Yuji itadori doesn’t realize he’s love-drunk until everyone else points it out.
it’s little things at first.
like how he suddenly forgets what he was saying whenever you walk into the room. how he’ll start a sentence, see you, and then just — pause. blinking, smiling like his brain rebooted.
“you were saying?” megumi reminds him.
“…wait what-? ”
nobara groans. “this is painful to watch.”
because the moment you sit next to him, Yuji’s entire attention shifts.
he leans toward you without noticing. laughs at things that aren’t even that funny. and whenever you say his name? his head snaps up immediately like you just called a very excited dog.
“yeah??”
“yuji, i literally just asked if you wanted snacks.”
“oh. yeah. yes. snacks are great.”
he turns pink the second he realizes how eager he sounded.
but the worst part is how soft he gets around you.
normally yuji is loud, energetic, bouncing off the walls — but when you’re tired or quiet, he automatically matches you. his voice lowers, movements slower, like he’s afraid of disturbing you.
one evening after training, you’re sitting on the dorm steps rubbing your sore arms.
yuji notices immediately.
“hey,” he says softly, plopping down beside you.
before you can say anything, he gently takes your hands and starts rubbing small circles over your palms — something he saw athletes do once.
“that helps the soreness,” he mumbles, cheeks a little pink. “i think.”
you stare at him.
because he’s concentrating so hard. brows furrowed. treating your hands like they’re the most important thing in the world.
megumi walks past, sees the scene, and sighs.
“he’s completely gone.”
yuji doesn’t even hear him.
he’s too busy smiling when you squeeze his hand back.
I guess he really is maybe a little too love drunk..
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Summary: You are very young, gorgeous, controversial, and permanently glued to Toto Wolff’s side after his divorce. The paddock has opinions. The media has headlines. Toto has zero shame.
Warnings: age gap (20/54), paddock gossip, divorced!Toto, jealous drivers, chaotic Mercedes family energy, people being annoying about your relationship, Toto being embarrassingly in love, reader being a menace.
Word count: 2.8k
a/n: Well… I had a free afternoon yesterday and an idea.
The first article called you a mysterious young blonde seen leaving the Mercedes motorhome.
The second one called you Toto Wolff’s midlife crisis in heels.
The third one was brave enough to call you the paddock’s most expensive accessory.
That one made you laugh so hard you almost spilled coffee over Toto’s white shirt.
“You find this amusing?” he asked, standing in front of the mirror in his hotel suite, fixing his cufflinks.
You sat on the bed in one of his shirts, bare legs crossed, phone in hand, grin wide.
“Very. They called me an accessory.”
Toto glanced at you through the mirror.
“With your personality? They clearly haven’t met you.”
“You mean I’m too loud to be jewelry?”
“You argued with a journalist yesterday because he mispronounced my name.”
“He said Wolf. Like the animal. It is Wolff. With two Fs. Respect the brand.”
His mouth twitched.
There it was. That look. The one that started most of your problems. The one that made people whisper behind garage walls and pretend they weren’t staring when Toto placed his hand on your lower back.
The one that said: yes, she is twenty; yes, I am old enough to know better; yes, I have completely lost my mind; no, I do not care.
And he really did not care. After his divorce from Susie, everyone expected Toto to become colder. Sharper. More impossible.
Instead, he found you.
A twenty-year-old chaos machine with pretty eyes, fast comebacks, and a dangerous talent for walking into rooms like you owned them.
Nobody understood it. You did.
He made you feel safe.
You made him feel alive.
Unfortunately, the entire paddock had decided this was a group project.
By the time you arrived at the circuit that morning, the photographers were already waiting.
You stepped out of the Mercedes car first, wearing sunglasses, a black dress, and boots that made you look like trouble with a VIP pass.
Toto followed. His hand found your waist before the first camera clicked.
The paddock exploded in flashes.
You leaned slightly toward him.
“They’re going to write that you bought me the dress.”
“I did.”
“Toto.”
“You liked it.”
“That is so against the feminist image I’m trying to build.”
He looked down at you, deeply amused.
“You also made me buy the boots.”
“You offered.”
“You looked at them for six seconds too long.”
“That is a normal shopping behavior.”
“That is your version of begging.”
You gasped.
“Torger Wolff, I am an independent woman.”
“Yes. An independent woman currently using my Amex.”
You tried to glare at him. It failed because he smiled. That was unfair. Toto’s smile should have required FIA regulation.
Inside the paddock, people turned. Some openly. Some pretending to check emails. Some whispering into coffee cups.
You were used to it by now. At first, it had hurt. The comments. The looks. The assumptions.
She’s with him for money.
He’s with her because she’s young.
Classic divorced man behavior.
She’ll leave when she gets bored.
He’ll move on when the novelty fades.
They had no idea how many nights you spent curled beside him while he worked late, your cheek pressed to his arm, half-asleep while he read reports.
They had no idea how gently he held your face when you got overwhelmed.
They had no idea how often you told him he was impossible, and how often he answered, “And yet you are still here.”
They saw the age gap. They saw the scandal. They saw a headline.
You saw him. Your Toto. The man who always remembered how you liked your tea, who complained when you skipped meals, who let you sit in his office during strategy meetings with your legs tucked under you like the world’s least professional team mascot. Which, according to George, you had officially become.
“You’re here,” George said when he spotted you in the Mercedes garage. “Good. Morale has improved by 74%.”
You removed your sunglasses.
“Only 74?”
“Kimi was sulking about simulator feedback.”
Kimi looked up from across the garage. “I was processing.”
“You looked dead inside,” George corrected.
“That is my processing face.”
You nodded seriously. “Very Mercedes of you.”
George pointed at you. “See? Mascot.”
You turned to Toto. “Fire him.”
Toto, reading something on his tablet, did not even look up.
“I cannot fire my driver because he called you a mascot.”
“You can. Be romantic.”
George choked on his drink.
Kimi muttered, “I want no involvement.”
Toto finally looked up. His eyes moved over your face with open affection.
“I can make Bradley write a statement that you are a strategic emotional support asset.”
You blinked.
George whispered, “That’s worse.”
“It sounds official,” Toto said.
“It sounds like you found me in a spreadsheet,” you replied.
He stepped closer, brushing a strand of hair away from your face.
“If I found you in a spreadsheet, you would be the only number worth checking.”
The garage went silent. George stared at the ceiling. Kimi physically turned around.
An engineer dropped a pen.
You felt your cheeks warm.
“Toto,” you whispered.
“Yes?”
“That was disgusting.”
“You smiled.”
“I am suing you for emotional damage.”
“You can use my lawyer.”
“I hate you.”
“No, you don’t.”
No. You did not. That was the problem. You loved him so much it sometimes scared you. Especially in moments like this, when he stood in the middle of chaos, team radios crackling, mechanics moving around him, cameras watching from every angle, and still looked at you like you were the only person in the paddock.
Across the garage, James Allison appeared with a mug in hand and the tired expression of a man who had already seen three different PR disasters before breakfast.
“Morning,” he said. Then he looked at Toto’s hand on your waist. “Ah. The scandal has arrived.”
You grinned. “Good morning to you too, James.”
James took a sip of coffee. “I assume we are ignoring the latest article?”
Toto’s face barely moved.
“Yes.”
“It says you’ve lost your mind.”
“I have won eight Constructors’ Championships. I am allowed one recreational breakdown.”
You burst out laughing.
James sighed. “At least she laughs at your jokes. Someone should.”
Toto’s thumb rubbed softly against your side.
“She has excellent taste.”
“In men?” James asked.
“In everything.”
James looked at you. “Blink twice if he paid you to say that.”
“I would,” you said, “but then he’d start negotiating.”
Toto tilted his head. “You enjoy my negotiations.”
“That sounds illegal in a garage.”
George made a wounded noise. “Some of us are trying to have a career here.”
The chaos only got worse near the hospitality area.
Fred Vasseur was standing with a coffee, sunglasses on, looking like a man who had personally survived ten Ferrari strategy meetings and had the emotional scars to prove it.
He spotted Toto, then you, then Toto’s hand at your back.
Fred smiled. Dangerously.
“Toto,” he said. “Good to see you. And your… motivation program.”
You pressed your lips together. Toto looked bored already.
“Fred.”
Fred looked at you kindly. “You are very brave.”
You frowned. “For dating him?”
“For listening to him talk about tyre degradation voluntarily.”
You laughed. Toto gave Fred a flat look.
Fred continued, delighted with himself. “At least now we know Mercedes found performance. He smiles. Very suspicious.”
“Toto smiles,” you said.
Fred looked at you like you had announced Ferrari had made a calm strategy call.
“No.”
“He does.”
“When?”
“When people are scared of him.”
Fred nodded. “Ah, yes. Romance.”
Toto’s arm tightened around you.
“You are very funny today, Fred.”
“I know. I am thinking of changing careers.”
“To comedy?”
“To relationship counselling. First advice: try someone your own age.”
There it was. The tiny needle. Wrapped in humor. Delivered with a smile.
Your stomach tightened before you could stop it. Toto noticed. He turned his head slightly, gaze sharpening.
“Careful,” he said.
One word. Quiet. Enough.
Fred lifted both hands, still smiling, but his eyes softened when he saw your face.
“Only teasing,” he said. “She is good for you. Annoying, because you are already unbearable, but good.”
Toto’s expression eased.
You looked at Fred. “Thank you. I think.”
Fred leaned closer to you. “If he becomes too much, Ferrari has espresso.”
Toto answered immediately. “She is allergic to poor strategy.”
You nearly wheezed.
Fred placed a hand over his heart.
“That was personal.”
“Yes.”
You walked away with Toto while Fred called after him in French.
You did not understand all of it. But you understood enough.
“Toto,” you said once you were out of earshot.
“Hm?”
“You don’t have to defend me every time.”
“Yes, I do.”
“No. You really don’t.”
He stopped walking. That was dangerous too. Because when Toto Wolff stopped in the middle of the paddock, people behaved like a royal decree had been issued.
He turned to you fully.
“You think I defend you because I believe you cannot do it yourself?”
You looked up at him. At 196 cm, he had the unfair advantage of making eye contact feel like a weather event.
“No,” you said quietly. “I know I can defend myself.”
“Good.”
“I just hate that they keep saying it.”
His face changed. Softened. Only for you.
“That you are with me for money?”
You nodded once.
“And that I am with you because you’re young.”
His jaw tightened. Behind him, the paddock kept moving. Mechanics, journalists, drivers, cameras, noise. Around you, the world kept trying to turn your love into entertainment.
Toto reached for your hand.
“Look at me.”
You did.
“I know why you are with me.”
Your throat tightened.
“Do you?”
“Yes.” His thumb brushed over your knuckles. “Because you are insane.”
You stared at him.
He continued, completely serious. “You enjoy arguing with me. You steal my hoodies. You eat half my food after saying you are not hungry. You make my life impossible.”
You tried very hard not to smile.
“And,” he said, voice lower, “you love me.”
Your smile faded into something softer.
“I do.”
“I know.”
“You sound very confident.”
“I am.”
“Arrogant.”
“In love.”
Oh. That shut you up.
Toto Wolff had many talents. Making you speechless was one of his favorites.
Before you could answer, a voice came from your left.
“Tragic.”
You turned.
Lando Norris stood there with a grin wide enough to get him banned from three team principals’ offices.
“Oh no,” you said.
“Oh yes,” Lando replied. “I just witnessed romance in broad daylight. In a paddock. During a race weekend. Disgusting.”
Toto looked deeply unimpressed.
“Do you need something?”
Lando looked at you. “Yes. I’m here to rescue her.”
You laughed. “From what?”
“From wasting her youth.”
Toto’s eyebrows lifted.
Lando continued with the confidence of a man who had chosen violence before lunch.
“Respectfully, Toto, you’re a legend. Icon. Terrifying. Great hair for your age.”
“For my age,” Toto repeated.
You covered your mouth.
Lando gave you a charming smile. “And you are way too pretty to spend every weekend listening to him say ‘we need to analyze the data.’ Come to McLaren. We have fun colors.”
Toto’s hand settled at your waist again. Possessive. Calm. Very public.
“She likes black.”
“I like black,” you confirmed.
Lando sighed. “Of course you do. Corrupted by Mercedes.”
Toto leaned slightly toward him.
“She also likes winning.”
Lando touched his chest. “That hurt.”
“It was meant to.”
You gave Lando a sympathetic smile. “You’re very sweet.”
“I know.”
“And very pretty.”
“I know.”
“And absolutely not my type.”
Lando looked offended. “What is your type?”
You pointed at Toto.
“Corporate villain with commitment issues and a terrifying calendar.”
Toto looked down at you.
“I have no commitment issues.”
“You divorced a woman and then started dating a twenty-year-old who steals your team hoodies.”
“That is commitment.”
Lando stared between you both.
“You two are weirdly cute and I hate it.”
“Good,” Toto said.
“Still, when he starts talking about quarterly projections, call me.”
You grinned. “He already does.”
“And you stayed?”
“I love him.”
The words came out easily. Too easily.
Lando’s expression softened, just a little. The teasing stayed, because he was Lando, but the edge disappeared.
“Well,” he said. “That ruins my whole rescue mission.”
Toto gave him a dry look. “Devastating.”
Lando pointed at him. “Be nice to her, old man.”
Toto’s eyes narrowed.
You grabbed Toto’s arm before he could murder a McLaren driver with silence.
“He is nice to me.”
Lando nodded. “Good. Because if he isn’t, half the grid will form a queue.”
Toto’s smile was sharp.
“They can queue.”
Lando wisely left. You watched him go, laughing under your breath.
“You’re jealous,” you said.
“I am observant.”
“You looked like you were calculating how to buy McLaren and shut it down.”
“Only briefly.”
“Toto.”
“He called me old.”
“You are old.”
He looked offended.
You patted his chest. “My old man.”
“That is worse.”
“My rich old man?”
“That is what the media says.”
“My handsome rich old man?”
His mouth twitched.
“Better.”
“My terrifying handsome rich old man who owns too many black shirts and thinks flirting is a risk assessment?”
He bent his head closer.
“You love my black shirts.”
“I love taking them off you.”
His eyes darkened. You smiled innocently.
Behind you, someone coughed. Bradley Lord stood two meters away with an iPad and the haunted face of a PR man experiencing live cardiac decline.
“I heard nothing,” Bradley said.
“Good,” Toto replied.
Bradley looked at you. “Please stop saying things that become headlines.”
“I didn’t say it to a journalist.”
“You said it near air. That is enough.”
You leaned into Toto’s side. “Bradley hates love.”
Bradley looked at Toto. “I hate preventable reputational incidents.”
Toto nodded. “Understandable.”
“Also,” Bradley added, “there is a camera team waiting for you both near hospitality.”
You frowned. “Both?”
“Yes. Apparently your presence increases engagement.”
You turned to Toto slowly.
“I am the mascot.”
Toto looked smug.
“I told you. Strategic emotional support asset.”
Bradley closed his eyes.
“I am begging you not to put that on a T-shirt.”
You gasped. “We are putting that on a T-shirt.”
“No,” Bradley said.
“Yes,” Toto said at the same time.
Bradley opened his eyes in betrayal.
“You are supposed to be the adult.”
“I am.”
“You are encouraging her.”
“She is charming.”
“She is a liability.”
“She is mine.”
The words landed before you were ready. Bradley went quiet. You looked up at Toto.
His gaze stayed on you, steady and open. No shame and no hesitation. No little glance around to see who had heard.
He wanted them to hear.
You swallowed.
“You can’t say things like that in the paddock,” you whispered.
“I just did.”
“People will talk.”
“People already talk.”
“They’ll say you’re insane.”
“I am.”
Your lips parted. He brushed his thumb along your cheek.
“For you,” he added.
Oh, that was unfair. Completely illegal. You tried to save yourself with sarcasm.
“Careful, old man. You’re getting sentimental.”
“I am divorced. Apparently this is expected.”
You laughed, and he smiled. Real smile. Soft smile. Your smile.
A camera flashed from somewhere nearby. Then another. You glanced toward the photographers. For once, you did not move away. Neither did Toto. Let them write. Let them guess. Let them turn your love into jokes, scandals, think pieces, and badly cropped photos.
They could say you were too young. They could say he had lost his mind. Maybe he had. Maybe love looked ridiculous from the outside when people were too boring to understand it.
Toto leaned down, close enough that only you heard him.
“You are quiet.”
“I’m thinking.”
“Dangerous.”
“I know.”
His fingers squeezed your waist.
“What are you thinking?”
You looked up at him, at the man everyone feared, judged, wanted something from. The man who let you steal his coffee and ruin his schedule. The man who kissed your forehead before meetings and texted you from across the garage just to ask if you had eaten. The man who had gone completely, publicly, hopelessly soft for you.
“I’m thinking,” you said, “that if I’m your midlife crisis, you’re handling it very well.”
Toto’s laugh was low and warm.
“Thank you.”
“And I’m thinking,” you added, “that I love you.”
His expression shifted.
The paddock blurred. The noise faded. For one second, it was only him looking at you like you had just handed him the world.
“I love you too,” he said.
Simple and honest. Just truth.
Then George walked past holding a banana and said, “Are you two being emotionally inappropriate again?”
You sighed.
Toto did not even look away from you.
“Yes.”
George nodded. “Cool. Just checking.”
Kimi appeared behind him. “Bradley says no kissing near sponsor walls.”
You smiled sweetly.
“Toto?”
“Yes, Schatz?”
“Where are the sponsor walls?”
Bradley shouted from somewhere in the distance, “NO.”
Toto smiled. The dangerous one. The one that meant the PR department had lost.
Then he took your hand and led you straight toward hospitality, cameras flashing, paddock staring, drivers gossiping, Fred probably preparing another comment, James definitely needing stronger coffee.
And you?
You walked beside him like you belonged there. Because you did. Young. Controversial. Madly in love with him.
hiii!! I really enjoy reading ur fics so can I ask for
Sanji x reader who has a stronger kick than him (she's a hybrid,so she has hare ears and a hare tail and the leg strength of a hare along with the jumping ablity) and they meet during a hunt for treasure when their crews clash,and she's a cross dresser so Sanji thinks she's a guy until he manages a kick to her face and her kitsune like mask falls right off before she gets up so Sanji freezes because he'd never purposely hit a woman??
Please and thanks
Out-Kicked By a Hare!♡
╰┈➤ˎˊ˗ V. Sanji x F! Reader °˖➴
♡⸝⸝ Word count:12.6k
🥕 ༘⋆ Warnings: abduction/kidnapping, Violance, use of y/n, minor mentions of blood
♡⸝⸝ A/N: Hihi It’s been a while! I’m gonna try and post again because schools coming close to an end but…oh also how would we feel if I made a May mental health post?
The morning didn't arrive with a shout; it crept in like a secret, afraid to wake the world.
But you were already awake. You sat at the edge of your bunk, the gentle, rhythmic groan of the ship’s timber vibrating through your soles. Your ears were the first to greet the day—long, furred, and twitching with an independent life, mapping every shift in the salty air before your eyes even opened. High above the mast, a gull shrieked, and your nose wrinkled instinctively. The scent was a familiar cocktail of brine, old oak, and the smell of someone on the galley shift burning something they definitely shouldn't be.
You exhaled a long, measured breath, centering yourself. Your fingers traced through your sleep-mussed hair, navigating carefully around the sensitive base of your ears. They flicked under your touch—vibrant and alert—and you smoothed them down with a practiced hand. It was a habit of modesty, even if it was futile; the moment you stepped into the sun, they’d perk right back up, broadcasting every emotion you tried to hide. Behind you, your tail gave an impatient thump against the mattress.
There was no sense in trying to find sleep again.
When you stood to stretch, your muscles coiled like overwound springs. There was a deceptive power in your frame; even a simple reach toward the ceiling felt like you might accidentally launch yourself through the deck boards. You had learned to move with a calculated softness, a grace that masked the tension of a predator waiting to snap.
The mirror across the cabin caught your reflection. You didn't linger—you never did—but you took a quick inventory. The ears, the tail, the way you seemed to hover just a fraction lighter on your feet than the rest of the heavy-booted crew. Then, your focus shifted to the costume.
Kneeling by your chest, you flipped the latch with a dull clack. Inside was a curated chaos of silks, leathers, and sashes—treasures scavenged from ports that had already forgotten your face. You selected something sharp for the day. You pulled on a fitted shirt, layering it with structured pieces that were intentional and clean. It was a look designed to make people look twice, yet leave them unable to explain why they felt uneasy. You bound what needed binding and loosened the rest, sculpting yourself into a shape that felt like you, rather than the "rabbit" the world expected to see.
By the time you were finished, the person in the mirror looked back like a dare. Your ears tilted forward, sharp and defiant.
A heavy thud echoed from the deck above, followed by a raucous shout. The crew. They were loud, reckless, and perpetually on the verge of a brawl or a celebration. Your tail flicked, faster now. You grabbed your coat, slinging it over your shoulders, and headed for the door. The wood was already warm beneath your palm, radiating the heat of a sun that promised a day full of trouble.
You didn't take the stairs.
As you stepped into the light, your legs compressed for a heartbeat—then released. The world dropped away as you launched upward. The wind whipped past your face, your coat snapping like a flag, and you cleared the ladder in a single, silent arc. You landed on the upper deck with a faint thud that shouldn't have been heard, yet a few heads turned anyway.
"Show-off," someone grumbled, though there was no real bite in it.
You ignored them, moving through the organized chaos of the deck like a ghost that hadn't quite learned how to haunt. You passed the gamblers at the mast and the sailors hauling rope, a shadow among the living. You weren't here for the camaraderie. You were a temporary passenger on a fast ship, tied to them only by a heading and a common goal.
Resting your arms on the railing, you stared at the endless blue. Behind you, the crew’s whispers drifted on the wind. They talked of buried gold, of islands that swallowed men whole, and of riches that could buy a kingdom. Your tail gave a solitary flick. Treasure. That was the only word that mattered.
"Oi."
The footsteps that approached were heavy. You didn't turn, not even when the person leaned against the railing beside you, trying to catch a glimpse of your eyes.
"You're quiet," the voice noted. "Been here what—three weeks?"
"Four," you thought, but you only shrugged.
"You even got a name? Or do we just keep calling you 'rabbit'?"
Your ears twitched at the word. Slowly, you turned your head. Your expression was a mask of unreadable calm, a distance that acted as a wall. "You can call me whatever you want," you said, your voice flat and even.
The sailor snorted. "Careful. That’s how nicknames stick. You don't talk much about yourself, do you?"
You looked back at the horizon, where the sea met the sky in a line of perfect indifference. "There's not much to say."
It was a lie, of course. But it was a lie that kept you safe.
As the day progressed, the air began to change. You felt it in your bones before the island even broke the horizon. Your ears went unnaturally still as the wind shifted, bringing the scent of damp earth and ancient rot. When the land finally appeared—a jagged, dark tooth rising from the mist—the crew fell silent. The island looked like it was watching them back.
You slipped away to your cabin one last time. The chest opened again, and your hands went deep, past the fabrics, to the very bottom. You pulled out a mask. It was a pale kitsune face, elegant and cold, with markings that suggested a wisdom far older than your years.
You remembered the day you joined this crew. You had made yourself look small. You had lowered your ears and let your voice shake, playing the part of the "bunny" who needed a ride and a protector. They had laughed at you, called you weak, and let you on board out of a mix of pity and amusement.
It was the perfect disguise.
You slid the mask over your face. The transformation was instantaneous. You no longer looked like prey. You looked like a predator that had finally stopped pretending.
When you stepped back onto the deck, the atmosphere shifted. The sailor who had called you "rabbit" caught your eye and froze, his brow furrowing as he looked at the masked figure standing where the quiet girl had been.
"Didn't know you had teeth," he muttered, his voice dropping an octave.
Beneath the mask, your head tilted just a fraction. "You didn't look hard enough."
The ship slowed as the island's shadow fell over the deck. The crew was checking their blades, their faces tight with fear and greed. They thought you were one of them—a tag-along, a piece of the team. But as your fingers brushed the edge of your mask, you knew the truth. When the treasure was finally within reach, you wouldn't be the soft thing they thought they had rescued.
You would be the one who vanished with everything they desired.
The anchor never hit the silt.
The captain didn’t trust the shifting currents this close to the jagged shoreline, and truth be told, neither did anyone else. Instead, the heavy wooden longboats were lowered into the surf with a rhythmic, protesting groan. You stepped into the first one before an order could even be barked, landing with a feather-light grace that barely caused the boat to rock. The rest of the crew piled in behind you—clumsy, loud, and smelling of cheap grog and overconfidence. They slung their rusted cutlasses and flintlocks over their shoulders like they were heading into a seaside tavern rather than the mouth of an ancient, breathing mystery.
As the oars bit into the dark water, the island surged forward to meet you. Up close, the beauty of the horizon curdled into something suffocating. A bruised mist clung to the shoreline, coiling around the hull of the boat like ghostly fingers trying to drag the wood down into the depths. Overhead, the canopy was a strangled knot of black branches that bled the light from the sky.
Your ears pricked beneath the heavy fabric of your hood. It was too quiet. The sea usually sang, but here, the waves seemed to muffle their own breaking.
"Don't wander off, little one," a voice drawled from the bench behind you, thick with a condescending smirk. "Wouldn't want you getting swallowed by the fog before we even find the gold."
A chorus of rough chuckles rippled through the boat. You didn't turn. You didn't even blink.
"Captain should've left the rabbit on the ship," another voice added, louder now, emboldened by the laughter. "No offense, sweetheart, but this isn't exactly... your kind of work."
You felt your grip tighten on the gunwale, your knuckles brushing the salt-worn wood. Beneath the cold, porcelain surface of your mask, your expression remained a frozen void, but a familiar sharpness settled in your chest. It was the weight of a thousand similar comments from a dozen different crews on a hundred different shores. The same assumptions. The same dismissive glances.
The boat’s prow hit the sand with a wet, heavy scrape.
"Alright, move it!" the captain barked, leaping into the shallows.
The crew spilled onto the beach, their heavy boots sinking into the sodden earth with slurping thuds. You followed last, your feet touching the island with the silence of falling snow. The moment you stepped onto the land, the air grew thick enough to taste—metallic and old. Your ears snapped upright, hidden but sensitive to the sudden, oppressive shift in the atmosphere.
The crew pushed inland, driven by a greed that was far louder than their survival instincts. You fell into the center of the pack—unnoticed, unregarded, a shadow among the shouting men. You watched as they hacked through prehistoric vines, swearing at the heat and the terrain.
"You holding up back there?" the sailor from the boat called over his shoulder, a mocking glint in his eye. "Need a hand to hold?"
"I'll manage," you replied. Your voice was a calm, flat line that gave them nothing to grab onto.
They rolled their eyes and turned away, dismissing you once more. You let them. Every step deeper into the emerald gloom only sharpened your senses. While they grumbled about their boots, you heard the sway of a branch where there was no wind. You felt the dip in the ground where the earth had been hollowed out by time. You saw the flicker of something moving just beyond the veil of mist—something fast, silent, and hungry.
"Bet she won’t even make it halfway," a whisper drifted back to you. "Stick close, rabbit. Wouldn't want you crying when things get ugly."
A strange clarity washed over you then. It wasn't anger—it was the cold, quiet peace of a hunter who knows exactly how the story ends. You hadn't come here for their respect. You had come for the prize. And every insult they hurled only made your task easier; the more they looked down on you, the less they saw you at all.
Your stance shifted. You lowered your center of gravity, your movements becoming fluid and predatory. Let them think you were weak. Let them believe you were a burden.
Up ahead, the path split. To the left, a wide, obvious trail, littered with broken ferns—a trap disguised as a shortcut. To the right, a narrow, suffocating squeeze through the undergrowth, nearly invisible to the untrained eye. Your ears tilted toward the narrow path. That was the way.
"I think..." you said, injecting a deliberate note of hesitation into your voice, "it might be safer to go left. It looks easier."
The captain paused, glancing at the two paths. He didn't trust you, but he trusted his own desire for comfort. "Fine. We go left."
You stepped back, letting the tide of men flow past you. Your gaze lingered on the real path for a heartbeat before you followed them into the trap. You would circle back once the chaos started.
And the chaos started sooner than you expected.
The air didn't just shift; it shattered.
"Oi! You guys look kinda lost."
The voice was bright, annoyingly cheerful, and entirely wrong for this godforsaken place. The crew halted, weapons drawn in a frantic scramble of steel. At the edge of a small clearing stood a group that shouldn't have been there.
A young man in a straw hat stood at the front, a wide, simple grin on his face that felt heavier than the mountain behind him. Behind him, the legends took shape: a swordsman with three blades, a navigator with eyes like flint, a cook exhaling a plume of blue smoke, a skeleton, a cyborg, a giant of a man made of the sea itself.
The Straw Hats.
The air in the clearing turned to lead. The Yonko’s presence was a physical weight, bending the very shadows toward him.
"What business do you have here?" your captain snarled, his voice trembling despite his bravado.
Luffy tilted his head, his grin widening into something terrifyingly honest. "Treasure."
The standoff lasted only as long as a heartbeat. Then, someone from your crew—driven by a lethal mix of fear and stupidity—lunged.
Zoro didn't even seem to move. There was a flash of steel, a clean clink and the attacker was redirected with effortless violence. "Don't be stupid," the swordsman muttered.
The clearing exploded. Shouts, clashing metal, and the roar of a crew fighting for their lives against a force of nature. In the turmoil, you did what you did best. You became nothing. You slipped backward, the mask hiding the predatory gleam in your eyes. A crewmate stumbled past you, glancing at your transformed posture, his eyes widening as he realized the "rabbit" was gone, replaced by something sharp and lethal.
"Wait—who are—?"
You didn't answer. You turned and vanished into the brush.
You ran with a silence that defied the forest, your legs pumping in powerful bursts as you navigated the narrow, hidden path. The sounds of the battle faded into a dull thrum behind you. The deeper you went, the clearer the pull became. The air turned sweet, smelling of ancient stone and forgotten gold.
The trees thinned, revealing a ruin of white stone swallowed by vines. At the center of the crumbling altar, something caught the dying light of the sun—a glow that promised a different life.
Your heart steadied as you stepped into the clearing. Behind you, two crews were tearing each other apart for a map they couldn't read and a prize they couldn't see.
But you? You were already home.
The clearing breathes around you, heavy with the scent of damp moss and the metallic tang of gold that has slept too long in the shade. You step forward, the soft padding of your boots barely registering on the ancient stone. Your gaze is locked on the ruin’s heart, where the treasure glints—fractured light dancing off coins and something deeper, something that feels like the very pulse of the island.
Your ears angle forward. No traps. No movement. Just the thrum of your own blood.
"WOOOOW—!"
The voice shatters the silence like a falling chandelier. It is loud, dramatic, and entirely too smooth for a graveyard of kings. You don't flinch, but your body goes stone-still.
"What a view! And what a mysterious figure standing right in front of it!"
Sanji saunters into the clearing as if he’s stepping onto a ballroom floor. He reaches for a cigarette, his movements practiced and fluid, but his eyes—sharp as a chef’s knife—narrow the moment they land on your silhouette. He notes the mask, the stillness, the strange, light-defying way you hold your weight.
"Hm..." He exhales a plume of smoke, watching you with a newfound intensity. "You’re not with the loud ones back there, are you?"
You offer nothing. The porcelain face of your mask stares back at him, blank and unreadable. Behind you, your tail stills completely, a silent barometer of your focus.
Sanji tilts his head, a sharper edge cutting through his casual tone. "Ignoring me, huh? Not very friendly."
When the silence persists, his gaze flickers past you to the shimmering hoard. Understanding dawns on him, cold and clear. "So that’s how it is," he mutters, rolling his shoulder. "Can’t let you just walk off with it, you know. My navigator would have my head."
You shift your weight—a micro-movement, but to a fighter like him, it’s a declaration of war.
"Right," he says, flicking ash to the side. "Guess we’re doing this."
He moves first. He is a blur, closing the distance in a heartbeat. His leg sweeps upward in a clean, practiced arc—aimed to disarm, to knock you off balance, but notably devoid of killing intent.
You aren't there when the kick arrives.
You drop low, your legs coiling like steel springs, and then you launch. The ground spider-webs beneath your feet as you vanish into the air, clearing his strike by a mile. Wind rushes past your ears, your coat snapping like a whip as you twist mid-air and bring your leg down with the force of a falling star.
Sanji’s eyes widen—then sharpen. He blocks.
Your kick slams into his guard with a crack that echoes through the ruins. The shockwave ripples through the stone beneath him, pushing him back half a step. It’s the first time anyone on this island has moved him.
"Oh?" he murmurs, a small, dangerous smile touching his lips.
You land lightly and pivot. No pause. No breath. You sweep low, your strike aimed to break bone. He jumps back, barely clearing the arc, and counters with a snap-kick toward your ribs. You twist, taking the blow on your arm to reset your stance.
The space between you opens again. For a heartbeat, the clearing is silent. Then Sanji straightens his tie, his laziness replaced by a terrifying, singular focus.
"You're strong," he admits. "Not bad at all."
Your ears twitch beneath your hood. You don't respond. You disappear again, closing the gap in a burst of speed. You feint high, drop low, and chain your movements into a relentless, unpredictable dance. You are a whirlwind of kicks—springing, striking, redirecting.
Sanji meets you blow for blow. The rhythm shifts; he isn't holding back anymore. He can't. You aren't something he needs to protect; you are a threat that demands his everything.
Your foot connects—just a graze against his side—but it's enough to unbalance him. You see the opening and take it. You launch high, twisting for a finishing strike. Sanji’s gaze snaps up, and for a fraction of a second, he looks delighted.
"Got it!"
His leg rises to meet yours, and the collision sends a physical shock through the air. You both skid back, landing in a crouch. The silence that follows is tighter, more focused. Sanji’s cigarette falls from his lips, forgotten.
"You're definitely not some random pirate," he says quietly.
Then, the fight escalates. It spills out of the ruins and back toward the forest's edge. Stone cracks, trees splinter, and the sheer pressure of your clashing kicks begins to draw the attention of the crews nearby. You burst back into the main clearing, and the battle between the Straw Hats and your crew falters.
Zoro’s hand stays on his sword, his eye tracking your movement with grim respect. Luffy’s grin fades into a look of genuine curiosity. They see it now: you are matching their cook, kick for kick.
Sanji resets his stance, breathing hard. "You're tough," he says.
You don't answer. You surge forward, a relentless chain of strikes forcing him back. He blocks, he pivots, he learns. He begins to narrow your angles, forcing you to commit. Your next strike comes high—and he doesn't block. He steps in.
Too late, you realize the trap. His leg snaps upward in a powerful arc.
CRACK.
The impact is square. Your head whips to the side, and the porcelain mask—the only shield you had left—shatters. It falls in slow motion, white shards catching the sunlight before hitting the dirt with a hollow tap.
Time stops.
Sanji freezes. His leg is still raised, but the momentum is gone. His eyes go wide, locked on your face, on your real, uncovered features.
"A—" The word dies. The cigarette he had just replaced slips from his lips. "I—didn't—"
His hands begin to shake. You see it clearly—the man who just traded blows that could level buildings is now trembling. He stumbles back, his posture crumbling.
"I hit..." His voice is a broken whisper. "A woman?"
He drags a hand through his hair, his voice rising in a frantic, desperate cadence. "No... no, no. I didn't know! I didn't see!"
He looks at you with a horror that is almost physical. "I would never! Never!"
Around you, the battle stalls completely. Your own crewmates, sensing a shift, start to jeer. "You've gotta be kidding me! He’s backing off because she’s a girl?"
Another laughs. "Guess that explains the jumping around. Just a lucky broad."
Something in your chest, cold and dormant, finally ignites. Your ears flatten. You turn your head toward your own crew—slowly.
"Say that again."
The voice is quiet, but it silences the clearing. You move so fast it looks like a glitch in reality. Before the man can blink, you have him by the collar, yanking him down until you are inches from his face. Your foot slams into the earth beside him, the ground fracturing under the force.
"Say it again," you repeat. "Not 'for a girl.' I am strong. Just am."
You release him, letting him scramble back in terror. You turn back to Sanji. He is still standing there, jaw tight, looking like he’s just committed a mortal sin.
"Fine," you say, your voice steady and sharp. "You don't fight women. I don't need you to."
You take a step back, centering yourself. You don't need his chivalry, and you certainly don't need your crew’s permission. You look at the Straw Hats, then at the pirates who called you 'rabbit' for four weeks.
"Anyone else?" you ask the clearing. "Or are you all done underestimating me?"
Your tail flicks once, sharp and predatory. The mask is gone, but the person underneath is far more dangerous.
The silence in the clearing was heavy, a suffocating veil that smelled of damp earth and the metallic tang of old gold. You didn't wait for a response; you didn't need one. With a sudden, violent crack of stone beneath your boots, you vanished.
You were a blur of fur and fabric, a streak of desperate intent cutting toward the ruins. The wind howled past your ears, flattening the fur against your skull. Your focus was a singular, burning point: the glint of the treasure. It was so close you could almost feel the cold bite of the gold against your palms.
"HEY—!"
The shout was distant, a fading echo of the world you were leaving behind. You were already gone. Branches whipped your face like lashes as you dove into the overgrown path, your feet barely kissing the ground between frantic leaps. Almost there. Almost—
The world suddenly lunged for you.
It wasn't a person, but an explosion of life. From the mossy bark of the trees, from the cracked flagstones, even from the very air itself, arms bloomed like pale, horrific flowers. Dozens of them. They didn't strike; they flowered around your limbs, locking onto your wrists, your waist, your ankles with the fluid precision of a closing trap.
You twisted, muscles coiling and snapping as you tried to tear through the silken restraint, but the grip was unyielding. You weren't crushed, but you were anchored—suspended mid-motion like an insect in amber.
"I was wondering when you’d make your move."
Nico Robin stepped from the shadows. She looked entirely too calm for a battlefield, a faint, knowing smile playing on her lips. Your ears flattened against your head, a low, guttural growl vibrating in your throat.
"You’re fast," she continued, her head tilting with genuine curiosity. "And very clever. Leading your own crew to a dead end while keeping the true path for yourself? Impressive."
"Let go," you hissed. Your voice was a jagged edge, stripped of the soft facade you’d worn for weeks.
Robin’s smile shifted, becoming something more contemplative. "Tempting. But our navigator has a very particular nose for gold. I don't think she'd forgive me."
"ROBIN!"
Nami burst through the brush, her orange hair a flame against the emerald gloom. The moment her eyes hit the ruins, they ignited. "THAT’S IT! It’s ours!" She didn't even look at you; she saw only the glimmering hoard, the light of it reflecting in her eyes like stars.
Close behind her came the steady, rhythmic thud of sandals. Monkey D. Luffy skidded to a halt, his straw hat bobbing. He looked at the massive, crumbling structure and grinned with the pure, uncomplicated joy of a child at a festival. "Woahhh! It looks so cool!"
The rest of your crew began to stumble into the clearing behind them—bruised, panting, and looking utterly broken by the sheer presence of the Straw Hats. They were variables you didn't have time to solve.
With a roar of effort, you surged against the floral restraints. The sheer explosiveness of your strength caught Robin off guard for a fraction of a second. You ripped one arm free, the spectral limbs dissolving into petals that swirled in your wake. You launched forward, tearing through the remaining hands with raw, desperate force.
You didn't look back. You ran.
"HEY!" Nami shrieked, finally snapping her gaze to you. "She’s getting it! Luffy, stop her!"
Your fingers brushed the air inches from the gold. Then, the air itself seemed to stretch.
"Gomu Gomu no—!"
Your ears flicked. You somersaulted mid-air, a desperate, instinctual twist that saved you. A rubbery arm snapped past your head like a whip, slamming into the stone altar with enough force to crack the granite.
"Oops," Luffy laughed, pulling his arm back with a wet snap. He wasn't angry. He was having the time of his life. "Missed! Again!"
You landed in a crouch and launched yourself again, but the playground had changed. Luffy wasn't just throwing punches anymore; he was moving with the terrifying, casual grace of a predator. He intercepted your path, his arm curving mid-stretch to predict your dodge.
You were forced off course, hitting the ground hard. Before you could rebound, more arms sprouted. Robin didn't try to pin you this time; she simply acted as a wall, redirecting your momentum back toward the center of the clearing.
"Luffy," Robin said softly.
"Yeah!"
He was there before you could even rise. Your kick went up; he blocked it with a forearm that felt like solid iron, his grin never wavering. "Woah—you’re really strong!"
You snapped your other leg forward, a strike meant to shatter a rib, but he danced back with effortless fluidity. He was learning you. Every twitch of your ears, every shift of your tail—he was reading the rhythm of your soul.
"Luffy, this is not playtime!" Nami wailed from the sidelines.
"I’m not playing!" he laughed, though he absolutely was.
Your teeth ground together. The weight of the situation finally began to sink in. You were strong—fast, lethal, and cunning—but you were standing against a Yonko. You weren't just fighting a man; you were fighting a force of nature.
You lowered your center of gravity, your breath coming in hot, ragged bursts. You couldn't go around them. You couldn't outrun them. You had to go through them. You launched one final, all-or-nothing strike, a direct line of pure, unadulterated speed aimed at the heart of the ruins.
Luffy’s eyes sharpened. The playfulness didn't vanish, but it was suddenly backed by a mountain of resolve. "Okay!"
He met you in the air. His timing was perfect, his grip catching you with a strength that made your bones ache. You twisted, trying to lash out, but Robin’s arms bloomed again, wrapping around your torso and legs like a silken cocoon. They brought you down to the mossy earth—not with cruelty, but with an immovable finality.
The impact knocked the breath from your lungs. You lay there for a moment, chest heaving, your tail lashing the dirt in a frenzy of frustration.
Robin knelt beside you, her touch as light as a breeze. "You’re fast," she whispered, "but no one is faster than the both of us."
Luffy landed nearby, bouncing on his heels. He looked down at you, and for the first time, his gaze was tempered with a deep, quiet respect. "Not bad. You’re really, really strong. But..." He gestured to his crew, to the mountain of power they represented. "...you’re not stronger than us together."
You bit your lip, the taste of salt and copper on your tongue. Your crew was gone—scattered and cowed. Sanji stood a few paces away, his face pale, his hands trembling with a guilt he couldn't name, unable to even look at you.
You sat up slowly as Robin released her hold. You were defeated, outmatched by a power you hadn't truly believed in until it was around your throat. But as you looked at the treasure, and then back at the grinning boy in the straw hat, your ears flicked forward.
The death glare you leveled at them was enough to make a lesser man flinch. You weren't broken. Your mind was already whirring, discarding the failed plan and building something new from the wreckage. Speed hadn't worked. Strength hadn't worked.
But you still had your secrets. And as your tail gave one final, defiant twitch, you realized that the most dangerous thing about a rabbit wasn't how fast it ran—it was how deep it could dig.
The clearing had fallen into a heavy, lopsided silence. Your former crew lay scattered like discarded dolls, the fight knocked out of them—some unconscious, others simply too broken by the sheer scale of the Straw Hats' power to lift their heads from the dirt.
It was just you now. You, and the legends standing in a circle around the ruins.
You sat on the mossy ground, your chest heaving, the fur on your ears matted with dust and sweat. Your mask lay in two jagged pieces a few feet away, its porcelain smirk finally silenced. Without it, you felt raw, exposed to the midday sun that filtered through the canopy.
A shadow fell over you.
Sanji stood there, his silhouette blocking out the light. He wasn't in a fighting stance anymore. His hands were shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders hunched in a way that spoke of a deep, internal ache. He looked at you, then quickly looked away, his gaze landing on the shattered mask.
"I..." he started, his voice uncharacteristically raspy. He reached into his coat, pulled out a fresh cigarette, and fumbled with his lighter. His fingers were still shaking. "I didn't mean to hit you. I would have... I should have seen."
You looked up at him, your gaze hard and uncompromising. "You shouldn't have held back," you said, your voice finally steady. "I was an enemy. I was holding the treasure. You're a pirate, aren't you?"
Sanji winced as if you’d kicked him again. He finally lit the cigarette, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke that drifted toward the trees. "It doesn't matter. There are lines I don't cross. Even for a pirate." He looked back at you, his blue eyes softening with a mix of guilt and something that looked like genuine wonder. "You're incredible, you know. I’ve never seen anyone move like that. You fought like a storm."
You didn't answer. You didn't want his praise; you wanted the gold that was currently being stuffed into a large sack by a very hummed-along Nami.
"HEY! SHISHISHI!"
Luffy’s laugh boomed, breaking the heavy tension between you and the cook. The Captain of the Straw Hats bounced over, landing in a squat right in front of you. He tilted his head, his wide, dark eyes scanning your face, your ears, and finally the defiant set of your jaw.
"You're fun!" Luffy declared, pointing a finger at your chest. "You're fast, you're strong, and you have funny ears! I like you!"
You blinked, taken aback by the sudden shift in energy. "I don't care if you like me. Give me the treasure."
Luffy ignored the request entirely. He stood up, his grin stretching so wide it seemed to defy the laws of physics. "I decided! You’re coming with us!"
The clearing went dead silent again. Nami stopped mid-count of a gold stack; Zoro cracked an eye open from where he was leaning against a tree; Robin simply smiled, as if she had expected this all along.
"No," you said firmly.
Luffy’s grin didn't falter. "Why not? We’re going to the next island! It’s gonna be a huge adventure! And Sanji makes great food, right Sanji?"
"The best," Sanji muttered, though he was still staring at you with a look of dazed conflict.
"I said no," you repeated, pushing yourself up to stand. You glanced at your unconscious crew. "I have... I have a ship. I have a life."
"That ship is slow," Nami chimed in, finally looking up. "And those guys? They were ready to leave you behind the second things got 'ugly.' We saw how they talked to you."
"It doesn't matter," you snapped, your tail lashing behind you. "I'm not a Straw Hat. I’m a thief. I work alone."
Luffy put his hands on his hips, his expression shifting from playful to that unshakable, stubborn seriousness that had toppled kings. "I'm the Captain. And I say you're coming."
"I'm not one of your subordinates!" you yelled, your ears flattening. "You can't just—"
"Zoro! Sanji!" Luffy called out, throwing a thumb over his shoulder toward the shore. "Take her to the Sunny!"
"Wait, what?!" you gasped, coiling your legs to bolt.
But you weren't faster than the two men who closed the distance. Zoro was suddenly at your left, his massive hand catching your arm before you could launch, and Sanji was at your right.
"Sorry, mademoiselle," Sanji whispered, though he didn't look entirely sorry to see you staying. "Captain’s orders are absolute."
"Let me go! You can't just kidnap me!" You thrashed, kicking out with enough force to shatter wood, but Zoro simply shifted his weight, pinning your movement with the practiced ease of a man who dealt with monsters for breakfast.
"Quit squirming," Zoro grunted, though he wasn't being rough. "If Luffy says you're joining, you're joining. Save your energy for the sea."
You looked back at Luffy, who was already walking toward the beach, humming a tuneless song and swinging his arms. He didn't even look back to see if they were following. He knew they were.
As they carried you toward the shore, past the broken remains of your old life and the crew that had never truly seen you, you let out a frustrated growl that was half-sob and half-snarl.
The Straw Hats were loud, chaotic, and completely insane. They had taken your treasure, shattered your mask, and now they were taking you.
Your ears flicked toward the sound of the crashing surf ahead, where the Thousand Sunny waited. You were still furious, still defiant—but as the salt spray hit your face, a small, treacherous part of your heart wondered what kind of food the cook actually made.
The shore was a battleground of pride and stubbornness.
Zoro had a grip like a mountain, and Sanji was moving with a strange, hesitant grace, but they both underestimated exactly how much leverage a person with your anatomy could find. You weren't a heavy-hitter in a head-on collision, but you were a kinetic nightmare.
The first time happened halfway to the longboat.
You waited for the exact moment Zoro’s weight shifted over a piece of driftwood. You didn’t pull away; you leaned in, using his own momentum against him, and snapped your leg upward. It wasn't a kick meant to hurt, but a precision strike to the pressure point behind his knee. His leg buckled, his grip loosened for a split second, and you were gone.
You launched toward the treeline, a blur of fur and coat. You almost made it, too, until a pinkish blur of arms sprouted from a nearby trunk, snagging your ankles just long enough for Zoro to lung forward and snag you by the back of your collar like a disobedient kitten.
"Nice try," Zoro grunted, looking more annoyed at the sand on his pants than the escape attempt.
The second time was at the water’s edge.
Sanji was trying to help you into the boat, his expression a mix of "I'm so sorry" and "please don't kick me again." You played into it. You let your ears droop, making yourself look small and defeated. The moment his hands touched your waist to lift you, you exploded.
You drove your elbow into his ribs—hard enough to make him wheeze—and used his shoulders as a literal launching pad. You did a backflip over the boat, splashing into the surf and diving deep, swimming toward the jagged rocks where the Sunny couldn't follow. But then, the water around you began to churn. Jinbe hadn't even been part of the conversation, but suddenly a massive blue hand reached through the currents, hoisting you back into the air by your waist.
"The Captain's word is law, little one," the helmsman said calmly, plopping you back into the longboat.
The third time was pure desperation.
As the longboat drew alongside the towering, magnificent hull of the Thousand Sunny, you waited until they were hooking the ropes. You didn't run; you fought. You turned into a whirlwind of teeth and heels. You bit Zoro’s hand, kicked the side of the boat so hard it nearly tipped, and nearly took Sanji’s nose off with a spinning heel. You managed to scramble halfway up the side of the ship, claws digging into the wood, intent on jumping into the open ocean and taking your chances with the sea kings.
"Enough!" Nami’s voice cracked like a whip from the deck above.
Before you could reach the railing, a thick, soft rope looped around your torso, then your arms, then your legs. Luffy was looking down at you from the deck, the end of the rope in his hand, his grin as wide as ever.
"You're really bouncy!" he laughed, hauling you up like a prize fish.
Minutes later, you were sitting on the grassy deck of the Sunny, leaning against the mast. You were tied—not painfully, but securely—in a series of knots that even your flexible joints couldn't wiggle out of. Your hair was a mess, your ears were pinned back in a permanent scowl, and your tail was thumping the grass in a rhythmic, furious beat.
The Straw Hats stood around you, looking more amused than anything else.
"Three times," Franky noted, impressed. "That’s a super record for someone your size."
Sanji approached slowly, kneeling in front of you with a tray. The smell hit you instantly—something rich, savory, and warm. He set a bowl of stew and a plate of golden-brown bread within reach, though your hands were currently bound to your sides.
"I made this for you," he said softly, his voice still carrying that heavy weight of guilt. "It’s got plenty of herbs for the bruises."
You looked at the food, then at him, then at Luffy, who was sitting on the lion’s head at the front of the ship, looking out at the sea.
"I'm going to kill you all," you muttered, though your stomach betrayed you with a loud, traitorous growl.
"Shishishi! Eat first, kill us later!" Luffy shouted back without turning around. "We're heading for the next island!"
The anchor rose. The sails unfurled, catching a wind that felt far too free for someone currently tied to a mast. You were a prisoner of the most dangerous crew on the sea, and for the first time in your life, you didn't have a plan.
The Thousand Sunny cut through the waves with a buoyant, cheerful rhythm that felt like an insult to your current situation.
You were bound to the great mast, the rough texture of the wood pressing against your back. The ropes were looped expertly around your torso and arms—secure, but not so tight that they cut off circulation. They knew you were a flight risk. They knew you were a spring waiting to snap.
So, you did the only thing a cornered animal could do. You became a statue.
You didn't scream. You didn't beg. You simply watched. Your eyes, sharp and dark, tracked every movement on the deck with predatory stillness. Your ears were pulled back tight against your skull, a clear signal of your mood, but it was the only part of you that moved.
Until Nami walked by.
She was lugging a small, ornate chest—the very one you had bled and lied for. She was humming, a pencil tucked behind her ear, already calculating the berries. She set the chest down on a nearby table, the clink of gold echoing across the grassy deck.
The sound triggered something primal in your chest.
Thump.
It was a dull, heavy sound.
Thump. Thump.
Your right hind foot, even bound as it was, struck the deck with a sudden, rhythmic violence. It wasn't a struggle to get free; it was a drumbeat. A warning. In the wild, it was the sound of a hare signaling a predator’s presence, but here, in the heavy silence of the ship, it sounded like a heartbeat of pure malice.
Then came the second sound. A dry, grating noise that set everyone’s teeth on edge.
Grrrr-ck. Grrrr-ck.
You were grinding your teeth—not in pain, but in a rhythmic, vibrating chatter. It was a low-frequency threat, a sound that bypassed the ears and went straight to the nerves of everyone standing on the deck.
Nami stopped mid-calculation, her hand freezing over the gold. She looked over at you, blinking in confusion. "Is... is she okay? Is she having a seizure?"
"No," Zoro said, his voice low. He was sitting cross-legged on the grass, sharpening one of his katanas, but he had stopped his work to watch you. "Look at her eyes. That’s not a seizure. That’s a challenge."
Luffy, who had been hanging upside down from the railing, flipped himself onto the deck and walked over. He tilted his head, leaning in close—too close. Your teeth-grinding grew louder, the vibration visible in the set of your jaw.
"Hey, what’s that sound?" Luffy asked, reaching out to poke your shoulder.
THUMP.
Your foot struck the deck so hard the wood seemed to groan. Your ears flicked forward for a fraction of a second, sharp as blades, before pinning back again.
"She’s warning us," Robin said softly, stepping out from the library. She watched you with that same clinical, yet empathetic curiosity. "Hares and rabbits... they drum their feet to signal danger. To tell the predator they’ve been spotted. And the teeth grinding... that’s a high-stress threat."
"A threat?" Usopp squeaked, taking a strategic step behind Franky. "She’s tied to a mast! What’s she gonna do, vibrate us to death?"
"It’s a promise," Sanji murmured. He was leaning against the galley door, his cigarette unlit, his eyes fixed on your lashing tail. "She’s telling us that the second these ropes come off, someone’s losing a limb."
You didn't break eye contact with Luffy. You didn't stop the drumming. You wanted them to feel the vibration of your anger through the soles of their feet. You wanted them to know that you weren't a pet, and you weren't a guest.
You were the danger they had brought on board.
Luffy didn't pull back. Instead, he grinned—a wide, fearless expression that made your stomach flip. He reached out and adjusted your hood, which had fallen slightly askew during your struggle.
"You’re really loud for someone so quiet!" he laughed. He turned to the others, his voice booming. "I like her! She’s got a lot of spirit!"
He looked back at you, his dark eyes sparkling with a terrifying kind of joy. "Keep doing that! It sounds like music!"
Your teeth-grinding hitched for a second in pure, unadulterated disbelief. He wasn't scared. He wasn't even offended. He was encouraged.
As the sun began to set, casting long, bloody shadows across the Sunny, the crew went back to their chores, but they moved a little more carefully when they passed the mast. They could still hear it—the steady, rhythmic thump of your foot against the wood.
A countdown.
The moon hung high over the Thousand Sunny, casting a silver glow on the grassy deck. Most of the crew had turned in, but the rhythmic thump-thump-thump of your foot against the mast hadn't stopped. It had just gotten quieter, more personal.
A creak from the galley door broke the silence. Sanji stepped out, no longer in his formal jacket, his tie loosened. He carried a small wooden stool in one hand and a plate of steaming, honey-glazed tarts in the other. He approached tentatively, stopping just outside of kicking range.
He set the stool down and sat, sighing as he lit a cigarette. The smoke curled upward toward your twitching ears.
"You’re still at it, then," he said, his voice soft. "The drumming. You’re going to put a hole in the ship, and Franky’s going to cry. He’s a sensitive cyborg."
Grrrr-ck. Grrrr-ck. You ground your teeth at him, the sound vibrating through the wood of the mast. Your eyes remained fixed on the horizon, refusing to acknowledge him.
"Look," Sanji said, rubbing the back of his neck. "I’m sorry. Truly. About the mask. About the kick. And... well, about the kidnapping. Our Captain has the impulse control of a golden retriever with a sugar rush. Once he decides someone is 'fun,' that’s pretty much the end of the debate."
You finally shifted your gaze to him, your nose wrinkling. "You're a cook," you rasped, your voice dry from hours of silence. "Why aren't you in the kitchen making sure the rubber man doesn't eat the pantry?"
Sanji chuckled, a genuine, tired sound. "Locked the fridge. Thrice. He’s currently trying to chew through the lock, but that’ll take him at least another hour." He held up a tart. "I made these. White peach and honey. No poison. I promise."
You stared at the tart. Your stomach, that traitorous organ, let out a sound like a dying sea beast.
"If I untie your hands," Sanji said, leaning forward, "will you promise not to shatter my jaw? I quite like my jaw. It’s essential for tasting sauces."
You narrowed your eyes. You didn't answer, but the drumming of your foot slowed.
He took that as a yes. With a few quick, deft movements, he loosened the upper ropes. Your arms fell to your sides, heavy and tingling. You immediately reached out, snatched a tart, and shoved the entire thing into your mouth.
Your eyes widened. The sweetness hit like a physical punch—floral, warm, and buttery. You reached for another before you’d even swallowed the first.
"Slow down, rabbit," Sanji joked, though his eyes were bright with relief. "I have a whole kitchen full of them."
"Don't call me that," you mumbled through a mouthful of pastry. "And I'm only eating these so I have the energy to strangle your Captain later."
"Fair enough," Sanji said, leaning back on his stool. "Though, if you're going to strangle him, wait until after breakfast. I’m making crepes."
You paused, a third tart halfway to your lips. "Crepes? With the little berries?"
"And whipped cream. Made from scratch."
You slumped back against the mast, a long, frustrated exhale escaping you. Your ears, which had been pinned back for ten hours, finally flopped forward in a moment of sheer culinary defeat. "You people are the worst. You can't just kidnap people and then feed them gourmet pastries. That's... that's psychological warfare."
"It’s worked on most of us," Sanji admitted, grinning. "Nami joined for the money, Zoro joined because he got lost, and I joined because Luffy told me to go find a magical sea. We’re all a little bit broken here. You’ll fit right in."
"I am not fitting in," you snapped, pointing a sticky finger at him. "I am a high-stakes thief. I have a reputation. I have a mask."
"You have crumbs on your chin," Sanji countered.
You hurriedly wiped your face, feeling a flush of heat in your cheeks that had nothing to do with anger. You looked at him—really looked at him—and saw the faint bruise on his shoulder where your kick had landed earlier.
"Does it hurt?" you asked, your voice dropping.
Sanji followed your gaze and shrugged. "A little. But honestly? It was a beautiful strike. Perfect weight distribution. If you hadn't been a girl, I would've been honored to have my ribs broken by it."
"You're an idiot," you sighed, but the corners of your mouth twitched. "A total, chivalrous, baking idiot."
"I've been called worse," he said, standing up and picking up the empty plate. "Get some sleep. I'll leave the hand-ropes loose. If you try to jump overboard, Jinbe will just fish you out again, and he’s much grumpier about late-night swims than I am."
He started to walk away, then stopped, looking back over his shoulder. "By the way... the ears. They’re cute when they flop like that."
Before you could throw the last tart at his head, he slipped back into the galley, whistling a jaunty tune.
You sat back against the mast, the taste of honey still on your tongue. The drumming of your foot had stopped completely. Instead, your tail gave a single, quiet thump against the deck.
Maybe you wouldn't kill them tonight. Maybe you'd wait for the crepes.
The ropes didn't stand a chance against your teeth.
Sanji had left the hand-bindings loose, but he hadn't accounted for the sheer, stubborn sharpness of a hare's incisors. You worked in the dark, the rhythmic scritch-scritch of your teeth muffled by the steady creak of the ship’s hull. Fiber by fiber, the hemp gave way until the final strand snapped. You rubbed your raw wrists, the circulation returning in a painful prickle, and looked toward the railing.
The ocean was a vast, obsidian void. The wind howling off the waves didn't smell like freedom; it smelled like ice. You crept to the edge, peering down at the churning white foam. Your ears, usually so alert, fell flat against your back. You could feel the phantom chill of that water in your marrow—a cold so deep it would stop your heart before you could even kick twice.
No. You weren't a fish, and you weren't a fool.
Instead of jumping, you turned back to the ship, your eyes adjusting to the moonlight. You moved like a ghost, your padded feet making no sound on the grass. You didn't head for the lifeboats or the galley. You looked for the shadows.
Near the back of the deck, partially hidden by a stack of crates, you found it—a heavy wooden grate leading down into the crawlspaces beneath the floorboards. It was cramped, dusty, and smelled of cedar and rope, but it was dry. You slipped inside, pulling the grate back into place with a faint thud.
You curled into a ball in the darkness, your tail tucked tight, listening to the muffled footsteps of the night watch above. You’d wait. You’d wait until the next island, until the ship docked, and then you’d vanish into a crowd.
Morning arrived with a frantic shout that vibrated through the floorboards right above your head.
"SHE'S GONE!"
That was Usopp. You heard the frantic scurry of feet—heavy boots, light sandals, and the steady thump of Luffy’s landing.
"The ropes are chewed through!" Nami’s voice was high with alarm. She sounded genuinely distressed, which surprised you. "Luffy, look at the railing. There are scuff marks. You don't think she..."
A heavy silence followed. You held your breath, pressing your back against the cool wood of the hull.
"The water is freezing this far north," Robin said, her voice uncharacteristically somber. "Even for someone as strong as her... she wouldn't last ten minutes in those currents."
"No way," Luffy said. There was no laughter in his voice now. "She wouldn't just jump. She was too angry to jump."
"I shouldn't have left the ropes loose," Sanji’s voice was a low growl of self-loathing. You heard the metallic clink of his lighter, then a long, shaky exhale. "I thought... I thought we were actually talking. I’m a moron. I let her walk right into a grave."
"Jinbe! Can you see anything?" Franky shouted toward the helm.
"Nothing but blue and foam, Franky," the helmsman called back, his deep voice heavy. "If she went in, the sea has her now."
The mood on the deck shifted instantly. The cheerful, chaotic energy of the Straw Hats vanished, replaced by a thick, mournful quiet. You heard Nami sniffle, and the sound of someone—probably Chopper—letting out a small, heartbroken wail.
"We shouldn't have tied her up," Luffy muttered. You could hear him sitting down right above your hiding spot, the wood creaking under his weight. "I just wanted her to have an adventure. I didn't want her to die."
You sat in the dark, your ears twitching. A strange, uncomfortable knot formed in your chest. They were... sad? They had kidnapped you, stolen your treasure, and tied you to a mast, and now they were mourning you like a lost friend.
It was ridiculous. It was illogical. It was the Straw Hats.
You stayed perfectly still, watching a spider weave a web in the corner of your hiding spot. You told yourself you were staying hidden because it was the smart thing to do. But as you heard Sanji mutter something about "making a memorial meal," your stomach gave a quiet, treacherous growl.
You weren't gone. You were just waiting. But hearing them talk about you in the past tense was starting to make your whiskers twitch with an urge you couldn't quite name.
The crawlspace was a labyrinth of cedar beams and iron bolts, dim and smelling of old sea salt. You pressed your back against a support strut, your ears twitching at every footfall above. The guilt in their voices had been... annoying. It felt like a weight you hadn't asked to carry.
Then, the smell hit.
It started as a faint, buttery whisper drifting through the floorboards. Then came the sweetness—warm berries, simmering sugar, and the unmistakable scent of fresh whipped cream. Your stomach didn't just growl; it staged a full-scale riot. Your mouth watered so instantly you had to swallow hard to keep from making a noise.
Crepes.
You remembered Sanji’s promise from the night before. He was making them. A "memorial breakfast." The irony wasn't lost on you, but neither was the hunger. You waited, your nose wiggling uncontrollably, until the heavy thud of the crew moving toward the dining table signaled the coast was clear.
You pushed the grate up an inch. Quiet.
You slid out like a shadow, belly low to the grass. The morning sun was blinding after the darkness of the hold, but you didn't hesitate. You darted behind a decorative bush, then used the shadows of the railing to reach the galley door.
Inside, the kitchen was a masterpiece of organized chaos. A stack of golden, lace-edged crepes sat on a warming plate near the window, dusted with powdered sugar and topped with a single, perfect blackberry.
You moved.
One moment the plate was full—the next, you were back in the shadows of the hallway, a warm, folded crepe clutched between your teeth. You didn't even chew until you were back in the safety of the dark crawlspace. The taste was a revelation: creamy, tart, and sweet enough to make your tail give a traitorous, happy wag.
Success.
Up on deck, however, the "mourning" was taking a technical turn.
Chopper was sitting near the mast, his small blue nose twitching rhythmically. He looked confused, his little hooves fidgeting with his hat. "Um, guys?"
"Not now, Chopper," Usopp sighed, picking at a piece of dry toast. "I’m too sad to eat. I keep thinking about her cold, soggy ears."
"No, but... I smell her," Chopper insisted, his voice rising. "The scent is fresh! It’s not like old 'she-was-here-yesterday' smell. It’s 'she-was-just-standing-next-to-the-fridge' smell!"
Sanji, who had been leaning gloomily against the counter, snapped his head up. His eyes narrowed, darting around the galley. He walked over to the warming plate and stared. "I made twelve crepes," he whispered, his voice trembling. "There are eleven."
Luffy’s head popped up from the table, a bit of syrup on his nose. "Maybe a ghost ate it?"
"Ghosts don't eat crepes, Luffy!" Nami snapped, but she looked hopeful. "Chopper, are you sure?"
"I’m sure! And look!" Chopper hopped down and pointed to the edge of a crate near the floorboards.
Caught on a splinter of wood was a single, long, silken strand of fur—unmistakably yours.
Robin knelt down, picking up the hair with a soft, knowing chuckle. "It seems our ghost has a very healthy appetite. And she’s much closer than the bottom of the ocean."
Luffy’s face split into a massive, delighted grin. He slammed his fists onto the table. "SHISHISHI! I KNEW IT! She’s playing hide-and-seek!"
"Hide-and-seek?" Zoro grunted, though the corner of his mouth tucked into a smirk. "More like she’s hunting us for snacks."
Sanji didn't look angry. He looked like he’d just won the lottery. He grabbed the plate of crepes and set it directly in the middle of the deck, right near the main grate.
"Oh, what a shame," Sanji said, his voice loud and performative, aimed directly at the floorboards. "I made all these extra crepes with extra whipped cream and triple berries. I suppose I’ll just leave them here since no one is around to eat them. It would be a tragedy if they just... sat here. All warm and delicious."
Under the floor, your ears flattened. You squeezed your eyes shut, your stomach betraying you with another loud, echoing groan.
They knew.
The standoff lasted three hours, and it was a battle of sheer, stubborn will.
Beneath the deck, the air was cooling, and the silence above was far too loud. You knew exactly what they were doing. They weren't pacing; they weren't shouting. They were waiting. You sat with your back against a cedar beam, your ears pulled back so tight they ached. Every few minutes, the scent of the crepes—now slightly cool but still heavy with the aroma of butter and macerated berries—wafted through the gaps in the floorboards.
It was a targeted assault on your senses.
Your stomach let out a sound like a grinding tectonic plate. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to visualize your old ship, your old life, your dignity—anything but the fluffy, golden-brown edges of those crepes. But then, the sound of a fork scraping against a plate drifted down.
"Man," Luffy’s voice boomed, sounding suspiciously like he was talking with his mouth full. "These are so good. It’s a shame. There’s only three left. I might eat them. I’m really hungry, Sanji."
"Don't you dare, Captain," Sanji’s voice was smooth, projected perfectly toward the deck. "Those are for our guest. Though, if she doesn't show up in, say, five minutes... they’ll probably get soggy. And nobody likes a soggy crepe."
Five minutes.
The ultimatum hung in the air. You felt the twitch in your nose, the restless thump of your tail against the hull. You weren't a pet. You weren't a member of this circus. You were a master thief who had survived on scraps and cunning for years.
But those weren't scraps. Those were triple-berry crepes.
With a silent, frustrated snarl, you placed your hands on the underside of the grate. You didn't burst out. You pushed it up just an inch, peering through the slit.
The crew was gathered in a loose semicircle, a respectable distance away, trying—and failing—to look busy. Zoro was "meditating" with one eye cracked open. Nami was "reading" a map upside down. Sanji was leaning against the railing, light catching the gold of his hair, a fresh plate held out like an offering.
You didn't give them the satisfaction of a slow reveal.
The grate flew upward, clattering against the grass, and you exploded from the dark like a jack-in-the-box. You landed in a low crouch, hair dusty, ears wild and flared out in a defensive fan. You looked like a cornered animal, your chest heaving, your gaze darting from one face to the next.
"I am NOT," you rasped, your voice cracking slightly from disuse, "joining your crew."
Luffy’s grin was so bright it practically radiated heat. "You're alive! Shishishi! I knew the water was too cold for you!"
You ignored him, your eyes locking onto the plate in Sanji's hand. You marched forward, each step deliberate, and snatched the plate with a predatory hiss. You didn't sit. You didn't say thank you. You stood right there in the center of the deck and began to tear into the crepes, the whipped cream smearing across your cheek.
Sanji let out a long, shaky breath of relief, a small, triumphant smile tugging at his lips. "Welcome back to the land of the living, rabbit."
You stopped chewing just long enough to point a fork at him. "This changes... nothing."
"Of course not," Robin said, her voice like velvet as she closed her book. "It simply means you’ve chosen a warm meal over a cold hiding spot. A very logical decision."
"She's so cool!" Chopper squealed, hiding behind Zoro’s leg but peeking out with sparkling eyes. "She survived the floorboards!"
You finished the last bite, licking a stray bit of berry juice from your thumb, and looked at Luffy. He was watching you with that terrifying, unshakable certainty. He didn't look like he’d won a fight; he looked like he’d found a missing piece of his ship.
"You're still tied up at night," Nami warned, though she was smiling. "We aren't falling for the 'chew through the ropes' trick again."
"Try and stop me," you challenged, though the fire in your voice was dampened by the sheer satisfaction of a full stomach.
Your tail gave a single, involuntary flick of contentment. You were trapped, kidnapped, and surrounded by lunatics—but as Sanji reached out to take the empty plate, his fingers brushing yours with a gentle, apologetic pressure, you realized the floorboards weren't going to be enough to keep you away from them for long.
The silence on the deck didn't feel like a standoff anymore; it felt like a soft surrender.
You sat on a small wooden crate, the empty plate balanced on your knees. You were still dusty from the floorboards, a stray cobweb clinging to one of your ears, but the cold, sharp edge of your defiance had been blunted by the warmth of the meal. You didn't look at them, but you could feel their eyes—no longer pitying, just curious.
Sanji didn't move to take the plate immediately. Instead, he leaned against the railing a few feet away, lighting a fresh cigarette. The smoke drifted away from you, a silent gesture of space.
"You missed the fruit parfaits," he said, his voice casual, as if you hadn't just spent twelve hours hiding under the ship's ribs. "I saved the best berries for the ones I put in the hold, but the cream is better when it's fresh."
"I don't care about parfaits," you muttered, though your ears gave a treacherous, rhythmic flick.
Luffy rolled over on the grass, propping his chin on his hands. "You eat like a squirrel! Or a hamster! Fast, fast, fast!" He imitated a chewing motion, his cheeks puffing out.
"I'm a hare," you corrected, the words slipping out before you could stop them. "And we eat fast so predators don't catch us off guard."
"No predators here," Zoro grunted, though he didn't look up from the whetstone. "Just a bunch of idiots and a cook who’s currently wondering if he should make you a snack for lunch."
You glanced at Sanji. He didn't deny it. In fact, he looked like he was already mentally inventorying the pantry. Since the moment your mask had hit the deck, he had transitioned from a formidable combatant into a man on a mission to overfeed you. It was a different kind of combat—one you didn't know how to parry.
The afternoon settled into a strange, domestic rhythm. You stayed on your crate, refusing to join them at the main table, but you stopped growling when they passed. Nami brought over a basin of warm water and a cloth, setting it down without a word. You waited until she walked away before washing the dust from your face and smoothing the fur on your ears.
By midday, the "spoiling" began in earnest.
Every time Sanji stepped out of the galley, he had something. A small bowl of chilled grapes. A slice of toasted brioche with homemade marmalade. A glass of sparkling juice with a sprig of mint. He didn't make a scene of it; he would simply walk by and set it on the crate beside you, sometimes pausing to offer a small, wink-like tilt of his head before retreating.
"He's never been this quiet about swooning over someone," Usopp whispered to Chopper, both of them watching from behind the mast. "Usually there's more spinning and hearts in his eyes."
"He feels bad!" Chopper whispered back, his little hooves over his mouth. "But look! Her tail isn't thumping anymore. It's just... wagging?"
It wasn't wagging. It was a slow, involuntary twitch of contentment that you were trying very hard to suppress.
As the sun began to dip, casting long, golden shadows across the deck, Sanji approached one last time. This time, he didn't have food. He held a small, beautifully carved wooden comb.
"Your hair is still a mess from the crawlspace," he said, stopping just a pace away. He held the comb out, handle-first. "I found this in the storage. It’s sandalwood. Good for... well, for someone with a lot of fur to manage."
You looked at the comb, then at his hands—the hands that had matched your strikes with such terrifying precision, now offering a gift with such careful gentleness.
You took the comb, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary. You didn't say thank you. You couldn't bring yourself to go that far. But you didn't pull away when he sat on the deck near your crate, resting his back against the wood.
"The next island has a great market," Sanji said, looking out at the orange-tinted sea. "They have silks. And masks, if you really want a new one. But I think the crew prefers seeing your face."
You ran the comb through the fur of your ear, the scent of sandalwood filling the air. For the first time since you’d been taken, the ropes didn't feel like they were made of hemp. They felt like the smell of crepes, the sound of Luffy’s laugh, and the steady, quiet presence of the man sitting at your feet.
You weren't a Straw Hat. Not yet. But as you looked at the horizon, you realized you weren't a prisoner anymore, either.
The *Thousand Sunny* sailed through the starlit night, the only sound the gentle rhythmic splashing of the hull against the waves. You were no longer tied to the mast—Luffy had declared it "unfair" since you were now a "special guest"—but you still felt the invisible tether of the man who seemed to have made your comfort his new religion.
You sat on the deck's soft grass, leaning against the railing, the sandalwood comb Sanji had given you resting in your lap. The night air was crisp, making your ears twitch and press closer to your head for warmth.
A shadow lengthened beside you. You didn't need to look up to know the scent of expensive tobacco and clarified butter.
"The stars are different in this part of the Grand Line," Sanji said softly. He didn't sit right next to you, respecting the circle of space you still guarded like a fortress. Instead, he leaned on the railing, looking out at the shimmering water. "They’re sharper. Brighter."
You finally looked up, your nose giving a tiny, involuntary wiggle. "They look cold."
Sanji turned his head, his blue eyes catching the moonlight. He reached into his pocket, but instead of a cigarette, he pulled out a small, silk-wrapped parcel. He set it on the railing between you. "Then it’s a good thing I made this. It’s a hot chocolate tart with a hint of chili. For the circulation."
You reached out, your fingers grazing the silk. You unwrapped it slowly, finding a pastry so delicate it looked like art. You took a bite, and the heat of the chocolate bloomed across your tongue, followed by a tiny, playful spark of spice that warmed your chest.
"You're doing it again," you whispered, the tart halfway to your lips.
"Doing what?"
"Trying to feed the anger out of me."
Sanji let out a short, breathy laugh, his gaze dropping to your boots. "Is it working?"
"Maybe a little," you admitted, your tail giving a single, soft thump against the grass. You looked at him, the moonlight carving the sharp lines of his face. "Why? You almost broke my leg back on the island. You were ready to take me down."
"I was fighting a mask," he said, his voice dropping an octave, becoming serious in a way that made your ears perk up. He stepped a fraction closer, just enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him. "But once that mask fell... I saw someone who wasn't just a thief. I saw someone who was lonely even in a crowd of her own crew. I saw you."
He reached out, his hand hesitating in the air between you. For a second, you thought about flinching, about snapping your teeth—but you stayed still. His fingers, calloused from the kitchen but incredibly gentle, brushed a stray lock of hair behind your ear. His touch was electric, a stark contrast to the cool night air.
"I don't need a protector, Sanji," you said, though your voice lacked its usual bite.
"I know you don't," he murmured, his thumb grazing the soft fur at the base of your ear. The sensation sent a shiver down your spine that made your tail lash once, winding momentarily around his ankle before you caught yourself and pulled it back. "But everyone needs someone to cook for them. Someone to make sure the world doesn't feel quite so cold."
You looked away, your heart thudding a rhythm that had nothing to do with a hare's warning and everything to do with the man standing over you. "The crew thinks I'm going to run at the next port."
"Are you?"
You looked at the tart, then at the sandalwood comb, and finally back at his hopeful, guarded expression. You reached out, your hand hovering over his vest before you rested your palm against his chest. You could feel his heart—steady, fast, and completely honest.
"I might," you whispered, leaning in just enough that your forehead brushed his shoulder. "But I'd miss the crepes."
"Then I'll just have to make sure the breakfast menu is irresistible," Sanji replied. He didn't pull you into a hug, but he rested his hand over yours, his warmth seeping into your skin.
In that moment, the treasure you had hunted on the island felt like lead compared to the weight of his hand in yours. You were a hare in a lion's den, but for the first time in your life, you didn't feel like prey. You felt seen.
As the moon dipped lower, you stayed there together—the thief and the cook—waiting for a dawn that didn't feel like a threat anymore.
The morning sun finally broke through the horizon, painting the sky in soft shades of gold and lavender. The chill of the night began to lift, replaced by the familiar, lively sounds of the Thousand Sunny waking up. Above, the sails snapped gently in the morning breeze, steering the ship toward the silhouette of a new island rising from the mist.
Sanji stayed by your side until the first galley timer dinged, a quiet promise in his eyes before he disappeared to start breakfast. You remained by the railing, watching the distant docks draw closer. For a master thief, a crowded port was the ultimate playground—the perfect place to slip into the shadows, find a new crew, or disappear entirely. The path to your old life was right there, just a few miles away.
"Morning!"
Luffy’s voice boomed from high above as he dropped down from the crow's nest, landing lightly on the grass. He walked over to the railing, leaning over it with his usual boundless energy, before looking sideways at you. He didn't ask if you were going to run. He didn't threaten to tie you up again. He just grinned, trusting the sea and his own instincts.
"Big market on that island," Luffy said, pointing toward the docks. "Tons of food. Adventure too."
You looked at him, then back down at the sandalwood comb in your hands. Your ears tilted forward, catching the distant, rhythmic chopping from the galley and the rich, sweet scent of vanilla and warm dough starting to drift across the deck.
Nami walked past, carrying a fresh set of maps. She paused, offering you a small, knowing smile. "If you're looking to update your wardrobe at the port, the first round is on the ship's budget. Consider it an investment."
"And I'm making berry glazes!" Chopper shouted, running past with a basket of fresh mint, his face lit up with excitement.
You let out a soft, defeated laugh, the last bit of the defensive walls you had built over the years finally crumbling into the sea. These people were chaotic, demanding, and entirely unreasonable—but they were also the first crew that had ever looked at your face instead of your mask.
When the ship finally bumped against the wooden docks of the port, the anchor dropped with a heavy splash. The gangplank was lowered, and the crew began to pile off, laughing and arguing about who got to spend the allowance first.
Sanji emerged from the galley, wiping his hands on a clean towel. He walked over to you, stopping at the edge of the gangplank. He didn't push. He just held out an open hand, waiting.
"Coming?" he asked softly.
You looked at the bustling market ahead, then at his hand, and finally up into his warm blue eyes. Your tail gave a decisive, happy flick behind you. You didn't take the path into the crowd. Instead, you reached out and slid your hand into his, your fingers locking together.
"Only if there are crepes on the way back," you whispered.
Sanji’s smile brightened, a genuine, radiant expression that made the morning sun look dim. "As many as you want."
With your hand in his, you stepped off the ship and onto the new island. You weren't running away from a threat anymore, and you weren't hunting for a lost treasure. You had already found it on the deck of the Sunny, surrounded by the strangest, kindest family the sea had ever known.
he’s very much vanilla, so he’s always pretty gentle with you, but he’s also just so big he can’t help but feel compelled to spoil you in affection after.
jonathan won’t let you move a muscle. he’ll clean you up, carry you to the bath if it’s what you need, bring you water, food — anything to keep you comfortable.
when he’s done just know he’s not letting you go for the rest of the night. his arms are around your waist the moment he slips back into bed, trying not to squeeze you too tightly just in case.
“just go to sleep, okay? i’ve got you. you’re so beautiful.”
i feel like he’d definitely watch you fall asleep, his eyes all soft and he honestly gets a little emotional wondering how he got so lucky. intimacy is a big deal for him.
you’ll feel his lips press against your forehead just as you doze off, murmuring a quiet “i love you” to you.
୨𝑒 joseph
he’ll fuck you brainless, and the moment you both finish he’s 100% collapsing on top of you, ignoring your pleads for air.
you’ll feel much better when his lips start kissing your skin, though — a little sloppy but loving.
sure, he can be a joker, but he’ll shower you with praise after sex.
“did so good for me…always so good.”
it doesn’t take long for him to make some kind of stupid comment though.
“so, what was your favourite part? and you can’t say ‘all of it!”
“you know, with how loudly you were screaming i’m surprised you can still talk.”
wayyyy too tired to properly clean you up, but he’ll be sure to do so in the morning, running you a nice bath or showering with you.
he’ll stay draped over you like some sort of oversized house cat, nuzzling into your shoulder with a sigh.
୨𝑒 jotaro
he’s never been the affectionate type, but he knows you value aftercare, so he’ll give it to you if it makes you happy.
1000% destroyed you. like hardcore, rough sex, so if he didn’t look after you in some way he’d probably start feeling a little bad.
mostly quiet as he cleans you up, but he takes his time with it — dragging a cloth over your thighs and humming when you squirm.
likes to have you on top of him after, pulling you to rest your head on his chest so he can keep you close and breath you in.
“you feelin’ alright?”
his care is a lot more subtle, but it’s deep, and as you fall asleep and he watches your now relaxed features, he finds himself realising that he really does enjoy this. holding you and looking after you.
୨𝑒 josuke
josuke’s for sure a switch, but either way he’s looking after you. he is a loverboy after all.
if he does take the lead, he’s slow and careful at first, but will soon become a little too excited and become kind of rough.
he’ll apologise profusely for it afterwards, though, like some sort of scolded puppy.
“sorry if i was too rough. got carried away. didn’t hurt you, though, did i?”
he will always try to clean you up and offer you something to drink afterwards.
when you’re both settled into bed, he likes to find a movie for the two of you to watch as you both cuddle up to each other.
his hands are tracing small circles on your skin or running through your hair the whole time though. he wants you to feel good.
“was i okay? you were perfect.”
a little self-conscious sometimes. he thinks you’re so good, so he wants to be sure he’s on par with you.
୨𝑒 giorno
it’s always passionate with him — whether he’s giving you punishing thrusts or making love to you.
either way, giorno loooves aftercare. he finds it incredibly intimate and likes the affection.
he’ll plant kisses all over your face as he cleans you up with a soft towel, taking his time with it.
also pretty big on praise.
“i’m so proud of you. i love being with you, amore.”
will make sure you drink something afterwards.
unlike the others, though, he’s also pretty likely to seek out some affection from himself too. he likes the idea of being looked after and cared for by his sweet lover.
he’ll rest his head on your chest and coax you to play with his hair. meanwhile, he’s practically purring while running his hands up and down your sides.
୨𝑒 jolyne
“fuck…did a number on you, huh?”
she’s very open in her love for you, which means sometimes she can get a little bit too ahead of herself.
she makes it a mission to make it up to you every time, though, lacing her fingers with yours and bringing them up to her mouth to kiss them so gently.
“you always feel so good. thank you.”
a woman of few words when she’s all exhausted from fucking you, but she’ll still be sure to praise you. she knows how important verbal validation can be.
will insist on you both holding each other to sleep. that, or she’s curling up to your side and placing a hand on your chest to feel your heartbeat against her palm.
behind closed doors, she can be a bit of a sap, so expect to be doted on and coddled all night.
jolyne will probably fall asleep first, but even in her sleep she’s pulling you closer and murmuring something unintelligible when she feels you shifting.
school has been beating my ass and it was my birthday yesterday :pp don't flame me for this if it's poo
summary: toji comes home from work but is met with a home cooked meal from his favourite people
toji was always a lonely man. he preferred to do things on his own. it was more efficient since the results were exactly what he wanted. 'if you want it done right, do it yourself' was his moto.
he hated working with people, scared of emotional attachment, scared of disappointing anyone...scared of someone living him...again. the world had already taken away something or rather someone he cherished with all his heart and he was not ready for that to happen again.
but that was all before he met you. he didn't know why, and he didn't know how, but he knew...he knew he wanted to be with you for the rest of his life.
toji tried to ignore his feelings at first, trying to protect you form him. he was a dangerous man in a dangerous line of work, he didn't want your innocent self involved. but he just couldn't stop thinking about you, fantasizing and absent mindedly smiling when you walked past and in the end, he folded. confessing to you in the most romantic way possible, after he nearly lost his life, because he realized that he only had one chance. one chance and that's it.
he was beyond overjoyed that you reciprocated his feelings. everything in his life went right from then on. you reunited him with his son, megumi. the very son he abandoned as a mere five year old. the first meeting was awkward, but with time, they reconnected.
toji was a but a simple man. coming back into his empty house after a gruesome day of work and filling his growling stomach with cheap, ramen and a coke. that was his everyday routine. so what he found in his house one fortunate day was shocking to him.
toji walked through the front door and noticed something odd. the lights were on. they were never on because he lived alone. he did hand you and megumi spare keys, but because of his tight schedule it was rare for you to visit.
"must have forgot to turn them off", he shrugs it off as he takes off his shoes. he walks to the living room when a delightful smell invades his nostrils making his mouth water. odd.
he followed the scent to his small dining where he found you taking pictures of the meal prepped on the old wooden table, occasionally swatting megumi's hand away when he tried to steal some.
"gumi, stop! wait until your dad's here", you lightly scold him and he crosses his arms over his chest.
"he's already here anyways", you turn quickly to find toji staring at you with his brows raised.
"welcome home, toji!",you chirp excitedly. quickly you go to hug him and he wraps his arms around you and presses a kiss on your forehead, megumi letting out an uncomfortable grunt.
"what is all this?", he asks when you let go and pats megumi's back.
"well...we thought that since you always come home late and never have time to eat an actual home cooked meal, we thought we could surprise you with one", you point to the various foods on the table. "megumi helped a little too", you added and now toji feels weird.
he doesn't know what else to say. his favourite foods made by you and his son, together for him, all set at the dining table. the same dining table he used to sit at and eat cup noodles alone, and now for the first time in a long time, he gets to share a meal with the two people he loves the most. his heart is fluttering, his cheeks feels warm and...wet?!?!
"huh...?", he touches his cheeks not realizing that you're panicking as megumi stares at his a bit surprised. he wipes his tears with the back of his hands but they just won't stop.
"are you okay, toji?", your worried voice fills his ears and he doesn't even know when you were at his side already. megumi's now standing, a hand on his fathers back and then he pulls the both of you into a tight hug and smiling widely, kissing the tops of your head.
"this...this is the greatest i've felt ever...thank you all so much..."
and now toji realizes, he's not alone anymore, he has people who rely on him as much as he relies on them, and he wouldn't have it any other way...
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satoru comes home frustrated and all he needs is his girlfriend.
satoru was already having the worst day imaginable.
he woke up late, spilled coffee on his shirt before the clock even went past twelve in the morning. his phone wouldn’t stop ringing, and by the time he finally got done with work, he was convinced the universe wanted to make him miserable.
all he wanted was to go home. all he wanted was you.
he unlocks the front door to the apartment with a sigh, already preparing himself to complain dramatically in the satoru way, the moment he sees you.
“god-..baby you’re not gonna bel-“ the words die in his throat as he stops in his tracks. there you were. curled on the coach, in his shirt, looking so beautiful and comfortable.
his chest tightened and he felt relieved. his expression softens as he closes the door behind him. shrugging off his coat, hanging it, quickly taking off his shoes as well.
you look up at him the moment he starts walking towards you. “toru! baby you’re home.” you smile opening your arms for him to hug.
he leans down immediately, falling in between your legs, his hands tightening around you, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.
“toru?” you laugh softly, wrapping your arms around him more comfortably.
“don’t.”
“don’t what?” you ask confused, with a soft smile on your face.
“be cute right now.”
you giggle. “im just sitting here.”
he pouts like a child. “exactly.” his grip tightens. “that’s the problem.”
you smile and run your fingers through his soft white locks. it’s much softer than it looks. he practically melts in your embrace. “bad day?” you ask quietly.
“the worst.” he lifts his head to look at you. “spilled my coffee,” he frowns, “almost drove into a curb.” he furrows his brows at you when he sees you fighting back a smile. “is my suffering funny to you, hm?”
you finally laugh. “sorry, baby.”
“unbelievable.” he shakes his head dramatically and feigns offence. “i come home traumatized, hoping for support and comfort… and this is what i get?”
you giggle, “traumatized?”
he groans. “nobody takes me seriously.” despite his complaining, his arms tighten around your waist. you feel him relax a little more the longer he stays in your arms.
you smile softly and continue playing with his hair. almost immediately his eyes flutter shut. “there he is.” you mumble.
“hm?” he hums.
you smile, brushing a few strands of his beautiful white hair away from his eyes. “my satoru.”
he peeks one eye open. “your satoru?”
you nod. “mhm. all mine.”
a sleep smile tugs at his lips. “i like the sound of that.” for once, he isn’t being dramatic. or teasing. he just looks at you with that soft expression he saves for nobody but you. his hand finds yous, intertwining your fingers together.
“today sucked.” he admits quietly.
“i know, baby.” you lean down and press a kiss on his head.
“coming home to you fixes all my problems. i love you.” he says it so sincerely that your heart breaks.
you melt instantly. “i love you too, my baby.”
“don’t go anywhere.”
you smile. “wasn’t planning to.”
“good.” he sighs and closes his eyes again, laying against you ever so comfortably. and within the minutes, the frustration the day gave him, is completely forgotten. replaced by the comfort of your arms around him, your body against his.
ugh i tried my best guys pls I hope u like this :)
The Event Masterlist for 9 Days To Requiem by @rednnedy 💕 (Check out all the amazing entries!)
✦ Flexin' (Rated T)
[RE9!Leon / Fem!Reader]
Abstract: Leon got you that expensive camera from your wishlist for your birthday, unaware that you'd get all sorts of ideas about your next motif
✦ Dispatch (Rated T)
[RE9!Leon / Fem!Reader]
Abstract: You land a highly coveted position at the FOS and are immediately assigned to Leon Kennedy. As you learn more about him, you begin to see what lies beneath the gruff façade.
✦ Lazy Morning (Rated T)
[RE9!Leon / Fem!Reader]
Abstract: On a rare day off, you wake up before Leon, and even get up before he does. Not with your boyfriend.
✦ Training Center (Rated E)
[RE9!Leon / Fem!Reader]
Abstract: Within government service, you transfer to the DSO. The training is brutal, but the new job definitely has its advantages.
Did I include Leon flying through the air on a motorcycle in the header? Yes, yes I did 🫦
