#fic: op | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 2 months ago

Text

(Accidental) PDA

characters: zoro, sanji, law, ace, kid

words count: around 300-500 each

(shanks, usopp, mihawk, crocodile, sabo)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

Roronoa Zoro:

The crew is gathered at a lively tavern, drinks flowing, laughter echoing off the wooden walls. You’re seated next to Zoro, who, as usual, seems more focused on his drink than the conversation. His arm is draped casually along the back of the bench, and at some point, probably without realizing it, his fingers start lightly tracing circles on your shoulder.

It’s absentminded, subconscious, but you notice.

And so does everyone else.

You don’t say anything at first, just letting yourself enjoy the rare show of affection. Zoro isn’t exactly the touchy type, so the feeling of his rough, calloused fingers against your skin is something to savor. You lean into him just a little, and his grip unconsciously tightens.

Then, Sanji snickers “Didn’t take you for the clingy type, Marimo.”

Zoro’s fingers stops instantly.

You can practically hear the gears turning in his head as he replays the last few minutes, piecing together what just happened. His arm stiffens, and when you glance up, you find his face frozen in mild horror, like his own body has just betrayed him.

“What the hell are you talking about?” His voice comes out a little too sharp, too defensive, which only makes Sanji smirk wider.

“Oh, nothing” The cook takes a drag of his cigarette “It’s just cute, that's all. Didn’t think you’d be the type to get all touchy in public.”

Zoro yanks his arm back so fast you almost fall sideways “I wasn’t!” He groans, rubbing his face like he can physically scrub the moment from existence “It wasn’t on purpose.”

You stifle a laugh, reaching up to pat his arm “Relax, Zoro. It’s fine.”

He glares at you, but there’s a bit of redness creeping up his neck “I don’t do that stuff in public.”

Sanji hums, clearly enjoying this way too much “Mhm. Sure. Just keep telling yourself that.”

Zoro grumbles something under his breath, clearly ready to die on this hill. But even as he crosses his arms and scowls at his drink, his knee remains pressed against yours under the table.

Accidental or not, you’ll take what you can get.

Vinsmoke Sanji:

The sun is setting over the Sunny, casting golden hues across the deck. Dinner is long over, but most of the crew lingers, full and satisfied. You sit beside Sanji near the railing, listening to the breeze and the distant laughter of the others. He’s in a good mood, smiling as he talks to you about a new dessert he’s planning, something with caramel and sea salt, he says, because “a contrast of flavors makes things more exciting, mon amour.”

You roll your eyes at the nickname but don’t bother fighting it. Sanji flirts like he breathes, and by now, you’ve just learned to go along with it.

Then, it happens.

You’re mid-sip of your drink when Sanji, without thinking, reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

It’s so natural, so smooth, that it takes you a second to process what just happened. The conversation around you continues, but you feel frozen, heat creeping up your neck.

Sanji, of course, remains utterly unaware. He keeps talking like nothing’s happened, his fingers lingering near your ear for just a moment before pulling away. It wasn’t even a grand gesture, just an absentminded, casual thing. But the way it makes your heart stutter? Absolutely unfair.

Unfortunately, someone does notice.

“Oi, Sanji,” Usopp teases, leaning over the table with a shit-eating grin “Didn’t know you were already at the ‘tucking their hair back like a romance novel protagonist’ stage.”

Sanji blinks “Hah?”

Nami chuckles “That was smooth, even for you.”

Sanji frowns, clearly replaying the last few seconds in his head. His hand twitches, as if only now realizing what it just did. He looks at you, at your slightly wide eyes, at the way you’re still holding your drink midair like an idiot, and then… it hits him.

“Oh—!” His face erupts into red “I—I wasn’t—! That was—!”

He immediately buries his face in his hands, groaning “Shit… I didn’t even notice I—!”

“You touched their hair, Sanji,” Usopp deadpans, grinning. “That’s practically a confession.”

Sanji sputters, waving his arms dramatically “It’s not like that! I— I just—” He stops, then sighs, rubbing his temples. “Mon dieu…”

You watch him, amused. The smooth-talking, ever-flirty Sanji, reduced to a blushing mess over one small gesture.

You smile. Maybe you didn’t mind it so much after all.

Trafalgar D. Water Law:

Trafalgar Law doesn't do public displays of affection. The man acts like love is a classified disease, and he’s the only doctor qualified to handle it.

Which is why the Heart Pirates are absolutely living for this moment.

It starts small, Bepo makes an offhand comment about how you and Law seem weirdly close today. And by that, he means Law has casually draped an arm around your waist while reading his book.

Then it escalates.

Law, your usually grumpy, no-nonsense captain, absentmindedly feeds you a bite of his food at dinner. Like it’s nothing. Like this is normal.

The crew goes silent.

Then whispers.

Then snickering.

Shachi elbows Penguin “Did you see that?”

“I felt that” Penguin whispers back, eyes wide.

“Are we being punked?” Ikkaku mutters “Is this a medical experiment or what?”

Meanwhile, Law, completely oblivious, keeps eating... until he notices just how unnaturally quiet everyone has gotten. He glances up, fork mid-air, only to be met with a table full of smug grins and barely contained laughter.

“…What?” he asks, narrowing his eyes.

Bepo smiles innocently “Nothing, Captain. Please, continue being adorable.”

Law blinks. Then slowly turns to you, as if just now realizing what he’s done.

You, being the absolute menace that you are, grin and open your mouth again, waiting for another bite.

A muscle in his jaw twitches.

“You’re enjoying this” he mutters.

“Oh, immensely.”

Law exhales through his nose, looking between the crew and you. For a second, it seems like he’ll retreat, go full grumpy captain mode,

but instead, he smirks, leans in, and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

The chaos that erupts is instant.

Shachi falls out of his chair. Penguin screams. Bepo claps. Ikkaku nearly chokes on her drink.

Law, of course, acts like nothing happened and goes right back to eating.

But the red tips of his ears? Oh yeah. That’s a win.

Portgas D. Ace:

The bonfire crackles, casting a golden glow over the Whitebeard Pirates as laughter and conversation fill the night air. You’re sitting next to Ace, comfortably close, the warmth of the fire mingling with the heat radiating off his skin.

He’s relaxed, grinning as he chats with Marco, one arm casually slung over the back of the log where you're sitting. It's nothing unusual... Ace has always been a little touchy without thinking much of it. But at some point, his fingers start absentmindedly playing with the ends of your hair, twirling and tugging in slow, lazy motions.

You blink.

The conversation continues like nothing’s happening, and Ace doesn’t seem to notice what he’s doing. It’s almost endearing, the way he’s so comfortable, so unaware, until Thatch smirks over his tankard and loudly clears his throat.

“Well, well” Thatch drawls, tapping his mug against Marco’s “Didn’t realize we were in the middle of a romantic drama. Should we leave you two alone?”

Ace freezes mid-twist of your hair.

His fingers tighten ever so slightly before he slowly lets the strand slip from his grip. The realization crashes down on him in real-time, his freckles disappearing under the deepening red of his face.

“Huh?” His voice cracks slightly “I...That’s not...”

Marco chuckles, sipping his drink “You’re adorable when you’re oblivious, yoi.”

Ace immediately throws a handful of sand in his direction, scowling. “Shut up!” His voice is a little too high-pitched to be threatening “I wasn’t—! It wasn’t on purpose!”

“Sure” Thatch grins, wiggling his eyebrows “Accidental flirting. A classic.”

Ace groans into his hands, looking very much like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. You, on the other hand, are biting back a laugh as you lean in slightly.

“Didn’t know you liked playing with my hair” you tease, just loud enough for him to hear.

His head snaps to you, wide-eyed, before he grumbles something incoherent under his breath. You’re pretty sure you catch the words never living this down.

Still, despite his embarrassment, he doesn’t move away, his warmth lingers beside you, a silent contradiction to his flustered protests.

Eustass Kid:

The atmosphere in the tavern is loud and chaotic, just the way the Kid Pirates like it. The crew is drinking, shouting, and causing their usual brand of mayhem while you sit beside Kid, with your drink. He’s in a rare good mood tonight, smirking as he argues with Killer over some pointless bet.

You’re just relaxing, letting the warmth of the room settle into your bones, when you feel it... Kid’s hand resting on your thigh.

Not just resting. His fingers drum absently against your skin, his grip solid, like it belongs there.

Your brain short-circuits for a second. He’s not the type for public affection. Hell, he barely acknowledges feelings exist, so the fact that he’s touching you like this, so casually, is… unexpected.

And the worst part? He doesn’t seem to realize he’s doing it.

You glance down, then back up at him. He’s still engaged in his conversation with Killer, completely unaware of the way his thumb is now slowly tracing circles against your leg.

It’s fine. It’s totally fine. You can just pretend like this isn’t affecting you...

"Oi, Kid" Heat suddenly snickers from across the table, eyes gleaming with mischief "y/n is so red that it like they're about to explode. Didn’t know you were the handsy type."

Kid pauses mid-sentence "Huh?"

He follows Heat’s gaze, straight to where his hand is resting on you. His fingers twitch. You feel the exact moment his brain catches up with his body, the slow realization creeping onto his face.

The entire table is watching now, grinning like they’ve just witnessed something hilarious.

"Shit," Kid mutters, yanking his hand away like he’s been burned. His face twists into a scowl, and his cheeks—just barely—tinge red "I wasn’t—!" His voice raises, defensive. "It was just—!"

Killer snorts "Yeah, sure. Just absentmindedly groping them in the middle of a crowded tavern. Totally normal."

The crew erupts into laughter. Kid growls, kicking Heat’s chair out from under him, sending the man crashing to the floor "Shut the hell up!"

You bite your lip, fighting back a grin.

Even as he huffs and glares at his drink, grumbling about stupid bastards and their stupid comments, his knee remains firmly pressed against yours under the table.

Accidental or not, he’s not moving away.

And neither are you.

3K notes · View notes

mrsfancyferrari · 1 month ago

Text

My Husband

Summary: when you accidently called Oscar your husband, you didn't think it would affect him that much

Song: Haunted · Beyoncé

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! 🫶

Word count: 2.3k

MASTERLIST - F1

The quaint little bakery was a warm embrace of aromatic comfort, the scent of fresh bread and sugar-coated pastries dancing in the air as the bell above the door chimed, announcing the presence of a customer.

You stepped inside, the chilly autumn breeze kissing your cheeks before you shut the door. Oscar, your devoted boyfriend, followed closely, his eyes never leaving yours, as if the words you had just spoken had branded themselves into his soul.

You approached the counter, where Mrs. Petunia, the plump, grandmotherly figure who had known you since childhood, was carefully arranging a tray of her famous Tim Tams.

She looked up and beamed at you, her kind eyes twinkling with recognition. "Ah, my dear, what can I get for you today?"

Without missing a beat, you replied, "Oh, Mrs. Petunia, me and my husband love Tim Tams. Could we have a dozen, please?"

The words slipped out of your mouth as easily as honey off a spoon, and yet, they seemed to hang in the air, thick and potent, charged with an unspoken electricity.

Oscar's eyes grew wide, and a blush bloomed on his cheeks that would have put a summer sunset to shame. His heart skipped a beat, and his throat tightened with a mix of shock and excitement.

You hadn't meant to say it, but there it was, hanging between the two of you like a ripe fruit, begging to be plucked and tasted.

Mrs. Petunia looked from you to Oscar and back again, her gaze lingering on his flustered expression before she winked mischievously.

"Of course, dear," she said, her voice a gentle purr. "Congratulations to you both. I'll have your Tim Tams ready in a jiffy."

The silence that followed was a symphony of unspoken desires and unanswered questions. The air grew thick with tension as Oscar's hand found yours, his grip firm yet trembling.

The warmth of his skin against yours sent a thrill down your spine, and you couldn't help but feel the sudden urgency of his touch.

As the baker's hands moved deftly behind the counter, wrapping your sweet treats in a paper bag with a flourish, Oscar leaned in, his breath a whisper of heat against your ear.

"Did you mean it?" he asked, his voice a mix of hope and apprehension. "Did you really mean to call me your husband?"

You turned to face him, the warmth from his body seeping into yours, and took a moment to study his features. The way his eyes searched yours for an answer, the way his Adam's apple bobbed with a hard swallow, it was all so… intoxicating.

You bit your bottom lip, feeling the heat of his gaze on your skin, and let the moment linger before finally speaking.

"It… it just slipped out," you murmured, trying to downplay the significance of your words. But even as you said them, you felt a thrill in your chest, a spark of something new and deliciously tempting.

Oscar's grip on your hand tightened, his thumb tracing lazy circles on your palm. "But do you?" he pressed, his voice low and earnest. "Do you… see me as your husband?" His eyes searched yours, a silent plea for honesty that you found impossible to resist.

Before you could answer, Mrs. Petunia shuffled back to the counter with your order, her knowing smile as sweet as the sugary confection she placed in the bag.

"Here you go, lovebirds," she said, her eyes twinkling. "And just for the newlyweds," she added with a wink, "a little something extra." She slipped a small, heart-shaped cookie into the bag, and you felt Oscar's pulse quicken against your fingertips.

The weight of the moment pressed down on you, thick and heavy as the scent of freshly baked bread. His question hung in the air, a silent echo of the words you hadn't meant to say. Yet, as you looked into his eyes, you realized that you didn't want to take them back.

The thought of him as your husband, a partner in every sense of the word, filled you with a warmth that spread from your core to your fingertips.

"Thank you, Mrs. Petunia," you said, your voice a bit shaky as you took the bag of Tim Tams from her outstretched hand. The touch of the paper bag against your skin was a sudden reminder of the real world, and you forced a smile as you slid the question to the back of your mind.

The idea of a future with Oscar was both thrilling and terrifying, and you weren't quite ready to tackle it in the middle of a bustling bakery.

You turned to leave, eager to escape the intensity of Oscar's gaze, but he held fast to your hand, refusing to let you pull away. "We need to talk," he whispered, his eyes never leaving yours. "But not here."

With a nod of understanding, you allowed him to lead you out the door and into the cool, crisp air. The wind played with your hair as you walked in silence, the crackle of leaves underfoot a stark contrast to the chaotic symphony of emotions in your chest.

The thought of the impromptu family gathering at the restaurant was a welcome one; it meant you had more time to figure out what you truly felt about the prospect of marriage.

When you arrived at the cozy Italian restaurant, the warmth from within enveloped you like a comforting blanket. The smell of garlic and tomato sauce mingled with the laughter of those already gathered, and the sight of your friends and family was a much-needed distraction.

You slipped into the role of the happy couple with Oscar by your side, his hand resting gently on the small of your back as you greeted everyone with pecks on the cheek and warm hugs.

Throughout dinner, the question remained unspoken, a silent third wheel to your conversations. You felt Oscar's eyes on you, the question lingering in the air like the scent of fresh bread from the bakery.

Yet, with every shared laugh and knowing glance, the idea grew more and more appealing. The way your family and friends interacted with the two of you, as if you were already a married couple, filled you with a sense of belonging and love that was undeniable.

As the evening grew late and the last of your relatives said their goodbyes, the tension between you and Oscar grew palpable. The warmth from his hand on your lower back had long ago seeped through your clothes, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

With each farewell, the reality of what you had said in the bakery grew heavier, a delicious weight that was both terrifying and exhilarating.

Finally, it was just the two of you, the night air a crisp reminder of the world outside your bubble of uncertainty. The walk to his car was a silent dance of anticipation, your hearts beating in time with every step you took closer to the truth.

The cool metal of the car door handle was a stark contrast to the heat of your skin as you climbed inside, the leather seats a promise of the comfort and security you had found in each other's arms so many times before.

Oscar started the engine, and the low purr filled the car, a gentle hum that seemed to vibrate through your very core. As he pulled away from the curb, the headlights painted a yellow path on the dark road ahead, leading you to the house you shared, the place where so many of your memories had been made.

You watched the streetlights flicker past, their light casting shadows across Oscar's features that highlighted the strong line of his jaw and the intensity in his gaze as he focused on the road.

The journey to the house was a blur of unspoken confessions and unanswered questions, the vibrations of the car a rhythmic serenade that seemed to underscore the urgency of the moment.

His hand found yours again, fingers intertwining as if to hold onto the very essence of your being. The touch sent waves of sensation through your body, a silent acknowledgment of the unspoken bond that had grown stronger with every shared look and whispered promise.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, the house was bathed in a soft glow, welcoming you home with open arms.

The door clicked shut behind you, the sound echoing through the stillness like a gunshot, shattering the last vestiges of your ability to ignore the conversation that needed to be had.

But Oscar didn't give you the chance to retreat into the safety of mundane small talk or the comfort of the couch. He dropped his bags with a thud that reverberated through the floorboards, and in the blink of an eye, he was on you.

His arms wrapped around your waist, pulling you back against his chest, his body a wall of heat and need that made your knees wobble.

His mouth found the sensitive spot just below your ear, his breath hot and demanding as he whispered, "Tell me the truth. Did you mean it?"

You gasped as his teeth grazed your earlobe, the sensation sending a shiver down your spine. Your heart was a wild animal, caged and desperate to break free, hammering against your ribs in a frantic rhythm.

Your breathing grew shallow, every intake of breath a silent admission of the desire that had been simmering just below the surface all evening.

He turned you to face him, his hands sliding up to cradle your cheeks. His thumbs brushed over your cheekbones, and you leaned into his touch, your eyes fluttering closed as you felt the warmth of his palms against your skin.

"Look at me," he demanded softly, and you obeyed, opening your eyes to find his gaze searing into yours. "Do you see me as your husband?"

The word hung in the air, a declaration of love and commitment that made your heart ache. You searched his eyes, the depths of his soul laid bare for you to see, and you knew that you didn't need to say the words aloud.

Your body was already speaking for you, your pulse racing, your breath catching in your throat.

With a groan, Oscar leaned in, capturing your lips in a kiss that was both fierce and tender. His tongue slipped into your mouth, tasting and exploring as if he hadn't kissed you a thousand times before.

Your arms wound around his neck, pulling him closer, your body arching towards his as if drawn by a magnetic force. His hands slid down to the small of your back, pressing you against him, the evidence of his arousal a stark reminder of the passion that burned between you.

The kiss grew deeper, more urgent, as the tension that had been building all evening finally snapped. Your hands roamed his body, tracing the contours of his muscles beneath his shirt, feeling the rapid beat of his heart against your palm.

His own hands found their way to the hem of your dress, inching it upward until he could feel the warmth of your skin, the softness of your thighs.

He broke the kiss, his forehead resting against yours as you both panted, trying to catch your breath. "I need to hear you say it," he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. "Do you see a future with me?"

You nodded, the words caught in your throat, the weight of the moment too much to bear. "Yes," you finally managed to croak out, the word a declaration, a promise, a surrender all rolled into one.

And with that, Oscar's control snapped. He swept you off your feet, carrying you with ease up the stairs and into the bedroom that had been the stage for so many of your passionate encounters.

The room was a blur as he laid you on the bed, his mouth leaving a trail of kisses down your neck, his hands working to free you from the confines of your dress.

As the fabric slid away, revealing the soft curves of your body, he whispered, "I can't wait to be your husband," the words a fervent promise that seemed to resonate within your very soul.

His eyes devoured every inch of your exposed skin, the hunger in them making you feel like the most desired woman in the world.

You reached up to trace his jawline, feeling the stubble that had grown over the course of the day. Your touch was tender, a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of what was happening between you.

"Oscar," you breathed, his name a prayer on your lips.

He hovered over you, his eyes searching yours as if looking for the tiniest semblance of doubt. Finding none, he claimed your mouth again, his kiss a declaration of his love and intentions.

Oscar's hands trailed down your body, his fingertips leaving a trail of fire in their wake. He reached the hem of your dress, his touch gentle yet insistent as he began to peel it off.

The fabric whispered against your skin, the coolness of the room a stark contrast to the heat of his gaze.

As you lay before him, bare and exposed, he leaned in and murmured into your ear, his breath a hot caress that sent shivers down your spine.

"I won't apologize for marking you up," he said, the words a dark promise that sent a thrill of excitement coursing through your veins. "Everyone should know you're going to be married to me."

His teeth grazed the sensitive lobe, eliciting a gasp that was swallowed by the fabric of the pillow beneath your head. . . .

2K notes · View notes