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novemberhope · 3 days ago

Text

Muse

Word count: 3700

Synopsis: It’s an ordinary day aboard the Victoria Punk, and you’re going about your daily tasks. As you turn down a corridor, you notice that the door to your captain’s workshop is slightly ajar. Driven by curiosity, you slip into the forbidden space, and what you discover there far exceeds anything you could have imagined…

Tags: Kid x f!Reader, SFW, complicity, slow burn, silent confession of love.

Notes: I hadn’t planned on publishing another one-shot so soon, but I recently watched a (very old!) movie, and one tiny yet intense scene inspired me! I couldn’t stop thinking about it, so I wrote this. I spent several evenings working on the translation because I was so eager to share it—I hope it turned out well (my husband helped me a little, thank you to him ^^). Yes, it’s another Kid x Reader, what can I say? That fiery, angry man lives rent-free in my head. English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes.

That day, you’re absorbed in your usual tasks, the gentle rhythm of waves lapping against the ship’s hull providing a steady backdrop. The sun hangs high, its light spilling across the deck of the Victoria Punk as the rest of the crew busies themselves with their own routines. The air carries the briny scent of the ocean, mingling with the tang of grease and metal wafting up from below deck, where Kid is deep in his projects.

As you move through a corridor, your eyes catch on a door left slightly ajar to your left—Kid’s workshop. You pause, your gaze lingering on the shadowed space beyond the opening. This place is forbidden—a personal sanctuary where the captain channels his inventive genius and passion for metal. No one enters without his permission, except perhaps Killer. And yet, an irresistible pull of curiosity stirs within you.

What could Kid be creating, hidden from prying eyes?

For a moment, hesitation takes hold, your heartbeat quickening at the thought of stepping where you shouldn’t. But something about that open door feels like a silent beckoning, drawing you closer. Carefully, you edge forward, nudging the door wider as your eyes adjust to the dim interior.

The workshop unfolds before you, revealing its chaotic splendor. The room is expansive, cluttered with raw metal, scattered parts, crumpled sketches, gears, chains, and half-finished weapons. It’s a captivating mess, a mirror of Kid’s explosive creativity and relentless energy.

A fire burns steadily in the forge, while the muted glow of a single lamp throws flickering shadows onto the walls, amplifying the room’s organized disorder. The air is heavy with the scent of heated metal and grease, clinging to every surface—a familiar, comforting aroma that brings to mind the essence of your captain.

Your eyes drift over a collection of sculptures, weird creations and metallic shapes that seem almost alive under the trembling light of the lantern. Metal hooks, mechanical parts, and intricate designs lie ready to be forged into weapons or inventions—wild yet meticulously crafted. Beneath the industrial roughness, there’s a distinct elegance, betraying the precision and mastery behind the chaos.

Then, something at the far end of the room catches your eye. A large object draped in a thick, heavy cloth—imposing and mysterious. Almost unconsciously, you move toward it, curiosity guiding your steps. Your hand grazes the coarse fabric, fingers lingering before you carefully lift the cloth, as if afraid of disturbing something rare and precious.

When the cloth finally falls to the ground, your breath catches. Before you stands a metal bust, sculpted with a precision you never expected from Kid’s hands.

It’s you. Captured in metal, every detail of your face, every strand of your hair, rendered with astonishing accuracy. The polished surface reflects the light, giving the sculpture an almost lifelike aura, as if it could speak to you, as if it could watch you.

Your gaze lingers on every detail. The contours of your face are beautifully rendered. You can’t help but feel overwhelmed by the tenderness that emanates from each line, each curve.

Staring at the sculpture, you feel as if you’re looking into a mirror. But not the kind of mirror that cruelly amplifies every flaw. This is a mirror that reflects a version of yourself you’ve never dared to see. The features sculpted with delicate precision present an image you’ve never associated with yourself—a beauty you never believed you possessed. Your eyes, usually so weary from your own doubts, appear full of strength in this creation. Your lips, which you’ve always thought too plain, are drawn here with such softness it sends a shiver through you.

It’s strange, even unsettling, to see yourself like this—to see this version of yourself through Kid’s eyes. You’re not used to thinking of yourself as beautiful or even attractive. Your reflection in a mirror is always accompanied by silent criticisms, unfair comparisons, those little inner voices reminding you of everything you’re not. But here, for the first time, you find yourself discovering beauty in your features.

You feel destabilized, almost moved, by this vision of yourself that Kid has immortalized in metal. Not because he’s idealized you, but because he’s seen something in you that you refuse to acknowledge in yourself. He has made it permanent, tangible, as if to say, "This is how I see you." It feels like both a declaration and a challenge: "Can you see yourself this way too?"

" What are you doing here?"

Kid’s deep voice snaps you out of your thoughts, making you jump. He’s standing at the entrance, his brows furrowed, his eyes glinting with a hard intensity. Your heart races, caught between guilt and surprise. You know you shouldn’t have entered, but what you’ve just discovered surpasses anything you could have imagined.

" I… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to..."

Kid strides toward you, his steps heavy and deliberate. When he reaches you, he towers over you, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the sculpture. A displeased smirk twists his lips. He doesn’t seem angry with you, but you can feel that something about this moment is troubling him.

"It’s a failure", he growls, grabbing the cloth and moving to drape it back over the sculpture.

You stare at him, incredulous. A failure? How could he even think that? This sculpture, with its intricacy and precision, captures far more than a simple resemblance. The details are so finely crafted that they reveal something of you that even your reflection in a mirror has never managed to show. This creation isn’t failed—it’s alive, vibrant. It shows a version of you that you never dared to imagine.

"Failed? Kid, it’s… it’s beautiful", you murmur, your voice sincere, your eyes fixed on the bust as if you’re trying to absorb every detail.

He shakes his head, frustration tightening his features. His fingers drum nervously against his arm—a mechanical gesture, so unlike the controlled force he usually exudes. Shadows of emotion flicker across his face; his usually hard features twist under the weight of agitation and something else… something vulnerable. Then, he lifts his gaze to meet yours. His amber eyes, always so piercing and brutally intense, now seem to search for something in you—something he can’t put into words.

"No, it’s not enough", he mutters, his voice rough but unsteady. "I… I can’t capture what I see when I look at you."

His words hit you like a thunderclap, a truth you hadn’t expected to hear in the raw, suffocating atmosphere of his workshop. Your heart leaps in your chest, every syllable vibrating in the charged air between you. Your throat tightens, and a warm flush spreads through your body, burning your skin and leaving your breath unsteady. How could he speak of you this way? His words, so simple yet deeply sincere, stir something within you—an emotion you weren’t ready to confront.

Your gaze shifts to him, taking in every detail: the taut line of his jaw, the rigid set of his shoulders, but most of all, the way his eyes seem to devour you, as if silently pleading for you to understand what he can’t articulate. Beneath his gruff words, beneath the façade of a hardened and ruthless man, lies something disarming—a tenderness you never imagined, a vision of you that you struggle to comprehend. A beauty. A strength. Qualities you’ve always refused to see in yourself.

Your mind reels, thoughts tumbling over themselves in an unrelenting swirl. This isn’t just about art or a sculpture anymore. What stands before you is far more than a crafted piece of metal. It’s a reflection—not only of yourself but of what Kid sees in you. It’s a glimpse into his most hidden thoughts, the ones he’ll never express with words but pours into his hands and raw talent instead.

You lift your eyes to him, your breath still uneven. Kid remains motionless, but his gaze pierces through you, vibrating with such intensity that it almost steals the air from your lungs. In this room filled with heat, metal, and tension, you feel something inexplicable. The vulnerability he’s showing, exposed despite himself, touches you deeply—far more than you could have anticipated. It’s no longer just his art you see. It’s him. His doubts, his hopes, his silent way of watching you, interpreting you, revealing you to yourself.

And that revelation unsettles you, stirring a mix of fear and exhilaration, an irresistible urge to see yourself through his eyes.

"I could pose for you, if you want."

The words slip from your lips almost without your permission, propelled by an impulse you can no longer control. The silence that follows stretches endlessly. Heat rises to your cheeks as the weight of what you’ve just offered sinks in—what it truly means. Posing for Kid, standing there under his sharp, unyielding gaze while he molds you, sculpts every detail of you… It’s far more than a simple proposition. It’s baring yourself to him, offering something intimate, personal.

Kid says nothing, his eyes locked on yours, but you catch the faint flicker of surprise in his gaze. His shoulders, once taut with tension, seem to relax, and the hard lines of his face shift subtly. A spark, barely perceptible but undeniable, lights in his amber eyes. It’s a mix of interest, intense curiosity, and perhaps something deeper—something he can’t put into words.

Your heart pounds wildly, each second of the tense silence amplified in your ears. He doesn’t answer right away, but his gaze speaks volumes, holding you as if you’ve just offered him a treasure he never dared dream of. The tension between you tightens further, like an invisible, fragile thread pulling taut under the weight of your suggestion.

Your breathing slows, almost as if suspended, each breath heavy with the anticipation of his response. It’s a moment of rare intensity, where even the smallest movement, the faintest flutter of an eyelash, feels magnified—as though the simple act of breathing might shatter the delicate balance of this charged instant.

Then, he tilts his head slightly, his eyes never leaving yours. That subtle movement, so small yet deliberate, feels like a tacit yes, an acceptance of what you’ve offered. His lips part slightly, but no words come, as if he refuses to break the moment’s fragile power with unnecessary speech. That silence, laden with meaning, sends a shiver cascading down your spine, awakening every nerve to the possibility that has just unfolded between you.

Kid takes a step closer, narrowing the distance between you, and you can see the focus in his eyes—that burning intensity that tells you he accepts, that he’s ready to explore this moment, but on his terms, with the same passion and force he pours into his art.

"Do you realize what you’re offering?" he asks, his tone a blend of incredulity and restrained desire.

Holding his gaze, you nod slowly, feeling the heat rise within you. This is no longer just an agreement but an unspoken promise of a connection you can already sense—intense, consuming—a path you’re about to explore together, with every glance and every gesture as your only language.

"Yes, Kid. I do."

The simplicity of those words carries a weight far beyond their sound. Kid remains motionless before you, his gaze searing, almost devouring. He steps closer, his breath mingling with yours in the heat-laden air. His eyes lock onto yours, and you feel the pull of a dive from which there’s no return.

Slowly, he reaches out, his fingers brushing along your jaw with a gentleness that feels almost impossible from someone of his stature. That single touch ignites every fiber of your being. He studies you, perhaps searching for any flicker of doubt, but you know he’ll find only the glow of certainty—a shared connection you’re offering, a bond you’re eager to explore with him.

Straightening slightly, he commands the space with his imposing presence. With a subtle motion, he signals for you to follow. He moves toward the center of the workshop, where shadows dance to the rhythm of the flames. His steps are slow, deliberate, echoing softly against the floor. You follow without hesitation, drawn by the gravity of his presence, each step pulling you closer to a moment that feels suspended in time. Your breath quickens, your chest tightens, but you continue forward, guided by the magnetic intensity surrounding him.

He stops and turns to face you, his amber eyes fixed on you with an almost devouring intensity. His hand reaches out, guiding you gently to a place where the dim firelight illuminates just enough to make every shadow more vibrant, more alive.

With deliberate care, he places his fingers on your arm. The touch is light, yet it sends a shiver through you, warmth radiating from the contact. He draws you toward a chair bathed in the soft glow of the hearthlight.

"Sit, he murmurs", his rough voice resonating like a caress.

You comply, settling into place under his scrutinizing gaze. Kid approaches, his massive silhouette casting an imposing shadow on the floor, yet his movements are surprisingly gentle. He leans in slightly, his large hands finding their place naturally on your shoulders, adjusting you with care. His fingers press lightly, guiding your body to find the perfect angle.

"There", he murmurs, almost to himself.

He steps back briefly, then moves forward again, this time to touch your face. His hand brushes along your jaw, his warm fingers gliding over your skin with a precision that feels profoundly intimate. He tilts your chin toward the light, his thumb grazing your cheek in a way that leaves you breathless. Your entire body seems to respond to his touch, every nerve heightened.

"Lift your chin… just a bit. There", he whispers.

His eyes linger on your face, tracing every shadow, every curve. He studies you as if he’s trying to etch this image into his memory. Slowly, his hands leave your face, but the warmth of his touch remains, imprinted on your skin.

"Look at me", he breathes, his voice barely audible.

You obey once more, lifting your gaze to meet his, and the tension between you becomes volcanic. His eyes drift in yours for a moment before he gently lowers your hand, placing it on your knee. Every movement, every adjustment he makes to your body feels both deliberate and laced with an underlying sensuality, as if he’s already sculpting—not with his tools, but with his hands against your skin.

At last, he steps away. His towering figure stands outlined by the flickering firelight, every muscle and scar cast into sharp relief—marks you find yourself wanting to trace with your fingertips. His eyes remain fixed on you, burning with a mix of intensity and admiration. The air feels thick, saturated with a heat that doesn’t come only from the hearth. As he retreats, he studies you one last time, then, in a silence that needs no words, he picks up his tools, ready to begin.

The crackling of the fire fades into the background, as if the entire world has shrunk to this workshop. To the flickering light of the flames dancing on the walls. To the intoxicating scent of heated metal and the magnetic presence of Kid, standing before his creation. His fiery gaze stays locked on you, but his hands speak another language entirely. They glide, caressing the polished surface of the sculpture with a delicacy that is almost hypnotic, a meticulous care that contrasts with the raw strength his body naturally exudes.

Every movement he makes seems to sync with your breath. You follow the precise motions of his fingers on the metal as if it were your own skin he was touching, and not the sculpture. When he slowly traces the line of the sculpted jaw, a shiver runs through you. He hasn’t even touched you, and yet, you feel every caress echoing within you, a wave of heat spreading under your skin.

You track his every motion, captivated by the way the metal bends to his touch, its surface smoothing or curving exactly where he wills it, each almost imperceptible adjustment betraying his absolute mastery over the material.

His hands move lower, tracing the familiar curves of the sculpted neck, following with an unexpected tenderness the lines of your body you know so well. Your eyes remain locked on his, unable to look away. It feels as though, in this silence heavy with tension, a wordless dialogue has formed between you. His gestures speak of intensity, of control, but also of a desire he seems to channel into the metal, perhaps unable to express it any other way.

Kid leans in slightly, his face drawing closer to the sculpture, and your heart skips a beat. His fingers pause on the line of the metallic lips, a motion so slow, so deliberate, it feels almost sacred. The tension in the air becomes palpable, almost unbearable. Every movement of his hands, every stroke against the metal, seems a reflection of what he wants, what he longs to do with you. Your breath grows shallow, every muscle in your body taut with the anticipation he stirs, even without touching you.

His fingers glide upward, tracing the curve of the sculpted cheek with unexpected tenderness. You can almost hear the material hum beneath his touch, ready to surrender completely to his will, and the shiver it elicits seems to pass straight through you. He lifts his eyes, and you find yourself lost in their fiery intensity, where an uncompromising flame burns. He’s not just capturing your face—he’s searching for something deeper within you, a silent echo of his own desire.

Kid barely moves, yet the intensity of his gaze, combined with the precision of his hands, pulls you into a whirlwind of sensations. This is no longer just a sculpture; it’s a bridge between you, a silent language where every motion of his hands on the metal reverberates through your body. When his fingers trace the curve of the sculpted shoulder, then slowly move down the metallic arm, it feels as though a trail of fire marks your skin, awakening every fiber, every nerve to an impossible heat.

At last, he steps back, observing the sculpture with a gaze as intense as ever. His fingers hover mid-air, as though hesitating to add one final detail. But he doesn’t. A deep silence fills the workshop, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the hearth. You remain still, captivated by what he has created—and by the man before you, whose tension feels almost electric, saturating the air between you.

The sculpture is breathtaking. It’s you, but it’s also so much more. Every detail seems to breathe, alive with the energy he’s infused into it. But what strikes you the most is how he sees you—strong, beautiful, vulnerable, and intense all at once. Your features, shaped by his hands, capture something you never even knew existed within you.

Kid looks at you now, his eyes igniting something deep within your soul. He says nothing, but his gaze is enough. It’s heavy with meaning, charged with a desire he no longer tries to hide. You feel exposed under the dim light, as though the sculpture isn’t the only thing he’s laid bare tonight. And yet, you’re not afraid. You feel drawn, pulled by the magnetic force he emanates.

You stand, hesitant at first, but step closer, as if compelled by the invisible bond forming between you. His eyes never leave you, tracking your every movement. Your breathing quickens, and a burning heat floods your body, but it’s not the fire causing it. It’s him—his presence, his power, his mastery over everything around him, including you.

"It’s you I see in this sculpture", he murmurs at last, his voice rough and low, almost an admission he hadn’t planned to make.

The words hit you like a tidal wave. He doesn’t wait for a response, and you have none to give. You’re already too absorbed by what he’s created, by what he’s just revealed. Slowly, he approaches, and you remain still, unable to look away. When he’s close, so close you can feel the warmth radiating from his body, he raises a hand. With the same gentleness he showed while sculpting, his fingers brush against your cheek.

The touch is searing. You shiver under the caress, your lips parting slightly as a breath escapes you that you hadn’t realized you were holding. His gaze drops to your lips, and for a moment, he hesitates. But only for a moment, because the tension between you becomes unbearable.

At last, he closes the distance. His lips capture yours with a controlled urgency, a blend of strength and tenderness that makes you melt. You close your eyes, surrendering to the fiery wave rushing through you. His hands glide from your face to your waist, pulling you closer as if he can no longer bear the space between your bodies.

The fire in the hearth is nothing compared to the heat consuming you both. His kisses grow deeper, more demanding, and you match his intensity, your fingers tangling in his red hair, still damp with sweat. The room, the world, seems to fade around you. There is only the two of you, and this passionate connection, finally unleashed after being held back for far too long.

Kid lifts you slightly, gently pressing you against the workbench, his gaze locked on yours as he murmurs your name with a fervor you’ve never heard before.

You don’t know when the moment shifts, only that you’ve both surrendered, slowly, to the purest expression of love—where silence and tension say everything, where every gesture becomes a promise of what’s to come.

And the sculpture, in its stillness, stands as a silent witness to this shared surrender, its metallic sheen capturing the passion that finally finds its way, unrestrained. In this workshop, where fire meets metal, your bodies come together with an intensity even the silence cannot contain, etching this moment into the flickering light of the flames and the eternal steel of what he’s created.

Tag list : @jintaka-hane @novemberhope @imveryyellow @pandora-writes-one-piece Feel free to let me know if you’d like to be added (or removed) from the tag list.

#eustass kid #kid pirates #captain kid #kid x reader #captain kid x reader #one piece x reader #kid x you #armiliadawn

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