#op x reader

“his hands,” you’d sighed, draping yourself dramatically over the back of a worn-out armchair, “i bet they’re not just good with a pipe. i bet he could take a woman apart with just his fingers, make her forget her own name. look at the way he handles that metal—all that precise, devastating control. imagine that on your skin.” you’d shivered, lost in your own performance. “i'd let him ruin me. absolutely ruin me. i’d beg.”

koala, seated across from you with a stack of reports, had frozen, her pen hovering mid-air. her eye twitched. “hey...” she’d started, her voice dangerously level.

“and his voice!” you’d barreled on, the sheer audacity of your own words propelling you forward. “that low, calm tone, even when he’s about to blow something to kingdom come. i just want to hear him whisper all the filthy things he’s going to do to me, all the ways he’s going to make me fall apart. i’d be a complete puddle.”

“girl,” koala repeated, a desperate edge creeping in.

“and his hair!” you’d cried, gesturing wildly. “he’s always pushing it back, and i just want to grab a fistful of it and—oh, and his hat! why does he always wear the hat? i bet underneath it he’s just as devastating. i want to see him wild, not so composed. i want to be the reason he loses that composure. just once. to feel him lose control because of me.”

a heavy silence fell. the only sound was the rustle of the reports in koala’s hands. she slowly, deliberately, looked past you, her face a mask of pure, unadulterated exasperation.

a cold dread trickled down your spine.

“he’s right behind me, isn’t he?” you whispered, your bravado evaporating in an instant.

koala gave a slow, pitying blink. “he’s been there since the part about his hands.”

the world tilted. heat flooded your face, a mortifying inferno that started in your chest and consumed you whole. you scrambled to your feet, the chair scraping loudly against the floor. you couldn’t look. you didn’t dare. you just fled, a blur of pure, unadulterated panic, your footsteps echoing down the corridor as you practically launched yourself into the first room you found, slamming the door behind you. it was a storage closet. perfect.

you pressed your back against the cold wood, heart hammering a frantic rhythm against your ribs. your face was on fire. you were going to die. you were going to die of sheer, utter embarrassment. he heard everything. everything. every lurid, detailed, and deeply personal fantasy you’d ever had about him.

you squeezed your eyes shut, willing the floor to open up and swallow you whole. this was it. this was the end of your life. or, at least, the end of any chance of ever looking him in the eye again. you’d probably have to relocate to a different grand line entirely. maybe the moon.

a long, excruciating minute passed. then two. just as you were plotting your new life on a remote, uninhabited island, a gentle knock sounded on the door.

your blood ran cold. “occupied!” you squeaked, your voice an octave higher than usual.

“hey..” came sabo’s voice, muffled but unmistakably calm. there was no anger in it, which was somehow far, far worse. “open the door.”

“no!” you yelped, your brain scrambling for a plausible excuse. “i—i’m busy! sorting… potatoes. there are a lot of potatoes in here.”

“it’s a storage closet. for maps,” he replied, his tone patient, but with a hint of steel beneath it. “there are no potatoes.”

“i’m looking for the potatoes!” you insisted, your voice trembling. “they’re probably behind the maps. you can’t come in. it’s a very delicate potato operation.”

a soft sigh, then a low chuckle that sent a shiver straight through you. “come on, we need to talk.”

“no, we don’t!” you cried, your back sliding a little further down the door as you crumbled into a defensive heap on the floor. “you didn’t hear anything. it was a… a story! a made-up story! about a fictional man! with a hat! and blonde hair! and—and you just happen to look a lot like him! a coincidence!”

“a very specific coincidence,” he murmured, and you could hear the smile in his voice. That infuriating, charming smile. “open the door.”

“i can’t,” you whimpered, curling your knees up to your chest. “i’m having a crisis.”

“sweetheart,” he said, the endearment slipping out so naturally it made your heart flutter, “if you don’t open this door, i’m going to have to break it down. and i know you need this door. the maps are very important.”

there was a beat of silence. you knew he’d do it. he was a man of his word, even when that word was about property damage. slowly, your hand trembling, you reached up and turned the lock. the click was deafening.

you scrambled backward, pressing yourself against a shelf of rolled-up charts as the door swung open. sabo filled the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the dim hall light. he didn’t step in. he just stood there, looking down at you, a glint in his eye that was a terrifying mix of amusement and a darker, hungrier promise.

“so,” he began, his voice low and smooth, his gaze pinning you in place. “take a woman apart with my fingers?” he stepped forward, closing the door behind him with a soft click that plunged you both into near-darkness, save for a sliver of light from under the door. your heart was about to beat out of your chest.

he took a slow, deliberate step towards you, his presence filling the tiny space. “make her forget her own name?” another step. he was so close you could smell the faint scent of gunpowder and leather that always clung to him. “ruin you?” his voice dropped to a husky whisper. “make you beg?”

you opened your mouth to deny it, to sputter some excuse, but the only sound that came out was a pathetic, desperate squeak.

he reached out, his gloved hand coming up to rest on the shelf beside your head, caging you in. the leather of his glove was cool against the wood. he leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear, and you felt a full-body shudder wrack your frame.

“i heard every word,” he breathed, his warm breath ghosting over your skin, sending goosebumps erupting across your arms. “i was just coming back from a mission. i was going to tell you i missed you. but then i heard you… talking about my hands.” he chuckled, a low, dark sound that made your knees weak. “and my voice. and my hair. and my hat.” he pulled back slightly, just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze intense and burning. “you have a very vivid imagination, sweetheart. and I’d very much like to see you put it to use.”

you were frozen, caught in the spotlight of his undivided attention. “i... i didn’t… that wasn’t…”

“are you going to deny it?” he interrupted, his voice a silken challenge. “because we both know that’s a lie. you said i could ‘take you apart.’ you said you’d ‘let me ruin you.’ You said you’d ‘beg.’” he dipped his head, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth. “i’m more than happy to oblige.”

“sabo…” you breathed, his name a plea on your lips.

“now,” he murmured, his voice a low command against your skin, “are you going to keep being shy, love?” he punctuated the question with the barest, softest press of his lips to your jaw. “or are you going to be the woman from the story, and tell me what you want?”

he pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his gaze a mixture of tender affection and firm expectation. his head dipped, his lips hovering just over yours, the heat of his body a tangible presence against you. he waited, patient as the sea itself, for you to make the next move. the ball was in your court. the man who heard everything had a single, burning question.

“well?” he whispered, his voice laced with command and a hint of a smile. “what will it be?”

a single, ragged breath escaped you. the question hung in the air, heavy and electric. you could feel the heat radiating from him. a part of you was still screaming to run, to hide, to deny everything and pretend this conversation never happened.

but the another part was tired of running.

"i…" you started, your voice barely a whisper. you swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "i want you to prove it."

a slow, devastating smile spread across his lips. it was the kind of smile that promised ruin, and you found yourself craving it.

"prove it?" he repeated, tilting his head. his gloved hand came up to cup your chin, tilting your face up towards him. "you want me to prove that i can take you apart? that i can make you forget your own name?"

you nodded.

"use your words, sweetheart," he murmured, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw. "i heard you had quite the vocabulary earlier. use it now."

"yes," you said, your voice steadier this time, though your heart was still racing. "i want to see if you can live up to all the things i imagined."

his eyes darkened, and he let out a low, approving hum.

"that's my girl."

and then his mouth crashed into yours.

it wasn't gentle. it wasn't tentative. it was consuming. a kiss that stole your breath and your thoughts and any remaining scraps of your composure. his gloved hand slid into your hair, angling your head to deepen the kiss, and you gasped against his lips as his other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him.

you could feel everything. the hard planes of his chest, the strength in his arms, the way his body was already responding to yours. it was intoxicating, dizzying, and you found yourself clutching at his coat, pulling him closer, desperate for more.

he broke the kiss with a soft, wet sound, both of you breathing heavily. his forehead rested against yours, his eyes dark and hooded.

"tell me what you want," he said again, his voice rough. "tell me, and i'll give it to you."

"i want…" you paused, your cheeks flaming. even now, after everything, the words felt impossible to say out loud.

sabo pulled back just enough to look at you, his expression softening.

"hey," he said gently, his thumb stroking your cheek. "it's just me. the same man who's been absolutely, hopelessly in love with you for months. the same man who's been going crazy trying to figure out how to tell you." he chuckled, a self-deprecating sound. "and you beat me to it. in the most spectacularly embarrassing way possible."

astartled laugh escaped you, and you buried your face in his chest, muffling it against the fabric of his coat. "i can't believe i said all that," you groaned. "koala is never going to let me live this down."

"koala is going to be insufferable," he agreed, his arms wrapping around you. "but i think it's worth it, don't you?"

you looked up at him, your heart swelling at the soft, adoring look on his face. "maybe," you admitted. "a little bit."

"just a little bit?" he raised an eyebrow, and then his hand was sliding down your back, resting at the curve of your waist. "i heard you say you wanted to feel me lose control. is that true?"

you nodded, biting your lip.

"then let me show you," he murmured, his lips brushing against your ear. "let me show you exactly what you do to me. how you make me feel. how you're the only one who can make me forget about everything else."

his hands found the hem of your shirt, his fingers toying with the fabric. "is this okay?"

"yes," you breathed. "yes, please."

he pulled your shirt over your head in one smooth motion, his eyes roaming over you with an intensity that made your skin prickle with goosebumps. "beautiful," he murmured, almost to himself. "so beautiful."

his gloved hands came up to cup your breasts through your bra, his thumbs brushing over the sensitive peaks. you gasped, arching into his touch, and he smiled, that same devastating smile.

"sensitive?" he asked, his voice a low rumble.

"you have no idea,"

"i think i'm starting to get one," he said, and then he was undoing your bra with practiced ease, letting it fall to the floor. his eyes drank you in, and you felt a surge of confidence at the raw hunger in his gaze.

"sabo," you whispered, reaching for him, your fingers finding the buttons of his shirt.

"let me," he said softly, and then he was shrugging off his coat, his vest, his shirt, baring his skin to you. you reached out, your fingers tracing the lines of his chest, the scars that littered his skin, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

he let you explore for a moment, his eyes closing at your touch. then he was moving, guiding you backwards until your back hit the shelf, his body pressing you against it.

his mouth found your neck, trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down to your collarbone. His hands were everywhere—your waist, your hips, your thighs—and you were drowning in him, in the feel of him, the smell of him, the sound of his breathy sighs against your skin.

"tell me," he murmured against your skin, his teeth grazing your shoulder. "tell me what you want."

"i want you," you gasped, your fingers threading through his hair, pulling him closer.

he pulled back, his eyes meeting yours, and there was something vulnerable there, something raw and aching. "you have me," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "you've always had me."

and then he was kissing you again, deeper this time, his hands working at the button of your pants, sliding them down your hips. you kicked them off, your shoes forgotten, and he lifted you effortlessly onto the shelf, your legs wrapping around his waist.

"hold onto me," he commanded softly, and you obeyed, your arms circling his neck as he kissed a trail down your chest, his breath hot against your skin.

"you're going to have to be quiet," he murmured, glancing up at you with a wicked glint in his eye. "unless you want everyone to hear exactly how i ruin you."

a strangled sound escaped you, and he chuckled, "that's what I thought."

and then his mouth was on you, and you had to bite your lip to keep from crying out, your head falling back against the shelf as he proved, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that every single word you'd said was absolutely, devastatingly true.

time blurred. there was only him—his hands, his mouth, the way he knew exactly how to touch you, how to push you higher and higher until you were trembling on the edge, desperate and aching.

"please," you gasped, your nails digging into his shoulders. "sabo, please."

he lifted his head, his lips slick, his eyes dark. "please what?"

"please," you begged, "i need you—i need—"

"say my name," he said, his voice a low command. "say it like you mean it."

"sabo," you breathed, and it came out like a confession, like a promise. "sabo, i love you."

his eyes widened, and then he was kissing you again, fierce and tender all at once. "i love you too," he murmured against your lips. "gosh, i love you so much."

and then he was inside you, and you both gasped, the world narrowing to the feeling of him, the weight of him, the way he filled you completely.

"look at me," he said, his voice strained, and you opened your eyes, meeting his gaze. "i want to see you. i want to remember this."

you nodded, unable to speak, and he began to move, slow and deep, his eyes never leaving yours. it was overwhelming, the intimacy of it, the way he seemed to see straight into your soul.

"i've got you," he murmured, his forehead pressed against yours. "i've got you, sweetheart."

"s-sabo, i can't—"

"you can. come on. let go."

and you did, shattering around him as he followed you over the edge, his low groan muffled against your neck.

you stayed like that for a long moment, tangled together, breathing hard. his hand came up to stroke your hair, gentle and soothing, and you felt tears prick at your eyes from the sheer overwhelming force of your feelings for him.

"hey, what's wrong?" he said softly, pulling back to look at you.

"nothing," you said, your voice wobbling. "everything's right. that's the problem."

he smiled, soft and fond, and pressed a kiss to your forehead. "i know what you mean."

eventually, you untangled yourselves, pulling your clothes back on in comfortable silence. he helped you with the buttons you couldn't quite manage, his fingers gentle and careful.

"we should probably go," you mumbled, your cheeks flushing at the thought of the others.

"they definitely heard," sabo said. "or at least, they heard enough."

"you're not helping," you groaned, burying your face in his shoulder.

he laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "it's okay. i'll protect you from koala's teasing... or i'll try to."

"that's all i can ask for," you mumbled.

he opened the door, and you both stepped out into the hallway. koala was leaning against the wall, her arms crossed, a knowing smirk on her face.

"finally," she said flatly. "i was starting to think i'd have to pay you both for the show."

"koala!" you yelped.

sabo just laughed, his arm settling around your shoulders. "jealous, koala?"

"of your terrible timing?" she shot back. "never. you owe me, though. i had to listen to her entire monologue and then your… noises. i'm traumatized."

you buried your face in sabo's shoulder, utterly mortified.

his arm tightened around you, and he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. "ignore her," he murmured. "she's just upset she doesn't have anyone to make those noises with."

"didn't need to hear all of that," koala said, turning on her heel. "i'm going to go burn my ears off."

as she stalked away, sabo tilted your chin up, meeting your eyes. "worth it?" he asked, a soft smile playing on his lips.

you looked at him.

"yeah," you said, smiling despite yourself. "totally worth it."

he kissed you again, soft and sweet.

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“you absolute brute!” you snarled, dodging a kick that would have shattered your ribs. “you call yourself a chef? you have the finesse of a rampaging bull!”

sanji’s visible eye was a storm of blue fire. “and you, my dear, have the palate of a sea king and the manners of a barnacle! that was a perfectly good cut of marbled beef you just turned into a leather shoe!”

the fight was a whirlwind of motion. you were both skilled, but more than that, you were evenly matched. every block, every parry, was met with equal force. you fought with a cold, calculated fury, while he was a tornado of passion and righteous anger. the rest of the crew, used to sanji’s chivalry towards women, were utterly baffled. they’d never seen him like this—so utterly enraged and so completely focused on a single opponent.

“my technique is flawless!” you shouted, ducking under a roundhouse. “you’re just a perverted cook who can’t handle a woman who won’t fall for your stupid, curly-eyebrowed charm!”

something in his eye flickered. the rage didn’t disappear, but it… changed. It became sharper, more intense. “my charm is an art form, you ice-cold harpy!”

he lunged, not with a kick, but with his entire body, pinning you against the counter. His hands, strong and calloused, seized your wrists. the heat of his body was a stark contrast to the cool metal against your back. the air crackled.

“let go of me,” you hissed, your voice trembling with fury.

“why?” he breathed, his face inches from yours. his voice was a low, dangerous rasp. the anger was still there, a palpable heat, but now it was laced with something else, something that made your stomach flip. “so you can try to gut me again? i don’t think so.”

you struggled, but he was stronger, fueled by a manic energy that matched your own. His eye bored into yours, searching, challenging. the scent of him—smoke, spices, and something uniquely sanji—filled your senses. the fight was no longer just about the ruined meal or the bruised pride. it was about the raw, undeniable force of two equally stubborn wills clashing.

“why do you hate me so much?” he demanded, his voice hoarse. “what did i ever do to you?”

the question, so simple and direct, knocked the air from your lungs. the litany of petty grievances, the constant bickering, the deliberate provocation… it all seemed to fade. the real reason, the one you’d hidden even from yourself, surfaced like a tidal wave.

“because you’re… infuriating!” you choked out, the words tasting like ash. “because you’re the only person who can make me feel this way. this… out of control. like i’m going to burn up from the inside out.”

his grip on your wrists loosened slightly. the anger in his eye was replaced by a dawning, disbelieving comprehension. his gaze dropped to your lips, then back to your eyes. “you… feel it too?” he whispered, the question hanging in the air between you.

you didn’t answer with words. you surged forward, crashing your lips against his. It wasn’t a gentle kiss; it was a continuation of the fight, a battle for dominance with teeth and tongue. it was angry, desperate, and tasted faintly of copper and salt. it was the release of all the pent-up frustration, the confusion, and the undeniable, burning attraction that had been simmering beneath the surface of every insult and every kick.

he groaned against your mouth, his hands releasing your wrists to grip your waist, pulling you flush against him. the heat of his body was searing, his touch a brand. he broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours, his breathing ragged.

“you’re insane,” he panted, a shaky, incredulous laugh escaping him. “absolutely insane.”

“and you’re a lovesick idiot,” you shot back, your voice just as unsteady.

a smile, genuine and boyish, broke through the storm on his face. “maybe,” he murmured, his hand coming up to cup your cheek. “but i'm your lovesick idiot now.”

he kissed you again, and this time it was different. it was still passionate, still searing with the remnants of the fight, but it was deeper, more exploratory. his hands roamed your body, learning the curves and planes that he’d only ever challenged in combat. he pulled at your clothes, his movements urgent, and you responded in kind, tugging at his shirt.

the galley, the mess, the entire ship, faded away. there was only the frantic rhythm of his heart against yours, the taste of him on your tongue, and the overwhelming, terrifying, exhilarating feeling of finally giving in. he lifted you, setting you on the counter, the cool surface a shock against your heated skin. his hands were on your thighs, pushing your skirt up, his lips trailing a burning path down your neck.

“sanji…” you gasped.

“i know,” he murmured against your skin, his voice thick with desire. “i know.”

he wasn’t gentle. he was demanding, possessive, and it was exactly what you needed. the fight had stripped away all pretense, leaving only the raw, primal need. he worshipped your body with the same intensity he fought, with a focus that made you feel like the only woman in the world. every touch, every kiss, was a declaration of war and a surrender all at once.

when he finally joined you on the counter, his body covering yours, the world shattered. it was a frantic, powerful collision, a perfect, chaotic symphony of anger, desperation, and a love that was just as fierce as your hatred had been. the last of the tension snapped, replaced by a wave of pure, blinding pleasure that left you breathless and clinging to him.

he moved against you with a rhythm that was equal parts punishment and prayer, each thrust a wordless accusation and a whispered confession. your fingers dug into his shoulders, nails raking across skin, leaving angry red trails that would bruise by morning. he hissed at the sting, but his only response was to grip your hips harder, pulling you into him with a desperation that matched your own.

the galley counter was cold against your bare back, a stark contrast to the furnace of his body. dishes rattled in the sink with each movement, a metallic symphony that underscored the chaos of what you were doing. somewhere in the back of your mind, you knew this was insane. that this would change everything. but the thought dissolved the moment he shifted his angle, hitting a spot that made you cry out his name like a battle cry.

"that's it," he growled against your ear, his voice wrecked. "let me hear you. let everyone hear you."

you should have been embarrassed. you should have pushed him away, preserved some shred of dignity. but instead, you arched into him, pulling his mouth to yours in a bruising kiss. he tasted like smoke and something sweeter underneath, the ghost of the dessert he'd been preparing before you'd ruined his masterpiece. the thought made you laugh against his lips, a broken, hysterical sound.

"what's wrong?" he breathed, pulling back just enough to look at you. he was beautiful like this, stripped of all his polished charm, raw and real.

"nothing," you managed, your voice cracking. "just… thinking about how i called your cooking trash an hour ago."

a laugh rumbled from his chest, low and genuine. "you're impossible."

"and yet here you are."

he silenced you with another kiss, but this one was different.

softer.

his tongue traced your lower lip with devastating gentleness, a stark contrast to the frantic rhythm of his hips. your hands moved from his shoulders to cup his face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones. yhe gesture made him falter, his rhythm stuttering as he looked down at you with an expression that made your chest ache.

"don't," you whispered, suddenly afraid. "don't look at me like that."

"like what?"

"like i matter."

His jaw tightened. "too late for that."

he lowered his head, pressing his forehead to yours. the intimacy of the gesture was overwhelming, more intimate than the way your bodies were joined. his breath was warm against your lips, each exhale a shaky promise.

"you've mattered since the moment you walked into my kitchen and told me my sauce was bland," he murmured. "i wanted to kill you. i also wanted to—"

he cut himself off, shaking his head. but you knew. you'd felt it too, that inexplicable pull that had driven you to pick fights with him, to seek him out just to argue, to find any excuse to be in his orbit.

"sanji," you moaned, and his name had never sounded like this before.

he answered by moving inside you, slow and deep, drawing out every sensation until you were trembling beneath him. his hands never stopped moving, stroking your sides, your thighs, your breasts. he touched you like you were something precious, even as he claimed you with a possessive hunger that left no doubt about his intent.

the pleasure built slowly this time, a rising tide that threatened to drown you. your hands fisted in his hair, pulling him down for another kiss as you climbed higher. he swallowed your moans, matching your rhythm with an instinct that felt like destiny.

"come for me, mon amour" he commanded against your lips, and the authority in his voice was your undoing.

you came, crying out as waves of pleasure crashed through you. he followed moments later, burying his face in the crook of your neck as he found his own release, a guttural sound torn from his throat that you would never forget.

for a long moment, neither of you moved. his weight was a comfort, the steady thrum of his heartbeat a grounding presence. the galley was quiet now, the only sounds your mingled breathing and the distant crash of waves against the ship's hull.

he pulled back first, his expression unreadable as he looked down at you. his thumb traced your jaw, gentle now, almost reverent. the anger that had always simmered between you was gone, replaced by something new and terrifying.

"we should probably talk about this," he said, a ghost of his usual humor in his voice.

you snorted, rolling your eyes. "probably."

his weight was warm and solid, and the last thing you wanted was to break this fragile bubble you'd created. the world outside would intrude soon enough.

"later," you said. "we'll talk later."

he nodded, dropping a kiss to your forehead. "later," he agreed.

sanji helped you up, finding a clean towel to wipe the worst of the mess from your skin before handing you your scattered clothes. you dressed in silence, the intimacy of the moment lingering like perfume in the air. when you were both presentable—or close enough—he pulled you into one last kiss, soft and sweet and full of promise.

"same time tomorrow?" he asked, a tint of yearning stained his voice.

"don't push your luck, cook."

"wouldn't dream of it, ma cherie."

the endearment caught you off guard, a warmth spreading through your chest that you refused to acknowledge. you turned away before he could see the smile threatening to break across your face.

"clean up the mess," you called over your shoulder as you headed for the door. "the kitchen's a disaster."

"you're a disaster," he flirt back.

you paused at the doorway, glancing back. he was already gathering the scattered utensils, a soft smile playing on his lips. when he looked up and caught your eye, the smile widened.

"see you later," you said.

as you walked away, the taste of him still on your lips, you couldn't help but wonder what the hell you'd just started.

——————————————————

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"B-But not to worry! I've already sent for over a hundred auxiliary mills and they should be here within the hou—"

Cuh-lick!

Unable to listen to his assistant's voice any longer, Katakuri hung up before he could say or do anything too hurtful.

No doubt Bomin was a squirming, trembling mess on the other line, eyes wide and panicked as he racked his brain for some way to fix the problem he made.

And if Katakuri was the man he was a few years ago, he would've used that to his advantage, taking the opportunity to unleash his full anger on someone who "deserved" it.

But he knew you wouldn't approve, the sound of your soft voice echoing in his mind, scolding him for being so harsh.

Taking a deep inhale, the general pressed the call button at the corner of his desk, buzzing to his secretary at the Flour Ministry.

"Sandy, promote Thrash to operations manager of the factory and instruct him to create a task force to handle the weevil problem," he ordered, tone firm and leaving no room for question. "I want it at least fifty men strong, and I want them to sweep the entire facility, leave no stone unturned. All weevils are to be killed on site."

"Yes, sir," she confirmed, buzzing back from her desk down the hall. "And speaking of, you instructed me to remind you of a meeting with Sir Perospero at six, and a mochi consultation with the Head Chef at seven. Along with a rather large stack of papers down here that need your signature."

Annoyance spiked in his chest as he remembered he promised Oven he'd take on all the Ministry of Baking paperwork, effectively doubling his workload without so much as a second thought.

A fact that was biting him in the ass now.

"That's fine. Just send them up," he sighed, running a hand over his face.

"Right away, sir," she nodded. "Oh, and your fan club is gathering outside the entrance again... from where I'm seated, it seems to be well over fifty of them with a few more trickling in... they're pressing up against the gate."

"What could possibly be the occasion this time? This is their third visit this week."

"One of the guards asked and apparently today is the anniversary of the day you glanced at their president on the street, six months ago."

Katakuri dropped his head on his desk, the headache that had once been nibbling at the back of his skull now a full-blown, brain-squeezing migraine.

"Have security handle it."

"I did, sir, but—"

"But what?" he groaned, brows furrowed. "Spit it out, Sandy, I don't have time for this."

"Well... they're little girls, sir. The men are scared they'll hurt them."

BEEP!

Katakuri let go of the call-button, running another furious hand through his hair.

Was nobody capable of doing their job?

Was it that hard to fulfill the task you were hired to do?

"SIr?" Sandy buzzed back in. "Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir, did I lose you?"

"You cut out?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

Katakuri's eye twitched, violently, as he sat up straight, staring off into the distance.

It didn't help that he still had his own mountain of paperwork to handle—given his most recent, three-month long mission ended only a few days ago.

It didn't help that he still had to draw up the security plans for this tea party tomorrow—which was actually Custard's wedding.

It didn't help that Amande's birthday was in two days and he still hadn't bought her a present.

He was usually so on top of situations like these... but there was just something about today that had thrown him off his game.

And now he wanted nothing more than to disappear into his plush, leather chair.

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

"Sir?"

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!

The sound was his last straw, the snap in his head almost audible.

"I'M BUSY!" he roared, furious, glaring nearly searing through the door.

But it opened anyway, your pretty little head popping in through the crack.

"Now a bad time?" you asked with a knowing smirk.

His eyes went wide, regret and guilt plastered all over his face.

"(y-y/n)!" he realized, voice softening in an instant, tone turning low and painfully apologetic, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"I know you didn't," you smiled, entering his humongous office. "I can tell things have been a little hectic around here."

"A little?" he repeated, sarcastically, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You giggled, striding around his desk and hooking your finger in his scarf, tugging it down just enough so you could press a soft kiss into his lips.

He leaned into you in an instant, eyes fluttering shut like a schoolboy as he succumbed to your touch.

God, he needed this...

If you'd come any later, he was sure he would've put his head through a wall.

Smoothly, you rested your hands on his shoulders, moving close enough to slot yourself between his legs as you stood before him.

And he more than welcomed it, gloves hands sliding up from your thighs on your hips, relishing your warmth.

That is... until he realized that your knee length chef's dress felt shorter than usual.

He pulled back slightly, eyes opening to drink you in.

Instead of your usual, long chef's uniform, you wore a strapless, black mini-dress that draped deliciously over your luscious, curvaceous body, accentuated by the sheer, black stockings that stopped at your mid-thigh, and a pair of black pumps.

The sunlight from the window behind his desk illuminated your warm brown skin and plump lips, which curled in a smile at his lovesick expression.

"Is this new?" he asked, intrigued, as he pawed at you, marveling the dress.

"Uh-huh," you nodded, biting back a grin, "You like it?"

"More than like it," he glanced up at you. "What's the occasion?"

"None. Just figured I'd give you a little pick me up before we ate."

At that, he froze, his soul practically ascending out of his body with horror.

The two of you were supposed to be having your shared merienda right now.

"Damn it, that's right," he sighed, allowing his head to fall back. "I'm sorry, love, I completely forgot."

Your husband shook his head, tired.

"Today has been a mess. I've been putting out fires since this morning."

"I figured," you nodded, moving to sit on top of him, stomach fluttering as he widened his spread without question, making room for you on his lap, "I heard about the incident at the factory."

"Already?" he cocked a brow.

"Chefs have big mouths."

He rolled his eyes.

Of course.

"But I think that's all the more reason for you to take a break," you cupped his cheek, smoothing your thumb over his cheekbone,"I hate to see you so stressed."

"I wish I could, but I can't leave in the middle of this."

"Says who?"

"Says me."

"Yeah, well, I'm your wife and I think it's time for you to take a break," you shrugged off, pressing a soft kiss into the column of his throat.

"But—"

You kissed his lips to shut him up.

"It'll only be forty minutes."

Kiss.

"You can tell me about your day."

Kiss.

"I made your favorites... the Corioli Cacao..."

Kiss.

"The Strawberries and Cream..."

Kiss.

"The Powdered Sugar..."

He hummed, slowly falling victim to your temptation, "With that Meylon cinnamon?"

Kiss.

"With the Meylon cinnamon."

Kiss.

"Damn it..." he muttered, already convinced, "Fine. But no more than forty minutes."

Kiss.

"Promise," you smiled, your husband blissfully unaware of the fingers crossed behind your back.

.

.

.

"And what does he do about it? He tells me there'll be mills arriving in an hour."

"He didn't."

"He did... New mills after the original ones had just been destroyed by weevils that are still in the building."

Katakuri let out a humorless chuckle.

"I don't understand... how difficult is it for a person to do their job correctly?" he vented, exhausted as he stared up at the ceiling of his mochi shrine, scarf discarded and head laid comfortably in your lap.

His hands were folded over his stomach, legs outstretched, much like one would on a therapist's couch

"Why is it every time I return from a mission, every time I return from vacation, there's a crisis happening in my factory?"

He scoffed, disbelieving.

"We are the sole flour distributer for all of Totto Land. If we start to slip, everyone suffers. So the least I ask for, in exchange for a handsome salary, is for the factory to still be standing by the time I get back to oversee things. Is that too much to ask for?"

"Of course not," you assured, lowering a powder jelly doughnut closer to his mouth, allowing him to take a large bite before setting it back down in the basket. "Your requests are reasonable and fair. I'm not sure why Bomin can't deliver on his end."

"And now we have these damn creatures on the loose... who knows what they could be doing to the structure of the building," he grumbled, muffled by the food in his mouth. "It's made of mochi, after all, and I don't have the time to spend the next few days remaking and reinforcing it. I still have to do the security blocking for the tea party tomorrow and the paperwork left over from my trip, which would be all well and good if I didn't have all of Oven's paperwork on top of it. And don't even get me started on the fan club..."

"Why'd you take his work, too? You've clearly got a lot on your plate already..." you asked, concerned, as you took a bite of chocolate frosted doughnut.

"I owe him a favor," your husband sighed. "He covered for us when we skipped Mama's get-together a few days ago."

Your mouth fell into an O, thoroughly aware of what he was talking about.

Big Mom had called an emergency late night meeting with all the elder siblings and all the head chefs to flesh out some last minute details about Custard's wedding.

But... Katakuri was freshly home from another one of his missions away, and it just so happened that the two of you were in the middle of a passionate "welcome home party" when you missed the call.

Luckily, Oven made a believable enough excuse—something about a malfunction at your bakery and Katakuri needing some rest—and got Big Mom off your backs.

Your stomach fluttered at the wonderful memory, your lips fighting off a pleased smirk.

Your inner thighs still had the bite marks from that night.

Gracefully, you lifted the large tea cup next to you, gently raising his head and bringing it to his lips for him to drink.

Which he did gratefully, relishing in the feeling of your fingers raking through his scalp before he leaned back, allowing you to set the cup back down.

Paduh-paduh-paduh! Paduh-paduh-paduh!

"Hold on, Kuri, I gotta take this," you apologized, picking up your baby transponder snail. "Kota! Is everything handled?"

"....!"

"Great! You're the best!"

Cuh-lick!

"Sorry, honey. Please continue."

"It's alright. I was just saying all I have to do is get this weevil problem under control and figure out how to get this shipment to Streusen," he sighed, licking the remnants of tea off his lips as he settled back in your lap. "Then everything else will come easy."

He nodded, the plan slowly coming together in his head.

"The security blocking shouldn't take me too long if I rush. I'll finish it and then run out to pick up Amande's present before the stores close. Then I'll come back, and if I do the paperwork through the night, I should finish before the tea party tomorrow."

"You could do that," you nodded, feigning innocence. "Or... you could spend some more time with me."

"Darling, you know I can't. All the things I've—"

"I've heard all the things you said. And most of them have already been handled."

Confused, Katakuri arched a brow.

"What do you mean handled?" he asked.

"I filled Streusen's order with the self-rising flour I had in storage at my bakery. Kota inspected and verified that every sack is premium quality, and it's now on the way to the Head Chef as we speak."

Your husband's eyes went wide, "Really?"

You nodded with a smile, "Really."

"But... my paperwork?"

"Done."

"Amande's present? I wanted to get her—"

"A specially embroidered sash with the name of her sword? Bought and wrapped. I did that for you weeks ago."

"The fans outside?"

"Handled. I had Brûlée scare them off when I came in. They won't be back."

You chuckled at his disbelief, cupping his face with amusement.

"My love, most of everything has already been taken care of. All you have to do is your security blocking stuff and Oven's paperwork," you assured. "Honestly, that would've been done, too, but I didn't know you had to do that until just now."

"But how? I told you about it only a few moments ago..." he looked up at you, still lost.

"You're my husband. You don't always have to tell me what's stressing you out for me to know. I pick up on these things," you grinned, waving him off.

For a moment, Katakuri paused, completely dumbstruck.

You had single-handled shaved hours upon hours off his work day with a single call.

Thanks to you, he'd be able to make it to dinner tonight... and get some sleep... and actually have time to look forward to tomorrow's festivities.

You... were amazing.

And after a few more silent seconds, he sat straight up, turning to you with eyes darker than the night sky.

"I'm going to kiss you now," he stated, curtly, his gaze alight with enamor.

You didn't get to say a reply, to preoccupied with the pair of lips suddenly pressed against yours.

The kiss was hungry, your lips moving against each other's like you both were starving for one another.

And you were.

Together, the two of you sat up on your knees, arms wrapping around each other like magnets, his hands moving below your waist to give your ass a gratuitous squeeze, relishing in the moan you hummed into his mouth.

He replied with his own grunt and pulled away, his eyes glazed over with lust.

"Have I ever told you how perfect you are?" he asked, his voice a deep rumble.

There was a molten tenderness to his gaze that had you shivering in pleasure and anticipation.

"Only every day," you smiled, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.

Katakuri's eyes raked over you as if you were a piece of art he admiring in a museum.

"Then how about I show you."

Hooking his strong arms on the back of your knees, he slowly leaned forward to lay you down on the floor of his shrine.

Your eyes flitted up to the sliding-mochi door, realizing that any nosy person could barge in and catch you both in the act.

"Kuri... the door," you hummed, fingers aimlessly wandering through his dark pink hair.

He nodded, holding out his hand and creating a mochi lock before infusing it with haki.

"There," he nosed your cheek, pressing a reassuring kiss into your neck. "Safe and sound."

Gently, he pried your thighs open, revealing your sobbing, wet sex.

You watched his face change from tender to downright feral as he stared at your cunt.

You flushed at his expression.

Oh, give me the strength...

He tugged your panties to the side and leaned forward, laying soft kisses over the bite marks he'd left the last time.

His hands pinned your legs apart, his hold on you firm.

You didn't stop him when he dove right in, peppering your pussy in open-mouthed kisses as if he was making out with it, before he began flicking his tongue over your clit.

His tongue swirled, and switched from firm to soft by your responds.

And you were responding well.

Your body couldn't help but react to the sensations—toes curling, back arching, eyes fluttering shut, mouth falling open as mewls and gasps slipped out.

Katakuri was not only good with his tongue, but good with his hands.

He reached up and squeezed your breast through the fabric of your dress, carefully kneading it according to your verbal cues.

"Mmph... Fuck, Kuri..." you tugged your lip between your teeth, "Feels so good..."

Your husband hummed approvingly into your cunt, the vibrations making your clit quiver pleasurably.

"Let me hear you, (y/n)," he said between the wet flicks of his tongue on your rosebud. "Don't hide from me."

Before you could even say anything, he tugged you closer by your ankle, smirking at your little squeal.

He stood on his knees for a moment, taking you in.

His lust-blown eyes trailed up and down your form, taking in every part of you.

Then he inhaled deeply, as if struggling to process the sight in front of you.

"You're so damn beautiful..." he said, huskily.

You smiled coyly at him, the both of you enchanted with one another.

Then he was ducking back down between your legs, throwing your thighs over his powerful shoulders with ease and locking your calves around his head.

As soon as you felt his tongue swipe through your folds and his nose bump your clit, you were in heaven.

Your eyes rolled into the back of your head and your hands found his hair, gripping the magenta tufts tight as your hips began to grind shamelessly into his face.

He hummed approvingly, keeping up the pace.

He didn't pause or slow down.

He continued to work your pussy just how you wanted, making you see stars behind your eyes and cry out to the sky above.

It didn't take long for something tender to coil in your stomach.

You couldn't help it.

Your husband was too good.

Plus, the atmosphere and the whole idea of getting caught in such a risqué position turned you on more than you cared to admit.

Katakuri must've realized you were close because his jaw began to move fast, accompanying his tongue-fucking with porn-worthy grunts that nearly threw you over the edge.

"Oh, fuck!... right there, right there!... mmmm!" you whined, tossing your head back in ecstasy, "M'so close, Kuri... m'so close..."

Eagerly, he hummed into your pussy, pulling his tongue out of you and proceeding to suck on your clit while his finger began to stroke the outside of your slit, just barely touching your insides.

His darkened gaze flicked up to yours, staring you down from between your thighs, eyes glistening with both love and lust.

"Come for me," he demanded, muffled by his mouthful of you. "Come for me, (y/n). Don't hold anything back."

He pulled back slightly, sticking out his tongue and flattening it over your entrance, licking one long, thick stripe all the way ups to your clit.

"Come for me," he groaned, a little louder as your moans pitched higher. "Let go for me. Release for me. Relinquish for me."

And you finally did.

That tight knot in your core finally snapped and a wave of euphoria washed over you as you came all over Katakuri's face as eager lips with a breathless gasp.

You saw the entire galaxy behind your eyes as you pussy gushed, your body shivering and shuddering.

Your back arched almost painfully and your hips widened into your husband's face, trying desperately to keep as much of the feeling going as possible.

When it finally faded, you were left feeling tired, spent, and oh-so good.

Katakuri lazily cleaned you up, taking care not to overstimulate you as he ran his tongue over your sensitive, twitching sex.

Then he pulled his head from between your thighs, giving you a peak of his chin and mouth, which were completely soaked in your essence.

With the reflection of your blissed out expression in his eyes, he hummed to himself with pride, his large and long tongue lulling out to lick the juices from his chin and lips.

Effortlessly, he scooped you up off the floor, pressing a few soft kisses into the side of your face, biting back his amusement at the way your head limply flopped against his chest.

"Thank you for your help, my love... now rest. I can finish my paperwork at home."

"we're guarding the ship."

that's what zoro had said.

you'd raised an eyebrow.

"you're guarding the ship."

"same thing."

you'd laughed.

"right."

now, nearly an hour later, you're sitting beneath the shade of one of the trees on the sunny.

more specifically, you're sitting on the swing.

the crew doesn't use it much.

it's tucked toward the side of the deck, beneath thick branches that stretch over the railing. the wooden seat has been polished smooth by years of weather and neglect, the ropes slightly worn but sturdy.

you've always liked it.

there's something peaceful about it.

you push yourself gently with your feet.

the swing moves forward.

then back.

forward.

back.

the island stretches beyond the ship, bright and warm beneath the afternoon sun.

you can hear distant music from the town.

"you look comfortable."

you glance over your shoulder.

zoro is standing a few feet away.

his arms are crossed.

"i am."

"thought you were gonna fall asleep."

"maybe."

he grunts.

then walks closer.

you expect him to sit down somewhere nearby.

instead, he reaches for the ropes.

"what are you doing?"

"move."

"...what?"

"you heard me."

you blink.

"zoro."

"move forward."

"why?"

"because you're barely moving."

you stare at him.

"...you want to push me?"

he looks away.

"apparently."

your smile grows.

"that's cute."

"don't make it weird."

"i didn't say anything."

"your face did."

you laugh.

then settle back against the swing.

"okay."

his hands close around the ropes.

he gives you a gentle push.

the swing moves forward.

your feet lift from the deck.

the breeze brushes against your face.

you smile.

"again."

another push.

slightly stronger this time.

you laugh.

the sound carries across the empty deck.

zoro watches you.

you don't notice at first.

you're too busy enjoying the feeling.

forward.

back.

forward.

back.

the ropes creak softly above you.

"faster."

"you're gonna fly off."

"i won't."

"that's what people say before they fly off."

"you're supposed to catch me."

he pauses.

"..."

you glance back.

"right?"

he gives you an unimpressed look.

"yeah."

but his hands tighten around the ropes.

and when he pushes you again, he's more careful.

you grin.

"see? you care."

"shut up."

"you do."

"i'm trying not to let you crack your head open."

"same thing."

"not even close."

you laugh again.

eventually, the rhythm becomes almost hypnotic.

zoro doesn't say much.

he doesn't need to.

you don't either.

there's something comforting about being around him when neither of you feels the need to fill every silence.

the island sounds distant.

the sea glitters beyond the railing.

the afternoon sun warms your skin.

and every time the swing moves backward, you catch a glimpse of him.

green hair.

scarred chest.

steady hands.

that familiar expression that always seems vaguely annoyed, even when he's being gentle.

you wonder how long you've been looking at him.

long enough, apparently.

because he says,

"you're staring."

you immediately look forward.

"i wasn't."

"you were."

"prove it."

"don't need to."

"...annoying."

"you like it."

you smile.

"...maybe."

his hands still.

the swing slows.

you look over your shoulder.

"why'd you stop?"

"you were distracting me."

your heart gives a stupid little jump.

"...oh."

he looks away.

"forget it."

"no."

you turn slightly in the seat.

"what did you mean?"

"nothing."

"zoro."

"you're annoying."

"you already said that."

"then stop asking."

you laugh softly.

the swing comes to a complete stop.

zoro rests one hand against the rope.

you look at him.

he looks at you.

neither of you moves.

"...you know," you say quietly, "i like this."

"the swing?"

"this."

you gesture vaguely between the two of you.

"being alone."

his expression softens.

just slightly.

"yeah."

"...you do?"

"i wouldn't be here if i didn't."

you smile.

"that's a very zoro answer."

"what's that supposed to mean?"

"it means you make everything sound like it's obvious."

"usually is."

you look down at your hands.

"not to me."

he waits.

you take a breath.

"sometimes i still wonder if i'm too much."

his expression changes immediately.

not dramatically.

just enough.

"we talked about this."

"i know."

"then stop."

you laugh nervously.

"i'm trying."

"try harder."

"wow. great advice."

he rolls his eyes.

you smile.

then your expression softens.

"it's just..."

you rub your thumb against the green bracelet around your wrist.

the one he gave you.

"i really like things like this."

"the bracelet?"

"that too."

you look at him.

"i mean... being close."

his eyes drop briefly to your hands.

"holding hands."

you pause.

"being pushed on a swing."

a tiny smile pulls at your mouth.

"having someone remember little things."

he doesn't answer.

you swallow.

"i know it's not everyone's thing."

"mine is."

your breath catches.

"...what?"

"yours."

he says it like it's obvious.

"i don't mind it."

your heart starts beating faster.

"you don't?"

"no."

"...why?"

he looks at you for a long moment.

"because it's you."

the world seems to quiet.

even the sea sounds farther away.

you stare at him.

"...that's a dangerous thing to say to someone who likes you."

his eyebrows lift.

"...likes me?"

you freeze.

oh.

you said that out loud.

"i..."

there's no recovering from it.

you cover your face.

"forget i said that."

"no."

"please."

"no."

"zoro."

he steps closer.

you peek between your fingers.

he's smiling.

barely.

but he's smiling.

"you like me?"

he was silent.

you lower your hands.

"...yes."

your voice is tiny.

"i do."

he doesn't laugh.

doesn't tease you.

doesn't look uncomfortable.

instead, he sits on the edge of the swing's wooden seat.

close enough that your knees touch.

"...good."

you blink.

"good?"

"yeah."

"that's all you're gonna say?"

"what do you want me to say?"

"i don't know!"

he chuckles.

quietly.

then his hand finds yours.

you go still.

his fingers slide between yours.

slowly.

carefully.

like he's giving you every opportunity to pull away.

you don't.

you squeeze his hand.

he squeezes back.

"...i like you too."

your chest feels warm.

"you do?"

"been pretty obvious."

"to who?"

"everyone except you."

you laugh.

"that's mean."

"true, though."

you lean your shoulder against his.

he doesn't move away.

instead, he rests his head lightly against yours.

for a while, neither of you says anything.

you just sit there.

holding hands.

the swing sways slightly beneath you.

"zoro?"

"hm?"

"...can i ask you something?"

"you've been doing that all day."

you smile.

"can i?"

"...yeah."

you hesitate.

"can i kiss you?"

he goes quiet.

not because he's uncomfortable.

because, apparently, he wasn't expecting you to ask.

his ears turn faintly pink.

"...yeah."

your heart nearly leaps out of your chest.

you turn toward him.

he turns too.

for a second, neither of you moves.

you've imagined this before.

probably more times than you'd ever admit.

but the reality is much quieter.

much softer.

zoro's hand is still wrapped around yours.

his other hand rests against the side of the swing.

you lean closer.

he meets you halfway.

the kiss is brief.

gentle.

barely more than a few seconds.

but when you pull away, you can't stop smiling.

neither can he.

you laugh quietly.

"that was nice."

"yeah."

"you're blushing."

"you're imagining things."

"your ears are red."

"shut up."

you grin.

then lean your forehead against his.

"...can we do it again?"

he sighs.

"you're greedy."

"you like me."

"...yeah."

his thumb brushes over your knuckles.

"...i do."

this time, when you kiss him, you don't feel like you're asking for too much.

you don't feel like you're too clingy.

you don't feel like you're taking up too much space.

because his hand is still holding yours.

and when the swing begins moving again, it's because zoro has gently pushed it with one foot.

you laugh.

"you pushed me."

"you said you wanted to swing."

"i did."

"then swing."

you settle back against the seat.

he stays beside you.

his hand never leaves yours.

the two of you drift gently beneath the tree, hidden from the rest of the world.

for once, you don't worry about whether you're too much.

you just let yourself be happy.

and zoro lets you.

Dark clouds roll in from the horizon, and the beautiful display momentarily distracts you from the impending trials the storm will bring. The sun is disappearing slowly, its warm glow a stark contrast to the angry blackness of the coming rain.

“You’d better get to safety, brat!” Pops’ loud voice echoes over the strangely quiet deck as he walks up to you. “It’s your first storm out at sea, and it’s going to be a bad one. The nurses will help you get ready, so run off now. I don’t want to see you on deck until it’s quiet again.”

His tone is as calm as always but his insistence on keeping you indoors isn’t reassuring. You know the risk of falling overboard and the nightmare that would be, your little body lost in the angry waves, your weak voice unable to compete with the thunder as your crew desperately searches for you while trying to maintain their course… The thought alone makes your stomach tie itself in knots.

The nurses are finishing up their preparations, locking cabinets and safely storing all the glass equipment in cushioned crates. Tate takes you under her wing, and walks back to your room while explaining the different steps the crew might take to face the storm, and the eventualities you should be ready to face.

“You’re gonna be shaken all over the place, it’ll be loud and dark, and you’ll hear some screaming, but don’t worry. We’ve seen dozens of these storms! It’ll be fine. All that matters is that you and your belongings are safely secured, so nothing is broken or damaged.”

“How long will it last?” you ask anxiously, following Tate around your room and paying attention to her movements so you can ready yourself next time.

“At worst, a few hours.”

That doesn’t make you feel any better, your loud gulp pulling a sympathetic chuckle from Tate.

“We’ve all been there, sweetie, don’t worry. It’s always scary the first time. We’ve gotta be ready to help in case anyone is injured, so you’ll have to face this alone, alright? I promise you’ll be okay.”

You look out of your little porthole window, just as a flash of lightning tears through the agitated dark clouds. Tate waits with you for the thunder to roll in, and pouts at how much closer and louder it already is. The wind picks up quickly, and you can see rain shimmering on the sea ahead of you, drawing nearer.

“Let’s get you in bed, hm? You’ll feel safer there. And,” she continues with a smile, “I can show you a few tricks to stay nice and comfy. Sit back in the corner, I’ll tuck you in.”

Your friend arranges your pillows on the wooden walls, cushioning you into the corner safely. She drapes your blanket over your knees and gives you a wide, reassuring grin.

“See you in a bit! You’ll be fine. Just enjoy the show!”

You thank her and watch her leave, still very apprehensive. You understand the appeal of storms and appreciate their beauty and violence, but only when you’re safely on the ground… Facing such a massive storm out at sea, even on a ship as strong as the Moby, frankly terrifies you.

In an attempt to calm your frantic heart, you focus on the sounds of the wind and the rain, and on noticing the rising swell of the sea. Tate was right, her idea to sit you in the corner really helps with the movements of the waves. Thunder grows louder, and you can hear calls from the deck as the crew prepares to face the storm. There’s laughter as well, the men excited to challenge the elements and proverbially defeat the forces of nature.

You almost share their excitement and are starting to smile when a bolt of lightning tears the sky far too close to the ship and cracks violently in your ears, startling you. You’re dislodged from your little corner nest and the next roll of the ship sends you forward, forcing you to steady yourself with your hands.

Everything moves quickly after that, wind and rain now violently striking the porthole, thunder loud and angry around you, and the entire ship shaking you back and forth like the inconsequential little creature you are.

Despite Tate’s best efforts, things are starting to rattle and bang about in your little wardrobe, and you can see the doors shake with the movements of the ship.

It’s dark, it’s loud, you can hear more yelling from above you, you’re shaken brutally by the ship’s swaying, and you’re getting more and more scared. Nothing is calming down, and you’re certain it’s only been a few minutes… Tate said this could last hours, and you’re not sure you’re ready to face that.

There are people rushing past your room in the hallway, yelling about the ropes and the sails and other things you can’t quite catch, and you almost want to go join them. The confusion might bring more panic in the end, but at least you wouldn’t be alone.

Just as you’re about to adjust yourself in your nest of pillows, a brutal wave sends you flying across your bed and throws your wardrobe to the ground, causing you to shriek in alarm and surprise.

Your name is called from the hallway, a deep and worried voice asking if you’re alright. Your door flies open and Vista rushes in, his eyes scanning your room to find you. As soon as he sees you on the floor, the swordsman hurries to pick you up before the next swaying of the ship sends you into the wall. He catches your wardrobe with his other hand and pushes it back behind your desk, trying to steady it while you’re grasping at his neck and clothes.

“We’ll worry about that once the storm passes,” he tries to reassure you, still holding you. “Let’s get you settled safely, hm?”

He’s gentle and careful when he places you back in your bed, but you refuse to let him go, too shaken up and desperate for the reassurance only companionship can bring.

“Please stay with me!” you whine over the thunder and rain, your words flying from your lips before you can stop them.

“Oh, little flower, are you scared?” Vista asks with no mockery, bracing one arm above you so he can hold you steady when the ship rocks again.

“Yes!”

He smiles and shushes you, then looks back to the door to call one of his men as they’re passing by. You hide yourself from view when Vista explains he’s going to stay to help you and gives orders to report to the other squads for now. The crew mate leaves after closing your door and you bite your lower lip when Vista resumes his efforts to adjust you in bed. The embarrassment of taking him from his duties almost outweighs your need for his protection, but Vista’s happy grin tells you he’s not forcing himself to take care of you.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble once the swordsman’s attention is back on you.

“You have nothing to apologize for, little flower. We shouldn’t have left you alone on such a big storm! But fear not,” he says while nestling you between the wall and his solid body, “I shall look after you.”

You’re blushing brightly now, and you’re very thankful for how dark it is, hoping it’ll hide your burning cheeks from the swordsman. You haven’t known Vista for very long, but already his charming and confident demeanor is winning you over. Being so close to him, for what you’re realizing is the first time, is very… unsettling.

Vista, for his part, is very happy with his current lot in life. Sure, fighting storms with the crew is always an exhilarating and rewarding experience, but getting to hold you and protect you brings him a whole new rush of pride.

Ever since your introduction to the crew, Vista has been taken by your delicate charm and playful personality, and getting to spend some alone time with you is everything he’s been hoping for. Of course, it would help if you weren’t terrified, but it seems his presence is easing your nerves.

Your smaller hands are clutching the blanket, your knuckles turning white when the ship sways again. Vista covers your hand with his and leans into you a little bit more, pressing you to the pillows he adjusted back against the wall and finally giving you some semblance of stability.

“This storm is bad, little flower, quite a first experience! But the most violent ones usually don’t last too long. Focus on breathing, and remember you are perfectly safe here.”

A violent crack of lightning and thunder tears through the sky just as he says those words, and you jump again, your squeal barely covered by the wind and rain.

“It must be right above us. That means it will be moving away now!”

“G-great,” you try to respond with as much fake confidence as you can muster.

He decides to tell you some tales of his first storms at sea, when he and his brothers were much younger and relied on Pops for everything. He actually manages to make you laugh, and keeps you fully distracted until the worst of the wind and rain passes.

You’re giggling at his last story, cheeks reddened adorably, your hands no longer trembling under his, when the last roll of thunder distantly echoes.

The two of you turn to your porthole window and smile at the rays of sunlight beaming through.

“There it goes,” Vista rumbles softly, leaning away from the wall but not releasing your hands, “your first storm at sea! Congratulations, little flower.”

You pout and look away, somewhat ashamed.

“I barely managed to get through it… I’m sorry I kept you away from your squad…”

Vista grins and wraps his free hand around your slender shoulder.

“We are a crew, a family. We help each other through such trials. Being by your side to keep you safe is as important a task as any!”

The swordsman feels your shoulders tighten but he doesn’t release you.

“Was I able to help you feel safer?” he asks with a grin and the suave tone that usually makes you chuckle.

“Y-yes, much safer,” you manage to respond.

“Then, I fulfilled the most important duty I could have.”

“Stop it,” you protest weakly, leaning away from him.

Vista only laughs softly, not responding for a minute before jostling you and hopping off your bed.

“Come along! Surely there’s a beautiful rainbow somewhere!”

Before you can protest, the swordsman has you in his arms and is walking briskly to the main deck, grinning proudly under his mustache. He might be pushing his luck with all the physical contact he’s getting from you today, but he can surely brush it all off under the guise of comforting you.

It’s not often you let him carry you, and Vista relishes the feeling of your smaller body in his arms.

The air on deck is fresh and damp, only barely warmed by the light of the setting sun. Sure enough, off in the distance, there’s a gorgeous rainbow painting the dark clouds of the receding storm, and Vista smiles when he hears your happy and amazed gasp.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Vista asks you, not really expecting an answer.

“It’s beautiful,” you whisper back, comfortably settled in his arms now.

“Storms are violent, and scary, and they can be a dangerous trial even for the most experienced of us,” Vista continues over the noises of the crew, “but they will always see us rewarded with a rainbow. And beauty of this nature is worth every trial.”

He can’t help himself and looks down towards you when he says those words.

You were already looking at him with soft, happy eyes, and quickly look away when his gaze catches yours. Vista smiles again but more privately, and he feels warmth far more comforting than the sun’s spreading through his chest.

Next storm, he will keep you safe and stay by your side, until you feel confident enough to face it without his protection. But never alone. Vista promises to himself that you will never have to face a storm alone as long as he breathes.

i'm going through yet another huge life event, trying to move ! it's for the best, but it's yet another storm i have to face alone... well, not entirely alone ♡ Vista is always with me ♡

When the moon was new and the clouds were low, the seas became dreadfully dark. Not a single mark could be seen, not even your own hand before your face. In such inky blackness, the mind starts to conjure up sounds, images, sensations. Colors flickering in front of your corneas that are not there, whispers of words floating through your ears that send chills up your spine. Fingers clenching against the cold metal of the guard rail before you and the sting of salt from the ocean in your nose kept you grounded, but only by so much. You were shivering in your sleepwear, the cold night air not even stirred by a breeze. Everything around you was still, save for your racing heartbeat and thoughts swirling through your head.

Another night terror had awoken you. You thrashed in your bunk, tangling yourself in the sheets and rattling the metal frame around you until you knocked your head against the wall, consciousness snapping into you and your eyes ripping open, frazzled and delirious and aching all over. An aggravated grunt came from above you, and a tired, "Shh" was hushed across from you as your fellow crew mates expressed their annoyance. You hadn't meant it, but it had been the fourth time this week.

You stood from your bed, barefoot, and departed from the bunk room, down the icy paneled hallways of the submersible you resided in, your form eclipsing the lights lining the path and bouncing dark shadows across the walls. You climbed up through two flights of ladder wells and briskly moved towards the exit door on the bow. The vessel had surfaced for the night. Opening the hatch door left you even more in the dark than you were inside the submarine, but you blindly stepped across the wooden outer deck, floor still damp from the underwater voyage, until your torso bumped the guard rail. Fingers clenched the beam.

And there you stood. Surrounded by absolutely nothing.

You inhaled slowly through your nose, the salty air leaving a faint taste on the back of your tongue, bitter and wet, yet still familiar enough to bring you a minor sense of comfort.

The sound of the hatch door opening behind you caused you to jump, whipping your head around to where the light from an electric torch was beaming directly at you, surrounding you in a bright yellow glow. You squinted your eyes and held your hand up, just barely making out the silhouette of a man in the doorway.

"What are you doing out here?" he spoke, angling the light away from your face.

Captain Trafalgar Law.

You swallowed, anxiety creeping into your chest, thick and tight.

"I had a bad dream," you uttered. The claim sounded so juvenile spoken out loud, you couldn't help but stifle a cringe. "Did you... need me?"

Law closed the door behind him as he too paced across the wooden deck, though at least he was wearing shoes. His torch was angled toward the ground. "No. I just didn't think you'd be out here, too."

You couldn't help but feel a twist of disappointment at his dismissive words, but nevertheless, Law took a spot directly next to you, shining his light out over the ocean. It didn't reach very far, but cut just enough through the deep darkness that you were finally able to see ripples of the water's current, calming and deliberate. You wondered what sort of lifeforms swam below you, untouched by your grievances, unbothered by the swirling waves. You wondered if their lives were easier than your's, more simple.

"Should I talk to the crew about making these guard rails taller?" he suddenly asked.

You turned to look at him, one of your eyebrows lifting in confusion. "What?"

Law seemed to gulp. "You weren't... thinking of jumping over, were you?"

You gazed wide-eyed at your captain. But then again, he was out here with you as well. With a quiet voice, you asked, "... Were you?"

The man dropped his head. You followed suit, gazing at your hands draped over the railing now that you could actually see them properly. You had bruised your thumbnail when working on repairing a section of the hull a week prior, and the dark black and blue splotch was still healing as your nail continued to grow. You rubbed the spot with your index finger.

"I heard from Ikkaku that you've been having nightmares frequently," Law suddenly stated. "She said it's been waking up the rest of the crew."

Blood rushed to your face in shame. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," the man stated. "You can't stop that sort of thing. But if it's getting to the point where it's keeping you up, affecting your work, or just..." He trailed off. He took a deep breath. "You can talk to someone."

You looked at Law from the corner of your eye. His head was down, his black hair tousled as if he had also just come from bed. The hoodie he was wearing was crumpled and unwashed.

"Law, why did you come out here?" you suddenly asked.

You could hear the breath he drew into his lungs. The hand holding the torch clenched. "I also had a nightmare. Snapped me right up."

Your shoulders slumped. "Fourth one this week?"

Law hummed, a dry, weak sound. "Something like that."

"You can talk to someone, too, you know," you mused, your voice low.

The man's golden eyes darted toward you, but you stayed gazing out at the open ocean in front of you. Clouds were still low on the horizon, and you truly weren't staring at anything at all. But he could see the weariness in your face, bags under your eyes and lips downturned. You looked like you were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, hunched and heavy, as if you could collapse at any moment. He wanted to be ready to catch you.

"What do you dream about?" he asked, cautiously.

You shifted your weight on your feet. "I dream about the man I was with before I joined your crew. The things he would do to me and say to me, the lies he would make me believe about myself. I can still feel his hands on me, and I hear his voice in my head. Even in my dreams it hurts like hell." You shook your head slowly, as if trying to keep the vivid images from flooding your mind like a torrent. Being awake was the only reprieve you got from your vivid memories.

Law felt his stomach churn in deep understanding. Trauma was one hell of an experience. "I dream about my family... my illness... my savior. Sometimes I can still smell smoke even when I'm wide awake. I hear their screams and cries when I close my eyes, see blood in the snow, feel the canvas blanket around my shoulders."

"I'm so sorry, Law," you murmured.

"I'm sorry, too," he whispered back.

Quiet surrounded the two of you yet again, a cold shiver causing you to convulse. Without a word, Law lowered the flashlight to the floor, pulled down the zipper of his hoodie, and draped the fabric around your shoulders. It smelled like musk, like wood and oil, but it smelled like him. It felt like a cliche you'd read in a fairytale, but you accepted the gesture without question, letting the fabric embrace you and shield you from the dark.

"There's not much I can say that can make you feel better," he mused, picking the torch back up. "But I'm happy to have you on my crew. No matter what happens. You will always have a home here. You're protected."

You smiled up at him, a small grin of profound admiration that warmed Law's very soul. "Even that was enough to make me feel better." You exhaled softly. You wanted to say so many things back to him. You wanted to thank him from the bottom of your heart for giving you a home, a new lease on life. For offering you protection, work, a new family, or never ending adventures. You wanted to pour your heart out for him, offer it to him to be his forever. But now wasn't the time for that. You weren't sure when it would be.

For now, you were content with lightly leaning your temple against his arm and closing your eyes, hoping that your silent sentiments would somehow reach his own weary mind.