji smirked. He simply took out his cig pack and lit a cig. Pulling your mask up to hide your warm face, he immediately puts the cig out, mistaking your intentions.

"So sorry Mellorine-chan!! You probably don't like the smell of cigarettes huh?"

You internally died because, great, he's cute and hot and amazing and not to mentioning hot and hot and omg he has a stubble growing and auskndialsld

"Uhm, no it's fine! I-its just that I just wanna put my face mask back on... uhm....," nervous you try and make up an excuse to hide your heated face.

"A germaphobe!!" You beat yourself up inside for the awkwardness. He frowned and scratched his chin taking in your words. He then offered his arm and went up to the ship with you.

"Franky!!" "OW!" "We got a germaphobe on board, wanna help me clean Sunny?" "SUUUPER! Sunny needed a clean anyways, who's they?"

A weird looking man with, probably painful shoulders points at you, making you recoil into your mask. Sanji tried his best to comfort you by standing in front of you a little bit. He smiles and points to the man.

"That's Franky, our Shipwright! And you're probably wondering what's up with his body, he's a cyborg!"

"OW! Suuuuper nice to meet you?"

"Y/n! Y/n call me y/n."

"OW, y/n! Super! We'll clean the Sunny spotless!!"

"Thank you so much! The Sunny is gorgeous, where'd you get it?"

A little peeved, that his attention is not on you, he takes out a cig and has trouble lighting it. He scoffs and kicks a stray tangerine from the fruit bowl he left for the ladies. He goes back into the kitchen to get cleaning supplies.

When he returns outside, he sees you've met the remaining crew, Luffy fawning over your shy appearance and calling you a baby, resulting getting beat up by Nami, who apologized on his behalf. Usopp and the rest introduce themselves to you, Usopp exaggerating his expertise.

Again peeved he calls out to you

"MELLORINE-CHWAN!!" You whip your head to his direction, immediately pulling your mask back on, which really did a big blow to Sanji's ego. He wanted to see your pretty smile :(((((

You never really did get used to Sanji's boldness and confidence resulting in squealing softly and hiding your face behind your hands, then resulting in Sanji delicately pulling them away and kissing the back of them, wiggling his eyebrow at you to make you laugh.

It always works because the curl on his brow moves along 💀💀💀

When you two started to date, it got even worse for the attention and affection to grow tenfold!!!

He would always sit next to you in bed, grabbing your arm and trailing kisses up to your neck, chuckling at how you once again tried to hide your face, and sometimes even helps you do your hair, and ngl pretty good at styling it

Even though all he knows what to do on his own is move the bangs to the other side😭😭

But he always kisses your temple when he pulls to hard or massages your head when he puts the oil in

It always helpsssss😩🤞

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Leona Kingscholar ⚔︎

Gets annoyed whenever someone whines, like Ruggie, but he can't help his tail from suddenly wrapping around your waist to soothe you

He kisses the crown of your head when you snuggle up to him, and he tries to get you to keep resting while he actually has to go to class bc he's going to fail a third time if he doesn't go to class

"Leona? Where ya goin'?" The way you slurred your words made him wanna make you his queen

But that's for another time

"Hey herbivore, sorry but I gotta go. Don't want me to fail a third time, dontcha?"

"But leona, I barely see you anymore." The way your voice got quieter made him realize that it's true, he hasn't seen you for a while because he's actually picked up some slack in his classes

Takes your hands and kisses them, before he picks you up, bridal style. Which never failed to bring heat to your cheeks

"Leona? What're you doing? You have to go to class right?"

"Yeah but Trein's class is boring as hell, I can go to class, and you can still be with me."

"But he'll yell at me for sleeping in his class"

"Then he'll kick us out, which is the point."

"Leona? Are you sure?"

"Tryna get me to skip for you herbivore?"

The way he looks down at you, makes your eye contact waver at the sudden intensity of his eyes

"That's what I thought herbivore."

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Azul Ashengrotto ♆

Feels himself freeze for the umpteenth time as you move around in your sleep

You guys were cuddled up in his dorm room, his safe haven when he's with you

You guys where face to face, him having his arms around your waist as your hands are bunched up on his shirt, which is unusual because he's usually in his business attire

He checked the clock and realized his shift is in twenty minutes and this nap was more than 2 hours like you promised

You liar

♡

However you tried to move to a more comfortable position, and he tried to get up,

"'Zul? Love where ya goin'?" You slurred, rubbing sleep from your slightly puffy eyes.

He was going to cry omg cry baby alert

He kissed your forehead, albeit shaky because he's still new to this love thing

"Sweetheart, unfortunately I have to go, deals don't write themselves out now do they?"

"But baby!! Work is taking you away from me... I barely have time to even say hi to you when you're working."

The way your voice got quieter and quieter was making his heart squeeze. You really have him wrapped around your finger (ring finger)

You quite literally took his heart in both hands and squeezed because he wants to bury you in flurries of kisses but he's frozen because he doesn't know how and doesn't know if it's appropriate or not

But he understands that work is indeed time consuming, and he has def not seen you that much lately and he doesn't like that at all

He'll have to confer with the Tweels about work hours and how they can be reduced, yet prove to be beneficial either way

"Darling, I'll work something out, don't you fret your pretty head about it, lemme get dressed, work starts in a few minutes and I am far from presentable."

⇢ ˗ˏˋ Kalim Al-Asim ♫

Did NOT want to leave either but Jamil is on his case and if you want ur bf to live then I suggest you let him get up 💀💀

Peppers your face in kisses because he can't stop himself:(((

"Kalim? Can we gave five more minutes please..." He pouts >:((

"I wish my gem, but I really have to go, unless you want Jamil on your case too!!"

"Jamil this, Jamil that, he's taking you away from me, I barely saw you at all this entire week Kal," you pointed out as you sat up, bringing Kalim up with you

He thinks about it while stretching from his phat nap with you, and nods in agreement

"Yeah, he has, but I've been seriously been improving academically, and we both promised each other we wouldn't hold back."

You thought to yourself different ways you could keep Kalim to yourself

"What if..." You press a kiss to the juncture of his neck, feeling his breath hitch and a small gasp leave his lips

"...I convinced you to stay?"

You pressed another kiss, teasingly sucking a little, which has him grabbing your hips and pulling you away from him. He had a beautiful flush against his skin, and you see hid lips parted, aware of his lips being dry he licks them

"You're a dangerous one Y/n..."

"Kalim! Please..."

He thinks to himself and throws himself at you

Jamil is now on your case too </3

《 SUPER !! 》

Everyone knows Trey can’t help but flash that cocky grin of his from time to time—but you, of course, know exactly how to shut him up. The second you settle onto his lap or pull him down so his head rests in your lap and start running your fingers through his hair, he completely melts. His smugness evaporates, replaced by that helpless, soft expression he tries so hard to hide.

He loves nights where the wind whispers outside and the room feels full of nothing but the two of you. You’re sprawled across him, head resting on his chest, while his hands trace gentle patterns along your back. When sleep begins to engulf you, he presses a soft kiss to your forehead, murmuring words like “Good night, sweets,” before letting himself drift to sleep, still holding you close.

Trey isn’t the type to raise his voice—he rarely ever needs to. But the moment someone so much as speaks to you with disrespect, his whole demeanor shifts. He goes quiet, still. That calm, icy kind of protective. All it takes is him stepping in with a low, steady, “Hey, how about we tone it down, yeah?” for the person to freeze and backtrack immediately. Trey may be gentle, but when it comes to you? He does NOT play.

Whenever life starts weighing on Trey, when everything feels too heavy, too suffocating—you’re the first place he goes to. To him, you’re home, the one thing that grounds him when the world stops making sense. He finds you and melts, burying his face in the curve of your neck. His arms slip around your waist, holding you tight as he breathes you in, his voice low and worn as he mutters, “Baby, don’t let go, okay? I just need you for a moment.”

Whenever he’s baking, he always makes a show of rolling his sleeves up deliberately. He knows exactly what it does to you. He pretends it’s just to keep his uniform clean, but the way he subtly tenses and flexes his forearms while mixing a bowl of frosting says otherwise. Every flex of his biceps is practically staged, and he definitely catches the way your eyes stick to him. The tiny smirk tugging at his lips tells you he’s enjoying every second of your reaction. And when you finally look away, flustered, he only chuckles under his breath like, “Mm? Something wrong, sweets?” HE KNOWS DAMN WELL WHAT HE’S DOINGG

Whenever Trey gets into a mood, he’ll swipe a bit of frosting onto his tongue and lean in without warning. Pressing a sugary kiss against your lips so you get a taste straight from him. The moment you pull back, flustered, he just tilts his head with that infuriatingly smug smile and asks, “So? How’s it taste?,” his tone dripping with tease. And when you smack his arm for being ridiculous, he only laughs, utterly unbothered, before going right back to baking as if you didn’t just short-circuit because of him.

He’ll never admit it out loud, but he adores your body in a way that leaves him quietly spellbound. Not even in a dirty way, he’s just deeply, helplessly captivated. Every curve, every little dip, the way your hips sway when you walk—he notices it all. And it drives him insane. When you two cuddle, it’s almost instinctual how his hands roam your body.

you sigh, the sound lost under the weight of approximately eight kilograms of silk, and shuffle over to the lacquered box. the brush is there, stained, looking vaguely judgmental. you hand it over without comment.

sukuna takes it with his lower left hand, twirls it once, then uses it to scratch behind one ear like a very large, very dangerous cat. "better."

you're his only concubine left. the others... well. he got a little hungry last month. the court ladies whispered about it for months until he ate the whisperers too. now the halls are quiet. too quiet, sometimes. but he keeps you around because, as he puts it, "you don't bore me to immediate death, woman."

high praise.

he yawns—wide, showing too many teeth—and stretches all four arms at once. the room seems to shrink. "nap time. unsleep me in an hour. or two. whenever the sun moves enough that it's annoying."

you tilt your head. "unslee— what??"

"unsleep me." he says it like it's obvious, already closing his eyes. both sets.

"un... sleep you?" you repeat slowly. the word feels wrong in your mouth, like chewing on poetry written backward.

he doesn't open his eyes. "yes. unsleep. poke me. sing. recite bad poetry. threaten to leave. i care not. just make the boredom stop."

you stare at the ceiling beams for a long moment. "that's not a word."

"it is now." a lazy smirk curls across the mouth on his stomach. creepy bastard. "you're clever. invent it properly if you must."

you consider inventing several new words involving sharp objects and his anatomy, but decide against it. instead you settle beside him, careful not to disturb the careful arrangement of his limbs. he naps like he fights—like everything might explode if you breathe wrong.

an hour passes. maybe two. the incense has burned low, smelling faintly of sandalwood and charred dreams. you lean over, poke his shoulder with one finger.

nothing.

you poke harder.

a grumble.

"woman. that was pathetic."

"you said poke."

"i said unsleep. put effort into it."

you roll your eyes so hard you nearly see last week's dinner. then, because why not, you lean in close to the ear on his right face—the one that actually listens sometimes—and whisper, "the kitchen just received fresh river fish. the kind you like to eat raw while complaining it's not human enough."

one eye snaps open. "you lie."

"maybe." you shrug, silk rustling. "but now you're awake. congratulations. you're unslept."

he stares at you for a long beat. then the stomach mouth laughs—low, rolling thunder. "you're insufferable."

"you're welcome."

he sits up slowly, joints popping like dry branches. "feed me."

"you ate the last cook. and uraume's busy"

"then cook."

"i'm a concubine, not a scullery maid."

"you're whatever i say you are today." but there's no heat in it. just that odd, lazy amusement he reserves for you alone.

you stand—gracefully, because layers—and pad toward the low table where servants used to leave trays before they learned better. there's rice, pickled radish, some grilled eel that looks suspiciously like it fought back. you arrange it with the care of someone who knows refusal means becoming dessert.

sukuna watches, chin propped on one fist, another hand idly tracing patterns on the tatami. "you move like you're plotting murder."

"only on mondays."

he snorts. "good. keep that spirit. dull women get eaten faster."

you set the tray before him. "eat. before i decide you're the dull one."

he picks up a piece of eel with two fingers, examines it like it's an ancient scroll, then pops it into the stomach mouth. the main face chews something else. multitasking cannibalism. charming.

"tell me something amusing," he says around a mouthful.

you sit across from him, knees tucked properly because court manners die hard. "the fujiwara sent another poem this morning. something about cherry blossoms and fleeting life."

sukuna's upper lip curls. "and?"

"i burned it. the ink smelled like cowardice."

he barks a laugh—genuine this time. "that's my woman."

not lover. not wife. just woman. possessive in that ancient, casual way of his. like claiming the sky claims clouds.

you watch him eat. it's oddly mesmerizing—terrifying and mundane at once. when he's done he licks his fingers, all four hands moving in sync, then leans back.

"bored."

"already?"

"entertain me."

you consider. poetry? music? dance? all the things concubines of normal men are supposed to do. but ryomen sukuna was anything but normal.

instead you say, "arm wrestle me."

he blinks—all four eyes in sequence. "what."

"arm wrestle. you have four. i'll use both of mine on one of yours. fair odds."

he stares like you've suggested he become a monk.

then he grins. wide. dangerous. delighted.

"very well."

you kneel closer. he extends his lower right arm—thick, corded, tattooed. you grip it with both hands. his skin is warm. too warm. like holding a furnace.

"ready?" you ask.

"begin when you cease stalling."

you pull.

nothing happens.

you pull harder.

his arm doesn't budge. but his mouth—the stomach one—starts laughing again.

"pathetic," he says fondly.

"cheater," you grunt, leaning your whole body weight.

slowly—very slowly—he lets his arm move. inch by inch. like indulging a child. when your hands hit the mat he releases suddenly, sending you sprawling backward into silk pillows.

"i win," he announces.

"you let me win the losing part."

"semantics."

you sit up, hair falling out of its pins in dark rivers. heian beauty standards demand long hair, pale skin, mystery. you look like a disheveled crow spirit.

he reaches out—one hand cups your chin, thumb brushing your lower lip. "you amuse me."

"high praise from the king of curses."

"don't get used to it." but his grip is gentle. oddly gentle.

you lean into it anyway. "nap again?"

"perhaps." he pulls you closer until you're half in his lap, silk tangling with his robe. "but first—unsleep protocol."

"what?"

"if i doze, you have permission to bite me awake."

"bite?"

"teeth. preferably neck. make it interesting."

you stare. "you're deranged."

"and you're still here."

true enough.

the afternoon drags into evening. incense smoke curls like lazy ghosts. sukuna dozes—eventually—head tipped back, mouths slack. you wait the required hour (or two), then lean in.

hesitate.

then gently—very gently—nip the skin at the base of his throat.

his eyes snap open. all of them.

"woman," he growls, but it's amused. hungry in a different way.

"unslept," you say primly.

he pulls you flush against him. "good girl."

outside, the capital hums with poetry and politics and fragile human schemes. inside, it's just you and the monster who ate everyone else because they weren't interesting enough to keep.

and somehow—you're still here. still sassing him. still alive.

he calls you woman like it's a title.

you call him idiot when he's being particularly dense.

and somehow, in the golden haze of heian-kyō, that's enough.

the next morning—or what passes for morning when the king of curses decides time is optional—you wake to him staring at you. intently. like you're a puzzle he hasn't solved yet.

"what?" you mumble, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

"you snore."

"i do not."

"like a small angry boar."

"charming."

he smirks. "i like it. keeps things lively."

you throw a pillow at him. it bounces off his chest harmlessly. he catches it, tosses it back—harder.

you roll your eyes. get up. start the ritual of layering silk again because apparently even monsters appreciate aesthetics.

"today," he announces, stretching, "we visit the gardens."

"the ones you set on fire last month?"

"new ones grew back. nature fears me."

"everything fears you."

"except you." he says it casually. too casually.

you pause mid-knot. "someone has to keep you humble."

he laughs—low, rolling. "foolish woman."

"arrogant curse."

he stands. towers. offers a hand—two, actually. "come."

you take them. because why not.

the gardens are quiet. rebuilt with eerie speed. lotus ponds reflect sky like mirrors. cherry trees pretend nothing happened.

sukuna walks beside you—slow, for once. no stomping. no destruction.

"peaceful," you note.

"boring," he counters.

"you could destroy it again."

"tempting." he glances sideways. "but then you'd scold me."

"damn right."

he chuckles. "stay interesting, woman. or..."

"or you'll eat me?"

"no." quieter now. "i'd miss the scolding."

you stop. look up at him—all four eyes, all that power, focused entirely on you.

"then don't give me a reason," you say softly.

he doesn't answer. just reaches out, tucks a stray strand of hair behind your ear with surprising care.

"deal."

back inside, the day unwinds slow. he practices techniques—cursed energy crackling like summer lightning. you watch from a safe distance, chin in hand.

"show off," you call.

he flicks a spark your way—harmless. it lands on your sleeve, singes a tiny hole.

"hey!"

"oops."

you throw the singed sleeve fabric at him. he catches it in his teeth. spits it out.

"disgusting."

"your cooking is worse."

"you ate three bowls yesterday."

"i was hungry."

"you're always hungry. fatass."

"true."

evening comes. lanterns glow like captive fireflies. you play the koto—badly. he doesn't complain. just listens, eyes half-lidded.

when you finish he says, "again."

"no."

"yes."

"make me."

he does—by pulling you into his lap. "play."

you do. fingers stumbling over strings. his chin rests on your shoulder. warm breath on your neck.

"you're terrible," he murmurs.

"you're listening anyway."

"someone has to."

you lean back against him. silk and skin and something almost tender.

"don't eat anyone else for now," you say suddenly.

he stills.

"why?"

"because then i'd be alone with you. and you'd get bored eventually."

silence.

then—quiet, almost gentle—"i won't."

promise? threat? who knows.

you turn. kiss the corner of his mouth—the one that doesn't have extra teeth.

he freezes.

then kisses back. careful. controlled.

when you pull away he says, "woman."

"yes?"

"stay interesting forever."

you smile. small. real.

"only if you stay annoying forever."

"deal."

and in the flickering lantern light, with the capital sleeping beyond paper walls, the king of curses and his only concubine—best friend, pain in the ass, survivor—settle into something that isn't quite love.

but it's close enough.

and no one's getting eaten tonight.