💖

ZORO

You blink awake slowly. Sunlight filters through the blinds. Everything’s quiet. Warm. Heavy.

There’s an arm around your waist.

You pause. Brain booting up like an old computer.

And then— Zoro shifts behind you.

“…You’re awake,” he mumbles, voice rough with sleep.

You stiffen. “I—did I sleep here…? With you??”

“You came to say goodnight.” “I meant to leave after that!”

“Mm. Didn’t.”

You turn. He’s squinting at you, hair a mess, face ten times too handsome for 7 a.m.

You sit up in horror. “Oh my god I SLEPT IN YOUR BED—”

He grabs your wrist. Pulls you back down.

“Shut up. You snored on my chest for six hours, you don’t get to freak out now.”

You bury your face in the blanket. “I’m gonna die.”

He just smirks, eyes still half-lidded.

“Not before breakfast. Now come back. You’re warm.”

SANJI

You wake up surrounded by soft sheets, soft light, and something that smells suspiciously like tea and cologne.

Then— An arm tightens around your waist.

You freeze. Blink. Tilt your head back.

And there he is.

Sanji. Shirtless. Hair fluffy. One eye still closed.

“Mm… good morning, sleeping beauty…”

Your whole soul leaves your body.

“Sanji—what am I doing here—”

He chuckles. Pulls you closer. “You wandered in, said goodnight, curled up like a kitten, and passed out in my arms.”

“I didn’t mean to—!”

“You made little dream noises.”

“SANJI.”

He kisses your forehead. “I was honored. You can stay anytime.”

You cover your face. He grins.

“I even made breakfast.” “I can’t face the crew like this—”

“Then don’t. Stay. Sleep. With me. Forever.”

He tucks the blanket around you again.

You are officially doomed. And cozy.

SMOKER

The first thing you feel is the warmth. Heavy. Secure. The second is the smell. Tobacco. Leather. Him.

You open your eyes and realize— You’re not in your bed.

You’re on his couch. Wrapped in a blanket the size of a small nation. Your head’s on a pillow that definitely smells like his shampoo.

You sit up with a gasp. “Oh my god—”

“Morning.”

You turn. Smoker’s sitting at his desk, coffee in hand, watching you like it’s nothing. Like this is normal.

“You—you let me fall asleep here?”

“You were already out before I could say anything,” he grunts. “Didn’t have the heart to wake you.”

You go bright red. “I was just trying to say goodnight—”

“Yeah,” he says, voice low. “You said that. Then curled up like a cat and snored for six hours.”

You groan. “Shit. Commander, I—I’m sorry—”

He walks over. Sets the coffee down in front of you.

“Don’t be,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “You looked… peaceful.”

You blink. He clears his throat. Avoids eye contact. “I could get used to the sight.”

KUZAN

You wake up confused. But warm. So warm, for once. Blankets. Pillows. A sleepy scent of mint and something earthy.

You stretch. Blink. Sit up slowly— And realize you're not in your room.

You're on his futon.

You turn your head. He's still lying there beside you, arm draped over his eyes, hair a soft mess.

“...Kuzan?” you whisper.

He peeks one eye open. Blinks at you. Then sighs.

“Morning. You drooled on me.”

You recoil. “I—I what—?!”

He chuckles. “It’s fine. You looked cute doing it.”

Your soul exits your body.

“I didn’t mean to fall asleep here—!”

“You came in to say goodnight, remember? Sat down. Next thing I know you’re curled up on my shoulder.”

You cover your face in embarrassment. You did not mean to do that.

He reaches out lazily. Tugs you back down.

“Don’t overthink it. Just stay. You’re soft.”

You blink up at him. He’s smiling. Barely. Sleepily. Honestly.

“Well?” he smiles. “You getting back in or not?”

KIDD

You blink awake to soft light leaking through the workshop curtains.

You stretch— And freeze.

There’s a hand on your waist.

You turn your head— Kidd. Shirtless. Asleep. Hair a mess. Eyebrows furrowed even in slumber.

You’re in his bed.

“OH what the fuck—” you whisper-squeak.

He stirs. Grunts. Eyes half-open.

“You’re loud,” he rasps.

“Why am I in your BED—!”

He yawns. “You came in to say goodnight. I told you to sit. Then you… did that thing where your head flops and you were out.”

You cover your face. “Shit. I’m so sorry—”

He grabs your wrist. Tugs you back down.

“Shut up. It was nice.” Then— “…But if you steal the covers again, I'm kicking you off.”

You peek up at him. Ignore the deflection.

“Nice?”

He shrugs, eyes already shutting again. “Didn’t think I’d like having someone stay.” A pause. “Turns out I do. If it’s you.”

You may never recover from Soft-Kidd hours.

BECKMAN

You wake to silence. Soft light. A blanket tucked around your shoulders.

You stretch. Blink. Turn your head—

And see him.

Beckman. Fully dressed. Reading beside you in bed like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You jolt. “Oh my god—!”

He glances over. Smiles. “Morning.”

“Beck, I didn’t mean to—”

“You did,” he says. Calm. “You came in half-asleep, mumbled ‘goodnight,’ curled up on top of the covers, and passed out.”

You cover your face. “I’m so dumb.”

He chuckles. Reaches out. Lowers your hands.

“No, you’re not.”

His eyes are soft. Too soft. “It was nice having you here.”

You blink. “Really?”

He nods. “You’re cute when you sleep. Snore a little. Dream a lot.”

You groan. He laughs.

Then says—casual, but loaded: “You can stay tonight too, y’know. No pressure. Just… if you want.”

You absolutely want.

DOFLAMINGO

The first thing you feel is silk.

Too soft. Too warm. Too not your bed.

You blink. The light is soft. The room unfamiliar in that expensive, intimidating kind of way.

And then— A low chuckle.

“Finally awake, mi amor?”

You sit up—blinking, confused— And freeze.

Wait, you’re in his bed. DOFFY’S.

“HOLY SHIT—”

He’s lounging beside you, shirtless, sunglasses off, grin in full smug bloom.

“You came in last night looking like a sleepy kitten,” he purrs. “Said something about forgetting to say goodnight, then faceplanted onto my bed and refused to leave.”

You cover your face. He pries your hands away and leans in.

“Oh, no. Don’t play that card now, sweetheart. Not with what you did last night.”

“Me?”

“You. First person to greet the morning in my bed without having screamed my name all night long. I’m in grief. Agony, even.”

You glare at him. Cheeks pink. “Perv.”

He laughs. But it sounds warm. Full.

Happy, even.

“What can I say? You bring out the worst in me.”

But as he kisses your neck and pulls you closer...

You think it might be the best.

LUCCI

You wake to stillness. A quiet room. Clean sheets. Soft light.

And a heavy weight draped over your waist.

You blink. Then slowly look over.

Lucci. Asleep. Close.

Hella close.

You are in his bed. Next to him.

Oh.

He stirs like he senses something. Eyes open. Sharp.

But the second they land on you, they soften. Just a little.

“You’re awake.”

You sit up fast. “Lucci, uh, I—why am I—”

“You came to say goodnight. Then fell asleep mid-sentence.”

“H-Here? And you let me?!”

He sits up, slow. Unbothered. Bare chest. Sheets low on his hips.

“You were cute.”

You freeze. “...What?”

He meets your eyes. No hesitation.

“You were warm. And quiet. I liked it.”

Then adds—like it means nothing. “You should do it again.”

You blink. “Stay?”

He nods. “Every night, if you want.”

ZORO

You’re stuck in the storage room. Door jammed. Of course.

He’s leaning against the wall, arms crossed, jaw clenched. You’re pacing.

“You gonna say anything?” you snap.

He glares. “Why? So you can twist it again?”

You scoff. “Oh my god, Zoro, it wasn’t that serious—”

“You walked off mid-sentence.”

“And you accused me of not trusting you!”

“Because you don’t!”

You both freeze. Breathing hard.

Silence. Heavy. Stubborn.

He looks away first. Runs a hand down his face. Voice quieter now.

“It wasn’t about the mission.”

You blink. “What?”

“It was about you not looking at me. Like I mattered. Like you could walk away that easy.”

Your chest aches.

You step closer. “I didn’t mean to make you feel that.”

He doesn’t answer. Just stares. Eyes burning.

Then—quietly: “You’re the only fight I don’t wanna win.”

And just like that, the wall breaks.

SANJI

You’re in the galley. Alone. Together. Not by choice.

He’s chopping something aggressively. You’re pretending to read.

Finally: “You gonna keep acting like I insulted your bloodline?”

He huffs. Doesn’t look up. “You mocked my cooking.”

You sit up straighter. “I said I didn’t like parsley—”

“Which was the point of the dish.”

You groan. “This is ridiculous.”

He slams the knife down. Finally looks at you.

“It’s not about the parsley.”

You blink. “Then what?”

“It’s about you smiling at everyone else and giving me scraps. Like I’m just supposed to accept that.”

Silence.

You stand. Walk over. Slowly.

“Sanji, I... I didn’t know I made you feel like that.”

He’s still glaring. But his voice softens.

“I don’t need much. But I need you. Not the version that pretends I don’t matter.”

You press your forehead to his.

“I’m sorry.”

He sighs. “…If you ever insult parsley again I will cry.”

You both laugh. The tension breaks like sugar glass.

SMOKER

You’re both in his office. Trapped by a freak storm. No way out.

He’s sitting at his desk, arms crossed. Cigars puffing. Smoke curling but not moving.

You’re standing by the window. Arms wrapped around yourself.

The silence aches.

“I didn’t mean to make you feel like I didn’t care,” you say finally.

He exhales. Sharp. “You didn’t try not to.”

You flinch. “It was one stupid comment, Smoker.”

“You said I push people away.”

You pause. Then softer: “Because... I felt pushed.”

He stands. Hands clenched. Jaw set.

“You think I don’t want to let people in?” he mutters. “I don’t know how. Not when I care. Especially when I care.”

You blink.

“And you? I care too much about. And I don’t know how to not fuck that up.”

Silence again. Heavy. Real.

Then you step forward. Slowly.

“You didn’t fuck it up. You just… need to let me be close.”

He nods once. Then again.

“Fine. Then come here.”

And when you hug him, he doesn’t let go.

KUZAN

The power’s out. Generator’s dead. You’re in the safe room. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

He’s sitting with his legs stretched out. You’re across from him, blanket wrapped around your knees.

You haven’t spoken in hours. Not since the fight.

You finally break. “I shouldn’t have accused you of not caring.”

He blinks. Doesn’t look at you. “You meant it though.”

You wince. “Yeah. But I said it wrong.”

He sighs. Long. Heavy. “I’m not good at showing things. Never been.”

You nod. “I just… needed something. And I asked like a brat.”

Finally, he looks at you. Really looks. Eyes tired. Hurt.

“You wanted more than I gave,” he says. “I can’t blame you for that.”

You scoot closer. “I don’t need perfect. I just need you.”

A pause. Then—he opens his coat.

You crawl into his arms like it’s home.

And he whispers: “…Stay. Even when I’m cold.”

And as you snuggle against him, he leans down to rub your nose against his.

“For you, I’ll learn to warm up.”

KIDD

You’re both somehow stuck in the engine room. Maintenance locked. Power out. Nowhere to go.

Killer’s mysteriously MIA.

He’s pacing like a caged lion. You’re sitting on a crate with your arms crossed.

The silence is vicious.

“Can you stop stomping?!” you snap.

He growls. “Can you shut up?”

You stand. “You’re acting like a total asshole. Over a joke!”

He spins around. “It wasn’t funny!”

“It wasn’t meant to hurt you, Kidd!”

He stops. Face tight. Shoulders stiff.

“…It did anyway.”

Your breath catches. The fire drops to a flicker.

“You think I don’t care?” you whisper. “That I’d really say something to hurt you like that?”

He stares. Silent. Then—quietly:

“I think I’m scared you could. That’s what pisses me off.”

You walk up. Place your hand on his chest.

“I could. But I won’t. You know I won’t.”

He leans in. Forehead to yours. Sighs deeply.

“Then don’t just walk out next time I mess up. Give me hell, punch my lights out... but don’t just leave me.”

You nod. And finally—you both breathe.

...And suddenly the latch unlocks from the outside.

BECKMAN

The crew left the strategy room. You stayed. He stayed. No one spoke.

Now? He’s by the window. You’re by the maps.

Still. Heavy. Silent.

“You didn’t have to make that decision without me,” you say.

He sighs. “It was tactical, sweetheart.”

“It was dismissive.”

He turns. Jaw tight. “I didn’t mean it that way.”

You look down. “Doesn’t change how it felt.”

He walks over slowly. Stops just short of touching you.

“I’m used to making calls here. Fast. Sharp. Detached.”

You meet his eyes. “But I’m not just another crew member.”

His expression falters. Cracks.

“I know,” he murmurs. “That’s why it scared me. That I forgot for a second.”

You nod. Step into him. Let your forehead rest against his chest.

“I forgive you.”

He exhales. Deep. His arms come around you like a sigh.

“…I won’t do it again. I swear.”

DOFLAMINGO

You’re in his office. Door locked. Strings blocking all paths.

No way out.

He’s at the window, drink in hand. You’re on the couch. Arms crossed. Mood terrible.

He exhales. “You’re still sulking?”

You glare. “You called me ‘disposable.’”

He turns. “I didn’t mean it.”

“Oh, good! That makes it fine then.”

He slams the glass down. “Don’t try to act like you weren’t baiting me.”

“You pushed me first.”

You both stare. Anger fading into something raw.

His walks over. “You think I don’t care? About you? Really?”

You blink. “I think you only care in ways that make me bleed.”

He flinches. That grin of his falters.

Point-blank.

“…I said it because I was angry. Because you matter more than I can afford.”

Silence.

“…The last one left in my life who still does.”

You stand. Still angry. Turning.

“Then say that instead. Love me without the strings, for once, Doffy!”

He grabs your wrist. Holds it like a lifeline.

“I love you,” he says, voice rough. “Even when I say shit I don’t mean. You know that.”

You touch his face. “Then prove it.”

You kiss. It’s not soft. But it’s honest.

And all the strings are gone.

LUCCI

You’re in a cold, wet cave. A mission went to absolute shit.

He’s sitting at the edge of the fire. You’re by the wall. Arms wrapped around your knees.

You finally speak. “You didn’t trust me.”

He exhales. “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

He’s quiet. Then: “You disobeyed an order.”

You snap. “I followed my instinct. Because I knew what was right.”

Silence again. Heavy. Cold.

“I didn’t want you hurt,” he says finally.

You blink. “You thought I couldn’t do it.”

He nods. Slowly.

“I’ve lost people who mattered. I didn’t want to watch it happen again. Not to you.”

You cross the room. Kneel in front of him. Take his hand.

“I’m not dying, Lucci. You have to trust me.”

He looks at your joined hands. Then at you.

“…Then next time,” he says, “don’t run into danger without me. Or away from me. If we fight, we go together.”

You nod. “Deal.”

CROCODILE

You argued in his office.

Something dumb. Lab budget. Security protocol. Who let Buggy into the weapons storage.

Now?

You’re in an elevator. Stuck.

The silence is icy. Your arms are crossed. His hook taps against the wall, rhythmically.

“...This is your fault.”

“Excuse me?”

He doesn’t look at you. You don’t look at him.

The air crackles.

Eventually—he shifts closer.

Just a little.

You don’t flinch. He notices.

“Hmph. You’re not afraid of me.”

“Nope.”

Another beat.

“That’s going to be a problem.”

“Why?”

“Because I can’t decide if I want to kiss you or run this hook straight through you.”

You look at him. Pouting, cheeks a little red.

“Why not both?”

And just like that— You’re pressed to the elevator wall. His mouth on yours. Devouring.

The tension? Snapped. But the problem?

Only just beginning.

MIHAWK

The argument was so sharp it summoned a tempest.

Now you’re both stuck inside the castle’s greenhouse as the storm rages outside.

You’re on opposite sides of the room. Not speaking. Not moving.

But both very aware.

You turn your back on him. Then hear:

“...You don’t even know why I was upset.”

You tense.

“Yeah? Well, you didn’t explain.”

“Because if I said it, it would’ve sounded ridiculous.”

Silence.

Then softer—

“...You could’ve gotten hurt.”

You turn.

He’s staring at a flower. One that reminds him of you.

“I didn’t want to watch that.”

You cross the room slowly.

When you’re close, he doesn’t look at you—but he reaches for your hand.

And when your fingers touch? He grabs you.

The kiss that follows is slow. Heavy. Regretful. Like every inch of it is an apology.

MARCO

You’re stuck together in the medbay during inventory.

Tense. Awkward.

You’re muttering under your breath. He’s pretending not to hear.

Until you drop a box and huff.

“Still think I was overreacting?”

He looks up.

“Yeah. Still think you were being reckless?”

You glare.

He smirks.

“Still think I don’t care?”

You flinch.

“I never said that.”

“No, but you acted like it.”

The air crackles.

You march up to him, fuming.

“You’re insufferable.”

“You’re irresistible.”

You open your mouth to yell—

He kisses you instead.

You kiss back.

Neither of you apologize. But neither of you need to anymore.

And none of the inventory gets sorted that night.

ACE

You argued outside. You’re now stuck under a tarp while it pours.

You’re sitting with your knees up, glaring at opposite corners.

Eventually—

“...You okay?”

“Do I look okay?”

“...You look really hot when you’re mad.”

You whip your head toward him.

“Are you serious, Ace?!”

“You finally looked at me.”

You freeze. He leans in. Smiling nervously.

You don’t move.

So he kisses you.

Once. Gentle.

You grab his necklace and kiss him back. Not gentle.

“Still mad at me?” he smirks.

“Ask again later.”

SHANKS

You argued over something dumb.

Now you’re hiding in the same tiny storage crate after a prank went wrong, and Marines are patrolling.

It’s dark. Tight. Your backs are pressed together.

“This is awkward.”

“You think?”

“Still mad?”

“Still breathing?”

He chuckles.

Then?

You shift.

And your breath brushes his neck.

He shivers.

You smirk.

“Still want to argue?”

He turns.

“I’m not here to fight.”

He cups your face. Grins.

“Unless we’re calling what I want to do to you a fight.”

Then he kisses you.

And for once?

You let him win.

LAW

You’re stuck in his office. Door lock malfunction. You argued about protocol. You were reckless. He was controlling.

Now?

You’re pacing.

He’s sitting, jaw clenched.

“Just admit you overreacted.”

“Just admit you scared the hell out of me.”

You freeze.

He doesn’t look at you.

Until you walk over, grab his coat, and shove him against the desk.

“Why didn’t you say that first, Law?”

His eyes lock on yours.

Then he grabs your waist and pulls you in.

“Because I was too angry. And too busy seeing you almost die in my head.”

Then he kisses you.

Hard. Possessive.

And when it ends?

You’re not arguing anymore.

CORAZON

You bickered. It got heated. You stormed off. Now you're trapped in the attic of a building with a broken ladder.

He's pacing.

You’re hugging your knees.

He sighs.

“I... I didn’t mean to yell.”

You glance at him.

“I know.”

He walks over. Sits. Quiet.

“I just—when you don’t tell me things, I feel…”

He doesn’t finish.

But you reach for his hand.

And when he holds it?

You lean into his shoulder.

He kisses your temple.

“Let’s argue less.”

“Let’s kiss more.”

So you do. That night. The one after. And the one after.

Chapter 9: Venus and Mars

Mihawk turns the moment he hears you.

His coat catching the torchlight, his eyes already locked to yours like they never stopped watching the door.

The hallway holds its breath.

And so does he.

He sees the tears instantly. Sees the way your shoulders tense, the way your throat works around words you can’t say. The grief in your silence is louder than any outburst, and it cuts through him like no blade, no opponent, no duel he’s ever known.

But he doesn’t move.

He just lets you speak.

Lets you give him that single, broken word:

“Goodnight.”

And when you turn—shoulders curling inward, fingers trembling as you reach to close the door—

He catches it.

His hand, warm and steady, presses gently to the wood. Not to force it open.

But to hold it still.

“I won’t come in,” he says softly, voice barely more than breath above your ear. “Not unless you ask.”

A pause.

Then—

“But if you need me…”

His voice falters, just for a second.

“If you want me—say it.”

A breath.

“Let me in, Y/N.”

The smallest sound slips from you in reply. Not a word. Barely a plea. Just a sob.

And it guts him.

He watches you. Shoulders hunched, back trembling, hands shielding your face from his view.

And for a moment masquerading as an eternity, Mihawk doesn’t move.

Because this—you—is sacred. And he’s never been one to trespass where he isn’t wanted.

Gently, wordlessly, he steps forward. Not past the door. Not past your defenses.

Just close enough.

You feel the warmth of him at your back. Pressing, ever so slightly, against you.

And when his voice finally comes, it’s the softest it’s ever been.

“…I never wanted to hurt you.”

A beat.

“You don’t have to let me in. Not all the way. Not tonight.”

Another pause.

“But let me hold the door.”

“—Y-You didn’t come after me!”

Your trembling voice ripples through the late silence.

You can’t see it, not with your back turned, not through your tears. But Mihawk winces.

His hand falls to his side from where it was right behind your nape.

Fingers curling tight, knuckles white. He doesn't speak right away.

Because there’s no defense. Not for that.

Not for you.

When he does, his voice is low—hoarse, like something is finally managing to wound the world’s greatest swordsman.

“I wanted to. I thought about it.”

A breath.

“But I thought giving you space was what you needed. That staying back meant respecting you.”

Another breath—sharper this time.

“I didn’t realize that by not chasing you…”

He swallows hard.

“I was leaving you alone.”

You turn your face just slightly, eyes still hidden, lips parted as if searching for something to say—but the only thing left is the hurt.

The absence.

God, you knew it’d end up like this. You called it from the start.

Why can’t you be wrong for once—

“I was afraid,” he murmurs. “That if I reached for you… I’d lose you anyway.”

“But I see now—I lost you the moment I didn’t.”

Then, lower:

“Forgive me.”

Your reply comes in the form of another soft sob as you quickly wipe the tears from your eyes with your wrists.

You turn towards him, and fresh tears replace the ones you just wiped.

“S-See? We’re already hurting each other. I told you. Venus and Mars.”

A shaky inhale.

“All that we'll leave each other with is ghosts and scars. We just don’t belong together, Mihawk.”

A shaky exhale.

“Even if we want to be,” you whisper as you turn away from him again.

And for the first time in all his calculated, collected life…

Dracule Mihawk looks shattered.

Defeated, even.

He steps closer after a few silent moments.

Enough for you to feel the warmth of him— the trembling restraint behind every inch of distance he doesn’t cross.

He doesn’t argue. He can’t.

Because you’re right.

The ache in your voice is already proof. The way your sob breaks in the middle, how your hands hide your face, like admitting the want was more painful than denying it.

But then—

His voice.

Low. Rough. Barely holding steady.

“…You’re right. We don’t belong in the stars.”

You blink through your fingers.

He steps forward again.

“We don’t align in the sky. Don’t spin in harmony. Don’t dance like constellations are supposed to.”

He’s in front of you now, no longer behind you.

And gently, so gently, his hand reaches up—

Not to pull you in.

But to lift your hand away from your face.

So he can see you.

So you can see him.

Golden eyes full of ruin and restraint.

“But I’d rather collide with you until there’s nothing left of me,” he breathes, “than admit I’d be better off without you.”

And just like that—

Mars reaches for Venus.

Your breath hitches.

His fingers brush your cheek—barely—just enough to wipe a tear that hadn’t yet fallen. The touch is reverent, hesitant, like you might shatter in his hands if he’s not careful.

But you already have shattered.

And he’s here now—not as a swordsman, or as a pirate, or even as a planet, but as a man who stayed too far from you when you needed him the closest.

And now?

He’s close.

Your eyes meet his—wet and vulnerable and full of all the pain you tried to hide.

And his?

They're devastated.

He clears his throat softly, like anything louder might break the fragile thread of courage holding you both together in this moment.

“I’ll be frank with you, I don’t know how to do this.”

A breath. Words you never expected to hear Dracule Mihawk admit.

“I know how to fight. To wait. To watch. But I don’t know how to love, how to chase after something as delicate as a heart, like this.”

Like yours.

Another breath.

“But I want to learn. With you.”

Your lips part—trembling, uncertain. You don’t even realize you’re already shaking your head.

“Mihawk…”

He takes your hands.

Gently. Firmly. In his.

“If we’re both going to get hurt,” he murmurs, “then let me be there to stop the bleeding.”

And that’s it. That’s all you can take.

He catches you instantly.

No hesitation. No breath missed.

His arms wrap around you with a gentleness that betrays the strength behind them—tight enough to hold you together, but soft enough to let you break in his arms.

The duality wielded only by a man, like Dracule Mihawk.

Your face buries into his chest, warm and steady, the scent of him wrapping around you like something familiar, like something you didn’t realize you missed so, so badly until it was gone.

And Mihawk—the man who never yields, never falters—lowers his head, rests his cheek against your hair, and just holds you.

No words. No time limits this time, either.

Your fingers clutch at his shirt.

You shake against him.

And still—he stays.

One hand gently rubs your back. The other cradles the back of your head. His breath is slow, steady, controlled—but only just. Because he’s feeling it too. That trembling swell in his chest. That quiet terror of getting it wrong. That aching relief that you let him back in.

Minutes pass.

Maybe hours, all the same.

But in his arms, the noise fades. The ache dulls. The distance disappears.

And when your sobs soften into breaths, when your grip loosens but doesn’t let go—

Mihawk finally speaks again, lips pressed to your temple.

“I’ll stay as long as you’ll have me.”

Sniffle. “Out here in this hallway?”

You murmur it softly against his chest, your voice still fragile, but touched with that worn spark he knows too well.

Mihawk stills for half a second.

Then—

The faintest huff of a breath against your hair. Not quite a laugh.

But close.

“As poetic as it would be,” he murmurs, “I imagine you’d complain about the draft within minutes.”

You feel him shift, just slightly—one hand sliding from your back to brush your cheek, coaxing you to lift your face.

His golden eyes meet yours—quiet, open, and unbelievably close.

“Let me in,” he says softly. “This time… properly.”

The door closes behind you both with a gentle click.

Like a breath finally released after being held too long.

You stand there for a moment, hand still on the handle, your back to him, the quiet wrapping around you both like silk.

He doesn’t speak. Doesn’t move toward you.

He waits for you.

Not because he's unsure—

But because he wants you to set the tone this time.

So when you finally turn around—eyes still pink, lips pressed together like you're afraid more truth might spill out—Mihawk simply straightens his posture.

Calm. Present. Open.

“I don’t know what to do,” you whisper.

Your fingers twist in the hem of your nightclothes. “I still feel like running. And staying. All at once.”

He nods once. A slow, deliberate movement. Then steps forward.

Not to grab you. Not to hold you again.

But to kneel.

Right in front of you. Silent. Grounded.

Golden eyes lift to yours from below.

His hand grabs yours, his lips brush your knuckles. Like a man kneeling at the altar of something he worships and treasures, both at once.

“Then stand still,” he murmurs. “And I’ll stand with you. Until you don’t want to run anymore.”

He catches you immediately—again—as you fall to your knees and embrace him.

But this time, you don’t collapse. You choose him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, desperate and full, and he folds into you like a man who’s been holding himself back for far too long.

He exhales shakily into your shoulder, one hand rising to cradle the back of your head, the other curling protectively around your waist.

Not fierce. Not forceful. Violently gentle.

Like he’s afraid if he lets go now, you’ll vanish again.

You cling tighter. You both do.

Kneeling on the floor of your room, holding each other like you’ve survived something—and maybe you have.

Mihawk’s voice is low. Threadbare.

“Don’t run from me again.”

You shake your head against him. A silent promise.

He pulls back just enough to look at you.

Hair tousled. Eyes rimmed red. And still—the most devastating thing he’s ever seen.

“Beautiful,” he whispers.

And this time?

When he leans in—slowly, reverently—

You don’t pull away.

It’s soft. Softer than you expected.

Not timid— but aching.

A kiss born not of heat, but of gravity.

The kind of kiss that says I’ve waited I’ve ached I’ve come undone in silence for you.

Your lips meet his like a whispered truth—trembling, slow, desperate in the gentlest way. And Mihawk… he breathes in like you’re the air he’s been denied for too long. His hand rises to cradle your cheek, thumb brushing away a tear you didn’t know was falling.

He deepens the kiss—not to consume, but to stay.

To tell you, without words: I’m here. I’m not leaving. Not even if you ask me to. Not even if you beg.

Your hands frame his face, fingers sliding into his hair, and when your lips crash into his this time, it’s no longer trembling or tentative— it’s need.

It’s everything unspoken spilling into action.

And Mihawk?

He melts into it.

His hands grip your waist—firm, reverent, grounding—like he can’t believe you’re real. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he holds too tight, but terrified you’ll slip through his fingers if he doesn’t hold you at all.

He kisses you back like he’s making up for every minute lost. Every step you took away. Every door you locked.

And now, here—on the floor, in your room, in a moment that shouldn’t exist but does—

He lets go.

Not of you.

Of the restraint. The distance. The silence.

And when he pulls back—breathless, golden eyes wide with something that looks far too close to love—he whispers, forehead to yours:

“I don’t care what planet you are.”

A pause. A flicker of a smile.

“You’re mine.”

CROCODILE

He’s slouched in his office chair. Arms crossed. Head tilted slightly back. Eyes closed.

You step in and pause—thinking he’s asleep. You hesitate… then slowly approach.

Your fingertips brush the tips of his hair back. You hesitate—then kiss the corner of his jaw.

Soft. Quiet. Barely there.

“Thanks for working so hard,” you whisper. “Rest a little, okay?”

He doesn’t move.

But his heart? Pounding.

Later that day, he’ll say nothing during a meeting alongside you and the others—but he’ll stare at you longer than usual. And when you leave the room?

Smiles, just barely. But it's there.

MIHAWK

He’s seated in the courtyard, hat tilted over his eyes, arms crossed.

You step closer, certain he’s dozed off in the sun. His breath is even, steady.

You kneel. Brush a strand of hair off his forehead. And kiss the top of his head.

Then murmur,

“Even swords need their sheath sometimes.”

You walk away.

He opens one eye.

Smirks. Whispers to himself:

“And sometimes… they cut deeper than expected.”

MARCO

He’s lying on a hammock. One arm slung over his eyes. Bare chest rising slowly.

You smile. Walk over. Pull the blanket over him more securely.

Then lean in and kiss his cheek.

“You always take care of everyone else… Don’t forget you deserve that too.”

He doesn’t open his eyes. But when you walk away?

He bites his lip, cheeks pink, and mutters:

“Heh, damn. She’s gonna kill me at this rate…”

ACE

He’s lying on his stomach on his bed. Just… passed out. Completely dead to the world.

You tiptoe over, kneel beside him, and lean in.

You kiss his temple.

“Thanks for lighting up the place.”

He smiles in his sleep. A dumb, happy, full-face grin.

You think it’s just a reaction.

But after you leave?

He lifts one eye.

“I’m gonna marry her.”

SHANKS

He’s leaning back in a chair, feet kicked up, red hair over his face.

You approach quietly. Very sure he’s out cold from drinking.

You lean in, hands behind your back, and kiss the tip of his nose.

“You’re cuter when you’re not smirking.”

You start to walk away.

“And you’re bolder when you think I’m asleep.”

You FREEZE. Turn.

He’s grinning like a sinner.

“You gonna kiss me properly next time, or do I need to start faking naps daily?”

LAW

He’s on the couch. Sitting up, head tilted back, breathing soft. Fingers still holding a closed book.

You stop. Gaze soft.

You set a blanket over his lap. Then hesitate.

Then kiss his forehead.

“You’re always stronger than you think.”

As you turn, he exhales.

Not loudly. Not shakily. Just—

Broken.

When you’re gone, he covers his eyes with his hand like that one little kiss hit harder than it ever should have.

“…What the hell are you doing to me…”

CORAZON

He’s curled up in the corner of your room's couch. Jacket half-draped over him. Completely still.

You tiptoe close. Smile.

And then—without a word—you kiss his cheek.

Soft. Long. Meaningful.

You linger for a second. Brush his hair from his face.

“Sleep well, mi amor.”

You walk out.

He doesn’t open his eyes for a full ten minutes.

Just stays there.

CROCODILE

You stir slowly.

His coat is still around you. His real arm is wrapped tight across your waist.

He’s awake. Barely.

“...You stayed?” you whisper.

“You fell asleep on me. I didn’t exactly have a choice.”

But he doesn’t move.

He just pulls you closer.

“Next time, don’t wait until midnight to come find me.”

You smile against his chest.

“Next time, will you still carry me back to bed?”

“Back to my bed? Every time.”

MIHAWK

You wake up with your face in the crook of his neck.

His arm is around your waist. His other hand interlaces his fingers with yours.

He opens his eyes slowly. Meets yours.

“You drooled on my collar.”

You flinch.

He doesn’t move.

Just reaches up and brushes your hair back with unbearable softness.

“You said goodnight, then stole my bed.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t be.”

He leans forward.

Kisses your forehead.

“Do it again tonight.”

MARCO

You wake up with your head on his chest.

He’s already awake, playing with your hair.

“You’re up.”

You nod. Smile against him.

“You’re comfy.”

“You’re dangerous.”

“Why?”

He laughs.

“Cause now I never wanna wake up without you right here, yoi.”

You nuzzle in closer.

He kisses the top of your head.

“G’mornin’, little songbird.”

And you think:

Maybe this is home.

ACE

You open your eyes.

He’s snoring softly. Drooling a little. Face pressed to your hair.

Then, you gasp—

“Mmnnngh… wait—Ace, you’re still here?!”

He jolts upright. Stares at you. Realizes you’re real.

“Wait, what?! Y-You fell asleep with me?!”

“You carried me last night, dummy.”

“Oh... yeah, that's right. I, uh, didn't have the key to your room so, just, uh, brought you to mine.”

You giggle, raise a brow.

“My door was unlocked.”

He blushes like a cherry and hides under the blanket.

“Go back to sleep,” he mumbles. “It's still early.”

“Heh. Okay.”

“...But also, uh, you should sleep here from now on.”

SHANKS

You wake up nose-to-nose with him after a party.

He’s smiling.

Eyes open.

One arm lazily wrapped around your waist.

“Hey there, trouble.”

“...Did I fall asleep on you?”

“You think I was gonna let you go regardless?”

You snort.

He leans in. Kisses your cheek and pulls you closer.

“Next time, just crawl in here with me directly. Save me the emotional damage.”

“So you did want me in your bed?”

“I always have.”

LAW

You’re in his lap.

He’s leaned back in the chair, blanket over both of you.

You wake up first.

Start to move.

“Don’t.”

You blink. Look up.

He’s awake, but his eyes are shut. His arms tighten.

“If you move, I’ll remember this was a dream.”

“It’s not?”

“Good.”

Then, very quietly:

“...I could get used to this.”

You smile. Rest your head against his.

“Me too.”

CORAZON

You wake up tucked under his coat, held against his chest like a teddy bear.

He’s asleep.

Holding your hand. Lips against your hair.

Your breath catches.

You shift slightly—

He stirs. Looks down.

Smiles.

And signs:

“Good morning, my heart.”

You lean up.

“Good morning, Rosinante.”

He kisses your lips.

Benn Beckman

Always a man of few words, action is his way. Whenever he sees you’re anything less than thriving, he’s searching for what you need. If you’re stressed, he’ll drag you to bed - or a quiet corner - and make you focus on him between your legs instead. If you’re worried, he’ll hold you all night, kissing you slow and making you feel wholly, completely safe. Of course, pleasure is an excellent tool for resetting your mind. If you’re insecure, he’ll tell you how it is - that he’s proud of you, that he chose you for a reason. Then he’ll make love to you until you’re begging him to stop. If you’re displeased with your body, be prepared to be held in front of a mirror until you’re a mess, made to repeat his compliments and praise over and over as your mind breaks. He is pure confidence, knowledgable and in control. His arms are safety, home, healing and quiet happiness - all for you.

Reiju Vinsmoke

Trapped in a tiny kingdom of cruelty, to escape with you - temporarily or permanently - is everything for the poison princess. She likes being in control, and certainly using her mouth. Her therapy is pinning you down and using her tongue on you until you’re shaking and can only repeat her name. If she finds out you’re questioning yourself, especially your body, your instincts to run will activate from her smile alone, and she’ll take it upon herself to ensure you’re never questioning your worth again. But when she breaks down, she’ll finally relent to being taken care of by one of the only people she trusts. To be held, worshipped, cuddled and have her freckles kissed - reminded of kindness and gentleness and hope. She’ll pay you back with a long night to show you how grateful she is to have found someone who loves her as more than a tool to be used.

Thatch

The friendly cook is eager to show off his new recipes, new ingredients, and things just for you. If his food-pushing love language results in you gaining a bit of weight, you can be sure he’ll only be more attracted to you and your curves. He’ll lock you in the kitchen after hours and hold you on the counter while he worships you and makes you forget what you were even stressed about in the first place. His bright smile the next day earns you both enough teasing to make him want to take you again to make you forget anyone’s name but his. When you’re down or tired, he’ll bring you pretty plates of dessert to lift your energy. And if that’s not enough, he’ll kiss and hold you as long as you need. He’ll pull favours to get the dishes done so he can return to you at night so you’re not lonely in bed. Holding you in his arms and rolling into you slowly, holding your hands and telling you everything he loves about you will fix any of his problems, and hopefully some of yours.

X Drake

The disgraced marine living a secret double life in the most dangerous waters in the world, with a monstrous zoan form and self imposed expectations - he has urgent need to be safe and respected. To be loved fully - for every side and purpose, as a pirate imposter, a spy, a monster, scarred, and cursed with green scales that rise to the surface of his skin when he’s stressed or angry - is the healing he needs. To have you rub soothing lotions on his roughed skin and scales, to not be afraid of him, to kiss his scars and accept his softness and fire both. And he’ll return every favour with an overwhelming eagerness. He’ll worship your body and be incredulous how you could ever be unhappy with it. Primal instincts to protect, conquer, and possess will drown every thought holding you back as he takes you again and again, in every position you can handle. His love is endless, and so is his stamina.

Perona

She loves to be seen as an untouchable gothic princess, but while she can make people depressed without second thought, she can’t handle excess sadness, being prone to it herself. Frantic, manic loneliness drives her away until you pull her back down to earth. Her pride makes seduction a game and process, reminding her to let go and trust until multilayered clothes come off one piece at a time. Slow touches and kisses rise in heat as she lets the fire be stoked little by little. Soon she whines for your touch in other ways, and urges you to take care of her until any melancholy is forgotten. When you’re the one under rainclouds, her urgent and clumsy efforts often lead to bed, burying her face between your legs, taking the lead for once and rolling against your hips until you have to bodily remove her, trapping her in your arms to make her sleep, very pleased with herself for bringing your spark back.

Brook

He never expected to find love, being as he is. So when you come along, loving him as he is, not as a star but as a musician, bones and bad jokes and all - every bit of love he’s longed to give for decades is suddenly yours. He tries to not overwhelm you, but if you can handle it he’ll be delighted to hold you and laugh and sing - and beg you to let him experiment more in bed to find how he can give you all the pleasure you deserve. He’s torn between embarrassment and frantic lust in his need to make you feel good and take in every sensation he can feel of your body. He’s so gentle and patient and kind when you confess insecurities or inadequacies, and will offer to make you a cup of tea… or to take you to bed and make you forget your troubles. There’s part of him that always worries you’ll say no, change your mind. So when you drag him to bed instead to try a new toy, he’ll laugh to hide the fact he’s on the brink of tears.

Jinbe

Having a human for a lover makes him a bit nervous. He’s so much bigger and stronger, and even if you’re a fighter, he feels the need to be so gentle. So soft nights in bed, full of intention and love and care are his preference, and it suits his personality anyway. He takes his time figuring out how to handle your body in his big hands, how much prep you need to take him, what makes you arch and moan best. He’s the best at whispering praise and shockingly filthy things in your ear as he holds you to his chest, filling you slow. Not being as familiar with human culture, he might not understand your insecurities, but as a wise and well travelled person, he tries to offer what advice he can. When it comes to your body however, he finds that showing you his approval with his hands is most effective. Nothing feels as safe as falling asleep on his chest, body satiated and heart full.

Viola of Dressrossa

Captive in her own home for so long, haunted by seeing things she doesn’t mean to, a kingdom to rebuild - she survived in daydreams and dancing for years. At last with hope returned and a love by her side, she can start to heal. She is so eager to love, wanting to show you Dressrosan clothes, its romantic language, sensual dances. But nights are still hard, and she begs you to fuck the nightmares out of her head. Long nights of learning each other’s bodies and needs, repressed passion finally having an outlet, amplified by a love that’s finally real. She loves so tenderly when you need her to be soft with you, slowly breaking down every wall, every insecurity. Her hands like to wander, seeking your warmth and curves and edges like a lifeline day or night. You’ll learn Dressrosan poems simply by having her recite them when she makes love to you, unable to convey her joy and love in any other words.

Silvers Rayleigh

He is a man of experience, ready any moment you ask him to give you his touch. He’s tried everything at least twice, so if your need for comfort is frantic, he can match a kink to it like it’s his job. And if your need is fragile, he’ll show you how all consuming and healing simple positions can be. He’ll whisper in your ear that you’ll get through this, that he believes in you, that you’re sexy as hell. People fear his strength, but his kindness is just as formidable, and he’s glad to show you its full force. Spoiling you is fun, especially if you’re inclined to want intimacy as part of it. He’ll stay up as late as you want languidly showing you all the ways he can make you cum, his smirk in place the whole time, even as he kisses your forehead. He loves holding you close when it’s time to sleep, taking comfort in your warmth and heartbeat steady against his own chest.

Koby

To be a mere human seeking to fight superhuman forces requires that he be the hardest working of them all, and from dawn to dusk he pushes to the limit. But he’s eager to please his love and never let you feel ignored, so bringing him to bed is the best way to make him rest and heal. He’s so intent on your pleasure that sometimes he needs to be pinned down and spoiled by force. Long baths with soothing oils and lighthearted conversation always lead to affection and more. He likes practicing observation haki in bed, never feeling more connected to you. It easily makes him emotional, leaving you wrapped tight in his arms with no escape afterwards. And if you’re the one feeling fragile, he won’t rest until you know how loved you are, kissing and pleasuring you until your strained expression breaks. He is made of passion and hope, and facing the future with you in his bed every morning is the perfect manifestation.

Fujitora Issho

He takes things at his own pace, steady and calm, and sex is no different. He loves nothing more than getting to touch you. As much as he enjoys hearing your voice, it’s when he can run his hands all over you that he feels fully connected with you. Alone somewhere with the door locked, getting to take off your clothes, speak against your skin, kissing every inch, he’s able to sigh in relief. He’ll hold you to his chest as long as you need when you’re down, stroking your hair and somewhere a bit more intimate at the same time. If you’re self conscious of his roaming touch or how you appear to the rest of the world, he’ll assure you that your body is just the housing of your soul, which he finds endlessly beautiful. His size and strength offer safety and comfort that he’s happy to provide - your personal soft tiger to cuddle and protect you, heart and body.

Madam Shyarly

She is often worried about her visions, so to be able to live in the present and enjoy herself is a must. As her lover, she relies on you more than anyone. Turning over her body and mind to you to care for is the ultimate gift. Once you learn to navigate her mermaid anatomy, she’s easily made over sensitive to your touch, and desperate to relieve the buildup of tension. She’s excellent at caring for you in return, calm and practical, but indulgent with her touch and attention. Her devotion is tireless, making you beg her to stop before she finally pulls your exhausted body into her arms to rest from her hands and tongue. She’ll ask your help in caring for her tail, unable to help letting out occasional moans while you stroke and tend the soft skin. At night, she tends to wrap it around you instinctively, testament to her love and trust.

Kuma

The ultimate gentle giant, the Buccaneer is terrified of causing you harm or trouble. When he’s finally convinced that letting himself love you is forgivable, he’s sure to tell you that his hesitation has nothing to do with lack of desire. Learning each other’s bodies is slow, intimate, sacred. He’ll watch your face for the slightest hint of discomfort as he learns how much you can take with his hands, his mouth, his length. He insists that you stay on top just to be safe, wrapping you in his big hands to keep you warm and feel supported and comfortable. His praise is gentle and soft spoken, a blush ever present from start to finish. He’ll hold your naked body in his arms as tightly as he dares to tell you how much he loves you, no matter what you’re going through or worrying about. He’s eager to support you, and wants your happiness more than anything. If his touch is something desirable to you, something helpful, he’d consider it a gift from the heavens.

Okiku of Wano

The samurai is out of her element when it comes to intimacy. Helping her overcome her dysphoria with slow gentle sex is just the thing. Finding which positions work for which mindsets, worshipping her body and nipples, buying her lingerie to make her feel feminine and beautiful. Romantic nights of glowing lanterns and the backdrop of cricket song, deep kisses and slow grinding and wandering hands. She apologises for being apprehensive, easing into giving you pleasure in different ways until it all feels comfortable and natural. Reminding her that all that matters is enjoying the sensations and love for one another breaks down the walls. Her love is understated and simply romantic, and her support for you is much the same. Honest, simple, and genuine - just like intimacy with her becomes in time.

Hongo

The doctor is always teasing you with ‘checkups’, reminding you to take time and care for yourself. Though he’s not bothered by doing the job himself. He likes taking care of you. If you ever express insecurity, he’ll hold you close and praise you - your body has let you survive to be with him. That’s all that matters. If you ask your doctor for help relieving stress, he’ll drop anything to help, especially if it means dropping your clothes. He’ll go as fast or as slow as you need, but he’s always thorough. His kisses are targeted to your soft spots, his hands massaging your tense points even as he starts rolling into you. Sometimes setting you up on the examination table and kneeling between your legs is just what the doctor ordered~ No matter your preferences, he’ll always keep you safe, his eyes wandering your body in lust and protectiveness both every time you walk into the room.

Shanks

With the world in his hands as much as against him, it can be a heavy load. For all that he keeps that easy smile, always looking to encourage you, sometimes he needs it too. Topping him slow and sensually, letting go of the emotional burdens as you spoil him. But this is only after persuading him to not be the one spoiling. He loves nothing more after a long day - good or bad - to strip you in his quarters and roll you around on his bed until the moon is high and all you can think about is him. Whatever your doubts, insecurities, pains, or fears, you have an Emperor of the sea at your side who’s convinced you hang the stars in the sky. And he’ll kiss you until you believe him.

Ace

Sunshine incarnate is his typical way of being, but the pain of his past - the world always saying he shouldn’t even exist - it gets to him more often than he lets on. Telling him he deserves to live, that he’s the best thing in your life, that he’s worthy and wonderful - while he’s deep inside you? Yeah, that might fix him. And he’s more than happy to return the favour whenever you’re down, infusing you with all of his warmth, in every way. You loved him into loving himself. And he’ll be damned if he doesn’t do the same for you. If some of that is showing you how much he loves every part of your body, showing you how proud of you he is while pinning you down and rolling against you, nice and slow? All the better. Kiss his freckles and let him stay buried inside you until he passes out, and you’ll both be feeling better by morning.

Smoker

He loves a good rough fuck, no question. But part of caring so damn much is having a soft side that needs attention - needs bandaging and healing as much as his body. He’s gone so long on his missions that if you can’t be beside him, he’s half a wreck by the time he gets back. It never used to be that way until he found you - someone strong enough to wait for him. He loves your strength, but he chose you for your softness too. Holding you tight, someplace safe and quiet, letting you trace his scars, kissing any of yours while losing yourselves in slow, deep thrusts. Having you tell him he’s perfect, that he’s your hero, that you believe in him. He needs it as much as you do. He’ll hold you open and come up with every compliment he’s ever thought about you in between making you come in his mouth and his honest tongue.

Law

On top of all his other stresses, he needs you at your best so you can stay by his side. Massages (that you tempt him into making more of), analytically breaking down your insecurities and self doubt while tangled in the sheets together. If you’re down, persuading him that just having his attention lifts you will buy you time with your busy captain. Reluctant as he is to accept being taken care of himself, you can always make him relent. Tracing his tattoos as you lie in bed, helping him relax. And then making him hard. Showing him stress relief that’s slow and lazy, turning everything he does to you back on him. He deserves sloppy kisses, a good massage, and to have his hair played with until he falls asleep. Teaching him to be honest with you and himself, finding the words while keeping him trapped beneath you, buried deep inside you.

Vivi

She needs relief - in every way - from the stress and confinement of her public position. She loves making you feel good in formal wear fit for a desert land, making you more bold in showing a little more skin than usual. And then taking it off in her chambers when you return. For all the privileges she has, the only way she really wants to be spoiled is by you in bed. As her happily ever after, she is more than happy to return the favour in any way you want. If you have scars or stretch marks, or she is feeling insecure about her own, she’ll paint them in gold. She’ll praise you for your every success, by her side or otherwise, and gladly make it up to you every time she vents. She longs to be in your arms and rock against your body until you’ve both come multiple times, lazy and comfortable, safe and loved.

Luffy

He just wants you to be happy, and he’ll do whatever it takes - treating you to silliness or tooth rotting sweetness, drowning your sorrows and worries in his sunshine. He’s never really understood insecurity, and he’ll do anything to help you overcome yours - especially if it involves your body. It’s your vessel for exploring life, made for adventuring, enjoying good food, and feeling good. Besides, he’s going to be King of the Pirates, he wouldn’t keep you around unless you were the best. And you are. And he’ll spend hours under the covers, between your legs, in hot springs, or anywhere else proving how perfect you are and making you share his joy in your existence. He’ll wrap you up tight and lazily fuck you for hours if you let him, laughing into your mouth and chest between groans of bliss.

Zoro

He may struggle to really understand your emotions, but he loves you and if you need him, he’ll be there. You can teach him how to love softly, hold you the ways you need. He’ll practically bully you into accepting yourself, body and mind. And while his efforts are often clumsy as hell or maybe too exclusively revolving around sex, it comes from his heart. As for taking care of him, reminding him to heal between workouts requires intervention every time, and often dragging him to bed and immediately stripping is the path of least resistance. He loves groping you, whether your body is carefully toned or not. Holding you tightly to his chest while he burns the last of his energy thrusting into you, lingering there while you catch your breath and listen to the ambient sounds of the ship - there’s nothing better.

Nami

She gets overwhelmed with her responsibility as navigator sometimes, not to mention the captain’s insane antics. So helping her unwind is crucial. Shopping trips are the first step, burning berri on lingerie and sexy clothes. Sometimes it’s for her, and she loves having you take them off of her. And when she buys something for you, she makes you wear in it front of a mirror, praising and seducing you until you give in and fuck her in front of it. Being held in your arms after long stressful days, stroking your hair when your own emotions are strained, luxurious baths with fine oils. She believes in you and trusts you with her life. She wouldn’t bother with someone not worth her time, her trust, her heart, and her body. And you’d better not forget it. Though she does make it difficult to, always dragging you to her bunk whenever she needs the comfort of wrapping her legs around you your touch.

Sanji

This man is so sweet and soft and scared he cant be good enough for you. Every time will be comfort sex to him. Especially when you can convince him he doesn’t need to perform, just love and feel and trust. He protects his hands so he can soothe and heal, and loves nothing more than to worship your body - just as much as he worships your heart and mind - so thoroughly you’ll never be satisfied with anyone else. All he wants is to get lost in erasing your insecurities and unhappiness, which helps undo his own. He is physically incapable of refusing your requests, especially in bed. Literally anything you do for him is a gift from heaven. He’ll praise you endlessly. He’ll praise anything you wear and thank you on his knees if you let him take it off of you. He’ll cry if you praise him, coming way too fast over and over, making sure you release just as many times no matter what.

Usopp

For all his bluster, he’s also scared of not being enough. He’ll tell you stories - some real and some not - while you cuddle. Sex is slow then frantic, experimenting then going back to familiar comfort. You’re his best friend, his confidant, his rock that grounds him to what’s real. He’s always supportive but honest with his compliments and praise, for once. He worships you - you’re just so damn cool, and hell, it’s him you’ve chosen. In bed especially, he can’t believe that you’re his - and it makes him crazy. Sometimes you both need a good massage after a hard training session or a fight, and he always wants to turn it into spending more time touching your body. He’ll do anything to make sure that for all his lies, you know his love and devotion aren’t among them.

Robin

Old shadows haunt her sometimes, so she understands if you have shadows of your own. She’s a perfect sounding board, always willing to listen or help patch up your injuries. Often you notice all the bruises she has from using her power. Sure she’s chosen to live, but she ought to care more for herself. She always drags you to bed and spends the rest of the night telling you how glad she is to be alive, and even more so, glad that you’re alive. From day to day, she loves slow sensual times with you. She reads to you in dead languages while lazily fucking. Always, her hands and tongues bloom until you can’t remember any name but hers. If you get insecure as the lover of the most beautiful woman in the world, she tells you that your appearance is perfect to her in the way that YOU are perfect to her. You, in all your fascinating, endearing, charming imperfections, are hers. And she, in all her renewed hope and passion, is yours.

Franky

Being a cyborg is pretty damn cool, but sometimes he gets to feeling disconnected from his humanity. He loves having you remind him. He’s so gentle and kind and big and loves lazy, senseless laughter with you. Almost as much as he loves lazy sex with you. He conditions you into feeling no shame with your body, using his own absurd confidence to build yours. He’ll hold you so gently as you rant and vent and cry to him, offering off brand advice and unconditional love. His whole body is customisable - including his dick, obviously. He loves slow nights of experimenting with you, having you try new attachments, new toys, pushing your imagination and desires. But he doesn’t mind simple either. He’s a guy - let him suck your nipples and grope your ass for a bit and he’s happy. And he’s excited to do anything at all that you need. There’s nothing he loves more than sharing his joy, after all.

Corazon

For someone with such deep seated anger, he is so kind and gentle, and attuned to your mind. He loves so deeply, and loves to make you happy, so whenever you’re in a bad place, he’s working overtime to help you out of it. For someone sworn to silence, suddenly he’s drowning you in copious compliments about your body and heart and mind. He’s proud of you, he finds you irresistible. Sometimes his efforts are as clumsy as he is, but there’s no doubt the heart behind it. His power is very convenient for when he wants to make you scream. But despite his size and the quiet fire deep down, he knows how to be gentle. It takes some practice, initially urging him that you can handle more. He loves holding you gently in his arms afterwards, his big hands touching anywhere and everywhere to ground himself and show you just how loved and needed and cherished you are.

Marco

The laid back doctor is eager to be kind and heal and protect despite all his loss - and he would love for someone to hold him and offer him the same healing. Let him rest and heal and build anew together. Maybe get a cottage in the valley and treat it like a honeymoon home. Let him get lost in your arms day and night to keep him grounded and remind him what he needs for fight for next - he’ll love you into making it his purpose. Whenever you get the tiniest scratch, his warm blue fire fixes you instantly - and if your wounds go deeper, he’ll help you heal those too. He refuses to let you think badly of your body, worshipping it until you believe him. His experience lets him learn you easily, every soft spot and even your hidden desires. He’ll hold your gaze until you can hardly stand it, playing with your hair until you fall asleep, never more at home than in each other’s arms.

Aokiji Kuzan

Once an unbeaten Admiral, now lost and unsure, he finds safe harbour with you. He finds himself growing out of a shell he never knew he was in - learning real trust, turning old lies to truth, letting his slow nature start to heal both him and you. Kiss the scars on his neck and tell him that a kinder world is worth fighting for - and suddenly you’re the center of it. If you’re broken too, he’ll drop everything to focus that calm intensity on you. Having the chance to lay about in your bed, indulging his laziness is the best therapy. Slow sex morning to night, walking around the house nearly naked. He loves putting his hand up your shirt, quickly leaning into his teasing side with you. He’ll worship you any shape or size, getting worked up over anything you wear. He loves breaking down every insecurity you have - physical or psychological. You are his new world, and he’s never been happier to have gotten lost so he could discover it.

Sabo

The eternal rebel would burn down the world to save you. You’re the only one who can harness his fire, and his anger and grief. If you let his fire burn to ash and hold him, kiss his scars, remind him of happy memories and make new ones - he’s yours forever. And he won’t stop telling you so for hours on end as he worships you in every position. He’ll tell you you’re enough - every single reason why he chose you. Even when his breath nearly eclipses his voice, he won’t stop until you’re both collapsed on the bed, cuddling each other to sleep. In the frantic, high stakes world of the Revolution, he’s torn between loving watching you fuck shit up and being overprotective. Brace for hours of endless spoiling after tough training or dangerous missions. You’re the best thing in his life and he’s not about to lose you for anything - including not being attentive enough.

Thank you for reading! I hope you liked this half as much as I do 😈🥹

"I want to eat oden on Christmas Eve."

She said it suddenly as we waited for the light at the crosswalk.

The city in late December was completely overtaken by Christmas. Glittering illuminations, cheerful music, an atmosphere of excitement. Every shop, every corner spared no effort in staging the festivities.

"…Oden?"

"Yes. At your place, Marco-san."

At first I thought it was her way of being considerate—assuming that at my age and with my personality, I'd want to avoid the flashy places. But when I saw how her face softened as she added, "And let's open that sake you got the other day too," that thought quickly retreated. She herself had no interest in that kind of celebration. I hadn't planned anything extravagant, but I'd been thinking of at least making a reservation at a familiar restaurant. Still, if it meant avoiding the year-end crowds, I was honestly grateful. Sitting around a hot pot and sharing drinks suited my temperament far better than formal cuisine.

And so now, there's an earthenware pot sitting on the table.

When I lifted the lid, well-simmered daikon, eggs, and fish cakes lay arranged inside. Steam rose up, warming the air in the room with a soft touch.

"You've been simmering this since the afternoon?"

"Yes. The broth should be nicely absorbed by now."

I'd given her a key earlier in the day. She smiled a little proudly. When I came home from work, the scent of dashi was already drifting from the entryway. My stomach growled—couldn't even wait to take off my coat.

"Delicious."

"I'm glad."

She looked relieved as she took a sip of beer, exhaling a small breath. The fingertips holding the glass were just slightly flushed.

Outside it was raining. A light rain that had been falling since morning tapped against the window. The lights from the apartment building across the street blurred on the wet pavement.

"If it were snow, there'd be a bit more atmosphere."

"Just cold - yoi."

"True enough."

She laughed softly and reached for her chopsticks again. When both our glasses were empty, I stood up and headed to the kitchen. The four-cup bottle I pulled from the fridge was something I'd bought on a business trip last month. Knowing it was a brand she liked, I'd gone out of my way to find the brewery. I heated water in a small pot and submerged the tokkuri in it.

As I watched the white steam rise, my thoughts drifted to a little while ago.

The first time I spoke with her was at the end of summer.

"Marco-san, good work today."

In the entrance of the office building after hours. In the humid twilight, she casually came up beside me. I'd seen her a few times on the same floor, but this was the first time we'd spoken directly.

"You too."

I exchanged a brief nod, intending to part ways there. But she began walking in the same direction as me with a natural gait.

"So you're heading this way too, Marco-san."

"…Yeah."

She started making small talk. About the redevelopment near the station, about a shop that had recently opened. Her tone was polite but not stiff. I nodded along as I listened. More than the content of her words, the timbre of her voice was oddly pleasant. When we reached the ticket gate, she gave a light bow and disappeared toward the opposite platform.

The following week, and the week after that, we ran into each other at the end of the workday. I had a vague sense it wasn't coincidence, but it didn't particularly bother me, so I didn't say anything.

These brief conversations with her provided a nice way to close out the day. My work-weary mind felt just a little lighter. The taut thread loosened, just slightly.

Around the time September arrived, she started bringing up topics about days off too. I only answered what I was asked, but she seemed satisfied with that.

What had been once a week became twice. What had been just parting at the gate became grabbing a quick drink near the station. Before I knew it, I'd been swept along at her pace. But she wasn't pushy, never invaded my space, yet steadily closed the distance. She was skillful. Whether calculated or natural, I couldn't tell. Either way, I didn't resist.

At the time, I was preparing to go independent. It was a plan I'd been working on since spring, and by the end of the fiscal year I'd be leaving the company. I told her about this in early October.

"I see." She looked a bit surprised, but quickly smiled. "I'm rooting for you."

That was all. She didn't press for details, didn't voice any concerns. Only that smile remained in my memory.

One night in November. After passing through the ticket gate as usual, I was about to say goodbye when she stopped me. She looked a little tense.

"Marco-san, would you go out with me?"

Watching her smile shyly, I thought for a moment.

I'd avoided making romantic connections within the company. My position was what it was. After becoming a manager, all the more so. And while buried in work, I'd grown distant from romance itself. When was the last time I'd had someone I could call a girlfriend?

I heard the sound of a train pulling into the platform. Yellow light illuminated the two of us. I looked into her eyes and gave a small nod.

"If you're fine with me."

She let out a breath of relief, then smiled happily.

Two months had passed since then. After work, we'd started eating meals at each other's places. On days off, we'd go out in the car. We even took an overnight trip to a hot spring. She was always calm, never disrupted my rhythm. Despite having only met about six months ago, the relationship felt oddly settled. I even had the illusion we'd been together for years.

The tokkuri warmed through, and I returned to the table.

"Careful, it's hot - yoi."

She cupped the ochoko with both hands, receiving the sake being poured. Taking a sip, her eyes narrowed.

"Delicious."

I poured my own portion and brought it to my lips. The warmth passing down my throat spread gently through my body.

Time passed around the hot pot. She counted the remaining ingredients.

"This'll be plenty for tomorrow morning too."

"Yeah, I'm stuffed already."

I cleared the dishes and carried them to the kitchen. Put a lid on the pot, stacked the plates in the sink. As I washed my hands and looked out the window, the rain was still falling.

When I returned to the living room, she was already sitting on the sofa. A Christmas special was playing on the TV, though she wasn't really watching it. The light from the screen faintly illuminated her profile.

I sat down beside her. We sipped the remaining sake slowly.

My mind was on the work I needed to finish by year's end for the independence. The new office contract, making rounds to clients to say my goodbyes. There was a mountain of things to do. If I let my guard down, the new year would arrive in a flash.

The TV sounds flowed vaguely in the background. My ochoko emptied. When I tilted the tokkuri, nothing came out.

Suddenly, a weight leaned against me from the side. Her head rested on my shoulder. Thinking she'd fallen asleep, I glanced down. But her eyes were open. Those eyes slowly caught mine, and I held my breath without meaning to.

"…Marco-san."

A whispered voice. Her hand came around my neck. Drawn in slowly, our lips touched. Soft. Her breath fell against my cheek. A faint scent of sake. We parted once, then touched again. This time at a slightly different angle. Her lips opened just barely, and the tip of her tongue made contact. I responded. My fingertips that had been holding the ochoko moved to support her chin. When we separated, her eyes looked more moist than usual. The corners drooped, her cheeks faintly flushed. Her breathing was shallow and quick.

"It's okay now, isn't it?"

A tone like she couldn't hold back anymore, yet somehow seeking permission.

Ah, I thought.

What had I been doing?

These past two months, there'd been plenty of opportunities. That night at the hot spring inn. After she'd made dinner at my place on weekends. And yet I hadn't touched her. It wasn't that my desire had dried up. I just didn't feel the urgency I had when I was younger. Didn't feel the need to rush. Plus, the first time with someone required various considerations. It took effort—while I was thinking things like that, I'd kept putting it off. She hadn't said anything either, so I'd been taking it easy. I'd gotten completely comfortable with our leisurely pace.

In the end, it was her who couldn't hold out anymore. When I was younger, this never would have happened. I'd apparently become quite lazy.

This time I kissed her first. Her lips parted and her tongue tangled with mine. Body heat gradually transmitted between us. When my hand reached for the buttons of her shirt, the back of the sofa creaked. This had to be cramped. I put my arm around her shoulder to stand up. But she immediately grabbed my wrist.

"Like this."

She said breathlessly.

"Here is fine."

A pleading voice. Different from her usual calm tone, with an urgent edge. I pressed her deeper into the sofa. She reached for my clothes impatiently. But I caught her hands and held them down.

"Slowly."

I whispered low and took my time touching her. Neck, collarbone, shoulder. Her breathing changed. I varied where I touched and how much pressure I applied, gauging her reactions. The tension in her shoulders released, and her body softened.

My fingers traced down her side, feeling the warmth of her skin through the thin fabric. She shivered, her breath catching. I slipped my hand beneath her shirt, palm flat against her stomach, feeling the flutter of her muscles as she tensed. Slowly, I moved upward, tracing the curve of her ribs. When I reached the soft swell of her breast, she let out a small sound—half gasp, half sigh.

"Marco-san…"

Her voice was already unraveling. I pushed the fabric up and away, exposing her to the cool air. Her nipples had already hardened, and when I brushed my thumb across one, her back arched off the sofa. I lowered my mouth to her other breast, circling the tip with my tongue before taking it between my lips. She moaned, her fingers digging into my shoulders.

I worked my way down, kissing along the soft plane of her stomach. Her breathing grew more ragged with each touch. When my fingers found the waistband of her skirt, I paused, looking up at her. Her eyes were dark and heavy-lidded, lips parted. She nodded, barely able to speak.

I slid the fabric down her legs, letting it fall to the floor. Then her underwear followed. She tried to close her legs, embarrassed, but I gently pushed them apart. The sight of her—flushed and wet and wanting—sent a surge of heat through me.

"Don't…" she whispered, covering her face with one hand.

But I caught her wrist, pulling it away. "Let me see you."

I kissed the inside of her thigh, then higher. When my mouth found her center, she cried out, her hips jerking involuntarily. I steadied her with my hands, holding her in place as I explored her with my tongue. She tasted faintly of salt and something uniquely her. Every flick, every stroke made her tremble. Her fingers tangled in my hair, not sure whether to pull me closer or push me away.

"I can't—Marco-san, I can't—"

But I didn't stop. I varied the pressure, the rhythm, reading her body's responses. When I found the pattern that made her shake the most, I kept at it, relentless. Her thighs clamped around my head, her whole body going taut as a bowstring. Then she shattered, a broken cry escaping her lips as pleasure rolled through her in waves.

I moved back up her body, kissing her deeply. She could taste herself on my lips, and it made her shudder again. Eventually, nothing remained between us. I looked into her eyes. She gave a small nod.

The moment we gently joined, her body trembled. Her eyes that had been looking at me began to swim. Couldn't focus.

"Ah…"

A small sound escaped, and she turned her face to the side. One hand tried to cover her face. Not just her cheeks but her ears had turned red. I placed my fingers under her chin and turned her back toward me.

"What's wrong?"

I started to move, slowly at first. She was tight and hot around me, her inner walls gripping me with every thrust. Each time I pushed deeper, her expression changed. She bit her lip, trying to hold back her voice. But her breaths still escaped—small, desperate sounds that made my control fray at the edges.

"Don't look."

A thin voice. Nothing like her usual self. The woman who was always composed, calm, never without a smile—she was falling apart beneath me. Her breasts bounced with each thrust, nipples still peaked and flushed. The sight was intensely provocative. I grasped both her wrists and slowly pushed them above her head, pinning them against the sofa cushion.

"Marco-san…"

She called my name in a pleading voice. But I didn't loosen my grip. Instead, I angled my hips differently, hitting a spot deep inside that made her gasp and arch. I could feel her tightening around me, her body building toward another peak.

"Look at me," I said, my voice rougher than I intended.

Her eyes opened, glassy and unfocused. I watched every microexpression cross her face—pleasure, embarrassment, desperate need. I picked up the pace, driving into her harder. The wet sounds of our joining filled the room, mingling with her broken moans and my own ragged breathing.

Her legs wrapped around my waist, heels digging into my back as if to pull me impossibly deeper. I released one of her wrists to slip my hand between us, finding the sensitive bundle of nerves and circling it with my thumb. The dual sensation made her keen, her free hand scrabbling at my shoulder.

"I'm—I can't—"

"Let go," I told her.

And she did. Her whole body convulsed, inner muscles clamping down on me so hard I saw stars. The rhythmic pulsing of her orgasm pushed me over the edge. I thrust deep one final time and came with a groan, spilling inside her as pleasure whited out my vision.

Before long the tremors subsided, and the strength left both of us. Ragged breathing filled the room. Coming back to myself, I felt ridiculous. A man past forty, acting like some young punk losing control. But the heat hadn't subsided yet. I lifted her up and carried her to the bedroom. Laid her on the sheets and sealed her lips again. Her surprised expression quickly melted. And once more, I sought her.

This time I had her on her hands and knees, gripping her hips as I entered her from behind. She buried her face in the pillow, muffling her cries as I set a slower, deeper rhythm. I could see everything from this angle—the curve of her spine, the way her body accepted me, the flush spreading across her back and shoulders. When I reached around to touch her breasts, rolling her nipples between my fingers, she pushed back against me, meeting each thrust.

We found a rhythm together, building slowly. This time there was no rush, no desperate urgency. Just the steady climb, the mounting tension, the way our bodies fit together perfectly. When she came again, it was quieter, a long shuddering breath and a whispered repetition of my name. I followed soon after, collapsing beside her on the bed.

Our breathing settled, and only quiet exhalations could be heard.

She didn't stir anymore in my arms. As I stroked her back where the sweat had cooled, I stared up at the ceiling. The room was quiet. Outside the window, the rain continued falling. Occasionally the sound of a car splashing through a puddle reached us from far away. After a while, she murmured softly.

"What are you doing for the New Year holidays?"

A question floating in the afterglow, asked casually. She was probably tired—her voice was a little hoarse. I thought for a moment. An old familiar face came to mind.

"Should probably go see the old man soon - yoi."

I said it almost to myself.

"…Your family home?"

"Nah… Well, yeah. Something like that."

When I gave a vague answer, she didn't press further and just rested her cheek against my chest again. Then her fingertips began stroking my chest. Slowly, drawing circles.

Last year I hadn't gone back, using work as an excuse. This year I could say I was busy with preparations for independence, and that would be that.

But it slipped out suddenly.

"You wanna come with me?"

After saying it, I surprised myself. She looked up, eyes wide.

"Huh… is that okay?"

I thought, I let that slip. But it would be strange to take it back now.

"It's not exactly an interesting place - yoi. Just a bunch of old guys drinking and making noise."

"But still."

She smiled, looking a little uncertain.

"If you're saying I can go, I want to."

I pulled her closer. Her body fit completely within my arms.

The guys my age would definitely tease me about it. Honestly, it'd be a pain. Embarrassing too.

But the old man's face—

Even when I'd told him I was quitting my stable job to go independent, all he'd said was "Do what you want." No opposition, no approval. But this time, I might actually get to see a good expression from him.

The worry about me still being alone past forty—even if he never put it into words, I'd felt it on my skin. So this time, maybe he'd look just a little relieved.

I let out a small breath through my nose, and she looked up at me curiously.

"What is it?"

"Nothing."

I stroked her hair.