#pirates docking two

[forged-in-kaoss]

combine! pirates docking two! robot warrior on a search mission! let's show everyone! our combined power!

[transmasc-tabris]

.

[waywardsalt]

one of these days ill probably write some little fic thing abt some scene from linebecks childhood esp since ive been thinking abt it and havent really touched up my ideas for it in a while, but besides one about linebeck and damien initially meeting and bonding over linebeck cutting damien’s hair short for him, i think i want to do one more abt linebeck first meeting the two pirates that teach him about sailing and halfway raise him, though it’s less a formal meeting and more linebeck just wandering onto their ship as a kid and dodging the attempts of the crew to catch him while he pokes around

[lainloves]

BABY FEVER?!

Pairing; TRAFALGAR LAW X FEM! READER

;; FLUFF FLUFF FLUFFFF!

Synopsis; headcanons with law and a pregnant s/o. And a few with his baby.

;; AFTER ONE year of posting a single fanfic, I am back. Writers block killed me so bad :`(

➜ when he found out you were pregnant, it was like he got hit with a thousand bullets. He just stood there while you tinkered with your hair as he looked at you with wide eyes and his jaw hanging open as he dropped his book.

➜ SUPPERRR affectionate, he likes to look out for you everyday especially since you're pregnant he does his best to protect you from enemies and potential threats that want to hurt you.

➜ Being the doctor of the heart pirates, he gives you proper check-ups and checks on you daily to see how you are.

➜ everytime he's alone with you he always hugs your belly or when you're sleeping he talks to your pregnant tummy.

"Be good to your mom okay?" Law said while he laid down next to you, sleeping peacefully as he looked down at the large protruding belly as his tattooed fingers wrapped around your stomach, he was smitten with his unborn child. He'll give anything to make his baby happy once they popped out their mother. "Stop kicking her so much," he hummed. When you silently observed the conversation with closed eyes, it's almost sweet that he does this every night. "I'm still awake, law." You softly said when law's ears turned into a darker shade of red when he huffed. "I think it's cute, Y'know?" You smiled, putting your palm over his.

➜ Loves spoiling you, even when he acts all snobby..In the end when you ask for him to give you a massage on the shoulders he'll give them.

➜ Always pesters you if you ate breakfast, lunch, or dinner.

➜ he gets super mad when you carry something heavy or do any workload, he's completely put you off any chores to do since you had a special case growing inside you, cleaning duty was now in shachi’s hands. Even if he didn't wanna— but he couldn't complain since law might just extend it further.

➜ Whenever you two shop for baby items, he picks out one that was super cute, and if not he sews the heart pirates’ jolly roger on his baby's onesies and beanie's. It was the cutest thing ever.

➜ during labor, law was the one to perform the delivery and as he holds his baby he felt like all his problems washed away.

➜ he's definitely a girl dad.

➜ He's willing to survive the midnight cries, and the diaper changes.

➜ Sometimes law is afraid because he's got a big bounty on his head, he gets really nervous thinking about it. What if his baby or you were used against him? He can't bear to experience that.

➜ ALWAYYSSS is so protective of his baby, whenever someone tries to look at his child he will give them the stink eye.

"aw your baby is so cute!" A lady said when law was walking down the busy streets of the new island they docked in to restock on supplies. "How old is she?" The lady asked. "4 months." Law said, when the lady tried to pinch his daughter he immediately backed away. "Um, yeah.." law said, "oh— I'm sorry. Am I not allowed?" She asked. Law just shakes his head indicating he doesn't wanna, since her hands were dirty and didn't want them to get in his precious baby's cheek.

➜ He will do everything in his power to give his daughter the world, he doesn't want his baby, his precious little girl or boy to go through what he went through as a kid.

I have unfinished stories in my drafts, I might post more :3

[grandline-fics]

Hot Off The Press

DESCRIPTION: Their reaction when you end up in the newspaper unexpectedly

WARNINGS:  none, implications of crushes

CHARACTERS: Law, Smoker

WORDS: 1,730

A/N: Just a silly idea that came to mind that I wanted to explore with a couple of the One Piece guys. I had fun doing this and may do more at some stage with other characters in this scenario. Hope you all enjoy what I came up with

*REQUESTS ARE OPEN*

DIRECTORY | PROMPT LIST

————————

LAW

Unlike some of the other pirates around, Law kept up with the news and goings on in the world regardless of if there was an inkling his or the crews bounties would go up or not. He needed to be aware of everything going on at all times in order to plan the best course of action and leave very little room for surprises should the next island he came to be already in the middle of some drama that could be either avoided or exploited. One morning he walked into the dining room of the Polar Tang to join the rest of the crew for breakfast. Grabbing his morning coffee he took his usual seat and flicked open the paper, beginning to leisurely read through it while enjoying idle conversation with the rest of the crew. 

“Hey Captain can I-” Penguin’s question was cut off immediately when Law was already pulling out the so-called ‘entertainment' section of the paper and passed it across the table. That was the one section he felt was an entire waste of paper and ink and only glanced at just incase something of note had slipped through. Most of the time though? Even the barest glance felt like a handful of seconds he’d never get back due to the pointless garbage written on the pages. “Thank Cap!” Law gave a non-committal grunt in acknowledgement to his subordinate’s thanks and trained his attention instead into a story about political unrest affecting two neighbouring islands. 

Unfortunately his focus was interrupted when Penguin suddenly let out a gasp just as he was taking a bite of his breakfast causing him to choke. Law set his paper down and rose sharply, making his way directly to his friend. It was a relief that in that time Law approached, Penguin had managed to dislodge the food and caught his breath. “Oi, why didn’t you chew? Nearly gave us a heart attack!” Law lectured, using his relief to fuel his panicked lecture. Penguin nervously shifted in his seat and with another clearing of his throat he shakily turned over the entertainment section to show Law and the others what had caused his mishap. Law’s eyes dropped to the print and they widened, sharply snatching it from the table just as you walked in with a long yawn breaking from your lips. “Mornin’ guys…”

When no-one answered you blinked and frowned at the group in confusion. Stepping closer you looked over Law’s shoulder to see what had gotten his and everyone else’s attention. Similar to Law, your eyes bugged and you pulled his arm towards you so you could get a better look, as iff the extra inch of space would make the page change from what you couldn’t believe you were seeing. First was the eye-popping headline “HOT PIRATE OF THE WEEK: HEART PIRATES’ HEARTBREAKER!” Filling the page were images of you standing on the dock of the Polar Tang on one of the occasions the sub had surfaced and you were performing maintenance on the vessel. 

Slowly you remembered that day. It had been so hot that you had to undo the top of your boiler suit and tie the sleeves around your waist to reveal the tank top you'd been wearing underneath. Your skin was lightly sheened with sweat and cheek smeared with a small streak of oil. Nervously you rubbed the back of your neck as you looked over the images, you were just doing your job but somehow the photographer had managed to take countless photos, all of them very flattering. It did unnerve you slightly to think that everyone would see you like this along with cheesy one-liners of ‘they can perform maintenance on me any day,’ ‘tune me up,’ ‘let’s let off some steam,’ and your favourite ‘Captain Law, can we join your crew?’

Nervously you chewed your lip and looked away to finally see your Captain’s reaction, fearing he would lecture you. Instead it surprised you to see the back of his neck and his cheeks were tinged a very noticeable pink as his eyes were glued to your pictures. Unable to help yourself you couldn’t help but smile slightly, pleased and a little giddy that he was looking appreciatively. Still you needed to break the silent tension. “I’m surprised they got my good side.”

“You stupid? Every side is your good side.” Law asked suddenly, his mouth acting while his brain was still distracted. Your eyes widened and lit in shock at Law’s words, your smile growing when realisation hit your usually serious Captain that he’d said it aloud. Flustered and unable to recover, Law swiftly turned and left the room to the safety of his office and you grinned wider to notice he’d kept a firm hold on the paper as he left.

SMOKER

Something strange was happening at G5 and it was pissing Smoker off to no end. Every few minutes calls and missives came through, the influx a lot more than normal. The usual missions and reports were overwhelmed with transfer requests coming from all sections of the world’s seas. Part of him thought it was a well co-ordinated prank being pulled on him from the different divisions by very bored and motivated Marines that he must have angered in some way. This had to have been a prank or revenge it had to. There was no way all these requests to come to G5 was genuine. 

It hadn’t even reached mid-morning yet and what little patience he had was gone when the next transfer request came through. Angrily Smoker slammed his hand down on his desk and rose from his desk, having had more than enough nonsense to last him a lifetime. If he stayed in his office for much longer, he’d be driven to making his own transfer request to get away from it all. Needing a distraction to clear his head, Smoker began to walk aimlessly in search of what seemed like the quietest section of the base. In his mind he thought if it was quiet then that meant there would be no-one around to pester him. 

“Smoker!” Smoker came to an abrupt halt and turned his head sharply to see you approach him, your pace quickened and expression just as frustrated and annoyed as he was. Your own sour mood was probably why you weren’t trying to stay out of his way. Now finding his distraction, Smoker faced you properly. You huffed out a sharp breath, relieved that the commander had finally snapped out of whatever he was thinking about and stopped long enough for you to catch up and stop in front of him. “Didn’t you hear me calling you?”

“Wasn’t paying attention to anything really.” Smoker explained, only now noticing his cigars had burned to nothing. Grabbing two more from his jacket he lit them and placed them into his mouth, taking a fresh inhale of the nicotine helping to make him more grounded. Releasing the breath of smoke, he used his ability to direct it away from your face as he focussed his attention on you. “So what did you need?”

“Just a general inquiry.” You began while trying to control your anger while it was still fresh. In a base full of short fuses you at least tried to stay levelheaded around your commander. You took a slow breath and looked to him, still unable to keep the scowl from your face. “How much trouble would I get in for beating up a newspaper employee?”

“Not like you to get so hotheaded about journalists…” You let out a bitter scoff at the word ‘journalist’ and your hand holding the rolled up paper tightened to the point the paper crinkled loud enough to make Smoker’s gaze drop from your face. “What’s been reported?”

“You haven’t seen it?” You asked, momentarily confused. You thought everyone else had. Or was he acting dumb on purpose so you would have to relive your embarrassment in realtime in front of him. Deep down you knew that wasn't Smoker’s nature, and his mirrored look of confusion confirmed that. With a sigh you lifted your hand, offering the rolled up paper to him. 

Smoker lightly tugged the paper out of your reluctant grip and let it unfurl. Knowing this had to be personal for you he flicked through the pages in search of the cause for your wish to cause harm to a civilian. Finally he found it, or rather it practically jumped out at him when he turned the page. Your image filled the page, the photo capturing you mid-battle. One foot had connected with the blurred shape of a pirate while your body was arched, your weapon in hand and aimed at another enemy. Smoker took in your form, eyebrows raised at how poised and strong you were. What got him the most was the fearsome, intense edge lighting your eyes, your focus entirely on stopping the pirates that had tried to ransack a village. All in all it was an extremely flattering story about your heroism and undeniable strength. Yes, there were some comments about your attractiveness but Smoker couldn’t exactly argue, not when the facts were so clearly staring him in the face-both on paper and in person. 

Finally Smoker’s eyes zeroed in on how the story piece stated you were a part of the G5 base and he let out a huff of frustration and amusement. So this was the reason for his morning-long headache. “You just have to live with it. There’ll be a different story by tomorrow.” Smoker shrugged calmly and handed the paper back to you. “Don’t let something like this bother you. Okay?”

“It’s embarrassing.” You grumbled. “Why did they have to fill a page with my picture? Why even use my picture at all?”

“Why not? It looks good.” Your head snapped up at Smoker’s murmured comment, eyes widened and heat prickling the back of your neck. He looked completely composed and stoic, acting as if he hadn’t said anything at all but you knew what you heard. Instead he lightly tapped your shoulder and started to head back towards his office, idly calling after you as he went. “If you’ll excuse me I have transfer requests to formally reject. Just keep up the good work.”

——————————————-

TAG LIST (If I’ve missed anyone or if you want to be added just let me know) @3v37773, @tsaaps , @i-am-all-love-puns-and-lazy , @sanemisnonexistenteyebrow , @fiery-captain-spider-santa@kabloswrld , @atanukileaf , @ane5e , @stuckinthewrongworld , @deathsmajestysworld , @cloudysunset04 , @chillerkiller , @extremely-ashtridic , @decayingpizza , @liesatemyocean , @ace-for-ace , @nerium-lil , @destynelseclipsa , @dreamcastgirl99 , @my-name-is-heartache , @iamn1ya ,  @yunho-leeknow , @hinata7346 , @h0oouwlss , @missrandomdreamer , @sleepykittycx , @ddawn111 , @jaygrl22 , @sylum , @acehyacinth , @resident-cryptid , @treelogirl , @maellem , @its-a-dam-blue-brick , @thulhu , @appalost

[otkuhotgirl]

─── 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑 .

# with black-leg sanji.

milk started to leak from your nipples — and sanji was never one to waste food.

⎰ & KINKTOBER, day one. smut (mdni). breast worship. lactation. praise kink. pathetic sanji. handjob. no y/n used. afab!reader.

WC: 2k.

sanji had witnessed a fair share of devil-fruits in action throughout their sailing. from those who were foolish in its essence, such as that of the candle wax; to those who were horrid and lethal — sanji could well-reminisce the brightness and the sharp ache that followed-in-suit to enel’s lightning strikes. he figured not another thing could surprise him; until his crew faced a short-lived and stupid battle against the pirates from a self-proclaimed stork-stork captain.

the opponents caused no harm. their captain, all but managing to brush your shoulder before being swiftly knocked out. relieved with your untouched health — as it was shown through your exterior —, the straw-hats’ lives returned to common routine in the aftermath, not a thing amiss. that was, of course, until you started to throw up.

countless examinations and book researches pointed out the source of your illness. the devil-fruit from the stork-captain was known for the ability to impregnate others. however, the user needed to touch two people, and that hadn’t been the case — which had sanji praying and thanking gods he hardly believed in. the mere thought of you, bearing the marimo’s child, was enough to leave him seething. comical reaction aside, chopper theorized that, as you had no bundle of cells within your uterus, you’d but suffer from some pregnancy-related effects for a while — perhaps a time equal to the duration of your period. their doctor advised you to refrain from touching others with the previous common frequency, as to avoid the triggering of said devil-fruit.

that had happened four days ago, and sanji was in the deepest pit of despair. you were far from sight throughout the day, gracing them with your presence only during meal times — and even then, your chair was placed the furthest away from the rest, as to avoid accidental brushing. sanji was half-aware of the anatomical consequences of pregnancy: nausea, cramps, swelling; and being unable to support you through it all was driving him insane.

the soothing herbal tea he brewed was intercepted. he had chopper trailing behind him for hours on end. whenever you aimed to spend time outside the walls of your room, the damned marimo stood by the crow’s nest door as though a guarding dog, unallowing him to proceed. even then, with the sunny docked and most of the crew elsewhere, sanji held no expectations of sharing an alone moment with you whatsoever, as robin had been the one assigned to stay behind in order to guarantee that the pair of you would be kept separated. sanji could neither argue nor defy a woman’s request, and robin could not be swayed with monetary bribery on your part.

he sighed. the weather was not suitable for lukewarm beverages, so he could, at least, distract himself from you with thoughts on how to turn thyme tea into a pleasant summer drink. a knock on the kitchen’s door — followed-in-suit by light steps — tore him from his thoughts, however. sanji’s nostrils were filled with the characteristic scent of your perfume, and he turned to your direction so fast he was positive a bone in his back cracked.

“my love!” sanji shouted, gripping the counter to resist the urge to jump you.

“hi,” you greeted softly, sitting on the side opposite from him.

his throat dried up. he had missed the sound of your voice and sight of your face. having you close yet again after four, painful and infinite days, had him squirming as though an addict being offered his most favored drug.

“how did you manage to convince sweet robin?” he inquired, whose worried you waved away.

“i have my ways,” you smiled. sanji fell to his knees, immediately bolstering himself up with flushed cheeks, for he could not waste a second of that moment. “missed me that much?”

“oh, mon amour, you have no idea,” he started out, placing one hand above his chest in order to profess his affection. “the sun doesn’t shine as bright without you. the food loses its taste. the vastness of the ocean brings not freedom but rather a cruel, monstrous prison—”

“shit,” you interrupted through a curse, the lovesick glance once held switching to one of annoyance. sanji’s attention remolded itself, his instincts all but shouting at him to pay closer attention to your needs, rather than to complain about his non-comparable misery.

“are you hurting, my pearl? do you need me to prepare something? perhaps some tea,” he fretted, searching for soothing herbs. “are there any cravings? i can cook it for you, no matter how offsetting.”

“it’s none of the sort, don’t worry,” you sighed. “i just need to see chopper later on. it keeps leaking.”

sanji’s eyes trailed to the wet patch on your shirt; two dots staining the fabric and offering him the clear outline of your nipples. his knees buckled yet again, although he had learned enough from the previous embarrassment to contain himself. pregnancy had a countless set of effects; he could not believe he had forgotten of lactation — a process which happened to have a direct influence on the size of your breasts. sanji caught himself drooling upon the sight of it; your hands supporting the weight you were unused to.

“does it hurt?” he inquired, licking his lips.

“it is far from light on the back,” you answered, squeezing it with a sour expression. sanji grew embarrassed at the speed of his erection — his cock aching amidst the coffins of his clothes. yet another renewed influx of milk had begun, leaving a trail in its wake; tearing through the thin fabric, molded into a droplet that fell on your thighs.

“mon ange,” he whined, losing his breath mid-sentence. sanji felt the surge of tears pooling in his eyes, the sheer yearn to hold you one enough to drive him straight into a bridge of delirium. “please, it’s been so long.”

his hands clenched and unclenched. a pathetic gesture; a mute plead to be given the pleasure of groping your breasts. the glance spared was one filled with uncertainty, for you were the rock whose surface swayed with the waves of his lust. it was fair to be cautious — if sanji was a most decent man, he, too, would have waited — yet, he was anything but. the man jumped through the counter’s surface to drop on his knees in front of you, his lips ghosting over the flesh of your legs as he glanced up at you, shedding a single tear.

“please,” he pleaded. “i won’t put it in, i just want—no, i need a taste. i promise i will make you feel good, lumière de ma vie.”

your fingers threaded through blonde locks of hair; infatuation filled-eyes. “you wish to be good to me?”

“yes,” he whined, pressing feather-light kisses to the extension of your legs. “more than anything, ma belle.”

you hummed then, at last conceding to his desire. when your touch left his figure in order to remove the ruined shirt, sanji raised to his feet, placing his hands on your waist.

“wait, wait,” he stuttered, clearing his throat. “i want it to be comfortable for you. a mere kitchen chair will not suffice.”

your thumb parted his lips, resting above the lower share. “you’re so caring, love. always treats me so well, what would i do without my knight?”

he whimpered, closing his mouth around the tip of your finger, his tongue swirling with regained desire. sanji’s arms cradled your figure closer, raising you from the previous seat in order to reach a more comfortable room. you retreated your hand, wiping the tears off his cheeks with fleeting brushes of your lips. adoring whispers were a blessing bestowed upon his ears — praises regarding his strength; his beauty; his love. he could feel the warmth of his pre-cum, smearing the tip and the underwear’s fabric.

he sat you with tenderness on the crimson cushes of the leisure room, placing one of its pillows on your lap. when sanji’s fingers met the edges of your shirt, he found them trembling.

“so eager,” you cooed, petting his chin. “will you be my good boy, sanji?”

“yes,” he whined, tender hands working on the removal of your shirt. the wet patch was more prominent, with nothing but the dripping fabric of your bra separating him from the anticipated and sacred vision.

sanji struggled with the clasp, yet you neither reprimanded nor complained. instead, your words were nothing but soothing. “take your time, there’s no rush.”

he slid the straps down your arms, dragging his tongue around the internal dampness etched on your bra’s cups. the taste had him shuddering; whining and rutting his erection against your bare leg as he attempted to swallow it all, sucking on the fabric. your touch was soft on his scalp; toying with the disheveled hair.

“how does it taste?”

“like heaven, ma moitié.”

a lonesome string of saliva connected his lips from the fabric of your bra, yet it was broken once he placed it on the couch. you tapped twice on the pillow above your lap, beckoning him closer. sanji had then positioned his head on it, eyes trailed to your swollen nipples.

“open wide,” you instructed, and he behaved as though a loyal servant; you, his muse and goddess. “that’s it, such a good boy.”

he moaned, witnessing as you pinched on your left nipple, an amount of liquid gushing over. sanji angled his head in order to catch it all; his tongue lolling out. the perfection of your body had offered him a feast and he would rather not waste a single drop. the initial taste drove him mad, and you raised a knee to drive his face closer to where he wished. sanji’s mouth closed around the hardened nipple, as he cupped and teased the other breast, striving to have it leaking as well.

tears rolled down and sanji closed his eyes at the enhanced taste, moaning with sheer desperation as he delved further, his tongue swirling around the bud as his cheeks hollowed in an attempt to coat more of your milk.

“open your eyes for me, my love. i want to see you,” you voiced out, brushing his fringe aside. when he caught a glimpse of your face — worked up and eager; loving and grateful — he rutted his hips against thin air, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. “my handsome prince; my diligent heart. you, too, want to be touched, don’t you?”

sanji tried to convey his agreement through a glance, the thought of departing his lips from your breast to produce an answer all too unbearable. you tsked, tugging lightly on his hair.

“a good boy uses his words, and you’re good, aren’t you, san-ji?” you dragged the syllables of his name, teasing him further.

“yes,” he swallowed the milk beforehand, his lips leaving your nipple with a pop. the sudden lack of contact had you whining — it was brief; hidden; but there nevertheless. “please, love, please touch me.”

sanji whimpered as your fingers hovered over the waistband of his pants. “how could i ever deny my baby?”

the fabric of his pants and underwear lowered ever-so-slightly — only enough to free his aching cock — and sanji cried out when he felt the teasing of your thumb on the tip. his mouth latched itself around your nipple yet again, his fingers pinching and teasing the other one as if to coax your essence. the strokes on his cock matched the rhythm of his tongue, swirling and hot, coated white. sanji dragged out his teeth — a butterfly-touch; a temptive bite — and your lips produced the sound of an angel’s choir.

you shuddered, arching your back, face contorting with pleasure as he claimed your sensitive breast. sanji’s eyes were wide, drowning in the magnificent beauty. crimson, warm, red dripped down his nostrils, a trail that merged with the white from your essence. the milk he failed to swallow escaped past his lips, dripping on the pillow; wetting his goatee. the sound of his moan came out muffled, though the vibration had you mewling.

“keep going, baby, you’re doing so well.”

he was your knight; baby; perfect. neither a failure nor a nuisance, but your good boy.

the taste was intrinsic to you, yet unique; the sweetest beverage he was given the honor to drown in. inimitable, stimulating points of his palate that diverged from those teased by your cum. the divine essence born from your pleasure had a saltier base, it would have worked well as a topping for caramelized meals, though sanji hadn’t been able to convince you to use your cum for that purpose. your milk, however; oh, how he yearned to use it. how would it affect the flavor of a smoothie, a cheesecake? which ingredients would suit best to neutralize the overbearing sweetness?

sanji groaned with need, groping your other breast, his cock twitching once the scarce milk tainted his palm, trailing down his wrist; wetting the buttoned sleeves of his shirt. his lascivious tongue followed-in-suit, his nose burrowed into your flesh.

“t’es mon obsession,” he whimpered, sucking on the tender spots around your nipple, ensuing a painting of red and purple; leaving butterfly-kisses and soft bites, tearing up as his mouth failed to swallow you whole. “je t’aime beaucoup.”

your voice failed mid-moan, and you pushed his face back into your swollen niple, eyes rolling once sanji returned to his previous ministrations. your palm squeezed him; his pre-cum a lubrification that enhanced the pleasure from the masturbation. he rutted his hips, craving your touch, and your fingers busied themselves with his face; drawing heart-patterns, wiping the fresh blood off his nose. your thumb brushed against the milk that fell from the side of his lips, red and white creating pink.

when you smeared the tip of your tongue with it, tasting and moaning around your own finger, sanji combusted. he tore his mouth from your nipple, rubbing himself against your hand while moaning louder than he had ever done. a drop of milk fell upon his trembling lips and he opened them as wide as he could, tainting your palm with his cum while your milk did the same to his tongue.

you hummed with approval, pushing his sweat-drenched fringe off his temple. “let it all out, my love. i’m here, that’s it.”

sanji choked on your milk, whimpering whatsoever as a particular squeeze dried him off his essence.

“a good boy cleans up his mess,” you cooed, wiping his tears. “will you be good for me?”

“always, my heart,” he stuttered, his tongue lapping at the damp flesh of his other palm, chasing the sweet taste of your milk.

the breast he hadn’t sucked on leaked less; sanji wondered if he could change that in the future. your thumb gathered the milk on his cheeks and goatee and guided it to his awaiting lips. sanji sucked on it with diligence, drawing pleasure from your approving expression. at last, he sat upright, wiping his cum hastily with his underwear, whining as you sucked on the rest of his load that stained your fingers.

“don’t move,” he instructed, pulling his pants up with a cough. sanji removed the pillow off your lap and properly laid your back on the couch. he wrapped his coat around your shoulders, caressing your chin before pressing his lips against yours. “i’ll pick you a clean shirt and bra. some water, too. just relax, chérie.”

when sanji left, he made sure to hide your previous clothes inside his own closet, sniffing the fabric and chasing the vanishing scent of your milk; committing it to memory. he would not be able to live without that, his palate itching to be graced with the sweet flavor again. he had no idea of the duration of that devil-fruit, but it was of no problem, as all he had to do then, to keep on draining you off your milk, was put a real baby on you.

— 🐈‍⬛ : the nasty month is officially upon us! had to start with my beautiful french blonde, the light of my life. 🫡 let’s have some fun through october!

[thetrasha]

One Piece: Fantasy Flirt

Who really knows how to make ‘em swoon?

feat. BENN BECKMAN, SHANKS, SABO, MARCO

BENN BECKMAN

10/10 [canon fact btw]

What a force of nature, this so-called Benn Beckman. The mysterious aura he has makes him alluring – worst thing: he’s intelligent enough to realise it. Whenever the Red Force docks at a port, the local tavern is filled to the brim with pirates and laughter. That’s just the nature of the crew, they haven’t lost their charm… that, naturally, attracts the locals. These pirates seem powerful, but not necessarily dangerous. In fact, their captain even pays full price for all the supplies! What a weird bunch. You heard about this mysterious group from your friend who works at the market… and you couldn’t help but find it a bit suspicious. Most of these men had exorbitant bounties… and they aren’t actually horrible people? Something isn’t adding up. Pirates pillage and ravage the lands, they don’t buy overpriced mackerels and potatoes from local merchants.

As soon as you enter the bar, it reeks of hard liquor and smoke. That’s not unusual, but the men certainly are. They all look a bit strange, but you didn’t fear them at all, even if most of them spared you a glance as you entered.

Well, that is until you felt a heavy gaze on you – that one did make you beyond nervous. Your eyes immediately locked onto another man who sat quietly inside a corner, watching everybody else… particularly a man with red hair.

He called you over with a wave of his fingers and you couldn’t help but point at yourself. Really… you? What’s his deal? Was this going to be some sort of low-brow robbery?

You shouldn’t have faced him so easily. This man was far more intimidating up-close. So tall and broad – a truly hardened sailor. Those scars littering his body didn’t go unnoticed by you either. He followed your eyes and grinned, shaking his head in amusement, like he could read your mind. You raked over him with a harsh glare, noticing that he carried both a gun and a dagger… yet both of them were clean.

How unusual. Why in the world did he call you over if not to rob you? Or was he asking for a brawl? How dishonourable, striking someone who’s shorter and weake-

He suddenly started to speak, alerting you.

“Seemed to me like you needed a friend.”

“Oh, and you’re my friend now?”

He smirked, chuckling at your scoff.

He didn’t respond at first, opting to take a drag of his cigarette instead.

“Could be, if you’ll have me.”, Benn responded before waving at the old owner from across the bar. The older man lit up like a kid on Christmas, loudly telling the First Mate of the Red Hair Pirates that he owes him another story and that the ale would be on the house for chasing away the World Government. You remember when the newspaper announced that they wanted to collect some hefty taxes for any service-based trades, but you also remember that no representative ever visited, meaning your economy flourished.

You were too stunned to speak. These… these guys were pirates? Those bounties rang true? Nothing was on fire and these guys don’t seem to be too interested in stealing for pleasure.

“So… friend. Mind telling me your name and where to get the best sake in town? Know someone who’s got quite the problem.”

“You mean yourself?”, you chuckled back, not even realising that you sat down next to him.

“I meant my idiot captain over there, sweetheart. But sure, I’ll take the bait. Am I that obvious?”

“A little.”

“Ouch. And I thought I had to save the pretty girl that entered the lion’s den – turns out she’s got claws.”

“Me? Pretty girl?”, you wondered aloud, leaning into him as soon as he leaned back, like a magnet.

“Uh-huh. You’re the prettiest. Obviously... that's why everyone was looking. Including me.”, Benn replied curtly, as if he was telling you a fact.

Silence befell you two. You were totally flustered, having been verbally disarmed. You… didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t even a heartfelt compliment, but the conversation flowed so easily that it made your heart skip a beat.

“Where’d those claws go now, love?”

Your face was now hot to the touch – and Benn Beckman, of course, noticed it.

SHANKS

9.5/10

Shanks is so different from everybody else… Most people know his name, they fear him greatly due to his status and proven strength. Other pirates quiver in fear as soon as they feel that crackle of energy in the air that almost knocks them out cold if they do not have the courage or power to withstand his Haki. They view him as this legend with a mythical aura, but you’ve known Shanks to be quite the catastrophe, which is funny… if it weren’t for the fact that he, as a leader, makes terrible decisions sometimes.

“Hey, Captain. I am here to bring you dinner because you thought a whole bottle of rum and a pint of beer was enough. How does it feel, hm?”

Shanks could only chuckle in despair, nursing a tall glass of a water like he wasn’t thirsty at all. On top of everything, he leaned against the door frame leading into his quarters with a sway that is just too uncoordinated to be careless. He’s completely and utterly wasted… like he most often is, that fool!

“Ah, my dearest personal nurse. Come in, come in. You can sit… uh… here? Sit wherever you like! Are you going to feed me now?”

...This guy, he always did this! His bedroom looked like a total mess. Sure, you haven’t seen a harbour in two months, which means your supplies were dwindling, which means that everyone was going a little insane, but Shanks was always the most ridiculous. He’s a social butterfly that craves attention, so as soon as he cannot distract himself with strangers, he’s totally trying it on you. It’s become a habit at this point.

“I’m not a nurse, Captain. And you’re not that old to warrant a personal one yet, Sir.”

“Oh~ You wound me!”, he dramatically touched his chest with his sole hand before fiddling with his black coat, “And I thought we had something special. Once again, you let this poor man suffer. Worst thing is that I let you –…”

“–because you love me?”, you interrupted, chuckling disapprovingly.

“–because I love you!”, he echoed immediately.

You sighed. Stupid Shanks. Stupid Benn for making you do this in the first place. Stupid crew for laughing at you when you whipped up some leftovers with a groan. They knew you had a compulsion to take care of everybody on this ship, especially when you’ve been at sea for too long. You liked to keep yourself busy; you were meant to be a free adventurer, not watch Yasopp lose a game of cards for the sixtieth time or sort potatoes in the ship’s hold because most of the unsused ones were sprouting by now…

You hummed, looking away from Shanks as he dug into his food. You instead stole glances around his room, ignoring all the laundry that ended up on the floor. This was someone else’s problem, clearly – you had your own forgotten hamper shoved into the back of your closet to deal with. Once you see a glimpse of freshwater, it’s going to be over for you – you’ll be scrubbing your clothes until you hands are raw and bloodied.

But something else caught your eye.

“It’s actually so sweet that you put up Luffy’s poster over your desk.” You smiled genuinely, remembering how fondly Shanks talked about his little friend from Foosha Village all those years ago. You hadn’t been a part of the crew then – you were far too young to be a pirate at that point, even if you already dreamt of travelling the world. The others frequently talked about it, though.

“W-well! That… that’s because-” The captain almost choked on the kale you gave him, opting for something light and healthy to help with his hangover.

“You’re a great man, Captain.”

Shanks blushed bright red, trying to dismiss your comment with his flailing arm and shy giggles. His legs shifted around under him, which means that the food was just inches away from spilling all over his bed. You just ignored him, knowing that he wasn’t serious. He wasn’t ever serious, he was fun – that’s why you admired him so much. He took all of your anxieties about sailing away since he was so reliable; you owe him so much.

“I still remember it clearly,” you sighed longingly, looking out of the only window in the room that was partially covered by curtains, “Mihawk looked like a man on a mission – the scouts were so scared! But all he did was deliver good news – the best news we got all week at the time. Hope I can meet this Luffy soon; he’s so cute – he’s smiling so brightly in his picture! He must be so happy to be a rookie pirate. Quite the bounty for a rookie, really impressive. I’d love to talk to Luffy, get to know him… see what makes him so special. Nobody should be this cute when they’re so strong!”

“…I don’t think it would be a good idea to meet Luffy, darling.”

“And why’s that, Shanks?”, you replied sarcastically, thinking he was trying to tease you. He was so predictable!

“Because you’re mine, love. Don’t forget it, m’kay?”

...Oh.

Your heart stopped beating for a moment, but Shanks was just playing. He was a shameless flirt, that’s how he got ‘em every time. Ha, two can play that game!

“I… I’d never leave, Shanks. Here to dote on you for life.”

“Good.”, he said, no hesitation in his voice. And, worst of all, he looked really serious about it.

He started eating again, visibly happy. Giddy. That blush of his still hasn't died down. You stayed silent.

…So… Is neither of you going to address this now?!

SABO

8.5/10

“So… this is where it all began, the heart of the revolution. I must admit, it’s more peaceful than I thought… I was expecting oppression and civil war, not… this.”, you mused, petting a bunch of cows as you fed them hay nearby a farm just outside of Foosha Village.

You were here on a spy mission alongside some trusted revolutionaries. Well, you and a certain someone were crazy enough to travel through half the island because it was easier to navigate from East to West, even if your fellow commanders thought the idea was bonkers. You weren’t that high up the ladder, which meant you had a supervisor with you. Someone… who took this mission without a second thought, really eager to see his home once again.

“Well, I can’t promise civil war, but you’re in for a lot of crimes against humanity and a caste system that rivals that of the Red Line once we're within city walls. We’ll just have to climb that mountain there and traverse the Midway Forest until we’re at Gray Terminal. Maybe we’ll climb the walls during the night to be quicker, but we’d have to check for guards first! So we will sleep in the forest. I know just the place! Uh… if it’s still there. I would need to see it first. It’s only going to take-”

Sabo rambled on and on, his expression unusually happy. He hated talking about injustice, but he did love this place. It was clear to anyone that the thought of reigniting lost childhood memories excited him.

He didn’t even notice that he was standing too close to the fence.

“They’re eating your coat, Sabo.”

“W-wah!”, he shrieked, tearing the fabric away from the hungry cattle. He wore an angry grimace, but couldn’t be too mad at them for too long, choosing to pet them alongside you.

Sabo was frighteningly competent for someone so young. Sure, he knew this place like the back of his hand – even if some things had changed – and confidently trod through the muddy paths leading up the mountain all while avoiding groups of bandits whose locations he was strangely familiar with. All the rain that had crashed down the mountain landed in the freshwater rivers near the villages you passed through, which meant everything was surprisingly humid and – despite all the physical ability your boss put you through, it was getting cold once the sun set.

“Are you cold? You can have my coat.” Sabo, thoughtful as ever, enquired. Even though his head was still facing forward, he noticed your discomfort.

“Oh, thanks, but-”

“Here.”

“…Thank you, Sabo.”, you accepted his offer because he had already taken it off…

Sabo took care of his people without putting a moment of thought into his actions. He was protective like that, had a heart made of pure gold. Maybe that’s why he became a revolutionary – it was simply his calling. He would have ended up in this place no matter what. He couldn’t stand the sight of the privileged taking advantage of the marginalised. To him, it was a disgusting display of sin – one that deserved to be felled.

Taking care of others was the right thing to do, but he always took it up a notch when it came to you. Always a tad bit too touchy, always a tad bit too possessive.

“Oh, this is quite the cliff. Come here, take my hand. Hold onto me, and step very carefully. I'll be your guide.”

You tried following his instructions, but you weren’t used to being so close to him. The army didn’t prepare you for this at all!

“Great job!”

It really wasn’t, but Sabo made anyone feel appreciated with his smile. That trait of his took up almost as much space in his heart as his moral compass did.

"You, too!", you replied, smiling, "Thanks for all the help."

"A-ah!", he exclaimed nervously, hiding his face from you, "It's fine. You did most of the sailing, now I have to pull my weight, okay?"

Sabo was a great guy. Maybe too great, because he made you... think. His words - surely he meant them platonically - were... so sweet, all the time.

“You trust me so easily, being with you is so natural...”, he chuckled, looking back at you while trying to hide his smile, “Makes me feel… really special, you know?”

He had some nerve… saying that after he almost made your heart leap out of your chest by pulling you in by the small of your back, helping you cross a tiny canyon… smiling at you like you were the love of his life.

MARCO

7/10

As a ship doctor, Marco had a keen eye for spotting anyone’s ailments. Whatever burdens plagued the crew, he was there to set it straight. You knew that he was attentive and relentless in his care for others, never truly letting up. He always claimed that it was to avoid work – if more people ended up in the med bay, he’d start a riot all by himself, but you knew that it was just who he was.

With such a large crew, he was always busy. You’ve seen him reset dislocated joints countless times, wipe copious amounts of blood off his hands just after rudimentary emergency surgery and make up medical treatment on the go with the little supplies they had…

You thought bothering him with your silly problems would just take some necessary resources away from others. You knew that it wasn’t exactly right to let any problem fester, but you didn’t want anyone other than calm, collected Marco to know about it. You don’t want to seem weak; you were capable and independent, a pirate with a high bounty yourself…

But you didn’t know that Marco had already sniffed you out, eyes always on you.

You were dealing with nightly troubles due to heightened anxiety for seemingly no reason. It was frustrating. This was just your life now, you realised.

You hadn’t been sleeping at all that night, and you knew that it was futile at this point. You knew your body – this was just torture at this point.

Getting up was the worst. You were exhausted enough to feel like the weight of the world rested on your shoulders but, at the same time, worried too much to truly be at peace with yourself.

As soon as you stepped into the empty kitchen to drink some coffee from the day before – yuck – you felt a presence graze your back. Your heart rate kicked into overdrive, adrenaline flowing through your veins and erasing any traces of desperate need for sleep. You probably looked a mess too, but who would be-

“Marco?!”

“I’ve been waiting for you, yoi.”

His tone was stern, but not accusatory. You knew exactly what he meant. Of course he’d been watching, of course he noticed! Those eye bags were probably getting obvious by now, how in the world did you think you could fool someone as intelligent as Marco?!

Instead of the med bay, though, he took you to his room. It smelled like lavender – oh, he’d set up incense. How… nice…

“Drink this.”, he said dryly, handing a mug.

Without even looking at its contents, you took a sip. It was warm milk and honey. The temperature was perfect and warmed you from the inside.

“Marco, I’m sorry I didn’t co-”

“I don’t want to hear it. You’re here now.”, he countered, gesturing towards a plush chair he’d probably stolen from another commander’s room…

You sat down, facing him with shame dancing in your eyes. Though he implied that you shouldn’t worry about it, you felt like a child caught with their hand still stuck inside the cookie jar.

“You can take my bed. I will be here, waiting. Might read a book, but feel free to interrupt anytime. We don’t have to talk, but I won’t leave you.”

…You nodded, smiling ever so slightly. That was beyond kind of him. He was such a good person. You knew that one night of this wouldn’t cure you immediately, but… well, you would definitely come to him with your burdens from now on. You… respected him, just like he respected you by speaking to you in private about this instead of having the crew around.

You were still in your sleepwear, so you got under the covers and stared at Marco, who suddenly hovered above you.

“I hope you’ll sleep well. Again, I’m here. I will be here. You are safe with me.”

With those words, he blew out the candles on his bedside table, giving you one last look before he retreated into a corner of the room where the moonlight shone through.

You turned around, laying on your side. The bed smelled like him – well, of course it did. It was his bed! But you never noticed how pleasant it was. You never noticed that Marco had been watching you, a consistent presence in your life. You never noticed that there was someone who was there… unconditionally.

You were suddenly very nervous for a different reason. Worst of all: you absolutely couldn’t tell Marco about this one either!

COUNTERPART POST - One Piece: Clueless and Clumsy

[inseobts]

Ink & Memories

law x fem!reader

you’re his ex tattoo artist and girlfriend, so what happens when you meet him again years later?

a/n: this was suggested by someone, I don't remember if it was anon or not but if you're reading this THANK YOU omg

words count: 5.2k

tags: MDNI, smut, ex-lovers, reunion, tattoo artist reader, angst with fluff

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sea breeze brushes against your cheek as you lean against the doorframe of your tattoo shop, a cup of tea in hand. It’s been a slow day. Not many people walk into a tattoo shop in a port like this. Not unless they’ve just won a bet or lost a bet.

You sip your drink and glance toward the docks, bored. Then your eyes freeze... No way.

You squint.

Tall man, black hat with white spots, fluffy. That long coat, that walk... You drop the cup. It hits the ground with a soft clink.

“Law??” you call out, loud and without thinking.

The man stops. The whole crew turns around.

Your heart skips.

It is him.

He turns, slowly, eyes locking with yours.

“Y/N…” he says. Low. Surprised.

You can’t help but grin.

You step closer “Oh my god... how are you?? I’ve seen you on the news so many times. You’re a warlord now?! I never thought I’d see you again.”

He doesn’t smile, but his eyes soften. You recognize that look. He remembers.

His crew is staring now.

One with goggles leans over to the bear in a hoodie.

“Who’s that?” he whispers.

The polar bear shrugs “Dunno. But she knows the captain.”

You glance at them and chuckle.

Law still says nothing. He looks like he’s thinking too hard, jaw tight. Typical.

You roll your eyes “Right. You’re not gonna say it, huh?”

You take a step forward, hand on your hip.

“I’m Y/N,” you say, loud enough for the whole crew to hear “I used to be Law’s girlfriend. And I’m his first tattoo artist.”

Gasps. Real ones.

“WHAAAT??”

“EX-girlfriend?!”

“Tattoo artist?! So she did those?!”

“Wait, he has tattoos??”

“He let someone touch him?!”

Even the bear goes shocked.

Law sighs and rubs the back of his neck “You still talk too much, Y/N.”

You laugh “And you still say nothing at all.”

You grin “You’re really here, huh? After all these years.”

You walk with the crew through the market near the docks. Law’s beside you quiet, as always, but his steps match yours. The others keep throwing you glances like you’re some kind of rare animal.

The tall one with goggles Shachi, you think his name is, can’t hold it in anymore.

“So, wait. You’re the one who did the tattoos on the Captain?”

“Yup” you nod.

“ALL of them?”

“I guess. I don't know if he had another tattoo artist later.”

"I didn't." he says and only you seems to hear it.

“Even the ones on his fingers? And the arms??”

You smirk “I’ve touched more of your captain than all of you combined.”

“WHA—” They all choke.

Law sighs again, rubbing his temples “Y/N…”

“I’m just saying facts, Law.”

You keep walking, passing a fruit stand. Penguin, the one with the hat, nudges you “So… you really dated him?”

You shrug “Yeah. For a while. Before he was famous. Before the crew.”

Bepo tilts his head “Why’d you break up?”

You pause “Life stuff. Timing. Goals. Pirates and tattoo shops don’t mix well.”

Shachi whistles “Man, that’s wild. I still can’t picture him dating someone.”

“I didn’t believe it either at first,” you say, smiling to yourself “He’s... complicated.”

Then Penguin says, “I bet the one on the chest hurt the most though, right Captain?”

Your body goes still.

Law stops walking too. You both freeze at the same time.

Your mind doesn’t ask permission... it just goes.

Flashback. Your tattoo studio, late at night. Warm orange light. Law’s shirt is off. He sits on the tattoo chair, toned chest exposed, calm as ever. “I want the next one here.” he says, touching the center of his chest. You arch a brow “You sure?” He nods once “Yeah.” You bite your lip. You two are already a thing now, nights together, kisses stolen in your shop, your toothbrush next to his blades. But this feels more...intimate. “Alright,” you whisper, clicking your tattoo pen on “Then let’s make it count.” You don’t sit on the stool. You don’t ask for permission. You straddle him. Right on his lap. His eyes widen, just slightly. His hands go to your waist, not pushing you away, just resting there, tight. “This okay?” you ask, fake-innocent. He grits his teeth “Tch. You know it is.” You smile and lower the needle to his chest. You work slowly, carefully, your hips close to his, your breath brushing his face. His jaw clenches. You can feel how tense he is... but he doesn’t flinch. Not from pain. No... It’s because of you. By the time the ink is done, you’ve forgotten what hurts more, his grip on your thighs or your own heartbeat. And after that... Well, let’s just say he didn’t get up from the chair right away.

Back to now.

You blink. Snap out of it.

Your face is hot. Lips tight. Brows furrowed.

You glance at Law. He’s not looking at you.

But his face?

Same.

Jaw clenched. Eyes distant. Tension written all over his shoulders.

You both remembered. You know it.

Shachi whistles “...Why do you both look like you smelled something cursed?”

Bepo tilts his head “Are you okay?”

You wave it off “Fine. Just, uh, a memory.”

Law doesn’t say a word. He just keeps walking, hands in pockets, eyes forward.

But you see the small twitch at the corner of his mouth.

And it’s driving you insane.

You’re still walking with the crew, but the energy is weird now. Like a storm’s rolling in, just under your skin.

The others keep chatting and asking questions, but your brain keeps stuttering... stuck between now and then.

“Captain doesn’t talk much about his past,” Penguin says, chewing on some weird fruit he picked up “It’s kinda cool hearing this stuff. Makes him seem more human.”

“He is human...” you say without thinking.

Shachi chuckles “You sure about that? I saw him take out ten guys with one swing of his sword.”

Bepo grins “By the way, did you start with the ones on his arms first?”

You hum “Arms first. Then the fingers. Then chest. Then—”

You stop. Too late.

“Then?” Shachi raises his brows.

You bite your lip “Forget it.”

“Nooo, don’t do that,” Penguin whines “We wanna hear!”

You sigh “Fine. The weirdest one was... the one on his back.”

That shuts them up.

“His back?!”

“Where on his back??”

“Wait, why "weirdest"??”

“Dude, that must’ve hurt so bad!”

You shrug “He didn’t complain.”

But your voice is quieter now.

Flashback. Another night. Another quiet request. “I want something here.” Law says, pulling off his shirt and turning away. His back is smooth, pale, all muscle and scars. But bare. “You want... a tattoo on your back?” He nods once “Yeah. I already have something in mind.” You stare at him for a moment “You sure?” He doesn’t answer. He just sits. Waiting. You prepare the tools. The ink. The stencil. But as you move behind him, he grabs your wrist. Pulls you around. Suddenly, you’re in his lap. Again. You blink at him “This how we’re doing tattoos now?” His lips twitch into a rare smile “Only when it’s you.” His voice is low. Dangerous. The kind of sound that always melts your brain. You start the needle, shaking a little “Well, too bad I can't tattoo your back from here.” “Try your best.” You laugh but then you stand and go to his back. The tattoo is slow. Intimate. You’re touching his back delicately even for a tattoo, and every move you make makes him breathe harder, even more when you randomly leave kisses on his bare skin where the ink hasn't reavhed yet. By the time the tattoo is halfway done, his hands are on your waist again, but this time... tighter. “You gonna finish it?” he asks, voice husky. You kiss him instead. You never finish the tattoo that night.

Back to now.

Your face is boiling. You know it. You can feel it. And when you dare to glance at Law, you regret everything.

He looks just like he did after the flashback from earlier.

Tense. Focused. Eyes darker than usual.

And you know he remembered that too.

You inhale sharply and shake it off “Well... sorry to cut this short, but I gotta head back. I have a client in fifteen minutes.”

“FIFTEEN??” Bepo looks horrified “That’s not enough time to say goodbye!”

“We just met! I want to talk more!!” Penguin adds, actually pouting.

“We should do dinner!” Shachi suggests “Or drinks! Or matching tattoos for my birthday...”

“I don’t even know your birthday,” you laugh, trying to hide the heaviness in your chest “You guys are too much. But I had a lot of fun. Thank you for taking care of Law.”

"He's the one who takes care of us."

"Yeah, I don't think so..."

You turn to Law, slower than you mean to.

He’s just standing there. Watching you. Hands in his pockets. Saying nothing.

So, of course, you have to fill the silence.

“Hey.” You meet his eyes.

“If you ever want a new tattoo... my shop’s always open for you.” You smile, but it’s faint “Even after closing time.”

Something flickers in his eyes. But still, he doesn’t say a word.

You wave at the crew, who’s already acting like they’ve known you for twenty years and are sending you off to war.

“Bye, guys. Keep taking care of him, alright?”

They all yell goodbyes and promises and dramatic sobs.

You walk away before your voice cracks.

Back in your shop, the silence is loud.

You lean against your work table, staring at your equipment. The ink. The gloves. The chair.

All the places he’s been.

You try to shake the feeling. But it’s hard. Because you didn’t stop loving him. You just... couldn’t keep up with his world.

Now he’s bigger than life. Famous. Feared. A pirate captain.

And you’re just a tattoo artist in a tiny port town.

So no... you don’t think he’ll come tonight.

He’s got his crew. His ship. His missions.

He probably doesn’t love you anymore.

You sit down and try not to cry.

Your client leaves right on time.

A small anchor tattoo. Nothing fancy. Nothing meaningful. But you smile and treat them with care, because that’s what you do.

Still, when they leave, the shop feels colder.

You sweep the floor. Clean your tools. Wipe the chair down like muscle memory. Then you sit behind the counter.

And wait.

It’s not like you said he had to come. You just offered.

“My shop’s always open for you. Even after closing time.”

You curse under your breath, hand to your face.

Why did you say it like that? Like you were waiting? Like you were... still his?

You glance at the clock.

One hour after closing.

Two.

Then three.

You haven’t moved.

The lights are still on. The “closed” sign hangs crooked on the door. You’ve been telling yourself it’s just so you can finish cleaning.

But everything is already clean.

The tea you made went cold. The silence is suffocating.

Your heart keeps lying to you, saying he might come, even when your brain knows better.

You sit on your stool behind the counter and bury your face in your hands.

You shouldn’t have said anything.

Of course he doesn’t love you anymore. You’re just someone from his past. A memory with a needle. He’s a warlord now. A captain. A living legend.

And you?

You’re no one special. You gave him your love, your ink, your body... But that was years ago.

You sniff, blinking back tears.

“I’m so stupid.” you whisper.

Finally, with a broken breath, you stand.

You walk toward the light switch, hand reaching up, about to turn it off—

Knock. Knock.

You freeze.

Two slow knocks.

You turn, heart racing, and rush to the door.

Your hand trembles as you grab the handle, barely able to breathe.

You open it... Law.

He’s standing there. Alone.

Hat in place, coat unbuttoned just slightly. His eyes are shadowed, unreadable, but he’s here.

He looks at you and you stare back, lips parted, words stuck in your throat.

Neither of you says anything for a second.

Then you whisper, almost scared to believe it “You came.”

He nods once “...Yeah.”

You step aside and let him in. The door swings shut behind him, the click of the lock echoing in the quiet shop.

He stands there, looking around like it hasn’t changed at all. Like it’s frozen in time.

Maybe it is.

You tuck your hair behind your ear, trying to calm your racing heart “So… what brings you here? Need something fixed?”

He shakes his head once “I want a new one.”

You blink “A new tattoo?”

“Yeah.”

You tilt your head, cautious “Where?”

He undoes the top few buttons of his shirt and pulls the fabric aside. Just a little.

There’s a small space on the upper right of his chest. A rare untouched spot surrounded by old ink.

He taps it once “Here.”

Your stomach flips. That chest. You remember how you inked the one beside it. How that ended.

Your cheeks warm, but you clear your throat and nod “Okay. Small tattoo. Got it.”

You turn away to gather your tools, gloves, ink, paper towels, anything to keep your hands from shaking.

It’s stupid, how nervous you are. You’ve tattooed him dozens of times before.

But it wasn’t like this. Not after years apart. Not after you thought you’d never see him again.

Not when your heart feels this fragile.

You pause mid-step and glance at him “Where’s your crew, by the way?”

He raises an eyebrow “You really asking that?”

You blink. Then scoff softly, rolling your eyes “Right. Dumb question.”

You gesture to the chair “You can sit.”

He does.

You sit across from him on your work stool, setting the needle up with focus, breathing slow.

It’s fine. You can do this. No reason to be—

“Room.”

Your body jolts at the word. You barely have time to process it before your whole world shifts, literally.

Suddenly, you’re on his lap. Sitting. Facing him. Just like before.

Your breath catches “Law!”

He doesn’t say anything. His arms are relaxed around your waist. Like this is normal.

But what’s not normal is the firm pressure you feel beneath you. Hard. Hot.

Pressed right against the center of your lower body.

Your breath hitches.

You shift instinctively, but that only makes it worse.

You feel him now. All of him.

...And he’s definitely not unaffected.

He looks up at you, still unreadable. But his eyes… they burn.

You’re quiet for a beat. Your heart pounding so hard it hurts.

You whisper, “...You planned this, didn’t you?”

His voice is low. Calm. Dangerous.

“Maybe.”

Your breath trembles as you sit frozen on his lap, the familiar weight of him under you making it harder to think. To breathe.

Your hands are still gloved. The needle sits ready on the tray.

But the moment is not about the tattoo anymore.

It’s the way he’s looking at you.

Like he’s seeing you for the first time all over again. Like he never stopped seeing you.

You can feel his heart beating through his chest, right beneath yours. Steady. But faster than usual.

"...You’re hard..." you whisper, like it’s a secret.

His gaze doesn’t waver “You’re sitting on me.”

Your face heats instantly “You put me here!”

“You didn’t get off.”

You open your mouth to snap back, but nothing comes out, because he’s right. You haven’t moved.

Your thighs tighten slightly, and he notices.

His hands slide up your hips, slow and patient, like he’s remembering every curve from memory. Like no time has passed.

But it has... So much time.

And still, here you are.

You try to hold onto your pride “This is just for the tattoo, right?”

His voice is quieter now “You really asking that?”

You breathe in sharply.

Your eyes drop to his chest, to the small space he said he wanted inked. Your fingers hover near it.

And just like that...

Flashback. Another time. Another tattoo. You straddled his lap, shirt slightly unbuttoned, hands shaking as you prepped the needle. “I shouldn’t do this, it's not professional.” you said then, voice soft, unsure “We’ll mess everything up.” He looked up at you, calm as ever “We’re already messed up.” You remember how his hands gripped your thighs, how you pressed the needle to his chest anyway. You never finished the tattoo. You didn’t even get halfway before he pulled you down, kissing you like it was the last time. And then...

Back to now.

You blink hard, ripping yourself away from the memory.

Your hand clenches the tattoo machine, but you can’t lift it. Not like this.

“Law…”

Your voice is smaller now. Scared, almost.

He tilts his head slightly, watching you “You think I forgot?”

Your chest tightens “...I hoped you didn’t.”

He exhales slowly “I didn’t come here for a tattoo, Y/N.”

Your heart jumps in your throat “Then why?”

He doesn’t say anything at first. His fingers ghost over your back “What do you think? Because you said the shop was open. Even after closing.”

You’re quiet. Shaking. Overwhelmed.

You look at him, searching for anything in his face that’ll tell you this is real.

“You still love me?” you ask, barely a whisper.

He answers without hesitation “Yes.”

And then, like gravity finally wins, you lean in. Your lips meet his in a slow, aching kiss.

Soft at first. Scared. But it deepens fast.

His hands tighten around you, pulling you closer. You shift again on his lap, and he groans against your mouth.

Everything is heat now. Want. Memory. Regret. And something new, something breaking free after years of silence.

You break the kiss just to breathe, lips brushing his as you whisper “Forget the tattoo.”

His voice is rough “Already did.”

You don’t know who kisses harder first.

You or him.

But once your mouths meet again, there’s no stopping it.

Years of silence, of pretending to forget, all burn away in the space between your lips. Your hands are in his hair before you even realize it, his hat falling to the floor like nothing else matters.

Law’s hands are steady, skilled, familiar while they slide down your back and grip your thighs, pulling you tighter against him. His lips are rough, needy. He kisses like he’s punishing you for the time lost, or maybe for letting him go.

You grind down instinctively, and he groans into your mouth deep, guttural, raw.

“Fuck...” he mutters against your lips, his voice wrecked.

“You remember everything, don’t you?” you whisper, breathless, tugging at his shirt “All of it.”

He nods once “Every goddamn second.”

You roll your hips again and feel it even better now, how hard he is. Pressed exactly where you need him, only the thin barrier of your clothes separating you.

“You didn’t even come for the tattoo, did you?” you tease, lips brushing his jaw now.

“No,” he breathes, tilting his head to give you his neck “I came for you.”

Your fingers fumble with his buttons, heart racing, hands shaking.

He notices. He always does.

“You sure?” he asks lowly, grabbing your wrists and holding them still.

You nod “Yes.”

But he doesn’t move yet, he just looks at you “Say it.”

You meet his gaze “I want you.”

That’s all he needs.

In one swift move, he lifts you up and lays you back on the padded tattoo chair like you weigh nothing. He climbs over you, hands everywhere now... pulling, unzipping, stripping.

Your shirt goes first. Then your bra. Then his coat and shirt.

Skin to skin.

It’s overwhelming how good he looks. Tattoos, scars, the memory of every moment you ever loved him mapped across his chest.

You run your hands over his chest, over the ink you gave him “Still mine...” you whisper.

His eyes darken “Always.”

He pulls your pants down, slow at first, until your soaked panties are the only thing left. He groans when he sees the wet patch. His thumb brushes it, just barely.

“You’re already this wet?” he murmurs, kissing your stomach “From just sitting on my lap?”

“From you,” you breathe, squirming under him "And you got hard as soon as you set on the chair."

He hooks his fingers into your panties, dragging them down agonizingly slow.

And then his mouth replaces his hands.

He kisses between your thighs like he’s missed every part of you. His tongue strokes through your folds, hot and slow, making your back arch and your fingers clutch the chair.

“Fuck, Law!”

He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t speak. Just moans into you, like the taste of you is better than revenge, better than glory, better than everything.

When you finally come, it’s with your hand tangled in his hair and his name gasped like a prayer.

And even then, he doesn’t stop.

He only pulls back once he’s sure your legs are shaking.

You’re breathless, eyes hazy “You always did that too well.”

He smirks, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand “You always tast the same.”

He undoes his belt, his pants, and pulls himself out, hard, thick, aching. You swallow hard just looking at him.

“Still want me?” he asks, eyes locked on yours.

“More than anything.”

He doesn’t give you time to second-guess.

He lines himself up, grabs your waist, and slides inside slowly but fully. Stretching you. Filling you.

You gasp. Your nails dig into his back.

“Fuck, you feel the same,” he breathes, forehead resting against yours “Perfect.”

You moan, wrapping your legs around him, rolling your hips “Move, Law. Please.”

And when he does... it’s everything.

He moves deep, slow, like he’s savoring it. His pace is controlled, his breathing heavy, his grip tight. He fucks you like he’s reclaiming something lost. Like you’re not just a body. Like you’re home.

Your moans echo through the shop. The chair creaks beneath you. His mouth finds your neck, your chest, your lips again, every part of you worshiped, touched like it’s sacred.

And then you both fall apart again, louder, harder, more desperate, but in each other’s arms, skin to skin, hearts racing.

You stay wrapped around him, chests heaving, breath tangled.

Neither of you speaks for a long time.

Still inside you, forehead resting against yours, he murmurs “Didn’t think I’d actually come after closing time, did you?”

You lie there on the tattoo chair, skin still hot, your breath finally starting to slow. His chest rises and falls against yours, calm, steady, like the chaos just passed through and left everything too quiet in its wake.

Neither of you moves yet.

"I was actually about to turn off the lights when you knocked at the door..."

His hand rests gently on your hip, thumb brushing lazy circles into your skin. Your cheek presses against his shoulder, and for a moment… it feels like nothing’s changed. Like you’re back in that messy little house, tangled in each other’s limbs, whispering about a future you thought you’d have.

And then he says it, low and smooth, voice still wrecked from everything you just did “You really never finished any of my tattoos in one setting...”

You laugh, soft and breathless “As if it's not always your fault.”

He doesn’t reply. But the smirk you feel against your skin is answer enough.

You close your eyes, letting yourself feel it for just a second longer, the warmth, the weight of him, the comfort that never really left.

But then…

Reality creeps back in.

And with it, the ache in your chest you were trying to ignore.

Your voice is smaller when you speak again. Barely more than a whisper.

“Maybe we shouldn’t have done it.”

You feel him tense slightly. Not pull away, but freeze.

“…Why?”

You swallow hard, suddenly hating the silence in the shop “Because you're gonna leave again. Probably tomorrow. Or tonight. And I’ll be here. Just like last time.”

He lifts his head, looking down at you now. You don’t meet his eyes.

“I told myself I moved on,” you continue, voice shaking “That it didn’t hurt anymore. But seeing you again... being with you like this…”

You pause, forcing down the tears that want to surface.

“It hurts worse now.”

Law says nothing for a moment. But you feel his hand slide up to your cheek, thumb brushing just beneath your eye.

Then his voice comes, quieter than you’ve ever heard it “It wasn’t just sex for me.”

Your heart twists.

“You think I don’t feel the same?” he continues “You think this didn’t wreck me too?”

You finally look at him. And his eyes… They’re full of that same pain you’ve been carrying. That same longing. The same love.

But his voice still carries that signature Law calm, controlled, composed, even as something inside him breaks.

“I’m a pirate, Y/N.” He swallows “I don’t get to stay anywhere.”

You nod slowly, even though it hurts “I know.”

He presses his forehead to yours.

“And still...” he whispers “Here I am.”

You don’t say anything as he starts getting dressed. You just… watch.

You sit silently on the edge of the tattoo chair, still naked, still warm from his touch, but already feeling the cold creeping in. His back is to you as he buttons his shirt, and you drink in every detail. The way his shoulders move. The curve of his spine. The black of his tattoos against skin you once knew like a map.

You try to memorize him.

Every second.

Every inch.

Because in your heart, something whispers: This might be the last time.

And that’s when it hits you.

How foolish you’ve been. How stupidly hopeful. How desperate you are just to keep a piece of him.

Your eyes sting.

No. Not now. Not in front of him.

You stand abruptly, grabbing your robe, and mumble something you don’t even hear yourself. Before he can turn, before he can ask, you rush past him and slam the bathroom door shut behind you.

You lock it.

Your hands are trembling.

And outside... silence.

He doesn’t knock.

He doesn’t follow.

He doesn’t stop you.

Then you hear the sound of the front door. Open... and close.

He’s gone.

And you break.

You slide down the wall, burying your face in your arms as the sobs finally come out, sharp and raw. It’s not just pain, it’s years of missing him, of pretending you moved on, of wishing things could be different.

And now… it’s too late.

Minutes pass. Or maybe more. Time blurs.

Eventually, when your breathing steadies and your heart stops clawing out of your chest, you pull yourself up. Wipe your face. You don’t look in the mirror, you can’t.

You exit the bathroom slowly.

The shop is too quiet. The lights still hum overhead. The tattoo machine sits untouched, ready for a session that never happened.

You walk over to turn the CLOSED sign on the door. There’s no point pretending today’s a workday. Not like you had any clients booked anyway.

Your eyes flick to the chair.

The same one where hours ago, he made you feel like everything again.

There’s something sitting on it.

You freeze.

It’s a folded piece of paper. Your name written across the front in that neat, sharp handwriting you’d recognize anywhere.

Your fingers shake as you open it.

You read:

"Y/N,

You never talked about being a pirate. Never thought about leaving. I get it. You’re not like me. But then, I heard you telling the crew that you had no clients. No fun. That this place bored you. Then you said you didn’t want me to go.

And I don’t want to leave you behind… again.

So what if I make room for you on my ship?

Will you come?

Will you choose to be a pirate now?

My ship’s always open for you. Even after closing time.

But if this is a goodbye, then let me tell you that I love you and than I'll cheer on you even from the other side of the world.

I just want you to be happy, forever.

—Law"

Your breath catches.

The paper trembles in your hands.

You don’t know if you want to cry again or scream or run out the door barefoot. But one thing is clear, your heart is racing with something new.

Hope.

You don’t hesitate. Grabbing your coat and a small bag, you race out the door, the note still folded in your hand. The night air is cool, but your heart is burning. You know exactly where to go... the docks, where Law’s ship is waiting, dark and quiet under the moonlight.

The night air is crisp as you hurry toward the docks, the note from Law folded tightly in your hand. Your heart pounds, not just from the run, but from the rush of hope and fear tangled in your chest.

The ship sits dark and quiet under the stars, its silhouette a familiar yet strange reminder of a life you never thought you’d be part of.

A single figure leans against the railing, head tilted slightly as if listening to the sea’s whispered secrets.

“Law...” you call softly.

He turns, eyes sharp and unreadable for a split second before softening.

“You came.”

You nod, voice catching on the breeze “You asked if I’d come. So... here I am.”

The distance between you closes, and for a long moment, it’s just you two, breathing the salty air, wrapped in something fragile and strong all at once.

His hand finds yours, fingers curling gently. The electricity between you hums quietly, charged but patient.

He leans in, voice low and teasing, “Still keeping me after closing time, huh?”

You smirk, heart fluttering “Seems like it's your turn now.”

No rush for anything more. No need. This moment is a promise whispered in the dark, full of all the things you left unsaid.

Morning breaks with the chaotic roar of the crew... shouts, laughter, boots pounding on deck, and the unmistakable scent of cooking fires.

You stand just inside the galley doorway, nerves fluttering like a storm in your stomach. The crew buzzes around, eyes flicking toward you, then back at Law, then doing double-takes.

“Wait, is that—?” one mutters.

“No way...” another says, rubbing his eyes.

The captain clears his throat, voice sharp “Well?”

You swallow and step forward, heart pounding.

“I’m with the crew now.” you say quietly, glancing at Law. He gives you a small nod.

Silence.

Then the flood.

“You’re part of the crew?!”

“You didn’t tell us!”

“When did this happen?”

You grin nervouslyand then, half-jokingly ��Wait… I don’t have to wear the uniform, right?”

The entire crew bursts out laughing but before anyone can answer, Law’s voice cuts through “No.”

The room freezes.

“What?!”

“That’s not fair!”

“Everyone but Captain has to wear it!”

Everyone glares playfully at Law, who crosses his arms with that signature smirk.

“Rules apply to everyone,” he says smoothly “... everyone but her.”

You chuckle, watching the crew bicker back and forth while Law’s eyes lock on yours with a mix of amusement and something softer, deeper.

Despite the noise, the laughter, and the mess of new beginnings, you feel it clearly...

This chaotic, wild crew, this life, this man...

It’s home now.

[kysstar]

SALT ON YOUR CROWN | CHAPTER ONE : : PLAN GONE SOUTH

pairing : : pirate!kim hongjoong x princess!reader

series synopsis : : a pirate crew kidnaps the wrong girl—princess instead of merchant’s daughter. she offers gold for hiding, not ransom. captain hongjoong agrees, reluctantly. she’s fire on his ship, danger to his rules. one month aboard may ruin them both.

genre : : pirate au, enemies to lovers, slow burn, captor x captive (kinda?)

chapter warnings : : mentions of death, marriage talk, a little bit of violence

word count : : 3.8k

[series masterlist]

—“Merchant’s daughter,” Hongjoong said, kicking his boots up on the table, eyes flicking between the crew. “In and out. No blood, no mess, no drama.”

“Boring,” Wooyoung drawled, already peeling an orange he’d stolen off some dock vendor. “Where’s the fun in that?”

“Fun doesn’t pay,” Seonghwa replied smoothly from where he leaned against the map wall, arms crossed, expression unreadable. “Gold does.”

Yunho snorted. “I’ll take boring if it means a warm meal and dry socks for a week.”

The ship creaked beneath them, anchored just far enough off the coast to stay unnoticed. Moonlight cut across the war table, highlighting inked maps, a list of docking schedules, and a crude sketch of the merchant’s estate. The target: Hyeon Jisoo, daughter of the East Trade Baron. Young, pampered, used to saying yes and hearing nothing but yes in return.

Easy snatch. Quiet ransom. No one dies.

“We hit the estate during the shift change. Guards rotate at midnight,” Yeosang said, tapping a finger on the paper. His tone was flat, focused. “North entrance is least guarded. Servants come and go there. We wear house colors, sneak in quiet.”

“And sneak out quieter,” Mingi added, chewing the end of a pencil. “You sure the girl’s worth it?”

“She’s worth a vault of it,” Jongho replied, arms folded, steady as ever. “Her father’s been flaunting coin for years. Time someone took a slice.”

Hongjoong nodded. “We don’t need the whole vault. Just a taste. We hold her for a week, send the note, get paid. Then we drop her off at some quiet beach with her fancy shoes and let her cry into silk.”

The crew chuckled. Except Seonghwa, who just gave Hongjoong a look. “You sure this won’t cause waves?”

“We don’t need to cause waves, Hwa. We need to disappear before the tide turns.”

A beat of silence, and then Hongjoong leaned forward, steepling his fingers.

“Wooyoung, Yeosang, San—you’re in.”

San perked up immediately. “Finally.”

“Why me?” Yeosang asked, not protesting, just curious.

“You’re quiet. You don’t get cocky. You think.”

“What about me?” Wooyoung grinned, teeth flashing.

“You never think, but people like your face.” Hongjoong smirked. “You’ll charm the guards, flash a coin, ask for directions to the wine cellar. Get their attention somewhere else.”

“And San?”

“Muscle,” Hongjoong said simply. “And backup when charm fails.”

San beamed like he’d just been knighted. Wooyoung rolled his eyes.

“You’ve got until nightfall to prep. Masks, clothes, weapons—discreet ones,” Seonghwa added, side-eyeing Mingi who already looked too excited.

Hongjoong stood. “Remember: we want the merchant’s daughter. Not a scene, not a body count.”

“Easy job,” San repeated.

Hongjoong didn’t smile. “There’s no such thing.”

—"You can't be serious."

Your voice cuts through the chamber like a blade. The silence that follows is heavy, strained. Across the room, your mother’s expression is tight, and your father doesn’t even look at you—he simply stares at the glass of wine in his hand as though it might answer for him.

But you’re already walking forward, heat in your chest, voice rising. “Prince Chanwoo? You expect me to marry him?”

“He is a respected ruler,” your mother says sharply, lips thinning. “And this marriage secures peace.”

“Peace built on fear,” you shoot back. “You know what happened to his last two wives—queens, not common girls. They couldn’t bear him sons and ended up hanging from the palace walls.”

“Rumors,” your father says finally. “You’d do well not to repeat them.”

“They’re not rumors.” You take a step closer, forcing him to meet your gaze. “They're warnings.”

"Enough," your mother snaps. "You will not raise your voice to your father. You will do your duty."

“Duty?” you echo, bitterness curling around the word. “Is that what you call throwing me to a man who smiles like a snake and kills his wives in secret?”

“He won’t hurt you,” your father says, though he sounds tired rather than convinced. “You are different. You are royal.”

“So were they,” you say coldly.

“I won't do it.” The finality in your voice cracks through the air like thunder. “I won’t marry him.”

“You will,” your father says, rising to his feet now, towering with the weight of the crown behind him. “You will marry him and protect this kingdom.”

“I would rather be stolen by pirates,” you snap. “At least they don’t hide their knives behind crowns.”

“Enough!” Your mother slams her hand on the table, trembling with fury. “You are acting like a child—”

“You are treating me like property!”

That’s when you hear him—your brother’s voice, sharp and steady as ever. “She’s right.”

Taeyang steps into the hall, standing beside you with his chin high and his eyes locked on your parents. “She’s not a bargaining chip. And Chanwoo—he’s dangerous. We all know it.”

“Taeyang, stay out of this,” your father warns.

“I won’t,” he says, and there’s steel beneath his calm. “If she dies in that castle, it’ll be your names they chant in the streets.”

Your father glares. “She is a princess. She will marry where we decide.”

You stare at him, your blood turning to ice. “No. You may hold the crown—but you don’t own me.”

Then you turn and walk away. The corridor is quiet compared to the storm you just left behind. You don’t stop until you reach your chambers, heart pounding. Two maids rush forward, startled, but you say nothing, only sit at the vanity, fists clenched in your lap.

Moments later, Taeyang steps in. “You shouldn’t have said that,” he says, but his voice is soft.

“I meant every word.” Your voice cracks. The maids begin brushing your hair in silence, knowing better than to interrupt. “They’re sending me to die, brother.”

He sighs and crouches beside you, watching your reflection in the mirror. “I’ll talk to them again. There has to be a way out.”

“There isn’t,” you say quietly. “Father’s made up his mind. You know how he is.”

Taeyang presses his lips into a line. He does know.

“I just need to get out,” you murmur. “Clear my head. Jisoo’s hosting a small gathering. Nothing grand. I’ll go there.”

He nods. “You should. But take guards.”

You smile weakly. “Always the responsible one.”

Taeyang chuckles and ruffles your hair, undoing the maid’s hard work. She huffs under her breath, but you laugh.

“You’re the only reason I haven’t lost my mind,” you tell him.

“Someone has to make sure you don’t burn down the palace.”

—Jisoo greets you with a grin the second you step into the courtyard. The space is warm with low lantern light, scattered laughter drifting between stone columns and silk curtains. A few familiar faces linger near the fountain, sipping wine and speaking in hushed tones.

“You made it,” she says, linking her arm through yours without waiting. “I was beginning to think your parents had locked you in the west tower.”

“They nearly did,” you mutter, earning a snort from her.

You walk slowly beside her, the fabric of your gown brushing against the tiled floor. It’s a deep wine-red, cinched at the waist. Your hair is twisted up, pinned with pearls, and the only pieces of jewelry you're wearing are a few rings and a ruby necklace.

Jisoo pulls you toward a small table tucked beneath a tree blooming with night jasmine. “Sit. Eat something. Complain. I’m here for all of it.”

—The party hummed with low music and soft conversation, the kind that filled spaces with comfort and masked intentions. No one noticed the three new arrivals—why would they? They looked the part. Rich silks, clean boots, smiles just wide enough to be trusted. They moved through the crowd like shadows dipped in gold.

Wooyoung was already flirting with a girl by the fountain, wine glass in hand, his coat perfectly tailored, his grin sharper than any blade he carried.

“I give it five minutes before someone offers him a marriage proposal,” Yeosang muttered under his breath, leaning against a column, eyes scanning every window, every guard, every possible exit.

San adjusted the cuffs of his jacket, the only one of the three who actually looked uncomfortable in noblewear. He tugged at the collar, eyes flicking to the second floor balcony.

“She’s supposed to be up there. Third door on the left. Servants say she doesn’t like parties. Stays out of sight.”

“Relatable,” Yeosang said.

San snorted. “Let’s move before someone recognizes you from a wanted poster.”

They slipped away from the light, Wooyoung breaking off with a wink and a whispered promise he had no intention of keeping. They met near the staircase.

“North wing,” Yeosang murmured. “Rooms upstairs. One of them has to be hers.”

“She’s not out here,” San added. “I’ve checked twice.”

“Then she’s inside,” Wooyoung said. “Let’s move before some duke starts trying to make small talk again.”

They split off again, slipping into the villa like they belonged. Servants didn’t stop them. Nobles glanced and looked away. No one questioned three handsome men in fine clothing.

—The window is open. You’re leaning against the frame, one hand curled around the stem of a half-empty wine glass, the other clutching a small tin of sweets you swiped from the kitchens when no one was looking. The air is easier to breathe out here—cool night breeze brushing your skin, jasmine blooming somewhere below. Inside, the party still hums, low and dull, like voices through thick velvet.

Jisoo had gone to fetch something—probably more wine, or maybe the pearl hair comb she’d been gushing about earlier. You told her you’d wait. You weren’t expecting her to take this long.

You take a slow sip, eyes drifting toward the stars, when something shifts behind you.

It’s small. A breath, maybe. A whisper of movement. But it pulls every nerve in your body taut.

You turn—and that’s the last thing you manage to do.

There’s a blur of movement and a sharp crack of air. Pain blossoms behind your eyes, sudden and white-hot, and the world spins. You don’t even have time to scream.

Yeosang lunges forward just in time to catch you before your head hits the floor. His arms close around your waist, steadying the dead weight of your body with a grunt as he eases you down gently.

“Shit,” he mutters, checking your pulse, brushing your hair away from your face. You’re breathing—shallow and even—but your brow is already furrowed like you’re dreaming something terrible.

“She moved,” San says, still braced like he’s expecting a second wave. “Could’ve called for help.”

“You didn’t have to hit her that hard,” Wooyoung snaps, pulling a thick cloak from his pack and kneeling beside the two of them. “She’s half your size. Are you trying to kill the ransom?”

“She’ll wake up,” San mutters, avoiding Wooyoung’s glare.

“That’s not the point—”

“Enough,” Yeosang says quietly. He’s still watching your face, frowning slightly. “Are you sure this is the girl?”

Wooyoung shrugs, already pulling the cloak over your dress to hide the deep crimson silk. “Matches the description. Right place, right time. Rich, young, pretty.”

Yeosang doesn’t look convinced. His eyes flick down to the details—the way your hair’s been pinned, the rings on your fingers, the kind of fabric that shimmers when it moves. It doesn’t scream ‘merchant’s daughter.’ It screams something else. Something heavier. Costlier.

“She’s dressed too fine,” he says, low.

“It’s a party,” Wooyoung replies, tying the cloak. “Baron’s daughter wants to peacock, so she does. Doesn’t change the job.”

Yeosang hesitates, then nods slowly. “Let’s just move before anyone notices she’s missing.”

San’s already at the door, checking the hallway. “Clear.”

“Good. Grab her,” Wooyoung says, rising to his feet. “And this time, maybe don’t knock anyone else unconscious unless they swing first.”

Yeosang scoops you up, careful but fast, adjusting his grip so your head rests against his shoulder. You don’t stir. Just a soft, pained sound, barely audible.

They disappear into the night without another word.

—Below deck, the room was dim and swaying with the gentle lull of the sea. Lanterns swung from beams overhead, casting low golden arcs across the ship’s worn interior. The air was thick with salt, wood, and the faint trace of dried blood that clung no matter how often they scrubbed.

You were still unconscious—tied to a chair with thick rope, wrists bound, head slumped slightly to the side. Your cloak had fallen open during the rush, revealing a flash of silk beneath. The only sound from you was the slow, steady rhythm of breathing.

The crew gathered in a loose half-circle around you, talking low among themselves.

“She went down faster than I thought,” San said, arms crossed. “Didn’t even make a sound.”

Wooyoung leaned against a crate, clearly pleased with himself. “I told you she was the one. Clean job, no fuss.”

Mingi crouched beside the chair, eyeing you curiously. “Looks... a little different than I expected.”

“Maybe she’s just dressed nice for the party,” Jongho offered.

“Merchant’s kids always look expensive,” Yunho muttered, but there was a faint line between his brows now. He wasn’t entirely convinced.

Footsteps echoed from above—the unmistakable sound of boots against the stairs.

Seonghwa descended first, cool and composed as always. Behind him came Hongjoong, coat swinging behind him, hair wind-tossed from the deck. He looked tired, but alert. Captain mode.

“Let’s see the prize, then,” Seonghwa said, stepping into the lantern light.

Wooyoung straightened up. “Got her clean,” he said with a grin. “Didn’t even have to chase her.”

Seonghwa gave a short nod, eyes flicking over your form, scanning for any signs of resistance or damage.

Hongjoong approached slowly, gaze narrowing. “Nice work,” he said absently, a smirk curling the edge of his mouth. “Maybe you aren’t as useless as you look, Woo.”

Then he crouched down in front of you. The smirk faded.

His eyes locked on the necklace around your neck—a thin, delicate chain of gold, holding a ruby the size of a tear. His hand moved before he spoke, fingers brushing the pendant gently, almost thoughtfully. He held it for a beat, then let it go, and reached up instead to tilt your chin toward him.

Your head lolled slightly. The light caught your face full on now—cheekbones, long lashes, the faintest frown still resting in your unconscious expression.

San stepped forward slightly. “Captain? Something wrong?”

Hongjoong didn’t answer right away. He just stared at your face for a long, heavy moment. Then, slowly, he stood.

His sigh was sharp, tired, edged with frustration. His voice, though, was calm. Too calm.

“What necklace,” he said, “is she wearing?”

Seonghwa stepped in and bent down, lifting the ruby gently with two fingers. His breath hitched. “Ruby,” he said under his breath.

The air shifted. Wooyoung glanced at Yeosang, eyes widening.

“Ruby,” Hongjoong echoed, with a dry chuckle. He ran a hand through his hair and turned toward the wall. “And who wears rubies?”

The silence stretched. Jongho, voice quieter than usual, answered. “The royal family.”

There was a pause—half a heartbeat—and then Hongjoong slammed a vase off the nearby shelf. It shattered against the wood with a crack that echoed through the whole hull, sending pieces scattering across the floor.

“You three idiots,” Hongjoong seethed, not yelling, just loud enough to cut. “You kidnapped a member of the royal family!”

No one spoke. They all knew better.

There were times on this ship when you joked, when you laughed at your captain’s strange moods, when you nudged at the line for fun. This wasn’t one of them.

This was where you zipped your mouth and hoped the storm passed.

Hongjoong’s boots hit the wooden floor hard as he stomped up the steps, the tension in his shoulders visible even from behind. Seonghwa followed a pace behind, hands folded neatly behind his back, expression unreadable. One by one, the rest of the crew moved after them, heads lowered, glances thrown, but no one speaking just yet.

They spilled out onto the main deck where the moon hung fat over the sea, and the wind tugged at their coats and hair like the ocean itself was eavesdropping.

Wooyoung was the first to speak, tentatively. “Couldn’t we just ask for ransom?” he said, voice lighter than it should’ve been. “She’s a princess. They’ll pay more than we could ever dream of.”

Seonghwa scoffed, loud and short. “They wouldn’t send gold, Wooyoung. They’d send ships. And soldiers. And cannons with our names carved into the damn balls.”

“She’s not just a royal,” Yeosang muttered, glancing out at the dark horizon. “She’s the kind of royal they hang people for touching. All eight of us, strung up before we make landfall.”

“So we dump her,” Mingi said, rubbing a hand over his face. “Right now. Overboard. Cut our losses, vanish before the tide turns.”

“And when they find her body floating?” Jongho asked, frowning. “You think they’ll just shrug and say ‘oh well’?”

“I say we drop her back where we got her,” Jongho added, voice low. “Slip her back into the courtyard and pretend we never saw her.”

“We knocked her out and dragged her across a harbor,” San cut in. “You think no one noticed the princess is missing by now? Going back would be suicide.”

The group fell into silence. Hongjoong stood near the helm, staring into the night like it might offer him something he could work with. A way out. But all it gave him was the sound of ropes snapping against sails and his own rising pulse.

He hated royals. Hated everything about them. Their smug faces, their soft hands, their twisted power disguised as charm. And now one of them was tied to a chair on his ship.

His lips curled back in frustration. And then—noise. Muffled at first, then louder. A scuff. A thud. The creak of ropes moving when they shouldn’t be, from below deck.

Hongjoong groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “Great,” he muttered. “Our princess is awake.”

He didn’t turn around. Just waved a hand lazily over his shoulder. “Get her. Before she breaks something.”

Yunho and Mingi immediately moved, boots thudding as they headed down the steps and into the dim lower deck.

They reached the room where they left you. The chair was empty, only thing on it were ropes and the cloak.

“Mingi—” Yunho started.

But Mingi had already turned—just in time to catch the heel of your foot directly to his face. He staggered back with a grunt, blood blooming from his nose.

You bolted through the narrow corridor, gown bunched in your fists, heels clacking like gunshots against the floorboards. The ship was a maze of doors and passageways, and you had no idea where you were or where the exit was—but forward was better than trapped.

Your breath came in sharp bursts, the ache in your head dulling with every rush of adrenaline. Panic clawed at your throat, but you pushed it down. Run now. Breathe later.

One second you were turning a corner, and the next you were being yanked back into a chest, a cold ring of metal pressing hard against your temple. Your body froze instantly.

“Make a move, princess,” a voice hissed against your ear. Low. Dangerous. Calm in the way that promised nothing good. “And, I’ll blow your brains out.”

Hongjoong’s arm stayed locked across your ribs, anchoring you against him with unshakable grip. The cold kiss of the gun never left your temple. Not even when he raised his voice, directing it toward the deck where his crew had gathered like guilty schoolboys caught in a mistake no one dared name yet.

“Because someone had their heads up their asses,” Hongjoong said, voice steady but biting, “we kidnapped the wrong girl.”

No one moved. Not a single shift of boot or breath.

“I don’t want a stuck-up royal bleeding on my ship,” he continued, tone razor-sharp. “So we’re going to sail close to shore, drop her off at her golden palace, and pretend this never happened. She won’t say a word. Right, princess?”

Your breath caught. Your mouth parted. He wasn’t bluffing. He didn’t even glance at you when he said it—he’d already decided.

The idea of returning tightened something in your throat. The palace gates flashing before your eyes. Your mother’s pinched look. Your father’s barely-concealed disgust. The stiff silence they would demand while attendants wiped blood from your brow and powdered the bruises under your eyes.

And then the ceremony. The binding. Prince Chanwoo.

You saw his face in your mind, that soft practiced smile that never reached his eyes, that always left your skin cold. You saw the last queens, portraits now—painted high and pale, hidden in shadowed corners of the palace where no one spoke their names.

No.

Your body twisted suddenly in Hongjoong’s grip. “You can’t send me back.”

That made him look at you. His eyes were dark, unreadable. “What did you say?”

“Don’t send me back,” you said again, louder this time. “Keep me here. I’ll pay you. Whatever you want—just name your price.”

He shoved you then—not hard enough to hurt, but enough to turn you—pinning you against the gunwale. The sea roared below, black and endless. You looked down and your breath hitched. One wrong move and you’d be part of it.

“What game are you playing?” he growled.

You lifted your chin. “I’ll pay anything. Just let me stay on this ship. Keep me away from the kingdom.”

There was a beat of silence, long and heavy. Then, he tilted his head, lips curling with dry amusement. “And why would a princess want to stay with a bunch of pirates?”

You didn’t answer. You just looked at him. Neither of you moved. Somewhere above, the crew waited, pretending they weren’t listening. The ship creaked, low and slow. Every second felt like it dragged along the edge of a blade.

Finally, Hongjoong pulled back. He stepped away from you in one smooth, practiced motion. But his eyes never left your face.

You reached for your hand, pulling off the ring you’d worn since you were sixteen. Thick-banded gold, three flawless diamonds, wrapped in a loop of white-gold filigree. A gift from the Queen Mother. Worth more than most small ships.

You held it out. Hongjoong went to take it—but you pulled it back an inch.

“This,” you said clearly, “is the price. For not telling anyone who I am. For letting me stay.”

The air shifted. Again. The crew watched, quiet and stunned. The fire behind Hongjoong's eyes flared again. A long pause. His hand curled into a fist.

Then he closed his eyes. “Fine,” The word landed like a stone.

You placed the ring in his palm. He turned it in his fingers, inspecting it with a slow, careful look, like it might burn him. Then that familiar twist of his mouth returned, cynical and sharp. He gave you a shallow, sarcastic bow.

“Welcome aboard, princess.”

© kysstar

taglists : : @lcvejjoong @cheolright @yeon103 @m00njinnie @sheadoreswalls @asweetblueberry2 @ateezswonderland @chanscappuccino @mis4marz @desi2go @torkorpse @jayyourbabe @napipope-ta @boredlol914 @itsmyterriblewonderfullife @peachyyunhoe @lover-ofallthingspretty @monsta-x-jagi @d3kstar @tunafishyfishylike @mountiiny @zzenkha

[sh4nksslvt]

A Doodle in the Cold

On a chilly night aboard the Polar Tang, you borrow Law’s coat and discover a doodle of yourself, unraveling his hidden feelings in a series of tender, awkward moments.

Law X reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe n akward word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The Polar Tang hummed softly beneath your feet, its metal walls groaning against the icy wind of the winter island you’d docked at. The crew had ventured onto the snowy shore earlier, gathering supplies and indulging in a rare snowball fight, but now, as night fell, the sub was a haven of warmth—or it would’ve been, if the heating system hadn’t chosen tonight to malfunction. You shivered in your thin jacket, rubbing your arms as you wandered the corridors, seeking the mess hall where the Heart Pirates were likely huddled.

The faint clatter of mugs and laughter guided you to the right door. Inside, the crew was sprawled across mismatched chairs, a portable heater glowing weakly in the corner. Bepo, bundled in his own fur, was recounting a tale of slipping on ice, his paws waving dramatically. Penguin and Shachi, ever the instigators, were snickering, while Ikkaku was trying to fix the heater with a wrench, muttering curses.

You leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the scene. “Any luck with that heater, Ikkaku?”

She glanced up, blowing a curl of hair from her face. “This thing’s older than the ship. Might as well pray for a miracle.”

“Or for Captain to stop being stingy and buy a new one,” Shachi quipped, dodging a playful swipe from Penguin.

Your gaze drifted to the corner, where Trafalgar Law sat, legs crossed, a book balanced on his knee. His hat was tipped low, casting shadows over his sharp features, but you could tell he was listening, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips. He hadn’t joined the snowball fight earlier, claiming it was “beneath a surgeon’s dignity,” but you’d caught him watching from the deck, his eyes lingering on you as you laughed with Bepo.

“Cold, Y/N?” Bepo’s voice snapped you back. The mink tilted his head, concern in his dark eyes. “You’re shivering.”

You shrugged, trying to play it off. “It’s not that bad. Just… brisk.”

“Liar,” Ikkaku said, smirking. “You’re practically a popsicle. Captain, lend her your coat or something. You’re just sitting there brooding.”

Law’s head lifted slightly, his gray eyes narrowing at Ikkaku before flicking to you. “I don’t brood,” he said, voice low and dry. “And I’m not a charity wardrobe.”

But he was already setting his book down, his movements deliberate. You opened your mouth to protest—really, you were fine—but Law stood, shrugging off his long black coat with a fluid motion. The crew fell suspiciously quiet, their eyes darting between you two like they were watching a play unfold.

“Here,” Law said, holding the coat out. His tone was gruff, but his gaze softened for a split second, betraying the gesture’s weight. “Don’t make a habit of it.”

You hesitated, caught off guard by the offer. The coat was heavy, lined with soft fur, and it smelled faintly of antiseptic and something warmer, like cedar. “Thanks,” you murmured, slipping it on. It was comically large, the sleeves swallowing your hands, the hem brushing your knees. You couldn’t help but giggle, flapping the sleeves like wings. “I look like I’m drowning in this.”

Penguin snorted. “Captain’s coat’s got more presence than half the crew.”

“Speak for yourself,” Shachi shot back, but he was grinning, clearly enjoying the moment.

Law rolled his eyes, sinking back into his chair. “Keep laughing, and I’ll Room you all into the snow.” But his fingers twitched around his book, and you noticed he hadn’t quite met your eyes since you put the coat on.

The crew’s banter resumed, and you settled onto a bench near the heater, the coat’s warmth seeping into your bones. It was cozy, almost too cozy, and you found yourself fiddling with the pockets, your fingers brushing something crinkled inside. Curious, you slipped your hand in and pulled out a folded scrap of paper. It was small, no bigger than your palm, and when you unfolded it, your breath caught.

It was a doodle. A simple, pencil-sketched outline of a person—you. The curve of your jaw, the way your hair fell over one shoulder, even the little scar on your knuckle from a mishap with a rigging knife. The lines were meticulous, almost tender, capturing you in a moment of quiet focus. At the bottom, in Law’s precise handwriting, was a single word: “Y/N.”

Your heart stuttered. You glanced at Law, who was still buried in his book, or pretending to be. His shoulders were tense, his fingers gripping the pages a little too tightly. Had he meant to leave this in there? Was it an accident, or…?

“Y/N, you okay?” Bepo’s voice broke your trance. He leaned over, peering at the paper. “Oh! That’s you! Did Captain draw that?”

The room went silent again, all eyes swiveling to Law. You could’ve sworn the heater sputtered in embarrassment. Law’s head snapped up, his eyes locking onto the paper in your hand. For a moment, he looked like a deer caught in a spotlight, his usual composure fracturing.

“Bepo,” he said, voice dangerously calm, “stop talking.”

Bepo squeaked, hiding behind Penguin, who was barely containing his laughter. Ikkaku leaned forward, smirking. “Well, well. Didn’t know you were an artist, Captain. That’s some serious detail.”

“It’s nothing,” Law snapped, but his ears were pink, a rare crack in his stoic facade. He stood abruptly, striding toward you. “Give it back.”

You clutched the doodle to your chest, grinning. “No way. This is adorable. You drew me?”

“It’s not—” Law faltered, his hand hovering as if unsure whether to snatch the paper or retreat. “It’s just a sketch. I was bored.”

“Bored?” you teased, holding the paper up. “You wrote my name on it. That’s not bored, that’s sentimental.”

The crew erupted into hoots and whistles, Shachi clapping Penguin on the back. “Sentimental! Our captain’s got a heart after all!”

Law’s jaw clenched, but his eyes softened when they met yours. “Tch... you’re making this a bigger deal than it is,” he muttered, but he didn’t move to take the paper. Instead, he shoved his hands in his pockets, looking anywhere but at you.

You folded the doodle carefully, tucking it back into the coat pocket. “I’m keeping this,” you said, voice quieter now, meant just for him. “It’s sweet, Law.”

He huffed, but the flush on his cheeks deepened. “Do what you want,” he grumbled, turning back to his chair. “Just don’t expect me to draw you again.”

The crew’s teasing continued, but you caught the way Law’s smirk returned, subtle and private, as he sank back into his book. The moment felt like a secret shared, fragile but warm, like the coat still draped over your shoulders.

Later, the crew dispersed, leaving the mess hall quiet. You lingered, sipping lukewarm tea, the coat still wrapped around you. Law hadn’t asked for it back, and you weren’t eager to return it. The doodle burned in your mind, a tiny window into the man who hid so much behind his sharp edges.

The door creaked, and Law stepped back in, his hat now off, revealing tousled black hair. He paused, clearly not expecting you to still be there. “You’re still wearing that,” he said, nodding at the coat.

“It’s warm,” you replied, smiling. “And it smells like you.”

His eyes widened fractionally, and he coughed, looking away. “Don’t say weird stuff like that.”

You laughed, setting your mug down. “Come on, Law. You can’t draw me and expect me not to tease you. It’s too cute.”

“It’s not cute,” he said, but there was no bite in his voice. He leaned against the wall, arms crossed, studying you. “You’re… impossible.”

“Says the guy who doodles his crewmates in secret.” You patted the bench beside you. “Sit. I won’t bite.”

He hesitated, then sighed, dropping onto the bench with a grace that belied his grumpiness. The silence was comfortable, the hum of the Polar Tang filling the space. You nudged his shoulder. “So, how long have you been drawing me?”

He groaned, rubbing his temple. “You’re not letting this go, are you?”

“Nope.” You leaned closer, grinning. “Spill, Captain. Is it just me, or do you have a whole sketchbook of Bepo and Shachi too?”

“Just you,” he said, so quietly you almost missed it. His eyes flicked to yours, then away, the admission hanging between you like a spark.

Your heart did a little flip. “Just me?” you echoed, softer now. “Law, that’s… really sweet.”

He shifted, clearly uncomfortable with the vulnerability. “It’s not a big deal. I sketch when I can’t sleep. You were… there.”

“There,” you repeated, amused. “You mean, on your mind?”

“Stop twisting my words,” he growled, but his hand brushed yours on the bench, and he didn’t pull away. His fingers were warm, calloused from years of wielding Kikoku, and the contact sent a shiver through you that had nothing to do with the cold.

You tilted your head, studying him. The dim light caught the shadows under his eyes, the faint stubble on his jaw. He was always so guarded, but tonight, with the doodle and the coat and this quiet moment, he felt closer, more human. “You know,” you said, “you don’t have to hide stuff like this. I like seeing this side of you.”

He snorted, but his fingers curled slightly around yours. “You’re too nosy for your own good.”

“And you’re too stubborn for yours,” you shot back, grinning. “But I’ll keep your secret. No one else needs to know you’re a softie.”

“I’m not a softie,” he said, but his thumb brushed your knuckles, a small, unconscious gesture that made your chest ache.

You leaned back, pulling the coat tighter around you. “This is staying with me tonight, by the way. It’s too cozy to give back.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You’re stealing my coat now?”

“Borrowing,” you corrected, sticking out your tongue. “Unless you want to freeze me out here.”

He shook his head, a rare, genuine laugh escaping him. It was low, warm, and it made your heart skip. “Fine. Keep it. But don’t expect me to make a habit of this.”

“Too late,” you said, standing and stretching. “You’re already my personal artist and coat-lender. Next, I’m getting you to knit me a scarf.”

“Keep dreaming,” he called after you as you headed for the door, but his smile lingered, soft and unguarded.

The next morning, you found the doodle still in the coat pocket, now joined by a small, folded note. In Law’s precise script, it read: “Don’t get used to the coat. But… nice smile.”

You grinned, tucking the note beside the doodle. The Polar Tang was still cold, but with Law’s coat around you and his quiet affection in your pocket, it felt like the warmest place imaginable.

[arkaiveofurown]

How Many Today?

Pairing: Portgas D. Ace x Female Reader

“You count the freckles on my back when you’re bored.”

You once absentmindedly started tracing the freckles across Ace’s back, whispering numbers to yourself. Now, every time you lie in bed together, he’ll ask: “How many today?” like it’s a game only you two share.

Word Count: ~2,900

tags: established relationship, fluff, warm romance

my masterlist here ♡

⸻

It was rare that mornings aboard the Moby Dick were this quiet. The sea was gentle, the crew unusually slow to wake, and for once, the deck wasn’t alive with noise and laughter.

Which meant, for you, a rare treat: waking up beside Ace without someone banging pots, shouting about meat, or screaming about chores.

Your fingers rested lightly on his bare back, skin warm even in the shade of the cabin. The early morning sun streamed through the porthole, casting golden light over the room. Ace’s freckles danced in the light like constellations—scattered stars across the broad canvas of his shoulders.

You smiled, resting your forehead against his spine and letting your fingertips begin to trace each one, soft and slow.

“One… two… three…”

You whispered it so quietly he might not hear, but the low rumble of his sleepy chuckle told you otherwise.

“You counting again?” His voice was thick with sleep, but amused. His head turned lazily on the pillow.

You grinned. “How many do you think you have?”

“I dunno. Depends on how good you are at counting.” He yawned, lifting one arm to rest it over your back and pull you in closer. “Did I grow any new ones?”

“I’ll let you know after a recount,” you murmured, kissing between his shoulder blades. You paused at the sight of the massive Whitebeard tattoo that spanned his back, the only place without freckles.

Your fingers ran along the ink’s edge reverently. “I don’t count the ones under the tattoo. Feels wrong.”

He chuckled, still half-asleep. “Pops would be flattered.”

You smirked. “That I respect his territory?”

“No. That his logo saved you from losing count.”

⸻

Docked for supplies, the crew had temporarily set up camp on a small, sunny island. The beach was nearly empty, save for the occasional pirate lugging crates, and you had dragged Ace away from the loading duty under the pretense of needing his “professional fire-starting skills.”

Instead, you both ended up sprawled on a blanket beneath a palm tree, Ace lying on his stomach in nothing but his swim trunks, half-asleep again.

His back rose and fell in a slow rhythm. You couldn’t help it—your fingers were already moving.

“One… two… three…”

He cracked one eye open. “Y/N. It’s your day off. You’re really spending it counting my dots?”

“Don’t act like you don’t love it,” you teased, flicking one freckle between his shoulder blades.

He groaned, dropping his head to the crook of his arm. “I do, actually. Your fingers feel nice.”

You laughed. “So I’m a back-scratcher and a freckle accountant?”

“My dream girl,” he said with a lazy grin, eyes still closed.

“Romantic,” you muttered, leaning down to kiss the nape of his neck. “But hey… I think there’s a new one.”

He lifted his head immediately. “Seriously?! Where?”

You tapped it. “Right above the left shoulder blade. Probably from sun exposure. You should be more careful.”

Ace snorted. “You sound like Marco.”

You sat up. “Marco doesn’t kiss them after he lectures you.”

“Mm. Lucky me.” He reached back to grab your wrist and pull you down beside him again. “Don’t stop. I want to know today’s count.”

⸻

Later that evening, the crew built a bonfire on the beach. Music played, sake flowed, and someone shouted for Ace to show off with his flames. He obliged, of course, setting the fire pit ablaze with a flick of his fingers.

You sat beside him, shoulder pressed to his, watching the flames dance.

“I think you’re solar powered,” you teased, sipping your drink.

Ace chuckled. “I do nap more in the shade. But only ‘cause you always wake me up with kisses in the sun.”

You blushed, hiding it behind your cup. “And your freckles glow in firelight. It’s weirdly cute.”

He turned toward you with a playful smile. “You love ‘em, huh?”

You gave him a mock-serious nod. “I am in a long-term committed relationship… with your freckles.”

Ace threw his head back laughing. “Then I should be jealous of my own skin?”

“You should be,” you teased. “They don’t snore.”

“Hey!” he barked, grabbing your waist and tickling your side.

You yelped, nearly dropping your cup. “Ace!”

He laughed, pulling you into his lap. His arms circled around you, warm and protective. The world faded to firelight and laughter, his heartbeat solid against your back.

He rested his chin on your shoulder and whispered, “How many today?”

You smiled and whispered back, “Fifty-eight.”

⸻

It wasn’t always sunshine and laughter.

There were nights Ace returned from missions battered and bruised, cloak torn, face stained with soot and blood. He brushed it off, always saying “I’m fine” before collapsing beside you.

Tonight was one of those nights.

He lay shirtless on his stomach, bandages around his ribs and shoulder. The Whitebeard tattoo was slightly scuffed, the edges red from a scrape. You sat beside him in silence, cleaning dried blood from his back with a damp cloth.

He flinched only once—when your fingers lingered near a newer burn scar.

“Sorry,” you whispered.

He shook his head against the pillow. “Not your fault.”

You said nothing, just continued the gentle cleaning until the blood was gone. Then your fingers brushed his freckles—soft, reverent.

“One… two… three…”

His body relaxed. “You still do it even when I look like a wreck.”

You leaned down and kissed the side of his jaw. “I love all of you. Even the broken parts.”

Ace closed his eyes.

“…Sixty-two?” you whispered.

He smiled faintly. “Might be a new record.”

⸻

A storm rolled in at sea, waves thrashing the Moby Dick hard enough to shake the windows. You were both awake, lying together in the dark bunkroom, the thunder rumbling like a warning.

You curled closer to Ace, who—despite being fire itself—still radiated a warmth that felt like safety.

“You okay?” he murmured, arm around your waist.

“I hate storms,” you muttered into his chest.

“I know,” he said. “That’s why I’m here.”

You shifted, turning so his back faced you, pressing your forehead to the place where the Whitebeard tattoo arched across his shoulders.

“Tell me something,” you whispered.

“What?”

“How many freckles do you think you had before we met?”

He huffed a soft laugh. “No idea. I never thought about them ‘til you started counting.”

You kissed between his shoulder blades. “You’ve got more now.”

“Think they’re multiplying ‘cause of you?”

“Maybe I’m magic.”

He hummed. “Then I hope you never stop touching me.”

⸻

The next morning, as the storm cleared, you sat with Ace at the bow of the ship. The sea was still rough, but sunlight peeked through the clouds.

Ace stretched his arms over his head, shirtless again, uncaring of the cold wind.

“You’re going to catch a chill,” you scolded.

He smirked. “I’m fire. I don’t chill.”

You rolled your eyes but came closer, hugging him from behind. He stilled when your lips pressed to the back of his neck.

“One… two… three…”

His voice was quieter this time. “I never liked how I looked. The freckles, the scars, the tattoo… felt like a mess. Like a walking contradiction.”

You rested your chin on his shoulder. “Ace…”

“But then you made all of it feel beautiful.” He glanced at you sideways. “You made me feel beautiful.”

You blinked back the emotion swelling in your throat. “That’s because you are.”

He exhaled, a small, quiet laugh escaping him. “You’ve ruined me, you know.”

“Yeah?”

“Now every time I look in the mirror, I start counting. Wondering if you’ll notice the new ones.”

You kissed his cheek. “I always notice.”

⸻

Back in your shared cabin that night, Ace lay on his stomach again, head turned toward you, half-asleep.

You straddled his waist, your hands already drifting over his warm skin. The tattoo loomed, proud and bold, untouched by your count.

“One… two… three…”

He smiled without opening his eyes. “How many today?”

You leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Sixty-six. Same as yesterday.”

He chuckled. “Guess I didn’t get sunburned enough.”

“Nope.” You kissed his shoulder. “But you did get a new freckle on your collarbone.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Mmhmm.” You kissed that one, too.

Ace turned onto his side and pulled you into his arms, pressing a sleepy kiss to your forehead.

“You’re gonna keep counting forever, right?”

You smiled against his chest.

“Forever.”

[xislyns]

DO AGE GAPS BOTHER THEM?

Marco , Shanks , Rayleigh , Mihawk

❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ asks are open!

op masterlist : 𐙚🧸ྀི

how i think the One piece DADDIES would react to having a spouse who has a big age gap with them ? would they be insecure or secure about it? (Reader is from water 7 but honestly it doesnt rlly matter )

a/n : i am obsessed with the dilfs of one piece , istg im going to make a whole series just on hcs for these men 😩😩

AKAGAMI NO SHANKS

it bothers them at first.

Shanks usually is carefree, and during all of his trips across the grandline ofc he would often have flings, it might also be possible he has flings on every island his crew has landed on. but the moment he realized he had serious feelings for you , he grew unusually uncomfortable . It wasn’t like him to overthink, but he found himself wondering if he’d be holding you back.

“you know ____ I’m not exactly the most stable guy, im a wanted pirate,” he said one evening, swirling his drink in his hand as you can hear the crew celebrating their victory in the background . “And I’m older. You could do better ____. you would definitely be better off settling down with a shipwright in the city."

You rolled your eyes, “Stop underestimating me, Shanks. You wont scare me off with those type of words. im here with you, and im here to stay.”you said to him with utmost confidence

His grin returned, sheepish but genuine. “Guess I can’t argue with that.”

From then on, Shanks embraced the relationship fully. He’d grown comfortable about the age gap, capable of saying things like, “See ____ would still pick me even if im an old man” this whole thing will and has become one of the key points that makes him love your relationship more.

When anyone dared to comment on the difference, he’d laugh and throw an arm around you. “Jealousy’s not a good look for you, mate!” he’d sneer, brushing it off .

To Shanks, life was short, and love with you? it was worth any risk.

...⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻...

DRACULE MIHAWK

Not Bothered.

Dating Dracule Mihawk is not an easy task, age gap or not. He is known to be the best swordsman alive and not only that but he is a man of few words.

his piercing gaze often leaves you guessing his thoughts. When the topic of the age difference came up, it was you who bought it up.

“Does it bother you that I’m younger?” you asked one night, standing in the library of his castle.

He regarded you with his usual flat voice, setting down his glass of wine. “Do you really believe me to be someone who concerns myself with unimportant things like age?”

You blinked, unsure if that was an awnser you wanted to hear

Mihawk sighed, walking to approach you. “Age means nothing to me, nor will it ever matter in my life. What matters to me is compatibility, trust, and respect. Do you doubt that we share these things?”

“No,” you murmured, your cheeks warming under his intense stare.

“Then stop questioning it, Love ” he said, leaning down to kiss your forehead. “You’re my spouse, no matter what the world says.”

And that was that. Mihawk was a man who lived his life on his terms, and he could care less about how people perceive him. whats matters is he had you in arms reach.

...⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻...

MARCO THE PHEONIX

Somewhere in between.

Marco had always lived on the Moby Dick, his priorities are split between his crew and his duty as Whitebeard’s right-hand man. But when he met you a lively spirit a decade younger , he found himself intrigued.

At first, Marco hesitated. The age gap wasn’t an issue to him personally, but he was wary of the gossip and judgment it might bring to you. He was scared it would make you insecure and uncomfortable in your relationship. He spoke to you carefully, like he was testing the waters between you two.

“You’re sure about this?” he asked one evening as you sat on the docks together, the sun setting behind you.

“im sure marc,” you replied, placing your hands over his. “Age is just a number to me, Marco. What matters is how we feel. and i feel amazing when im with you"

His lips twitched into a smile, a rare but genuine expression. “You’re too wise for your years, yoi.”

From then on, Marco grew more comfortable with your relationship. He is protective in his own way, always making sure you felt supported. When anyone questioned the relationship, he’d brush them off with his usual calm demeanor, saying,“As long as we’re happy, nothing else matters, yoi.”

To him , as long as you are okay with it, then it wasnt a big deal for him. He just wants you to have the upmost comfort.

...⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻⸻...

SILVERS RAYLEIGH

Not Bothered.

Rayleigh had seen and done it all. In his golden years, he thought his days of love and romance were behind him. Then you came along, a ball of youthful energy and charisma that reignited a spark he thought was long extinguished in his old life.

“Age gap, hm?” he chuckled one night as you teased him about his silver hair. “I’ve been living long enough to know that love doesn’t follow rules,and neither do i.”

Rayleigh adored your youthfulness and the fresh perspective you brought into his dull life. He wasn’t insecure about the gap though , if anything he found it amusing. When others raised eyebrows, he’d wave them off with a laugh.

“Let ‘em talk what they want” he’d say, pulling you closer. “We’re happy, and that’s all that matters.”

He values your presence and he was always there to share a story or give advice when you needed it. To him, the age gap was just another adventure for him.

[clare-875]

Habits of Touch (Luffy, Sanji, Zoro)

_____ Pairings: (Separate) Luffy x Reader; Sanji x Reader; Zoro x Reader Summary: His favorite time/way to share physical affection with you. Warnings: Fluff, Slightly suggestive, Female Reader [One Piece Masterlist] [Part 2: Ace, Law, Shanks] _____

- Luffy - Hand Holding and Adventure

Luffy is always keen for new adventures; of people, places and obscure things he hasn't seen nor experienced before. He is easily excitable as the crew approaches another Island, barely waiting for the ship to dock before he jumps gleefully onto land. It makes Nami roll her eyes as she looks to her Captain and then she would often turn to you.

"I don't know how you put up with that."

Her voice is laced with a heavy sigh and you smile, but then it is replaced by the spike of your heart when you feel a familiar arm wrap itself around you a few times over. "Wait Luffy-" But it is already too late, you hear the bubbling sound of his laughter as he almost flings you off the ship to his side. For a moment the world turns in your head until you fall into the rubber boy and his gleaming smile.

"[y/n]! Come on, let's go explore the island!"

You are in a daze but quickly shake off your surprise; it was a constant occurrence. Yes, Luffy adored adventure, but he finds pleasure in it most when he is with you. Thus comes the tight grip of his hand on yours, or the envelopment of your figure as he drags you around the Island; his constant want to have you beside him on his adventure.

His warmth never falters on you, it is always constant around your hand as he pulls you to every aspect of the new space he has yet to explore. You adore it, his gleaming eyes as he turns back to you after running around, gaze surprisingly calm as he makes sure you are still with him. You adore how he holds your form so gently though his movements are sometimes reckless in his excitement. You adore that he wants you by his side on his journey and he will not be content unless you are.

It is always the same call.

"[y/n], let's go!"

Followed always by his warmth and sure grip.

Some people may think that Luffy's dreams were confined to his nakama and to becoming the pirate king, but he found that dream fruitless unless you were there to witness it: to witness his adventure and to witness his ambition become reality. He would pout and whine when you didn't come along with him. Maybe you had plans with other crewmembers or had errands or were simply not feeling it. But it is merely because he loves you, and he wants you by him as he discovers what the world has to offer.

"Hey, [y/n]!"

You look up in time to see that Luffy had skewers packed with meat on them, six to be exact. "Try one!" Luffy's face was already full of it and whilst in one hand he held out the skewers to you, the other was still wrapped loosely around yours. You raise your eyebrows in surprise at the gesture but smile and take one from his grasp.

"Thanks, Luffy."

He grins widely as you take a bite, but you barely have enough time to see his eyes flicker; something else has gathered his interest.

"[y/n], Takoyaki! Let's go!"

Before you knew it he was flying through the streets of the town, dragging you with him. You have to hold your breath at the speed he moves but you find yourself laughing out with him. Of course, it would be this way; it was Luffy. And the day was exciting and eventful and tiring because what day wouldn't be so if you had him by your side?

At the end of it, the two of you were found by your crewmembers on the deck of the ship, sleeping against one another peacefully and with Luffy's hand still tight within yours.

- Sanji - Back Hugs and Cooking

It may not surprise you to know, that Sanji loves to be touching you and to be with you as often as it is realistically possible. Ever considerate of your feelings, he will give you space if you please but just know that he always craves your presence.

How could he not?

He, the man who constantly showered women with his adoration never thought that his crewmember would return the same adoration for him. Though he still cherishes the women of the crew and showers them with a kind of respect that is honestly unmatched, he only yearns for you. His favourite form of physical affection, however, though perhaps surprising, is in the quiet and domestically suited times you share.

Namely, the times you would join him in the kitchen.

There, when he would finally let you help him with meals, you would feel gentle hands and his warm form around you; it envelops you. He would guide your hands to carve intricately into ingredients you chop or help you stir a meal as you hovered over it upon a stove. Even when these actions are so simple you scarcely need the guidance of the gifted chef, maybe it is just in the intimacy of it all; like it was just you and him.

Sanji loves that.

Loved the thought that one day maybe it would be just the two of you. It was the thoughts that filled him as he looked at your beautiful form gracing his kitchen. Sometimes it would make Sanji sentimental; he never knew someone would be capable of loving him the way that you do.

He especially adores when the roles are almost reversed and it is your smaller frame that hugs him from behind as he works. It would sometimes take him by surprise until he realised it was just you and your warmth that had encapsulated his figure.

You loved it too.

The sounds of him working as you leaned against him gently, his form almost making you drowsy as he worked on dinner. It made Sanji's heart erratic the first time you did it, to the point where you had to frantically call for Chopper as he passed out in your hold. Now, however, it is almost routine.

Cooking was Sanji's most treasured time and now he spends it with you, the one he loves. Though sometimes you would merely watch him as he works from the dining table, you feel his love most in his guided actions as he envelops you, and he feels a sense of peace whenever he works and feels you do the same.

"Mon Amour, are you tired?"

Sanji's voice is soft as he sorts through ingredients for the night's dinner and you hug him sleepily from behind. You would nuzzle your face into his back and sigh contentedly.

"No"

You mumble into him though fatigue is clearly laced in your words. You feel the soft rumble of gentle laughter break free from Sanji as he adores every form of you, including your tired one. It makes your own smile grow on your face as you lean more into him and he feels your embrace tighten around him slightly.

"I love you."

You almost sigh your oath into his back but you find yourself questioning if he has heard it when he doesn't immediately reply. But then, there is a pause in his movements and you wonder what is wrong as a slight silence takes over. He would turn around and your eyes would widen at the sight of tears almost skimming his eyes.

"I love you more, my love."

- Zoro - Kisses and Workouts

Zoro thought that he enjoyed his solitude during training. He thought that the thrumming waves paired with the pumping of his heart were all he needed for a successful workout.

Well, that was until you.

Now Zoro finds his focus faltering when he sees a lack of your presence in the Crowsnest as he works. It distracts him when the room is not filled with the vibrance of you. It distracts him more than if you were present, which is saying something.

Watching Zoro work was one of your favourite pastimes; how could it not be? His form built under years of training gleaming with sweat would have your face flushed as he smirked at your unwavering gaze. But recently these distractions have poured into you approaching the man as he worked, and you being incorporated into the workouts as he trains.

Pushups? Of course, he has you underneath him, the rise and fall of his warmth as you capture his lips while you laugh, noticing the blush that covers his face. Does he need an extra "weight" as he works? Of course, you are on his back or have your arms wrapped around him as he squats down while you tell him about your day.

You found early on that you barely affected his training; you were lighter than a feather to him. But maybe that is why he didn't find himself minding or sometimes even craving your warmth and hands as he worked. It was a bonus that wouldn't hinder his workout but would increase your company and your touch.

There would be many times you take your teasing too far, liking the way you so easily influenced his concentration or the flush on his face. However, that would merely cause his touch to roam upon you too, but in a different way. The crow's nest was rarely occupied by other crewmembers and the two of you would take that to your advantage.

In the privacy of the room, you would find yourself entangled with him as he pours feverish kisses on your skin. In the solace of just you and him, Zoro finds the walls he keeps up firmly thawing as he responds to your touch eagerly, placing strong hands about your form.

It is in these times of quiet that you and he show physical affection the most; Zoro being one to not favour much PDA. But you didn't mind, because it made those moments with him even more treasured; the moments when you could show him the love you hold, and he could do the same in return.

It was so easy to get him distracted; you had him wrapped around your finger.

"Zoro"

You mumble as you look at him as he works and you approach, before sitting purposely on his back as he continues on his thousandth push-up. He barely falters when you do, continuing like you weren't atop him; like he couldn't hear the teasing tone laced in your words. You would sit up against him as he moves beneath you and leave soft and gentle kisses down his neck. That's when he falters, your touch already riling him up.

"[y/n]"

Zoro's voice is strained as he tries to continue his workout, but now your hands start to move gently about him and he finds himself enraptured by you. He lets out a low groan that almost sounds like a growl as he flips you over so you are now beneath him and not on his back. Then he encompasses you with a heated kiss, his movements taking you by surprise so much you can barely respond.

"You'll be the death of me, woman."

[zorosangell]

Hi!!! First off I wanna say how AMAZING ur writing is like truly WOW. I loveee how you write jealous Zoro, but I neeeedd some jealous, possessive reader. Reader don’t play about Zoro just as much as he don’t play about her. You can also totally add some spice if you want *wink wink*

⛥ﾟ・。 stall

synopsis: after you catch a girl trying to spike zoro's drink, all hell breaks loose... hell being you.

cw: fluffy fluff, comfort, a whole lot of profanity, reader's crashout is incredibly valid, reader is a BADDIE, nami is a down ass bitch, girl talk, zoro looooves his girl.

a/n: i'd be this crazy too if I had zoro as a bf

"Look at her! All giggly and shit... he's never said anything that funny his whole life," you huffed, brows furrowed and lip jutted in a pout as you watched from the window of the bathroom door.

"She is kinda hammin' it up," Nami agreed, peaking along with you. "But that doesn't explain why you dragged me out here."

"'Cause I needed someone to spy with. And I didn't wanna look crazy doing it at a table."

"Hon', you look crazy now!"

"Hey!"

With a harsh sigh, you came off your tippy-toes, your heels making a soft clack against the bathroom tile as you turned to your red-headed friend.

"I do not!"

"(y/n), you are in your best dressed while stalking your boyfriend from the grimy bathroom of a dive bar," she deadpanned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "I love you... but this is insane."

Slowly, you deflated, shoulders slightly sinking at the facts presented for you.

It did look kind of crazy.

'A warranted kind of crazy...'

The girl out there with the annoyingly silky hair and infuriatingly beautiful dress had been practically throwing herself at Zoro since the moment she saw him.

And it had only been a week since you and the crew arrived at Asaashi.

The Sunny was in need of repairs, so the crew docked at a nearby port island in order to give Franky enough space and time to fix her up.

And guess who happened to be the harbormaster?

Every day, without fail, she had managed to tail your swordsman, following him and showering him with praise whenever she could.

You hadn't had not two seconds alone with him before she came barging in with some excuse like a pirate crew she needed help collecting from or boats she needed help destroying.

You knew Zoro had never—and would never—entertain her advances, but being his girlfriend, you couldn't help but feel some type of way.

"She knows exactly who I am, and she knows exactly what she's doing," you stated, firmly, pointing at the window. "I can't just sit around and do nothing, Nami."

"Well, hanging out in the bathroom surely isn't helping."

With a sigh, she stepped closer, resting a comforting hand on your shoulder.

"You've got more history with that idiot than that girl could ever know. And if you actually think she has a shot with him, then maybe you aren't as smart as I thought you were..."

"Hey!"

Amused, Nami let out a small snicker, before focusing on the task at hand.

"You're his girlfriend. And you've got every right to walk out there and plop yourself down on his lap. Kiss him! Shove your tongue down his throat! Lay your claim, girl! Men do it all the time."

Surprised, your nose scrunched.

"Really?"

"You think Zoro starts getting hot and heavy with you whenever Sanji's around just for fun?"

She paused a moment, thinking about her statement.

"Well... yes, for fun, but it's also a power-play."

Shaking her head, she returned to her point.

"So be bold! Take charge! Show that bitch who's boss!"

"Yeah!"

"Yeah!"

With new determination, you turned on your heel, throwing the bathroom door wide open and storming out.

Only to immediately rush back in.

"She's coming! Hide!"

"(y/n)!"

Quickly, you snatched up Nami's wrist, dragging her into a stall and shutting the door just in time for the woman and her friend to walk in.

"Oh, my god, Siva, the guy you're talking to is so hot," the friend commended, audibly plopping her bag down on one of the sinks. "Where did you find him?"

"At work," she smirked, going straight for the mirrors to check her makeup. "His crew's been docked here for about a week. We've been getting to know each other better."

"I'm surprised a man like him isn't snatched up already," the friend remarked, slowly gliding the bright red lipstick across her lips.

"Oh, he is," Siva grinned, her lips curling in an almost witch-like expression. "But she's practically out the picture already."

At that, anger began to bubble in your stomach, your brows furrowing at the statement.

'Oh, she fuckin' didn't.'

Just as you were about to open the door, Nami looped her arms under your armpits, frantically holding you back.

"Clearly not enough. He hasn't touched you all night," the friend reminded, beginning to touch up her eye shadow.

"All week," Siva corrected, annoyed, as she grabbed something out her dress pocket. "But this little baby's gonna change all that."

You and the navigator paused your struggle for a moment, brows quirking as you both peeked in the crack of the stall to see what she was holding.

It was a small bottle.

"Few drops of this in his sake and he'll be up for anything."

"Few drops? He'll need ten bottles just to get a buzz," the friend scrunched her nose.

"Nuh-uh. Whole bottle's enough to kill a dragon."

You were clenching your fists so hard, your knuckles were turning white.

"What about the girlfriend?" the friend asked, amused.

"What about her? She'll be old like last week's shoe sale. Tossed out and left with the trash."

"Girl, you are bad..."

"It's good to be."

"Y'know what's gonna be really good?!"

Without hesitation, you kicked open the stall door, the resounding boom scaring the shit out of them

"When I kick your fucking ass!"

Seamlessly, you kicked off your heels before launching forward, grabbing Siva by her silky hair and letting off a rapid-fire round of punches, her poor balance easily taking you both to the ground.

"My extensions!" Siva shrieked as you tossed a clump of fake hair, attempting to lift her arms in order to shield her face.

"Siva!" the friend gasped, quickly moving to assist. "Don't worry! I'll get her!"

"Get who?" Nami scoffed, hopping on one foot as she attempted to take off her heels and take out her earrings. "You're not jumping my girl, bitch!"

Stalling for time, Nami stepped on the girl's toes with the point of her heel before finally managing to get it off, promptly snatching her up before she could grab you.

"Get the fuck off me, you fucking cunt!" Siva spat as you continued to throttle her head.

"Shut the fuck up!" you barked, tossing her into a tiled wall.

"Oh, that is fucking it!" she growled, brows furrowed and newly invigorated.

"C'mon, bitch! I'm right here!"

With a roar of anger, she charged you, slamming you both against another wall before you flipped her over and tackled her out the bathroom, taking the door completely off its hinges.

"Keep fuckin' trying me, hoe! I'm not scared of you!" you spat, the two of you right back where you started as you grabbed her hair once again, slamming her head against the hard wood of the door—Nami still being in a fist fight with the friend in the bathroom.

"Ohhhh, shit! Cat fight!" a random patron exclaimed, calling the attention of the entire bar.

Everyone cheered, letting out shouts of oohs and aahs as you whooped the woman's ass, the sight honestly a marvel as you did so effortlessly, without devil fruit powers nor freakish strength to back you up.

Just will and a whole lot of grit.

Though, it wasn't long before a certain pair of strong arms grabbed you, pulling you away from the woman as you frantically thrashed around like an angry cat.

None other than your boyfriend.

"No, Zoro! M'not done beatin' her ass!" you whined, attempting to wiggle out of his tight grip.

"Yes, you are," he shut down, instantly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "We're leaving."

"Nami-swan, please! A goddess like yourself shouldn't dirty your hands with things like this!" Sanji pleaded, attempting to pry your red-headed friend off the other girl.

"Fuck that! This bitch tried to pull my hair out!"

"Yeah! Run away, bitch!" Siva taunted, sitting up from the ground with a painful wince.

"Run away?!" you scoffed, eyes wide. "Oh, hell nah! Zoro, let me go!"

"No," he denied, tossing you over his shoulder before starting toward the door. "Let's go, cook! Hurry the hell up!"

"Give me a damn second! She's got a death hold on her!" Sanji grunted, finally managing to loosen Nami's grip on the friend's neck before pulling her off.

"My fucking teeth!" Siva screeched, cupping at least five in her palm with horror.

"Thank my man, bitch! He's the only reason you're still breathing!" you barked, grabbing a nearby man's drink and tossing it at her. "Have fun suckin' sailor dick, toothless!"

"Fuck you!"

"Eat my ass!" you pulled down your eyelid, sticking out your tongue as you waved around a humongous chunk of hair. "Bald-headed bitch!"

The following shriek was high enough to shatter glass, but it sounded like music to your ears as you laughed, tossing her extensions on the ground as Zoro finally exited the bar.

With a sigh, he started in the direction of the Sunny—per Sanji's instructions—glancing back at you with a raised brow.

"You wanna tell me what all that was back there?" he asked.

Slowly coming down from your high, your shoulders slightly sank, arms crossing over your chest.

"She won't be coming around you anymore," you huffed, firm and final.

At that, Zoro finally realized what this was all about, forcing a small smirk to curl on his lips.

Letting out a chuckle, he pressed a soft kiss against your thigh, his large palm giving your ass a quick squeeze.

"Crazy woman..."

[wispitty]

shanks x reader | “a new hire” {ch.1}

summary: you're the new waitress at makino’s bar. sweet, shy and just looking for a quiet place to belong to. but when the red hair pirates dock for the night, you catch the eye of their infamous captain, shanks—and somehow, one night turns into something far more than you'd prepared for. tag list: shanks/you, slow burnish, tension & tenderness, made from shanks brainrot (literally its so bad), first sight feelings, he's protective chapter list:

chapter one

chapter two

Chapter 1: Warm Welcomes

The golden light of the setting sun spilled through the windows of the little seaside bar, casting a warm glow over polished wood and soft shadows. You moved behind the counter, carefully arranging plates and cleaning as you went, sleeves rolled up and hair slightly tousled from the afternoon rush. It had been about a month since Makino brought you on, and while you were starting to find your rhythm, you still felt like a small note in a song you hadn’t quite learned the melody to yet.

The front door creaked open just as you reached for a clean glass.

Boots on the floorboards. Laughter, rough and familiar. A deep voice rumbling in easy amusement. You turned, half-expecting another local—only to freeze when you saw who had stepped inside.

Shanks.

The infamous captain of the Red Hair Pirates stood in the doorway, black cloak billowing slightly from the sea breeze, his one hand casually resting on his hip. And behind him? His whole crew.

His dark eyes swept across the bar once before landing on you—lingering there, quiet and curious.

He looked older than the stories told. A few more lines around his eyes, a little more weight behind his gaze. The jagged scar over his left eye only emphasized the sharpness of his stare. And yet… the corners of his mouth pulled into a grin. Not cocky. Not even playful.

Just… warm.

“Well,” he said, voice low and smooth, “this place hasn’t changed a bit.”

Behind him, Beckman stepped in with a cigarette between his lips, giving a faint nod to the bar’s familiar walls.

Shanks tilted his head slightly, eyes still on you.

“Except that part,” he added. “I don’t remember her.”

Beckman glanced over. “New hire,” he said simply.

Shanks hummed, his grin deepening. “Is that so?”

He crossed the room slowly, shoes tapping softly on the floor, and leaned against the counter. Despite his easy posture, there was a quiet intensity to him—like the sea just before a storm, calm but impossibly vast.

You realized you hadn’t said anything. Not yet.

But when the situation catches up to you, you stiffen immediately. No matter who they are, customers just walked in. And all customers need to be greeted.

“O-Oh! Hello there! Welcome to Makino’s!”

Shanks blinked, then let out a soft chuckle at your flustered greeting. There was something disarming about it—how your voice wavered just slightly, how your hands moved quickly to set the glass down as if you’d just remembered you were holding it.

“‘Makino’s,’ huh?” he repeated, straightening up a little. “Still has a nice ring to it.”

He glanced around the room like he was taking it all in for the first time again—the weathered stools, the sun-warmed countertop, the faint scent of citrus wood polish that always lingered near the shelves. Then, his gaze returned to you, and this time it didn’t drift away.

“You must be the new waitress Makino mentioned in her last letter.” His tone was lighter now, teasing. “Said you were polite. Said you were sweet. Said you baked.”

Beckman raised an eyebrow behind him. “She also said you shouldn’t scare her.”

“I’m not scaring her,” Shanks replied easily, then turned to you again with a half-grin. “Am I scaring you?”

“Hehe, no. Not at all. Nice to meet you, Mister Shanks.”

You can’t help but break out into a soft smile as you eye the infamously famous pirate before you. One whose reputation preceded him, but not alongside all the funny stories Makino had shared with you.

“Makino’s mentioned you before to me, too. Along with your crew.”

“Seems I’ll have to bring out the best barrels if her favorite customers are back in town.”

At that, Shanks’ grin widened—not the smug kind pirates wore when they won a fight, but the kind that slipped out when someone genuinely caught them off guard. He let out a low, appreciative laugh, and his eyes—deep and sharp, but warm—crinkled slightly at the corners.

“Well now,” he said, resting his elbow on the counter as he leaned a little closer, “if that’s your version of a welcome, I might have to start showing up more often.”

Beckman muttered something under his breath about “he already does,” before heading to his usual seat near the counter.

“Don’t mind him,” Shanks said with a wink. “He just doesn’t like when someone else gets a better smile than he does.”

You felt the heat rise in your cheeks, but to your surprise, it wasn’t unpleasant. It was… fluttery. The good kind. The dangerous kind.

You turned slightly, trying to busy your hands as you reached for the drink menu and pulled out the reserve ledger Makino kept for special requests.

“If I remember right, you prefer the—ah, twelve-year aged rum? With a splash of lime?”

He blinked, a little impressed. “So she really talked about us, huh?”

“She said if you didn’t show up with a barrel of trouble, you showed up asking for her best,” you said shyly, before your eyes flicked up. “I was told to keep an eye on the charming ones.”

“Charming?” Shanks echoed, the smile in his voice unmistakable now. “I hope you listened.”

Before you could answer, one of the younger pirates called out to you from a table, asking for a round. You nodded quickly and excused yourself, turning away to grab mugs from the shelves—but you could still feel the weight of his gaze lingering on your back.

As Shanks took his place near Beckman at the counter, they both settled into a comfortable space.

“New hire’s easy on the eyes, huh?”

Shanks didn’t answer at first. Instead, he watched you for a bit.

He watched you from the corner of his eye—how you laughed softly when one of the younger ones tried to flirt for an extra pour, how you steadied the tray with a careful hand, how your brows furrowed slightly when you thought no one was looking, double-checking the drink order on your notepad like you didn’t want to mess up.

There was a quiet care in your movements. Nothing flashy. Just… thoughtful.

“…Yeah,” he said at last, voice low and laced with something Beckman hadn’t heard from him in a while. “Easy on the eyes.”

Then, with a slow exhale, he added under his breath, “Too easy.”

Beckman chuckled, stretching his arms behind his back. “You’re staring, you know.”

“Am not.”

“You are. Like you forgot how to blink.”

Shanks raised an eyebrow. “I have one arm. You want me to lose that too?”

“I’d like to see you try.”

They both smirked, but Beckman didn’t push further. He knew that look on Shanks’ face well. It wasn’t just interest—it was curiosity. The kind that stuck. The kind that didn’t fade once the drinks ran dry or the ship set sail.

A few seconds later, you returned to the bar with a few empty mugs, your eyes meeting Shanks’ as you offered an amused huff, still a bit winded from running around.

He sat up straighter, gaze gentle.

“Still standing,” he teased. “That’s promising.”

You grin, shaking your head while balancing the mugs in your hands. “Goodness, you all surely know how to drink! Haha! If you’ll excuse me to wash these a second, I’ll be right back to get your orders.”

Shanks watched you disappear behind the swinging door with a quiet, lopsided smile still tugging at his lips. The clinking of glasses and the familiar hum of his crew faded into the background for a moment as he leaned back against the bar, his fingers idly tracing a water ring left behind on the wood.

Beckman eyed him sideways. “You’re doing the thing again.”

“What thing?” Shanks asked, far too innocently.

“The look-before-you-leap thing.”

Shanks huffed a small laugh. “I’m not leaping. I’m just… appreciating the service.”

Beckman scoffed. “You don’t smile like that over rum.”

“I do when it’s served with a smile like hers,” he muttered under his breath, almost surprised by his own words.

When you returned, cheeks slightly flushed from the steam rising from the wash basin and fingers damp from drying your hands on your apron, Shanks straightened ever so slightly.

“You alright back there?” he asked. “Didn’t lose any fingers in the sink war, did you?”

You let out a soft laugh as you approached, setting the clean mugs down in front of him. “Still all ten accounted for, Captain.”

He raised his brows. “Oho? Captain?”

“Well… aren’t you?” you asked with a gentle, teasing lilt. “I thought I’d be polite.”

“Careful,” he said, that playful glint returning to his eye. “You call a man ‘Captain’ with a voice like that, and he’s bound to start sailing circles around you.”

Beckman sighed. “Here we go.”

You laughed, covering your mouth just a little, and Shanks swore—for a moment—the room didn’t feel like a bar at all.

It felt like the start of something he wanted to see through.

Amidst the commotion, the sound of two doors opening rang out.

From the back door, Makino walked out, seemingly having just returned from delivering something and picking up groceries on the way.

From the front, another fresh crowd of rowdy, thirsty sailors to serve.

You quickly ran up to her, shooting her a smile while grabbing a good handful of menus.

“Welcome back! I’ll go get the new ones, you go greet old friends.”

Makino blinked at your statement for a second, her eyes sweeping over the crowded bar before landing on the unmistakable silhouette near the counter.

That familiar mess of red hair.

“Shanks,” she said warmly, already moving toward him. “I was wondering when the wind would toss you back my way.”

He turned to greet her, that roguish grin forming with genuine affection. “You really ought to bolt the windows, Makino. I might sneak in even when the doors are locked.”

They shared a hug—brief, but familiar. A silent understanding passed between them, layered with years of history and more unspoken memories than most people would ever collect in a lifetime.

Beckman tipped his head politely. “Makino.”

“Ben,” she returned with a smile. “Still keeping this one from causing too much trouble?”

Beckman gave a one-shouldered shrug. “Depends on the day.”

Behind the bar, you ducked out of their way, moving back into the wave of incoming guests, taking orders with that same soft tone and polite efficiency, weaving through the chaos like a gentle current against a tide. Shanks’s eyes followed you just for a beat—until Makino nudged him lightly with her elbow.

“She’s a good one,” she said quietly, knowingly.

Shanks glanced at her.

“She’s been helping a lot while I’ve been short-staffed. Real sweet. Bit shy.” Makino gave him a dry smile. “Not a fan of loud drunks, so behave.”

“No promises,” he said, though the smile that tugged at his lips said otherwise.

Makino leaned in a little. “She likes people who don’t just look like they’ve got stories, you know. Prefers the ones who live them.”

Shanks gave her a long look, like he wasn’t sure whether to thank her or tease her off.

But Makino was already moving down the bar, greeting familiar faces and returning to the rhythm of her tavern like she never left.

And Shanks—Shanks turned back to his drink, eyes on the rim of his mug, fingers tapping idly, even as his thoughts wandered toward you.

Eventually, the evening turned to dusk amidst the rowdy bar.

Shanks and Beckman engaged in good drinks and warm chatter, alongside Makino who joined them between serving orders.

Suddenly—

CRASH.

The crash echoed through the bar like a pebble dropped into still water. Small, but disruptive.

The chatter dipped for just a second, long enough for every head to turn toward the source of the sound. You were already moving, smile soft and apologetic as you tried to ease the moment.

“No worries,” you said gently, ducking to fetch the broom from behind the bar. “Happens all the time.”

But the snickers that followed weren’t the good-natured kind. One of the rowdier newcomers—a sailor with too much drink and too little self-restraint—elbowed his friend, nodding toward you.

“Clumsy little thing, ain’t she?” he slurred, not nearly quiet enough.

“Shame to waste a glass,” the other muttered. “But I think I’ll be the one to drop ten more if it makes her bend over like that again.”

Their laughter wasn’t loud, but it was sharp. Mean-spirited. And it crawled up your spine like ice water.

Shanks had been halfway through a sip when the sound of the crash hit, but it was the following snickers—and the look that passed between the two men—that made him stop mid-sip.

He didn’t move right away.

Didn’t say anything.

He just looked.

And that was worse.

Beckman didn’t need to ask. He saw it in the way Shanks’ jaw flexed slightly, the way his good hand lowered his mug to the table with the kind of silence that warned.

The men kept laughing.

Until they felt it.

That sudden stillness.

Like the shadows themselves began to stare.

Shanks rose from his seat—not fast, not dramatic. Just calm. But in a room like this, calm carried weight. The music faltered. Conversation quieted.

He took a few steps, the wooden floor creaking beneath his feet as he walked up behind the two snickering men. They only realized he was there when the warmth drained from their skin.

Shanks didn’t shout. He didn’t bare teeth or pull a weapon.

He just leaned forward slightly, voice low and steady.

“…Say it again.”

The man froze.

Shanks tilted his head, like he was asking the most casual question in the world.

“I didn’t quite catch it,” he said. “Say it again. About the waitress.”

The second man swallowed hard, his eyes darting to his empty mug like it might protect him.

“I—I didn’t mean—”

“You didn’t think,” Shanks corrected. “That’s your problem.”

A pause.

“Mine?” He smiled faintly. “I don’t take kindly to folks like you who make good people feel small.”

Behind the bar, broom in hand, you’d returned just in time to see the two men pale like ghosts—nodding quickly, stumbling over apologies, before practically tripping over themselves to stand and relocate.

Shanks didn’t even watch them leave.

He turned to you instead, and for a heartbeat, all the noise in the room seemed to muffle again.

“You okay?” he asked, voice quieter now. Just for you.

You strained a smile, as reassuring of one as you could muster, as you nodded. “I’m fine, thank you.”

And quietly, “Sorry, heh. Still, um, still getting used to it.”

Shanks studied you after that left your lips.

Not the kind of look meant to make you squirm—but the kind that noticed you.

The way your fingers clutched the broom just a little tighter than they needed to be. The way your smile pulled at the corners but never quite reached your eyes. The way you stood there, trying to laugh it off for everyone else’s sake.

Trying to take up less space than you deserved.

And something in him twisted.

Not in anger—not anymore. That had passed.

This was something else.

You don’t belong in a place like this.

The thought struck him unexpectedly. Not because you were soft-spoken. Not because you were too sweet. But because, maybe, people like you deserved to live in a world that didn’t demand armor to survive it.

Beckman was watching him from his seat again, brow arched, silent as ever.

Shanks cleared his throat, straightened just a little, and let a breath out through his nose.

“Well,” he said softly, slipping his hand into his coat pocket, “you handled it better than most of us would have.”

He took a slow step toward the counter again, then paused—just close enough for you to hear him over the din of the crowd.

“If they bother you again, you let me know. I don’t mind raising the tide.”

There was something in his voice now. Not teasing. Not dramatic.

A promise.

And with that, he walked away, leaving you standing there in the golden glow of the lantern light, heart a little heavier, and a little warmer too.

Shanks sank back onto his stool with a quiet grumble and the telltale sound of the stool’s wooden legs scooting along the floor. His jaw ticked slightly, still working through the remnants of whatever emotion had taken root in his chest since that encounter. He took a sip from his drink, slower this time.

Beckman said nothing at first—just blew a soft stream of smoke out the corner of his mouth and gave his captain a long, sideways look.

“You gonna sit there and scowl at every man who notices her?”

He didn’t even bother to hide the smirk.

“I’m not scowling,” Shanks muttered.

Beckman hummed. “Then your face is just stuck like that?”

Shanks grunted. “I don’t like that look on her face. Like she’s used to brushing that kind of thing off.”

Beckman didn’t comment, just let the silence say what he knew his captain was already thinking. There were a lot of kinds of strong in the world. The kind that held a sword. And the kind that held a smile, even when people didn’t deserve it.

Before Shanks could brood too much deeper, the two sailors at the next table caught his ear.

“—I’m just sayin’, she’s the nicest person I’ve met in this whole town!”

“She smiled at me, dude. Like, actually looked at me and smiled.”

“She’s gotta have someone, right? Someone like that? No way she doesn’t.”

“I dunno, I heard Makino say she just moved here. Bet she’s single.”

The two chuckled under their breath, casting bashful glances your way as you refilled a table’s water jug, oblivious to the admiration trailing in your wake.

Shanks raised an eyebrow.

Beckman let out a quiet snort. “Looks like you’ve got competition.”

Shanks didn’t say anything at first, swirling the liquid in his mug.

Then, with a faint smirk: “They’d drown before they reached her.”

Beckman gave him a side glance. “You sure you wouldn’t?”

Shanks chuckled under his breath. “I’m already treading water, Ben. Don’t worry.”

He said it like a joke.

But his eyes drifted back to you all the same—watching the way you tucked your hair behind your ear, how your face lit up with a laugh you gave to someone else.

And for just a second, that quiet tug returned to his chest.

Damn.

This wasn’t going to be as simple as passing through another port.

[yoomiwrites]

Not cute

Summary: Law isn't as mature, cold and stoic as seemed – no, he is cute. And awkward. Truly. ! GN reader ! You perspective.

Notes: I love Law. He my baby. But, since I know everything bout him (yes, I even know THAT one figurine), I also assume that he is not like, well, most people think he is. I mean, I could go on and explain everything, but I won't. I had shit and giggles while I wrote this in the night (couldn't sleep and all your love really motivated me). Even now, not being half asleep, I like it. So, I thought I'd already give you the winner of the poll! Enjoy!

Part two

♡

You had always thought Trafalgar Law was a mature man.

From the moment you joined the Heart Pirates, he had carried himself with an air of authority—commanding, sharp-witted, and composed. His knowledge of medicine and tactics made him a formidable captain, and his often-cold demeanor made it clear he didn’t tolerate foolishness. You respected him for that.

But then, you started noticing the cracks.

It was small things at first—like the way his lips twitched upward whenever Bepo did something particularly endearing, or how his fingers would absently toy with the coins he kept in his pocket. Then came the comics. You had stumbled upon them one evening when you went to grab a medical text from his cabin, only to find a neat stack of well-read books featuring over-the-top action scenes and exaggerated expressions.

And then there was the bread.

You had never seen a man react so viscerally to something so harmless. The way his expression soured, nose wrinkling in utter distaste, was so dramatically childish that it almost made you laugh out loud the first time you saw it.

Yes, Trafalgar Law was not just a man who had grown up too fast—he was still, in some ways, a child beneath it all.

And so, you decided to conjure those reactions more often.

It started subtly. You’d leave tiny, cute trinkets on his desk—once, a small plush bear you claimed was from Shachi and Penguin. Another time, you placed a particularly round and fluffy piece of bread on his plate at dinner, watching as he scowled, dramatically shoving it onto Bepo’s plate instead.

When you pointed out a particularly adorable sea otter floating by the ship one day, he had scoffed—but his gaze lingered a little too long, his fingers twitching like he wanted to reach out.

It became a quiet game between the two of you—though Law didn’t seem to realize it until much later.

One evening, while the crew was docked at a small island, you sat on the Polar Tang’s deck, flipping through a book when a shadow fell over you. Looking up, you found Law standing there, arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but there was a slight crease in his brow, a sure sign he had been thinking about something for far too long.

“You’re doing it on purpose,” he said flatly.

You blinked. “Doing what?”

He exhaled through his nose, clearly unimpressed by your feigned innocence. “The comics. The plush. The damn bread.” His jaw tightened. “You like… that.”

You considered him for a moment, watching the way his ears tinged slightly pink, the way his fingers tapped a steady beat against his arm. Finally, you closed your book and stood, looking him in the eye.

“I do.”

His brows furrowed further. “Why?”

You gave a small shrug. “Because it’s you, Law. The real you.”

That caught him off guard. His lips parted slightly, but no words came out. He seemed completely thrown off by the simple honesty in your words, and before you knew it, his hand lifted, tugging his hat low over his face.

“…I have work to do,” he muttered, turning abruptly and striding away, shoulders stiff.

You were still watching the spot where Law had disappeared, trying to make sense of the strange flutter in your chest, when another voice cut through the quiet.

“Enjoying yourself?”

You turned to see Ikkaku standing beside you, arms crossed, lips curled in amusement.

You met her gaze evenly. “What do you mean?”

She jerked her chin toward the stairs Law had just fled down. “You like seeing him like that, don’t you?”

You didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Ikkaku hummed knowingly. “Figured. It’s not every day you get to see Trafalgar Law flustered.”

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “He tries too hard to act composed. It’s nice seeing him be himself.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Ikkaku waved a hand dismissively. Then she tilted her head at you, eyes gleaming. “But have you ever noticed something else?”

Your brow furrowed slightly. “Something else?”

She leaned in just a little. “It’s always you.”

You stared at her, uncomprehending. “What?”

Ikkaku grinned. “You’re always trying to get a reaction out of him—but have you noticed who he reacts to?”

Something about her tone made your stomach twist.

She patted your shoulder and walked off, leaving you standing there, silent.

And then you started thinking.

The way Law’s gaze always seemed to settle on you when you spoke, even when you were talking to someone else. The way he never scolded you the way he did Shachi or Penguin, even when you were obviously pushing his buttons. The way he had just reacted—not with irritation, not with exasperation, but with embarrassment.

Oh.

Oh no.

A slow, creeping realization settled over you, and for once, you weren’t sure how to handle it.

You weren’t blushing, of course. That would be ridiculous. But your heart was beating far too fast for comfort.

The captain, in love with you? Certainly not.

You couldn’t sleep.

It wasn’t like you to let something rattle you, but Ikkaku’s words kept circling in your mind. You turned on your side. Then onto your back. Then onto your other side. But no matter what, you couldn’t shake the thought.

The idea of Trafalgar Law—your captain—being in love with you was absurd. You weren’t the type to entertain ridiculous fantasies. And yet… the weight of his gaze, the way he had reacted earlier, the way he always reacted—

You exhaled sharply and sat up. This was useless.

A walk. A drink. Something to clear your head.

You slipped out of your quarters and padded down the silent hallways of the Polar Tang, making your way toward the kitchen. But when you pushed open the door, you weren’t alone.

Law stood by the counter, back to you, pouring himself a cup of tea. His hair was messier than usual, as if he had run his fingers through it too many times. His hoodie hung loosely off his frame, the sleeves pushed up to his elbows.

He turned at the sound of your steps, his tired eyes meeting yours.

“…You too?” he asked.

You nodded, stepping inside. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Law didn’t say anything as you walked over and grabbed a cup for yourself. The silence between you was surprisingly comfortable, the occasional clink of porcelain filling the air.

If you hadn’t been thinking so hard about him before, you would have left it at that. You would have let it be another quiet moment between the two of you.

But your mind was still tangled with Ikkaku’s words. In your mind, you battled against her words.

And maybe that’s why, without thinking, you muttered, “Don’t worry, I didn’t think you were in love with me.”

A pause.

A sharp, quiet breath.

Then, in a voice so calm, so matter-of-fact that it took a moment to register—

“But I am.”

The world went still.

Your fingers tightened around your cup. You turned your head, slowly, as if movement itself might break the moment.

Law was staring at his tea, his expression unreadable, except for the way his jaw tightened ever so slightly.

You weren’t the type to let things shake you. But this?

This stunned you.

He realized it a second too late. His lips parted just slightly, as if to take it back—but the words had already been said. There was no erasing them now.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke.

Law, the man who always had a plan, the strategist, the genius doctor—looked utterly lost. His fingers flexed against his cup, his shoulders stiff as if preparing for some inevitable response.

Finally, you set your tea down carefully, leveling him with a look. “…What?”

It was the best you could do.

Law exhaled sharply, tipping his hat forward to shield his face, as if that would somehow save him.

“…Forget it,” he muttered, turning toward the door.

Like hell.

Law tried to leave.

You didn’t let him.

The moment he turned, you stepped forward and grabbed his sleeve. He froze—not yanking away, not looking at you, just standing there, tension running through him like a live wire.

“Forget what?” you asked, your voice steady.

His fingers twitched. “…It doesn’t matter.”

You tightened your grip. “It does.”

Finally, slowly, he turned his head just enough to glance at you. His eyes were sharp, searching, but there was something else there—something hesitant, something uncertain.

You exhaled, forcing yourself to be honest. “I don’t know what I’m feeling for you,” you admitted. “But I know I don’t want to forget this. And I know that… I want to be with you.”

Law inhaled sharply through his nose, his lips parting slightly, his whole body locking up as if you had just struck him with Room.

He looked—

Embarrassed.

Genuinely, painfully embarrassed. And still, still, he tried to escape. He turned again, this time slower, as if hoping you wouldn’t stop him.

You refused to let him slip away.

So, you did something reckless.

“I don’t even know how to use the washing machine properly,” you blurted out.

Law froze mid-step.

“I was the one who turned all the boiler suits pink,” you added.

His head tilted just slightly, like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“And sometimes,” you continued, voice as calm as ever, “I have very intimate dreams about you.”

This time, Law nearly choked. His shoulders hunched, his ears instantly burning red beneath his hat. “What—”

“You’re not the only one embarrassed here,” you stated simply. “So don’t run away.”

For a moment, Law just stood there, hands clenched into fists, face half-hidden by his hat.

Then, slowly, he turned back to you.

Something in his expression had shifted. His gaze was still hesitant, still unsure, but there was something determined beneath it now. His fingers flexed at his sides before curling into loose fists.

And then—without a word—he stepped closer.

You stayed perfectly still as he reached for you, as his fingers hesitated just inches away before finally brushing against your cheek. It was uncertain, clumsy, like he wasn’t entirely sure he was allowed to do this.

But you didn’t pull away.

So he leaned in, just slightly. Just enough for his lips to press against yours.

It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t smooth.

It was awkward and hesitant and entirely, unmistakably him.

And when he pulled back, lips barely lingering against yours, he swallowed hard and muttered, “…You turned the boiler suits pink?”

You exhaled a quiet laugh. “That’s what you’re focusing on?”

“…It’s my crew.”

“Not just your crew anymore.”

Law stared at you for a moment before exhaling sharply, tipping his hat forward to hide his face again.

“…Shambles,” he muttered.

And with that, he vanished—leaving you standing alone in the kitchen, lips still tingling, heart pounding, and very much not forgetting any of this.

PS. Yes, he is probably dying in his room. ♡