Spock, Jim Has Vanished Without A Trace, Is This Really The Best Use Of Your Time

computer crashed so have this platter of old toshinori cringe

ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ

❝​🇮​ ​🇰​​🇳​​🇴​​🇼​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇦​​🇹​ ​🇮​​🇹​ ​🇲​​🇮​​🇬​​🇭​​🇹​ ​🇸​​🇴​​🇺​​🇳​​🇩​ ​🇲​​🇴​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇦​​🇳​ ​🇦​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇹​​🇹​​🇱​​🇪​ ​🇨​​🇷​​🇦​​🇿​​🇾​, ​🇧​​🇺​​🇹​ ​🇮​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇱​​🇮​​🇪​​🇻​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇰​​🇳​​🇪​​🇼​ ​🇮​ ​🇱​​🇴​​🇻​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇲​​🇪​​🇹​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇮​ ​🇹​​🇭​​🇮​​🇳​​🇰​ ​🇮​ ​🇩​​🇷​​🇪​​🇦​​🇲​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇮​​🇳​​🇹​​🇴​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇫​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇰​​🇳​​🇪​​🇼​ ​🇮​ ​🇱​​🇴​​🇻​​🇪​​🇩​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇫​​🇴​​🇷​​🇪​ ​🇮​ ​🇲​​🇪​​🇹​ ​🇾​​🇴​​🇺​ ​🇮​ ​🇭​​🇦​​🇻​​🇪​ ​🇧​​🇪​​🇪​​🇳​ ​🇼​​🇦​​🇮​​🇹​​🇮​​🇳​​🇬​ ​🇦​​🇱​​🇱​ ​🇲​​🇾​ ​🇱​​🇮​​🇫​​🇪​.❝ ͠​🇸​​🇦​​🇻​​🇦​​🇬​​🇪​ ​🇬​​🇦​​🇷​​🇩​​🇪​​🇳​

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Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Slow burn, fluff, pre-love tension Word Count: ~1,200

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You only noticed it once Nami brought it up.

“You realize Zoro always puts himself in front of you during fights, right?” she said casually, barely looking up from her notebook.

You frowned. “Isn’t that just…what swordsmen do?”

Nami snorted. “No. He doesn’t do that for everyone. Just you.”

You had opened your mouth to argue, but your mind was already replaying moments from the past few weeks: Zoro stepping in front of you before an enemy lunged, catching a blade mid-swing. Blocking a flying piece of debris with the flat of his sword without even looking your way.

You had brushed it off. Coincidence. He was always intense about combat.

But then the island happened.

It was meant to be a simple supply run. A sunny, sleepy little port town. You were strolling back from the market, arms full of tropical fruit, when a voice behind you hissed: “Hand it over.”

You barely turned before someone rushed at you—blade raised high.

You did not even have time to flinch.

But Zoro was already moving—faster than the swing, faster than thought. His sword cut through the attacker’s strike before it could fall. One clean, practiced motion. Your would-be attacker dropped to the ground, unconscious.

Then Zoro turned to you.

“You okay?” His voice was tight, eyes scanning you head to toe.

You blinked. “I—I think so.”

There was no blood. No scratch. But Zoro’s jaw was clenched like he had failed at something anyway.

“Could’ve hit you,” he muttered.

You shook your head. “But he didn’t—”

“I let him get close.”

He said it low, more to himself than to you. That same dark expression—like the idea of someone even trying to hurt you was personal.

Later, you were hauling a crate of watermelons back to the Sunny. Your arms ached, but you were stubborn. You had it.

Until it was just… gone.

You blinked, turning to find Zoro walking ahead of you, the crate now slung easily over one shoulder.

He did not say a word. He did not look at you.

Just kept walking like it was the most natural thing in the world.

“…Thanks,” you said, jogging to catch up.

He shrugged. “Looked heavy.”

That was all.

But the pattern only got worse.

You were in the library one morning, curled up in a chair with a book. Outside, the rhythmic shhhk-shhhk of a sword slicing air drifted in. You got up, peeked out the window.

There he was.

Training, shirtless, sweat glistening on his skin as he moved with deadly grace—right outside the window. You tilted your head. That was not even his usual training spot.

Coincidence.

Maybe.

The next day, you were sunbathing on the upper deck. The sunlight was warm, lulling you half to sleep, until a shadow crossed over you. You squinted.

Zoro.

Doing pushups five feet away. Barely glancing at you. Not saying anything.

He kept going for an hour.

Just…there.

Breathing heavy. Silent. Focused. But never quite leaving your orbit.

That evening, Sanji leaned across the dinner table with a grin and said, “You’re basically her guard dog, mosshead.”

Zoro scoffed. “Don’t start with me.”

But he did not argue further. He did not roll his eyes or bark something defensive like he usually would.

Instead, he fell quiet.

And that night, as the ship creaked under the weight of the sea and everyone else slept, Zoro stared up at the dark ceiling of his hammock, arms folded behind his head.

He told himself he was just being cautious. He was strong. That was what strong people did—they protected the weaker crew members.

But your face kept flickering through his mind. That damn blade. The way your nose scrunched when you laughed. The quiet way you had said thank you, like it meant something.

He shifted onto his side with a grumble.

“Guard dog,” he muttered under his breath.

But the next morning, he was already outside the library window before you got there.

Training.

Just in case...

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Pairing: Monkey D. Luffy x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, slow burn, oblivious-to-suddenly-slammed-with-feelings Word Count: ~1,300 ______________________________________________________________

“Come see this!”

You barely had time to set your drink down before Luffy grabbed your hand and took off running across the deck, dragging you behind him like an excited kid with a secret.

“I just saw the biggest crab on the shore!” he beamed over his shoulder. “Its eyes were like—this big!”

You laughed, stumbling to keep up. “Luffy, I’m still chewing—!”

“Chew faster!” he called.

That was Luffy. Every moment, every laugh, every weird discovery—he wanted to share it with you. He never said why. Just acted like you were supposed to be there. Like it made sense. Like he could not imagine it any other way.

When the crew stopped at the next island for supplies, he grabbed your hand again.

“Let’s get snacks!”

“I thought Nami told you to get rope.”

“Yeah, but snacks first.”

He bought ten different fruits, devoured six on the spot, handed two to Chopper, gave one to Usopp, then stared at the last fruit in his hand.

And without even a beat, he handed it to you.

You blinked. “What about you?”

“You like those,” he said simply, licking juice from his fingers.

That was all.

Like it was just a given. Like it made sense in his brain. Like you were—his somehow.

It took you longer to notice that Luffy always sat next to you. Not across. Not near. Next to.

At dinner. On the deck. At the bar in town. If there was an open seat beside you, it was his. Even if he came in last, even if it meant awkwardly squeezing in or dragging a chair across the floor, that was where he landed.

You had once joked about it to Nami.

“I guess I’m Luffy’s emotional support human.”

But Nami had just raised an eyebrow and said, “You think he’s like this with everyone?”

You laughed, but something inside your chest fluttered. Uneasy. Warm.

Then came that night on the island.

It was a casual little tavern—nothing wild. The crew was spread out, music in the air, drinks flowing. You were leaning against the bar, laughing with a guy from the local fishing crew who had a lopsided smile and a good sense of humor.

And when you glanced toward the table where the others sat, Luffy was watching you.

Not smiling. Not laughing. Just…quiet.

You made your way back eventually, dropping into the seat beside him with your usual ease. “What, no food left for me?”

He blinked, like you’d knocked him out of a thought. “Huh? Oh—yeah. Here.”

He pushed a plate toward you, then fell quiet again.

You nudged his shoulder. “What’s with you?”

He stared at the wood grain of the table. “Do you like that guy?”

You blinked. “Who?”

“The guy you were talking to.”

You chuckled. “Oh, no. He was just funny. Told a story about getting bit by his own fishing hook.”

Luffy nodded slowly, but he was clearly still in some headspace.

You did not push it. But he did not say much for the rest of the night.

Back on the Sunny, Luffy lay on the figurehead, arms crossed behind his head, eyes on the stars.

Something was off. Weird. Uneasy.

He liked being around you. That made sense. You were fun. You made him laugh. You always split food with him. You let him nap on your shoulder sometimes, and you smelled nice, and your voice was soft when you woke him up—

He sat up suddenly.

He always sat next to you.

Always reached for your hand first. Always wanted you to see the cool things. Always gave you the last bite. Always saved the good seat for you.

He rubbed a hand down his face.

“…Why do I care who you laugh with?”

It came out in a whisper. A real question.

The realization didn’t slam into him like a battle or a punch. It just… settled. Quiet and obvious and real.

He was in love with you.

Oh.

The next morning, you stepped out onto the deck to find Luffy already there, legs swinging off the railing.

He grinned when he saw you, as bright and boyish as ever.

“Hey! Wanna have breakfast with me?”

You blinked. “You already ate.”

“I’ll eat again.”

You snorted. “You always do.”

You walked over, and without even needing to ask, he patted the spot beside him.

Right next to him.

Where you always sat.

Where you... belonged...

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Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, tension, oblivious realization Word Count: ~1,400

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The rain came out of nowhere.

One minute, you were lounging on the deck, enjoying the warm breeze, and the next, a downpour sent the crew scattering indoors like startled cats. You made a break for the galley—sliding in just as thunder cracked overhead.

Sanji glanced up from the stove, already smiling.

“Looks like you brought the storm with you,” he said, flipping something in the pan without looking. “Good thing I kept a seat warm.”

You laughed as you pulled up a stool. A mug was already waiting there.

Chamomile.

Your favorite on rainy days.

You had mentioned it once—months ago—after a cold, wet mission left you sniffling and grumpy. He had not forgotten.

You cupped the mug in both hands and said, “Didn’t know you had psychic powers.”

“Only when it comes to you, mon étoile.”

You rolled your eyes with a smile, and he turned back to the stove. Heart-shaped steam rose from the pan.

Literally.

Sanji cooked for everyone, of course. Every meal, every day. It was love, it was pride, it was art.

But yours were different.

Little things.

A garnish shaped like a starfish because you said it reminded you of your childhood. A citrus glaze because you once joked about missing a specific island fruit. A perfectly diced corner of onions because you hated the texture whole.

He never made a show of it.

He just knew.

You sipped your tea, watching the rain race down the windows.

“Do you ever stop moving?” you asked softly.

Sanji looked up.

You gestured around. “You’re always doing something. Cooking. Cleaning. Serving. Flirting.”

He grinned at the last one. “You forgot being devastatingly handsome.”

You laughed. “Right. That too.”

But he paused for a beat, eyes narrowing slightly.

“…I like staying busy.”

“Even when no one’s asking you to?”

“I guess I like having a reason to look after people,” he said, plating something with practiced grace. “It’s easier than talking about it.”

He set the plate in front of you—a warm, colorful dish that smelled like nostalgia and citrus and something unnameable that made your chest flutter.

You raised an eyebrow. “What is this?”

“Just something I thought you’d like.”

You looked down and—of course—there it was.

A tiny little orange peel shaped like a heart, resting on the side like a secret only meant for you.

Later, Nami strolled into the galley mid-rainstorm, dripping wet and grumbling.

“Sanji, please tell me you made something hot—”

She froze.

She looked at your plate.

Then at you.

Then at Sanji.

And then she smirked.

“You don’t act like that with us,” she said, towel in hand.

Sanji blinked. “Act like what?”

Nami pointed her towel at your dish. “That. The garnish. The candle. The literal ambience. What is this, a date?”

You nearly choked on your tea. “Nami!”

But she was already laughing, waving you off. “I’m just saying. He’s usually all googly-eyed and dramatic, but this? This is different.”

Sanji opened his mouth. Closed it. Frowned slightly.

“…I just like making things they’ll enjoy,” he said, quietly.

Nami arched a brow. “You sure that’s all it is?”

She left him with that.

Left both of you with that.

That night, the rain continued.

Sanji stood alone in the galley, hands in his pockets, staring out the window as the clouds rolled across the moon. He thought about Nami’s words. He thought about your laugh. The way you looked when you drank tea. The way you had smiled down at that plate like it made you feel safe.

He replayed the dozens—hundreds—of small things he had done without thinking.

He knew your favorite fruits. Your favorite colors. He could tell when your shoulders were tense from stress. He noticed when you were quiet too long and always managed to pass you your favorite mug before you even asked for it.

He did not do that for the others.

Not like this.

He leaned against the counter, exhaling slowly.

“…Different,” he murmured.

He did not deny it.

The next morning, the sun was back. The deck was dry. The ship smelled like the sea and fresh citrus.

You stepped out, stretching your arms over your head—and froze.

There was a small tray waiting by your seat. A breakfast just for you.

A folded napkin. A steaming cup of tea. And another little garnish, this time in the shape of a flower.

You blinked, warmth curling in your chest.

From the galley window, Sanji watched you notice it.

And for the first time, he smiled not because he was trying to charm you.

But because he just loved the way you smiled back...

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Pairing: Usopp x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, mutual pining, light comedy Word Count: ~1,400

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You looked up from the bits of broken wood on the deck, brow raised. “Half a mango?”

Usopp nodded sagely, one knee propped up like a heroic statue. “The juice distracted it long enough for me to strike. Right in the eye. Boom! It cried out across the heavens!”

You laughed, brushing sawdust from your hands. “Wow. Sounds like you saved the entire sky.”

He tried to act nonchalant, but the way his ears turned red betrayed him.

“Y-yeah, well… it was nothing.”

But your laugh echoed in his head for the rest of the day.

You started helping him fix a busted section of railing after an especially rowdy sea king scuffle. He handed you nails. You passed him planks. Somewhere in the middle, your hands brushed.

Not even a full second of contact.

But Usopp’s soul left his body.

He froze mid-movement, eyes flicking to your hand and then quickly back to the wood. His heartbeat tripped over itself like it had never learned rhythm.

“Y-You’re good at hammering,” he said.

You looked up with a smile. “You think so?”

Why did your smile do that? Why is my chest warm? Am I dying?!

That night, he told Chopper in the infirmary with the gravity of someone announcing a terminal condition.

“It was nothing. Just her hand. Brushed mine. Totally normal. My heart didn’t do a fluttery thing. Nope. Perfectly fine. Totally unaffected.”

Chopper blinked. “Usopp, your nose is bleeding.”

“SHH.”

A few days later, you found a tiny handmade crab figurine on your pillow. Wobbly legs. Big googly eyes. Clearly sculpted out of something like melted candle wax and hope.

There was a note attached:

“For luck!! – Captain Usopp”

You grinned.

The next time you saw him, you had it tucked into your pocket.

He pretended not to stare at it. But his eyes kept flicking down to where the crab peeked out.

“You, uh… kept it?” he asked, scratching the back of his head.

“Of course I did. He’s good luck, right?”

Usopp nodded too fast. “Right! Super rare crab spirit. Repels bad dreams and seagulls. I read that somewhere. Definitely real.”

Your hand brushed his again when you tucked it back into your pocket.

Usopp made a noise like a squeaky kettle and practically moonwalked off the deck.

It was worse when you sat with him while he worked on a new slingshot prototype. Just the two of you, sunlight dappled through the sails, his tools scattered between you.

You picked up a rubber band, tilting your head. “What’s this one for?”

“Oh—that’s for the sky-splitting sonic burst function,” he said, then faltered. “Wait. I mean—it might be. It’s top secret. Probably. Still testing.”

You laughed again, that easy kind of laugh that always made him feel lighter somehow.

“You’re fun to build with,” you said.

He did not hear the ocean for a full five seconds after that.

The final straw was the map.

He had been doodling late at night—a fake island, covered in winding trails and strange beasts. In the corner, he scribbled a little stick figure version of himself. And beside him, another.

You.

Labeled “Sidekick!” with a star next to it.

He laughed to himself, soft and sheepish. Just a joke.

But the longer he looked at it, the more real it started to feel. The more right it felt.

The idea of you—beside him. On adventures. In stories. In dreams.

In everything.

Usopp blinked at the paper.

“…Oh.”

The next morning, you were helping Nami chart something in the observation room when Usopp peeked in, fidgeting with a new trinket in hand—some kind of polished shell creature on a string.

“For you!” he blurted, tossing it your way like a bomb and nearly missing.

You caught it mid-air. “Another lucky charm?”

“Uh, yeah! That one keeps your feet from falling asleep. And your heart. Maybe. I think.”

You gave him a bright, curious smile. “Thanks, Usopp. You’re always giving me the coolest stuff.”

He turned red to his ears. “Yeah, well… I give a lot of stuff to everyone.”

Nami glanced up from her maps and raised an eyebrow. “No, you do not.”

Usopp flinched. “I—I don’t?”

“You don’t give me weird shell creatures,” she said, smirking.

Usopp gave you a helpless shrug. Can’t a guy panic in peace??

You just laughed again.

He melted.

Again.

That night, he tucked the sidekick map under his pillow.

And for the first time in a long time, his dreams were not filled with made-up monsters or epic battles.

They were filled with you...

Sitting beside him...

Right where you belonged...

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Pairing: Shanks x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, subtle tension, slice-of-life aboard the Red Hair Pirates Word Count: ~1,500

The deck of the Red Hair Pirates was alive with laughter.

A successful haul, good weather, and plenty of rum meant the crew was in high spirits. You sat near the edge of the gathering, warm drink in hand, watching the orange sky bleed into twilight.

Shanks was in the center of it all, as always—radiating charm, laughing loud, one arm thrown over Benn’s shoulder as he spun another story, likely exaggerated.

But his eyes kept flicking sideways.

To you.

Not obvious. Not intrusive. Just enough to check—Did you hear that part? Did it make you laugh?

When you smiled, he smiled wider.

You only noticed the seat-saving habit after the third or fourth time.

Someone else would head toward the empty spot next to him, and—without fail—Shanks would casually drop something there. A coat. His scabbard. A mug. A hand.

“Taken,” he would say, without looking up.

Eventually, you stopped hesitating. You would just settle beside him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Because it was.

The crew was weaving through a tight port town a few days later, all noise and bustle and market chaos. You were trying to keep up, head turning to take in stalls of glittering goods, when you felt it—

A hand, warm and steady, against the small of your back.

Guiding.

No words. No big deal.

Shanks kept walking like he had not just casually laid claim to your existence in public. Like he had not sent your brain short-circuiting.

You glanced at him.

He was pointing out some ridiculous hat one of his crewmates had just bought, completely unaware that your heart had decided to do somersaults.

That night, you sipped wine under the stars, legs dangling over the edge of the deck. Shanks joined you, letting his boots thud softly beside yours.

He handed you a new drink without being asked.

“Trade,” he said.

“Mine’s not even empty.”

“Still,” he shrugged, “felt right.”

You raised your glass. “To pirates with good instincts.”

He smiled, clinked his glass gently to yours, and said, “To us.”

You blinked. “Us?”

“Yeah,” he said, then paused. “I mean—the crew. Obviously. Us as in… everyone.”

But his words had already left his mouth.

To us.

It kept happening.

“When we get to the next island—” “We should fix that railing before the storm—” “If we go north next time, we’ll hit better trade routes.”

We. Always we.

Like his plans just assumed you would be there. Like his future did not make sense without you in it.

He never seemed to notice.

But you did.

And so did Makino.

You were sharing a quiet moment in the galley, watching the rain hit the windows while Makino stirred tea. She gave you a look—gentle, but amused.

“You know he acts different when you’re around,” she said casually.

You raised an eyebrow. “Does he?”

She smiled knowingly, sliding a cup across to you. “He pours your drink first. Always. He does not do that for anyone.”

You tried to play it off. “Maybe I just sit closest.”

“Mm,” she said. “Sure.”

When she told him later—cornered him in that way only old friends could—he chuckled.

“Do I?” he said, leaning back in his chair.

Cool. Effortless. Unbothered.

Makino just raised an eyebrow. “You don’t even notice, huh?”

“…Guess not.”

She left him with that.

But Shanks sat there long after the lanterns dimmed, swirling untouched rum in his glass, staring out at the sea.

Thinking about the way he always looked for you in a room. The way he stepped closer in a crowd without realizing. The way “we” had slipped from his mouth like it had always belonged there.

“…Huh,” he said aloud, almost to himself.

And then, quietly—

“…Damn.”

The next morning, you climbed up to the crow’s nest for some air.

And found a fresh mug of tea already waiting there.

Still warm.

With a little note tucked beneath it, in a familiar, uneven scrawl:

“Thought you might come up. —Shanks”

You chuckled, holding the cup in both hands.

Down below, on the main deck, he looked up once.

Right at you.

And for once, he did not look away...

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Pairing: Buggy x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Comedy, fluff, mutual pining, dramatic clown behavior Word Count: ~1,500

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“You’re my favorite. Obviously.”

Buggy slung an arm around your shoulders with all the grace of someone trying very hard to look casual. It would have worked—if he had not announced it loud enough for the entire crew to hear.

Again.

From across the deck, Cabaji raised a brow. Mohji sighed.

“You always say that,” someone muttered.

Buggy waved them off with his free hand, gripping you tighter with the other. “Yeah, but this time I mean it. Don’t tell the others, though,” he said in a loud stage whisper, “you’re my right hand.”

You blinked up at him. “Buggy, your actual right hand is floating three feet behind you.”

“I KNOW WHAT I SAID.”

It happened all the time. If someone tried to pull you away—say, for actual work—Buggy immediately staged a crisis.

“What do you mean you’re going with them?” he snapped one afternoon, arms flailing as you stepped toward a crew meeting. “You’re gonna ditch me for those losers? I’m WAY more fun! I’ve got charisma! Flair! A fabulous hat!”

“You also have a cannon aimed at the kitchen again.”

“Do not change the subject!”

The worst was during performances. Buggy loved an audience. Worshipped attention. But whenever you were nearby?

He shared the spotlight.

“Get up here, (Y/N)!” he shouted mid-act, dragging you center stage by the wrist. “Do the bit with the juggling fish guts!”

You stumbled into the limelight, grinning in spite of yourself. “Buggy, I’ve never done this in my life.”

“Yeah, but the crew loves you,” he said, a little too fast. “Not me. The crew. I’m just doing what they want. Obviously.”

You blinked.

“Obviously,” you echoed, half-smiling.

He looked away, face flushed, and waved his hand dramatically. “Focus, people! Back to me!”

Then there was the night you fell asleep on him.

It was accidental, obviously. You had just finished a long supply run, flopped onto the nearest bench in the captain’s quarters, and leaned your head against his shoulder with a quiet sigh.

Buggy froze.

Like, completely.

Did not move a single muscle for the next two hours.

He did not even detach anything. He just sat there, stiff as a mannequin, eyes wide, face bright red.

The crew peeked in and saw the scene.

No one said a word. They just closed the door and slowly backed away.

He did not bring it up. Not the next day. Not the next week.

But he thought about it constantly.

Like a glitch in his brain he could not fix.

That warmth. Your breath on his shoulder. The trust. The way your hair had tickled his coat—

“AGH!” he shouted, tossing a barrel across the deck in frustration. “Why is this haunting me?!”

Mohji, sweeping nearby, did not even flinch. “Still thinking about that nap thing?”

“NO!!”

You, of course, noticed none of this.

Or rather—you noticed the Buggy-ness of it all: the tantrums, the declarations, the dramatic stunts. But you figured that was just how he was with everyone.

Until one night, you casually asked, “Do you throw everyone into the spotlight, or am I just special?”

Buggy choked on his drink.

You tilted your head, teasing. “Come on, Captain. You drag me into your antics all the time.”

“That’s—That’s—That’s—!” he sputtered, pointing dramatically. “Crew morale! I am a caring leader! It is for the people!!”

You smiled, leaning in slightly. “So I’m not special?”

He froze.

Silence.

His face slowly turned crimson.

“Well- …I didn’t say all that.”

Later, you fell asleep in the crow’s nest, curled up in a blanket.

Buggy climbed up to check on you—totally not because he was worried—and paused when he saw you tucked in and breathing soft.

He sighed. Quiet this time.

Sat down beside you.

Did not touch. Did not talk.

Just… stayed.

And that night, he thought:

Maybe you really are my right hand.

But if anyone asked, he would say:

“Shut up!! It’s not like that or anything!!”

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Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Hurt/Comfort, Fluff, Slow-Burn, Realization Moment Word Count: ~2,000

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You barely saw it coming—the moment Ace became a constant.

It was not dramatic. No fireworks. No grand gesture. Just… a shadow that always lingered a little longer near your shoulder. A voice that always found yours in the noise.

“You good?” he asked after every mission, every skirmish, even if you had not been on the front lines.

Casual tone. Easy grin.

But his eyes scanned your face for any sign of damage. Always.

The first time he handed you his hat, you were half-asleep on the deck, one arm draped over your eyes to block the sun. Without a word, something warm and worn settled across your face—the faded brim of his beloved hat.

You peeked out from under it. “You’ll get sunburned.”

He just shrugged. “You need it more.”

Then sat down nearby, arms folded behind his head like it was no big deal. But every few minutes, you felt his gaze flick over—just checking. Making sure it had not slipped. That you were still comfortable.

Like warmth, without the fire.

In group conversations, you were quiet.

Not shy—just the type who waited for your moment. But one afternoon, someone interrupted you before you could finish your thought.

Ace’s arm casually slung around a barrel, but his voice cut sharp and clear.

“Let them finish.”

Everyone blinked. The guy apologized. You picked up where you left off.

Ace just gave you a little nod, like it was automatic.

Because it was.

He brought you things. Dumb things. Random things.

A flower he said “looked kind of like your hair, if you squint.” A shell shaped like a spiral. A rock that sparkled faintly in the sun.

“Reminded me of you,” he said with a lazy grin and a shrug, like he did not think about it twice.

But he did think about it.

Later. Alone. Lying in his bunk, one arm behind his head, the other draped over his eyes as the ship creaked gently beneath him.

Why does everything remind me of them? Why do I look for something to give them every time we dock? Why is their smile the first thing I picture when I find something beautiful?

He never had answers. Just heat curling low in his chest.

And then came the day you got hurt.

It was not life-threatening. Just a deep gash across your arm from a surprise ambush while scavenging supplies.

But Ace saw red.

He was fire and fury and reckless rage—blasting forward, taking down three of the attackers in seconds, fists lit with flame and jaw tight with fury.

Marco had to hold him back. “They’re down, Ace. Let it go.”

He shook him off, breathing hard, chest rising and falling like a storm just barely held back.

When he finally made it back to you, his hands were shaking as he checked the wound. “Why were you out there alone? You should’ve waited. You should’ve called me—”

You blinked up at him. “Ace. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine, look at this!” His voice cracked. He grabbed a cloth, hands too rough, trying to stop the bleeding like he could rewind time.

The others stood a little ways off, unsure whether to help or stay back.

Someone whispered under their breath, “…He’s acting like he’s in love with them or something.”

Ace froze.

Everything inside him stopped.

The cloth slipped from his hand.

His eyes flicked up to yours—wide, stunned, almost confused.

He’s acting like he’s in love with them.

Wait.

Wait...

Waitwaitwait-

Shit..!!!

You watched him go still. Watched his expression shift like tectonic plates—something slow, deep, irreversible.

“Ace?” you asked softly.

He blinked, like he was waking up.

And then he stood abruptly, muttering something about needing air. You watched the orange of his back fade down the corridor, swallowed by sunset.

Later that night, he came back.

Not with words. Not with an apology or confession.

But with a small box.

He handed it to you without a word, ears pink.

You opened it.

A piece of sea glass—perfectly smooth, the color of moonlight. Nestled beside a tiny sketch of you, drawn on a scrap of parchment. Rough, shaky lines. Obviously his.

“You drew this?” you asked, touched.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “I dunno. You were asleep on the deck and I got bored.”

You looked at the sea glass. Then at him.

And smiled.

“Ace?”

“Yeah?”

“If you ever realize something… let me know, okay?”

His eyes met yours.

Slowly, a grin tugged at his mouth. “I think I already did.”

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Subtle romance, emotional tension, hurt/comfort, slow realization Word Count: ~2,000

No one was allowed in Law’s space.

Not physically. Not emotionally. Not even Bepo got close without permission, and Bepo had known him the longest.

Except… you.

You did not even notice it at first. The way you stood beside him during briefings, how your arms brushed when you handed him charts. The quiet nights on the deck where you ended up sharing a coat when the cold got sharp.

And Law—silent, controlled, aloof Law—never said a word.

Never moved away.

He had a way of explaining things to you that felt like he had actually taken the time to translate his brain.

One evening, after a minor scuffle, he was treating Penguin’s bruised ribs. You came to check in, and Law started explaining the healing process—not in his usual clipped medical terms, but slower, gentler, clearer.

“I’ve asked you that same question,” Shachi grumbled from nearby. “You never explain stuff like that to me.”

Law did not even glance up. “They actually listen.”

But it was more than that. You made him want to talk. Made it easy to unravel the tightly wound pieces of himself, like pulling threads from a knot without it even hurting.

He did not know how you did it.

He just… let you.

He noticed things.

The way your hands fidgeted at your sides when you were nervous. The kind of food you gravitated toward after a rough day. The specific tone your voice took when you were genuinely excited—light and airy, eyes bright like sunrise.

He did not forget any of it.

You once mentioned liking a specific island pastry in passing. When the crew docked there weeks later, Law returned from an errand with a box of them in hand.

“Coincidence,” he said, handing it off without looking you in the eye.

“Law…”

“Coincidence.”

You got hurt once. A bit of a gash. Something another crew medic could’ve easily handled.

But Law was the one who showed up with the medical bag, silent and focused, gloves snapping on.

“I could’ve waited for Jean Bart,” you said, raising a brow.

Law avoided your gaze, inspecting the cut. “I do not trust their technique.”

“But it’s a shallow cut.”

He cleaned it anyway. Wrapped it slowly. Pressed a final strip of gauze on with careful fingers.

You looked at him. “You always take care of me.”

“I am the doctor.”

“That’s not why.”

He did not answer.

Then there was the laughter.

You had been talking to another pirate—a temporary alliance, nothing serious. Something the crew barely cared about.

But Law… noticed the way you laughed. How relaxed you were.

How someone else was the reason for that smile.

His chest tightened. It felt stupid. Irrational.

“That is not jealousy,” he muttered under his breath.

Bepo, beside him, gave a look so loud it may as well have spoken.

Law scowled. “It’s not.”

But he clenched his jaw the rest of the night.

The breaking point came with a question.

Simple. Offhanded. A crew member joking at dinner.

“What would you do if (Y/N) left the crew?”

Law froze.

Fork halfway to his mouth. Eyes suddenly unreadable.

The table went quiet.

You looked over at him, sensing something shift in the air.

He said nothing.

Because the real answer—the only answer—was this:

I would go after you.

I would leave everything.

I would not be okay.

And that terrified him.

Later, alone in the infirmary, he sat with a half-finished chart in his lap, hand motionless over the paper.

His mind replayed the question over and over.

Not what would happen to the crew. Not how it would affect his plans.

Just you.

Your absence. The silence of it. The hole it would leave.

I’m in love with them.

He exhaled, slow and quiet.

Shit...

______________________________________________________________

Pairing: Sabo x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Pre-Love Realization, Slow Burn Word Count: ~2,000 ______________________________________________________________

With Sabo, it always felt like you belonged at his side—even before he realized how much that meant.

You were part of the Revolutionary Army—smart, capable, steady. A good comrade. A better friend.

At least, that was how he described you.

To himself.

To others.

And yet…

He started saving seats beside him.

It was not on purpose at first—just a spot left open next to him during meals, briefings, downtime. His coat draped across a second chair, or his hat tossed there like a marker.

If someone tried to sit, he’d glance up, confused. “Oh—sorry, that’s for (Y/N).”

He never thought much of it.

You did.

He asked your opinion on everything.

Not just mission plans or logistics. But things like, “Do you think this tie’s too formal for a peace talk?” or “Would this soup be better with ginger or mint?”

You laughed once and said, “Are you always this picky?”

He smiled, tilted his head. “Only when you’re around to help me choose.”

He shared the things that mattered.

Books that made him think. Photos of towns he wanted to rebuild. Quiet pieces of his past—the good ones, the ones untouched by fire and grief.

You saw a different side of him. One that sparkled quietly beneath the weight he carried.

And he saw you as the safe place to set it down.

But he also grew… protective.

One time, you volunteered for a high-risk scouting job. Nothing outrageous. But before you even finished explaining your plan, Sabo cut in.

“I’ll go instead.”

You blinked. “Sabo, I can handle it—”

“I know you can,” he said quickly. Too quickly. “But I’m more familiar with the terrain. It makes sense.”

You exchanged a look with Koala, who raised a brow behind him.

Later that night, she cornered him.

“You know you’re in love with them, right?”

Sabo laughed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Koala: “Mm. Sure. You nearly yelled at Hack because they almost got a splinter.”

Sabo: “That was different.”

Koala: “Okay.”

It was not different.

He brought you things.

Not in a flashy way—just little gifts. A worn book with your favorite theme. A pouch of dried fruit you liked. A scarf when the mountain air got too cold.

“Found it on the way back,” he’d say, casual, like he had not thought about you the whole trip.

But he had.

One night, after a celebration—small victory, small village—you danced with someone else.

Sabo smiled. Genuinely, at first.

Then you laughed—soft and free, head thrown back—and his chest tightened.

A twist of heat. A flicker of something sharp and unfamiliar.

He turned away before he could watch any longer.

Koala caught him staring at the wall with a far-off look. “You okay?”

He blinked. “Yeah. Just tired.”

He was lying.

The realization came quietly.

You were late coming back from a solo mission. Just by an hour. But that hour stretched out into something tight and heavy in his ribs.

He stood by the gate, arms folded, trying not to pace.

Koala came to stand beside him. “They’ll be fine. You trained them yourself.”

“I know.”

But his voice was thin. Worried. Too worried.

When you finally returned—mud on your boots, smile crooked, only a scratch on your cheek—he let out a breath like someone had released a pressure valve inside him.

“You’re late,” he said.

You grinned. “Miss me?”

He did not answer.

Not out loud.

But later, alone, he sat on the edge of his bunk and whispered to the dark:

“…Yes.”

A few days later, someone asked him a simple question:

“If (Y/N) left the army tomorrow… would you follow?”

He did not even answer.

Just went silent.

Because the answer was yes. And that scared the hell out of him.

______________________________________________________________

CHAT. DID I EAT? AHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! I DID SO GOOD, I'M SO PROUD!

Falling (Zoro x Reader)

_____ Pairing: Zoro x Female Reader Summary: You tend to be clumsy, and because of your boyfriend's past, you give him a mini heart attack every time you fall. Warnings: Angst, Fluff, Injuries, Worried Zoro, SPOILERS for Zoro's past?? [One Piece Masterlist] _____

Zoro knows you're strong.

He's seen you defeat opponents three times your size, seen you throw yourself in danger for the safety of your crew, had seen you win gruesome battles, and what's more, when you spar with him, he actually breaks a sweat. The two of you often train together, and Zoro bears witness to how you mould your strength, bettering yourself for the next battle and the next.

He knows.

But god dammit, why did you have to be so clumsy?

Zoro knows that, technically, it is no one's fault: the way you trip over your own two feet, the scattered bruises you bear, the odd yelp after the hundredth time dropping glassware in the kitchen. But he can't help but fall victim to the spike of his heart, the sweat that seems to rise instinctually, and his limbs that carry him quickly to the wake of your curses or the crash of your miseries.

And, most of the time, the new injury you hold is small and insignificant; rarely would you require medical attention afterwards. But Zoro finds himself still hating it. Hating the fact that he has no one to fight or to blame, has no one to curse or berate, no one to protect you from. Because your injuries are the cause of your own, and it wasn't like you particularly loved the misfortune of wounds from everyday activities either.

You had to admit, though, and to Zoro's muted gladness, that the number of injuries you bore had significantly decreased after meeting the stoic swordsman. Even before the two of you started dating, Zoro had noticed your affinity to the most unseeming dangers and had unknowingly taken it upon himself to prevent purple and blue from tainting your skin.

His curses as hands guide you away from walls and obstructing objects you somehow do not notice.

The twitching of his brows as he quickly catches you before you fall face-first to the ground, panic clouded beneath his irritation.

Every movement, every moment you take a step towards another hazard, carefully judged by his sharp eyes and willing instincts.

You were grateful beyond measure that your now-boyfriend, though oftentimes bearing an annoyed facade, cared and was patient enough to save you from the minor disasters you thought were an everyday norm. His efforts had increased tenfold, especially when the two of you became official, as he had an excuse to linger by your side as often as he pleased.

Though embarrassed sometimes that such a capable fighter as yourself found defeat in the lack of coordination of your own limbs, you could not deny that Zoro's protectiveness was an attractive and oftentimes welcome response. However, you did not realise the brunt of his actual panic, his actual aversion to the sight of you injured, until the time you accidently fell down a flight of stairs on the Sunny.

.....

You had been standing at the front of the ship, your Captain on the figurehead as you both tried to spot the pod of dolphins that had been swimming in front of you. Your boyfriend was half-sleeping against the mast of the ship, though his senses still lingered on the voices of you and Luffy, laughing and talking and challenging yourselves to see how many of the sea creatures graced the forefront of the Sunny.

"There's nine!"

"What are you talking about? I counted at least twelve!"

Your voices were caught by the gentle breeze and the timid sun as it fell slowly to the horizon. Everything was peaceful, everything was calm, and Zoro was on the brink of actually sleeping, knowing all was well and that you were safe. Your conversation with your captain had dwindled into more casual talk of adventures and plans of endeavours on future islands.

Your bright discussion lasted many sparing moments but, of course, was interrupted by the familiar grumble and groan of your Captain as he fell on the sunny's figurehead exaggeratively.

"[y/n]~ I'm hungryyy."

You roll your eyes at his whining words after only a moment's silence in conversation.

Luffy never seems to find satisfaction with the amount of food he eats.

"What do you want me to do about it? Sanji's got the whole kitchen on lockdown after the incident you pulled this morning."

You faintly remember your Captain and the crew's cook, causing a ruckus in the kitchen that no doubt stemmed from Luffy's devouration of food.

"He'll listen to you pleaaaseee"

You continue looking to the horizon, unfazed.

"No."

"Pleaseee"

"No"

"Pleaseeee"

"No."

"Pleaaaaseeee-"

You grit your teeth in irritation, sighing heavily as you push yourself off the railing of the ship. Luffy, however, meets your frown with a grin in anticipated satisfaction.

You always did give in too easily.

"Fine, something small, though. It's almost time for dinner."

Luffy lets out a laugh and nods enthusiastically, upright once again on the figurehead. You step away from the blatant joy on his face, making your way to the stairs that lead to the green of the deck below.

Sometimes, you don't know if Luffy is the Captain of this ship or a child the crew look after.

You move, still lost in your thoughts and quite, honestly, simply not thinking. Because, well, you feel a normal human would not have to think too hard about going down a flight of stairs to get food. But you forget that you are not the average person.

In fact, you probably should've grabbed the railing and counted down the steps back to solid ground because one minute your foot was on wooden steps, and the next you were walking on air.

You let out a yelp of surprise as you slip on the rigidity of the stairs that were supposedly beneath you, and you feel your world turning in your head. The spike of your heart comes with a fraction of a second of weightlessness and a single thought in your head.

Shit, not again.

You stumble, and you fall, limbs hurdling and gracing the rigid edges of the stairs. In a flurry of movements, you are suddenly on the grass of the deck, but in a way that would surely leave remnants of your clumsiness. You groan as you finally come to a halt, back against the ground as you look to the sky, exasperated. You can hear the light laughter of your Captain.

"You alright [y/n]?"

But you do not reply, hearing the amusement in Luffy's tone. You did not blame him, however, as the crew had become accustomed to the way things, such as walking, were not so much a given but a privilege to you. You roll your eyes, still on your back as you lie in defeat for a moment. Sure, you were not too badly hurt - you were a member of the straw hat crew after all - but you'd be damned to try moving again for a few seconds.

To your boyfriend, however, your sudden shout, fall and lack of response had sent him into a spiral.

Zoro was shot awake the instant he heard the yelp you let out as you lost your balance and succumbed to your fall on the stairs. But he was too late to move, and in all honestly, though half-awake, he felt something die within him when he saw your limbs tumble and hit the edges of the wooden planks.

"[y-]"

His voice is caught in his throat, as his heart rate spikes abnormally high. Higher than the instances when he saw you fall before. His mind unwillingly travels far into his past, to the dojo where he found the dream he still clings onto today, to his childhood friend and rival, Kuina.

She had been strong, too.

Hell, she had bested him in all battles he called for.

He thought that she would be a constant in his life, a source of rivalry and challenge and growth. She had seemed invincible in his young age. But then, the news had travelled.

The news of her death.

And the cause of it, was the very stairs he watches you fall on now. The unnerving atmosphere, her haunting funeral, and the will he holds onto through battles alongside her swords.

But you.

You were strong, capable, grown...

You were the love of his life...

You were falling...

He can't save you.

Your limbs stumbled to a halt as you hit the soft grass, a stark contrast to the stairs that would be the root of bruises on your body later. And you were okay.

But your boyfriend didn't know that.

Zoro's heart rate continues to rise, and he thinks that he is on the brink of hyperventilating. One sharp breath in, and his limbs are pulled into forced movement as he travels to you, cursing himself for looking blankly at the scene so uselessly. He stumbles forward, and he hears his Captain, words filled with teasing amusement.

"You alright, [y/n]?"

But you don't move, you are facing the sky, face shadowed by the falling sun, and he doesn't know if you are conscious or okay. You stay silent, not replying to the words of Luffy, and Zoro hates how long it has taken him to travel mere meters to your side. But when he enters your vision, you are met with a sight you have never seen before.

Zoro... scared.

"[y/n]!!"

The green-haired swordsman looks down at you frantically, hands giving way to light tremors you feel quickly cradling skin and causing you to look up in concern. Zoro sees your eyes, awake, and lets dull relief relieve his heart, but he is not yet satisfied.

"Zoro, I'm okay, I just-"

"What were you thinking, woman?"

There is a pause as you register his rushed words and the way his eyes seem to travel to every crevice of your face and body, searching for an indication that you were not okay. He measures your gaze, and he pulls you closer, willing you to anchor his nerves.

"Zoro-"

"You could've been seriously injured-"

"Zoro-"

He meets your gaze once more, but hesitantly, eyes wavering at your worry, only now realising the vice grip he has around you. His breaths are uneven, and even his Captain grows silent and confused at the sight of his second-in-command in rare loss of composure.

You start to sit up from within his embrace. You reach out and cradle his face in one hand, watching as more relief starts to fill his system and replace the panicked look on his face, replace his uneven breaths with more steady ones. Just what had gotten into him?

"You could've died."

His voice is low, and it causes a jolt of your heart. This was your always stoic, serious, calm swordsman... He now looks haunted, and his gaze is only half with you, as though reliving a moment only he could see.

"Zoro," you murmer, there remains a crease in your brow as you are still confused but also concerned about his unusual behaviour and haste. You gently run your thumb on the skin of his cheek, hoping to soothe him the way he so often does whenever you are lost to the confines of your mind.

"I'm okay, stairs aren't going to kill-"

"You don't know that."

His words are sharper this time, and your eyes widen, slightly startled. You watch guilt envade your boyfriend's eyes, then his grip lightning further on your skin, as sharpness fades in a heavy sigh. His gaze is more sullen now, though his nerves are calmed, and he allows you to sit up fully.

"Okay, I'm sorry."

Your words are soft and anchoring, and Zoro stands reluctantly, gently guiding you to your feet as though one wrong movement would tear him away from the reality of you, alive and well before him.

"Don't apologise just- tch, let's go see Chopper."

Your boyfriend refuses to meet your gaze then, but you nod silently. Luffy decides to look away from the sight of Zoro, his arms wrapped securely around you, in a mix of not understanding but knowing there must be some sort of invisible battle Zoro faces. You, on the other hand, allow his limbs to wrap securely around your shoulders, holding more of your weight than necessary, but you remain in silence, allowing him to look after you.

In the infirmary, Zoro remains uncharacteristically worried and rigid. Before entering, his only words to you were those that indicated he wanted to be with you as Chopper checked up on you. Only when the small doctor gives you the all-clear does Zoro let the tension fall from him fully. You thank Chopper, and the two of you make your way out of the infirmary, quiet though the air is still murkey with apprehension.

"Zoro, what's wrong?"

In the hallway, you stop him abruptly with the pull of his arm, still unsure as to why a stumble on stairs - unlucky but not necessarily unforeseen - has him in a state you have rarely seen. Your boyfriend turns to you hesitantly, eyes far away.

"I just know what a fall is capable of."

His low voice catches an edge of emotion. His hand lingers absentmindedly on a sword by his side. The white one he always holds close to him. You remember him saying faintly about how it was given to him long before you met him. Zoro was a private man, and even you had barely formed the cracks on the enclosures of his past, but you saw clearly now that there must've been a connection.

His incessant protection over every minor fall.

The way he would always treat your injuries so carefully afterwards or make sure Chopper saw to it that you were okay.

Every careful caress and action is rooted to a past you do not know, but you also now find understanding.

Zoro moves close to you so you can feel the heat radiating off his body and so that he can feel the warmth your skin emits. He seems to search your eyes and analyse their lustre and spark. A single caress as he moves away lingering hair, and his lips were suddenly on yours.

You are taken aback, not used him so spontaneously kissing you in an open space, but you return the favour quickly, pressing against him and feeling the way he cradles you so delicately, so carefully. There is a moment of him and a moment of bliss. When you pull away, there is a warmth to his eyes and a softness enveloped just for you.

A vulnerable love that lingers.

You, the root of his worry.

You might not know the depths of his past, but you sure as hell take a lot more care walking down a flight of stairs after that.

I think shanks doesn’t get cute aggression very often BUT whenever I take a sip of his booze and make a face bc I inevitably do not like the taste he does always reach out to grab my face and squish my cheeks w a Bit more force than he typically uses thank u

roronoa zoro; 21,051 words (not including epilogue), fluff and angst, ENEMIES!!! to lovers, the slowest of slow burns, canon-normal violence, on-page description of injury, excessive use of flashbacks, some banter, healing from trauma, baroque works!reader to strawhat!reader, no "y/n", emotionally constipated!zoro, hurt and comfort, angst with a happy ending; (epilogue tags will be posted separately)

summary: in which neither you nor zoro are the children you remember each other to be.

update: new chapters will be posted on @shouyuus!!!

a/n: IT'S FINALLY HERE!!! i honestly cannot believe i actually finished writing this lmfao. but anyway, this post will act as a table of contents/masterlist of sorts, and i will update links to the separate chapters as they go up. chapters will be posted every few days (but they are all done! except for the epilogue LOL). i've tagged everyone who has req-ed to be tagged in this series so far on this prologue post, but if you wish to be tagged for the upcoming chapters and you're not already on this fics specific taglist, please comment below to be added! and without further ado -- here we go!

TABLE OF CONTENTS ━

prologue: someone, somewhere

chapter one: a shadow of the past

chapter two: tell no tales

chapter three: sleep of the living, dreams of the dead

chapter four: another life

chapter five: true love's kiss

epilogue: la petite mort (nsfw)

prologue: someone, somewhere

He remembers you most as a child, in halcyon images and gold-limned flashes of his own childhood memories, the edges blurring watercolor soft, but the center (always you) carved in knife-sharp relief.

You were one of the few children that lived in Shimotsuki Village who hadn’t come from the doujou — one of the few children he knew that (at least to the best of his knowledge) had a thing called family. A mother to braid your hair, a father to chase the darkness away, a warm bed and a kitchen that always smelled of freshly made rice. And perhaps it was jealousy, or some other more complicated emotion that had been then too big to name with one single word, but he’d never gone out of his way to befriend you like the other kids from the doujou did — fascinated as they were by your soft hands and round cheeks and the bright, glittering array of homemade sweets you’d bring with you once every couple of weeks.

He’d learn later on that it was because Shimotsuki-sensei had saved your father’s life at some point in time; the story now lost to the annals of legend and withering memory, but back then, he’d only assumed it was the natural way of things. Of waking up for kata practice and then settling in for lunch, and then maybe, if it was to be a good day, you, with your basket of sweets and your blue-bell laughter.

And perhaps this is why, years later, when he meets you again in a dark, nameless village tavern, he doesn’t recognize you — not at first. Because you’d looked so different. Gone was the roundness in your cheeks, or the natural star-bright light in your eyes. Gone, too, were the bright braids that your hair had always been set in — he remembers so clearly, watching the other boys from the doujou jab their fingers into the rings of your pinned up braids, pulling down just to hear you squeak. He hadn’t said anything then, stupidly thinking him above it all, watching as you tried to jerk away, but laughing when the boys finally relented with half-hearted apologies.

You always threatened to take their sweets away; you never did, in the end.

But there, then, in that tiny tavern, you’d been thin, your hair dark as an oil spill, loose and inky as it cascades over your shoulders, your eyes lightless as the windows to an abandoned house — the hollowness made all the more visceral by the light he knew once inhabited them. The way loneliness is always more potent when coming back to it, the second time around.

He wanders up to the bar, slates you a glance before rapping his knuckles on the worn wood to catch the bartender’s attention.

“I’ll have beer and a refill of whatever the lady’s having.”

You shift slightly, shoulders hunching towards your ears.

“Thanks, but no thanks,” you say, shifting to shield your face from his gaze.

Zoro cocks his head, tossing a few Berry towards the bartender as they set down a stein of beer and a champagne flute to replace the one in front of you.

“Can’t a guy buy a girl a drink?” Zoro asks, rolling his shoulders as he reaches out for his beer. You eye him warily.

“Not for a guy that’s been tracking me for three weeks straight.”

Zoro hums, thumb poised on the hilt of his swords.

“We just happened to be going in the same direction.”

You reach out to run a forefinger along the rim of the thin champagne flute before swirling it once by the base. You watch the bubbles fizzle before leaning in to take a dainty sip.

“And they say chivalry is dead…” you murmur, almost too softly for him to hear. Zoro scoffs, allowing himself a twinge of a smirk before his mouth falls flat.

“You let me track you for three whole weeks.”

There’s no question in his words, only a harsh, accusatory certainty.

You lick your lips, leaning back in your stool, tugging your glass of champagne with you.

“Maybe I wanted the company.”

“Or maybe… you wanted me to follow you here.”

Every muscle in his body is tense, drawn taut as a tightrope, coiled tight as a spring.

You sigh, twisting a single lock of your hair around a finger, examining the ends as if looking for split hairs.

Then, quick as a flash, you’re at each other’s throats — him with a sword poised at your jugular, you with a knife pressed against his stomach.

“One move —” you warn, digging the knife slightly further into his skin. Distinctly, Zoro feels the pressure slice through his thick linen shirt, the cool kiss of the blade against his abdomen. And he’s killed enough by now to know that you’ve picked a major artery — one that would hurt, and take minutes for him bleed out. Just long enough for him to suffer, but not enough to get help.

The edge of his mouth ticks upward — not bad.

It’s then, in the infinitesimal flicker of your eyes meeting his, that he realizes who you are.

He nearly topples back, jerking away slightly with the revelation. Your eyes go wide, jolted by his sudden movement. But he’s quick enough to evade the sharp jab of your knife and a second later, you’re on either ends of the tavern, drawn blades and bared teeth.

“Y-you!” the word rips from Zoro like an unripe scab, thick and hard and still bloody underneath.

You lick your lips, eyes narrowing to slits beneath your long, lanky hair.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“The hell you don’t.”

“Oi! No fighting in the bar!” the barkeep’s voice is gruff and loud, and for a second, Zoro wonders if you’ll listen. The next, the sharp clang of metal on metal stuns him backwards a few steps as you wrest your knives from between two of his katanas, snarling.

“If you’re so much of a gentleman — let’s take this outside.”

“Ladies first,” Zoro spits out as he whips both swords through the air before sheathing them. He makes a show of holding the tavern door for you as you stalk out in front of him, your hackles raised, your knives jutting out from your belt like so many pairs of sharpened claws.

“What do you want?” you ask, as soon as you’re both out of the bar and standing in the moonlit street outside, the wharf to your left, the strip of small, rundown taverns to your right.

The air twangs with the metallic smell of fish and the thick, oppressive sweetness of rotting wood.

“An explanation,” Zoro says, crossing his arms and planting his feet.

“I don’t owe you anything.”

Zoro nods, “Sure. But that doesn’t mean I don’t wanna know.”

You lick your lips, glaring at him for a second longer before turning and marching down the rickety boardwalk. A moment later, Zoro levels himself with you as you round a corner onto a small stretch of beach, pillowed against a backdrop of sharp, unrelenting rocks, the tips bleached white by the round, silver moon.

“There was a beach just like this,” you say, stepping onto the tide-soaked sand, leaning down to pick up a fragment of a broken seashell, washed ashore by an errant wave.

It takes Zoro a second to realize you’re talking about Shimotsuki village, and the tiny little beach on the other side of the dense, cedar wood.

“Yeah. A bunch of us used to play there — see who can throw rocks out the furthest.”

“You were always the best at that,” you say, your voice softer than he’d heard all night.

“Yeah, well…” Zoro shrugs, leaning down to pick up a piece of rock, weighing it in his palm a few times before whipping his arm back to snap it into the gentle, shushing waves. You both watch as the rock skids out over the water before plunking into the sea, “Guess I’ve always been kind of a show-off.”

The sound of your laughter sends summertime sparklers racing up his spine.

The quiet pools between you like spilt blood, rank and dripping.

“So. You go by Ms. Double Nines now, I heard,” Zoro says, in a flagging attempt to be casual as he turns to glance at you, both his hands resting on the hilt of his swords.

You stand next to him, your eyes focused on a point far out on the horizon, still as statue.

“What’s it to you?”

Zoro sighs, looking down. In the pale, cool moonlight, his earrings glint like baring teeth.

“What happened?”

You suck in a breath.

"Life happened,” you say, turning back towards him with a steely glint in your eyes. Zoro stiffens, his grip tightening on his swords as he sizes you up. He does the mental calculations — you’re just far enough for him to defend against an attack, but close enough where if things were to go south entirely, he’d have a hard time getting back to safety.

You grin, seemingly noticing his rough internal calculations.

“Do yourself a favor, Roronoa — and don’t ask questions you don’t wanna know the answers to,” you say, flicking out one of your blades and tossing it up into the air, only to catch it around your finger, swinging it round and round, the sharp edge of the blade nicking the air just shy of your cheekbone.

“Who said I didn’t want to know?” Zoro presses, bracing himself for a fight.

You chuckle, the sound harsh and mirthless.

“If you’d wanted to fight me properly, you wouldn’t have waited till I got you onto this stretch of deserted beach.”

“Maybe I just wanted a quiet place to kill you.”

“Or maybe…” your voice is so low Zoro almost doesn’t catch the stomach-wrenching longing in your words, “I just wanted a quiet place to die.”

The sharp shink of blades being drawn is heart-rendingly familiar, but the bone-rattling clash of metal on metal still shakes him to the roots of his teeth. Zoro grunts as he parries a blow from either side, before crossing his swords to catch your assault down the center.

You’re fast, he’ll give you that, your body smaller and quicker. You slip through the shadows with the comfort of a person who knows nothing but and he can’t help wondering at the life you’ve led that had pushed you to this point.

To having a mark on your back, a bounty on your head.

You’re a good fighter — this much, he acknowledges. But good isn’t usually good enough to best him. This much, he also knows. Yet somehow, you’re keeping up, somehow, you’re pushing him back, forcing him to retreat one step and then another. It’s not until you duck beneath one of his pin-wheeling blades and force yourself into a knife’s-breath of his space that he realizes — it isn’t that you’re good, it’s that you’re reckless.

Reckless with your own body in a way that makes him stumble back at the realization. Reckless, in the way you charge forward and thrust your body into spaces where he’d easily be able to slip a blade between your ribs — and later, when he’s wiping his swords clean of your oxidizing blood, he’d wonder why he didn’t.

Still, there’s something terrifying in the way you barely flinch when he knicks your arm, drawing a dark line of blood through your clothes, or how you jerk yourself forward when the tip of his sword catches your stomach, almost as if daring him to impale you in one fell swoop.

“You — you used to be… someone else,” he says, panting as he steadies himself against a sharp jut of moonlit rocks. Behind you, the ocean churns, dark and foaming as it throws itself onto the jagged reefs.

You lick your lips, wiping a smear of blood from your cheek. Your chest heaves with the exertion, but there’s a pale, flickering ache behind your eyes that sets Zoro’s whole body on edge.

He shivers as you grin, savage and unrecognizable as the tiny girl with mochi-round cheeks who had once upon a time offered him sweets in a hand-woven basket.

“Yeah? Well — so did you.”

TAGLIST: @brairslair @msheds0519 @yunabelless @lynndt-chocolate @lostonthrillerbark @stunies @tsumu-senpai @phroggii @ssailormoonnn @breathinginyoursmoke @guridoodles @kyllium @naomihatake @itoshiexx @mythicallystupid @mars-mizuko @astroniii @crispynutella @enhastolemyheart @fanficwriter101 @jamesbparker @dira333 @weirdowithaphone @ink-perfect

(Not my gif!)

This literally looks like Steve is beckoning you to come over and sit on his lap.

Or, it looks like he’s silently telling you ‘it aint gonna suck itself, princess’

monster trio + breeding

luffy’s breeding kink comes to life the first time you joke that he fucks you like he’s trying to get you pregnant. you’ve unknowingly planted a seed that sprouts over night, wild and untameable. suddenly, he can think of nothing else. nothing but how you’d look, how you’d feel with heavy tits and a heavier belly. it consumes him in a way nothing but his most important dreams ever have and he burns with how badly he wants to make it happen. if you thought he was trying to get you pregnant before, it pales in comparison to now as he manhandles you onto all fours. his hands press down on your back to force you into an arch that makes you whine and has every thrust pushing him in as deep as possible. luffy’s driven and focused and terrifyingly silent, the room filled only with your broken moans, soaked pussy cumming over and over on his cock and the blood rushing in his ears. he barely slows down at all when he cums, just glances down long enough to catch sight of some white leaking out of you before he’s off again. he can’t let you waste even a single drop or it will all have been for nothing.

with zoro, it’s not a matter of if he’ll get you pregnant but when. it’s an inevitability he can feel simmering just under his skin like a live wire, lighting up every nerve. it becomes almost unbearable when he has you like this, on your back, folded in half and gazing up at him with watery, lovesick eyes. how could he bear to cum anywhere but inside you when you look at him like that? and though he knows where this will end, with you fucked out and stuffed full of cum, with you bred, he’s in no rush to get there. he savours every moment, every gasp and shudder and plea as he fucks you into the mattress. the buzzing under his skin gets worse when you reach up and hold his face in your hands, warm palms against warmer cheeks. you don’t have to say anything, zoro knows what you need and is rewarded with the sweetest cry of his name when he slips a hand between you to rub your clit in neat circles. even as he’s following you over the edge, even as he grinds his cum into you and fucks you through your high, he knows it’s not enough. the buzzing still lingers and he won’t stop until it’s satisfied.

sanji dreams about knocking you up nearly every night. it’s a problem he can’t really be annoyed about having, not when it gives him a taste of what could be. sometimes, he takes you sweet and slow, rolling his hips against yours and kissing you in the vain hope you can feel all the love he’s never been able to word just right. other times, it’s quick and dirty, a blur where he can’t tell up from down but he swears he can feel your perfect cunt milking him for every drop. the dreams always ends the same way though, with sanji waking up hard and aching in his briefs, a hand splayed across your stomach while the other gropes your chest. he doesn’t move for awhile, just breathes you in and relishes how soft you feel. he wants nothing more than slide your panties to the side, sink into your pussy and paint your walls white but when he fucks a baby into you, sanji wants to be looking into your eyes. he wants you begging for it. instead, he settles for rocking against your ass, edging and keeping himself hard until you finally wake up and he can turn dream into reality.

─── 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐖 .

# with akagami no shanks.

the captain was drunk — and a bit self-conscious. not to fret, for you were his favorite entertainer.

KINKTOBER, day ten. smut (mdni!). strip-tease. lap dance. masturbation (reader!receiving). thigh riding. dry humping. usage of conqueror’s haki. afab!reader. no y/n used.

WC: 1.9k.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm.

upon his return to the wild seas of the new world, those had been the most frowned upon words. the fearsome captain, the unmovable force, somehow would miss a limb forevermore. the reactions were but a divergent cacophony. fear — for what human could achieve such a feat? was it even a human? if not so, how close was the beast? if it had been enough to face him, what chance did the commoners have? anger — for mihawk no longer had a worthy rival. it would be far from honorable to face in combat a swordsman whose dominant arm was gone. and, at last, curiosity — for why was the truth hidden? one did not brag about a loss, but aside from overused jokes, shanks refused to spare a single word. who was he protecting? it was hilarious to witness the fuss as part of the select number of people aware of what had, in truth, happened.

akagami no shanks had lost his arm. and you had been the one to hear his puns ever since.

of course, he faced decent struggles. waking at night phantom pain; forced to master the art of the sword yet again with a hand he had no experience with whatsoever. yet, above the frustration soared an undeniable truth — for luffy, it had been worth it. besides, a decade past and shanks had grew accustomed to the mandatory shifts, living as though had not lost a thing.

however, as it seemed, there was yet one he would never cease to whine about.

the man was drunk — a common occurrence — and awfully clingy — another common occurrence. you had dragged him from the bar, pitying the poor beckman, for the man deserved a break from the captain’s shenanigans, and shanks had been hugging your waist ever since. he sat on the bed, drooling on your flesh, not allowing you to at least go fetch some water. his grip was a prison of itself on usual hours, but it did not help that you, too, were a bit intoxicated, swaying to the sides and failing to pull his face off your body.

“dooooooooooooll,” he drawled out, hiccuping. “i miss your ass.”

shanks gripped a considerable amount of flesh, daring to whine. “get over it, you’re a grown man.”

“how mean, i am half a grown man,” he laughed at said joke, biting the bare inch of your waist.

“half a man deserves half an ass,” you stated matter-of-factly, fighting off the urge to let out a hiccup yourself.

“but i miss groping both sides at the same time,” shanks insisted, dragging his nose on your belly, daring to grow drunker on your scent.

“you never had this complaint with my tits,” you pointed out, to which he liked his lips, seemingly aroused all of the sudden.

the hand pinching at your waist trailed itself up to rest on one of your breasts, his once slouched figure straightening up so that he could drag a sloppy stripe across your covered nipple. he had no problem with it whatsoever, for he was a man of considerable height.

“i can tease both of my girls at the same time,” he stated, wetting the fabric of your shirt, grinning at the elicit expression. “i can’t slap both your asscheeks at the same time anymore.”

your nipple hardened due to his ministrations, all but his for the taking, for you hadn’t felt the need to wear a bra that night. shanks closed his lips around the bud, humming as he sucked on it, spit soaking clothing and skin alike.

“and you like it,” the man teased, voice a bit muffled; rough.

you arched your back with a sigh, gripping locks of red hair, falling prey to his sensual tongue. yet, though your glance was tethered to his face, shanks’ own eyes seemed ever-so-lost, melancholic, even. you caught on the instance he moved his other shoulder, as though aiming to grip your hip with a nonexistent arm — a maintained instinct despite the absence of the limb. shanks laid down, retreating from your figure altogether, explicit vulnerability that would not have been shown otherwise, was he not drunk.

“see, doll? half a man,” he scoffed, to which your eyes narrowed; face scrunching in concentration as you then pondered on how to comfort him.

your fingers tugged at the waistband of his pants, whistling with faux innocence. shanks observed your approach with hooded eyes, laughing with delight once your chest was pressed against his own.

“my poor, poor husband,” you teased, pleased to witness the sudden shift in his attitude.

shanks and you hadn’t officiated the marriage; no celebration to be seen whatsoever. it had been the initial plan, two years prior. however, with newgate’s death and the aftermath of the war, waiting on a better period was the agreement. that did not mean the titles weren’t used, and shanks, in particular, never failed to be aroused whenever the word husband fell past your lips. a decade worth of lovemaking, too, made you more than attuned to what had him squirming.

“how i hate to see you so sorrowful,” you hummed, kissing the scars etched on the flesh of his eye. “i will fix that.”

“yeah, doll?” he grunted, growing excited when you dodged his advances. “how so?”

shanks sat on the edge of your shared bed, widening smirk and lustful eyes following your every move. you spun around the room, strutting your hips and nearing the corner, positioned far from his reach.

“you’re not allowed to touch,” you ordered, far more daring due to the alcohol. “just watch.”

shanks had his legs spread, a growing erection visible through the thin fabric of his pants. you opened the small, circular window, allowing the music from the outside bar to travel inside. your hips moved accordingly to the beat, an established sensual pace that had your fingers hovering over your breasts as you spun and approached him with languid steps.

you danced around the border of his reach, teasing the thin grip he had on his self-restraint. when he dared move, you dodged with a fit of giggles. “how should we start, sea emperor?”

he groaned at the title. “let me see your tits, doll.”

you hummed, rolling your hips with a languid sensualness born from the usual influence of alcohol. your fingers teased the straps of your shirt, trailing down the fabric until you reached the button of your shirts. rather than listening to his request, you sluggishly tugged down the zipper, perching your ass up as you slowly turned around, movements following the rhythm from the music outside.

the loose piece of clothing threatened to fall, yet you held the hem, controlling the pace of its trajectory, rolling your hips; lowering yourself on your knees. when it was, at last, off, you kicked it away, snapping the strap of your underwear. shanks had a brief sight of your soaked cunt before he was forced to face your front yet again. he cleared his throat, eyes trailed to the lacy, borderline transparent, fabric that left near nothing to the imagination.

“tits?” you mocked, trailing your fingers down your clothed labia.

shanks was left conflicted, his inebriated mind struggling to wrap itself around what to answer. would you concede if he reacted positively? or would you tease him yet again, offering the much desired sight of your intimacy? how could he outsmart that? shanks was far too drunk for an elaborate plan.

“thighs,” he answered smugly, a grin that indicated he felt all much too quirky.

you parted your legs open, pinching and grabbing the bare flesh, mimicking his touch. your lover was drooling, observing the outline of your intimacy; stroking his clothed member. yet again, a temptive roll of your hips deprived him of what he yearned for. shanks gripped his cock, growing out of patience as your fingers gripped the hem of your shirt, raising it ever-so-slowly, a languid set pace. you stretched the fabric, biting on it in order to keep your nipples covered, using your fingers to tease said hardened buds, muffled moans and dancing matching the melody of the song.

when the saliva started dripping down your chin; staining your shirt; you removed it, spinning it on your finger until it fell at his feet.

“doll,” he warned, sweat surging on his temples, ceasing the ministrations of his hand on the hardened member. “c’mere.”

“nuh uh,” you sang, turning around on purpose. shanks had the entire sight of your cunt when you lowered down to remove your panties, dancing with it stuck between your teeth, growing hot at the explicit lust on his eyes.

“come to me,” he demanded, the applied pressure stealing your free-will.

your dance ceased altogether, for shanks had dared use his conqueror’s haki to guarantee compliance. your figure stumbled towards the awaiting man, his index beckoning you in a mocking manner.

“sit on my lap,” you conceded, no questions asked. shanks gripped your chin, a lonesome finger tugging at the lacy underwear dangling from your lips. “i want that.”

he opened his mouth, forcing yours to mimic the movement. your panties fell on his tongue, and he moaned at the taste of your essence, the loud slurping causing your walls to clench around air. you whimpered, neglected and unable to move, and shanks all but spat out the piece of clothing, rutting his hips as though a hound in heat.

“turn around,” he instructed, groaning when you brushed against him. your ass rested on his clothed cock, legs spread and back arched, prepared for whatever he had in store. “dance for me, doll.”

the music fell on deaf ears, overthrown by the choir of your moans once you started to move, the roll of your hips teasing your clit, growing swollen due to the texture of his pants. shanks panted, leaning forward. he sucked on your earlobe, twisting one of your nipples as he teased the clothed erection under your bare entrance. the dancing grew sloppy, for he had your back pressed against his chest; his lips latched to your neck. shanks made out with the flesh, spit trailing down your breast, the wetness used to tease your abused nipple.

shanks’ feet sunk down on the ground for further support, and he interrupted the languid roll of your figure on his lap by rutting his hips, forcing his clothed cock to rub itself on your folds. he licked a trail up your chin, biting on the bone, tilting your head with his nose. expert fingers left your breast to dance down your stomach, finding themselves a home amidst your folds. he drew fast-paced circles on your clit, and you closed your eyes, moaning at the sensation. your legs trembled, thighs burning, yet the pressure of his command lingered. you were but a puppet whose strings he pulled, dancing despite your own tiredness.

the growing knot at the pit of your stomach snapped, your orgasm arriving with treacherous swiftness, for the alcohol had done its part when enhancing your pleasure. shanks laughed, shoving his fingers past your parted lips without warning, forcing you to taste yourself; to lick him clean.

he wrapped his arm around your figure to throw you against the mattress. you had but a brief sight of him — removing his clothes, standing in naked glory — before he hovered above you, teasing your slick, sensitive entrance with his leaking tip.

“you were kind enough to dance,” shanks mocked, his lips mere inches away from your own; hot breath fanning over your face. “but the spectacle won’t be complete until i have you singing.”

— 🐈‍⬛ : i’m running out of things to write here omg, happy kinktober? 😭

YOU KISS THEM FOR THE FIRST TIME 💋

summary : you have been taking it slow for some time now, how would they react when you kiss them for the first time?

ft' : Roronoa Zoro , Monkey D Luffy , Vinsmoke Sanji

op masterlist : 𐙚🧸ྀི || ⋆·˚ ༘ ASKS ARE OPEN

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Luffy

You found Luffy perched on the figurehead, legs swinging lazily as he munched on a piece of meat sanji gave him. He grinned as he sees you approaching, patting the spot next to him.

“Hey! Come look at this! The sunset looks like a giant piece of roast meat!”

You chuckled at him, sitting beside him as your eyes followed where he was pointing at . His simplicity and joy was infectious, and before you could stop yourself, you leaned over and kissed him on the cheek.

Luffy froze, mid-chew, his wide eyes locking onto yours. He touched his cheek, as if confirming it happened, then turned back to you with a grin so big you were sure it rivaled the sun.

“Whoa! That felt awesome!” he exclaimed, loudly laughing. “do it again!” "do it again!"

You laughed at his reaction, your heart always feels lighter when youre with him

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Zoro

Zoro was at his usual spot in the crow’s nest, polishing his swords . You climbed up, surprising him with your presence.

“What do you want?” he asked, his tone gruff but not unkind.

You shrugged being used to his tone, pretending not to care as you sat beside him. “what is checking on you illegal now? besides i thought id keep u company , you’re always up here alone anyways.”

He didn’t respond, but you could tell he didnt mind the company. After a while, you leaned closer, planting a quick kiss on his lips.

His reaction was immediate , his eyes widened, and the sword he was holding clattered to the floor. he froze in place while his facs slowly turned into a flushed shade of pink. He turned his head as he muttered, “What the hell was that for?”

You smirked, “Just felt like it.”

Zoro grumbled something under his breath. you didnt hear what he said , but you swore you heard him say he wanted more.

ೀ.ᐟ⭒๋࣭ ⭑ Sanji

Sanji was in the kitchen, humming a tune as he was preparing dinner. The smell of his cooking filled the air, and you couldn’t resist stepping in to see what he was working on.

“Ah, my love! Come to taste-test my masterpiece?” he asked, turning to you with a soft smile that was reserved just for you

You smiled back,walking closer to him, but instead of answering, you kissed him gently on the lips.

Sanji froze, his cigarette dropping from his lips as his face turned as red as the tomatoes he’d been slicing. He stumbled back, clutching his chest as dramatically as possible

“(Y/N)-cwhaaan! That was-oh, my heart i cant take it! My life is complete!” he cried, falling to the floor in a dramatic act, shutting his closed eyes in blissful victory

You couldn’t help but laugh at him, shaking your head at his over-the-top reaction. But again that was sanji for you. you knew he’d treasure the moment forever.

He's so handsome and such a sweet sweet man with such a pure soul.

I'm gonna *extended censor beeping sounds lasting approximately four hours* and that's just the first round.