#i just want to do what each character needs and is true for their character

[intrepidmare]

I want to reiterate @ao3commentoftheday's words. You can tag however you want. It's a tag wrangler's job to sort them out. Don't worry about making it harder for wranglers, especially with chatty tags (those are often great, some of you are very very funny).

However...

Expanding on character and relationship tags fields, don't add modifiers like "Mentioned Character" or "Background Character Y/Character Z" in there. Those tags will be syn to the character's or relationship's canonical tags (without the modifiers). And making them syns, renders them useless for filtering.

For example Jamie Lannister(mentioned) as a character tag is synned to Jaime Lannister. Just like (background Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne) as a relationship tag is synned to Clark Kent/Bruce Wayne. I know people who does that is wanting to warn people that the character or relationship has a minor presence in the work, but in the end, their efforts are lost. Any tag with a modifier should go in Additional Tags. Always. No exceptions.

The opposite it's also true. Any character or relationship tag without modifiers in additional tags is deem unwrangleable and will never see the light of the day as a canonical additional tag. Readers won't be able to filter it in or out when searching for something to read.

The issue is that tags can't be in different categories at the same time. Fandoms can't be in the character or relationship or additional tags categories. Neither can a character be in the fandom category (or any other) except for in the character category. Each category is subjected to the same rule.

A good way to know if you wrote a tag in the wrong category is to see if they have "- fandom", "- character", "- relationship" or "- freeform" as a suffix after you entered it. Although, not all tags in the wrong category have a suffix. But if they have one, that 100% means that either you or someone else wrote it in the wrong category.

I just remembered something else! People who censor tags are wasting their time. This is my very own personal opinion. Any of those tags will be eventually synned to the correctly-written tag anyways. (e.g. "Suic¡d3" is synned to "Suicide") You're not helping, and I don't mean not helping wranglers. I mean, you're not helping the readers! Because for wranglers, that censored tag is like any other that needs to be synned, not effort at all to deal with it. For your readers, however, it might be a big issue. What most don't know or consider is that it takes some time for tags to be wrangled (anything between hours and several weeks, when the fandom has wrangler(s) assigned to it. Takes way longer when the fandom is unattended).

Let's use the example above: during that time until the tag is wrangled, if a writer uses "suic!d3" or "unaliving themselves", and a reader filters "suicide" out not wanting to read works containing that subject, then the work tagged with the censored tag will appear on the filtered search and reader will get an unpleasant surprise if they click on the work. That censored tag did nothing of what it supposed to do. Do not censor tags and everyone will be happy.

I know tag wranglers do a lot of work connecting tags etc. Is there anything authors can do to make their jobs easier for them like trying to mostly use canonical tags or not making tag comments?

Thanks!

This is a great question, and I'll do my best to answer it but I do hope that some wranglers add on in the notes! I'm also just going to preface this with the fact that you should still tag however you like to tag. This list isn't meant to be a checklist or anything. It's just info I've picked up over the years and you can take or leave each piece as you see fit.

Okay, so the first thing that most non-wranglers should know is that wranglers see tags separately from the fic. They get a big bin full of tags to sort through and match up in the system, but they'll only see your fic and the other tags you've added to it if they decide to go look.

That's important to know because sometimes a user will tag something like [character] is so sexy and then also tag by which I mean they're a huge dork. The wranlger won't see that second tag and won't know that they're connected so your sarcastic tag will end up synned (matched up to) sexy!Character or whatever the canonical is, as if that was the meaning you were going for.

Another good thing to know is that tags can only be synned if they only have 1 idea in them. So if you tag, say, [character] is gay and autistic then the wrangler can't actually syn that to either [character] is gay or character is autistic because it only half-fits either tag. To have them synned in the database, you would need to tag those two ideas separately.

You might have already seen the post I made referencing the fact that you don't have to tag multiple versions of the same idea (unless you want to for the aesthetic) because the synning that wranglers do makes sure that tagging one idea allows users to filter for all versions of that idea. But in case you didn't know that, now you do!

Wranglers are often members of the fandoms they wrangle, but they aren't always. Sometimes they'll take on a fandom that doesn't otherwise have a wrangler because they like to do research or because they like small fandoms or for many other reasons. But that means that if you're tagging your OCs by name, you should add (OC) to the end so that they know it's not a canon character that they aren't familiar with. This is double true in huge fandoms like Star Wars where there are millions of canon characters and just as many OCs.

Wranglers don't "seed" tags in fandoms. For a tag to exist, users need to create it. The rule of thumb is at least 3 fics from 3 separate authors, but that's very much the minimum and in fast-moving or huge fandoms the bar is probably higher. Also, for brand new fandoms, it's entirely possible that they won't know you exist until you tell them. Back in January I was the first person to write in a brand new fandom so I knew I had to start the tags, and I waited until there were 25 or so works by 15 or so creators before I emailed Support because I know I have to be patient - but I'm still impatient by nature lol.

Another thing to know is that tags are kind of like proton packs - they can't cross the streams. If you put a tag in the Character field by mistake, wranglers can't move it to the Additionals. This can also work in your favour, though, because if you have a minor character or minor relationship that you want to tag because there's some kind of fandom drama happening and people want to be able to avoid them, you can tag them in the Additional Tags so that people can know they're in there, but the people who like that character or ship can still filter the Character and Relationship tags without seeing a bunch of works that don't really focus on them.

This got super long, so I'll end with your question about tag comments. I know people worry that it makes extra work for tag wranglers if you get all chatty in your fic tags but I've been reassured by more than one wrangler over the course of several years now that it's no extra work. They just shovel those tags into the gaping maw of the Unfilterable Beast - which is the same thing they do with those tags that have multiple concepts in them. If it can't be synned, then that's where they go.

(keep tagging that way, though, if you like to because that's how new concepts get created and eventually canonized)

Alright, I that's all I can think of off the top of my head, and the list was actually longer than I thought! Wranglers: please do add on with other things you wish users knew, and please correct me if anything has changed since the last time I delved into this topic!

[kings-highway]

I don't tend to talk a lot about my sexuality headcanons because I like to adjust things as I need for each story, but in honour of the end of pride month and the fact that I put off doing this for 30 full June days, I do want to talk about some of my favourite lgbt related headcanons for my HQ boys. A lot of these are "real" headcanons of mine (as in, stuff I actually write as a part of their character rather than just theoretically interesting asides) so you might recognize these if you've read my work!

This isn't going to be every character, just ones I have strong or specific takes on.

Starting off strong, I love Daichi being a completely unlabeled king. To decide on a label requires .05% introspection and by god he is not going to do that. I think his perspective on it is very "only what's in front of me matters" so when he feels attraction to a man for the first time he doesnt think this means he's attracted to ALL men, just this one. And in reverse, although he feels attraction to women, he doesn't think at any point his current attraction to women will stop him from falling in love with any non-women, so it never occurs to him that his feelings of attraction could even point to any one label because literally what does today have to do with tomorrow? He's just here. Asahi tries to suggest pansexual as a label when he tries to explain how he's simply open to whatever his heart wants and he gets mad because "i said ANY person not ALL people" and Asahi's like WHAT does that MEAN. All that being said, I think Daichi never considers himself queer/lgbt. Dude could be in a committed monogamous relationship with another man for ten years and when Suga suggests they go to a pride festival he's like "???for what???" All in all I think he's allergic to labels on his sexuality.

Related note, Asahi being asexual. I don't think Asahi is sex-repulsed at all, and later in life I think he definitely would enjoy being sexually active with a partner, but definitely when it comes to self identification, he simply does not feel attraction towards any gender. I also think he doesn't really crave physical intimacy even non-sexually, and he'd much rather talk through his feelings with someone rather than have them hug him to try and comfort him, so he really struggles to understand the kissing-sex thing even just from a theoretical pov. (Like why would you pick that over like a nice long heart-to-heart???) However I think this has to be coupled with like a panromantic attraction to all genders which makes him have a really hard time identifying what he actually wants and what will make him happy because there's a very uniform experience across people, which for someone so anxious already doesnt help him identify his own feelings at all. He probably very much struggles to relate to his classmates as they get excited for dating because even though he likes the idea of dating everyone always talks about dating as kissing and physical intimacy (because they're all like 17) and Asahi's like "sure, sure, sure, yeah, totally sure yeah" while just being fully checked out of the conversation

Ushijima! I fully believe that Ushijima is 100% gay, with no flexibility, but I also think he most identifies his own feelings via the negative, so he knows he doesn't experience sexual attraction towards women and mostly identifies via that, rather than acknowledging that he does feel attraction to men. I really like him answering questions this way, where if someone is asking about girls/his love life, he often replies with "I don't feel inclined towards women," or "I have no interest in finding a girlfriend/wife" which is, in his mind, the most true statement in regards to his sexuality. He almost NEVER out loud says anything about liking men or feeling attracted to men even though his crush/dating history is exclusively male. However, on the few occasions someone does directly ask him something like "so you're gay?" he will absolutely say yes. Like he is aware of what his feelings classify him as he just doesn't leap to those descriptors himself. I think part of the reason for this is that he's not really attracted to femininity in general, and he knows that femininity is not exclusive to women and that some men are not his type, so there's a part of his brain that thinks saying something like "I'm attracted to men" indicates ALL men (its that black and white autism brain clicking into gear) and that's simply not true, but saying he's not interested in women IS true in black and white autism land.

I don't have a fully formed thought on this one, but Tendou's gender is probably a little broken, right? I actually do think he still identifies as male, but I think if he had been born afab, he'd have been perfectly comfortable being a woman and identified as such. So maybe he's lightly agender but socially comfortable with being a man so he doesn't really bother with it. I do however think he doesn't "get" the whole gender thing. He probably thinks he's enlightened or something because he's so above being bothered by it all and he simply doesn't realize that's because he's agender and everyone else actually does feel a real connection to their gender they're not just making it up. This whole headcanon is mostly in service of that fact that I think Tendou with his sort of conventionally unattractive features would absolutely rock gender non-conforming fashion. Like put him in a long skirt and combat boots please. I don't think he has an ounce of femininity in him but there's something about the spiky red hair and monster gaze that goes so well with like... Female-tilted alt fashion. And I think he would dig that. And then get mad when people point out he's wearing women's clothes because "ugh literally why does anyone care about gender you're all so weird." (Proceeds to do zero self reflection). He just does what he wants.

This isn't a real headcanon of mine but I heavily support a FtM trans Kenma based solely on his calico cat mascot. He's based on a calico, guys, its right there!

Aromantic Kuroo. (+QPR KuroKen) I don't use this as much as I could, because it's a lot of emotional character work that I dont often want to bother with in unrelated stories, but AroAce Kuroo has become so near and dear to my heart. He wants so badly to spend his whole life monogamous with Kenma but every time he thinks about starting a romantic relationship with him he feels sick because he doesn't actually want to share space and kiss and have to sleep in the same bed all the time. I think it's sex-positive asexual but borderline romance-repulsed aromantic. He just wants to live his life, and he does see Kenma as his highest priority and life partner in the most true sense of the word "partner". He still gets unreasonably jealous if Kenma has any other love interests but thats because allonormativity threatens to take away his soulmate every day. I don't use this headcanon very often, but more and more I do think it fits his character. A really solitary, independent and self possessed person who simply cannot comprehend why anyone needs a lover to feel fulfilled. Kenma meanwhile absolutely would love a life partner that does not require him to leave the house for dates or do any kind of performative relationship shit. His twitch stream being like "oh my god kodzuken are you dating anyone???" And Kenma just replying with "not legally" is actually really fucking good.

Okay so I only did 5 characters but im lazy and dont wanna keep writing so imma click post now k thx bai

[buckets-and-trees]

Red, White & True: Inauguration Day in Washington, DC [bonus part]

Characters/Pairings: Steve Rogers x curvy Millennial Female!Reader Word Count: 3k Summary: The last morning you'll spend together before Steve officially becomes the President of the United States of America.

Content/Warnings: brief political logitics; married/established relationship; SMUT (breast play, cock stroking, clit play/vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse)

Notes: This takes place in a post-Endgame scenario where Steve stays and generally most of TFATWS happened.

Additional Notes: 4th of July just called for something Presidential, right? I CERTAINLY NEEDED IT ANYWAY, GIVEN HOW WE'RE SLIDING EVER FURTHER INTO A FASCIST REGIME.

Series Masterlist

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[JANUARY 20 - EARLY MORNING - BLAIR HOUSE, DC]

The morning of inauguration, the future is a question pressed to your chest and your first answer is Steve’s soft snoring: a tender, arrhythmic little click from somewhere in the roof of his mouth. It is still dark, but you prop yourself up on one elbow—the official time on the old analog clock points to 4:33, which gives you one and a half hours before the first round of ceremonial suits and ties and hair spray and Secret Service. One and a half hours to be yourself, or the version of yourself that belongs only in this bed, in Blair House, in this liminal pre-inaugural morning.

It’s still dark outside, but there’s enough light for you to see Steve’s outline, hunched under the white comforter, so familiar it makes you ache with the love you’ve forged for each other these past months. One of his bare shoulders is exposed to the room, and he has a hand tucked under the pillow like a child’s. The room is a little cold, but just the right amount of chilly to make burrowing in the bed wonderfully comfortable.

Last night you’d imagined yourself lying awake, mind racing through anxious what-ifs, fueled by nerves and anticipation, but exhaustion knocked out both you and Steve as soon as you hit the mattress. Now, in the unspeakable clarity before this January dawn, you had woken up at three, then again at four, and again now at four-thirty filled with a nervous, effervescent energy that seems to fizz up from your sternum.

Your thoughts oscillate between the day ahead, what will be said, the way your parents will be watching you from the front row of the West Front, and whether you’ve accidentally scheduled a diplomatic disaster for the first week. You have to pee, but you don’t want to wake Steve, so you lie there, twitching your feet under the covers, letting your mind race laps around the room.

You try to focus on the quiet, the hum of the ancient radiator, the whoosh of a snowplow in the distance. You want a few more minutes of this—this intimate, unpolished moment. The version of yourself that is not yet airbrushed for cameras or press or public. You’re not dreading that—it’s not something you love, but something you have embraced as a core part of basically every day for the next four years. It’s part and parcel for the roles you and Steve will play as President and First Lady of the United States of America.

You trace one finger lightly over Steve’s arm, studying his face for another moment, soft and so peaceful in sleep that you don’t see the soon-to-be President in his features at all.

You shift, careful not to wake him, untangling your legs from his, and shift out from the cocoon of the covers. You pad to the window and look out. Pennsylvania Avenue is empty, except for a few silent trucks and a pair of bundled-up secret service agents walking in slow, practiced arcs. The city is still, held in the hush of a stage play waiting for the curtain to rise. But you only linger for a moment, bladder insisting you do what you left the comfort of the bed for.

In the bathroom, the old tile is freezing, so you hop to the rug in front of the sink and from there to the rug in front of the toilet, before taking a seat to relieve yourself.

You flush, wash your hands, then examine your face in the mirrors above the sink. You still look like you, only a little thinner in the face and more crumpled and with a sort of furtive edge to your eyes. You practice a few neutral expressions, then a sequence of tiny smiles, each one slightly different in candor, grit, capacity for quiet hope. The last one, unexpectedly, looks like your mother. You almost laugh, but then the heavy significance of this day—of all you are meant to carry—presses down again, an affectionate, back-breaking hand.

On your way back to the bedroom, you take the long route, stopping at the sitting room that overlooks Lafayette Park. A single square of light glows from the house across the street. You imagine another family, maybe a judge or a senator or a career bureaucrat, awake already, assembling themselves for the spectacle, the pageantry of transition.

You leave the window, shuffle back into the bedroom, mindful to keep the door from squeaking, and slide into the warm spot you left in the bed.

But your return to the mattress must have alerted his body, because Steve stirs. He’s already reaching for you as you shimmy in as close to him as you can get, pressing into his chest.

He wraps an arm around your waist and holds you in a loose, sleepy clutch, the familiarity of his touch soothing the static inside your head.

“Can’t sleep?” he mumbles into your collarbone, his voice thick, warm with sleep. “You okay?”

“Too wound up.” You nuzzle into the crook of his neck, inhale the mixture of fabric softener and the musky undertone his skin always carries. There is comfort here. Something outside of the press of the day, something that will always be here, when it’s just the two of you.

“Makes sense,” he says, not opening his eyes. “You gonna run for the hills before the swearing-in?”

You laugh, but the sound falls apart a tiny bit with the nerves for the enormity of the day. “Only if you come with me.”

He grins, lips barely moving. “I hid from a hundred and seventeen countries before when we broke the Sokovia Accords. I could probably do it again.”

You nestle into him a little deeper and close your eyes, letting the heat of him drown out everything else. The thickness of his bicep, the soft bristle of his facial hair. “People didn’t know you adopted the full beard back then. Now they know you too well with both, don’t know if we could hide you at all.”

He chuckles. “You really don’t think the sunglasses and baseball cap work? When you don’t have Secret Service officers milling around, I promise I really can blend in to a crowd.”

“Doubtful,” you grunt, then you shift, turning over to your other side, and he pulls your back flush to his chest. “But I love you anyway,” you add.

“You better, Mrs. Rogers,” quips, accompanying it with a nip at your neck.

You grin and sink further into his warmth,

A silence settles over you—comfortable and humming with the things you’re about to do, together and separately. It’s a prelude to standing, to showering, to the moment when you become the couple every American will be watching to officially lead the nation, and, to some extent, the world.

Steve’s hand drifts across your belly, then down to your hip, thumb tracing a faint line above the waistband of your pajamas. For a moment, you both lie there, in the dark, with his hand just resting. But then you feel the smallest pressure, an invitation, not insistent but certain, and you respond by shifting your weight back against him, aligning your hips to his, letting your body say yes.

He kisses your nape. The kiss is a soft vow, a confidence, not meant for you so much as something he needs to give. You turn your face to his, and, eyes still shut, he finds your mouth, sleep-sweet and slow. He tastes like toothpaste left from before bed and the sleep that has settled over the past few hours.

You move together with the wordless patience of people who know each other’s every story, every scar, every morning need. You breathe in tandem with each other. You slip your hand over his, guiding his palm up under your shirt, where the heat of his skin makes you shiver. He hums, a quiet yes, and cups your breast gently, thumb sweeping in a lazy arc that makes the nerves under your skin spark.

He shifts, propping himself half upright, then tugs the hem of your shirt higher, not urgently but with the slow, inevitable surety of a tide. He bends to kiss the hollow of your shoulder. Outside, a snowplow makes a pass down the avenue, and then you feel the world recede again, replaced by the hush of this room, this shared body heat, the way you fit so easily against each other.

You reach for him under the covers, your hand sliding beneath the waistband of his boxer briefs, finding the warm, heavy shape of him, half-hard already. He exhales, a sound that is halfway between a sigh and a laugh, and buries his nose in your hair while his hand comes to rest on your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple until it hardens into a stiff peak, and you bite down on a whimper, not wanting to break the hush of the room. He presses himself into your hand, hips flexing.

His lips find your jaw, then your mouth, then—deliberately—your ear. “God, you feel good,” he whispers, and you squeeze him in reply.

You stroke him slow, base to tip, the way you know he likes best—not fast, not teasing, just the kind of steady attention that says, we’re not going anywhere except together. Steve’s hand leaves your breast, sliding down your torso, pushing at the waistband of your pajamas and underwear together, one patient tug. You arch to let him remove them, and the cold air prickles against your bare skin for an instant until he draws you into the warmth of his body, the length of his thigh fitted into yours, the press of him behind you.

Your heart stutters, not from nerves about the outside world, but from the immediate intimacy of this, the soft noise he makes when you squeeze, the tremor in his breath. You feel yourself open, your body responding in ways of familiarity that he’s forged with your body. His hand slips back to your mound, over the soft trail of hair, and when his fingers finally find your clit, you gasp into the darkness, eager for the more you know you’re about to share with each other.

He knows your edges and soft spots, and he traces them, slow as a sunrise, until you are trembling with the effort not to cry out. The world has shrunk to his hand and his mouth at your ear and the slick, steady rhythm he sets with his fingers, mirroring your stroking of his cock, the ache of you gathering and cresting and threatening to spill even as you try to bring him along with you.

“Steve—” you whisper, and it’s a warning. It’s all you can manage. Your hips jerk into his hand but he holds you, palm firm, thumb working gentle, precise circles until you are nothing but nerve endings and need. When he feels you start to break, he slows, takes his hand away, and you make a noise, wounded, desperate.

He hushes you with a kiss to your temple, then, in the impossibly gentle way of his, he takes your hip in his hand and rolls you onto your stomach in one practiced movement. You catch your breath, pulse hammering in your ears.

He presses a line of kisses down the nape of your neck as he settles between your legs, his body a careful, considerate weight on top of you. In this position, your hips and shoulders pressed into the mattress, you feel owned and protected all at once; the covers thrown off your hips, the air cool on your bare skin, his hand warm as it presses the small of your back. You arch into his touch, the need gathering in you like a ripple, and he fills you with one slow, deliberate thrust, the stretch making you moan, this time into the pillow so as not to summon the world beyond the bedroom door.

You don’t speak, but you don’t have to. The rhythm is slow, almost reverent, Steve’s breath a steady cadence in your ear. Your body takes him in, and in, and in, every movement of his hips amplifying your own. He holds you by the waist, his big hands spanning the space with authority, fingers gliding over the soft swells of your sides. When you push back against him, slick and greedy, he groans your name, a prayer, a punctuation mark on a sentence only you two get to write together.

It’s not about urgency—neither of you are in a hurry to get to the end of this final morning—but about the gathering heat, the slow burn of inevitability. Your fingers twist the sheet in small, desperate vines, and Steve’s thrusts grow deeper, more sure, as if setting a rhythm you will carry into the rest of this day, this term, this life.

You feel the trembling begin at the base of your spine, a wildfire racing up, and it’s all you can do not to shout when the climax finally rips through you, white-hot and blinding. He holds you in place as you ride it out, hands gentle on your back as he bends to press his lips to your shoulder blade. It’s a pause, a moment where the world is so perfectly, privately yours. But Steve does not stop his slow strokes, only slows as your aftershocks thrum through you.

And then he begins to thrust more deeply. You hear his breathing change, his need mounting, and you reach back, finding the knob of his hip, dragging him deeper. “Don’t hold back,” you murmur, almost begging, your voice shaking with the tide in you.

He lets go. He presses you into the mattress, body shaking with the effort to stay quiet, and you feel him pulse deep inside, the rush and heat of him. The point of contact is so intimate it defies language, and you lie there, letting him chase his finish, letting him collapse on top of you, his weight both shelter and gravity. For a long while you breathe that way—him on you, half inside still, both of you trembling and sweating and insensible to everything except the animal comfort of the other. A president and a first lady, bare-assed and boneless, tangled in the damp, unremarkable sheets of a government guest bed.

Eventually, the cold air gets to you both; you wriggle out from under him and fumble for the comforter, pulling it over yourselves in a cocoon. You’re sticky and sweat-slicked and probably smell like sex, but the next shower you take will be in a different life, a different set of expectations. For now, you burrow into each other and, at least for now, the spinning carousel of your thoughts has been slowed.

Steve’s chest rises and falls against your back, his breathing a lullaby. You close your eyes and let the hush stretch. The world will come for you soon enough: the tidal wave of handlers and stylists and makeup artists, the whirl of press and protocol of it all. In a handful of hours, you’ll be standing on the West Front of the Capitol, wrapped in wool and nerves, the eyes of history and the world watching you.

But for now, it’s just you and Steve, two bodies in a bed, building a myth that nobody else gets to see.

You doze for what feels like moments but when the alarm goes off at six, you’ve slept just enough to feel the loss of it. Steve is up first, already leaning over the bed, stretching his shoulder like an old football player. His hair is crushed flat on one side, sticking out at odd angles, which makes you want to muss it more. He grins at you, a sheepish, crooked smile, like he still can’t believe any of this is happening. You look at him and know, neither can you.

“You want the shower first, or shall I?” he offers, with the chivalry of a doomed man.

“Together,” you say, and he beams, but you really only want him nearby, to catch the fragments of this morning before the world scoops them away.

The shower is small and institutional. The water pressure is almost dangerous. You squeeze together under the spray, laughing as you dodge the freezing mist, as you both nearly slip on the porcelain of he tub.

It’s domestic and clumsy and sweet, and when you emerge, clean and a little pink from the heat, Steve wraps you in one of the thick government-issued towels and swaddles you like a pastry. You dry off in the guest bathroom, side by side, brushing your teeth and trading wry glances in the mirror before donning robes, knowing you’re nearly to the point that staff and stylists will invade.

By the time you’re back in the bedroom, there are footsteps in the hallway—heavier than civilian tread, the Security Service cadence you’ve learned to recognize.

“Ready?” you ask, stepping to reach for the handle of the door to let people in.

Steve catches your other hand and tugs you back to him, capturing your lips with his for one final private moment. You melt into him, returning the kiss.

When he pulls back, both of his hands are cupping your face, and the warmth in his eyes, in his smile, it radiates trough you, and you hope you’re giving every bit of it back to him tenfold.

Then, finally, he presses a quick peck to your lips, and nods. “Let’s do this.”

I LOVED REVISITING THESE TWO, AND I HOPE IT WAS LOVELY FOR YOU, TOO! I had written bits of this in my head before I'd even finished the series. 🥰

I had something else in mind that I thought would happen here, but... the muse said tuck it away for later, so, it's been tucked into the vault.

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[alligatorcarapace]

first if all I love your blog, really thoughtful interesting analysis

secondly omigosh I'm obsessed with the 03 City at War arc, especially the ways it shows the differences in the boys' moral compasses! Because they were all raised to be true to their values but they each take those lessons really differently

Anyway, if you are up for sharing, I would love to hear more of your thoughts about Raph's morality through that arc

Man that's fanciest way of complimenting my autism [light hearted joke]

But for real, thank you so much, it means a lot to me. I love analysis and really getting into the weeds of stuff, I blame the fact that some of the first shows I fully completed were Avatar the Last Airbender and Death Note, so now my brain loves the long term connections and consequences.

Now time to answer this hard ball question as I am not the 03 Raph expect and I best understand his morality by what he's not(I don't have time in this post but there is an internal rant about how none of the Raph's can be swapped and thus fics claiming any iteration will fit, that while no hate towards them; do not understand the implications of what their saying. The point is mostly demonstrated by showing how 07 Raph is more closer to 03 Leo as shown by 03 City At War arc, but that doesn't tell us about 03 Raph. So that's a rant another post) However even with this frame I can make a few observations.

I will note however, if you want more elaboration on his morality outside of the City At War Arc, check out his interactions with Traximus, the Tribunal, the glimpses we see of him and Angel, and of course the staples for Raph's character's of Tyler, and Mrs. M. Which shows how he interacts with those who are not his peers but instead are in either more vulnerable or powerful situations then him. It also shows where his fuse is long vs short.

Now onto this arc.

One of the first things that it establishes as far as Raph's mindset is a lot more intuitive than Leo. While Leo can give you reason's justifying everything down to the over top gymnastics, something that both impresses and worries Raph(Though in true Raph fashion he show's it with banter about him needing to relax). Meanwhile Raph listens to his heart more.

Not to say he's a meathead, but instead he's less concerned about the exact law and more about what feels right or wrong. Something that's establish in the episode where he meets Casey Jones, when he stops Casey from commuting murder and or brutal assault.

He has a strong sense of morality, lines he won't cross, however it's not coupled with duty towards strangers. The best way I can word it is that it's not a universal blanket like Leo's is. Raph has right and wrong, but for him Right is survival first then honor. While Leo is honor above all.

As it should be obvious with the preamble I am having issues articulating it. So I am going to go through all three episodes and see if I can make some actual conclusions that don't contradict and backtrack on each other lol.

So the first peak of morality in this arc is him being the one to pull back Leo from trying to get in the middle of gangster v ninja street warfare. Leo is only thinking about how it's his duty to stop this, meanwhile Raph is doing odd calculation and knows that just Leo or even the two of them would not end well. So for the sake of survival he wants Leo to back off rather than following this self-proclaimed duty.

"Right or wrong, it’s not our fight."

Raph also does not follow or fit well into collectivist thinking despite half of his bi-cultural background(It is not as important to the 03 crew as it is to the 2012 crew, however they still were raised in a partial traditional[like really traditional since even in a world where the Shinobi Clans are very active, the 03 world shows they try to be very lowkey meaning they have to have strict codes to keep their traditions alive without revealing themselves, something that would blend well with the mutant's needs to survive] Japanese household and it's something to keep in mind. As well as how that blends and clashes with the Northern USA New York Cultural). Instead he's more of an individualist, tending to prioritize and better understand immediate threats to direct targets rather than more vague concepts like "The Entire City Population" and doing things for the "Greater Good".

It's a morality built on both his ninja training and own life experience. Safety of his family first, then his friends, then everyone else. It's why both Leo and Mikey are bothered about the gang wars, but not Raph.

"I-- I’m confused, Master Splinter. I guess I hoped things would change when we finally got rid of the Shredder, you know, for the better. But it seems like everything just got worse.""Are you out of your green gourd? We did the city a favor." "Did we? Did we really? Raph, don’t you see what’s going on up there? This city’s at war. Don’t you feel just a little bit responsible?""No. It’s not our deal.""It is! Even if we didn’t mean to make things worse, we did. Don’t ask me to explain how, but it feels like our fault.""I kind of know what he means."

For Raph he knows it's impossible to stop crime forever, people are going to do bad things.

"You can’t save a whole city, bro, but you could make it worse by trying."

"The Purple Dragons, the mob, and the Foot Ninjas are all squabbling over the pieces of Shredder's empire now that he's gone and Leo says it's our fault 'cause we're the ones that knocked out the Shredder in the first place. And for some reason, he thinks we're responsible for a whole lot of innocent people getting caught in the crossfire."

The power vacuum is an example for that. Raph doesn't want his brothers to endanger themselves and get pulled into a war they can't win.

"We shouldn’t be here, Leo. This ain’t our war".

"First, I ain’t running. Second, it wasn’t our fight to begin with."

Of course when Leo doesn't listen and they pay the price, it hurts him. The protective anger comes back.

"I hope you’re happy, Leo. I hope doing the right thing was really worth it."

Therefore I can safely conclude his morality is survival over heroism. But not survival of himself, like I thought it would be with his individualist tendencies, instead it's group survival. Togetherness. A willingness to takes risks for members of the group, but not at the help of strangers. He's willing to help save Leo from being stupid by riding alongside his questionable choices, however he does not want to get in between the gang wars of two parties he rather suffer anyways.

Which leads me to my next observation: Hypocrisy.

Raph hates its. I am not sure if being a hypocrite breaks his own moral code, or if it's a thing that just grates his nerves. But it's something to note either way.

"Oh, so it’s okay when your mistakes blow up in our faces.""Getting involved in this gang war was not a mistake." "Right. This was a noble, heroic effort. Thank you, Leonardo The streets are so much safer now ‘cause of you."

Of course this could just be stressing him so much becuase he's already pissed at Leo for endangering them, so it's just one more thing that causes him to build and build, until he explodes.

But even then he still jumps in front of his brothers when rocket launchers fly, so once again, group safety above all.

This mentality means that when Leo signals Raph is not wanted in the group as right now his anger is causing more danger, well Raph goes and cools off. He always runs off to cool down, and up until now Leo gives him the go ahead. It's always done in a moment of controlled safety. An honestly sweet thing, signaling that they still care even if they need to be away.

But here it's more bittersweet at best. Here, while Leo most likely meant it as a quip to deal with his frustration at what he perceive as immoral behavior that causing Raph to do more and more reckless actions is starting to boil over Leo's anger as well.

"Who needs you, hothead? "Yo, say the word and I’m out of here." "Since when do you need my permission? "You know what? You’re right. Good luck on your one-turtle crusade, Leo. Just try not to get these other guys iced."

However even in this moment of explosive anger, Raph's main concern is Still Safety of The Group.

It's this concern for safety we see with his hatred of Karai and why he dislikes the concept of teaming up with her. She's hurt them, she most likely will hurt them in the future. Helping her gain power will only guarantee this. Raph's always been better at people than Leo and so he understands that someone like her will always pick the Shredder. And that's at best. She's a wild card, one covered with the Shredder' might be dead from their understanding, his's ideals and quest for power are not. She's a threat to the group.

"You are impudent! If you were my retainer, I would have you beaten!" "Oh, yeah, you’re Foot all right. You even sound like The Shredder!"

And so now it's time for Leo's perceived immoral action: Betrayal of the group to side with the danger.

"Raph, listen to me! We all know this thing is too big for us to fix." "Listening to you is what got us into this mess in the first place!" "We have to take this opportunity!" "Oh, is that the “honorable thing” to do? You guys can be the Foot’s little toes if you want. But not me. I’m outta here!"

So with that he fully leaves.

After all he's not going to willing endanger the group, both by working with the betrayer and of course ruining said plans by letting his anger get the best of him. Leo had already given him the get go to leave earlier anyways.

As usual when he calms down and has someone to talk to Raph can better self reflect. So upon meeting up with Splinter, Splinter most likely points out him leaving the group for more danger, how Leo in stress is not a reliable source of opinions(Man consistently makes the worst choices under emotional stress, this realization would of course better prepare Raph to do his best to help Leo in season 4) and thus came back to help

And that's Raph's last big moment of morality in the City At War arc.

So what are my conclusions about Raph's morality?

He believes in the safety of his family above all, then his friends, then himself, then everyone else. He and Leo are on opposite sides of the Trolly problem here and it causes so much friction.

Hypocrisy, while not the worst thing you can do, is very anger racking.

And Raph can smell a rat a mile way, from Karai in this arc, to Dark Leonardo in Fast Forward, Raph has a good judge of character, something to further hone his protection based mindset.

Over all Raph prefers individualism and small scale collectivism over mass collectivist moralities.

But yeah as I said I tend to look over this arc as a fun way to understand 07 Raph of all characters. Different universe, different guy, but there are parallels that make me go crazy

[lgbtlunaverse]

So I've said multipe times now (here and here) that thinking nmj is just so blinded by privilege he doesn't undertand that acting out of line gets people killed is, in my opinion, a misunderstanding of his character that ignores the part where he's, you know, actively dying the whole time and thinks that's a good thing. But that doesn't mean I don't think privilege plays no role at all in how he views the world.

Specifically, his view that death (at least premature or violent death) means something.

Death isn't always a tragedy to NMJ, but it is always meaningful. If you kill an evil dangerous person for your righteous cause, that death had meaning. There was evil in the world and now there is less of it. Similarly, if you die in the pursuit of your righteous cause, that death has meaning, because the sheer dedication you gave to it that you were willing to die for it will further that cause, and your bretheren will be invigorated by your sacrifice to fight even harder.

If a death isn't meaningful, that's an injustice and it is up to the living to give it meaning. That's what cuts so deep about his father's murder. There were no consequences, no changes, no meaning. Wen Ruohan was just going to get away with it! He fights and wins an entire war to make it mean something, to make it so that the unjust murder of Nie Mingjue's father is part of Wen Ruohan's downfall.

But this is a view he can only hold because he's the kind of person who's death will be meaningful. Most ordinary people's deaths are meaningless. Not ontologically, not inherently, but they are made meaningless because no one cares. For death to be meaningful you either have to be so powerful that anything you risk your life for will be impacted in some way. (Like, say, if you sacrifice a long life for immense martial power in a faustian bargain with a blade) Or if people with that kind of power care enough about you to do so for you. For most people, this isn't true. A starving street kid has no power to change the unfair world that put them there, even if they risk their life trying, and no one will do it for them once they die.

Nie Mingjue knows this in abstract, and of course rightfully believes it's wrong. But all that does is make it yet another righteous cause people should be willing to die for. Everyone's deaths should mean something, we'll make it so or die trying!

This is what the conflict between nieyao is about at its core. Because Jin Guangyao, fundamentally, cannot conceive of his own death as meaningful. Nie Mingjue grew up around powerful men who could change the world but refuse to do so because god forbid they risk a single hair on their perfect heads. Meng Yao, on the other hand, grew up in an environment where no one of importance would blink twice if you died. He was surrounded by meaningless death. Indeed his entire early life is defined by that lack of care.

Meng Shi dies and no one cares. Meng Yao gets thrown off a flight off stairs and no one cares. He has to be the one to do the caring, and once he's gone no one else will do it for him.

So he has to live.

Jin Guangyao eventually gets far enough that he actually does aquire the power to change some things... as long as he's alive. If he changes too much, holds on too tightly to his ideals, he'll die and it'll all be for nothing. He can't sacrifice himself for his goals because doing so would immediately render those goals unobtainable. No one will care about what he tried to do. He won't be a heroic sacrifice, he'll just be trash that finally cleaned itself up.

And well... Nie Mingjue dies, and someone makes it mean something. Makes it mean so much that the entire story of mdzs would not exist without it. Jin Guangyao dies and it doesn't mean anything. Most people are glad to be rid of him, and the few that are not don't do anything to change that.

[bumblingbabooshka]

Every time I watch the cold open of Memorial and B'Elanna tells Tom about how she ASSEMBLED a 50's television set from SCRATCH just to surprise him (there's no reason beyond that - just an incredibly sweet and thoughtful gesture) and replicated popcorn for him to eat while he watches and Tom says "They didn't have remote controls in the 50's ♥ Also where's my beer?" I contemplate murder ESPECIALLY because B'Elanna responds cheerfully to it - GIRL!!! LEAVE HIM!!!!!! IS HE SUPPOSED TO BE CHARMING IN THIS SCENE????

[leori-the-unlearned]

the way digimon does conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: chef’s kiss <3

the way sonic idw handles creating conflict/drama between two characters who should be or are close: *wilting flower*

[phagodyke]

I love to talk but I rly do feel like we have to be talking for a minimum of 8 hours straight before I feel like I can even begin to rly broach things on my mind or that have been bothering me a lot that I actually want to talk abt without being vague or deflecting or omitting or lying and if the conversation takes a break at any point it resets back to 0 and its still nice regardless but.

[waywardsalt]

tag rant but man i fuckin hate the new direction for loz

[twilightofthesandwiches]

There’s a lot of stuff in Deltarune, especially Ralsei’s arc, that is, I think, kind of an exploration/critique of common Video Game tropes about Player Character-NPCs friendships. Mainly the simplification of good/bad options in friendship progression and the concept of the blank-slate protagonist in the context of video game friendships.

I mean, that whole thing of having a Player Character being a stand-in for the Player and so building friendships in-game is much more focused on flashing out the NPCs and making them lovable to the Player. While explaining which traits in the Player Character the NPCs likes or what they would like to do together is given less focus and a lot more ambiguity. Because… well… that character needs to stand in for any person ever who plays the game and they need to feel like this character likes them whatever their individual traits may be. As well as how this whole thing interacts with choices. Like gamifying the idea of friendship into just picking the nicest and most pleasing and placating option until you ‘win’ the status of being friends with them.

Like, that’s also kind of a thing in Undertale (as certain elements in Deltarune are based on or built on the audience response to Undertale). I hardly think it’s a detriment to that game, to me it’s more of a thing of “a game can’t be Everything at Once. Part of Undertale’s greatness is that it knows what it wants to focus on”. But many fans have already poked fun at how, because the idea of Frisk not being a total Blank-Slate-Self-Insert is actually kind of a twist - most of the other characters’ friendships with Frisk involve these wonderfully-written fully-rounded adults trauma-dumping on this silent blank child and then going “Wow you’re such a great friend, I’m so happy you’re here to support me!”

Papyrus’ character was already kinda a Tounge-in-Cheek acknowledgement of the absurdity of the situation. A Guy who is both extremely self-absorbed and extremely wholesome to such an absurd degree that he basically cannot help himself but befriend you, no matter what you do (I mean, unless you kill him)

And I think a lot of Ralsei’s arc in Deltarune, in the ways he relate to Susie and Kris, is meant as a more serious exploration of these tropes.

Because Ralsei starts out with a very… video-gamey idea of how friendship works. He thinks that it’s just about being nice and making sure others are happy

And is shocked to realize how much he appreciates Susie, a person who… if she was the Player, she would absolutely not be choosing the nicest most placating choice each time. She can be a bit prickly and abrasive…. but it doesn’t actually diminish of his fondness of her.

Because, you know, that’s what actual real-life friendships are like.

And yet Ralsei is still surprised to learn that the same is true of him. That his friends also don’t demand just generic niceness, placating comments and gifts from him - they like his personality, not a blank slate. That’s the important part.

And, of course, that also connects with the whole thing of Choices That Don’t Matter and the disconnect between Player and Player Character. While Frisk being their own independent person that you had to leave to have a happy life with their friends is kind of a Twist in Undertale, we know Kris is their own person from pretty early on.

So first of all that creates more situations where despite our control Kris can let their unique personality shine through regardless. Kris’ friendships feel real because Kris is a person separate from the Player who therefore has their own personality that their friends like.

Plus, like with Susie, Kris isn’t necessarily the nicest and most accommodating person. They’re kind of an Edgelord WeirdEnby, so the interactions that show their personality and endears them to their friend often stands in contrast to the nicey accommodating tone of a Player trying to always choose the ‘Good’ option.

Sometimes the ‘right’ answer with Kris isn’t the nicest one, even when they’re with their friends. Because they like Kris, and that kinda comes pre-packaged with a little bit of emotionally-detached teasing.

And our choices don’t really matter, because outside of the Total Terror that is the Weird Route, the Player can’t really choose in a way that changes Kris’ relationships. They will rebel against words that are too cruel or too saccharine for them.

And the actions they take on their own will always be the most important to the development of their friendships.

It’s kind of the most heartwarming twist Deltarune has on the idea of ‘Your Choices Don’t Matter’. Your choices don’t matter because when it comes to friendship, Kris’ personality will always triumph over your choices.

And of course, the general conceit of Deltarune makes the idea of an NPC liking the Player over the personality of the Player Character to be an especially chilling conceit. It makes people inherently more open to the idea because the alternative feels like such a grim concept in-universe. This is one case I am very thankful my choices don't matter and I would like it to continue that way!

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Write a Woman...

➤ Who’s Tired of Being Talked Over

You ever watch someone hold in a scream behind their teeth? That’s her, constantly.

✧ She starts choosing her words like landmines. Each one is sharp, controlled, and timed like a threat. She’s learned that being polite won’t get her listened to, but sounding like you might flip a table will. ✧ She’s mastered the art of the silence that feels loud. Doesn’t fill awkward gaps. Just lets the discomfort sit in the air like smoke. ✧ She explains things with forced calm, the kind that sounds like a teacher asking a second-grade class why the hamster is missing. ✧  She notices interruptions like bruises. She doesn’t react to them anymore, not out loud. But you can bet she counts them. ✧ She repeats herself less. Not because they understood her the first time. Because they never listened anyway. ✧ She’s learned how to weaponize eye contact. Not in a sexy way. In a “I will set this boardroom on fire with my mind” way. ✧ Her voice only shakes when she’s deciding if it’s worth the explosion.

➤ Who’s Been Called ‘Too Much’ Her Whole Life

She isn’t too much. She’s just tired of shrinking for people who were never going to make room anyway.

✧ She says the thing you’re not supposed to say. Then stares at you to see what you’ll do with it. ✧ She’s loud with her laugh, loud with her grief, loud with her love, because if she’s going to be punished for being “extra,” she might as well be honest about it. ✧ She over-explains. Over-apologizes. Then catches herself and stops halfway through the sentence. ✧  She tries to “tone it down” and ends up sounding like a censored version of herself, bland, miserable, unfinished. ✧ She edits her texts four times, deletes the paragraph, sends “haha ok :)” instead. ✧ She keeps her hands busy because otherwise they’d be doing something reckless. ✧  She overcompensates with sarcasm and then goes home and wonders if everyone hates her. ✧  She’s loved fiercely. Regretted it more fiercely. ✧  She walks into a room like she owns it, and then spends the entire time wondering if she should have stayed home.

➤ Who Wants to Be Soft but Doesn’t Feel Safe

She's gentle, but that gentleness lives under twenty layers of armor. And most people never even get past the first. ✧  She’s careful with her compliments, she knows how people weaponize kindness. ✧  She keeps her vulnerability behind locked doors and guards them with jokes, sarcasm, and “I’m just tired.” ✧ She’ll comfort others like she was born to do it, but flinch if someone offers her the same. ✧ She avoids mirrors on bad days. Eye contact on good ones. ✧ She cries where no one can see. Car bathrooms. Locked bedrooms. Grocery store parking lots at night. ✧ She doesn’t ask for help. Not because she doesn’t need it, but because the last time she did, it came with a price. ✧ She’s soft with animals, with children, with strangers, but not herself. Never herself. ✧ She daydreams about being taken care of, then immediately gets mad at herself for wanting something so “weak.” ✧ She wants love, but she’s terrified of being known. Because if someone really saw her? What if they didn’t stay?

And if you’re sitting there reading all of that thinking, “God, I don’t even know how to write women like this…” Please know: you’re not alone. Like, really not alone.

Writing female characters in a way that feels true, nuanced, and unapologetically real isn’t just about avoiding clichés. It’s about unlearning everything you were taught about what women are “supposed” to be on the page. It’s about getting underneath the polish. Past the performative strength. Past the “she’s not like other girls” and the “strong but broken” tropes. Past the idea that softness is weakness and rage is unlikable.

So many people struggle with this, not because they don’t care, but because no one ever really taught them how to see women as people first.

A lot of us grew up reading female characters written through a lens that flattened us. Made us background noise, love interests, plot devices, or emotionally bulletproof when we weren’t emotionally unstable. It’s no wonder we’re all trying to figure out how to do better now. I write a Book about How to Write Women that feel Alive... For you.

In the chapters ahead, we’re going to unravel that mess, together (Promise). We’ll talk about...

❥ Tropes — the ones worth reclaiming, and the ones you can toss into the fire. ❥ The psychology of a woman — how conditioning, survival, identity, and inner conflict shape her from the inside out. ❥ Female vs. male conflict — not in a “boys suck” way, but in a “our emotional battlegrounds are different and that matters” way. ❥ Expectations — society’s, her own, and how characters shrink or shatter under them. ❥ Emotions as strength — especially the ones she was taught to hide: fear, grief, longing, joy, rage. ❥ Female anger — what happens when she finally stops holding it in. ❥ Archetypes — and how to subvert them without erasing the truths they come from. ❥ Female friendships — no more cardboard “bestie” side characters. ❥ Romantic relationships — what it means when she’s finally seen. Chosen. Or rejected. ❥Mothers, daughters, and sisters — because female relationships deserve more than being backstory. ❥ Dialogue — how she speaks when she’s safe vs. when she’s scared. ❥ Inner conflict and development — her arc isn’t about fixing her. It’s about letting her evolve. ❥ Writing exercises — to help you get past the noise and write from a place that feels real. ❥ A full checklist for writing female OCs — layered, powerful, contradictory, alive.

This isn’t a rulebook. It’s a guide. A toolbox. A comfort blanket. A callout. A reminder that writing women doesn’t have to feel impossible, you just have to be willing to look a little deeper.

So if you’ve ever felt stuck writing a female character… If you’ve defaulted to tropes because you didn’t know how else to make her “interesting”… If you’ve erased her emotions to make her “strong”… Or if you’ve stared at the page wondering why she still doesn’t feel real...This book is for you.

And I promise, by the time you reach the last chapter? You’ll not only know how to write her. You’ll understand her. And maybe even see a little of yourself in the process.

Love u All!!🖤

[rhaenyraeri]

Co-Star Tensions - Jack O’Connell

based off this behind the scenes picture hehe

minors dni!! 18+ only!!

Part 1, Part 2, Interlude, Part 3

Summary: You and your costars were called back for some reshoots, and one night after a long day of filming, something unexpected happens.

Pairing: Jack O’Connell x fem!Reader (and technically Remmick x fem!Reader?)

Warnings: it is filth y’all, oral (m receiving), thigh riding, there be’est role play involved, some swearing, i’m not great at writing smut unfortunately

Note: this is an rpf (real person fic) so i encourage that if you don’t like that, please keep scrolling. i’ve never wrote one of these before but i felt compelled to lol. also if there are any mistakes pls let me know 🫶

The tension could, almost literally, be cut with a knife on the set. Everyone could tell, but no one would say it. They wouldn’t speak about how you and Jack had scenes just barely near each other, but you both gravitated closer. No one would dare mention how hard you locked in on him when filming the scene with vampire Bert, how he sat in the rocking chair covered in fake blood.. there was something about it. Something, dare you say, carnal, was awakening in you.

The nights you yearned to touch him, yearned to just have your hands on him, sexually or not. The nights just hoping he felt the same way. Just watching him in his element, such a talented actor and great man, having the honor to work alongside him. He just had that charm about him, and that charm resonated into Remmick. You wanted him, and you wanted Remmick. Two birds, one stone.

There were just a few nights of filming left, and the two of you had spoken earlier in the day about how sad it was to say goodbye to a wonderful cast and to people you’d grown to call friends. Some scenes needed some touch ups, and others need reshoots due to new ideas flourishing from the director.

—————

Walking past the set to your makeup artist’s camper, you noticed a figure in the dark. Leaned back in the rocking chair, in the corner of the darkened room used for a reshoot earlier that day. The light in the corner cast a slight shadow onto the figure and you stopped to get a better look. It was Jack, still dressed in the bloody Remmick costume from the scene filmed earlier with Joan and Bert. The way he looked at you after ran chills up your spine. He caught you staring from the sidelines of the crew. Tensions were already high due to your character and Jack’s being romantic partners, and having to say filthy shit to each other had you reeling, yearning for it to have meaning behind it.

“Hey baby,” he spoke, that thick southern drawl that Remmick had came out. Your mouth dropped slightly, your hands holding your belongings slowly lowering. He was staring right at you, that was meant for you. He slowly began rocking, eyes never leaving you. “You gonna come on over here, darlin’? I’ve been waitin’ for you.”

Oh, what the southern drawl did to you. You didn’t think it’d corral you into him like this but it did. That thick accent made you swoon, in and out of character. Seeing him calling out to you, and you alone, warmed you up.

“Come on now, lass. You just gonna leave ol’ Rem hangin’?”

Ah. So this is how he’s gonna be. Jack wants you, and he’s going to do it in true vampiric Remmick nature. He’s luring you in.

Realizing you’d better play the part, you close your eyes and get into character. You dropped your items and starting making your way to him.

“There she is… there’s my girl. I’ve missed you,” shaking his head slightly, still rocking in the chair. Your feet clicked against the concrete floor almost antagonizingly slow, your eyes never left his, and you felt your body heat up. Crossing onto the wood, the change of energy set the mood. There he was, still covered in that fake blood from earlier, dripping right over his face and down his neck. The lights of the set were all either off or dim, save for this one hanging overhead. Just enough to hit him like a spotlight.

“I’m sorry, Remmy. I didn’t mean to make you wait on me. Are you upset at me, baby?,” you spoke to him. You could watch as those words made every hair on him stand up, the gulp traveled down his throat, and his hand gripped the armrest. His foot started to shake a little. You put on those big puppy dog eyes your character has when she looks at her lover. Slowly, you stepped closer and closer to him, walking behind the chair and putting your hands on his shoulders. You leaned down to his neck, right beside his ear and said, “I’m here now, baby. Did you need somethin’?”

“I just missed you, darlin’. Missed your touch, your voice… your face. Lord, that face of yours,” he admired as a hand reach beside him and held your cheek. The tension you two had all lead up to this moment. You took your hand and ran it up his arm and over his that was placed on your face, locking your fingers into his. Taking your other hand off of his shoulder, you walked in front of him, and used your free hand to touch his face in return.

“You’ve made a mess, Rem. But you look just as handsome as always.”

“Nah, darlin’, this ain’t no mess. A mess is what you’ve made me into, and I think you know just how to clean it up.”

Did you? Did he want you to touch him? Fuck him? Be with him? This is all new to you, this role playing thing. Not to mention it being with a man you’ve admired for so long, and just hoped that one day you’d be able to have him this way. This was your chance to finally have what you wished for.

Your eyes left his, scanning down his body in that outfit that made you an unstable wreck, and stopped at his pants. Smirking, you nodded, and stood between his now open legs. He took his free hand and grabbed your waist, bringing you closer to him. His body was practically calling out to you, you could feel how badly he wanted you, and he could feel you the same way. You bit your lip, and got on your knees.

“Oh, Rem. You got this worked up over me? I can’t just let you suffer, can I, my love?”

He gulped hard, biting his lip and hardening his lock on you.

“Nah, I don’t think that’d be very kind of you.”

“I didn’t think it would.”

Your hand left his face, running down his neck, chest, then stomach, and finally ending at his suspenders and pants. Your fingers got to work fast on his buckles and buttons, as you wanted him more than you could imagine. You wanted to taste him. You were going to. That was certain between the two of you.

Pulling off his pants and underwear in one movement, they fell to his ankles. He was hard for you. Thinking about how you walked on the set each day, head held so high and you were so passionate about your work. So passionate about the project.. about your characters. About him, he wished.

You kissed his tip, making sure to keep that eye contact. A guttural moan left him and you felt your heart flutter with pride, excitement, and admiration for the man in front of you. Your right hand came down to wrap around him, moving it up slowly, taking in what you’re about to do to him. Stroking him for a few more moments, you grew impatient. You wanted the taste of him, and you wanted the feeling of having the man you’ve pined over for months in you finally. Leaning back down, you opened your mouth and ran your tongue down the length of his dick. Stopping at the top after a few times of going up and down, you sucked, letting your tongue roam around him. You hummed against him, the sensation making him let another low, sexy moan out. Your head began to bob up and down, and your cheeks hollowed out as you went as far as you could. Your eyes closed, humming as you sucked on him. You felt his hand trace your jaw and entangle itself into your hair, grabbing a loose fist full of it and guiding you.

Deciding it was enough, he used his grip on your hair to pull you off him, and got a good look at your face. Your eyes filled with lust met his eyes, matching the same level of desire that you had.

“Stand up, I want you to try somethin’ out for me,” he said, breath shaky, as he ran his hands up your costume dress, and pulled your underwear down, “good, now we’re even.”

He put a hand on your waist, guiding you down to his thigh, using his grip to rock you back and forth over it. You grabbed his shoulder with one hand, and the top of the chair with other, now guiding yourself across with his assistance still being used.

“Oh, yeah. You like that, huh? Grindin’ on my thigh all desperate like. ‘Cause that’s what you are, desperate, right?” That drawl invoked a loud and, like he said, desperate moan from you, right into his ear. The hand on his shoulder now gripped his hair, holding him closer to you.

“I saw you watching me from the sidelines. You wanted me so bad, now you’ve got me. This is what you wanted, right? You’ve made me a damn mess, girl.”

His façade as Remmick was now gone, and it was his pure intentions coming out of him. That accent change damn near made you release then and there, but you were too lost in the feeling of his warm thigh against your pussy as you took out your sexual yearning on it. His other hand ran between your body and his, rubbing your clit, and he took his fingers to his mouth. He made sure to get your eyes to look into his as he savored your arousal. The fake blood mixed into his mouth a little as he finally got a taste of the beauty before him.

“You couldn’t be the only one that got a little taste, huh, darling?”

That was enough to get you off, and you came hard onto him. His moans from seeing you getting yourself off to a part of him that wasn’t even sexual filled your ears as you moaned into his ear, wrapping your arms around his neck as you came down from your high. You stayed like this for a few minutes until you both calmed down. You raised up, running a hand over his chest before placing it around his heart.

“You’ve no idea how long I’ve wanted you. Not even just like this, you know? You’re special, you’re beautiful. Absolutely perfect. D’you want to go out sometime? Properly get to hang out?”

You smiled, nodding along with the idea.

“I’d love to. I hoped for so damn long that you felt that way, too, you handsome devil.”

“Handsome vampire, get it right.”

You giggled, leaning in to give him a kiss.

“Oh, and for future reference, just know that was hot as fuck.”

“Duly noted, love.”

[inseobts]

Busted! (Secret Relationship) 2.0

what if the two of you are in a secret relantionship and suddenly everyone start to realize something is going on?

gn!reader

characters: luffy, sabo, kid, shanks, bartolomeo

(zoro, sanji, law, koby, ace)

a/n: sorry about the barto one, I got out of ideas but needed a 5th character...

words count: around 0.8k - 1.5k each

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Luffy:

You sit at the far end of the Sunny’s deck, legs dangling over the side. The sea sparkles in the sun, and the wind plays with your hair. Luffy is across from you, lying on his back with his hat over his face.

You glance at him for the third time in one minute.

He lifts the hat just a bit “You’re staring again” he says with a grin.

“I’m not” you lie, too fast.

“You are.” Luffy sits up, stretching “Why?”

“Because you’re weird” you say, kicking the air with your feet.

Luffy laughs “That’s true! Can I kiss you?”

You smile, but quickly turn away when you hear footsteps. Sanji walks by with a tray of drinks. He looks at you, then at Luffy, then back at you. He squints.

“Something wrong with your face, Sanji?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

He frowns “No. Just… never mind. Dinner is almost ready.” He walks off.

You glance at Luffy. He’s watching you now.

“Do you think he knows?” you whisper.

Luffy shrugs “Maybe. But who cares?”

“I care! We said we’d keep this a secret, remember? You’re our captain, they will think I get favouritism or something.”

He pouts “I show favoritism to every single one of them. None of you even call me Captain… Who else in the world is a captain but isn’t even called ‘Captain’ by his own crew? Just me! And I really want to tell them.”

“We can’t” you say, standing up “Not yet. It’ll be weird. They’ll tease us forever.”

Luffy tilts his head “So?”

“So… I like it like this. Just us.”

He grins again and nods “Okay, okay. Just us. I like this too.”

But then Usopp yells from the other side of the ship, “Luffy! Why were you smiling like that? Did you eat something without me?!”

Luffy shouts back, “No! Mind your business for once!”

You giggle.

He looks at you, serious for a second “They’re gonna find out.”

“You’re a terrible liar but if we’re careful we can at least have some more time.” you say.

But even as you say it, you know its just a matter of days before Luffy will “accidentally” expose you.

“DINNER IS READY!”

Everyone is gathered around the table, plates stacked high with meat, rice, and bread. Sanji’s outdone himself again. Luffy is already three plates in, sauce all over his face and hands.

You’re chewing on a piece of pizza when a bit of sauce drips onto your chin.

Without even thinking, Luffy leans across the table with a napkin he just stole from Nami and wipes it away gently.

“Messy” he mumbles smiling at you, like it’s normal.

Everyone freezes.

Nami slowly lowers her fork. Zoro raises an eyebrow. Usopp’s mouth falls open.

Sanji blinks “What the hell was that?”

Luffy freezes like a statue, still holding the napkin mid-air.

You feel your soul leave your body.

“Are you two…” Nami starts, squinting hard, “…dating?”

Luffy sits up fast, and stay still like he’s got caught in the middle of stealing all the food.

Then he suddenly snaps “Absolutely fucking not! Why would you even think that?!”

Silence.

You blink.

Zoro tilts his head “You sure? ‘Cause that was some weird-ass behavior.”

“Yeah, dude,” Usopp adds “You never wipe anyone’s face. You don’t even wipe your own face.”

Nami who is still shocked “Did… did he just say absolutely fucking not?”

Luffy looks like a deer caught in a very obvious lie.

Your eye twitches.

You sigh, lean back in your chair, and say, “Yes… yes. We’re dating. That lie was so bad I can’t even pretend anymore.”

Nami chokes on her drink. Brook lets out a dramatic gasp. Chopper claps his hooves together.

All while you whisper “Stupid me, I even thought the worst scenario was you finding out in the next few days.”

Luffy looks at you, then back at them “Wait—so we’re telling them now?”

“No, you! You told them by being the worst liar I’ve ever seen.”

He scratches his head “Oops.”

“You literally said ‘absolutely fucking not’, not really in character from you, don't you think?”

He grins “I panicked…That made it more dramatic, right?”

Sanji stands up like he’s about to give a whole speech “When did this start? How long have you been hiding this from your family?”

You groan. Luffy laughs. Everyone starts shouting questions at once.

He leans over and nudges you with his elbow “Hey. At least it’s not a secret anymore. And they don't seem to mind it at all! You were so scared for nothing, look at them!”

You shove a piece of bread in his mouth “You owe me so many meat dinners.”

He just grins wider and keeps eating like nothing happened but with a grin that actually says everything happened.

── .✦ Sabo:

It’s quiet after dinner. The hum of HQ fades beneath the warm weight of Sabo’s arms around you. You’re curled up in his lap on the couch in his room, legs tangled, his coat draped over both of you like a blanket. He’s kissing you softly, lazily, like the world doesn’t need saving for just a few hours.

“You always smell like smoke” you whisper, nose brushing his.

Sabo chuckles, pressing another kiss to your cheek “And you smell like peace. So I guess we’re even.”

You smile, fingertips trailing the line of his jaw, just about to kiss him again when BANG. The door flies open.

Hack stands there. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open. Absolutely regretting everything.

“…Oh...” he says flatly.

You launch upright, nearly taking the coat with you.

“WAIT—!”

But Sabo, not missing a beat, still lazily cradling your waist, says in a perfectly deadpan voice “Close the door. We’re not done yet.”

Hack’s brain visibly short-circuits.

He backs out slowly like he’s seen the gates of hell.

“Yup. Nope. Didn’t see anything. I need bleach. Where’s the bleach.”

The door clicks shut.

Silence.

You collapse against Sabo, face buried in his chest.

He just laughs, fingers drawing gentle circles on your back.

“Hack’s probably going to meditate in a cold stream after this.”

The next morning Koala kicks open your cabin door “Rise and shine, lazyass—training starts in twen—”

She stops.

Empty bed. No note. No sign of life.

Her eye twitches.

Cut to: Sabo’s room. She barges in without knocking.

“What the hell, have you seen—oh my GOD!”

You’re in Sabo’s bed. In his shirt.

He’s sleepily spooning you, arm wrapped tight around your waist, chin nestled in your hair like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Koala freezes.

You freeze.

Sabo doesn’t move a muscle. Just groans, nuzzles into you, and pulls you back down under the covers.

“…So that’s why you’re both always smiling at morning drills” Koala mutters.

You peek over Sabo’s shoulder, hair a mess, whispering “Hack didn’t lock the door.”

Koala just turns on her heel “Unbelievable. I’m calling Dragon. You two need supervised training from now on.”

You’re both trying so hard to keep it a secret even now.

Swearing up and down: No more getting caught. No more accidental cuddling in public. No more open doors. NO MORE SPOONING IN SABO'S SHIRT WHILE KOALA SCREAMS.

And yet...

After a brutal training session, you’re the last two stragglers left on the field. The sun's setting, sweat gleaming on both of you, breath still heavy from sparring.

Sabo tosses his gloves aside, runs a hand through his messy, damp hair, and looks at you like you're made of starlight and rebellion.

He steps closer.

You’re flushed, smiling, practically glowing from the adrenaline.

He reaches out, fingers brushing your cheek.

"Nobody’s here," he murmurs, a little breathless “Just one kiss.”

You’re this close. This close. Lips nearly touching—BOOM.

Ivankov struts around the corner like they owns the damn place, fanning dramatically.

“OH honey, if you’re gonna get sweaty together, at least invite me to watch!”

You and Sabo JUMP apart like you’ve been electrocuted.

Sabo coughs violently and turns beet red while you trip over your own foot trying to act like you were doing literally anything else.

Ivankov is grinning like the cat who caught the canoodling lovebirds “You two are about as subtle as a sea king in a bathtub.”

Ivankov winks and keeps walking like nothing happened.

Sabo is frozen. You’re wheezing from secondhand embarrassment.

“…We suck at this.” you mutter.

Sabo just covers his face and groans, “I’m never going to hear the end of all this.”

By now, literally everyone has caught you and Sabo in some weirdly intimate moment, except for one man, Monkey D. Dragon. And that’s how the betting pool was born.

It started with Koala dropping 50 berries on “He finds them mid-make-out in the strategy room.”

Hack went in on “One of them slips up and calls the other ‘babe’ during a mission brief.”

Even Ivankov scribbled down “Sabo gets distracted by Y/N’s ass mid-battle. Dragon walks up behind him.”

There’s a whiteboard hidden in the break room with all their bets.

In all this you and Sabo are sitting on a bench overlooking the cliffside near HQ, pretending to "review maps". The sun is golden, the breeze is soft, and Sabo’s hand is definitely resting a little too high on your thigh for this to be strictly cartographic.

Sabo chuckles, tilting his head toward the training grounds “Koala’s been pointing at us through binoculars for the last ten minutes.”

You glance over and she waves. So does Ivankov, who is literally holding a notepad that says “DRAGON CATCHES THEM: THURSDAY AT 14:37”.

You groan, burying your face in Sabo’s shoulder “This is humiliating.”

He laughs, pressing a kiss to your hair “We could just tell him and so they'll stop.”

You both pause.

Then simultaneously say, “Nope.”

The next day, it’s supposed to be a standard mission call. Everyone’s focused, the mission is critical, and everything is tense.

Suddenly, in the middle of all the seriousness, something goes wrong. You’re trying to navigate a tricky situation on the field, and you have to quickly adjust your position, which means you shift out of the line of communication for a second.

Sabo watches, trying to get your attention, then blurts out, completely unintentionally “Careful, babe.”

The whole call goes silent. The Den Den Mushi crackles with static, and suddenly, everyone on the call freezes.

Dragon (deadpan, calm as ever) “...What did you just say, Sabo?”

You immediately go white and you whip around to look at Sabo with wide eyes, panic setting in. You can hear Ivankov’s voice in the background, already laughing.

You “SABO, ARE YOU DUMB?!”

Sabo turns a brilliant shade of red "I—I didn’t mean—"

Everyone on the call is absolutely losing it.

Koala, trying to hold back laughter “Oh my God. Did you—did you just call them babe?!”

Hack, in the most deadpan voice ever “I won, right? I absolutely won this bet.”

You’re trying to keep your cool, but you can’t. You can’t. You cover your face, groaning.

Dragon, ever the calm voice in the storm, but with a clear edge of irritation “Next time, keep the personal affections off the mission calls. You're lucky this wasn’t an urgent situation. We almost got compromised.”

You can feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You glance at Sabo, who looks like he’s about to combust.

You, exasperated “Sabo, f***, you made me get scolded! This is so embarrassing!”

Sabo, still trying to apologize “I—I didn’t mean it like that! It was just a slip—”

But the damage is already done.

Dragon, his voice slightly dry “We’ll talk about this later. Focus on the mission. And next time—be more professional.”

As the call ends, the atmosphere is tense. You and Sabo are left standing there, feeling like two complete idiots.

Later that day, the break room is chaos. Hack is smugly holding up his winnings from the betting pool. Koala is still laughing, and Ivankov is offering “support” by teasing Sabo non-stop.

You, on the other hand, are doing your best to avoid eye contact with everyone as Sabo sulks in the corner.

You, barely holding it together “I hate you right now. I really do.”

Sabo “I swear, I didn’t mean to. I’m so sorry.”

“You didn’t mean to, but you’re still an idiot.”

Sabo rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly “…I deserve that.”

── .✦ Kid:

You don’t really think much of it the first time.

A small, clumsily wrapped package left outside your room on the Victoria Punk. The paper’s crinkled like it was balled up five times before someone gave up and tied it with rough twine.

Inside a shiny little trinket you’d mentioned wanting in passing weeks ago.

You raise a brow but say nothing. Maybe someone’s just being nice.

Then it happens again. And again.

Each gift is messy but thoughtful, like someone’s trying to be sweet. A handmade weapon accessory here. Your favorite snacks there. One day, a scrawled note reads, “Don’t let anyone else have this. It’s for you only” not signed.

The crew notices. Of course they do.

Heat starts humming “Someone’s got a secret admirer~.”

Wire goes like “Who even knew you liked that kind of thing?”

Killer, raising a brow behind his mask “...It’s weirdly specific, though. Whoever it is knows you pretty well.”

You try to play it off, but the teasing doesn’t stop. It only gets louder. More obnoxious.

Kid, arms crossed, leaning against the railing “Tch. Who cares? Buncha idiots drooling over gifts like teenagers.”

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye.

He's unbothered. Disinterested. Completely unfazed.

That night, when the ship’s quiet and everyone’s turned in, you knock on his door. He opens it in a loose tank top and sleep-rumpled hair, eyes narrowing.

“What.”

You cross your arms “Are the gifts from you?”

He blinks “What?”

“The stuff. The notes. The snacks. You’re the only one who listens that closely.”

A flicker of something passes through his expression, too fast to catch. But then his scowl deepens.

“You think I’ve got time to play secret admirer with you? Hell no.”

You stare at him, caught off guard.

“…You’re serious?”

He scoffs and turns away “Go to sleep. You’re imagining things.”

He slams the door behind him. You’re left in the hall, heart twisting a little. Because he sounded so convincing.

But if it’s not him… Then who the hell is it?

After that night with Kid, you really do try to let it go. But the crew doesn’t.

You can't walk into the mess hall without someone raising an eyebrow or tossing a comment.

Wire leans back in his chair one morning, boots on the table, biting into an apple with a grin “Hey, Y/N, no new packages today? What a tragedy. Guess your mystery lover finally ran out of ideas.”

Heat chuckles, elbowing him “Or maybe they’re just planning something bigger. Like a grand confession. What do you think, huh? Gonna be roses next time?”

You, dryly “Right. I’ll expect fireworks off the port side.”

Killer, voice calm but laced with amusement from beneath the mask “Honestly, I’m more impressed by the consistency. Whoever it is, they’re either very devoted… or very stupid.”

Kid, across the room, is pretending not to hear, arms crossed, eyes on something that doesn't exist. His jaw’s clenched so tight, you can see it from here.

You catch his eye for a second but he looks away fastly.

The next morning, nothing shows up. Then the next. And the next.

You don’t say anything about it. Neither does Kid. But something’s different in the air now, like tension caught in a bottle, just waiting to explode.

One night, you’re lying tangled up together, the hum of the ship quiet around you. He’s half asleep, heavy arm slung across your waist, his hand lazily tracing circles on your skin.

Your head is on his chest, warm and steady.

“…I haven’t gotten any new gifts lately” you mumble, mostly to yourself.

He stiffens just slightly, but doesn’t say a word.

You chew on your lip “Think they found out about us? Maybe they backed off.”

Still nothing.

You lift your head and look at him “You ever think about who it might’ve been? Kinda funny, right? Maybe someone on the crew really had a thing for me.”

Still no response.

You grin a little “What if it was Killer? You think he’s the poetic type? Am I his type?”

Before you can say another word—whump.

A pillow slams into your face, hard enough to make you roll.

“HEY!” you shout, laughing “You absolute brat!”

Kid doesn’t even look guilty.

“You’re annoying” he mutters, but there’s a faint blush rising to his ears. He turns his head, scowling at the ceiling like it insulted him personally.

You smirk, poking him in the side “Ohh, someone’s touchy…”

“I’m throwing you off the bed.”

“You’re not strong enough.”

“Wanna bet?”

Weeks pass.

Everyone moves on. The secret admirer jokes fade. Kid goes back to normal, grumpy, snarky, yours. You figure that weird little mystery chapter is just done.

Until one day, you find a new gift.

Not one of its usual ones, no haphazard twine, no angry handwriting. This one’s clean, careful. Wrapped in deep red paper with a ribbon tied perfectly.

Inside: a carved charm. Elegant. Personal.

The note says “Couldn’t help myself. Thought you’d like this.”

Your heart actually skips a beat.

You march straight to the engine bay, holding it up like evidence. Kid’s elbow-deep in mechanical guts, oil smeared on his hands.

“Hey,” you call “Now... is this from you?”

He glances up, sees the box, and freezes “What the fuck is that?”

“A gift. Someone left it for me. Just now.”

The silence is nuclear.

Then his voice explodes “ARE YOU KIDDING ME?!”

He storms past you like a cannonball with legs, throwing open the engine bay doors and stomping onto the deck.

“ALRIGHT,” he bellows, voice booming across the ship, “WHOEVER THE HELL THINKS THEY CAN FLIRT WITH MY PARTNER—UGH COME SAY IT TO MY FACE!”

Everyone stops what they’re doing.

A wrench drops. Someone chokes on their food. Killer just sighs.

“YOU HEARD ME!” Kid’s pacing like a madman, hair wild, coat half falling off one shoulder “YOU THINK YOU CAN STEAL MY ONE WITH PRETTY RIBBONS?! Y/N IS MINE. MINE!”

You bury your face in your hands and whisper "Please stop, this is really embarassing."

Killer, calmly from the upper deck “Well. That answers that. We all knew the original gifts were from you, Eustass.”

Heat, grinning “Yeah, but I thought he’d last a little longer before breaking.”

Wire, yelling from the mess hall window “PAY UP! I SAID HE’D CRACK WHEN A REAL RIVAL SHOWED UP!”

You’re still standing in the middle of the storm, holding the new gift while your hot-headed boyfriend is screaming at the ocean.

You, deadpan “Great. Now the whole Grand Line knows.”

Kid, turning to you like you betrayed him “WHY WERE YOU SMILING AT IT?!

“Because I thought it was from you again!”

“WELL, IT WASN’T. AND NOW I’M GONNA MURDER WHOEVER THAT WAS.”

The deck is still vibrating from Kid’s volume. He’s stomping around like a territorial lion, red in the face and shouting murder oaths into the wind.

“COME ON! WHO WAS IT?! WHO THINKS THEY’VE GOT A CHANCE?! I’LL BREAK YOUR TEETH IN.”

You’re standing there, clutching the new gift, wondering if you’ll have to tackle him to keep the crew alive.

But then Killer steps forward, calm as ever “Kid.”

Nothing.

Killer raises his voice slightly “Kid!”

That gets through. Kid slows, turns, still wild-eyed “What?! You want me to let someone just—?!”

Killer sighs like he’s been dealing with this since the womb “That gift wasn’t from a rival. It was from us all.”

The entire crew falls silent.

You blink “Wait—what?”

Killer glances at you, then back to Kid, arms crossed “We knew the first gifts were from you. We’ve known for a while.”

Kid opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it again “You—WHAT?!”

Heat, leaning against the rail with a huge grin “C’mon. You thought we wouldn’t recognize your handwriting? You write like you’re trying to fight the paper.”

Wire, popping his head out from the doorway “And who else would wrap a gift in metal wire and call it ‘aesthetic’?"

Killer adds “We figured if we pushed you enough, you’d confess eventually. That final gift was just the nudge.”

Kid stares at them like they’ve grown two heads “So it was a trap?!”

Killer, with a shrug “It worked.”

Then Killer turns to you “What we didn’t know was that you two were already together.”

There’s a ripple of surprise through the crew.

Wire nods “Yeah! Let's go back to that because... like... what?”

Heat nods even more dramatically “Yeah! Since when?!”

You, dryly “A few months before the first gift showed up.”

Kid’s jaw tightens like he regrets every decision leading to this moment.

“You guys are the worst” he growls.

Heat, wheezing “We’re the worst?! You’ve been sneaking around and flirting through weapon mods!”

Wire, laughing “AND YOU STILL DENIED IT TO Y/N’S FACE?!”

Kid lets out a sound somewhere between a growl and a scream and turns to you like you’re his last hope of escaping humiliation.

You just grin at him “C’mon, Captain. Let’s go before you combust.”

He’s still grumbling when you tug his arm and drag him below deck, muttering curses under his breath the whole way.

── .✦ Shanks:

The sea is quiet tonight.

The crew laughs near the campfire, their voices loud under the stars. You sit a little away from them, pretending to look at the moon. But really, you’re waiting. Waiting for him.

A warm hand touches your shoulder from behind.

“Miss me?” Shanks whispers, his voice soft like a wave brushing the shore.

You smile without turning “You’re late.”

“I had to talk to Benn. Captain stuff,” he says. Then he leans in close “But I’ve been thinking of you the whole time.”

You giggle, quiet “Liar.”

“I’m a pirate. What did you expect?”

Finally, you turn to him. Shanks is smiling that lazy smile you know too well. His red hair glows under the moonlight. His eyes? All on you.

“Don't look at me like that, someone might see it” you whisper, looking at the crew.

“They won’t,” he says “They’re drunk, loud, and too busy telling stories.”

You glance again. He’s right. No one is looking.

So you let him pull you behind the palm trees. The sand is warm under your feet, and the wind carries the scent of salt and firewood. He sits down and opens his arms.

“Come here.”

You crawl into his lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world. He wraps his one arm around your waist, holding you close.

“I missed you today” you say.

“I missed you too” he says. Then he kisses the top of your head “You know what keeps me going?”

“What?”

“This. Just this.”

You press your face into his chest “You’re soft for a pirate.”

He laughs, his chest shaking “Only with you.”

The night is quiet now. Just the waves and the sound of his heartbeat.

He whispers, “One day, when this secret doesn’t have to be a secret anymore… I’ll hold your hand in front of everyone. I’ll kiss you right on the deck.”

You look up at him “Promise?”

“I swear on the one piece.”

You laugh again, and he kisses your nose “That’s a big promise” you say.

“I never break my promises” he says.

And in that moment, under the stars and hidden from the world, you believe him.

It’s late now. The fire has burned low. The crew is asleep, scattered in hammocks or on the beach.

But you’re wide awake.

You stare at the door of his cabin. You know it’s risky. But your heart pulls you there anyway.

You knock once, soft.

The door opens almost instantly. He’s there, sleepy eyes and messy hair. Shirt half buttoned.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks with a small smile.

You shake your head “Can I… stay?”

He doesn’t answer with words. Just steps aside, lets you in, and closes the door behind you.

His room smells like sea salt, old paper, and something that’s just him. It’s small but warm. The bed takes up most of the space.

“You sure you want to risk it?” he teases, pulling the blankets back.

You nod, already crawling in “You’re warm. That’s worth the risk.”

He chuckles, switching off the lantern “Come here then.”

The bed creaks as he joins you. You curl into his chest. His arm wraps around you tightly, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish.

You whisper into the dark, “I love when it’s just us.”

“I know,” he says, resting his chin on your head “Me too.”

Silence for a moment. Just your breaths, your hearts. Together.

Then he says, quietly, “I always sleep better when you’re here.”

You grin, even though he can’t see it.

“You snore” you whisper.

“Lies.”

“Loudly.”

He laughs, low and soft “I’m a captain. I’m allowed.”

You snuggle closer, legs tangled, warmth everywhere. His hand finds yours under the blanket. Fingers laced, easy and natural.

“Stay every night,” he says, voice almost a mumble now “Even if they find out. Even if it’s chaos. I don’t care anymore.”

“You’ll care when Benn gives you that look” you say.

“I’ll survive it,” he says “I won’t survive not having you.”

You go quiet at that. Because sometimes, he says things that hit your heart like a wave.

“I won’t survive not having you either” you whisper.

He kisses your forehead. Gentle. Safe. Real.

In the morning, the sunlight slips through the cracks in the window, painting golden stripes across the bed.

You stretch, warm and safe, still tucked under Shanks’ arm. He’s already awake, watching you with sleepy eyes and a soft smile.

“Morning” he whispers, brushing hair from your face.

“Morning” you mumble back, voice still scratchy from sleep.

He leans down and kisses your cheek “You drooled a little.”

“Liar.”

“You did.”

You groan, roll over, and bury your face in his pillow “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t.”

You don’t.

But you’re very late.

You were supposed to help Lucky Roux in the kitchen twenty minutes ago. But after all the cuddling and stealing kisses between brushing your teeth and Shanks being distracting (on purpose), you throw on the nearest shirt and rush out the door.

The morning air hits your face. The crew is already up, busy with chores, chatting, moving crates, laughing.

You walk fast, head down, trying not to look guilty. But then someone says behind you, “Hey…”

You freeze.

It’s Yasopp.

He squints, then tilts his head “That shirt looks kinda familiar…”

You look down. Big, red, half-buttoned pirate shirt. Smells faintly like rum and sea and... you.

It’s his shirt.

You force a smile “Oh, really? I, um… I just bought this yesterday in town! Crazy, right?”

Yasopp blinks “It’s just... Shanks has one just like that.”

You laugh. Too loud “That’s so funny! What a coincidence!”

He raises an eyebrow “Uh-huh.”

You start walking again “Okay, bye! Gotta go stir the stew!”

You practically run to the kitchen, slam the door behind you, and press your back to it, heart racing.

Lucky Roux looks up from chopping onions “You okay?”

“Fine! Everything’s fine! Great! Love onions!”

You spend the next hour hiding in the kitchen, trying to look very busy.

You’re scrubbing a spoon like it just insulted your whole family when you hear footsteps outside.

Then, his voice.

“Mmh…”

It’s Shanks.

You freeze.

“I swear I left it here somewhere…” he mumbles, mostly to himself.

Lucky Roux looks up “Captain?”

Shanks scratches his head “My red shirt. The one with the loose buttons? I wanted to wash it but… maybe I already did? Or someone moved it?”

You choke on air.

Lucky Roux’s eyes widen.

You slowly turn, still holding the spoon, sweat forming on your back.

Yasopp walks in right then, and Lucky Roux points at you silently.

Yasopp follows the finger… sees the very red shirt you’re wearing… and his jaw drops.

“Oh… my… GOD.”

You raise your hands like you’re being arrested “I can explain—”

“No no no no, don’t you dare,” Yasopp says, pointing now “This is amazing. Since when?!”

Shanks, confused, looks between you and them “Wait… what’s happening?”

Your face burns “Shanks. This is your shirt.”

He blinks.

Looks at you.

Then at the shirt.

Then back.

“Oh.”

The silence lasts about two seconds.

Then the entire kitchen explodes.

“What the hell?!”

“You two?!”

“I KNEW IT!”

Lucky Roux claps like he just saw a proposal “This is the best day of my life.”

You groan and hide behind a cabinet door.

Shanks laughs, holding up his hands “Okay, okay, okay, you got us.”

Yasopp shouts, “Since when?”

Shanks grins and leans casually against the table “Mmh… A while. Since that one stop in Lougetown.”

“That was months ago!” someone yells.

You peek out, blushing “We were being careful!”

“You wore his shirt” Yasopp deadpans.

Shanks throws an arm around your shoulder “Guess we don’t have to be careful anymore.”

The crew starts chanting something dumb like “KISS KISS KISS!” and you groan again, but Shanks just laughs and plants a quick kiss on your temple, bold and smug.

“Oh you're actually loving all this” you whisper.

“A lot” he whispers back.

── .✦ Bartolomeo:

You didn’t mean to fall for Bartolomeo.

It kind of… just happened.

Between the screaming, the fangirling, the way he glared at anyone who looked at you too long. But somewhere between the nonsense, you found something real.

He loves big. Loud. Unfiltered. But when no one’s watching? He loves so quietly, you can barely believe it’s the same guy.

Right now, you're hiding in the hallway of the ship, tucked behind a stack of crates. Bartolomeo is sitting cross-legged, handing you a rice ball.

“I made it for you!” he says, puffing out his chest “I watched a tutorial. It’s heart-shaped!”

You look down. It’s… more like a lumpy circle, but you smile anyway.

“It’s perfect” you say.

His face turns red “Y/n…” He sways a little, hand over his heart “You’re too kind… I’m gonna DIE!”

You laugh and take a bite.

“Don’t die. You still owe me cuddles tonight.”

“RIGHT. YES. I shall live for the cuddles.”

The secret has stayed safe. So far.

Except today, you dock on an island with a bunch of rowdy pirates who definitely pick a fight before lunch.

You’re in the middle of battle, blocking with a staff, when one pirate gets too close and knocks you to the ground.

You’re fine. A little scratched. But Bartolomeo sees it happen. And then it happens.

He turns.

He screams.

“THAT’S MY BABYYYYYYYYY—!”

Everyone stops.

Even the wind pauses.

You slowly get up. Face blank.

He freezes.

His hand is mid-air, about to use his barrier powers. His eyes wide.

“…Did I just say that out loud?” he whispers.

The entire crew is staring.

Someone goes, “Wait. Your baby???”

You try to speak “Uh—he means—”

“I MEAN WHAT I SAID,” Bartolomeo yells again, fully panicking now “Y/N IS MY BABY. MY LOVE. MY SWEET CHERRY BLOSSOM—”

“BARTO,” you hiss “Stop confessing in front of everyone!”

Too late.

He throws his hands up and suddenly there’s a giant heart-shaped barrier around you two. Sparkly. Pink. Absolutely not subtle.

He turns to you “At least we’re alone now.”

You facepalm “There’s a window, Barto.”

You hear cheering from outside.

“THEY’RE DATINGGGGG!”

“PAY UP, I TOLD YOU THEY WERE!”

“DOES LUFFY KNOW?!”

You sigh.

Bartolomeo wraps you in his arms, completely unbothered now “So… secret’s out.”

You look up at him “What gave it away? The screaming or the love bubble prison?”

“…Both?”

You can’t help it. You laugh. He kisses your forehead.

“I love you” he says.

“I love you too” you whisper, even if the entire world hears it now.

After that no one seems to actually care about the two of you.

Weeks later you and Bartolomeo are docked on a chill island when you run into the last people you expected: the Straw Hat Pirates.

Luffy spots you both instantly.

“YO, BARTO!!” he shouts, waving like a madman.

Bartolomeo screams, throws himself to the ground, and starts sobbing with joy.

“LUFFY-SENPAI! I WOULD DIE FOR YOU! THANK YOU FOR BREATHING IN MY DIRECTION!!”

You’re behind him like “Okay, this is fine.”

You greet the rest of the crew like normal. Everyone’s smiling, happy to see you, no one suspects a thing.

You and Bartolomeo agreed before getting there: keep it private. You didn’t want anyone or worse, Luffy finding out. Bartolomeo is just way better when it's just the two of you.

That night, it happens.

“GAME NIGHT!” Usopp shouts “Winner gets free food!”

The crew splits into teams. You get pulled into a round of a random game and of course you end up against Luffy.

Everyone’s crowded around. People are yelling. Sanji’s handing out drinks. Robin and Nami are judging.

Luffy’s up first.

He draws a card and starts flapping his arms.

“Bird!” “Chicken!” “Flying fish!” “Zoro waking up late!”

He gets it.

Then it’s your turn.

You pull your card and immediately drop to the ground, trying to act out a seal (It’s harder than it looks).

People are guessing like crazy.

"Penguin!" "Sea cow?"

Luffy squints.

Bartolomeo, sitting quietly in the back with popcorn, clutches his cup.

He stares at you with so much intensity, it’s insane.

And then it happens... again.

You clap your hands and bounce a little, still acting out the seal.

He jumps to his feet.

“YES BABY! GO! DESTROY HIM!! YOU GOT THIS, MY LITTLE WAR MACHINE!!”

Silence.

Everyone stares.

You freeze mid-flap.

Luffy slowly turns “Wait… Baby?”

Zoro raises an eyebrow “Little war what?”

Nami drops her drink.

Chopper gasps so hard he hiccups.

Sanji says “Wait a damn minute...”

Bartolomeo realizes too late. Hands fly to his mouth.

You’re still stuck in seal position, blinking.

Robin, smiling softly “Well… that explains the way he looks at you.”

You turn to look at him, mad “Do you even try??”

Usopp yells, “YOU TWO?! YOU’VE BEEN DATING THIS WHOLE TIME?!”

Bartolomeo’s face is red as a tomato “I… I didn’t mean to! y/n was just so cute pretending to be a seal...”

You slap your forehead.

Luffy, wide-eyed, just goes, “Whoa. You’re dating my number one fan. That’s crazy. He even choose to cheer for you.”

You sigh “Yeah. It is.”

And then he bursts out laughing “THAT’S SO COOL!”

The whole crew joins in, laughing, teasing, clapping Bartolomeo on the back. He’s half-proud, half-mortified, but he doesn’t stop smiling all night.

Later, when the chaos dies down, he wraps an arm around your waist and whispers, “Sorry, babe.”

You smirk “For cheering too loud?”

“For waiting this long to yell about how amazing you are.”

You roll your eyes “I liked the ‘my little war machine’ part.”

He gasps “Really?! I was just improvising!”

“Never do that again.”

“Okay but also… you were winning.”

[sludgewolf]

How they nap with you - Invincible cast

Characters: Mark Grayson, Samanta Eve, Rex Splode, Shrinking Rae, William Clockwell, Powerplex, Mohawk Mark, Sinister Mark x reader (separately) Masterlist Invincible Masterlist Disclaimer: do not copy, repost, take or feed to AI or NFTs anything I post

Mark Grayson / Invincible

Mark mostly sleeps on his back with arm holding you close

Recently he started having more restless sleep, moving around a lot, doing small jerky movements with his arms, kicking in his sleep

and even having nightmares that wake him up in the middle of the night searching for you

Can't seem to sleep well unless you're by his side

you feel guilty for even getting up to go to the bathroom in the middle of the night just to come back to a sad Mark sitting on your bed waiting for you to return

Samanta Eve / Atom Eve

Due to her powers Eve isn't one that likes to have loads of blankets or pillows as she sleeps

her body is like a mini star from how hot she usually runs

so her preferred sleep position is far from romantic, which is butt to butt

just enough contact to assure each other that you're there but no grabbing unless you want to wake up as if you just ran a marathon

and you also run the risk of her snoring from sleeping in a weird angle

nothing really bad, but if you're awake you might hear it

Rex Splode

Now Rex may've had gone through some major personal growth since his very close brush with death,

but sleeping Rex didn't

sleeps like a starfish smack in the middle of the bed no matter what you do

if you do choose to share a bed tho he will sleep on top of you, arms spread and snoring loud

in the off chance you can wake him back up Rex will practically jump off you apologizing profusely, promising to not do that again

but no matter what, in the morning you still wake up in the same position

and no matter how big the bed is, Rex will still seek you out in his sleep to crush you with his body

Rachel / Shrinking Rae

Rae enjoys sleeping on her side, blankets only over her waist holding you close

She doesn't snore nor move much from that position, once she's asleep she's out

one of the best napping partners tbh

though you do need to get used to her shoving her face in your chest as she sleeps

William Clockwell

William is a true sweetheart, always considerate but brutally honest when needed

that's not him when sleeping

When asleep will is so selfish and he doesn't even realize

he has the horrible habit of hogging all the blankets, leaving you to freeze in your cold dorm room

just to later on kick them all off the bed

once he gets cold again he smushes you against the wall, spooning you like a koala

he just isn't the worst bed mate because his hugs are the best there are

Scott Duvall / Powerplex

Scott used to be an angel in his sleep, didn't move much, no snoring, knew how to share blankets

but since his sister and niece tragic passing it all changed

now Scott is restless, he moves a lot during his sleep, sometimes even waking you up with it

he also sleep talks, which is kinda funny when you can hold a whole conversation with him but not so much when you absolutely need to sleep

Not to mention his frequent nightmares that wake him up in tears, always repeating that day as if torturing him in his sleep

For both of you to have a proper night of sleep you need to hold him still with a death grip to help him calm down

and also to prevent him from accidentally slapping or zapping you

Mohawk Mark

Pushes you off the bed as soon as your guard is down and laughs at your surprised yelp of pain

if anyone even thinks of doing anything similar to you he'll rip their arms off and torture them until they die the slowest most agonizing death he can think of

Sinister Mark

don't

[st4rpiece]

needing space after an argument pt. 2

SFW

characters: luffy, zoro, usopp, sanji x reader summary: they earn your forgiveness CW: groveling, making up, fluff, and over 600 words each

pt. 1 | pt. 2

────────────────────₊˚.༄

Monkey D. Luffy

Luffy wasn’t himself. It was the first thing everyone noticed after you left the ship. His laughter, usually loud and contagious, was quieter, forced. Mealtimes felt emptier, and the energy on the Sunny had shifted. He tried to act like nothing was wrong, but even the crew could see the shadow of regret lingering in his eyes.  

But now, here he was, standing in front of you in the quiet port town where you’d taken refuge after leaving the crew. His usual confidence was gone, replaced by a desperate determination.  

“I’m sorry,” he said for what must have been the tenth time. His voice was raw, almost breaking. “I didn’t mean it. I shouldn’t have told you to leave. I was stupid.”  

You stood with your arms crossed, your expression guarded. Seeing Luffy like this—so uncharacteristically vulnerable—caught you off guard, but the sting of his words still lingered, fresh and sharp.  

“Luffy, you can’t just say whatever you want when you’re mad and expect everything to go back to normal,” you said, your voice steady but tinged with exhaustion. “You told me to leave. So I did.”  

“I didn’t mean it,” he repeated, stepping closer but stopping just short of touching you. “I was mad and didn’t think. I... I need you on the ship. Not just because I want you there, but because you’re part of the crew. You’re important to us all and i shouldn’t have made you feel otherwise.”  

You searched his face, his big, earnest eyes pleading with you. You could see the regret there, the weight of his mistake hanging heavy on his shoulders. For a moment, your resolve wavered, but you quickly shook your head.  

“I can’t just come back because you say you’re sorry, Luffy. What happens the next time we fight? Are you going to tell me to leave again?”  

“No!” he blurted out, shaking his head vehemently. “No, I swear. I’ll never say anything like that again.”  

You frowned, unsure what to make of his declaration. “Luffy, words aren’t enough.”  

He nodded, his straw hat shadowing his eyes for a moment before he looked up at you with renewed determination. “Then I’ll show you. Whatever it takes.”  

True to his word, Luffy didn’t give up. He didn’t force you to return to the ship, but he didn’t leave the island either. Every day, he showed up—whether it was to bring you a freshly caught fish for dinner, fix something around the small inn you were staying at, or simply sit outside and wait in silence. He didn’t push, didn’t demand, but his presence was constant.  

When the ship needed supplies, he was the first to volunteer, taking on tasks he’d usually leave to someone else. The crew later told you how he’d started taking more responsibility, trying to step up as a better leader.  

Even when you didn’t speak to him, he never faltered. Every action, every small gesture, was his way of showing you how much he regretted his words.  

One evening, you found Luffy sitting on the dock, staring out at the ocean with his straw hat resting in his lap. He looked smaller somehow, as though the weight of his regret had worn him down.  

When he noticed you approaching, he stood up immediately, his expression shifting from surprise to cautious hope.  

“Why do you keep doing this?” you asked, crossing your arms.  

“Because I was wrong,” he said without hesitation. “Because I hurt you, and I have to make it right. Even if you never come back, I’ll keep trying. I don’t care how long it takes.”  

His sincerity stopped you in your tracks. He wasn’t making excuses, wasn’t brushing over your feelings like they didn’t matter. He had made changes—small ones, but noticeable—and for the first time, you truly believed he understood the gravity of what he’d done.  

You sighed, letting the silence linger before speaking. “Luffy... I’ll come back.”  

His eyes lit up with hope, his lips parting as though he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.  

“But,” you continued, holding up a finger, “this only works if things stay different. I’m not going back just to deal with the same problems again. I need to know you’re taking this seriously.”  

“I swear!” he said immediately, his voice brimming with determination. “I swear that things will be different. A good different. No more reckless fights for selfish reasons or saying things I don’t mean, I promise.”  

You studied him for a long moment, the sincerity and determination in his eyes unmistakable. Finally, you allowed a small smile to tug at the corners of your lips. “Alright, Lu.”  

Relief washed over his face as he heard the familiar nickname, and for the first time in weeks, you saw his grin return, bright and full of life.  

"I missed you so much, baby," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion and certainty, as he wrapped his arms around you.

The comforting warmth of his embrace, felt like home—safe, secure, and exactly where you wanted to be.

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro wasn’t one to grovel. Stubborn and prideful as he was, apologies didn’t come easy for him. But as he sat alone on the Sunny’s deck, replaying his words from the fight, regret gnawed at him like a dull blade.  

The memory of your face—shocked, hurt, and then resigned—kept flashing in his mind. He hadn’t just lashed out; he’d cut deep. You were trying to help, and he’d thrown it back at you, calling you controlling and annoying when you didn’t deserve it.  

He groaned, pressing his palms against his face. He hated how small he felt for failing to show up to the dates you’d so carefully planned, how your suggestion—simple and kind—had poked at an insecurity he didn’t want to face. And now, because of his pride, he’d pushed you away.  

For days, you’d been distant, giving him space, but that only made the guilt worse. He needed to fix this.  

You were sitting on a quiet hillside overlooking the ocean when Zoro found you. The breeze tugged at your clothes, and you looked peaceful—too peaceful, considering how much turmoil you’d left him in.  

“Hey,” he called softly, his voice unusually hesitant.  

You glanced at him, surprised to see the normally stoic swordsman looking... sheepish. He stood awkwardly a few feet away, his hand rubbing the back of his neck.  

“What is it, Zoro?” you asked, your tone calm but distant.  

He swallowed hard, his fingers twitching at his sides before he took a step closer. “I wanted to apologize.”  

That caught your attention. Your brows lifted in mild surprise, but you said nothing, waiting for him to continue.  

“I shouldn’t have snapped at you,” he said, his voice low and gruff, but steady. “You weren’t being controlling or annoying. You were just... trying to help.” He exhaled heavily as if forcing the words out of himself. “And I was an idiot.”  

You blinked, his sincerity throwing you off guard. “Zoro—”  

“Let me finish, please,” he interrupted, his eyes meeting yours for the first time. There was something raw in his gaze—an uncharacteristic vulnerability. “I’ve been thinking about it, and... I hate that I’m always late. I hate knowing you’re waiting for me while I’m stuck wandering around like an idiot who can’t follow a simple route. It’s embarrassing.”  

Your expression softened, but you stayed quiet, letting him speak.  

“When you suggested we go together, I know it wasn’t because you thought I was useless,” he continued, his voice tightening. “But that’s how it made me feel. Like I wasn’t good enough to get it right on my own. And instead of dealing with that, I took it out on you. I shouldn’t have done that.”  

He took a deep breath, his shoulders relaxing slightly. “But I don’t think you’re controlling or annoying. You’re the most patient and understanding person for putting up with me. So you deserve better and I want to be that.”  

The sincerity in his voice was almost overwhelming, and for a moment, you weren’t sure how to respond. He wasn’t just saying the words—he meant them.  

“I know I can’t just say sorry and expect everything to go back to normal,” he added, glancing away briefly before meeting your gaze again. “So, please baby just… give me a chance to make it right.”  

Your lips parted in surprise. Zoro wasn’t the type to take the initiative when it came to things like this, but the determination in his eyes was unmistakable.  

After a long pause, you let out a soft sigh, a small smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “One last chance.”  

He nodded, relief flashing across his face, but there was also a quiet resolve in his expression. This wasn’t just a promise—it was a vow.  

The next time you guys went on a date, Zoro was ready. He showed up early, finally getting the chance to wait on you. He led you to a quiet clearing overlooking the sea, a picnic already set up with food he’d personally asked Sanji to help him prepare.  

The effort was clear in every little detail, from the way he chose the spot (easily accessible, no chance to get lost) to the careful decorations and crafts you mentioned liking/wanting to try. Showing that despite his stoic nature, he was listening to you during previous dates. Even now as you spoke, he would chime in at just the right moments.  

It wasn’t perfect—he stumbled over a few of his words and complained when a seagull tried to swipe the food—but it was Zoro, trying in his own way. And that meant everything.  

By the time the date ended, you leaned back on the blanket, gazing up at the stars, feeling closer to him than ever before. When he reached for your hand, you let him, squeezing it gently.  

Zoro glanced down at your intertwined fingers, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. His gaze softened, and he took a deep breath before speaking. “I know you agreed to give me another chance, but I need to know if you’re still interested in giving me that chance.”

Your heart softened at the rare vulnerability in his voice. You turned to meet his eyes, and they were steady, full of quiet determination.  

A soft smile tugged at your lips, and you leaned into him as the waves crashed gently in the distance. For a man of few words, Zoro was surprisingly good at them.

“Well,” you began, tilting your head with a teasing glint in your eye, “that depends. Are you going to keep being so dramatic about it?” You bit back a laugh as you watched the tips of his ears turn red, his expression shifting into a familiar scowl.

“Tch, not being dramatic,” he grumbled, looking away, but the redness in his ears betrayed him.

You chuckled softly and squeezed his hand, drawing his attention back to you. “I was being serious about giving you that second chance,” you said warmly. His shoulders relaxed slightly, and the tension in his jaw eased.

“But,” you continued, your tone more firm, “next time something like this happens, promise that you’ll communicate it properly. Okay? No more bottling things up.”

Zoro stared at you for a moment, his expression unreadable, before nodding once. “You have my word.” His voice was low but steady, carrying the weight of his promise.

“Good.” You smiled, squeezing his hand again as a soft breeze brushed past, carrying with it the sound of the waves.

God Usopp

The day had been quiet, almost too quiet, and the silence weighed heavy between you and Usopp. Since your argument, things haven’t been the same. You still spoke, but the words felt hollow, and the laughter you once shared now seemed distant and forced. He noticed it all—the way your smile never quite reached your eyes, the strain in your voice when you tried to act like nothing was wrong.  

And it tore him apart.  

Usopp sat on the deck after dinner, absentmindedly fiddling with a half-finished invention. His fingers moved on instinct, but his thoughts were stuck on your last conversation. He hated himself for the way he’d lashed out, for the way he’d let his insecurities push you away.  

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sea in shades of orange and pink, he made up his mind. He couldn’t let this fester any longer.  

When you stepped onto the deck for some air, Usopp hesitated, watching you from a distance. Finally, he stood, his hands clenching at his sides as he approached you.  

“Hey,” he called softly.  

You turned, surprised to see him. “Oh, hey.” Your voice was casual, but your guarded expression told him you were bracing for something.  

“Can we talk?” he asked, his tone uncharacteristically serious.  

You nodded, following him to a quieter spot on the ship where the others couldn’t overhear. The soft sound of the waves filled the silence as Usopp struggled to find the right words.  

“I’ve been... thinking,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “About what I said. About the fight.” He looked down, unable to meet your gaze. Your brows furrowed, but you stayed quiet, giving him the space to explain.

“I know you don’t see me as weak,” he continued, his voice growing tight. “But hearing you scream for him... it made me feel useless.” He exhaled sharply, his hand tightening around the railing. “And I hate feeling like that. I know I’m not like Luffy, Zoro, or Sanji. I’m not the guy who can punch through walls or take down ten enemies at once, but... I at least want to be someone you can count on. Someone you can feel protected with.”

He paused, his words faltering slightly. “But instead of talking to you about it, I projected my insecurities onto you, and made it seem like you were wrong for asking our friends for help. For that, I’m sorry.”

The vulnerability in his words hit you hard, and guilt pooled in your chest. “Baby...” you started, your voice soft. “I’m sorry, too. I never meant to make you feel that way.” You stepped closer, resting a hand on his arm. “But you are someone I can count on. Someone who’s saved my ass more times than I can count. Your strength may not look like theirs, but it’s just as important.”

He finally looked at you, his eyes wide, searching for any trace of doubt. “You... you really mean that?”

“Heck yeah, I do,” you said without hesitation. “I trust you, Usopp. I always have.”

A small, hesitant smile tugged at his lips, and he let out a shaky breath, relief flooding through him. “Thanks... I needed to hear that," he murmured, his voice thick with emotion.

After a moment, he straightened and rubbed the back of his head, suddenly looking sheepish. “Actually, uh, there’s something I’ve been working on. For you. I wanted to make something that could help you in a fight.”  

Your brows lifted in surprise. “Really? What is it?”  

Grinning now, Usopp reached into his bag and pulled out a small, compact gadget. “It’s not finished yet, but it’s kind of like a smoke bomb, but better. It creates a flash of light to blind enemies and a smoke screen to cover your escape. I thought... you know, it might come in handy.”  

You took the gadget from him, turning it over in your hands. “Usopp, this is amazing.”  

“Yeah, well,” he said, scratching his cheek, his grin turning bashful. “I wanted to make sure you had another thing to keep you safe. In case no one else is around.”  

You smiled, warmth blooming in your chest. “Thank you, Usopp. I mean it.”  

He relaxed then, the tension between you finally melting away. “I’ll finish it soon,” he promised, his confidence returning. “And who knows? Maybe I’ll come up with even more stuff for you with full bragging rights.”  

"Thanks, now I can let everyone know just how my amazing boyfriend is," you laughed—genuinely this time—and Usopp’s chest swelled with pride. He knew he still had work to do, but for now, the weight of your fight had lifted, and the bond between you felt stronger than ever.  

Vinesmoke Sanji

Sanji stood alone on the deck, the moonlight casting a silver glow over his slumped figure. He leaned against the railing, a cigarette burning low between his fingers, though he hadn’t taken a drag in minutes. His mind replayed every moment of your relationship—the laughter, the stolen glances, the warmth of your touch. And then, inevitably, it would circle back to the breakup.  

He’d failed you. The person who mattered more to him than anyone else in the world. His actions—so thoughtless, so wrapped in habit—had made you feel second to strangers. The realization haunted him, clawing at his chest.  

Sanji thought of groveling, of falling to his knees and begging you to take him back, but he knew you too well. That would only push you further away. You were someone who needed actions, not words, and he knew his words had already failed you. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to give up. You were his person, his muse, his everything. How could he possibly accept a life without you in it?  

So he did the only thing he could. He began to show you through his actions.  

The change was immediate. The next time the ship docked at an island, Sanji didn’t so much as glance at the women who usually flocked to him. When they batted their lashes and called out for his attention, he brushed them off politely and kept his focus on his task. His compliments, once scattered freely to strangers, were now reserved only for you. Even when you ignored him, his words never wavered—soft, sincere, and meant only for you.  

In battle, Sanji was more relentless than ever. But his priority was always your safety, stepping in before danger could reach you, even if it meant taking a hit himself. When the crew sat down for meals, he made sure your favorite dishes were prepared just the way you liked them, his eyes flicking to your face to see if you’d noticed.  

And when he thought you weren’t looking, he’d linger nearby, silently watching you. There was a sadness in his gaze as he admired the person he’d once had the privilege of holding close. You saw him sometimes, hovering at a distance, and though you tried to ignore it, part of you couldn’t deny the pang in your chest. You still had feelings for him—of course you did. But you couldn’t settle for someone who had once made you doubt your place in their life.  

Weeks passed, and Sanji’s quiet devotion didn’t falter. Even now as he stood near the railing, waiting for you, his hands slightly trembling. He had spent all day preparing for this moment, and now the weight of his plan felt heavier than ever.  

When you finally stepped out onto the deck, he straightened immediately, smoothing his suit jacket with nervous fingers. "Hey," he called softly, his voice careful, like he was afraid of scaring you off.  

"Hey," you replied, your tone hesitant but curious. He’d been walking on eggshells around you for weeks, and now this—an invitation for "something special" without much detail. Against your better judgment, you’d said yes, curiosity getting the better of you.  

He smiled faintly, stepping toward you. "I, uh, thought we could spend the evening together. Just... talk."  

You raised a brow. "Talk?"  

He nodded, motioning for you to follow him. "Come on. I’ve got something to show you."  

Despite the uncertainty in your chest, you followed him across the deck, and your eyes widened when he led you to a corner of the ship bathed in soft, golden light from lanterns he had strung up. A blanket was spread out neatly on the deck, adorned with a small basket, plates of your favorite snacks, and a bottle of your favorite drink.  

"Sanji..." you murmured, taken aback.  

"I know it’s not much," he said quickly, scratching the back of his neck. "But I wanted to do something for you. Something simple. Something that doesn’t involve me screwing it up."  

You blinked, your hesitation softening slightly at his earnestness. "You didn’t have to go through all this trouble."  

"I did," he countered, his voice firm but warm. "I needed to."  

He gestured for you to sit, and after a moment’s pause, you did, settling down on the blanket. Sanji sat across from you, his hands fidgeting in his lap.  

For a moment, neither of you spoke, the quiet hum of the ship filling the space between you. Finally, Sanji took a deep breath and looked at you, his expression more serious than you’d seen in a long time.  

"My love," he began, "I’ve been doing a lot of thinking since... since we broke up. And I just... I need you to know how sorry I am."  

You looked away, unsure how to respond, but he continued.  

"I wasn’t the boyfriend you deserved," he admitted, his voice low. "I made you feel like you had to compete for my attention, and that’s unforgivable. You should’ve never felt like anything less than the most important person in my life. That’s on me."  

His gaze was unwavering as he spoke, and you couldn’t help but feel the sincerity in his words.  

"I still have feelings for you," he said, his voice trembling slightly. "I never stopped. And I don’t expect you to forgive me overnight, or even to trust me again right away. But I need you to know that I’ve changed. I’m changing. And I’ll do anything to prove it to you."  

You stared at him, his words hitting you harder than you expected. Sanji was always smooth with his words, but this was different. There was no charm, no performative flair—just raw honesty.  

"Sanji..." you started, your voice faltering. You swallowed hard, your hands gripping the edge of the blanket. "I... I still have feelings for you too. But..."  

"But you don’t trust me," he finished for you, his tone understanding rather than hurt.  

You nodded. "It’s not that I don’t want to. I just... I’m scared of getting hurt again."  

He reached across the blanket, his hand stopping just short of yours. "I understand," he said softly. "And I don’t blame you. I don’t want you to rush into anything you’re not ready for. If we have to take things slow, then that’s what we’ll do. I’ll show you, not just with words but with actions, that you’re the only one in my heart."  

His hand lingered near yours, and after a moment, you tentatively placed your hand over his. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you, and you looked up to meet his gaze.  

"Okay," you said quietly. "We can try. But slow, Sanji. No rushing, no grand gestures to win me over. Just... be honest with me."  

A smile broke across his face, softer and more genuine than any you’d seen in weeks. "Slow it is," he promised.  

For the first time in what felt like forever, the tension between you eased. You still had a long way to go, but as you sat there, sharing a quiet meal under the lantern light, you couldn’t help but feel that maybe, just maybe, things could work out.  

───────────────────₊˚.༄

One Piece Masterlist

hey…I was supposed to post this yesterday but I ended up working a double 😭.

[this is lightly edited]

anyways I saw a couple people asking about a tag list ngl i don’t know shit about that 😭😭 but hopefully this finds you !!

and for the op women/queer smau I will be posting that soon as well but I got a really cute idea from anon yesterday and I want to start on that first.

[gothamite-rambler]

Talia entered the bedroom where a young 10-year-old Dick Grayson was bouncing happily on the king-sized bed in one of the palace guest room.

Talia: Alright, Batman is resting... it's just you and me. Sit down!

Dick (bouncing up and down): You're not papa or my mama. You can't tell me what to do.

Talia slammed the door behind her, and Dick tensed up as dread slowly crept into his expression. He sat down on the bed, holding up his arms, his hands balled into fists ready to fight. Talia walked over to the boy, each step radiating silent fury.

Talia (grasping Dick by his shirt collar): You will not be my competition. He is mine!

Dick (playing dumb): Who? Bugs Bunny? I think he's everyone's favorite character.

Talia: That little innocent kid act won’t work on me. I see what you are, and it’s not going to be his sidekick or his son!

Dick: I am both of those things, though. And you're just some lady, honestly there's this lady in Gotham who is a better fit for him and she's a cat burglar! She's nice and prettier than you.

Talia dropped his collar and pointed at him with a sharp glare.

Talia: I’ve had a longer history with him! You are simply a blip that he will soon forget.

Dick: Hm, I doubt it. I’m his precious Robin, and you, you're a villain who wears unflattering dresses.

Dick smiled softly, his sweet face making Talia angrier.

Talia: Enjoy these moments while you can, because he will be focused on me 24/7 soon. When we get married, you won't be the ring bearer, you'll be flown off to a decent boarding school. I hope you have fun getting smacked on the hand with a ruler.

Dick: That’s funny, you think he’ll ever want to be with you for a long time. Those wrinkles on your face will be gone before that happens.

Dick stuck his tongue out and blew a loud raspberry in Talia's direction making her face turn red. She held up her hand ready to strike.

Dick: Hit me. I dare you and watch me tell Batman. He'll believe me, because he's known you the longest, right?

The little boy smirked, crossing his arms. Talia lowered her hand, her jaw clenching; she knew he was right. For her, Bruce hadn't seen the true 'wickedness' of his foster son, mostly because he didn't have any, but she needed 'proof'.

Talia: You’ll see. Now, my father wants to serve you a meal for some reason. Do you like shawarma?

Dick: I’ve never tried it, but I’d like to.

Talia: Excellent. A maid will bring you to the kitchen in a moment, orphan.

Dick (sweetly): Okay, thanks for chatting with me, Medusa!

Talia left satisfied, her intimidation seeming to work. Once she was gone, Dick sighed softly.

Dick (to himself): Talia, you don’t want me around... okay. It’s on!

Thus began the two-and-a-half-decade rivalry between an assassin and the former circus kid.