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shy-writer-999 · 5 months ago

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How many dreams to say "I love you"? (iii)

Summary: Zoro hasn't been able to stop having dreams about you, his best friend and crewmate. When he goes a few days without one, he thinks he's in the clear. Surely, realizing that he's in love with you is enough to make the dreams stop entirely, right? Right?

Part 3 of 4. ~3.6k words. (read part 1 here!) CW: Equal parts smut and plot. Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Sex! Love-making! Mentions of death, danger, and blood. NSFW content - minors stay away!

Part 3: Scattered polaroids.

Zoro had three whole nights of solace after he realized he was in love with you—three nights of no dreams, three nights of long and restful sleep.

After the third night, he was under the impression that the dreams had ceased entirely. The realization that he loved you was the cure for his sickness, he told himself. Now, he could pine after you from afar during the day and sleep peacefully, minding his business at night.

He did just that. For those three days, during his waking hours, he tried to calculate how to get closer to you. He put together nonsensical equations in his mind over how, why, and for how long he had been in love—he could, and would, keep doing this all day until he returned to his bed, savoring each smile from you.

Evidently, the conversation he overheard between you and Nami was the catalyst for the chain reaction of psychological warfare he had withstood for over a week—the end result was a euphoric crescendo of emotions, his realization that he was capable of romantic love and that his heart had been screaming for attention for months.

But what was there to do about it?

More importantly, did you feel the same?

Zoro needed to find out. He wanted to get to the bottom of everything—the conversation, who you had been talking about, why you were having a hard time being lonely around them, and how you felt about him.

While the swordsman did the mental math of what that discussion may look like between the two of you, he felt sick. He had fought dangerous foes of every kind and been on the verge of death many times before, but nothing ever gave him nerves like this.

If you had feelings for someone, would you tell them? He wondered about you, the sorts of decisions you made, how you would act and feel. If he got to the bottom of this situation and discovered that you had feelings for someone other than him, would he be able to cope with the jealousy?

Jealousy.

The emotion started to seethe when he thought about someone other than himself being with you. It boiled inside when he watched Sanji fawn over you, touch the small of your back, and whisper compliments in your ear. Every bashful smile and flutter of your eyelashes in Sanji’s direction twisted some dial inside of Zoro. Too many twists would prove troublesome. Explosive, even.

He knew that that this emotion, envy, had been there for ages before he recognized how he felt about you. It didn’t feel good, and he knew it was unhealthy. Various images and memories flashed through his mind as he recalled instances in which he felt this same burning envy frequently coupled with a fierce desire to protect you.

Zoro tried to comfort himself with the knowledge of what sort of person you were—if you had a problem with Sanji, or with any other person, you would have said something, no? He was certain that you wouldn’t hesitate to stand your ground.

But that thought was less of a comfort than he initially thought it would be, because you hadn’t ever reprimanded the blonde for his advances (that Zoro knew of), but you did shoo him away sometimes. Your smile felt restrained and reserved whenever it was sent in Sanji’s direction. It looked different than the smiles you gave Zoro.

Well, there was no point in getting himself worked up over the dynamic in question. Nothing would change, probably, unless he did something about it.

It had been a while since you and Zoro last spent time together, one on one. And he thought you had been a bit quieter than usual, recently, so… might as well catch up. Maybe spending some time with you would soothe his heart—it felt like it was aching any time you weren’t around, and when you were around it felt like it was on fire. He didn’t know how to cope other than find ways and excuses to spend time with you.

His solution was… lunch. Practical, at the very least, if not the most effective.

On the morning after his third night of restful sleep, Zoro asked you if you’d like to have lunch with him under one of the trees on the deck of the Sunny. This was nothing too out of the ordinary. He grabbed food, some drinks and some napkins and brought them out to you.

When Zoro handed you your plate, you smiled up at him from where you sat and he felt like he would pass out. He had absolutely no clue how to handle this recently unlocked feeling—the feeling of love—and he was trying to act as normal as possible. He was, all things considered, succeeding.

He didn’t have much trouble acting ‘normal,’ per say. He was simply hyperaware of how beautiful you were, how fast his heartbeat was, and how blisteringly intense your eye contact was. He had noticed inklings of this before, but he was reminded, strongly. Every moment that your eyes met his, his heart fluttered. He was trying not to blush. It felt very out of character.

“How have you been recently?” Zoro tried to start the conversation casually.

“I’m fine,” you responded with a smile, like usual. “The same as ever. What about you?”

Zoro wondered if that was worth pressing you on, since you seemed a bit sad, or distant, or something along those lines. He decided it was worth it. Ignoring your question to him, he followed up.

“You sure you’re fine? You’ve been a bit quiet recently.”

You tried to brush it off. You had been quieter recently, and for good reason. You thought he didn’t know the reason, but he did. At least, he knew the bare bones of it. Something along the lines of feeling lonely.

“Ah, yeah. I guess I have been a bit down recently.” You responded, trying to hold your smile and pretend like your heart wasn’t crying inside. He studied your face closely, and you could tell.

“Why’s that?”

You had a brief internal battle over whether or not you would be candid with him, but you didn’t have it in you that day and the scenery wasn’t anywhere near private enough. You lied. “No reason, really. I’m not quite sure why.”

“If you ever want to talk about it, let me know.” Zoro smiled sweeter than you had ever seen and then dropped the subject. His smile was uncharacteristically sweet. Heart-stoppingly sweet. Painfully sweet. It was like a dagger.

You told him thanks and the conversation moved on. As a whole, lunch was enjoyable. Afterwards, you both felt significantly more at ease. To spend time together always brought your respective spirits up. It was a great dynamic—no wonder Zoro was in love with you.

Zoro told himself that he should just keep checking on you and go even more out of his way to spend time with you. He’d double down. Maybe it was lunch today, and then tomorrow it could be dinner. And after that, he’d ask you to watch the sunset with him in the crow’s nest. Or would he whisk you away and confess his feelings in his cabin? He was scrambled in the head, confused by that classic paradox of choice, where there are so many options that you’re incapable of choosing one. Was it even the right call to tell you how he felt? Would it screw everything up?

“Oh, Zoro?” Your voice stopped him in his tracks down the hallway after lunch. “Want to have some drinks tomorrow night? It’s been a minute since we caught up. You stood me up last time, remember?”

You were joking, but it was true. Last time Zoro asked you to have some drinks with him after a hard training session he completely forgot and fell asleep. You both laughed about it afterwards, and you used it to poke fun at him sometimes.

He agreed. "Yeah, drinks tomorrow night. I promise."

That was one problem solved.

DREAM 10: Un-solved

That night Zoro dreamed about you. It broke up that momentary peace he had of three nights with no dreams—it seems the internal turmoil of the day was enough to evoke a vivid and striking dream, unlike any others he had before.

Zoro found himself in a dimly lit bedroom lying on a big bed. The sheets and blankets were smooth and plushy. He could hear someone breathing next to him and he knew that you were there.

Turning his head, he saw that you were lying on your side facing away from him, completely nude, hair sitting perfectly on a silk pillowcase. The sheets were pulled down, so he could see your whole silhouette. In the dream, Zoro could feel himself compelled by something, reaching out a hand to pull you closer to him so your bodies were flush.

He smelled your hair, felt how soft your skin was, and ran a rough hand up and down the side of your body, trying to memorize every inch. He ran a palm over your hips and down your thighs, felt your back, shoulders, and waist; he was drinking up every second that his hands wandered over your skin, like your body was an oasis and he was dying of thirst.

You let out an indistinct noise. He couldn’t hear it well enough. It sounded like a sigh. As his hands moved, you stirred, turning your shoulder into his, giving him more access.

The faint sound trickled out of your mouth again, this time audible. Your voice sounded sleepy, sweet and faint. “Zoro.” He could feel his heart trip when his name fell from your lips.

Your hand groped back to grip his thigh and you whispered his name again. “Zoro. More.”

He snuck his hand from your hip to your front, starting to knead and cup your breasts. His fingers elicited another hushed entreaty from your lips. “Zoro. More.”

Suddenly aware of his hard-on pressing on you, his hand lingered on your chest and he began to kiss you. He started with you shoulder blade, marking a trail of kisses up to your neck, taking in deep breaths of your hair and skin. His kisses were soft and loving, coaxing more pleasant sighs from you.

He wanted to taste every inch of you, to draw out those sounds and muffled noises that he was starting to become acquainted with (at least, in his dreams).

Zoro lavished your skin with affection and care for a few moments, and you said his name again. Every time you said his name, it felt like every nerve in his body buzzed.

“Zoro. I need you.”

The dream fogged up and transformed. He was leaning over you from between your legs, missionary style. You were looking up at him, eyes pleading, hair ruffled just right.

Zoro’s erection was positioned right at your entrance, precum beading and pooling around his red, angry tip. The scene was vivid—his mind replicated every facet of what this would look and feel like in real life, down to each atom of detail. It was absurd.

He gawked at you, eyes jumping between your needy face and pouting lips and your glistening core. One of his hands was stroking his shaft leisurely, and the other gripped your waist.

“Please, Zoro.”

As your begging reached his ears, he slowly pressed into you, letting out a hiss of air through his teeth when he bottomed out because it felt so good. You gasped and the sound felt heavenly in his ears.

“Fuuuccckk, Zoro.”

He leaned in to kiss you, bringing a hand to cup your cheek. Your lips were still locked when he started slowly rocking his hips into yours, dragging his cock in and out of you slowly.

You felt amazing, so warm and wet around him, squeezing him perfectly. He sped up, finding the perfect pace. As his hips rolled into yours, you began to moan his name, mewling it into his mouth as he explored yours with his tongue.

Zoro reached a hand and pushed one of your thighs down, allowing for the deepest angle possible. He wanted to hit your g-spot just right; he wanted to make you feel good, wanted to see your eyes roll back in your head and hear his name as many times as possible.

The dreamscape transformed again, just slightly. He was in the same position, but your faces were centimeters away now. You were holding his cheeks in your hands, making eye contact as he thrusted into you, deep and slow.

“Zoro,” you panted. “Feels good, Zoro. You feel so fucking good.”

He could feel your legs wrap around him, could feel you grinding down on his cock, trying to fuck yourself with it deeper.

A moment later, you were holding hands, fingers entwined. You moaned his name and only his name. He could feel himself about to let go. Your eyes were entrancing.

“Zoro,” you keened, arching your back up and squeezing his hands tightly. “Tell me you love me, Zoro.”

His heart stopped again and picked up at a rapid pace; his hips did the same, moving haphazardly, stuttering and shaking. He was seconds away from cumming in you, pleasure building into one massive cliff that he was about to free fall from.

“I—love—you,” he thrusted between each labored breath and grunt. The words tumbled out of his mouth and on the last one he orgasmed. He reeled with ecstasy, convulsing in pleasure as his cum painted the inside of you a hot, milky white.

Zoro collapsed on your chest panting. One of your hands traced circles on his back and the other petted his head, which rested in the crook of your neck. You cooed “good job baby” in his ear and kissed his shoulder.

He woke up, and even though he wasn’t shaking or sweating this time, he felt extremely unwell. It took him a moment to realize that he came all over the inside of his underwear while he was asleep. While his return to consciousness was gentler this time in comparison to his other dreams, he was still disturbed. It was a scarily realistic and wildly intimate dream.

He tried to get his thoughts in order. There was no point in feeling any shame here, he told himself, because you didn’t dream about that on purpose. But really, what the fuck was going on? A wet dream? How long had it been since he had one of these?

The frustration he felt upon waking was agonizing. Three whole days and nights of a clear head. He thought that since he realized he loved you, the dreams had stopped—the realization of his feelings had been the cure to his lovesickness, after all.

Evidently, he was wrong. One intense dream snapped Zoro back into the insanity he had lived in for a week. He felt like he was going to go crazy.

Wasn’t the realization that he loved you enough to make the dreams stop? If that wasn’t enough, then what would be?

Did he have to do something about it?

Fuck.

He really had to do something about it. Perhaps he’d do something about it when he had drinks with you.

But those promised drinks never came.

The next day, the Strawhat crew ran into a hostile pirate group. The skirmish lasted a handful of hours. Lucky for the crew, there were no truly formidable opponents, but it still ended up being a pain in the ass. The crew got separated, and Zoro got lost and left behind—an experience he was well familiar with.

Finally making his way back to where the ship was docked, after hours of wandering around aimlessly on the island and defeating some random mid-tier power user, Zoro returned to the ship. He was met with a startling sight.

The Sunny was ransacked. On first impression, the crew was nowhere to be found. Your absence was starting to agitate him more than usual when he realized the ship was most likely empty. His latent realization of his love was certainly contributing to that.

As the swordsman explored the ship and went room to room, his distress mounted.

There were blood splatters on the walls of some of the hallways—a pattern that looked like someone, gravely injured, was dragging themselves around the ship. In addition, it looked like every inch of the ship had been turned inside out. The kitchen was a mess, pots and pans everywhere, and even the chairs and table were flipped over at odd angles.

In a rising panic, he dragged himself to your room. He was sure it wasn’t you who was injured and struggling, but… what if it was? Might as well check.

As he suspected, your cabin was plundered and empty, too. His heartbeat was through the roof, his vision started to go red in agitation.

Where were you?

In your room, the pirates rifled to their hearts’ content, searching for money, treasure, whatever they could get their greedy hands on.

Your mattress had been ripped off the bed. The drawers on your desk were pulled out and emptied, the sparse contents littered around the floor. Your closet was ravaged, too. Clothes were in piles and tatters on the floor. Your lamp was knocked over, and the bulb was shattered.

Geez, what the fuck were they doing in here? Zoro wondered. He took in the view for a brief second, noting that you weren’t here, and that he needed to move on. If the crew was in a tight spot right now he ought to go help them out instead of dawdling around on the ship in a frenzy searching for you.

Maybe you were with Luffy or the shit cook—maybe you had your snail, maybe he could call you and check if you were okay.

He had only felt this level of panic a couple times in his life so far. A thought cut through his worry—what if I lose her? What if I lose her before I’ve said anything?

He felt like he was sinking. His vision started to tunnel, his hand jumped to rest on one of his swords, getting ready to cut someone down at a moment’s notice. As he turned to leave your room, a lightning bolt of clarity struck him. Scattered across the floor carelessly was a messy tornado of polaroid photos.

Your camera was crushed to bits in a corner, but the photos, which you’d been taking for ages at this point, had been torn from their little box in your closet and thrown everywhere.

Most of the photos, he realized, were of him. His heart panged. He had never seen this many photos of himself in one spot. His memories with the crew slipped through his fingers every day as they happened, but when recorded and hoarded like this he noticed how happy he looked in the photos. Was it because you were taking them?

When did that light start coming into his eyes?

His stomach flipped. You weren’t here. Your room was destroyed. You were in danger.

In a panic, Zoro pocketed a handful of them and darted out of the room. He hurriedly checked the rest of the ship—completely empty, ransacked and pillaged. Luckily, the pirates didn’t find Nami’s stash. But aside from that, almost no corner of the ship was left untouched.

His heart started to feel like it was seizing—if he didn’t find you fast, he was going to snap.

Would the photos you took of him be the only relic of your shared moments of happiness?

He ran onto the deck, out of breath and sweating, and looked at the shore. Time froze.

A wave of relief crashed over Zoro as he took in the sight—the crew was now strewn around the beach. Some were laying on their backs in exhaustion from the battle, others were huddled up, talking, and still, some were injured, getting briefly triaged by Chopper. Nothing looked too serious. His eyes darted around, searching for you.

You were standing next to Luffy, holding your side and wincing. A pool of blood saturated your shirt, radiating outwards from where you pressed your palm to stop the flow of blood.

You were alive. Injured, yes, but alive. He released the tension in his body and a preliminary feeling of relief coursed through him.

It seems like Zoro had forgotten that life on the seas wasn’t just sunshine, lunches on deck, pining, and exploration. Death and danger were key elements of the whole experience.

Not only had he been lacking on his training, but he was lacking on being an attentive and good friend to you, let alone a crew mate that could protect you. In the lapse and haze he had been in for the past couple weeks, he had let his guard down somehow.

Ever hard on himself, Zoro had a ‘come to Jesus’ moment. He needed to sort shit out with you, fast. He didn’t want to have any regrets. He couldn’t lose someone that he loved again.

Taking deep breaths and internally cursing himself out, Zoro made his way down the gangplank and onto the beach. He decided that when the ship was cleaned up, and everyone was bandaged and fed, he would confess.

This love was festering in him. It had festered for far too long before forcing him to acknowledge it. He couldn’t cope anymore. The next chance he got, he would tell you how he felt, no matter what.

< previous part | masterlist | next part >

taglist: @riftmage27 @eggrollforyou @imhwajaez @wiyenspanel @xxmysticxxx @moonmaiden1996 @chibinasu @theilluminatidragonqueen @becca-oak @my-name-is-heartache @the-maladaptive-daydreamers @adamwarlockislife-blog

a/n: happy valentine's day, everyone! thanks for your patience waiting for this one :) the next part won't take as long ❤️❤️ edit: it took a month lol im so sorry

#zoro smut #roronoa zoro smut #one piece smut #op smut #op x reader #one piece x reader #one piece reader insert #roronoa zoro x reader #roronoa zoro x you #roronoa zoro x y/n #zoro x reader #zoro x you #zoro x y/n

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callmearcturus · 6 months ago

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beginner tips for Balatro

ppl will not shut up about their weird poker game so wtf is going on

BASICALLY:

It's Roguelike Poker.

A LITTLE LESS BASICALLY:

You want to play hands to gain enough Chips to reach enough Chips to beat the level (called "Blind"). You can play things like Full House, Three of a Kind, Flush, etc.

The hook of the game is the Jokers. After every Blind, you can visit a shop to buy Jokers. These Jokers affect your hand in weird ways. You can carry 5 Jokers at a time. Mixing and matching these will unlock useful and sometimes hilarious combinations.

The ultimate goal is to reach the boss of the 8th Ante. An Ante is a Small Blind, Large Blind, and Boss Blind. The chip requirement will grow over time.

It's extremely addictive, has a lot of both vertical and horizontal progression curves, and despite how it looks and sounds, Balatro is a one-time purchase single-player game with no microtransactions or ads.

here's a fast list of things I wish I understood when I first started playing Balatro:

+chips < +mult < X-MULT is the way usefulness works. +chips will add chips to the left, blue side of the score calculation. +mult will add to the red, right hand side of the score calculation. X-MULT will take the final score and then multiply the WHOLE thing by it. So basically the formula is (+chips x +mult) x XMULT. The game does not explain this very well but it's vital.

You can always play 5 cards. Even if the scoring hand you are playing is less than 5 cards, you can use the rest as a free discard. For example, if I play Ace, Ace, 6, 3, 2, I will play a Pair of Aces, and the 6, 3, 2 will be discarded.

Money is king in this game because money gets you access to the Jokers. The easiest way to control the money game is to get to 25$ as soon as possible, then try to avoid going under that. 25$ will get you the maximum interest every round. When at the shop, feel free to spend down to 22-25$ish.

However if you need to bankrupt yourself because you see Card Sharp or Flashback or another extremely-high value joker, don't think, just do it.

If it says +1 hand in yellow, that means draw an extra card in your hand. If it says +1 hand in blue, you get a full extra hand to play in the round. Yes, it's confusing.

YOU CAN MOVE YOUR JOKERS AROUND. (This is a little Advanced but if you want to know the optimal Joker order, it's like the card usefulness: Jokers that add chips go to the left. Jokers that add XMULT go to the right. Effects Jokers, like Four Fingers (allows you to play Flushes and Straights with 4 cards instead of 5) can go anywhere.)

YOU CAN ALSO MOVE CARDS IN YOUR HAND. Playing a Straight as Jack-Ten-King-Queen-Ace is still a straight. If you have a Glass card, put it to the rightmost side of the hand.

DO NOT DO THE MATH. Or, until you get to very very high level play, do not check your math. There will be times when you have a single hand left on the boss blind of the 8th Ante and you will google the Balatro Score Calculator, we've all been there. But you need to believe in the heart of the cards and the vibes of the jokers.

You will unlock decks as you beat the 8th Ante boss with the last deck you unlocked. Red, Blue, Yellow, Green, and Black are the basic decks. After you have those, you have to use any deck to beat the stakes. Raising the stake will add weird conditions to the game to try to make reaching the 8th Ante harder. For example, I am currently on the Orange Stake on Abandoned and Plasma Decks. Red, Blue, and Yellow Decks are easiest for tackling the stakes. Black Deck is the fucking devil.

When you walked in the sand and saw the footprints behind you, that was Flashback as they carried you.

#balatro

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ghostlynightpanda · 2 months ago

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Hi! Can I request Chishiya x fem!reader who is like Spencer Reid from Criminal Minds? So she also has eidetic memory and high IQ etc. Sorry if something is unclear, my English is very bad, so I use a translator😔🙏🏻

Calculations of Trust

A/N: I’ve never watched Criminal Minds, but I still tried my best to write someone based on what I read about Spencer Reid online. I hope this fits his character the way you wanted!

Synopsis: Stranded in the deadly Borderlands, a brilliant and emotionally analytical woman teams up with the enigmatic strategist Chishiya, blending cold logic and empathy to outwit brutal games—forming a powerful alliance that could be their key to survival, and maybe something deeper beyond.

warnings/content: Chishiya x fem!reader, fluff, canon-typical blood and violence, 2.561 words

Part 2

The sky looked the same.

That was your first thought when arriving in this bizarre world. You weren't sure why that thought struck you first—why your brain zeroed in on cloud patterns and the familiar texture of summer heat against your skin. But when everything else felt wrong, your mind clung to something right. The skyline stretched over Tokyo, unchanged. But the silence—that was alien. Not a car, not a voice. Just the ghost of the city, paused mid-breath.

You took in your surroundings.

No people. No traffic. Just… nothing. You stood in the middle of a crosswalk, frozen, surrounded by still life. Abandoned phones buzzed with notifications that no one would answer.

Your mind kicked into gear. Eidetic memory activated.

Five minutes ago, you were running toward the subway, trying to catch the train after working a little later than usual.

You turned a corner. There was a flash—like fireworks.

And then— You were here.

In the middle of Tokyo. A city that once buzzed with life.

But now? Silence.

You weren't alone for long. A nearby explosion—a concussive boom of noise—jerked you into motion. You ran. Found others. Confused, shaken. They were like you: wrong time, wrong place, no memory of how this world replaced your own.

And then came the games.

Your hands shook. You were honest enough to admit that.

The first game was brute strength, speed, raw terror. Spades.

But even in fear, your brain remained loyal. You noticed the pattern in the balance plates before the man next to you slipped and got impaled. You memorized the tilt sensitivity after watching one test run. You counted the milliseconds between the trap triggers.

You didn't win because you were the fastest. You won because you didn't panic.

Now it was numbers.

The rules seemed random at first—red lights flashing in sequence, pressurized plates, a 3x3 grid.

But you saw it. The Fibonacci intervals in the flashes. The relationship between the pressure sensors and the golden ratio. It was coded math, and everyone was guessing.

You weren't.

You survived. Again.

One pair of eyes watched you the entire game, not with fear, or respect, but calculation. You didn't notice him yet but he noticed you.

The third game looked innocent—like a corporate team-building exercise on steroids.

Eight players. One tower. Ten floors. One room on each level. Each room held a puzzle that advanced you or eliminated you. No hints. Just "Solve or Die."

This was your domain.

The others bickered, shouting over each other as they failed on Floor Three's rotating sequence riddle.

You didn't shout. You stared.

"Wait," you said calmly, interrupting a panic spiral. "The door mechanism—look at the marks. Someone's already tried the wrong sequences. There's a pattern in the wrong answers."

They blinked.

You knelt, running your fingers across the scratch marks, whispering numbers under your breath.

"Floor Three's answer is 13. Fibonacci again. They're using mathematical sequences tied to human cognitive bias. Floor Four will use base-12 logic. Let me lead."

Some hesitated. Others followed.

You cleared the rest of the tower in under 20 minutes.

Every. Floor.

No casualties.

When the exit door slid open and everyone rushed into the light, cheering, you hung back. Breathing in. Processing.

And that's when you noticed him.

White hoodie. Platinum-blond hair. Lean frame. Calm.

He leaned against the wall near the game's edge like he'd never been concerned at all. His eyes didn't match the grin on his face—because the grin was casual, but the eyes were surgical.

"You weren't just solving," he said. His voice was light. Quiet. "You were analyzing the game designers themselves."

You stared at him, guarded.

He smiled wider. "Most people panic. You... profile."

You narrowed your eyes. "And you were watching."

"Observation is underrated," he said. "But then again, so is intellect."

He stepped forward, hands in his pockets.

"I'm Chishiya. And I think you're wasted out here, playing games for peasants."

"…Excuse me?"

"There's a place. A stronghold. The Beach. We collect cards. Build power. I think you'll be a good asset."

Your stomach twisted at the word asset. But part of you knew: intelligence attracts opportunists. Still—something in his tone wasn't exploitative. More like… strategic alliance.

You considered him. He didn't seem like a follower. And you weren't one either.

But the look in his eyes? He saw the way your brain worked. And you saw his. And that made him the first person in this world who felt even remotely familiar.

"…Fine," you said. "But I'm not just muscle for your puzzle-hunt."

He gave a slight nod. "Of course not. You're far more interesting than that."

The Beach wasn't a sanctuary. It was a masquerade.

Everyone wore the same smile, drank from the same bottles, and pretended they weren't all one bad game away from bleeding out on concrete. You watched them from the railing above the pool deck, arms crossed, mind whirring.

You'd been here three days. Already mapped the layout, memorized exit points, analyzed the card collection gaps, and mentally categorized the power players by behavioral patterns. Hatter: Delusional narcissist. Aguni: latent trauma, soldier instinct. Niragi: dangerous—impulse-driven, no empathy. Kuina: calculating, adaptable.

And Chishiya?

Uncrackable.

He didn't talk to people. He examined them. You weren't excluded. In fact, he seemed particularly interested in you.

You kept your distance. Avoided the parties. Watched the Beach from the outside while living inside it. You preferred it that way.

But that didn't stop him.

He found you again.

On the rooftop at dusk. You were alone, mentally replaying a hearts game you hadn't played — just in case. Trying to guess how the designer might think. Preparing.

"I don't like wasting potential," came his voice behind you.

You didn't turn. "Then I assume this conversation has a purpose."

"I want to know how you think."

You turned now, facing him. "Why?"

"Because you don't react. Not the way most people do. You solve the problem and walk away." He tilted his head. "But then… you save people. Like our team in the Tower Logic game."

You met his gaze, cool and unreadable. "You observed all that the whole time?"

His smile curled. "Observation is underrated."

You didn't smile back. "So is empathy."

He said nothing, but his expression faltered—just barely.

The next game came.

Six players. Clubs game. Team strategy. You, Chishiya, Kuina, and three others you didn't recognize.

The arena was a circular facility—ten rooms branching off a central hub, each room holding part of a code that had to be assembled and entered into a control panel to stop a detonation countdown. Cooperation required. Pressure high.

You immediately stepped into role.

First: layout. Second: player observation. Third: behavior prediction. You mentally assigned roles within minutes, logging where each player went, how fast they moved, what patterns they repeated.

You whispered to Kuina at one point, directing her to Room 6. "The clues are mirrored. He's looking in the wrong spot. You'll find the second half of the cipher in the vent."

She blinked. "How the hell did you—"

You didn't answer. No time. You moved.

By the twelve-minute mark, you had memorized all four ciphers, identified the red herring rooms, and were correcting the errors of the weakest players—quietly, efficiently.

People began looking at you with something between awe and unease.

Everyone… except Chishiya.

He watched you with narrowed eyes, arms folded, expression unreadable. You couldn't tell if he was analyzing your method, or your motives.

The six of you survived. The bomb didn't go off.

You stayed behind in the lobby, alone again, scribbling numbers into the dust with your finger—reworking a hypothetical failure scenario.

Chishiya stepped into your periphery. "You had the solution at the halfway point."

You didn't look up. "Yes."

"But you kept feeding it to the others. Slowly. Piece by piece."

You finally looked at him. "Would you have rather I let them die?"

His eyes narrowed slightly. "If efficiency is the goal, why not just input the code yourself and let the weak ones be removed?"

You studied him for a long second.

"Why save people?" he asked, voice light but sharp. "You're smart enough not to care."

You tilted your head.

"Emotion isn't weakness," you said calmly. "It's data, too. Empathy helps you predict behavior. Understand intent. If you ignore it, you're only seeing half the variables."

He stared at you.

You stared back.

Two brilliant minds. Opposing algorithms.

But for the first time, there was something like respect between you. Something mutual, if unspoken.

He turned to leave. "You're interesting," he said over his shoulder. "That's rare."

You didn't respond. Not out loud, anyway. But your next move was already forming.

And somehow, you knew: so was his.

The announcement still hung in the air.

Another high-ranked hearts game.

You felt the chill thread down your spine — not from fear, but from certainty.

This wasn't logic. Not just logic. It was trust. Emotion. Manipulation. A game designed to tear alliances apart.

Your eyes flicked across the room. Eight players total. Circular arena. One glowing pedestal in the center, one screen above it.

Game Name: "Trust Fall."

Objective: One player is the traitor. Only the traitor knows they are the traitor. Everyone else must identify them correctly within 30 minutes. If the majority guesses wrong, all non-traitors die. If the traitor is correctly identified, they die. If no decision is made in time, everyone dies.

Timer: 30:00.

You exhaled slowly.

Someone muttered behind you, already accusing someone else.

You didn't flinch.

You weren't afraid.

Because Chishiya was here.

And he wasn't talking, either.

It turned ugly fast.

One girl started crying. A man began shouting at another, pointing fingers. Everyone was looking for tells — shifting eyes, nervous hands.

But the traitor? Might not be nervous at all.

You stayed still, listening. Absorbing.

So did he.

At one point, your eyes met across the room. Not a word. Just a nod — the barest flicker of recognition that said: You're watching the same patterns I am.

You moved closer. Quietly. Avoiding attention.

"They're emotionally reactive," you whispered to Chishiya when you were close enough. "We need a baseline of behavior before paranoia infects it all."

"Already too late," he murmured back. "They're spiraling."

"We isolate. Compare responses. Narrow it down by contradiction."

He nodded once. "Together, then."

It was brutal, in its design. Every ten minutes, you were allowed to interrogate one person as a group. It was chaos.

So you and Chishiya ran it like a silent operation.

You led the questioning. Calm. Cool. Clinical. You asked for timelines, movement patterns, memory details.

He watched them. Every microexpression. Every inconsistency.

"I saw her move toward the pedestal earlier," one player said.

"She said she didn't," Chishiya countered softly, almost amused. "But you did."

The woman froze.

Bit by bit, the lies unraveled.

But the closer you got, the more the others turned on you.

"You two think you're better than us," someone spat. "You act like you already know everything."

You stepped forward. "No. We just don't let fear do our thinking for us."

But they didn't want calm.

They wanted blood.

Twenty Seconds Left

Only two options remained: the woman, or the man next to her.

The others were screaming at each other.

You and Chishiya stood shoulder to shoulder.

"It's her," you said softly. "She slipped up. Three minutes ago, she said the clue was in the screen prompt. But that was only visible after the first vote. She couldn't have known that... unless she was the traitor."

He paused. Nodded slowly.

"Agreed."

"But we'll need at least one more vote to swing the majority."

Chishiya looked at you. A rare flicker of uncertainty passed through his expression. "What if we're wrong?"

You didn't hesitate.

"We're not."

He smiled. Just a little. Then turned to the others.

"You're all too busy panicking," he said, his voice cutting through the noise. "You missed the only actual tell."

Then he pointed at the woman.

The votes followed.

She screamed. Denied it. Begged.

The screen flashed red.

TRAITOR IDENTIFIED. GAME CLEAR.

The door to the arena hissed shut behind the others. Silence returned. Heavy. Absolute.

You didn't move. Neither did he.

The digital clock on the wall blinked back zeroes. You watched it for a moment, eyes unfocused, as if the weight of the aftermath had only now begun to register. Not fear — just the gravity of the choices you made.

Chishiya stood to your left, arms still crossed, but there was no smugness, no satisfaction in his posture. Just that same unreadable calm. Like the sea before a storm.

"You hate relying on people," he said, voice quiet in the echoing space.

You tilted your head toward him. "So do you."

A small breath escaped him. Not a laugh, exactly — more like the exhale of someone surprised by how unsurprising something feels.

"But we didn't lose," he said.

"No," you agreed, stepping slowly into the center of the room. "We didn't."

Your eyes trailed the lines in the floor, where earlier you'd stood with half the group ready to turn on you. People break fast in games like this. You understood why. But it still left a taste in your mouth you couldn't quite name.

He followed, hands slipping into the pockets of his hoodie.

"We won easily," he added after a pause, as though testing the shape of that truth.

You stopped, turning to face him fully now. "Not easily. Efficiently."

He gave a soft shrug. "With everyone else flailing in panic, I'd call it easy."

You raised an eyebrow. "Are you saying we make a good team?"

Chishiya didn't answer immediately. He looked at you, and this time the gaze lingered — not with calculation, but something deeper. Curiosity. Understanding. The faintest trace of something warmer.

"Better than good," he said. "Strategically, you're the only one I can work with who doesn't slow me down."

Your lips curled slightly. "High praise. Coming from you."

He gave you a glance, dry but not unkind. "Don't let it go to your head."

You turned your attention to the dim hallway ahead, the path back to the Beach. The false security. The chaos waiting in the next game.

"You want to keep working together," you said, more a conclusion than a question.

"Yes," he answered. No hesitation. "Until we get out of this world."

You were silent for a moment. Then, you asked — quieter — "And after?"

Chishiya looked at you. Really looked at you.

And for once, his answer wasn't immediate. His eyes searched yours, as if weighing something unspoken. You wondered what he saw: a mirror of his own isolation, or something that cracked through the cold logic you both wrapped yourselves in like armor.

"Maybe," he said finally. Simple. Honest.

Not a promise. But possibility.

You let the silence stretch between you again — not uncomfortable, just full.

Then, finally, you turned toward the exit. He walked beside you, footsteps syncing in a rhythm neither of you acknowledged but somehow matched anyway.

Two minds. Sharp. Calculating. Unrelenting.

But now—aligned.

And beneath all that logic, beneath the masks of detachment you both wore so well, something else had started to take root.

Not trust, exactly.

But the beginning of it.

And perhaps, someday, more.

Masterlist

#alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya fluff #chishiya alice in borderland #shuntaro chishiya x reader

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sapphicfandompirate · 7 months ago

Text

Did any of the Strawhat's even go to school?

Chapter 1134 has sparked discussions on the state of the Strawhat's education, so I figured I would do a little analysis on my thoughts on it based on canon.

Luffy- Feral jungle child. Makino probably taught him to read and write, and attempted to teach him manners. Jury is out on whether or not Garp actually taught him anything. Doesn't seem to know much history. Does know beetles, and probably a lot of survival skills, including hunting.

Zoro- Ok this is the real reason why I made this post.

A dōjō (道場, Japanese pronunciation: [doꜜː(d)ʑoː]) is a hall or place for immersive learning, experiential learning, or meditation. This is traditionally in the field of martial arts. The term literally means "place of the Way" in Japanese. -Wikipedia

Isshin Dojo (一心道場, Isshin Dōjō?) is a kenjutsu school, a school of Japanese swordsmanship. Its owner is Koushirou, who is a skilled swordsman and father of the deceased Kuina. It is the place where Zoro trained his Three Sword Style and in the anime is the only dojo Zoro did not take down the sign of. -One Piece Wiki, Emphasis added by me

As a member of the Isshin Dojo Zoro has attended school! Koshiro taught him primarily swordsmanship and meditation, but someone taught him reading, writing, and math and I'm just going to guess it's Koshiro as well. Seems to know a bit of sword-related history, but not much world or local history.

Nami-Stole education books. Not formally educated. Everything was probably taught by Bellemere and the rest was learned on the fly. Probably knows the basics of mainstream world history. Is capable of formulating advanced equations, and has vast sailing, navigation, cartography and weather knowledge. Studied at Weatheria during the timeskip, but it doesn't seem like a formal institution.

Usopp - Orphaned street rat. Unknown who taught him to read, write, and do math. Possibly Banchina before she passed away. Somehow he knows chemistry and engineering? Might have borrowed books from Kaya? Mostly self-taught it seems.

Sanji- Definitely has a formal education, up until he ran away. Noble child who had a variety of tutors. Learned whatever noble children learn plus a variety of fighting techniques and fields of science. Then was taught cooking by Zeff. Boy definitely knows how to do math. Anyone who cooks for a large group of people can at least multiply on the fly, or has a calculator taped to the wall. One Piece appears to use the metric system, so at least he doesn't have to figure out how to quadruple a recipe that originally called for 1 2/3 cups of flour.

Chopper - Professionally taught by Dr. Kureha (and Dr. Hililuk). They are both referred to as Doctors, but it is unknown what sort of medical knowledge is actually needed for that title, or if there is like a degree or anything. Assumably one of them taught him reading, writing, math, and chemistry in addition to medical stuff. Also read all of the books in the Torino Kingdom during the timeskip. According to the wiki, Kureha established an academy during the timeskip.

After establishing a medical academy, she taught and trained at least eighty students who became skilled enough to join the Isshi-20, expanding their members to a hundred under her leadership.

Robin- Got a degree in archaeology at the age of 8. Has all of the reading, writing, and history skills, including dead languages. While she taught herself how to read the poneglyphs, I think it's safe to say that Professor Clover taught her regular history, math, science, reading, and writing. Robin went to school!

Franky - Apprenticeship under the shipwright Tom. His state of education was unknown before meeting Tom at age 10. Should know all of the basic skills (reading, writing, math) in addition to carpentry, and shipbuilding. Tom's Workers is referred to as a shipbuilding company, so I don't think it counts as a school? Knows at least enough medical knowledge to turn himself into a cyborg with scraps from a ghost ship after being runover by a train. And Survive. Somehow.

Brook- APPARENTLY??? Stated that school makes him nostalgic, which implies he attended. Also knows a variety of things usually nobility would, namely various musical instruments and fencing. He also knows sailing, and various other things to be a battle convoy leader and pirate captain. I have questions for this man.

Jinbe - Dojo again, this time the Fish-Man Karate Dojo. Later joined the Neptune Army. So, since a dojo counts as a type of specialized school, he's attended a school as well as had military training! Knows basic historical stuff, especially that pertaining to fishmen and human-fishman relations. Seems to know other basic life skills (reading, writing, math, ect)

So, in conclusion:

Went to school: Zoro, Robin, Brook, Jinbe

Private Tutors: Sanji

Vocational Training under a Professional: Sanji, Chopper. Franky, Nami,

Self Taught with some instruction by a parent or other adult (non-professional): Luffy, Nami, Usopp

Out of the ten members, 4 of them attended a school of some sort and several others had some sort of professional training or supervision of study.

Feel free to add on if I missed anything!

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littlelovelunette · 5 months ago

Note

I love your page already omg

can you do classmates sevika x reader?

and a lil bit of jealousy too 👀

Mint ChapStick

anon... love... i don't know whether you want me to do smut or fluff sooooooo ima free style, if you wanna specify let me know

Highschool AU!

the bell to class was loud in the hallway jerking you out of your thoughts as you let out a tired sigh, getting up to start walking out of the classroom before you tripped over a fallen pencil and crashed into someone with muscles so hard it hurt

"yo! watch it." the other student yelled out making you groan nd rub your head.

"s-sorry, im a klutz," when you looked up your jaw was instantly on the floor you had crashed into sevika; she was a hot shot. a foreign exchange student with iron-like fists and a love for smoking. she had beaten up a guy so hard he remained in the hospital for days and the only reason she wasn't expelled for it was because she had valid reason for her actions claiming the guy had racially slurred at her

and although you didn't quite believe some random guy had the guts to insult her of all people, come on those muscles themselves looked threatening, you still found her so incredibly hot

"uh-huh, whatever." sevika grumbled before walking off, a little group seniors following her around like puppies

you let out a small sigh, we atleast she didn't bash your face in. you checked your timetable and saw that your next class was advanced maths.

ugh, great, differentiation. not something you were fond of but oh well let's just say you didn't quite enjoy the topic too much. as you made your way to the maths classroom, you were starting to get a little sleepy.

maybe you shouldnt have gotten up so early today morning to wash your darn hair, but what to do about it now? you walked in the class earlier than the class time so you could lay your head on the table and get some proper sleep.

the sound of the bell would wake you up, right? yeah probably

you put your head down and drowsed off the outside world just a dull buzz in your ear as you napped peacefully on the desk

you were woken with a deep, low yet rough voice calling out your name and almost violently shaking your shoulder. you woke with a start, scrambling and looking around just to face sevika sitting beside you, eyes narrowed as she stared at your groggy state.

"good morning sunshine," one of the classmates mocked, it was class time already and people were staring at you who'd been asleep on a desk...

sevika shook her head, taking her hand off your shoulder.

you couldn't help blush out of embarrassment and quickly pulled your hair down to cover your face as you faced your desk, averting your gaze low. the teacher chuckled, shaking his head and started with the lesson.

sevika had her arms crossed, leather jacket over her shoulder and barely cared enough to even wear her uniform properly. you watched her in awe at her guts for a while before sighing to yourself and facing your desk.

you didn't know sevika took advanced maths, it was a little admirable considering her... yknow, nature. she didn't seem like the patient kind. you watched from the corner of your eyes as sevika reached inside her bag, withdrawing a calculator.

maths class finished and you had barely understood the whole lesson because you've been staring at sevika for the whole time. you got up, trying to quickly put your things away for lunch time and dashed, bumping into sevika again.

the first time she'd let you be because she didn't think you were worth her time. but the second time? yeah, you're pushing it now.

she grabbed your wrist tightly, not crushing it — yet.

"you got a death wish or do you simply enjoy bumping into me, bunny?" sevika growled her voice low and rough

"s-s-sorry, I didn't- i... didn't mean to... im sorry," you stuttered out an apology, a small whimper issuing from your lips.

sevika rolled her eyes, "watch where you're going," she shoved your hands away with a scoff and slung her bag over her shoulder. you let out a small sigh, looking where she was standing. there was a chapstick on the ground. mint flavored chapstick... it was probably sevika's although she didnt look like the type to use chapstick.

you mentally noted that you had to return it to her and pocketed the chapstick, heading out of the classroom for lunch however you felt like you had lost your appetite. the ache in your wrist was dull but it was still there.

"where are you going?" your friend asks you after spotting you leaving the class

"well, sevika dropped her chapstick so im just going to the cafeteria and giving it back to her." you said with a small shrug

"sevika?... the sevika? are you insane?" she looked at you as if she'd seen a ghost

"no, just a good human being." you said with a roll for your eyes. to be fair you just wanted to see more of sevika

you walked to the cafeteria, the chattering of many students filling your ears. your eyes scanned over the numerous students and you spotted sevika at a far corner with her tight knitted group of friends. one of her lackeys were going on and on and on about something and she was staring into the distance barely listening.

this was it, you finally could have your moment and return the chapstick to her. it didn't seem like a lot but it was, considering how usually collected and cold sevika was to others.

"sevika."

part 2?

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