One Piece x Reader [OPEN]

╔═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*═══╗
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
♔
⋆The words in italics represent thoughts.⋆
♔
✎Requested by NadirEonar
♔
Characteristics of the reader:
✏︎Responsible
✏︎Teasing
✏︎Motherly
╚═══*.·:·.☽✧ ✦ ✧☾.·:·.*══╝

The deck rocks underfoot, though you're not sure if it's the waves or just the sheer weight of drunken bodies swaying. Laughter spills into the night, tangled with the scent of salt and rum. Someone's singing—loud, off-key, and utterly shameless.

You sit near the railing, fingers curled around a half-empty cup, more for habit than thirst. Across from you, Dive slouches, her head lolling to the side, eyes half-lidded and unfocused. She's gone, the kind of drunk that makes limbs heavy and thoughts slow.

"You're no fun," she slurs, barely managing to point a finger at you before it flops back down.

You shake your head, amused. "I'm making sure you don't do anything stupid."

Dive groans, dragging a hand down her face. "I always do stupid things."

"Yeah," you say, reaching out to brush damp hair from her face. "That's why I'm here."

She blinks at you, sluggish, like the thought takes a moment to sink in. Then, unexpectedly, she flops forward, head landing against your shoulder with a dramatic sigh. "You're a mother hen," she mumbles, voice muffled against you.

You huff out a quiet laugh, adjusting so she doesn't tip over completely. "And you're a disaster."

She snorts at that, arms hanging limply at her sides.

You glance up, taking in the absolute disaster around you. The deck is a battlefield of drunken defeat—bodies sprawled across the planks, some face-down, others draped over barrels like forgotten laundry. A few are still going, caught up in increasingly questionable games.

Near the mast, a group is playing some kind of bottle-cap tossing game, except the designated "target" is now gagging and hacking, clearly regretting his involvement. A guy on an overturned crate is trying to balance on one foot, arms flailing like a dying seagull. "I swear—hic—I got this," he slurs, right before gravity proves him wrong.

A few feet away, two crewmates are locked in an extremely intense argument—except neither of them is forming actual words. It's just aggressive mumbling and wild hand gestures.

Killer, the most responsible one among you, is still upright, but it's clear the night's excesses haven't left him untouched. He stands near the railing, long blonde locks swaying slightly as he nurses a drink. He's not sloshed, but there's a looseness to his normally rigid posture. Someone bumps into him, and he barely reacts, just lets out a slow, suffering sigh.

And then there's Kid.

The loudest force of chaos on the ship. He's in the middle of it all, roaring with laughter, shaking crewmates by the shoulders, throwing an arm around the nearest poor soul and shouting something completely incoherent. Every time someone yells, he yells louder. Every time someone drinks, he drinks more. At this point, he's practically conducting the madness, leading the crew deeper into drunken disaster.

It's always been like this.

You lean back against the railing, watching them, a warmth settling deep in your chest. These were the nights you had dreamed of when it was just the five of you—Kid, Killer, Heat, Wire, and you—on a half-broken ship, with barely enough supplies to last a week but more determination than sense. Back then, it had been desperation that kept you together, the stubborn refusal to sink, to let the world crush you before you had the chance to carve your names into it.