they should make nervous systems that are less nervous
taylor price
$LAYYYTER

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Discoholic 🪩
Jules of Nature
ojovivo

roma★
PUT YOUR BEARD IN MY MOUTH
No title available
🪼

JVL

★
AnasAbdin
Game of Thrones Daily

祝日 / Permanent Vacation
he wasn't even looking at me and he found me
wallacepolsom
Not today Justin
"I'm Dorothy Gale from Kansas"

titsay

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@jedi-sloth
they should make nervous systems that are less nervous
Andrew Koji // Ah Sahm // “Warrior” (01x04) Part I
why are people outside at the same time as me it’s my turn
Giving Zoro head after he's fresh out of the shower from his routine training is the quickest way to his heart, especially when he doesn't expect it. He'll walk in to his quarters, towel drying his hair and you'll be sitting on the edge of the bed with this look that he can't quite place. He'll begin to say something until you pat the bed next to you, requesting for him to lay down and he does so without question.
The moment your lips press to his defined abs and slowly make your way down is when his breath hitches and his hand is planting on top of your head.
He knows what's coming and that's why he can't help the cascading groans falling from his lips before you even reach his cock, or how he'll breathlessly say your name and fall apart when your eyes shoot up to meet his. Zoro is a very simple man, give him unexpected attention and he's putty in your hands. Masculine dominance aside, Zoro craves how easily you can take all the control from him the moment your lips brush across his twitching cock. He doesn't care, he just wants to watch your cheeks hollow and see the spit form at the corners of your mouth as you drag up and down his shaft.
You'll tease him with a few kitten licks where the pre is leaking, humming in satisfaction to the taste, as if it's all you've been thinking about all day. You cast your spell on Zoro so easily, it's like child's play at the point.
Zoro will throw his head back the moment your lips enclose around the tip, curling his fingers on your head and huffing out quick breaths as he tries to watch, but knows he has little to no control over himself and might cum too early and he hates coming too early, especially when it's like this. You don't seem to mind, not with the mirth in your eyes and the vibrating laugh climbing up your throat to bounce off his flesh. All you care about is getting to listen to the deep, raspy groans he tries to hide as you suck and swirl your tongue around.
You can't tease him for long, knowing how quickly he can cum if he so pleases, the one thing you haven't gotten control over yet, so you'll come off, suck down a breath and relax your jaw to take his thick cock. Zoro moans your name when you're about halfway down, canting his hips in the air, chasing the tightness and warmth your throat can provide, how at this point he'd admit that he needs it if someone asked. You smile with your lips around his cock, surprising him by taking him down all the way, burying your nose in the mossy green patch of hair, letting the saliva drip down to his balls, feeling him twitch.
Then the begging starts when you don't come back up, holding him in your throat and looking up at him, you've mastered this and Zoro is torn between loving it and hating it, because he craves the suction. Though, his breathless pleas and his hand stroking your cheek are enough to entice, bobbing your head up and down, moaning in time with his moans and watching how fast he falls apart.
Zoro is so easy and you wouldn't have it any other way, especially when he gets close and all the little pet names he pretends to despise come pouring out of his mouth.
"Don't stop baby, fuck"
"You're so good to me doll, keep going."
And so on and so forth, getting a shiver down your spine at how raspy the names are against his throat, how he's just on the precipice and needing that final nudge to send him over the edge. Delicate hands that could only belong to you cradle his balls, giving them that tentative squeeze, watching the way he shoots up and pushes your head down further until your nose is bent and pressed to his skin. Warm ropes of cum follow, swallowing him so deep they shoot into the back of your throat, fluttering your eyes back and whining, dick pulsing even more.
There'll be so much of it, you'll have to wipe the remnants from your lips, or let Zoro do it as he pulls you into his lap, smirking as he pushing his thumb past your swollen lips to clean it off. And you'll do it so dutifully, grinding softly against his limp and soft cock, enticing him for more with a wet slobbery kiss and another shower that was sure to follow for the both of you
a/n: had to get this out of my system 🤭
𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘 𝐗 𝐅𝐄𝐌 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑
𝙒𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨: 𝙁𝙡𝙪𝙛𝙛, 𝙈𝙖𝙠𝙚𝙤𝙪𝙩 𝙨𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙤𝙣, 𝙇𝙪𝙛𝙛𝙮 𝙘𝙤𝙣𝙛𝙚𝙨𝙨𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙛𝙚𝙚𝙡𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 𝙞𝙣 𝙖 𝙙𝙞𝙛𝙛𝙚𝙧𝙚𝙣𝙩 𝙬𝙖𝙮, 𝙏𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙩𝙖𝙠𝙚 𝙥𝙡𝙖𝙘𝙚 𝙘𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙗𝙧𝙖𝙩𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙖𝙛𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙩𝙝𝙚 𝙒𝙖𝙣𝙤 𝙗𝙖𝙩𝙩𝙡𝙚.
The party in the Flower Capital was wild and loud—the kind of victory only Wano could deliver after years of pain. Luffy should’ve been laughing with the crew, stuffing his face with meat, making wild declarations from rooftops.
But all he could think about was her.
Y/n had barely left his mind during the entire battle. The image of her bruised, fierce, beautiful—fighting beside him, risking everything—stayed like a flame behind his eyes. And now that it was over… he needed her.
He spotted her under a lantern tree, off to the side, nervously clutching a cup of sake as she nodded along to Robin’s words. Her cheeks were already warm from the drink—and from the way she noticed Luffy watching her from across the yard.
Before she could react, he was in front of her, grabbing her hand.
“L-Luffy?” she stammered.
“Come with me.”
“W-Wait, what—”
He didn’t give her time to overthink it. He tugged her away from the lanterns and music, down a narrow corridor of the castle, ignoring everyone they passed. His grip was firm, his strides confident—but there was something burning in his chest. Something restless. Something that had been building since Onigashima.
When they stopped, it was in a quiet room with sliding doors and dim lighting. The soft hum of the party became distant, drowned beneath the sound of her quick breathing.
“Why’d you bring me—”
He reached up, gently placing his straw hat on her head.
She froze.
“Luffy…”
“It looks good on you,” he said lowly, stepping closer. “I wanted to see it.”
Her fingers fluttered at the brim, flustered, her gaze ducking shyly. The hat tilted a little, slightly off-center, making it slide down and nearly cover her eyes.
“I-It’s too big,” she mumbled.
He didn’t move to fix it. Instead, he tilted her chin up with his knuckle.
“I like it that way,” he murmured—and then kissed her.
Y/n squeaked softly against his lips, her breath hitching as his mouth captured hers with far more heat than she expected. Luffy kissed like he fought—direct, intense, and with his whole heart. His hands slid down her sides, rough from battle, grounding her.
She whimpered quietly, hands curling into his shirt, heart pounding so hard she thought it might burst. The kiss deepened. He tilted his head, his lips tugging hers open, coaxing a shiver from her chest. She could barely keep up—his touch was overwhelming, but so good.
The hat slipped forward more, obscuring her vision. She gasped when his tongue brushed hers.
“L-Luffy…!”
He pulled back only for a second, grinning, breath hot against her lips. “What’s wrong, Princess?” he teased, voice low and rasped.
“I-I’ve never kissed anyone like that…”
“Yeah? Then I’m glad I’m your first.”
She squeaked again, face hot. “Y-You’re so… forward…”
“You like it,” he smirked—and then his hands were gripping her thighs, hoisting her up suddenly.
“Aah—!” She gasped as her legs instinctively wrapped around his waist, her arms flying around his neck for balance. Her back hit the wall with a soft thud, and her heart was going wild. She could barely breathe with how close he was.
His hand slid under the edge of her kimono to hold her thighs steady, the touch not indecent, but firm—possessive.
“You always call me Luffy,” he said, brushing his lips along her jaw. “But right now… say it.”
“S-Say what?” she whispered, voice barely there, the hat wobbling precariously atop her head.
He nipped lightly at her neck, and she shuddered.
“Say what I am to you.”
Her lips parted in a shaky breath. “C-Captain…”
That did something to him. His grip on her hips tightened, a low groan leaving his chest as he kissed her again, harder this time. The straw hat tipped backward slightly with the movement, revealing her eyes—wide, dazed, and glossy.
Y/n’s lips trembled between kisses. She gasped his name again, overwhelmed but melting into him, her fingers tangling in his dark hair.
“You feel this too, right?” he whispered against her lips. “Not just the fighting… this.”
“I—I do,” she confessed, voice shaking, eyes shimmering. “I feel it. I c-care about you, Captain…”
“Good,” he murmured, forehead pressed to hers. “Then don’t run when I do this.”
He kissed her again—slow and consuming—as the hat finally slid off her head and landed gently on the floor beside them.
And in that quiet room, pressed between Luffy’s chest and the wall, her heart beating against his, Y/n knew she’d never feel safer. Or more wanted.
Wano Luffy will always have a place in my heart anyways should I make this a smut?
𓂃 ࣪ 𔘓 𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐚𝐭
𖠳 how your relationship looks like with them when it’s only brand-new ! + MONSTER TRIO & SHANKS
𖠳 t/cws: 4.5k words, fluff, established relationship, f!reader, so much teasing and flirting, and sexual innuendos on zoro & shanks, explicit mentions of sex and slight nsfw [mdni!], pet names (baby, my love, darling, sweetheart, babe, doll), age gap on shanks’ (not specified but r is younger than him obvi), uhmm that’s all i think.. notes at the end!
𖣓 LUFFY
“alright, come back in two hours, okay?” nami said, standing with her arms poised on her hips like a scolding mother. “it’s not very ideal for us to stay in an island for elongated periods now that we’re notorius.” she reminded.
“yesss, nami-swan! we’ll be careful, i’ll do my grocery in an hour and get back to you immediately!”
“ok, ok!” she replied with a tap on his cheek.
“right, y/n, let’s go!” luffy proclaimed, and you didn’t even have the time to reply before he’s hauling you on his shoulder like a sack and jumping off the ship. all you could do was scream before you two landed with a loud thud.
ONE PIECE MEN AND THEIR FAVE SEX POSITION PT.2 ♡
ᰔ . . ꒰ featuring: portgas d. ace, trafalgar law ꒱
portgas d. ace ིྀྀི spread eagle
ace holds your legs apart in a 'v' shape, spreading you open and stretching out your tight, little pussy. he feels your gummy walls sucking him in and that has him throwing his head back in pure pleasure. his jaw falls slack at the blissful sensation, breathless moans tumbling out of his mouth.
hello! I was wondering if you could write something with the monster trio+law with a clairvoyant reader where she can’t tell ghosts from real people and she sees ghosts on there ships and just starts freaking out cause they still retain the look of when they died. Please and thank u!
hii Anon! hope you’re doing well :) this is a very interesting concept! i really enjoyed writing these HCs. careful though because, as stated in my rules post, it’s max 3 chars when it comes to requests. but maybe you’re new to my blog so it’s totally fine Anon, don’t worry ❤️ i still added Law because i feel like this request really fits him indeed hehe. in any case, hope this post will meet your expectations! Love <3
MASTERLIST - Welcome
***
'Shadows of the past'
Monster trio & Law x (clairvoyant) fem!reader
Warning: mention of death & mourning, physical injuries & blood. contains some spoilers (Marineford ; Dressrosa) as well btw
Monkey D. Luffy
tbh i think Luffy would find your powers kinda cool at first, like he wouldn’t immediately get the measure of your concerns and the harm that your visions might cause you, particularly in their tragic, even traumatic nature
every time he'd hear you scream or saw you shudder, seized by fear because you thought you were meeting a “real” person whose body was more or less in good condition, he’d quickly comfort you, offering you a big smile and patting your back or your shoulder with a gentleness that is always reserved for you.
‘c’mon, (y/n), no need to be afraid! think about saying hello to those people instead. oh! say hello to them from me too!’
Luffy’s carefreeness about your natural gifts wouldn’t last forever though. it would only be after a very concrete event that he’d realize the weight on your shoulders that your power can be on a daily basis. in short, he would need a kind of trigger.
One Night of Peace
Roronoa Zoro x Female Reader
Setting: Post-Wano Banquet
The music was loud. Laughter even louder.
You stood on the edge of the chaos, arms folded gently across your chest as the firelight flickered over the battlefield of empty sake cups and half-eaten platters. Another celebration. Another victory.
But this one felt different.
Wano wasn’t just another chapter in their journey—it had carved itself into the soul of everyone who fought through it. You could see it in the way Luffy’s laugh carried a touch more weight, how Sanji smiled with less force behind it.
And Zoro—Zoro hadn’t smiled at all.
He was here, at least. Sitting beneath a tree at the edge of the hill, just slightly outside the light. Alone. Cup in hand. One arm draped lazily across his knee.
You approached without a word. You always did.
He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t need to. His body relaxed the moment you stepped into his space. That small change told you more than his face ever would.
“You’re not drinking much,” you said gently, sliding to the ground beside him, legs tucked beneath you.
“Already did.”
“Didn’t look like it.”
Zoro glanced sideways at you, mouth curling at the corner. “Watching me?”
You blinked slowly, the firelight catching in your lashes. “Naturally.”
He looked away again, but his ears were pink. That counted for something.
“I heard from Chopper.”
You didn’t push further than that. Just let the words hang, like steam rising from a teacup.
“About what?” he muttered.
“The bandages. The broken ribs. The stitches you haven’t let heal yet because you won’t stop moving.”
He took a slow sip from the cup and didn’t answer.
“You act like you’re fine,” you said softly. “But you’re not.”
“I’m breathing, aren’t I?”
“You know that’s not the same.”
Your voice wasn’t angry. It was tender. Honest. Just like you.
Zoro didn’t say anything for a long moment. His jaw shifted. His fingers tightened around the cup.
“You didn’t come through untouched either,” he said at last. “You gonna tell me everything’s fine on your end?”
“I am fine,” you whispered. “Or I will be. I know how to be careful.”
He gave a dry little laugh. “That’s what I said to you before Onigashima.”
Your eyes lowered. “I know.”
The wind stirred your hair. Zoro watched you now, gaze dark and still.
“I hate it,” he said suddenly.
You looked up. “What?”
“Seeing you hurt. Knowing I wasn’t close enough to stop it.”
You reached out, fingers brushing lightly against his. “We all got hurt.”
“But not all of us matter the same way to me.”
That stopped you cold.
Your breath hitched, and you blinked once, twice, as if trying to process it before your heart could beat too fast.
“I’m not good at saying shit like this,” Zoro muttered, looking away again. “But I was thinking about you. At some point I thought I was going to die. And the only thing in my head was you—not knowing how I felt.”
You reached for him, fingers weaving into his carefully.
“You didn’t have to say anything,” you murmured. “I knew. I just… hoped you’d tell me one day.”
Zoro exhaled shakily. It wasn’t like him. He didn’t do fragile. Not for anyone. But now, just for you, he let himself be seen—really seen.
“Come with me,” he said.
You tilted your head. “Where?”
He rose, tugging you up with him, one hand still holding yours. His grip was firm, but not forceful. Protective.
“Just… somewhere quieter,” he murmured. “Just us.”
You nodded. Because for once, you weren’t the one worrying about him.
He was worrying about you too.
As you fell into step beside him, still hand in hand, neither of you spoke. But you both felt it—the warmth rising just beneath the surface. Not overwhelming. Just enough to make your palms sweat slightly where they touched.
He glanced at you once out of the corner of his eye. You looked away at the same time.
A quiet flush colored both your cheeks.
You kept walking anyway. Fingers still entwined. Hearts a little louder than before.
The noise of the celebration faded with each step, replaced by the hush of narrow streets and soft lantern light. He led you up a short flight of stairs, hand never leaving yours, until the two of you slipped into a quiet room tucked above a sake house—simple, wooden, and open to the breeze.
One wide window stretched across the back wall, framing the view of the glowing festival below.
From here, you could see everything. The fires. The lanterns. The silhouettes of dancers spinning through smoke and laughter.
You stepped inside first, releasing a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. It was quieter here. The pulse of the party still echoed from below, but it was dulled by distance.
You turned, your hand still held in his. “You reserved this ahead of time?”
“Told the owner I had a feeling I’d want some privacy tonight.”
He glanced at you then, the corner of his mouth tugging up into a small, knowing smirk. “Guess I was right.”
Your face warmed immediately, and you looked away with a quiet huff, but you didn’t let go of his hand.
“Don’t get cocky.”
His smirk deepened. “Too late.”
He walked past you, letting go of your hand only to uncork the bottle of sake on the small table set up near the window. There were two cups beside it—expecting company.
He poured slowly, then held one out toward you.
“I thought Chopper said you were supposed to cut back.”
Zoro tilted his head. “He did.”
You accepted the cup anyway, a quiet smile tugging at your lips. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell.”
He chuckled. “Didn’t think you would.”
You took a small sip, warmth spreading through your chest. The window breeze stirred your hair again. You looked out at the celebration below—how alive the streets were now, how the people moved with freedom in their steps, not fear.
“It’s beautiful,” you said softly.
Zoro nodded beside you, gaze fixed on the lanterns.
“It almost doesn’t feel real,” you continued. “After everything we’ve seen… all the people we lost.”
He was quiet again. But not cold. Not distant. He was letting you speak.
“I’m just grateful,” you said. “That we’re still here. That Wano has a future now. That we get to stand here and see it begin.”
Your voice trembled slightly. You didn’t mean for it to, but the ache hadn’t left—not fully.
“I hope the ones we lost are watching tonight,” you whispered. “I hope they’re smiling down at us. That it wasn’t all for nothing.”
Zoro looked at you—fully, deeply this time. His expression was unreadable for a second. Then it softened.
“I’m sure they are.”
You blinked, throat tight. “You think so?”
He stepped closer, his voice quieter than before. “I think they’d be proud. Of everyone. Of you.”
Your heart fluttered, and your lashes lowered. “I didn’t do anything special.”
“You made it through,” he said. “And you’re still you. Still kind. That’s not nothing, Y/N. Not in a world like this.”
The way he said your name made your stomach flip. He didn’t say it often. When he did, it always meant something.
You set your cup down gently and turned toward him. His gaze met yours—steady, quiet, reading you like a map.
“I know you’re in pain,” you whispered, fingers brushing carefully against the bandage at his side. “And it’s… it’s selfish of me to ask, but… is it possible if we can?”
Your cheeks flushed, heat crawling up your neck as your eyes searched his. Even with your voice trembling, you didn’t look away. And he saw it—everything you were trying to say without saying it.
Zoro’s expression softened, just barely.
“If it’s with you,” he said, voice low but sure, “I’d be more than happy to.”
He lifted a hand to your cheek, thumb brushing along your skin with a gentleness that surprised you both.
“We’ll take it slow. Just be here, with each other. That’s more than enough.”
You nodded softly, heart thudding in your chest as you leaned into his touch. Zoro didn’t hesitate this time—he leaned in too, and when your lips met, it was careful and warm, like something long overdue.
His kiss—slow and deliberate, like the world could wait. Like there was nothing else he wanted to be doing.
Your hands curled into the fabric of his shirt as he deepened the kiss just slightly, lips warm and steady. He tasted faintly of the sake, but more of quiet desperation.
He broke the kiss only to breathe against your skin. “Still okay?”
You nodded, breathless. “Yes.”
His hands moved gently, tracing over your sides where your wounds had barely begun to fade. You mirrored him, brushing fingertips across the bandages at his waist, careful not to press too hard.
There was no rush. No wild pull of urgency. Just reverence. The kind that came from having nearly lost the chance to touch each other at all.
When he kissed you again, it was slower—anchored in gratitude and need. One hand splayed across your lower back, holding you as close as your healing bodies would allow.
The world below partied on. Fireworks bloomed across the sky.
But in this room, it was just the two of you.
Careful. Alive.
And finally, finally—together.
The silence wrapped around you like a second skin, thick with everything unspoken, everything finally allowed.
Zoro’s kiss deepened, but never lost its softness. His hands explored you slowly—no rush, no demand—like you were something he wasn’t used to being allowed to have.
You let your fingers slide under his shirt, moving with care as you traced the unbruised parts of his skin. His stomach tensed beneath your palm—not from pain, but anticipation.
“Still okay?” he murmured, his voice low and rough against your lips.
You nodded. “Yeah. Just… slower, maybe.”
A flicker of something warm tugged at his mouth. “You really think I’d be anything but gentle with you right now?”
Your breath caught, but you managed a quiet smile. “I know you wouldn’t. It just feels nice… hearing it.”
He touched your cheek then, guiding your face toward him with a tenderness that made your heart stutter. His thumb brushed over your lips, steady and deliberate.
“You don’t have to be nervous ,” he said. “Not with me. Not tonight.”
You helped ease his shirt over his head, careful with the wrappings around his ribs. He winced, barely, but didn’t stop you. You kissed along the line of his collarbone, over the healing cuts, your lips trailing comfort wherever they touched.
He returned the favor, undoing the belt at your waist with a practiced flick, but his hands trembled slightly when they moved to undress you. Not from nerves—Zoro didn’t do nerves—but from restraint. You could feel it in the way he held back, as if trying not to break what he was barely allowed to touch.
His breath hitched as the fabric of your underwear slipped down your frame, revealing soft skin to the glow of lantern light. His eyes lingered, reverent and wanting, like he was trying to memorize the shape of you. When he finally touched—fingers trailing along your hips, then up your sides—it was with a kind of reverence that made your knees weaken.
The first time his hands skimmed over your bare waist, you exhaled softly into his shoulder.
You were both half-naked now, skin warming skin, and yet the tension between you wasn’t lust-fueled fire—it was reverent. Heavy. Beautiful.
Zoro kissed you again—deeper now. Hungrier. But still slow, still grounded in the quiet bond you shared. His hand found your thigh, drawing it over his hip as he guided you gently onto your back.
His mouth left yours only to trail down your throat, warm breath and soft scrapes of teeth lighting sparks across your skin. His hips pressed into yours with aching control, letting you feel just how much he wanted you—how long he’d been holding back.
You reached for him, pulling him over you with a soft gasp as your bodies aligned. The sensation of skin-to-skin after so much distance made your heart ache.
Zoro braced himself with one arm while the other traced your face, your collarbone, your chest. His mouth followed—slow kisses down the center of your body, lingering at every place you sighed. When he returned to your mouth, his hips pressed forward against yours, seeking closeness more than release.
“Let me take my time,” he murmured.
You nodded, voice caught in your throat. “You already are.”
His hand slid between your thighs, fingers finding the soft heat of you, stroking with a patience that made your breath stutter. You arched into him, every touch drawing you closer until your hips tilted in silent invitation—and he answered.
When he finally entered you, it wasn’t sharp or urgent. It was full. Warm. So deeply needed it hurt a little. Zoro’s forehead pressed to yours, his breath catching at the feeling of you around him.
Neither of you moved fast. The rhythm you found was slow and deliberate, filled with drawn-out kisses and tender whispers between gasps. He murmured your name against your lips like a promise, over and over, as if grounding himself to it.
And all you could do was hold him—arms around his shoulders, legs wrapped gently around his waist, anchoring him as your bodies moved together in the softest storm either of you had ever survived.
Your eyes welled unexpectedly—overwhelmed not just by the pleasure, but by the intimacy.
“You’re okay,” he whispered, voice rough. “I’ve got you. Come with me.”
You pulled him closer, trembling around him as your release came like a tide—deep and quiet and consuming. Zoro followed shortly after, head bowed, a low groan catching in his throat as he let himself fall with you.
When it was over, you stayed wrapped together, skin sticky with sweat, hearts slowing in time with each other. He didn’t move to leave. Didn’t pull away.
Instead, Zoro curled his arms around you protectively, forehead resting on your shoulder, body still humming with the weight of everything that just passed between you.
“You okay?” he asked again, barely above a whisper.
You nodded, brushing his damp hair back with your fingers. “More than okay.”
“Good.” He exhaled, warm against your skin. “Because I don’t want to wake up without you again.”
“You won’t,” you said. “I’ll be right here.”
Zoro didn’t answer—not with words.
Just with the way he kissed your shoulder before closing his eyes, finally letting himself rest in your arms, where nothing had to hurt anymore.
❝𝐰𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐡𝐢𝐦 𝐮𝐩!❞
synopsis: you're tasked with waking up zoro for dinner, but it's hard to make him budge.
pairing: zoro x gn!reader cw: more tooth rotting fluff for my favorite swordsman :) wc: ~1.6k an: i had a dream about this and added some even more fluff because why not. ty all i hope you enjoy <3 also i realized i have a decent chunk of zoro fics about napping lol maybe this is why im sleepymarimo i just love that sleepy lil guy
"Where the hell is that shitty swordsman?" Sanji grumbles, cigarette hanging from his lips as he sets a hefty plate of rice on the dining table.
Even though you're acutely aware that the marimo is missing, you pretend to peer over shoulders and swivel your head to give the impression that you're just as clueless as everyone else. You're already sat at the table, utensils neatly resting beside your plate.
Everyone else is already in the dining room, Luffy practically on the brink of perishing as the food is placed before him. Chopper and Usopp are close behind, their forks glinting in the light.
Robin is patient, smiling at the sight before her, the one she's grown to love. "I believe he said something about taking a nap," she reveals, her fingers wrapping around the stem of a wine glass. "He might be holed up in the boy's room."
part eleven | part twelve | part thirteen
making law blush is a difficult task. he doesn't blush. it's not his thing. it's never been his thing. he expects most things, so catching him off guard is quite the task. yet you try and try. often times failing. but there have been a few occasions where his cheeks have burned. where he's looked in the mirror and saw an unfamiliar stain of red creeping across his cheeks.
the first time it happened was when you drunkenly stripped for him. it was cute at first. the way you tugged sloppily at your own clothes. he didn't think you would actually be able to pull off your top after your arm caught in the sleeve. he laughed. but his laughter died quickly when you finally tugged the fabric over your head and revealed a red lacy bra. law has never been the biggest fan of red. until you kicked off your pants. matching underwear. red. somehow and suddenly red became law's favorite color.
that was until he looked in the mirror after tucking you in and faced himself. the red on his cheeks matched the red that adorned your body.
the second time was at cora's apartment. it was his turn to host family dinner. you were obviously invited. your attendance was actually a requirement per cora's insistence. he said having you around made law less irritable. law didn't agree, but he extended the invitation anyway.
Tell Me No Lies
law x fem!reader
you’re a psychologist who can spot any lie and that makes law keep his distance, afraid you’ll see how he truly feels. but when a mission forces you to pose as his lover, the lines between act and reality blur fast.
a/n: this was a request but since it's really long I summarized it
words count: 3.9k
tags: slow burn, mutual pining, undercover couple, spicy but not smut, fluff, tension, crewmates being chaotic
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
“You want me to do what?”
Your voice slices through the meeting room of the Polar Tang like a dagger, sharp, pointed, and just a little amused.
*Faints* 😫💛
Switchin’ Up Positions
Summary: OP men and their fav positions 👅
feat: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Kidd
cw: f!reader, NSFW, spitting, biting, bruises, idk what to tell you this is a freaky fic
a/n: ignore how I already posted Zoro’s section. it’s NOT my problem… and i edited it bc it was highkey cheeks. Also if this is rushed… i don’t care
Switchin’ Up Positions
Summary: OP men and their fav positions 👅
feat: Zoro, Sanji, Ace, Kidd
cw: f!reader, NSFW, spitting, biting, bruises, idk what to tell you this is a freaky fic
a/n: ignore how I already posted Zoro’s section. it’s NOT my problem… and i edited it bc it was highkey cheeks. Also if this is rushed… i don’t care
Unintentional couple behaviour
you two acts like a loving couple all the time, so what happens when someone points it out?
characters: luffy, kidd, katakuri, shanks and mihawk
(zoro, sanji, law, ace and sabo)
a/n: since a loooot asked for more, here I am eheh
words count: around 0.4k - 1.1k each
masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi
── .✦ Monkey D. Luffy:
You don’t know when it started.
Maybe it was the way Luffy always stole food from your plate, but make sure to never let anyone else touch it.
Maybe it was how he always grabbed your hand first whenever the crew split up.
Maybe it was how he insisted on napping with you, his head always finding your lap, his arms always looping around you like a makeshift pillow.
ᴡɪᴛʜᴏᴜᴛ ᴛʜɪɴᴋɪɴɢ
❝🇮 🇰🇳🇴🇼 🇹🇭🇦🇹 🇮🇹 🇲🇮🇬🇭🇹 🇸🇴🇺🇳🇩 🇲🇴🇷🇪 🇹🇭🇦🇳 🇦 🇱🇮🇹🇹🇱🇪 🇨🇷🇦🇿🇾, 🇧🇺🇹 🇮 🇧🇪🇱🇮🇪🇻🇪 🇮 🇰🇳🇪🇼 🇮 🇱🇴🇻🇪🇩 🇾🇴🇺 🇧🇪🇫🇴🇷🇪 🇮 🇲🇪🇹 🇾🇴🇺 🇮 🇹🇭🇮🇳🇰 🇮 🇩🇷🇪🇦🇲🇪🇩 🇾🇴🇺 🇮🇳🇹🇴 🇱🇮🇫🇪 🇮 🇰🇳🇪🇼 🇮 🇱🇴🇻🇪🇩 🇾🇴🇺 🇧🇪🇫🇴🇷🇪 🇮 🇲🇪🇹 🇾🇴🇺 🇮 🇭🇦🇻🇪 🇧🇪🇪🇳 🇼🇦🇮🇹🇮🇳🇬 🇦🇱🇱 🇲🇾 🇱🇮🇫🇪.❝ ͠🇸🇦🇻🇦🇬🇪 🇬🇦🇷🇩🇪🇳
______________________________________________________________
Pairing: Roronoa Zoro x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Slow burn, fluff, pre-love tension Word Count: ~1,200
______________________________________________________________
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...
______________________________________________________________
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...
______________________________________________________________
Pairing: Vinsmoke Sanji x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, tension, oblivious realization Word Count: ~1,400
______________________________________________________________
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...
______________________________________________________________
Pairing: Usopp x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Fluff, mutual pining, light comedy Word Count: ~1,400
______________________________________________________________
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...
______________________________________________________________
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...
______________________________________________________________
Pairing: Buggy x Reader (Pre-Relationship) Genre: Comedy, fluff, mutual pining, dramatic clown behavior Word Count: ~1,500
______________________________________________________________
“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
______________________________________________________________
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.”
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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...
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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.
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CHAT. DID I EAT? AHAHAHAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!! I DID SO GOOD, I'M SO PROUD!