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Here is a little helper:
✏︎(y/n)=your name
✏︎(l/n)=your last name
✏︎(h/l)=hair length
✏︎(h/c)=hair color
✏︎(e/c)=eye color
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⋆The words in italics represent thoughts.⋆
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✎Requested by rhoswind12
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Characteristics of the reader:
✏︎Kind
✏︎Sassy
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The Victoria Punk is foul.
No, really. You've seen garbage fires cleaner than this hull. The whole thing's covered in algae so thick it might legally count as a new ecosystem. If someone dropped a fishing line off the side, you wouldn't be surprised if they reeled up a baby kraken wearing sunglasses.
The bull skull on the bow has a glorious moss beard now. Distinguished. Regal. Smells like salt and rot.
Every few seconds, someone slips, curses, or threatens to defect to the Marines just to escape the stench. You're right there with them—knee-deep in slime, scraping away at barnacle clusters that might actually be alive. You're not sure. You're not gonna check.
And right in the middle of it all?
Hip and Hop.
Sisters. Chaos incarnate. Their parents must've been comedians—or enemies of peace.
Hip's the taller one: lean, clever, always one smirk away from trouble. Her ponytail's got more personality than some crew members. She cleans like she's solving a mystery, muttering sharp observations under her breath.
Hop's the hammer to her sister's scalpel. Shorter, tougher, the type to headbutt the mast if it looked at her wrong. She's all bandana, biceps, and blistering attitude. If anyone even looks sideways at Hip, Hop will end them and then go right back to scrubbing.
Which brings us to Scrap. Poor, sweet, stupid Scrap.
He sneaks up behind Hop with a glob of algae that's the exact color of regret, and smushes it right under her nose.
"Hey Hop," he grins, "smells like home."
Hop chokes. Not dramatically—just like her entire soul tried to evacuate through her nostrils. She spins, algae still clinging, eyes glowing murder.
But Hip's already there. She turns so fast her jacket flares, one hand on her hip, the other pointing like a sword.
"Touch her again," she growls, "and I'll wedge that sea snot so far up your ass you'll grow gills."
You are, at this point, laughing so hard you almost fall off the side of the ship.
Almost.
But you catch yourself on the railing, glance down the deck—and your breath catches.
Wire.
Wrapped head to toe in bandages like a cursed marionette, scraping at the hull with a long tool and steady hands. He's eerily focused. Quiet. Unbothered. And annoyingly attractive in that "would probably terrify my parents" sort of way.
He looks up. You look away.
He looks again. You definitely weren't staring.
Okay, maybe a little.
Your grip tightens on your scraper. Time to be useful, or at least pretend. You march over, trying not to slip on a smear of kelp that looks like it insulted someone earlier.
"Need a hand?" you ask, cool as the sea breeze and only mildly out of breath from overthinking it.
Wire blinks. Maybe smiles. It's hard to tell under the cloth, but you swear his eyes soften just a little.
YOU ARE READING
One Piece x Reader - Book I
Fanfiction➯ The art used in the edit is made by Grimhel on DeviantArt One piece belongs to Eiichirō Oda as well as the canon characters of the series √
