And Once Again: The Symbol Of Peace, Japan's #1 Hero.

thinking...... pondering...... meat...... contemplating......

the original image hehehe

嘘 — ❝ 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐅𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐍 𝐎𝐑𝐆𝐀𝐒𝐌. ❞

ZORO, LUFFY, SANJI, ROBIN, MARCO W F!READER

GENRE // WC: smut, 3.8K word count (MDNI)

CONTENT: heavy overstimulation & dumbification, cunninglingus, exhibitionism, teasing, mating press, squirting, creampie, fingering, individual tags as well!

A/N: reblogs appreciated & would also love to know your favorite so i can include them in future works (:

FILLED REQUESTS: one // two // three

𝐙𝐎𝐑𝐎 — mating press, creampie, fingering

zoro’s thighs push down against yours, forcing you into a mating press as he watches his cock move in and out of your hole— dragging against your walls with each movement of his hips.

he’s always liked pushing you to your limit, watching your faces and taking you like this, fucking you until you’ve lost your coherency and let him have his way with you.

but today, he’s mad. you can tell. each thrust is harder than usual, your body rocking back and forth from the intensity of each thrust, balls slapping against you when he bottoms out.

he’s grunting loudly above you, jaw clenching every time your walls spasm against him. he’s close to cumming, thrusts becoming messy as he tries his best to resist it— but it’s too much. he wants to make you cum, to see you gush all around his cock again, and he definitely doesn’t want to cum first.

your eyes are fixated on the sight of his fat cock pummeling your spot with pure strength, walls stretching to accommodate his size. he feels so good today, the roughness only pushing you closer to the edge as desperate moans slip from your mouth.

you squeal at a particularly rough thrust, arms wrapping around him to tug him closer to you, legs wrapping around his to keep him close to you. your eyes are slammed shut, completely oblivious to the way you’ve pushed him even deeper inside of you.

zoro’s eyes suddenly widen at the tightness, hands slamming down beside you to catch himself from falling on your chest. “w-wait, stop— don’t do that!”

but it’s too much for him. he was trying his best to hold back earlier— but he can’t with you clinging onto him for dear life, your tight hole greedily keeping his cock buried inside of you.

“shit, shit, stop— you,” he growls, hips stuttering into yours as he gasps loudly— trying to pull back, but you won’t let him, clinging onto him tightly as you moan his name over and over. his cock is desperate to cum inside of you despite his best attempts at resisting it, and he gives you one last thrust before his throbbing cock stills inside you, spitting ropes of cum against your cervix as you tighten your embrace around him.

he lets out a shaky breath— one he didn’t even know he was holding— and digs his fingers deeper into your thighs, watching the way your juices and his cum seep out of your cunt and down his cock. his head dips down, panting beside you as he comes down from his high, cock still throbbing against your walls from the intensity.

“you little fucking minx,” he growls between breaths, hand coming to squeeze your cheeks together and tilt your head up. you look so irresistible to him, innocent eyes staring up into his as you tilt your head in confusion, watching the way he glares down at you with clenched teeth, sharply inhaling through his nose.

“first,” he starts slowly, “you fake it. and then now…. you pull another stunt.” his scowl deepens when he sees your lips turn down into a cute pout, prompting him to grab your ankle and pull you closer. “you know what— c’mere.”

his arm easily holds both of your thighs up against your chest, leaving you wide open for him to stuff three thick fingers into your cunt, fucking his cum deeper into you. “gonna ruin this cunt,” he grunts, loving the way your body is so reactive for him no matter what he gives you.

“z-zoro!” you cry out, reaching down to grasp at his forearms, but he doesn’t stop his movements, roughly fucking you with his fingers as he narrows his eyes. “move your fucking hand.”

his voice is low and stern, arms not budging an inch even when you have two hands wrapped around his wrist. part of you wants to see more of this zoro— the one fully in control of your body and your reactions, so you listen, shyly gripping onto your own thighs to hold yourself open for him.

his fingers are thick, curling against the spot that has you gasping, mouth parting open from the heavy stimulation. he perks up at your reaction, lips tugging into a grin.

“yeah? you like that?”

you nod quickly, eyes slamming shut when he uses his other hand to rub at your clit, drawing rough circles into it as you clench harder around his fingers. “‘m gonna cum, z-zoro!”

his grin widens, eyes fixated on the way your hole greedily eats up whatever he gives it, squeezing around his fingers to keep them inside of you. “then cum,” he grunts, rubbing harder at your poor nub. his cum is seeping out of your hole, mixed with your own slick and squelching loudly around his fingers with each movement.

his fingers hit a particularly sensitive spot inside of you, and you choke out a sob. “w-wait, that’s—“ you blurt out, eyes widening at the foreign feeling building up. “finally,” he grins.

“that your spot?”

you nod again, jaw dropping from the stimulation, and you dig your fingers into your thighs, trying your best to keep them open despite their best efforts to slam shut around his arms.

he hums in response. “i’ll fuck you till you can’t walk if you’re lying.”

the threat does nothing but fluster you further, thighs shaking from the stimulation. you’re so close, so close to cumming—

“you tightened when i said that. that what you want anyways?”

you whisper out a please for him, a cute plea to let you cum before he rubs your clit just right, grin widening into a toothy smile when you gush all over his fingers, body trembling in his hold as your head falls back.

“so that one was real,” he admits to himself. he slides his fingers out of your cunt, bringing them to your mouth to show you the way his cum drips from his fingertips. “open,” he commands, delighting in the way you loll your tongue out for him so obediently. his fingers move around in your mouth, letting you suck every bit of his cum.

zoro takes his fingers out, pulling you up into his lap. “there’s more things i wanna try,” he rasps, voice deep and low. “you can handle it, can’t you?”

“i think— i can try,” you mumble, crawling off his lap. you’re not even off his thigh before he’s roughly yanking you back into him, hardened cock already prodding at your hole. “hey, where the hell do you think you’re going?”

“think i’ll let you off easy after the shit you pulled? sit still, i’m taking you like this next.”

𝐋𝐔𝐅𝐅𝐘 — overstimulation, dumbification, creampie

luffy’s hands slam down beside your shoulders, hissing at how good your cunt feels around his cock, so tight and wet, walls wrapping perfectly around his length as he snaps his hips against you.

“more,” he growls, words coming out unsteady from the way he’s slamming his cock into you. “more, more.”

he hits a sensitive spot in your cunt, groaning loudly when your walls clench around him in response, dropping down to hold himself up with his elbows. he moans your name into your neck, messily kissing and nipping at the skin. “i knew it,” he pants, “this isn’t good.”

“h-huh?“ you choke out, too dumb to even comprehend what he’s saying, half lidded eyes still focused on the strong arms beside your head and the way his muscles are gently flexing and tensing.

“not good,” he starts, voice heavy and slurred. “i- i can’t stop myself—feels so good. i can’t….need more.” he exhales shakily before sucking at your neck again, inhaling sharply through his nose as he slams his cock into you. “that okay? it’s okay right?”

his voice is urgent, almost begging you to let him frantically bury his cock into you. he’s so desperate to hold you down, stuff his dick into you until he’s satisfied, but he wants to make sure you’re okay with it, distracting his desire by planting sloppy kisses down your neck.

he’s so rough that you can occasionally feel his teeth nudge against the skin, only to be replaced by his tongue sliding across your neck moments later. he’s so hungry for you, so desperate to be closer and deeper inside of you.

as soon as you nod, murmuring a “please,” his pace quickens to one more frenzied, using his strength to fuck you even harder, make you feel good too. he’s drunk on the feeling you give him, and he wishes he could stay inside you like this forever.

luffy growls loudly into your neck, gasping every time your cunt flutters against his cock, slick even squelching around him with the roughness he’s giving you.

you can barely even catch your breath, his full weight on top of yours as he moves relentlessly. you can’t help but choke out a moan at the way each drag of his cock stretches your walls out so perfectly, his desperation alone enough to bring you close to the edge.

“you always feel so good,” he groans into your neck, “so wet, and so h-hot. fuck—”

he buries his face deeper into your neck, arms wrapping around your body to pull you closer to him. “it’s tight, squeezing me! ahh…i can’t—” he groans, eyes shut tight to focus on making you cum.

he still wants you to cum first, gush around his cock before he empties his load into you. his dick is so heavy, painfully hard and on the edge of finishing— but he fights it.

“luffy, ‘m gonna cum!” you cry, returning his embrace to keep you grounded from the bruising pace he set against you. “please,” he groans, voice muffled as he sucks at your neck. there’s an air of desperation in his voice, thrusts growing sloppier as he tries not to finish before you.

and you do exactly as he wishes, eyes fluttering shut as the knot in your stomach snaps, cunt squeezing hard around his dick as you gush around his cock. he groans loudly against your ear, not slowing down for a second. “i knew it,” he mumbles, “the last one was fake, wasn’t it?”

luffy’s hips snap against yours a couple more times before he moans loudly, cock stilling inside you as it spits ropes of cum against your cervix. he’s panting above you, body slick with sweat as he catches his breath. “again,” he mumbles, voice desperate. “this isn’t enough, i need it again.”

he places a kiss on the fresh hickies bruising on your neck. “i can give you a lot more, so don’t fake it anymore.”

𝐒𝐀𝐍𝐉𝐈 — cunninglingus, overstimulation, squirting

sanji’s face is buried in your cunt, fingers curling deep inside you as his tongue flicks against your clit. he’s getting off to you feeling good from his mouth alone, dick throbbing even harder with each moan that slips out of your mouth.

but it’s different. your last orgasm was different, and he knows.

“you’re usually….much louder,” he groans into your cunt, not missing the way the vibrations from his voice make your thighs squeeze around his head. sanji always prides himself in how well he knows your body, from knowing what face you’ll make with each touch, to where you feel best…..which is why he has to make sure you haven’t been faking it this whole time.

to give you orgasm after orgasm until he’s sure he knows how to make you forget everything but the knot snapping in your core. his tongue laps harder at your clit, fingers curling perfectly against your spot as you tighten your embrace around the pillow, moaning loudly into it. “sanji….t-too much…!”

he can feel his dick twitch at your voice, feeling hard and heavy— leaking with precum. he wants to shove his dick into you so fucking bad, have you against the wall so you can moan his name directly into his ear— but not yet. instead, he grinds himself down into the mattress, cock rubbing desperately against the covers to relieve the burning ache he has. he’s groaning directly into your cunt now, eating you out with fervor as your eyes roll back, moans muffled by the pillow you’re clutching onto for dear life.

he sneaks a glance at you, his own cheeks heating up at the sight of your face, cute noises escaping your mouth as your nails dig into the pillow. his patience is running thin, wishing that he was that pillow instead, thinking about how your nails could scratch into his back like that, but not yet.

“when i touch you here,” he grunts, thick fingers reaching deeper into your cunt to focus on the spot that has you gasping— “you’ll make the prettiest noises for me. won’t you, pretty girl?”

and you do, crying out his name as your thighs squeeze hard and tremble against his head, walls fluttering so cutely around his fingers. your eyes widen when you realize this feels differently than usual, orgasm not settling down in the slightest.

sanji picks up on your response, not stopping the fingers on your cunt until your second orgasm is ripped from you in an instant, squealing into the pillow and squirting around his fingers as he laps hungrily at your clit. he places a hand on your stomach, keeping you down so that you don’t ruin your own orgasm, fingers still rubbing at your spot until you’ve stilled, body shaking weakly from the intensity.

you’re too tired to notice the way his eyes darken at the sight of you trembling and panting, now hovering over you with a hunger he can’t quite satiate no matter how long he spends between your legs.

“h-how did you..!”

your voice is so cute to him, and he leans down, pressing gentle kisses along the side of your neck with a proud grin. “i know your body like the back of my hand, angel.”

it does nothing but bring heat to your cheeks, walls clenching around nothing as you finally seem to notice it. his dick is hard, tip flushed pink with desire, and it’s leaking with precum as he slowly rubs it up and down your folds.

you realize that he’s still trying to hold back, still prioritizing how to make you feel good instead of himself, and you want to push him. just a little bit.

you innocently peer up at him through your lashes, wrapping your arms around him to pull his face closer to yours. “sanji,” you coo, “you don’t need to hold back.”

the way his jaw clenches doesn’t go unnoticed to you, his breaths coming out short as his hand gently wraps around your wrists, pinning them above your head. his eyes are darkened with lust, so desperate to bring you to your limit, make you cum over and over until you can’t feel your orgasms anymore..

“you’re sure?”

his voice is just above a growl, tip of his cock already sheathed inside your cunt as you nod, cutely smiling at him. “i can take it, give me all of it.”

his breath hitches in his throat at the offer. “say blue to stop me,” he says in a low whisper, stuffing your cunt in one swift movement. “otherwise,” he mumbles against your lips, “i’m gonna show you heaven, angel.”

𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐎 — exhibitionism, his wings don’t hurt you, squirting, riding him

if anyone were to walk by the two of you, it would be nothing out of the ordinary. you cuddling with marco as usual, his large wings wrapped around your frame to keep you warm— at least, that’s what it looks like.

marco’s hands are cupping your ass, bouncing you up and down his cock, slowly and intentionally, thrusts that bump your cervix each time your ass smacks against his thighs. the pace is so slow, but it’s got you worked up more than usual, and you can feel everything so vividly, down to the prominent vein on the underside of his cock dragging along your walls.

your head is buried in his chest, your weak attempt to hide your teary eyes and pants as he grips the globes of your ass harder. it feels so good, little moans occasionally slipping from your mouth— causing you to worriedly look to the side. you think someone might be watching, but you don’t get to check, marco hooking a finger under your chin to redirect your focus to him in an instant.

“hey, eyes on me,” he coos in your ear. “don’t pay attention to them. only me.”

you really should have known marco would do something like this, take you in front of the others to ensure all your reactions are real this time.

you squeal when he slams you down harder, a subtle warning to keep your focus on um only.“but, w-what if they see?” you ask, your hands come to wrap around his middle, looking up at him with a pout.

“doesn’t matter if they see. you’re mine anyways, we can put on a show for them,” he smiles, “can’t we?”

he chuckles when you hide your face in his chest again, face filling with heat at the thought of someone catching you with your commander’s cock buried deep inside your cunt. the thought alone has you spasming around his cock, growing wetter at the idea.

“m-marco…i’m gonna cum,” you whisper, eyes fluttering close as you bite your lips. “that right?” he coos, almost disinterested. “mm—i can’t hold it in— marco!” you plead, and he hums, prodding at your lips with his thumb.

you part your mouth obediently, letting him stick three of his fingers into it as you suck on them dutifully. “you know,” he starts. “you’re cute when you’re tryna run away from it,” he whispers into your ear, “but i won’t let you.” “cum on my dick and do it now, before someone comes.”

his other hand grabs a fistful of your ass, bouncing you up and down on his cock at the angle that has his tip pounding at the right spot, your cunt already starting to flutter around him before a loud stomp grabs your attention.

marco pushes you down in one swift movement, full length stuffed inside you as you’re forced to sit still, thighs trembling hard as the fullness.

“ah— ace, you need something?”

his voice is casual, so casual that it almost sounds like he just woke up from a nap. you’re frozen in place, cunt pathetically dripping down his length as your orgasm starts to fade.

“is y/n with you?” ace asks. your eyes widen, balling his shirt in your hands.

he nods, giving your ass a tight squeeze as a silent warning not to move. “yeah, she’s right here.”

he quickly takes his fingers out of your mouth, swiping over the trail of saliva running down your chin as he lowers his wing slightly, just so ace could get a look at your face. you’re immediately panicking, cheeks filled with heat as you quickly bury your face into his chest.

“whoa— is she okay? why the hell are you covering her whole body like that?”

“she’s got a fever,” he says flatly, as if his cock wasn’t throbbing inside of you from the thrill of getting caught with you like this. “keepin’ her warm. she’ll be fine,” he emphasizes the last word, squeezing your ass when he feels you tighten against him.

his smile falters when you slowly rock yourself on his cock, trying your best to get some of the stimulation before your orgasm fully fades. you can’t even pay attention to them anymore, not even noticing that ace had left until marco’s hand hooks under your chin, tilting your head up.

“you’re worse than feverish,” he chuckles, helping you bounce up and down his cock. “humping yourself on my cock when ace is right there…”

“you gonna die if i don’t fuck you for five seconds?”

his lips are tugged into a wide grin, shifting his balance before he’s thrusting his hips back up into yours as you whine into his chest. “please….i’m almost..!”

“no need to rush, i got you.”

and you know he does. his cock is such a good stretch, his huge body enveloping yours as you helplessly bounce of his cock, greedy hole taking all of him. you squeal when he slams you down on his length once more, knot inside you finally snapping as you gush around his cock.

you lean into his chest, panting and shaking from the intensity, and you lift yourself off his cock— only for marco to pull you back down on it. “where are you going? we aren’t finished here.”

“you faked one earlier, didn’t you?” “did you think i wouldn’t notice?”

“on my desk next.”

𝐑𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 — fingering, teasing

you should have figured out that robin would catch on to your little act as soon as it happened. your head falls back on her shoulder, one of her hands cupping your tit as her other arm dips lower.

“oh dear,” she chuckles, fingers rubbing harshly at your clit as you bite your lip, trying to mask your expressions as she brings you closer to the edge. “that wasn’t it, my love,” she hums, watching the way your half lidded eyes avoid hers like the plague.

“why are you running from it?”

she can tell you’re really close, painfully close to finishing, but you’re fighting it with everything in you, eyes clenched shut even when your dripping cunt is squelching around her fingers.

“it’s embarrassing….the face i’ll make!” you blurt out, cheeks feeling hot.

her fingers don’t slow down, still working at your clit while her other hand cups your tits. “your face?” robin muses, a tinge of curiosity laced in her voice. “show me it. i want to see.”

“b-but..” you stutter, eyes locked on her fingers working at your cunt. her eyes are only on you, watching your every reaction to her touch. “will you show me it?”

your cheeks only heat up further.

“you’re so cute, my love,” she coos, fingers leaving your tits to dip down to your cunt, slowly fucking them in and out of your walls. “w-wait, robin,” you cry, reaching down to grasp at her wrists.

it does nothing to stop her, and your thighs clench around her hands, unable to relieve the tightness in your core as you reach the edge. “are you feeling good? you made my hands so wet, look,” she smiles, chuckling at the way you flush at the sight of your slick covering her fingers.

your face falls back when she resumes, fingers curling against your walls. “cum properly, okay?” she coos, rubbing harshly at your clit until you cum hard, shaking around her fingers as she gets a good look at you.

you hide your face in your hands, legs trembling around hers. “i told you,” robin whispers, hands running up and down your sides, “i want to see all of your faces. let me try again.”

PART 1: ace, law, lucci, mihawk

Idk just those heated, passionate kisses right after sex that get calmer and softer the longer time passes as you two come down from your shared high together???

Some sketches of my favorite Bounty Hunter!

Loving this series. Pedro Pascal is a gem 

Showing here my feelings towards him *pets his bald head*

Jareth Abe Bishop data and Spock headcanons with an so who loves to make them flower crowns/put flowers in their hair?

Jareth

You have the most bizarrely beautiful flowers to weave together. The labyrinth is full of them, taking form into colors and shapes you never could’ve dreamed off.

And of course, they look most beautiful weaved into a crown to sit on your beloved husband’s head.

He loves sitting in fields of flowers, twirling his crystals in his hands as he watches you braid and weave the stems together. Gingerly you place the crown on his head, beaming with pride and blushing at his beauty.

He uses his magic to ensure that his crown will never wither and die, staying as beautiful as from the moment you plucked the flowers from their stems. Their his most cherished possessions. A gift you made for him yourself.

“You look beautiful.” You say to him with a smile on your face. He pulls you into a kiss, laying you down against the grass as he brushes his hand against your cheek.

“My pretty little thing.” He sighs contently. “I do love you so.”

Abe

You started making paper flowers as a way to relieve stress. You were sitting in the library with Abe as he read his books and you folded your flowers when a thought crossed your mind.

Abe felt something being placed against his head, looking up he saw you setting a paper flower crown down on him. “What’s this?” He asked.

“I was just thinking that you’d look like some sort of magical prince with a flower crown.” You smile. “I was right. Look, they’re supposed to be water lilies and everything.” You beam.

Abe blushes. “I’m flattered.” He smiles shyly. “He takes a flower from his crown and tucks it behind your ear, before kissing your hand gently. It was your turn to blush.

“What’s a magical prince if he doesn’t have someone to love and protect?” He asks, looking up at you, if he had eyelashes he would be batting them.

“You’re smoother than you give yourself credit for.” You blush. He stands, tilting your chin up so you can look at him. He gently presses his cold lips against yours.

Bishop

You were the botanist on board the ship. You mostly studied alien flora, but you kept some earth flowers to tend too as well. Reminding you of home.

Your pot of Marigolds was due to wilt soon, their season for blooming was over. As you were trimming them back, you had an idea.

Bishop was working in his lab when something was gently placed upon his head. Looking into his computer monitor, he saw in the reflection, orange flowers arranged like a crown sitting on his head.

“I just wanted to enjoy them before their season ends.” You say. He swivels around in his chair to face you. “Does it suit me?” He gives you a soft smile. You nod.

“Very much so.” You give him a kiss on the forehead. “You’re so handsome.”

Bishop wears his crown around until they wilt, no matter how the others teased or poked fun at him.

Data

You and Data were on shore leave. You leaped at the opportunity to spend some time with him when the crew got a vacation to the planet Risa.

Data and you were lying on a blanket. He was looking up at the clouds, listening to the waves roll lazily onto the sand, and back into the water. He didn’t notice you were putting flowers into his hair until your giggling gave you away.

Reaching up he felt the exotic flowers that were weaved into his hair. “Is there a particular reason, you’ve put flowers in my hair?” He asked. You smile and shake your head.

“Not really.” You lay down next to him. “I just…think you’re cute and flowers suit you.”

Data blinks, processing this information. “I see. Thank you” He states matter o factly. He rolls over on his side to face you.  

“Unfortunately I cannot think of a flower that could suit you.” He declares. You’re taken aback.  “None of them would compare to your beauty.” Red spreads across your cheeks like wildfire.

Spock

You were sitting in the gardens of the ship, twirling the stems of flowers together to make a flower crown. You placed it on your head.

“What are you doing?” You heard your significant other ask. You turned around to see Spock approach you.

“Oh…” You blush taking the crown off your head. “Nothing really. Nothing Logical. Just making a flower crown.” You smile.

Spock sat down next to you on the grass. “Explain flower crowns to me?” He asked. “I…just think they look pretty that’s all.”

You placed your crown back on your head. Spock scratches his chin. “It’s not illogical to do things that make you happy.” He states.

“And besides…they are pretty. Especially on you.”

Chapter 306 | The Final Act Begins

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!!”

______________________________________________________________

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.”

______________________________________________________________

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!