Hello Favorite Writer !! Can U Do Megumi W 46 In The Kisses Section ? I Hope U R Doing Well And I Love

Happy birthday to my male wife. He means so much to me you don’t get it

I made this during finals and set it as my laptop background for motivation and it WORKS

Could you write a short fic for Zoros reaction to his s/o falling down some stairs (but she is ok just bruised) please. BTW love your writing

Characters: Zoro x female reader CW: none :) Total word count: 1k

Slip and Fall

One second you were upright, walking down the stairs.The next moment, you were staring up at the ceiling. 

The pain caught up with you quickly, and you groaned from the aches that riddled your body. Judging by the pain in your back, you must’ve slid down the stairs. Nothing seemed to be broken, but you were certain you’d have a few bruises to show for your misstep. 

You closed your eyes and focused on your breathing, trying to recenter yourself and minimize the pain.

“What the hell was-” Zoro’s irritated voice cut off abruptly, and you braced yourself for some kind of cheap joke at your expense. 

But nothing came. You were certain he hadn’t left, but he also made no move to get closer to you. Or do anything. 

“Y/N?” Zoro’s voice came out as a harsh whisper. 

“I’m fine, thanks for asking.” You breathed out a laugh. The pain seemed to be getting worse the more you lay there. “Help me up, will you?”

“No!” Zoro finally moved, rushing over to you to keep you still. “You shouldn’t move. It could-you could-I don’t want you to-”

“Zoro,” you groaned, finally opening your eyes and instantly meeting his. 

His eyes were so full of worry. They raked over your body, searching for any sign of injury. And you realized that Zoro was truly scared. 

Naturally, his fear made you panic. 

“What?” you tried to lift your head, but Zoro refused to let you move. 

“Chopper needs to check for a spinal injury. If you landed wrong…” He shook his head, as if he were shaking a thought from his head. 

“Zoro, I’m fine.” Though your back was probably blossoming with bruises, you were sure you’d survive.

“Let me go get Chopper. Just stay here for a minute. Please.” His last word was barely a whisper. It was that word, that small act of begging, that kept you anchored to where you laid. 

“Alright, alright.” You closed your eyes. “You fuss too much.”

“I do not-” You could hear him clench his jaw in frustration. “Just stay still for a minute!”

His hurried footsteps receded, and you could hear distant shouts from off in the distance, followed by footsteps coming back to you quickly. 

“She slipped and fell,” Zoro said softly, and you could hear Chopper set down his medical kit and open it. 

“Can you open your eyes for me?” Chopper asked. You opened them. 

“Do you know your name?”

You laughed. “Of course I do!” 

Chopper and Zoro didn’t join your laughter, so you gave your full name to the doctor. 

The reindeer nodded. “And do you know where you are?”

You sighed. “The Sunny. The Grand Line. Don’t ask me where on the Grand Line, because I wouldn’t even know that on my best day.”

Chopper gave a slight smile at that answer, but Zoro was still watching you from a few feet away. He was tucked back in a corner, almost as if he was scared of you. 

“Did you hear me?” Chopper asked, waving a hand in front of your face. 

You blinked. You hadn’t heard his question. You hadn’t even realized he was speaking. 

“What is five plus five?” Chopper asked again. 

“Oh. Ten,” you answered quickly, taking your eyes off of Zoro for only a moment before finding him again. He looked so pale, and his mouth was pressed in such a tight line as he watched Chopper. You opened your mouth to speak, but Chopper spoke first. 

“Zoro, can you come help her sit up? I’d like to check her back for any signs of injury.”

“Chopper, I told you already! I’m fine!” Your words were accompanied with a groan as you tried to sit up on your own. 

Zoro was suddenly there, gently guiding you into a sitting position. You rolled back your shoulders, trying to shake off the stiffness of your muscles. Zoro only watched you, his face still hard as stone. 

“Zoro.” Your fingers cupped his face, forcing his eyes to lock onto yours. “I’m here. I’m okay, really.”

“She’s right,” Chopper agreed, looking at you. “Some icky bruises for a few days, and you probably have a minor concussion, but you’re okay.”

“See?” You smiled. “I’m okay.”

Zoro nodded and pulled his face away from your grip. The panic in his eyes has subsided, but only slightly. 

“I probably need a lot of bedrest though, right Chopper?” You gave a slight nudge to the reindeer. 

“Huh? You don’t-” Chopper caught your wink and worried glance at Zoro. “Oh! Yes! She needs lots of rest. And she shouldn’t be alone…because of the concussion! Zoro, can you look after her?”

Zoro narrowed his eyes slightly, and you gave him a sheepish grin and you held out your hands. “Help me up?” you asked. 

He did you one better, gently picking you up off the ground. He was careful to avoid the sensitive spots on your back. How he knew exactly where they were, you weren’t sure, but you were thankful he was considerate. 

You were quick to pull him into bed and snuggle into his chest. Even if it wasn’t the most comfortable for your sore body, you were happy to be close to him. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” 

“No.” His response was short, clipped. 

“Okay,” you hummed, curling in closer to him. 

A few minutes passed in comforting silence, and you were almost asleep when he kissed the top of your head. 

“I thought you were dead,” he whispered hoarsely. “I thought I lost you and I just…I couldn’t go through that again. I can’t lose you.”

“You won’t. I’m right here,” you murmured softly into his chest, letting his warmth lull you into a deep sleep.

roronoa zoro x gn!reader

reader gives praise + pet names / slightly steamy / zoros a simp

“missed you today,” you mumble against his mouth.

zoro thinks you’re heaven bottled, straddling his waist, kissing him like you’ve been starved. he sits back, enjoying your undivided attention and flurry of soft, deep kisses. his large hands gently squeeze at your sides, then move to your thighs, kneading the soft, plush skin.

he’s in love with you. zoro is completely and unequivocally in love with you. he’s drunk on your lips, your body, your voice. everything. you fill his senses and bewitch his mind. even the scent of your hair left on his pillow has him burying his nose into the plushness to get more of it. he’s obsessed. he’s so sure of it, and yet it’s so foreign and strange for him.

zoro is no stranger to desire. he knows how it feels to want something so badly you’d kill for it, but never has he felt a desire quite like this one. it’s not a desire to win, or to be the greatest, or to serve. it’s vulnerable and fragile. it’s consuming and overwhelming. it’s more more more.

and that’s all he can think when your lips finally part, your eyes looking down at him like he’s never done a bad thing in his life. like he’s precious. innocent. loved. missed. wanted.

“i love you,” you whisper to him, tracing the sharp edge of his jaw before pressing a gentle kiss there. he pulls you closer, if possible, his strong hands gliding up your t-shirt to rest on your bare back. he presses his lips to your neck, earning a satisfying sigh from you, so he sucks lightly.

“i love you,” he mutters into your skin, goosebumps forming along his defined arms as your nails begin to scratch at his scalp. close just isn’t enough. he buries his face into your shoulder, nuzzling there.

such a big man and yet, for you, he’s melted butter.

“you worked so hard today,” you tell him, kissing the shell of his ear, “you’re so good, baby. so good.”

he relishes in the praise. he wants it so bad. from the moment you joined the crew, he’d been jealous of any praise you gave to anyone else. especially the idiot cook. how he longed to have you tell him he’s done well, that he’s good, that you’re proud.

zoro doesn’t know when he turned into such a melt, but you just have that affect on him. you make him feel like he can be vulnerable in your presence.

“thank you,” he breathes, squeezing you tighter.

“do you want me to rub your shoulders?” you ask him softly, pressing little kisses to the side of his head. he could stay here forever and a day.

“you don’t have to,” he says, voice rough from how tired he is. you chuckle lightly.

“i want to,” you tell him honestly, pushing him off with great difficulty, “let me take of you, ‘ro.”

he’s so thankful to whatever fate bought you to him, shuffling around so he’s sitting between your dangling legs, your hands rubbing gentle but firm circles into his muscles. he groans when you hit a certain spot, so you stay there, every now and then kissing the crown of his head.

he’s just not worthy. he doesn’t understand how he managed to get this hallelujah. how, out of everyone, he’s the one you devote your time to. he’s the one you drunkly confessed to one night after a successful fight, kissing him before pulling yourself away and mumbling how sorry you were and that you understand if he didn’t feel the same.

how ludicrous.

it was his bed you clambered into and never left. it’s his mouth you kiss good morning and kiss goodnight. it’s his hand you squeeze under the table. it’s his face you search for in the crowd.

and he’s so fucking thankful. there’s a God. there must be.

“never leave me,” he finds himself saying out loud, your movements stopping, hands resting against his shoulders. he feels you move, and then your lips against his ear.

“what a silly thing to say,” you speak softly, sending a shiver down his spine as your hands begin working at his tired muscles again, “i’m not going anywhere, ‘ro. please don’t worry about that.”

he closes his eye. trusting you. relaxing back into your embrace. if you’re destined to always be at his side, always sleep beside him, to rub his shoulders and kiss his skin, then he’s sure, more than ever, there’s someone Holy looking down on him. he should be more accommodating to that thought. maybe it’s time he actually thank whoever they are.

hell, he might even start praying.

i do not own one piece or anything associated with it

Sanji Week Day 3: Stealth Black

social skills training, solmaz sharif

well 🧍‍♀️ as a reminder this blog is NOT a safe space for trump supporters but it IS a safe place for women, queers, trans ppl, people of color, undocumented people, and any marginalized group.

Post-Injury Hurt/Comfort Series - Monster Trio

Characters: Luffy, Zoro, Sanji

Reader: GN

Word Count: 3.3k

CW: blood, gore, graphic depictions of injury, stitches

Ao3 Link

After writing The Break, I've always wanted to do drabbles of the same scenario for other characters, so here we are. ( 0v0)/

Luffy

It happens in an instant. One moment, you’ve brought your mace down on the head of the lion Zoan, dropping him like a sack of potatoes. You collapse next to his body, exhausted from the fight.

The next moment, the lion Zoan lunges at you from the floor, one massive paw smashing into your face with all the strength of their devil fruit, sickle claws tearing your flesh open.

You go flying. You hit the ground hard, leaving a smear of blood from your body skidding. Dazed, you try and get your bearings, berating yourself for letting your guard down early, praying it didn’t cost you the fight. The lion Zoan snarls and charges you.

“Gum-Gum Whip!”

The sight of your captain intercepting your opponent brings a heavy relief–if Luffy’s finished with his own opponent, that means your part is done, too. You can finally catch your breath.

With the rest comes the dull, burning pain across your face. The enemy mostly got you in the nose and mouth, miraculously missing your eyes. Blood runs from your nose and mouth and drips from your chin, bleeding as heavily as a head wound. Still, you’re not too concerned. It’s only when the rest of the crew catches up to you and you try to talk that you realize how much damage the lion did, because not only does speaking hurt, but Nami makes a face at the sight of you.

The local anesthetic that Chopper gives you helps a little bit, but it still hurts when he realigns your nose and stitches up the gashes. Luffy holds your hand the entire time, knowing you hate needles.

“Good job, Y/n!” Luffy says after Chopper’s done. “You’re real tough!”

“Thanks, Captain.” You sigh. “I would have been fine if I hit him again, but I thought he was down. I forgot how resilient Zoans can be.”

“You didn’t want to kill him.”

“I know, I shouldn’t take these fights so lightly–”

“Y/n, that’s a good thing.” Luffy stretches an arm around your shoulder. “You’re a good person. Besides, I was able to take him out easily because of the damage you did.”

“Nami looked horrified when she saw my face,” you say. “I must look like a mess.”

“You do,” Luffy says honestly, making you smile–which pulls on your stitches.

“Owww, oh…smiling hurts.”

“Then don’t smile!”

“I can’t help it. You make me smile. You know this.”

Luffy rubs his chin, eyes rolling up as he thinks. “Then I should stay away from you.”

“Nooo, don’t do that! I need you around to cheer me up! Especially now.” You take his hand that’s hanging around your shoulder, feeling your chest lighten when he squeezes back.

“Well, in that case, I’ll just not make you smile!” he says.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” You chuckle, then look at the mirror hanging on the wall. If you need to lower your mood, there’s an easy shortcut–the combination of your inflamed, swollen skin, plus the stitches make you look nothing short of monstrous.

Luffy notices your face falling. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s going to scar. And not even in a cool way.” Living with severe facial scarring probably won’t be that bad–you are a pirate, after all–but it’ll still be new. And, to be honest, you’re not ready for your appearance to change so dramatically.

“What are you talking about? It’ll be super cool!” Luffy says earnestly. “Everyone will know what a strong pirate you are!”

He’s trying to cheer you up. You don’t want to bring him down in the dumps with you, but you can’t help but be bummed out.

“But what if I don’t want to look cool?” you say. “What if I just want to look like me? I mean, who could possibly find a face like this appealing?” You ghost your fingers over the stitches on your lips. “Who would kiss lips like mine?”

You think you’re holding it in okay, but the admission has you tearing up. You’re being ridiculous–you should be happy to be alive. But why did it have to be your face? Why…

Luffy stares at you in that way he does when he’s thinking. You can’t tell what’s going through his mind.

It happens in an instant.

One moment you’re sitting next to each other in silence. The next moment, he wraps his other arm around you, pulls you in close, and lightly presses his lips against yours in a soft kiss.

It hurts a little, but it also feels so good that your tears break free and sting where they roll over your cuts.

“Did that hurt? I’m sorry, Y/n,” Luffy says when he pulls away.

“No, no! It was nice! It was really nice.” You have to fight not to smile.

“Oh, good! I liked it too!” he giggles, looking overjoyed.

“When I heal up, will you do that again?”

“I can do it right now!” Luffy says eagerly, but you clear your throat and tilt your head toward the doorway.

Chopper is standing there, little hooves on his hips, thoroughly unimpressed with the both of you and your method of boosting morale.

Zoro

Zoro was always one to downplay his injuries. Next to Chopper, you gave him the most trouble for it out of anyone in the crew. He figured that so long as he got medical attention, the extent of the injuries was no big deal.

He never expected to be on the receiving end.

In the heat of battle, he’s entirely focused on his opponent. This enemy crew is tough, but not the strongest they’ve faced. Strong enough to demand his full concentration.

However, Zoro knows the unique sound of a sword cutting through flesh. When he hears the shhk! noise behind him and remembers you’re also fighting a sword user, he’s so badly distracted he almost gets hit. He has just enough presence of mind to finish off his enemy before turning around.

That’s when he sees you fire a bullet into your opponent’s leg, your free arm wrapped around your stomach. There’s blood seeping between your fingers. In the time it takes him to rush to your side, you shoot your opponent again in the other leg, making him crumple, then once in each arm, rendering him completely unable to fight back from where he lays.

“Yo,” you say casually, but you’re trembling all over. Your torn shirt is staining quickly.

“You got cut,” Zoro states. He tries to pull your arm away so he can see your wound better, but you step back.

“I’m okay,” you say. You and Zoro both look down at your abdomen as you pull your arm away just slightly, and Zoro sees the unmistakable grayish-pink of your large intestine before you quickly plug up the gash with your arm again. You look back up at him. “It’s just a scratch.”

Zoro’s about ready to stab you himself, his eyes going wide with horror and rage. 

“Are you insane?!” he shouts. “A scratch?! Shit, where’s Chopper–?!”

“Ha ha–ow ow ow, hurts to laugh.” You grin, but Zoro notices you tearing up from the pain.

“Okay, just, stay still,” his hands are held up hesitantly, unsure of what to do, and he calls over his shoulder. “CHOPPER! Get over here right now!”

Once Chopper arrives, he applies an emergency field dressing and instructs Zoro on how to safely carry you back to the ship’s infirmary. You act like you’re in high spirits the entire way there, smiling up at Zoro like everything’s fucking dandy.

“This is kinda nice,” you say. “I haven’t been carried since I was little.”

“After you heal,” Zoro says, “I’ll carry you around as much as you want, okay?”

“Promise?”

“I promise,” he says gently. “Does it hurt?”

“Of course not,” you say, and Zoro curses himself for having asked–he can see you wince with every harsh step he tries to avoid.

“We’re almost there. Almost there.”

“Relax, big guy. I’ve been through worse.”

You haven’t. He’s been in every major fight you’ve been through, and it’s never been this bad. Your blood is still warm on his skin, and your color’s getting paler, and it’s all because he couldn’t protect you.

The surgery takes longer than he thought. He’s pacing the hallway outside the infirmary so much that even Sanji starts to make a comment, which would have started a fight had Robin not intervened and sternly told them both that everyone was worried.

When you come to, it’s to the sight of Zoro standing over your bed. You don’t manage so much as a ‘yo’ before Zoro gets onto his hands and knees, bowing so low his head touches the floor.

“I’ll never let it happen again!” he says, minding his volume–Chopper is only allowing him to visit because Zoro promised he wouldn’t stress you out. “It’s my fault! I’m sorry–”

“Get up.” 

He peers up at you. Your face is twisted up like you’re holding something back, but you force it into a sneer.

“Get up right now, or I’m going to make fun of you,” you say. He hesitates long enough for you to roll your eyes. “Don’t be a pussy.”

That brings him right back to his feet. “What’d you call me?!”

“You heard me,” you say. “I’m alive, aren’t I? So relax.”

“I can’t relax!” Zoro snaps. “You got hurt because of me! I was too weak! I couldn’t–couldn’t stop this from happening!”

“Whatever.”

“Whatever?!” He no longer minds his volume. “How can you be so–so calm about this?!”

“How can you be making this about yourself?”

That shuts him up real quick. Realizing his mistake, Zoro starts to get a sour feeling in his stomach, but you only smile.

“Now you know what it feels like,” you chuckle and wince, “ow–what it feels like to have someone be dismissive of your injuries. So the next time you get hurt, you big dumb idiot, how about you have some self awareness and let me worry?”

Zoro deflates a little. “I still can’t just forgive myself like that.”

“I’ll do it for you.” You hold out your hand until he takes it. “Roronoa Zoro, I forgive you–so long as you do one thing for me.”

He leans in. “Anything. What is it?”

“Even with the pain meds, I’m still sore. Kiss it better?” You smile the way you do when you’re joking, but it soon turns to a look of surprise when Zoro leans in even closer. He hesitates for a moment, face hovering above yours, before his free hand comes to cradle the back of your head and he presses a firm, intent kiss to your lips.

You stare at him when he pulls away, your expression slowly morphing into a smile–not a playful one, not a masking one, but a real smile.

“W-What’s with that look?” Zoro says, flustered now. Wasn’t that what you wanted?

“I meant kiss my stomach, dummy.”

Zoro’s eyes widen, but before he can remedy his mistake, you weakly pull him back in for another kiss. This time, he obliges without question.

Sanji

Sanji barely dodges a brutal strike from his opponent, then finishes them off with a flaming kick to the skull. You grin at him as you down your own opponent with a heavy strike from one of your tonfa.

“Careful there, Hotfoot! He almost got you!” you yell gleefully, only to narrowly avoid getting hit yourself.

“Worry about yourself, Sticks!” Sanji calls back, mirroring your grin.

“They’re not sticks!” you say yet again, smashing one of the tonfa into a pirate’s head and knocking them out cold. “You’re just jealous I can fight with my hands!”

“I choose not to fight with my hands!”

“Sure you do!”

You were well aware of Sanji’s commitment to only use his hands to cook, but it was still fun to pretend it was a skill issue. Sanji knew it was all teasing anyway. The two of you greatly enjoyed your banter, whether in or outside of battle. As physical fighters, your rivalry was a friendly one. After all, out of everyone in the crew, you spent the most time talking to each other.

The next wave of pirates comes, this time stronger than before–the enemy’s commanding officers. The battle becomes too serious for you to go on making comments, and your focus gets pulled toward your opponents.

It’s a hard, bloody fight. As soon as he defeats his opponent, he worries about how the others are faring. The rest of the crew is almost done with their own one-on-ones, and he finds himself rushing to find you first, his pace hurrying when he finds one of your tonfa lying off to the side.

You’re straddling your opponent on the ground. Your non-dominant hand is broken, held crookedly against your chest, and you’re bleeding from your hairline and mouth. With your good hand, you beat your tonfa into your opponent’s skull, over and over, a broken cry tumbling from your bloody lips with every strike. Your opponent is no longer moving, but you don’t stop, tears streaming from your eyes as you mash his face to a visceral pulp.

“Hey, hey, hey!” Sanji skids to a stop next to you, grabbing your wrist before you can strike again. “He’s dead! It’s over. It’s over. You won.”

You look at him with wide eyes. Your mouth is held open, and at first, Sanji doesn’t realize what’s wrong, but he can tell you only won by a hair from the way you’re trembling. He gets down and pulls you into a gentle hug. “I got you,” he says. “I got you. You’re okay now.”

He holds you at arm’s length and checks over your body for any injuries, finding none. Mouth still open, you pull away from him and start patting the grass with your good hand, searching for something. 

“Y/n? What’s wrong?” he says. “Please, say something.”

Sanji expects something tired and sarcastic, like ‘you don’t look much better.’ Instead, you make a strange, groaning noise as your response, and he feels a chill run through his body. You always had a quick retort for him, even when things were dire.

You seem to find what you were looking for, your hand closing around something. Sanji helps you stand up, and when you open your hand, he sees a few teeth in your palm that must have gotten knocked out.

“Your jaw’s broken,” Sanji realizes aloud, and you nod, and suddenly the way you hold your mouth open is deeply unsettling.

The silence that follows your surgery, however, puts Sanji at an even greater unease. Your jaw is wired shut to let the bone heal, and Chopper says that for the next six weeks, you won’t be able to speak at all.

You carry around a notepad with you, but for a while after you wake from the anesthesia, you don’t write anything down except to answer Chopper’s questions, opting instead to sulk.

“Come on, Sticks,” Sanji says lightly as he signs the cast on your hand. “I know you have something to say.”

You flick him off with your good hand, then seem to regret it, your face fallin along with your hand. Sighing through your nose, you grab your notepad and scribble something down, then hold it up for him to see.

‘I look like a chipmunk.’

The lower half of your face has, naturally, swollen up. Sanji shakes his head. “No, no, you look fine! You…” A pointed look from you makes him concede. “Okay, yeah. It’s swollen. What did you expect?” You look away, and he pats your shoulder. “Ah, come on, it’s not so bad. Most people find chipmunks cute, you know.”

Your eyes widen slightly and you give him a look of surprise. Sanji stiffens.

“Um, well, I mean…” he stammers. Though he doesn’t leave, for the rest of that day, you both avoid looking at each other.

From the beginning to the end of your healing process, Sanji stays by your side, always finding a way to make you feel better. He’ll hype you up by doing a drumroll while he’s waiting for you to finish writing out a thought, something which the rest of the crew picks up as well. When you’re hanging out with him in the galley, he’ll do hibachi tricks with the food he prepares to cheer you up.

The food he makes for you especially helps you get through the long weeks. You were severely bummed out at having to miss his cooking for weeks–until the first sip of the soup he cooked. You never knew a liquid diet could be so delicious. Sanji takes the time to roast and blend anything you’d wanted. Thanks to him, being unable to chew food doesn’t affect your nutrient intake at all.

He also indulges you in your favorite drink without you having asked, which is surprising. It’s not the first time he’s gone out of his way like this, but it does feel more special when you’ve been in such a vulnerable state.

‘Maybe there’s an upside to this after all.’

Sitting in the galley while Sanji cooks, you hold up your notepad for him to read.

“And what is that?” he says, walking around the prep table with a mixing bowl in his arms, looking down at what you’re writing.

‘I love y’

You pause, staring at your notepad with a weird, dumbstruck look. Sanji’s eyes widen, slowing down his mixing for a second, but you quickly recover and finish scribbling.

‘I love you treating me extra special.’ You hold up the notepad hesitantly, avoiding his eye. 

Though feeling warmth rise in his chest, Sanji plays it cool. “Well, I’m glad you’re finding the positive in this,” he says. “I personally miss the sound of your voice.”

You drop your notepad and fumble to catch it with only one good hand, accidentally smacking it to the floor. Both you and Sanji crouch down to pick it up, and freeze when your hands touch.

The urge to say ‘sorry’ is strong, though you can’t speak. Face burning, all you can do is look at him apologetically and hope he understands. But when you do, he’s looking back at you with the same expression he has when he reads a brand new recipe. Like he’s figuring something out.

You go to pull your hand away, but his fingers close around yours. “I, uh… I really mean that, you know.”

Swallowing, you glance down at his hand holding yours, then back up at him, and nod.

“Y/n,” he says, letting go of your hand to instead cup your cheek tenderly. “Would you… I mean. Can I…?”

With your heart pounding, you nod again, and Sanji leans in. You close your eyes, and a moment later, his lips brush yours, feather-light. Just that barest contact makes your head spin almost as bad as it did when you got your injury in the first place.

Sanji breaks free, and you stare at each other. A slow smile spreads across your lips at the sight of his nose starting to bleed. You both stand up, and you write something down quickly.

‘I’m sorry I can’t kiss you back.’

“That’s okay,” he says, reading the note over your shoulder. He rubs the back of his neck, grinning. “I’ll gladly do all the work.”

And Sanji does, in the quiet, private moments where it’s just the two of you. And yet, when the day finally comes for Chopper to remove the wires, and the first thing you do upon leaving the exam room is call out Sanji’s name, he’s so elated that he picks you up with a spin, kissing you in front of everyone before he can help himself.

noncon friendship

never lose hope

𝟒:𝟓𝟏 𝐀𝐌 | 𝐆𝐎𝐉𝐎 𝐒𝐀𝐓𝐎𝐑𝐔.

satoru looks happy—the real kind. the kind where his lips are curved into a soft, giddy grin and not his usual smirk. the kind where his blindfold is pushed down to hang around his neck so you can see the little gleam in his eyes. the kind that makes him cradle a newborn in his arms and rock her gently as he kisses her temple every few moments.

“she has your eyes,” he says quietly, tracing over the soft skin of your daughter’s cheek with his thumb. his hand looks rather big compared to her tiny face, and you’re almost certain it’s hearts he’s tracing with each rounded motion.

“i know,” you murmur, watching relief dance around the corners of his expression.

“thank god,” he chuckles—and if there’s a wobble to his voice, you don’t point out. “she looks like me though. ‘s why she’s so cute.”

and normally, maybe you’d indulge him in a halfhearted argument, maybe you’d scowl and tell him to keep quiet for once, but satoru is happy. and it’s not just a thin blanket with tattered rips at the seams meant to cover the weight clung to his shoulders.

it’s real, and it’s woven seamlessly into the crinkles of his eyes.

“it’s our job as parents to think she’s cute,” you snort, “but she’s definitely the cutest baby i’ve had the pleasure of seeing,” you add with a little bit of pride in your voice.

“of course she is. she’s my baby,” he coos as he stares down at her, gently pinching her cheek. she stares up at him, comically small against his strong arms and broad chest, and when a tiny hand grasps around his finger, you pretend once more that his eyes aren’t wet and glossy.

“actually, she’s our baby,” you correct, glaring at him.

“you must be really sad you’re not my only baby anymore,” he snickers, looking at you with his usual smug grin. but there’s something on the edge of grateful and awestruck that’s in his eyes—and you think he stares at you like you’ve handed him a ray of light you plucked from the sun’s core, gently pressing the warmth to his palms and soothing over the cold and dry cracks on the skin.

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