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buggyandthebartoclub · 1 month ago

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Eternal Punchline for @cebwrites

Rating: M for suggestive content

Word count: 8989k

Featuring Law/OC (Kirin from @cebwrites ) and mentions of Killer/Kidd

Kidd was pretty sure this was shaping up to be one of the best days of his life. The sun was shining, the port town was alive with the smell of salt and grilled meat, and he had just scored a haul of berries that could keep his crew swimming in booze for days. His grin stretched wide, toothy and triumphant, as he hefted the sack over his shoulder.

“Now all I need is a tavern,” he muttered to himself, scanning the bustling cobblestone streets. “Get a drink in me, and today’s goddamn legendary.”

But as he stomped along, his grin faltered, twisting into something closer to irritation. His boots thudded against the uneven stones, the sound echoing faintly in the narrow streets, but there was no sign of his crew. What the hell were they up to? Stopping abruptly, Kidd turned in a slow circle, his eye twitching with growing irritation.

“HEY!” he bellowed into a nearby alley, startling a pair of seagulls into the air. “WHERE’D YOU BASTARDS RUN OFF TO? DID YOU FORGET WE’RE ON A BOOZE HUNT?!”

For a moment, there was nothing but the murmur of the busy marketplace. Then, faintly, a clatter of bottles and muffled laughter reached his ears from somewhere deeper in the labyrinth of streets. Kidd’s scowl deepened.

“Oh, so they found the booze without me, huh?” he snarled under his breath. “Un-fucking-believable.”

With a snarl that was more growl than anything human, he stomped toward the noise, his steps picking up speed. Rounding the corner at full tilt, Kidd skidded to a stop, his boots screeching against the stones as his eyes landed on the scene ahead.

He froze. His jaw dropped.

No.

Kidd blinked, sure his brain was short-circuiting because there was no way in hell he was seeing what he thought he was seeing. Rage flared, white-hot and immediate, but the thing twisting in his gut wasn’t just anger.

Because standing right there in the goddamn alley, pressed against the wall like something out of a dime novel, was Trafalgar Law. Or more specifically, Trafalgar Law’s nimble fucking hands. Kidd had been on the receiving end of those hands enough times in a fight to recognize them instantly. And right now, those hands were traveling slowly, deliberately, down the back of some stupid, fucking, muscular, white-haired, well-built bastard while they make out in a fucking alley!

And Trafalgar? The smug bastard’s mouth was—was—making noises. Noises Kidd didn’t even know Law could make. Kidd had heard Trafalgar make a lot of sounds before—grunts, curses, the occasional sarcastic drawl.

But that noise?

Kidd felt his brain short-circuit, his thoughts scattering like shattered gears under a hammer. He froze in the doorway, every muscle locked as his eyes fixed on the scene before him. Time seemed to crawl, his senses honing in on every unbearable detail.

The man with Trafalgar’s head tilted back, the loose strands of his silvery-white hair spilling over his shoulders like streams of polished steel, catching the light with a subtle gleam.

His lips curved upward, slow and deliberate, into a smirk that could rival the devil’s own. Golden eyes, warm as molten metal and twice as intense, flicked lazily in Kidd’s direction, meeting his gaze with a precision that felt like a strike to the chest.

There was no mistaking it—the bastard knew exactly what he was doing.

The room seemed to shrink, the oppressive weight of this man’s presence bearing down on Kidd like an unrelenting tide. That insufferable grin deepened, smug and dangerous, as if he could read every fucking thought racing through Kidd’s head.

Kidd’s breath hitched, and then—curse his traitorous vocal cords—a strangled, guttural noise clawed its way from his throat, part growl and part helpless choke.

But the damned man didn’t move, didn’t flinch. Instead, his gaze lingered, unhurried and piercing, held Kidd captive in a silent battle of wills he’d already lost.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Kirin finally drawled, his voice low and smooth, dripping with amusement that only made Kidd’s blood boil.

It was maddening, like being pinned under the weight of his smirk alone. Every second felt stretched, every detail sharper than it had any right to be—the glint of light in Kirin’s golden irises, the casual tilt of his head, the faint twitch of his fingers as if he were contemplating an action he knew Kidd wouldn’t survive unscathed.

Kidd’s hands curled into fists, his mind racing to find words, any words, to cut through the haze of fury and mortification tightening his chest. But before he could, Kirin’s gaze shifted ever so slightly, an almost imperceptible glance toward Trafalgar Law—who, of course, was smirking right back at him, like they were both in on some unspeakable joke.

Kidd’s fingers tightened on the sack of berries over his shoulder, his whole body locked up as though some unseen force had paralyzed him. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could hear Killer’s stupid voice mocking him, calling him homophobic or some other bullshit.

Which was absolutely not the case as he would damn well know!

Trying to recover from gaping like a damn idiot, Kidd scowled and barked out, “What?! You want a third?!”

 “You’d just get your feelings hurt if you joined, don’t you think?”

That was it. That was the exact moment Kidd realized his life was turning into some cosmic joke. A stupid, unfunny, unreal joke.

With a wordless snarl, Kidd chucked the sack of berries at them—hard—and stormed off without looking back. Kirin’s laughter rang out behind him, mingling with Trafalgar’s low chuckle, and Kidd’s fists clenched as he stomped back toward the docks.

If he ended up back on his ship instead of a bar, it was only because he was too pissed off to bother figuring out where the bag of berries landed after his furious toss. Nobody had to know he’d retreated to sulk on his own damn deck like a cornered animal.

Nobody except Kidd.

———

The second time Kidd realized his life was turning into a joke, it was deep into the night as he scoured the docks for any sign of Killer. He’d done his part, dragging the sorry asses of the crew members who got food poisoning back to the ship. The least Killer could do was show up to help finish the job instead of vanishing into thin air like some masked ghost.

“Idiot probably thought I wouldn’t notice,” Kidd muttered under his breath, stomping past stacks of crates and coiled ropes. His boots thudded heavily against the wooden planks of the dock, the sea breeze doing little to cool the drunken heat that clung to his face. His temper flared hotter with every step as he replayed the day’s frustrations in his head.

“Where the hell is he?” Kidd grumbled, his voice carrying across the empty docks.

And then he saw them.

Tucked away behind a stack of cargo, half-shrouded in the dim moonlight, was Trafalgar. And their partner.

Kidd froze mid-step, a familiar, unwelcome throb starting in his temple as his eye zeroed in on the scene before him. Trafalgar leaned back against a tower of wooden crates, their tattooed chest bare and catching the faint silver light of the moon. Their head rested against the wood, their ever-present smirk just visible through the shadows.

Their partner—oh, because of course it was the same fucking guy—was on his knees.

Kidd’s brain supplied the details before he even wanted them: the cascade of wavy white hair, the broad shoulders, the confident hands sliding lower and lower over Trafalgar, lingering in places that made Kidd’s stomach churn unpleasantly.

“Why me,” Kidd muttered under his breath, unable to tear his eyes away even as every part of him screamed to look literally anywhere else. But no. His luck was shit, and here he was, standing like some idiot witness to the scene unfolding in front of him.

Trafalgar’s head tilted back against the crates, dark nails threading through that wavy hair with a slow, deliberate tug that sent a ripple of discomfort—and something else Kidd didn’t want to identify—through him. He could hear every soft noise carried by the breeze, the faintest hitch of Trafalgar’s breath that sent a fresh wave of irritation crashing through him.

Kidd tried to swallow, but his throat felt dry. Then it happened—the noise that tipped him over the edge.

“Fuck, Kirin,” Trafalgar groaned, their voice low and dripping with something that made Kidd’s brain screech to a halt.

And just like that, golden eyes flicked up. Kirin caught him, his smirk as sharp and gleaming as a freshly sharpened blade. For one horrifying moment, Kidd swore Kirin’s grin widened, as though they’d been waiting for him to stumble onto this nightmare.

Then Trafalgar’s smirk followed.

“Oh, come on!” Kidd’s voice boomed across the docks, shattering the relative quiet like a cannon blast. He threw up his hands, too furious to care how loud he was being. “CAN’T YOU GET A FUCKING ROOM?!”

The pair didn’t flinch. Not even a little.

Kirin snickered—snickered—the smug bastard not even bothering to pretend like he wasn’t amused. And Trafalgar? Their smirk somehow managed to grow more infuriating as they gave Kidd a look that practically dared him to do something about it.

For a split second, Kidd thought about hurling the nearest barrel at them. But before he could act on it, something slammed into his side.

He stumbled backward, blinking in confusion as Killer emerged from the shadows, one gloved hand gripping Kidd’s arm in what could only be described as an unnecessarily violent attempt to redirect him.

“What the hell—” Kidd started, but Killer didn’t give him a chance to finish.

“C’mon, Captain,” Killer said, his voice annoyingly calm despite the situation. “Let’s not do this right now.”

Kidd barely had time to yell another protest before Killer steered him—hard—halfway across the docks. By the time Kidd realized what was happening, one of his boots slipped on the edge of the wooden planks, sending him plunging halfway into the cold ocean.

“What the fuck was THAT for?!” Kidd bellowed, clawing at the dock as Killer hauled him back up with exasperated ease.

“Would’ve been for your own good,” Killer replied dryly, not bothering to hide his amusement. “You were heading in the wrong direction anyway.”

“Wrong—I was going to the ship!”

“You were stomping toward the taverns. Again.”

Kidd spluttered, too furious to form a coherent reply. Killer just shrugged and offered a half-hearted, “At least you’re back on track now.”

And if Kidd stomped back to the Victoria Punk, drenched and cursing under his breath the entire way, he told himself it was just because Killer was an asshole—not because Trafalgar and Kirin had once again ruined his night.

Nobody needed to know the truth.

_____

Kidd was almost convinced he’d managed to shake off the humiliating memories of walking in on Trafalgar and his partner—not once, but twice. It had taken more than a few brutal sparring matches with his crew—where, fine, maybe he went a little too hard—and enough booze to drown out an entire week, but it felt like he was finally free of those intrusive, mocking thoughts.

Life was starting to feel like his own again, no longer a running joke with Trafalgar as the unwanted punchline. Even better, watching that emo surgeon get dragged around by Straw Hat’s endless antics was a bonus he hadn’t known he needed. The rubber idiot yanking Law through chaotic races and ridiculous challenges? It was the kind of entertainment that made Kidd’s scars ache with laughter—a balm better than any fight.

Still, being on an island with both Trafalgar’s and Straw Hat’s crews should’ve been a glaring red flag that trouble was brewing. But Kidd wasn’t the type to turn down a challenge, especially one sweetened by Franky’s promise of prime scrap metal. All he had to do was humor Straw Hat’s stupid competitions and keep up the chaos while Killer snagged them a few drinks and sorted out their lodgings for the night.

The race had started with its usual wild energy. Kidd barreled through the city streets, shoving vendors, barrels, and anyone too slow to get out of his way. The rubber idiot had long since disappeared, probably dragging his swordsman along with him, and Law? Well, Law had probably never intended to finish the race in the first place. By the time Kidd realized Luffy was gone, Trafalgar had also conveniently slipped out, leaving Kidd to cross the finish line alone.

“HA! THAT MAKES ME THE WINNER, YOU PATHETIC FUCKING LOSERS!” Kidd roared, his voice bouncing off cobblestones and startled market stalls.

But the thrill of victory quickly faded. With no one to rub his win in, Kidd decided to track down Killer and figure out where the hell their lodgings were. The search led him down street after street, past confused vendors and rows of old homes. Hours passed with no sign of his first mate, until finally, Kidd spotted what looked like the only inn on the entire damn island.

Barreling through the door, the bell above it jangled furiously, startling a petite, older woman behind the counter. She blinked up at Kidd with wide, nervous eyes, clearly unsettled by the sight of a very large, very loud pirate storming into her establishment.

“Oi, lady, I’m looking for a tall man with light hair,” Kidd barked, his tone sharp enough to make her jump.

Her eyes darted to a ledger before she nodded quickly, mumbling something about a room number and only two keys. Kidd didn’t bother listening. His patience was gone, and all he wanted was to kick the door down, grab Killer, and celebrate his win and deal his his pent up frustrations with liquor and licking. Ha ha!

Now that sounded like a fucking plan.

But that’s when Kidd realized, no matter how well things seemed to be going, his life would always revert back to being a fucking punchline.

Because as Kidd kicked in the door, expecting to find his boyfriend hopefully naked and drunk like he was aiming to be, he instead walked straight into the intrusive thoughts he’d been fighting off for weeks. Only this time, the scene was far more vivid.

There was Trafalgar, half-dressed and entirely too comfortable, leaning against the headboard with Kirin sprawled in their lap. Kidd’s mind scrambled to process the details, but they hit him all at once like a damn wrecking ball.

Dark nail polish catching the dim light, fingers resting possessively on Kirin’s throat. Scratch marks trailing down Trafalgar’s chest. And a hickey, dark and obvious, peeked out from where Trafalgar’s hand shifted just slightly, like they were daring Kidd to notice it.

And then Kirin smirked. That same smug, self-satisfied grin that Kidd had seen in the alley and behind the crates. The grin that made his blood boil every damn time.

“WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!” Kidd bellowed, his voice practically shaking the walls.

Trafalgar didn’t even flinch, tilting their head with an expression that could only be described as infuriatingly calm. “Again, Kidd? Maybe we should start charging for admission.”

“SHUT THE HELL UP, YOU SMUG BASTARD!” Kidd snarled, reaching out instinctively for any metal in the room to hurl at them.

But before he could follow through, everything spun. One second he was glaring daggers at the pair of smug assholes, and the next, he was being shambled so fast and so disorientingly that he couldn’t even tell which way was up.

Wall. Ceiling. Floor. Repeat.

By the time Kidd slammed face-first into the hallway floor, he was too dizzy and too pissed to even stand up. All he could hear, echoing in his ringing ears, was Kirin’s snickering and Trafalgar’s low, unbothered chuckle.

When Killer finally found him, half-sunken into the wooden floorboards and looking like the victim of a particularly spiteful storm, Kidd barely had the energy to snarl.

Killer hauled him up with a sigh, dragging him back to their actual room on the other side of the inn. Kidd spent the walk muttering about how he was going to rip Trafalgar’s smug face off and toss Kirin into the nearest volcano.

By the time they got to the room, though, the muttering had turned into full-blown yelling.

“IT’S LIKE THEY’RE TRYING TO FUCK WITH ME!!”

“I’m pretty sure they made it clear thats the one thing they don’t want to do with you,” Killer deadpanned, clearly unimpressed.

“SHUT THE HELL UP! WHO ASKED YOU ANYWAY?!” Kidd roared, grabbing the nearest pillow and hurling it at his boyfriend.

It was going to be a long night.

————

Kidd hadn’t planned on sticking around the Thousand Sunny for long. The alliance meeting was over, and the crew’s celebrations were in full swing, with Luffy devouring his fifth plate of meat and Zoro loudly challenging anyone with a pulse to a drinking contest. The whole scene was the kind of chaos that usually made Kidd feel at home.

But not tonight. His mind was elsewhere, stuck on Franky’s promise of premium scrap metal—the kind of haul that could make even the most aggravating day worth it. The cyborg bastard had wandered off, supposedly to give some tour of the ship to Trafalgar’s moronic crew, leaving Kidd waiting. And waiting. And waiting.

“Where the fuck is that idiot?” Kidd muttered, tapping his metal arm against the table impatiently. Finally, he stood, scowling at the nearest person who looked sober enough to answer.

“Oi! Which way’s the storeroom?”

Usopp, mid-drink and clearly already tipsy, jumped like a frightened rabbit. He stammered, pointing down the hallway. “D-Down there! Last door on the left!”

Kidd didn’t bother thanking him, stomping off with heavy, purposeful strides. The noise of the party faded as he walked down the corridor, his boots pounding against the wooden deck. The calm was almost eerie after the chaos above, and Kidd’s irritation grew with each step.

“Last door on the left,” he muttered to himself, yanking the handle without hesitation.

And that’s when Kidd realized—yet again—his life was a fucking joke.

There they were. Trafalgar Law, pinned casually against the wall, their tattooed chest on full display, and Kirin, smirking like the smug bastard he was, leaning far too close to the surgeon. Their bodies were tangled in a way that left no room for doubt, and Kidd froze, his brain stuttering like a malfunctioning engine.

Law’s golden eyes flicked up lazily, meeting his with a look that screamed, Really? Again?

Kirin didn’t bother hiding his amusement. In fact, the bastard laughed outright, his voice echoing in the small storeroom. “What is this now, Kidd? Number four? You keeping count?”

Kidd’s mouth opened, but no coherent words came out at first, only a strangled growl of disbelief. Finally, he managed, “WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU TWO DOING HERE?! THIS ISN’T EVEN YOUR SHIP!”

Law tilted their head, their lips curling into a smirk that made Kidd want to throw something. “Could ask you the same.”

“Oh, for FUCK’S sake!” Kidd roared, his face a shade of red that might’ve been comical if he wasn’t ready to tear the door off its hinges.

Kirin chuckled, leaning in even closer to Law. “You were right, we really should start selling him tickets. What do you think, Captain?”

“SHUT THE FUCK UP!” Kidd bellowed, lunging forward with every intention of hurling something metal at the pair of smug bastards. But before he could even lift his arm, the air around him shifted.

Room.

The door slammed in his face, and the next thing he knew, he was tumbling through the hallway, shambled so hard he felt the world spin.

When he finally stopped, face-first against the wall, the only sound was Kirin’s laughter, ringing in his ears like some cruel victory bell. Kidd groaned, peeling himself off the floor with a string of curses that would make even his crew blush.

By the time he stumbled back onto the main deck, Killer was waiting for him, arms crossed and head tilted.

“You look like shit,” Killer said matter-of-factly, holding out a bottle of rum.

Kidd snatched the bottle, glaring. “You wouldn’t fucking believe what just happened.”

Killer raised an eyebrow. “Let me guess. Walked in on Law and Kirin again?”

“SHUT UP! AND HOW THE HELL DO YOU KNOW THAT?!” Kidd barked, taking a long swig of the rum.

Killer just shrugged. “Lucky guess.”

Kidd scowled, muttering as he paced the deck. “It’s like the universe is fucking with me on purpose. I swear to god, my life’s just one giant fucking joke. I can’t even get scrap metal without those assholes ruining my night!”

Killer, wisely, stayed quiet as Kidd ranted, watching his captain stalk back and forth with a dangerous glint in his eye.

Finally, Kidd stopped, his face twisting into a grin that was equal parts rage and mischief. “Fine. They wanna play games? Let’s see how they like it when I’m the one fucking with them.”

Killer sighed, shaking his head. “This’ll end well.”

“It’s gonna be fucking glorious,” Kidd shot back, swigging the rum again as he began plotting his revenge out loud.

—————

Kidd had had enough. The running gag of walking in on Trafalgar and that smug bastard Kirin was wearing thin. Every time he turned a corner, there they were—tangled up in each other, smirking like they didn’t have a care in the world. It wasn’t just annoying; it was infuriating. Every encounter left him bristling with the realization that his life had become some cosmic joke, and they were the punchline.

Not anymore. Kidd decided it was time to flip the script. If they thought they could waltz around without a care, Kidd would make sure their precious alone time became a nightmare. His plan was simple: traps. Not to expose them to anyone—that was weird—but to disrupt their little moments and remind them that he wasn’t someone to mess with.

He grinned wickedly as the idea took shape. Noise, chaos, discomfort—anything to ruin their stolen moments and wipe those smug expressions off their faces. “Let’s see how they like having their day wrecked for once,” Kidd muttered to himself, already imagining the chaos.

They wanted to mess with him? Fine. He’d mess right back, and it was going to be glorious.

—

Kidd’s first setup was in the galley of the Thousand Sunny, near a quiet corner where he’d once spotted Law and Kirin lingering far too close for comfort. He rigged a contraption designed not just to expose them but to ruin the mood entirely. The trap involved a mechanism that would overturn a pot of sticky syrup directly above their heads, followed by a blast of sawdust to ensure they’d be picking the mess out of their hair and clothes for hours.

It was genius, Kidd thought, crouched just out of sight. If they tried sneaking off for a private moment, he’d make sure it ended in frustration and regret.

It wasn’t long before he heard voices—low, familiar murmurs. Trafalgar’s tone was unmistakable, followed by Kirin’s cocky snicker. Kidd’s grin widened as he heard the faint scrape of a chair, the perfect trigger for his trap.

“Gotcha now, you nasty fucks—!” Kidd sprang around the corner, ready to bask in their syrupy, sawdust-covered humiliation.

But instead of a sticky disaster, Kidd froze in his tracks. Trafalgar was seated at the table, fully dressed, with Kirin leaning over a map spread between them. The trap sat untouched above their heads, and the only thing on the table was a compass and a pile of maps.

Trafalgar’s golden eyes flicked up to meet Kidd’s with a flat, unimpressed look. “Kidd, are you lost?”

Kirin leaned casually against the table, his smirk as infuriating as ever. His gaze flicked to the contraption above their heads, then back to Kidd, eyes gleaming with mischief. “Wow, Kidd. Were you planning to open a bakery, or is this just for us?”

Kidd’s face turned a dangerous shade of red as his jaw worked, words catching in his throat. He pointed a trembling finger at the trap that should’ve ruined them. “I… just—”

“Shut up!” Kidd barked, turning on his heel to stomp away before they could say another word.

Kirin’s laughter rang out behind him, loud and mocking, as Trafalgar sighed and muttered something Kidd couldn’t make out. His fury only grew as he stormed down the corridor, fists clenched and a string of curses spilling from his lips.

“Those smug bastards,” Kidd growled under his breath. “Next time, I’m bringing the whole fucking ship down on their heads.”

—-

Frustrated but undeterred, Kidd moved to the Polar Tang. Outside a supply closet—where he was sure they’d snuck off at least once—he set a bucket of flour balanced precariously above the door. One good tug on the handle, and whoever opened it would be covered head to toe in white powder. Simple. Effective.

This time, Kidd hid in a storage closet farther down the same hallway, crouching just enough to peek through the cracked door. His heart pounded as muffled voices echoed closer, Trafalgar’s low murmur followed by Kirin’s telltale laugh.

“Just open the fucking door,” Kidd whispered, anticipation making his pulse quicken.

The sound of a handle turning made his grin spread wide. The bucket wobbled, the door creaked open—and with a satisfying whoosh, the flour tipped.

Kidd’s grin froze as Luffy emerged, now a white, powder-covered mess. “WHOA! I’m a ghost! Hahaha BOOOO! I gotta go scare Usopp!!” Luffy shouted, bounding down the hallway, leaving a trail of flour in his wake.

Kidd groaned, leaning back against the closet wall. “Of course. Of fucking course,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

But before Kidd could storm out and reset his trap, voices carried from farther down the hall—their voices. Kirin’s unmistakable chuckle and Trafalgar’s dry response sent his blood boiling again. Reflexively, Kidd pushed the door closed, retreating back into the tiny space.

“Shit, shit, shit,” he muttered as footsteps drew closer. He couldn’t just barge out now—it’d be too obvious. He crouched lower, biting down his fury as the sound of them passing by filled his ears.

Except they didn’t pass by. They stopped.

“That was a lot of flour for one hallway,” Kirin remarked, voice dripping with amusement.

Trafalgar sighed. “It’s him again.”

Kidd froze, holding his breath as he tried not to move a muscle, but it was no use. Kirin’s voice dropped lower, the amusement in it almost unbearable. “Think he’s still around?”

A pause, then Trafalgar’s voice, drier than ever. “Let’s find out.”

Before Kidd could react, the closet door flew open. He found himself blinking up at Trafalgar and Kirin, their smug faces practically glowing with triumph.

Kirin leaned on the doorframe, arms crossed. “Hiding in a closet now, Kidd? Wow, I didn’t know we were living rent-free and building a summer home in your head.”

Kidd’s fists curled, his face burning as he shoved his way out of the cramped space. “Screw you both!” he snapped, storming down the hall without a second glance.

As Kirin’s laughter rang out behind him, Kidd seethed. This wasn’t over. Not by a long shot.

—-

Kidd’s masterpiece was set just inside the infirmary, hidden behind the door frame. It was a foolproof mechanism: a tripwire rigged to a whistle and a smoke bomb that would detonate if anyone crossed the line just inside the room. Kidd crouched in a closet down the hallway, heart pounding with anticipation as he peeked through the slats.

From inside, he could hear Trafalgar’s low voice and Kirin’s unmistakable chuckle. The sound of something shifting—a chair scraping or maybe someone moving—set Kidd’s nerves on edge. His grin widened as he imagined them walking right into his trap.

When a faint, suspiciously breathy sound filtered out from the room, Kidd couldn’t take it anymore. His hand darted to the crude trigger he’d set up from his hiding spot, activating the trap prematurely. The whistle let out an ear-splitting screech as smoke began to pour out of the room.

“Yes! Gotcha now, you fucking bastards—!” Kidd burst from the closet in triumph, only to skid to a halt as the smoke cleared.

Trafalgar stood in the doorway, bandaging Kirin’s arm. Kirin was perched on the table, blood smeared on his sleeve but an infuriatingly amused look on his face.

Trafalgar’s golden eyes narrowed as they glanced down at the smoldering smoke bomb fizzling out by their feet. “Kidd,” they said slowly, “what the hell is wrong with you?”

Kirin leaned back on his good arm, smirking even wider. “Wow. You just love making an entrance, don’t you?”

Kidd’s face went crimson as he sputtered, realizing how insane he looked. “I—damn it! Just fuck off!” he barked, spinning on his heel to stomp away.

“Leaving already? What a shame!” Kirin called after him, voice dripping with laughter. “Next time, try confetti—it’s more festive.”

The sound of their mocking laughter followed Kidd down the hallway like a curse. Fists clenched at his sides, he swore under his breath, his fury burning hotter than ever.

“Next time,” Kidd growled, his teeth grinding together, “I’m taking the whole goddamn room with me.”

—-

Kidd swiped a bottle of rum from a table on the deck and slumped onto a crate, the weight of his humiliation pressing down on him. He’d tried, damn it. He’d schemed and plotted to turn their smug little world upside down, and what did he get for it? A flour-drenched Straw Hat, a malfunctioning smoke bomb, and his pride in pieces.

“They’re in my fucking head,” Kidd muttered, taking a long swig of rum. “Living there rent-free. Fucking bastards.”

Killer wandered over, arms crossed, his bemused stare heavy enough to feel through his mask. “How’d the genius traps work out for you?”

Kidd shot him a murderous glare, gripping the bottle tighter. “Don’t start with me.”

Killer tilted his head. “So, you failed?”

Kidd’s jaw tightened. “I didn’t fail,” he snapped. “My traps failed. There’s a difference.”

Killer huffed a quiet laugh and leaned against the railing. “Sure. And Trafalgar’s the one losing his mind over this whole thing, right?”

Kidd opened his mouth to argue but stopped short, the retort dying on his tongue. He slumped further, rubbing the back of his neck with a groan. “They didn’t even have to do anything, and I’m the one who looks like an idiot.”

Killer’s silence felt like agreement, which only made Kidd scowl harder. He drained the bottle in a single gulp, tossing it aside with a satisfying crash.

“Fine,” Kidd muttered, standing and cracking his knuckles. “So they win this round. But I’m not letting them live rent-free in my head forever. Next time, I’ll figure out how to make them miserable. Somehow.”

Killer gave a noncommittal shrug, muttering something about his captain’s stubborn streak as Kidd stormed toward his ship.

As he stomped off, Kirin’s mocking laughter echoed in his mind, not fading but sinking deeper, like a barb lodged in his pride. Kidd swore under his breath, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles cracked.

“Law wasn’t the joke,” he growled to himself, glaring at the horizon. “My whole damn life is.”

———

Kidd was determined to reclaim what little shred of peace he had left on his ship. The constant chatter and clanging from the neighboring vessels were bad enough, but the real insult was that Trafalgar and Kirin had somehow turned his ship into their favorite playground. Every attempt he’d made to ruin their antics had backfired spectacularly, and now they seemed hell-bent on payback.

Barricading himself in his cabin the night before had done nothing. Their laughter still haunted his ears, echoing mockingly through the walls. Kidd had stomped out of bed that morning, hair a mess and murder in his eyes, determined to start the day with caffeine and avoid whatever fresh hell they’d planned.

The kitchen seemed like a safe bet. Killer always had coffee ready, and with any luck, Kidd could caffeinate before the madness resumed.

Or so he thought.

Standing in the doorway, Kidd’s blood pressure spiked dangerously. Trafalgar was leaning against the counter, arms braced on either side of Kirin, who perched on the edge of the countertop with that insufferable smirk. Their laughter, low and intimate, made Kidd’s stomach churn with rage.

“ARE YOU FUCKING KIDDING ME?!” Kidd bellowed, the force of his voice rattling mugs on the shelves.

Trafalgar barely turned their head, an eyebrow quirking upward in a display of infuriating calm. “Morning, Kidd.”

Kirin leaned back, feigning surprise as he draped an arm casually around Trafalgar’s neck. “Oh! Didn’t see you there, Captain.” His grin widened. “Sorry, are we in your way?”

Kidd’s vision went red. Before he could launch the nearest chair at their heads, Trafalgar raised a finger, and in a blur of blue light, they were gone. Only their laughter remained, trailing through the room like smoke.

Kidd stomped out, muttering a litany of curses under his breath. The coffee wasn’t worth it. It was probably poisoned with their smugness anyway.

By midafternoon, Kidd’s patience was stretched thinner than a threadbare sail. Desperate for solitude, he retreated to the one place he thought was sacred: his workshop.

He slammed the door open, tools rattling from the force, and immediately froze.

They were there. Again.

Law perched on the edge of the workbench, their posture dripping with unbothered elegance, one leg draped over the other like they owned the entire workshop—and everyone in it.

The dim glow of the overhead lamps highlighted the angles of their face, shadows playing along their sharp features in a way that only emphasized their maddening composure. Kirin lounged against them, his body reclining with deliberate ease, his head tipped back in a laugh that rumbled low and rich, the kind of sound that dug under Kidd’s skin like a burr.

Law’s hand moved like a whisper, their fingertips trailing down Kirin’s arm with a deliberate slowness that felt designed to infuriate. The touch lingered at the crook of Kirin’s elbow before continuing its path, brushing against the fine dust of iron filings that clung to his skin.

Their fingers hovered dangerously close to the pile of sharp tools scattered haphazardly on the workbench—a glinting assortment of wrenches, pliers, and blades, each one a threat in Kidd’s clenched fists and an accessory to this infuriating display in theirs.

Kirin shifted slightly, his silvery hair brushing against Law’s leg, catching the light with a molten shimmer. He turned his head just enough to smirk at Kidd, his expression a cocktail of amusement and challenge, while Law’s lips curved in a faint, knowing smile that seemed to say, Do something, if you dare.

“OH, FOR THE LOVE OF—” Kidd’s roar hit a pitch he hadn’t thought possible as he charged forward.

But they disappeared before he even reached them, leaving only the faintest scent of mischief and Kirin’s laughter echoing in his ears.

Kidd stared at the empty bench, his fists trembling. A wrench toppled to the floor with a loud clunk, and for a brief, irrational moment, he wanted to blame it for his misery.

“This is my ship!” Kidd roared, slamming his hand down on the workbench. Tools clattered to the floor in protest, as though the universe itself were mocking him.

By nightfall, Kidd was running on fumes and sheer fury. He barged into the supply room, determined to drown his anger in rum.

But as the door swung open, his heart sank into the pit of his stomach.

“AGAIN?!” he bellowed, voice cracking.

They had made themselves comfortable—lounging shamelessly against the barrels of his finest liquor, as if Kidd had rolled out the red carpet just for their amusement. Kirin reclined with a boneless grace, one arm draped lazily over a barrel as though he were claiming it for himself.

His silvery-white hair fell in soft waves over his shoulders, catching the dim light with a gleam that was entirely too polished for someone crashing in Kidd’s storage room. His laughter, rich and effervescent, spilled into the air like the pop of champagne, grating against Kidd’s nerves in a way that felt almost calculated.

Trafalgar, by contrast, remained a portrait of maddening composure. They leaned with deliberate ease against the barrels, their arms crossed and posture relaxed, as though the chaos surrounding them had no bearing on their day.

Their sharp eyes flicked upward, meeting Kidd’s stormy glare with a measured calm that was as infuriating as it was deliberate. One brow arched high in that trademark, razor-edged gesture of theirs, speaking volumes without a single word. Really? the look seemed to say, dripping with mockery and barely veiled amusement.

“You have the WHOLE FUCKING OCEAN,” Kidd shouted, gesturing wildly, “and you have to do this HERE?!”

Law glanced at him with that infuriating calm. “Your blood pressure must be sky-high. You should see someone about that.”

Kirin snorted, shaking his head. “We’re just trying to enjoy ourselves, Captain. Maybe you’re the problem.”

Kidd lunged, hands reaching for something—anything—to throw. But they vanished again, leaving behind a stack of toppled barrels and the distinct scent of his finest rum pooling across the floor.

Soaked and seething, Kidd screamed into the night.

By dawn, Kidd was on the verge of collapse. His nerves were shot, his pride shattered. The laughter—their laughter—was a relentless specter haunting every corner of his ship.

Staggering into his cabin, Kidd prayed for even a sliver of solitude. But of course, the universe wasn’t finished with him yet.

Kirin lounged against the headboard of Kidd’s bed, his posture oozing satisfaction that was nothing short of provocative. His silvery hair was in wild disarray, strands falling over his shoulders and framing his smug, glowing smirk as he stretched out like a predator who had claimed his prize.

Beside him, Trafalgar reclined with an air of infuriating nonchalance, propped up on one elbow with a well-worn medical book in hand. Their shirt hung loose and open, revealing just enough of their lean frame to suggest exactly why Kidd’s bed looked so… disheveled.

They turned a page with a measured calm that somehow made the whole scene even worse, as if this were the most natural, unremarkable thing in the world.

The faint scent of something heady—sweat, a hint of cologne, and the undeniable musk of… activity—lingered in the air, adding an almost tangible weight to the atmosphere. Kirin’s fingers toyed idly with a loose thread on the sheets, his grin widening when Trafalgar let out an amused hum at something in their book.

The two of them didn’t even bother to look up, their comfortable proximity and ease speaking volumes about what had transpired and just how little they cared about being caught.

It was the ultimate insult, the utter invasion of Kidd’s sanctum, and the bed creaked under their combined weight as if mocking him further.

“OH, YOU HAVE GOT TO BE—” Kidd’s voice cracked into a guttural yell that echoed through the cabin.

Kirin stretched leisurely, his grin sharp enough to cut steel. “Good morning, Captain. Sleep well?”

Kidd lunged, but Killer appeared in the doorway, grabbing his arm just in time.

“Don’t,” Killer said, his tone dry but firm.

“LET ME GO!” Kidd bellowed, his fury now directed at his first mate.

“They’re not worth it,” Killer replied, dragging him back into the hallway. By the time Kidd broke free, the pair were gone—again—leaving only a faint hum of their mocking laughter behind.

Kidd stood frozen for a moment, fists clenched, veins throbbing. Then he turned on Killer. “Why didn’t you stop them?! This is my ship!”

Killer shrugged. “I was busy cleaning up the messes you’ve been making on your own ship”

Kidd let out an unholy roar that sent a few birds scattering. By now, Kidd was a volcano ready to erupt. His fists clenched at his sides, and his teeth ground audibly. Every corner of his ship felt tainted by their laughter, their presence—their audacity.

“THAT’S IT!” he bellowed, storming onto the deck. The crew paused mid-task, turning toward their captain with sharp, attentive gazes, sensing his fury like a brewing storm. “We’re setting sail! NOW!”

Killer, ever the calm counterpoint, tilted his head slightly “Where to?”

“Anywhere that’s not here!” Kidd snarled, throwing his arms out toward the surrounding ships. “Get this fucking ship moving before I lose my damn mind!”

The crew scrambled, snapping into action. Ropes were hoisted, sails unfurled, and the ship creaked as it began to move. Kidd stomped toward the railing, gripping it tightly as he glared out at the horizon, his frustration simmering like a storm ready to break. Just as the ship began to pull away, Kidd heard faint, familiar laughter drifting from one of the neighboring decks—their laughter

.“If I ever walk in on them again,” Kidd growled, his voice low and deadly, “I’ll fucking join Buggy’s crew.”

Killer snorted, barely holding back a laugh. “That’s the spirit, Captain.”

Kidd stomped off toward the deck, muttering darkly to himself. His life wasn’t just a punchline—it was the whole damn joke.

————

Kidd leaned heavily against the railing of his ship, arms crossed, trying to focus on the steady crash of waves below. The crisp sea air should’ve been soothing, but his nerves still thrummed like taut wires. Trafalgar and Kirin were finally gone—had been for hours—but their laughter lingered in his mind like a ghost he couldn’t exorcise.

“They’re not worth it,” he muttered to himself, forcing his grip to relax. “They’re gone. Just let it go.”

When Killer finally appeared, his imposing frame outlined by the afternoon sun, Kidd straightened and forced a smirk onto his face.

“Finally,” Kidd said, rolling his shoulders. “Come on. We’re going.”

Killer tilted his head, arms crossing in curiosity. “Going where?”

“You’ll see,” Kidd replied, gripping his first mate by the arm and steering him toward the dock.

A ferry was waiting, sleek and polished like something straight out of Mariejois. Kidd didn’t remember seeing it arrive, but that didn’t seem to matter. Without hesitation, he shoved two tickets at the attendant and boarded, dragging Killer along.

“Tickets?” Killer asked, his tone skeptical but amused.

“Don’t ask questions,” Kidd grumbled. “It’s supposed to be good. Trust me.”

Killer didn’t protest, though the tilt of his head screamed I’m not so sure.

The venue they arrived at was nothing short of opulent, the kind of place Kidd wouldn’t normally be caught dead in. High ceilings adorned with golden chandeliers loomed above, and heavy red velvet curtains framed the stage. Rows of plush seats stretched before them, but Kidd marched confidently to the front row, dragging Killer along.

“Why so fancy?” Killer asked, his voice laced with dry humor.

“Shut up,” Kidd muttered, plopping into his seat and slouching. “You’ll see.”

As the house lights dimmed, Kidd grinned smugly. “You’re gonna love this. Best show I’ve seen in a while.”

Killer’s head tilted again, the silence clearly saying Best show? You?

Before Kidd could snap back, the music began—a dramatic swell of strings that filled the room with anticipation. The audience around them clapped politely, but Kidd frowned. Something felt off.

The curtains swept open, and Kidd’s stomach dropped to his boots.

There they were.

Trafalgar Law and Kirin stood at the center of the stage, dressed like they were about to headline a goddamn opera. Kirin wore a sleek black suit, his hair tied back in a neat tail that only made his smirk sharper, while Trafalgar’s white coat caught the spotlight, glowing like some divine decree.

“What the actual hell?!” Kidd barked, his voice echoing in the grand theater, but no one around him so much as blinked.

As the music shifted to a slow, sultry melody, the pair stepped closer to each other with dramatic precision, their movements practiced and smooth.

Kirin reached out, gripping Trafalgar’s collar, his grin widening. Trafalgar leaned in, their lips parting ever so slightly as their eyes locked. The tension between them was palpable.

Kidd’s jaw dropped.

“No!” he growled, clutching the armrests of his seat like they were the only things keeping him tethered to reality. “No, no, no—don’t you fucking dare—”

But his protests fell on deaf ears. Trafalgar tilted Kirin’s chin, their lips meeting in a theatrical, sweeping kiss that sent the phantom audience into a frenzy. Roses were hurled onto the stage as cheers erupted from every corner of the theater.

Kidd shot to his feet, pointing a trembling finger at the stage. “STOP THAT! THIS ISN’T A SHOW! THIS IS A GODDAMN NIGHTMARE!”

As if hearing him for the first time, Trafalgar turned their head toward him, their smirk deepening.

“Oh, Kidd,” they purred, their voice smooth and mocking. “Didn’t know you were a fan.”

Kirin followed suit, raising an eyebrow as his grin turned devilish. “Enjoying the view, Captain?”

Kidd screamed—a raw, guttural sound of pure rage—and lunged for his weapons, ready to obliterate the stage and the smug bastards on it. But no matter how hard he tried, his arms wouldn’t move. He was stuck, thrashing uselessly in his seat as the audience erupted into a standing ovation.

Killer, still seated beside him, tilted his head as though unimpressed. “Didn’t know you were into this kind of thing.”

Kidd whirled on him. “I’LL KILL YOU TOO!”

With a strangled yell, Kidd jolted awake, his blankets twisted around him like chains. His cabin was dark and silent, save for the frantic pounding of his heart. Sweat dripped down his face as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Those... bastards,” he muttered, voice hoarse.

The door creaked open, and Killer peeked inside, his masked head tilting slightly. “Bad dream?”

Kidd didn’t answer. He grabbed the nearest wrench and hurled it at the door. Killer ducked, the tool clanging uselessly against the hallway wall.

“Guess so,” Killer said lightly, before shutting the door again.

Kidd flopped back onto his mattress, staring at the ceiling. “If I ever see those two again,” he grumbled to no one, “I swear I’ll join Buggy’s crew. Clown life’s got to be easier than this.”

——

Back aboard the Polar Tang, the silence felt almost sacred, a rare reprieve from the constant chaos of the sea and their own well-orchestrated shenanigans. The dim light of the captain’s quarters illuminated the room in soft gold, casting long shadows on the metallic walls. It was a haven of peace after days of poking and prodding a certain irate pirate captain.

Kirin lounged casually on a stool near the desk, his long legs stretched out in front of him and crossed at the ankle. In one hand, he held a glass of amber liquid, the ice inside clinking softly as he swirled it absentmindedly. Across from him, Law sat in their usual chair, boots kicked up on the desk in a display of calculated ease, their sharp gaze fixed on their companion.

“Finally,” Kirin said, his voice dripping with amusement as he took a sip of his drink. “A little peace and quiet. It’s almost disappointing.”

Law quirked an eyebrow, their lips tugging into a faint, knowing smirk. “Disappointing? I thought you’d be proud of yourself after today’s performance.”

Kirin chuckled, a rich, unrestrained sound that filled the room. “Oh, I am. But admit it—driving Kidd to the edge like that? It was almost too easy.”

Law leaned back further in their chair, folding their arms across their chest. “Almost. The shade of red his face turned? Worth every second. I thought he was going to rip the floorboards up with his teeth.”

Kirin laughed harder, tipping his head back as the memory replayed in his mind. “It was priceless. Especially in the supply room. I swear he made a sound like a dying animal before storming out.”

Law snorted softly, the sound more of a sharp exhale, but their amusement was clear. “You sure about that? The workshop scene was a masterpiece on its own. He froze like someone had dropped him into the middle of a Marine raid.”

“Oh, the workshop was good,” Kirin conceded, setting his glass on the desk and leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. “But the supply room had impact. The poor guy didn’t even see it coming.”

Law tilted their head, their smirk widening. “You’re the one who couldn’t hold it together. I was actually impressed with how long you kept a straight face before cracking.”

Kirin’s grin turned smug, his sharp eyes glinting with mischief. “I mean, did you see the way he just stared? Like we’d committed some kind of war crime.”

“That’s just Kidd’s default expression,” Law deadpanned, their voice as dry as the sea was wet.

Kirin barked out another laugh, his shoulders shaking with the force of it. “True. But today? We turned his default into absolute despair.”

Law’s smirk softened as they leaned forward, their elbows resting on the desk. “And this is your idea of fun? Torturing the captain of the Victoria Punk?”

Kirin shrugged, the movement languid. “Not torture. Character building. Kidd’s wound so tight he’d snap if a strong breeze hit him.”

Law chuckled, shaking their head. “Your methods are… unconventional, to say the least.”

“Effective, though,” Kirin said, his grin softening as he leaned back slightly. “And worth it just to see you having fun for once.”

Law’s smirk faltered briefly, their dark eyes narrowing as if to brush off the comment. “Maybe,” they replied evenly. “But don’t expect me to indulge your bad habits too often.”

Kirin straightened, his grin turning lazy and teasing, leaning forward to brace his hands on the arms of their chair. “I don’t expect anything,” he said, his voice low. “But I like it when you do.”

The playful edge in his tone melted into something quieter, and the room seemed to hold its breath as Law’s gaze locked with his. Their sharp stare softened just slightly, though their smirk lingered like a shield they weren’t quite ready to drop.

“You’re a menace,” Law murmured, but their voice lacked its usual bite, the words carrying a thread of warmth.

Kirin tilted his head, his grin softening into something more genuine as he leaned in slowly. “Good thing you like me anyway.”

Law tilted their head amused. “Careful. Keep talking like that, and I might start agreeing with you.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that,” Kirin teased, leaning down until their faces were inches apart. “Wouldn’t want you admitting I’m right about something.”

Law’s gaze flicked up to meet his, steady and sharp, “Admitting you’re right?” Law murmured, their voice dropping slightly. “I wouldn’t give you that satisfaction so easily.”

“Good thing I like a challenge,” Kirin countered, his voice warm and teasing, but his gaze betrayed a softer undercurrent.

The air between them grew still, the space charged with unspoken familiarity and trust. Neither of them moved for a moment, and yet everything shifted in that brief silence—banter giving way to a quiet intensity.

“You’re lucky I like you,” Law said finally, their voice low and deliberate, each word laced with a rare fondness that sent a ripple down Kirin’s spine as his grip on the arms of the chair tightened, as if anchoring himself to the moment.

Slowly, deliberately, he closed the distance, his gaze never leaving Law’s, until their lips met in a kiss that was slow, unhurried, a stark contrast to the chaos that had defined their day. It wasn’t about teasing or proving a point—it was steady, deliberate, a quiet acknowledgment of the connection they both shared but rarely voiced.

Amd when Kirin finally pulled back, he lingered for a breath, his forehead lightly brushing against Law’s, before a teasing grin broke across his face. “Think Kidd’s still mad?”

Law’s smirk deepened, sharp and wicked. “Undoubtedly. And the best part? He’ll be mad for weeks. Months, even.”

Kirin laughed, the sound warm and rich as he straightened and, with a practiced ease, slid into Law’s lap, draping an arm casually over their shoulders. “You definitely enjoyed this way more than you let on.”

Law’s hands settled comfortably on Kirin’s waist, their smirk still lingering. “I could say the same about you,” they replied, their voice tinged with dry humor. “You’re the one who decided to escalate things.”

“Maybe,” Kirin admitted, his grin unrepentant. “But you didn’t exactly stop me, now, did you?”

Law tilted their head as if giving the question serious thought, though the amusement in their eyes betrayed them. “No. It was far too entertaining.”

“See?” Kirin said, his grin widening as he leaned back just enough to study them. “You’re more fun than you give yourself credit for.”

Law chuckled softly, their fingers tracing lazy circles against Kirin’s side. “Careful, Kirin. If you keep this up, I might start thinking you like corrupting me.”

“Too late,” Kirin quipped, his voice warm and teasing, though his grin softened with something more genuine as he leaned in once again. Their laughter melted into the quiet hum of the Polar Tang, their shared amusement fading into something deeper as their lips met, unhurried and sure.

For now, the chaos they’d left behind was just a ripple in the distance, far removed from this quiet moment. Whatever storms might come later—whether from Kidd’s inevitable tantrum or the trouble they so often found themselves in—none of it mattered now.

The only thing that mattered was this moment between them

#law/oc #Killer/kidd mentions #for my mutuals #Venus writes

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