#op hongo

[fanaticsnail]

Dreaming of You

Series Masterlist

Word Count: total 2,600+

Synopsis: They couldn't help it. You looked so heavenly in their dreams. The way they had you wrapped around their body as a marionette in their minds, dancing for them as they awoke to sticky blankets when they jolted upright. Their thoughts got the better of them, and they are wracked with guilt. NSFW, mdni, 18+

Themes: Red Hair Pirates, gn!afab!reader, wet dreams, same reader different ending, Shanks, Beckman, Hongo, mdni, NSFW, smut, 18+

Notes: Happy birthday @loganwritesprobably! I wanted to give you some Beckman for your birthday, but he's always got his crew with him. I hope you enjoy this edition for the series!

“Ah, ah, ah,” his voice rasped out, slowly drawing his hand to hold the base of your neck, coaxing your head further down his shaft as your lips formed a perfect ring around him, “All the way. There you go.” He felt his mushroomed tip press at the back of your throat, head lulling back as he gave over to the pleasure you invoked by swallowing around him.

Bobbing your head up and down, he peeked out of the corner of his eye the position he had you in. Laying over his lap, completely bare as you knelt by his right thigh, forearms pinned beneath his legs and lips wrapped around his cock. He had effectively had you trapped in position, cunt leaking while he coaxed you down to make a mess of his cock with your mouth.

As he felt you come up for a reprive if air, he stroked along your spine towards your ass. Back arched in a perfect bow as you swirled your tongue over his tip, he drew down his hand in a firm clap against your left ass cheek. Yelping out, you again began bobbing your head up and down to pump his shaft with your lips. Pressing your thighs together, your hands twitched beneath his thighs as you rocked against the hand on your ass in a bid to get him to touch you.

“Oh,” he chuckled, leaning down and taking a glimpse of your cunt pulsing around nothing, “Oh, you want me to touch you, huh?” He drew his hand over the round of your ass, soothing the skin before raising it and striking it down once more. “Show me how much you want my touch.”

Immediately, you coughed and spluttered around his cock as you messily slurped at a rapid pace. Tears began to sting in your eyes from your gag reflex reacting, whining and vibrating your throat around his shaft while you held onto the underside of his thigh to anchor yourself further against him. Loud, messy, and sloppy motions against his cock had groans rolling freely from his lips. He thrust up in time with your motions, dipping his hand between your folds and gathering the slick at your entrance.

“That's good,” he praised you, slowly sinking in his middle finger past the first notch of his knuckle, “Doing such a good job for me.” He sunk his finger past the second notch, turning it within you gently while groaning out at the heat. Easily sliding in a second finger beside it, he spread your pussy apart with his index finger and pinky, pressing the pad of his thumb to your clit each time you bobbed down on his cock.

You whined around his shaft, gulping around his cock and eagerly continuing your rapid pace. He could feel the flutters of your cunt sucking him in, causing his own release to teeter on the edge. The slick sounds of your silky pussy sucking in his hand harmonized alongside the crude squelching of your mouth meeting his pubic hair on every down stroke. Each motion caused him to feel more at the precipice of euphoria.

His balls sucked up into his guts, feeling his stomach bind in a harsh knot. He increased the amount of pressure to your clit, tapping and swirling it in a harsh rapidity as your flutters got more frantic.

“You better not waste a drop,” he warned you, squeezing his eyes tightly shut as his cock began to dribble beads of sticky precum into your throat, “Swallow it. Ngghm, fuck-!”

As his eyes opened, he was met with the sight of his cabin roof. Laying flat on his back, no sight of you to behold. A dream, a facade, an illusion of your body causing him the pleasure in fantasy as his body reacted in reality.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-!” he immediately flung his blankets off his lap and gathered the closest discarded shirt or scrap of material he could. His cock began twitching, his untouched eruption coming into full fruition as he exploded in ecstasy. Hot spurts of cum shot into the air before he managed to catch it in a piece of material, sticking to his stomach and dripping down his shaft to pool beneath him.

His cock danced in rhythmic bursts, still clinging onto the falsified memory within his mind as each viscous rope shot out from the smaller slit. Slumping back on his pillow, he scrunched his eyes tightly shut, uttering a single word.

“Fuck.”

Red Haired Shanks

Glancing down at his shaft bobbing and twitching, the final spurts of his release bubbling past the tip and catching on his crotch, he couldn't help but laugh at himself.

A wet dream? Something as juvenile as a wet dream? And about you, of all the people he could've dominated: you. The thoughts swirl on in his mind, replaying his favorite moments in his head on a loop while his cock twitches in interest.

His spirits were as high as they had ever been while laughing at his own mess. Drawing up his shirt from the floor he desperately reached for earlier, he mopped himself up and discarded the shirt beside him in his wicker hamper. Laying on his back, he fixed his eyes on the roof of the red force while he grinned to himself.

A spectral visit from the Red Force’s chronicler: charged for keeping the crew on their routine, and exceptionally good at doing as such, was granted to him this night. The dance you played for him was a perfect reflection to how he would have you if given the opportunity. You were someone he had his good and bad eye on for some time, and now his mind had began to play tricks on him in his desperation for you.

Rolling over in his bed, he considered his options from this point on. He could simply walk up to you at the breakfast table and give you a play by play about it, sparing no detail and watching if your eyes go wide and sparkle with interest. He could keep the image to himself, using it when he needed a little bit of focus to tip over the edge without a playmate in his quarters, singing sweet praises of your name into his shoulder while he cums. Or he could put the image out of his mind entirely, forget it ever happened and attempt to move on.

“Sh-Shanks-!” your muffled voice echoed alongside the sloppy noises of your head bobbing up and down his shaft, “Shanks I'm gonna-!”

The red haired pirate immediately rolled onto his back, closing his eyes and furrowing his brow as his hand began to snake down his happy trail to his already hardening cock. The flushed tip still dribbled with the memory of his overnight visitor: you in your glory with your lips muffling out incomprehensible babbles while greedily slurping on his cock. Picturing this new one with your cheek flush with his, hot breath on his neck, whining and keening through your bliss while your pussy pulses with the rhythmic contractions of your ecstasy-.

“-Oh, stars,” Shanks whispered out in a breathy exhale as a smaller release erupted over his palm and trickled down his fingertips. Pleasure shot through his abdomen and twitching his cock as he pumped himself through the waves of euphoria rising throughout his body. Panting and rolling over onto his side, he reached for a towel and drew it down to the mess currently spreading to pool beneath him.

Shanks let out a small chuckle before sighed remorsefully. With a deep furrow in his brows, he began to immediately chastise himself for using you as the masterpiece within his mind's eye. He began cleaning over his shaft and down to his balls with the towel, all the while swearing a solemn promise in every motion.

“I'll make it up to you,” he whispered, gently speaking your name while he cleaned, “I'll make it up to you. I swear.”

Benn Beckman

Immediately, Beckman flung himself from his bed feeling violated by his thoughts. A cruel shudder rang through his body with those final moments ricocheting over his every pore. Sweat beaded at his temple as he looked at his bed as if it was made from flame and stinging needles as opposed to his cabin quarters.

“No,” he shook his head at the intrusive thoughts and fought them off, “No. Not you. Not like this.” He fought with his inner turmoil at the thought before strengthening his resolve and moving towards the door.

Scurrying with his sleep trousers flooding down his leg, a fresh pair flung over his shoulder with a towel, and a deepening grimace over his face, he made haste towards the crew bathroom and flung open the door. A trio of stalls for privacy between crewmates with wooden doors latching was on the leftmost corner, and to the rear was a large ovular bath able to comfortably seat five at once. The Red Force was a comfortable ship made for sailing at long lengths between ports, and the bathroom was one such luxury.

As Benn Beckman stepped into a booth, the shower beside his switched on and began to flood the room with steam. A small hum fled the lips of his shower-mate, immediately causing crescent shaped welts to form in Beckman’s palms by how hard his grip was forming.

“Chronicler,” Beckman gently rasped out with a small amount of laziness found in his tone. Your hum halted while you cheerily chirped out your greeting to him in return.

“First-Mate,” you retorted in the same manner, “And here I thought I'd have the bathroom to myself for once at this hour.” Beckman chuckled at your small aire of disappointment, only succeeding in raising a laugh of your own beside him.

“Did you have a bad dream?”

That question halted his reach for his pants as he dragged the hem over his hips and down his Adonis belt. With stuttering fingers, he hastily freed himself of the cotton material before kicking them to the edge of the booth and stepping beneath the warming water. Quickly dampening his face with the rapid flurry of water, Beckman rinsed his cotton-mouth from slumber and replied back.

“You could say that, yeah,” his voice crooned with the languid drawl of the morning, “Just not been sleepin’ as good as the rest.”

“I get it,” you admit as a few pumps and squirts from the bottle beside you fell into your hands, “We've been at sea for a while. All the faces, the same. The sea, the same. The food, unfortunately, the same. Roux tries his best to keep it interesting, but ‘brown stew’ can only be eaten so many times before my brain starts to fry.” The scent of orange peel and licorice wafted from the stand beside him, immediately swelling the mind of Benn Beckman.

He found his mind falling back into the fantasy his mind concocted of you eagerly sucking on his cock while he teased and spanked your ass, fingers slipping into your pussy and drawing out those choked sputters while he had you at his mercy. The feeling of your lips on his skin, the caress of your plush heat in his hand, the warmth of your throat taking him in-.

-He peered down at his hand, moving against his will and pumping along his cock while the other caressed his broad chest to pinch at his nipples. Shaking his head frantically, he removed his hands as if his body had burnt him and immediately stepped beneath the water. Rinsing his hair, his face, his ears, his body, he couldn't hear what you said clearly from the stall beside him.

“Sorry, head was under,” Beckman apologized with honesty, “Mind repeatin’ that?”

“I said, Benn Beckman, and please don't tell the others this,” you pleaded with a small chuckle, “I think we've all got cabin fever. I had the weirdest dream that I was fucking some crew members, and we all know that I absolutely wouldn't do that.” Beckman's hands halted their wash as you continued, “I think my mind has run away with me, using what's around me to create some kind of plot to keep it interesting. Just a bit crap that I'm left high and dry in the morning, is all.”

Taking a few moments pause to contemplate exactly what you were informing him, he inhaled before releasing an exhale with a groan hinted on his breath.

“It’s not my place to judge anyone on what shapes their dreams take,” Beckman nodded honestly while leaning against the adjoining wall where you were beside him, “And I get it. It's all the same at the moment. Next port is in a couple more weeks, we just gotta keep strong until then.”

“Aye, sir,” you uttered softly. The tap creaked off in the shower beside him at the same time Beckman did the same. As you both stepped out into the tiled hall, you both looked at the bath before looking at each other. In the silence, Beckman shook his head before looking at his toes sheepishly. Raising his head, he met your eyes with his own while both reaching the same conclusion.

“Do you want to have a bath together-?”

“-Just to keep things interesting?”

Both of you burst out into laughter before moving to the large bath. Removing your towels and stepping into the water, you and Beckman enjoyed swapping stories to break the routine of the norm, dreams but a whisper in the fictitious wind fleeing in every moment spent beside one another.

Hongo

All through his routine, his face did not change from a deep scowl mixing with complete and utter confusion. Waking himself fully up, in the shower room, at the breakfast table, in his office, back to the mess hall, taking the watch shift in the crows nest: the scowl never left his face as all thoughts eclipsed him of the night prior.

“A wet dream?” He asked himself, offended while looking down at his waistband, “I had a fucking wet dream?” He spat in disdain as his verbalised recollection fled through his mind.

Imagery began to roll from his body of the motions your spectral form made against his, halting as soon as he heard your tangible laugh below by the ropes. The smile he fictitiously fucked with his throat in his mind's eye was gracing the presence of Building Snake as he joked with you. Glancing over his glasses, Building Snake gave you a gentle shove and took the ropes from your hands in a bid to remove you if your duties for the day. Just as Hongo tried to glance away, you caught his eye from your position down below.

“Oi, doctor! Need a hand on watch?” You yelled with your hand cupping the left-hand side of your mouth, “Building Snake’s taking over deck duty, so I'm free.” Hongo shook his head as he found his smile slowly creeping up his cheek.

“You're free because you're overworked, chronicler,” Hongo mirrored your sentiment with his own hand curving around the edge of his lips, “Go to bed, read a book or something.” When he met your eyes once more, he saw that fire that meant for nothing but trouble as you took ahold of the ropes margining the top mast. Slowly beginning your climb, he scooched aside to make room beside him as your head popped through the latch.

“Shove,” you nodded your head towards the doctor, “I'm just-.”

“-Trying to do anything except go to sleep, I know the feeling,” Hongo closed his eyes and shook his head. Turning his chin onto the horizon, he reopened his eyes and looked out onto the open sea, “I know the feeling, intimately.” Now drawn beside him, you both took an elongated inhale and released a heavy exhale in unison.

“Rough night?” Your voice drew him away from his thoughts and to your side. Hazel eyes found your form, trying as they might to not see the position they placed you in last night in lieu of you before them. Hongo shook his head and upticked his forlorn smile.

“Just hanging on ‘til we get to port, is all. It's been… it's just been…”

Moving closer to him, you nudge his shoulder with your own and draw into a more familial and comfortable position. As you braced his body with your own, he leaned back into your touch and sighed out while watching the sea in its repetitive stasis. Friendship and comradery was the foremost rapport between you and the crew. Hongo was no different, and simply dwelling beside the doctor and offering him support in the ways you know how came naturally to offer him that friendship you had together.

“Next port, doc,” you nodded beside him, “First round is on me. I feel like we just need it after the time we've spent at sea.”

“The one thereafter is mine,” Hongo continued to train his steely eyes on the ocean, picturing the way he held you on his lap in his mind's eye and how natural it truly felt to hold you by his side like this, and nodded with a more genuine smile drawing to his features. “We'll need it, I think. Lots of electrolytes and water through the night, but absolutely a drink or two.”

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @mermaniaa @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory @ane5e

[grandline-fics]

Hello 😊

For your Valentine event can I ask you Chocolate-covered Strawberries with Hongo?

Thank you and have a nice day 💕

DESCRIPTION: Chocolate-Covered Strawberries- Unable to resist temptation anymore, they act

WARNINGS: none

CHARACTERS: Hongo

WORDS: 1,296

A/N: I'm starting to feel like I'm getting sick again and who better to write for than a Doctor. This is my first time writing for Hongo but here's hoping it was a good enough job and it's to your liking @akagami-no-laney! Thank you for requesting this one for the Valentines Event. Enjoy

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST | KO-FI | VALENTINES EVENT MASTERLIST

———————

“Careful Hongo, if you keep getting distracted and don’t focus you’re going to get injured. If that happens we’re going to be down a Doctor.” Hongo snapped his gaze to see Yasopp grinning at him wickedly. Nothing ever could escape the sniper’s gaze but still Hongo was quick to turn around and face the other man, becoming the picture of calm and ease. 

“Naw, you’re exaggerating, I wasn’t distracted.” He lightly protested with a relaxed wave of his hand. When Yasopp folded his arms loosely and smirked, Hongo doubled down. “I wasn’t! I still knew what was going on around me.”

“Uh-huh and you just chose to ignore me for the fifteen minutes I was standing next to you because you were so focused on not getting distracted?” Hongo struggled to come up with an answer for that and before he could say anything in response he heard you call Shanks’ name from across the deck. Immediately he looked your way again. 

At Shanks’ appearance you got up from your spot at the table and approached the Captain with that smile of yours that always left Hongo speechless and awestruck. He couldn’t pull his gaze from you, watching as you spoke with Shanks, showing him something in an old but well looked after book. As you talked you stepped closer to your Captain, your finger lightly indicating to something specific on the page for him to look at intently. Shanks in turn leant down, his dark eyes firmly on the pages in front of him. “God I wish that was me.”

“Well say no more!” Hongo flinched suddenly when Yasopp threw his arms around the Doctor and held him close with a grin. Once again he’d forgotten the sniper was standing beside him and now was shoving him away from his pretend attempts to cuddle into him and kiss at his face. “Stop playing hard to get Hongo, you know we’re meant to be!”

“I know my foot’s meant to be up your ass if you don’t quit it!” Hongo laughed managing to finally push his friend’s face away from his own only to look once more when he heard your laughter fill the air and froze to see you grinning at his and Yasopp’s antics.

“Aren't they a cute couple?” Shanks grinned at you, no longer standing as close as he had been now that your conversation was over. “I was always rooting for them to get together.”

“Really? My money’s always been on Yasopp and Benn, that’s where the real spark is.” You teased, laughing when Yasopp leapt off of Hongo and ran off, calling for the vice-captain in an overly dramatic and swooning voice. Glad to finally have the weight off of him, Hongo rubbed his neck and laughed softly, watching you approach while Shanks disappeared to talk to Building Snake about the island they were coming to.

“Now I’m curious.” Hongo began with a grin. “Who’s your money on for me to get with?”

“Help me out and I'll tell you.”

A couple hours later, Hongo found himself walking through the densely forested terrain with you. In the book you'd shown Shanks on the ship you were telling him of an incredibly rare plant that grew in an environment like the one you were approaching. Not only had it uses for medicines and poisons but it could also be used for cooking, perfumes, dyes and ink. A single flower sold for a small fortune, it was a treasure on its own. Shanks was interested and had memorised its image, promising to be on the lookout for it too. When you explained to Hongo what you wanted to find, he knew the plant immediately, wanting to take one for himself for the medicines if he could find it. When the ship docked everyone split off into their own groups and pairs with their own tasks assigned, you grabbed Hongo’s wrist and pulled him to be your partner this time.    

The two of you spoke through your walking, joking and talking with complete ease that only came from an absolute bond of friendship and trust. Even with Hongo’s feelings for you, he didn’t feel nervous but he did keep reminding himself to focus instead of constantly getting lost in your charm and warmth. Over and over since he realised his feelings for you were turning into something romantic he always talked himself out of acting on it. He told himself it’d pass, that you weren’t interested in him that way, it’d be weird since he was the ship’s doctor. 

“Hongo look!” You suddenly broke off in the middle of your conversation to point out the plant you’d been searching for. There were a few great specimens for you and Hongo to admire and eye up. While he began to carefully cut the strongest looking to take back to the ship you first took a small container from your pocket and gathered some of the dirt the plant had grown from before setting about harvesting some of the seeds. He watched you with a small smile. “You’re going to grow this?”

“It’ll take time but think how great it’ll be to have this plant always on board.” You explained brightly, looking away to smile up at Hongo. “I know you’ll discover and make a lot from the plants you’ve taken now but at least this way you’ll always have a steady supply.”

Hongo smiled back at you. You were a godsend to have on board, ever since you joined and used your skills as a botanist, his stock of medical plants and herbs never seemed to drop. Just as he was about to thank you, you reached out to brace your hand against the tree to get back to your feet only to suppress a curse when pain shot unexpectedly through your finger. 

Immediately Hongo switched into his role as doctor and helped you sit on a tree stump and crouched down to get a good look at your hand. With so many plants growing, he had to be sure that what had hurt you wasn't poisonous. Seeing no symptoms arise he sighed in relief to see the painful looking splinter embedded in your finger. Definitely painful and unpleasant but at least it was the easiest wound to treat. You stayed still and watched Hongo treat you with silent, gentle care that you’d come to expect. “What’s the prognosis?” You asked with playful teasing in your tone, barely feeling anything as he removed the splinter. “Complete amputation? Blood transfusion?”

“Nothing so serious, thankfully. Your hands are-” Hongo began with a laugh, lifting his head to look at you only to stop mid-sentence to see you’d leant in closer than he’d realised and his nose had all but skimmed yours. This close he found himself getting lost harder and faster in your stare. Was your gaze always this hypnotic? “um…they’re perfect as usual.”

His gaze flickered to your lips when they curved in amusement and Hongo felt his rational arguments begin to grow duller in his mind. Would it hurt to make a move? You hadn't moved back yet, which gave him hope. He never considered himself a coward so he decided not to start now. “Would kissing it better help?”  

“I’ll trust your judgement, Doctor.” You urged him softly, immediately smiling when he closed the unbearably small distance to finally press his lips against yours. Starting soft and slow at first, Hongo quickly pulled you headlong into a deeper and more commanding kiss. All you could think of in that moment was that even though you’d been betting with yourself, you’d been right to put your money on you and Hongo getting together and that it was definitely worth the wait. 

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @fiery-captain-spider-santa, @kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @thulhu , @appalost , @dindjarins1ut , @irumawife , @laidenbreecatchall , @redwolfxx , @jevoislesbrasdemer , @schanwow , @pao198391 , @glitchtricks94 , @nina-ya , @48daisies , @sagyunaro , @artemis162534 , @rosemary-lungs , @thecraftywriter , @rorozorolover , @yagirlsmuchelle , @engenemoazen , @sukunasstomachtongue , @nico-ith

[dilf-pirates-ask]

Ekkologix from WorstGen Forum

y-yasopp, my dad!?

[r0ttkins]

So for a secret Santa I made for my friend this and this version is unfinished and without corrections cuz THE FINAL EFFECT IS FOR HER ONLY 🫡😤⭐✨

[honeybeezgobzzzzz]

Hongo Masterlist

Legend:

❗ = Explicit Sexual Material

🩸 = Blood/Gore

☠️ An Apple a Day ❗

🏹 Aphrodite’s Garden

🌸 Bloom & Gloom

🩸 Glass Veins

🐺 Rules of Instinct

One Piece Masterlist

Last Edit: 3/20/25

[sabo-has-my-heart]

Hi Hi, I’m not sure if I bother you rn and if I do, forgive me I don’t do it in purpose🙏 just wanted to know if you are ok with making me a headcanon with Law, Hongo and chopper (platonic for him, ofc) with a s/o who have the malady of Lyme. So it’s give to her some pain attacks from times to times? Idk if you write for hongo, if you don’t sorry! And replace him by an other doctor. Like Marco or an other one you like or just do for law and chopper, I won’t be a annoying person by asking many and many details… 😭😭 Though thanks for just reading it. 👌 English isn’t my first language so ignore the mistake please ����

Hey, don't worry, you're not bothering me at all. Sorry if this took a while and thank you for being patient. I've (obviously) never written for Hongo so I hope this is okay, I did my best. I assume by malady of Lyme, you mean Lyme disease (the advanced version), so I wrote for that. Even after research, I don't know much about it, so I hope I did okay. and don't worry, you won't be annoying by asking for lots of details... enjoy!

Warnings: Lyme Disease, chronic pain, disease

Word Count: 780

Law

Is actually kind of upset with you.

How could you let it get this bad?

How could you not notice?

Still does everything he can to take care of you.

Despite scolding you, he takes very, very good care of you.

I don’t know the full capabilities of his devil fruit but if he’s able, he’ll totally use his abilities to help make you feel better.

Or if he can, he’ll just remove the problem entirely, I don’t know much about how or why Lyme Disease works.

Even though he scolds you once per attack, he only does it after you’re feeling better enough.

While you’re still in pain, he’s taking very good care of you.

He still seems like his usual stand-offish self, but he’s actually very worried about you.

If it’s just the two of you, he’ll be a little softer with you.

Gently helping you do things, helping with the pain however he can.

Definitely lets you stay in bed and rest. Rest will ease the pain at least.

Makes sure that you’re feeling better before letting you get up and do things.

As much as he talks about the crew needing you and how every crew member is necessary and needs to do their jobs, he actually won’t let you go back to work until he’s certain.

Really wants to just make it all go away like he did with his White Lead. 

If he can’t use his devil fruit to make you feel better, he feels kind of helpless. He hates it.

Hongo

Refuses to do much drinking or partying while you’re having a pain attack.

How can he party when he’s worried about you?

Still does his usual doctor duties but otherwise takes time off to take care of you.

Will straight up tell Shanks to not bother him unless it’s serious.

If it’s anything less than a broken bone or needs stitches, they can manage without him.

You, however, need his attention right now. 

Thankfully the Red-hair crew understands

Another one that’s kind of upset that the disease progressed this far.

It’s fixable in its early stages, so why did yours advance this far?

Still, he doesn’t say anything about it.

He’s just worried about making you feel better.

Does everything he can for you.

He’s a senior member of a Yonko’s crew, if you need something and it isn’t too insane, he’ll get it for you.

Like, obviously he’s not going to invade Marijoa (Mary Geoise), but he’ll totally steal from marine admirals or other Yonko’s or whatever. 

So long as he knows he won’t get caught, he doesn’t want to cause too much trouble for Shanks.

Like, if it’s for you, he doesn’t mind causing some trouble, but he knows there are limits.

Even if you’re all better, he’ll tell you to continue to take it easy for a few more days just in case.

Will totally party and get super drunk once you’re better though.

You’re not sure if he’s making up for all the missed party time or celebrating that you’re feeling better.

Chopper

This sweet little puffball.

He’s freaking out at first.

What should he do? How should he treat you?

Legitimately sobbing.

He feels like he’s not a good enough doctor because he can’t magically fix it. 

You have to reassure him that it’s alright, that he’s still a perfectly good doctor.

Absolutely stays by your side, only leaves when necessary.

The crew knows not to bother him unless they have no choice.

Once literally threw Luffy out of his office for bothering him about something that wasn’t your well being.

He’s such a good doctor, please give him head pats.

This isn’t like after Luffy fights a strong enemy or when Zoro is covered in bandages. He knows how to fix that.

He doesn’t know how to fix this, he doesn’t know how to make it better. 

Researches the fuck out of the disease.

Seriously, he’s doing anything to try and cure this.

It’s one of those moments where he’s like “I’m definitely going to cure all diseases!”

Because he wants to cure this. 

If you tell him the reason you got better so quickly is because of his care he’s doing that blushing “I’m not flattered, idiot.” thing.

100% keeps a very close eye on you for both flare ups and if you’re still in pain. 

One of the few times he’ll go against Luffy.

Like, if Luffy wants to play with you or do something stupid or whatever, he’ll totally throw Luffy overboard or something (If Nami doesn’t beat him to it).

Being a reindeer (and therefore an animal), he understands how this can happen.

[huyandere]

the birth of a diva

[hannahbarberra162]

Emperor's Prize (Alpha Shanks x Omega Reader) Part 2

18+ MDNI on Ao3

Seek medical attention for infected bite wounds.

The first chapter

The next chapter

Shanks POV

Hongo tilted his head to the side while contemplating your last statement. His mouth opened and closed before asking  “Captain, may I speak to you outside for a moment?” Shanks nodded, using his thumb to wipe away the tear tracking down the Omega’s face.

“Stay here, OK? I’ll be just outside the door,” Shanks said in your ear quietly, his stubble scraping against your cheek and earning him a shiver from you. Picking you off his lap with ease, Shanks set the Omega down on the unmade bed. You were still steadfastly looking down at your feet and avoiding eye contact with either Hongo or himself. Shanks stood up and followed the doctor, opening and shutting the cabin door gently behind him to avoid startling you. 

“Are you keeping her?” the doctor asked, letting out the breath he’d been holding.

Shanks hadn’t given it much thought in the short time he’d had the Omega on his ship. If Shanks was a better man, he could let her go back on suppressants while living in anonymity on a protected island. She’d made it years without being detected and likely could go back to doing the same. 

Or he could sell her and make a ton of Berri, maybe even equal to his bounty. This idea was dismissed as the thought of turning her over to someone who would traumatize her just as badly - or maybe worse - turned his stomach. Besides, the islands he protected were perfectly happy to supply him with whatever the crew needed. The Red Force was welcomed all over the Grand Line, Shanks had no need for more money.

“Yeah, I’m thinking about it,” Shanks said, rubbing his goatee. The idea to keep the Omega for himself had growing appeal. Your scent had started to perfume the cabin and it was taking everything in Shanks not to rub his nose on your scent glands. You had a subtle scent of lily of the valley and cedar that Shanks found incredibly appealing. With his status, power, and crew he could keep you safe from anyone else who would seek to have you. 

“Well, you’d better decide quickly. If you’re not keeping her, we need to get her off the ship immediately.”

“How much time do we have?” Shanks asked, peeking back in on your still form again. If he didn’t see you breathing and blinking, he would have thought you a statue.

“Only four to five days, and that’s if your presence around her doesn’t initiate her heat sooner which it likely will. If you’re not keeping her, we gotta put her in the infirmary, brig, or somewhere where your and Beckman’s scent is weak.” The mention of Beckman set Shanks on edge, surprising both himself and the doctor. He’d been friends with Beckman for over twenty years and this was the first time he’d ever felt anything so negative towards the man.

“How much do you know about Omegas?” 

Shanks hummed as he recalled that he had read a few books over the years, but hadn’t taken a particular interest in Omegas. He didn’t think he’d ever find one and he wouldn’t want to spend a single Berri on buying one through the slave trade. He’d bedded hundreds of Betas and even a few Alphas which had suited him just fine. “I know a little but not all that much truthfully,” he stated while looking at you through the circular window in the cabin door. You hadn’t moved an inch, your gaze still trained on the floor, sitting in the exact position Shanks had left you in. He could only imagine what Kid had done to you to train you to such a sick level of obedience. 

“We’ve got to get to an island and dock for the duration otherwise everyone’s gonna be miserable, especially Beckman. You’re not gonna want anyone else around her either.” 

“How do you know she’s going to be in heat?” Shanks asked, genuinely curious.

Hongo scoffed and rolled his eyes. “Doctor isn’t just a title, I went to a real medical school. I learned about all this and we need to get her ready. If this is her first heat like she’s saying it will be, it’s going to be intense.”

“What does that mean exactly? What do we need to do for her?” Shanks’s practical knowledge about heat cycles left something to be desired. He’d often glossed over those sections in manuscripts under the assumption that it would never apply to his situation. 

Hongo rubbed the back of his neck in thought. “If you’re keeping her, there’s a lot we need to do. First, she must bathe so I can tend to her wounds. After that, you’ll have to scent her. If you want the heat to go as smoothly as it can we need to erase any scent left from Kid and replace it with yours. That way she’s not searching for her old mate, even if they had a….bad relationship. We’ll need to get her soft, clean, unscented linens and blankets so she can make her nest. She needs to eat up - heats use a lot of the Omega’s reserves and she doesn’t have that much left. We need -”

Shanks cut off Hongo with a wave of his hand. “One thing at a time. First, let’s bathe her.” 

“After the bath, we’re gonna need Beckman,” Hongo stated.

“Beckman? Why?” Shanks was an Alpha too and stronger besides. Anything Beckman could do, Shanks could do better unless it took two arms. Belatedly, Shanks realized his feelings were the precursor to jealousy. He threw Hongo a frown before he carried on speaking in a sullen tone, “She doesn’t need him.”. 

“I’m gonna have to clean and dress her wounds,” Hongo explained.

“So? What does that have to do with him?”

“He’s gonna keep you from punching or trying to fight me. You’re not going to like watching me tend to her or hurt her, no matter if it's for her own good.” Shanks rolled his eyes at the doctor’s words.

“Pffff. It’s not gonna be like that, I can control myself. It’s not like she’s my mate,” Shanks scoffed.

“I’m getting Beckman,” Hongo stated, unmoved by Shanks’s self assuredness.

Your POV

You heard the Captain and doctor talking outside of the door but were lost in your own thoughts. You’d been off your homemade suppressants for a while but you had pointedly avoided thinking about the possibility of going through heat. You had chalked your rising temperature up to your wounds causing you to be feverish. Nuzzling into the cloak, you inhaled Shanks’s scent deep into your lungs. The velvety material and clean smell made you feel peaceful to the point of being a little sleepy. You ached to lay back on the comfortable looking bed and curl up into a ball but he hadn’t given you permission to. You wanted to pass and show that you could obey in case this was a test. Kid liked to test the limits of your obedience in creative ways and you’d learned your lessons the hard way. He would leave food out when you were hungry and punish you if you ate it, or leave out blankets when he’d told you to remain naked and enter his cabin randomly. So you sat even though you were bone achingly tired.

You tried to look about your surroundings surreptitiously while you waited. The wooden cabin was mostly tidy but well lived in. Clothes were piled on a lounge chair in the corner, a writing desk had letters, maps, and an inkwell on top, and a small bookshelf held a few tomes. A dark colored chest had more linens poking out of the corner while the bed you were perched upon was large and covered in fuzzy sheets and piled with blankets and pillows. You didn’t see any hooks or chains hanging from the walls, maybe the Alpha wasn’t going to shackle you to the bed. The room had the aroma of the Alpha and gave off the feeling of coziness, of snuggling under blankets on a cold night. It felt….homey.

The door opened and Shanks reappeared without the doctor. Watching the Emperor approach, you didn’t want to imagine his displeasure at finding you asleep on the bed when he hadn’t allowed it. Kid’s power was mind boggling to you and the Emperor had swatted him away like a fly. You would do anything to remain on the Emperor’s good side even if it was to your own detriment. You heard him approaching you and watched his sandaled feet stop in front of you. He didn’t stoop down to catch your gaze but you felt his hand land at the top of your hair. You winced, remembering all the times it had been pulled in the past. No pain came as Shanks just patted you and rubbed the strands of your dirty hair between his fingers.

“Hongo has to treat your wounds. We need to get you clean first though, yeah? And take these off too,” Shanks’ fingers left your hair as he spoke. He reached down into the cloak and pulled on the chain between the cuffs you were still wearing. Feeling the bed dip next to you, Shanks pulled one of the cuffs closer to his face to inspect the manacle. “Where’s the lock? They’re not welded shut,” Shanks noted. 

“Magnetic,” you said in your hoarse voice. Shanks’s face soured as he traced the smooth metal of the handcuff with his thumb.

“Ah.” Shanks seemed to mull your response over for a few moments before he commanded you to close your eyes. You complied immediately and heard crunching as the metal of your cuff fell off your wrists. You desperately wanted to see how the Emperor had gotten them off but you were waiting for his command. A warm and calloused hand rubbed your bruised wrist where the metal had been previously. “You can open them again,” Shanks said softly, running his thumb over your pulse. There were no weapons around and the Emperor’s sword was still sheathed within the scabbard. You could only guess the power he’d used to remove them. 

The door swung open and three men appeared, two carrying a metal tub filled with steaming water and the third with a bucket with toiletries. Shanks stood to put himself between you and the crew members, blocking them from your view. “Thanks, guys, just put it over there,” the Emperor requested, gesturing to the largest open area of the cabin. The men followed their Captain’s request carefully but a little water sloshed on the floor. Alarm shot through you at the sight of the water on the floor, and you hoped the Captain didn’t blame you or punish you for it. You nearly went to clean it but you hadn’t been told to leave the bed and the new men were still in the room.

“Is it time for introductions? I’m Lime -” one of the men began speaking in your direction.

“Ah, not now. Maybe later Lime Juice, sorry. Thanks for bringing the tub,” the Emperor said with genuine praise in his voice.

“No worries. Nice to meetcha Little Miss,” the man said easily. You didn’t reply. The men exited the cabin leaving only you, Shanks, and the piping hot bath. 

“Come on, then. Let’s get you in there while it's still hot,” the Emperor suggested. You nodded and stood up, shucking the Emperor’s cloak you’d been clutching.

Shanks POV

He shouldn’t have been surprised when you complied immediately, leaving his cloak on the bed and revealing your nude body. You’d been beaten into submission - if he told you to jump overboard he’d hear the splash shortly thereafter. His eyes raked over your form while you limped to the tub, noticing the bruising, the cuts, the marks he hadn’t before. Even in your currently broken form, you were breathtaking. Shanks’s fingers twitched with the desire to touch you but he stuffed his hand into his pocket for the time being, getting closer to aid your descent into the water.

“Why are you limping?” Shanks asked as you gripped the edge of the tub to lift yourself in. You froze in place, looking down at the water. Raising your foot behind you revealed a deep gash in the sole of your foot. Shanks crouched down to get a better look at the wound while capturing your foot in his hand. The doctor hadn’t inspected the bottom of your feet so he was sure Hongo hadn’t seen this one. The cut was clearly deliberate with how deep and uniform it was. Taking a deep breath to avoid swearing caused the tempting perfume of your cunt to hit Shanks’s nose. His first instinct was to hold you in place and run his tongue all the way up your legs till he reached your tantalizing pussy. Then he wanted to rub his nose up and down your slit until the scent of your pussy was all he could smell. Now wasn’t the time, you were shaking and tired and had a long way to go until you could rest.

“Ach. I wish you’d said something, are there any other cuts Hongo didn’t inspect?” Shanks said in mild admonishment. You licked your lips and nodded slowly. You were shaking, your shoulders hunched in to make yourself smaller. “Hey, don’t worry, I’m not mad,” Shanks said quietly, putting your foot back down and standing up, regrettably moving away from the scent of your groin. He cupped your face and rubbed his thumb over your cheek repeatably in an attempt to soothe you. “I’m not mad, I just need to know where you need medical attention. I can’t help you if I don’t have all the information, right?” You nodded, your hair obscuring your face from his view. “Where’s the other cut?” Shanks inquired while moving his hand to the small of your back.

You took in a deep breath and put your good foot on the tub, opening your legs to his eyes. At the very inner crease of your leg, where your thigh met your groin, was another infected bite mark. Shanks squared his shoulders and kept his face neutral. His first instinct had been to snarl at the offending sight but managed to restrain his response at the sight of you. Shanks saw your vacant gaze, shaking hands, and clammy skin and knew it would only make things worse.

“”S all right. We can let Hongo know later,” Shanks slipped on the mask of his affable nature as he spoke to smooth over the moment. “In ya go, Love,” Shanks said while picking you up by the waist and depositing you into the tub without warning. Shanks needed you in the water so your smell would dissipate before he lost control of himself. You hissed when your skin hit the water but otherwise made no movements. “Here you go,” Shanks said, handing you soap and a towel before dragging a stool over to sit near the tub. “You do your front, I’ll get your back.” 

You began lathering the washcloth with soap and warm water before you began rubbing down your arms and torso. Shanks maintained a steady one sided conversation while he started pouring water down your back. He was trying to acclimate you to the sound of his voice in an attempt to bring you comfort in what surely was an uncomfortable time. While lathering his own washcloth Shanks saw the formerly clear bathwater turning rust red with every swipe of your hands. As he began sudsing your back his eyes picked up faded scars he’d missed when looking over your more recent wounds. 

“I’m gonna wash your back now, ok? It’s hard to wash your own back and even harder when you only have one hand. There are more tasks than you’d think that require two hands, even beyond fighting or washing. Can you imagine how difficult buttons are to do with one hand? Or even tying boots? I have Beckman help me, that’s Benn Beckman, my first mate. You’ll meet him later, you’ll like him for sure. He looks gruff but make no mistake he’s a total sweetheart. He says that I milk it, and I do of course, but what’s the point of being a Captain if my first mate won’t hand feed me eggs every morning?” 

Shanks was acting casually but he noticed a miniscule shift in your mouth as he joked about Benn feeding him breakfast. You were close to smiling and Shank’s heart swelled with pride. He knew there was some glimmer of you buried deep within and he was going to bring you back to the surface. He finished washing your back and you’d washed your arms, torso, and legs but made no move to wash your hair.

“Do you want me to wash your hair, Love? I can if you’d like,” Shanks was trying to offer you as many simple choices as possible to show you that he wasn’t going to control every aspect of your life. You shook your head in response to his query. “Alright, go ahead then, almost done here,” Shanks said gently but to his surprise, you shook your head again. “No? I don’t mean to be rude sweetheart but your hair’s dirty, it needs to be washed.” 

“Cut it all off,” you rasped. Shanks tilted his head to the side, your request startling. Even male Omegas preferred long hair, it was simply a characteristic commonly associated with the dynamic. One of the most severe non-corporeal punishments an Omega could face was having a forced haircut. For an Omega to request a drastic haircut was unheard of. Your hair was long, indicating you’d been growing it long before Kid had gotten his hands on you even through your time being suppressed.

“Can I ask why?” Shanks questioned, picking up the soggy ends from the water. 

“Can’t be pulled,” you answered. You parted your hair in the back, showing a bald spot where your hair had been yanked out from the root. Shanks moved his stool so he was no longer sitting behind you but beside you.

“Look at me,” Shanks requested and you partially complied as you turned your head towards him. You looked at his chest but not at his face. “ Look at me,” Shanks repeated, this time with a Command. Not physically able to disobey an Alpha of his power, your widened eyes snapped to him. It was the first time he’d Commanded you to do anything, but this was important.

“I’m not going to hurt you. Not now. Not ever. You may not always like what I do, but I will never harm you. Do you understand?” Shanks said softly while stroking your cheek with his thumb. He’d done that a lot, he mused. Something about you called him to take care of you, to provide for you physically and emotionally. You nodded. “I’m gonna have to hear you say it,” Shanks said, almost sorry for forcing you to talk.

“I understand,” you stated in your ruined voice. Unsure if his Command was completed you continued looking at him. Shanks smiled at you and kissed the top of your head.

“I’ll tell you what, we’ll make a deal. I’ll wash and brush your hair for you tonight. If you still want to cut it off tomorrow morning, we will. We can have matching haircuts if you want,” Shanks said, flipping back his own hair for emphasis. A ghost of a smile turned up the corners of your lips as you nodded your consent to his deal.

Your POV

Your arms looped around your knees in the cooling water as Shanks washed your hair tenderly. You had been sincere in your wish to cut it - you never wanted to be dragged by your hair ever again. Shanks’s offer startled you since Omegas were often physically groomed to whatever standard the Alpha wanted regardless of how they felt about it. The bath had given you a lot of stress since you weren’t sure what to expect. Anything new, any deviation from the standard made you nervous since you couldn’t predict the outcome. It had been an all right experience but not as relaxing as the Emperor had anticipated. 

Shanks only had one hand but it didn’t slow him down when bathing you. He rattled on about whatever he was thinking about while you listened as he worked the soap onto your scalp and rinsed it. He was pulling the brush easily through your hair while telling you about a strange boy he’d met years before when there was a knock at the door. 

“Wait,” Shanks ordered in a tone more stern than he’d used when speaking to you. “Up, dear,” Shanks motioned with the hairbrush. The water dripping off you in rivulets left you exposed to the cold air making your skin erupt into goosebumps. Shanks quickly dried you off with a fluffy towel before he wrapped it around your body. After you were dried to Shanks’s satisfaction, he swapped the towel for a large purple robe, picked you up, and sat you on the chair by the desk.

“Come in,” Shanks said, sitting on the edge of the desk next to you. He took your wrinkly hand and held it in his own as you resumed staring at the floor. Three pairs of boots walked past and you heard them hefting the tub back out of the room.

“Blech, what’d she do? Bathe in mud?” one man said.

“Shut the fuck up,” Hongo replied calmly while coming to stand in front of you. He had his medicine kit again and you knew this part would be even less fun than the bath. Two pairs of boots stopped in front of you but you only recognized Hongo’s. The other male was also an alpha though not as strongly scented as Shanks.

“There’s a few more Hong,” Shanks said casually, stroking the top of your hand. “She’s got a cut on the sole of her foot and one on her inner thigh. Both need attention.”

“Alright, not an issue. Let’s get started,” Hongo said while setting his bag on the desk. “Over to the other side of the cabin,” Hongo ordered Shanks, who bristled immediately. 

“Nah, I’m gonna stay here,” Shanks said, keeping your hand in his own.

“No, you’re not. Go over there with Beckman. I don’t want to have to treat my own wounds in addition to hers when I stitch her up.” You cringed, waiting for the Captain to slap his subordinate but it never came. Instead, you heard a deep voice ushering the Emperor away from you.

“C’mon, Cap. ‘S for the best. We’ll be a few feet away and she’s a big girl, she can be apart from you for a minute or two.” You were guessing this was Benn Beckman, the first mate Shanks had told you about. Shanks whined in response but let go of your hand nonetheless.

“”M right here if you need me, Sweets,” Shanks reassured you as he receded. You didn’t protest but a part of you did wish Shanks was nearby. You didn’t feel all that comfortable around him but he was the person you were most familiar with. Hongo had been taking tools and liquids out of his bag in preparation for the procedures. After putting on a pair of glasses, Hongo snapped on a pair of rubber gloves.

“It’s not gonna feel great, but I’ll try to make it as painless as possible, OK? Let’s start with your neck, I think that’s the most severe. Did you wash it in the bath?” He asked, using the stool Shanks had previously occupied. You nodded in confirmation that you had followed the doctor’s orders.

“Let’s take a look, yeah?” You tilted your head to allow the doctor access to your neck. Even though you knew he was going to touch you, you still flinched when he made contact with your skin. “I’m gonna clean it and drain the pus. After I’m gonna have to stitch it,” the doctor informed you. You heard the sound of liquid moving and felt alcohol being applied to your neck. Not wanting to interrupt Hongo’s work, you stayed as still as you could even as the alcohol burned on contact with your wound. 

“See? Not even a single reaction outta me,” you heard Shanks say in the background and Beckman grunted in response to his captain.

After wiping down the area, you heard the clanging of metal as Hongo picked up a scalpel. You closed your eyes and waited for the sharp pain as the knife met your skin. Based on other wounds you’d received, you knew the doctor was trying to be gentle but you still hissed as he cut into you and pressed on the wound.

“No, sit down. She’s fine -”

“I AM sitting down, but I just wanna go -” 

“No, stay put.” You heard Shanks and Beckman arguing on the other side of the room. Hongo was right to bring the first mate, it sounded like Shanks was having a hard time watching the doctor tend to your wounds. You wondered if it was from possessiveness, like Kid, or because he didn’t like watching you being hurt. You didn’t think about it for long as a sharp pain crowded out your train of thought when the doctor began pressing on your wound to drain the pus.

“Not much more, almost there. It’s a deep wound, otherwise I wouldn’t have to stitch it.” You whimpered as the doctor pushed even harder for a moment, then covered the area with gauze. You heard scuffling again.

“Let go of me Benn, I need to - I said stop shoving me!” Shanks’ voice rose with more anger in his voice. His scent was starting to bloom, filling the air with the smell of oranges and cloves in an unconscious effort to soothe you.

“One more time and you’re out of the cabin until he’s done. Stop talking and distracting everyone. You know it’s for her own good so Let Hongo work,” Benn huffed. You couldn’t concentrate on Shanks anymore because the doctor started to stitch. You closed your lips into a thin line and screwed your eyes shut in a futile effort to block out the pain.

“Ah, relax, relax. If you tense your muscles it hurts more,” the doctor chided you gently as the needle pricked your skin over and over. You relaxed your face as much as you could. You’d had stitches before and you were no stranger to pain but the bite was in such a delicate and sensitive area you couldn’t help as a few tears escaped your eye. Finally, you heard the words you were waiting for.

“All done, just snipping the end of the thread. One more moment and we can move on.” Scissors were brought close to your face and snipped the end of the medical thread. “Look straight ahead for me?” Hongo instructed you, facing you head on. You looked forward, your neck aching with the effort. “And turn to the other side?” You turned and saw Shanks smiling and waving at you despite being held against the wall by Benn. You dropped your eyes after a moment too long.

“So what’s next? Shanks said you had a foot injury? Those are a real drag,” Hongo said, trying to make light conversation. You nodded and crossed your leg over your knee to show the doctor the sole of your foot. Hongo reached out to pick up your foot by the ankle and peered closely at the wound with his glasses.

“Knife?” he asked abruptly. You nodded. “Accident?” You shook your head. 

“Punishment. Ran away,” you said quietly. Hongo hummed and tilted your foot. You used the extra fabric of the extravagant robe to cover yourself more as Hongo lifted your leg and placed your foot on his lap. Shanks growled lightly but otherwise made no noise.

“Luckily it’s pretty shallow. Probably hurts to walk but it should heal quickly. I don’t need to suture it but I am going to wrap it,” Hongo explained. He cleaned the wound and used long nosed tweezers to get a few pieces of debris out. The digging was uncomfortable and made you try to jerk your foot back unintentionally but Hongo’s grip was tight. He finished quickly and wrapped the wound in gauze and bandages.

“Next is the leg, right? Let’s see,” Hongo offered. Your mouth twisted as you thought of having to show the wound. You pointed to the bed and hoped the doctor didn’t think you were arrogant.

“Sure, go ahead and lay down if it's easier for you,” Hongo offered. He picked you up and you heard the Emperor’s rumble returning, making you ball your hands into fists.

“Oi, you’re scaring her Redhair,” Benn said as you were placed on the bed. The rumble stopped for a moment but quickly resumed as soon as you opened your legs to show Hongo the wound. You were covering what you could with the robe but Shanks only got louder as Hongo came closer to you. As his head dipped low to look at it with his glasses, Shanks’s loud roar made you cower. 

“That’s it, we’re leaving,” Ben said, manhandling the Emperor out of the cabin. “I’m keeping this one outside. Let us know when you’re done. C’mon you,” Beckman said, still grappling with a struggling Shanks. You knew that if the Emperor really wanted to stay, no one on board could keep him out. You guessed that the Emperor was trying to allow Hongo to take care of you but the Alpha within him didn’t like the other male so close to you. You closed your eyes and willed this experience to be over as soon as possible. Hongo was touching your upper leg in a professional manner but the feeling of someone near your core had you near tears. This wound wasn’t as bad as the one on your neck since you had secretly washed it a few times. 

“All done. Good job, Omega. You did better than some of the men on board,” Hongo said before removing the gloves and putting his glasses back in their case. “You stay there, I’ll get Shanks.” No sooner had the doctor finished speaking than the door opened and the Emperor strode in, carrying a basket in his hand. You sat up and gulped, unsure how angry he would be. 

“Out,” he said to Hongo before he shut his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Sorry Hong. What I meant was, thank you. And you were right about Beckman, owe ya one.”

“Owe me a bottle of booze is whatcha owe me,” Hongo said, smiling easily. “Have her eat and go to sleep. Poor thing’s exhausted.” 

“Already on it,” Shanks murmured. He placed the basket on the bed as the doctor left, taking his equipment with him. “Didn’t know what you liked, so I took a bit of everything. The crew already ate dinner and those assholes left no leftovers. Well, we didn’t really know you were coming, but Lucky’ll make you whatever you want tomorrow. For now, here’s a little snack.” Shanks reached into the basket and pulled out some cheese, dried meat, grapes, crackers, and some nuts. “I stole a bunch of this from Beckman’s cabin, he’s got good taste.” You hesitatingly reached over to the slices of cheese, taking one in your hand. Biting into it, you nearly moaned. You hadn’t had fresh food in forever, subsisting on whatever Kid remembered to bring into his cabin. 

You ate a few more slices in silence, Shanks leaning back on the bed and eating some of the mixed nuts he’d taken. “You want one?” he asked, holding a grape in his hand. You nodded and held out your hand to take one from the bowl. “Ah ah. Open,” he demanded, putting the grape right in front of your lips. You obediently opened your mouth and Shanks popped the fruit in. You didn’t know why but you felt yourself starting to blush faintly. You were wearing the Emperor’s robe, on his bed, after he bathed you, and yet feeding you a grape made you feel embarrassed? You yawned after you swallowed, your eyelids feeling heavy. You wanted to rest but were still unsure if you needed permission.

“Aw, you’re tired? ‘S alright, we can eat more tomorrow. Drink a cup of water and we’ll be off to bed,” Shanks said, pouring water into a cup from a bottle on the nightstand. Handing you the cup, your fingers brushed against his. You drank greedily, draining the cup in seconds. “More?” Shanks asked but you shook your head. He quickly put the food back in the basket and set it on the floor.

“Lay down. You look so sleepy little Omega. Come on, right here next to me on the bed, it’s nice and warm, I’ll hold you,” Shanks cooed at you. Your lip wobbled at the suggestion but you held firm and didn’t cry. You’d spent many nights on the cold floor of Kid’s cabin, your chains pulling at your weakened limbs. Crawling over to the head of the bed, you laid down on your side on one of the fluffy, feather filled pillows. The Emperor covered your body with his heavy blanket and you burrowed down into its warmth while inhaling the rich scent of the Alpha. You’d missed being warm and comfortable at night more than any other luxury, even more than eating regularly. Shanks laid down behind you and pulled you close to his body, draping his arm loosely across your torso. 

“Good night, little Omega,” he said, kissing the top of your head.

“Good night, Emperor,” you croaked, already half asleep. One thought tickled the corner of your mind before you could succumb to sleep completely. “The other ship?” You’d felt the Emperor’s boat rock earlier but you were too focused on your circumstances to notice anything else.

“Hm? Kid’s ship? Dorry and Broggy cut it in half,” Shanks mumbled while running his hand up and down your ribs. You hummed happily and let sleep overtake you.

Taglist: @mfreedomstuff @v1ennie @staarflowerr @treelogirl @rebeccawinters @nocturnalrorobin @mochiclouds @cursedforlife666 @epochal-oracle

[fanaticsnail]

"(Hongo) for Kissing Booth please"

Hello Snail 😘

I really like this idea of Kissing Booth 😍😍

You’re great, have a nice day 💖💖

The Kissing Booth: Hongo for Akagami-no-Laney

Word Count: 800+

Notes: Hongo is such a delight to write for. This has given me a chance to explore what he'd be like in the request you've submitted for me, Laney! Now, come and get smooched by your doctor!

A loud rambunctious gaggle of barked laughter eclipsed the sweet song played by the musicians. The melody was half-sung, half-shouted by the misfits in front of you. You shook your head, rolling your eyes beneath your blinding shroud as you turned your head away from them with a soft pout. 

The group seemed to ignore you, their voices lifting all the higher and crying out in harmony the song currently played aloud. Interlacing your arms in disdain, you tapped at your bicep with your index finger and gently counted down the seconds until your shift at the booth were to come to a close. 

Just as the troop began to echo their voices away from you, you heard the soft crackle of Berry being placed into the glass jar beside you. You leaned your head towards the sound before upturning your chin to a potential guest. 

“I don't want anything' from you or nothin’,” the masculine voice whispered down at you, “Just thought I'd apologize for the singin’. Our first mate usually keeps ‘em in line, but he's off resupplying the ship before joinin’ us here.” You offer him a soft smile and a nod in response. 

“I see,” your humming voice taunts up at him, “And you're not the type to join in on the merriment?” 

“I join in just fine,” he scoffs at you, his foot gently colliding with the unoccupied barstool in response, “Just thought I'd offer you compensation for my captain’s horrible singin' voice.” You giggle at his confession, his own voice chuckling in response. You lull your head to the side towards the jar, gently gesturing with your chin down at it. 

“If you've given me Berry, you're entitled to a kiss should you like one,” you nod towards the stool, the shroud over your eyes halting your ability to get a read on the person granting you their Berry and apologies. 

“I-... uh-...” he began, stuttering over his words before taking a moment to consider your suggestion, “...I suppose one kiss wouldn't exactly hurt.” He chuckled, sitting down on the stool opposite to you and lacing one of his knees between yours opposite his. 

“So I just-...” he gently brushes his hand over your forearm and traces it up towards your chin, “I just kiss you? Just like that?” You shake your head with a soft giggle as you feel him shift all the closer. 

“Just like that,” you confirm with a soft nod, “Nothing more to it than your lips and mine.” You heard a subtle scoff in his hum in response. His body shifted closer, the shuffle of fabrics and the legs of the stool scuffing the floor had your ears pricking up in response.

His breath whispered over your jaw, your body involuntarily shifting up to reveal more of your skin to him. A soft press of his lips brushed over the bone before slowly tracing up towards your cheek. The trail left behind by soft and subtle kisses left the rise of goose flesh at the back of your neck, the anticipation of what his lips would feel like atop your own igniting a spark within you.

Turning your head towards him, you immediately collect his lips with your own. His smile was the first thing you felt on your lips, a soft trace of subtle joy in his apprehensive kiss. He parted his lips, coaxing you to open more of yourself up to him by angling his chin and turning his face. 

The brush of his tongue softly swirled at your lower lip as one hand rested securely on your shoulder, and the other moved to cup your face. His thumb teased at the outer corner of the blindfold, prompting you to retract a little from his lips and raise your hands up to tug it down. 

Chuckling into your lips, he pressed one more lengthy hum against you before retreating from you entirely. His lips left a lingering tingle against your own, feeling your breath had been all but taken from you by his skillful kiss. 

“If you feel like you want more from me at the end of your shift,” he chuckled, gently caressing your cheek before rising to his feet, “Follow the redhead with the horrible singin' voice. He’s likely to not let up anytime soon.”

You giggle in response, raising your hand gently up to squeeze his in response. 

“I’ll find you,” you smile in his direction, feeling his lips gently descend and find purchase against your forehead. He turned away from you, wandering off to find the horrid musings and drunken jig several members of the crew were partaking in while encouraging the band to play louder. 

Hongo should’ve been more miserable at his crew’s juvenile attitude, but all he could think about was you lips on his, and how much he wanted to taste you on him once more.

[1chaerry]

somewhere in the past pt.3

summary: The world moves forward, but ghosts never rest. A familiar ship on the horizon. A name she has not spoken in years. A storm long overdue. Some things were meant to stay buried. Some things refuse to be forgotten.

c.w. : MAJOR SPOILERS for One Piece Film: Red, angst, mentions of violence, plot-centric, mentions of death,

Disclaimer: Reader is called "Saram" meaning "Human/Person"

Part 1 | Part 2

Flour dusted the countertop in a soft cloud, and bowls of ingredients sat neatly on the counter, waiting to be mixed. Gab was leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed and a bemused smile on his face as he watched the two of them. Saram, barely five years old, perched on the counter with her legs dangling, her bare feet kicking the cabinets beneath her. Her eyes were wide, gleaming with excitement, watching Lucky carefully as he worked.

"Are you sure this is going to work?" Saram asked, her voice high-pitched and full of innocence, like she was seeking reassurance.

Lucky chuckled, turning the bowl in his hands and gently stirring the butter and sugar together. "Of course it will. You trust me, don’t you?" His voice was warm, comforting, and there was something soft about his grin that made Saram giggle, even though she had no real reason to doubt him.

Saram nodded eagerly, her small hands gripping the edge of the counter as she leaned forward. "I do! I do! But... how do you know it’s gonna taste like the cookies we always get at the market?" She tilted her head, scrunching her face up with the kind of curiosity that only children have—open, unfiltered, unafraid to ask the same question a hundred times over.

Lucky grinned, his eyes sparkling with a quiet confidence. "Well, kiddo," he said, "there's a secret ingredient. You see, it’s not just the chocolate chips... It’s the love you put into it. And that’s something you can’t find at any market." He winked at her, as if revealing some great mystery.

Saram’s eyes widened, the weight of those words sinking in slowly. Love? She repeated the word to herself, almost tasting it on her tongue. Love. It made her smile without even knowing why, like she had just learned a very important secret.

"And... and we’ll eat them right after they’re baked?" Saram asked, her voice breathless, full of anticipation. She could already feel the warmth of the cookies in her hands, the soft gooey chocolate chips melting against her tongue.

"Of course." Lucky added a bit more flour to the mixture, his hands deftly working. "Warm cookies straight out of the oven, just like we used to."

Gab chuckled softly from the doorway, watching the two of them with a fondness that softened his usually stoic expression. "You know, she’s gonna eat all of them, right?"

Lucky shot a playful glance at Gab. "No problem. We can make more tomorrow."

Saram gasped, her small face lighting up. "Tomorrow? We can make cookies every day?"

Lucky shrugged, an exaggerated shrug that made his shoulders roll up comically. "If you help me, we can make cookies every day."

Saram's laughter rang out like a bell, sweet and clear. "I’ll help! I’ll help!"

Gab shook his head, a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "I’m pretty sure you’re gonna end up eating more than you help, kid."

Saram stuck her tongue out at Gab, but her eyes shone with pure joy. She could barely contain herself as she watched Lucky scoop the dough onto the baking tray, her fingers twitching with excitement. "Can I try? Can I do it?" Her voice was full of eagerness, her little body practically vibrating with energy.

Lucky laughed and handed her a spoonful of dough. "Alright, kiddo. But just one. We don’t want to spoil dinner."

Saram took the spoonful and popped the dough straight into her mouth. The sweetness of the raw dough melted instantly on her tongue, rich and buttery, with just the right amount of chocolatey goodness. She closed her eyes and let out a small sigh, savoring the moment. "This tastes so good, Lucky! I’m gonna be the best cookie maker ever!"

Gab raised an eyebrow, his voice teasing as he said, "Well, then you’ll have to teach us your secret recipe, right?"

Saram blinked at him, her small face scrunching up in deep thought. "My secret recipe... is chocolate chips and sugar and love!" She giggled at her own simplicity, her joy contagious.

Lucky placed the tray in the oven, the soft click of the door closing signaling the start of the wait. He turned back to Saram, his eyes warm. "Now we wait. And when they’re ready, we get to eat every last one of them. Deal?"

"Deal!" Saram said, her voice loud and clear, her excitement radiating out of her like a little sunbeam. She hopped down from the counter, her tiny feet padding across the kitchen floor as she wandered over to the window, peeking outside at the moonlit ocean. The salty air wafted in through the window, mixing with the smell of cookies and making her feel warm all over.

"Can you smell that?" she asked, her voice soft now, as she stared out at the ocean.

Gab stepped up beside her, glancing out at the waves. "Yeah. Smells like the sea."

"No," Saram said, shaking her head. "It smells like... something nice." Her small voice was so sincere, so full of that childlike certainty, that it made Lucky and Gab both pause and look at her. "The sea, and the cookies, and all the things we get to do together..." She twirled around, her arms outstretched as if the entire world could fit inside that simple, perfect moment.

Lucky smiled, his heart swelling with something soft and tender, something he rarely let himself feel. "You’re right," he said quietly. "It smells nice."

"You're a good kid, Saram," Lucky said, his voice gentle but sincere. "You remind me that it’s the little things that make the world feel good." He fixed his goggles, leaning back and glancing at Gab with a small, almost shy smile. "I don’t think we tell you enough."

Gab raised an eyebrow, his arms still crossed. He stood taller, leaning against the doorframe, but there was a softness in his gaze that matched the light in the kitchen. "Takes a lot to remind us, doesn’t it?" His voice was quieter now, more thoughtful. "The way things get crazy out there, it's easy to forget."

Saram stopped spinning for a moment and looked up at them, her face serious and curious all at once. "What do you mean?" Her voice was small, but she still had a way of making the question feel big.

Gab’s expression softened. He stepped closer to the window, staring out at the night for a moment before answering, his tone a little distant. "I mean... sometimes, we forget that moments like these—quiet, peaceful ones—are important. We get caught up in other things. Things that make us forget why we care about what we’re doing, who we’re with."

Lucky nodded, running his hands through the flour-dusted countertop. "Life gets noisy, kiddo. But it’s the quiet moments that let us reset. That let us remember what we’re really working for. And it’s not just for survival, or for fighting the next battle." He gave her a playful wink. "Sometimes, it’s for cookies."

Saram’s eyes brightened. "Cookies are important," she agreed, a tone of seriousness in her voice that only a five-year-old could muster. She turned back to the window, her fingers trailing across the cool glass. She could still taste the sweetness of the dough on her tongue, warm and rich. It made her smile.

The sound of the oven timer suddenly rang through the kitchen, sharp and sudden, breaking the stillness. Saram’s whole body tensed with excitement. "It’s time!" She scrambled over to the oven, jumping up and down as she tried to peer over the counter.

Gab chuckled softly, his hands slipping into his pockets as he watched her. "I think someone’s ready to eat."

Lucky moved past Saram, his large hands reaching for the oven mitts. "Alright, alright, kid, step back. Let me do it so you don’t burn yourself." He slid the tray out, the warm, golden brown cookies now fully formed, each one with a perfect, slightly crinkled top, the chocolate chips melted just enough to glisten.

The smell hit them immediately—chocolate, butter, and a touch of vanilla, mingling with the salty sea breeze. It was the smell of comfort, of home, of simplicity. Lucky placed the tray down on the counter, and Saram bounced up and down, barely able to contain herself.

"They’re perfect!" she squealed, her voice a high pitch of joy as she grabbed a cookie, biting into it before it had even fully cooled.

"Hey, don’t burn your mouth," Lucky said with a laugh, but Saram only shrugged, the warm cookie in her hand already half gone.

"They taste like the best thing ever," she declared, her face lighting up with pure delight.

Gab watched her for a moment, his gaze a little distant, but his lips curled into a faint smile. There was something about the way Saram’s joy filled up the space around them, how she had this ability to make everything feel lighter, even in the quiet of the night. He couldn’t help but feel a quiet ache in his chest, a yearning for these moments to last, for the world outside to just... stay still for a little longer.

Lucky slid a couple more cookies onto the counter, a teasing glint in his eye. "Alright, kid. Now that we’ve got our cookies, what do we do with them?"

Saram, already on her third cookie, looked up at him with wide, innocent eyes. "We eat them all!" she declared, as if there could be no other answer. Her mouth was full, but she spoke with absolute certainty.

Lucky and Gab exchanged a glance, both shaking their heads in amused disbelief. "Guess we’re in for a cookie feast, then," Lucky said, laughing.

The three of them settled down around the kitchen table, the warm glow from the oven lighting their faces, the sound of the waves outside soothing the quiet of the night. Gab finally uncrossed his arms and leaned back in his chair, his eyes softening as he reached for another cookie.

"Guess we should start making plans for tomorrow’s batch," Lucky said with a grin, as he wiped a little chocolate from the corner of his mouth.

Saram’s eyes sparkled. "And we can eat them right away too?"

"You bet," Lucky said, throwing her a wink. "And this time, we can eat even more."

Saram giggled, the sound filling the kitchen like music. For that brief moment, with the smell of cookies in the air and the sea softly calling them from beyond the windows, everything felt perfect. The worries of the world seemed so far away, lost in the warmth of the kitchen and the love they shared.

For Saram, this—this was what happiness tasted like.

Saram wondered if this is what silence tasted like.

The silence between them felt like a living thing, breathing and shifting with every quiet motion.

Saram tilted her head slightly, the faintest smile tugging at the corners of her lips—a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, the kind that was just a shadow of something long gone. Something lost.

"You tell me, Beckman. You’re the vice, right?" she asked, her voice soft, even. Too even. Too calm. Her hands were tucked into her pockets now, her fingers clenched around the vial there, as if it was the only thing keeping her tethered to reality. The only thing that kept her from slipping into the storm that churned inside her chest.

Beckman’s eyes never left her. He’d seen that look before. He’d seen that cold calm, the way she moved with an eerie quiet precision, like everything was a calculation and nothing was out of her control. The same way the crew moved when things were serious. When the stakes were high.

Saram was no stranger to battle. She carried the weight of it in her stance, in her eyes. And it was too much like them.

"Vice," Beckman echoed, the word hanging between them. He didn’t need to answer her directly. He already knew what she was asking. But Shanks—Shanks was watching her differently. The weight of his one hand shifting as he shifted his posture, the subtle pull of his body where once there had been two hands. The soft sound of his breath moving in and out, like a man caught between two worlds: the one where he was father and the one where he had abandoned a part of himself.

Shanks swallowed thickly. His eyes burned, not with anger, but with the weariness of twelve long years.

"You think you’ve got me figured out, Saram?" he asked, voice rough, like something scraped raw.

She didn’t flinch. She didn’t move. The smile stayed there, small and bitter, like a piece of old fruit left too long in the sun.

"I think," she said slowly, her voice sliding between them like oil on water, smooth but heavy, "you have more in common with me than you’re willing to admit."

Beckman shifted ever so slightly, catching the faintest glint in Shanks' eyes. He was walking on a tightrope now, balancing between the past and the present. Between the crew he had built and the daughter he had left behind. The wind outside shifted in rhythm with their breaths, the scent of salt and old wood mixing with the faint burning of Beckman’s cigarette. The smoke curling lazily around them like a veil, just thick enough to blur the sharp edges of everything they were saying but not thick enough to hide the truth that lingered in the room.

Shanks opened his mouth to speak again, but Saram interrupted, her tone cutting, sharp as glass.

"You don’t need to say it," she said, almost lazily, as if she were bored with the conversation. "You think you’re so different. You and the crew. You all think you’re so different, but in the end, you're just the same. You run, you hide, you leave your problems behind, until one day—" She paused, her gaze flickering between them, a cold flame that didn’t burn but froze instead. "One day, you come back, and expect everything to be... fixed. To be easy. You want to pick up where you left off, like you never vanished."

The words cut through the air. Beckman could see the flicker in Shanks’ eye, the way it softened despite himself, how he felt it. How they both felt it.

"We’re not the same," Shanks muttered, but the words felt hollow, even to him.

Saram’s smile widened, bitter and soft, like something both broken and sharp. She was a blade hidden in the skin of someone else’s memory, a shadow of what could have been.

"You’re right," she agreed with a mocking tilt of her head. "You’re not the same. You’re worse."

Beckman exhaled sharply, flicking the ash from his cigarette. He could feel the tension building in the room, the pressure of the unspoken things piling up, heavier and heavier with each passing second.

But he stayed silent. He knew how this played out. He had seen it before—in her eyes. The same eyes he had seen on the crew when things had gotten real, when they had been backed into corners, when they were forced to face themselves. The crew had learned to live with that tension, the constant dance between their hearts and the things they had to leave behind. He saw it in her—saw the echo of the same fire in the crew that had once been lit by the same flame.

"Tell me, Shanks," Saram continued, her voice smooth but laced with something darker now. "Do you even know who I am anymore? Or are you just looking for the little girl who used to follow you around, pretending that everything was okay?"

Shanks’ breath hitched. Her words were so sharp, so true, that he almost couldn’t breathe.

"Saram," he whispered, voice raw. "I never—"

She cut him off with a sharp laugh. The sound was empty, like something snapping.

"I don't need your guilt."

Her hands were clenched tightly around the fabric of her coat. Her fingers, pale and tight with restraint, were the only thing holding her together now. The tightness of her grip was the only thing that kept her from falling apart into a thousand pieces.

Shanks took a step forward. His eyes locked with hers, and for the first time in twelve years, Saram let herself feel something.

Something more than the coldness she had worn like armor.

She didn’t back down.

"I didn’t leave you because I thought I was done with you," Shanks said, his voice strained, heavy with the weight of everything he had buried.

Beckman’s eyes softened as he watched Saram, the way she stood there, unwavering, the same way the crew stood when they were serious. When they were facing something they could no longer outrun. He exhaled a long breath, the smoke curling around him like a cloak.

"You still haven’t told me," she said, her voice low now, calm, though there was a quiet rage beneath it. "What now, Beckman? You’re the vice. You lead this ship with Shanks. What now?"

The question hung in the air, but Beckman didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned to Shanks, the weight of the past between them, like two ghosts standing side by side.

Shanks looked back at him, his expression a mixture of regret and something deeper. His hand flexed at his side, as though he was still adjusting to its absence. But he didn’t show it. Not to her. Not now.

The room felt too small. Too thick with the smell of the ocean, the smoke, the salt in the air that carried a thousand things neither of them wanted to face.

Finally, Beckman spoke, his voice low, almost tired.

"It’s not about what’s easy. It’s about what you can live with," he said, flicking the ash from his cigarette, watching the tiny specks float away into the silence.

Saram stared at him for a moment, her eyes flickering with something too complex to name. And then, quietly, her lips curled again.

"You’re all the same."

"You’ve all remained the same," Saram murmured, her voice soft but sharp like a blade concealed beneath velvet. "Older, stronger... but the same." Her gaze flickered between them, cool and detached, yet there was something beneath her calm demeanor—something brittle, hidden deep.

The little girl inside her cried, and for a split second, the warmth of that childhood memory, the innocence of days that should have been, clawed at her heart. It was fleeting, a flicker of light too brief to hold. She could feel it in the space behind her ribs, echoing with her thoughts. Words she had buried long ago: Why didn’t you come back for me?

She could hear it, the cry of that abandoned girl—fragile and lost, begging for someone to pick her up and tell her it would be okay. But Saram smothered it. She had learned to smother things long ago.

Her fingers tightened around the vial in her pocket, a small movement that gave her something to hold onto. Something to anchor herself. The vial was cold, the glass biting against her skin. Her thumb traced its edges absently as she stood there, still as stone, not trusting herself to move too much. Not trusting herself to feel anything too deeply.

Shanks and Beckman exchanged a glance. There was something in their eyes—something unspoken, something they had both recognized in her. Something dangerous.

"You think we’re the same?" Shanks asked, his voice quiet, the weight of his words settling between them. "We’ve changed, Saram. We’ve all changed."

Her lips curled up into something faintly reminiscent of a smile—though it was hollow, nothing but an empty curve.

"Changed," she echoed. "You think I haven’t?" Her voice barely rose above a whisper, but there was weight in every syllable. "You think I haven’t changed? You think I haven’t learned how to survive without you?"

Beckman stepped forward, his presence filling the room with a quiet intensity. He was older, sharper than he had been when they last met, and he had seen far too much of the world to let Saram slip past him unnoticed. He watched her closely, his gaze steady but not unkind.

"Survival doesn’t make you stronger," Beckman said, his voice steady but lined with something close to sadness. "It makes you... harder."

She let out a small, derisive laugh, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Her heart remained a frozen thing, too encased in bitterness to thaw. "Harder," she repeated, like it was a word that didn’t quite fit. "I’m fine with that."

Shanks stepped closer, but this time, his approach wasn’t threatening. His eyes softened, like he was searching for something behind the wall Saram had built around herself. "You’ve always been good at hiding what you feel, haven’t you?" he said quietly. His voice was low, but it carried something deeper—an unspoken understanding, one forged from years of seeing others hide their truths behind masks.

Saram’s expression flickered, just for a moment. A fleeting break in the wall she had so carefully constructed around herself. But it was gone before either of them could reach it. She was calm again, just as cold, just as collected. "It’s not hiding if no one’s looking," she said, her voice a razor.

Shanks’s jaw clenched, but he didn’t push further. Not yet. He could see the walls, the way Saram had built them so high, so thick that no one could break through. She didn’t want anyone to reach her. She didn’t want their pity, their regret, their apologies.

She just wanted... something else. Something she couldn’t put into words.

"And you’re still here," Beckman said, his voice breaking through the quiet tension, an almost imperceptible shift in his stance. "Still aboard this ship. After all this time."

Saram’s fingers curled tighter around the vial, the glass pressing harshly against her palm. She didn’t loosen her grip. Didn’t let go. The cold bite of it was grounding, something tangible amidst the swirl of emotions she refused to acknowledge.

She exhaled slowly, tilting her head slightly, her expression unreadable. “And?”

Beckman’s gaze didn’t waver. “That means something.”

Saram huffed softly, amused in that distant, empty way she always was. “Does it?”

Shanks took another step forward, slow and careful, like he was approaching something fragile. Something breakable.

“You didn’t have to come back,” he said, his voice quiet. “You didn’t have to step onto this ship again.”

Saram lifted her chin, her eyes sharp. “And you think that means I want to be here?”

Shanks studied her. “I think if you really didn’t, you wouldn’t be.”

Her jaw tightened.

Beckman crossed his arms, exhaling through his nose. “Twelve years, and you still can’t be honest with yourself, huh?”

Saram’s lips curled, her teeth flashing in something that wasn’t quite a smile. “Honest? About what?”

Shanks watched her closely. “That you’re angry.”

She went still.

A beat of silence passed, thick and suffocating.

Then she laughed—low, quiet, but sharp enough to cut. “Angry?” She shook her head, her fingers flexing at her sides. “Angry doesn’t even begin to cover it.”

Her voice didn’t rise, didn’t waver. It was steady, sharp, honed like a blade.

“I spent years waiting,” she said, each word deliberate, measured, like she was carefully unraveling a truth she had long since buried. “Years wondering if I had just imagined it all. If I had imagined you. If I had made up every memory, every promise, every stupid, childish hope that one day—one day—you’d come back.”

She took a step closer, and for the first time, the calm in her voice wavered. Cracked.

“But you didn’t.”

Shanks’ throat bobbed, but he didn’t interrupt. He let her speak.

Saram let out a slow breath, shaking her head. “So no, I’m not angry.” Her voice dropped lower, quieter. “I was angry. A long time ago.”

Her fingers curled again, her nails digging into her palm. ���Now I just don’t care.”

She saw the way Shanks’ expression shifted, saw the way Beckman inhaled sharply, but she didn’t let it affect her.

Because it was true. Wasn’t it?

She had spent years learning how not to care. How to be untouchable. Unreachable.

Shanks studied her, his lips pressing into a thin line. “I don’t believe that.”

Saram met his gaze, unwavering. “That’s not my problem.”

For a moment, no one spoke. The ship rocked gently beneath them, the lanterns flickering with the movement.

Then Shanks sighed, running a hand over his face.

“I can’t change the past,” he said, and his voice was quieter now, heavier. “I can’t take back what happened. I can’t fix what’s already broken.”

Saram watched him, her expression still carefully composed.

“But,” he continued, looking at her fully now, “that doesn’t mean I don’t care.”

Saram’s breath hitched.

For just a second—just a second—her grip on the vial faltered.

She swallowed, forcing herself to breathe evenly, to keep her mask in place.

Shanks took a step closer. “And it doesn’t mean I won’t try to be better now.”

Her jaw clenched. “You’re twelve years too late.”

“I know.”

Silence.

“…But I’m still here.”

The room felt smaller than it should have, the scent of aged wood and salt thick in the air. The lanterns swayed gently with the ship’s motion, casting flickering shadows against the walls. Saram stood in the middle of it, her frame steady, her expression unreadable save for the slight curve of her lips—a blank, hollow thing that did not reach her eyes.

Shanks was watching her, his gaze dark, searching. Beckman leaned against the wall, arms crossed, but his grip was tight, fingers pressing into his sleeves. The weight of her words sat heavy between them, like an anchor sinking into the depths.

“I need you to understand,” Saram said, voice even, quiet, but sharp enough to cut through the thick silence, “that I can't keep chasing after you and the crew.” Her fingers flexed at her sides, her thumb brushing over the edge of the vial again, grounding herself in its cold bite. “I will die your daughter, dad. I will die as the daughter of the Red-Haired Pirates—but I can't live as her. Not anymore.”

Shanks inhaled, a slow, deliberate breath, but he didn’t speak. Not yet. Beckman’s eyes flickered between them, his jaw tightening ever so slightly.

Saram tilted her head, watching Shanks with something unreadable. “I was nine when you told me you wished I was easier, dad.” The words left her lips like a knife unsheathed, smooth and gleaming, waiting to strike.

Shanks flinched, and it was the first real reaction she had seen from him.

“I was twelve when you left me to burn away in that country,” she continued, her voice calm, measured, but every syllable carried the weight of years lost. “You couldn’t accept me as yours, but you wouldn’t let me go either.”

Shanks’ breath hitched. His fists curled at his sides, and he took a step closer, his boots scuffing against the wooden floor, but she didn’t move. Didn’t give him an inch.

“Saram,” he murmured, his voice hoarse, like he had been trying to find the right words for years and still came up empty.

She smiled then. A small, brittle thing, like a crack running through glass. “Do you understand how cruel you have been?” Her head tilted slightly, her gaze piercing. “How cruel you all have been?”

Beckman’s lips pressed into a thin line, but he didn’t look away.

Saram’s fingers twitched. “You all found me a chore and Uta a melody.”

The words settled like a storm rolling in, thick with static, humming with something inevitable.

Shanks inhaled sharply, his entire frame going rigid. “That’s not true.”

Saram let out a soft breath of laughter, but it wasn’t amused. “Isn’t it?”

His jaw tightened. “I never—”

“You never what?” she cut in smoothly, arching a brow. “Never compared us? Never found me difficult? Never left me behind?”

Shanks’ silence was louder than words.

Beckman exhaled through his nose, shifting slightly, the wood creaking beneath his weight. “Saram—”

She turned to him then, eyes sharp. “You, too, Beck.”

His expression didn’t change, but something flickered in his gaze.

“You told me I was stubborn, that I needed to be more like Uta.” Her voice was quieter now, but no less cutting. “That I needed to stop questioning everything. That I needed to listen more.” She shook her head slightly. “You never realized I was listening.”

Beckman exhaled slowly, rubbing a hand over his face. He had no excuses to offer. None that would change anything.

Shanks stepped forward again, close enough that she could see the tension in his shoulders, the regret in his gaze. “Saram,” he said, softer this time. “I never wanted to leave you.”

She smiled again, empty and cold. “But you did.”

His breath caught.

Beckman’s voice was quieter now. “You have every right to hate us.”

Saram huffed, her fingers twitching. “I don’t hate you.”

She saw the brief flicker of relief cross Shanks’ face before she spoke again.

“I did.”

His relief shattered.

“But hate takes too much,” she murmured, voice quieter now, more distant. “It burns you from the inside out.” She tilted her head, the lantern light catching the faint scars along her collar, disappearing beneath the fabric of her hood. “I already burned once. I’m not doing it again.”

Shanks swallowed thickly, his shoulders sinking.

Silence settled again, the kind that stretched and cracked at the seams.

Saram inhaled slowly, steadying herself. “I don’t need your guilt,” she said finally, turning away. “And I don’t need your apologies.”

The creak of the ship beneath them felt distant, like a sound from another world—one Saram no longer belonged to. The scent of aged wood filled her lungs, but it was the weight in the room, the unspoken tension pressing against her ribs, that nearly stole her breath.

She could hear Shanks inhale behind her, the way he shifted his weight, uncertain, like he wanted to reach for her but didn’t know how. Like he thought if he touched her, she might disappear.

“Saram,” his voice was quieter now, cautious, hesitant. He had never spoken to her like that before. Not even when she was a child. “Then what do you need?”

She could feel his gaze on her back, burning, waiting. Beckman hadn’t moved from his place against the wall, but she could sense the way his arms had tightened, the way his breath had slowed, preparing for whatever she might say.

Saram turned back to them then, slowly, her face shadowed by the hood, her expression as unreadable as ever. But when she spoke, her voice was clear. Steady.

“I need you to understand,” she said, tilting her head slightly, her blank smile still in place, “that your daughter—that—that twelve-year-old you left in those ruins—is dead.”

Shanks stiffened, his eyes widening slightly, his breath catching in his throat.

“She is gone, Dad,” Saram continued, voice calm, as if she were stating an irrefutable fact. “She is dead, okay?”

Shanks’ lips parted slightly, but no words came out. Beckman shifted, his expression darkening just slightly.

Saram exhaled softly through her nose, tilting her head. “Did you know the look you all had whenever you looked at me?” She let the words settle between them for a moment, her gaze flickering between them, watching. Waiting. “Do you know, Beckman?”

His jaw clenched, and for the first time that night, Beckman looked away.

“You made one mistake in your youth, and you all punished me a lifetime for it.”

Her words sank into the space between them, reverberating in the quiet air. The salty tang of the sea seemed to thicken, like it, too, absorbing the gravity of her statement. She could feel the faint sting of the wind against her skin, the coldness of the ship's wood beneath her boots, but none of it reached her. She was numb—beyond the reach of any sensation, beyond the reach of them.

Shanks let out a slow breath, running a hand through his hair. His fingers trembled slightly as they dragged through the red strands. “That’s not—” His voice faltered. “That’s not how it was, Saram.”

She let out a quiet laugh, but it was hollow, empty. “No?”

Shanks’ hands curled into fists at his sides. “You were never a mistake.”

Saram’s smile didn’t falter, but something behind her eyes dimmed. “I wasn’t?”

Shanks exhaled sharply. “I loved you.”

She stared at him for a long moment. And then, finally, she spoke.

“You left me.”

The words weren’t loud. They weren’t angry. They weren’t even accusatory. They were just... there. Sitting between them like an open wound.

Beckman swallowed, his throat tight.

Shanks took a step forward, but Saram didn’t move, didn’t waver.

“Saram—”

“I was twelve when you left me to burn.”

Shanks shook his head, stepping closer, his movements stiff. “I thought you were—”

“Dead?” she finished for him, and for the first time, the smile dropped from her lips. Her face was blank now, colder than it had been before. “Yes. You did.”

Beckman’s grip on his sleeve tightened. The tension in the room was suffocating now, pressing against all of them.

Shanks’ hands trembled. “Saram, I—”

She took a slow step forward, closing the space between them just slightly, tilting her head. “If I had died,” she murmured, “would you have ever known?”

Shanks’ breath caught.

Beckman inhaled sharply, but he said nothing.

Saram’s fingers curled into fists at her sides. “Would you have even looked?”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Shanks swallowed hard, his throat bobbing, but no words came. None that would make a difference. None that would make any of this right.

Saram exhaled, shaking her head slightly. “That’s what I thought.”

Saram's gaze held Shanks’ for a moment longer, the weight of her words settling in the space between them, thick and suffocating. The room seemed to press in on all sides, the only sound the distant crash of waves against the ship’s hull, the faint creak of the floorboards beneath their feet.

She took a step back, her eyes flickering between Shanks and Beckman. Her fingers loosened, the fists at her sides unclenching slowly, but the tension in her body remained. Her smile—blank, empty, distant—never quite reached her eyes.

“I’m gonna go check on Uta,” she said, her voice soft but final.

Shanks opened his mouth to speak, but the words caught in his throat. He wanted to say something—anything—that would make this moment easier, something to erase the years of silence, of hurt—but no words came. There was nothing he could say.

Saram turned without another word, the soft rustle of her boots against the floor the only sound as she moved toward the door. Her hand brushed against the cold metal of the doorknob, the faint metallic taste of it lingering on her fingers as she grasped it.

Behind her, Beckman shifted slightly, but remained silent. His gaze never wavered from Saram’s retreating figure, his thoughts a swirling mess of regret and understanding.

Saram paused at the door, her back still turned to them. For a moment, it seemed like she might say something more—some final declaration, some last word—but instead, she simply exhaled, the sound low and barely audible.

She opened the door, the soft creak of it sounding like the final exhale of a long-held breath. She stepped through, the door closing behind her with a soft click.

The room was left in silence, the space between Shanks and Beckman as heavy as the words they had not spoken. Shanks stood still, his hand still reaching out as if trying to pull her back, but knowing—knowing that she was gone. Not physically, but emotionally.

Beckman remained where he was, arms crossed, watching Shanks with a heavy, unreadable expression. The silence lingered, thick and unyielding, until Shanks finally exhaled, the sound full of defeat.

“I didn’t…” His voice faltered, and he stopped, unable to finish. What was there left to say? How could he undo the years that had passed? How could he fix what he had broken?

Beckman glanced at him, his expression softened by years of knowing how this felt. He didn’t speak, but there was understanding in his gaze. He didn’t need to say it—Shanks already knew. 

Saram felt like her feet were lead, they felt almost stuck to the wooden floors of the ship’s inner hallways as she walked, mind still reeling from the conversations of a while ago with Shanks and Beckman. Everyone else, she could handle, everyone else she could ward off but not them.

Never them.

They had always been different. No matter how much time passed, no matter how much she hardened herself, no matter how much she told herself that it no longer mattered, they could still shake her. Not because they deserved to—not because she wanted them to—but because there was a part of her, buried deep beneath everything, that had once loved them.

“Well, if you sit here all quiet like that, the sea’s gonna think you’re lonely and try to steal you away.”

“Maybe it should.”

“Nah, we’d steal you right back.”

Shanks was a liar and Saram was the fool who believed him every time. Who believed every sweet lie Shanks said, who believed every bitter condolence that Beckman gave her. A foolish, naive child who had looked up at them with wide, hopeful eyes and had believed—truly believed—that they would always be there.

She had clung to the edges of their world, small hands gripping the fabric of their cloaks, trailing behind them like a shadow, had memorized their voices, the cadence of their laughter, the way their footsteps sounded on deck. She had thought—had known—that she was safe with them.

They were hers. And she was theirs.

Until they were neither.

At times like these she wonders if things were different, could they have been a family? What if she wasn’t Saram? What if she had been someone else—someone easier to love, someone they didn’t have to leave behind? Could they have been a proper father and daughter? She hated that. Hated that even now, a small part of her still wondered—

— if things were different, if she wasn’t Saram, if Shanks wasn’t Shanks, could they have been a family?

Her younger self would have wanted that.

She could see it if she closed her eyes—see that little girl with wild hair and wide eyes, always chasing after Shanks with bare feet against the deck, laughing. A girl who still believed in things like warmth, in things like home. A girl who hadn’t yet learned that love could be conditional.

Could Shanks have loved her? Truly?

She didn’t know.

The twenty-four year slowly, quietly slipped into the infirmary and walked over to the lone figure lying on the second last bed, half covered by the curtains around on top of it. Her boots barely made any sound as she walked over to the bed, pushing the curtain away and standing by the side of the bed, staring down at the young girl lying there, tubes supplying her with medication.

Saram knelt down on the ground, beside the bed, her hands holding onto the hand of Uta which had no tubes or needles. She leaned her cheek against her skin and stared at the younger girl, Saram would never say it verbally but Uta was her sister, her younger sister, despite what Shanks did, despite what the crew did, despite what the world didn't do for her, Uta has and always would be her sister. Not of blood, it's fine, blood meant nothing, Saram had first handed experienced it, blood was nothing, if you loved someone, you would love them.

Saram’s body seemed to fold in on itself as she sat beside Uta’s bed, the quiet hum of the ship’s engines lulling her into an exhausted daze. The weight of the day, of the conversations she had been forced to endure, slowly crushed her, and she let her body lean against the bed. The warmth of Uta’s hand in her grip was a small comfort in the midst of everything else.

“I talked to him.” Saram said quietly, “Beckman was there, too. I couldn't be angry, you know? You'd probably be angry.” She chuckled, “You always did say that you'd give them a piece of your mind if they tried to confront me. How funny, how small you are and how reckless you are.”

Saram had spent years in silence.

Not the kind that came with peace, but the kind that settled like dust in the corners of an empty home, like the one that settled in one's bones and rotted away the structure. Rot, right. Saram had rotted away way before she even burned those flames, her childish dreams trampled in slowness.

Her mind was a wasteland, long stripped of warmth. She barely remembered the last time she had truly felt something—something beyond exhaustion, beyond this dull, quiet emptiness that gnawed at her.

Saram chuckled softly, the sound barely above a whisper. “You always said you’d scream at them for me.” Her voice was distant, as if she were speaking to a ghost. “You always had more fire in you than me, Uta. More rage, more belief that the world could be fair if we just fought hard enough.”

She didn’t have that. Not anymore. Because the fire around her had burned away more than skin, more than her flesh and blood, it had taken her fears, her anger, her pain - it had ruined her. Saram had been ruined for eternity.

Maybe, that was her price to pay for existing; for even being alive, for being born. A child no one wanted in a world that no one reached out for her hand, no one standing as her wall, no one hiding her from hot sunny days, no one there as assurance to save her if she drowned, no one there to willingly love her, and not out of obligation,

Her thoughts drifted, unbidden, into the hollow space where memories lay buried, where her soul lay buried.

The sound of burning wood snapping, the heat searing her skin.

The suffocating weight of smoke in her lungs.

The overwhelming silence that followed.

She had cried once after the fall. A long time ago. Alone in Elegia, curled up in an empty room where no one could hear, no one could see. She had cried so hard that her chest ached for days after, silent sobs wracking through her small, fragile frame. But then the tears had dried, and after that—nothing.

No more crying.

No more longing.

No more hoping.

She had built herself up from those ashes, forged herself into something that could not be broken. But sitting here now, beside Uta, she felt the weight of it all pressing down again. Like phantom hands around her throat, like the ghost of a past she thought she had buried beneath steel and silence.

Shanks' voice echoed in her head. “You were never a mistake.”

Wasn't she?

Then why had she spent her life trying to change?

Or had she just hollowed herself out so thoroughly that there was nothing left to change?

Her grip tightened, barely perceptible, around Uta’s hand.

“…I can’t be angry,” she repeated, softer now. The words felt foreign in her mouth, as if she were trying to convince herself more than anything else. “Maybe because I don’t have it in me anymore.”

She blinked for a moment, eyes going over the younger’s face and her eyes closed, too, hand shifting, holding it to her forehead now with both hands, praying, of sorts. She had always been like this with Uta—protective, almost motherly, though neither of them ever said it.

No words needed to be spoken when Uta’s soft breath was the only thing that filled the silence between them. She could hear the quiet beeping of the machines keeping Uta alive, the soft shuffle of footsteps down the hallway outside the infirmary, but it all felt distant. Her heart, heavy with so many things—things she had said and things she had kept silent—felt lighter in this room. 

Here, with Uta, there was no pretending. There were no walls to hide behind. No need to put up the mask.

“Wake up already, you troublesome kid.”

Her eyelids felt heavy, the exhaustion of everything from the past days creeping up on her. Saram fell asleep there, hand holding onto Uta’s, head beside her hand as she sat on the ground, eyes closing slowly but surely. She had no idea when her body finally gave in to the need for rest, but by the time the first soft rays of dawn peeked through the small window in the infirmary, Saram was asleep, off to sleep beside Uta—her head resting gently on Uta’s hand, their fingers still intertwined.

Every time I plan to finish this series, the storyline gets longer. I listened to die your daughter on repeat which led to even more angsty dialogues. A one-shot turned into parts, next part in works, lemme know what you think! mwah!

taglist: @thebunnednun @acesdiary @chizu001 @nagislemontea @v1ennie @74zix47 @meerpea @nayshel @whore-of-many-hot-men

[dilf-pirates-ask]

What are each of your guys hobbies that don't involve parties? Also has monster every got a hold of alcohol and went a bit crazy?

[alexa-yukiyu]

Do you think I can do a female child reader, where they ate the mouth mouth fruit (idk if it's an actual fruit just go with the flow 😞), the devil fruit makes the user be able make mouth of any size apron there body, they can change the teeth shape if wanted, and can talk out of the mouth, the devil fruit can consume inedible objects and hide the them like a big pocket and not like digesting it, I can just imagine them not feeling well an just throwing up a vacuum or a fridge

Beckup ( Red-Haired pirates x child!reader)

A/N I don’t want to jinx it guys but how long has the streak been going on three days? I think im back! Anyhow how you like that tittle cause im really proud of it especially once you read the chapter, you’ll get it. Also guys I see your requests I see them! Im just really behind because of the month writer’s block so im still doing requests from May so give me some time 🙏🏼

Reader here is replaced by Dokucha which stands for Reader in japanese for the enjoyment of both reader and oc character reader’s enjoyment!

Dividers by @/Drinkthesky and @/firefly-graphics

“Dokucha, I need you to come out of there so I can help you,” Hongo called out with a sigh.

“I don’t need help, Papa! I’m good!”

“Then why have you found it necessary to hide in a closet?” he deadpanned

“It’s warm and cozy in here.”

“Dokucha, get out,” he ordered as he tried pulling the closet open.

“No, I’m good.”

“Do I need to get Benn?” He warned

“...You won’t!”

“Try me, Dokucha, if you don’t come out at the count of three I am calling him .

“One”

“You’re Lying!” they cried out.

“Two,” he continued

“Uncle is busy!” they tried to reason.

“Three. Alright, I’m going to get Beck,” He called.

Dokucha frowned, hearing the fading footsteps of their father as they tried to make themselves smaller and steel their resolve before the vice Captain made an appearance

They did not have to wait long as soon after the Doctor had left, the door sounded again, and two sets of footsteps followed.

“Dokucha.” Benn’s deep voice rumbled

That was all he needed; just one word was all he needed to convey what he wanted. Dokucha’s only escape at the moment was to try to stall by playing dumb, as it was only a matter of time before Benn managed to get them out. However, it was more than likely that he would manage to get them out with only his words, knowing that they knew that only worse consequences would arise if he had to remove them from the closet forcefully.

“Y-Yes?”

“Enough of this, get out.”

“I really am okay where I am,” they nervously replied

“Out.”

“Yes sir,” they muttered as they did as they were told, sheepishly standing in front of the man, avoiding both his steely gaze and the one from their father who sat ways behind, arms crossed, a frown on his face.

“Look at me.” He called

Hesitantly, Dokucha turned their head to meet his eyes, shoulders up as they tried to shrink themselves.

“Why were you hiding?”

“…”

“Dokucha,” he sighed, crouching down in front of them.

“Listen, I’m not sure why you’re hiding. I don’t know if you think it’s because you’re in trouble or because you’re hiding something, but regardless, you need to let us know.

Yes. There will be consequences if you do what you aren’t supposed to, but ultimately, we just want to know what is wrong so we can help you.”

“Alright?”

“Okey,” they mumbled.

“Mind telling me why you were hiding?”

“I overused my ability again…”

“Dokucha, it’s the third time this week; what’s going on?” Hongo called as he stood up, walking closer

“The kids in the village said my ability was useless, so I stored all their weapons and things in my pocket dimension to show them it wasn't.

“Why are you trying to show off your ability lately?” The Doctor questioned

“Because…”

“Because?” Beckman drawled, raising an eyebrow

“Because I want to show I’m doing as much as you guys!” They cried, causing the men to look at them, shocked at the sudden outburst

“What are you on about?”

“W-well, Papa is a great Doctor and always makes sure everyone is healthy and ready to go; he’s like a wizard! Making all his concoctions for any occasion! Uncle Beckman is the backbone of the whole ship not to mention he has some superb moves.” Dokucha prattled on, using exaggerated hand movements as they praised the officer’s abilities

“But then there’s me... I’m just a glorified purse. All I can do is store things and scare people by making these pop-up,” Dokucha muttered as they extended their hand, watching as a mouth materialized on top of it.

The two men looked at each other as smiles slowly broke on their faces. Hongo let a few snickers out, catching the attention of the child.

“W-Why are you laughing! This is for real!”

“Sorry, Kid, I just found it funny that the most important member of our crew would think that way."

“How am I the most important?! If anything it would be Papa, or you Uncle Beckmann, or-or uncle Lucky he always makes sure we have energy to fight! There’s also Uncle Shanks! He is the Captain and the strongest one, too!”

“What do you think, Boss?” Hongo called out, looking behind him

“You can’t possibly think that Dokucha,” Shanks called with a small, serene smile on his face as he walked into the clinic.

“U-Uncle Shanks?”

“How about this? Can you remind me what our goal is now?” He inquired as he joined Benn in crouching down to be at their level.

“To get the one piece?”

“Yes, and can you remind me what the most important thing we need to get there is?”

“Road Poneglyphs?”

“Good job. One last one, can you tell me who keeps our Road Poneglyphs?”

“I do…” they stated, extending their hand once again and watching as a mouth once again materialized; this time, however, it began to cough, eventually spouting a stack of papers that the child grabbed, showing to the Captain.

“You are our Treasurer, Dokucha; you are the key to our goal. There are a lot of strong people out there; with enough training, anyone could become like us, but you are the only one who can do what you do, So take it from your Captain: you are essential to this crew, or do you believe me to lie?” Shanks questioned

“No Uncle Shanks”

“Atta Kid,” Shanks stated as he ruffled the child’s hair, standing up to allow Hongo to approach them.

“No one can keep our treasure safer than you can.” Hongo started as he picked them up

“Forget about the kids on the village; you are the Treasurer of the Red-haired pirates, so stand tall.”

With teary eyes, she took in all the men and the pride that shone in their eyes as they spoke their words

“Yeah!”

“What did you take from them that made you overuse your ability anyway? There’s no way those kids had weapons in them, and even if they did, it wouldn’t overwhelm your ability.”

“Oh, that reminds me,” Dokucha began as she pulled on their father’s clothes to be let down; he raised an eyebrow and placed them on the floor, watching as a mouth materialized on their stomach and began to cough something out

“C-Chairs?” Shanks Gaped

“And the tables!” Dokucha proudly stated as said items were coughed out from them

“That feels so much better,” they huffed as they stretched.

“Why did you take their tables and chairs?” Beckmann spoke, staring at the furniture wide-eyed that now crowded the clinic

“They made me lose my appetite when they said those things to me, so I made sure they lost theirs too.”

“By taking the place they eat from?”

“Mmmm!”

“Dokucha....,” Hongo sighed, pinching the branch of his nose in frustration

“What? I felt petty!”

Taglist:

@Imaginarydreams

@amethystviolin

@h0n3y-l3m0n05

@hannahbarberra162

Thought I forgot about that last part din’t you Anon? I couldn’t do a fridge but I did some other large furniture instead!

[majubengel]

Law and Chopper as Brazilian doctors!

reference

[jintaka-hane]

A Visit to the Infirmary

Masterlist

Img by Buffoland

This is a gift for the lovely @akagami-no-laney 🎁!! I like Hongo thanks to you, and when I went to look for more content about him, I saw there was very little! So I decided to write this. I hope you like it! 💕 Summary: You've fallen in love with the doctor aboard the Red Force. In complete denial of your feelings, you think it’s best to avoid him for a while until the feeling passes. But a terrible pain in your back will force you to pay him a visit. Word count: 2650 Notes: Love in denial. Flirting. Confessions of love. Use of 'Darling' and 'Doll'. Reader is a brat. Beckman is a saint. Hongo doesn't really know how to approach you, though in the end it seems like he manages to 🤪. I have no knowledge in medicine, so everything here is pure fiction XD.

"Dammit, Beck!!!" you roared, kicking and flailing in the air, landing futile punches on the immense wardrobe-like back of the first mate. "Let me go!"

The tall man's grip tightened as he hoisted you over his shoulder, stoically advancing toward the ship's infirmary. "Scream all you want Darlin’, but we’re going to see Hongo whether you like it or not." 

“NO!” you whined, writhing harder. “NOT HONGO! PLEASE! I—I’ll do anything you want! I’ll… I’ll get you the finest cigarettes at the next port!”

Beckman chuckled and shook his head, clearly amused by your desperate efforts to escape.

"BECKMAN, I’m serious! Let me go!! I-I swear that… that…  OUCH!!" you twisted in agony as a sharp, searing pain shot through your lower back.

The man stopped immediately to give your body a moment to recover. “Darlin’,” he said softly. One hand moved to your back and rubbed it gently, “you need help… and he’s the only one here who can give it to you, do you understand?” 

You shut your eyes and nodded, then held onto his shirt tightly, trying your best to handle the wave of pain.

You had been dealing with unbearable pain in your lower back for days. You didn’t know what caused it—whether it was some bad posture, the fall when you climbed down from the lookout, or the time you landed hard on your backside going down the ship’s ladder. Whatever it was, you must have injured something, and the pain, coming in waves like stabbing knives, was horrible. 

Stubbornly, you had tried to let it pass on its own, avoiding asking anyone for help and steering clear of the infirmary. Yet your walks on the deck, face twisted in pain and hand pressed to your lower back, hadn’t escaped the ever-watchful Benn Beckman. Guessing your reluctance to see the ship’s doctor, he had kept his distance and observed you from afar without asking questions, but, as he watched your condition deteriorate further, he decided it was his duty to act.

“Hongo’s a decent doctor. Give him a chance,” he said, turning his head over his shoulder to look at you with his concerned gray eyes.

The problem wasn’t whether Hongo was a good doctor. You knew full well that he was competent and professional. The real issue was that he was also kind, tall, funny, and undeniably attractive. 

That, along with the fact that you were maybe… probably a little bit in love with him—an insignificant detail, considering you were fighting it. You were convinced that keeping the right distance would make the feeling fade and spare you from a potential broken heart. All you had to do was avoid him and act like a brat when he was around, and everything would be fine. You were as certain of this as you were that your back pain would eventually subside on its own.

BAAAANG!!!!

The infirmary door swung open with a deafening bang as Beckman kicked it harder than intended, his hands fumbling as he tried to grab hold of your increasingly elusive body.

“Sorry, Hongo,” he said, noticing that part of the doorframe had splintered.

“Oi, Beck,” Hongo said without turning around, completely unfazed by the door’s loud crash as he meticulously washed his hands in the sink. “I see you’ve convinced y/n to come and see me.”

“That’s not—” you began to say.

“YES,” Beck shot you a reproachful look as he carefully set you down on the floor. “She’s a smart girl and understands what’s best for her.”

You opened your mouth to speak but his huge hand covered it. His cold eyes bore into yours, and he mouthed the word “behave,” leaving no room for an argument.

“Perfect,” Hongo turned around with that charming smile that always drew you in. “Welcome to my office, y/n.”

You held his gaze for a moment, his eyes crinkling beneath the scar that ran down his temple. He took a small white towel and dried his hands with an unusual gentleness for a pirate. The thought made you look away, focusing in a sturdy wooden table that held a collection of bandages, ointments, and surgical instruments.

“Do you need me to stay?” Beckman asked, unsure of what to do.

“Yes—” 

“NO—” Hongo said at exactly the same time.

Beckman’s gaze shifted from one to the other.

“I’ll be outside if you need me,” he finally said, pulling a cigarette from his pocket and placing it between his lips.

Shit.

You shooted him a dirty look as he walked out. Once the door shut, Hongo's eyes were on you again. His smile stayed as he moved a bit closer.

“So…” he began, halting when he noticed you flinch and step back, “you’ve had a sharp pain in your lower back for days, haven’t you?”

Of course, that bastard Beckman had told him.

“Maybe,” you replied nonchalantly, avoiding his eyes.

“And you didn’t come to see me until now, why?”

“It’s not that bad.” You shrugged, the careless movement causing the pain in your back to flare up again, but in a wave you managed to endure with dignity.

“Uh-huh…” he examined you. “Let’s take a look, okay?” Slowly, he took another step forward. “Can you lay face down on the exam table for me?”

Your gaze darted to the exam table to the doctor.

“Absolutely not,” you looked at him with a defiant look, arms crossed over your chest.

Hongo’s eyes narrowed.

“Very well,” he kicked aside a stool that stood in his way as he moved towards you, “by force then.”

You swallowed hard, realizing that your back was pressed against a wall. As soon as you saw his figure lurking closer, you scrambled to take cover behind the wooden table. You clutched its edge and dragged it to shield yourself, and several bandages, bottles and ointments scattered across the floor, some breaking open and spilling.

“Eeehm, do you need help!?” Beckman’s raspy, concerned voice came from the other side of the door.

“No!” Hongo bellowed as he charged after you, his eyes fixed on you and ignoring the mess on the floor. “No need for help! We’re behaving like two perfectly normal, civilized people!”

He moved along the right side of the table while you quickly circled to the other side, moving as fast as your body let you. As he reached out to grab you, you twisted to evade him, but a sharp, agonizing pain shot through your back again, spreading to your hips and down your thighs. Your legs gave way under the intensity of the feeling and just as you began to collapse, Hongo caught you in mid-air.

“I’ve got you…” he soothed, his usual tenderness reappearing as he held you tightly against his chest. “I’ve got you…”

You buried your head in the crook of his neck, sobbing and swallowing your pride, and you stayed wrapped in his arms for a few minutes until he felt your body gradually relax.

“I’m going to take you to the exam table now, alright?” he said, feeling your head nod against his neck.

“You know…'"he helped you to sit down, "you must be made of steel, because in all the time you’ve been with us, you’ve never come to see me…” his fingers danced lightly along the edge of your shirt. “Can I examine you?”

“NO.” You swatted his hands away.

"Alright, alright..." He smiled, raising his hands in surrender. "Let’s focus on your back, then." He gestured with his finger for you to turn over on the examination table. "Can you lie face down, please?"

You glared at him and lifted your chin proudly. But when he saw the spark in your eyes, he raised an eyebrow.

“Face down, Doll. NOW.” He said, his commanding tone making it clear who was in charge.

With a dramatic roll of your eyes you gave in, knowing full well there was no choice but to comply with your doctor’s orders. You turned over on the table, and the movement sent a fresh wave of pain through your back, forcing you to moan and press your face into the sheets. You felt Hongo’s fingers ghost over your back, right at the spot where the pain was the worst.

"It’s right here, isn’t it?"

You nodded, surprised by how well he found the exact source. With your head buried in the soft, cushioned surface of the table, you heard the sound of a stool being dragged toward you. You turned your head to see him, but found his knees and the tops of his thighs instead, legs set apart.

"Okay…" you heard him muse,“... intramuscular analgesia”.

His left hand rested on your lower back, applying just enough pressure to keep you in place, while his right hand deftly prepared the cotton and antiseptic. As he turned his torso, his defined abs peeked out from above the waistband of his pants right in front of your eyes, and you snorted, turning your head away.

“Don’t worry Doll, I’ll be gentle…” he said, assuming your reaction was due to the fear of needles. “I need you to raise your skirt and lower your underwear, please.”

You didn’t respond. You stayed still on the exam table with your heart pounding in your chest. The pain in your lower back was unbearable, but the thought of Hongo right behind you, demanding to see your ass, was much worse.

"Come on, Doll…" he insisted, "be a good girl for me."

This time, a surprised chuckle escaped your lips. Never in a million years had you imagine hearing those words from him. A warm flush crept up from your neck, staining your cheeks. You hesitated, hands trembling as you slowly lifted your skirt over your hips. Your fingers fumbled with the waistband of your panties, and as you exposed the soft, vulnerable skin of your ass, you felt Hongo shift slightly on the stool.

“... Hongo?”

"Yes," he cleared his throat with a hint of self-reproach. "Please, keep your ass up."

It was all too much. You couldn't stand the tension, the smell of antiseptic saturating the air, and the way his gaze weighed on your exposed skin. And that last order was the straw that broke the camel's back. You had to say something, anything that might unsettle him and tip the balance in your favor.

“Tsk, tsk, doctor, you can’t just pull down a girl’s panties and say 'ass up’ without, you know, a little courting first, can you?”

He let out a snort of laughter, and the sound made you smirk proud of yourself. Though not for long.

“Oh, Doll…” He lightly brushed your skin with the alcohol swab. “You know I’ve been wanting to court you for a while, right? But you make it hard when you keep avoiding me.”

Your heart raced inside your ribs. You wanted to disappear. You wanted to get up and run out of the infirmary, but unable to do any of that, you simply turned your face away and closed your eyes, trying to focus on anything but what he had just said. He sighed and got ready with the syringe.

"Alright, here we go," he said. The quick, clean poke made you gasp, and as he saw how tightly you were holding the sheet he took your hand and held it in his. "Good girl, you’re doing great… just hold on a bit longer…"

You focused on his words, letting the rhythm of his calm breathing soothe you, and as soon as he finished, he rose from the stool and moved away to give you space.

“Try to rest a bit until the medication takes effect."

With your face still turned to the wall, you pulled up your underwear and waited. Behind you, you heard the sound of pieces of glass being picked up and thrown away. You felt extremely guilty, thinking about Hongo cleaning up the mess you had left in your frantic attempt to escape. As soon as the pain in your back became bearable, you slowly sat on the exam table.

A sigh escaped you at the sight of Hongo kneeling on the floor, his back hunched and his shaved neck bowed, carefully picking up the spilled liquids and shards of glass. Without hesitation, you moved closer and crouched down beside him.

“Is your back feeling better?” he asked as soon as he noticed you presence.

“Yes… ,” you said softly, keeping your gaze fixed on the floor. "Thank you."

“Anytime.” 

You felt his gaze on you as you focused on the task, sorting the broken jars and glass shards into a bag. You worked side by side in a silence that, oddly enough, didn’t feel uncomfortable, and you wished it could stay that way. But when your hands brushed against each other and you pulled yours back, he spoke.

“Why do you hate me?”

“I don’t hate you,” you replied without looking at him.

“But you avoid me…”

You stayed quiet, a rag in your hand scrubbing the floor hard.

"Look at me," he put a hand on the top of your head and guided you to face him. "Isn’t a ship’s doctor good enough for you?"

You shrugged off his hand and stood up , trying to hide the mixed feelings on your face.

“It’s not that, Hongo, it’s… it’s complicated.”

“It shouldn’t be complicated… " He rose to his feet to match your stance, and his eyes locked with yours with a hint of pleading in his expression. "Actually, it’s very simple. At least for me, loving you is as simple and natural as breathing.”

His words pierced your heart like arrows set aflame. He might have tended to your back, but his gaze and his words were leaving your mind and heart reeling, caught in a whirlwind of conflicting emotions.

“You love me…” You shut your eyes and pinched the bridge of your nose. Your heart felt so tired from struggling.

“Of course I do… You know I'm crazy about you.”

You opened your eyes again to meet his, his face calm yet sharply attentive to your reaction.

"I just..." your eyes darted between his, "need a little more time to sort out my feelings and make things... right."

He held your gaze for a moment, weighing the situation.

“I’ll be right here,” he said at last, raising his hands as if to hold the whole room.

You returned his smile. It wasn’t going to be very hard to come to terms with your feelings if he kept acting like this. As you discarded the dirty rag you had been holding into a bin, you turned and walked toward the door, feeling as though you were leaving a piece of your heart behind.

"I’d really love to see it again, you know? But maybe under different circumstances...” he said as you reached for the doorknob.

“See what?” you turned to look at him.

"That beautiful ass."

Bastard. 

But your heart betrayed you, leaving you flattered and forcing you to suppress a smile.

He was a pirate after all.

“Oh, Hongo,” you looked at him with pursed lips, “I can’t believe it. Where’s your professionalism?”

“Believe me, I’ve been quite professional,” he placed his hand over his chest. “I’ve had to hold back from giving you a smack, and believe me, I’ve really wanted to.”

“Ugh!” You huffed, stepping out of the infirmary and bumping into Beckman, who was waiting for you outside.

“How are you feeling, Darlin'? Better?” he looked at you with his grey eyes.

With a smile you stop, you stood on your toes and kissed him on the cheek, leaving him surprised as you walked down the hall. The infirmary door opened, and Hongo stepped out, leaning against the frame with his arms crossed, watching you walk away.

“Much better!” you replied over your shoulder, smiling to yourself before disappearing from their sight.

............................

Taglist: @fanaticsnail @armiliadawn @pandora-writes-one-piece <3

[wonderlands-ass]

RED HAIRED PIRATES HEAD CANNONS

Here are just some of the head cannons i have for the red haired pirates, I just love them too much to not always think about them okay!!

Shanks:

- really doesn't like the cold, prefers to just sleep in the sun for hours if he could.

- sometimes gets REALLY bad headaches from his own haki.

- never tells anyone if he's sick or hurt.

- very clingy esp. when drunk, will and has cuddled at least all his commanders.

- ever since the Pirate king execution he's had a pretty bad alcohol problem, ask and he'll deny.

- knows about 90% of all languages, doesn't tell anyone cause he thinks it's funny if people figure this out after knowing him for years.

Lime-juice:

- trans guy

- he's dutch

- gets angry and protective REALLY fast.

Lucky Roux:

- used to cook for a mob family when shanks met him.

- doesn't really care what's happening he just finds joy in every situation.

Yassup:

- when he first saw usopp his first Bounty he cried for like 6 hours long.

- used to be a competitive marksman when shanks met him, Banchina always told him to travel outside of sirop village to compete globally but he was too scared.

- this man absolutely smokes weed, you can't change my mind.

Benn Beckman:

- met shanks a week after the execution.

- only agreed to join his Pirate crew if he had a crew, a month later shanks came back with yassop.

- can't stand his hair long but back when shanks had 2 arms shanks liked to play with his hair, that's why after the first time skip he just kept his hair shorter.

Hongo:

- he's so fucking tired of shanks shit, if he didn't love the crew and his captain so much he will consider to just commit homicide.

- has a son he doesn't know about.

- used to be in charge of navigation untill they got building snake.

[merbear25]

Hello 😊

I’ve seen your post about open request and I’m so happy 😄

I’d like to send you my request: Hongo x fem reader, NSFW, in which he makes a surprise visit and it’s been a long time since the have seen each other.

I hope it’s ok, have a lovely day 😘😘

Hello again! I'm more than happy to write this for you and even happier to know that you were excited to send something in 🥺 I hope you like it! 💜💜

With the rolling waves cascading on the sandy shores, you found yourself waiting for them to carry your lover back into your arms. Days turned into nights as the constellations shifted in the sky, bringing on a familiar heartache of what could be being postponed over and over again. That’s why when the ship you thought you’d forgotten appeared in the distance, you were hesitant to believe your own eyes.

CW: NSFW, MDNI, fem!reader, slight angst and pining, female masturbation, some fluff, established relationship, reunion sex, vaginal penetration and fingering, teasing, creampie

Here and now (Hongo)

Sitting at your window, daydreams of your other half coming through your front door made the last time he did so feel more and more distant. The sounds of crashing waves and the subtle breeze from the sea made you hum deep in thought. Your eyes fluttered closed and you nuzzled against your own open palm while imagining it was his. Oh, how you missed him in every sense of the word: his reassuring smile, his laugh, the way his hands felt on you.

As you imagined your hands were his, they trailed over and down your hips and thighs. Your delicate fingers helped spread your legs as they found your softness in between. Memories of moments you shared together played as your fingers rubbed at the growing wet patch. Riding the waves of euphoria over the cliffs of climax were met with panting and a subtle ache deep within your heart; those hands giving you pleasure weren’t his.

Satisfied only physically, your emotional state was chaotic, its own waves crashing against your most personal thoughts as you fell asleep dreaming of when you could lay beside each other again.

The following morning was met with dark clouds, and like every morning prior, you instinctively went to your window that overlooked the vast waters. Expecting them to greet you with their usual blank horizon, a spec appeared over it growing larger in size the longer your gaze held on it.

The wooden sides, the sail, the cheers from onboard: they made your heart pound against your chest with anticipation—a clench at your chest that incited hope and skepticism. Running to the docks, tears that were reserved for this moment began running down your cheeks. Your eyes immediately met his. That beaming smile and energetic wave thrown your way were returned with your own enthusiasm.

He was home. It didn’t matter for how long because he was there at that moment, and you were going to cherish it for as long as you could.

Crossing that threshold without so much as a breath away from each other, the desire for intimacy was burning under your flesh. The heat building between you was making the room stuffy and your clothes uncomfortably tight. Peeling each garment off of each other was done methodically, your eyes never leaving the other’s. 

“You’re so gorgeous.” His lips caressed your neck while his hands roamed up your skirt and gripped your hips. Those long slender fingers that had graced your dreams slipped under your waist band and trailed closer to your quivering center.

Your shaky gasp was met with his low groan when he felt your slick arousal. “I’ve missed you so much,” you whined.

“I’ve missed you too, darling.” He moved from your neck to claim your lips once more. You whimpered as his fingers circled around your most sensitive area. Seeing your legs tremble and that sweet face he’d been thinking about since the departure get flustered made his eyes roll back and flutter shut. You were everything to him. He couldn’t resist plunging his fingers deep inside your needy pussy.

Cries of pleasure passed over your soft lips, making you so much sweeter, so much more difficult to resist delving head first into. As you clawed at the sheets, your walls clenched around him. Your pants and moans were met with his own groans as your arousal creamed on his fingers. Just as you began shaking from an approaching orgasm, he promptly pulled himself away from you.

You arched your body and rutted against the bed in protest, but he was far from done with you. He brought his slick fingers to his mouth and sucked them clean. Watching your expression grow dark with lust as his tongue swirled around them was nearly enough to push him over the edge.

Not needing to keep either of you waiting any longer, he crawled on top of you. Leaving a trail of hot wet kisses up your body, each caress he bathed you in sent you spiraling further into the abyss of euphoria. Just barely hovering over you, the tip of his erection nestled against your entrance. Pushing the head past your soaked folds, you moaned in unison, which made it impossible not to thrust the entirety of himself into you.

Each gasp and moan had your body trembling under him. “Fuck, you’re incredible,” he breathed, leaning down to wrap you in his arms.

He held you closely, tightly, desperately as he moved inside you with reckless abandon. The sensation of your nails digging into his back as you unraveled around him was a testament to his restraint, one which he was neither able to keep a hold of nor wanting to.

Murmurs of I love yous accompanied the slapping of your hips. The sweet, musky scent of sex filled the room, wrapping you both entirely in your shared carnal urges. As you tossed your head back from the pure and utter bliss coursing through you, he was quick to follow suit. With a guttural growl rumbling in his chest, he then gasped at his sudden release inside of you. A few lingering waves were ridden out through small thrusts.

He pulled away slightly to get a look at the pinnacle of beauty underneath him; you were completely spent but met his gaze with a weak smile. Cupping your face, he leaned down to place tender, loving kisses on your forehead, cheeks, and finally your lips.

“I wish we could stay like this forever,” you admitted with a tinge of sadness.

“I know. I wish we could too, but right now everything feels absolutely perfect.” He pulled you into his arms, not wanting to think about any time other than the present.