Welcome to my chaotic mind

Ace:

Sabo:

Luffy:

The next time it happened, it was all you. It had been a surprisingly dull day while the Polar Tang traversed the thought-deep reaches of the ocean. You’d won a few card games, even sung a couple of songs, before excusing yourself from the crew. But instead of heading to your room, you went to another one—one familiar to you. Your captain’s.

You knocked. 

“Come in,” he said. 

He was freshly showered, judging by his still damp hair and unbuttoned shirt. As usual, he was hunched over his desk, and you were more than ready to give him a piece of your mind about overworking himself again.

But as you stood there, something caught your eye: a vibrant splash of color laid out across the wood.

“Seriously… that’s what you’ve been so busy with instead of hanging out with us?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s a new issue,” he said calmly.

“And I’m supposed to believe you haven’t finished it yet?” you pressed, leaning closer to inspect.

He smirked. “I might be rereading,” he said, tapping the paper with a finger.

“You’re such a loser,” you muttered, shaking your head. “I swear, how the World Government considers you a threat is beyond me.”

He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “I am the Surgeon of Death,” he replied, deadpan.

“You’re a loser, that’s what you are,” you shot back, pointing a finger at him.

“You really shouldn’t talk to your captain like that,” he said, raising an eyebrow, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

You just shrugged, conceding that he did, in fact, have a point. It wasn't exactly standard procedure to be talking to your captain like this; you doubted even your crew members would dare approach him that way, but your relationship was different. You were close, practically best friends, though Law would probably just roll his eyes at the label—even if he wouldn't disagree. You had known each other far too long for formalities, having shared your deepest, most vulnerable memories during those endless, quiet nights on the submarine.

“Why are you even bothering me?” he asked, his golden eyes narrowing as he finally flicked them up to meet yours.

“I just wanted to see what you were doing,” you said, shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“I’m reading,” he muttered.

“Rereading,” you pointed out, tilting your head slightly.

“Why do you ask?”

Silence hung between you for a moment.

“Why do you ask?” he repeated, his tone firmer this time, almost challenging you to say what you were really thinking.

“Are you… maybe in the mood for another lesson?” you asked, your voice dropping to a whisper. You moved carefully, your hands brushing the desk near his, fingers inches from his own.

“Ah, so that’s what this is about,” he said, leaning back in his chair. A faint, dangerous smirk tugged at his lips as his eyes traveled slowly up your body.

You felt your cheeks warm. “Well… it’s surprisingly calm right now. No one would interrupt, so I thought…” 

He waved a hand dismissively, but there was a softness in his eyes and his ears had that lovely pink on them that you came to adore. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I don't want to force you,” you added, the embarrassment blooming in your chest.

“I wouldn't let you force anything.” He stated simply. “Anything in particular you're in the mood for?” 

You played with your lower lip, biting it gently, while fighting with yourself. The words tangling in your throat, you knew you should just be honest, and that Law wouldn't judge you. Probably. He should be into this, shouldn't he? You could still hear the guys’ voices in the background of your mind from those nights when they’d been a little too drunk, oversharing way too much about their conquests and the way they’d describe how incredible it felt.

Law watched you with an intensity that felt too powerful in the small room, giving you space but making his impatience known through the relentless, rhythmic tap tap tap of his finger against the desk.

Before you could think yourself out of it, before you could let the hesitation win, you moved. You dropped to your knees between his legs.

He actually flinched. You’d never seen him look startled, never seen him caught off guard like that.

“What are you…?” His voice faltered, a rare crack in that cool composure.

“Don't you want it?” you asked, looking up at him.

“I…” His face was already deepening into a dark, furious red, and no matter how hard he tried to pull himself together, the bashfulness was written all over him. He cleared his throat sharply, his fingers gripping the edge of the desk. “You don’t have to.”

“I want to,” you insisted. Your hands moved, fingers brushing over the fabric of his spotted pants as you began to rub him gently through the material, your touch slow and intentional as you moved toward his zipper. You kept your voice level, even if your heart was hammering against your ribs. 

“If you wish me to stop, say so. Captain.” The title was meant to be a tease, a way to maintain some shred of your usual dynamic, but the underlying sincerity was real.

He went completely rigid in the chair, his whole body locking up. The restless tapping stopped instantly. For a long, suspended moment, he looked as if he’d actually forgotten how to breathe properly.

“Law?” you asked, your hands pausing on his zipper. “Is that not okay?

He made a strange sound—something caught between a cough and a choke—and turned his head away like the wall had suddenly become captivating.

”Law?”

He cleared his throat again, trying to force the composure back into his voice, but it came out strained, rougher than usual. “That is okay if you’re sure about it.”

“I am.” You didn't hesitate, reaching once again for his zipper only for his hand to wrap firmly around your wrist, stopping you.

You blinked at him. “...Law?”

He looked deeply conflicted, like he was actively losing an argument with himself.

"Maybe," he said carefully, refusing to meet your eyes, “you would prefer a bed.”

“A bed?”

“Yes. A bed.” His ears had started turning pink. “Or—another surface. A couch, perhaps. Something with proper support.”

You stared at him in genuine confusion. “You’re worried about my posture?”

“I am worried about several things right now.”

That made you smile. He was always overthinking, even in moments like that.

“You don’t have to kneel before me,” he muttered.

“Is that not how it can be done?” you asked, brow furrowing. “I heard—”

He stopped before you could finish your sentence. “Please do not tell me where you heard that.” 

You laughed softly, and his expression somehow got even more flustered. 

“This is not funny.” 

“It’s a little funny.”

“Just, damn it, I want you to be comfortable.”

So he stopped you out of care. Typical. 

“I’ll stop if I’m not,” you assured him.

His grip on your wrist loosened immediately, thumb brushing across your skin before he let go completely.

He swallowed hard. “…alright.”

“Relax.” 

You gave him a moment to collect himself. It didn’t help much. He still sat stiffly in the chair, shoulders tense, jaw tight enough to crack teeth. His breathing remained uneven, and he kept staring straight ahead like if he looked at you for too long, he might actually combust. It was ridiculously endearing. You smiled tenderly, hoping to change that very soon.

Your fingers found the metal of his zipper and pulled it down. He helped you; now, his large hands guided your movements as you worked to remove his pants, but the moment you reached for the waistband of his boxers, he stopped you again.

“What’s wrong?” you asked immediately. He didn't answer with words. Instead, his hand came up, fingers curling around your wrist. In one fluid, authoritative motion, he pulled you up from your knees and right into his lap. Before you could even gasp, his mouth was on yours, his lips crashing against yours.

As surprised as you were, you kissed him back with just as much ferocity, your fingers tangling deep into his messy dark hair to pull him closer.

The longer you kissed, the more you could feel him growing hard underneath you. With an experimental shift of your hips, you rubbed against him, and Law’s reaction was instant. A low, rough groan tore from his throat, vibrating against your lips as he abruptly pushed you even closer, his hands firm on your waist to encourage you to keep moving. 

You could feel it working for you too, and for a bit you completely forgot what your initial goal was, losing yourself in that sensation, brushing against each other through your clothes. The friction was all you could think about.

When you finally parted, both of you were breathing hard, your lips swollen and wet. Law had that feral look in his eyes, something way more intense than you’d seen even when he was facing down a fight. You liked that look on him. It reminded you of all your last encounters together and exactly what you’d really planned for today.

You slid off his lap, your fingers already working urgently at his waistband. Law didn't wait, lifting his hips to help you strip away that barrier.

“Take your uniform off,” he barked, the order sharp as a command, but you didn't mind the roughness. 

You stripped quickly, your boilersuit discarded as you stood there in just your panties and thin tank top. You hadn't put on a bra today, and the flimsy material did nothing to hide how much you wanted more. Your nipples were painfully erect, straining against the fabric, fully on display.

You gathered all your bravery and knelt before him once again. The ground was hard beneath your knees, but you ignored it, moving closer.

“Tell me if that feels good or awful,” you muttered, the words a little breathless before you finally took as much of him as you could into your mouth. Your eyes watered, the experience new and overwhelming.

Law’s hands were in your hair, instantly pulling you up. 

“Easy. Breathe,” he commanded. “You were supposed to be comfortable. Go slow, and take as much as you can. The rest you can use your hand for. Take a break or stop altogether if you need to.” 

He sounded stern, but there was that underlying care. You nodded, trying to regulate your breath, and tried again. This time you didn't force it, taking him in more carefully, watching his face, his eyes, his jaw as you moved slowly, learning his body and how he reacted to you.

And that was glorious. His hands tightened their grip on your head, his fingers weaving through your hair as he guided you. His breathing came in ragged, uneven hitches, his half-lidded eyes locked on you with an intensity that made your skin burn. You took your time, experimenting with different speeds and techniques, making sure to pull back to take a breather whenever you needed to. Then you’d switch, your hand working him with focus, until you hit that perfect rhythm that made his head fall back against the chair.

“Fuck… just like that,” he groaned.

So you did exactly that. You watched him unravel, his body starting to convulse beneath your touch, but you didn't ease up not even when you heard him gasp, “Wait. Move, I’m gonna—”

But he never got to finish the sentence. He came in your mouth, more powerful than you could have ever prepared for. It was overwhelming and salty and too much, but you didn't pull away. You took it all in, and after you released him, you swallowed every drop right in front of him.

Law’s eyes went wide, his pupils blown out with shock, his chest heaving as he stared at you.

“You didn't have to do that,” he managed to say, his voice strained as he tried to catch his breath, wholly disarmed by what you'd just done.

“I know.” 

You stood up slowly and leaned back against his desk, your thighs brushing against the edge of the wood as you just admired him. His skin was flushed a deep red from his neck up to his ears, his chest heaving with shallow, uneven breaths that only served to highlight the intricate black ink of his tattoos.

“I mean it,” he said, his voice dropping back into that stern tone, though it was still scratchy with the aftershocks of what you'd just put him through. He sat up straighter, trying to reclaim some semblance of his usual composure. “Never make anyone force you to do that or anything, really.”

“I know. Don't worry. I wanted to try it fully.”

He let out a breath that was half scoff, half groan, rubbing a hand down his face as if trying to wipe the flush from his cheeks. “You were too good for it for the first time,” he muttered, the compliment sounding more like a frustrated admission.

“It’s not like you have a comparison,” you pointed out with a playful shrug.

“Good for me, you don't have either.” 

With that, he lunged from his chair and practically threw you on a desk, not even caring that his precious comic fell on the floor, and kissed you once more. You wanted to protest because he definitely could taste himself on you, but he didn't seem to mind as he devoured your lips. You two must have been quick learners cause it certainly was way better and intense than your first kisses.

He yanked your tank top down, exposing your nipples to the sudden chill of the room, but the cold didn't last; he quickly warmed them with the rough, calloused pressure of his tattooed fingers.

Your moan was swallowed by his mouth as your body arched toward him, demanding more. You were just about to ask if he could use those fingers for something else when the sound of tearing fabric cut you off.

“Law!” 

The sound of it seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. He stumbled back immediately, his eyes blinking as if coming to his senses. “What?”

“Couldn't just… take them off?” you asked, your voice breathless and bewildered as you looked down at your ruined underwear.

“It was too much of a hassle,” he blurted out, looking everywhere but at you, pink appearing on his ears once again.

“That’s your excuse?” you questioned, completely incredulous.

"Besides," he added, shifting uncomfortably as he still avoided your stare, “that's what happened in that book you were reading.”

“You read my book?!”

“Just a passage,” he mumbled. “You really shouldn’t leave books like that out in the open. Someone might get inspired.”

Your face heated instantly as the memory of that specific scene flashed through your mind; you remembered exactly what had been happening in it. 

“You don’t have to,” you blurted out, your hands coming up to rest against his chest. “Well, we can finish our… lesson only like that. Seriously. It’s fine.”

“And left you unsatisfied and still curious?”

Damn him—he was right. You were absolutely curious. And you were definitely interested in not being left unsatisfied.

Your silence must’ve answered for you, because the corner of his mouth twitched.

“Thought so.”

You narrowed your eyes at him, flustered. “You sound awfully confident for someone who looked like they were about to pass out five minutes ago.” 

“That is—” He stopped, realizing he had no defense for that. “Irrelevant.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, and the faint pink creeping across his ears deepened immediately. He looked almost offended by your amusement, which only made it harder not to smile and say with all the confidence you could muster: 

“Only if you want to” 

That was enough to make Trafalgar Law—the infamous Surgeon of Death—kneel before you. The hard floor creaked beneath him as he settled between your legs, his hands sliding up your thighs to pull you right to the edge of the desk.

When his mouth first touched your skin, it was hesitant, his lips trailing fire along your inner thigh. He went so slow, so agonizingly careful, that you almost wanted to close your legs just to preserve the sensation. But when his hot breath finally landed right where you needed him most, you couldn't even think about pulling back. Instead, your fingers slid into his dark hair, guiding him closer. And Law, the most stubborn man you'd ever met—a captain who doesn't follow others' orders—actually listened.

You could practically feel him running through every piece of anatomical knowledge in his head as he tasted you. But then you let out a broken whimper, and that was it.  He lost himself, his tongue finding a rhythm that made your hips arch off the desk involuntarily.

The sounds you were making would have been utterly embarrassing if you weren't already so far gone in pleasure, your toes curling and legs shaking uncontrollably as you gripped the edge of his desk so hard your knuckles went white. Your best friend was methodically figuring out exactly how to drive you to your absolute peak.

When you instinctively tightened around him, your body reacting on its own to the intensity of it, you tried to ease back just to give him air, but he wouldn't have it. Law's hands tightened on your thighs, his fingers digging in firmly as he guided you even closer.

It was maddening. Your brain felt like it was melting, your entire world narrowing down to the point where his tongue and fingers were working you in tandem, and your only thought was that you had to be quiet. You definitely didn't want your crew walking in on this, but that was becoming an impossible task as you devolved into a whimpering, moaning mess, thrashing against the hard surface of his desk.

He didn't ease up, didn't slow down; he just kept going with that devastating precision until you finally broke. You came violently, your body lifting off the desk as you gripped his hair with both hands, forcing him back just so you could gasp for air.

You just lay there on the edge of his desk, legs dangling limply, your heart hammering so loudly that you were sure he could hear it.

“You alright there?” Law’s voice cut through the haze. 

When you finally forced your eyes open, he was standing right in front of you, his arms crossed over his chest and a look of pure smugness plastered across his face.

“I’m fine,” you managed to say, hauling yourself up.

“Was that to your liking?” 

“As if you don't know,” you muttered.

“Judging by how my desk is wet now, I have a clue,” he said with that infuriatingly calm tone.

The sheer nerve of him made your face warm all over again. “Law!”

He didn’t even blink. “That’s the truth.”

“Yet you don’t have to announce it out loud!”

“Bodily functions are not something to be embarrassed about,” he countered, his voice dropping into that clinical, matter of fact tone that always made you roll your eyes.

“Oh shut up,” you snapped, though there was no real bite behind it, You jumped down from the desk. Your legs felt like jelly, but you stood as straight as you could. “

“Well,” you added, deeply aware now that you were standing there bare next to your nearly naked best friend, his unbuttoned shirt barely clinging to his skin to cover anything. “We’re definitely learning something.”

“That was the point of all of this,” he said simply.

“Right, yeah, of course. It’s all better than I expected to be, to be honest,” you admitted, the honesty slipping out easily.

His eyebrow arched. “Me to be? Or overall experience?”

“Yes to both,” you answered, the words feeling far too loud in the quiet room.

“You thought I would be bad?”

“That’s not,” you stammered, your brain scrambling through a frantic haze to find the right words to defend yourself, to save face, to do anything other than stand there looking flustered. “I mean, you don’t have experience either, and yet... you’re good.”

A slow, satisfied smirk spread across his lips. “Well, your reactions show me what you like.”

“Right. Good,” you said quickly, backing away. “I'm taking a shower here.”

“I wouldn't let you walk out like this anyway,” he shrugged, gesturing to your state.

And he was right. You were a complete mess. Your thighs were slick and sticky, your lips were still swollen, and your clothes were all over the room…or in pieces.  You definitely didn't want to walk through the submarine like this.

Yet, looking up at him, the realization that Law could see you like this, that he was the one who had made you look like this, didn't bother you even a little. In fact, it sent a warm, heavy thrill straight down your spine.

The hot water had washed away the sweat and the stickiness, but it couldn't wash away the memory of how Law's mouth had felt against you. You stepped out of the shower, and pulled your tank top and boilersuit back on over your bare body. It felt different now, the fabric sliding against your thighs, where you were still missing underwear.

Law was still there, on a chair.  He didn't look up immediately when you entered, but you could feel his attention shift toward you. When he moved, he just handed you the comic he was reading earlier and disappeared into the bathroom. 

You knew how possessive he was of his things, how he kept his personal space meticulously maintained. For him to simply offer you a piece of his world like this was special in its own way.

You immediately lay on the coach and went to work, flipping through the pages with a critical eye, ready to tear into whatever plot or character decisions had gotten him so worked up in the first place.

Soon he joined, and you just went into the discussion. For the next hour, the previous intensity was replaced by the easy, comfortable structure of your usual debates. You argued over dialogues, plot tropes, and character motivations, your voices rising and falling in that comfortable banter that had been the foundation of your friendship for years. Occasionally Law would throw in a dry retort that made you huff in frustration, or you would make a gesture that made him roll his eyes in that exasperated way he always did when you were being difficult. 

Zayne:

Sylus:

Rafayel:

Xavier:

Caleb: