#thriller bark aftermath

[sibmakesart]

eyebrow reveal (the light hearted-interlude)

start || prev

(edit : put the earings back lol i think i forgot them on the prev ones too lmao)

[st-osmanthus]

Chapters: 1/1 Rating: General Audiences Relationships: Monkey D. Luffy & Roronoa Zoro Additional Tags: Gen or Pre-Slash, Fluff, Angst, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Devotion, Loyalty, Palate Cleanser, Guilt, POV Second Person

“I’m sorry, Kuina,” you try to apologize, but you would do it again, and knowing that, any apology is merely an empty condolence. You would do it ten thousand times and another ten thousand more if it means saving his life.

She doesn’t stop crying. She’s so small. She will forever remain this small — a little fae of a girl for whom time has stopped. You will never see her stand tall, sword in her hands, a loving family by her side. She will never write you letters or send mementos from her travels. She lives solely in your pride, and you have chosen to discard it.

[theballadofharkness]

You did what?… With who?

Mason and the Macabre Masterlist

Pairing: Maya Mason x HorrorExec!reader

Summary: A casting crisis ruins date night, but things really fall apart when you find out Maya once hooked up with your boss Matt. Hurt turns to heat, and in the aftermath of a messy conference room blow-up, Maya takes back control, reminding her bratty horror queen exactly who she belongs to.

Word Count: 8.8k

Warnings: Explict smut so as always MDNI xo

A/N: I think I’m not the only one who was jump scared at the Maya Matt hookup scenes, which is where this little fic came from ft. Reader being just as shocked as me xo

The clock reads 9:17pm, and the only thing worse than the flickering fluorescent overheads is the fact that you’re still here. Still at Continental. Still in this goddamn conference room.

What was supposed to be dinner and the Boris Karloff Black Sabbath retrospective, one night only, 35mm print, perfect eerie vibes, has instead become stale trail mix, Maya yelling into her phone, and Quinn lying flat on the floor like she’s emotionally decomposing.

The table is a battlefield: headshots, post-it notes, crumpled printouts with studio-approved names scribbled out in Sharpie. Somewhere near the center lies a half-full bottle of Advil and someone’s forgotten vape pen.

You haven’t spoken in ten minutes. Mostly because if you open your mouth, you might scream.

Tyler clicks away on his MacBook with the fervor of a man about to quit the industry and go live in a yurt. Matt’s pacing. Sal’s leaning back in a chair that you’ve threatened to destroy three separate times. And Maya, your girlfriend, your beautiful, high-strung, Prada-wrapped, chaos goblin of a girlfriend, is at the head of the table, barking into her AirPods at an agent who’s clearly lying about availability.

“She’s not booked out through Q3, Gary, she’s at Erewhon every morning and she took a Hulu guest star last week, don’t lie to me—”

You look at the clock again. 9:18.

You shift your gaze to Maya, who catches it for a second. Her expression softens just for a moment. There’s guilt there. The kind that says: I’m sorry, I didn’t forget. I wanted to spoil you rotten.

But then she’s back to shouting. “Then give me someone better. We were about to announce. You want me to put out a press release saying our Cannes-contender lead ‘politely bailed due to exhaustion’? Gary, this is not a fucking Benadryl commercial, this is a prestige thriller with blood and teeth and you owe me for that Variety spread!”

Matt slumps into the seat beside you. “He couldn’t wait till after filming to check into rehab?”

Quinn, from the floor: “Mental health is health, Matt.”

You say nothing.

You’re too busy watching Maya. Watching how fast she moves when something goes wrong. How she thrives in chaos. How much you love her, and how much you resent her for being able to switch gears without missing a beat, even when she promised to hold your hand through that haunting Karloff close-up you’ve been dreaming about all week.

You cross your arms and lean back, nails biting into your sleeves. If she notices your silence, she doesn’t show it.

You’re trying to be a team player. You really are.

You get that this is a crisis. You get that losing your lead actor two weeks before announcement is a full-blown, PR-nightmare, press-cycle-imploding catastrophe. You get it.

But also?

You had these tickets for months.

The Karloff screening was one night only. One night. You’d planned it down to the detail, dinner at that weird little vampire-themed French place on Melrose, then the 10:30pm showing at the New Beverly. You had an outfit. You had lipstick named after a fictional vampire. And Maya had said yes. Maya had promised.

And now she’s playing agent chicken in cargo pants while you rot in a swivel chair next to Matt “crisis is my cardio” Remick.

He slumps closer to you again, chip crumbs on his hoodie. “Hey. You okay? You’re, like… very quiet. And your eyes look like you’re planning a murder.”

“I’m great,” you say, voice thin as piano wire.

He squints. “Are you mad at me?”

“No,” you say, smiling coolly. “I’m mad at the circumstances.”

Matt nods, sagely. “Yeah. Totally. Unforgiving circumstances. You know, I had dinner plans too.”

You blink slowly. “Did you have tickets to a once in a lifetime horror screening and a girlfriend who swore on her Saint Laurent collection that she’d wear a dress with a slit so high it’d make your nosebleed?”

He pauses. “I… did not.”

“Then don’t talk to me.”

Matt sits back.

Maya glances up from her phone at the exact wrong moment, eyebrows furrowing just slightly. She tilts her head like she’s trying to catch your eye, checking in, but you’re already looking away, arms crossed, fingers drumming tight against your elbow.

She sighs. Loudly. Then turns back to the group. “Okay, if we’re tossing out anyone with a criminal record or a secret second family, we’re down to, like, four viable leads. This is a mess.”

Tyler says, “I’m putting the narrowed list in the doc now.”

Quinn mumbles, “Can we manifest Andrew Garfield… oh or Anthony Mackie? We helped him by getting rid of that deliriously boring ending to Alphabet City? Maybe he would want to help us?”

And you sit there, jaw clenched, wondering which will happen first: Maya noticing that you’re barely breathing around her, or you finally snapping and telling everyone in this room to go to hell.

Spoiler: it’s going to be the second one.

The door creaks open and Matt’s assistant, that poor trembling twenty-something with crazy eyes and a name you never remember, steps in balancing four greasy brown takeout bags and a drink tray.

“Okay,” she says, voice chipper and doomed. “Dinner run! Um, I’ve got three poké bowls, one salad with no croutons, and one… bacon cheeseburger?”

Everyone barely glances up. Except you.

You sit up straighter. “I didn’t order a bacon cheeseburger.”

The assistant blinks. “You didn’t?”

“No,” you say flatly. “I ordered the spicy miso ramen. With soft-boiled egg and scallions. And the kombu broth, not tonkotsu. It was very specific.”

“Oh,” she says. “Okay. Right. Um. Yeah, I think they forgot to include that one and I had to sub something in and I thought this would be—”

“It’s not,” you interrupt.

The entire room stills.

Matt chuckles, that awkward little I want us all to have fun chuckle. “Hey, it’s food though, right? Fuel for the chaos. That burger probably tastes great if you close your eyes.”

You swivel your head toward him so slowly it’s cinematic.

“Matt,” you say, ice in your voice, “if you say one more thing about this situation being ‘fun’ or ‘quirky’ or anything short of catastrophic, I’m going to take this burger, hurl it through the window, and then I’m going to go home and personally leak to Deadline that you’re considering Armie Hammer for the lead.”

Sal blanches. “Okay, wow. Vivid.”

Tyler is silently typing faster. Quinn has frozen mid-sip. Maya, who had just stepped away to take another call, turns back at the sound of your voice and clocks your expression instantly.

The assistant holds out the bag to you, hands trembling.

You don’t take it.

“Put it down,” you mutter. “And tell them next time, if they can’t handle reading a four-item order, they shouldn’t be in delivery.”

The assistant nods like she’s just been saved from the gallows, barely, and vanishes.

Matt tries again, brave little idiot that he is. “Hey, look, I know tonight sucks, but we’re gonna fix this. We always do.”

You stare at the burger. It’s oozing melted cheese you didn’t ask for onto a paper napkin. Your stomach growls in betrayal.

“I don’t need reassurance,” you say, eyes still on the food. “I need someone to give a shit that this night mattered to me.”

Matt, for once, says nothing.

Maya watches you carefully, lips slightly parted like she wants to say something but knows better than to try right now.

Good.

Because if she tries to talk to you with that soft voice, the one she uses when she’s trying to calm you down ‘baby, come on, it’s not that deep’ you’re going to lose it.

You exhale slowly, blinking down at the offending burger like it personally insulted your family line.

Then you push your chair back, the screech loud and final, and stand.

“I’m going to smoke,” you say.

Across the room, Quinn lifts her head from the couch where she’s now fully horizontal, half a Red Bull can balanced on her chest. “Didn’t you quit?”

You meet her gaze, deadpan. “Yes. I did.”

The room is quiet as you grab your coat off the back of your chair. Not a single person tries to stop you, not Matt, not Sal, not Tyler who definitely pretends to type but is secretly tracking the emotional temperature in the room like it’s a goddamn hurricane warning system.

Maya watches you like she’s deciding whether to follow or give you space. You don’t even look at her as you leave.

The door clicks softly shut behind you.

And then it’s just the hallway, dim, echoing, empty. You fish through your bag for the emergency pack you swore you threw out three months ago. The lighter’s tucked in your inner coat pocket, because you always keep one on you. Just in case. For moments like this.

Moments where your girlfriend forgets the thing you’ve been looking forward to for weeks. Moments where everyone around you thinks you’re just a work machine who doesn’t need a night off, doesn’t deserve softness or spooky vintage horror or god forbid a meal that tastes like something other than cardboard and stress.

You step out onto the rooftop access balcony, light up, and take a long, furious drag.

The city below sparkles like it doesn’t care you’re having the worst night of your life.

Behind you, the door creaks open.

And you know it’s her.

You don’t turn when you hear the door open. Just flick the ash off the end of your cigarette and keep your eyes on the skyline, all glittering buildings and smog-hazed moonlight. The kind of view people would die for.

You’d trade it for a decent bowl of ramen and thirty uninterrupted minutes in a dark cinema with Maya’s hand in yours.

Her footsteps are soft behind you. Rubber soles on concrete. She’s not in heels today, she never is when shit hits the fan. Maya in crisis mode means sneakers, slicked-back hair, oversized streetwear that still somehow screams money.

“Hey,” she says, soft and casual, leaning against the wall beside you. Not too close. Not yet. “I was wondering where you snuck off to.”

You exhale a slow stream of smoke. “I said I was going to smoke.”

“Yeah, but like… dramatically,” she says with a small grin. “You’ve got that whole ‘tragic noir widow who poisoned her husband’ vibe going.”

You don’t laugh.

Maya shifts her weight, biting at the edge of her thumb. “Okay. So. You’re pissed.”

“Nope,” you reply coolly, eyes still forward. “I’m disappointed. Different thing.”

“Baby…”

“I don’t want to do this right now.”

“Well, tough, because we are doing this right now. I’m not going back in there to listen to Matt talk about how maybe Timothée Chalamet has ‘genre potential’ without fixing this first.”

You roll your eyes.

She steps closer. “I know I ruined tonight.”

“Do you?”

Maya pauses.

You finally turn your head, flicking the last of your cigarette over the railing. “You promised me, Maya. You said dinner and Black Sabbath. You said you cleared your schedule. I wore my stupid little dress and you—”

“I know.” She sounds guilty now. Not soft. Not smug. Just tired.

“I wanted to go,” she says. “I did. But when this shit hit the fan, I had to—”

“No,” you interrupt. “You chose to. And that’s fine, Maya. That’s your job. I get it. I’m not mad you’re good at your job. I’m mad that I didn’t even register to you tonight.”

Silence.

The only sound is the faint hum of traffic below and your own heart, pounding like it’s trying to crack your ribs.

Maya steps in, finally closing the space between you. Her hand hovers at your wrist.

“You always register,” she says, quiet now. “You’re the only thing that registers. Even when I’m on the phone with Gary the lying agent and Quinn’s comparing headshots like she’s swiping Tinder for psychopaths… I’m still thinking about how pissed you are. About how I let you down. I know I did.”

You stare at her.

“And I’ll make it up to you,” she adds, more confidently now. “I’ll find another screening. Or I’ll buy out the fucking New Beverly and force them to show it again. Just us. You can wear your little dress and I’ll wear heels and lipstick and no bra. I’ll make it right.”

Your mouth twitches. “You’re such a manipulative bitch,” you murmur.

She grins. “Takes one to love one.”

And finally you let her reach for you, her hands settling at your hips, her body warm and familiar against yours as the city glows below and the disaster inside fades, for just a second, into something survivable.

Maya’s hands slip around your waist, thumbs pressing into your hips like she’s trying to anchor you. You hate how good it feels. How easy it is to melt into her, even when you’re mad. Especially when you’re mad.

“Still want to be mad at me?” she murmurs, lips ghosting just beneath your jaw.

You huff. “Yes.”

“Okay,” she says, dipping her head lower, mouthing at your neck. “Want to do it while I’m kissing you?”

You don’t dignify that with an answer.

Instead, you grab her collar and pull her in hard, kissing her like you mean to punish her for every moment she made you feel invisible tonight. It’s angry, all teeth and open mouths and smudged lipstick. Her rings dig into your back as she pushes you gently against the wall, one leg between yours, her tongue slipping past your lips like she owns you. (She does. You hate it… you love it really.)

Your fingers tangle in the back of her shirt. Her hand cups your jaw, possessive and greedy, like she’d crawl inside you if you let her.

You’re still furious.

But you’re also starving for her, for closeness, for the night that got stolen from you.

She kisses you like she’s trying to give it back.

You’re breathless when you finally pull away, her forehead pressed to yours, both of you panting like you’ve just run a mile.

You blink up at her. Then pout. “I’m still mad.”

“I know.”

“And I have nothing to eat.”

Maya sighs dramatically, hand still on your waist. “Okay. Do you want me to go downstairs, threaten that assistant into running to Little Dom’s, and bring you back a real meal while I blackball every poké place in LA?”

You pause, considering it. “…Yes.”

She kisses your nose, grinning. “That’s my terrifying little goblin.”

You swat her ass as she turns to leave.

She blows you a kiss over her shoulder. “Stay mad. I’m gonna fix it.”

And for the first time all night, you believe her.

When you walk back into the conference room, it’s like nothing happened. Well, almost nothing.

Quinn raises one eyebrow but wisely says nothing. Matt offers you a sheepish chip. You ignore him. Tyler avoids eye contact like you’re a wild animal that bites.

And Maya? She’s back at the head of the table, arms crossed, glaring at a printout of an actor’s IMDB credits like she can will charisma into his face. The moment she sees you, her expression softens just enough for you to catch it.

Without a word, you cross the room, slide into her chair, and settle into her lap like it’s your rightful throne.

She doesn’t blink. Just wraps her arm around your waist and pulls you in closer, her fingers tracing circles at your hip like it’s the most normal thing in the world. Like you’re not both high-ranking executives in a Hollywood studio actively clinging to each other in the middle of a very serious emergency meeting.

You grab the stack of casting options Quinn’s compiled and start flipping through them, sharp-eyed and fully engaged for the first time tonight.

Maya’s chin rests on your shoulder. “Do we like him?” she murmurs, nodding at a headshot.

You snort. “He looks like the kind of guy who’d get cast in a remake of something and say in the press tour that he’s ‘not really a horror fan.’”

Maya hums. “Death penalty.”

Matt clears his throat. “Are we just… are we doing this? Like, are you… are you just sitting—”

“I’d stop talking if I were you,” Quinn says without looking up.

Sal mutters something about needing therapy.

You sigh, flipping another page. “Okay. We need someone with heat, with depth, and with a name that won’t make Variety think we’ve lost the plot. Who actually wants to do genre. Not prestige posturing. Not some Marvel rebound gig.”

Maya squeezes your waist proudly. “She’s back, baby.”

You glance at her. “Don’t push it.”

She bites back a grin.

And just like that, the meeting resets. The energy shifts. You’re still hungry. Still annoyed. But you’ve got Maya’s warmth beneath you, your hand sorting through the chaos like you’re building an altar out of headshots and spite. It’s not the night you wanted. But it’s yours.

It’s a full-on war room now.

Papers litter the table like battlefield debris. Someone’s ordered more coffee. Quinn’s abandoned the floor and is pacing in socks, muttering actor names like she’s summoning demons. Matt has one AirPod in and two phones on speaker. Tyler’s got six windows open on his laptop and keeps saying things like, “If we shift the press embargo window to Thursday, we could still meet the media lead-in without violating the NDA.” Sal’s in the corner on the phone with someone, you don’t know who, and frankly, you don’t want to know.

And you?

You’re still on Maya’s lap, her arms looped lazily around your waist as the two of you scroll IMDb Pro like it owes you money.

“We’re running out of options,” she mutters, chin on your shoulder.

“No,” you say, flipping through headshots. “We’re running out of good options. We’ve got plenty of bad ones left.”

You scroll past a mid-tier heartthrob and grimace. “He thinks ‘The Babadook’ is a slur.”

Maya snorts.

You feel the vibration of her phone before you hear the ding. She shifts under you, grabbing it from the table, scrolling a few beats, then—

“Wait,” she says, and her voice changes. It sharpens.

You lean back slightly to see the screen.

A photo. A name.

You blink. “Him?”

“He’s free,” she says. “Just left that three-film deal with Netflix, so he’s loose. And he wants awards again. Said it in his GQ interview last month.”

“He hasn’t done a thriller since that Swedish noir remake thing,” you murmur.

“Exactly.” Her eyes are gleaming. “He’s overdue. He wants something gritty, something sexy and smart. We give him this, with you as exec producer, me running the campaign, he eats. He feasts.”

You glance at the name again. A-list. Oscar nominee. Under 40. Still hot enough that the trades would sell it as a comeback. Your gut twists.

“That’s a real star,” you say quietly.

Maya grins. “Then let’s fucking go.”

~ Twenty minutes later ~

The room is silent. Breathless. Tyler’s phone is on speaker.

A female voice says clearly: “He’s in. He loves the script. He’s asking for a quick polish on act three, but he’s in if you’re in.”

Tyler mouths ‘holy shit’.

You and Maya look at each other. She’s grinning like a woman who just closed a million-dollar deal. Because she did.

“Tell him we’ll have a new draft by Monday,” Maya says. “And that we’ll build the whole campaign around him. Fall festivals. Viral drops. Let him play serious again. Full resurrection treatment.”

“Yes, ma’am,” the voice says.

The call ends.

The room explodes.

Quinn is dancing around the table, chanting, “WE DID IT! WE FUCKING DID IT!” while holding her Red Bull like a trophy. Tyler’s fully teared up, muttering something about “professional peak” as he rapid-types a new press release draft. Matt’s hugging people he normally avoids. Sal opens his personal stash of whiskey from the bottom cabinet man’s behind to gulp it down in celebration.

And you, you’re just sitting there, dazed, still on Maya’s lap, the adrenaline hitting you in waves as you both watch your team lose their minds in the best way. You feel her hand stroke your back, grounding you.

You turn and face her, and her smile softens.

You’re both exhausted. You’re both glowing.

You kiss her.

Right there in front of everyone, without thinking, just full-on lips crashing together, the kind of kiss that says we did it, that says I love you, that says we’re a fucking empire, you and me.

She kisses you back with a little groan like she’s been dying for it all night.

When you pull away, she tucks a bit of your hair behind your ear. “Fuck me I’m good.”

You smirk. “Baby you know I’m the bottom here.”

She rolls her eyes, but you feel her squeeze your thigh under the table.

Someone cranks music, something loud and celebratory and wildly inappropriate for a work setting, and suddenly Quinn’s tossing around casting sheets like confetti, Tyler’s laughing, and Matt’s on his second glass of Dom Perignon.

Then…

“I’m just saying,” Sal calls over the chaos, already tipsy, “I’m so glad Maya and Matt aren’t fucking anymore because a fucking win like this would’ve ended in one of those weird celebratory makeouts with, like, tongue and teeth and that whole… thing.”

Record scratch.

Everything stops.

You don’t move. You don’t blink. The music is still playing but it sounds underwater now. Distant. Wrong. Because your body just froze around one word: fucking.

Your brain does the math. And the math is bad.

You were not aware that Maya and Matt had ever…

Your gaze snaps to her before you can stop yourself.

And Maya? She’s pale. Like someone just slapped her across the face. Her arms loosen around you just slightly. Like she wants to speak but can’t figure out which version of the truth to start with.

Maya stiffens beneath you. “Sal.”

“What?” Sal blinks, clearly not reading the room. “I’m just saying it’s refreshing not to end a big win with that weird forehead-touching, neck-biting, sweaty thing you two used to do. Like, get a room—”

“SAL.” Maya snaps.

Matt chuckles, a little too defensively. “Okay, it wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh my god,” Quinn says from the couch, voice deadpan but gleeful. “Wait. Wait. You and Matt actually—”

You slide off Maya’s lap slowly. Mechanically.

No one speaks.

Not even Sal, who finally realizes far too late that he just opened a black hole in the center of the room.

You look at Maya, but this time, you don’t see her in her triumph, or her glory, or the way she kissed you like she’d won a million dollars. You see someone who never told you something big. You see a betrayal you didn’t even know you had to look for. And Maya? She looks like she’d give anything to take the moment back.

“No no no no no,” you say, waving your hand like you can physically clear the words from the air. “This isn’t real. Tell me this isn’t real.”

Matt’s hands go up, palms-out. “Hey, okay, it was a long time ago! Pre-pandemic! Practically a different era. We were hot!”

“No you weren’t,” Tyler mutters.

“Thank you,” Sal says.

“I mean, I didn’t think it was important,” Matt tries, shrugging. “We’re adults. It’s ancient history.”

You round on Maya, who looks like she wants the floor to swallow her whole.

“You fucked Matt?” you whisper. “Matt? My boss?”

Maya’s hands go up in surrender. “I swear to god, it was barely a thing. Like three times. Maybe four and some make outs—”

“Four?!”

“And we agreed it was a mistake! That it was weird and a boundary issue and we were never doing it again!”

“Oh my god,” you say, stepping back. Your face is hot. Your ears are ringing. You genuinely think you might pass out.

Maya stands, panic rising in her voice. “It was before you, okay? It didn’t mean anything—”

“It means something now!” you snap. “You’ve been in meetings with him, pitching with him, touching me in front of him, and never thought maybe, just maybe, I should know this?!”

“Babe,” she says, pleading. “It wasn’t—”

But you’re already walking. Past Quinn, who mouths holy shit. Past Tyler, who looks like he’s about to throw up. Past Matt, who mutters, “I mean, it wasn’t bad,” and Maya, who yells, “Matt, shut the fuck up!”

You don’t look back. Not even when Maya calls your name, urgent and anxious behind you. Because if you do, you’ll cry. And you won’t give her that. Not in front of all of them.

You don’t make it to the elevator.

You barely make it past the hall.

You stumble into the nearest quiet corridor off the main floor, press your back to the wall, and slide down until you’re crouched in the shadows beside the fire extinguisher, hidden from the party you used to be part of ten minutes ago.

Your hands are shaking.

Not in a poetic, trembling-lip way, no you’re shaking like your body’s short-circuiting. You can’t get a full breath in, like your lungs are folding in on themselves. Your fingers fumble for your phone, but it slips once before you catch it again, screen lighting up far too bright in the dark.

You open the Uber app.

It takes three tries to type your address.

You don’t even look at the price. You hit Confirm pickup, then curl your arms around your knees like you’re holding yourself together with sheer force of will.

A car in six minutes.

Six minutes, and you can be out of here. Away from the conference room. Away from the memory of Maya’s arms around you while she neglected to mention her little HR-certified hookup history with your literal boss.

Away from Quinn’s face going no fucking way, from Sal being… well, Sal, from Matt trying to laugh it off like you’re all just characters in one of his shitty improv sketches.

You stare at the blinking dot on your phone.

It says your driver is named Eli.

You’re going to climb into Eli’s Honda and pretend you’re not the idiot whose girlfriend used to fuck the head of the studio you work for.

You wipe at your eyes angrily. No tears. Not yet.

You’ve got to get home, take off your makeup, wash this night off your body like it didn’t happen. Get three hours of sleep, if that. And then come back here tomorrow to the same office, the same glass-walled rooms, and the same people who all know exactly how humiliated you were.

You’ll have to walk into that conference room and look Matt in the face. And worse you’ll have to look at her.

You grip your phone tighter. Try not to scream.

Four minutes now.

Just four more minutes.

You close your eyes.

You do not fall apart in the hallway.

Not yet.

Back in the conference room, the mood has absolutely tanked.

The music’s still playing, some obnoxious party track with a synth drop no one asked for, but now it just feels cruel. Tyler quietly lowers the volume without asking.

Maya’s standing at the head of the table, arms crossed, jaw tight. She hasn’t said a word since you left.

Then she lets go. “Okay. What the fuck was that?!”

Everyone freezes.

Sal, still halfway through pouring another whiskey: “That was not on me.”

“Really?” Maya snaps, eyes blazing. “Because you’re the one who decided to resurrect the ancient, cursed Matt-and-Maya-era like it was relevant.”

Sal shrugs. “Didn’t realize it was classified.”

“Oh my god,” she says, rubbing her temples. “Do you just say things to hear yourself speak or was tonight special?”

Quinn’s still staring like she just watched a plane crash. “You two actually had sex?”

Maya paces now, agitated, unspooling in front of them. “I didn’t tell her because it didn’t matter. It was a blip. It was so long ago, and it was awkward and messy and I thought… it just never came up, okay?!”

Matt nods too fast. “Yeah. And I supported that! I supported not bringing it up! Because I thought it would be weird to tell her!”

“We were stupid. It was sloppy!” Maya barks. “It was during the Blue Fox merger, I had bronchitis and a PR embargo hanging over my head!”

“Oh my god,” Quinn whispers. “Was there tongue?”

Maya throws her hands up. “Yes, okay?! There was tongue. There was stress. There was bad lighting. It was a low point for everyone involved.”

Matt winces. “Okay that’s kinda harsh, I think it was kind of beautiful…”

“Matt,” Sal says, “shut the fuck up.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell her,” Quinn mutters, more to herself than anyone.

Maya turns, sharp. “Why would I?! So she could, what? Laugh? Pity me? Set fire to her retinas with the image of me and him in a West Hollywood bar bathroom while Luther Vandross played in the background?”

Quinn blinks. “…it was to Luther Vandross?”

“Of course it was Luther Vandross! I have taste, Quinn!”

The room falls quiet again.

Maya deflates a little. She’s still furious. Still too raw to know what to do with herself. “I didn’t tell her,” she says, quieter now. “Because it was nothing. It was a blip. It was before. Before her. Before I even knew what it felt like to want to come home to someone.”

“She looked at me like I was someone else,” she says quietly. “Like I’d lied about everything. Like I’d humiliated her.”

“She’s not wrong,” Sal says, uncharacteristically soft.

That’s what makes Maya go still.

Sal shrugs. “I’m just saying. If I found out my girlfriend used to bone the guy who signs her paycheck, and she didn’t tell me? I’d be halfway to my dealers for medical grade coke by now.”

“Well it’s not technically me who signs them.. that would be Lucille from accounting…” Matt interjects

Maya’s jaw clenches. “Not helpful Matt.”

~

You slam the door behind you.

Hard.

The keys hit the floor. Your bag drops somewhere near the entryway. You don’t even bother turning the lights on, you just march straight into the kitchen like a storm in heels, throw the fridge open, and stare inside like something in there’s going to fix this. Spoiler: there’s nothing but a bottle of white wine, a leftover oat latte, and a Tupperware of pad thai that’s three days past edible.

You grab the wine. Twist the cap off with shaking fingers and drink straight from the bottle.

The second the first gulp hits your throat, you pace back and forth, back and forth, bare feet slapping hardwood like you’re wearing a hole into the foundation.

“Matt,” you hiss, to no one. “Matt fucking Remnick?”

You laugh. It’s ugly. “Of course. Of fucking course.”

You fling yourself down on the couch and dig your nails into the throw pillow like it personally betrayed you.

So let’s just tally it up, right?

The guy who pays you, the guy who nods along during your pitch meetings like he’s just smart enough to track the plot but not smart enough to understand why it works, that guy? That doughy, beige suit wearing, oat milk-drinking, workaholic dipshit?

He fucked your girlfriend.

Your Maya.

The Maya who kisses your throat when you’re reading in bed. The Maya who calls you her “creepy little horror wife” in meetings like a badge of honor. That Maya?

Fucked. Matt. Remnick.

You press your hands into your eyes. Oh, and the best part? Sal knew. Sal. Fucking Sal, who you’ve sat next to in a hundred meetings, who’s texted you bad memes at midnight, who’s thrown shade at every actor you’ve ever cast.

He knew.

How many people knew? How many people sat across from you in conference rooms, watched you and Maya flirt and smolder, and thought, Wow. Hope she told her she used to hook up with the boss?

You drag your hands down your face and make a sound that’s somewhere between a scream and a sob. You feel sick. Like the butt of a joke you didn’t know was being told.

Your phone buzzes from your bag across the room.

You don’t even look.

If it’s Maya, she can wait.

~

You wake up face-down on the couch, blanket halfway off, one leg tangled in your throw, and a wine bottle dangerously close to rolling off the coffee table.

Your head pounds. Your mouth is dry. It’s 5 a.m. and you feel like someone took your rage, poured it through a filter of grief, and blended it with three hours of half-sleep and one unfinished nightmare about Matt Remnick in a hot tub.

You groan. Sit up. Immediately regret it.

Then you see your phone.

18 texts.

4 voice notes.

1 missed call.

All from Maya.

You stare at the screen for a long moment before thumbing open the thread.

The first one hit around 12:23 a.m.

<Maya: ok so i’ve been lying in bed for two hours staring at the ceiling like the little match girl but instead of cold i’m dying of shame>

<Maya: just fyi tho the matt era was VERY short-lived and powered entirely by alcohol and bad decisions and i got bronchitis right after. draw your own conclusions.>

<Maya: I should’ve told you. I didn’t because i thought it was irrelevant and then i convinced myself it was embarrassing and then it turned into a weird shame snowball and then sal threw a grenade and now we’re here>

<Maya voice note: Hey. Um. I don’t know what I’m doing. You know I’m shit at this. I just… fuck, you looked at me like you didn’t know me and I’ve never wanted to crawl into a Bottega clutch and die more. Just… please tell me you’re okay?>

<Maya: i’m gonna go to sleep before i drive to your place in a hoodie and crocs and throw pebbles at your window like a fuckin Lana song but specifically for lesbians>

<Maya: unless that would work??>

~

Your alarm didn’t go off.

Actually, no, your alarm did go off. You just threw your phone across the room sometime around 6:30 a.m. after rereading Maya’s latest text for the fifth time and muttering “fuck off” into your pillow.

So now it’s 9:12 a.m.

And the Continental morning meeting starts at 9.

You bolt out of bed with a groan, mouth dry, head pounding, last night’s wine and rage still thick behind your eyes. You shower in record time, slap on concealer, mascara, a black turtleneck, and sunglasses that scream do not speak to me I will kill you where you stand.

No breakfast. Just coffee in a to-go cup that tastes like cardboard and regret.

Traffic’s hell. You scream once in your car just to get it out. You park like a menace, don’t even check the mirror, and stomp across the lot toward the building with your bag half open and your badge clipped to your sleeve.

When you push through the glass doors and into the marble lobby of Continental Studios, you’re ten minutes late and vibrating with fury.

Matt spots you immediately from the hallway. He’s holding a protein bar and his big dumb reusable water bottle and smiling like it’s casual Friday.

“Hey,” he calls, jogging to keep pace beside you. “You’re late for the morning slate check-in.”

You don’t even look at him. Instead you snarl, voice low and venomous, “bite me, Remnick.”

He freezes mid-step.

“Okay,” he says slowly. “That’s fair. You’re mad. Totally valid. Just… don’t bite me in the meeting, okay? Bite Sal. He can take it.”

You don’t respond.

You just keep walking. Because the only thing worse than seeing Matt today��� is knowing she’s already in the conference room.

And you have to sit through the morning meeting like none of this happened. Like your entire sense of stability didn’t just crack open in front of half the fucking team.

The door swings open.

You step inside the conference room with that perfect blend of silence and menace, black silk shirt, razor-sharp tailored blazer, sunglasses pushed up into your hair like a crown. You’ve got your coffee in one hand, your notes in the other, and the kind of expression that says I dare you.

Tyler starts the meeting like he doesn’t smell the emotional blood in the air. “Okay, so first things first—our guy’s officially confirmed, and the trades are prepped. We’re greenlit to announce end of week if we can finalize rollout assets.”

“Cool,” you say crisply, flipping open the folder. “We’re not announcing Friday.”

Everyone looks up.

Matt blinks. “We’re not?”

“No. It’s too crowded. Dune: Part Three has an early stills drop Friday morning and Searchlight’s doing an ‘Anatomy of a Fall’ deep-dive with the New Yorker that afternoon. We’ll get buried. We push to Monday and own the morning cycle.”

Maya opens her mouth to speak, and you don’t even look up. “Unless you’d like to announce our Oscar-bait thriller between a sandworm and a French woman falling down the stairs.”

Silence.

Then Quinn mutters, “God, you’re scary when you’re on.”

You still don’t look at Maya. But you feel her eyes burning into you.

Matt clears his throat. “Okay, Monday. We can make that work. Uh… Maya, what do you need for assets?”

~

The rest of the meeting trudges forward like it’s wearing lead boots.

You don’t speak unless you have to. Every sentence that comes out of your mouth is clean, clear, and lethal. Maya keeps glancing your way like she’s trying to find an opening, a soft edge, a tell, anything.

But there’s nothing.

You give her nothing.

No warmth. No flicker of forgiveness. Not even a look.

Just silence and strategy.

“If we’re shifting, talent needs their glam appointments moved up. We’ll need rep confirmation before lunch.” No snark. No emotion. Just fact.

Maya nods slowly. “I’ll handle it.”

Still, you don’t look at her.

Even Sal picks up on it now. He’s not cracking jokes. Matt fumbles through the updated calendar notes. Quinn adds a few scheduling tweaks. Tyler asks something about embargo coordination, which you answer with the kind of precision that makes Sal mouth “yikes” into his coffee.

Eventually, the meeting wraps.

Chairs scrape back. Laptops close. No one says much.

And Maya? She stands. Lingers behind her chair, one hand resting on the back of it like she doesn’t know what to do with herself. You don’t look up. You’re reviewing the press deck. You are calm. You are composed. You are the queen of horror at Continental fucking Studios. And right now? She doesn’t get to have you.

You gather your papers in silence. Neat. Controlled. No sign of the volcano beneath the surface. You slide them into your folder, close it with precision, and stand.

You don’t look at Maya. You’re halfway to the door when you hear her.

“C’mon, wait.” Her voice is low. Urgent.

You pause just enough to let the tension snap taut, but not enough to look back. “I have work to do,” you say coolly.

She scoffs. “Oh come on. You can’t get mad at me for having a past, fucking hell.”

Your spine stiffens.

“I’m nearly double your age,” she continues, stepping forward now, voice rising just slightly. “I’ve fucked people. Like, sorry? Grow up.”

That’s when you freeze.

Turn.

Your voice shakes, not with weakness, but fury. “Yeah. I’m fucking aware, Maya.”

She blinks. Like maybe she thought you wouldn’t bite back.

“But this isn’t just anyone,” you hiss, stepping closer now. “This isn’t some ex from New York or a personal assistant you ghosted after Sundance. This is my boss. This is the man who signs my paychecks. Who I have to pitch to, smile at, navigate. And you didn’t think I deserved to know that you two had history?!”

“It was barely history…” she starts

“It doesn’t matter!” you snap. “It matters to me! And you didn’t tell me because what? You thought I’d be jealous? Uncool? That I’d what, throw a tantrum? Guess what, I’m throwing one now!”

Everyone else outside the glass conference room is simultaneously edging closer and pretending not to exist. You can still feel everyone’s eyes on you, even if they’re all pretending they aren’t. Sal suddenly finds the far wall very interesting. Quinn’s fake AirPods are basically a theater curtain. Matt’s holding a water bottle like he might use it as a shield.

Maya runs a hand through her hair, frustrated. “Look, I know I should’ve told you.”

You cut her off. “Then why didn’t you?”

“I was embarrassed, okay?” she blurts. “It was a shitty, messy mistake and I didn’t want to bring that into us. I didn’t want to give it weight. You matter. He never did,” she says, too fast now, words spiraling. “You know how this studio works. Half the people in that room have fucked each other. And yeah, I messed up not tell you, but you can’t just crucify me because I have a past you didn’t pre-approve.”

You laugh, cold and wounded. “That’s not what this is about and you know it.”

She sighs hard. “Then what the fuck is it about?”

“It’s about respect, Maya!”

Now you’re really in it. Eyes burning. Breath ragged.

“It’s about the fact that I was the last to know. That Sal knew. That Tyler didn’t blink. That you let me sit next to Matt in meetings like it was nothing. Like I was some clueless intern with a clipboard and not your…” You stop. Swallow. “Not someone you say you care about.”

Maya’s face crumbles for real now.

“I do care about you,” she says, stepping forward, eyes desperate. “You think I don’t? You think I haven’t been losing my fucking mind since last night? I’ve sent you like sixty texts, I drafted a notes app apology, I didn’t even put on moisturizer this morning, do you understand how deranged I am right now?”

You blink. “That’s your barometer for grief? Moisturizer?”

“It was Dr. Barbara Sturm, you psychopath!” she snaps. “That shit is eighty-five dollars a pump!”

There’s a beat.

And despite yourself you almost laugh. Instead, you just shake your head, trying to calm your own heart, your own hands, your own instinct to forgive her too fast.

She’s watching you. Chest rising and falling. Waiting for you to say something. Anything.

And the room?

The room is silent.

She’s watching you. Breathing hard. Jaw tight. But her eyes? They’re tracking every inch of you like she’s trying to memorize your silhouette before you vanish.

Then she moves.

She closes the distance with one sharp step, and before you can stop her, her hands are at your waist. Light at first. Testing.

You flinch. “Don’t.”

But she doesn’t back off. Instead, she leans in, mouth grazing your jaw, voice low and warm and dangerous in your ear.

“Baby, come on,” she murmurs. “I love you.”

Your breath catches.

Her hands slide lower, fingers curling at your hips like she’s staking a claim. She presses in close, intimate, entirely inappropriate with your coworkers still very much looking through the glass conference walls into the room and brushes her lips just beneath your ear.

“You’re pissed. I get it. Be pissed,” she breathes. “Yell at me later. Call me names. Tell me I’m a stupid, emotionally constipated corporate nightmare.”

You don’t move. Can’t.

She nips lightly at your neck. “But don’t leave me.”

Her fingers tighten, sliding up under the edge of your blazer, thumbs brushing your sides, mouth now trailing lower like she can seduce the forgiveness out of you.

“I love you,” she says again, lower now, desperate. “I was a coward. I fucked up. Let me fix it. Please.”

You should push her away.

You don’t. You don’t because she knows exactly where to touch you and she’s touching you there now, hands firm on your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft spot just beneath your ribs like she’s trying to hold you together before you shatter again.

And then she kisses you.

Hard. No warning. No room to think. Just mouth on yours, hot and hungry and completely insane given the fact that you are very much not alone.

Your folder hits the floor.

Maya walks you back a step, her hands tangled in your blazer, mouth moving over yours like she needs it more than breath. There’s no gentle easing into it, it’s immediate, consuming, and deep. She kisses you like she’s trying to rewrite the memory of Matt fucking Remnick out of your bloodstream.

You pull back hard, breath heaving, mouth swollen from her kiss, mascara smudged, and Maya’s staring at you like you just gave her a second chance at life.

She reaches for you again.

You stop her with a single raised eyebrow and one lethal line, “…Matt? Really?”

The room goes dead silent again.

“Matt Remnick?” you repeat, voice dripping with horror. “You were into that?”

Sal audibly snorts and pretends to choke on his drink. Quinn lets out a wheeze and turns fully to the wall like she’s entering witness protection.

Maya groans. Loud. Embarrassed. Absolutely desperate. “Oh my god,” she mutters, eyes wide as she grabs your face and kisses you again.

Hard. This time it’s needy. Almost angry.

“I’m into you,” she growls against your mouth. “I’m into this. Not him.”

You’re still breathless when she pulls back.

You look at Maya.

She’s flushed. Wrecked. Entirely yours. And completely aware she’s still on thin ice.

You smooth your blazer. Pick your folder up off the floor. And say, as calmly as if you’re discussing box office projections: “We’re still having this conversation later. Somewhere private. Somewhere where I’m less inclined to claw your eyes out and let you fuck me against a filing cabinet.”

Maya exhales shakily. “Copy that,” she whispers.

Sal gives you a little golf clap. Quinn doesn’t look up, but says, “I hope we never stop working here.”

And without a word, you turn and walk. Down the hallway. Past the open offices. Through the glass doors.

Maya follows like a shadow. You swipe your badge and push open the door to your office, stepping inside with controlled hurt still radiating off your skin.

Maya barely gets the door shut behind her before you’re on her again.

You grab her jacket lapels and slam your mouth to hers, no buildup, no words, just heat. She groans into it, hands going immediately to your waist, pulling you in like she can’t stand to be apart from you another second.

This kiss is filthier. Sloppier. More desperate. You bite her lower lip and she gasps, nails digging into your hips as you press her back against the door.

“You drive me fucking insane,” you whisper against her mouth.

“Yeah?” she pants, licking her lips. “Well you’re fucking infuriating and I love you.”

Her hands roam over your back, up your spine, under your blazer. She tugs it off your shoulders like it’s offended her.

She laughs into your neck, breath hot as she whispers, “Is this… our version of conflict resolution?”

“Shut up,” you mutter, pushing her down into the couch with one hand on her chest.

You climb into her lap and kiss her again, harder this time, her fingers slipping under your shirt like they know exactly what kind of damage they caused and exactly how to earn forgiveness.

You grind your hips against hers and she groans, low in her throat. “You’re still mad at me.”

You pull back just enough to look her dead in the eye. “Yes I am.”

She smiles. “Liar.”

And then you’re kissing again like you want to ruin her, like she’s the only one who could ever deserve to be ruined by you. You’re breathless in her lap, lips swollen from kissing her too hard, your blazer long forgotten somewhere on the floor. Your fingers are clenched in the fabric of her shirt, your eyes hot, your body humming.

You’re still upset. Still bruised with betrayal. But god, her hands feel good on you. You pull back, panting, trying to steel yourself, to glare at her.

But your voice comes out shaky. “I’m still mad,” you whisper.

Her hands slide from your waist to your thighs, spreading you just slightly over her lap. “Good.”

And then she moves.

Suddenly you’re on your back on the couch, gasping as she pins you there, her body over yours, her mouth hovering just above your throat.

She’s looking at you differently now, like she’s done pretending you’re in control.

You shiver. “Maya?”

She kisses you. Slow. Possessive. Deep enough to make your stomach flip. When she pulls back, she speaks low against your mouth. “You’re being a little brat.”

Your thighs twitch.

Her hand slips between your legs, pressing over your panties, hot, firm, and unrelenting.

“Still think you’re mad at me?”

You whimper, arching into her hand.

She grins. “Thought so.”

She pulls your underwear aside, slides her fingers over you, slick, slow, maddening. You gasp, hips twitching. Her mouth is at your neck now, sucking lightly, just enough to make you writhe.

“You’re soaked,” she murmurs, smug. “Say you need me.”

You shake your head, breath trembling. “No.”

She presses two fingers in, deep and smooth, and you whine.

“Say it.”

You grip her shoulders like you might fall through the floor.

“I need you,” you breathe. “I need you, I need… fuck—”

“Good girl,” she says softly.

And then she fucks you. Harder now, fingers working you open, her body flush against yours, her mouth at your ear whispering things that make you gasp her name like a prayer.

“You gonna be good for me now?” she whispers.

“Yes! Yes, I promise… please don’t stop…”

You’re shaking beneath her, legs spreading wider, body losing every ounce of control you fought to hold. She’s everywhere, her voice, her hands, her breath, her mouth, and she doesn’t let up until you’re begging.

You come with a sharp cry, arching into her, body going taut, her name spilling from your lips like you were made for her.

She holds you through it, kissing your cheek, brushing your hair back, whispering, “That’s it, baby. That’s it.”

When the shaking slows, you cling to her, flushed and fucked-out, heart pounding. You nuzzle into her neck, voice tiny. “I’m not mad.”

She smiles against your hair. “I know.”

The room is quiet now.

Your body is warm and shaking gently, curled half on top of Maya on the couch. Her shirt is unbuttoned, your blouse’s somewhere on the floor, and your legs are tangled like you never plan on moving again.

She’s holding you. One hand stroking slow circles between your shoulder blades. The other resting lazily on your thigh, grounding you.

You’re breathing against her chest, face buried in the crook of her neck, eyelids fluttering. Safe. Fuzzy. Boneless.

Maya kisses your hair. “You alive down there?” she whispers.

You nod, slow. Muffled. “Mhm.”

She smiles, running her fingers through your hair now, kissing your temple.

You nuzzle closer, arms tightening around her waist.

Then, softly, voice quiet and thick with exhaustion, you apologise. “Sorry I was so dramatic.”

She blinks. Pulls back just enough to look at you. “Babe.”

You shrug against her. “I know I was bratting out. I just…” You sigh. “It’s Matt.”

There’s a beat.

Then Maya snorts.

You lift your head to glare at her, but she’s already laughing quietly, shakily, that signature Maya Mason chuckle that sounds like she can’t believe her life.

“I know it’s Matt,” she wheezes. “Believe me. I have to live with that fact every day.”

You flop your head back onto her chest. “God. Well I guess that’s punishment enough.”

Her arms tighten around you, still laughing as she presses kisses into your hair.

“You’re insane,” you murmur.

“I love you,” she says instantly.

You’re quiet for a moment. Then you whisper, “I love you too.”

She stills. Then lets out a soft little exhale, like the air just came back into her body.

You both lie there like that for a while. Quiet. Safe. Outside your office, the day goes on. Inside? It’s just you and her.

[eggrollforyou]

Wait for Me

Zoro x F!reader x Law

Summary: you, a fellow Straw Hat, and the crew are separated at Sabaody. Saved by Law, you have to decide if you’ll accept his help or cut your losses and handle things on your own until your crew reunites.

CW: MDNI, NSFW, Angst, Canon divergent, eventual smut, AFAB reader, use of Y/N, hidden baby trope (kinda? Not by choice lol), descriptions of violence, blood, and vomit, pregnant reader

A/N: Hi again everyone! I had this story pop up into my head and decided I wanted to see where it goes. I hope you enjoy it as much as I have enjoyed writing it! Once again, I don’t know what I’m doing. This is barely proofread. Reader’s thoughts are in italics

Series masterlist : Next chapter

Chapter One

The sounds of fighting, smell of smoke and blood, and screams fill the air around you. Your chest is tight as you start to break down in a coughing fit. Your body, aching and exhausted. 

It’s hard to tell anything that’s going on around you with your vision blurring and ears ringing. Your lungs burn as you struggle to breathe and climb out from under the rubble in the aftermath of fighting a Pacifista. “EVERYBODY RUN AWAY AND LOOK AFTER YOURSELVES!” you hear Luffy scream somewhere amongst the settling dust. 

Your heart sinks, Where's Zoro?! you think to yourself in a panic. He wouldn't tell you the extent of his pain, but you knew he still wasn't healed from Thriller Bark. Despite your best efforts to get him to just take it easy and heal, he still operated as he wished. Seeing Usopp carrying Zoro off, you felt better. Everyone was trying to retreat. There was no way you could take on an Admiral, Sentomaru, AND Kuma. Especially with Zoro now down.

There was no opportunity for you to worry about him more than any of the other crew members. You had to get out and off this god forsaken archipelago. As Rayleigh continued to save your asses, fighting Kizaru, you used every last drop of adrenaline in your system to run. Your heart pounding in your chest, blood rushing so loud your ears were roaring, your arms and legs burning as they expend what little energy you can muster. And suddenly, you stop, watching in terror as Kuma touches Zoro, and he disappears. 

Bile rises up in your throat as your face turns hot. Your eyes burn as they well up with tears. You hear Luffy yelling at Kuma. Where is he?! What did he do to him? One by one, you watch in horror as each of your crew mates disappear. “Run! Please, run!” Luffy yells at you, his eyes wide with fear, urgency, and anger.

Having been thrown to the side when Chopper used his rumble ball, you turn on your heel and run. Hot tears streaking your face. We'll be back…. we're meeting back here right?! Your body is moving faster than your mind could process. You are just running, you have to stay safe and alive if you were going to help the rest of the crew, wherever they were. You hear a crash beside you, parts of a building crumbling and your vision goes black.

You feel your skin heating up from sunshine pouring in from the porthole next to you before you open your eyes. Your body feels so heavy and your head is pounding. You feel as if you’ve been run over. You stir, trying to bring your hands up to rub the sleep from your eyes, but something stops you. You feel a presence and as if he knew you sensed him, he speaks. “You shouldn’t move too much. You’re safe now, but you were very badly injured. You really should be more careful, considering your condition.”

You recognize that voice, deep with a tinge of condescension. You open your eyes, Shit….how’d I end up here? This is a rival crew…how can I really be safe? “Trafalgar Law, right?” you question. Law sees your distrust, “You’re a Straw Hat, right? We found you, halfway buried in rubble. You really should take it easy. I did what I could, but you have a couple broken ribs. Had to stitch you up in places, but you should heal fine as long as you listen to Doctor’s orders,” his stare bores into you, as if he’s trying to figure you out as well.

“W-why did you help me? We’re rival crews, you had no obligation to do anything.” What the hell did he mean considering my condition?!

“I”m not going to lie, if it were up to me, I would’ve left you, but it appears my crew aren’t as heartless as I am. My first mate insisted,” he shrugs. What an ass…and suddenly, you remember everything. You spring up, far too quickly, and nearly crumble as a result. “Tch! I told you to fucking take it easy!” Law reprimands as he helps you sit up without passing out. “Where is my crew?! Where am I? How long have I been out?!” Your breathing is clipped, panic settles in your chest as you try not to hyperventilate, least of all in front of a rival. Did I miss everyone? Are they ok? Did they make it back?

“Hey, hey….you’re Y/N, right?” Law’s voice immediately is softer, trying to calm you down. He reaches his hand out to your shoulder to help ground you. Your eyes dart to him, he falters for a moment. He sees the sheer panic on your face. “Yea….Y/N….i-it’s Y/N.”

“Y/N, I need you to take a deep breath. I’ll answer all your questions, but you really should listen when I tell you, you need to take it easy. It’s not just you, you’re worrying about anymore, remember that.”

“What the hell do you mean, it’s not just me?!” His face goes blank. “D-do you not know?” 

“Know what?! Out with it, what the fuck are you talking about, Law?”

He runs his hand down his face in utter disbelief, “You’re…pregnant.”

“Pregnant?!” you pause, “What the fuck do you mean, I’m pregnant?!” you stare at Law in disbelief. He pinches the bridge of his nose, squeezing his eyes shut with a deep sigh. “I said what I said. During my scans when triaging your injuries….y-you’re pregnant, ok? It’s early, you’re probably 7 or 8 weeks along if you didn’t figure it out on your own.” He pauses, watching you as you lean back, trying to process this news. Your thoughts are running a mile a minute.

 There’s no way I can be pregnant, right? I mean….when was my last cycle? It begins to dawn on you that there’s a bigger chance that he’s right. Your hand goes down to your belly and suddenly you feel sick. You lurch forward and throw up over the edge of the bed onto the floor. 

“Tch! Hey! Give me some warning!” Law yells as he grabs a trash can, popping it onto the side of the bed next to you. He walks to the door, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck, “I’ll be right back, don’t make any more messes, ok? I’m going to grab a mop. STAY HERE,” he points at you as he closes the door behind him. Your chest begins to flush and you feel lightheaded as you feel like you’re overheating. 

In the matter of a few days, you think, you’ve lost everyone close to you. You have no idea where your crewmates are, if they’re even alive. You’re supposed to meet back up at Sabaody but you don’t know where you are or how long you’ve been gone, and now you’re supposed to just accept the fact that you’re also pregnant!? 

Warm tears begin to build in your eyes as the gravity of everything hits you. “Z-zoro,” you whisper as you begin to sob. He HAS to be okay…he has to be. He can’t leave me alone like this. I can’t do this without him….without my crew. You lie down on your side and curl into yourself. Trying to disappear.

You don’t hear Law return between your cries. He freezes as he walks in as he sees you crying, unsure what to do. He awkwardly clears his throat, startling you. You sniffle and work quickly to clean your face as best you could, not wanting Law to see you like this. You close your eyes and try to will yourself to return to Sabaody.

He didn’t say anything as he cleaned up your sick. You both sat in silence as you tried to hold back the sobs threatening to spill from your throat as you felt your heart wrenching. He placed the mop back into the bucket of water. He felt bad, helpless. He didn’t know what to say as he saw your body shaking from trying to withhold your tears. He cleared his throat, “U-um…I’m gonna go. I should let you rest. I’ll, uh, be in the office down the hall if you need anything.” You didn’t respond knowing if you tried to thank him, it wouldn’t be words coming from your throat.

Instead, you spent the rest of the evening contemplating what you were going to do next as the stray tears rolled down your face, until you had no more left to cry.

Next Chapter

Phew! This has been sitting in my drafts for ages now. I want to keep writing it but I haven't had a chance to work on the rest so I think posting it will force me to carve some time. This semester will be the death of me, just in time to graduate right?! 😭 I hope you enjoyed this first chapter! I have the ending originally intended for this story, BUT I will include an alternate ending.

Did you like this? I'm flattered! Wanna read more? Here's my Masterlist!

Tags: @shy-writer-999 @dreamcastgirl99

MDNI divider by @cafekitsune

Heart dividers by @saradika-graphics

[op-dumpstertruck]

Ahh I sent that before I was done!!! Do you also have a timeline of events? I love that you jump around but it is a little confusing >~<

Oh yeah, I know, oopsie! Since I had that question a few times I'll try to give you a timeline under the cut, but I'm really not a writer:

Sanji leaves Germa as a kid, deeply insecure about being an omega. Sora tried to hide it first, but when it came out Judge was furious. It adds an extra layer of disdain he has for Sanji in this AU; but it was also the only thing that increased his value somehow, in Judges eyes. I think even as young as he was, Sanji did realise that whatever the plans were Judge might have had for him, they were.. not good at all. Omegas don't really exist on Germa, but if they do, they are seen, not heard. Even as a kid Sanji heard some really degrading, overtly sexist comments from his brothers. When he ran away, Sanji learned to hide that part of himself.

Zeff definitely knows, but he's the only one that does. Sanji is a extremly skittish kid when it comes to that, that alone has cost Zeff years of his life (he worries all the time, but they also never talk properly). Worldbuilding wise, I think male omegas are very, very rare. In the context of how the cooks talk to each other, Sanji definitely has heard a lot of very crude jokes about himself.

As old habits die hard, Sanji didn't tell the crew when he joined. With scent suppressants he easily seems like a beta - and even if they run out here and there (which he desperately tries to avoid) with all the smoking he does you can barely smell him anyway.

Zoro and Sanji happened. Neither of them expected that.

Zoro knows Sanji is an omega, probably even long before they got together, I'm not completely sure yet. He's the first one to know and is the only one that does for a long time - Kureha didn't tell Chopper on Drum Island, but he'll eventually be the next one to know.

Sanji gets pregnant (to his own horror) and has to deal with that. Because they are actually functioning quite well at this point as a couple (who would have thought) Sanji tells Zoro as soon as he suspects what's up. They find out together, but don't immediately tell the crew, since they are unsure how to proceed.

thriller bark happens and Sanji looses his mind in the aftermath for a hot minute. (he'll eventually tell the crew in the aftermath.)

close to sabody and marineford (or parallel to it) Sanji gets kidnapped. Omegas are often sold into slavery there, so the crew is on the wrong track for quite a while. As other things are happening simultaneously, and plot happens, the strawhats are sweeped up in chaos. (I might come back to those details later)

the world is made to believe that Sanji died. It is Judges doing, but the timeline plays into his hands: it fits the narrative of the navy retaliating and punishing the strawhats for both what happened at Enies-Lobby and marineford perfectly. Since the strawhats don't know about Sanjis family, they fall for it.

Kuina is born in Germas prison. Sanji does everything he can to convince Judge to keep her alive. He knows Judge has plans for him and threatens to kill himself, should Judge do anything to her. She continues to be the bargain chip through the next few years, to make Sanji to comply to do things. They don't even need to threaten Zeff here.

Sanji gets married off. It's not a happy marriage, but of big political interest for Judge. (This time, there is no one to stop the wedding.)

Kid two and three are born (I don't know their names yet).

It takes them nearly nine years, but Reiju and Sanji get Kuina out and send her on a journey to find the crew. Sanji doesn't see her for more than a year, before the strawhats are back and all hell breaks loose.

[bobalegsanji]

Masterlist 𓏲.ೃ࿔❀˙˖ ｡

BobalegSanji

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Are you there? -> ‘’This didn’t happen.’’ ‘’It did, and we’re going to talk about it,’’ Zoro says, not caring about what Sanji has to say. ‘’You’re not doing well, and we’re going to fix it.’’ Sanji sighs. He’s still leaning on Zoro, he desperately needs Zoro’s steadiness as his feet occasionally trip over one another. ‘’I’m doing just fine,’’ he responds, barely audible.

Modern Zosan AU. Fluff/Angst. Words: 11,824.

Trigger Warnings: disordered eating, anxiety/panic attacks, depression, self-worth issues.

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Trust me -> Late night talks between a certain cook and a swordsman. Or, Sanji feels the need to learn more about Zoro after Thriller Bark. Or, Zoro needs to learn more about Sanji after Whole Cake Island

Zosan. Words: 7,806. Chapters: 2/2,

Trigger Warnings: mentions of anxiety.

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I've got you -> Sanji closes his eyes, leaning into the feeling of the warm hands on his face. ‘’Please…’’ he whispers, ‘’I… Please. Promise me you will if I ask.’’

Zosan. Words: 3,976. WCI spoilers!

Trigger Warnings: self-worth issues, implied/referenced self-harm, implied/referenced childhood abuse

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Umakemenotwannadie -> Sanji just needs a little love in a world that couldn’t care less

Modern magic AU. Zosan. Chapters: 6/?.

Trigger Warnings: depression, substance abuse, implied drug addiction, past childhood abuse, panic/anxiety attacks

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Paranoid (again) -> Sanji can’t move. The arms around his neck keep him trapped in place. He can feel a wet spot on the side of his neck, but he can’t offer Nami any support right now. He’s too busy fighting back his own tears. 

Zosan. Modern AU. Words: 5,401.

Trigger Warnings: gender dysphoria, depression, suicidal thoughts, implied/referenced to self-harm, substance abuse

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Don't fight that feeling -> Sanji's insecure about his dreams. Usopp reminds him it's not just his dream.

Sanuso. Words: 2,486

Trigger Warnings: anxiety, implied/referenced depression, self-harm

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Take me out of my mind -> Zoro thought he knew everything about Sanji. So why hadn’t he noticed Sanji slipping up? The answer is obvious. It swims around in Zoro’s thoughts, day and night, for the past few days. He had known. He had just hoped Sanji would be able to solve the problems himself. But as it turns out, Sanji couldn’t.

Modern Zosan au. Words: 2,910.

Trigger Warnings: suicide attempt (aftermath), substance abuse, drug abuse, refereces to depression

[ladyhoneydarlinglove]

ONE PIECE FIC ROUND UP

welp i've got five of these fuckers now so i guess it's time for a self-promotion post.

RATED T

The Bright Green Taste of Soap Pairing: Zoro/Sanji Summary: In which Sanji is mildly devastated to learn he can’t properly taste cilantro, and Zoro proves surprisingly helpful in the kitchen. Tags: Sanji POV, fluff & humor, food as a metaphor for love {Read here.} Golden Memories and Crimson Threads Pairing: Zoro/Sanji Summary: When Sanji was a child, his favorite Longest Night treat was a buttery, sweet, golden bun made with a special kind of saffron. He never thought he'd have them again after leaving the North Blue, until a surprising find at a spice shop and an even more surprising act by Zoro. Tags: Sanji POV, spoilers through WCI, fluff & humor, pre-relationship, idiots bickering, sanji is bad at feelings, food as a metaphor for love {Read here.}

A Kiss or Two (To Calm You Down) Pairing: Zoro/Sanji Summary: In the aftermath of Thriller Bark, Zoro is plagued by slow-healing injuries and a buzzing restlessness that he can't shake. Sanji, just wanting the idiot marimo to sit still and rest for five goddamn minutes, offers to help to take his mind off things. Tags: Zoro POV, emotional hurt/comfort, fluff & angst, touch-starved zoro, making out {Read here.}

[wesleysniperking]

One Piece Film: Sniper Island

Now I’m spiraling into a full-blown daydream (and maybe it’s because I’m re-reading Usopp’s arc), but hear me out—a standalone movie for Usopp. Imagine if it were titled One Piece Film: Sniper Island. It could dive into Usopp’s legacy while also giving us the Sniper King nostalgia we all secretly crave. I genuinely feel like there’s a trade-off happening in canon—if Oda delves deeper into Usopp and Yasopp’s stories, we might lose out on callbacks to Usopp’s Sniper King persona. Let’s face it: Sniper Island might forever remain the metaphorical place “in your heart.” So why not consolidate everything into a semi-canon movie?

Here’s how it could go:

The opening scene kicks off with a fresh, revamped version of the Sniper King theme song—complete with a killer intro sequence that either reimagines Sniper King as a legendary figure (a vigilante of sorts) or gives us a nostalgic recreation of his iconic Water 7 debut. Then the screen cuts to a mysterious setting. Shanks or Benn Beckman walks into a darkened room. We hear sobbing in the background, but the camera isn’t on the source yet. Calmly, one of them says, “Chaser, you can come out now.” Suddenly, the camera pans to Yasopp, trembling yet victorious, embracing his captain in relief. Around him are defeated adversaries, henchmen laid out like dominoes. Yasopp, having fought tooth and nail, reveals just how formidable he is when he taps into Observation Haki in ways we’ve never seen before.

From there, the story transitions to the Straw Hats. They’re sailing as usual, and Usopp is entertaining the crew with one of his grand tales—Sniper Island, of course. Luffy and Chopper are eating it up, Brook strums a few chords of the theme song, and Robin quietly chuckles. Franky and Sanji exchange knowing looks, while Nami rolls her eyes, telling them to stop indulging him. Jinbe looks on, completely baffled. Meanwhile, Zoro is either asleep or smirking faintly. The camaraderie sets the tone, but little does Usopp know trouble is brewing.

The crew soon encounters enemies who are after Usopp specifically. Whether it starts with a ship battle or unfolds at a lively carnival where Usopp shows off his sharpshooting skills, he ends up kidnapped. The adversaries drag him to the elusive Sniper Island. Cue the crew embarking on a rescue mission, with Luffy absolutely livid. Usopp, meanwhile, is confronted by the false king of Sniper Island—a cruel and arrogant sniper who mocks him, dons the Sniper King mask, and disparages Yasopp’s reputation. Usopp’s fury boils over, flashing back to moments like when he punched Kuro during the Syrup Village arc.

This movie could showcase Usopp reconciling with both his father’s legacy and his own. We’d get scenes where Usopp reflects on the role Sniper King played for him during Enies Lobby and Thriller Bark, giving depth to why he created that persona in the first place. The false king could narrate his rise to power, maybe even referencing other legendary snipers like Van Augur or elite Marine marksmen, creating a sniper-centric worldbuilding element. The island could be a secret haven for snipers, their own version of Laugh Tale, shrouded in mystery.

In the final battle, Usopp would use his Observation Haki in brilliant and innovative ways, proving his growth as a sniper and a warrior. The Straw Hats arrive just in time for backup, but Usopp is the one to land the decisive blow. In the aftermath, the island’s people declare him the true Sniper King and prepare a grand ceremony in his honor. However, in classic Usopp fashion, he humbly steps aside, passing the title to a young admirer who sees him as an inspiration. Luffy beams with pride, knowing Usopp will always choose his crew over any crown.

To tie it all together, there could be a flashback from Luffy where Yasopp would regale him with stories about Usopp. These tales could serve as a crucial clue that helps the crew find him on Sniper Island. The movie would be heartfelt, action-packed, and full of callbacks to Usopp’s journey, giving fans everything they love about him—from his insecurities and resilience to his knack for storytelling and his incredible sniping skills.

It’s a total fangirl fever dream, I know, but wouldn’t it be amazing to see Usopp face off against the best snipers of the One Piece world while grappling with his father’s legacy and his own growth? And come on—imagine the hype if the movie ends with a lingering question: was it all real, or was Sniper Island truly only in your heart?

Usopp fan club

[haveyoureadthisfanfic]

Summary: It’s an open secret among the crew that there’s a higher level of animosity than average between Zoro and Sanji. They argue all the time, with things often devolving into physical scuffles where swords and feet come into play, and the amount of property damage they’ve left in their wake is frankly absurd. Still, it’s a surprise to everyone when, in the aftermath of Thriller Bark, the first thing Sanji does upon Zoro regaining consciousness is stalk up to the swordsman, grab him by the collar, and scream the words, “That’s enough of this! I want a divorce, you stupid bastard!” directly in his face. The rest of the crew, having gathered upon hearing Chopper’s announcement that their injured member appeared to be waking up, stare at them in varying levels of confusion. For several moments no one says a word, until the silence is finally broken by the sound of Usopp clearing his throat. “Um, what?” the sniper asks weakly.

Author: @hazel-athena

[coyotecrackers]

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚. Love Blooms ‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

Hi! I’m so excited to share that I participated in Enmity: A ZoSanZo Bang 2024 this year!

I worked with @/Zauberkohle (sadly not on tumblr), who created some amazing art to go along with this fic, coming soon! Thank you for making it come to life! <3

I also have to thank @clood who beta’d for me and caught all of my silly little mistakes!

—

Love Blooms is a Hanahaki!AU that follows Sanji as he struggles to come to terms with his (seemingly) unrequited love for a certain green-haired swordsman, all while navigating the perils of the Grand Line with the rest of the Straw Hat Crew. Chapter 1 is out now, with more to come!

—

SUMMARY AND TAGS BELOW THE CUT

Chapters: 1/3

Fandom: One Piece (Anime & Manga)

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Relationships: Roronoa Zoro/Sanji

Characters: Roronoa Zoro, Sanji (One Piece), Monkey D. Luffy, Nami (One Piece), Tony Tony Chopper, Emporio Ivankov

Additional Tags: Hanahaki Disease, Pining, Unrequited Love, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Light Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Canon-Typical Violence, Blood, Swearing, Smoking, Pre-Time Skip, Post-Time Skip, Vomiting, Language of Flowers, Happy Ending, Angst with a Happy Ending

Summary:

At first, Sanji thought all his smoking was finally catching up to him. In the aftermath of Thriller Bark, he found himself burning through more than two packs of cigarettes a day, and he developed a sharp cough that ached deep in his lungs, but Chopper was too busy taking care of that shitty swordsman to spend time on anyone else.

After the disaster of Sabaody, Sanji needed to get back to reunite with his crew, but those damn Kamabakka pirates seemed to have taken an interest in him. Or more accurately, they were very curious about the nature of Sanji’s cough. When he coughed up a bloody flower petal one day they were very quick to ask him who he’s in love with. But Sanji didn't understand; he wasn't in love with anyone, and what would that have anything to do with mysteriously coughing up a flower petal?

Well, as it turns out, it could all be summed up into one word: Hanahaki.

[sibmakesart]

HAHAHA do you remember the thrillerbark aftermath comic ? lol

start || prev

[biohazard-inevitable]

You know what I’m also gonna post that Zosan fic on here cause its too fucking good not to anyways-

Why not let it be me?

Ao3 Link here

Rating: T

Zosan

Word count: 2530

Post thriller bark angst

It was quiet, for once. The boisterous cheering and singing dulled to a snoring lull as the drunk pirates had all collapsed for the night, practically sleeping on top of each other among the rubble of the great ship.

Sanji, however, was not as asleep as the rest. He couldn’t stop worrying.

Slowly, his feet shuffled towards the door of the makeshift infirmary, cautiously pushing the splintering oak forward with a groaning creak before slipping inside, wordlessly. His tired, sapphire eyes adjusted swiftly to the darkness, settling on the broken form of the swordsman on the bed, swaddled in bandages and gauze, a choked sound lodging in his throat like bile that refused to come out all the way, sour and vile.

“Oh marimo.” He whispered out softly with a sigh, having stubbed his usual cigarette out before entering as he quietly approached the bedside. “Will you wake up soon?”

Softly, he trailed his fingers down Zoro’s limp arm, tracing lazy circles along each wound as he knelt at the bedside, searching the man’s face for any sign of consciousness, though finding nothing but the soft rise and fall of his chest. Well, at least he was actually alive, that was a plus.

Sanji laid his head atop the mattress, his golden hair splaying across the sheets beside Zoro as he ran his knuckles along his body, carefully counting every dip and curve beneath the wrappings, noting how every abnormality was a new gash or broken bone. Tears welled in his eyes as pain tore its claws through his heart, pain and guilt that this should be him in the bed, it should be him laying like this, not the swordsman.

His mind swarmed with flashes of yesterday, of Kuma and his offer before Zoro had knocked him out, of the blurry pain that blossomed across the bruise now settled beneath his ribs matching the shape of Wado’s hilt, the wheezed protests before his body had crumpled to the ground, his vision fading to nothingness around him. Memories of the panic in his chest when he woke to find Zoro wasn’t there, the rush of adrenaline in his lungs as his legs pounded against earth in a desperate attempt to find him, only to come face to face with the disastrous aftermath, the cross-armed swordsman standing as still as a statue in a endless crimson pool of his own blood, waiting.

The way Zoro had looked at him in that moment, no rage or usual bickering to be had from Sanji’s quips and teases, just stern, hopeless determination as his shaking form barely opened its mouth to speak, replying to only one of Sanji’s hundreds of questions.

“N-nothing happened.” He had spoken, body crumpling into Sanji’s the moment the cook had touched him, as if he had been waiting to collapse the entire time, waiting for it to be safe enough to do so.

“Nothing happened.” Sanji muttered with a click of his tongue, fingertips curling into the sheets as he snapped back to the present. “Nothing happened my ass.”

There was no point in chewing him out right now, and Sanji doubted he could even hear him with how out of it he was. The blonde’s lingering grazes slid down Zoro’s arm towards where his palm lay limp on the mattress beside him, calloused fingertips facing upwards to allow easier bloodflow from the IV Chopper had hooked up.

He was beat beyond what any normal human would ever be able to survive. His beautiful, warm sun-touched skin now looked and felt unfathomably cold and grey, the only color of it being dark specks of clotting black and tarnished rust that was what was left of the blood he had been soaked in. His face seemed peaceful, and unmoving like a corpse, the though sending another pang through Sanji’s heart as his fingertips tightened into a sharp grasp around Zoro’s fingers, giving a gentle squeeze as he laid his head against the mattress beside the swordsman, his own heart thundering so loud in his chest that he could barely hear the murmur of the other’s, if it was even there at all.

“Sanji…” Came the soft, squeaky note fo concern from behind followed by the soft but familiar rattle of glass clinking together as the door creaked closed. “I thought I told you to stay out until he recovered, though I understand your concern.”

“Sorry, Chopper.” Sanji spoke, almost surprised at the broken crackle to his voice, his cheeks wet and puffy with the liquid that stung at his eyes, tears he wished never fell. “But I can’t leave him. What if… what if something happens in the night?”

“Sanji, thats why I’m here.” Chopper sighed, laying a hoof softly on the blone’s thigh. “To make sure nothing happens.”

“But what if it does?” Sanji gasped through a sniffle, his hand tightening around Zoro’s fingers as he watched the faint, but steady, rise and fall of the swordsman’s bandaged chest. “What if it does and he- Chopper… what if he doesn’t wake up?”

“Don’t say things like that!” The reindeer pleaded through tears of his own. “He won’t die, he’s stable. I’m monitoring him, but I promise you he won’t die! Although… I don’t know when he’ll wake up, but he will! I know he will.”

“He has to…” Sanji sighed, threading his fingers together with Zoro’s absently.

A pause fell through the air between the trio as the cook’s grip tightened, his other hand rising to run gentle minstrations theough Zoro’s fuzzy hair as he cradled his head like a lover.

“Sani, forgive me for asking but… are you and Zoro..?” Chopper began, unsure of how to explain what he knew he was seeing.

“Are we what?” Sanji hoarsed through a whisper, not taking his gaze off the swordsman’s resting face. “We’re friends, aren’t we? I mean, I know I fight with him a lot, but never seriously. I never wanted something like this to happen. Out of everyone… hes my best friend.”

“I see…” Chopper mused, biting his tongue from speaking the obvious as a long, tired sigh freed itself from his snout and he found himself padding over to the spare blankets. “In any case, you’ll catch a cold if you fall asleep without a blanket. I can’t let both of you fall ill! It’d be wrong of me as a doctor.”

“So you’ll let me stay?” Sanji sniffled, finally turning to look at the little reindeer as Chopper flung a soft, but tattered blanket over his shoulders.

“Of course.” Chopper nodded. “Just dont mess with any of the tubes, and I might wake you up to take his vitals throughout the night.”

“Thank you, Chopper.”

“Get some rest now, Sanji. You’re just as worn out.”

“I’ll sleep when he wakes.” Sanji grumbled, choosing instead to thumb across the swordsman’s knuckles with his soft, well cared for hands, ignoring the huff the doctor sighed as he put some used bottles onto his tray.

“Fine, but take care of yourself properly when you get a chance!” Chopper scolded lightly before exiting the room, leaving the two alone once more in favor of treating the others who were still quite injured.

Sanji hardly paid attention to when Chopper had left, instead choosing to sleepily bring Zoro’s limp hand to his lips, gently kissing over each knuckle like a silent prayer to whoever would listen, a prayer hoping that Zoro would wake from whatever battle still raged inside his mind.

“Come back, Zoro.” He murmured to himself, breath ghosting whispers of warmth over the mosshead’s hand and his eyelids feeling heavier and heavier the more he tried to force them open. “Come back to me. I don’t… I don’t know what to do without you. I love you.”

He didn’t know how long passed before sleep inevitably sunk its cold, callous claws into him, before his exhaustion ridden lashes shuttered his eyes to the world or before his stiffled sobs stuttered into a soft, sonorous snore.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Zoro awoke on the early dawn of the third day, his whole body going rigid with the ever gnawing flames of agony that screamed through every fiber of his being, joints sore and bones aching while the stitches beneath his cause itched and stung like a thousand raging bees. Softly, he let out a long, dreary groan as his senses slowly came back to him.

After the fires of touch came the soft jingle of sound, the clinking of a stirring spoon against the edge of a bowl echoed from a table nearby while the faint scent of day-old secondhand smoke nipped at his nostrils. His eyes blinked open slowly, the crumbling ceiling coming into focus before him while his tongue smacked at the bitter taste of old iron at the back of his cotton-dry mouth.

As the swordsman tried to move into a lazy turn, a thousand spikes of pain roared up his spine, sending a soft hiss out from his teeth as the soft sheets underneath him shifted and he came face to face with a sleepy blonde head lain right beside him, a pair of undeniably curly eyebrows in plain view.

“Cook..?” He hoarsed, voice feeling entirely unlike his own as he spoke it, realizing the soft sensation caressing his fingertips was that of the plump, glossy lips pressed against his knuckles, a hint of drool pooling at the edge while those flawless, slender fingertips coiled loosely around his hand.

“Zoro!” Came the soft, whisper-yell from behind, the tinkling of the metal now ceased entirely as soft hoofbeats padded towards him. “You’re awake!!”

“Chopper…?” Zoro spoke with a groan as he glanced towards the reindeer, eyes wincing at the brightness of the lamp. “Good to see you’re alright… what about everyone else? Luffy! Is he?”

“Of course you’d be worried about that! He’s more than okay.” Chopper chuckled softly, motioning for Zoro to quiet down his excitement before gesturing to Sanji’s sleeping form. “You were the one we were most worried about.”

“Even dart-brow was worried?” Zoro grunted, maneuvering more to lay his head closer to the cook’s, admiring every little spiral his golden hair made on the mattress as he gave his hand a gentle squeeze. “Hard to believe he of all people would be worried about me.”

“I don’t know what happened back there… but it really messed with Sanji.” Chopper admitted quietly. “I’ve never seen him cry so much before.”

“He cried..?”

Oh… now that took Zoro by surprise, but he could see it now. The faint, puffy redness around his eyes, the salty crust that clung to his lashes, the phantom rivers carved into the rosy hills of his cheeks. The way his grip had clearly been so tight before he went limp with slumber, the soft stain on the mattress beneath his face. Had the swordsman’s state really done all of this to a chef who claimed to despise him?

“I don’t think he thought anyone noticed… so I wouldn’t bring it up. I don’t need you getting into a fight for at least another few weeks! Maybe months with how badly you’re hurt!”

“Mh… nah I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” Zoro huffed before rolling back into position with a slight wince, absently thumbing over the cook’s knuckles as he got comfortable again.

“Zoro!” Chopper scolded, droning on and on about the importance of resting and the severity of his injuries, but Zoro was more consumed by the thoughts that the one he woke up to see first was Sanji of all people.

The lovestruck blonde who called the swordsman a plethora of profanities and the most degrading of insults, who would happily throw his leg up in deranged attacks while growling professions of hatred, the same cook that was now curled up on his knees at his bedside, brows crumpled with worry and cheeks stained with the salt of his tears. Surely, on top of all that, the gentle lips pressed to his knuckle had to be a coincidence, right? Surely, of all people, the cook didn’t like him like that, did he?

Surely Sanji didn’t love him back.

“Chopper…” Came the sluggish, dreary yawn from between the two, interrupting the doctor’s rant. “Quiet down… its hardly even dawn and I don’t have to make breakfast for a while longer… what the hell has got you so worked up?”

“Well, now that sunshine here is finally up, I might be able to get my hand back.” Zoro joked with a low, tremor of a chuckle, drawing that blurry blue gaze upwards until Sanji’s eyes shot open and he was yanked to attention.

“Zoro!” He exclaimed, those bubbly tears welling up again as he stumbled to his feet. “Fuck- Zoro you’re awake! You’re alive!”

“Course I am curls.” Zoro winced at the sudden uproar of worry that came from the blonde, a soft annoyed scowl darting across his face as he slapped a hand over Sanji’s babbling mouth. “Now can it! You’re too loud for how fucking early it is.”

The swordsman half excepted that small gesture to send Sanji into one of his usual upity rants, legs flying and swears spewing from his mouth, so when it didnt come, Zoro wasn’t sure why.

Instead, the cook’s soft, supple hands reached up to tenderly grip around Zoro’s wrist, watery eyes averting themself from the swordsman in favor of the ground as he slowly pulled the hand away from his mouth, letting the fingers lazily drag against his plush lips if only for the briefest moment.

“You’re right, I’m sorry.” The blonde apologized, really catching Zoro off guard. “I shouldn’t be so loud. I just- look, everyone was really worried about you and Luffy wouldn’t be the same if you died and so I of course had to make sure you didn’t leave us all behind! You have a job on this ship wether you like it or not and I sure as hell am not gonna let you throw it all away for nothing! Zoro, I-“

I care about you.

I couldn’t live without you.

I can’t see you die when I’ve only begun to want to live.

I love you.

All unspoken against Sanji’s lips as his confession died in his throat, unable to admit the truth tearing its claws through his heart, unable to admit that for once, his love was a man. A man he’d sworn he hated, a man he refused to bend to, a man that had nearly died in his arms protecting him, a man that was his everything.

“You… what?” Zoro urged, steely gaze locked in on the chef’s figety fingers, his teary lashes and the worried quirk in his brow.

“I need a smoke.” Sanji sighed bluntly, releasing Zoro’s hand from his grip, decidedly unready to say how he truly felt. “And to get breakfast ready. Come by later when Chopper is done checking up on you, alright?”

“Yeah…” Zoro sighed in response, watching as the chef left for the doorway. “Alright.”

So much for thinking Sanji liked him more than just a rival, Zoro mused to himself.

How stupid could he be thinking it was anything else?

[corrie-guard-things]

Fic Game

Rules: give us the links to your fics with the most hits, second most kudos, third most comments, fourth most bookmarks, fifth most words, and fic with the fewest words.

I got tagged by @hastalavistabyebye and @cookiemonsterv3 (although that second tag was on my main but eh), thanks to both of you !

(I'm going to do Star wars fics and then all my fics under the read more)

First most hits

Flying Away, Covered in Blood with 884 hits, I was not xpecting this one to do so well, bc of the crossover with RepComm but considering how long it took me to write (and the rush to finish it in time for Corrie Week) I am very happy it did :D It's corrie (and mostly Fox) centric but it's entirely written from Walon Vau's POV, with some hypercompetent Fox and both some corrie angst and fluff, and furthering my Sev/Fox agenda :D

Second most kudos

Still Flying Away, Covered in Blood with 137 Kudos, whelp, same as before :D

Third most comments

Let the Tooka Out of the Bag with 7 Comment Threads. I had so much fun writing this one, starring Shiny Thorn and Stone who just joined the guard and still think they can hide things from Fox, and of course some nice Fox angst

Fourth most bookmarks

Fox Chasing with 22 Bookmarks. This was the first fic I wrote for Sev/Fox (and thus the first one on AO3 for that ship :) ) with their first meeting, and Badass Fox :D I think this was also the first Star Wars fic i posted :3

Fifth most words

Still Fox Chasing with 2601 words, same as earlier, I will add that yes, i am continuing it, i'm just swamped with stuff and not much inspo for this one, but the next chapter will be here one day

Fewer words

Vode An with 609 words. First day of Corrie Week, with some eldritch corries/Coruscant. I remember I was planning something very different and then i blinked and this was on my page :D

NPT : @mis-mcgifsten @adhd-coyote @whiskygoldwings (can't think of anyone else of the top of my head but if you want to do it, feel free, and don't hesitate to tag me :D

and now for all fandoms (bc somehow there's very little star wars in those)

First most hits

A forever in a realm of foam and waves (One Piece) with 11,794 hits Okay so this was the first fic i ever posted on AO3 when I started writing again after years without doing much. It's mostly a missing scene of a conversation between Luffy and Zoro after the events of Thriller Bark :D

Second most kudos

A Silent Oath (One Piece) with 512 kudos. Still Luffy and Zoro but much more of a character/relationship study, focusing on Zoro's loyalty :D (yeah this is gonna be a trend :3)

Third most comments

Still A Silent Oath (One Piece) with 9 comment threads (same as up aboe :D)

Fourth most bookmarks

He who lives by the sword, dies by the sword (One Piece) with 77 bookmarks. Very surprised of how well this one dead considering that I wrote it entirely at 3 am in my notes app because i got big feelings about Zoro and his swords :)

Fifth most words

Not Too Old (Star Wars) with 2938 words. Woohoo back to Star Wars :D This is a force-sensitive Thire fic, where Yoda gets to be the best Grandpa and call dibs on his favorite clone :D

Fewer words

The sins of three shall condemn all (Elder Scrolls III: Morrowind) with 93 words. Justifying the word count by the fact that this was a sonnet :D wrote it in class (like so many of those T-T don't be like me kids, pay attention in class). It focuses on the events of the battle of Red Mountain and its aftermath, with the curse Azura put on the dunmers

[the-bar-sinister]

Major differences between Deicide universe and One Piece canon that happen prior to Deicide: Onigashima Aftermath

Mihawk is Crocodile's first mate in their early days of piracy. Crocodile is Whitebeard's son. Galdino is a cabin boy and later crewmate on their ship.

Crocodile, Mihawk, Buggy, Doflamingo, Vergo, and Daz have an accidental misadventure together on a lost island in the aftermath of Roger's execution.

Donquixote Rosinante is the victim of a precursor to the experiments performed on Kuma.

Caesar Clown is involved in the experiments on the Vinsmoke Siblings, and is the one who assists Sora with her attempt to thwart part of them.

Marianne/Miss Goldenweek's abilities are due to a devil fruit.

Vivi is 20 during the events of Alabasta rather than 16.

Enel is killed during the Skypeia arc.

Carrot is the crew member who the Straw Hats acquire at Thriller Bark, rather than Brook, and she remains with them throughout.

Gecko Moria is ejected from the Warlords due to his failure against Straw Hat Luffy. He slinks off from his miserable defeat to get drunk on a resort island, having lost all his drive. He remains there for two years.

After hearing news of Marineford, Vivi becomes determined to rejoin the Straw Hat crew and runs away from her kingdom. She runs straight into Crocodile, adventures with him and the remnants of Baroque Works during the timeskip, and gets a devil fruit for herself. 

Bon Clay, with the encouragement of his fellow prisoners, sneaks out of Impel Down with the intention to join up with the Straw Hats. He ends up with Crocodile and the former Baroque Works members.

Koala and Sabo discover that Ace's soul is sharing Sabo's body. They reconnect with Ace's former first mate Deuce.

Luffy spends more personal alone time with Hancock during the timeskip, training on the outskirts of Amazon Lily rather than another island.

Vergo survives the events of Punk Hazard, his body found in pieces by Doflamingo and reassembled. He is resting/healing outside the city during the events of Dressrosa, but rushes in at the end when he discovers there's trouble. He's in time to save the Donquixote family from captivity by marines, but is unable to get to Doflamingo who is being kept separately.

Rebecca, (who is 18, not 16)  wanting to determine her own path, and not wanting to be forced into a peaceful life after her experience as a gladiator, flees Dressrosa with the Straw Hat crew. 

The Straw Hats are not separated in Dressrosa, and travel to Zou together. 

Crocodile's ship catches up to the Straw Hats as they're leaving Dressrosa. He has a short reunion with Robin, and delivers Vivi to the Straw Hat crew as promised. He then goes after the marine ship carrying Doflamingo, and successfully frees him from custody.

Viola has a change of heart and rejoins the Donquixote pirates as Violet.

Events of One Piece Stampede and Film Gold happen.

Crocodile forms Cross Guild with Mihawk, Buggy, Doflamingo and Hancock.

The Straw Hats encounter Lim and Adio– something like the events of "One Piece Odyssey" happen.

When Sanji is forced to leave the Straw Hats for his wedding Rebecca goes along to watch after him. Luffy and the rest of the Straw Hats go after him immediately, despite Sanji's insistence not to.

After the events of Whole Cake Island, Caesar Clown joins the Straw Hat crew on a permanent basis. Luffy insists that his position on the crew is "Chopper's assistant". 

During the events of Whole Cake Island, Rebecca gets close to the Vinsmoke siblings, and in the aftermath of the event they adopt/kidnap her. The siblings abandon their father to Big Mom's wrath and sail away, after which they convince Rebecca to undergo enhancements similar to their own.

In the aftermath of Whole Cake Island, Pudding flees the Charlotte family trying to find her own way in life. Katakuri discovers her leaving, and follows her as a sort of bodyguard. They eventually end up running into the Vinsmoke Siblings and Rebecca.

Koala, Deuce, and Isuka accompany Sabo (and Ace) on their raid on Mary Geoise during the Revelry. 

Otama is 18 years old, rather than 8.

On Wano, Luffy finds out about Kaido and King's backstory and is unsettlingly reminded of himself and Zoro. These feelings lead him to resist his urge to kill Kaido during their battle, and to discover that "Gear 5" has some kind of mind of its own.

Big Mom also survives the battle on Wano, but winds up in a coma. She is brought back to Tottoland by her children.

Deicide: Onigashima Aftermath starts, and Deicide and One Piece canon completely part ways so much as to become unrecognizable.

[tea-n-tomatoes]

Day 1 of OC-tober “favorite oc” I originally had something else planned today, but ran out of time! So here’s an Adira sketch dump!

1. Adira abt 8-9 years old, with the aftermath of her face scar

2. 13 year old Adira having to say goodbye to 16 year old Jay when he has to leave to join the Marines

3. Adira learning her father poisoned her mother

4. Future Adira with her’s and Zoro’s daughters

5. Adira in Thriller Bark

6. Adira smiling at Shanks during her time training with the Red Hair pirates

7. Casey checking out Zoro in Dressrosa

[captivatedbyurhubris]

every fic writer knows, when you can't write - you read! so, I've been reading a lot in the past few days, and I wanna share with everyone

(finished fics only edition) what a mirror sees by blue_wonderer - something strange is happening on the Sunny and it has something to do with mirrors. Nami POV, takes place in-between Whole Cake and Wano. Portrays the love the crew has for each other beautifully and has fantastically written horror elements

i'm just a human, so today i turned my head down (is that okay?) by gin (tabanthas) - Thriller Bark aftermath, Zoro POV. typical OP sexual harassment treated seriously (Sanji gets kicked for it 🤲😌)

Hagibis by goldsaffron - DeuceAce. The fic is about them getting together and is both sweet and funny. The fact that this fic was the tags 'Marathon sex' AND 'rice farming' one after another made my laugh so hard I coughed. It's rated E and does have sex scenes in it, but it's also so much more - it's from Deuce's POV and the way he sees Ace as The Sun (a lot of that is lifted from the Novel btw) is just 😭🙏