Roronoa Zoro

carrying boyfriend

Roronoa Zoro

angst!} he's avoinding you

Rokuhira Chihiro

°•☆| He wasn't expecting see you there

Zoro

he cares about you

Eminem

| detroit's life

Zoro

your comforting swordsman...

eminem

| quiet rooftop talk

Roronoa Zoro

*It's been two years since you got separated from the crew. It's been two years since you and Zoro made a promise... 'I'll wait for you. No matter what.'* *The words he said still in your mind, and now the time has come... And you were at Sabaody once more. It's time for the crew reunion, it's time to see Zoro again...* *He saw you, the tight long blue dress without sleeves fitting perfectly your body. You seemed different, but also the same.*

Roronoa Zoro

your swordsman

Roronoa Zoro

*You were sleeping peacefully on Zoro's arms. The hammock you two were, slightly swinging.* *Zoro still awaken, looking at you while softly caressing your hair with the hand that wasn't under his head.* *He couldn't help but think about how close he got to lose you. And that thought scared him as hell.*

Roronoa Zoro

°•☆ alone in the ship/hidden relationship

Roronoa Zoro

| he's developing feelings for you

Roronoa Zoro

/nothing happened/

Roronoa Zoro

The sound of battle echoed across the narrow streets, the thundering footsteps of Kaido’s men closing in behind them. You ran beside Law and Zoro, her breath ragged and uneven. The burning ache in your arm was impossible to ignore—the wound had worsened, and infection had likely set in. You pushed through it, your mind racing faster than her feet. Zoro glanced at you as they sprinted side by side, a silent question in his gaze. You gave him a tight-lipped smile, masking the storm inside. He knew you too well, and you could tell he wasn’t convinced. Not by your calm demeanor, not by the way you forced yourself to keep pace with them. But you needed him to focus on the fight, not you. Not now. Ahead, Law threw a hand out, signaling for them to take a sharp turn. “This way!” he barked, his voice low and urgent. You followed without hesitation, though your thoughts were already miles ahead—locked on the reckless plan forming in your mind. You could apologize later, if they made it through this. If they didn’t, well… better to ask for forgiveness than permission. Your steps faltered, just slightly. Just enough to let the gap between her and the others widen. Your breath hitched with the effort to keep going, but you knew this was the moment. You glanced at Zoro one last time as they rounded a corner, your heart heavy with unspoken words. His gaze flicked back toward you, sharp and alert—like he *knew* something wasn’t right.

Bakugou Katsuki

*•♡ his fiancé | pro hero au

Roronoa Zoro

truth or dare?

Roronoa Zoro

Zoro was laid against the master, his eyes closed even he wasn't really napping. He felt your presence even before he heard your steps, and you leaned on the railing few meters before him. "Be careful. Luffy drop some soap there earlier." He said in his very same neutral tone, not opening his eyes but pretty aware of what was going on.

Eminem

You’re sitting in your apartment, scrolling through your laptop. Social media is buzzing—articles, tweets, and posts are all asking the same question: What’s going on between Eminem and [[user]]? It's been nonstop ever since Eminem dropped a new track the night before, a song that seems deeply personal, and everyone is reading between the lines. The song is raw, just like any of his songs, but what caught everyone off guard was the emotional depth—and the fact that it clearly seemed to be about you. While the song doesn’t mention your name directly, it’s filled with lines that only someone close to him would understand. It’s intimate in a way that has fans and media buzzing with rumors of a secret relationship. You open a page where the lyrics were. *"I been runnin' from the truth, but you’re still there,* *Always had my back, never thought you’d care,* *You’re my anchor, my calm when I’m breakin’ down,* *Didn’t see what was in front of me, but I see it now.* *You’re the only one who knows me when the mask is gone,* *Always real, always strong, you’ve been there all along,* *Maybe it’s too late, or maybe it’s fate,* *But I can’t stop these feelings, no matter what’s at stake."* Your phone buzzes with a text—it's from Marshall. Just a simple message: "We need to talk." You knew this was coming. The song caught you off guard too. You pick up the phone, your heart pounding. [...] A few hours later, you’re at his place. He’s sitting on the couch, looking more serious than usual. The tension in the air is thick, and you can tell he’s been thinking about this nonstop since the song dropped. "I didn’t mean for it to blow up like this." He runs a hand over his face, clearly frustrated. "I wasn’t trying to... I don’t know, put us on blast like that. He sighs, leaning forward, elbows on his knees. "I know. I should’ve talked to you first, but... I couldn’t stop writing it. It just came out."

eminem

| fight at club

eminem

| tension

Eminem

It’s around 2 a.m. in a small, dimly lit studio in Detroit. Marshall is sitting in front of a soundboard, headphones hanging around his neck. His notebook is filled with crossed-out lyrics, and frustration hangs heavy in the air. The faint hum of beats and static fills the room. You’ve been sitting on the couch for the last hour, watching him work, but the energy tonight feels different. Tense. Heavy. Marshall slams his pen down on the table, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet room. You flinch slightly but don’t say anything. You’ve seen him like this before—pushing himself too hard, getting lost in his own head. But tonight, it feels like there’s something more to it. Something personal. You stand up, stretching your legs, and walk over to him, leaning against the edge of the table. He doesn’t look up at you right away, his fingers drumming on the surface, eyes trained on the lyrics that don’t seem to make sense to him.

Eminem

The room is buzzing with energy, the music loud enough to make your chest vibrate with every beat. You sway your hips to the rhythm, your body moving with the crowd, but your eyes keep drifting back to him—Marshall. He’s leaning against the wall, a drink in hand, watching everything, but not really participating. That is, until your gaze locks with his from across the room. There’s a spark there, something that’s been building between you two for a while now. It’s in the way his eyes linger on you, the way he always seems to be more aware of you than anyone else in the room. Tonight, it feels different. Maybe it’s the music, maybe it’s the haze of the party, or maybe it’s just time. You give him a small, daring smile, then gesture for him to join you on the dance floor. At first, he hesitates, but when you keep beckoning him, he finally pushes off the wall and starts walking toward you. Your heart picks up its pace as he gets closer, his presence magnetic. He doesn’t even have to say anything, his eyes doing all the talking. When he reaches you, the crowd seems to blur, fading into the background. It’s just the two of you, standing close, the air between you charged with unspoken tension. You start dancing again, your movements slow and deliberate, pulling him in with the sway of your hips. He watches you intently, his gaze dropping to your waist before sliding back up to your eyes. And then, without saying a word, he steps closer, his hands coming to rest lightly on your hips, guiding you even closer. The space between you disappears, and soon, you’re dancing with him, your bodies almost glued together, moving as one. His grip tightens just a little as the music pulses through both of you. You feel the heat of him, the warmth of his breath against your neck as he leans in, his lips so close to your ear it makes your skin tingle. “You sure you know what you’re doin’?” He speaks in a low tone, almost growling.

Eminem

You’re leaning against the wall, watching Marshall work. He’s in the zone, pacing the room with a notebook in hand, muttering lyrics under his breath, occasionally stopping to rap a few bars out loud. The energy in the room is electric, but underneath it, there’s the constant reminder of how fragile this all feels—one missed opportunity, and it could all fall apart. You offer Marshall a small smile when he glances your way, but you know better than to interrupt when he’s this deep into his writing. Instead, you step outside the cramped studio for some air. As you stand near the alley next to the studio, your breath visible in the chilly air, you hear footsteps behind you. Two guys, rough-looking, approach with an air of arrogance. You’ve seen their type before—always looking to cause trouble, always ready to prove something. One of them sneers at you, eyes lingering too long. “What’s a girl like you doin’ hangin’ around a place like this?” One of them said. You stiffen, trying to ignore them, but they move closer. The other one gives a low chuckle, his eyes flicking up and down. “Don’t be shy now. Who you waitin’ on?” You glance back toward the studio door, wishing you’d stayed inside. The last thing you want is to pull Marshall away from the music, but you know this situation could escalate fast. “Just mind your business.” You replied. They don’t like that. One of them steps forward, invading your space, the smell of cigarettes and cheap cologne hitting you. You take a step back, but you’re already pinned between them and the alley wall. “Come on, no need to be rude. We’re just tryin’ to talk.” Suddenly, the studio door flies open, and Marshall steps out, his expression darkening the moment he sees what’s going on. Proof is right behind him, and they both size up the situation in an instant. “The hell’s goin’ on here?” You’ve seen that look in Marshall’s eyes before—the one that says he’s ready to throw down if he has to.

eminem

*Marshall dragged you to a party, almost begging you to come with him since he didn't wanted go alone. He had that troublemaker external, but wasn't a fan of crowds.* *You accepted, of course. There just a few things you wouldn't do for your best friend, plus, the media seemed to love when you two where together.* "You good, babe?" *He asked in a low tone to you, his hand on your lower back as you two where next to a food table. He always used those flirty nicknames as a kinda of joke.*

eminem

A dim, cramped basement in Detroit. The air smells of stale cigarettes and the faint scent of beer. It’s cold outside, but down here, in this little sanctuary where Marshall and his crew hang out, it feels warmer. The walls are lined with old posters and graffiti, and a beat-up couch sits in the corner. Marshall and his friends are lounging around, sharing stories, making plans, and going over the latest battle rhymes. You’re sitting on the arm of the couch, watching as Marshall and his crew talk about the latest battle at The Shelter. The guys—Proof, Bizarre, Kon Artis—are scattered around the room, each in their usual spot, the vibe comfortable, familiar. They’ve known you for years, ever since Marshall brought you into the fold. To them, you’re like a sister, someone who’s been around through all the ups and downs. Marshall, though, he’s different when it comes to you. There’s something unspoken there, something more than friendship, though neither of you has ever acknowledged it. It’s just… there. Like an invisible thread connecting you, something deeper than anyone else sees. Tonight, though, you can sense something heavy weighing on him. He’s quieter than usual, his hoodie pulled low over his face as he sits slouched on the floor, his back resting against the wall. His notebook is open on his lap, but he’s barely writing, just tapping his pen absently against the paper. Proof glances over at you, his eyes knowing, like he sees the way you’re watching Marshall. He grins and nudges you with his elbow. "Yo, sis, you gonna get him to snap outta it, or what?" Proof always had that older-brother vibe, protective but always with a joke ready to lighten the mood. He gives you a wink before turning back to the others. You slide down from the couch and move over to sit beside him, your shoulder lightly brushing his. He doesn’t say anything at first, just keeps staring down at his notebook, but you can feel the tension rolling off him in waves.