⊹ ࣪ ﹏𓊝﹏𓂁﹏⊹ ࣪ ˖

𓊝﹏ Do you write for manga, anime or opla?

I'm mainly inspired by opla, since it was my starting point in One Piece! I'm currently reading the manga, but my mind still goes for opla!Smoker when thinking of him so he may appear a bit OOC when compared to manga or anime.

𓊝﹏ Where are you now in One Piece?

Currently, I'm reading Thriller Bark! Yes, that means I barely know anything about him so no spoilers, please!

𓊝﹏ Do you write for other characters?

Besides Captain Smoker, I'm also a huge fan of Sanji. However, I don't feel highly inspired to write for him - though I do love to read fics featuring him, so feel free to talk to me about him!

Requests are closed!

Smoker had never been the party type. If any occasion called for celebration, he would much rather spend it all by himself, at his own place, with only a nice glass of his favorite rum and maybe one or two cigars as company.

Alas, things rarely go as he wishes. More often than he would like to admit, Smoker has to attend a few of the official ceremonies and celebrations the Marine would throw after securing the arrest of some infamous crew of pirates.

Celebrations that would surely end up at a loud and overly crowded bar just as the one he's standing in right now.

Fortunately, his fellow colleagues know better than to keep bumping into him, spilling beer onto his white jacket or, God forbid, making eye contact with him. In fact, Smoker's signature scowl and imposing build are enough to work as somewhat of a force shield to prevent any mildly conscious drunkard from addressing him.

The White Hunter walks around the crowded saloon with a deep frown, inhaling the nicotine from two thick cigars as he looks around in search of something. Or rather, someone – you. The both of you had arrived together at the official ceremony, but eventually went separe ways as you volunteered to make the smalltalk Smorker had no patience to entertain. He had seen you coming to this bar with a few new recruits, chatting and laughing in such a carefree manner one would think you bunch were the bestest of friends. Your smile had been... radiant. Your whole face beaming warmth and joy amidst the chaos of a bar full of morons.

If one were to ask him, Smoker wouldn't be able to explain why he wanted to see it again so badly. He had only had a few glasses of booze, maybe listened to a few drunk tales of deadly sirens and sensuous nymphs, but something inside him ached to see that smile of yours again. It gnawed at him, urging him to get on his feet and move to find you. And, well, Smoker never once ignored his instinct.

It is a testament to his patience, the amount of time he put into his search for you. He checked each and every room of that dirty tavern, his scowl growing deeper with each new room that revealed itself empty of you. It was frustrating and mildly infuriating, looking through so many irrelevant faces and never meeting the one he seeks. Smoker had sworn that, if one more cadet looked at him with a poorly hidden look of fright, he would scream at the unfortunate victim until his vocal chords snapped.

Luckily, that's exactly when he finally spots you.

His breath does a weird little hitch when he sees you sitting on the floor at the far end of a wide room, your back against the soiled yellow wall behind you. It's not surprising that you found yourself a little corner even here. Still, something in his chest eases at the sight of you, a relieved exhale rushing past his lips without him even knowing. He takes quick, long strides towards your slumped form.

It's only after he's a few feet away from you that he notices your shoulders shaking. You cling to a bottle of cidra, holding it tight against your chest as you sob.

"Y/N," his commanding voice calls, despite the little squeeze inside his chest.

You jump at the booming sound of his voice, snapping your head up so fast you get dizzy. The whole rooms spins a bit before you can finally focus on the man. Smoker looks down at you with his usual frown, towering above you with imposing presence.

"C-Captain!" You rasp out, but does nothing else. Smoker watches as you look up at him with big, spooked eyes and a gaping mouth. Your hands contort around the neck of the bottle you still hold against your chest like it's a child. "Mm' sorry!"

He grits his teeth against his cigars, never one to enjoy not having clear information.

"What are you doing here?" He questions, his voice sounding much more harsh than he intended to.

There are streams of tears running down your cheeks and he hates to see it.

"I– I'm," you stutter, staring up at him with a trembling lower lip. You swallow down a lump in your throat. "Jus drinkin', sir," you slur.

There's a moment of silence as he narrows his eyes at you. In all of your time of service, he had never seen you speak in a manner that wasn't perfectly professional. Curiously, the man squats down next to you. You gasp at the close proximity, munching on your lower lip nervously as his ice blue eyes take in your face. Being now face to face, Smoker can clearly see the perfect trails of tears across your cheeks. Your eyes are glassy with water, your nose and eyes slightly swollen from your crying.

It tugs at something inside of his chest, a part of him that wants to protect his loyal, ever so bright subordinate from the malice of this world.

"Just drinking?" He repeats, taking off his cigars to ash them on the wooden floor. He watches as you nod your head at him with round eyes. "And why are you on the floor, Officer?"

You gape at him, looking down yourself as if only now realizing your position.

"Oh!" You exclaim confusedly, and the smell of alcohol that comes from your mouth confirms his suspicion. You blink down at your lap a few times. "Uhm."

Smoker pinches the bridge of his nose with closed eyes. He can't believe it. You are drunk.

"Y/N," he groans. He opens his eyes to find you looking back at him with apprehension, the knuckles of your fingers white from how hard your gripping the long neck of the bottle. It's not a look he appreciates receiving from you, but he can't stop himself from pushing. Not when he is your Captain and he needs to know. "Why are you crying alone on the floor?"

And the face you make at him nearly punches the breath out of him. Your whole face scrunches up as your eyes fill with water, your lips pressing together in a thin line before a violent sob parts them open. You wail in anguish, fat tears running down your cheeks in a flood. Smoker is at a loss of words, caught completely off guard.

"Shit, Y/N," he murmurs more to himself than anything, his hands flailing around you, not knowing what to do. He raises one hand to your face, hesitating for a second before wiping at your tears with a rough thumb. You press your wet cheek against his palm with a hiccup. His shoulders sag in surrender. "You're a sad drunk, aren't you?"

You nod your head at him, holding his wrist with one hand to press your face against his open palm. Your eyes open a bit to stare at him – his stupid, idiot heart aching at the sorrowful cloud in them – before they close again with a broken sob.

"I-I miss 'em," you slur, dejected. You use your other hand to rub at the corner of your eye, leaving the bottle to fall on the floor between you two with a thud before rolling away. "Miss 'em so, so m-much."

Smoker inhales deeply, before sighing. Despite not being one known for being affectionate, he wasn't so cold as to let his subordinate – one of his best at it – cry alone on the floor of a dammed tavern. He shifts, sitting on one leg next to you.

"C'mere," he sighs, gently bringing your face to his shoulder. You hesitate for a second before you rest your cheek against his broad shoulder, holding onto one side of his open jacket for support as your whole body shakes along with your hiccups.

"Mm' sorry..." You sniff, wiping at your tears with your free hand, and he wishes he could hug you close to his chest until your cries subsided. "I jus–"

"Don't mention it," Smoker orders, opting to hold the back of your head with his wide hand.

Your body freezes for a bit at the touch. He almost regrets it, fearing that might be crossing a line. But then your body relaxes against his side and you nuzzle your runny nose against his shoulder as another wave of cries consumes you.

Smoker isn't sure for how long the two of you stay there. Your cries and sobs are so disconcerting that he couldn't even pay attention to the looks a few colleagues were sending at the pair of you. How could he pay attention to anyone else when you were crying against his chest? How could he listen to any whisper when you told him about the home you left to join the Marine, about the family and your dear pet you left behind to follow your dream? A dream you are now slowly learning to be nothing like you expected, making you question if it was even worthy sacrificing the time you could have spent at home instead. So how could him?

In the end, Smoker stays with you until youexhaust yourself from crying. If he couldn't take that pain away from you, couldn't stop this cruel world from sinking it's teeth on you, at least he could offer you a sturdy shoulder to lay on.

It was torture in a way, being in that position. Listening to your cries pulled at different parts of his chest, vexing him beyond his comprehension. He wasn't sure what prompted him to search for you in the first place, and even less what compelled him to stay by your side until your eyes stopped watering and your mouth stopped trembling. However, he couldn't say he regretted it, not even one bit.

Because even with your face all swollen and with red trimmed eyes, you still smile back at him with gratitude. His hearts does a silly little flutter inside his chest at the sight and that's how he realizes you just became a threat to his health.

❥ His hands are big and calloused, often bruised from fighting. His fingers are long and thick, forming a powerful fist when clenched. A few veins pop on the back of his hand as he swings them around, especially during the heat of a battle.

❥ That doesn't mean he's not careful when holding you.

❥ With you, his touch turns light and measured. His hands are still a bit heavy when touching your skin, but you know that's the softest he can get – and all because of you.

❥ Smoker loves holding your face, smoothing the soft skin of your cheek with the pad of his thumb in silence. He does so to wipe your tears when you're crying and also to caress your bruises after a battle. But, above all else, he likes to do it just for the sake of doing it. To see your pretty face from up close, take in your breathtaking features and feel the life still radiating out of you.

❥ He loves watching the way your breath hitches when he cradles your cheek right before you promptly lean your face against his rough palm. You just have to stare up at him with those beautiful, mesmerizing eyes, and he's already long gone.

❥ Smoker is the type to hold you close while kissing you. One big hand cradling the whole side of your head, – from cheek to nape – and the other holding your middle. His fingers twitch and clench around your waist as your lips move against his mouth, caressing and gripping your skin until you're gasping for air. His hands wander down your body, squeezing all of your most intimate places as he swallows every little sound you make for him.

❥ His hands are grounding and greedy on your body. Smoker is capable of both keeping you in place and manhandling you around without struggle. It makes your head spin, being held down by him when you knew no amount of force could free you from his strong hold. His thick fingers dig possessively into the meat of your hips, hard and hungry but never bruising, almost like he's fighting his own control. Even so, you never fear being hurt.

❥ He always makes sure to touch every inch of your skin. Your back, arms, hips, waist, chest, thighs and ass. Smoker grabs into every little bit of your body, as if he wants to memorize every corner. His calloused fingers travel along the span of your silky skin, leaving small goosebumps on its wake. He chuckles under his breath when he notices it, teasing your sensitive spots with the lightest touch he can get until you're moaning his name.

❥ Smoker hates holding your unconscious body. His hands shake as he holds your head steady, carrying you back to the ship in long strides of his legs. He dares not touch you while the doctor is assessing your state, not even to hold your hand in fear of finding it cold against his palm. Only after you open your eyes and call out his name, does his fingers find its way into your palm.

❥ You have always loved the weight of his hand on you, the warmth and the calluses. It always seemed to you that he could fit your whole body into his big palms if he wanted to. Despite being the mighty hands no pirate can ever escape, it's also the loving pair of hands that has taken ahold of your heart.