#writing's supposed to be fun right? right???

[2b4st4r]

i've been loving the stories you put out and just saw you opened your requests, so i'd be super excited to see you write this!

Reader is a female marine and asked to join the strawhats undercover so she could win their trust and bring them to the government.

she fits right in and feels actually accepted for the first time in her life, and struggles more and more with the fact that she‘s supposed to betray them.

She falls in love with zoro along the way and the night she realizes that, she leaves, leaving only a note to tell them the truth about who she is and how she’s sorry for lying to them. she wants to face her punishment from the marines and ends up in prison for treason.

they show up to rescue her, luffy asks her if she wants to joyn the crew and her and zoro end up together. (maybe some smut where he makes her apologize for leaving)

Hope you like it and have fun writing!

⋆✴︎Oath of the Sea ✴︎˚

Roronoa Zoro x Reader

Strawhat Pirates x Reader

MINORS DNI

˙⋆✮ Words: 17,167

⋆⭒˚.⋆ Warnings: Graphic violance, injury, torture(interrogation), emotional manipulation, control, past of child solider, trauma, eventual smut, praise, male and female, female reader, use of y/n.

⋆˚𝜗𝜚˚⋆ A/N: I hope you enjoyed this! i know i wrote a lot.

°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

The relentless sun beat down on Marineford, a stark contrast to the storm brewing inside you. "Undercover," the Vice Admiral had stated, his voice a low rumble. "You'll embed yourself with the Straw Hat Pirates. Gain their trust, learn their weaknesses, and when the time is right, deliver them to us." The words were a cold, calculated strike, each one echoing the years you'd dedicated to the Marines. You were Y/N, a prodigy in infiltration and espionage, a ghost in the shadows who could charm a pirate king and dismantle an empire with a whisper. This was your life, your purpose. You weren't supposed to care.

But it didn't go that way.

The Straw Hats. They had welcomed you, a stranger, with open arms and boisterous laughter. As their quartermaster, your days became a whirlwind of balancing supplies, managing inventory, and ensuring the Going Merry – and later, the Thousand Sunny – was always shipshape. It was a role you excelled at, bringing a meticulous order to their charming chaos.

Luffy, their captain, a force of nature wrapped in a rubber body, saw only the good in you, his unwavering trust a constant, disarming warmth. Zoro, the taciturn swordsman, grunted his approval during training sessions, a silent respect forging a bond between two formidable fighters. Nami, the navigator with a quick wit and an even quicker temper, taught you the intricacies of the Grand Line's unpredictable weather, her sharp mind a match for your own. Usopp, the cowardly sniper, confided in you his wildest dreams and deepest fears, his vulnerability pulling at a thread you didn't know existed. Sanji, the lovesick chef, cooked you meals that were more works of art than sustenance, his devotion to the crew evident in every dish. Chopper, the adorable doctor, would often snuggle up to you during night watches, his innocent trust a painful reminder of your deception. Robin, the quiet archaeologist, shared ancient tales and thoughtful insights, her calm wisdom a soothing presence. Franky, the eccentric shipwright, reveled in showing you his latest "super" inventions, his boundless enthusiasm infectious. Brook, the musical skeleton, entertained you with his bizarre jokes and soulful tunes, his appreciation for life infectious even in undeath. And Jinbe, the newest addition, extended a paternal warmth, his wise counsel a steady anchor in the unpredictable seas.

They were your crew. Your family. And you, the marine agent, the one sent to betray them, had fallen irrevocably in love. Every shared laugh, every desperate battle, every quiet moment under the vast, star-strewn sky had chipped away at your resolve, replacing it with a loyalty you never anticipated. The mission, once your sole focus, now felt like a lead weight in your stomach, a ticking time bomb threatening to shatter the most precious thing you’d ever known.

The weight of your deception pressed down on you, a physical ache in your chest that no amount of sea air could alleviate. Guilt, a bitter, unfamiliar taste, coated your tongue with every shared laugh, every late-night watch, every moment of genuine connection. You were a phantom limb, an integral part of their crew, yet entirely separate, living a lie that threatened to unravel everything. How could you, the consummate professional, the one who prided herself on emotional detachment, have allowed this to happen? How could you have fallen for the very people you were tasked to destroy?

A Heavy Heart Among Friends

Luffy was the most dangerous, not because of his power, but because of his boundless, unwavering trust. He’d often throw an arm around your shoulders, a wide, infectious grin on his face as he declared, "Y/N, you're the best quartermaster! We're so lucky to have you!" Each declaration was a fresh wound, twisting the knife of your betrayal. You remembered one sweltering afternoon, he’d insisted on helping you reorganize the storage room, humming off-key sea shanties and joyfully tossing crates around. You’d laughed, a genuine, unforced sound, as he nearly toppled a stack of barrels. In that moment, you weren't an undercover agent; you were simply Y/N, part of his absurd, wonderful crew. The thought of delivering him to a cage, of extinguishing that vibrant spark, made your stomach clench.

Zoro. With him, the guilt was a different beast entirely, tinged with a confusing, exhilarating warmth. Your initial interactions had been terse, a mutual respect forged in shared training sessions. But as the days bled into weeks, those grunts turned into low murmurs, and the silent understanding morphed into something undeniably deeper. You’d often find yourselves on the deck late at night, the only sounds the creak of the ship and the gentle lapping of waves. One night, after a particularly grueling session where you’d both pushed each other to your limits, he’d simply leaned against the mast beside you, his presence a comforting weight. "You're strong, Y/N," he’d mumbled, his voice rough. Your heart had done a strange flip, and you’d found yourself leaning slightly into his space, the unspoken current between you almost palpable. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke volumes – the way he’d subtly position himself between you and potential threats, the almost imperceptible softening of his gaze when he looked at you. You knew, with a terrifying certainty, that you were falling for him, and the idea of shattering that nascent trust, of seeing the betrayal in his eyes, was a torment you weren't sure you could bear. Your duty demanded you deliver him, but every fiber of your being screamed to protect him.

Nami, sharp and perceptive, occasionally gave you a look that made your blood run cold, as if she could see right through your carefully constructed facade. Yet, she also shared her dreams of mapping the world, her vulnerabilities, and her fierce protectiveness of the crew. You remembered her meticulously drawing a new section of their map, her brow furrowed in concentration. "It's a big world, Y/N," she'd said, "and we're going to see all of it." The sheer joy and ambition in her voice made you wince, thinking of the maps she'd never finish if you succeeded in your mission.

Usopp, despite his dramatics, had an earnest heart. He’d often come to you with his latest invention ideas, eyes wide with excitement. You’d patiently listen, offering practical advice and genuine encouragement, something he seemed to genuinely appreciate. He saw you as a friend, a steady presence, and the thought of destroying that innocent belief was a cruel twist of the knife.

Sanji, ever the gentleman, treated you with an almost deferential respect, always ensuring your plate was full and your glass never empty. He’d frequently offer you special desserts, a silent offering of his care. You knew his loyalty to his friends was absolute, and the idea of being the one to tear his world apart, to break his trust in such a fundamental way, was horrifying.

Chopper, with his innocent, trusting nature, burrowed deep into your heart. He often came to you for comfort after a particularly scary encounter, burying his face in your side. You'd gently stroke his fur, the warmth of his small body a stark contrast to the icy dread in your own. How could you hurt something so pure, so utterly vulnerable?

Robin, with her quiet wisdom and discerning eyes, seemed to possess an almost supernatural ability to see beyond facades. Yet, she always treated you with a serene acceptance, sharing tales of history and offering insightful observations. There were moments when her gaze lingered on you, a knowing glint in her eye, and you’d brace yourself, certain she’d uncovered your secret. But she never spoke of it, and her continued kindness only deepened your internal conflict.

Franky, boisterous and unapologetically eccentric, brought a surge of energy to the ship. He’d often show off his latest “SUPER!” upgrades to the Sunny, his enthusiasm infectious. You found yourself genuinely admiring his passion and dedication to the ship, the very vessel you were supposed to lead to its capture.

Brook, with his gags and his music, was a constant source of amusement. He’d often play a song just for you, his skeletal fingers dancing across the strings. You’d find yourself swaying to the rhythm, momentarily forgetting the grim reality of your situation. He was so full of life, despite being undead, and the thought of silencing his music forever was a bitter pill to swallow.

Jinbe, the stoic yet profoundly kind fish-man, offered a quiet strength and wisdom. He treated you with the same deep respect he showed to all his nakama. You remembered him offering you advice during a particularly difficult storm, his calm voice a steadying presence amidst the chaos. He saw you as a valuable member of the crew, and betraying that earned trust felt like a moral failing of monumental proportions.

It was during a routine supply run on a bustling island port, the vibrant sounds and smells assaulting your senses, that the full weight of your duty crashed down. Luffy, Zoro, and Usopp were off exploring a local market, their laughter echoing in the distance. Nami was haggling over prices with a merchant, her voice carrying across the square. You were meticulously checking a manifest, ensuring all the ordered provisions were accounted for, when a familiar marine uniform caught your eye. A low-ranking officer, one you vaguely recognized from your time at Marineford, walked past, completely oblivious to your presence.

In that moment, the two worlds you inhabited collided with sickening force. Here, you were Y/N, the Straw Hats’ quartermaster, surrounded by the lively chaos of your crew, a warmth spreading through you that you never knew you craved. But that marine, that uniform, was a stark reminder of who you truly were, of the mission that had brought you here, of the life you had carefully constructed and were now poised to shatter. The laughter of your friends, once a joyous sound, now felt like a taunt, each peal a reminder of the impending destruction you would unleash.

Your hand instinctively went to the small, discreet transponder hidden beneath your sleeve. It was charged, ready. You could send the signal, right now. Alert the fleet. The Straw Hats were scattered, unsuspecting, vulnerable. This was your chance. This was what you had trained for, what you were.

But your fingers trembled, hovering over the activation button. The faces of your crew flashed before your eyes: Luffy’s unshakeable grin, Zoro’s intense gaze, Nami’s knowing smile, Usopp’s wide-eyed wonder, Sanji’s devoted service, Chopper’s innocent trust, Robin’s serene wisdom, Franky’s exuberant "SUPER!", Brook’s soulful music, and Jinbe’s quiet strength. And Zoro… the way his hand had brushed yours earlier that day, the silent acknowledgment in his eyes.

The choice, once so clear, was now a agonizing torment. You were Y/N, the marine, the infiltrator, bound by duty and years of loyalty to the government. But you were also Y/N, the quartermaster, the friend, the person who had grown to love these pirates, this chaotic, beautiful family. One path led to success, promotion, and the fulfillment of your mission. The other… the other led to a betrayal of everything you had unexpectedly come to cherish. The salt tang of the sea air suddenly tasted like ash. You had to choose. And you knew, with a sickening certainty, that no matter what you did, you would never be whole again.

Your breath hitched. The marine officer, engrossed in a conversation with a local vendor, was closer than you liked, his back to you, but his presence was an electric jolt of danger. Your blood ran cold, then roared through your veins. This was it. The moment of truth. You could act now. Deliver them. Fulfill your mission.

But your feet remained rooted to the spot. The manifest in your hand felt impossibly heavy. The vibrant market, moments ago a symphony of life, now seemed to press in on you, every sound amplified, every scent an assault. Your eyes darted around, searching for an escape, a way to disappear. This wasn't how you wanted it to happen, not like this, not with their laughter still ringing in your ears.

Suddenly, a playful shout cut through the tension. "Y/N! Look at this!"

It was Luffy, barreling towards you, a ridiculous, oversized straw hat perched precariously on his head, followed by a chuckling Zoro and an exasperated Usopp. They were oblivious, utterly unaware of the razor's edge you stood on. Panic flared, sharp and immediate. The marine officer might turn. He might see you. He might recognize you.

Without a second thought, you spun on your heel, dragging a bewildered Luffy behind you and ducking behind a towering stack of fish barrels. The stench was overwhelming, but you barely registered it. You pressed yourself against the rough wood, pulling Luffy down with you, his confused "Huh?" muffled against your side. Zoro and Usopp, seeing your sudden movement, quickly followed suit, their faces a mixture of surprise and concern.

"Y/N? What's wrong?" Usopp whispered, peering over the barrels.

"Shh!" you hissed, your voice barely audible, your heart hammering against your ribs. You risked a glance around the barrel. The marine officer was still there, now gesturing animatedly at something the vendor was holding. He was so close you could almost feel his presence. Too close. You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, the frantic rhythm of your pulse deafening in your ears.

"Did you see something?" Zoro murmured, his hand already on the hilt of Wado Ichimonji, his senses always on high alert.

You shook your head, unable to trust your voice. "Just... thought I saw someone I knew," you managed, the lie tasting like ash. You could feel Luffy's curious gaze on you, and for a terrifying second, you thought he might pipe up, blowing your cover. But he remained quiet, sensing the sudden shift in your demeanor.

The minutes stretched into an eternity. Each second was a slow, agonizing drip of dread. You heard the marine officer's footsteps, then his voice, fading as he moved further down the street. You waited, counting to twenty, then thirty, before finally daring to peek out again. He was gone.

A wave of dizzying relief washed over you, so potent it almost buckled your knees. You sagged against the barrels, letting out a shaky breath you hadn't realized you were holding.

"You okay, Y/N?" Luffy asked, his innocent face etched with concern.

You forced a weak smile. "Yeah, Luffy. Just... a little jumpy today, I guess." You pushed yourself up, trying to compose your features, but your hands were still trembling. The close call had rattled you to your core. It was a stark, terrifying reminder of the tightrope you walked, of the constant threat of exposure, and of the irreversible choice that loomed over you. The government was always closer than you thought, and your time was running out.

The near miss in the market didn’t just leave you rattled; it ignited a simmering anxiety that tightened its grip with each passing day. Every unexpected shadow, every distant marine vessel, every new island they anchored at sent a jolt of ice through your veins. The world, once a vibrant tapestry, now felt like a minefield. You found yourself constantly scanning horizons, your senses on high alert, the casual ease you once displayed replaced by a subtle, almost imperceptible tension.

The guilt, a constant, gnawing presence, had morphed from a dull ache into a sharp, relentless pain. It was a suffocating blanket that wrapped around you in the quiet moments, during your solitary watches under the vast, uncaring sky, or when you finally retreated to your small, private corner of the ship. Alone in the dim light, the faces of your unsuspecting crew would swim before your eyes. Luffy’s boundless optimism felt like a mirror reflecting your own cynicism. Nami’s fierce protectiveness of their freedom echoed the chains you were meant to forge for them. Chopper’s innocent trust was a dagger to your heart. You’d clench your fists, digging your nails into your palms, desperate for a physical pain to distract from the emotional torment.

You tried to rationalize it. This is for the greater good. They're pirates, after all. Criminals. But the words rang hollow, thin excuses against the vibrant reality of their laughter, their loyalty, their unwavering belief in each other. You were an elite operative, trained to compartmentalize, to execute without hesitation. Yet, here you were, unraveling, torn between a lifetime of duty and a burgeoning, terrifying love for the very people you were sworn to capture. Sleep offered little respite, haunted by fragmented dreams of Marineford, of chains, and of the accusing eyes of your nakama.

The Kiss Under the Stars

What didn't help, what utterly shattered your carefully constructed walls, were your increasingly undeniable feelings for Zoro. It had started subtly, a shared glance, a comfortable silence, a mutual respect that transcended words. But it had deepened, blossomed into something warm and intoxicating, a dangerous current pulling you further away from your mission.

One particularly serene night, you found yourself on deck, the only sounds the gentle creak of the ship and the rhythmic lapping of the waves. The moon, a silver disc, cast a shimmering path across the water. You were leaning against the railing, lost in thought, the familiar weight of your guilt a heavy presence.

A soft thud of footsteps behind you announced his presence. Zoro. He stopped beside you, mirroring your stance, his broad shoulders a comforting bulwark against the vastness of the sea. The silence stretched between you, not awkward, but companionable, a testament to the unspoken bond you shared.

"Can't sleep?" he rumbled, his voice a low, gravelly comfort that sent a shiver down your spine.

You shook your head, gazing out at the endless expanse. "Too much on my mind." You almost confessed, the words teetering on your tongue, the desperate urge to unburden yourself overwhelming. But the habit of secrecy, years ingrained, held them captive.

He didn't press. Instead, he simply stood there, his presence a quiet anchor. After a long moment, he shifted, turning to face you. His hand reached out, gently, almost hesitantly, and cupped your cheek. His thumb brushed over your skin, sending an electric jolt through you. His eyes, usually so sharp and stoic, were softened by the moonlight, reflecting a depth of understanding that stole your breath.

"You carry a lot, Y/N," he murmured, his voice barely a whisper. "I can see it."

His words, simple and direct, pierced through your defenses. He saw you, truly saw the burden you carried, even if he didn't know its true nature. A tremor ran through you, and your own hand instinctively reached up, covering his on your cheek. His gaze dropped to your lips, and the air between you thickened, charged with an undeniable pull.

Then, slowly, he leaned in. His lips, surprisingly soft, met yours. It was a tentative kiss at first, a brush, a question. But then it deepened, a surge of raw emotion, of longing, of a connection that felt both inevitable and impossibly fragile. You responded with a desperation you hadn't known you possessed, pouring all the unspoken words, all the hidden emotions, all the aching loneliness of your deception into that single, profound moment. His arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you flush against his strong body, and you tangled your fingers in his moss-green hair, clinging to him as if he were your only lifeline in a storm.

When he finally pulled away, breathless, his forehead rested against yours. His eyes, dark and intense, searched yours. "Good night, Y/N," he whispered, a promise in his voice, before pressing one last soft kiss to your forehead and retreating.

You stumbled back to your room, your legs wobbly, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs. The kiss, the warmth of his hand, the searing intensity of his gaze – it all replayed in your mind, a dizzying, beautiful whirlwind. You sank onto your bunk, clutching your chest, the ghost of his lips still tingling on yours.

And then, with a terrifying clarity that felt like a punch to the gut, the realization hit you. It wasn't just physical attraction. It wasn't just respect or admiration. It was something far deeper, far more dangerous.

You were in love with Roronoa Zoro.

The confession, silent and shocking, echoed in the confines of your small room. You, the marine, the infiltrator, the one who prided herself on detachment, had fallen irrevocably in love with a pirate. Not just any pirate, but one of the Straw Hats, one of the very targets you were meant to bring down.

The guilt, already a monstrous weight, became a crushing, suffocating force. How could you do this to him? How could you betray someone you loved, someone who looked at you with such depth and understanding? The mission, once your entire world, now felt like a monstrous, soul-destroying act. You lay there, staring into the darkness, the image of Zoro's face superimposed on the cold, unforgiving command of your superiors. The choice that loomed before you was no longer just about duty; it was about destroying your own heart.

The decision solidified in the quiet desperation of your bunk, the moonlight casting long, accusing shadows across your face. You couldn't do it. You couldn't betray him. You couldn't betray them. The thought of seeing Zoro's face, etched with the pain of your deception, was a torment worse than any punishment the Marines could inflict. Your heart, once a meticulously guarded vault, had been irrevocably breached. The love you felt for Zoro, for the entire Straw Hat crew, was too profound, too real to sacrifice for a mission that now felt utterly meaningless.

The only way to protect them, to spare them the agonizing truth of your betrayal at your own hands, was to remove yourself from the equation entirely. You would disappear. Face the music alone.

With trembling hands, you found a scrap of paper and a pen. The words wouldn’t come easily, each one a fresh stab of pain. How do you apologize for a lie that had become your entire existence among them? How do you explain a love born from deceit?

My dearest Straw Hats,

If you're reading this, it means I'm gone. I know this will hurt, and for that, I am truly, deeply sorry. There's no easy way to say this, so I will be direct: I am a Marine. I was sent to infiltrate your crew, to gain your trust, and to ultimately deliver you to the government

But it didn't go as planned. You took me in, you loved me, you made me a part of your family. And somewhere along the way, I… I fell in love with you all. With your boundless spirit, your unwavering loyalty, your dreams.

Especially you, Zoro. You saw something in me I didn't even know was there. I'm so sorry. I couldn't betray you. I just couldn't.

i know this doesn't excuse my actions, or the lies I told. I don't expect forgiveness. I only hope, one day, you might understand why I had to leave this way. I choose to face my own consequences, whatever they may be. Please, live freely. Chase your dreams. And know that despite everything, I will always cherish the time I had with you.

Goodbye,

Y/N

You folded the note carefully, your vision blurred by unshed tears. With a heavy heart, you placed it on the dining table, securing it with a small, smooth stone you’d picked up on an earlier island – a meaningless trinket, now imbued with the unbearable weight of your goodbye.

Slipping silently from the ship, the chill of the predawn air a stark contrast to the burning pain in your chest, you rowed a small dinghy towards the distant lights of a Marine port. Each stroke of the oars was a final, agonizing severing of the ties that bound you to the Straw Hats. You were choosing your own chains, a self-imposed sentence to protect those you loved.

The Morning After: A Note and A Broken Crew

The morning light, usually a herald of adventure and laughter on the Thousand Sunny, felt muted, almost mournful. Sanji was the first awake, heading to the galley to prepare breakfast, the rhythmic clatter of pots and pans usually filling the air. But today, a strange quiet hung over the ship.

He noticed it first: a small, folded piece of paper on the dining table, held down by a stone. A frown creased his brow. It wasn't like Y/N to leave things out of place. He picked it up, his eyes scanning the familiar handwriting. As he read, his expression slowly shifted, a look of disbelief giving way to a horrified understanding. The plate he was holding slipped from his fingers, shattering on the floor with a deafening crash.

The noise drew the others. Nami, rubbing sleep from her eyes, entered first, followed by Usopp, then Chopper. Luffy burst in, cheerful as ever. "Sanji! What's for breakfast? I'm starving!"

Sanji stood frozen, the note clutched in his trembling hand, his face pale as death. "Y/N… she's gone." His voice was a raw whisper.

Nami rushed forward, snatching the note from his grasp. Her eyes widened with each line, her usual fiery spirit replaced by a growing horror. "No… no way…" she whispered, her hand rising to cover her mouth.

Usopp peered over her shoulder, his eyes darting between the words. "A Marine… undercover?" His voice was a thin thread of disbelief.

Luffy, his cheerful demeanor evaporating, looked from face to face, sensing the shift in the air. "What's wrong? Where's Y/N?"

It was Zoro who walked in then, a strange, heavy feeling settling in his gut. He saw the note, saw the shattered plate, saw the devastated faces of his crew. His gaze fell on Nami, who was now openly trembling, tears welling in her eyes. "What's going on?" he demanded, his voice low and dangerous.

Nami slowly held out the note, her hand shaking so violently that it almost fell. Zoro took it, his eyes narrowing as he read. With each word, the blood drained from his face, leaving it ashen. "A Marine…" His voice was barely a whisper, the last word a choked sound of disbelief and pain. He reached the part about him, his name, his eyes widening. I couldn't betray you. I just couldn't. The words hit him like a physical blow, twisting the knife that was already buried deep. The memory of the kiss, warm and real, now felt like a cruel, deceptive dream.

Luffy, finally able to read the last few lines over Zoro's shoulder, felt the air leave his lungs. "Y/N… left?" He stood there, unmoving, his usual boundless energy replaced by a stark, desolate silence. The ship, once filled with their vibrant life, now felt hollow, echoing with an unbearable emptiness. The truth, written in a hand they had come to cherish, ripped through the heart of the Straw Hat Pirates, leaving behind only shock, confusion, and a profound, aching sense of betrayal.

The marine port was exactly as you remembered it, cold and unforgiving. Walking up to the gates, your head held high despite the churning in your stomach, you announced yourself. "I am Y/N. I'm reporting for duty… and to face charges of treason."

The initial confusion of the guards quickly turned to grim satisfaction as your name was confirmed. You were immediately escorted, not to a debriefing room, but directly to a holding cell. Word of your defection, or rather, your failure, traveled fast.

Your former superior, Vice Admiral Ryker, was waiting for you. His office, typically austere, felt even colder now. He was a man with eyes like chipped ice, and a cruel, unyielding reputation. He surveyed you from across his desk, a sneer twisting his thin lips.

"So, the great Y/N returns," he stated, his voice a low, venomous hiss. "And empty-handed, I see. You failed, Agent. Miserably."

"I did not fail to bring them in, sir," you said, your voice steady despite the tremor in your hands. "I chose not to."

A harsh, humorless laugh escaped him. "A choice? You, an operative of the World Government, made a 'choice'? That's not how this works, Y/N. You defied direct orders. You consorted with criminals. You betrayed your oath." He leaned forward, his eyes boring into yours. "And for that, the consequences will be… severe. Especially considering your unparalleled skills. We can't have our top assets turning rogue, can we?"

You met his gaze, unflinching. "I'm prepared to face my punishment, sir."

"Oh, I assure you, you are not," he purred, a chilling glint in his eye. "Treason. Consorting with pirates. Such a waste of talent. You'll spend a very, very long time in a place where your 'feelings' won't matter. Where every moment will be a stark reminder of your foolish choices. Impel Down is far too good for you, Agent. No, we have a special place for those who betray the trust of the World Government. A place where you'll have plenty of time to reflect on your misplaced affections."

The words sent a shiver down your spine, but you showed no outward reaction. You had chosen this. This was your atonement. The doors of the marine prison slammed shut behind you, the echoing clang a stark finality, sealing your fate in a world of stone, iron, and unimaginable regret. Your freedom was gone, but perhaps, in this cold, dark place, you had at least saved the freedom of those you loved.

The cold, sterile room became your world. Days blurred into a relentless cycle of blinding lights, rough hands, and the ceaseless drone of voices demanding answers you wouldn't give. Vice Admiral Ryker, true to his word, ensured your punishment began long before any official sentencing. He believed in breaking wills, not just bodies.

"Tell us what you learned! Their routes! Their weaknesses! Their connections!" Ryker's voice, sharp as a whip, cut through the haze of pain. You sat strapped to a metal chair, your jaw clenched. Your fingers, a throbbing agony, were already a testament to their persistence. They had systematically bent them back, snapping bones with sickening precision, hoping to force a scream, a confession, any sign of weakness. But you bit down on your tongue, tasting blood instead of tears. Each fracture, each searing wave of pain, was a perverse confirmation that your secret, your love for the Straw Hats, remained safe.

"Nothing," you rasped, your voice hoarse, your throat dry. "I told you everything in the note."

A fist slammed into the table, making the metal vibrate. "Lies! You expect us to believe you simply fell in love with pirates, Agent Y/N? You, the most disciplined operative we had?"

You met Ryker's furious gaze, your eyes shadowed but resolute. "I did." The simplicity of the truth was its strongest shield. They tore into you, verbally and physically. Blows rained down, dull aches blooming into blossoming bruises across your ribs and face. Your body screamed, but your mind held firm. You were a vault, and the key was lost somewhere in the warmth of a pirate ship, in the laughter of your friends, in the touch of a certain swordsman. They could shatter every bone in your body, but they couldn't touch the loyalty you now held for the Straw Hats. You had chosen your path, and this pain was merely the cost of that choice.

The Thousand Sunny, usually a vibrant hub of activity, was shrouded in a heavy silence. The breakfast Sanji had been preparing remained untouched, growing cold on the table next to Y/N's note. Hours had passed, yet the shock and confusion had not receded. Each Straw Hat processed the betrayal in their own way, but a common thread of disbelief wove through them all.

Sanji paced the galley, running a hand through his hair, a cigarette burning forgotten between his fingers. "A Marine… all this time?" he muttered, his voice laced with a raw hurt. "And to think… I cooked her every meal… like she was one of us." He slammed a fist onto the counter, his usual chivalry now curdled into a bitter sense of violation.

Nami sat huddled on the deck, clutching the note, her face stained with tears. "She planned to turn us in," she whispered, her voice cracking. "All our maps, our treasures, our dreams… she was going to hand them over." The weight of the deception, the calculated closeness, felt like a personal affront to her trusting nature.

Usopp fiddled nervously with a tool, avoiding eye contact. "It makes sense, in a way," he mumbled, though his voice betrayed his discomfort. "She was always so… capable. Too capable, maybe. But… but she was our friend, right?" The conflict in his voice was clear – the fear of betrayal warring with the memories of shared laughter.

Chopper whimpered, burying his face into Robin's side. "She's not bad, is she, Robin? She wouldn't really hurt us!" His innocent faith was a poignant contrast to the harsh reality of the note.

Franky stood by the ship's helm, his usual boisterous energy replaced by a brooding quiet. "She was super at her job," he said, his voice unusually subdued. "But to lie to us… to the family…" He trailed off, the concept of such a deep betrayal alien to his straightforward nature.

Brook strummed a melancholic chord on his violin. "Even skeletons feel the chill of betrayal, yohoho," he sighed, the forced lightness gone from his tone. "To think she laughed at my jokes, knowing all along..."

Jinbe sat cross-legged, his gaze distant. "The World Government is cunning. To send such an agent…" He closed his eyes. "Her words in the letter… they speak of a true conflict within her. This was not an easy choice for her."

Luffy was unnervingly silent, sitting cross-legged in his usual spot, his straw hat pulled low. His eyes, usually bright with life, were dark, unfocused. The raw, open wound of betrayal was too fresh, too unexpected. He didn't understand deceit. He understood loyalty, nakama, dreams. Y/N had been all of those things. And now…

The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken questions, pain, and confusion. Finally, Zoro stood up, his voice cutting through the tension like a sharpened blade. He had re-read the note countless times, his eyes lingering on the words I couldn't betray you. I just couldn't. The pain was a physical ache in his chest, a betrayal so deep it stole his breath. But beneath the hurt, a different emotion simmered – a fierce, protective anger. Not at Y/N, but at the system that had forced her into this impossible position, and at himself for not seeing it sooner.

"She's a Marine," he stated, his voice low and gravelly, "but she didn't turn us in. She chose to face them instead." His eyes swept over the crew. "She put herself in a cage to protect us."

Nami looked up, tears still tracking paths on her cheeks. "But… she lied to us, Zoro. All of it was a lie."

"Was it?" Zoro challenged, his gaze hardening. "Did she act like a liar? Did she fight like a liar? Did she care like a liar? She told us in that letter what she felt. She left because she couldn't go through with it."

Luffy slowly raised his head, his dark eyes meeting Zoro's. A flicker of his usual determination began to rekindle in their depths. "She's in trouble," he said, his voice quiet, but firm. "She's a Marine, but she's our Quartermaster."

"They won't go easy on her," Jinbe added, his voice grim. "Especially not after defying a direct order from someone like Ryker. Her punishment will be severe."

A fierce spark ignited in Luffy's eyes, dispelling the last vestiges of his earlier despair. He stood up, slowly, purposefully. "Then we go get her."

Nami gasped. "Luffy, are you crazy?! She's a Marine! And she's in a Marine prison! It's suicide!"

"She's our Y/N!" Luffy declared, his voice rising, imbued with his characteristic conviction. "She chose us! She chose not to betray us! That makes her nakama! And we don't leave nakama behind!" He looked at each of them, his gaze unwavering. "She faced them alone because she thought it was the only way to protect us. But we protect our own."

Zoro's lips curled into a rare, determined grin. "He's right," he said, drawing his swords, the familiar weight in his hands a comfort. "She made her choice. Now we make ours. We're going to break into a Marine prison and get our Quartermaster back."

A wave of understanding, followed by renewed determination, washed over the faces of the Straw Hats. The initial shock and hurt began to recede, replaced by their fierce, unwavering loyalty to one another. The plan was reckless, dangerous, and utterly insane. Which meant, for the Straw Hat Pirates, it was perfectly achievable. Their Quartermaster was in trouble, and they would move heaven and earth to bring her home.

The journey to the Marine stronghold was a blur of determination for the Straw Hats. The Thousand Sunny sliced through the waves, a silent testament to their resolve. Each member was focused, their usual antics replaced by a grim purpose. Luffy, usually bouncing with energy, stood at the helm, his gaze fixed on the horizon. Zoro sharpened his swords with a quiet intensity, Nami meticulously plotted their course, and the rest of the crew prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Their Quartermaster, their friend, was in trouble, and they would not rest until she was free.

Meanwhile, you were confined to a cage within the deepest, most secure levels of the Marine prison. It wasn’t Impel Down, but it was a specialized, high-security facility reserved for high-value Marine defectors and those who posed a unique threat due to their knowledge or skills. Your cell was a stark box of reinforced Seastone bars, designed to nullify any Devil Fruit abilities and restrict even the most formidable of physical strengths. The air was cold, damp, and tasted of stale concrete and despair.

You sat on the hard, narrow cot, your injured hand throbbing, a dull ache in your ribs from the interrogations. Your uniform, once crisp, was now torn and stained, a stark visual representation of your fall from grace. Yet, despite the pain, despite the confinement, a strange sense of peace had settled over you.

You looked at your battered hands, then up at the unforgiving Seastone bars, and felt no regret. Not a single tremor of doubt. When Ryker's furious face, contorted in disgust and rage, flashed in your mind, you simply closed your eyes. He saw you as a failure, a traitor. But in your heart, you knew you had made the only choice you could live with.

The image of Zoro’s face, etched with concern and then tenderness, swam before your eyes. The warmth of his kiss, the brief, stolen moment of connection under the moonlight, was a beacon in the oppressive darkness of your cell. You remembered Luffy’s booming laughter, Nami’s exasperated sighs, Usopp’s frantic boasts, Sanji’s unwavering chivalry, Chopper’s innocent snuggles, Robin’s quiet wisdom, Franky’s "SUPER!" enthusiasm, Brook’s timeless melodies, and Jinbe’s calming presence.

You had sacrificed your career, your freedom, perhaps even your life, for them. And in doing so, you had found a truth more profound than any mission, any duty. You had found a family. And you wouldn’t trade that for anything. The bars of your cage were cold, but your heart felt warm. You had chosen love over loyalty to a system that demanded unquestioning obedience, and for the first time in your life, you felt truly free.

The alarm blared, a jarring cacophony that ripped through the stale prison air. Sirens wailed, and the hurried shouts of Marine officers echoed through the corridors above. You lifted your head, a faint flicker of recognition in your swollen eye. That sound… it could only mean one thing. They had come.

A wave of conflicting emotions washed over you. Dread warred with a fierce, protective love. You had turned yourself in, endured the beatings, the broken bones, the endless interrogations, precisely so they wouldn't have to deal with this. So they could be free, unburdened by your past. And now, here they were, throwing themselves into the lion's den for you. Fools, you thought, a pang of exasperated affection squeezing your battered heart. Stubborn, wonderful fools.

Footsteps pounded closer, heavy and purposeful. The sounds of fighting erupted, the familiar clang of metal on metal, the explosive force of Devil Fruit powers, and the unmistakable, joyous roar of a certain rubbery captain. Your breath caught. They were real. They were here.

The Seastone door to your cell exploded inward with a deafening crash, showering the antechamber with dust and debris. Standing amidst the chaos, framed by the smoky light of the breached facility, were the Straw Hats.

Luffy stood at the front, his expression a rare mix of fierce determination and shock. Behind him, Zoro gripped his swords, his eyes wide with a terrifying fury. Nami clutched her climatact, her face pale, while Sanji stood poised to strike, a barely contained rage simmering within him. Usopp had his slingshot drawn, though his usual cowardice was momentarily forgotten, replaced by a grim resolve. Chopper hovered anxiously, his tiny paws clenched. Even Robin, usually so composed, looked visibly shaken, and Franky’s "SUPER!" stance was laced with a chilling seriousness. Brook lowered his violin, his hollow eyes fixed on you, and Jinbe's powerful frame seemed to shudder.

Their gazes swept the cell, searching, and then they landed on you.

The air in the chamber seemed to thicken, heavy with unspoken horror. You saw their reactions, saw the immediate, visceral punch to their gut. You were worse than you'd thought.

Your face was a canvas of purple and black, one eye swollen shut, the other barely open, a raw slit in the discolored skin. Your nose was undeniably broken, a crooked, swollen mess. A trickle of dried blood crusted your upper lip, and fresh blood still oozed from a gash above your eyebrow. Your clothes were ragged, and a dark stain bloomed over your left side, testament to a particularly nasty blow to your ribs. You tried to force a reassuring smile, but it felt more like a grimace, and the effort sent a jolt of pain through your split lip.

Luffy's determined expression crumbled. "Y/N…?" he breathed, his voice a choked whisper, disbelief battling with a raw, agonizing pain. He took a hesitant step forward, his eyes fixed on your battered face, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Zoro froze. His eyes, usually so sharp and unwavering, widened in unadulterated shock and a horrifying, incandescent rage. The sight of you, broken and bleeding, snapped something inside him. His grip tightened on his swords until his knuckles were white. The image of the woman he had kissed under the moonlight, strong and vibrant, was brutally replaced by this brutalized figure in the cage. A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a primal sound of fury.

Nami gasped, a hand flying to her mouth, tears instantly springing to her eyes. "Oh, Y/N…!" she sobbed, the image of your bruised and swollen face tearing at her heart.

Sanji let out a furious roar. "Those bastards! How dare they!" His chivalrous rage, always potent, now boiled over into a murderous intent.

Chopper screamed, his tiny body trembling. "Y/N! Are you okay?! Your face! Your hand!" He started to sob, his innocent heart unable to process such cruelty inflicted on his friend.

You met their gazes, one by one, your heart swelling with a bittersweet ache. This was why you'd tried to spare them. This raw, open pain on their faces was infinitely worse than any physical torment you had endured.

"Don't look at me like that," you rasped, your voice barely a whisper, a faint attempt at defiance. "I'm fine. Just… a little bruised." You tried to sound casual, but the words were a flimsy veil over the extent of your injuries.

But they weren't listening. Their eyes, filled with a mixture of heartbreak and a terrifying fury, were already calculating. There would be no retreat. They had seen what the Marines had done to you, and the Straw Hats would make them pay. The fight for your freedom had just begun.

The immediate shock on their faces began to give way to action. Zoro was the first to move, his previous frozen fury morphing into a raw, desperate urgency. He strode towards your cage, his swords still clutched, but his eyes fixed on you, a whirlwind of concern and a barely contained rage swirling within their depths. Right behind him, Chopper, his tiny hooves pounding, transformed into his Brain Point, his medical instincts overriding all else.

"Y/N!" Chopper cried, scrambling through the broken cell door. "Your injuries! Are you okay?!" He reached for your hand, his brow furrowed with professional alarm.

Just as Chopper’s small paw closed around your fingers, trying to gently assess the damage, a collective gasp ripped through the Straw Hats. Your hand, which you had instinctively tried to clench into a fist, refused. Your fingers, a grotesque parody of their natural shape, were bent at sickening angles, disgustingly curled inwards, a testament to the Marines' brutal methods. The bones were clearly shattered, some protruding at odd, unnatural points beneath the skin.

Chopper let out a high-pitched shriek, pulling his hand back as if burned. "W-w-what?! Her fingers! They're… they're all… bendy in the wrong places! This is beyond fractured! This is… this is disgusting!" His medical professionalism momentarily gave way to pure, unadulterated horror, and he started to twitch, looking as though he might faint himself.

Usopp, who had been steeling himself, took one look at your hand and dramatically clutched his chest. "GAH! My delicate sensibilities! I'm too weak for such horrors! I think I'm going to faint!" He promptly collapsed backward, his eyes rolling into his head, though one eye twitched open to peek at the unfolding chaos.

Nami, who had already been on the verge of tears, clamped a hand over her mouth, her face turning green. A distinct gagging sound escaped her. "Oh, god! That's just… gnarly! Are they trying to turn her into a pretzel?!"

Even Sanji, usually composed, flinched violently. "My poor Y/N-chan! Her beautiful hands! Those barbarian Marines! I'll cook them until they're charcoal!"

You barely registered their exaggerated reactions, the shock of seeing them momentarily eclipsing the constant throb in your hand. The pain was just… there, a part of you now, like a constant companion. Your one good eye, though heavy-lidded, focused on Luffy and Zoro.

"What are you doing here?" you rasped, your voice rough, a mixture of exasperation and a profound, aching relief. "I turned myself in so you wouldn't have to deal with this."

Before anyone could fully respond, the distant wail of sirens grew louder, closer. The echoes of running feet and shouting voices reverberated through the damaged corridor, signaling the inevitable marine reinforcement.

"They're coming!" Nami shrieked, snapping back to reality, her navigation instincts kicking in.

Without a moment's hesitation, Zoro was by your side. His earlier rage had settled into a terrifyingly calm resolve. Gently, but with practiced ease, he scooped you up. You let out a small, involuntary gasp as your injured hand brushed against him, but he adjusted, cradling your battered form securely on his back. You wrapped your good arm around his neck, leaning into the warmth of his familiar strength, a warmth you hadn't realized how much you'd missed.

"We don't have time!" Zoro barked, turning to face the direction of the approaching Marines. His posture was defensive, protective, a shield against the coming storm.

Sanji, however, couldn't resist a dig. "Oi, Marimo! Be careful with the delicate, hurt lady! She's not a sack of potatoes, you brute!" His words were sharp, but the underlying concern for you was unmistakable.

Zoro merely grunted in response, his eyes narrowed, already calculating their escape route. The Straw Hats were a whirlwind of motion now, preparing for the onslaught. You felt the surge of their combined power, their unwavering loyalty. And despite the pain, despite the fear, a small, genuine smile touched your lips. They were here. And that was all that mattered.

The Straw Hats surged forward, a whirlwind of coordinated chaos. Luffy, extending his arms, became a human slingshot, propelling himself through a cluster of bewildered Marine guards. Sanji's legs blurred, delivering precise, devastating kicks that sent soldiers sprawling. Nami unleashed a small, localized thunderbolt, electrifying a path for them, while Usopp, despite his earlier theatrics, proved surprisingly effective with a rapid-fire volley of pop greens, creating thorny barricades and disorienting bursts of smoke. Brook zipped past, his soul-solid attacks leaving Marines clutching at phantom pains, and Franky's powerful "Strong Right" punched clean holes in the reinforced walls. Jinbe, with his Fish-Man Karate, effortlessly dispatched larger groups, his powerful blows sending shockwaves through the very foundation of the prison.

You clung to Zoro's back, your good arm wrapped tightly around his neck, the rhythm of his powerful strides a strange comfort. He moved with a deadly grace, his three swords a blur of steel, cutting down any Marine foolish enough to step in their path. The world spun, a dizzying mix of pain and the exhilarating rush of freedom.

"Are you okay back there?" Zoro grunted, his voice tight with exertion and concern.

"Just keep moving," you managed, the words a raw whisper against his ear.

They sliced through the lower levels with alarming speed, a force of nature tearing through the supposedly impenetrable prison. Just as they reached the main corridor leading to the exterior, a figure stepped out from the shadows, blocking their path.

It was Vice Admiral Ryker.

His chilling smile stretched across his face, his eyes like chips of ice, reflecting the harsh prison lights. "Well, well, well," he drawled, his voice carrying an unnerving calm amidst the chaos. "Look what the tide dragged in. The infamous Straw Hat Pirates. And to think, you've come for my little pet project."

His right arm, clad in a pristine white glove, suddenly began to shimmer, the very air around it distorting. Ryker possessed the Phase-Phase Fruit, a terrifying Logia-type Devil Fruit that allowed him to make any part of his body intangible and capable of phasing through matter, or conversely, make parts of matter intangible around his body, creating localized voids that could tear through flesh or armor. He could pass through solid objects, or make objects pass through others with devastating effect.

"Don't flatter yourselves," Ryker continued, his eyes lingering on you, a cruel satisfaction in their depths. "This isn't a rescue. It's a capture. And Y/N here? She's the bait." He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "You're all walking right into my trap. And she knows it."

Luffy, his face hardening, stepped forward. "Let her go, old man!"

"Oh, but why would I?" Ryker mused, a taunting glint in his eye. He waved his phased hand dismissively, and a section of the steel floor behind him vanished, creating a sudden, gaping hole. "She's been quite… illuminating. You know, you Straw Hats only know the pretty facade. You have no idea what she truly is. Her loyalty to the government was absolute. She was a child soldier, a weapon forged in the crucible of war, deployed before she even reached double digits. A ruthless little phantom, trained to execute without question. Do you really think she's capable of 'love'?" His gaze raked over you, contempt heavy in his tone. "She helped us crush rebellions, extinguish uprisings, leave no survivors. All before she was even considered an adult. Her hands are just as bloody as any Marine's, if not more so."

Your breath hitched, the sudden revelation of your concealed past hitting the Straw Hats like a physical blow. Their eyes widened, turning to you, a mixture of shock and renewed confusion. You pressed your face into Zoro's shoulder, unable to meet their gaze, the shame and the forced memories burning.

Ryker savored their stunned silence. "She was a master of infiltration, a ghost, a perfect weapon. And you believed her pretty little act? That she simply 'fell in love' with you? Please. It's a testament to her skill, not her heart."

A low growl rumbled from Zoro. His body, carrying your battered form, tensed. His grip on his swords tightened. The words about your past hit him hard, but the cold, dismissive way Ryker spoke about you, about your feelings, ignited a furious protectiveness.

"Shut your damn mouth!" Sanji roared, preparing a kick.

"He's playing with us!" Nami yelled, realizing the psychological warfare Ryker was employing.

But it was Luffy who moved. The taunts about your past, about your supposed inability to love, had pushed him past his breaking point. His eyes, usually innocent, flared with a deep, uncharacteristic anger. He didn't care about your past as a child soldier; he cared about the Y/N who was their quartermaster, the Y/N who chose them, the Y/N bleeding on Zoro's back. Ryker had dared to question your heart, dared to cheapen your sacrifice.

"Gomu Gomu no… RED HAWK!" Luffy roared, his arm stretching back, igniting in a fiery, Gear Second-powered punch. The air around him shimmered with heat as he launched himself directly at Ryker, a blazing meteor of pure, unadulterated fury.

Ryker, confident in his Devil Fruit, phased his body, preparing to let Luffy's attack pass harmlessly through him. But Luffy's Haki-infused punch, coated in flames, wasn't just about physical impact. It was about pure will, a burning inferno of determination.

The Red Hawk slammed into Ryker, not passing through him as he expected, but connecting with a sickening crunch. The Vice Admiral let out a strangled cry, his phased body momentarily solidified by the sheer force of Luffy's Haki. The fiery impact sent him hurtling backward, slamming into the reinforced wall with enough force to crack the steel. He slumped to the ground, unconscious, a smoking crater where he'd landed.

A moment of stunned silence fell over the corridor, broken only by Ryker's pained groans. Luffy stood panting, his arm smoking faintly.

"Let's go!" Zoro barked, already moving, his voice a tight command. "We've got company!" More Marines were pouring into the corridor, drawn by the commotion.

The Straw Hats rallied, a renewed sense of purpose driving them. Luffy had dealt with the mastermind, and now their only goal was to get you out. You felt Ryker's words about your past echoing in your mind, but as you clung to Zoro's back, feeling the steady beat of his heart against your own, you knew. Their actions, their very presence, spoke louder than any words, any painful past. They didn't care about the soldier you were; they cared about the person you became.

The frantic scramble continued. With Ryker down, the Marine resistance, though still formidable, lacked its cruel, strategic leader. The Straw Hats, fueled by a renewed surge of protective fury, moved as a unified, unstoppable force. Sanji and Jinbe cleared the path ahead, their powerful kicks and punches sending Marines flying. Nami conjured a thick fog, disorienting their pursuers, while Usopp set off a barrage of explosive projectiles, creating diversions and bottlenecks. Franky provided heavy cover fire, his beam weapons blasting through obstacles, and Brook’s haunting melodies confused and incapacitated their foes.

You clung to Zoro’s back, your head swimming. The pain was still there, a constant companion, but it was overshadowed by the sheer, overwhelming reality of their presence. They were truly here, risking everything for you. Ryker’s cruel words about your past, about the child soldier you had been, still stung. You felt Zoro’s muscles tense beneath you, his focus unwavering. He didn't ask about Ryker's claims, didn’t demand explanations. He simply moved, his protective embrace a silent reassurance that, no matter your past, you were here, with them.

Luffy, bursting with renewed energy after his decisive blow, led the charge, his infectious grin back in place, though it held a sharper edge now. "Almost there! Just a little further!" he yelled, stretching his arms to grab a distant railing, pulling himself and the nearest Marines forward in a chaotic tangle.

Suddenly, a thick, metallic door slammed shut behind them, sealed by a newly arrived squad of heavily armed Marines. "Dead end!" Nami cried, her voice strained.

"Not for us!" Franky roared, his arms glowing. "Coup de Boo!" With a mighty blast, the Sunny's signature escape maneuver, he blew a colossal hole through the exterior wall of the prison, revealing the vast expanse of the ocean outside.

The roar of the cannon reverberated through the prison, sending tremors through the entire structure. Through the gaping hole, you could see the Thousand Sunny, bobbing expectantly on the waves, a beacon of home.

"To the ship!" Luffy bellowed, already leaping towards the opening.

Zoro followed, a powerful jump carrying him and your weight across the chasm. The rush of salty air against your bruised face was intoxicating, a taste of freedom you hadn't dared to dream of. As he landed agilely on the deck, the rest of the crew quickly followed, each one bringing down any remaining Marine resistance with practiced ease.

Chopper immediately rushed to your side, his small face contorted with professional distress. "Let me see, Y/N! We need to fix those hands and your face! This is an emergency!"

Zoro carefully lowered you to the deck, allowing Chopper to begin his frantic assessment. You looked up at him, your good eye meeting his. His intense gaze was filled with a complex mixture of relief, anger, and something deeper, something akin to reverence. He reached out, his hand hovering over your battered face, as if afraid to touch you.

"You… you came," you whispered, your voice hoarse with emotion, the words catching in your throat.

"Of course, we did, Y/N," Luffy said, already scrambling up the mast, his voice ringing with absolute certainty. "You're our nakama!"

Nami, tears still glistening in her eyes, put a gentle hand on your shoulder. "You're an idiot, Y/N," she said, but her voice was soft, laced with undeniable affection. "Turning yourself in like that. What were you thinking?"

You managed a weak, painful smile. "I was thinking… I didn't want you to have to deal with this."

Sanji, carefully stepping over the shattered bits of Marine uniform, lit a fresh cigarette, his face still grim. "Well, you failed at that, Quartermaster-chan. Now we're dealing with it." His words were sharp, but the underlying warmth was unmistakable.

As the Thousand Sunny turned, leaving the now-battered Marine prison behind, you looked back at the receding, imposing structure. The pain in your body was immense, but the ache in your heart had eased considerably. You were battered, broken, and a wanted fugitive in the eyes of the world. But you were free, surrounded by the only family you had ever truly chosen. And for the first time in a long time, you knew, with absolute certainty, that you were exactly where you belonged.

The infirmary of the Thousand Sunny was a haven of sterile efficiency, a stark contrast to the chaos they had just escaped. You lay on the crisp white sheets of the medical bed, the gentle rocking of the ship a soothing rhythm beneath you. Chopper, his brow furrowed in intense concentration, bustled around, preparing his instruments. He had already given you something for the pain, but you knew, from the way he was looking at your hand, that it wouldn't be enough.

Zoro sat in the chair pulled close to your bedside, his swords leaning against the wall beside him. He hadn't left your side since you were brought in. His presence was a solid, comforting anchor in the room, his gaze fixed on you with an unwavering intensity that spoke volumes. He didn't speak, but his hand, resting lightly on the edge of your bed, was a silent promise.

"Alright, Y/N," Chopper said, his voice unusually grave, his small hooves meticulously cleaning the dried blood from your face. "This is going to hurt. A lot. Your nose is definitely broken, and those fingers… they're pretty badly displaced. I need to set them back in place before they swell too much." He looked up at you, his large, innocent eyes filled with concern. "Are you ready?"

You took a deep, shaky breath, bracing yourself. "As I'll ever be, Chopper." You glanced at Zoro, and he met your gaze, a silent strength passing between you.

Chopper began with your nose. With a quick, practiced movement, he reset the bone. A sharp, blinding pain shot through your face, and you gasped, a choked cry escaping your lips. Your good eye squeezed shut, tears pricking at the corner.

"Good, good, you're doing great!" Chopper encouraged, his voice surprisingly firm for such a small creature. He moved to your hand, gently, almost reverently, taking your mangled fingers in his. He cleaned the wounds around the breaks, the antiseptic stinging.

"Okay," he said, his voice dropping slightly, "these are going to be loud. Just… try to breathe."

You nodded, clenching your jaw. You felt his small, strong grip on your first finger. There was a sickening crack, a sound that echoed unnervingly in the quiet infirmary, followed by an explosion of white-hot pain that made you arch your back against the bed. You bit down on your lip, a muffled groan escaping.

Zoro's hand, which had been resting on the bed, clenched into a fist. His jaw was tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He watched, his eyes narrowed, every flinch of your body mirrored by a subtle tension in his own. He looked like he wanted to rip the world apart, to take the pain away from you.

Another finger. Another crack. Another wave of excruciating agony. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to focus on anything but the searing pain. You could feel the bones shifting, grinding, then snapping into place. It was a primal, visceral pain that bypassed all your training, all your discipline.

Crack. Crack. Crack. Each sound was a hammer blow, each movement of Chopper's hooves precise and agonizing. By the time he had finished with the last finger, you were trembling, drenched in a cold sweat, your breath coming in ragged gasps. Your hand, though still throbbing, felt strangely lighter, the grotesque angles gone.

"There," Chopper said, his voice tired but relieved, as he began to meticulously splint and bandage your hand. "All set. It'll take time to heal, but you'll be able to use them again. And your nose will heal straight, too." He looked at you, his eyes filled with a deep, professional pride, and then a profound sadness. "They really… they really hurt you, Y/N."

You could only nod, too exhausted to speak. You slowly opened your good eye, meeting Zoro's gaze. His face was grim, his eyes burning with an unspoken promise of vengeance. He reached out, his large hand gently covering your bandaged one, his touch a comforting warmth that slowly, steadily, began to soothe the lingering echoes of pain. In that moment, surrounded by the quiet hum of the ship and the unwavering presence of the man beside you, you knew you were truly safe.

Chopper, his brow still furrowed with concern, moved with gentle precision. He applied a soothing salve to the raw scrapes on your cheek and jaw, his small hooves surprisingly deft. For your swollen eye, he produced a small, chilled compress, carefully placing it over the puffed skin. The cool relief was instantaneous, a welcome balm to the burning pain.

"Keep this on," he instructed, his voice serious. "It'll help with the swelling. I'll be back to check on you every few hours, okay?" He gave your good hand a gentle squeeze, then turned to Zoro. "Make sure she rests. And don't let her move that hand too much!" With a final, worried glance, the little doctor padded out of the infirmary, leaving the two of you in a soft, expectant silence.

The only sounds were the creak of the ship and the gentle lapping of waves against the hull. You lay there, the coolness of the compress a blessed relief, acutely aware of Zoro’s presence beside you. He remained in the chair, unmoving, his gaze fixed on some unseen point across the room. The air was thick with unspoken words, with the weight of everything that had transpired.

Finally, you broke the silence, your voice still a little raspy. "You… you didn't have to do this."

Zoro’s head slowly turned, his dark eyes meeting your one visible one. A muscle worked in his jaw. "Yes, we did," he stated, his voice low, firm, leaving no room for argument. "You're nakama. We don't abandon nakama."

"I lied to you all," you countered, your voice laced with the old guilt, the shame of your deception rising again. "I was a Marine. I came to betray you."

He scoffed, a short, sharp sound. "You were a Marine. And you could've betrayed us. You didn't. You faced them alone. You saved us the trouble of dealing with them in the first place." His gaze intensified. "Ryker said a lot of things. About your past. About… everything." His voice softened almost imperceptibly. "Doesn't matter."

"It does," you whispered, the pain of his words about your past child soldier life suddenly more acute than any physical injury. "My hands… they’re not clean, Zoro. I’ve done terrible things for them."

He reached out, his large, calloused hand gently covering your bandaged one again. His thumb brushed lightly over the splints. "Everyone has a past, Y/N," he said, his voice unusually gentle, cutting through your self-recrimination. "What matters is what you do now. You chose us. You chose not to betray us." His grip tightened slightly. "That’s all that counts."

You searched his eyes, surprised by the depth of his understanding, the unwavering acceptance. He wasn't judging you; he was simply stating a fact. The weight on your chest, a constant pressure for so long, seemed to lift, just a fraction.

"And you…" you began, your voice softer now, your gaze lingering on his face, "You came for me."

His lips quirked into a faint, almost imperceptible smirk. "Someone had to drag your stubborn ass out of there." He paused, his expression growing serious again. "You left a note, you idiot. You think we'd just… read it and wave goodbye?" His thumb brushed against your knuckles. "After that… that night… what did you expect?"

Your cheeks, despite your injuries, flushed. He was referring to the kiss, to the moment everything had irrevocably changed for you. You expected him to be angry, confused, maybe even disgusted by your deception. But instead, there was only this quiet, profound acceptance.

"I didn't think…" you started, then trailed off, realizing the futility of explanation. You hadn’t thought; you had simply reacted, driven by the overwhelming need to protect them, and him, from the truth of your mission at your own hand.

He shifted in his chair, leaning closer. His gaze, usually so intense, was now soft, warm, filled with an emotion that mirrored your own. "You're ours now, Y/N," he murmured, his voice a low rumble. "For better or worse. And we don't let go of what's ours."

The simple, unyielding declaration, delivered with such quiet conviction, was more potent than any painkiller. It was a promise, a binding vow, echoing the very essence of the Straw Hats' bond. In that moment, lying battered and broken on the infirmary bed, you felt more whole than you ever had in your life.

The words hung in the air, a silent, powerful affirmation of belonging. Zoro's hand, still resting on your bandaged one, conveyed a warmth that seeped into your bones, chasing away the lingering chill of the prison. The pain in your body, though still present, seemed to recede into a distant hum, eclipsed by the profound sense of peace settling over you.

His gaze, dark and steady, searched yours for another long moment, as if ensuring you truly understood, truly accepted, his unspoken vow. Then, with a sudden, fluid motion, he shifted. The chair scraped softly against the floor as he pushed it back, and then, to your surprise, he gently moved onto the bed beside you.

He settled in, carefully avoiding your injured side and battered face, but close enough that his warmth enveloped you. His arm, strong and comforting, slipped around your waist, pulling you gently against his side. The rhythmic beat of his heart resonated against your back, a steady drum of life and presence.

You didn’t resist. You simply melted into his embrace, your good arm instinctively wrapping around his chest, resting over his own steady heartbeat. The faint scent of salt and steel, uniquely his, filled your senses, a familiar and grounding aroma. You nestled your head against his shoulder, feeling the solid comfort of his presence, the protective aura he exuded.

The infirmary, once a place of pain and cold, was suddenly transformed into a sanctuary. All the torment, all the fear, all the guilt that had plagued you for so long, began to dissipate, replaced by a profound, comforting calm. You felt safe, truly safe, for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

Under the gentle rocking of the Thousand Sunny, with the familiar sounds of the sea outside and the steady rhythm of Zoro’s breathing beside you, your bruised and aching body found solace. Your eyes, heavy with exhaustion and emotion, slowly drifted closed. In the comforting embrace of the man who had risked everything to bring you home, you both drifted off to sleep, finding a shared, peaceful slumber amidst the stormy seas of your new, uncertain, but undeniably real, life.

The morning sun, filtered through the infirmary's porthole, cast a warm glow on your sleeping forms. You stirred first, the lingering aches in your body a familiar throb, but beneath them, a new, comforting warmth. Zoro's arm was still around you, his breath soft against your hair. You gently disentangled yourself, careful not to wake him, and managed to sit up, a soft groan escaping as your ribs protested.

As if sensing your movement, Zoro shifted, his eyes fluttering open. He looked at you, a soft, sleepy awareness in their depths, before a faint, genuine smile touched his lips. He sat up, stretching, his powerful muscles rippling.

"Feeling better?" he rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"A little," you admitted, a small smile touching your own bruised lips. "Thanks to Chopper." And to him, though you left that unspoken for now.

Breakfast on the Sunny

The scent of Sanji's cooking wafted into the infirmary, a tantalizing aroma that pulled you towards the galley. When you walked in, arm linked through Zoro's for support, a hush fell over the crew. Their eyes, filled with a mix of concern and relief, immediately landed on you. Chopper, who was already at the table, let out a relieved squeak.

"Y/N! You're up!" he chirped, hopping down from his chair to trot over to you.

"Morning, Quartermaster-chan!" Sanji greeted, his voice unusually gentle, a plate of perfectly cooked eggs and bacon already being placed before you. "I made your favorite."

You offered a weak smile. "Thanks, Sanji."

As you carefully sat down, the crew began to pepper you with questions and comments, their usual boisterous energy returning, albeit with a softer edge.

"How are your hands, Y/N?" Nami asked, leaning forward, her earlier tears replaced by genuine concern.

"Chopper worked his magic," you replied, holding up your heavily bandaged hand. "It'll be a while, but they'll heal."

"That Vice Admiral got what he deserved!" Usopp declared, puffing out his chest. "No one hurts our nakama!"

"Yohoho! Indeed!" Brook added, tipping his non-existent hat. "It was quite the performance, Y/N-san, making them think you were still with them!"

Franky gave a thumbs-up. "Super tough, Quartermaster! You took a beating and still didn't spill the beans!"

Jinbe nodded sagely. "Your resolve is admirable, Y/N. A testament to true loyalty."

You looked at their faces, at the genuine warmth and acceptance in their eyes, and a profound sense of gratitude washed over you. They weren’t judging you for your past, only celebrating your present choice.

Then, Luffy, who had been quietly stuffing his face, swallowed a huge bite of meat and looked at you, his eyes serious. "Y/N," he began, "we know you said you don't expect forgiveness, and that you're sorry for lying."

Your heart clenched, bracing for a lecture, or perhaps, a difficult conversation about trust.

But Luffy simply grinned, a wide, infectious grin that reached his eyes. "But we decided something. You chose us. You chose to be our friend, our nakama. So we're not mad."

A wave of relief so powerful it almost buckled your knees washed over you.

"We're glad you're here, Y/N," Nami added, her voice soft. "Even if you were a Marine. You're our Quartermaster now."

Zoro, from beside you, simply grunted in agreement, a silent affirmation.

Luffy then leaned forward, his voice dropping slightly, though still clear for everyone to hear. "And since you decided to be with us," he said, "we want to make sure you're really with us. No more running. No more turning yourself in." He paused, looking around at his crew, then back at you. "So, Y/N, we want to ask you something properly."

He took another deep breath, then, with that characteristic Luffy straightforwardness, he declared, "Will you officially join our crew? For real this time. Not as an undercover agent, but as our friend, our nakama, our Quartermaster of the Straw Hat Pirates?"

The question hung in the air, simple yet profound. It wasn't just an invitation; it was an absolution, a complete and utter acceptance of you, past, present, and future. Tears pricked at your eyes, blurring the faces of the extraordinary people who had become your everything. You looked at each of them, their expectant smiles, their unwavering support. You looked at Zoro, who met your gaze with a silent strength, a subtle encouragement in his eyes.

"Yes," you whispered, the word thick with emotion, but growing stronger with each breath. "Yes, I will. Thank you. Thank you all."

A cheer erupted around the table, genuine and heartfelt. Luffy laughed, his characteristic joy filling the galley. The Thousand Sunny, now truly your home, sailed on, carrying its newly confirmed Quartermaster towards an unpredictable, but incredibly real, future.

The weeks that followed your official joining of the Straw Hat Pirates were a period of intense healing, both physical and emotional. The initial euphoria of your rescue settled into a comfortable, undeniable reality. You were no longer living a lie, and that freedom, despite the lingering aches, was intoxicating.

True to your nature, you threw yourself into your duties as quartermaster with an almost feverish dedication, often pushing yourself beyond what Chopper advised. Your fractured fingers, though splinted and bandaged, didn't stop you. You learned to adapt, using your good hand and even your teeth when necessary, much to Chopper's exasperation.

You were everywhere, touching every aspect of the ship's well-being.

* You meticulously reorganized the ship's inventory, ensuring every barrel of water, every bag of flour, and every spare part was accounted for and stored efficiently. Even with one hand, you devised a color-coded system for easy identification, earning a grumbling appreciation from Zoro who could finally find things without getting lost.

* You spent hours with Nami, poring over charts and logbooks, sharing your extensive knowledge of Marine supply routes and intelligence gathering, providing invaluable insights into potential dangers and safe harbors. You helped her refine the Sunny's provisioning protocols, making them even more efficient.

* You assisted Franky in the engine room, observing his repairs and maintenance routines, learning the intricacies of the Sunny's magnificent machinery. Even if you couldn't wield a wrench yet, you were there, offering a keen eye and your uncanny ability to spot inefficiencies, often suggesting practical, "super" improvements that Franky eagerly embraced.

* You spent time with Usopp, helping him brainstorm new projectile designs and organizing his workshop, providing a methodical approach to his chaotic creativity. You even managed to sketch out a few technical diagrams for him, holding the pen awkwardly in your good hand.

* You helped Sanji manage the galley's stock, ensuring he never ran out of key ingredients, even anticipating future needs based on upcoming voyages. You found yourself genuinely enjoying his passionate discussions about cuisine, offering surprisingly insightful suggestions for ingredient pairings.

* Even with Brook, you helped organize his sheet music and instruments, ensuring everything was protected from the sea air, taking genuine interest in his vast musical repertoire.

Chopper, though constantly reminding you to rest, found himself increasingly impressed by your resilience and dedication. He'd scold you for overdoing it, but a proud glint was always in his eye. Your devotion to the crew and the ship was undeniable, proving your commitment far more eloquently than any words could.

Your relationship with Zoro deepened with a quiet intensity that bypassed grand gestures. It was forged in shared silences, in stolen glances, and in the unspoken understanding that had bloomed amidst the chaos of your rescue.

He remained a constant, grounding presence. He was often found sitting near you while you worked, sometimes sharpening his swords, sometimes simply watching the horizon, but always within reach. He never pressed you to talk about your past, respecting the boundaries you silently held, but his unwavering acceptance was a constant balm to your still-healing emotional wounds.

One evening, as you sat on the deck, watching the sunset paint the sky in fiery hues, he silently moved to sit beside you, offering you a cup of warm tea that Sanji had specially brewed. You took it with your good hand, the warmth a comforting contrast to the cool evening air.

"How are the hands?" he asked, his voice low.

"Better," you replied, flexing your fingers slightly, wincing imperceptibly. "Still stiff."

He reached out, his calloused thumb gently tracing the edge of your splinted hand. "Don't push yourself too hard," he murmured, his gaze serious. "Chopper's got enough to worry about."

You met his eyes, a soft smile touching your lips. "I just… I want to prove I belong here. That I'm worth it."

His thumb stopped, pressing lightly against your skin. "You don't need to prove anything, Y/N," he said, his voice firm, leaving no room for doubt. "You chose us. That's all the proof we need."

Later that night, as you lay in the infirmary, Chopper having given you a stronger painkiller, Zoro quietly slipped in. He didn't get into the bed this time, but pulled his chair close, settling in for what you thought would be another silent vigil. But instead, he reached out, and gently, carefully, he took your good hand in his, linking your fingers.

"Sleep," he rumbled, his voice a soft command. "I'll be here."

And as you drifted off, the warmth of his hand, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the quiet comfort of his presence were a lullaby more effective than any medicine. His steadfast loyalty, his quiet understanding, and his unwavering acceptance were a constant source of healing, slowly mending the deepest wounds, affirming that in his eyes, and in the heart of the Straw Hat Pirates, you were undeniably home.

The first rays of dawn, filtered through the infirmary's porthole, found you nestled against Zoro's side, your head tucked under his chin. The faint scent of salt and his unique, almost earthy aroma filled your senses. You stretched, a small, contented sigh escaping your lips as the familiar aches in your body seemed less sharp, softened by the warmth of his presence. He stirred, his arm tightening around your waist for a moment before he slowly opened his eyes, a soft, sleepy awareness in their depths. A faint, genuine smile, rare for the swordsman, touched his lips as he looked down at you.

"Morning," he rumbled, his voice still thick with sleep.

"Morning," you whispered back, a warmth spreading through you that had nothing to do with the rising sun.

You carefully untangled yourselves from each other, moving with the practiced ease that had developed over the past weeks. Your injured hand, though still bandaged, felt considerably better, and your bruises had faded to an array of faint yellows and purples.

Your relationship with Zoro had, indeed, become an open secret among the crew. There was no grand announcement, no dramatic declaration. It had simply become. Their knowing glances, Nami's subtle smirks, Sanji's exaggerated groans of disgust whenever Zoro was near you, and Luffy's innocent observations ("You two are always together!") had made it abundantly clear. It was a comfortable, quiet understanding that settled over the Sunny like a warm blanket.

The day unfolded, woven with small, intimate moments that spoke volumes of your burgeoning connection.

After breakfast, while the others were scattered about the ship, you found yourself on the deck with Zoro, overseeing the rigging. Your mending hand still limited your ability to do heavy work, but you pointed out fraying ropes and loose knots, explaining the quartermaster's meticulous checks. Zoro, instead of grunting and walking off as he might have with anyone else, actually listened, his eyes following your gestures. When you struggled to reach a particular line, he simply stepped behind you, his large hand gently guiding yours, reaching to secure it with a practiced knot. His warmth pressed against your back, a silent comfort that sent a pleasant shiver down your spine.

Later, when Nami was poring over her maps, trying to decipher a particularly tricky current, you joined her, offering insights from old Marine navigational charts you'd memorized. Zoro, instead of heading to his usual napping spot, leaned against the mast nearby, seemingly just resting, but his gaze occasionally flickered to you, a quiet presence that made you feel effortlessly supported. When Sanji brought out snacks, he made sure to place a small plate of your favorites directly within your reach, a silent acknowledgment of the new dynamic.

In the afternoon, while Luffy, Usopp, and Chopper engaged in a chaotic fishing competition, you found yourself sitting on the grassy deck, sketching designs for improved storage containers. Zoro, as usual, had found a spot nearby to nap, his swords resting beside him. You glanced at him, a soft smile on your face. He looked peaceful, his breathing deep and even. Without thinking, you reached out your good hand and gently brushed a stray strand of moss-green hair from his forehead. His eyes didn't open, but a small, almost imperceptible murmur escaped him, and he shifted slightly, leaning into your touch.

Even during Franky's "SUPER" performance of a new upgrade to the Sunny's cola system, while the rest of the crew cheered and groaned in equal measure, Zoro remained by your side. You leaned against his arm, your laughter bubbling freely as Franky struck a dramatic pose. Zoro's arm subtly shifted to hold you a little closer, his own rare, soft chuckle rumbling in his chest.

As evening approached, and the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, you found yourselves, once again, on the deck. The day had been filled with the ordinary rhythm of life on the Sunny, yet every moment had been subtly underscored by the quiet, comforting presence of your intertwined lives. Zoro, ever the man of few words, simply reached out and took your good hand in his, his thumb tracing slow circles on your skin. The silence between you was no longer just comfortable; it was profound, filled with unspoken promises and a love that had found its unexpected, undeniable home.

The last vestiges of daylight bled from the sky, leaving behind a canvas of deep indigo scattered with the first hesitant stars. The gentle rocking of the Sunny and the distant murmur of the sea set a tranquil scene, but the air between you and Zoro crackled with a different kind of energy. His thumb continued its slow, hypnotic circles on your hand, a quiet intimacy that sent shivers down your arm.

His gaze, which had been fixed on the horizon, slowly drifted to meet yours. A familiar, almost predatory glint entered his dark eyes, and a slow, teasing smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

"You know," he rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, suggestive tone, "I was still pretty pissed off when I found your note."

You raised an eyebrow, a small, knowing smile playing on your own lips. "Oh really, Swordsman? Pissed off about what, exactly?" You knew perfectly well what he was referring to, the unspoken connection between you electric.

"After we finally..." he paused, his gaze dropping to your lips, then back to your eyes, "had our moment." His thumb moved, tracing the line of your wrist, then slowly, deliberately, up your arm, sending a trail of heat in its wake. "And then you just left. Without a word. That's a pretty low move, Quartermaster." His voice was a playful growl, laced with a warmth that contradicted his mock-indignation.

Your heart quickened its pace. He was no longer just talking about your deception; he was talking about you, about them, about the burgeoning passion that had been cut short. "You're just saying that because you missed me," you teased back, your voice breathy.

His smirk widened, and he leaned in closer, the scent of him – salt, steel, and something uniquely masculine – filling your senses. His other hand came up, gently cupping your uninjured cheek, his thumb brushing over the fading bruise beneath your eye. "Maybe," he murmured, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. "Or maybe I just don't like unfinished business."

His eyes, dark and intense, were fixed solely on yours, promising a different kind of completion. The distance between your faces was negligible, the air charged with unspoken desire. You didn't need words. You leaned in, meeting him halfway.

Your lips met, soft at first, a question, a rediscovery. Then, as his arm tightened around your waist, pulling you flush against his solid frame, the kiss deepened, becoming hungry, urgent. All the pent-up tension, the fear, the relief, the raw emotion of the past weeks, poured into that embrace. Your good hand tangled in his moss-green hair, pulling him closer, while his hand cupped your face, his fingers gently tracing the curve of your jaw.

The world outside the two of you faded. The gentle rocking of the Sunny, the distant sounds of the crew, all became a muted backdrop to the roaring in your ears. His lips moved with a possessive tenderness, tasting of salt and promise. His body, warm and solid against yours, was a haven, and you pressed into him, desperate for more, desperate for the solace and passion he offered. It was a kiss of healing, of forgiveness, and of a future that, for the first time in a long time, felt undeniably, exhilaratingly real.

The kiss deepened, a fervent exploration that devoured the last vestiges of unspoken words. His lips were a demanding warmth, and yours answered with an equal, desperate hunger. His hands, no longer merely cupping your face, began to roam, large and sure, tracing the curves of your back, pulling you closer still. They slid lower, settling on your hips, exerting a gentle pressure that urged your body even tighter against his.

A soft gasp escaped your throat, swallowed by his kiss, as you instinctively responded. Your good hand tightened its grip on the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still, while your bandaged hand, with surprising determination, found its way to rest against the firm line of his jaw.

With a fluid, almost unconscious movement, you shifted, sliding effortlessly into his lap. Your legs parted, straddling his thighs, and you pressed your core firmly against his, a silent, undeniable declaration of desire. The intimate contact sent a jolt of pure sensation through you, igniting a fire that had long been banked, now roaring to life.

His groan was a low rumble against your lips, a primal sound of raw pleasure and deepening passion. His hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly in place, sealing the exquisite friction between you. The kiss became more fervent, more demanding, a desperate dance of desire that spoke of weeks of unspoken longing, of a bond forged in peril and cemented by choice. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the rhythm of your breaths, the beating of your hearts, and the intoxicating promise of a love finally given room to burn.

The kiss deepened, a fervent exploration that devoured the last vestiges of unspoken words. His lips were a demanding warmth, and yours answered with an equal, desperate hunger. His hands, no longer merely cupping your face, began to roam, large and sure, tracing the curves of your back, pulling you closer still. They slid lower, settling on your hips, exerting a gentle pressure that urged your body even tighter against his.

A soft gasp escaped your throat, swallowed by his kiss, as you instinctively responded. Your good hand tightened its grip on the hair at the nape of his neck, pulling him closer still, while your bandaged hand, with surprising determination, found its way to rest against the firm line of his jaw.

With a fluid, almost unconscious movement, you shifted, sliding effortlessly into his lap. Your legs parted, straddling his thighs, and you pressed your core firmly against his, a silent, undeniable declaration of desire. The intimate contact sent a jolt of pure sensation through you, igniting a fire that had long been banked, now roaring to life.

His groan was a low rumble against your lips, a primal sound of raw pleasure and deepening passion. His hands tightened on your hips, holding you firmly in place, sealing the exquisite friction between you. The kiss became more fervent, more demanding, a desperate dance of desire that spoke of weeks of unspoken longing, of a bond forged in peril and cemented by choice. In that moment, there was only the two of you, the rhythm of your breaths, the beating of your hearts, and the intoxicating promise of a love finally given room to burn.

His hands, warm and strong, ventured further, slipping beneath the hem of your shirt. His fingers traced the sensitive skin of your back before curving around your sides, his thumbs brushing lightly against the undersides of your breasts. A shiver ran through you, and you arched into his touch. With practiced ease, his fingers found the clasp of your bra, a soft click signalling its release.

As his touch continued to ignite a fire within you, your lips left his, trailing a path of fervent kisses down his jawline, along the strong column of his neck. You left small, burning marks in your wake, claiming him, just as he was claiming you. A low moan escaped him as your lips pressed against the sensitive skin just above his collarbone.

Finally, pulling back slightly, your gaze still locked with his, you slid off his lap, gracefully kneeling before him on the soft deck. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your eyes dark with desire. His own eyes, equally heavy-lidded, watched your every move. Without breaking eye contact, your good hand moved, deliberate and slow, to the front of his pants. Your fingers found the fly, and with a suggestive smile, you began to unzip it.

His breath hitched as your fingers worked the zipper, a low growl rumbling in his chest. Your gaze remained locked with his, a silent challenge, a promise. The denim parted, revealing the dark fabric of his boxers beneath. With a slow, deliberate movement, your hand dipped inside, finding the elastic band. You pulled them down, peeling them away, revealing the thick, rigid length that sprang free.

He watched you, his eyes dark with a raw hunger, his body tensing in anticipation. Your fingers brushed against him, an electric current passing between your touch and his skin. You leaned in, letting your lips ghost over his throbbing tip, a feather-light tease that made him gasp. Your tongue flicked out, a quick, hot dart, tasting him, eliciting another groan that vibrated through his core.

Then, slowly, sensually, you opened your mouth, taking him in. The warmth was immediate, overwhelming, a perfect sheath around his thick length. You took him deeper, the exquisite pressure and the slow, deliberate suction drawing another ragged breath from him. Your good hand moved to cup him, stroking him with a gentle rhythm, while your eyes, still fixed on his, watched the pleasure bloom across his face.

You continued to take him in, your mouth working him with a practiced rhythm, each movement a deliberate act of adoration. His hips began to buck instinctively, a low, guttural moan rumbling in his chest as his hands came to rest on your head, his fingers tangling in your hair. The pressure grew, the sensation all-consuming, as you focused solely on his pleasure, drawing him deeper, teasing him with languid movements of your tongue.

The raw intensity of the moment was palpable, a testament to the weeks of unspoken tension and the profound bond that had formed between you. You felt the subtle tremors beginning to rack his powerful frame, his breathing growing shallow and ragged. His fingers tightened in your hair, urging you on, a silent plea for release. You held him there, drawing out the exquisite agony, until finally, with a powerful thrust, he spilled into your mouth, a hot, urgent release that made him gasp your name.

You held him there, savoring the aftermath, until the tremors subsided. Slowly, you pulled away, your lips glistening, a satisfied smile playing on your face. You looked up at him, his eyes heavy-lidded, his chest heaving. He was utterly, deliciously spent.

"Missed me, did you?" you murmured, a playful glint in your eyes, echoing his earlier words.

He let out a soft groan, a mix of exhaustion and profound contentment. His hand reached out, gently pulling you back into his lap, and he rested his forehead against yours. "More than you know, Y/N," he rasped, his voice rough with emotion. He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, holding you as if you were the most precious thing in his world. And in that moment, for both of you, you were.

He pulled you closer, the warmth of his embrace a soothing comfort after the recent intensity. His lips found yours again, a softer, lingering kiss this time, filled with a tenderness that made your heart ache in the most exquisite way. Slowly, his hands began to move, no longer urgent, but deliberate, tracing the curve of your spine before finding the hem of your shirt. With a gentle tug, he began to pull it up, his gaze never leaving yours.

You helped him, raising your arms as he peeled the fabric from your body, revealing your still-bruised skin to the cool evening air. He discarded it to the side, his eyes lingering on the faint discoloration across your ribs, a silent testament to what you had endured. Then, his fingers moved to the waistband of your shorts, slowly, carefully, pushing them down over your hips.

You lifted yourself slightly, allowing him to pull them free. You were left in nothing but your underwear, sitting a few inches from his still-exposed, thick length. The intimacy of the moment was palpable, the air thick with unspoken anticipation.

A slow, knowing smirk spread across his face, that familiar glint returning to his eyes. He reached out, his thumb gently tracing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. "You know," he rumbled, his voice a low, teasing growl, "after you left me hanging like that, and then disappearing without a trace, I think it's only fair you make it up to me." His thumb brushed closer, nearing the sensitive skin of your inner core. "And I think...I know exactly how." His rough hands went to his thick thighs, drumming his fingers on them. “Come on sweetheart, hop on.”

A flush spread across your cheeks, a deep blush staining your face despite the dim light. The sheer audacity, the raw possessiveness in his words, sent a shiver of excitement through you. "Oh, really?" you managed, your voice breathy, your eyes wide with a mix of surprise and undeniable arousal.

You leaned forward, your muscles coiling. With a soft groan, you lifted yourself, just a few inches, positioning yourself over him. Slowly, deliberately, you began to lower, pressing his thick, engorged tip against your warm, waiting entrance. A gasp escaped you both, a shared breath of anticipation as your bodies, finally, met again.

You began to move, a slow, deliberate ascent, your body trembling slightly with a mixture of anticipation and the lingering aches of your recent ordeal. The first inch of his thick length slid inside you, a breathtaking stretch that made you gasp softly. You rose, then descended, a hesitant, shaking rhythm, learning the new landscape of pleasure. Each downward press brought a fresh wave of sensation, a deeper connection that stole your breath.

"That's it, love," Zoro rumbled, his voice a low, husky encouragement in the dim light. His hands, still on your hips, guided your movements, a firm, reassuring pressure. "Just like that, Quartermaster."

His words, simple yet potent, sent a flush through you. To be called "love" by him, after everything, after believing yourself undeserving, was a profound comfort. And "Quartermaster," spoken with such possessive warmth, acknowledged not just your role on the ship, but your place by his side.

You continued to move, slowly at first, then gaining a more confident cadence as your body remembered the rhythm. His hips began to match yours, a subtle thrust upwards meeting your descent, deepening the delicious friction. You leaned forward, resting your head on his shoulder, the gentle rocking of the ship mirroring the sway of your bodies. With every slow, deliberate rise and fall, the last vestiges of fear and doubt seemed to dissipate, replaced by the overwhelming, undeniable truth of your connection.

You picked up the pace, your movements growing bolder, faster, as the pleasure coiled tighter within you. Your breath came in short, sharp gasps, mingling with his. With each accelerating thrust, a delicious burn started to spread through your thighs, a welcome ache that intensified the exquisite friction. Your legs began to tremble uncontrollably, a joyful shake that threatened to buckle beneath you.

A deep, guttural groan ripped from Zoro's throat, a raw sound of pure animalistic pleasure that electrified the air. His hands, which had been guiding your hips, suddenly tightened their grip, becoming possessive anchors. With a powerful surge, he began to thrust upwards, meeting your every descent with an eager, demanding force.

The rhythm shifted instantly, becoming fast and rough, a primal dance of bodies colliding with urgent need. Your moans mingled, a desperate symphony of shared pleasure. He drove into you, again and again, pushing you to the edge, the force of his thrusts nearly lifting you from the bed. You arched your back, clinging to his shoulders, your head thrown back as the pleasure built to an almost unbearable crescendo. Every muscle in your body screamed, but it was a glorious agony, a testament to the raw, unbridled passion consuming you both.

The rhythm intensified, a furious, driving beat that consumed them both. Each powerful thrust from Zoro was met by your desperate clench, your combined momentum building into a singular, all-encompassing force. Your breath came in ragged gasps, mingled with his deep groans, as the edges of your vision began to blur. Pleasure, sharp and overwhelming, surged through every nerve ending, making your body hum with an almost unbearable tension.

You cried out, his name a ragged whisper torn from your throat, as the first waves of climax washed over you, powerful and shattering. Your muscles seized, your back arching, as an exquisite release rippled through your core. Zoro roared, a primal sound of pure ecstasy, his body tensing, driving into you with one final, deep thrust as he, too, met his high.

The tremors racked through him, his head falling back against the pillow as he spilled into you, a hot, urgent release. You collapsed onto him, breathless and shaking, your bodies slick with sweat, the last echoes of pleasure vibrating between you. The world spun, then slowly settled, leaving only the sound of your ragged breathing and the gentle creak of the ship. You lay together, limbs entangled, hearts pounding a furious rhythm against each other, utterly spent and profoundly connected.

He shifted beneath you, pulling you impossibly closer until your ear rested against his chest, listening to the frantic tattoo of his heart slowly begin to steady. His hand, still firm on your hip, gave a gentle squeeze. Then, with a tenderness that still had the power to surprise you, he lowered his head and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, right over the fading bruise.

"You did good, Y/N," he rasped, his voice still thick with spent passion but imbued with a profound sincerity. His words weren't about the act itself, but about everything that had led to this moment: your strength, your choice, your fight.

You let out a shaky sigh, a wave of profound contentment washing over you. Every ache in your body, every lingering bruise, every ghost of your past, seemed to fade into insignificance. All that mattered was the warmth of his skin against yours, the scent of him filling your lungs, the steady beat of his heart beneath your cheek.

You simply lay there, nestled in the powerful circle of his arms, your own bandaged hand resting against his bare chest. Your breaths, still heavy and uneven, mingled in the quiet intimacy of the infirmary. The gentle rocking of the Thousand Sunny was a lullaby, a silent promise of endless voyages to come. In that small, shared space, surrounded by the man who had ripped through a prison for you, and by the love that had defied all expectations, you found your true home. The journey had been long, fraught with lies and pain, but here, in his arms, under the quiet hum of the ship, you finally, completely, belonged.

[paucubarsisimp]

HOLAAA can you write a pau cubarsi x readrr where they are at a team dinner and she is busy talking and having fun with all the wags and pau is js watching her and standing beside her awkwardly? also with many teasings from his teamamtes

close to you

pairing: pau cubarsi x reader

summary: pau being a cute, shy and awkward bf <3

warnings: none!

a/n: also this is nothing to do the song, i js thought that 'close to you' fit the best

the restaurant was warm and buzzing — not chaotic, just comfortably full. the team had taken over a long candlelit table tucked in the back, voices rising and falling over half-finished glasses of wine, plates being passed around, laughter breaking out in waves.

you were posted up on the edge of the table, half-sitting with a glass in hand, completely in your element. mikky was beside you — elegant as always in a silky black dress, sipping slowly, smirking every time frenkie said something dumb. on your other side was ana, all quick wit and knowing glances, her laugh a little louder when gavi looked over.

you were glowing, honestly. chatting, joking, telling a story that had mikky gasping and ana wheezing. and just behind you, half-tucked into the corner like a wallflower?

pau.

sweet, quiet pau.

he stood there like he wasn’t totally sure if he was supposed to be there. one hand in his pocket, the other fiddling with his sleeve. eyes locked on you like he was watching his own personal rom-com unfold — the kind with soft lighting and a perfect soundtrack.

“he’s doing it again,” mikky whispered, leaning closer with a knowing smile.

you blinked. “doing what?”

“the standing-there-like-a-shy-prince thing,” ana said, biting back a grin. “just watching you like he’s never seen someone talk before.”

you turned to look at him — and yep, there it was. the faintest blush creeping up his neck. he smiled when your eyes met, soft and unsure, like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

god, he was cute.

you reached out without thinking, fingers lacing through his. “hey,” you said gently, tugging him closer. “you okay?”

he nodded quickly. “yeah. i’m fine. just… you’re really pretty when you laugh.”

you blinked. paused. melted a little. “oh.”

he shifted, rubbing the back of his neck. “and you’re so good at this. talking to people. i’m kind of just… hovering.”

“baby,” you said with a little laugh, reaching up to brush your hand over his jaw, “you’re not hovering. you’re brooding in the background. it’s hot.”

he laughed, ducking his head, that blush spreading like wildfire.

ana leaned in with a dramatic sigh. “okay, i take it back. this is the softest thing i’ve ever seen. i feel like i should be filming this.”

“don’t give her ideas,” pau mumbled.

you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “let them talk. they’re just jealous.”

mikky raised her glass, totally deadpan. “to being loved by shy boys.”

“and to public affection that makes everyone else sick,” ana added, bumping your shoulder.

gavi groaned from the other side of the table. “joder, ana, not you too.”

pau looked like he wanted to disappear, so you slipped your arms around his waist and pulled him closer until you were resting your chin on his chest. “you good?” you whispered.

he nodded again. “yeah. i just like being close to you.”

you smiled and kissed him, slow and sweet, right there in front of everyone. he didn’t pull away — if anything, his hands found your hips and stayed there, like he needed the anchor.

someone (probably lamine made a dramatic gagging noise. no one cared.

pau leaned down, his voice low, just for you. “thank you for pulling me in.”

you looked up at him and whispered, “always. i’m yours, remember?”

his smile was soft, almost sleepy. “yeah. i remember.”

and for the rest of the night, he didn’t leave your side — your fingers intertwined under the table, his thigh pressed to yours, his heart beating steadier just from being near you.

taglist: @barcapix, @universefcb, @nngkay, @joaosnovia, @ilovebarcaaaa, @levidazai, @hollyf1,@mxryxmfooty, @halfwayhearted, @landoslutmeout , @meganesanchez, @linnygirl09, @spidybaby,, @vicolette lmk if you want to be added/removed!

[acewithapaintbrush]

I saw the initial post by @wheretimegoestodie and @aroace-get-out-of-my-face addition about an Ella Enchanted AU with Stan and how easy it would be for Ford to accidentally activate the curse and it got me thinking, yeah but what if he does it intentionally cause he thinks he's helping Stanley? Cause, you know? The road to hell is paved with good intentions and all that.

I started writing and it kinda spiraled out of control so more under the cut. Trigger warnings for gross food stuff and non-descriptive vomiting.

Stanley rolls his eyes as Ford sighs obnoxiously loudly. It’s the kind of sigh parents use when they want their children to notice that they have done something wrong without having to spell it out for them. Too bad Stan is not an unruly child. He’s an unruly adult and as such he ignores his brother who is standing in the doorway with his arms crossed in front of his chest and a scowl on his face.

Ever since Ford found out about Stan’s little predicament he’s been overly careful with his words. Stan is thankful, really. It has made this house safer than any other place he’s ever been where people just tell you to do things without thought, mostly even without bad intentions. But it means that sometimes there are moments when they are in the same room but it’s just this overwhelming silence between them that presses down on Stan like an anvil to his chest. He’s never been bothered by silence before, not since his enchantment certainly, but it’s different with Ford. Everything is always different with Ford. He forgot about that.

Sometimes it comforts him, sometimes it makes his skin crawl.

Ford sighs again and Stan tenses. Usually ignoring his brother long enough does the trick and the guy will either tell him what bothers him about Stan this time or he’ll give up. A second, even deeper sigh is new.

“You have skipped breakfast again this morning,” Ford states in that way that is supposed to be a question.

“I had a banana,” Stan lies because he isn’t actually sure it’s the truth. The more he thinks about it, the more he thinks it might have been yesterday. It’s hard to keep track sometimes and there are more important things to worry about right now. Like making sure his brother eats and sleeps with that demon in his head, cleaning up the house to make that doom and gloom disappear. A little bit of dusting and letting some fresh air in has already done wonders to the place in the three weeks Stan has been here.

He glances at his brother in the doorway and nods to himself. Ford looks better. He is still horrifyingly sleep deprived, too afraid his possessed body will do something he’ll regret if he allows himself to fall into a deep sleep circle, but he’s less pale and doesn’t look like he’ll drop dead any second now. His old biker gang used to make fun of Stan’s mother hen tendencies but if they help make sure his brother doesn’t end up in an asylum it’s worth it.

Ford watches him move another box and his expression is a cross between pain and exasperation. Stan knows that his stubbornness is not making this easy for his brother but he can’t help it. He needs to do something, to keep busy. Make his stay here worth Ford’s while. Sometimes he thinks this desperate need to make himself useful, to feel needed, is just another side effect of the curse but then he thinks of all the people that mocked him for being so needy, so hungry for acknowledgment and affection, to be noticed and seen.

Maybe the curse was inevitable for someone like Stan.

“You need to-” Ford starts and when he sees Stan tense he quickly switches track. “I mean, a balanced diet is important, Stanley.”

Stan snorts. “Look who’s talking.” Ford starts to glare with real annoyance. Good. He’s been too nice the last few weeks. It has thrown Stan off, made him wonder when the other shoe is going to drop. His brother rubs a hand over his face and it must have been another all nighter. He looks especially rough, in a way he hasn’t for a while now. For a moment Stan feels guilty but he needs to get this room cleaned up and so he swallows any apology he could make and instead waves his brother away. “Go do your portal science stuff. I’ll eat something later.”

“We both know that's a lie!” Ford hisses between clenched teeth. He’s fiddling with his hands and alarm bells go off in Stan’s head. “And I’ll do what I want in my own home!”

“Easy, poindexter.”

“Don’t call me that!”

Stan feels the compulsion take hold but it’s okay. It’s an easy enough command to follow. Ford hasn’t even noticed and Stan won’t tell him. His brother slips up sometimes and it’s okay, at least he tries. (Okay okay okay, Stan repeats in his head multiple times, until he believes it).

“Easy Ford," he starts again but his voice is trembling. He’s on edge now, wrong footed, vulnerable. “Why is this such a big deal? I’m fine.”

“Because I’m worried about you, you dunderhead. And you are not fine. You are the farthest thing from fine. You look like you’ll fall over any second now.”

Stan rolls his eyes again because Ford being worried about him? Please. “Yeah. Sure.”

His lackadaisy response sets Ford off in a way Stan has never seen before. His brother seems to explode right before his eyes without any sound. His eyes flash, his teeth gnash together. He slams a fist against the door frame and tears at his sweater as if he wants to rip it off. Stan involuntarily takes a startled step back.

“I am!” Ford shouts and his voice sounds wrong, strangled, as if he’s trying to hold back tears even though his eyes are dry like the desert and blazing with fire. “I am, Stanley! You are working yourself ragged right in front of my eyes and I can’t watch this anymore. You need to eat!”

Stan freezes and this time Ford notices what he’s done. He can feel himself take a step towards the kitchen and Stan expects his brother to take it back like he’s done a dozen times before. His brother opens his mouth, his expression stricken and apologetic but then something else crosses his face. Fear, resignation, horror, sadness.

And then, worst of all, resolve.

“Go into the kitchen and eat. And when you are done I want you to go to bed and sleep for eight hours.” He’s averting his eyes as Stan pushes past him in the doorway. “I’m sorry Stanley.”

Stan wants to scream at him. Coward. Asshole. Traitor. He wants to punch him and beg him and curse him. He wants to do so much but all the curse allows him to do is walk towards the kitchen on wooden legs and listen to his brother sink to the floor behind him, softly cursing under his breath “fuck fuck fuck”.

His brother never curses. Stan almost wants to laugh.

Not that he’s allowed to.

++++++++++++++++++++++++

Go into the kitchen and eat.

That command is easy enough to follow. Thanks to Stan the kitchen is well stocked with all kinds of food.

But that is the problem. Because his genius brother has given a very broad command.

Stan is supposed to eat and when he’s done, he’s supposed to sleep.

Not when he’s full. Not when the leftovers of breakfast are gone. Not when he’s eaten whatever he likes. Stan is supposed to eat until he’s done. And without a clear limit that means eating everything in the kitchen.

Fuck.

Stan’s feet carry him to the bananas on the counter first. Maybe a cosmic punishment for his earlier fib. Thankfully he peels them before shoving them into his mouth one after another, barely enough time to swallow before the next one follows. There are seven bananas and he eats them all and he already feels full and slightly nauseous. No one is supposed to eat so many bananas in one go.

“I’m done,” he thinks fretfully but the curse doesn’t care. There is still food in the kitchen. It makes his hand reach for the cereal standing next to the empty fruit bowl and tip the damned box up to pour the contents into his mouth. It’s the boring kind, fibers and nuts and raisins. He chokes on the dry food a little. His brother didn’t tell him to eat and drink, just eat, so he has to swallow it as it is without milk which would have made this a bit more bearable.

Once the box is empty (a lot of it fell to the floor but thankfully the curse doesn’t make him lap it up like a dog) his body turns to the sink and his heart skips a beat. There is a big chunk of minced meat defrosting in there. He had planned to make burgers later that day. The thought now makes him gag. He starts to reach inside the sink and he just knows that the curse won’t let him cook it first. Food is food.

With more mental strength than he thought he was capable of he focuses on the pickle jar standing ready next to the sink and makes his body reach for that one instead. As he takes off the lid and starts shoveling pickles and pickle water into his mouth he finally starts to cry because he knows it’s just a temporary relief, just a postponement of the inevitable. The raw meat is right there, waiting for him, mocking him.

A pickle gets stuck in his throat and Stan bends over, coughing it up. All the food he’s already eaten suddenly protests and combined with his terror at what’s yet to come Stan can’t help but bend over further and start to gag. With a cut off curse he vomits everything he’s just eaten back up again.

The mess spreads over the kitchen floor and Stan has a moment to think how much he doesn’t want to clean that up later when he hears footsteps rushing towards him. Ford appears in the doorway, lured by the sound of Stan throwing up. He takes in the scene, the banana peels and the empty pickle jar and cereal box and the mess on the floor and if Stan had any mental capacity to pay attention to his brother he might have been able to see the realization dawn on Ford's face in real time.

As it is, the curse is already forcing him to continue and it’s with a resigned kind of horror that he watches his own hand creep towards the sink.

“NO!” Ford shouts and when Stan still reaches for the meat he runs forward. His voice is pitched impossibly high. “Don’t eat that! I release you! Stop eating. For now, I mean. Stop eating for now. Only eat if you want to! Oh God, Stanley!”

Stan slumps to the floor. He would have facepalmed into the mess if Ford hadn’t grabbed him and pulled him backwards into his arms. The two of them sit down on their asses with so much force that it’s gonna leave a mark for sure.

Stan is still heaving, still gagging. Now that the compulsion is gone he can taste everything with so much more intensity. He’s never going to eat bananas again. Ford snakes his arms around Stan from behind and pulls him closer. It almost hurts, the way Ford is crushing him against his chest. Stan can feel his brother’s heart jackrabbit in his chest through their clothing, can feel Ford’s breath against the nape of his neck.

He wants to push him away, to fight his way free. To punch him, honestly. He tries but Ford just clings tighter with an almost animalistic whine and Stan slumps back, loose-limbed and exhausted.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! Moses Stanley, I’m so sorry. I just wanted to… I was just worried. I was so scared for you to- I’m sorry. Please, Stanley, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Stanley. Please.”

Stan has no idea what Ford is pleading for. His forgiveness? As if there was ever any doubt.

“It’s alright,” he rasps through an abused throat. It’s not alright, but if he repeats it often enough maybe he’ll believe it one day. He pats his brother's hand that is fisted in his shirt, the only part he can reach. “It’s alright, Ford.”

It’s alright It’s alright It’s alright

For some reason that makes Ford sob and cling even tighter. He is shaking and a part of Stan wants to comfort him, tell him that he understands that Ford was just trying to help. But he is frozen, like an animal trapped in a snare.

“Never again,” Ford promises between sobs. “Never again, Stanley. I swear!”

“Okay.”

He’s tired. Maybe he won’t need Ford’s compulsion to sleep for eight hours.

This is actually good, he tries to tell himself. Stan was growing too complacent, too relaxed. He’s been waiting for the other to drop and there it finally is, dropped on his head like a ton of bricks. All that wrong sense of safety has made him forget the first rule of survival but he’s back on the right track.

He’s more familiar with this situation.

He knows how to handle this.

+++++++++++++++

The next morning Ford finds Stanley making enough breakfast for two and the table set for two people.

Ford goes into the bathroom and cries.

He's not hungry but he will eat.

Every last scrap.

********

Don't be too hard on Ford, he's got a demon in his head and runs on two hours of sleep, eight cups of coffee and spite

[girly-girlk]

Can you write rafe cameron x reader where she has a bad home life and she goes to rafe for comfort after something happens with her parents. Sending my love pookie ❤️

come here

rafe cameron x reader

summary: you go to rafe’s house after a bad fight with your parents

a/n: this one was so fun to write and (in my opinion) super cute! enjoy!!💕

you didn’t plan on ending up at his place. not tonight.

you were just supposed to come home from work, grab dinner, and avoid your parents like usual. but for once, they didn’t let you slip by. instead, your dad was waiting in the kitchen — the scowl already painted across his face, disappointment practically dripping from his words before he even opened his mouth.

and then it started again.

the yelling.

the blame.

everything being your fault — the bills, the mess, their misery.

by the time you slammed the door behind you and took off down the street barefoot, you didn’t even realize your cheeks were soaked. or that your breathing was shaking. or that you only had one place in mind.

rafe cameron.

the boy everyone warned you about. but the one who, in quiet, unguarded moments, had only ever treated you gently. and right now, you needed gentle more than anything.

⸻

you don’t knock. just pound once on the front door of tannyhill and pray someone’s awake. it’s past midnight, but the porch light flicks on fast, and within seconds, the door swings open.

rafe stands there, shirtless, sleep-heavy eyes blinking in confusion — until he sees your face.

“shit, baby…”

he doesn’t ask. doesn’t even hesitate.

arms around you. instantly. like instinct. like he’s done it a thousand times. one hand presses to the back of your head, the other wraps tightly around your waist, pulling you in until your whole body melts against his chest.

you break. fully. no holding back. sobs wrack your frame and his hold only tightens.

“i—i didn’t know where else to go,” you manage between gasps.

“you don’t need anywhere else,” rafe murmurs against your hair. “you come to me, always.”

you feel him pull you inside and close the door behind you, guiding you wordlessly to his room. his touch never leaves — not when you sit on the edge of his bed, not when he grabs a blanket and wraps it around your shoulders, not even when he kneels in front of you like he’s trying to anchor you back to earth.

“what happened?” he finally asks, voice low, calm — but there’s something dangerous burning under it. he’s trying not to lose it.

you stare at him, lip trembling. “they… said i was ruining everything. that i’m worthless. that if i left, no one would even care.”

rafe goes completely still.

his jaw clenches. eyes narrow. and for a terrifying second, you think he might explode.

but instead, he stands. he doesn’t yell. doesn’t punch a wall. he just sits beside you and pulls you into his lap like you weigh nothing.

“you listen to me right now,” he says, voice husky but firm. “they don’t get to treat you like that. ever. that’s not love. that’s not family.”

you lean into him, soaking in his warmth, his scent — safety.

“i care,” he whispers against your forehead. “i fucking care, okay? i’d lose my mind if you disappeared.”

you nod into his chest, words escaping you.

“i’m not letting them hurt you again,” he continues. “you stay here tonight. stay as long as you need. forever, if that’s what it takes.”

a pause. then quieter, more vulnerable:

“i want you here. with me.”

you look up into his eyes, raw and sincere.

“i feel safe with you,” you whisper.

rafe softens — visibly — and cups your cheek with both hands.

“you are. always.”

and for the first time in what feels like forever, your heartbeat starts to steady.

because maybe everything’s falling apart —

but in his arms, you finally feel like you’re home.

[jezuschristsuperstar]

This is going to be my last post about it. And I’m going to hold your hands when I say this- squeeze them lovingly and all: Sydcarmy is never going to happen. Almost everything that they have said about this show off screen has been true (groundhog day, these two contemplating breaking cycles, Carmy not quite getting back with Claire- even though their ending implies that they will very soon) so they were right about there being nothing between these two lol. We weren’t duped or swindled: we actively refused to listen. And perhaps it was because of the chemistry between the two main characters. But if you were here before season 2, Ayo was relentlessly mean about the idea of the ship- and then over time that became her actively making fun of it by saying shit like they’re getting married. To her now in show saying that interpreting their dynamic as romance is childish. Even Jeremy himself has constantly said that there is no romantic implications between their characters, and he spoils EVERYTHING. All that… all what we were witnessing, was just the intensity of their chemistry- and that speaks volumes. It’s a shame we will never see it go any further.

And anyways… seeing the BULLSHIT that Sydney went through this season. Her finally realising that she wants to do this with him in spite of it all, just to be left high and dry???? And yes, Carmy leaving is the best thing for him to do and everything was already pointing in this direction, the funeral set up an exit (whether for the entire restaurant or him) perfectly. But if you also actually care for Syd as a character, you’d understand that what he did to her was fucked and near evil (over exaggeration but it still wasn’t good). Yes the gesture is loving- it shows that he respects her, trusts her, and loves her enough to pass on something so sentimental and special to her. HOWEVER, this is like your elder sibling banging up a toy he was supposed to pass down to you and giving it to you with a leg missing, and eye missing, and it’s fingers all chewed up. The restaurant is well run down, they still don’t have the money for it- he is aware of her fear of failure and insecurity that stems from her business failing and plunging her into financial ruin. He knows how fucked her credit is, but proceeds to do it anyway. And it’s because of that that she can’t even be happy about it. Now she can’t even trust him to help them into the clear because he has never really been there for her WHEN IT COUNTS. Why would she trust him to be there for her now? And seeing all this, beyond all their cuteness. The literal crux of their relationship- why would I want Sydcarmy to happen? It would ruin her, because Carmy is not yet in that place to be what she needs. Carmy is not yet HER peace, even if he is her family. Ayo was right when she jokingly said Sydcarmy can happen perhaps in like the fifth or sixth season/ in a world where they are both therapised and both working towards improving their mental health, but it’s television- who would really want to see all that happen only for them to get to that point? The show (although it has now seemed to also forget this fact- seriously? Deducing Tina’s arc to a fucking pasta dish, Storer I will BEAT YOU. There is no reason for good story to solely come from a special episode) is about other people too.

I do feel like there will be a fifth season- because that didn’t feel like an open ending. Or at least is wasn’t on par with the one that we saw in the first season (when the writing was good and the direction was good and the story was compelling and yada yada yadaaaaa). But if it does happen, I really don’t expect for there to be romantic sydcarmy. Just platonic and messy sydcarmy, which is a sexy dynamic within itself. And if I do end up being wrong about this, I still do feel they will pull a ‘clairecarmy’ in the sense that their relationship will be open for interpretation/ there is a heavy implication that they will go there with their relationship off screen.

It’s unfortunate but what can we do at this point. Still engage in fanon, keep on enjoying the fics- however, if you are still in the line for canon sydcarmy, I beg of you… please please step out in the name of your sanity. Because it’s like repeatedly touching a hot stove even when you are told not to lol. IT IS AN ACT OF SELF HARM. And crashing out over this next year after two consecutive years of BULLSHIT will only make you look stupid.

[henry-fox-biggest-stan]

A snippet I wrote yesterday. It was so fun to write, I love plot twists.

-

Will stopped abruptly, and closed his eyes. Mike immediately prepared for the worst, flashlight searching and knife gripped so hard his fingers were white.

“Will?”

“He is here”.

His voice sounded… weird. Not scared, not nervous, just announcing something, like when his mom said she bought the milk his dad liked.

“What?” Mike looked around, as if he expected Vecna to jump from behind some tree and attack them. Now that Mike thought about it, he didn’t know how Vecna looked like. Nancy had described him and said something about Freddy Krueger, weeks ago. Mike hoped that she had been fucking with him.

“Somewhere.” Will continued, eyes still closed. As if he was listening, Mike suddenly realized. “Somewhere around the upside down. I can… hear it.”

“Hear what?” Shit, why had Mike volunteered to go? Why was he in that situation? Because you couldn’t let Will go alone, his mind said. Because you wanted to help, because you didn’t want to be useless and let others do the action, because if Holly died you wanted to know that, at least, you tried to do something. Right, thanks.

Because you’re a child, a voice in his head said. Because you’re a child who wants to do something and feel important but doesn’t consider the risk. Because you’re convinced that you’re some kind of paladin and hero when in reality you’re an incompetent coward, and the closest you ever got to be something was at 10 years old, reading and playing with your friends and pretending that your stick was a sword you could grip, because you know your hands will never fit around one. Because you are nothing. Because you have always been nothing, and you know it. Because you’re a regular guy who likes to pretend that the shoe fits, but it doesn’t. See how it doesn’t fit? See how scared you are, how your heart is wild, how your hands shake? Bet Nancy’s wouldn’t shake. Will’s certainly don’t. So why do yours? You’re not Luke Skywalker, Mike. You’re not even Han Solo. I won’t tell you to stop trembling, because that’s all you know how to do, all you’re capable of doing.

What the fuck. That didn’t sound like his head. That voice was deep and grave.

“His heartbeat.”

“What?”

“I can hear his heartbeat. I bet I can follow it too. Maybe I can lead us.”

Mike stared at him, astounded. Will’s eyes were still closed.

“Lead us where? To him?!”

Will nodded. Why didn’t he open his eyes?

“No, that’s- that’s not the plan. We’re not supposed to go and find him, we’re here to take a look around and see if the upside down changed much with the gates opening. That’s it.”

Will finally opened his eyes. He seemed determined, in the way he hardly had been for days.

“But he doesn’t know we’re here. Think about it. Isn’t now the best moment to attack, when he doesn’t expect it?”

His voice was confident, his words sure, his eyes a bit weird.

His idea was insane.

“What? We already made the plan to kill Vecna, we all go together and-“

“That’s the problem!” Will interrupted him. He was very determined. He seemed like he wouldn’t accept any other answer from Mike other than “you’re right”. Mike knew he really wanted to kill Vecna, and he understood being there maybe made him more desperate. That was what he sounded like, desperate, like he was very close to begging Mike to go through with it. Mike knew Will shouldn’t have came to the upside down. He fucking knew it. But, of course, no one listened to him. “If we all come together he’ll definitely know. But just the two of us? He isn’t expecting us. Sauron was defeated because he was attacked by surprise, how is this any different?”

Because Sauron isn’t real and Vecna very clearly is, because Max is in a hospital bed and you have a scar on your abdomen of when they got the mind flayer out of you. Because we’re not Sam and Frodo but two teenagers. He doesn’t say it, mostly because Will interrupted him again, but he was pretty fucking close to.

“I can hear his heartbeat. I didn’t even know he had a heart but apparently he does and I can hear it. I think I’ve been hearing it for days, but I just realized what it is. I can listen and guide us to where he is. Then, we attack him and kill him. Finished. That way we also save the others the trouble of coming here, and we save time. Time is running, Mike. Don’t you think less time wasted will be better for Holly?”

Holly.

He had a point. A very insane point, but he had it. Holly and her unusually blonde hair. Holly and her smile full of teeth.

The wise thing would be to refuse and drag Will back up screaming if he had to, but Mike found himself thinking about it.

“How will you kill him?”

Will smiled. It seemed he knew that was Mike’s way of agreeing.

“I have a gun with as many bullets as possible, and a knife on my side.” He had a knife? Mike didn’t even notice. “You have yours, we can probably stab him or shoot him.”

“Stab him… Right. And you’ll shoot him? You didn’t shoot that demogorgon.”

Will pressed his lips into a line, and looked forward. Mike looked aswell. There was nothing there.

“It was just an animal, it didn’t feel fair. But Vecna is evil, he’s hurting us, purposely. It’s different.” He turned to him, Mike thought he saw something weird in his eyes again. “Do you have something I can use as a blindfold?”

“What?”

“Something to cover my eyes. To focus on listening better.”

He opened his backpack and grabbed the bandages. Thank god Will was gonna use them on his eyes, and not on any other body part.

With struggle, his bandaged palm aching, Mike helped Will wrap them around his head, with several layers, until he said he barely saw anything. Mike tied them behind his head, careful of not being too tight, and tried to ignore the way his heart halted in his chest and the feel of Will’s hair under his fingers and the proximity of his body to his. He wondered if Will heard it, and if he too felt the the warmth.

Probably not.

Mike realized too late, once Will was blind, what exactly that meant. Someone had to guide him.

After a few seconds of internally hyping himself up, and spoke,

“I’m going to grab your arm, to guide you. Because you can’t see. And I don’t want you to like, fall to your death or something.”

Real smooth, Mike.

He saw Will smile, and he offered his left arm. Mike didn’t dare take it, simply grabbed it with one hand, right above Will’s elbow.

“Uh, where to?”

Silence. Concentration. Then,

“To the left.”

And so they went.

They walked in a silence that was only broken every once in a while, by Will signaling which direction to take. To the right. To the left.

Having only the job of guiding Will and stopping him from tripping, Mike was left with a lot of time with nothing to do but think. His head running with thought after thought, and for some reason they all came back to Will’s eyes.

Not in the usual way.

Mike liked Will’s eyes, he thought about them often. He thought about the color, he thought about Will looking at him, how sad they looked like when he was also sad, like he couldn’t hide it, like all of his feelings had to come out from somewhere if he didn’t let them out willingly, and they all poured from his eyes. How they lit up when he was happy, how they crinkled when he smiled.

He wasn’t thinking about Will’s eyes in the usual way he thought about them. He was thinking about how they were minutes before, before putting on the makeshift blindfold. They were weird, familiar in a way Mike couldn’t put his finger on. He would try to look again, see if maybe something rang a bell, but his eyes were covered.

He almost tripped on a rock himself and sent Will to the ground with him when something finally clicked. Will’s desperation and determination to seek Vecna. Now that Mike thought about it, Will called him Vecna before. He never called him Vecna, Mike did, but not Will. Moments and moments began to flash. Will not looking at him. Will’s eyes being different. Will mentioning Holly to try to get Mike on board. Whatever voice he heard in his head before (which he was sure he probably made up or were maybe his thoughts). Will’s eyes being darker minutes ago. Will currently leading him to Vecna, armed only with a shotgun and a knife. The demogorgon from before, which maybe went to find them and tell Vecna where they were. Will currently tugging his arm, urging him, as if he couldn’t wait.

Mike stopped.

“Mike, c’mon.”

Another tug. Mike remained in place.

“Mike.”

“Will.”

Will stopped, he seemed confused.

“Take off your blindfold.”

“What?”

He had to see Will’s eyes, he remembered how they were years ago, in the shed.

“Take it off.”

“No.”

Hard, almost angry. Mike was right. Mike was fucking right. It didn’t matter how or since when it had been going on, because Mike was fucking right.

[bellysoupset]

Heyy!

So I have an idea, considering wedding is practically just around the corner and Jonah being the groomzila that he is, i feel like all the stress would makes him have a nightmare, I think it would be super fun if you could write a fic about that and maybe he wakes up and is immediately sick from the stress. And how I see the nightmare going is like it’s the wedding and everything’s going well until something terrible happens and that’s when he wakes up.

This one isn't very long, but I was so in love with this prompt!!

------------

"It's looking a little grey out, isn't it?" Jonah stressed, pacing the bedroom as he watched the makeup artist finish up Angie's makeup. He damn nearly pressed his nose to the window, staring angrily at the sky.

He had been promised a stunning sunset, but now grey clouds were collecting in the horizon, already shielding away the sun and the luminosity was only going to diminish even more in the next 40 minutes for the ceremony to start. By the end of their vows they'd be in the dark.

"You have torches out, Jon," Luke reassured him, getting up from his spot in the couch so he could squeeze Jonah's shoulders, thumbs rolling away the tension knots there, "you'll get stunning pictures either way."

"Not if it rains on us!" Jonah groaned, feeling clammy and nauseous. He shrugged off his jacket and Luke once more patted his back.

"It won't rain, Jonah and you're taking the vows at the pavilion, so relax, will you?"

How could Atwood be so damn calm about things? How had he just married Bella with less than two days of preparations? They were different species entirely.

"Jonah," Angie was sitting up correctly on the makeup chair now, instead of nearly lying down, and she looked gorgeous, even with that amused smile tugging at her lips, "your day is already happening. Right now."

Uh.

He frowned, crossing his arms defensively, then deflated with a sigh as his baby sister continued on to say, "aren't you supposed to enjoy it?"

Bloody hell.

"When did you get so wise beyond your years?" Jonah grumbled, while Luke patted his back and let out a snort, followed by a gasp.

"You look amazing, Ange!"

"Well, wait until you see me in the dress!"

Jonah rubbed his sweaty palms against his trousers. Angie was right, he was stressing so much that the day couldn't be good even if everything went right. All he'd remember later would be how stressed he was...

His phone buzzed and Jon picked it up, smiling as he saw Leo's name across the screen.

Leo: I changed my mind.

Jonah stared at the text for a solid minute, only snapping out of his daze as the tree little grey dots appeared next to Leo's contact, showing he was typing.

Leo: I don't think we should marry.

Leo: I'm leaving.

"Jonah?" Luke's voice caused him to raise his head, or try to, he seemed unable to look away from the screen. Jonah sucked in a breath, tried to click on Leo's picture so he could be redirected to the call button, but his fingers kept slipping for some reason, "JONAH!"

His stomach lurched and Jon's whole world capsized as he was suddenly rolled on his side, gravity seeming to give up on him-

His heart was drumming in his ears and there was hot, bubbling bile climbing up his throat, coming up in a projectile wave as he opened his mouth. A death grip around his chest and stomach.

He needed to call Leo. He needed to fix this. To understand what had happened, to- To get him back, change his mind somehow- What had changed?!

He tried to breathe, but his body seemed to have forgotten how to do it and instead Jonah only wheezed. There was a harsh thump to his back.

Leo?

"Jesus fucking Christ, Jonah!"

Lucas. Patting his back. A hand grabbing his shoulder, keeping Jonah from diving out of the car or strangling himself with the seatbelt. Luke.

"I need- I need- Call-" Jonah tried to say, before a coughing fit overcame him and the nausea surged up once again. He gagged, spat in the growing puddle on the side of the road...?

Road?

The seatbelt released and Jonah nearly fell forward, just as Lucas caught him, pushing Jon to lie back against the passenger seat of the car and all but climbing over the handbrake in order to cup his face.

"Jon, Jonah, HEY!" Luke slapped his cheeks, forcing their eyes to meet, "you had a nightmare, you're freaking out. Not real, wasn't real-" he snapped his fingers before Jonah's eyes, frustrated and panicked, "HEY!"

Jonah nodded, nervously, sucked in a breath- Then lurched to the side just in time to retch another mouthful of acidic saliva. Behind him he heard Luke let out a sigh.

A nightmare. He was in Luke's car. They were going to the airport to pick up Angie, Jackie and Matteo. Fuck. It was a random Friday, Leo was stuck in court, Luke had volunteered to tag along instead and kicked Jonah to the passenger seat because he "looked horrible."

"Bloody...Hell," he breathed out, clearing his throat and spitting a glob of bitter, thick, saliva, finally collapsing back against his seat. Lucas promptly shoved a lukewarm water bottle in his hand, grabbing some takeout paper napkins from his glovebox.

"Here..." Atwood hoovered over him, looking like it was physically hurting him not to shake Jonah like a rattle toy or question him on the spot. Energy and concern was rolling off of him and Jonah raised a hand to shut Luke up preemptively.

"Give me a minute."

Lucas' jaw clenched and he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, bouncing his leg up and down.

Jonah swished the water around in his mouth, then spat it out of the still open door, slamming it shut. He lowered his head to the glovebox and let out a slow, deliberate breath.

What a ridiculous fucking dream.

Nevertheless, he fished out phone from his pocket, wiping his sweaty hand on the paper napkin in order to click on Leo's contact.

Leo: Stuck in court, fuck my lifeeeeee

Leo: Luke said he'll pick you up.

Leo: No, I didn't ask him to, he volunteered.

Leo: BE NICE

Leo: Apologize to your family for me? 😭 I'll see them at dinner, I promise I'll be out by then.

Leo: I love you so much.

Leo: Less than a week!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Leo: Chuck's asking the address of the venue again, can I tell him he's uninvited?

Jonah let out a chuckle, then it caught in his throat and quickly turned into a sob. Tears sprung up, burning his eyes and his nose, emotion getting the best out of him.

"Aww, Jon," Luke cooed, no longer able to hold out his nature and wrapping an arm around his back, "dude, c'mere-"

"Don't touch me," Jonah groaned, sniffling and angrily wiping away the tears, only for Luke to let out a snort and tug him anyways, smushing Jonah's face to his chest and hugging him.

"You're so stressed, Jon," Luke's voice was deep in his chest, vibrating, followed by a chuckle, "nothing will go wrong."

Jonah let out a groan, then closed his eyes and took a deep breath. Luke always smelt a little like mint, because of his after shave, and it was grounding to reality.

"How can you know?" slowly he peeled away from Lucas, rubbing his face and taking a gulp of water.

Luke's face got all wrinkly as he opened a huge smile, "because you're marrying the man you love, Jon. Even if everything goes wrong, horribly wrong, you're still marrying Leo. You got it?"

It was like a knot deep inside his chest loosened up. He was marrying Leo.

The guy he had been in love with since the first time they had shared a hotel room back in the football team, the man who had caught his eye immediately, the one who understood all of his ticks and noises, who could read him as a book. He was marrying his best friend, even if the venue caught on fire, Leo was counting down the days to marry him.

"Yeah," Jonah cracked a smile, going boneless on his seat, "yeah, you're right."

[oikawaisincrisis]

Meanie, mine ~ A.M

Pairing: Atsumu Miya x fem!Reader

Summary: Atsumu Miya has been pulling her pigtails since they were six. What started as teasing turned into years of bickering, tension, and stubborn feelings neither of them could name.

CW (content warning): Atsumu is kind of a warning himself, childhood “friends” (if you can even call them that) to lovers, slight angst but mostly fluff.

AN: Hi guys! Thank you so much for all the love on my Ushijima post I’m so happy you enjoyed it 🫶🏻 This was requested so I hope I made it justice. Also I had a lot of fun writing this and I’m thinking of making a series of childhood friends to lovers with different characters so be on the lookout for that hahah. English isn’t my first language so I’m sorry if there’s any mistakes. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think! :)

Requests are open so feel free to send yours! (you can check the list of characters I write for on my pinned post)

Masterlist

The sun was warm on the sandbox that day, casting gold across the schoolyard like confetti. Six-year-old [Y/N] sat cross-legged in the middle of it, hands buried in soft, sun-baked sand. Her shoes were kicked off to the side, forgotten. The pink ribbons in her pigtails bobbed as she leaned forward, smoothing the walls of the sandcastle she and Osamu Miya had been building for the past twenty minutes.

“It needs a moat.” She said seriously, tracing a circle around the edge with her finger.

Osamu nodded, equally focused. “I can make a tunnel for water.”

She grinned in response, bright and beaming. “Like a real castle! With a bridge, too?”

“Of course. A drawbridge.”

They giggled together, heads bent, both covered in specks of sand and pride.

Across the yard, Atsumu Miya stood with a red ball in his hands, kicking pebbles with his shoe and scowling. His twin brother was supposed to play dodgeball with him. Instead, Osamu was over there in the sandbox. With her.

Atsumu's gaze narrowed on the girl in the pink hair ribbons. She laughed at something Osamu said, and her smile went wide, soft and bright. Her voice, even from a distance, was gentle and light, like the breeze on a summer afternoon.

She looked like a ray of sunshine, Atsumu thought, warm and glowing, the kind of happy that made your chest feel funny and your ears go red.

He didn’t like her. Not like that. Ew. Gross. Of course he didn’t.

But for some reason he wanted her to look at him. Not at Osamu. Not like that.

So, in his brilliant six-year-old brain, he came up with the best idea he could think of.

Drop the ball. March over. Pull her hair.

And he did. He stomped right over to the sandbox, ignoring the way his sneakers filled with sand, and yanked one of her pigtails.

“Hey!” She squeaked, turning around so fast she almost toppled the castle wall. She blinked up at him, startled. “What was that for?!”

Atsumu puffed his chest, not really sure what to say now that he’d done it. “Your hair was in the way.” He said smugly, even though it definitely wasn’t.

Her jaw dropped. “You’re such a meanie!”

Atsumu grinned, triumphant. She was looking at him now. Her attention was on him and even though she wasn’t smiling like she did just moments ago with his brother, just the fact that she was looking at him made it feel as if he had gotten what he wanted.

Osamu groaned loudly behind them. “Can we build one castle without a disaster for once?”

“No.” They both said at the same time.

And that was the beginning.

From that day on, the pattern was set: [Y/N] with her soft voice and fiery glare, Atsumu with his smug teasing and constant interruptions, and Osamu, forever in the middle, sighing into his rice balls and wondering why he had to be born a twin.

——————————————————————————

Four years passed, and they were ten now.

Things had changed, sure. Osamu was a bit taller, Atsumu louder, and [Y/N] wore her hair in a braid now instead of pigtails. Especially after a certain boy pulled them one too many times.

But the essentials remained: she still brought her markers to school and drew at recess, Osamu still snacked all the time, and Atsumu still annoyed her every chance he got.

Today, the classroom buzzed with the end-of-day hum, papers shuffling, chairs scraping, kids packing up bags.

[Y/N] had drawn something that afternoon, something she was actually proud of. A little fox curled up under a tree, its fur shaded with orange and gold and bits of red leaf detailing. She had used every warm marker she had.

She kept it tucked carefully inside her notebook as she walked out into the hallway, clutching it tight.

Unfortunately, she wasn’t alone.

“Hey, what’s that?” One of the boys from class, Kenta, grabbed the edge of her notebook and yanked it open before she could stop him.

“Don’t!” She cried, reaching for it.

He held it out of reach. “Aw, what’s this? You still draw little animals like a baby?”

A couple of his friends gathered around. One of them snorted. “Is it sleeping under a tree? That’s so dumb and childish.”

“She probably talks to them too. Like, ‘Oh, Mr. Fox, would you like some tea?’” They mocked, laughing.

[Y/N] felt her cheeks burn. “Give it back!”

They didn’t. One of them mimicked her voice in a high-pitched squeak. “Do you wanna cuddle, Mr. Fox?”

“Stop it!” Her eyes stung before she could stop it. “Just stop!”

And of course, that made it worse.

“Aww, crybaby’s gonna cry?” Kenta grinned. “Maybe your fox will cheer you up!”

“Crybaby!” They all chanted, snickering, as they finally tossed the drawing to the ground and ran off.

[Y/N] stood frozen for a moment, fists clenched, blinking away the blur in her vision as she knelt down to pick up the crumpled drawing.

She didn’t know that someone else had heard everything.

——————————————————————————

Atsumu didn’t mean to hear it.

He was just turning the corner on his way to grab a juice box when he heard them shouting.

He stopped when he recognized her voice. Heard the word “crybaby.” Heard the laughter. By the time he peeked around the corner, it was already over. The boys were running off. She was kneeling on the floor, shoulders stiff.

Atsumu’s blood boiled. He clenched his fists, stared after the boys, and turned on his heel.

——————————————————————————

The fight happened at recess.

Kenta never saw it coming.

Atsumu charged him by the tree near the fence and socked him right in the mouth.

“OW! What the heck!?”

“You’re the crybaby!” Atsumu yelled, tackling him to the ground.

They rolled and punched and kicked, and it was two-on-one after that because Kenta’s friend jumped in, but Atsumu didn’t care. He was furious. He didn’t even know what he was yelling anymore.

Eventually, a teacher pulled them apart. Atsumu’s lip was busted, his eye was swelling, and his fists were scraped and dirty.

He got sent straight to the nurse’s office and scolded all the way there.

——————————————————————————

“Honestly, Atsumu. What is wrong with you?” The nurse muttered, dabbing at his lip with antiseptic.

He hissed. “Nothin’.”

“Do you want to explain why you were in a fight with two boys?”

“Nope.”

The nurse sighed. “You’re lucky your brother’s not in trouble too.”

“Osamu didn’t do nothin’. Leave ‘im out of it.”

She left to grab a bandage for his hand. A few minutes later, the door creaked open again, but it wasn’t the nurse. Atsumu turned his head and froze.

[Y/N] stood in the doorway, frowning, a folded handkerchief in one hand. Her braid was a little messy, and her cheeks were still pink from earlier. But her voice was calm.

“You’re so stupid.”

Atsumu blinked. “You’re welcome.”

“I didn’t ask you to fight them.”

“I didn’t ask ‘em to be jerks to you.”

“You’re mean to me all the time.” She huffed and crossed the room, hopping onto the stool beside the cot where he sat. “You’re also bleeding.”

“I know, thanks.”

She gave him a look. “Let me see.”

He started to protest, but she was already tilting his chin with two fingers and gently dabbing at his lip with her cloth.

He winced but not because of the sting from the cut.

“Oh, don’t be a baby.” She muttered, even though her touch was gentle.

“You’re the baby.” He grumbled. “Cryin’ over a dumb fox.”

“It wasn’t dumb.” She snapped, eyes flashing.

Atsumu looked at her and didn’t tease her again. They sat like that for a moment, quiet. She folded the cloth again and kept working.

“You didn’t have to do that.” She said eventually, softer.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “’Cause it made me mad. That’s all. I never liked that idiot, this just happened to be a good excuse to beat him up.”

She frowned, like she didn’t believe him.

She stayed beside him until the nurse returned and said he was cleared to go home. When he slid off the cot, she handed him the cloth.

“Keep it.” She mumbled.

“I don’t want your crybaby handkerchief.”

She glared. “Then give it back.”

He shoved it in his pocket. “Too late.”

She rolled her eyes, he expected her to get up from the chair and leave him there after throwing one last passive-aggressive comment at him. She didn’t.

“I still think you’re an idiot.” She said as she folded her legs underneath her, no intention of leaving his side. “And just for the record I don’t want to be here.”

Atsumu grinned, lip still bleeding.

“Yeah? You’re still a pain in the butt.”

Osamu met them outside the nurse’s office, arms crossed.

“You’re both ridiculous.”

They looked at each other and, just for a second, smiled.

——————————————————————————

Middle school was... weird.

Everyone was growing too fast or not fast enough, the desks were too small, and people started caring about who liked who and who passed notes in class. It was the start of confusing feelings and bad haircuts and awkward silences in the hallway.

But some things hadn’t changed. Osamu and [Y/N] still got along like peanut butter and jelly. They were lab partners, shared snacks during lunch, and could communicate in shrugs and eyerolls with the kind of ease that only came from years of friendship.

Meanwhile, Atsumu was still a menace.

“You forgot your pen again, didn’t ya?” Osamu muttered one morning in science as they settled in for lab work.

“No.” [Y/N] said.

“Yes.” Atsumu called from the next table over, spinning around in his chair. “She always forgets. Princess over there’s helpless without Osamu savin’ her.”

[Y/N] narrowed her eyes. “Call me princess one more time and I swear I’ll dump hydrochloric acid in your shoes.”

“Ooh, scary.” Atsumu said, dramatically clutching his chest. “You gonna cry if I take your pen too?”

He reached out and snatched it from her desk.

“Give it back!”

“C’mon, share with your favorite twin.”

“I’m gonna strangle you with your own shoelaces!”

Osamu didn’t even look up. “Please don’t. I don’t wanna have to explain a murder in my lab report.”

It was always like that. Constant bickering. Paper balls tossed at her head during lectures. Sarcastic pet names. Sassy comebacks. Everyone around them thought they hated each other.

Even [Y/N] and Atsumu had half-convinced themselves that was true but then there were the in-between moments.

Like how he always sat behind her in class, even though there were open seats up front. Or how he’d pretend to steal her erasers just to give them back when she pouted. Or the way he’d go strangely quiet when she talked about someone else.

Especially when she started crushing on Daiki.

Daiki wasn’t in their class, but he played soccer and was tall and charming and always said hi when he passed her in the hallway.

Osamu rolled his eyes whenever she brought him up. Atsumu on the other hand? He made fun of her mercilessly.

“You’re doodlin’ his name in your notebook now?” Atsumu said one day, snatching the paper from under her elbow at lunch.

“It was one heart!” She snapped, trying to grab it back.

He held it high. “You want me to sign it as him? Dear [Y/N], I think you’re super cute and your eyes are like, what is this? Sunlit puddles?”

“That’s not what I wrote!” She shrieked, face flaming.

Osamu sighed. “Stop being an idiot, Atsumu.”

Atsumu ignored him. “[Y/N], if you like someone that cheesy, you’ve officially lost all taste.”

She finally got the paper back and shoved it in her bag.

“Jealous?” She said before she could stop herself.

Atsumu’s grin dropped for half a second. “Why would I be jealous of him?”

But he didn’t tease her about it again.

——————————————————————————

It all fell apart a week later.

It had taken her everything to finally gather the courage. [Y/N] wrote Daiki a short note and slipped it in his locker. She didn’t expect a yes really, but she didn’t expect him to laugh either.

He’d read it with two of his friends and started snickering immediately.

“She thinks you’d date her?” One of them said. “Isn’t she that weird girl with the markers?”

“She hangs out with those volleyball twins, right?” Daiki added, not even trying to lower his voice. “Kinda loud. She’s like a little sister or something.”

His friends laughed. “Ouch. You broke the poor girl’s heart.”

“I didn’t even answer her yet.”

“You don’t have to.” She said, geez fixed on the ground.

[Y/N] had been around the corner, just out of sight, close enough to hear everything. She ran. Behind the gym, where no one ever went during lunch.

She wiped her eyes roughly, furious that she even cared. Furious at herself. She wasn’t loud. She wasn’t clingy. She just... liked someone. But apparently, that was hilarious.

So she sat down behind the school building, pulled her knees to her chest, and tried to breathe.

——————————————————————————

Atsumu had been looking for her.

He’d noticed she wasn’t at her usual lunch spot with Osamu. He told himself it was just because she still owed him a pen but when he checked the classroom, the courtyard, and finally spotted the edge of her shoe behind the gym, he knew something was wrong.

She didn’t look up when he approached. He didn’t say anything either. He sat beside her slowly, folding his long legs under him, and dug into his pocket. A slightly smushed, but still warm, milk bread roll appeared in his hand. He held it out silently. She stared at it.

“I didn’t ask you to sit here.” She mumbled.

“Good.” He said, tearing the plastic open with his teeth. “’Cause I didn’t ask ya if I could.”

She didn’t move. He placed the roll gently beside her on the pavement and leaned back on his elbows, eyes closed like he wasn’t paying attention to her at all.

The silence stretched between them.

“I hate middle school.” She whispered.

“I hate Daiki.”

She startled a little, turning toward him.

He peeked one eye open. “He’s a prick.”

“You don’t even know what happened.”

“Don’t need to.”

[Y/N] looked down at the milk bread. It was a little flat from being in his pocket, but it smelled sweet and soft. She picked it up.

“Thanks.” She said quietly.

“Don’t get used to it.” Atsumu said. “I just did it because my brother would be upset if he saw you like this so get over it quickly.”

She almost smiled.

He didn’t ask what Daiki said. He didn’t need the details. All he knew was that her eyes were red, her voice was tight, and her sleeves were damp from wiping her cheeks.

So he stayed there until the bell rang, kicking pebbles and making dumb comments about ants. When she finally stood up, she glanced back at him.

“You’re still a jerk.”

He smirked. “You’re still a princess.”

And for the first time, she didn’t throw something at him for saying it.

——————————————————————————

Inarizaki High School had no shortage of noise. But few things were louder than the crowd that followed Atsumu Miya wherever he went.

Star setter. Flirt. Loudmouth. Ego the size of the gym. Girls slipped him notes between classes. Fans squealed at tournaments. Even teachers groaned when he walked into class with that lazy swagger and messy hair, five minutes late and grinning like the world owed him something.

[Y/N] was not impressed.

“You’re like a walking ego.” She told him one afternoon, arms crossed, as she watched yet another girl press a folded letter into his hand. “You’ve got a fan club, Atsumu. An actual fan club.”

He grinned, cocky and unbothered. “What can I say? I’m lovable.”

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” He said, leaning against her locker, “you still talk to me every day. What’s that say about you, princess?”

“That I have no self-preservation instincts.”

Osamu walked by and deadpanned. “None. Zero.”

——————————————————————————

When the team’s first big tournament of the season rolled around, Inarizaki’s volleyball team packed up early for the bus. Their school was hosting, which meant they had to arrive first and, since [Y/N] had somehow ended up on event staff through sheer bad luck and one “volunteer” sheet signed without reading, she was stuck riding with the team.

As the last few seats filled, she looked up from her clipboard only to freeze in horror.

“Wait. No. Anyone but him.”

Atsumu was already grinning, tossing his bag into the seat beside hers. “Looks like we’re seat buddies, princess.”

“There are ten other seats.”

“All full” Osamu said from behind her. “Sorry. I already called dibs on the aisle with Aran.”

[Y/N] groaned. “Why do bad things happen to good people?”

“I’m sittin’ right here.” Atsumu said, dropping into the seat. “Guess that answers that question.”

She shoved her bag down beside her legs with a sigh and crossed her arms. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He didn’t, surprisingly. For the first thirty minutes of the ride, he just leaned against the window, one earbud in, nodding along to something on his phone.

[Y/N] leaned away from him at first, but the bus was stuffy and warm, and her clipboard was heavy in her lap, and the sun through the window was just right...

By the time they hit the highway, she was fast asleep, cheek pressed to Atsumu’s shoulder.

He looked down the moment he felt the weight. She didn’t snore. Her lips were parted slightly, hair falling across her forehead, and her brow furrowed just a little like she was having a dream she couldn’t catch.

Atsumu didn’t move.

Carefully he shifted his arm to make her more comfortable, adjusting so her head rested in the crook of his shoulder. He reached up without thinking and gently brushed a strand of hair away from her face.

Then he just sat there. Still. Quiet. Watching her like she was the only thing in the world that wasn’t moving too fast.

——————————————————————————

At the tournament, everything was chaos.

The gym was packed with teams, staff, fans, and noise. [Y/N] had a clipboard in hand and her event badge hanging around her neck. She flitted between tables, updated match scores, and passed out water bottles like her life depended on it.

Somehow, even in the mess, she ended up in a conversation with Kita Shinsuke, Inarizaki’s composed, respected, mildly terrifying captain and somehow... they hit it off.

He was kind. Blunt, but thoughtful. Quiet, but funny when he wanted to be.

They chatted between matches. About the game, about her ridiculous volunteer hours, about how she managed to keep Atsumu from getting himself banned from school. Shinsuke even smiled at one of her jokes.

Atsumu noticed. He noticed everything. From the way Kita leaned in to hear her better to the way [Y/N] laughed, softer than usual, almost shy.

By the third time Atsumu found them talking, he stomped over, holding out an empty water bottle like it was urgent.

“Oi, princess. Water me.”

She stared. “Are you... serious?”

“I’m dyin’.”

“You’re fine.”

“I’ve got heatstroke.”

“We’re inside.”

Kita raised a brow. “You’re interrupting.”

“I noticed.” Atsumu said flatly.

[Y/N] rolled her eyes and turned back to Kita. “Sorry, he does this.”

“It’s fine.” Kita said calmly. “He’s just jealous.” There was no I’ll tone behind his words, he just said it like it was a fact that everyone but the two people before him knew.

Atsumu choked on air. “Wha- jealous!? Of what?!”

——————————————————————————

Later that night, after a long loss and a close score that came down to a missed serve and a broken rhythm, Atsumu didn’t speak to anyone.

The team went back to the school to change and clean up before dinner.

[Y/N] knew where he’d be before anyone else even realized he was gone.

The outdoor stairwell behind the gym, right where the vending machines buzzed and the shadows crept long in the afternoon light.

He sat on the lowest step, arms draped over his knees, head tilted back.

“You didn’t go to dinner.” She said, walking over.

“Wasn’t hungry.”

“You always say that when you’re mad.”

“I’m not mad.” He muttered.

“You are.”

He didn’t look at her. So she sat beside him. Silence stretched for a few seconds.

“I missed that serve.” He said eventually. “It was my fault.”

“It was one point.”

“One point matters.”

She glanced at him. “You’ve won games with worse odds.”

“Not the point.”

“No,” She said gently, “but it’s still true.”

He finally turned to her. “Do you ever get tired of knowin’ exactly what to say?”

She smiled, a little smug. “Only when you’re too stubborn to hear it.”

He huffed a laugh, eyes falling to the space between them. “They expect me to be perfect, you know? I mess up once and it’s like... like I broke somethin’ important.”

“You didn’t.”

“It feels like I did.”

She was quiet for a moment. Then, spoke softer. “You’re allowed to mess up.”

He didn’t respond.

She bumped his shoulder with hers. “Even if you are an insufferable, arrogant pain in my ass.”

He finally smiled.

“Thanks, princess.”

“Anytime, drama queen.”

——————————————————————————

By the last day of the tournament, Atsumu had started to feel like something was shifting. Like maybe the way her voice softened around him meant something. Like maybe her bumping his shoulder and staying behind with him meant more than just old habits.

He hadn’t even teased her when she fell asleep on him again during the bus ride back to the venue. Maybe she’d finally see he wasn’t just a walking ego.

So when he came looking for her before the final exhibition match, planning to tell her something real for once, he didn’t expect to see what he did.

Behind the gym, again. Her and Kita. Close. Talking. Laughing. Kita handed her something. Her fingers brushed his. She smiled, soft and unguarded.

Atsumu stopped in his tracks. His stomach twisted. He felt something sharp and ugly bloom in his chest. He wasn’t thinking when he walked over.

He wasn’t thinking at all.

“Hope I’m not interruptin’ your date.” He said, voice louder than it needed to be.

[Y/N] jumped, startled. “What? It’s not- ”

“Oh, please.” Atsumu snapped. “You’ve been followin’ him around like a lost puppy all weekend.”

Kita stood slowly, eyes narrowing. “Watch it, Miya.”

“Why? You two already makin’ plans for next weekend? Gonna braid each other’s hair too?”

“Atsumu!” [Y/N] hissed.

He turned to her fully now, anger blooming too fast for him to stop. “You know what? Go ahead. Flirt with him. At least he won’t be stupid enough to think you’re special when you’re not.”

The words hung in the air like a slap. Her face fell. Everything stilled.

He saw it immediately, the change in her eyes, the way her mouth parted slightly, stunned. Like he’d actually hurt her. For real. Not just irritated. Not just teased.

He had hurt her.

She stepped back. Once. Twice.

“Right.” She said softly. “Thanks for clearing that up.”

And then she turned and walked away. He wanted to run after her, tell her that he didn’t mean it but his muscles refused to move so he stood there frozen in place like a statue as he watched her slipping through his fingers.

——————————————————————————

It had been four days since the tournament. Four days since the words flew out of Atsumu’s mouth like knives. Four days since he saw the way [Y/N] flinched like she didn’t even recognize him anymore.

And now… she didn’t look at him. Not once.

She came into class, greeted Osamu, smiled at her friends, laughed at something Kita said when he passed by, but when Atsumu threw a comment in her direction?

Silence.

“Oi, princess.” He said that morning, leaning back in his seat, tone casual. “Got a new hair routine or somethin’? Looks shinier than usual.”

No answer. Not even a roll of her eyes. Not even a groan. Just silence as she scribbled something in her notebook, ignoring him completely.

Atsumu felt something cold bloom behind his ribs.

This was worse than yelling. Worse than insults. Worse than all their back-and-forth.

This… nothing was unbearable so he tried again at lunch.

“Ya know, I heard people who spend too much time with Kita start developin’ a stick up their ass.”

Osamu gave him a flat look. “[Y/N], you gonna let him get away with that one?”

She glanced at them, expression unreadable. Then went right back to her food and said nothing.

——————————————————————————

By the end of the week, Atsumu was unraveling. Truly losing his mind.

Every room felt louder without her voice snapping back at him. Every moment felt slower. Every hallway he passed her in felt like a missed chance he was too scared to grab.

He hated himself for what he said. He hadn’t even meant it, not the way it came out. “You’re not special.” He could still hear the echo of it.

She was special. She always had been and now she wouldn’t even look at him.

——————————————————————————

Osamu noticed the change almost immediately.

He wasn’t blind. He saw the way [Y/N] stiffened anytime Atsumu walked into a room. Saw the forced, polite smile she gave him when she couldn’t avoid him. Saw the way Atsumu’s teasing got quieter, sloppier, more desperate each time.

Until one day, in the locker room after practice, Osamu dropped his bag hard on the bench and said:

“What the hell did you do to her?”

Atsumu didn’t look up from tying his shoes. “What are you talkin’ about?”

“You know what I’m talkin’ about.” His voice was cold now. “She’s not lookin’ at you. She’s not talkin’ to you. I’ve never seen her act like this, not even when you pulled that stunt with the glitter glue in eighth grade.”

Atsumu winced. “I just…” He muttered. “I said something I didn’t mean. I messed it up.”

Osamu crossed his arms. “What’d you say?”

Silence. Then, quietly spoke. “That she wasn’t special.”

Osamu’s jaw clenched. “You what?”

“I didn’t mean it. I was mad. I saw her with Kita, and- ” He stopped himself.

Osamu stared at him, exasperated. “You’ve been in love with her since we were six, dumbass.”

Atsumu’s head snapped up.

“I’m not stupid, Atsumu. I saw the way you looked at her when she was buildin’ that sandcastle with me. The way you’d steal her markers just so she’d yell at you. The way you shut up when she cried behind the school. This has always been about her. And you’ve always been too much of a coward to admit it.”

Atsumu ran a hand through his hair, voice low and rough. “I don’t know if I can fix it this time.”

“Then don’t.” Osamu snapped. “Let her go. Let her move on. Let her be with someone who doesn’t hurt her just because he’s scared.”

Atsumu froze. Osamu took a breath, a little softer now.

“But if you’re not gonna let her go? If you’re not gonna spend the rest of your life kickin’ yourself for blowin’ this? Then grow a damn pair and tell her how you feel.”

Silence. “I don’t know if she’ll forgive me.” He said quietly.

“Then you apologize anyway.” Osamu said. “And maybe, for once, stop hidin’ behind sarcasm and say what you actually mean.”

——————————————————————————

The next few days crawled. Atsumu hovered on the edge of every room she was in. He watched her laugh with Osamu, passing notes during class. Watched her hand Kita a sports drink after practice, smile small but real. Watched the way her eyes slid right past him like he wasn’t even there.

It was a new kind of punishment. Not yelling. Not anger. Just being invisible to the one person he’d been trying to get to look at him his whole life.

He caught himself remembering things in flashes. Her sleeping on his shoulder, her smile behind the gym lights, the way she had gently cleaned his lip with her handkerchief years ago, pretending she didn’t care while her fingers trembled.

Now he felt as if he’dbroken it. He’d broken her and he wasn’t sure if he deserved to fix it.

——————————————————————————

The gym was mostly dark by the time [Y/N] stepped outside, her duffel slung over one shoulder, hair still damp from a quick shower. She sighed, rubbing at her neck, exhaustion creeping into her bones after a long afternoon of cleaning up after practice and managing the volleyball team’s logistics.

The last thing she expected was to find Atsumu Miya leaning against the wall just outside the main doors.

She stopped in her tracks.

“What do you want?” She asked, deliberately trying to keep her tone flat.

Atsumu straightened immediately, hands shoved into his pockets like he didn’t know what to do with them.

“I… just wanted to talk.”

She rolled her eyes and walked past him. “Not in the mood.”

He followed. “Just for a second.”

“Miya- ”

“Please.” He said, and it came out quieter than she expected. “I... I need to say somethin’. Just once. You don’t even have to say anythin’ back. I just- let me talk.”

Something in his voice made her stop. Not the usual sarcasm. Not teasing. No smugness, no stupid grin. Just... him. Real and raw.

She turned to face him, arms crossed. “You have exactly two minutes.”

He looked like he was trying to wrestle the words into shape. Like he hadn’t practiced this half as much as he’d claimed he would.

“I was lookin’ for you that day.” He said. “The last day of the tournament.”

She blinked. “What?”

“That morning. Before I saw you with Kita. I wasn’t plannin’ to fight. Wasn’t plannin’ to ruin everythin’. I was... gonna tell you. How I felt.”

Silence. He kept going, voice low and thick with everything he’d kept buried for years.

“It started when we were six, okay? You were sittin’ in the sandbox with Osamu and you were smilin’ and buildin’ that stupid castle like it was the most important thing in the world. And you looked so happy. So... bright. Like a sunbeam or somethin’. And all I could think was- I wanted that smile pointed at me. Not Osamu. Me.”

He took a breath. She stood there with an unreadable expression on her face but he kept going.

“So I did the dumbest thing I could think of. Pulled your pigtails. Got yelled at. Called a meanie. And it still felt better than bein’ ignored.”

She stayed silent, her eyes on his, unmoving.

“And it never stopped.” He said. “Every time I teased you, every time I said somethin’ stupid, it was just ‘cause I didn’t know how else to make you look at me. I was scared if I didn’t get under your skin, I’d disappear.”

His voice cracked a little.

“You looked at Osamu like he was the only person who understood you. Then you got older, and you started lookin’ at other people like that. And every single time I saw it, I wanted to tear my own goddamn hair out because I wanted it to be me.”

Atsumu swallowed.

“That day behind the gym. I saw you with Kita and... I don’t know. I lost it. I thought I missed my shot. I thought I was too late. So I said the one thing that would push you away for good. And I regretted it the second it left my mouth.”

He looked at her now, no longer hiding behind anything.

“I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. You are special, [Y/N]. You always were and I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember. Even when I didn’t know what that meant.”

A beat of silence. And another. And another. [Y/N] didn’t move. Didn’t blink. Didn’t say a word. Atsumu’s chest tightened. The silence clawed at his throat.

“I- I get it if you don’t wanna talk to me ever again,” he rushed out. “I mean, after everything, I’d hate me too. I’m a loudmouth. I don’t think before I speak. I ruin everythin’. And I get it if you’re into someone like Kita ‘cause he’s mature and quiet and- God, I’m makin’ this worse, aren’t I- ”

“Shut up.”

He blinked. She was suddenly in front of him, close. Too close and, before he could process the way her eyes were shining or how her lips parted or how her hands grabbed the front of his jacket. She kissed him.

Hard. Like she’d been waiting years. Like all that time she’d been biting her tongue and pushing him away had been holding back this single, explosive moment.

He froze for a second. Then kissed her back like he might never get the chance again.

Her hands curled into his collar. His found her waist. She was warm and real and right there in his arms and he couldn’t stop tasting the apology between their mouths.

When they pulled apart, barely an inch between them, her breath hitched.

“I really hate you.” She whispered.

His lips quirked up. “You kiss all the people you hate like that?”

“Only the ones who pull my pigtails and get into fights over me.”

He laughed, the sound soft and disbelieving. “Does that mean you’re not gonna pretend I don’t exist anymore?”

“No promises.”

He grinned wider. “Still a princess, huh?”

She raised an eyebrow. “Still a meanie?”

They stood like that, foreheads almost touching, breath mingling in the cool air outside the gym.

Then, like it had always been this simple, like the whole world had just clicked back into place, she leaned into him again.

And this time, he didn’t have to pull her pigtails to make her look at him.

Tags: @stanwallpapers

Taglists are open so let me know if you want to be added in future works! :)

[sparklystarrrr]

Hello! Can u please write smth about floyd x female!jellyfish reader who matches his energy? Thank u!!

THEE Chaotic Duo

Synopsis: Don’t put your hands in the sea creature tank! The jellyfish and the eel bite.

Contains: Floyd L. x Jellyfish! Fem! Reader, octavinelle reader, so so chaotic, Riddle is their target as usual, Azul being a party pooper, I’m so sorry for whatever this is…

(y/n) and Floyd were... scary to say the least...

She was a jellyfish and he was an eel. When she was alone, people would assume (y/n) to be a calm minded and elegant young woman. It couldn't have been farther from the truth because when she was with her boyfriend, Floyd... and oh boy.

With her harsh zaps, his terrifying height, and their maniacal laughs that echo off the hallways after chasing some poor little NRC student around, no one was safe.

Everyone knew the scary Octavinelle couple. Not by choice, but because how else were they suppose to protect themselves?

It was like there was a dark and ominous aura around the two of them whenever they lurked around the corner and scoped out which fishies to squeeze and sting!

Today's target? Riddle frickin' Rosehearts.

The eerie couple had been cackling about some random kid in their previous class who'd been jumpscared by them from just turning around in his seat when they saw a red tuft of hair in the distance. It was no usual red, but a rose red. Target acquired.

"Floyd, you seein' what I'm seein'?" (y/n) whispered in his ear.

"Huh? Oh yeah, I'm seein' goldfishie~ hehehe!"

"I bet he's needin' a sting, don'tcha think Floydie?"

"I think yer right Jellyfishie!"

And with their new plan and target, they were on the hunt.

At sensing the two, the crowded hallways literally split around them to get out of a potential sting or squeeze...

Students physically shuddered at their sharp teeth while they both smiled playfully.

The only person who somehow didn't sense the two coming was of course.... Riddle.

He walked with urgency in his steps as he made his way to his next class. Books in hand and all.

With his back turned, Floyd and (y/n) snuck up like two preditors.

Once they got close enough, (y/n) stuck her index finger out in poor Riddle's direction. She quickly zapped him which effortlessly distracted the small boy. Whilst Riddle was turned to her, Floyd picked him up into a bone crushing and suffocating squeeze."Ack- PUT ME DOWN THIS INSTANT!!! IT WILL BE OFF WITH BOTH OF YOUR HEADS IF THIS IS NOT DONE IN THE NEXT SECOND!!!"

The boy's face turned bright red in anger and the heart shaped strands of hair in his face practically stood up straight in rage.

(y/n) took this as a chance to be playful, bringing her hand up to the strands and twirling them in her fingers and sending little jolts to his body with her other hand. It was almost like a taunt, but in truth, the couple was just having fun with a fishie!

"Hey Riddlie, does your hair usually stand up like this when yer pink?"

"(y/n), CEASE YOUR PLAYING WITH MY HAIR!!"

"But goldfishie~ we're havin' fun!" Floyd giggled with the toothiest smile ever.

Their fun (Riddle's torture) would've went on longer had Azul not caught them on his way to class as well.

He sputtered at the sight of his dorm members/ insufferable friends publicly humiliating a fellow Housewarden.

"Floyd, (y/n). What... IS GOING ON HERE??!!"

"Playin'! Wanna join?" Floyd taunted. A lovely idea then slithered into (y/n)'s brain. Quickly, she whispered it right into Floyd's ear. There was a glint in the couple's eyes that Azul and Riddle did not like.

Floyd dropped Riddle (who made a mad dash to his class right after), turned to Azul and just eyed him down eerily. This didn't last long before the scary couple started a mad chase at Azul.

New target found: AZUL ASHENGROTTO

"W-WHAT ARE YOU TWO DOING??!! AGHHHH----"

"We're it Zuzu!! You can run but you can't hide!" Nobody understands how (y/n) sounded so sweet screaming that at Azul while sprinting at him like she was starving for some octopus.

Floyd just cackled as usual and threw himself at Azul, knocking him down and screaming "YOU'RE IT NOW COME CATCH US HAHAHA!" and ran off after picking up (y/n) and throwing the jellyfish girl over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.

My, what a normal day for (y/n) and Floyd!

[fannyandtreewillfuckintpot19]

a bunch of ships I like woah (A LOT OF RAREPAIRS)

Fantree 🌳🌀

-my favesies

-the angst potential

-the fluff potential

-THE COLORS THE GREEN AND BLUE COMBO OH MY GOD ITS SO AESTHETICALLY PLEASING

-they’re personalities are so different but they also have quite a bit in common so like kindve contrasting ish idk

-they’re so interesting actually it’s crazy also I really like tree and Fanny and project onto both lowkey and idk man I find comfort in them

(I’ve written better explanations before but wanted to write a shorter one)

Winlow!! 🤍🪻

-I feel like winner can match pillows freak

-winner isn’t scared of pillow like others are which I like

-pillow seems so genuinely happy with them that I feel like she actually likes them

-they’re like besties who also kiss yk

Blackmarker 💜⚫️

-they’re actually so cute oh my god

-“you suck right?” “Excuse me?” They’re both stupid I love them (they both lowkey don’t pick up on social cues and it’s so silly)

-tpot 12 …

-in tpot 14 when marker was worried about him the whole time ❤️

-nice aeshetically ourpl and black

icebook 🧊📚

-THEYRE SO CUTE

-the scene where they made up in tpot 16 was just so cute smh

-I’m so happy they’re friends again and they’re just so silly together AUAGHAFSRSRFAFA ❤️❤️❤️❤️

treepin 🌳📌

-the missed potential of their friendship is CRIMINAL

-the elimination scene was so cute

-death pacts leaders smh

-I love how tree made her feel included

-I feel like their besties but like I’m so invested in their dynamic that they’re on this list

-the fact tree basically gave up his leadership status (hc) to her is so silly

-GREEN AND RED IS SO AWSHETICALLY PLEASING

coinpin 📌💛

-the angst

-the wholesomeness

-cuties

-THEYRE SO CUTE OH MY GOD ❤️❤️❤️❤️

evilfries 🍟🥀

-fries would date some freaky creature

-boyfailure

-HE WAS LITERALLY ASKING HER OUT WHAT

-so silly

-don’t usually like same color ships but I don’t mind it here

-it’s lowkey just funny

Treev 🌳📺

-toxic yaoi

-the contrast of like a plant and a electronic device like a tv is so interesting idk how to explain

-I’m so invested in them having beef I started shipping them

-tree can learn not to be racist

-the idea of tree not seeing tv as a person bc he’s like programmed therefore he’s not real is actually so interesting especially bc he’s a tree something that isn’t man made

-I need this rivalry so bad

8-golf 🎱⚪️

-rivals to lovers

-the bickering eughhh

-they’re interactions in bfb are fun

-I like that 8 ball actually does respect golfball somewhat unlike others

-they’re silly

-I actually quite like 8 ball bc of the dynamic with golfball

lollipopshipping (lollipop x herself) 🍬🍬🍬🍬

-no one will ever be good enough for her

-she’s a narcissist

-she doesn’t respect anyone else enough to want to actually be with anyone else

-she’s so silly smh

fanhole ⚫️🌀

-their arc is so nice I really liked it

-they’re really cute

-black hole is so sweet and protective of her I swear oh my god

-she act like she don’t really gaf but she gaf

-they’re relationship is so cute omg

Snowfan ❄️🌀

-they got some weird thing going on

-enemies and lovers

-snowball is hot smh I hate this ew ew ew

-she can do better for sure

-extremely self fulfilling

-they break up after like 3 weeks

-I want to see them beef so badly

Astrobiology ⚫️🌳

-PLS DONT CRASH OUT ON ME

-they’re cute honestly

-I think black hole might like him honestly

-TRUE TRUE TRUE PACTERS 🙏

-colors are nice

-the angst of bh not being able to touch him is nice I suppose even though that applies to all black hole ships

Treemarker 🌳💜

-I like their friendship

-tree clearly trusts and cares about marker

-marker clearly looks up to tree lowkey

-I don’t trust marker though lowkey he’s gonna do something stupid with that coin fr fr why did he say trust like that

-I thought of greenbros as an alternative shipnames but only works cause markers green rn in the show

-I like pretty much all the death pact ships mentioned more

pingaty 📌▫️

-their friendship is so cute and underrated

-they’re so silly

-love them

-they’re so cool and interesting but uh idk how to explain

(I also like twogaty but like for the same reasons everyone else does it’s cute the angst and they’re like so close and two like relies on her and it’s cute and yeah)

Spongebag 🧽👜

-their friendship in bfb was fun

-I love spongy I feel so bad for bro and ngl if I was bullied for years I’d crashout too

-I like that someone actually respects him

-I think they could fix things lowkey

-very silly and underrated

there’s definitely more but like uhhhh idk uh who want part 2 ‼️‼️‼️

[weirdgenetic-fuckup]

hii!! hope u doing well

if this aint too freaky can u plz write smth where like reader is begging a lot for 00s dave take her out to shopping but hes denying, she goes under his skin with begging for him to take her to the mall and he just decides punishing her putting a vibrator inside her and taking her out for the damn mall, obliging her to act normal when she just cant 🥴

btw i love ur writing 💗

Warnings: Smut, public sex, oral (m receiving), use of toys (in public), orgasm denial, if you think I missed anything let me know otherwise enjoy!

After begging for weeks on end for Dave to take you shopping he finally agreed, on the condition that he gets to pick your outfit.

"Seriously?" You asked, peeking over his shoulder to look at him as he sat at his desk in his studio. "That's it, you want to pick my outfit? You're not gonna make me go in, like, a pig costume or something, are you?"

Dave chuckled and shook his head, pushing his chair away from the table as he got up. "No, nothing like that, I'll pick out your outfit and you wear every last detail." He wrapped an arm around you, sweetly kissing your forehead as he made it way out of the studio.

You followed him back to your shared room, a hop to your step as you went, finally getting what you wanted. He had you sit on the edge of the bed with your back turned to the closet while he picked out an outfit for you.

Dave had good taste and a good sense of fashion so you weren't too worried in that aspect, it was the 'every last detail' that had your attention. You heard him flipping through hangers and setting down clothes on the bed behind you, you tried to sneak a peak but he just turned your head back.

A drawer opened and closed, your first thought was a watch because Dave had a good collection of those, but he never let you wear them so it didn't make any sense. "Alright, get ready." He said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Your eyes widened at the sight, not because of the outfit he'd gotten for you -a short skirt and a band shirt of his, an older one from the eighties that fit you much better than it would him now- but at the toy he'd set on top. Vibrating panties; thin black lace panties with a toy attached inside, a two inch nub to make things worse.

"Every last detail, darling." Dave mused, a devilish grin spread across his face as he caught you eyeing the outfit.

"Dave, you can't be serious." You said, arms dropping to your sides.

"We don't have to go if you don't want." You were about to protest but he cut you off. "Don't worry, I'm not going to humiliate you in public, I just want a little fun." You supposed that was something, but you were still wary of his wording. You really wanted to go shopping, if this was the price to pay... Maybe it could be fun, at least you hoped it would be fun.

You took the clothes, including the panties, and went to the bathroom to get ready. Returning a moment later Dave was waiting on the bed, changed into jeans and a shirt of his own, having already tied his shoes even -he wanted this to go fast, he wasn't much for shopping. "You've got it on?" He asked, to which you nodded. "No you don't." He sat up, patting the spot in front of him.

"I do too!" You said, even lifting up your skirt to show him.

Dave nodded. "Yeah, I see you're wearing them, but I'm not calling you a good girl for cheating, you didn't turn them on."

You scoffed, fixing your skirt. "I did too."

"You didn't."

"I did!"

Dave flashed you a remote, thumb pressed down on the button with no reaction whatsoever from you. Your face flushed a deep shade of red at being caught.

Dave stood and got to you in a few short strides, grabbing you roughly by the shoulders and bending you over the bed. You didn’t argue, only sighing and looking back at him over your shoulder. He stood behind you, hands roughly grabbing your hips and holding you still. He leaned down, lips going right by your ear. “You’re really gonna behave through this?” He asked, massaging the flesh of your ass. You gave a small nod, a pout tugging at your bottom lip. He gave you a quick smack before standing up and letting you get up as well. “Alright, come on, then.” He said, heading for the door.

You huffed and followed him, barely making it out the door before he turned it on. Your knees buckled and a moan slipped from you, your hand gripping the doorframe to keep you standing. Dave laughed and walked back to you, wrapping an arm around your waist. “Better to get that out of the way now instead of at the mall, huh?” He asked, giving your hip a light squeeze.

He led you out of the house and to his sleek black car. Living outside of town was beautiful and scenic, but it also gave Dave a long chance to torture you. Almost an hour long drive into the city to get to the mall, he’d keep the toy going, getting right close to the edge -your chest heaving, heavy breaths leaving you, loud moans filling the car, your hips rolling on the brown leather seats. Then it all stopped, he took his thumb off that button and you were left whining and holding back tears, couldn’t risk ruining your makeup.

He found a spot further from the doors, it would be easier to park there. He wrapped an arm around you and led you up to the doors, so far not touching the button. You had a few stores you wanted to go to, the first three were easy, you found some shoes you liked, a few shirts. Dave was supportive as usual, complementing your choices and picking out a few of his own.

After the third store Dave spotted one he wanted to check out. “We’ll be quick.” He assured, tugging you along.

You pouted. “Davie, we’re supposed to be here for me.” You whined, tugging back on him to get him to stop.

Dave shot you a look, a brow raised. “Oh, are we? You didn’t make that clear.” He said, a little meaner. You huffed and crossed your arms over your chest, leaving him to make a decision. “How about I go in my store and you go in your store?” He suggested, tugging a strand of hair behind your ear. You smiled widely and nodded, already waving.

You made it barely five feet before stumbling, a jolt going through your body. You looked back at Dave who was grinning from ear to ear. “Problem?” He asked, pressing harder on the button to increase the vibrations. You bit your lip and shook your head, leaning against a nearby wall for support. Dave came over to you and held you to his side. “So, my store?” He asked, you reluctantly nodded and followed him into the store after he stopped the toy.

He let you sit down while he looked around, he’d come over to you every few minutes with something new to show you, acting as if nothing was wrong or awry. Then you were off again to another store, and the next which was farther away.

You were talking about something else, going on and on. Dave was listening but he was also looking around, when he spotted a lingerie store. He smirked again and squeezed your hip to get your attention. “What about that, huh?” He asked, knowing you weren’t allowed to say no. You shot him a look and nodded, heading in with him.

They had some nice things, a few things you liked, some things Dave liked. You got five or so things to try on before slipping into a dressing room while Dave was still looking through a few other things, checking the prices and internally crying for his wallet.

“Sweetheart?” He called in the dressing room area, unable to find you. He didn’t say it loud so as to not call attention to himself, but you didn’t hear him. He waited a minute, feeling weird standing in such a store by the dressing rooms with a few sets all by himself. He stuffed his hand in his pocket and pressed down all the way on the button. There was definitely noise behind one of the doors, Dave walked over and knocked.

The toy had a lot more power than you thought it would, it brought you to your knees in the stall. With a hand clasped over your mouth you reached up for the door and unlocked it. Dave pushed it open and slipped in, locking it behind himself.

He smiled widely down at you. “What? Having a hard time?” He asked, holding the remote out, his thumb still on the button. You nodded, desperate for some relief of some kind. Dave wasn’t that nice, he reached down to undo his belt and fly, pushing his jeans and boxers down just enough to free his semi-hard cock. “Be a good girl.” He purred, tapping the tip on your cheek.

You did your best to not make any noise as you opened your mouth, taking the tip in to muffle any other noises you wanted to make. You let him do the work, rolling his hips into you, his cock quickly hitting the back of your throat. Your own hips were desperately bucking against nothing, the toy doing its job well. You were basically riding the air. Dave smirked, struggling to hide his own groans.

He pushed his boot under you, pressing it right up against your clit. Your eyes shot wide open, tears that had been threatening to fall freely gliding down your cheeks now. Drool was starting to slip past the corners of your mouth, dribbling down your chin. Dave grabbed a fistful of your hair and began thrusting into you faster. You knew you’d be caught if there was too much sound, so you grabbed his balls.

Now it was his turn to cover his mouth. He gave a nod, looking down at you with dark eyes, letting out a heavy breath. His hips rocked into you more aggressively, chasing his high while still torturing you, making you ride his boot with that stupid fucking toy making you lose your mind. Massaging his balls was working, making him throw his head back sooner.

“Mmph, fuck…” He groaned, doing his best to keep himself quiet. You were getting far too close to begging him to fuck you right here in the stall. He was pulsing down your throat, balls tightening in your hand. Dave bit down on the meat of his thumb, his hips sputtering as he shot his load down your throat.

All of a sudden the vibrations stopped. Dave’s head fell back in ecstasy, holding your nose in his bush until he came down from his high. He pulled away from you, tucking himself back into his jeans before helping you up. He took the chance, with his arms around you and his lips right close to your ear, to speak. “Crazy you thought it would be that easy.” He teased. “Don’t worry, the ride home will be much more fun.” He assured, patting your ass before leaving the dressing room, leaving you to finish trying on the sets.

[literallypyro]

Requests are open again yippee!!

How would the mercs (or just pyro and whoever you wanna write for 👀) react to their colleague (and crush) saying they wanna marry them? In a very random setting.

Ok luv u bye❤️‍🔥

Oh, interesting! I love the spontaneity! I'm not sure how well I did on this one tbh 😅

I'm gonna do the offense class since it includes Pyro!

Hope you enjoy!

Taken by surprise

Scout:

-Big ol blush but he tries to play it cool (he fails)

-"Really?! I mean, y-yeah, obviously you would. Look at me! I'm all anyone could ask for!" Sure, buddy

-He probably would've been a little less awkward and flustered if he had expected it, but that's just not how it played out

-His goofy ass would rub his neck and ask if you wanna start dating since he can't exactly pay for a wedding at the moment

-Would also probably ask what kind of things you would want in a wedding. He's a little awkward about it, but he remembers everything. At least long enough to write it down so he can make sure he doesn't forget

-Other than that, he's just trying to make sure he doesn't mess anything up and drive you away by being too much

-It takes a minute for him to calm down, but once he does, he's just holding your hand and sitting still

-Cherish this guy, please. He loves you to the ends of the universe and desperately wants to do right by you

Soldier:

-Bro's got the biggest smile on his face

-He's scooping you up in the biggest, bone crushing hug ever

-This guy will literally start trying to plan yalls wedding right then and there. Not exactly the sharpest tool in the shed, or even financially competent, but he's super sweet about the whole thing in his own way

-He is now hellbent on planning the perfect wedding, and that really just means whatever you want + his few preferences

-He's lowkey bragging to everyone. You see his partner? This person right here? The best goddamn fiance any American could ask for

-He's already making you fucked up gifts for you. Do you want ears or tongues on your necklace? He might be able to do teeth if he can find a drill

-You really can't tell him to chill, but I'm sure you already knew that. I mean, do you even know who you just told you want to marry? Praying for you, bb 🙏

Pyro:

-A moment of silence, then giddy laughter as they hug you

-Stage 4 clinger, I fear. They must be holding your hand as often as possible now that they know you love them

-Not really sure exactly what a wedding is supposed to be like, but they get the gist. They have a lot of ideas, and you're gonna have to humor some of them

-Something tells me they wouldn't really care how long it takes to actually get there. They have enough fun planning it through colorful drawings

-Would get a lot more chill as time went on and eventually be able to approach the topic somewhat like a normal person

-Honestly, they're just happy you love them that much

-The skrunkly is pleased

-Would actually get you a normal ring since ring pop wasn't officially launched until 1980

[rabidbehemoth]

I'm going through almost the exact same thing! It's been years since I wrote with any regularity, but I've spent those years doing my best to recover from severe burnout (due to Real Life And Other Tragedies).

I felt the spark again just recently after *so* long for a new story! And I knew it was time to try again. And, anon. Anon, look at me. I am grabbing you by the shoulders and looking into your eyes.

It. Is. So. Fucking. Hard.

It's hard! The blank page scares the shit out of me. Words are soooo slow to come, even with a detailed outline, and every tiny decision feels like agony. There is no flow state here.

And that makes sense. No matter how good this idea is, or how many times I've done this before, or what I think I ought to be able to expect from myself, these muscles are rusty. We haven't done this in ages. I think writing is like riding a bike in that you can't forget, but you can become out of practice.

I don't have a magic bullet solution, but I am absolutely certain, down to my marrow, that getting frustrated and angry and disappointed with myself is NOT going to help. It can only make things worse.

Some things I'm trying:

- decrease pressure. when I look at my writing calendar and see so many missed days, I just try to forgive myself. Being disappointed is dumb and only comes from a secret fear that I won't finish unless I pressure and bully myself. But I'm not on a deadline, this is supposed to be fun; I don't need to write often in order to finish, I just need to keep doing it until it's done. The fastest way I can think of to make it not worth doing is to feel bad about it.

- maximum word counts. We've all heard of minimums, but why not maximums? Helps prevent burnout. Helps me stop writing while I still have something left to say, which makes it easier to start again later. I leave little notes for myself like gifts to unwrap later.

- dopamine manipulation. Daydream, as suggested above! I'll sprint with friends, record and post my word counts, talk to friends about the plot, let them help me stay excited. @dementedpuppeteer ILY💜 this would be so much less fun without you!

- look for reasons for hangups. Sometimes it's not me, it's the story, though I'm quick to assume I'm the problem lol. Am I bored with the scene even if I love the idea? Would I rather be writing a different part? Is there an unanswered question I need to think about? Did a character do something unexpected that I've not sufficiently addressed in my own head?

And finally...

- be prepared to put down the pen if that's what your writer brain truly needs. It's not up to us. Sometimes we're just not ready to get back into it, and that needs to be honored and respected. It's not about forcing yourself to write and hating it the whole time, right? Some discomfort will always come with the territory because writing is hard work, but there should be good things too! Good feelings, joy, excitement, satisfaction, curiosity. All the reasons why we do this. If those aren't happening, that's important to pay attention to. Don't ignore pain and run on an injury, listen to it. If writing is too painful, stop. It will always be there when you're ready to try again. You can't lose it, you can just fall out of practice.

My god I didn't expect to vomit this all up but I really do feel for anon's situation, and my own! Putting this on paper really helped organize the thoughts I've been having lately around this. A great practice exercise, haha!

Hi! Lately, I've been trying real hard to start writing again after a break of a couple of years, and it's simply not happening. I took the break to begin with because I figured that I could pick up writing fic again easily when I felt less burned out. But each time I've tried since 2025 started I can barely get the words out. I keep telling myself I need to go slow and build up to it, but my brain blanks after a sentence or two, with or without an outline. I can force myself into a drabble or two, or even a flashfic, but it feels like pulling teeth the entire time. I even tried going back to old drafts and adding to them (unsuccessfully). Nothing works! I'm getting more and more frustrated and angry with myself for taking this long of a break from being creative. Do you have any concrete recommendations for what to do when the ideas/words/characters/whatever just aren't coming? My brain is mush.

(I love this blog. So excited to see you back.)

I'll tell you what I do, but I also want to encourage folks to add their thoughts on the notes. This is very much a situation that can be worked on in a million different ways, so any one particular take might or might not work. Often, frankensteining a bunch together is the better route.

I've currently got two creative hobbies: writing fic and making site skins for AO3. When a site skin isn't working, I just have to drop it. I've been attempting to redo my glowy blue Tron skin from like 4 years ago and every time I go back to it, I just get frustrated and need to stop. I don't have a clear idea of where I want to take it, and so nothing looks "right" because everything feels wrong. For site skins, I need to have a solid idea to latch onto in order to get anywhere with them.

For writing, it's kind of similar. It's a LOT easier to write when I have an idea that really lights a fire under me. However, I've found that I can write even if I just know what the end goal of the story is. Even if my ending is just "and then they bone" at least I know where I need to get my characters in the end, and that guiding principle is really helpful because most of what my characters do in the fic is going to be aimed at that end point.

I don't know if it's just the way that you've phrased it in this ask, but it seems like you can't see the story for the words. If you're focused too much on the act of writing then you might need to back away from that for now and work on just imagining the story first. Spend more time daydreaming or lying in bed staring up at the ceiling and picturing your blorbo in situations. Get into the habit of thinking about the story before you start writing the story. Then the writing part is just transcribing the picture that's already clear in your head.

I well understand the frustration that comes when you've got something in you and no way to get it out. Whatever else is happening, the way you used to go about writing fic doesn't work for you anymore and now you need to discover a new method. Maybe it's handwriting in a notebook instead of typing on a screen. Maybe it's dictating into your notes app. Maybe it's chatting it out with a bestie over coffee or in a DM. Maybe it's something else.

Let's see what other people suggest for you, and then you can cobble together a method of your very own. Good luck, anon! I'm rooting for you ❤️

[disdaidal]

I got a sudden surge of inspiration (or insanity) last night, and I wrote most of chapter 2 for my omegaverse fic. I still have to write a little more to get to the end of it, and then I can start working on my least favorite part aka proofreading/editing it, so...

Give me the strength to finish it tonight? Please? 🙏

[shoot-i-messed-up]

ykw would be a crazy AU is if pre-Green Arrow Ollie lands on Themyscira as his life-changing stranded-on-an-island adventure

[veinsfullofstars]

“Quit laughin’, ya bastard, I’m dyin’ over here! Get me some starsdamn milk, for cryin’ out loud!”

(ID: Kirby series fanart comic of Dark Meta Knight and Daroach, in which lunch is interrupted by a disagreement on spicy food and some improper use of the Sharing mechanic. Transcript below the cut. END ID.)

Based on a personal headcanon that DMK enjoys spicy food and Daroach vehemently does not.

Started 04/06/24, finished and updated 04/09/24, updated for color correction 11/02/24.

---

Transcript:

Panel 1

*DMK and DR sitting side-by-side enjoying some lunch together - a sandwich for the thief, a plate of spicy curry for the knight. DMK (his mask pushed up to the side of his head, bits of curry stuck to his face) idly eats his meal with a fork as DR picks up and scrutinizes a small bottle of hot sauce the knight had set aside, a brow raised in disappointment.*

DR: “Ultra spicy,” huh? Blech. How can you stand this stuff, Dark? Like, can you even taste anythin’ anymore? (Besides pain?)

Panel 2

DMK: Aw, c’mon, it’s not that bad. Here, want a bite~?

*setting his fork upright in the curry, DMK pushes his plate aside and turns towards DR with the most mischievous expression, reaching up to grab the collar of his cape. DR turns his head sharply, dropping the bottle and the sandwich, as the knight starts tugging him towards him.*

DR: What’re you-? Hey! No! No! Don’t you friggin’ dare, Dark, I swear to Nova-

Panel 3

*DMK stands up and yanks DR down towards his face, a hand clasped on the back of the thief’s head to hold him there. DR flinches (VFX: two large exclamation points), knocked off his feet and holding his paws out in surprise. A wisp of steam rises from between them, curling into a little pink heart at the top. Text reading “*Face-to-Face SFX*” hovers behind DMK.*

Panel 4

*DR jerks away from DMK, red-faced and doubled over in pain, his eyes squeezed shut and his tongue hanging out with a fresh red burn on the end, steam emitting from his face in puffs. He frantically fans at his mouth with one paw while shoving DMK away with the other.*

DR: (breaking the dialogue bubble in places) AAGH!! Ow! Star-burnin’ son-of-the-void what is wrong with you piece a’- aaaughh dammit stars dammit ow ow ow ow!!

*DMK cackles, leaning away with one arm held up against the rat’s pushing paw, one eye shut and mouth stretched open in a wide smile, a single incisor prominent within and a touch of blush at the corner. Text reading “HA HA HA HA HA HA HA” hovers behind him surrounded by laugh lines.*