#Endless of Watch and Boundless of Joy

[lime-exister]

Might've gotten a bit inspired by the official plushie drops.. Here's some of my ocs, would've done em' all but I have christmas gifts to work on. Feel free to ask about these 3 goofasses though! Some alts as well under the cut

[norristrii]

PAWS ON THE BEACH.

It started as usual beach walk with your dog Coco, but when she starts playing with other dog on the beach, his owner really catches your eye.

pairing. Charles Leclerc x fem! reader

warnings. none

babs’ notes. cooking so close to chapter 2 rn, probably posting tomorrow or on this weekend

COCO WAS A FORCE OF NATURE. As a golden retriever puppy, she was equal parts adorable and chaos incarnate—a fluffy whirlwind of energy that left a trail of shredded napkins, chewed shoes, and overturned cushions in her wake. You loved her fiercely, though. She was a menace, sure, but she was your menace. It didn’t take long for you to realize she was you in dog form—spirited, mischievous, and entirely unapologetic.

Still, amidst all the chaos, Coco had a way of grounding you, reminding you to find joy in the small things. Your favorite moments were the ones like now—walks with her on the beach, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun. The sky stretched wide above you, painted in hues of amber, pink, and deep orange, as if the universe itself were creating a masterpiece just for this moment.

You eased yourself onto the cool, grainy sand, the gentle pressure grounding you as you stretched your legs out in front of you. The horizon was painted in soft hues, a blend of muted pinks, oranges, and the faintest trace of purple—colors fading into the endless blue of the ocean. The waves rolled forward and retreated with a rhythmic crash, their sound soothing and steady, like the heartbeat of the shore. There was peace here, a quiet stillness that wrapped around you, but never felt lonely.

Coco tugged on her leash, pulling it to its limit as she darted back and forth, a blur of energy against the serene backdrop. She was relentless, her paws digging furiously into the sand as if determined to uncover some hidden treasure buried just beneath the surface. You chuckled softly as her nose pressed deep into the earth, grains of sand flying everywhere, coating her golden fur in speckles of mischief.

The seagulls perched nearby didn’t stand a chance against Coco’s enthusiastic antics. She chased them, barking excitedly as they took to the air, squawking in alarm and flapping their wings frantically to escape. They circled overhead, momentarily regrouping before descending further down the beach, only to be pursued again moments later. Her joy was boundless, contagious even, and you couldn’t help but smile as you watched her.

The beach itself was quiet, untouched by the crowds that sometimes came and went during the day. Now it felt like it belonged solely to you and Coco—a sanctuary where the only sounds were her paws scratching against the sand, the distant cries of gulls, and the steady, calming ebb and flow of the tide. The air smelled faintly of salt and seaweed, crisp and clean, carrying with it the essence of freedom.

You leaned back, resting your palms against the cool sand, and tilted your face toward the horizon. Coco ran in wide circles, her leash stretching taut as she explored every inch of the beach, her excitement boundless. She was chaos and joy intertwined, a little menace with a heart full of adventure. She paused occasionally, glancing back at you as if to check that you were still watching, still sharing the moment with her. And of course you were.

As you sat quietly on the sand, watching the horizon and listening to the soothing crash of waves against the shore, a faint sound reached your ears—soft, high-pitched barks carried by the gentle breeze. It was distant at first, almost like an echo, and you tilted your head slightly, curious to find its source.

Turning your gaze down the beach, you spotted a little shape bounding toward you. It didn’t take long to recognize the unmistakable figure of a dachshund—a miniature version, with tiny legs pumping furiously and floppy ears bouncing with every step. Its short, sleek coat shimmered in the fading light, as if the sunset had cast a golden glow upon it.

The little dog seemed determined, its tiny bark growing louder as it approached, full of energy and confidence despite its diminutive size. Coco, who had been enthusiastically terrorizing seagulls just moments ago, froze mid-pounce and turned her head toward the newcomer. Her tail wagged in curiosity as she trotted closer to investigate, leash stretched taut between her bounding enthusiasm and your watchful presence.

You couldn’t help but smile as the dachshund came closer, its expressive eyes shining with a playful glint. It was a bundle of determination, undeterred by its small frame, and it raced across the sand like it owned the entire beach. Its barks shifted to soft, excited whines as it finally reached you, stopping abruptly and wagging its tail so fast it was almost a blur.

Coco, now nose-to-nose with the newcomer, barked once, loud and clear, as if announcing her presence. The dachshund responded with an eager yip, and the two dogs began their own silent conversation—sniffing, circling, and playfully nudging one another in an instant friendship that only dogs seem to know how to form.

“Leo, no! Leo!” The shout echoed across the beach, cutting through the sound of waves crashing gently on the shore. You turned your head just in time to see a man jogging toward you, his steps hurried and slightly uneven as he tried to catch up with the little dachshund. So, you thought, Leo must be his name, and judging by the urgency in his tone, this wasn’t the first time the dog had run off to cause mischief.

As the man got closer, you couldn’t help but notice him. He was actually pretty good looking—more than pretty, if you were honest. His brown hair was tousled from the run, sticking up in a way that gave him an effortlessly charming, disheveled look. There was a flush on his cheeks from exertion, the kind that made him look alive, approachable, almost familiar. He reached the two dogs—Coco and Leo—just as they began to chase each other in a small circle, their tails wagging furiously in a kind of joyous chaos.

“Stop annoying this pretty lady and her dog,” the man said with a lopsided grin, his eyes flicking between his mischievous dachshund and you. His voice was warm and slightly breathless from the run, and you felt a flutter in your chest at his words. When his gaze finally landed on you, you noticed his eyes—a mesmerizing mix of colors, swirling together. Blue, green, maybe even a hint of brown; you couldn’t decide which shade you liked the most.

You smiled softly, brushing away your surprise and meeting his gaze. “That’s okay,” you assured him, your voice calm and easy despite the little whirlwind happening at your feet. “They’re just playing.” Coco barked happily in agreement, as if to confirm your statement, while Leo wagged his tail furiously, looking innocent despite the chaos he had just caused.

“I swear, he’s nothing but a troublemaker,” the man said, his voice tinged with playful exasperation as he rested his hands on his knees. He pointed at Leo, who at that very moment was trying to outmaneuver Coco in their chaotic game of chase.

You chuckled softly, a warm laugh escaping your lips. “I know this feeling all too well,” you replied, glancing down at Coco, who was now furiously wagging her tail while sniffing at something in the sand. “Coco is exactly the same.”

The man straightened up, brushing a hand through his messy, windswept hair. His face lit up with interest as he repeated the name. “Coco?” he said, tilting his head slightly. “My friend had a dog named Coco,” he added with a hint of a smile.

You couldn’t help but smile back at the coincidence, the corners of your lips curling upward as your gaze met his again. There was something easy, almost serendipitous, about the moment—a shared connection, however small, born out of nothing more than two mischievous dogs on a beach.

“What’s your name, if I may ask?” he said, his voice warm and casual, yet carrying a hint of curiosity that made your heart skip a beat. There was something about the way he asked, the way his eyes—those mesmerizing, multicolored eyes—locked on yours that set your pulse racing just a little faster.

“I’m Y/n,” you replied, a soft smile curving your lips as you tried to sound composed, even though you could feel the faint flutter of nerves in your chest. “And yours?”

He mirrored your smile, a lopsided grin that seemed to light up his face even in the fading glow of the sunset. “I’m Charles,” he said simply, his tone unassuming yet somehow disarming, as if his name alone carried a charm all its own.

For a moment, the world seemed to fade around you—Coco and Leo still chasing each other in the sand, the gentle crash of the waves, the golden hues of the beach—all of it softened as you focused on him. There was an ease to his presence, a quiet confidence that made the moment feel natural, as though meeting him was exactly what was supposed to happen.

“Do you come here often, Y/n?” Charles asked, his voice easy and conversational, yet there was an unmistakable undertone to his words—an interest that went beyond casual small talk. His lips curved into a subtle smile, one that reached his multicolored eyes, warm and inviting. He was already looking toward the horizon, but it wasn’t the sunset he was thinking about. It was the possibility of seeing you here again.

You felt your heart skip slightly at his question, a combination of nerves and intrigue swirling in your chest. “I do,” you replied, your voice steady but with a softness to it that you couldn’t quite hide. “It’s my favorite place—especially at this time of day.”

His smile deepened, as if your answer had confirmed something he’d been hoping to hear. “It’s a good spot,” he said, glancing down at Coco and Leo, who were now tumbling over each other in a playful tug-of-war with a piece of seaweed. “I think Leo might agree too.”

You chuckled, looking at the two dogs, their antics painting the moment with a sense of ease. “Looks like Coco does too,” you said, nodding toward your golden retriever, whose tail wagged furiously as she tugged on the seaweed.

Charles shifted his gaze back to you, his expression thoughtful, as though he were savoring the interaction. “Well,” he said, his tone playful but with a quiet sincerity beneath it, “I might have to bring Leo here more often then—just in case I run into you again.”

© norristrii 2025

[2b4st4r]

Hi! If you're not busy, can I request luffy and readers toddler daughter (is like 6yrs old) accidentally time travel to the past where luffy and reader are not together yet. And the thing is: the little girl is a complete copy of luffy, same color of hair and eyes, same gullible attitude, and the same love for meat and adventures.

Past & Future

Luffy x f! Reader

Words: 7,748

Summary: This story follows the Straw Hat Pirates years after Luffy became the Pirate King, now with his six-year-old daughter, Lanko, who bears an uncanny resemblance to him, and her mother, Y/N, a key member of the crew. When a mysterious pirate attacks, sending Lanko to the past with a devil fruit ability, the future Straw Hats unleash their fury, brutally dispatching the assailant. Meanwhile, Lanko finds herself on a younger, less-worn Thousand Sunny, encountering younger versions of her parents and their crew, who are utterly bewildered by her appearance and her claims of being Luffy and Y/N's daughter. After a heartwarming but confusing interaction where Lanko’s innate Luffy-like traits are evident, she mysteriously returns to her own time, leaving the past Straw Hats to ponder their surprising future.

Warning: This story contains instances of child endangerment, brief descriptions of a gruesome death and violence, and implied time travel use of Y/N

A/N: I hope you enjoyed!! I’m still trying to get used to tumbler so it might not be the best. LANKO IS READER SND LUFFYS DAUGHTER

Masterlist

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The salty spray of the Grand Line kissed Lanko’s cheeks as she darted across the deck, her bare feet slapping against the worn timber. A tiny whirlwind of boundless energy, she was a spitting image of her father: the same unruly black hair, the same wide, innocent eyes, and a grin that stretched just as far. “Catch me, Papa!” she squealed, a six-year-old whirlwind of giggles and pure, unadulterated joy.

“Shishishi! You’ll never escape the great Pirate King!” a familiar voice boomed, and a much larger, equally chaotic figure lunged after her. Monkey D. Luffy, King of the Pirates, was in his element, playing tag with his daughter under the endless blue sky. Five years had passed since he’d claimed the greatest treasure and the title, but not an ounce of his childlike enthusiasm had faded. Lanko was every bit his legacy—a tiny, insatiable ball of curiosity, a bottomless pit for meat, and a spirit as free as the ocean itself. From the ship’s railing, a gentle smile graced Y/N’s lips as she watched her two adventurers, her heart swelling with a love as vast as the sea they sailed.

Lanko, giggling, finally stumbled into her mother's outstretched arms, a flurry of black hair and joyful squeals. Y/N hugged her close, pressing a kiss to her daughter’s forehead. "You two are impossible," she laughed, her eyes twinkling as Luffy, still breathless from their game, flopped dramatically onto the deck beside them.

“But it’s fun, right, Y/N?” Luffy grinned up at her, his signature straw hat tilted slightly. He reached out and gently took her hand, his thumb tracing lazy circles on her skin.

Y/N leaned down, ruffling Luffy’s already messy hair. “It is fun, you big kid. But someone’s going to be starving soon, and we all know who that’ll be.” She winked at Lanko, who instantly perked up.

“Meat! Papa, meat!” Lanko bounced in Y/N’s lap, her eyes wide with anticipation.

Luffy’s face lit up, an exact mirrored expression of his daughter’s. “Shishishi! See, Y/N? She gets it! A true adventurer needs her meat!” He scrambled to his feet, pulling both Y/N and Lanko up with him. “Come on! Sanji must have something amazing cooking!”

As they walked towards the galley, Luffy swung Lanko onto his shoulders, her laughter echoing across the deck. Y/N walked beside them, her arm linked through Luffy’s. The sun began its slow descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple, casting long, peaceful shadows. This was their life now: a ship full of nakama, endless adventures, and the warmth of a family built on laughter, love, and an insatiable appetite for life’s simple joys. The Pirate King, his queen, and their little princess, sailing towards whatever tomorrow brought, together.

The easygoing atmosphere shattered in an instant. A jarring CRUNCH reverberated through the Thousand Sunny, followed by the screech of metal. "Enemy attack!" Usopp's panicked cry cut through the air, quickly joined by the booming of cannons.

Luffy’s playful grin vanished, replaced by a steely, focused expression. “Alright, crew! Let’s go!”

Zoro was already drawing his swords, a dangerous glint in his eye. Sanji, ever the gentleman, instantly shifted from culinary bliss to battle-ready stance. Nami, ever practical, was already pointing her Clima-Tact, calculating wind currents. Chopper, ever loyal, transformed into his Guard Point, while Robin coolly observed the encroaching ship with her keen eyes. Franky let out a “SUPER!” yell, readying his weapons, and Brook unsheathed his sword, a chilling, yet elegant, "Yohohoho!" echoing on the wind.

Y/N, without a word, scooped up Lanko, her movements swift and practiced. “Down below, sweetie. You know the drill,” she said, her voice calm despite the chaos erupting around them. Lanko, though usually boisterous, understood the gravity of the situation. Her small face was serious as she nodded, burying her face into her mother’s shoulder.

“Be safe, Mama! Papa!” she whispered, as Y/N quickly carried her towards the hatch leading to the lower decks, Sanji covering their retreat.

Luffy watched them disappear, a flicker of concern in his eyes, but it was quickly overshadowed by his unwavering resolve. He stretched his arm, rubbery and formidable. “Alright! Let’s show these guys who they’re messing with!” The roar of cannon fire intensified, but the Straw Hat Pirates, seasoned by countless battles, met the challenge head-on. Their captain, the Pirate King, stood ready, his nakama by his side, prepared to defend their ship, their dreams, and the precious, innocent life they’d just sent to safety.

The roar of battle raged for what felt like an eternity, but was probably only ten minutes. Cannons boomed, steel clashed, and the familiar shouts of the Straw Hats filled the air. Then, cutting through the cacophony, a sound that froze them all: a high-pitched, terror-stricken scream.

"Lanko!" Y/N shrieked, her voice raw with fear. Luffy's head snapped around, his eyes wide with a primal fury. How had they gotten to her?

On the shattered remnants of the lower deck, amidst splintered wood and scattered supplies, a gruff-looking pirate stood over a trembling Lanko. His hand hovered inches from her face, his index finger glowing with an ominous, sickly green light. Lanko was huddled on the floor, her small hands pressed to her mouth, tears streaming down her face.

"One move, Straw Hats," the pirate snarled, his voice gravelly, "and this little brat gets a taste of true despair." He looked directly at Luffy, a cruel smirk twisting his lips. "You call yourself the Pirate King? Watch as your own flesh and blood vanishes." He didn't know the full power of his Toki Toki no Mi (Time-Time Fruit), only that it could erase people from existence. He had no idea he was threatening to send the Pirate King's daughter to a time unknown.

A guttural growl ripped from Luffy’s throat, a sound of pure, unadulterated rage that vibrated through the Sunny. Y/N’s face was ashen, her eyes fixed on her daughter, a silent scream caught in her throat.

"Don't you dare!" Luffy bellowed, stretching his arm, rubbery and menacing, towards the pirate. But the man was faster.

With a malicious laugh, the pirate slammed his glowing finger onto Lanko's forehead. A blinding flash of sickly green light erupted, enveloping the little girl. Before anyone could move, before even Luffy's extended arm could reach her, Lanko simply vanished. The light faded, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ozone and the gaping hole in the lower deck where she had been.

Silence, thick and suffocating, fell over the Straw Hats. It was a silence far more terrifying than any battle cry.

Then, the storm broke.

"LANKO!" Y/N screamed, a raw, primal wail of despair as she collapsed to her knees.

Luffy’s eyes were no longer wide with fury, but cold, hard, and utterly murderous. Every muscle in his body tensed, and the air around him crackled with an oppressive haki. "You," he said, his voice deceptively quiet, a tremor of unimaginable power beneath it. "Bring her back. Now."

Zoro’s hand was already on his wado ichimonji, the sheathed blade vibrating with his suppressed bloodlust. Sanji’s leg was cocked, ready to strike, his face contorted in a mask of grim determination. Nami’s Clima-Tact sparked with an ominous electricity, and Robin’s eyes narrowed, a thousand arms ready to bloom. Franky’s cannons hummed with energy, Chopper let out a furious growl, and even the usually composed Brook seemed to radiate a chilling aura.

The pirate, though initially smug, felt a cold dread creep up his spine. He had faced countless pirate crews, but this was different. This wasn't just a challenge; this was the wrath of a father, of a mother, of a family pushed beyond their breaking point.

"What did you do?!" Y/N sobbed, pushing herself up and stumbling towards the man, pure fury in her eyes. "Where did you send her?!"

The pirate, despite his bravado, suddenly looked uncomfortable. "She's... she's not gone for good," he stammered, his bravado cracking under the combined glare of the Straw Hats. He knew his Toki Toki no Mi sent people forward in time, but he had no control over where or when exactly. "She's just... moved. In time."

"Time?" Luffy's voice was a low growl, more dangerous than any roar. "You better bring her back. Or I will tear you apart piece by piece until there's nothing left but dust!"

Meanwhile..

The blinding green light dissipated, and Lanko stumbled, catching herself before she fell. She squeezed her eyes shut, expecting the splintered deck of her father's ship, the frantic shouts of battle. When she opened them, a profound silence met her, broken only by the gentle lapping of waves against a hull.

She was still on the Thousand Sunny, that much was clear. The familiar lion's head figurehead stared out proudly, the grassy deck felt the same under her bare feet, and the smell of the sea was just as salty. But something was… off. The ship looked new. Not a single scratch marred the polished wood, no scorch marks from recent battles, no worn patches from years of adventurous wear and tear. It gleamed, pristine, as if it had just set sail.

And then she saw them.

A young woman with bright orange hair was meticulously drawing a map at a large table, her brow furrowed in concentration. Next to her, a man with a long nose was dramatically recounting a tale to a reindeer, who seemed engrossed. A lean, blond man was humming softly in the galley, a plume of steam rising from a pot. A swordsman with green hair was asleep against the mast, three swords nestled beside him. A dark-haired woman was reading a book, a faint smile on her lips. And a skeleton was playing a gentle tune on his violin.

They were her family, her nakama, but… younger. Much younger. The green-haired swordsman looked less scarred, the blond cook’s face was less lined with battle fatigue, the navigator’s eyes held a youthful spark she didn't usually see. And her mother… she wasn't here. Lanko spun around, searching, but Y/N was nowhere in sight.

The orange-haired woman looked up from her map, her eyes widening slightly as she spotted the small figure. “Hey! Who’s that?” she called out, her voice wary.

Lanko, still reeling from the sudden, jarring change, could only stare. Her six-year-old mind struggled to process this familiar yet alien Sunny, these familiar yet unfamiliar faces. She looked exactly like her father, a tiny, wide-eyed replica, standing utterly alone on a ship that was home, but wasn't.

Lanko’s lower lip began to tremble. The faces of her family, younger and unlined by the battles she knew they’d faced, were now staring at her with confused, almost suspicious eyes. This wasn’t home. Not her home. A sob hitched in her throat, raw with sudden, overwhelming fear.

“Daddy! Mommy!” she wailed, her voice small and shaky, echoing strangely in the quiet air. Tears welled in her big, dark eyes, identical to her father’s.

The orange-haired woman, Nami, exchanged a glance with the long-nosed man, Usopp. “Daddy? Mommy?” Nami mumbled, then her eyes widened as she took in Lanko’s features more closely. “Wait a minute… she looks just like…”

Before she could finish the thought, the door to the galley burst open with a familiar, explosive energy. “Meat! Is Sanji making meat yet? I’m starving!”

And then he stepped out.

He was undeniably Luffy. The same wild, black hair, the same boundless energy practically radiating off him, the same intense focus, currently aimed at the galley. But he was younger, much younger, without the subtle gravitas of the Pirate King she knew.

Their eyes met. Young Luffy blinked, his perpetual grin faltering as he saw the tiny, crying girl. His head tilted, a familiar gesture. “Who are you?” he asked, his voice still full of an almost aggressive curiosity.

Lanko’s sobs hitched. She saw him. Her Papa. Younger, but still him. The sight of his familiar face, even in this strange, new form, broke through her fear. Her little arms instinctively reached out.

“Papa!” she cried, a joyous, desperate sound, and dashed across the deck, launching herself at the bewildered young captain.

The entire Straw Hat crew collectively gasped. The resemblance, uncanny before, was now undeniable. Two identical faces, two sets of wide, dark eyes, two explosions of black hair. The only difference was the height and the fact that one was a little girl, clinging fiercely to a young man who looked exactly like her.

Luffy, momentarily stunned, instinctively caught the small girl, who wrapped her arms tightly around his neck, sobbing into his shoulder. "Papa! I’m sorry! I’m so, so sorry! I tried to hide, but he found me, and his hand glowed, and I didn’t mean to disappear, I promise!” Her words tumbled out in a teary, incoherent rush, punctuated by hiccuping breaths.

The younger Straw Hats stared, utterly bewildered.

“’Disappear’?” Nami repeated slowly, looking between the crying girl and their equally confused captain. “What is she even talking about?”

Usopp, ever the quick thinker (or quick fabricator), dramatically clutched his head. “Aha! I’ve got it! It’s… it’s a temporal displacement anomaly! She’s from the future! Yes! A time traveler!” He puffed out his chest, completely convinced by his own spur-of-the-moment lie. “That villain must have used a… a ‘Time-Time Fruit’ to send her here!”

“Time travel? Usopp, don’t be ridiculous!” Sanji scoffed, though he couldn’t tear his eyes away from the scene. The resemblance was uncanny, almost spooky.

Luffy, meanwhile, was completely absorbed in Lanko. He gently patted her back, his brow furrowed in concern, though he didn't grasp a single word of her apology. “Hey, hey, why are you crying?” he asked, his usual boisterous tone softened. “Did you get hungry? Did someone take your meat?” His priorities, even in the face of a crying, time-displaced child, remained refreshingly simple. “Don’t worry, no one’s gonna hurt you here! We’ll just find you some meat!”

Lanko, still sniffling, looked up at him with tear-filled eyes, so much like his own. “Meat?” she whispered, her tears momentarily forgotten.

“Shishishi! Yeah, meat!” Luffy grinned, his concern immediately shifting to the promise of food. He hoisted her onto his shoulders, her small, identical face now perched above his, still streaked with tears but already showing the glimmer of a hopeful, familiar smile.

The rest of the crew exchanged exasperated glances. They had a miniature, crying version of their captain on their hands, apparently from the future, and their actual captain was already bonding over food. This was going to be a long day.

As Luffy, oblivious to the existential crisis unfolding around him, bounced Lanko on his shoulders, the rest of the Straw Hats watched in a mix of awe and disbelief.

“Did you see that?” Usopp whispered, nudging Nami. “The way her eyes lit up at ‘meat’! It’s just like him!”

Nami nodded slowly, a dawning realization spreading across her face. “It’s not just how she looks, Usopp. It’s… everything. She’s got his exact same level of… well, Luffyness.”

Down below, Lanko was already chattering excitedly. “Is it really meat, Papa? Like, a whole mountain of it? With bones to gnaw on?” Her tiny fists pumped the air, her face already mirroring Luffy’s enthusiastic grin.

“Shishishi! Of course! Sanji makes the best meat!” Luffy declared, completely delighted by her reaction. “We’ll eat until our bellies burst!”

Sanji, despite being a bit flustered by the sudden appearance of a child who looked exactly like his captain, couldn't help but crack a small smile at the sheer, unadulterated joy radiating from the pair. “Alright, alright, you two bottomless pits,” he called out, heading back into the galley with a fond sigh.

Zoro, who had been quietly observing, finally spoke up, a rare smirk on his face. “Looks like we’ve got two idiots on our hands now.”

Robin chuckled softly, her eyes twinkling. “Indeed. Her innocent wonder, her immediate focus on food… it’s quite remarkable.”

Even Chopper, who had been whimpering with worry a moment ago, found himself giggling at Lanko’s unbridled excitement. She wasn’t just a mini-Luffy in appearance; she embodied his very essence – his unwavering optimism, his simple desires, his utter gullibility, and that unshakeable love for adventure that always, inevitably, led them into trouble. She was a carbon copy, right down to her impulsive dashes and infectious giggles. The crew knew, with a sinking feeling of inevitability, that their lives had just become even more chaotic.

Just as the younger Straw Hats were beginning to process the sheer audacity of Lanko’s mini-Luffy persona, a familiar, slightly exasperated voice cut through the air. “What in the world is going on out here? I swear, if someone broke Sanji’s favorite pan again, I’m putting them on dish duty for a month!”

Y/N stepped onto the deck, her hands on her hips, her eyes immediately scanning the chaos. She had been below deck, organizing supplies with a meticulousness that sharply contrasted with the usual Straw Hat pandemonium. Her (hair color) hair was pulled back, a few wisps escaping, and her expression, though firm, held a hint of amusement – a typical look when dealing with her chaotic crewmates.

Her gaze landed first on the unusual sight of a tiny girl perched on Luffy’s shoulders, then on the shocked faces of the rest of the crew. “Seriously, what’s all the ruckus about?” she asked, already walking closer, her usual calm demeanor slightly ruffled by the sheer volume of the commotion.

Lanko, who had been mid-giggle about the promise of meat, froze. Her wide, dark eyes, identical to Luffy's, locked onto Y/N. A gasp escaped her lips, and the nascent smile vanished, replaced by an expression of pure, unadulterated relief.

“Mama!”

The single word ripped through the air, sharp and clear. Lanko launched herself from Luffy’s shoulders with astonishing speed, a tiny blur of black hair. She didn't hesitate, didn't even stumble, but propelled herself straight into Y/N’s arms, burying her face into her side.

“Mama?”

The question reverberated among the stunned Straw Hats. Nami’s jaw dropped. Usopp’s eyes bugged out even further. Sanji nearly dropped the serving tray he was unconsciously holding. Zoro’s perpetual smirk disappeared, replaced by genuine shock. Luffy, surprisingly, looked less surprised and more bewildered, as if wondering why his new tiny friend had suddenly abandoned him.

Y/N, caught completely off guard, instinctively wrapped her arms around the small child clinging to her. Her eyes, filled with confusion, darted from Lanko’s sobbing face to the shocked expressions of her crew, and finally, to the very familiar, very Luffy-like features of the little girl now nestled against her. A cold dread, mixed with an unshakeable sense of déjà vu, began to settle in her stomach.

“Mama!” Lanko sobbed into Y/N’s side, her tiny hands clutching Y/N’s shirt as if she were the last anchor in a storm.

Y/N, utterly bewildered, instinctively tightened her hold on the child. Her mind raced, grappling with the impossible. Mama? She wasn’t a mother. She and Luffy… they were close, yes, closer than anyone else on the crew, a bond forged in countless adventures and shared dreams. But certainly not that close. Not yet.

“What… what is going on?” Y/N asked, her voice a strained whisper as she looked at the baffled faces of her crewmates.

Nami, pale and wide-eyed, pointed a trembling finger at the little girl. “She just called you ‘Mama’!”

“And she called Luffy ‘Papa’!” Usopp squeaked, half-hiding behind Zoro. “This is insane! They look exactly alike! And she just jumped out of nowhere!”

Luffy, still standing with his arms outstretched where Lanko had been a moment ago, finally piped up. “But she called me Papa first! Why’d she leave?” he pouted, genuinely confused by Lanko’s sudden defection.

Y/N looked down at the sobbing child, who was now peeking up at her through tear-filled eyes, so painfully familiar. The same wide, innocent dark eyes as Luffy. The same messy black hair. Even the same tear-streaked, slightly grubby face. It was like looking at a miniature, female version of their captain.

“Sweetheart,” Y/N began gently, trying to keep her voice calm despite the mounting confusion. “I don’t… I don’t understand. Who are you?” She stroked Lanko’s hair, her gaze searching for some explanation in the child’s tear-soaked face.

Lanko only cried harder, clinging tighter. “It’s me, Lanko! Don’t you remember? We were playing tag, and then the bad man… and the green light…”

The green light. Y/N’s eyes flashed to Usopp. “Usopp, what was that ridiculous thing you were saying about time travel?”

Usopp gulped, taking a step back from Y/N’s intense stare. “Well, I mean, it’s just a theory! But she said ‘disappear,’ and then she called him Papa and you Mama, and she looks exactly like… well, you know!” He gestured wildly between Luffy and Lanko.

The revelation hung in the air, absurd yet undeniable. This child, Lanko, with her uncanny resemblance to Luffy, calling them ‘Mama’ and ‘Papa’… could she really be from the future? A future where Y/N and Luffy were… together? The thought was both staggering and utterly unbelievable. They were just friends, incredibly close friends, but the idea of a family… it was a leap of faith neither of them had even considered. Yet, here she was, living proof of an impossible future.

Y/N held Lanko close, her mind reeling. The child’s warmth against her, the dampness of her tears, the unmistakable face staring up at her—it was all too real to be a dream. She looked at Luffy, who was now scratching his head, a thoughtful frown on his face. He seemed to be piecing things together in his own simplistic way.

“So,” Luffy began, his voice surprisingly soft. “She’s… our kid?” He pointed first at himself, then at Y/N, then back at Lanko, as if confirming a challenging math problem.

Nami buried her face in her hands. “Luffy, don’t just accept it like that! It’s impossible! We’re not even…” She trailed off, a blush creeping onto her cheeks.

Sanji, for once speechless, just lit a cigarette and exhaled a long plume of smoke, his eyes wide. Zoro merely grunted, but even he seemed utterly baffled, his hand still instinctively on his katana.

Y/N, however, was already looking past the impossibility. She felt a strange, protective surge for the little girl in her arms. Lanko might be from an impossible future, but she was terrified and crying. “Lanko,” Y/N said, her voice gentle, “can you tell us your full name?”

Lanko sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her hand. “Lanko… Lanko Monkey.”

The name hung in the air, a definitive, undeniable connection. Monkey. Luffy’s surname.

Luffy’s eyes widened even further, then a slow, wide grin stretched across his face. “Shishishi! My name! She’s got my name!” He clapped his hands together, suddenly beaming. The gravity of the situation, the impossible time travel, the sheer improbability of it all, seemed to completely bypass him. He was just excited about having a mini-him.

Y/N, on the other hand, felt a blush creep up her neck. Lanko Monkey. Their daughter. The thought, once unthinkable, now felt oddly… warm. She looked at Luffy, whose eyes were now sparkling with an adventurous glee that only Lanko seemed to share.

“So, you’re really from the future, Lanko?” Usopp ventured, cautiously approaching. “And Luffy’s… your dad? And Y/N’s… your mom?” He still sounded like he was trying to convince himself.

Lanko nodded earnestly, her tears drying. “Uh-huh! Papa’s the Pirate King! And Mama helps him! And we have lots of adventures and eat lots of meat!” She seemed to have forgotten her earlier terror, now fully embracing the wonder of explaining her life.

The crew stared, dumbfounded. The Pirate King. Luffy. It was their dream, their ultimate goal, but hearing it spoken so casually by a child who was apparently their captain’s own flesh and blood… it made the dream feel incredibly, tangibly close. And the fact that Y/N was by his side, his partner, his wife, the mother of his child… that was a revelation all its own.

“The Pirate King…” Robin murmured, a knowing smile playing on her lips. “It seems our future is quite… interesting.”

Y/N tightened her embrace on Lanko, a mix of shock, fear, and a burgeoning sense of wonder swirling within her. This little girl, their daughter, was a living, breathing paradox. How would they get her back? And what did her sudden appearance mean for their own present?

“So, you’re really from the future, Lanko?” Usopp pressed, his voice still a shaky mix of disbelief and morbid curiosity. “And Luffy’s… your dad? And Y/N’s… your mom?”

Lanko nodded vigorously, her eyes sparkling with innocent conviction. “Uh-huh! Papa’s the Pirate King! And Mama helps him! And we have lots of adventures and eat lots of meat!” She then looked up at Y/N with wide, earnest eyes. “Are we gonna have meat now, Mama? I’m hungry from time traveling!”

Y/N let out a small, bewildered laugh, a sound that was half amusement, half sheer bewilderment. “Time traveling hunger, huh?” She looked at the rest of the crew, who were still processing this bombshell.

Luffy, meanwhile, had been silently absorbing Lanko’s explanation, a thoughtful expression on his face. Then, his face broke into his signature wide, unshakeable grin. “Shishishi! That makes sense! I really like Y/N!” He declared, completely oblivious to the blushing that immediately stained Y/N’s cheeks and the collective groan from the rest of the crew.

“Luffy, you idiot!” Nami spluttered, burying her face in her hands. Sanji’s eyebrow twitched, and even Zoro looked like he wanted to facepalm.

Y/N felt her heart do a strange little flip. He really liked her. Hearing it so casually, so innocently, from his younger self, after holding their future daughter… it was overwhelming.

“So, you’re just… accepting this, Luffy?” Robin asked, a small smile playing on her lips, clearly amused by the captain’s straightforward, utterly naive acceptance of the impossible.

“Why not?” Luffy tilted his head. “She looks just like me! And she likes meat! And she says Y/N’s her mama, and I like Y/N a lot, so that’s good!” He beamed, as if solving a particularly tricky puzzle with remarkable ease. For Luffy, the most complex paradoxes were often resolved by the simplest, most emotionally driven logic.

The crew exchanged resigned glances. There was no reasoning with him when he got like this. Their captain, the man who would be King of the Pirates, was currently too busy marveling at the existence of his future daughter to even consider the mind-boggling implications of time travel or his own future romantic entanglements.

Y/N, still holding Lanko, could only shake her head, a soft smile playing on her lips despite the chaos. It seemed their immediate future involved not only figuring out how to get a six-year-old time traveler back to her own time, but also navigating the very interesting (and now very public) revelation of their own potential future.

Y/N took a deep breath, pushing down the swirling maelstrom of confusion and embarrassment. The future, their relationship, time travel… it was all too much to process right now. Her gaze softened as she looked down at the tiny, hopeful face buried against her. Lanko was here, now, and she was scared and hungry. That was the only reality that mattered at this very moment.

A new side of Y/N emerged, a warmth that had always been present but carefully guarded, now blossoming without restraint. The wall she often kept around herself, a shield against the unpredictable chaos of the Grand Line, seemed to crumble entirely. Her touch became gentler, her voice infused with a tenderness the crew rarely heard from her.

“I bet you’re hungry,” Y/N murmured, brushing a stray strand of black hair from Lanko’s forehead. “If you have Luf— your father’s appetite, you must be absolutely starving.” She caught herself before saying Luffy’s name, the implication of the “father” too raw, too sudden for now. “Let’s go get you something good to eat, hm? Doesn’t that sound good, sweetheart?” Her thumb gently stroked Lanko’s cheek.

Lanko’s eyes, wide and still a little teary, lit up like tiny lanterns. “Meat?” she whispered, a familiar refrain.

Y/N smiled, a soft, genuine smile that reached her eyes. “Yes, sweetheart. Plenty of meat.” She looked up at Sanji, whose usually lovestruck expression was now one of profound awe. “Sanji, could you whip up something special for our… guest?”

Sanji, snapping out of his stupor, puffed out his chest. “Of course, Y/N-chan! Anything for such a cute little lady!” He dashed back into the galley, his usual theatrics slightly muted by the shocking revelation.

The rest of the crew watched, stunned. They had known Y/N as capable, intelligent, resilient, and fiercely loyal. But this raw, instinctive warmth, this immediate, undeniable motherly tenderness… it was a side of her they had never witnessed. It was as if, confronted with an impossible truth, she had simply bypassed the logic and embraced the heart of the matter. Luffy, ever oblivious to the deeper emotional currents, just cheered, “Shishishi! Meat!” and followed them, completely satisfied with this unexpected addition to their crew.

The Straw Hats watched, a silent tableau of surprise. Nami’s mouth was still agape, Sanji had forgotten his cooking, and even Zoro’s usual indifference had cracked. They had always known Y/N was compassionate, especially with Chopper, but this was different. This was a raw, unfiltered maternal instinct, a protective tenderness that stripped away all her usual guardedness. It was a rare, beautiful display of a side of her they’d never truly seen.

As Y/N walked towards the galley, Lanko nestled securely in her arms, Luffy naturally fell into step beside them. He didn’t question it, didn’t even seem to notice the shift in the crew’s demeanor. He was just doing what felt natural. And as the crew watched them go – the little girl identical to Luffy clinging to Y/N, Luffy himself radiating a simple, contented joy by Y/N’s side – the pieces started to click into place.

They had always been exceptionally close. During battles, Luffy was always by Y/N’s side, his rubbery limbs a whirlwind of protection. And Y/N, with her sharp mind and quick reflexes, was always there to cover his blind spots, to anticipate his impulsive moves. After a skirmish, Luffy was inevitably the first to check on Y/N, his goofy grin replaced by genuine concern, and Y/N would, in turn, subtly assess him, her touch gentle as she checked for scrapes. They had seen the small things, the lingering glances, the comfortable silences, the way they instinctively moved in sync. But seeing Lanko call them "Mama" and "Papa," and witnessing Y/N’s immediate, undeniable embrace of that role, combined with Luffy’s simple, heartfelt “I really like Y/N!”… it wasn’t just closeness. It was love. A quiet, deeply rooted love that had been there all along, blossoming subtly in the background of their grand adventures, and now, revealed in the most impossible way, by a child from a future they never knew they were building.

The crew, having witnessed Y/N’s instant transformation into a doting mother, exchanged glances filled with a potent mix of astonishment and dawning comprehension. The easy camaraderie between Luffy and Y/N had always been evident, a comforting presence on their ship. But the casual revelation, the sheer, undeniable proof of a future built together… it cast their entire relationship in a new light.

Nami, ever the observer of human nature, watched as Y/N gently coaxed a smile from Lanko, her movements fluid and tender. She saw the way Luffy, seemingly oblivious to the emotional magnitude of the moment, still instinctively hovered near Y/N, as if drawn by an invisible thread. It wasn't just about fighting side-by-side or sharing laughs. It was a silent language, a profound connection that had always been there, just below the surface of their adventurous lives.

“They really… they really love each other,” Nami whispered, almost to herself, the words heavy with revelation.

Usopp, who had recovered from his initial shock, nodded slowly. “I guess we just… never really thought about it. Luffy’s always been so focused on being Pirate King, and Y/N’s always been so… Y/N. But it makes sense, doesn’t it?” He recalled countless moments: Y/N patching up Luffy’s ridiculous injuries with a soft exasperation, Luffy sharing his most treasured meat with her, the way their eyes would always find each other in a crowd.

Sanji, leaning against the galley doorframe, let out a long sigh, a bittersweet smile on his face. “Ah, Y/N-chan… always so graceful, so kind. And now… a mother.” He ran a hand through his hair. Even his ingrained chivalry, usually so overt, had taken a back seat to the genuine emotional impact of the scene. The image of the future Pirate King and the woman he admired as parents, a real family, was profoundly moving.

Zoro, for once, didn’t comment or snicker. He simply watched the trio disappear into the galley, his singular eye narrowed in thought. He had always trusted Luffy’s instincts implicitly, and Luffy’s instinct was clearly to keep Y/N by his side. If this little girl was the result, then it was just another part of the chaotic, yet ultimately incredible, journey they were on.

Robin's soft chuckle broke the contemplative silence. "It seems the tides of destiny run deeper than we often perceive." She looked at her crewmates, her usual calm radiating a quiet understanding. "A family built not just on shared dreams and adventures, but on genuine affection and unwavering support. It truly is a beautiful thing."

The realization settled over the Straw Hats like a warm blanket. They had always been a family, bound by loyalty and shared purpose. But now, with Lanko’s sudden appearance, they understood the true depth of the bond between their captain and their friend. It was more than just comradeship; it was a love story unfolding right before their eyes, a testament to the powerful, unforeseen currents of the Grand Line.

The sudden, earth-shattering realization hit Usopp first, a lightbulb igniting above his head so brightly it almost outshone the Grand Line sun. “Wait a minute!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking with excitement. “If Lanko’s from the future… she knows everything!”

Like a ripple effect, the same thought spread through the rest of the Straw Hats. Their dreams, their goals, the very answers to the questions that had driven them across the seas – they were all embodied in this six-year-old girl.

A frantic rush ensued as the entire crew stampeded towards the galley. Inside, the comforting aroma of sizzling meat filled the air as Y/N, her sleeves rolled up, was meticulously browning a large cut, while Lanko sat perched on a stool, her small legs swinging, eyes fixated on the delicious offering. Luffy, predictably, was already drooling beside her.

“ is the All Blue real?!” Sanji was the first to burst in, his eyes wide and earnest, completely forgetting his duties at the stove.

“How many Berries do we have in the future, Lanko?! Are we rich beyond imagination?!” Nami demanded, her eyes practically gleaming with avarice as she pushed past Sanji.

Zoro shoved Nami aside. “Hey, brat! Am I the world’s greatest swordsman?! Did I beat that hawk-eyed bastard?!”

“Is my brave warrior of the sea story true?! Did I really become a great hero and fight giant monsters?!” Usopp yelled, waving his arms wildly.

Chopper, bouncing on the balls of his hooves, cried, “Did I cure all diseases?! Am I the best doctor in the world?!”

“How’s the Sunny looking?! Is she still SUPER?! Did we build any new weapons?!” Franky roared, already making a dramatic pose.

Robin’s voice, though calmer, was no less intense. “Were we able to find all the Poneglyphs? Did we uncover the truth of the Void Century?!”

Lanko, who had just been about to reach for a piece of perfectly cooked meat, froze. Her eyes darted from one shouting face to another, a tiny, overwhelmed figure caught in a storm of impossible questions. She tried to speak, her mouth opening, but before she could utter a single word, another question, louder and more insistent, cut her off. Her lower lip began to tremble, and her dark eyes welled up with fresh tears.

“Stop it!” Y/N’s voice cracked like a whip, sharp and commanding. She instinctively stepped in front of Lanko, shielding the child with her body. Her eyes blazed with a fierce protectiveness the crew had rarely seen directed at them. “Look at her! You’re overwhelming her!”

Luffy, who had been momentarily distracted by the commotion, finally registered Lanko’s distress. His cheerful grin vanished, replaced by a dark, angry scowl. “Hey! Don’t make Lanko cry!” he bellowed, his voice suddenly infused with a chilling, authoritative tone that brooked no argument. His arm stretched, rubbery and menacing, acting as another barrier between the questioning crew and the trembling child. “If you make my daughter cry, I’ll kick all your asses!”

The kitchen fell silent, the boisterous energy of moments before replaced by a sudden, unnerving stillness. The Straw Hats, accustomed to Luffy’s unpredictable nature, were nonetheless stunned by the raw intensity of his anger. This wasn’t his usual playful indignation; this was the chilling, unwavering fury of a father defending his child. His eyes, usually so full of innocent wonder, were now dark and sharp, mirroring the serious glint in Zoro’s usually half-closed one.

Y/N, still shielding Lanko, nodded in agreement, her own protective instincts flaring. “He’s right,” she stated, her voice low and steady. “She’s a scared little girl in a strange place, not an encyclopedia for your ambitions. Give her some space.” She ran a soothing hand over Lanko's trembling back.

Lanko, sensing her parents' unwavering protection, sniffled and peeked out from behind Y/N’s leg, her big eyes wide with a lingering fear that slowly began to recede.

Nami, taken aback by Luffy’s sudden shift in demeanor, slowly lowered her hands. “We didn’t mean to upset her, Luffy,” she said, her voice softer than usual. “We were just… surprised.”

“Yeah, we just got a little excited,” Usopp added, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He hadn’t actually intended to scare the kid.

Luffy’s rubbery arm slowly retracted, but his gaze remained fixed on his crew, a clear warning in his eyes. He then knelt beside Y/N, gently patting Lanko’s head. “See? No more questions now,” he reassured her, his voice immediately softening. “Just meat.”

Sanji, feeling the tension dissipate, quickly regained his composure. “Right! Meat for the little lady!” He returned to the stove with renewed vigor, determined to create a culinary masterpiece that would soothe the startled child.

Y/N gave Lanko a comforting squeeze. “That’s right, sweetheart. Just meat for now.” She looked at the chastened crew, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. They might be world-renowned pirates with grand dreams, but when it came to a crying child, especially their captain's child, even the most formidable adventurers had to back down. The future could wait; Lanko’s comfort was the only priority.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in fiery hues, a peaceful quiet settled over the Thousand Sunny. The earlier chaos had given way to the gentle hum of the ship at sea. Inside the galley, a makeshift feast had been prepared, with Sanji pulling out all the stops for their unexpected guest. Lanko, her initial fear long gone, was now happily stuffed with meat, her infectious giggles filling the space as Luffy regaled her with exaggerated tales of his adventures, making sound effects that only he seemed to understand.

Y/N watched them, a soft smile on her face. Her hand, almost unconsciously, rested on Lanko's back. The crew, too, had relaxed. Nami was showing Lanko how to draw a crude map of the galley, Chopper was offering her candy, and Usopp was attempting to impress her with a perfectly aimed rubber-band shot at a stray crumb. Even Zoro, usually aloof, had a subtle, almost imperceptible curve to his lips as he watched the scene. Brook played a soft, soothing melody on his violin, and Franky was quietly tinkering with a new invention, occasionally glancing up with a "SUPER!" whenever Lanko laughed.

It was a perfectly ordinary night for the Straw Hats, made extraordinary by the tiny, future-version of their captain. For a few hours, the questions of time travel and paradoxes were forgotten, replaced by the simple warmth of shared food and companionship. Lanko, nestled between Luffy and Y/N on the bench, yawned widely, her eyes drooping.

"Tired, sweetheart?" Y/N murmured, stroking her hair.

Lanko nodded, leaning into Y/N's side, a contented sigh escaping her lips. "It's been a long day, Mama," she mumbled, her words slurring with sleepiness.

Suddenly, a faint, sickly green shimmer appeared around Lanko. It was barely noticeable at first, a subtle distortion in the air around her. Luffy, sensing something, stopped mid-sentence. Y/N felt a strange vibration emanating from the child in her arms.

Then, the shimmer intensified. Lanko gasped, a tiny, choked sound. "Mama... Papa... I feel... weird!" Her small hand reached out, her fingers beginning to glow with the same eerie green light they had seen earlier.

Before anyone could react, Lanko’s form began to waver. Her edges blurred, and her body seemed to lose its solidity. Specks of her started to detach, swirling away like emerald dust motes in the air. A horrifying realization dawned on Y/N: she wasn't just glowing; she was devolving. Turning into green dust.

The chilling sight of Lanko dissolving into shimmering green dust sent a fresh wave of panic through the galley. Luffy, his eyes wide with alarm, instinctively reached out, but his hand passed straight through her shoulder as if she were made of smoke.

"Lanko!" he cried, his voice laced with desperation.

Y/N, however, felt a sudden, profound understanding. This wasn't another attack; this was Lanko being pulled back. Pulled back to her own time, to the future. A bittersweet pang hit her heart. She knelt, embracing the fading form as best she could, the green motes of light swirling around them both.

"She's going back," Y/N whispered, her voice thick with emotion, her eyes already tearing up. "She's going home."

Lanko, her tiny face flickering like a candle flame, looked up at Y/N, then at Luffy, her eyes wide and suddenly understanding. “Mama… Papa…” she whispered, her voice faint, almost inaudible.

Luffy, grasping the painful truth, knelt down too, his earlier anger replaced by a profound sadness. He reached out again, this time not trying to grab her, but simply touching the swirling green light that was his daughter. "Lanko," he said, his voice surprisingly gentle, "Don't cry."

Y/N pulled Lanko into one last, tight hug, the warmth of the child quickly dissipating. "Be brave, sweetheart," she choked out, a tear finally escaping and tracing a path down her cheek. "We'll see you in the future. We promise."

Luffy, his face a mixture of sorrow and his usual unshakeable resolve, offered his signature wide, if slightly watery, grin. "Shishishi! Go have more adventures, Lanko! We'll catch up to you! In the future!"

With one final, faint spark, Lanko vanished completely, leaving behind only the lingering scent of ozone and the heavy silence of the galley. The green dust motes shimmered for a moment longer, then faded into nothingness. The Straw Hats stood in stunned silence, their dreams of future revelations replaced by the raw emotion of a farewell to a child they had known for mere hours, yet loved instantly. They had just sent their future back to where it belonged, knowing that one day, they would indeed meet her again.

The battle had raged on the deck of the Thousand Sunny, but a new, terrifying intensity had fueled the Straw Hats after Lanko’s disappearance. Luffy and Y/N, in particular, fought with a savage fury that chilled even their own crewmates. The pirate who had sent Lanko away, the wielder of the Toki Toki no Mi, found himself the sole focus of the Pirate King’s boundless rage and his Queen’s icy precision.

Now, as the other enemy pirates lay defeated or fled in terror, a gruesome sight awaited the Straw Hats. The deck where the devil fruit user had stood was a bloodied testament to Luffy and Y/N's wrath. The man lay broken, utterly annihilated, his body a pulped mess of limbs and gore. He was headless, a grim testament to the force of Luffy’s final, enraged blow.

Suddenly, a shimmer of familiar green light erupted from the very spot where Lanko had vanished. It coalesced rapidly, and then, in a blink, a small, familiar figure solidified.

“Lanko!” Y/N gasped, her voice raw with relief and a fresh wave of fear.

Luffy, his chest heaving, his face still contorted with a primal rage, saw her. His eyes, seconds ago filled with murderous intent, softened instantly. Without a word, Zoro and Sanji moved in unison, quickly positioning themselves to block Lanko’s view of the gruesome scene.

Y/N rushed forward, scooping the little girl into her arms. Lanko was trembling, wide-eyed, clearly disoriented but unharmed. “Mama! Papa!” she cried, clutching Y/N tightly.

“We’ve got you, sweetheart,” Y/N whispered, her voice thick with emotion, pressing Lanko’s face into her shoulder to shield her from the sight of the pirate’s demise.

Luffy was there in an instant, his large hand gently stroking Lanko’s back. “You’re back,” he murmured, his anger dissipating like mist in the morning sun, replaced by an overwhelming sense of relief.

They quickly ushered Lanko away from the carnage, back towards the comparative safety of the Sunny’s interior, leaving the gruesome aftermath behind. The future was back, and the cost of her brief, terrifying absence was starkly evident on the deck. The Straw Hats knew one thing with absolute certainty: they would never let anything like this happen to her again.

[arixella]

Seeing Luffy after the 2 year timeskip

Pairing: Luffy x GN! reader Contains: fluff Wc: 620 A/n: I think im going to start doing angst stuff, give me some suggestions if any!

The air on Sabaody Archipelago was buzzing with excitement as you stood near the Thousand Sunny, your gaze flicking between the crowd and the horizon. The two years apart had felt endless. Life without Luffy was quieter—too quiet. Yet, you knew this separation was necessary. He had his dreams to chase, and you supported him with every ounce of your being.

Still, two years was a long time to go without his infectious laugh, his carefree grin, and the way he made you feel like you belonged.

“Oi! Watch out!” someone yelled nearby, but you barely heard it before a familiar, chaotic voice cut through the noise.

“Sorry!”

You turned toward the sound, your heart leaping. And there he was, sprinting through the bustling crowd like a kid on a sugar rush. His straw hat sat perfectly on his head, bobbing with each step, and his grin stretched wide across his face.

“Luffy!” you called, your voice louder than you intended.

His head snapped toward you, and for a second, he froze mid-stride. His big, brown eyes lit up with unmistakable joy, and then he was running even faster, barreling straight toward you.

Before you could fully prepare yourself, he launched into you, his arms wrapping around you with enough force to nearly knock you off your feet.

“Y/N!” he yelled, his voice practically vibrating with excitement. “I missed you!”

You laughed, clutching at his vest to steady yourself. “I missed you too, Luffy.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you, his hands still resting on your shoulders. His eyes scanned your face as if committing every detail to memory. “You look the same!” he said, his tone as blunt as ever.

“And you look stronger,” you teased, poking at his arm. “Have you been working out?”

Luffy flexed dramatically, puffing out his chest. “Yup! I’m way stronger now! You won’t believe the stuff I can do!”

“I’m sure I’ll see soon enough,” you said with a grin, your chest warm from his boundless energy.

Luffy tilted his head, his expression softening. “Are you okay? Did anything happen while I was gone?”

You hesitated, surprised by the question. Luffy wasn’t usually the type to ask about emotions directly, but the genuine concern in his eyes made your throat tighten.

“I’m fine,” you assured him, smiling. “It’s just... it’s been a long two years.”

His grin faded slightly, replaced by a rare seriousness. He reached up, placing his straw hat on your head—a gesture so intimate it made your heart stutter. “Well, I’m back now,” he said simply, his voice steady. “And I’ll make sure to stay close this time.”

You blinked, your vision blurring slightly as tears welled up. “Luffy...”

“Don’t cry!” he panicked, flailing his hands. “I didn’t mean to make you sad!”

You laughed through the tears, shaking your head. “I’m not sad, you idiot. I’m just happy.”

His face brightened again, and he pulled you into another hug, this one softer but no less warm. “Good. ‘Cause we’ve got a lot of adventuring to do!”

You wrapped your arms around him, breathing in the familiar scent of sea salt and sunshine. “Yeah, we do.”

He pulled back, grabbing your hand and tugging you toward the ship. “Come on! I gotta show you everything I’ve been training for!”

You let him drag you along, your heart soaring with every step. Luffy’s laughter rang in your ears, and for the first time in two years, you felt whole again.

Whatever lay ahead, you knew one thing for certain: as long as you were by Luffy’s side, you could take on anything.

♡♡♡

© 2024 arixella | please do not plagiarize or translate any of my work without my consent.

[cursedfallingmoon]

Part of Your World || Yan GB Little Mermaid x GN Reader

Characters: Adrien

Summary: A Merman who's just curious and wants to be yours

Warnings: Yandere themes, possessiveness

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Yan GB Little Mermaid who is obviously the youngest merman prince of Atlantica amongst his six older brothers. He is the pride and joy of Queen Tritania, with his enchanting beauty and melodic singing voice. He would be titled the best singer in Sebastian's choir if he ever showed up to the practices and concerts. His aloof nature keeps him plenty distracted to ever participate in things that happen around the kingdom.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who collects trinkets from ship wrecks especially anything that was shiny. He absolutely adores the treasures left behind by the humans. His seagull friend tries to tell him what things are, but nothing the bird brain ever says is accurate. It doesn't matter to Adrien though. As long as something he's found has a name and an explanation for its use then he doesn't mind.

Yan GB Little Mermaid whose wonder for humans is endless like the sea's horizon. Even his secret treasure trove of abandoned human items could encompass this boundless curiosity he harbors. Even when his mother finds out about his surface visits, ending up with him being banned from ever doing such things in the future, he couldn't be stopped.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who finds you one night when you were on a ship with pirates who he assumed were your friends. His same seagull friend had pointed you out of the group. Seeing you dance around and the music being played was enchanting. Your smile was infectious and put him into a daydream like state. Maybe if he sang, you would be just as enchanted by him.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who finds himself getting caught up in a small fantasy of him impressing you with his voice that he's been praised for endlessly. The very voice that was the pride of the very Queen of the Sea. He is so stuck in his daydreaming that he doesn't notice or hear the loud splash of something entering the deep ocean.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who realizes that you're not on the ship anymore. He looks around frantically, wondering if you were just a hallucination he made up. But when he sees bubbles rising up to the top of the sea, he knows exactly where you are. His heart drops, and he frantically dives under the water to swim after you. He tries his best to bring you up to the surface as quick as possible so you don't drown. The whole night he's focused on you and swimming you back to the closest beach he knows. Which happens to be the beach of your kingdom. Your palace is sat on the seaside cliff off in the distance.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who admires your beauty as you're unconscious on the warm sand. His fish friend, Flounder, and Sebastian watch with great caution. His seagull friend, Scuttle, also joins as he tries to assess if you're still alive or not. Adrien watches you with amazement. He's always wanted to be close to a human. He's never seen one as beautiful as you, and he saved you. He's in love with you.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who brings a gentle hand to brush back your wet locks. He opens his mouth and starts to sing sweetly. You blink slowly, and you think you see a man in front of you with vibrant red hair singing to you. As Adrien sees that you're waking up he hurries off back into the ocean, leaving you confused. As you arise, you look out at the large ocean in front of you. You were humming the tune that you had awoken too. In your mind, you thought the song was sung to you by angels. Little did you know the merman that saved you was all giddy that you were humming his song.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who becomes love struck and lovesick all at the same time. All he can think about is you. All his dreams involve you. He swims around everywhere with a half lidded dreamy look. His brothers immediately caught on to what was wrong with him. Adrien was always humming to himself with a dazed look. When Queen Tritania see's her youngest son acting like this she becomes worried. His brothers had to explain that Adrien was in love.

Yan GB Little Mermaid whose fish friend helps with Adrien's infatuation with you by finding things that you had drunkenly dropped over board when you were partying with your pirate friends. How did the two know that these objects were yours? Your initials, or last name, were carved into everything. It was mostly due to your boredom. He handles everything with care and has a special spot in his secret cavern for all your items.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who becomes even more absent from his duties and events than before. He's too busy swimming up to the beach in hopes of catching even just a glimpse of you. If you aren't there, he'd just rat to Flounder about things he wanted to do with you.

Yan GB Little Mermaid whose mother tries to use Sebastian as a babysitter for her youngest. Sebastian tries his best but Adrien avoids and evades the old crab way too well. It doesn't take Sebastian long to discover the merman's secret human treasure trove, however. Adrien catches the crab and has him swear to secrecy not to tell his mother.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who has a huge fight with his mother once she found out about his human obsession. She had thought she told him not to go to the surface anymore but of course Adrien didn't listen. Even when his brothers heard the fight going on they did nothing to intervene lest they face the wrath of Queen Tritania. Angry, Adrien swam out of the palace with his mind full of upset thoughts. Luckily, the Sea Witch's trusted pets saw and decided to “help” this poor unfortunate soul.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who is ignorant as he is led to the Sea Witch's liar. The eels promise him that the Sea Witch will make all his fantasies and dreams come true. Adrien is so excited, he doesn't realize that he's being followed by Flounder and Sebastian. Once Adrien is approached by the Sea Witch, he is offered quite a deal. A pair of human legs in exchange for his beloved voice. He is very quick to agree, he doesn't even take into consideration the consequences.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who is so happy and excited abuot the possibility of meeting you properly that he completely forgets that he doesn't have his gills anymore. Sebastian and Flounder are quick to help Adrien swim up to the surface so he can breath. He ends up washing up on the very beach he met you on. He sat on the sand, naked. Scuttle flies up, noticing the familair red head. The seagull helps give Adrien some advice and helps dress him in a torn sail.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who sees you running along the beach. He's so excited he practically runs to tackle you ina hug. You're startled by the sudden contact, but the familair red hair catches you offgaurd. Vague memories of the day you were saved from drowning resurface in your mind. You help him off the sandy ground and offer to take him to your castle, thinking he was a victim of a shipwreck nearby. He nods excitedly and takes your hand. Sebastian decides to go with Adrien by riding on his shoulder.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who is so grateful that you're being so kind to him. The maids give him a bath which is so fun. He didn't know humans could make artificial bubbles. He was also so flustered when the maids give him clothes you used to wear. He shows Sebastian with a huge smile on his face. At dinner, Adrien is quick to take a seat next to you and flaunts the clothes he's wearing to you.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who clings to your arm as you try to eat. He's so fascinated by all the familiar items he had found in shipwrecks. He wonders if you'd be fascinated by his treasure trove. He reaches for his fork and starts to brush his hair with it like he had been taught by Scuttle before. He pauses when he hears your laughter. He felt so embarrassed that you were laughing at him. He was going to stop but much to his excitement you started to copy him. He's so happy. Please let him brush your hair, it's like a dream come true to him. He foes to bed so happy that he completely forgets the curse.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who spends the next day with you. He clings to you and tries to quell his jealousy when other people look at you or even try to talk to you. He chases them off with a glare, however. You take him to a secret river that had a wooden row boat. It was a private boat ride with just the two of you. You row him to a private cove hidden by the leaves of a huge willow tree. Here you learn his name from an unknown whisper in your ear. Then you slowly start to talk about things you liked. He so badly wants to respond. All he can do is nod. When the two of you are knocked over, you're quick to scoop him into your arm and carry him out of the cove.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who's all blushy when you two get back to the castle. You carry him to his room, dried him off with this fluffy thing called a towel, got him new clothes you commissioned just for him, and offered to stay with him for the night. He felt so special as you personally cared for him rather than sending the maids too. He fell even harder. You two ended up cuddling that night. He only had one more day to kiss you.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who tries his best on the final day to woo you and get you to kiss him. He needs you too so he can be with you forever. So he can be a human forever. He dresses all cute. Well he tries. He follows you around all day, clinging onto your arm and refusing to let go whenever you ask him too. It ends up working in his favor really well because you do end up giving him a small peck on his lips. You told him it was a reward for his help that day.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who becomes all flustered and lets out a verbal squeak which makes you startled. So he can talk? He's so happy that he got his voice back and can finally tell you EVERYTHING! He starts with how he saved you and that he was a merman that was cursed into being a human with a deal. He played into the damsel in distress bit hard!

Yan GB Little Mermaid who ends up staying with you after his huge confession. He's just a roommate now. He didn't quite understand the concept, and he desperately wanted to marry you right away, but you had a desire to build a meaningful relationship with him. It confused Adrien so much. It also had upset him. No matter how hard he tried to push, you were firm in your boundary. He reluctantly accepted your terms. He wanted to understand human customs and this was a good way in doing so. That's what he told himself.

Yan GB Little Mermaid who sees you with another man. He doesn't know why but this man is so familiar to him. And he's just as helpless as Adrien was when he first became human. He watched as your hands held the arms of this filthy stranger. It should be his arms that you're holding on too. That's when it hits him. He knows this man! He won't let this stupid Sea Witch ruin his promised happily ever after with you.

꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦꒷꒦

Property of @cursedfallingmoon! Do not repost or translate without my explicit permission! Reblogs are welcome!

[minhosbitterriver]

𑁍ࠬܓ 𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐁𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 ( stray kids )

❛ In which the members of Stray Kids navigate the world of fatherhood without you.

𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐲 𝐤𝐢𝐝𝐬 + female reader ೯ ( 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) 4.4k

꒰ 💌 ꒱ ミ This request was absolutely devastating to write, thank you! I hope you guys enjoy, reblogs and feedback are much appreciated! ── ( 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 )

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Y/N has passed away, each member is a single father still in love with you, mentions of grief, some of the kids fall under the LGBTQ+ community.

( 𝐠𝐮𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬 ) ( 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 & 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬 ) ( 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐬 ) ( 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 )

꒰ 🫙 ꒱ ミ Tip Jar!

방찬 ── BANG CHAN.

Chan's office was bathed in the soft, amber glow of the desk lamps, casting a warm yet somber light across the room. The gentle hum of the night time silence was broken only by the rhythmic, soothing breaths of his three-year-old daughter, who lay peacefully on the worn leather couch. Her tiny face, so serene in slumber, was a haunting mirror of your beautiful features, stirring a profound ache in Chan's heart.

As he watched her, tears began to silently trace their way down his cheeks, each drop carrying the weight of his sorrow and longing. He could still hear your final, trembling words: "Love her twice as much in my absence." The memory was a dagger, twisting with the relentless guilt and grief that had become his constant companions. The sight of his daughter's innocent face, so reminiscent of you, only deepened his anguish.

Today had been especially trying. Chan had promised his little girl a joyous outing to the park, a precious respite from his hectic work schedule. But the day took an unexpected turn when Changbin called in a panic, frantically searching for the nearly completed recording of their latest song. What Chan had hoped would be a swift resolution morphed into hours of desperate searching, only to end in the devastating realization that they would have to begin the recording anew.

All the while, his daughter’s patience wore thin. She had no toys, no distractions, just the suffocating boredom of waiting. Her disappointment was palpable, a silent reproach that cut deeper than any words could. Chan felt like he was failing her, failing in the promise he had made to you. Driven by the need to make amends, he gently woke his daughter. Her initial crankiness gave way to curiosity as he apologized for breaking his promise and proposed a sleepover at home. Movies, games, a fort, and endless cuddles — her eyes sparkled at the thought, and her frown dissolved into giggles.

At home, they transformed the living room into a magical fortress of pillows and blankets, a sanctuary just for them. They watched animated tales, played games, and reveled in the simple joy of being together. Wrapped in the cozy embrace of their fort, she eventually succumbed to sleep once more, nestled against him. Her hair, a tousled mess, and a small trail of drool on his shirt were endearing reminders of her tender age and boundless trust in him.

Chan held her close, his heart swelling with love and a bittersweet yearning. She was the living embodiment of his heart, and as he gazed at her, he whispered a vow into the stillness of the night. He promised to love her with all his might, carrying the weight of both his love and the part of you that would forever reside in their lives. In that quiet moment, amidst the echoes of his promises, he felt a fragile sense of peace, knowing that as long as he held her, he was keeping your memory alive.

이민호 ── LEE MINHO.

Minho lay in the dim, soft glow of his bedroom, shadows whispering across the walls as the twins slept peacefully beside him. Their tiny forms had claimed your side of the bed, filling the void where your presence once brought warmth and comfort. The night he returned home with the babies, he had attempted to sleep alone, but the emptiness was unbearable. He tossed and turned, haunted by the silence, until one of the babies began to cry, inevitably waking the other. In his desperation to soothe them, he gathered every pillow he could find, crafting a makeshift crib in his bed. Their delicate features softened in the calm of his presence, and they finally drifted off to sleep.

As Minho gazed at their angelic faces, hands entwined even in slumber, his heart ached with the weight of your absence. How could he begin to process this loss? You had spent almost ten months nurturing these little miracles, only to be taken away before you could revel in the beauty of their existence. Ten months of creating life, and you would never witness the serene way they held hands in their sleep. Ten months of dreams and hopes, and you would miss their first birthdays, graduations, weddings. It was unbearably cruel, and Minho’s soul was tormented by the thought.

You wouldn’t even be here to laugh about the pregnancy mix-up that had both of you convinced it would be a boy and a girl, only to welcome two beautiful baby girls into the world. His friends had offered to stay and help, but he had declined, needing the solitude to grapple with his grief. Now, in the stillness of the night, he questioned if he had made the right choice.

Tears welled up and spilled down his cheeks as the full weight of his new reality settled over him. He was to raise these precious little princesses on his own, and the responsibility felt crushing. Yet, as he watched their peaceful slumber, he knew he had to summon every ounce of strength for them. They were his world now, the living, breathing remnants of your love. He vowed to cherish them, to love them fiercely, and to guide them through life with unwavering dedication, for they were all he had left of you, and he was all they had.

In the hushed silence, he whispered promises into the night, pledging to be the best father he could be. He would ensure they knew how deeply you loved them, even if you couldn’t be there to tell them yourself. And as he held them close, feeling the rise and fall of their tiny chests, a fragile peace washed over him. He knew that in every laugh, every tear, and every milestone, you would be there in spirit, guiding him, loving them, always.

서창빈 ── SEO CHANGBIN.

The sun was setting, casting a warm, golden glow over the park as Changbin and his 13-year-old son sat on a weathered wooden bench, savoring their ice cream. The park buzzed with the laughter of children, their joy mingling with the gentle rustle of leaves in the summer breeze. Parents lounged on the grass, basking in the last light of day, while Changbin watched his son’s face light up with a blush as he received a message.

Changbin couldn’t resist teasing him. "Who’s got you smiling like that?" he asked, his voice laced with playful curiosity.

His son’s cheeks reddened further, and he looked away, trying to hide his smile. "Just a girl from school," he mumbled, glancing at his phone. "She texted to congratulate me on today’s soccer game."

Changbin’s interest was piqued. "A girl, huh? Do you like her?" he inquired gently, but his son just rolled his eyes, keeping his thoughts to himself.

After a while, his son broke the comfortable silence with a question that took Changbin by surprise. "Dad, how did you know Mom was the one for you?"

Changbin's heart swelled with a bittersweet mix of love and nostalgia. He took a deep breath, the memory washing over him like a tender wave. "Well," he began softly, "it was before you were born. Your mom and I had only been dating for a few months. One evening, we decided to take a ride on my motorcycle to grab some food. On the way back, she spotted a bookstore and got all excited. She tapped my shoulder and pointed it out, her eyes sparkling like a child's. I couldn't say no to that."

He smiled, lost in the memory. "We stopped, and I handed her my card, telling her to get whatever she wanted. She promised she’d come out empty-handed, but I knew better." He chuckled, remembering your sheepish yet triumphant expression as you emerged with a bag hidden behind your back. "She ended up buying two books and couldn’t stop talking about them, her excitement contagious. When I told her I was glad she found something, she did this little dance of joy before climbing back onto the bike. She had to hold the bag since her backpack was already stuffed with our food, but she was too happy to care."

Changbin’s eyes glistened with unshed tears. "That’s when I knew she was the one. It wasn’t some grand gesture; it was her pure joy in the little things, her passion for life. I wish you could have known her. She loved you so much, even before you were born."

His son’s eyes mirrored his own longing and admiration. "I wish I’d known her too," he said softly. "My goal in life is to find my soulmate, like you found Mom. I want to love someone as much as you loved her."

Changbin’s heart ached with pride and sorrow. "You deserve to have someone by your side for a long time," he said, his voice thick with emotion. Then, with a mischievous twinkle in his eye, he added, "Who knows, maybe this girl from school is your one."

His son groaned, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he nudged Changbin, causing his ice cream to topple onto the ground. Changbin laughed, a deep, hearty sound that echoed through the park. His own ice cream slipped from his grasp, joining his son’s on the pavement, and they both burst into laughter, the joy of the moment a soothing balm to their hearts.

In that golden hour, surrounded by the simple pleasures of ice cream and shared memories, Changbin felt a profound sense of peace. Despite the heartache and loss, he and his son would continue to find love and joy in the little things, just as you had taught him. And in those moments of laughter and connection, he felt your presence with them, a silent guardian watching over their journey, smiling at their shared happiness.

황현진 ── HWANG HYUNJIN.

Hyunjin sat alone in the dimly lit room, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting a warm, golden hue over the familiar surroundings. The air was thick with memories, each piece of furniture and every stroke of paint a testament to the love and labor he had shared with you. His heart ached with a bittersweet nostalgia as he looked around, his mind filled with the echoes of laughter and the whispers of cherished moments.

He remembered the countless hours spent building the furniture, the frustration and triumph mingling as he struggled with stubborn screws, while you sat nearby, reading the instructions with a patience that never failed to calm him. The nursery walls, painted in a tapestry of happy themes, bore the marks of your combined artistic talents, creating a sanctuary for the new life you both awaited with eager anticipation.

The night he returned home with the baby, your absence a gaping void beside him, was etched into his soul. He had sat in the rocking chair, the one he had bought especially for you, cradling the fragile bundle in his arms, paralyzed by the fear of being alone. Many nights, he had dozed off in that chair, too afraid to leave its comforting embrace, haunted by the silence that your departure had left behind.

A wistful smile tugged at his lips as he recalled the day he found your child drawing on the walls, their tiny hands busy creating a colorful mural over your delicate paintings. It had pained him to see your work altered, but the sight of their concentrated little face, so much like yours, had softened his heart. He had chosen to let them be creative, to express themselves freely, even if it meant sacrificing a piece of you.

He thought of the time his six-year-old had cried in his arms, their tiny body trembling with confusion and hurt because they didn't fit in with the boys or the girls. Hyunjin had held them close, whispering reassurances, his heart breaking at the familiar pain. It had been a long journey, but he had worked tirelessly to make their home a sanctuary of love and acceptance.

The memories came in a flood, each one a cherished gem: the summer in middle school when they returned home with bags of new clothes and put on a fashion show, proudly displaying their androgynous style; the pride parade, where he meticulously placed sticky rainbow gems on their face, their giddy excitement lighting up the day; and finally, the day they graduated and moved out, leaving behind an empty room filled with the ghosts of the past.

Tears rolled down Hyunjin’s face as he sat in the rocking chair, now old and creaky, thinking of all the moments he had cherished yet wished he could have shared with you. The weight of the memories pressed down on him, a heavy, inescapable burden.

Suddenly, his phone rang, startling him from his reverie. He hastily wiped his tears and saw it was a FaceTime call from his child. He answered, and their beaming face filled the screen, the excitement in their eyes mirrored by the twinkling fairy lights in their new apartment's bedroom.

“Hey, Dad! Look at my new room!” they exclaimed, panning the camera around to show off their new space, their voice bubbling with pride and joy.

Hyunjin’s heart swelled with pride and love. “It looks amazing, sweetheart,” he said, his voice thick with emotion.

“I miss you,” they confessed, their eyes shining with unshed tears. “Can we spend the first night together, through the phone?”

Hyunjin chuckled softly, trying to mask his lingering sadness. “Doesn’t that defeat the purpose of moving out?”

They laughed, a sound that was pure and unfiltered joy. “Maybe, but I know you’re in my old room crying already.”

He laughed too, the heaviness lifting just a bit. “You got me there.”

They didn’t hang up, staying connected through the screen as the night deepened. Hyunjin lay back in the rocking chair, his child propped up in their new bed, both finding solace in the familiar presence of each other. As they talked and laughed, Hyunjin realized that though you weren’t physically there, your spirit lived on in these moments, in the love that continued to bind them together. And for now, that was enough.

한지성 ── HAN JISUNG.

Jisung found his seven-year-old child hidden within the treehouse that the three of you had built together. This small wooden sanctuary, once filled with laughter and joy, now bore the heavy weight of sorrow. They were still in their funeral attire, the black clothes contrasting sharply against the soft glow of the setting sun. The murmurs of the guests lingering in the backyard became a distant, indistinct hum as Jisung climbed into the treehouse, his heart burdened with grief and a simmering anger at the universe for taking you away so cruelly.

His son's youthful face was etched with a grief that seemed too profound for such a young soul. Jisung felt a surge of helplessness as he reached out, pulling his child close, wrapping him in an embrace meant to shield him from the cruel world outside. “I miss Mom,” came the soft, heart-wrenching whisper, each word a dagger to Jisung’s already shattered heart.

“I miss Mom too,” Jisung murmured, his voice thick with unshed tears. They sat together in silence, the weight of your absence pressing down on them like an insurmountable force.

It had been nearly a year since you had fallen ill, the sickness so severe that the doctors had given you only a few months at most. Yet, you had defied their grim prognosis, your spirit burning brightly despite the frailty of your body. Jisung remembered the countless nights spent by your side, swallowing his fears and anger as you spoke of your impending death with a calm acceptance that had always made him furious. To him, it felt as though you had given up, but he knew deep down that wasn’t the case. You hadn’t wanted to waste what little time you had left fighting an unwinnable battle. Perhaps if he had truly listened, if he had embraced those fleeting moments instead of railing against them, he might have cherished your final days more deeply.

His son, too young to fully grasp the concept of death, struggled with the finality of it all. He understood that you would never return, yet accepting it was a different matter entirely. Jisung’s heart broke anew each time he saw the confusion and sorrow in his child’s eyes, a mirror of his own torment.

Holding his son tighter, Jisung wished he could find the right words to ease the pain, to make sense of a world that had suddenly lost its light. But words failed him, crumbled under the weight of their shared grief. Instead, he let the silence speak, hoping the strength of his embrace could convey the love and comfort his words could not.

The treehouse, once a symbol of their shared joy, now held their sorrow. The walls, which had echoed with laughter and dreams, now seemed to absorb their pain, standing as silent witnesses to their loss. But within this small, sacred space, surrounded by the memories of happier times, Jisung hoped they could begin to heal. He would be there for his son, a steadfast presence in the storm of their grief, guiding him through the darkness with a love that, while tested, remained unbroken.

As the last light of day faded, Jisung held his son close, both finding a semblance of solace in each other’s presence. In the quiet, grief-stricken aftermath, they began to forge a new bond, one tempered by loss but strengthened by their enduring love. And in that silent communion, Jisung found a glimmer of hope that they would eventually find their way through the darkness together.

이용복 ── LEE YONGBOK.

In a home where the relentless energy of three young girls and their single father painted every day with hues of joyous chaos, peace was a fleeting visitor. The air thrummed with the symphony of exuberant laughter, the vibrant discord of simultaneous chatter, and the relentless rhythm of youthful exuberance. Yongbok would never trade this tempestuous world for anything, yet a hollow ache lingered for the presence of the one who had been the steady heartbeat of their lives.

Your sudden departure had cast a profound shadow over their once lively abode, transforming it into a quieter realm where your laughter’s echoes were replaced by an oppressive silence. As time wove its delicate fabric over the jagged edges of grief, the house gradually adjusted to a new cadence, yet the weight of your absence hung heavy in every corner.

Despite this, Yongbok discovered fragments of you embedded within the fabric of their daily lives. He saw your essence in the selfless nurturing of his eldest daughter, who had seamlessly stepped into the role of co-caregiver. Her quiet acts of love and responsibility were a poignant echo of the devotion you had always shown, a continuation of your spirit in her every gesture.

In the middle child’s vibrant monologues about obscure topics, Yongbok glimpsed your enduring influence. Her unquenchable thirst for knowledge mirrored the intellectual curiosity you had nurtured, each passionate explanation a living testament to your legacy.

The youngest, with her mischievous gleam and boundless spirit, kept Yongbok perpetually on his toes. Her playful antics and joyful mischief were a vivid reminder of the vivacity you had infused into their home, a living echo of the light you had brought into their lives.

In the quiet moments, Yongbok could still feel your presence. The post-it notes left in his lunch bag by his eldest daughter, each inscribed with a simple message of love, were imbued with your warmth. The tender strokes of his middle daughter’s fingers through his hair during their movie nights were a silent connection to you. And in the gentle inquiries of his youngest, her head peeking around the door to ensure he was alright, he felt the deep compassion you had instilled in her.

Though you were absent from the milestones and daily rhythms, your essence lived on through them. In the small, tender acts of affection and love, you continued to be a cherished part of their lives, an enduring presence in their hearts.

김승민 ── KIM SEUNGMIN.

Seungmin had been absent through the vast expanse of your pregnancy, the relentless demands of touring keeping him away. He returned just in time to witness the birth, only to be swallowed by the crushing weight of your absence. The pain of missing those precious moments with you, of not being there to share in the miracle of your last days, was a wound that never healed. This haunting regret followed him, a constant reminder of a future lost.

The day you passed, Seungmin left Stray Kids, unable to bear the weight of the stage without you by his side. He couldn’t find solace in the bright lights or the rhythms of his music. Instead, he focused on his two sons—an older one, now sixteen, and a younger one, now twelve. The older boy, once a vibrant spirit, had retreated into the shadows of his room, his once lively demeanor replaced by a sullen silence. The baseball games that had once bound them together now lay abandoned, and Seungmin, despite the storm within, knew he had to reach out.

Determined to bridge the chasm that had grown between them, Seungmin planned a day just for the two of them. He left the youngest with his closest friend, Jeongin, and took his older son out. The car ride was a quiet procession of unspoken thoughts, the weight of their shared grief hanging heavily between them. When they finally arrived at their destination, Seungmin braced himself, ready to face the tender fracture of their relationship.

It took patience, but eventually, the silence broke. The older boy revealed his feelings for a boy at school, emotions that he struggled to understand. Seungmin was taken aback, but he remained calm, his heart aching with a blend of surprise and concern. As his son’s tears fell freely, Seungmin pulled him into a tender embrace, his own heart aching with a mixture of empathy and love. He whispered reassurances into his son’s hair, promising acceptance and protection, vowing to stand by him no matter what.

The boy, still tearful but comforted, then showed Seungmin a small journal. Inside was a song he had penned, a poignant melody woven with the threads of his conflicted feelings for the boy at school. The song was hauntingly beautiful, a reflection of his son’s delicate soul and burgeoning talent. Seungmin’s heart swelled with pride and love as he listened, recognizing the echoes of his own musical spirit in his child’s creation.

As the day drew to a close, Seungmin received a snapshot from Jeongin—his youngest child, covered in dirt and beaming with the joy of a day spent playing baseball. The image was a burst of pure happiness, a vivid reminder that even amidst the sorrow, moments of light and joy persisted.

As the sun set, Seungmin felt a renewed connection with his older son, a fragile yet precious bond rekindled through their shared experiences and heartfelt conversation. Though the regret of not being there for you lingered, he found solace in the fact that he was striving to be the father you would have been proud of. In the quiet moments of the evening, he hoped, with all his heart, that wherever you were, you watched over them and felt a deep pride in the man he was becoming—a father striving to honor your memory through the love and strength he gave to your family.

양정인 ── YANG JEONGIN.

Jeongin’s youngest daughter was a restless spirit, her stubborn yet carefree nature a constant reminder of the love she once shared with you. Each burst of laughter, every defiant flicker of joy, was a living echo of your vibrant presence. In contrast, his oldest son was a mirror of Jeongin’s own meticulous nature, his life meticulously ordered, each ambition carefully planned.

Lately, Jeongin’s heart had been heavy with worry. His daughter, brimming with reckless exuberance, frequently dashed off to meet a boy Jeongin knew was unworthy. The thought of her entangled with someone without a future gnawed at him, leaving him adrift in a sea of concern. As he lay awake at night, the silence seemed to taunt him, and he often found himself wondering how you would have navigated these troubled waters if you had still been there to guide them.

One night, as the moonlight spilled softly through the window, Jeongin was wrenched from sleep by the unmistakable sound of muffled sobs. His heart raced as he followed the cries to his daughter’s room. He paused at the door, the murmur of his son’s voice cutting through the silence. The room, once a sanctuary of dreams, was now a cocoon of whispered regrets and stifled tears. His daughter’s voice wavered with the weight of her shame, confessing her feelings of foolishness for having trusted the boy. His son, with a soothing calmness that mirrored your gentle strength, reassured her that she wasn’t foolish, merely swept up in the exhilarating tide of young love. He told her she deserved better than a boy with no future, his words a soft balm to her wounded spirit.

Jeongin’s heart ached with a mixture of pride and sorrow as he heard his son’s comforting tones, the echoes of your nurturing spirit resonating in his voice. After a few moments, he gathered the courage to step into the room. His eyes were tender with understanding as he took in the scene: his daughter’s tear-streaked face, her hands buried in her lap. Her cries grew louder as she saw him, her embarrassment palpable as she shielded her face with her hands.

Jeongin knelt before her, his expression a blend of love and compassion. Gently, he reached for her hands, drawing them away from her face to hold them in his own. His touch was a lifeline, a silent promise of unwavering support.

“You told me so, I know,” she choked out, her voice a trembling whisper.

“I would never say that, my love,” Jeongin murmured, his voice rich with tenderness. He wrapped her in his arms, pulling her close against his chest. His gaze met his son’s, a shared understanding passing between them.

“I know it hurts,” Jeongin whispered into her hair, his voice a soothing melody against her ear, “but this isn’t the end.” His embrace was a warm cocoon, a sanctuary of love amidst the storm of her emotions. The night unfolded in a delicate tapestry of comfort and hope, a testament to the enduring love that bound them together, even in the quiet absence of your guiding presence.

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Permanent taglist: @agi-ppangx @sunnyrisee @jisunglyricist

꒰ 🏷️ ꒱ ミ Post taglist: @bowsnbang @nothinginterestingtoshowhere

🍉 FROM THE RIVER TO THE SEA, PALESTINE WILL BE FREE! DAILY CLICKS! STAYBLR FUNDRAISER!

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

Dirndl, Lederhosen, and Family Fun

word count: 1.7k

Pairing: Toto Wolff x Wife!reader, ft. Jack

Summery: Y/n reflects on her return to Stuttgart, where she finds comfort in her childhood home while her son Jack enjoys reconnecting with his German heritage, the family prepares for a special outing to the Cannstatter Wasen, with Jack eager to embrace the traditions in his new lederhosen.

______________________________________________________________

You had always loved Stuttgart. The cobblestone streets, the picturesque vineyards that rolled over the hills just beyond the city, and the familiar hum of life in the town where you grew up. There was something about being home that brought a sense of comfort, like stepping into a warm embrace.

It had been years since you lived here full-time, though. Life had taken you far away, to bustling Formula 1 circuits, endless hotel stays, and places you never imagined visiting. But now, staying with your parents for a few weeks, it was like the world had slowed down again—if only for a little while. Jack, your son, was loving every minute of it.

Your parents’ home was just outside the city, with a garden that stretched back into a small orchard. Jack ran around with pure joy, chasing after butterflies, his laughter echoing through the trees. You watched him from the terrace, a cup of tea in hand, feeling a quiet happiness bloom in your chest.

“Mama, Papa, schau mal!” (Mom, Dad, look!) Jack called out, holding up a small apple he’d found. His little hands were already smudged with dirt, his face glowing with excitement.

Your mother, who was standing beside you, smiled warmly. “Er ist genauso abenteuerlustig wie du früher.” (He’s just as adventurous as you were.) Her voice was filled with affection as she watched her grandson.

“Vielleicht sogar noch mehr,” (Maybe even more) you replied, laughing softly. Jack certainly had a boundless energy that seemed to come from both sides of his heritage.

It was nice, though, to see him so connected to your roots. While his life was often spent in the fast-paced world of F1, with planes and fancy hotels, there was something so simple and pure about him playing in the garden where you had once done the same. You imagined that this place, with its traditions and calm, would always be part of who he was.

Toto, sitting beside you, looked up from his phone and chuckled. “Er ist wie ein kleiner Wirbelwind,” (He’s like a little whirlwind), he said, shaking his head as Jack started running toward the swing set your parents had put up for him.

“He loves being here,” you murmured, leaning your head on Toto’s shoulder. “It’s his German side coming out.”

Toto smiled at that, slipping his arm around you. “Und die amerikanische Seite?” (And his American side?)

“Also, that’s the side that tells him to never give up,” you said teasingly. “And to talk back sometimes.”

Both of you laughed as Jack shouted, “Ich kann höher schwingen als du, Papa!” (I can swing higher than you, Papa!) from across the garden.

Your father appeared on the terrace with a tray of drinks, setting them down with a grin. “He’s a proper little Stuttgarter now”, he joked, glancing at Jack with pride. You knew your dad was thrilled to have his grandson around, especially because Jack reminded him so much of you at that age.

“And when we go to the Wasen, he’ll be even more Stuttgarter,” you added with a smile, already picturing Jack in his little lederhosen.

Your parents beamed at the thought. They loved the tradition of the Cannstatter Volksfest, and they were excited to share it with their grandson for the first time. It would be a perfect blend of the old and the new—just like your family.

As the sun began to dip lower in the sky, casting a golden glow over the orchard, you sighed in contentment. This was the life you wanted for Jack: a mixture of adventure and stability, of his German heritage and his American roots, of excitement and the warmth of home.

He might grow up to live in different cities and experience the rush of international life, just as you and Toto had, but Stuttgart would always be here for him. And that, you knew, was something to treasure.

The atmosphere was electric at the Cannstatter Wasen in Cannstatt, the smell of roasted almonds and sausages filling the air, the laughter of children and the hum of conversation mixing with the lively music that spilled from the Zelt (tent) entrances. You had always loved this time of year—the tradition, the joy, the sense of community—and now, you got to share it with your own little family.

As you walked hand in hand with Toto, your son Jack skipping happily between you, you couldn’t help but glance down at the beautiful dirndl you had bought for the occasion. The deep emerald green and embroidered flowers caught the light just right, and Toto had made a point of telling you how stunning you looked before you left. He, too, looked quite handsome in his lederhosen, and little Jack—well, Jack was practically stealing the show in his own mini-version of his dad’s outfit.

The Mercedes team had reserved a table for you in one of the larger tents, and as you made your way through the crowd, you greeted familiar faces, many of them from your years working in Stuttgart. You and Toto exchanged pleasantries with the guests, some speaking in German and others in English, but it all felt like one big celebration. It wasn’t often that the fast-paced world of Formula 1 paused long enough for moments like this.

“Schaut euch die beiden an! Wie süß ist der kleine Jack in seiner Lederhose!” (Look at the two of them! How cute is little Jack in his lederhosen!) one of your old colleagues from Mercedes exclaimed, bending down to give Jack a high-five. Jack, always a little shy at first, smiled and pressed closer to Toto’s leg, his hand still clutching yours.

“Er liebt es! Ich glaube, er fühlt sich wie ein kleiner Mann heute.” (He loves it! I think he feels like a little man today), you replied with a laugh, tousling Jack’s hair. Toto grinned down at him proudly.

“Ja, das tut er,” (Yes, he does), Toto added, ruffling Jack's hair as well. His Austrian accent always made his German sound even warmer, and you couldn’t help but smile at the way he beamed at your son.

Once inside the Zelt, the festive energy hit its peak. The wooden tables were packed with people enjoying steins of beer and plates of traditional food, while the band played lively tunes on stage. Your table had a great view of the action, and soon enough, you were seated with members of the Mercedes team, some of whom you hadn’t seen in ages.

The conversations flowed easily, switching between German and English as needed. One of the newer engineers leaned over, beaming. “This is your first time bringing Jack to the Wasen, right?”

You nodded, smiling as Jack’s eyes widened at the sight of the giant pretzels being carried past. “Yes, it’s his first time—though I’m not sure if he’s more excited about the music or the food,” you joked.

Toto chuckled, leaning in to whisper, “Wahrscheinlich beides.” (Probably both.)

The afternoon passed in a blur of fun, food, and laughter. You shared plates of bratwurst, potato salad, and fluffy kaiserschmarrn, and Jack's delighted giggles filled the air when one of the waitresses brought over a child-sized pretzel just for him. Toto sat back, relaxed, one arm around you and the other resting on the table, his eyes shining with contentment. It wasn’t every day you saw him so carefree.

After a while, Jack began squirming with excitement, his eyes darting toward the booths outside the Zelt. “Mama, Papa, können wir zu den Spielen gehen?” (Mama, Papa, can we go to the games?)

You exchanged a glance with Toto, who smiled and gave a slight nod. “Natürlich, mein Schatz,” (Of course, my darling) he said, standing up and helping Jack down from the bench.

The three of you made your way through the bustling fairground until Toto spotted a Schießbude (shooting booth), his face lighting up with mischief. “Ich muss etwas für euch gewinnen.” (I have to win something for you both.)

You laughed, already knowing how competitive he could get, even when it came to something as simple as a shooting game.

Toto gave you a playful look, stepping up to the booth and picking up the air rifle. “Schatz, ich gewinne immer,” (Darling, I always win) he said with a wink.

Jack stood beside you, watching in awe as his father took aim. The first shot hit the target perfectly, and Jack’s eyes widened. “Wow, Papa!”

Toto glanced back at him with a grin. “Noch zwei, dann gehört das Kuscheltier dir.” (Two more, and the stuffed animal is yours.)

And sure enough, Toto’s aim was true. The booth attendant handed him a large, fluffy bear, which he immediately gave to Jack, who hugged it tightly, his little face beaming with pride.

“Siehst du, ich hab’s dir gesagt,” (See, I told you) Toto said, turning to you with a satisfied smile.

You rolled your eyes with a grin. “Okay, okay. Du bist der Beste.” (You’re the best.)

But before you could say more, Toto handed the rifle to you. “Jetzt bist du dran, mal sehen, ob du besser bist.” (Now it's your turn, let's see if you’re better.)

You shook your head, laughing. “Na gut, aber erwarte nicht zu viel.” (Alright, but don’t expect too much.)

As you took aim, you could feel Toto standing close behind you, offering little tips in your ear. “Ein bisschen nach rechts... Perfekt, schießen.” (A little to the right... Perfect, shoot.)

Your shot hit the target, albeit not as cleanly as his, but the joy of it wasn’t about winning—it was in the fun you shared together.

Later that evening, as the lights twinkled across the fairground and Jack, now tired and snug in Toto’s arms, began to nod off, you couldn’t help but feel grateful for moments like this. The Wasen was more than just a festival. It was a reminder of home, of tradition, and of the little things that made your family feel so full of life and love.

Toto kissed the top of your head as you walked back toward the car. “Ich liebe solche Tage,” (I love days like these) he murmured, his voice soft.

You leaned into him, smiling. “Ich auch.” (Me too.)

[squidsquidsquidsquidsquidgame]

Seowan as a dad?

Seo-Wan as an Appa

Summary: Kim Seo-wan as a dad!

Warnings: none

The birth of Hyun-Wo was a turning point in Kim Seo-Wan’s life. As much as he’d loved the idea of being a father, nothing could have fully prepared him for the reality of it.

The first time he held his son in his arms, Seo-Won’s heart had burst with a mixture of joy, fear, and an overwhelming sense of responsibility. The hospital room had been quiet, except for Hyun-Wo's soft whimpers and the sound of Seo-Wan’s shaky breaths.

His hands were trembling slightly as he cradled the tiny bundle, his son so small and fragile. “I’m… I’m going to protect you,” he murmured softly, blinking back tears. It felt surreal, but at the same time, so incredibly right.

---

The first few months were a blur of sleepless nights, bottles of formula, and endless diaper changes. Seo-Wan had always been someone who could get lost in his thoughts, but now, his focus was entirely on Hyun-Wo.

Every cry or whimper sent him rushing to his son’s side. He was cautious, always questioning if he was doing the right thing. He’d research how to care for a newborn at 3 AM, his phone’s glow the only light in the otherwise dark room.

“You’re okay, little one,” he whispered more than once as he held his son close, rocking him gently when the world seemed too loud and overwhelming for both of them.

There were times when Seo-Wan felt the weight of his mental health bearing down on him. The anxiety that had been a constant part of his life felt even more magnified when it came to his son. What if he wasn’t enough? What if his past struggles affected how he parented? He often turned to his partner, their shared moments of reassurance grounding him when his worries threatened to consume him.

But through it all, there was Hyun-Wo’s tiny hand curling around his finger, his soft giggles when Seo-Wan would sing him lullabies, and the moments when, just for a brief instant, everything felt like it was exactly as it should be.

---

As Hyun-Wo grew, so did Seo-Wan. The little milestones were enough to fill his heart with pride—Hyun-Wo’s first smile, his first word, the first time he tried to crawl across the floor. Seo-Wan found himself laughing at the small, silly things—like how his son would try to eat his socks or reach for anything within his tiny hands' grasp. They were simple moments, but to Seo-Wan, they were everything. His love for his son was boundless, and he didn’t know how he ever lived without him.

“Don’t grow up too fast,” he would tell Hyun-Wo, his voice soft and tender. “I want to keep you little forever.”

But it was clear that time wouldn’t stop. Hyun-Wo grew more curious every day, trying to explore the world around him with wide eyes and outstretched hands. Seo-Wan would be right there with him, always watching, always ready to catch him if he stumbled.

As the months passed, Seo-Wan found that parenthood brought out a new sense of strength in him. It wasn’t always easy, and there were tough days when his own battles felt overwhelming, but there was something about Hyun-Wo’s innocent joy that made everything worth it.

His son’s first steps were monumental. Seo-Won had been on the couch, his gaze following his son as he shakily took those first, wobbly steps toward him.

“You’re doing it!” Seo-Wan exclaimed, his heart bursting with pride as Hyun-Wo stumbled and then stood up again, determined. Hyun-Wo’s bright eyes locked onto his father’s. “Ap…pa!” he said, the words slow but deliberate. Seo-Wan’s chest tightened, and before he could stop himself, tears welled up in his eyes.

“I love you, Hyun-Wo,” he whispered hoarsely. “I love you so much.”

---

As the years passed, Seo-Wan became the father he’d always hoped he would be. The little boy who once relied on him for everything was now growing into someone with his own interests, questions, and curiosity about the world.

But Seo-Won would always be there to guide him, to be his protector and safe place, just as he had promised that day in the hospital.

Being a father had made him feel whole, a part of something much bigger than himself. And every day, as he watched his son grow, he couldn’t help but feel incredibly grateful for the little moments of happiness they shared together. From the quiet mornings spent reading together to the loud, chaotic evenings full of laughter, Seo-Won cherished every second.

Through his son, Seo-Won had discovered a love so pure and unconditional that it healed him in ways he didn’t even realize needed healing.

No matter what the future held, he knew he would always do his best to be the father Hyun-Wo deserved.

And as his son grew older, Seo-Won realized he was growing, too. With every laugh, every tear, and every new experience, they were both learning, together.

[dreamdragonkadia]

I can just hear my heart breaking for Hawke Fenris x Hawke! Reader

You could barely feel your own body—every limb aching, your muscles trembling, and magic prickling under your skin like an ember struggling to go out. The room was quiet now, save for the faintest sounds of it's breathing, of your breathing, and of Fenris’s presence somewhere nearby, keeping you in a reality you weren’t sure you could grasp yet.

Her. Not an it. A little girl, your daughter.

The feeling of her in your arms was impossible and yet so real. Tiny, fragile, warm—so different from the battlefield, where this exhaustion often meant steel or blood. You’d thought you understood what it meant to fight, to endure pain, to win—but 18 hours of labor had been its own war, the kind that no sword or spell could make easier. A war you’d won by bringing her here. You’d spent every ounce of control you had keeping your magic at bay, terrified one stray spark could light the house, Fenris, or her ablaze.

You could still feel the damp sweat on your brow, the grime that clung to your skin from those endless hours, but none of that mattered now. Your mind had gone blank when you looked at her—when you really looked at her—and saw her pointed little ears.

Your thumb brushed one of them softly, marveling at its delicacy. Fenris’s ears.However that was possible, you didn’t know. It shouldn’t have been. The universe wasn’t kind enough to allow things like this. And yet… there she was.

You didn’t have a witty retort on your tongue, not like you always did after something difficult had happened. You could see Fenris watching you now—carefully, silently—as if afraid his voice might shatter whatever fragile moment was unfolding. You could almost hear him asking “Is she… alright? Are you alright?”

You weren’t ready to answer.

You weren’t ready to put words to the flood of emotions threatening to overtake you—the awe, the exhaustion, the grief that lingered in the cracks of your happiness.

Because it shouldn’t have been like this.

Bethany would’ve been here first, probably pushing Fenris aside to coo at her niece with that soft and stubborn warmth only Bethany could manage. Carver would’ve hovered awkwardly nearby, arms crossed and face hard, only to lean over and whisper “Don’t worry, little one. I’ll protect you. Always,” when he thought no one was listening. Mother’s joy would have been boundless, her arms open wide to cradle her granddaughter, tears in her eyes as she proclaimed, “The Maker has blessed us with a miracle.”

And Father—Father would’ve spoiled her beyond reason, laughed as he claimed it was his right as a grandfather.

But none of them were here. The silence left behind by their absence was louder than any war cry, any shattering spell, or any death knell. It echoed in your heart. The only Hawkes left in this world were you and this little one.

Your daughter.

Fenris shifted from his place, stepping closer until he was kneeling beside you. You felt his warmth then, close but hesitant. He didn’t know what to do with hands that were so used to holding weapons or fists that had carved so many lines into his path.

“She has your spirit,” he murmured, voice low but utterly certain, as though the observation were fact. She was going to be a handful.

Your gaze lifted to him, the tears you’d been holding back welling up in your eyes. “And your ears,” you whispered, your voice raw, trembling, but full of something deep and fragile.

Fenris’s expression shifted, softening in ways you rarely saw. That was only ever for you. He stared at the tiny bundle in your arms, the wonder there almost eclipsing the guarded man you’d known for so long. Slowly—so slowly you might’ve imagined it—he reached out, his fingertips brushing the edge of her blanket, his hands careful and reverent.

For the first time, he looked unsure of himself. “I don’t know how to…”

“You don’t have to know yet,” you assured him softly, finding your voice again as you looked down at her face. “We’ll figure it out. Together.”

A breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding slipped free as Fenris settled beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours. For once, the silence didn’t feel empty.

Your free hand found his, fingers curling around his scarred knuckles, anchoring you both to the moment, to the miracle that neither of you thought you’d ever deserve.

Your daughter let out the tiniest, softest sound in her sleep—nothing more than a breath—and the world felt still. Whole.

And suddenly, you couldn't help but want to see Varric. To see Isabela or Merrill. To show them all this child that they would no doubt spoil to the end of time in place of your family.

[chronicowboy]

guilty feet have no rhythm | 1k

Eddie doesn't remember the last time he felt like this. Happy, uncomplicated, free. The world is fuzzy, warm where it wraps around him, dips under his feet like it's making way for him. Everything is so easy tonight. And it's not just the alcohol, not the tequila running warm and smooth through his veins.

No, it had been so spectacularly easy before he'd even had a drink. He'd been easy and full of joy the moment Buck had showed up on his doorstep with two freshly dry cleaned suits that they'd destroyed within the first hour of the party. It had felt, for a moment, like the house had taken its first deep breath in weeks when Buck had stepped inside.

They're in the bathroom again. Eddie has lost count of how many times they've ventured to the toilets tonight. All that alcohol, wreaking havoc on bladders and hand-eye coordination and stomachs. This time, Buck's sleeve has been soaked through by tequila, and Eddie hadn't really had an excuse to follow him in here except the thought of peeling himself from Buck's side had sent a wave of wrong through him so powerful he'd thought he was about to throw up the steak dinner they'd sat down for before karaoke.

So, he follows Buck to the bathroom, falling back against the wall when Buck notices him there and smiles brighter than the neon paint on the walls. He watches Buck shove his sodden arm under the hand dryer, and the steady whine of it fills Eddie's brain with a static that leaves him defenceless.

"What does it feel like?" The words slip out the moment the dryer shuts off with a click.

"Warm, wet," Buck answers with a cute little twist to his eyebrows. He tilts his head to the side, looking every bit like the stray puppy on their street Eddie had fallen in love with when he was twelve and his dad had called Animal Control on. "Have you not... used a hand dryer before?"

"No, Buck," Eddie groans, tastes the name on his tongue like a burst of colour. Yellow like a sunflower, or golden like sunlight itself, or pink like a birthmark as familiar to him as breathing. "What does kissing a man feel like?"

"Oh!" Buck grins, bouncing on his feet a little. He almost topples over with the energy that fills him at the question, and Eddie curls his hands into fists to resist the urge to reach out and hold him steady only because he doesn't feel so steady himself all of a sudden. Buck leans back against the wall opposite Eddie, getting a little lost in something Eddie can only imagine. "It's..." He sighs, long and dreamy. Eddie wants to catch it in his hands, press it to his chest, feel whatever certainty Buck is feeling now.

Certainty. The word lodges itself in Eddie's throat. That's it. That's what he's been missing. That's what's been making the world feel so... Uninhabitable recently. Eddie hasn't felt certain about anything since that solid weight had dropped through his chest at the graveyard. And even now he's still not certain what that weight was. But he'd been a hell of a lot more sure about that than he has been about anything with his girlfriend.

"It's... What?" Eddie prompts, suddenly, certainly desperate for the answer.

"Life-changing," Buck breathes, eyes the colour of an endless sky.

"How?"

"I don't know how to explain it." Buck shakes his head. "It's not really all that different except for all the ways it's different."

"Like what?" Eddie feels like a little kid, boundless in their curiosity, about to get an answer to a question they can barely comprehend.

"Like the stubble," Buck begins, eyes dropping to Eddie's jaw. "The tilting your head up instead of down, the hard chest against yours, the big hands on your waist." His voice turns dreamy, breathy. Eddie understands painfully, feels like he's just run a marathon. "But it's not really..."

"It's not really what?" It sounds like a plea in the muffled silence of the bathroom.

"It doesn't feel all that different when your eyes are closed, you know?" Except Eddie doesn't know. He doesn't know anything anymore. "But that empty space that's been inside you your whole life suddenly feels full."

"Oh." Eddie rubs a knuckle down his breastbone like he's trying to wake himself up with a sternal rub.

"You should try it, Eddie," Buck says then.

"What?"

The world disappears out from under his feet.

"You should kiss a man. It's—"

Eddie takes two steps and changes his life.

Eddie kisses Buck, and it's everything Buck had said. The delicious scratch of stubble, the slight upwards tilt of his head, the hard chest against his, the big hands around his waist, the filling up of that empty space. Except it's all that and more. It's Buck's stubble, it's Buck leaning down to breach that tiny gap between them despite the shocked noise that Eddie drinks from his mouth, it's Buck's firm chest under his hands and Buck's heartbeat pounding against his, it's Buck's calloused but endlessly gentle hands burning through his shirt just above his hips, it's the empty space in his chest not just filling up but overflowing with right right right —

Wrong.

The blast of the hand dryer rips them apart, and Eddie stumbles backwards, wild and free and oh-so-complicated. Every moment of his life before that kiss is rewritten into a writhing mass of wrong as everything else becomes entirely clear. For the first time in his life, Eddie is certain. Certain of two things: he never wants to kiss a woman again, he never wants to kiss anyone but Buck again.

"How was that?" Buck whispers, chest heaving despite the fact that it hadn't really been anything more than a brush of lips.

"Life-changing," Eddie croaks, the sound of it lost as Chim comes stumbling into the bathroom with a blast of Careless Whisper.

[writteninlunarlight-years]

Please Don't Prove I'm Right

This is based on the song Please Please Please (Epic Version) - by Morgan Clae. I haven't written in a long time; my mental health has taken a significant toll not too long ago. I have been going to some consistent therapy as well as taking things slowly on my own terms. I thank my support and followers right next to me as I recover. The banners are all from @venomhound. Please reach out to them for some excellent help with the Tumblr blog. They have been a big help to me. @literallurker is their main account. Thank you everyone for bearing with me. You are all amazing. My moons~

TW: AFAB Reader, Hurt, Graphic Details of Harm, Religious Truama's, Yandere Reader for a moment

In the beginning, heaven was a breathtaking expanse of glistening white, where clouds floated like soft pillows in an endless sky. The angels above drifted gracefully among them, their laughter echoing with pure joy, and the air held an ethereal light that felt almost alive. It was a realm of boundless beauty reserved solely for God’s beloved.

But everything changed when Lucifer, once the most cherished of all angels, was cast down. The pristine clouds darkened, their softness replaced by a bitter heaviness that weighed down the heavens. The once-gleaming landscape morphed into a realm of towering structures and watchful exorcists. The loss was palpable, as if the heavens themselves mourned the fall of its brightest star.

When you first encountered Lucifer, you were just a baby angel, a mere child of the heavens. You were newly formed, wide-eyed, and full of wonder, destined to guide the three humans wandering in the paradise of Eden. You felt an unshakeable bond with him—a connection transcending mere friendship. He was your sun, your air, the essence of your existence in this perfect world. 

Lucifer was intoxicatingly brilliant, his spirit igniting something that felt sinful within you. Yet, whispers of his rumored affections for a human stirred around you. It was said that he had fallen for one of them—impossible, you thought. God’s favorite should follow divine order, untouched by earthly desires, especially for a mortal once destined for Adam and soon rejected.

As you flitted anxiously through the heavens, awaiting his return, you could feel the eyes of the other angels upon you, judgment simmering in their stares. Sera, a newly appointed Seraphim, approached her voice a gentle choir against your rummaging thoughts. 

“Y/N, you seem troubled. Is everything all right?” Her youthful features were unmarred by the weight of time, yet you could sense the unspoken warnings in her tone.

“I’m just waiting for Lucifer,” you replied, forcing a smile. “He’s never taken this long before.” 

You could hear the skepticism in her voice before you even looked up. “Y/N, he’s trouble. He doesn’t see you the way he sees that woman. His heart is blind to your devotion, lost to her instead.”

Each word struck like a dagger, stinging your eyes with tears. “No, Sera. He cares for me. He tells me everything about his adventures in Eden. He will come back for me.” Your voice trembled with hope and desperation as if your sadness could summon him.

Just then, like a flash of lightning, Lucifer burst through the gates, the embodiment of energy and life. He swooped down, wrapping you in a joyous embrace, spinning you through the clouds, laughter spilling from his lips like music. You could feel Sera’s disdain radiating from behind, but you didn’t care. In that moment, you were weightless, untouchable...his.

In an instant, he whisked you away to a secluded corner of heaven, where you could gaze down upon Eden. Confusion washed over you as you settled on a fluffy cloud, watching him pace with uncontainable excitement, his wings shimmering behind him. He was always so proud of his beautiful wings.

“Y/N! I’ve discovered how to make Father recognize the humans as equals!” he declared, his eyes alight with excitement.

“Why would you want that?” you asked, a knot tightening in your chest. “We’re different for a reason. We’re not meant to be like them.”

His face fell as he paused, the thrill evaporating. “I need them to be seen as equals so I can bring them to heaven with us! Don’t you remember everything I’ve shared? All the dreams I have?” 

The ache in your heart deepened. You wanted to forget, to lose yourself in his bright hair and vibrant blue eyes, but the thought of Adam, Eve, and Lilith standing beside you twisted like a knife, no, not beside you...beside him. Two perfect couples, it seemed.

“Of course, I remember,” you said, forcing a smile. “Please, continue.” But inside, a storm raged between your heart and mind. 

What if you could just keep him for yourself? What if you shattered his wings, leaving him grounded and broken? What if you descended into the chaos below and extinguished Lilith’s light? What if you bound him to your will, claiming him as your own?

In that moment, you felt the weight of your thoughts, and the realization stung sharper than any blade. He was meant for her, not for you. There is no way when he spoke of you to her, if he did that, she had these thoughts...were you even an angel?

A chill ran down your spine as these dark fantasies engulfed your mind, each thought more treacherous than the last. You gasped, the air thick with dread, realizing you were still with Lucifer, his presence a paradox of comfort and ongoing torment. 

He rushed to you, his fingers brushing your cheek with a heavenly and cruel tenderness. His soothing yet distant voice echoed in your ears as a haunting melody. He was perfection incarnate, and you couldn’t fathom why those mere mortals deserved even a fraction of his devotion. You were willing to sin to keep him all to yourself...

After countless attempts to gain your attention, he realized it was futile. With a gentle sweep, he lifted you into the air, his wings unfurling majestically as he flew you to your resting zone—a serene haven that now felt like a ticking clock counting down to your last moment of peace. 

If only you had known this would be your final day in his embrace, perhaps you would have listened more intently, held him tighter against the wind, and begged him to affirm that your bond was real—that his heart belonged to you, not to that woman on the surface.

But morning shattered the tranquility, a sudden onslaught of light and chaos. Angels gathered, their faces a storm of judgment as Lucifer stood before them, shackled and tormented, bound to that woman from below. 

Tears blurred your vision as the reality of betrayal washed over you. He had chosen her, and in a cruel twist of fate, you were forced to witness your shame laid bare before God and all the Angels you shared home with. 

Then came the searing pain—the molten metal of chains biting into your neck and wrists, dragging you toward the center of the circle of wrath. Confusion clouded your thoughts as you locked eyes with Sera, whose disdainful glance pierced through your confusion like a dagger.

“Y/N, DO YOU KNOW WHY YOU’VE BEEN SUMMONED HERE WITH THESE TWO TRAITORS?” The voice boomed, a thunderous echo that reverberated through your very essence. You looked past Sera to see Him—the man the Archangels called Father, his presence both majestic and terrifying. With a shaky breath, you swallowed your fear and shook your head.

“No, Father, I don’t understand. Why am I being punished?” Each word felt like a desperate plea, even as the burning sensation clawed at your skin, choking you of your right to breathe.

“Father, please! Y/N is innocent! She knew nothing of my plans; she was ill when I confided in her last night!” Lucifer’s voice, once a safe haven for your soul, now felt like salt in an open wound. The sincerity in his plea twisted your heart, revealing the depths of betrayal you had yet to fully grasp.

“Silence, Lucifer, for God speaks! The matter at hand isn’t who has wronged whom but that this angel knew of your treachery and chose to remain silent!” Your world crumbled hearing Sera’s voice. You were to fall alongside those who had deceived you, tethered to the very man who had strung you along with promises and soft whispers late in the night, now choosing to partake in those nights with Lilith instead.

“FOR YOUR PUNISHMENT, Y/N, YOU WILL BE THE JUDGE OF THE SPACE BETWEEN LIFE AND DEATH. YOU WILL DETERMINE THE FATE OF SOULS, FOR YOU HAVE CHOSEN TO WALK AMONG BOTH SIDES! YOU WILL FACE ETERNAL LONELINESS AND ISOLATION FOR YOUR TRANGRESSIONS UPON HEAVEN AND EDEN!” Fear engulfed you, a suffocating darkness that threatened to consume all hope. You were to be cast into a purgatory of your own making, alone and forsaken.

“Release her shackles!” As Sera’s voice cut through the air like a blade, you felt the chains around you dissolve, yet the burn marks remained, a permanent reminder of your choices. You were thrust away from Lucifer, your heart pounding against the confines of your chest, and when your eyes finally met his, you saw the flicker of concern. It ignited a deep-seated rage within you.

Pain shot through your back like lightning as your wings began to transform from gleaming white to a deep, obsidian black. Your halo, once a radiant gold, dulled to bronze, and your skin took on a gray hue. The purity of your existence was now tainted by your one-sided love for Lucifer.

“FATHER, NO! SPARE HER!” Lucifer’s desperate cries echoed through the heavens, but they fell on deaf ears. You stood there, hollowed out, your heart aching not for the punishment before you but for the betrayal that had led you here.

As the Archangel Michael took his stance next to Lucifer, he raised his sword, poised to sever Lucifer's wings. You were forced to witness the agony of his fall. His screams of anguish faded into the abyss as the clouds beneath you crumbled, sending you spiraling into your new reality.

For years, you lingered in purgatory, a silent reaper of the soul’s passage, guiding some to Heaven’s light and casting others into the depths of Hell. With each soul that passed through your hands, your heart grew heavy with bitterness, festering into a resentment that twisted into distaste. You found yourself haunted by thoughts of Lucifer—by the life he now shared with her, the woman who claimed his heart and turned your world upside down.

Then came the day you were summoned to Heaven, tasked with presenting your report on the balance of Winners and Sinners. It was there, amid the looming towers and the changed landscape of your once home, that you first laid eyes on her—Charlie Morningstar, a living echo of Lucifer, with his fiery spirit shimmering in her every gesture.

As you sat in the grand jury meeting, the air thick with tension, you listened to the murmurs of angels discussing Lucifer and Lilith’s child. Your heart ached as you watched Charlie fight for her dreams, her passion reminiscent of his—how he had once battled for his aspirations, now he was seemingly forgotten till Charlie showed up.

Then, as if summoned by fate, Adam snapped his fingers, opening a portal to cast Charlie and her partner back to hell. Just as it threatened to close, a surge of instinct propelled you forward, a desperate need to reach him again, the man you loved, to grasp the fleeting connection you had lost. You rushed toward the portal, your heart racing, your soul crying out to see him missing you.

On the other side, Lucifer stood, his eyes wide with shock and recognition. Amidst his hand, a cold golden band sat, showing where his commitments lie. Time froze as you locked gazes, every unspoken word hanging heavy between you. He extended his hand, a lifeline reaching through the veil, but the portal snapped shut instantly, severing the moment like a blade.

Tears welled in your eyes as despair washed over you, your head drooping low as the chamber emptied around you. Sera approached her presence, a gentle reminder of all those years ago, offering solace amid your sadness.

"It's time to let go, Y/N," she murmured, her voice soft yet firm. You nodded, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily in your chest. With a trembling hand, you reached out to the wall where the portal had been, yearning for the connection that had vanished.

As Sera sighed and stepped away, you whispered, “Please, please, please prove I’m right...Please, please, please don’t bring me to tears for one more night...” 

Years of pent-up emotions, longing, and heartache surged in a wave. A soft black glow began to envelop you. It consumed you, drawing you back into the solitude that Lucifer had unwittingly gifted you—a prison of your own making. Purgatory was your new and forever home.

Instead of proving you right, Lucifer had always been a master of disappointment, a beacon of hope that burned too bright yet always flickered just out of reach. He would continue to choose her, leaving you alone in the shadows, grappling with the remnants of a love that had never truly belonged to you. Or...did it...

Thank you again, everyone, for the support; I will slowly take steps back into the community one foot at a time. I hope you enjoy my pieces and stick around for my growth <3

[andy-15-07]

A Glimpse into Tomorrow

masterlist ! pairing Drew Starkey x reader

Outer Banks Masterlist

Drew Starkey and Y/n sat on the porch of their quaint countryside home, surrounded by the soft glow of the setting sun. A gentle breeze ruffled the leaves of the nearby trees, carrying with it the promise of a cool evening.

Drew leaned back in his chair, a contented smile playing on his lips as he looked at Y/n. She was the epitome of beauty in his eyes, her laughter like music to his ears.

"You know," Drew began, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between them, "I've been thinking a lot about the future lately."

Y/n turned to him, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. "Oh really? What have you been thinking about?"

Drew took a moment to gather his thoughts before speaking. "Well, for starters, I can't imagine spending the rest of my life with anyone else but you. You mean everything to me, Y/n."

A warm flush spread across Y/n's cheeks as she took in Drew's words. "You mean everything to me too, Drew. I can't imagine my life without you in it."

Drew reached out and took Y/n's hand in his own, his touch sending a shiver down her spine. "I've been thinking about... us, you know? About our future together."

Y/n's heart skipped a beat as she looked into Drew's eyes, seeing the love and sincerity shining within them. "What do you mean?" she asked softly.

Drew took a deep breath, his gaze never leaving Y/n's. "I mean... I've been thinking about marriage. About spending the rest of our lives together as husband and wife."

Y/n's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening in surprise. She had dreamed of this moment for so long, but to hear Drew speak the words aloud sent a thrill through her like none other.

"Really?" she whispered, her voice barely audible over the pounding of her heart.

Drew nodded, a smile spreading across his face. "Really. I want nothing more than to make you my wife, Y/n. To stand by your side through thick and thin, for better or for worse."

Tears welled up in Y/n's eyes as she threw her arms around Drew, pulling him close. "Yes, Drew. A thousand times yes."

Drew held her tight, his heart overflowing with love and joy. In that moment, he knew without a doubt that he had found his soulmate, his other half.

As they sat together, lost in each other's embrace, Drew couldn't help but think about the future they would build together. A future filled with love, laughter, and endless possibilities.

But their conversation didn't end there. As the stars began to twinkle overhead, Drew and Y/n talked about more than just marriage. They talked about their hopes and dreams, their fears and insecurities.

They talked about starting a family, about the joy of watching their children grow and flourish. They talked about the adventures they would go on together, the places they would see, the memories they would make.

And as they talked, Drew realized that no matter what the future held, as long as he had Y/n by his side, he would be the happiest man alive.

So they sat together on the porch, beneath the starry sky, dreaming of tomorrow and all the wonders it would bring. And in that moment, they knew that their love was forever, boundless and eternal.

[pininghermit]

The Bard-ling

AN: I'm going to write more of this dynamic. D deserves a bard. Loving the fandom! I would love to get back to all your lovely comments but life is a little busy right now :)

Genre: romance, fluff

Pairing(s): Vampire hunter D x gn Reader

Summary: Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

You strum your lute, somehow managing to keep pace with Blaze—a name you had lovingly bestowed upon D’s stoic, cybernetic horse. Yet, it was not without effort.

The dunpeal had an uncanny way of drawing out the hidden glamour you worked so hard to suppress. How else was a fae supposed to keep up with a creature that galloped like a streak of lightning across the vast, unkind earth?

“The riveting adventures of D…” you mutter, wincing. “No, that won’t do.” With a dramatic sigh, you scratch that one off your mental list. For all your boundless enthusiasm, D’s name simply refused to fit into any heroic ballad worth its strings.

“How about ‘The Pioneer of Justice, D’?” you propose, your voice carrying into the empty air. The silence that follows is so absolute it makes your ears ache. Thankfully, Blaze is kind enough to snort in response, as though sharing your pain.

“Vampire Hunter D?” you try again, squinting meaningfully at the dunpeal himself. But reading D’s expression is a hopeless endeavor. Where mortals were an open book, D was a locked journal whose pages you were forbidden to touch.

Your mind drifts, as it often does, to the journey that brought you here. It was the year 1230 of your beguiling, back in the shimmering court of Yjorn. How valiantly you had made the decision or so you told yourself, to leave the safety of faerie and step into the world of mortals. To witness their plight, to feel their fleeting joys and crushing sorrows, and to, perhaps, offer your kind’s endless empathy to those fragile, short-lived souls.

At least, that was the story you liked to tell.

The truth, however, was far less noble. As the darling 47th in line to the throne of Yjorn, you had been unceremoniously banished. The queen, your mother, had little patience for your "spoils"—the mortal lovers you’d so generously whisked away to faerie.

How unfair it had been! You were merely sparing them from their wretched lives, gifting them a place in your beautiful, eternal world. But, as it turned out, your mother did not share your vision.

And so, the treasured youngest of Yjorn found themselves wandering the mortal realm, now strumming a lute beside a dhampir who had less to say than the stars themselves.

How the mighty had fallen.

Yet all was not lost. Your beloved companion, though D would undoubtedly deny such familiarity, was a joy to travel with on the rare days he wasn’t bound by his oath of silence.

Your dhampir was, admittedly, a delight on most occasions. Watching the world of mortals and immortals alike stumble into smitten dazes at his mere presence was a treasure you held dear.

Truly, wherever D went, hearts followed. Men and women alike seemed to lay their emotions bare, falling at his feet with their hearts in their hands, eyes wide with awe.

The lovelorn, particularly young mortals swept up in the fervor of first love had a habit of complicating his already unromantic quests.

Seventeen-year-olds, intoxicated by their first taste of passion, often became the heroines of his adventures. How many times had you watched these youths mistake his stoic sense of duty for some deeper affection, their fervent hopes clashing with his unwavering silence?

Today, however, was different. Today, D had surprised you. For once, he wasn’t leading you toward an unknown skirmish or a shadowed corner of the world. Instead, the path he followed carried a peculiar familiarity, one that tugged at memories you thought long buried.

The road to the outskirts of Ransylva…

Your lute stilled mid-strum as realization dawned. This wasn’t just another aimless journey. Today, D was leading you back to a chapter of his past. A flame once touched but never kindled.

Today, you were returning to the home of Doris Lang.

The heroine of your infamous ballad, A Noble Bloodlust.

Through fields overrun and a village in plight, He rode into Ransylva beneath crimson light. With silence his answer, with steel in his hand, A protector of souls in a cursed, hollow land.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

A maiden stood waiting, her heart held by dread, Her family in ruin, her brother near dead. She asked for his aid, though his eyes were like stone, And found in his silence a strength all her own.

Oh, follow the shadow, where the moon lights the way, A stranger who lingers, ‘til the darkness must pay. No name to his legend, no tale to confide, The rider in shadow forever will ride.

The song was a marvel, its fame spreading far and wide, unmatched in its ability to immortalize D’s deeds. And for you, the bard of Vampire Hunter D, it had become your crowning glory.

Oh, the chorus! It was irresistible, a siren call to every tavern-goer, who eagerly joined in with booming voices. No crowd could resist singing those words, raising their mugs in tribute to the enigmatic rider.

It was a pity, however, that D himself didn’t share the same enthusiasm. He’d forbidden you to include certain “embellishments” like the Midwich Medusas, for instance.

How could you resist weaving them into your verses when they added such flavor? And yet, the dunpeal had tried, in vain, to hide that particular detail from your prying telepathic curiosity.

Ah, the woes of a bard! Had your mother granted you a touch more power in your exile, such slights to your artistry would never have been made.

But alas, here you were, forced to temper your creativity to suit your stoic companion.

As the road wound closer to Ransylva, you strummed the melody softly, humming under your breath. If Doris Lang remembered him, and oh, how could she forget? The silly mortal would not manage to forget your dunpeal in a thousand lifetimes.

You had no doubt that her story would inspire yet another verse. Perhaps, this time, you’d manage to keep the Medusas in.

D should be enjoying this. He truly should be.

Then why did unease coil in his chest? Why did every laugh, every earnest attempt from Dan to learn the basics of your lute, gnaw at his composure?

Dan was no longer the innocent boy D had once left behind. Time had carved strength into his frame, the gangly limbs of youth replaced by the solid build of a young man. A man who seemed far too comfortable in your company.

And it irked him.

So much so, that D found himself ignoring the familiar sight of Doris lingering nearby, her gaze lovingly flitting toward him. She might have drawn his attention before, but now, his focus was elsewhere.

It was on you. And on Dan’s fingers. Those far-too-close fingers brushing yours as he held your lute with clumsy enthusiasm.

You were his bard. You should be by his side. Next to him.

The sharp twang of a snapping string startled everyone. You froze, your head snapping up to meet D’s gaze, your eyes glinting with the mischievous light of someone who knew. Of course you did. The strain of his power, the invisible pull that broke the string, had betrayed him.

There was a whole other story unfolding, hidden from the eyes of Doris and Dan, shrouded in the veil of magic that bound you to D in ways no mortal could comprehend.

“Alas,” you sighed, turning to Dan with an exaggerated look of disappointment, “it seems our lesson isn’t meant to be.”

Dan flushed, looking sheepish, and fumbled with the lute as you reclaimed it. The smirk curling on your lips was a private dagger aimed at D, who tensed as you approached him.

The lute fell into his lap with a deliberate thud.

“A pity, right, D?” you teased, leaning in slightly, your grin sharpening as you closed the distance. Behind you, Dan shuffled awkwardly, his mind already racing for another excuse to draw your attention back to him.

But D would not allow it.

You didn’t belong with Dan. You were not human. A fae, with all the mischief and danger that entailed, had no place beside a mortal. You were a temptation, a force that could unravel Dan’s fragile humanity.

No. You were a danger, yes. But you were his danger. One that belonged by his side, next to him and Blaze.

Even Blaze, a disposable cyborg horse had become something more because of you. The name you’d given him, the way you spoke to him like he was a creature of flesh and blood, had seeped into D’s consciousness. He’d gone out of his way to care for Blaze, preserving the horse’s functionality against all odds.

Why?

Because it kept you there. Kept you tethered to him.

And as you hovered just close enough to test his already frayed restraint, D accepted the truth. Whatever else you were, you were his. And no mortal boy would change that.

So, when the midnight hour came, and D silently mounted Blaze to set off toward the next nameless town, you followed without hesitation.

The plans of vacationing in Ransylva were long forgotten, drowned beneath the unease that coursed through D like an unseen tide.

No question was carried on the winds, no protest rose from the shadows of the slumbering village you left behind.

All that lingered in the stillness was the victorious laughter of a smug faerie.

[2b4st4r]

Could I request one piece villains (bartolomeo and Kidd included) with a soft kind reader? Like he's a monster and the reader is a literary a flower (gn reader pls) hope it's not much!

SOFT HEARTED

GN!Reader x One Piece villains (+ Kid and Bartolomeo)

(I hope I included everyone you would want)

Warnings: toxic/abusive relationships, violence/cruelty, manipulation, power imbalance, dark themes, cruelty, self-sacrifice, arranged marriage, possible sensitive family dynamics

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

DOFLOMINGOᯓ★

A Kindred Spirit in a Cruel World (3,176 words)

The salt-laced wind whipped strands of hair across your face as you gazed out at the endless expanse of the Grand Line. A gentle smile touched your lips, a familiar expression that rarely left your features. You were a soul of unwavering kindness, a beacon of warmth in a world often cloaked in shadows. For you, true joy came from the simple act of giving – a piece of candied fruit to a child with wide, hopeful eyes, a comforting word to a stranger in distress, or even, if the need arose, a selfless offering of yourself, an organ donated without a second thought to save a life. Your compassion was boundless, your empathy a deep well from which you drew strength and offered solace.

People often wondered how someone like you, so inherently good and giving, found yourself entangled with a man like Donquixote Doflamingo. He was everything you weren't – a force of nature driven by a chilling cruelty, a man who reveled in the suffering of others, who twisted lives for his own amusement. His laughter, a harsh, cackling sound, often sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest pirates, yet to you, it was merely the echo of a different kind of storm. You saw the broken boy beneath the flamboyant exterior, the scarred past that molded him into the monster he had become. And despite the vast chasm between your natures, a strange, undeniable bond had formed, pulling you deeper into his dangerous, unpredictable world. You were the sun to his moon, the calm to his chaos, a tender hand reaching out to touch the untouchable. But how long could such a fragile connection endure in the tumultuous currents of the New World, especially when one heart beat with boundless love and the other pulsed with unyielding darkness?

You were excellent at seeing. Not just with your eyes, but with your entire being. You saw the flicker of doubt behind a braggart's grin, the tremor in a bully's hand, the silent plea in a hardened criminal's eyes. This wasn't a skill you honed; it was an inherent part of you, a profound capacity for empathy that allowed you to connect with the raw, often hidden, core of another being. And it was this very quality, your boundless compassion, that had first snagged Doflamingo's attention, drawing him in like a moth to a dangerously bright flame.

He remembered the first time he truly saw it, or rather, felt it. It was on some forgotten island, a backwater where his crew had just finished asserting their dominance. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and fear, the usual aftermath of their arrival. Doflamingo was striding through the chaos, a predatory smirk plastered on his face, when he stopped. Not because he wanted to, but because you had. You were kneeling by a collapsed stall, not tending to a fallen comrade or assessing damage, but gently stroking the ruffled feathers of a terrified pigeon, murmuring soft, comforting words. A silly, insignificant bird, in the grand scheme of his brutal world, yet you treated it with a tenderness that defied the very atmosphere he cultivated. He watched, utterly perplexed, as you then offered a small, broken piece of bread to the creature, your eyes shining with a pure, unadulterated kindness that seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed armor of indifference.

It was infuriating. It was fascinating. It was, he grudgingly admitted to himself, captivating. Your inherent goodness was a stark contrast to the ugliness he embodied, and for a time, that contrast intrigued him. He found himself drawn to it, to the way your empathy softened the sharp edges of his world, to the bizarre comfort of your compassion, even when he pretended to scorn it. He’d test it, push against it, only to find it unyielding, unwavering. And a strange, possessive feeling began to fester within him – a desire to keep that purity close, to have it reflect back at him, a twisted mirror to his own depravity.

But now, that same boundless empathy, that unending compassion, was a festering wound, a constant, irritating reminder of everything he wasn’t and everything he refused to be. Your ability to see past the facade, to offer understanding where he craved fear, to forgive where he delighted in vengeance, had curdled into a bitter resentment. It was a weakness he couldn't tolerate, a light that burned too brightly in his shadowed existence, threatening to expose the very depths of his cruelty. It was what he loved and loathed, the very essence of you that both bound him and drove him to the brink of fury.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, the memory vivid and biting. It was Baby 5. She’d been careless, as usual, taking a hit during a skirmish that was meant for someone else, her body crumpling in a most un-Doflamingo-like display of vulnerability. The sight of her, pale and bleeding on the grimy deck of their ship, usually elicited nothing more than a disgusted sneer from him. A weakness. A liability.

But then you were there.

You moved with a quiet urgency he found both perplexing and infuriating. Your hands, usually so gentle, were surprisingly steady as you knelt beside Baby 5, ignoring the blood that stained your clothes. Your touch wasn't clinical or detached; it was infused with that damned, unwavering compassion that burned him. You didn't just tend to the wound; you murmured soft reassurances, your voice a soothing balm against the harsh reality of their world. He watched, transfixed, as you pushed strands of hair from Baby 5's tear-streaked face, your eyes filled with an unbearable, soft sorrow for her pain.

He saw the way Baby 5, usually so desperate for validation, melted into your touch, her rigid posture softening, her sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. You treated her not as a tool, or a subordinate, or a nuisance, but as a person, a fragile being in need of comfort. It was a scene that twisted something cold and hard in his gut. A part of him, the part he brutally suppressed, wanted to reach out, to understand that profound connection you effortlessly forged. But another, larger part, the one that governed his entire existence, raged.

Weakness. That’s all he saw. Your empathy was a gaping hole, a vulnerability he couldn't comprehend, let alone tolerate. It was a stark reminder of the sentimentality he'd long ago excised from his own being, a betrayal of everything he stood for. And in that moment, watching you pour your boundless kindness into someone he considered expendable, the first tendrils of that bitter, simmering hatred began to wrap around his twisted heart. It was a contradiction, a paradox he couldn't reconcile: the very thing that drew him to you, the very thing he secretly craved, was also the most potent source of his disdain.

God, you were the source of his anger, the very wellspring from which his fury flowed. Your existence was a constant, irritating contradiction to his own. It wasn't just your kindness in general, but your courage to openly display empathy and compassion right there, in front of him, that truly set his teeth on edge. It was a defiance, a silent rebellion against the cruel world he'd so painstakingly built around himself. He’d watch you, offering a gentle hand to a whimpering child, speaking softly to a terrified subordinate, or even, once, just gazing with a profound, aching sorrow at the destruction he’d wrought, and a cold, sharp rage would coil in his gut.

He hated you for it. Hated the way your inherent goodness shone, unbidden and untamed, like a defiant sunbeam piercing through his carefully constructed darkness. He hated that you saw beyond the monster, that you refused to cower, that your compassion was so absolute it made his own barren existence feel even colder. It was a mirror reflecting his own twisted soul, showing him everything he'd lost, everything he'd sacrificed, everything he’d brutally suppressed to become the man he was.

Yet, it was the same damned thing that had drawn him to you in the first place. Like a moth to a flame, he'd been inexplicably pulled into your orbit. Your unwavering kindness, your fearless empathy – it was an anomaly he couldn't comprehend, a challenge he couldn't resist. He’d wanted to possess it, perhaps even to corrupt it, to see if he could break that unbreakable spirit. He’d wanted to understand it, to tear apart the enigma of your compassion, to find its weakness, its breaking point. But you never broke. You simply continued to be you, radiating that infuriating, mesmerizing warmth, a constant thorn in his side and a strange, undeniable anchor in his chaotic world. It was a maddening paradox: the thing he despised most about you was also the very thing that had, against all reason, brought him to his knees.

The air in the opulent, yet often chilling, halls of Doflamingo's palace crackled with an unspoken tension. You had been tending to one of his crew, a low-ranking grunt who'd caught a nasty fever, and your quiet ministrations had, as always, drawn Doflamingo's gaze. He watched from the shadows, a familiar knot of conflicting emotions tightening in his chest. Your effortless kindness, your pure, unadulterated compassion – it was a constant affront to his very being, a soft hand gently pressing against the jagged edges of his soul.

When you finally straightened up, he was there, blocking your path. His usual predatory smirk was replaced by something colder, more volatile. "Fufufu... still playing the innocent healer, are we?" His voice was a low growl, laced with a familiar mockery.

You met his gaze, your own eyes unwavering. "Someone needed help, Doffy."

"Help?" he scoffed, taking a step closer, his tall frame looming over yours. "Such a pathetic sentiment. Don't you see, little dove? This world doesn't reward kindness. It devours it. And you... you practically bleed it." His hand, usually so quick to unleash devastating strings, reached out, not to strike, but to brush a lock of hair from your face. The touch was feather-light, yet it felt charged with an unbearable weight. "It infuriates me."

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken truths. You knew what he meant. You always did. Your empathy, the very core of your being, was a constant challenge to his cruel philosophy.

"It infuriates me," he repeated, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "how you can look at the ugliness of this world, at me, and still find... something. How you can offer that soft hand, that gentle gaze, when all I've ever known is taking and destroying." His eyes, usually hidden behind his sunglasses, were now piercing, raw, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something akin to vulnerability, a deep-seated confusion that warred with his inherent cruelty. "I hate it."

The words were harsh, blunt, an honest confession of his bitter resentment. And yet, in that moment, the raw honesty of it was almost disarming. You didn't flinch. You didn't argue. You simply stood there, your compassion a silent, unyielding force against his venom.

Then, just as the anger seemed to reach its peak, a different kind of storm brewed in his eyes. His gaze dropped from yours to your lips, a sudden, almost desperate hunger replacing the fury. He leaned in, slowly, deliberately, his breath ghosting across your face.

"I hate you for it," he rasped, his voice rough with an emotion you couldn't quite name, "but I can't... I can't stay away."

And then, before you could even process the words, his lips were on yours. It wasn't gentle. It was possessive, almost violent in its intensity, a desperate claim. It was the kiss of a man consumed by a maddening contradiction, a torrent of anger and a desperate, undeniable yearning, all tangled up in the paradox of his twisted heart and your unwavering, infuriating kindness. In that kiss, the love and the hatred, the fascination and the revulsion, all collided, binding you to him in a dangerous, undeniable embrace.

The kiss had been a jarring shift, a violent tenderness that left you both reeling. Afterwards, Doflamingo had pulled away, his face a mask of conflict, and stalked off without another word, leaving you alone in the silent, echoing hall. This was the pattern of your relationship with him – intense bursts of raw emotion, followed by a tense, often suffocating silence.

You were his, in his own twisted sense of the word. He introduced you as such, a subtle possessiveness in his tone that brooked no argument. You were a permanent fixture in his life, a strange, soft anomaly in the Donquixote Family’s brutal hierarchy. The crew, hardened by years of Doflamingo's rule, regarded you with a mixture of confusion and cautious respect. They’d witnessed his volatile rages, his chilling indifference, yet you were the one person who could, at times, evoke something else from him – a flicker of something akin to worry, a strange, almost gentle touch, or even a fleeting, unguarded expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

For your part, you navigated his volatile nature with a blend of unwavering patience and quiet defiance. You wouldn't change who you were for him, and he, in turn, seemed to begrudgingly accept that. He’d yell, he’d rage, he’d mock your bleeding-heart tendencies, but you would simply meet his tirades with a calm gaze, a soft rebuttal, or even, occasionally, a pointed silence that infuriated him more than any argument. He’d test your compassion, presenting you with situations designed to break your spirit, to force you to acknowledge the "reality" of his world. He’d make you witness acts of cruelty, hoping to see the idealism shatter in your eyes. But it never did. Instead, you'd find small, subversive ways to mitigate the damage, a whispered word of comfort, a hidden act of kindness, an almost imperceptible gesture of solace.

This constant push and pull was the core of your existence together. He thrived on power, on control, on instilling fear. You, on the other hand, sought to soothe, to understand, to alleviate suffering. It was a clash of fundamental forces, a storm and a calm, perpetually locked in a dangerous dance.

There were moments, rare and fleeting, when the "love" part of their relationship, however twisted, would surface. He would watch you as you slept, a strange, almost tender expression softening his usually sharp features. He'd pull you closer during a storm, the rough expanse of his arm a surprising comfort. He'd bring you rare trinkets, not as gifts of affection, but as tokens of possession, yet the act itself held a bizarre, almost endearing sincerity. And you, in turn, found yourself drawn to the wounded boy beneath the tyrannical facade, to the flicker of humanity he so desperately tried to extinguish. You loved him, not for what he was, but for what you believed he could be, for the glimpse of a tortured soul you occasionally saw in his eyes.

But then, just as quickly, the mask would snap back into place. The cruelty would resurface, the mocking laughter would echo, and the cold, hard reality of who Doflamingo truly was would assert itself. And in those moments, the hatred he held for your inherent goodness would flare anew, a constant reminder of the chasm between you. You were his greatest weakness and his most coveted possession, a constant source of both agonizing frustration and undeniable fascination. It was a love built on paradox, sustained by conflict, and perpetually teetering on the brink of beautiful destruction.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of violent orange and bruised purple, a fitting backdrop for the paradoxical life you shared with Doflamingo. Years had passed, marked by countless clashes of will, by his bouts of cruel amusement and your unwavering, stubborn kindness. Their relationship wasn't a fairytale, nor was it a conventional romance. It was a testament to the fact that sometimes, in the most unlikely of pairings, two vastly different individuals could, against all odds, find a way to make things work.

It wasn't that the toxicity vanished; it simply became a part of the air you breathed, a constant, low hum beneath the surface of your shared existence. Doflamingo still reveled in chaos, still inflicted pain, and still, at times, openly disdained your empathy. You, in turn, never stopped offering comfort, never stopped seeing the lost boy beneath the Celestial Dragon's veneer. But something had shifted, solidified into a bizarre, unspoken agreement.

He had learned, in his own twisted way, to tolerate your goodness. More than that, he had come to rely on it, though he would sooner tear out his own throat than admit it. Your presence was a grounding force, a silent barometer that measured his own volatile temper. When his fury threatened to consume everything, your calm presence, your steady gaze, was often the only thing that could anchor him, if only for a fleeting moment. He might scoff at your compassion, but he knew, deep down, that you were the only one who could truly see him, the only one who didn't fear him unconditionally, and perhaps, the only one who didn't want anything from him other than his flawed self.

And you? You had come to understand that Doflamingo's love was not a soft, gentle thing, but a fierce, possessive grip. It was in the way his hand would linger on your arm for a fraction too long, in the way he'd dismiss a threat against you with a chilling finality, or the almost imperceptible softening of his voice when you were truly distressed. You accepted that his world was one of shadows and blood, and you chose to illuminate your own small corner of it, a quiet defiance that he, surprisingly, came to respect. You weren't changing him, not fundamentally, but you were undeniably influencing him, softening the edges of his brutal regime in ways no one else ever could.

Their life together was a constant tightrope walk, a delicate balance between destruction and a strange, profound connection. There were no grand declarations of love, no idyllic moments under starry skies. Instead, it was in the shared silences, in the way he'd instinctively reach for your hand during a tense standoff, in the fierce protectiveness he unconsciously displayed. You were the quiet anchor to his storm, the gentle touch to his hardened cruelty, and in that complex interplay, you found your own unconventional version of forever.

The world might call your relationship toxic, and perhaps it was. But in the volatile, unforgiving expanse of the Grand Line, you and Doflamingo had forged a bond that, against all logic, endured. It was a love born of contradiction, sustained by unwavering acceptance, and ultimately, a testament to the fact that even the most disparate souls could find a way to fit, imperfectly but inextricably, together.

CROCODILE ❀.ೃ࿔*

Where kindness meet cruelty (2,431)

You always saw the good in people, even when no one else did. Your heart was an open book, filled with empathy and a boundless capacity for kindness. You were the one who'd offer a comforting embrace to a weeping stranger, whispering words of encouragement until their tears subsided. Sacrificing your own well-being for another's happiness was simply second nature to you, a quiet act of devotion that defined who you were. In a world often steeped in cynicism, you were a beacon of unwavering compassion, a gentle soul whose presence brought warmth to even the coldest corners.

And then there was Crocodile. Your lover, and the jarring counterpoint to your own gentle nature. Where you offered solace, he dispensed harsh truths. Where you sought understanding, he wielded anger like a weapon. He was the shifting sands of a desert storm, unpredictable and unforgiving, a stark contrast to your own steady, calming presence. You, the compassionate secretary of the Cross Guild, found yourself drawn to the very man who embodied everything you weren't. It was a paradox, a love story etched in opposing shades, and yet, it was undeniably yours.

The docks of Nanohana were a chaotic symphony of shouts, creaking wood, and the salty tang of the sea. A young street urchin, no older than ten, stumbled, sending a cascade of oranges tumbling from their overloaded basket. The fruit rolled across the cobblestones, some squashed underfoot by hurried passersby. The child's lip trembled, tears welling in their eyes, a whimper escaping their throat.

You, ever the first to react, were already moving. Your steps were swift and light as you knelt beside the distraught child. "Oh, you poor thing," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm amidst the din. You began to gather the remaining oranges, carefully brushing off the dirt before placing them back in the basket. "It's alright, we'll get these picked up. Don't you worry." You even pulled a small, pristine handkerchief from your pocket, gently dabbing at the child's tear-streaked face. You'd likely offer to buy them a new batch of oranges, or at the very least, share some of your own rations. You wouldn't just fix the problem; you'd mend the child's spirit.

Meanwhile, Crocodile would observe the scene from a short distance, a scowl deepening on his scarred face. His eyes, sharp and calculating, would assess the situation not with pity, but with a cold, almost detached analysis. He wouldn't lift a finger to help. Instead, he'd bark, "Get up, you sniveling brat! Crying won't put those oranges back in the basket. Learn to hold onto your belongings, or you'll starve." He might even kick a stray orange further away, not out of maliciousness, but as a twisted form of tough love, a brutal lesson in self-reliance. For him, the child's misfortune wasn't an opportunity for kindness, but a chance for a harsh, unforgettable lesson about the unforgiving nature of the world. He'd tell you later that coddling only bred weakness, that true strength came from enduring hardship alone.

The docks incident was a stark, undeniable fissure in their shared reality. It was a clear line drawn in the sand, illustrating precisely where your unwavering empathy diverged from Crocodile's unyielding pragmatism. You'd spent the rest of that afternoon ensuring the child was truly alright, even managing to convince a local vendor to give them a few extra oranges, while Crocodile watched, his arms crossed, a silent, disapproving observer.

Yet, despite these glaring differences, you made it work. It wasn't always easy, and there were countless silent battles fought in the space between your intertwined fingers. But moments of unexpected tenderness, like scattered desert blooms, punctuated their harsh landscape.

You remember one particularly rough night in Alabasta, the wind howling like a banshee through the desert, whipping sand against their temporary shelter. You were shivering, despite the worn blanket wrapped tightly around you. Crocodile, ever alert, seemed to sense your discomfort without a word passing between them. He didn't offer a platitude, or even a direct question. Instead, he simply shifted closer, his large frame radiating a surprising amount of warmth. He draped his own heavy cloak over your shoulders, its rough fabric a stark contrast to the softness of his subtle gesture. He never acknowledged it, never mentioned it the next day, but the quiet act spoke volumes. It was in these small, unspoken gestures that his version of affection manifested—a protective instinct, a silent acknowledgment of your presence and comfort, even if it was buried beneath layers of gruffness.

Another time, after a particularly grueling Cross Guild meeting, you found yourself overwhelmed by the endless paperwork and the constant tension that simmered between the members. You were slumped over your desk, a headache throbbing behind your eyes. Crocodile entered, a cloud of cigar smoke preceding him. He usually had a biting comment or a new demand. But that day, he simply pulled up a chair opposite you. He didn't speak. He just sat there, meticulously cleaning his hook, the rhythmic scrape of metal against leather the only sound in the room. You didn't realize how much you needed that quiet, undemanding presence until he was there. It wasn't comfort in the traditional sense, but it was his comfort—a shared silence that somehow eased the pressure in your head and the weight on your shoulders. It was in these moments that you truly understood how deeply intertwined your lives had become, a testament to a bond forged not in similarity, but in the acceptance of profound differences.

The quiet moments, the ones where the world's chaos faded into the background, became the bedrock of your relationship. You learned to read the subtle shifts in Crocodile's demeanor, the slight tightening around his eyes that signaled a flicker of concern, or the rare, almost imperceptible softening of his jaw when he genuinely approved of something you'd done. And he, in his own gruff way, came to rely on your presence, on the gentle order you brought to the tumultuous operations of the Cross Guild, and perhaps, to his own turbulent mind.

You often found yourself sifting through stacks of bounty posters in his office, organizing the chaos of wanted criminals and their ever-increasing prices. He'd be hunched over his own desk, a plume of cigar smoke curling around his head, ostensibly engrossed in a map or a strategy document. But you knew he was aware of your every movement, the soft rustle of paper, the quiet hum you sometimes made when you were deeply focused. He’d never admit it, but your steady, calming presence was a quiet anchor in his storm-tossed life.

One evening, a fierce storm raged outside, rattling the windows of their temporary headquarters. Rain lashed down in sheets, and the wind howled like a hungry beast. The power flickered, plunging the room into momentary darkness before sputtering back to life. You jumped, startled, a small gasp escaping your lips. Crocodile, who had been observing the storm with an almost casual indifference, turned his head. He didn't say anything, but his gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than usual. Then, almost imperceptibly, he reached out and flicked a switch on a small, oil-burning lantern he kept on his desk, its warm, steady glow pushing back against the encroaching shadows. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes. It was his way of saying, "I'm here. You're safe."

You smiled then, a soft, genuine smile that reached your eyes. He didn't return it, of course, but you saw the briefest flicker in his own, a hint of something unreadable, perhaps even content. In that shared, silent moment, amidst the raging storm and the world's cruel indifference, you knew, unequivocally, that your contrasting souls had found an unlikely, yet unbreakable, harmony. You were the light, he was the shadow, and together, you cast a unique silhouette against the vast, unforgiving expanse of the Grand Line.

Crocodile would never admit it, not even to himself, but your relentless kindness was a persistent, inconvenient anomaly in his carefully constructed world of cynicism. He viewed emotions as weaknesses, vulnerabilities to be exploited, yet your boundless empathy chipped away at his hardened resolve in ways he couldn't comprehend, let alone control. It was like a constant, gentle pressure against a rock, slowly, imperceptibly eroding its sharp edges.

He'd often scoff at your bleeding-heart tendencies, muttering about sentimentality being a burden in the Grand Line. He'd witness you offering a stray dog a portion of your own meal, or patiently listening to a tearful merchant lamenting their losses, and a muscle in his jaw would tick. It wasn't anger, not precisely. It was… disquiet. Your actions defied his every belief about survival, about the ruthless efficiency required to thrive in a world that devoured the weak.

One blistering afternoon in Alabasta, you both found yourselves navigating the dusty streets of a small desert town, en route to a discreet meeting. The air was thick with the scent of spices and the distant sound of a bazaar. As you passed a narrow alley, a faint, mewling sound caught your ear. Tucked away in the shadows, a tiny kitten, no bigger than your palm, lay curled on the grimy sand, its fur matted, its ribs starkly visible. It was shivering, despite the heat.

Without a moment's hesitation, you knelt, extending a gentle hand. The kitten, wary, flattened itself further, but you remained still, your voice a soft, reassuring murmur. "Hey there, little one," you cooed, your fingers slowly, carefully reaching out to stroke its head. It flinched, then, surprisingly, leaned into your touch, letting out a weak purr.

Crocodile stopped, his shadow falling over you both. He watched, his golden eyes narrowed, a mixture of disdain and something unreadable in their depths. He half-expected you to leave it, to continue on your way. Instead, you carefully scooped up the trembling creature, cradling it against your chest.

"We can't just leave it, Crocodile," you said, your voice quiet but firm, not even looking at him as you began to gently clean the kitten's matted fur with a damp cloth you always carried. "It's starving. It won't last the night."

He let out a low, exasperated grunt. "It's a stray, Y/N. This isn't a charity mission. We have business." His words were sharp, cutting, but you noticed he didn't move to stop you. He merely stood there, a formidable, unyielding presence, observing your tender ministrations.

You didn't argue. You simply continued to comfort the kitten, your fingers stroking its tiny head until its purrs grew stronger. You knew he wouldn't outright forbid it, not when you looked at him with that earnest, unwavering gaze. He'd grouse, he'd mock, but he wouldn't force you to abandon it.

Later, back at your temporary lodgings, you found a small, chipped bowl on the floor, filled with water and a few scraps of dried meat. The kitten, now somewhat revived, was cautiously lapping at the water. Crocodile was nowhere to be seen, but the message was clear. He hadn't asked about the kitten, hadn't acknowledged its presence beyond his initial protests. Yet, the bowl was there, a silent, grudging concession to your persistent heart. It was a vexing, illogical feeling for him, this involuntary response to your empathy. He understood power, control, ambition. But your quiet, unwavering kindness? That was an enigma he was still, against his will, trying to decipher.

Years passed, measured not by calendars, but by the relentless pursuit of power, the fleeting alliances, and the dust of countless islands. The Cross Guild grew, its influence spreading like a desert storm, and through it all, you remained at Crocodile's side, the unwavering constant in his tumultuous existence. The kitten, long grown into a sleek, healthy cat, often curled on your desk, a silent, furry testament to that long-ago moment in Alabasta and to Crocodile's begrudging, unspoken tolerance.

He never softened, not in the way one might expect. The scowl rarely left his face, his words remained sharp, and his ambition burned as fiercely as ever. But something shifted. The exasperated grunts became less frequent, the cynical remarks sometimes carried a faint, almost imperceptible hint of dry amusement. He still chastised you for your "naiveté," but the bite in his voice was tempered by a strange, almost possessive undertone.

It was during a tense standoff with a rival crew on a remote, rain-swept island. A young, inexperienced crew member, overwhelmed by the sudden violence, froze, directly in the path of an incoming attack. Your eyes widened in alarm, and without thinking, you moved. Not to fight, but to push the young man out of harm's way, leaving yourself momentarily exposed.

Time seemed to slow. Crocodile, already engaged with the opposing captain, saw it all. His golden eyes, usually cold and calculating, flashed with something akin to raw, visceral panic. For a fraction of a second, his guard wavered, a dangerous lapse. But before he could curse, before he could intervene, you had already completed your selfless act, tumbling to the ground with the crew member, both of you narrowly avoiding a devastating blow.

The fight raged on, but the brief, unguarded look on Crocodile's face spoke volumes. It was not anger at your recklessness, not disdain for your perceived weakness. It was a fleeting, terrifying glimpse of fear – fear for you.

Later, when the dust settled and the enemy lay defeated, you stood a little shaken, but unharmed. Crocodile approached, his cloak billowing around him, a silent, imposing figure. He didn't ask if you were hurt. He didn't offer praise. He simply reached out, his hook glinting, and with surprising gentleness, he nudged a stray strand of hair from your face. His eyes, devoid of their usual malice, met yours. For a long moment, an eternity in their complex dynamic, there was no anger, no judgment, only a quiet, profound understanding.

He might never articulate it, but in that silent gesture, in the way he allowed your kindness to exist unfettered in his brutal world, was his ultimate acceptance. You were the anomaly, the inconvenient truth, the softest edge to his sharpest ambition. You were the one who saw the flickering good in a heart he insisted was barren. And perhaps, in a way he would never acknowledge, you were the only one who could truly anchor the shifting sands of Sir Crocodile. You were his balance, his contradiction, and his most fiercely, silently guarded treasure. Their story wasn't one of change, but of profound, unwavering acceptance of each other's unchanging, contrasting natures.

KATAKURI 𐙚 ˚🍰 ⋆

The flutter and the stone (2,593 words)

A warmth emanated from you, a silent, comforting glow that drew people in like moths to a flame. You were the kind of soul who’d offer a gentle hand to someone stumbling, not just to pick them up, but to steady them until they found their footing again. Sacrifice wasn’t a foreign concept to you; it was a quiet understanding, a willingness to put another’s well-being above your own, even if it meant hardship for yourself. You were truly one of the best, a beacon of empathy in a world that often felt devoid of it.

But then there was Katakuri. He was a stark contrast to your vibrant spirit, a calm and serious presence, his emotions carefully guarded behind an impenetrable facade. An arranged engagement by Big Mom herself had sealed your fate, weaving your compassionate nature into the fabric of his stoic world. Now, you found yourself living alongside him on Whole Cake Island, the sweet, saccharine air a strange accompaniment to the quiet, almost detached reality you shared. You, a soul brimming with kindness, and he, a man of unwavering composure, were bound together in an intricate dance orchestrated by a Yonko.

He'd expected a hindrance, a constant, buzzing annoyance orchestrated by his mother. That's what most of these arranged marriages were: a liability, a weakness he'd have to account for. He'd envisioned someone fragile, prone to tears and dramatics, clinging to him for protection, constantly seeking attention he had no desire to give. He'd braced himself for endless chatter, for a person who would disrupt the rigid order he'd meticulously crafted in his life. The idea of sharing his space, his very existence, with someone so utterly out of sync with his own stoic nature had been, frankly, irritating. He’d prepared for the worst, for a constant drain on his already limited patience, a shadow of inconvenience following him everywhere.

But you… you were different. You were a quiet warmth, not a demanding heat. You didn't cling; you simply existed, a gentle presence that somehow softened the edges of his perpetually sharp world. The "endless chatter" he'd anticipated never materialized. Instead, you offered thoughtful observations, quiet support, or sometimes, just a comfortable silence. He’d found you, more than once, tending to a wounded crewmate with a tenderness that made even the gruffest pirates soften. You'd share your meals, offer comfort without being asked, and your eyes held a depth of understanding that surprised him. You didn't demand his attention, but your quiet acts of kindness drew it anyway.

You didn't just shine; you fluttered. You were a vibrant, living thing, a soft current of light that seemed to effortlessly navigate the harsh realities of Whole Cake Island. He found himself, against his better judgment, observing you. How you'd hum a soft tune while organizing supplies, how your laughter, soft and genuine, could cut through the usual cacophony of the island. He’d catch himself, on rare occasions, feeling a faint, unfamiliar stir in his chest when you’d offer a gentle smile his way. He'd expected a burden, a heavy weight to bear. What he got was… something akin to light. A light he hadn't known he needed, but now, he found himself, in his own silent way, watching, almost waiting, for its gentle, steady glow.

You had an uncanny knack for anticipating needs, a quiet magic that hummed beneath your gentle demeanor. Katakuri would find his favorite tea brewed just so in the mornings, a small, thoughtful gesture. Or, on days he was particularly swamped, he'd discover a meticulously packed lunch waiting for him – often including those subtly sweet mochi he favored, even though you’d never seen him eat them openly. It wasn't just for him, though. Your kindness was a boundless well. You'd often prepare extra portions, enough for his siblings, even a specially made sweet for Big Mom herself, always left in a place where it would be easily found, without any fanfare or expectation of thanks. You simply did.

One sweltering afternoon, a sudden, torrential downpour erupted over Whole Cake Island. Katakuri had been in a particularly intense training session, his usual stoicism even more pronounced as he pushed himself. He’d barely paused for breath, let alone considered the oppressive heat or the sudden chill the rain brought. His siblings, too, were scattered across the sprawling complex, many caught off guard by the unexpected shift in weather.

As he finally wrapped up, Mochi sticking to his skin from the exertion, he started towards his usual post. But when he arrived, there was a small, steaming cup waiting. Not just for him, but several, strategically placed for others who would soon be arriving. It was a ginger-lemon tea, perfectly warm, with a subtle sweetness that cut through the humidity and offered a comforting heat against the sudden dampness. Beside it, a stack of freshly folded, dry towels.

You weren't there, of course. You never were, not to receive praise or acknowledgment. But the faint scent of ginger and lemon lingered, a silent testament to your presence, your unwavering thoughtfulness. Katakuri picked up the mug, the warmth seeping into his calloused hands. He took a slow sip, and for a fleeting moment, a faint, almost imperceptible easing of his perpetually tense shoulders could be observed. You just… knew. And you acted, a quiet force of nature, making the world around you a little bit softer, a little bit kinder, without ever being asked.

You continued to weave your quiet magic into the fabric of Whole Cake Island life, a gentle counterpoint to its often chaotic rhythms. Katakuri, for his part, found himself in uncharted territory. He was accustomed to calculating, to predicting, to controlling. But you, with your unassuming kindness and innate ability to simply be, defied all his expectations. He couldn't quite categorize you, couldn't fit you into any of his established frameworks. It was unsettling, yet… not entirely unpleasant.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of territory patrols and dealing with a new batch of unruly subordinates, Katakuri returned to his private quarters. The air was heavy, the usual tension in his shoulders even more pronounced. He expected the familiar silence, the solitary decompression he always sought. Instead, the soft glow of a single lamp illuminated the room, and the scent of freshly brewed herbal tea, a blend he recognized as one that aided relaxation, wafted gently towards him.

You were there, of course, perched on a plush cushion, a book open in your lap. You looked up as he entered, your eyes, usually bright with warmth, holding a quiet understanding. You didn't speak, didn't offer effusive greetings or pointed questions about his day. You simply gestured to the steaming mug on his small table, then to another cushion opposite you.

He hesitated for a moment, an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossing his face. He'd never truly shared this space with anyone, not in this way. But the subtle invitation, devoid of any demand, was strangely compelling. He settled onto the cushion, his imposing form making the furniture seem almost fragile. He picked up the mug, the warmth a welcome contrast to the cold calculation that had dominated his day.

You returned to your book, yet your presence was anything but distant. It was a comfortable, silent companionship, a soothing balm to the weary edges of his mind. He found himself, for the first time in a long time, truly relaxing. The tension in his jaw eased, his shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. He didn't know what to call this feeling, this quiet sense of calm that settled over him. But as he sipped his tea, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you read, a thought, foreign and unexpected, drifted through his mind: perhaps this arranged marriage wasn't a burden after all. Perhaps it was… something else entirely. Something he was only just beginning to understand.

The silent tea-drinking evenings became a quiet ritual, a comfortable pause in the ceaseless rhythm of Whole Cake Island. Katakuri found himself anticipating them, the subtle shift in his mood almost imperceptible even to him. He’d never craved companionship, never sought it out, but your presence was different. It wasn’t a demand, but an invitation, a soft echo that resonated within his usually unyielding self.

The little interactions began to accumulate, tiny threads weaving a tapestry of connection. One blustery morning, you found him meticulously patching a tear in his scarf, a rare moment of vulnerability in his otherwise flawless exterior. You didn’t comment, didn’t pry, but simply offered a spool of stronger thread from your own sewing kit. He grunted in acknowledgment, a sound that in anyone else might have been dismissive, but from him, it was a quiet acceptance. Later, he noticed the mend was virtually invisible, stronger than before.

Another time, during a particularly chaotic family meeting, a flurry of paper charts went tumbling, scattering across the floor. Before anyone else could react, you were already gathering them, your movements swift and efficient, organizing them back into their proper order without a single word of complaint or even a look for approval. Katakuri, observing from the corner, found a flicker of something akin to admiration stir within him. You weren’t just kind; you were competent, resourceful, and utterly unassuming in your helpfulness.

He even started to notice your preferences. The way you always took your tea with a dash of honey, not sugar. The quiet smile that played on your lips when you managed to coax a wilting plant back to life. He’d find himself leaving a small, perfectly ripe fruit on your table, or ensuring a particularly comfortable blanket was draped over your favored reading chair. These were not grand gestures, not yet. They were quiet acknowledgments, a recognition of your unique presence, and a subtle, almost unconscious desire to contribute to your comfort, just as you so readily contributed to the comfort of everyone around you.

This wasn't just an arranged marriage anymore. The rigid lines of their initial agreement were blurring, softening with each shared silence, each unspoken understanding. It was becoming something else, something real and unexpected. A quiet, blossoming partnership rooted not in duty, but in a burgeoning, unfamiliar warmth.

The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but Katakuri himself. His siblings, accustomed to his imposing, unyielding presence, might have noticed a slight softening around his eyes when you were near, a less rigid set to his shoulders. But for him, it was a profound internal reordering. The quiet comfort you brought wasn't just a pleasant diversion; it was becoming an essential anchor in his turbulent world.

One afternoon, a squall of minor, yet persistent, issues arose across the island. A supply shipment was delayed, a kitchen pipe burst, and two of his younger siblings were squabbling over a prized confection. Katakuri moved with his usual efficiency, dispatching orders, making calls, his mind a whirl of solutions. Yet, a low thrum of irritation persisted beneath his calm exterior. He found himself, almost unconsciously, seeking you out.

You were in the vast, labyrinthine library, meticulously cataloging old maps. The scent of aged paper and faint cinnamon clung to the air around you. You looked up as he entered, your eyes, as always, holding a quiet, welcoming light. You didn't ask what was wrong, didn't demand explanations. Instead, you simply offered a small, freshly baked cookie from a plate beside you. "They just came out of the oven," you said softly, a gentle invitation in your voice.

He took it, the warm, slightly crisp cookie a surprising comfort in his large hand. He ate it in two bites, the familiar sweetness a momentary balm. He then, to his own surprise, found himself recounting the day's minor frustrations, not in detail, but in a series of clipped, gruff sentences. You listened, truly listened, your gaze unwavering, a silent well of understanding. You didn't offer advice, didn't try to fix anything. You just were.

And in that quiet acceptance, the knot of irritation in his chest began to loosen. The problems hadn't vanished, but his perspective on them had shifted. He felt a quiet sense of calm, a subtle centering that he hadn't realized he craved until you provided it. When he finally rose to leave, the silence between you wasn't empty; it was full, a testament to the unspoken bond that was solidifying between you. He paused at the door, turning his head slightly. "Thank you," he rumbled, the words rough but sincere. It was a rare, almost unprecedented admission from him, a testament to how deeply your quiet presence had begun to affect him. The arranged marriage had indeed become something else entirely. It was becoming a haven.

The "thank you" had been a tremor, a subtle shift in the carefully constructed facade Katakuri presented to the world. For you, it was a confirmation, a quiet acknowledgment that the seed of connection you had diligently, patiently sown was beginning to take root. You didn't press, didn't exploit the rare moment of vulnerability. You simply offered a small, gentle smile, a warmth that resonated with the burgeoning shift within him.

The silent tea rituals evolved. Sometimes, you would softly read aloud from your book, your voice a calm murmur against the backdrop of the bustling island. Katakuri, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts, would often find himself listening, the words weaving through the usual strategic calculations in his mind. He even began to notice the stories you favored – tales of quiet heroism, of small acts of courage, of unexpected tenderness in harsh worlds. These were the stories that mirrored the silent strength he was coming to see in you.

One particularly stormy night, the type of tempest that rattled the very foundations of Whole Cake Chateau, the power flickered and died. The usual emergency lights clicked on, but the vast, opulent halls felt eerily dark and unsettling. Katakuri, ever vigilant, was already moving to check on security and his siblings. As he passed his quarters, however, a soft light caught his eye.

You were there, not with a flashlight, but with a collection of small, flickering candles, strategically placed to cast a warm, comforting glow. You were not fearful, not flustered. Instead, you were humming a soft tune, carefully placing more candles, your movements calm and deliberate. When he entered, you simply looked up, your eyes reflecting the candlelight, making them seem even brighter.

"It's easier to see," you murmured, "and… it's warmer."

He stood there for a moment, the usual tension in his shoulders finally loosening. The storm raged outside, the world felt chaotic, but in this small pocket of warmth and soft light, with you, there was an inexplicable sense of peace. He found himself, for the first time, simply existing in your presence, without needing to calculate, without needing to guard.

He sat on his usual cushion, and for the first time, you leaned in, gently resting your head against his arm as you continued your quiet work with the candles. He didn't flinch, didn't stiffen. Instead, a warmth, far deeper than the flickering candlelight, spread through him. It was a warmth that settled into his very core, chasing away the lingering chill of the storm and the ever-present weight of his duties. This wasn't just an arranged marriage, a duty to be performed. This was… home. And in that quiet, candlelit room, surrounded by the soft flutter of your presence, Katakuri, the unbreakable warrior, finally understood. This was real. And against all odds, it was beautiful.

BUGGY THE CLOWN ༘⋆𖦹 🎪 🎈

The Compassionate Heart and the Clowns Love (2,145 words)

The salt-laced wind whipped your (Y/N)'s hair across your face as you gazed out at the endless expanse of the Grand Line. A gentle smile touched your lips, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. You were a beacon of kindness in a world often consumed by chaos and cruelty. Where others saw danger, you sought understanding. Where despair festered, you offered a comforting hand. You were the one who'd sit with someone through their darkest hours, patiently listening, offering words of encouragement, and lifting them back onto their feet. The thought of sacrificing your own well-being for another's safety wasn't a burden; it was simply who you were. You were a good soul, pure and unwavering, a testament to the best of humanity.

And then there was Buggy. He stood beside you on the ship's deck, his signature red nose twitching slightly in the breeze. He was a whirlwind of contradictions, a walking, talking paradox to your own serene nature. Where you were selfless, he was self-serving. Where you were gentle, he was… well, he was Buggy. Loud, theatrical, and prone to dramatic outbursts, he was the kind of person who'd trip over his own feet and then blame the ship for moving. He was undeniably chaotic, a clashing cymbal to your quiet melody. Yet, he was your best friend, a bond forged in the crucible of shared adventures and countless debates. What you didn't know, however, was that beneath all his bluster and clownish antics, Buggy held a secret close to his heart – a fervent, almost obsessive adoration for you. You, the kindest soul he’d ever met, the person who made his chaotic world just a little bit brighter.

You'd often find yourself tending to the small, potted tangerine tree you kept on deck, a splash of vibrant green against the endless blue. Each leaf was carefully inspected, every nascent fruit admired with a quiet joy. Buggy, ever the lurker, would pretend to be polishing his cannons nearby, his gaze, however, was fixed on you. He’d watch as your fingers, so gentle and sure, brushed away a stray speck of dust or tested the soil's moisture. A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh would escape his lips as he saw the soft, contented smile that graced your face. "What a weirdo," he’d grumble to himself, but the words lacked any real bite. Instead, a familiar warmth would spread through his chest, a feeling he refused to name but cherished all the same.

One blustery afternoon, a new recruit, still green and seasick, stumbled against the mast, dropping a tray of freshly baked bread. The loaves, a rare and cherished treat, scattered across the grimy deck. The recruit's face crumpled, tears welling in their eyes, anticipating a harsh reprimand. Before Buggy could unleash one of his famously theatrical tirades, you were there. You knelt, not to scold, but to gather the ruined bread, your voice a soothing balm. "It's alright," you murmured, your hand gently resting on the recruit's shaking shoulder. "Accidents happen. We'll just bake more." You even managed a small, reassuring smile, and the recruit's tears slowly subsided. Buggy, his mouth agape, watched the entire exchange. His planned tirade died on his tongue, replaced by a strange, almost painful ache in his chest. He'd never seen anyone react with such pure, unadulterated compassion. It was in moments like these, witnessing your boundless empathy, that Buggy felt himself tumbling further, irrevocably, in love with you.

You knew Buggy's temper was as short as his stature, and often as explosive as his Buggy Balls. There were countless times his face would contort into a mask of fury, his voice rising to a theatrical roar, usually over something trivial like a misplaced map or a particularly unflattering comment about his nose. Most of the crew would scatter, wisely giving him a wide berth. But not you.

One sweltering afternoon, a clumsy crewmate tripped, sending a precarious stack of Buggy's meticulously polished cannonballs clattering across the deck. The sound of metallic chaos was immediately followed by Buggy's indignant shriek. "You imbecile! Do you know how long it takes to buff these beauties?! They're practically jewels! I'll chop you into a hundred pieces and feed you to the Sea Kings!" His body began to separate, his disembodied hands already twitching with menace.

The poor crewmate, pale and trembling, braced for impact. But then, a calm, steady hand rested on Buggy's arm. It was yours. "Buggy," you said softly, your voice cutting through his enraged bellow like a soothing breeze. "It was an accident. Look, no real harm done. We can gather them up, and I'll even help you polish them again. We have plenty of time."

Buggy's separated limbs paused, his furious eyes blinking. He looked from the scattered cannonballs to your gentle face, then back again. His anger, so quickly ignited, seemed to deflate under your unwavering calm. He let out a dramatic huff, reassembling himself with a flourish. "Hmph! Fine! But only because you asked, (Y/N)! And you'd better polish them until they gleam like my magnificent nose!" He still grumbled, but the genuine threat had vanished, replaced by a theatrical show of lingering annoyance. You simply smiled, already kneeling to pick up the cannonballs, and Buggy, despite himself, found his heart doing a strange little flutter.

Another time, during a particularly frustrating negotiation with a shady merchant, Buggy found himself completely outmaneuvered, his grand plans unraveling before his very eyes. He'd stormed back to the ship, red-faced and fuming, kicking at anything that dared to be in his path. He paced the deck, muttering curses and slamming his fist into his palm. "That conniving weasel! How dare he! He'll regret this! I'll send a Buggy Bomb right through his wretched shop!"

The crew kept their distance, knowing better than to interrupt a Buggy tantrum. You, however, approached him, a mug of steaming tea in your hands. "Buggy," you said, offering it to him. "You look like you could use this."

He glared at the mug, then at you. "What do I need tea for, (Y/N)?! I need revenge! I need to show that miserable flea who he's messing with!"

You gently pressed the warm mug into his hands. "Sometimes," you said, your voice soft and understanding, "a moment of calm can help you think clearer. Besides, you're the greatest captain on the Grand Line. You'll figure out a way to get what you want, without resorting to blowing up perfectly good shops."

Buggy stared at the tea, then at your encouraging expression. The rigid tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, almost imperceptibly. He took a hesitant sip of the tea, then another. He still looked disgruntled, but the wild anger in his eyes had softened into a frustrated pout. "Hmph. Fine," he mumbled, taking another gulp of tea. "But I'm still getting my revenge. Just… after this." He never did end up blowing up the shop that day. And as he watched you walk away, a faint, almost imperceptible blush crept onto his painted cheeks. Every time you treated him with such quiet understanding, such unwavering belief, he felt a pull, a warmth that had nothing to do with the Grand Line's sun, and everything to do with you. He was, completely, hopelessly, madly in love.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. A gentle breeze rustled the ship's sails, carrying the scent of salt and adventure. You were sitting by the railing, gazing at the glittering expanse of the sea, a quiet contentment settling over you.

Buggy, however, was a whirlwind of nervous energy. He paced the deck, his shadow stretching long and distorted in the fading light. His mind was a battlefield, warring between his usual theatrical bluster and a sudden, crippling shyness. He'd rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, each version more dramatic and magnificent than the last. But now, with you so close, so calm and effortlessly kind, all his carefully constructed speeches dissolved into a jumbled mess.

He stopped abruptly, facing away from you, his hands clenched at his sides. "Y-Y-You know, (Y/N)!" he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. "I... I'm the greatest pirate captain on the Grand Line! The magnificent Buggy! No one can compare to my genius, my charisma, my... my incredible nose!" He gestured wildly to his face, but his usual confidence was noticeably absent.

You turned, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. "Of course, Buggy," you said, your voice soft and patient. "No one doubts your magnificent qualities."

His shoulders sagged slightly at your gentle tone. This wasn't going as planned. He spun around, his face a dramatic mask of internal turmoil, his cheeks a surprising shade of crimson beneath his make-up. "B-But... but there's something else! Something... something even more magnificent than my incredible powers and my vast treasure!" He took a shaky breath, his eyes darting to yours, then quickly away. "It's... it's you! You're... you're the most amazing, kindest, most infuriatingly selfless person I've ever met! You make my heart feel all... all weird and tingly! Like a hundred tiny explosions going off at once!"

He finally looked at you, his normally boastful eyes wide with a raw, uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I... I think I'm in love with you, (Y/N)! Madly, completely, utterly in love!" The words tumbled out in a rush, leaving him breathless. He stood there, frozen, waiting for your reaction, his painted smile feeling incredibly stiff. The silence stretched, filled only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull, and the frantic pounding of Buggy's own heart.

The silence that followed Buggy's confession hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the ship. Buggy, for once in his life, was utterly still, his eyes wide and vulnerable, fixed on your face. He braced himself for a laugh, a bewildered stare, anything but what came next.

A soft, genuine smile bloomed on your face, a warmth that seemed to banish the last vestiges of twilight from the deck. You stepped closer, your hand gently reaching out to touch his arm. "Buggy," you said, your voice a calm, steady melody that quieted the frantic beating of his heart. "You really are something else."

His breath hitched, and he stared at you, waiting.

You chuckled softly, a sound that sent a strange, delightful shiver down his spine. "Those 'weird and tingly' feelings? I get them too, with you." Your gaze, so open and honest, met his, and he felt a jolt, like a tiny electric current passing between you. "And yes, Buggy. A thousand times yes."

Buggy's jaw dropped. His eyes, usually so expressive in their theatrical fury, were now wide with pure, unadulterated shock. "Y-Y-You... you mean it?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "You're... you're not just being kind?"

You laughed again, a fuller, more joyful sound this time. "No, Buggy," you affirmed, your grip on his arm firm and reassuring. "I'm not just being kind. I really do feel something for you. All of you. Even your magnificent nose." You squeezed his arm gently, your eyes sparkling with affection.

A colossal grin, wider and more genuine than any of his usual theatrical displays, spread across Buggy's face. He let out a whoop of pure delight, so loud it probably echoed across the silent ocean. In a flash of spontaneous joy, he found himself doing something utterly uncharacteristic: he pulled you into a surprisingly gentle, yet firm, hug. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and for a moment, the notorious Pirate Captain Buggy, the loud and bombastic clown, was simply Buggy, a man completely, blissfully, and truly in love.

The news spread through the crew like wildfire. Initially, there were whispers, then outright disbelief. "Captain Buggy? In love? With (Y/N)?" But as days turned into weeks, the evidence was undeniable. Buggy, while still prone to his dramatic outbursts, seemed to have a new spring in his step. His threats of dismemberment were often softened by a glance in your direction, and he'd even been caught, on more than one occasion, looking at you with an expression so ridiculously fond it made the crewmates snicker.

You, meanwhile, remained your steadfast, compassionate self, but now there was an added layer of warmth, a quiet joy that resonated with Buggy's newfound, if still chaotic, happiness. You'd still calm his tantrums, still offer gentle guidance, but now, there was an unspoken understanding, a shared tenderness that had blossomed between the kindest soul on the Grand Line and its most theatrical pirate captain. Their journey continued, but now, it was a journey shared, two vastly different individuals sailing under the same flag, bound by a love as unexpected and vibrant as the Grand Line itself.

ROB LUCCI 𓇢𓆸

Kind Soul, Cold Hearted Love (2,158)

A salty breeze ruffled your hair, carrying the scent of the sea and distant islands. It was a familiar comfort, one that always managed to soothe the edges of your heart, no matter the turmoil within. And there was often turmoil. Not from your own spirit, which was a wellspring of empathy and unwavering support, but from the stark contrast of the world around you, and more acutely, the man by your side.

You, dear soul, were a beacon of warmth in a world often shrouded in shadow. You were the soft hand that cradled a weeping friend, the gentle voice that whispered encouragement when hope seemed lost, the unwavering presence that offered solace even at the cost of your own comfort. You would readily throw yourself into harm's way for a stranger, your kindness an almost tangible force, a quiet strength that made you truly one of a kind. You loved with a fierce, unconditional devotion, and that love was currently anchored to a man who embodied everything you weren't.

Rob Lucci. His presence was as cool and unyielding as the deepest ocean, his gaze often distant, calculated. He moved with a predatory grace, his actions driven by a harsh, singular vision of “justice” that frequently left collateral damage in its wake. There was an edge to him, a contained aggression that simmered beneath his composed exterior, a coldness that could send shivers down the spine of even the bravest marine. You were a vibrant bloom, and he, a jagged, beautiful shard of ice. How could two such disparate souls find their way to each other? And more importantly, how could a heart as open as yours navigate the guarded complexities of his? This was the story of your love, a testament to the fact that even the coldest hearts can be touched by the purest kindness, and perhaps, even find a strange, unsettling warmth.

It wasn't a grand, sweeping gesture that drew Rob Lucci to you, but rather a slow, insidious erosion of his carefully constructed indifference. He had always seen the world in stark black and white, good and evil, with himself as the unwavering instrument of the latter's eradication. Emotion was a weakness, compassion a luxury he could not afford in his pursuit of "Absolute Justice." Yet, you, with your boundless capacity for kindness, began to chip away at that hardened resolve.

He first observed it during a mission – a tense standoff in a bustling port town. A stray shot had sent a wooden crate tumbling, threatening to crush a small, frightened child. Before anyone else could react, before even he, with his heightened senses and lightning reflexes, could fully process the danger, you were there. You didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. You simply threw yourself forward, shielding the child with your own body as the heavy wood splintered against your back. A gasp rippled through the crowd, quickly followed by a collective sigh of relief. You, however, merely offered a wobbly smile to the child, brushing dust from their hair as if nothing untoward had happened.

Lucci, perched silently on a rooftop, had watched it all, his eyes narrowed. He processed the data: illogical, inefficient, entirely self-sacrificing for no strategic gain. And yet... the genuine relief on the child's face, the murmurs of gratitude from the onlookers, the soft, unburdened light in your eyes. It was utterly alien to his understanding of the world.

Later, he found you tending to a wounded Marine soldier, your brow furrowed with concern as you carefully bandaged his arm. The soldier, usually gruff and stoic, was speaking softly to you, a rare vulnerability in his voice. You listened, truly listened, offering quiet words of comfort that seemed to possess a strange, healing quality. Lucci felt a peculiar flicker in his own chest, an unfamiliar sensation. He dismissed it as an anomaly, a momentary distraction.

But the anomalies continued. You were always there, a quiet presence of solace amidst the chaos. You offered a drink of water to a tired guard, shared your meager rations with a hungry street urchin, even risked admonishment to gently correct a superior who was being unnecessarily harsh to a subordinate. Each act, small and seemingly insignificant, was a direct contradiction to the ruthless efficiency he embodied.

He started finding excuses to be near you. Not overtly, of course. He would be "observing" a sector you were in, or "analyzing" the crowd near your position. He'd catch glimpses of you, sometimes smiling, sometimes serious, but always radiating that same unwavering warmth. He noticed the way people gravitated towards you, drawn by your innate goodness. He saw how even hardened criminals, when faced with your unvarnished compassion, would sometimes falter, a flicker of something human crossing their eyes.

One evening, under the pale glow of a distant moon, you found him alone, perched on a deserted dock, Hattori nestled on his shoulder. You didn't question his solitude or his presence. Instead, you simply sat a respectful distance away, drawing your knees to your chest, and looked out at the tranquil water. After a long silence, you spoke, your voice soft as the lapping waves. "Sometimes," you murmured, "even the strongest need a moment to just... be."

He didn't reply, didn't even turn his head. But Hattori, his ever-present companion, ruffled his feathers and cooed, a soft, approving sound. You didn't press him, just continued to sit, a silent, comforting presence. It was in that quiet, unassuming moment, amidst the salty air and the vast, indifferent ocean, that something shifted within Rob Lucci. It wasn't a sudden burst of emotion, but a slow, almost imperceptible thaw around the edges of his frozen heart. He didn't understand it, couldn't categorize it, but he knew, with a chilling certainty, that he wanted you near. He wanted that inexplicable warmth to continue to exist in his desolate world, even if he couldn't yet comprehend why. And that, for a man like Rob Lucci, was the beginning of everything.

The stark contrast between you and Lucci was a chasm you, in your boundless optimism, barely perceived. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes, the almost imperceptible softening of his posture when you were near, and mistook it for burgeoning tenderness. You were a creature of pure, unadulterated light, and to you, everyone possessed a spark of that same light, even if it was buried deep. Lucci, however, saw the truth with chilling clarity. He was a predator, a tool forged in the fires of ruthless efficiency, and he knew, with every fiber of his being, that he didn't deserve your softness.

He'd watch you sometimes, when you thought he wasn't looking. You'd be helping a junior agent untangle a complicated knot, your brow furrowed in concentration, a gentle smile playing on your lips when they finally succeeded. Or you'd hum softly to yourself while mending a torn piece of equipment, your movements deliberate and caring. You saw worth in everything, from the smallest insect to the most hardened criminal. Your compassion was a balm that seemed to soothe the raw edges of the world, and it infuriated him, even as it drew him in.

He’d tested it, subtly at first. He'd purposely use a harsher tone with a subordinate in your presence, expecting your gentle rebuke, perhaps even a look of disapproval. Instead, you'd simply offer a quiet suggestion for a more efficient, less confrontational approach, your gaze unwavering, devoid of judgment. It was like trying to chip away at a cloud with a hammer; your kindness simply absorbed the impact, leaving him bewildered.

There was one incident that truly solidified his internal conflict. A subordinate, terrified of Lucci's notoriously short temper, had botched a critical task, leading to a minor but irritating setback. Lucci's gaze had sharpened, his usual calm replaced by a cold fury that promised severe repercussions. The subordinate visibly trembled, bracing for the inevitable. You, however, had stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on the man's arm.

"It was an honest mistake, Lucci," you'd said, your voice surprisingly firm, "and easily remedied. Perhaps if we approach it from this angle..." You then calmly outlined a solution, one that was both effective and avoided any further humiliation for the blundering agent. Lucci had simply stared at you, his internal algorithms struggling to process this anomaly. You had, without even realizing it, diffused a volatile situation, protected someone from his wrath, and offered a better path forward – all with a simple, genuine act of kindness. He'd dismissed the subordinate with a terse nod, but his eyes remained fixed on you, a strange mix of grudging admiration and self-loathing swirling within their depths.

He knew he was cold. He knew he was aggressive. He had seen the fear in people’s eyes when he entered a room, the way they instinctively recoiled from his presence. And he had accepted it, even cultivated it, as a necessary shield in his brutal world. But you… you saw past the shield. You saw something he himself barely recognized, a glimmer of humanity he had long since suppressed. And the terrifying part was, your gentle touch was starting to make him feel it too. He didn’t deserve it. He was a monster, a weapon, and you were everything good and pure. The thought of tainting you, of dragging you into his darkness, was a stark reality he grappled with every waking moment. Yet, the thought of letting you go, of existing in a world without your unwavering light, was far more unbearable.

The quiet moments became more frequent, the unspoken understanding between you and Lucci deepening with each passing day. Your love didn't burst forth like a supernova; instead, it bloomed slowly, like a desert flower coaxed open by persistent, gentle rain. It was built on the small, almost imperceptible acts of kindness you showered upon him, acts that, to anyone else, might seem trivial, but to Lucci, were profound in their foreignness.

He'd often find a small, meticulously folded napkin tucked into his coat pocket, a fresh fruit or a precisely cut piece of meat wrapped inside – a quiet acknowledgment of his often forgotten meals amidst the chaos of his duties. You never made a show of it, never asked if he’d eaten it. You simply left it, a silent offering of care that gnawed at the edges of his rigid self-sufficiency.

There was the time he'd returned from a particularly brutal mission, his clothes torn and stained, his usual impassive demeanor betraying a hint of weariness. You didn't question, didn't pry. Instead, you simply set out a basin of warm water and a clean cloth, and without a word, began to gently tend to a superficial cut on his arm. Your touch was feather-light, your gaze soft and unwavering. He'd stood there, utterly still, a strange vulnerability washing over him as your fingers, so utterly unlike his own calloused ones, cleaned and bandaged his wound. He couldn't remember anyone ever tending to him with such tender care.

You also had an uncanny knack for anticipating his needs, even before he recognized them himself. If he’d been hunched over mission reports for hours, a slight tension in his shoulders, you’d appear with a steaming mug of tea, or a quiet suggestion for a brief walk. You never demanded, never insisted. It was always a gentle offer, a soft invitation to ease the burden he so stubbornly carried. He'd find himself accepting these small gestures, a foreign warmth spreading through him each time, even as his logical mind struggled to reconcile it with the cold, hard reality of his existence.

One evening, after a particularly grueling assignment, he found you waiting for him in his dimly lit quarters. You weren't imposing or loud; you were simply there, a quiet anchor in his turbulent world. You had a book in your hands, not reading, but simply holding it, your presence a soft counterpoint to the harsh silence. When he entered, you merely offered a small, knowing smile. You knew he needed to decompress, to shed the day's brutality, and you instinctively understood that your quiet, non-demanding presence was exactly what he needed. He didn't speak, nor did you. He simply sat, and for the first time in a long time, the ever-present tension in his jaw began to ease.

These small, constant acts of profound kindness, delivered without expectation or judgment, began to chip away at the fortress he had built around his heart. He saw the world through your eyes, if only for fleeting moments, and in those moments, it didn't seem so bleak, so entirely unforgiving. He knew he was undeserving of such grace, that his darkness could easily eclipse your light. Yet, the thought of your unwavering goodness, of your gentle touch, had become a silent, undeniable craving. He wasn't sure what this unfamiliar feeling was, but every fiber of his being now yearned for the quiet solace you brought.

KID જ⁀➴

Kind Soul, Ruthless Pirate (2,040 words)

The salty spray of the Grand Line was a familiar kiss on your cheek, the chaotic symphony of the waves a lullaby you’d grown to love. You were, by all accounts, a beacon of warmth in a world often consumed by darkness. If someone stumbled, you were the first to offer a steadying hand; if tears fell, your shoulder was a ready haven. You’d sacrifice your own comfort, even your safety, without a second thought if it meant easing another's burden. Your heart, a vast and boundless ocean of kindness, was truly one of the greatest treasures on these seas.

And then there was Eustass Kid. The man who stood at the helm of the Kid Pirates, his crimson coat a stark contrast to your gentle spirit. He was a supernova, a name whispered with a mixture of fear and awe. Cruel, aggressive, and utterly ruthless, he was everything you weren’t. The world often wondered how someone like you could ever find solace, let alone love, with a man like him. Yet, beneath the clanging metal and the fiery glares, there was a different kind of connection—a silent understanding that defied logic. You were the calm to his storm, the quiet anchor that kept him from drifting too far into the abyss. It was a bizarre, beautiful dance, and somehow, it worked. You loved him, and in his own fiercely protective way, he loved you too.

The scent of ozone always clung to Kid, a mix of his devil fruit and the sheer force of his presence. You’d often find yourself unconsciously leaning into it, even when he was grumbling about some perceived slight from Killer or the stupidity of a Marine patrol. One afternoon, you were patching up Heat's torn jacket, a task you'd taken on countless times for the crew. The needle was finicky, and you let out a soft sigh of frustration. Without a word, a large, calloused hand, usually reserved for crushing metal or enemies, reached over and deftly threaded the needle for you. He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but the small gesture, the unexpected tenderness in his rough movements, spoke volumes.

Later, as the sun dipped below the waves, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, you sat on the ship's railing, watching the endless expanse of the sea. Kid, usually pacing or shouting orders, found his way beside you. He didn’t say anything, just leaned against the railing, his arm brushing yours. The silence between you two was never awkward, but comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. You traced patterns on the weathered wood, and then, almost imperceptibly, his pinky finger hooked around yours, a silent anchor in the vastness of the ocean. He'd never admit to such a soft gesture, but you felt the gentle pressure, a quiet affirmation of his presence.

And then there were the nights after a particularly brutal encounter, when the ship was still humming with the aftermath of battle. You’d be tending to the wounded, your hands steady and soft, your voice a soothing balm. Kid, covered in grime and dried blood, would always find you. He wouldn't ask for help, or even acknowledge your efforts directly. Instead, he’d simply plant himself nearby, leaning against a bulkhead, his good eye fixed on you. Sometimes, he’d just watch, a silent, almost possessive vigil. Other times, he’d gruffly shove a mug of hot tea into your hands, or a piece of scavenged fruit, his way of making sure you were taken care of, even as he was still dripping with the fight. Those were the moments that reminded you, and everyone on the crew, that beneath the rage and the metal, there was a fierce, unwavering devotion that only you could truly see.

You knew the signs. The clenching of his jaw, the subtle tremor in his metal arm, the way his voice would drop, becoming a dangerous rumble just before the explosion. It usually started with a trivial insult from a rival captain, a faulty navigational chart, or even just a particularly stubborn knot in a rope. Whatever it was, when Kid's temper flared, the entire crew braced themselves. But you didn't brace; you moved.

One blustery afternoon, a smaller pirate crew dared to challenge Kid's authority, their captain spewing arrogant taunts across the choppy waves. Kid’s hand immediately shot to his hilt, his muscles coiling, the air around him crackling with suppressed magnetism. Before he could make a move, you were there, your hand gently but firmly placed on his bicep. Your touch was like a cool stream against hot iron.

"Kid," you said, your voice soft but clear, cutting through the rising tension. Your eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, the raw fury in his gaze softened, just for you. "They're not worth it. Let them learn their lesson another day, in a way that doesn't stain your coat." You offered a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head. He glared at the retreating ship, his chest still heaving, but he didn't move. He simply growled, a low, frustrated sound, and the crew collectively exhaled.

Later, after a particularly brutal clash with a Marine patrol, Kid was pacing the deck, the adrenaline still coursing through him. He was muttering darkly, kicking at stray debris, his good eye gleaming with a restless energy that bordered on destructive. The crew gave him a wide berth, understanding the danger. You, however, approached without hesitation.

"You're going to wear a hole in the deck," you remarked, a hint of playful exasperation in your tone.

He stopped, turning his furious gaze on you. "They almost got Killer! And they dared to call us rabid dogs!"

You walked closer, reaching up to gently cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble. His skin was warm, flushed with anger. "And you showed them they were wrong, didn't you?" you soothed, your voice a calm melody. "You protected your crew, like always. You were incredible out there." You could feel the tension slowly drain from his body under your touch. He leaned into your palm almost imperceptibly, his rage slowly dissipating into a simmering warmth. He wouldn't admit it, but your praise, your unwavering belief in him, was the only thing that could truly rein him in.

There were countless other moments, small and significant. A whispered word when he was about to rip someone’s head off for a minor infraction, a steadying hand on his arm when his temper threatened to consume him. You were his anchor, his quiet strength, the one person who could calm the raging storm that was Eustass Kid. And in return, he was fiercely, undeniably yours.

Life on the Grand Line, even with your calming presence, was relentlessly harsh. There were days the storms were less about the weather and more about the weariness that settled deep in your bones. After a particularly harrowing escape from a tenacious Marine Vice Admiral, the entire crew was exhausted, you most of all. You’d spent hours tending to the wounded, your energy completely drained.

You finally collapsed onto a coil of rope, too tired to even make it to your hammock. The salt-laced wind was biting, and you shivered, pulling your worn jacket tighter. Just as you were about to drift into a restless sleep, a large, heavy mass was draped over you. It was Kid’s signature crimson coat, still smelling faintly of ozone and his unique, metallic scent. You opened your eyes to see him standing over you, his back to the railing, seemingly engrossed in the churning waves. He didn't say a word, didn't even look at you, but the warmth of his coat was immediate and comforting, a silent acknowledgment of your fatigue. It was a gesture so unlike his usual aggressive demeanor that it spoke volumes.

Another time, a small, intricate wooden bird carving you'd been working on for weeks—a gift for a tiny, shy islander you’d befriended—slipped from your grasp during a sudden lurch of the ship. It skittered across the deck, heading straight for the churning sea. Your heart leaped into your throat. Before you could even react, Kid's metal arm shot out with lightning speed, snatching the delicate carving mere inches from the edge.

He retrieved it, his fingers, usually so destructive, surprisingly gentle as he held the tiny bird. He squinted at it, a flicker of something akin to curiosity in his eye, before he simply placed it back in your hand. He didn’t comment on your relief, didn't tease you for your clumsiness. He just averted his gaze, as if catching himself in a moment of unexpected tenderness. The crew who witnessed it pretended not to see, a silent testament to the rarity of such a display from their captain.

And then there were the nights when nightmares, remnants of past dangers or the ever-present threats of the sea, would steal your peace. You’d wake with a gasp, heart pounding, the phantom chill of a near-death experience clinging to you. You’d try to calm yourself, but sometimes the fear was too overwhelming. It was during one such night that you felt the gentle dip in the hammock beside yours, and then, a warm, heavy weight settle over your hand. Kid, ever the light sleeper, had noticed your distress. He didn't speak, didn't try to comfort you with words. Instead, he simply stayed there, his large hand enveloping yours, his presence a silent, immovable anchor against the tide of your fears. In those moments, his rough exterior melted away, revealing the unwavering support of the man who, despite all odds, was undeniably there for you.

Their relationship wasn't a grand, sweeping romance, filled with dramatic declarations or public displays of affection. It was built in the small, almost imperceptible moments that stitched their vastly different worlds together.

You often found yourself sketching, capturing the fleeting beauty of the Grand Line on whatever scrap paper you could find. One lazy afternoon, while you were engrossed in drawing a particularly striking sunset, Kid approached. Instead of his usual booming voice, he merely grunted, pulling up a barrel to sit beside you. You braced yourself for a critique, perhaps even a sarcastic jab about your "childish hobbies." Instead, he simply watched, his single eye surprisingly intent on your work. When you finished, he reached out, not to grab, but to gently tap the drawing with a metal finger. "Good," he grunted, a rare, genuine compliment. It was a small word, but from Kid, it felt like a symphony.

Food was another surprising avenue for their connection. While Kid was a notoriously unpicky eater, devouring anything put in front of him with aggressive efficiency, you knew his quiet preferences. If there was a specific, less common fruit scavenged from an island, you'd make sure a portion was always set aside for him, even if it meant foregoing your own. He'd never acknowledge it with words, but you'd catch him sometimes, a fleeting glance in your direction, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of thanks as he devoured his share.

One chilly evening, after a particularly rough storm, you were bundled up on deck, shivering despite your layers. Kid, who rarely seemed affected by the elements, walked by, then paused. He disappeared for a moment, only to return with two steaming mugs of heavily sweetened tea, a rarity on the ship. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing yours, a silent warmth passing between you. He then settled down beside you, not too close, but close enough that the heat radiating from his large frame offered extra comfort. You drank your tea in comfortable silence, the quiet companionship a testament to the deep, unspoken affection that thrived between you both.

These were the moments that defined your love for Kid: the unexpected acts of consideration, the silent understandings, the unwavering presence. You were his gentle compass in the storm, and he, in his own gruff, powerful way, was your steadfast anchor. It was a love forged not in commonality, but in the profound acceptance of each other's contrasting natures, a testament to the idea that even the fiercest of flames could find solace in the kindest of breezes.

BARTOLOMEO ༉‧₊˚.

Gentle Soul, Boisterous fanboy. (1,925 words)

A soft breeze ruffled your hair as you looked out over the sparkling expanse of the Grand Line. You were a gentle soul, known across islands not for grand feats of strength, but for the quiet power of your compassion. When someone stumbled, you were the first to offer a steadying hand. When tears fell, your embrace was a comforting harbor. You'd willingly stand in harm's way if it meant another's safety, a quiet guardian in a chaotic world.

And then there was Bartolomeo. Your Barty. He was… different. Where you were a gentle ripple, he was a crashing wave, all boisterous declarations and unwavering devotion, particularly when it came to the Straw Hats. His love for Luffy and his crew was a force of nature, often expressed with a protective snarl towards anyone who dared disrespect his idols. He was loud, he was brash, and sometimes, he was absolutely infuriating. Yet, beneath the thorny exterior of the Straw Hat fanboy, you knew there was a fierce loyalty and a heart, however uniquely expressed, that beat just for you. It was a strange harmony, your quiet grace and his roaring passion, but somehow, it worked.

The first time Bartolomeo saw you gently coaxing a frightened stray dog out from under a market stall with soft whispers and a piece of your lunch, he stopped dead in his tracks. He’d been in the middle of a rather loud, one-sided argument with a street vendor who’d dared to suggest "Straw Hat Luffy was just a pirate." His own booming voice had faltered, his eyes fixed on your serene face as the dog, tail wagging, licked your outstretched hand. He felt a strange lurch in his chest, something entirely unfamiliar to the usual surge of fanboy rage.

"Oi, what're you doing with that mutt?" he'd gruffed later, sidling up to you as you shared your water with the now calm animal.

You’d simply smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "He was scared, Bartolomeo. He just needed a little kindness."

He'd grunted, shuffling his feet. Kindness wasn't exactly in his usual repertoire, especially not towards a mangy street dog. But watching you, it seemed… right. Later that day, you found a surprisingly fresh, if slightly squashed, fish left discreetly beside the dog you’d befriended. You knew exactly who it was from, even if he'd never admit it.

One blustery afternoon, a new recruit to Bartolomeo's crew, overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated chaos that often followed in the wake of the Straw Hat Fan Club, broke down. He was curled up in a corner, sobbing quietly, convinced he wasn't cut out for pirate life. Bartolomeo, for all his bluster, looked genuinely perplexed, his usual bravado deflating slightly. He just stood there, hands on his hips, completely unsure how to handle a crying man.

You, on the other hand, moved without hesitation. You knelt beside the man, your hand gently resting on his shoulder. "It's alright," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to take in at first, isn't it? But you're stronger than you think. We're all here to help each other."

You stayed with him, talking softly, until his sobs subsided and he looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Bartolomeo, watching from a distance, felt that familiar, strange lurch again. You had a way of seeing past the surface, of finding the vulnerable core that he, with all his walls and his loud exterior, often missed. He might not have understood how you did it, but he knew he was endlessly grateful that you did.

The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea and the screech of gulls as your small ship, the Kind Heart, bobbed gently on the waves. Bartolomeo, as usual, was perched on the figurehead – a surprisingly well-carved depiction of a smiling sheep – his green hair whipping in the wind. He was excitedly pointing towards a hazy island on the horizon, a place rumored to hold a legendary, incredibly rare type of cola that even the Straw Hats hadn't tasted.

"Y/N! Look! That's gotta be it! The Isle of Fizz! I can just imagine how stoked Boss Luffy will be when I tell him I found cola even he's never had!" Bartolomeo's voice boomed across the deck, his enthusiasm infectious despite its volume.

You chuckled, adjusting the worn map in your hands. "The legends also say it's guarded by some rather… enthusiastic creatures, Barty."

He scoffed, slamming a fist into his chest, a green barrier momentarily flickering around it. "Hmph! What kind of weaklings could stand against the great Bartolomeo?!"

You smiled softly. His confidence, though often over the top, was also strangely reassuring. You knew that beneath the bravado, he would always have your back.

As you drew closer to the island, the lush green foliage gave way to towering, oddly shaped rock formations that seemed to bubble and fizz at their peaks. The air grew sweeter, carrying a faint, almost sugary aroma. Suddenly, a volley of sticky, brown projectiles rained down on your ship.

"Cola bombs!" Bartolomeo roared, deflecting the sticky globs with his Barrier-Barrier Fruit. "See, Y/N? I told you there'd be a challenge!" He actually seemed thrilled.

You, however, were more concerned about the creatures launching the attack. They were small, furry beings with large, bulging eyes and what appeared to be miniature cola bottles attached to their backs. They chittered and screeched, their tiny hands furiously squeezing more cola bombs.

"They seem more scared than aggressive," you observed, noticing how they retreated slightly whenever Bartolomeo's barrier appeared. "Maybe we should try talking to them?"

Bartolomeo stared at you like you'd grown a second head. "Talking? To fizzy furballs that are trying to glue us to the deck?"

"Well, fighting them doesn't seem to be getting us any closer to the cola, does it?" you pointed out gently.

With a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes, Bartolomeo relented. "Fine, fine. But if they try anything, they're getting a face full of barrier!"

You carefully approached the edge of the ship, offering a piece of the sweet bread you'd baked that morning. "Hello there," you called out softly. "We just want to see the cola. We won't hurt you."

The furry creatures paused their attack, their large eyes blinking curiously at the bread. One particularly bold one crept closer, sniffing cautiously. You held your breath as it tentatively nibbled at the offering. Soon, others followed suit, their chittering softening into more curious sounds.

Bartolomeo watched the scene unfold, his usual boisterousness replaced with a quiet fascination. He saw how your gentle demeanor and genuine kindness were having a far greater effect than any display of strength could.

Eventually, one of the creatures, seemingly the leader, gestured with a tiny paw towards a path leading into the island's interior. It made a series of bubbling noises, and you had a feeling it was inviting you to follow.

"Well, Barty," you said, turning to him with a smile. "Looks like they're willing to show us the way."

He grunted, but there was a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Hmph. Guess being nice ain't always a bad strategy, huh?" He still looked ready to deploy his barriers at a moment's notice, but for now, he followed you onto the Isle of Fizz, a strange blend of gentle diplomacy and impenetrable defense venturing into the unknown.

You lay on the makeshift cot in your ship's infirmary, a bandage wrapped around your arm. The scent of medicinal herbs filled the small space, a stark contrast to the sweet, fizzy aroma of the Isle of Fizz that still clung faintly to your clothes. Bartolomeo paced back and forth in the cramped room, his usual swagger replaced by a tight furrow in his brow.

"I just… I don't understand, Y/N!" he exclaimed, his voice rough with a mixture of worry and exasperation. "Those cola geysers were strong! One wrong step, and – and you just jumped in front of that little fur ball! Why would you do that?!"

You offered him a weak smile. "He looked so scared, Barty. And he was just trying to protect his home, just like we would."

"Protect his home?!" Bartolomeo threw his hands up in exasperation, his green hair swaying wildly. "Y/N, you could have been seriously hurt! That cola could have burned you something awful! And for what? Some… some fizzing rat!"

"They weren't rats, Barty," you said gently, wincing slightly as you shifted. "They were just trying to defend their treasure. Besides," you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him, "you were right behind me. I knew you'd protect me."

Bartolomeo stopped pacing, his face softening slightly, though a hint of his frustration remained. "That's not the point! I shouldn't have to protect you from your own… your own selflessness! You can't just keep throwing yourself into danger like that!"

He knelt beside your cot, his large hands hovering awkwardly above yours, as if unsure whether to touch you. "You're… you're too kind, Y/N. Too good for this world sometimes. And it scares me." His voice was softer now, the booming edge gone. "What if I wasn't fast enough? What if my barrier didn't hold? What would I do then?"

You reached out, your uninjured hand finding his. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. "You would have found a way, Barty. You always do. And besides," you squeezed his hand reassuringly, "I know my limits. I wouldn't do anything truly reckless."

He looked down at your hand in his, a conflicted expression on his face. He knew your heart was pure, that your every action was guided by an innate desire to help others. It was one of the things he loved most about you, this unwavering compassion. But it also terrified him. The Grand Line was a dangerous place, and your tendency to put others before yourself was a constant source of worry.

"Just… just be more careful, okay?" he mumbled, his gaze still fixed on your hand. "Think about yourself sometimes too. You're important, Y/N. More important than any fizzy cola or scared little creature in the world."

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. For all his bluster and obsession with the Straw Hats, Bartolomeo cared deeply. In his own loud, protective way, he loved you fiercely. "I will try, Barty. I promise. But you have to promise me something too."

He looked up, his green eyes questioning. "What's that?"

"Promise me you'll never stop being you," you said softly. "Your strength, your loyalty… even your crazy fanboy moments. That's all part of why I love you."

A faint blush crept onto Bartolomeo's cheeks, and he looked away, a rare moment of bashfulness. "Tch. Of course not. Who else would protect Boss Luffy's honor with such… enthusiasm?"

But as he looked back at you, a genuine, heartfelt smile touched his lips. He squeezed your hand gently. "Just… try not to give me so many scares, alright?"

You chuckled, a warm feeling spreading through you despite the ache in your arm. "I'll do my best, you big softie."

He scoffed, puffing out his chest. "Softie?! I am the great Bartolomeo!" But the grin on his face betrayed him. In the aftermath of the cola geyser and your selfless act, a deeper understanding had settled between you, a quiet acknowledgment of the contrasting forces that somehow, beautifully, held you together.

[khaire-traveler]

Before I go to sleep, I offer this prayer, mostly for my own peace of mind:

-----

To the loving gods of Olympos and beyond, the gods of the depths of the Underworld,

May Dionysos Androgynos stand by the side of all transgender and gender non-conforming individuals in the face of adversity.

May Ares Enyalios raise his arms in support of those who are impacted the most by the needless war that has been raged against us.

May Aphrodite Symmakhia remind those who struggle how beautiful, handsome, and gorgeous they look within their own skin and how worthy they are of love from others and love from themselves.

May Hermes Kharidotes grace the hearts of those suffering with boundless joy, adventure, and laughter, and may every new day bring something new to look forward to.

May Apollon Paean help to mend the internal (and even external) wounds of those who have endured countless emotional attacks and survived an endless mental warfare.

May Artemis Hemerasia soothe the troubles and worries of all those who doubt their own legitimacy and place in the world, and remind them that they do belong and that they are enough as they are.

May Athena Alalkomeneis watch over all who require her divine protection and keep them safe from all forms of harm, evil, and malintent.

May the Good Gods watch over us all - those who do not fit into society's standard of gender - and bring us peace, safety, and, above all, self-love. We deserve to feel happy, loved, and safe. Take care, everyone. 🧡

[bozers]

Random Mk character headcanons Pt.1 THE MENFOLK

Raiden

Sweaty. Sweats like a mf even when he isn't working. Has to wear undershirts to combat the waterfall coming off him.

Never struggled with anger issues until becoming a champion and getting the amulet.

Secretly a bit freaky. Is down for pretty much anything eye emoji

Reiko

Has a mild ED. Was worse when he was younger, but he's getting better about it. Used to hoard food. Struggles with body dysmorphia due to unrealistic expectations, comparing himself to Shao ( a completely different species...)

Allergic to cats.

Loves the ocean. Dreams of one day owning his own boat to take out sailing whenever he wants.

Kung Lao

Weirdly enough? Introvert. Raiden is one of very few people who doesn't deplete his social battery.

Struggles with bouts of depression. Self medicates with Marijuana.

He is incredibly secure in himself and none of his confidence is an act. That doesn't mean he can't get discouraged sometimes, but he won't try and hide disappointment behind false smiles.

MOAR BELOW vvvvv

Johnny Cage

Struggled with contamination OCD tendencies all his life and coped using substances. His lifestyle is in direct conflict with his illness and it acts like immersion therapy in a way.

Cancer runs in his family so he is vigilant about getting screened once a year.

Life in Hollywood almost crushed him into an apathetic cynic, but somehow, he has managed to stay hopeful if not a bit delusional at times. His hunger for recognition rivaled only by his boundless curiosity.

Smoke

He had a tongue ring for many years and wants to eventually get a tattoo but can't settle on a design.

Can "Slav Squat" and isn't shy about showing off to friends.

Struggles with unhealthy attachment styles.

Rain

Is actually an extrovert. He may think himself above others, but he still requires validation and gets sad if he doesn't get to talk to those close to him.

Iron deficient

If he had never been appointed as High Mage, he would have gone on to teach magic theory at the academy.

Geras

He may be immortal, but that doesn't mean he just sits in a room all day. Geras is endlessly curious, as this is a core part of his very being. Observing and learning new things is both his primary function and an endless font of joy.

He knows how lonely Liu Kang is. Knows that even he can't fill the void left in his masters heart. Time for him is just a function, whereas for Liu Kang, it is and endless road of isolation

Will search up humans in funny situations on the hourglass to watch. It's like his version of FAILARMY.

Liu Kang

Is and has been incredibly lonely for eons. He really thought he would fill the void after reuniting with his old friends, but the feeling isn't the same. They don't know him. Not really.

Once he found a way to connect to his Titan friends, he visits them often. Being able to talk with Lord Raiden again alleviated the strain on his heart tenfold. Reuniting with Kung Lao, (his boy, his bro!!) has also helped give him hope for the next few eons. Same goes for Kitana. (She was the one to find him again after the dust settled.)

His brother is alive in his timeline. Of course they have no relationship, Liu choosing not to intervene due to fears of drawing danger to him. Instead of becoming a shaolin monk, Chan lives happily in the united states as an Ice Road Trucker.

Shang Stung

Has BPD and narcissistic personality disorder. This severely impacted his ability to live peacefully in society and pushed him to grifting. Taking advantage of others was less exhausting than pretending to be a friendly employee to some shopkeeper.

He is half human. Shang's mother traveled to outworld during the last tournament 100 years ago. She was a servant to Liu Kang's champions but ended up running away with a disgraced Edenian.

Doesn't identify as a specific gender, especially after learning shapeshifting. Will often times swap between whatever he feels like that day.

Syzoth

Double jointed and hyper flexible. Shang Stung had to find a way to control him other than shackles, cuz he could always slip out no matter how tight they were.

He is very at ease around children, and falls back into dad mode immediately. Is also a purveyor of terrible dad jokes.

Has Gilberts Syndrome. His species use of bile/acid attacks puts a lot of strain on his liver. Due to his rough living, he didn't get adequate nutrition and now his body struggles to keep balanced out humors.

Only needs to eat once a week, but will happily snack if something tasty comes across his path.

Shao

Has no biological children. Despite his family's standing and pressure to continue the prestigious line, Shao has never taken a wife. Multiple concubines and bastards, but no wife or suitable heirs.

He doesn't view any of the young men and women he mentors as children, just tools. Even though he saw himself in young Reiko, his affection is entirely dependent on his loyalty. Reiko is more of an extension of himself, a way to overcompensate for what he lacks.

Has IBS.

Kuai Liang

He left the Lin Kuei a few years after Tomas was adopted. At odds with his father at the time, he left to go live with their allied clan: the Syrai Ryu. He was born a cryomancer like Bi Han, but chose to pursue pyromancy to distance himself from his lineage. Though able to wield fire, he is still weak to it. When he finally returned home, his father welcomes him back like the prodigal son he was. Bi han deeply, deeply resented this.

Got his tattoo in Hong Kong while he was totally plastered (not a reputable place. They even got the tattoo wrong lol)

Unreadable poker face. DO NOT play cards against this man.

Kenshi

Was forced to drop out of high school to support his family when his older brother was killed, and subsequently got wrapped up in yakuza shit. Has since taken his high school equivalency test (GED) and passed with flying colors

Is addicted to caffeine.

LOVES holidays! Especially Christmas. He may not get all his friends gifts, but the ones he does give are very well thought out and personal.

Bi Han

Doesn't take care of himself or maintain his appearance very well. But he basically won the genetic lottery so it's not that noticeable.

Has a type A personality and is a perfectionist. But he is actually a very gracious person at heart, and will silently shoulder the brunt of responsibility to spare his brothers.

Was happy to mentor Tomas when he first arrived, even though Kuai and Tomas had the stronger friendship. His attitude changed, however, when Tomas choose to stay after Kuai ran off. Instead of seeing the loyalty of Tomas's decision, he saw it as a shallow way to win his fathers favor.

(he couldn't see it was actually jealously. That Kuai could have a choice to leave but he didn't. Tomas had an actual valid reason to want to leave, but he is the one remaining? Bi Han has big feelings and does not process them well )

Quan Chi

Once he started losing his hair, he decided to go bald.

Much prefers to spend his time in the Netherrealm. His dominion there is near absolute, and he would much rather be in the company of those subservient to him. He doesn't see anything wrong with this dynamic, believing this the superior to mutual friendship. (this is laughably hypocritical given his relationship to Shang mf Tsung)

Indulges in all kinds of delicious foods. Sweets, fine drink, rare cuts of meat- the works. Even if he dislikes it, he will eat it anyway just for the sake of it. He made himself ill by eating an entire box of chocolate once.

Havik

Was born in secret to slave parents. They hid him from the government for as long as they could, and so he was able to live a relatively carefree childhood. Other's his age, and of unsanctioned birth, would be seized by the state and put to work as soon as possible.

Fierce passion aside, Havik is very introspective. When not fighting, he often sits in silent contemplation for hours at a time. Before his mind begins to degrade from the blood magic use, he would sit and scrutinize every action he took.

Unlike Quan Chi, Havik cannot bring himself to indulge in luxuries. He feels tremendous guilt given how many of his people are still unable to enjoy even the barest bit of comfort.

He leaves his dick and balls at home for safe keeping.