🧀

As you went through drink after drink, you noticed him starting to relax, he even started tripping over his words a little. He spent a long time trying to adjust his mask, fumbling as if he were having trouble getting it to sit right.

"You’re... drunk," you stated triumphantly.

"No," he protested.

"You are." You didn't let up.

"I’m not," he huffed.

"You are," you smirked, and Law gave you the look he usually reserved for people who weren't going to see the next sunrise.

You laughed again, and when he took another drink, you followed suit. Except this time, he drank more. And then even more. Finally, as if he’d grown tired of the effort, he propped his elbow on the table, rested his chin in his hand, and his mask slipped slightly.

"Hey," you said automatically, "it's..."

"I know," he mumbled uninterestedly.

"It's crooked," you noted. It was the first time you could see a piece of the face he kept hidden.

"It doesn't matter," he murmured.

"What?" You blinked.

"You said I’m never fun." Law watched you over the rim of his glass. His pupils were slightly dilated.

"I didn't say that," you protested. "I said you’re only fun for people who like death and silence."

"That’s me," he said emotionlessly. "Death and silence."

"And me?" the question slipped out. You were curious now. You were sure that under the influence of alcohol, he might be more honest than ever.

"You are..." he started but didn't finish. Instead, he took another drink. And then, something happened that never happened with Law. He forgot.

He didn't turn away to hide his face. He stayed exactly as he was, pulled the mask down, rested his hand on his leg, and took a sip.

You watched him in shock. It was the first time you’d seen him without the mask. His real face. But beneath the mask wasn't just his usual pale skin and sharp features. He had... horns. How were they visible now? The mask hadn't been covering that area before.

And when his lips left the glass, you saw a flash of fangs. Sharp. When he closed his mouth, his lower canines overlapped his upper lip. You stared at him. Your heart was pounding so loudly you were sure he could hear it too.

Law licked his lower lip. And then... he blinked. His expression shifted so fast you almost missed the "aha" moment the second he realized what he’d done. He froze. Silence flooded the room like spilled water.

"..." He opened his mouth as if to say something, but nothing came out. You realized you didn't know what the "right" reaction was. Scream? Run? Ask? Laugh? Ignore it?

"So..." you breathed nervously, "you... have horns." You finally spoke just to break the silence.

"No," he snapped automatically, then realized how that sounded. "...Yes."

"And... fangs..." you continued.

"They are..." he started, then paused as if searching for an excuse that sounded less absurd than the truth. "...genetics."

"Genetics." You raised an eyebrow.

"Yes," he replied, sounding both reluctant and defeated. He looked at you hesitantly. "Don't look at me like that."

"Like what?" you whispered.

"As if..." he swallowed. "As if I’m a monster."

"I-!" You didn't know how to respond. You could see how much the thought hurt him.

Law pulled back, straightened up, and reached for his mask. His movement was quick, almost panicked, but clumsy. The alcohol had stripped him of his usual precision.

"Wait," you said before he could pull it back up. He stopped. You felt like if you took one wrong step, you’d lose everything.

"I’m not afraid of you," you said softly, surprised by how steady your voice was. Law’s hand remained suspended in the air. His horns caught the dim light from the altar candles.

"You should be," he muttered.

"Why?"

"Because..." he exhaled. "This look isn't for show."

"I figured that much," you replied, trying to keep your voice from trembling. "But I know you."

"You know me," he repeated, a bitter edge to his tone. "You know the version of me I chose to show you. You know my mask," he growled.

"And what’s so terrible about this?" you asked gently. Law looked at you. Really looked at you. Without the barrier of the fabric. Without the mask.

"This," he said, gesturing to his face, "is why people make up their minds quickly. Too quickly."

"I’m not 'people.' Besides, how long have I been with your crew? Do you really think something like this would drive me away?" For a second, the corner of his mouth twitched. Almost a smile. Almost.

"You’re worse," he muttered. "You make up your mind slowly. And then there’s no taking it back."

"That’s..." you laughed nervously. "That’s a strangely romantic insult."

"I don't do romance," he said immediately.

"I noticed," you nipped back, but then your voice softened. "Law... what are you?" He winced at the name. As if it were too intimate. As if someone had touched him right under the ribs.

"Oni," he said after a while. The word hung in the room with the weight of legend. A demon. Not in the Western sense. A nightmare or a protector. It all depended on who you asked.

"You... are an Oni," you repeated slowly.

"Yes," he breathed out, as if waiting for a sentence to be passed.

"So... the mask was..." Instead of recoiling, you leaned back and studied him thoughtfully.

"To look normal," he interrupted. "To not attract attention. And so-"

"So no one would fall for you just because of your cute fangs?" you couldn't help yourself. Law froze. Then he gave you a look that could have burned you on the spot.

"Did you say cute?" he hissed.

"I did," you nodded. "And I stand by it."

"This is exactly the problem," he muttered, pressing his fingers to his forehead. "You aren't taking this seriously."

"I am," you said. "It’s just... when it’s you, it’s hard to stay solemn. You have an expression like you’d be correcting people's posture at your own funeral."

"No one would listen to me at a funeral," he snapped.

"I would listen to you." The words were out before you could think. For a moment, there was silence.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because you're my friend," you answered simply. "And because..." Because you liked him. 

For a long time. Foolishly. Sincerely. With all his moodiness, his sarcasm, and the way he once silently draped a coat over your shoulders when it rained. Because once, when he thought you were asleep, he fixed the bandage on your wrist as carefully as if you were something fragile.

But that "because" got stuck in your throat. Law understood anyway. Or he read it on your face. His gaze softened.

"Can I?" you asked quietly, nodding toward his horns. He tensed.

"You shouldn't," he said automatically.

"But...?" you tried hopefully.

"..." He took a breath. His eyes flicked to your fingers. "If I bite you, it’s your own fault," he grumbled.

"I’ll take my chances," you replied, and your heart skipped a beat.

Slowly, you ran the tip of your finger over one of the horns. It was smoother than you expected. And Law... he shivered. Only slightly. But you noticed. You noticed everything.

"You’re sensitive," you teased.

"I’m not," he breathed, but it was a blatant lie.

"You are," you smiled. "I can see it."

"Don't look," he grunted, but this time it didn't sound like an order. It sounded like a plea.

"Then hide," you suggested, "or give me a reason not to look." Law laughed. Short. Sharp. Then he stopped, as if surprised by his own laughter.

"You are... a problem," he murmured.

"I know," you nodded proudly. "But I'm your problem." Something shifted in his eyes. Something soft. Something he usually kept under lock and key.

"I don't want you to be mine," he said quietly.

"That’s good," you replied. "I’m not an object." He raised an eyebrow.

"I want you to be with me," he corrected himself faster than you expected. And then, as if it cost him all his strength: "At least... for tonight."

"Tonight," you repeated, raising your glass. "And tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow I’ll be sober," he muttered.

"So tomorrow you’ll spend five hours explaining it away and deny saying anything at all three times over," you smirked.

"Yes."

"Sounds like fun."

"You have a strange idea of fun," he snapped, but his voice was softer. Almost... tender.

"I do," you admitted. "And one of those ideas is that the mask stays off for the rest of the night." Law looked at the mask as if it were a living creature that might betray him. Then he took a deep breath.

"Just for tonight," he said.

"Just for tonight," you agreed.

It was strange how quickly the fear vanished once you decided not to listen to it. How quickly the horns changed from a "terrifying truth" to just "a part of him."

You sat closer than you should have. At first by accident, then less so. You toyed with your glass, and Law, half-drunk, began to tell you about how he once got his horns stuck in a doorframe as a child and pretended he did it on purpose so no one would see he was in pain.

"You were such a proud child," you laughed.

"I was a realistic child."

"Lying again," you nudged him gently.

"No," he snapped.

"Lying."

"...Maybe," he sighed.

Later, when the bottle was nearly empty and a quiet, warm dusk filled the room, you noticed Law’s gaze drifting to your lips. Just for a moment. Every time you noticed, he’d look away quickly, as if he were offended by the impulse.

"What?" you finally asked.

"Nothing," he mumbled.

"You’re looking." You smiled.

"I’m not." He cast his eyes elsewhere.

"You are," you said softly. "Do you want something?" Law closed his eyes, as if choosing between two bad options.

"I want..." he started, his voice cracking almost imperceptibly. Then he looked at you. Without the mask. Without the wall. And he said it so simply it nearly took your breath away. "I want you to stay."

You smiled, reached out, and placed your palm on his cheek. You felt the warmth of his skin. Felt his breath hitch.

"I stayed a long time ago," you whispered. Law was silent. Then slowly, tentatively, like someone learning a new skill he placed his hand over yours.

His thumb brushed over your fingers. Gently. Almost cautiously. And you realized that this was his greatest magic. Not the demonic horns. Not the fangs. Not the mysterious altar in the corner. But the fact that even though he was something people feared... he could touch you as if you were the safest place in the world.

"If you hate me tomorrow," he muttered, his voice sounding rough, "I’ll pretend this never happened."

"And if I want to do it again?" you asked. Law looked at you, and that familiar, annoying spark returned to his eyes.

"Then you’ll have to..." he leaned in closer, "...survive my sober self."

"Sounds like a challenge." You laughed.

"It’s a warning," he corrected.

"I’m taking it as an invitation."

"You’re impossible," he sighed with a smile.

"And you’re an Oni," you reminded him with a grin. "So we’re even."

And then, in the silence that was no longer uncomfortable, just full of something new and soft, you leaned in just a little more.

"I’m going to deny this tomorrow," he whispered with a raspy, almost amused exhale, resting his forehead against yours.

"Sure," you whispered back.

"And you?"

"Tomorrow," you smiled, "I’m bringing another three-Berry talisman. And ten Berries worth of extra dignity." He just laughed at that. He loved you, but he was still too sober to share that secret with you just yet.

— ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — 

"Captain?" Penguin stops halfway through as he passes the kitchen and sees the two of you, with you practically holding Law upright. "Everything okay?"

"Yes–"

"No–" you both answer at the same time and turn to stare at each other. "No you're not! Penguin, great timing. Can you give me a hand?"

"Sure," he hurries over and slides one of Law's arms over his shoulder while you take the other side. "You got him?"

"Yeah– woah—!" Law's knees give out without warning, and suddenly all of his weight falls onto the two of you, forcing you to tighten your grip before he drags all three of you to the floor.

"What are we supposed to do with him?" Penguin asks.

"Take him to his room," you say, nearly loosing your hold on him as he slumps against you again. Law's head droops forward, offering no help as you start walking and practically dragging his feet along the way.

Penguin glances over at him with growing concern, but Law only manages to lift his head a little before offering him a tired, hazy smile,

"…Hi."

"Is– is he drunk?" Penguin asks in a lower voice.

"He has a fever."

"A fever?" Penguin frowns, trying to understand how a fever could leave the Captain this out of it. He shifts his grip to adjust himself, but grows confused when he suddenly notices his shoulder feels cold and damp, just where Law's body is resting on him. He looks down, and finds the collar of Law's shirt is dark with sweat.

"My God… He's sweating so much! Captain, Captain!" He raises a hand in front of Law's face, "How many fingers am I holding up?"

Law cracks one eye open just enough to glance at him. He looks deeply offended, "…You think I'm stupid? Six."

You stare at him, "…Penguin, just keep walking."

—

Once you reach his room, the two of you guide him into the bathroom so Penguin can help him clean up and change into something dry and more comfortable. Law is being surprisingly cooperative throughout the whole ordeal, though Penguin still has to repeat himself every now and then whenever Law drifts off halfway through whatever he's doing.

Eventually, Law is finally tucked beneath the blankets.

While Penguin makes sure he's comfortable, you sit at the desk and write down his symptoms, temperature, the time you took it, and the schedule for his medication. With how high his fever is, you want to make sure you have everything noted down. You don't trust yourself to remember it all later.

Penguin sets a glass of water on the bedside table before stepping back to the doorway. He rests one hand against the frame and turns to you, "You need anything?"

Your lips part to answer, but Law beats you to it, "...No." He doesn't even bother to open his eyes.

A smile tugs at Penguin's mouth, "Wasn't asking you, Captain." And Law answers with a groan that sounds vaguely annoyed. "Don't go dying on us, alright?"

"...Mhm."

That draws another amused smile from Penguin before turning back to you. He points towards the hallway with one thumb, silently mouthing, Yell if you need help.

You nod and mouth back, I will.

Satisfied, he quietly pulls the door shut behind him, and you go back to your notes.

—

An hour has passed.

You've been keeping yourself busy flipping through one of Law's medical books, comparing his symptoms to the different infections listed on it. You're certainly not a doctor, but you've seen him do this before whenever one of the crew members fell sick.

You read the symptoms. Fever, yes. Cold sweats, plenty. Excessive sweating where the body rests against a surface… yes. Sweaty hands, mhmm not really. Cold feet–

You glance up to find him sleeping soundly. Sigh, you forgot to check his lower body's temperature. He needs to get as much sleep as he can get, and checking now would probably wake him up.

Still, you should write down every symptom… what if it's something serious?

You quietly walk over to the bed and lift the blanket just enough to uncover his feet. Cold… surprisingly cold, compared the heat radiating from the rest of his body.

The blanket suddenly moves and Law turns with a groan.

"Shit, sorry. I was just checking on you."

"…oh," Law blinks slowly, "you're still here…"

You give him a faint smile, "Of course I am." You tuck the blanket back around his feet before returning to your notes and adding the new symptom, "Someone has to take care of my captain."

"Hmm…", his lips curve into a smile.

The room falls back to the silent turning of the pages. Every now and then, you glance up from the book expecting to find him asleep, but each time you look, he's still awake, staring absentmindedly in your direction.

You can't help smiling to yourself. Usually, catching him staring would've made Law look away the moment your eyes met. This time, he simply keeps watching you through his sleepy and tired eyes, smiling ever so tenderly. It's… strangely endearing.

Moments later, the mattress shifts as Law finally turns to one side, settling back to sleep. Or at least that's what you assume. He remains still for a few seconds before rolling to the other side. A few seconds pass, and he lets out a frustrated but quiet sigh, and turns once again.

"Law? What's wrong?"

Law suddenly sits upright in his bed, his gaze lost somewhere else.

"Law?"

"Hm?" his eyes slowly find yours.

"You need something?"

He gives you a long look through heavy eyelids, almost getting lost in yours. "…No."

"Then why are you sitting up..?"

"…"

You sigh, "Come on, lie back down."

Setting the book aside, you walk over to the bed to help him, and Law offers no resistance as you rest your hands on his shoulders and guide him back towards the mattress. Yet, the moment your hand touches the pillow, you stop. The fabric feels damp… no, it's soaked in sweat.

"Oh, damn…" So that's why. No wonder he'd been tossing and turning this whole time, he was probably very uncomfortable. You help him sit back up, "Law, do you have another pillow?"

"Not really."

Damn. You glance once more at the dark stain of sweat on the fabric. He can't keep sleeping like this, he'll only get worse.

"Alright… then you're borrowing mine." Sigh, "Wait for me, okay? I'll be right back."

"Mhmm."

You hurry towards the door, but Law's voice stops you the moment your hand reaches the doorknob, "Dun't forget the jellyfish."

…What?

You glance back, "Say that again?"

"The jellyfish…" he murmurs, "it's all spiky."

"Right… I– I'll keep that in mind."

You slip out of his room before he has the chance to say anything else and hurry to your cabin. Was that a tactile hallucination? He's definitely delirious. Better hurry back.

It only takes you a minute to grab your fluffiest pillow before heading back.

By the time you return, he's still sitting upright, with his head drooping forward and his eyes closed. You really hadn't been gone that long, and still he must have fallen asleep waiting for you. Poor thing, he really looks exhausted.

You quietly make your way over to the bed and set the pillow beside him. He startles awake, lifting his head and looking confused for a moment.

"Sorry," you murmur. "Let's change that pillow."

When he leans forward, you pull the damp pillow out from behind him and replace it with your own, giving it a couple of light pats to fluff it up.

"Mhm, you know what…" your eyes land on the stain of sweat soaking through the back of his shirt. "We're changing that too."

You walk over to his wardrobe and take a look, searching for something he'll find comfortable to sleep in. You pick one of his softer shirts, and leave it beside him. Then head to the bathroom to empty the water from the basin you'd been using to clean his sweat, and refill it with fresh warm water.

Carrying the basin back to the bedside, you set it down, soak one of the towels and wring it out.

"Come here, let's get you comfortable."

Law obediently leans forward as you help him out of the damp shirt. You place the warm towel across the back of his neck and begin to gently wipe away all the sweat from his shoulders and back.

"Is this temperature alright?"

He nods.

"Why didn't you tell me?" you murmur as you continue to run the warm towel across his back. "Were you really planning on sleeping like that?"

"Sorry... I– I didn't want to bother you anymore."

"You getting worse because you didn't want to bother me would definitely be more trouble." You rinse the towel, wring it once more and continue, taking your time until the clammy feeling on his skin is gone. "There."

The fact that he'd been lying there, wet and feverish because he didn't want to bother you makes your chest ache. If anything, it only makes you want to take even better care of him.

You help him into the clean shirt, smoothing the fabric over his shoulders. You reach for the towel one last time, brushing a few damp strands of hair away from his forehead.

"You're gonna be alright," you murmur as you give him a reassuring smile.

Law looks at you through heavy eyelids. He doesn't know whether it's the fever or the exhaustion, but your voice makes everything feel quieter.

"Here," you reach for the glass Penguin left on the bedside table and slice one arm behind his shoulder to help him steady, "you should drink a little."

Law gives a faint nod and reaches for the glass with both hands. His fingers curl weakly around it and they don't seem steady enough to hold it properly.

"Don't worry," you ease him, "I've got it."

He reluctantly lets go and you guide it to his lips. He takes a few small sips, swallowing slowly between each one.

When you tilt the glass towards him again, he pulls back and grimaces, and you can almost read the word 'enough' that's written across his face. You set the glass back on the bedside table.

Cradling the back of his head, you gently ease him down onto the pillow, careful not to make him any dizzier than he already is. You lean over him to pull the blanket back into place, tucking it around his sides and making sure the dry towel you've placed beneath his back doesn't bunch up.

From Law's perspective, the pounding in his head is still there, but it doesn't seem quite as important anymore. He's not entirely sure what you are doing, all he can focus on is your hair falling forward as you lean over him… the careful way your hands move around him, making sure he's comfortable in every way.

Maybe… maybe he should get sick more often.

He continues to watch you quietly, trying to capture the moment like a photograph tucked away in the back of his mind. He's still warm from the fever, but somehow it isn't the only warmth he feels now.

"You're beautiful... You know that?"

Had he been thinking straight, those words would've never left his mouth. Embarrassment feels strangely distant, and it doesn't even occur to him to take them back. You'd only ever appeared this close in his dreams. Now, he's not even sure whether he's dreaming anymore, everything feels hazy around the edges.

When you hand finds his forehead again, it's tender enough to make him wonder if he's imagined the whole thing.

Hesitantly, your hand lingers against his forehead for a moment. You know the fever is clearly clouding his thoughts. Even so, that doesn't stop warmth from rushing into your face.

Yeah… still burning. A faint smile finds its way to your lips, "Just sleep."

Your hand trails from his forehead to his cheek, cupping it for a second too long before you shyly pull it away.

Law lets out a dissatisfied hum, "Mhhmnn dun wanna."

"You don't want to sleep?"

"I feel funny…"

"Funny how?"

"Like... like I can't think," his brow pinches. "Like– I don't know what I'm saying."

Right…

"I'll take your temperature again."

You reach for the mercury thermometer and give it a few flicks before slipping it beneath his arm. Once the five minutes passed, you hold it up against the light, squinting your eyes as you check how far the silver line stretches this time.

"It's coming down…" you murmur. "Still high enough to make your brain a little mushy though. How's your head?"

"Still hurts... A little."

"Where?"

Law lifts a sluggish hand towards the side of his head, not lasting long before falling back to the mattress.

You try to sit closer to him, resting your fingertips where he'd been trying to point, "Here?"

"No, more to the side… More. There."

"Here?"

"Mhm," a relieved sigh escapes him, "feels better when you touch it."

Feels better when touched…

Your fingertips slip into his hair, your nails barely grazing his scalp so lightly that Law's eyes drift shut almost at once. You trace one, two... three soft circles against his scalp, and Law feels his entire body relax with a warm tingle that spreads from the crown of his head to the nape of his neck.

For the first time since you brought him to bed, the tension in his shoulders seems to melt away, along with the tightness of his jaw that begins to ease, making his lips slightly part.

Law lets out another quiet breath and leans into your hand, instinctively tilting his head in search of the warmth of your touch that's making him forget the heavy pounding of his head.

You can't help but smile… This is probably one of those moments that will stay with you for a very long time.

Your eyes drift to your notes on the desk. Pain relieved by gentle pressure… You should write that down.

You let your fingers linger one last time before pulling your hand away, but as you stand, something catches your wrist.

"Noo… where're you going?"

You can't help but laugh. When you look back, you find his fever-swollen eyes fixed on yours, silently waiting for you to change your mind. How are you supposed to say no to that?

"Sorry, I just need to get your medicine ready. I'll be right back, okay?"

Law's clearly annoyed, but after frowning quietly his fingers slowly loosen from your wrist. You catch his hand before it falls back to the bed and give it a small, reassuring squeeze before you let go and head to the desk.

You compare your notes with the medical book one last time, adding the new symptoms and finally settling on the medication that best matches what you've observed.

With your decision made, you head to one of the cabinets to prepare the correct dose.

—

After measuring the ingredients as carefully as you could, you mix them into a single dose and hurry back to Law's bedside. You're surprised to find him curled up around the pillow, both arms wrapped around it while his cheek had practically disappeared into it. It almost looked as if he were trying to bury himself in it. Pfft.

"Comfortable?"

His arms tighten around the pillow at the sound of your voice, lifting his face just enough to look at you with sleepy eyes.

"…It's soft," his cheek sinks right back into it, fingers curling lazily around it "…Smells nice."

Oh, for God's sake.

"Alright." You let out an exasperated sigh, trying very hard to ignore the warmth creeping to your face once again. You take your seat beside him, set the freshly prepared medicine on the table and guide the spoon to his mouth.

"Open," you say firmly, "Ah."

Law obeys reluctantly and swallows it in one go, but his face immediately twists in disgust.

"What is it?"

"…Tastes awful."

Serves you right. But the miserable look on his face immediately wipes the thought away.

Setting the spoon aside, you reach for the glass of water and help him take another sip to wash away the bitter taste.

"Sorry… The ship's doctor called in sick. Feel free to file a complaint once he's recovered."

Law lets out a small huff, almost a laugh.

"Better?"

He takes one final sip, "Yeah."

You set the glass back on the table and help him lie back down.

As you brush a few loose strands of hair away from his forehead, your fingers linger for a moment before finding their way back into his hair, almost on their own. This time, you don't really think about it; your fingers simply comb through the dark strands before coming to rest against his scalp.

Law relaxes beneath your hand, his shoulders sinking into the mattress. You chuckle when he gently nudges your hand with his head, as if asking for more, which you happily oblige and continue your lazy movements through his hair.

A heavy sigh escapes him.

"You really like this, huh?"

"Mhm," the tension on his brow almost disappears. "I… I like everything you do."

You take a deep breath. Your idiot of a captain isn't making this any easier. You try to gather yourself, "That's not exactly what I asked."

"I know."

His answer is so simple that it catches you completely off guard. Your smile falters for a second, and your fingers come to a stop before you even realize it.

After a few quiet seconds of not feeling you move, Law slowly opens his eyes. When he sees you, his lips curve into a sweet, silly smile, and you forget how to breathe.

You feel as if time has stopped, completely trapped by his eyes that begin to wander over your face, your hair, your cheeks, your lips… then slowly, back to your eyes.

"…You're beautiful."

Heat rushes to your face so quickly that you have to bite your lower lip to keep yourself from smiling like an idiot. Unable to hold his gaze any longer, you slip your fingers into his hair again, forcing yourself to think of something else and hoping your movements would distract him from noticing just how flustered he was making you.

"You already told me that."

"I did?"

You nod. He seems to think about it for a moment before humming to himself, quietly pleased. His eyelids flutter shut again as your fingers resume their slow, gentle caress through his hair.

"Hey," Law lets a long sigh, "…tell me something."

"Hm?"

"What…" his brow pinches slightly as he searches through the haze clouding his thoughts. "What do I have to do… to make you mine?"

You freeze.

"…What?"

Law opens his eyes, blinking slowly. But once he sees your startled expression, his own immediately shifts. "…Did I say something weird?"

"Ah– no no, it's just—"

"Shit, sorry," he says as he covers his face with both hands. It's the first time all day that you can see a hint of genuine embarrassment slipping through the fever. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"No, it's okay, I just—"

"It's just–" his frustrated voice cuts you off again, "It's just…. Hahhh…, I've been trying to give you hints for a while, but you never get them."

You still, staring at him for a few seconds as you try to process everything.

"You… you have?"

"…Yeah."

"Am I really that oblivious..?"

"Yeah."

"Wait, so– what you're telling me is… you've been pursuing me this whole time?"

"Yeah?"

The sheer sincerity of his answer makes you laugh, "Are you serious? Is that what you call that?"

Law frowns, grabs your hand, and tugs it away from his head, giving you the most offended look.

"Are you making fun of my tactics?"

That only makes you laugh harder. You'd never seen him pout before, and you could already imagine the unbearable embarrassment he'd go through once the fever breaks and he comes back to his senses.

"You definitely need better tactics, Captain."

Law actually considers that.

"…Alright," he says after a thoughtful pause, rubbing his thumb over the back of your hand. "Then promise me something." You turn your attention back to him, "Promise you won't run away."

"And why's that?" you tilt your head, amused. "Are you planning to abduct me?"

A sleepy smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"Heh, do you want me to?" He lets out a quiet chuckle, his eyes drooping a little lower. "You're right. Maybe that's the only way you'll finally get it."

Smiling to yourself, you release your hand from his grip and return to his head.

"Alright," you say softly, "How about this. If you get some proper sleep, I'll let you steal me for one day."

His eyes beam and open wider, "One whole day?"

"From the moment the sun rises till it sets."

Law looks absurdly pleased with that answer, and you can't help but smile back at him.

"Deal?"

"Deal."

There was a pause.

Both of you looked at the single bed pushed against the wall.

“I’ll take the chair,” he said.

You turned your head.

“That’s ridiculous.”

“I’ve slept in worse places.”

“That’s not the comforting argument you think it is.”

Law’s eyes shifted to you. Tired, flat, unimpressed.

You were starting to recognize that look. It meant he had expected his answer to be final and was now irritated to find you still participating in the conversation.

“It’s one night,” he said.

“Exactly.”

You stepped fully into the room and set your bag down beside the wall. “We are adults.”

“That’s debatable.”

“Fine. I’m an adult. You’re a miserable sea cryptid with a medical license.”

His mouth twitched.

Barely.

If you had blinked, you would have missed it.

Then he looked away, which was worse somehow.

He looked exhausted.

You hated that he looked exhausted.

You hated more that he was prepared to fold himself into that awful chair and pretend it was nothing.

“Law,” you said, softer this time.

His gaze came back to you.

“Take the bed.”

“No.”

“Then share it.”

The silence that followed was immediate.

Law stared at you.

You lifted both brows. “Don’t look at me like I suggested we commit treason.”

“You’re not thinking this through.”

“I am. The conclusion I reached is that sleeping in a chair after getting hurt last week is stupid.”

“I’m fine.”

“You always say that.”

“Because it’s usually true.”

“Law.”

His eyes shifted to yours.

“You were hurt. Take the bed.”

He exhaled through his nose and looked toward the bed again.

You crossed your arms. “We can put a pillow between us if your delicate sense of propriety needs medical support.”

“My delicate sense of propriety is fine.”

“Then get in the bed.”

His eyes narrowed.

You held his stare.

For a moment, neither of you moved. Then Law clicked his tongue under his breath and turned away.

“Fine,” he said. “But if you kick me, I’m moving to the chair.”

“If you move to the chair, I’m kicking you on purpose.”

“Annoying woman.”

“Dramatic doctor.”

That earned you another almost-smile.

You pretended not to see it, because with Law, noticing was dangerous. Noticing made him withdraw. Noticing made his walls come back sharper.

When you finally climbed into bed, you took the side closest to the wall.

Law noticed.

“You don’t have to trap yourself.”

“I’m not trapped.”

“You’re against the wall.”

“And you’re between me and the door. That seems practical.”

His eyes flicked to you.

There it was again.

That small, unreadable shift in his face.

Then he looked away and got in beside you.

Carefully.

So carefully it almost made you laugh, except you didn’t think either of you would survive the sound.

The mattress dipped under his weight. The blanket shifted. His body was a line of warmth beside yours, separated by a painfully deliberate stretch of space.

Neither of you touched.

The pillow between you sat like a diplomatic treaty.

For several minutes, the only sounds were the rain and Law’s breathing.

Even that felt too intimate.

You lay on your back, staring at the dark ceiling, hyperaware of every inch between you. His hand rested above the blanket near his chest.

You looked away.

Then looked back.

He was quiet for a moment. Then, low and dry, “Go to sleep.”

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

The room settled again.

Eventually your body began to relax. Law’s breathing evened out beside you, slower now, though you could tell he wasn’t asleep yet.

Neither were you.

“Law?” you whispered.

A pause.

“What.”

“Are you actually comfortable?”

“No.”

You turned your face toward him in the dark.

He did not turn toward you, but you could see the outline of his profile.

“Then why are you lying like that?”

“Because you complained about the chair.”

“I wanted you to not wake up unable to move your neck.”

“Why do you care?”

The question came too quietly.

You stared at him.

He still wasn’t looking at you.

You could have made a joke. It would have been easier. Safer. You could have told him someone had to keep the surgeon alive or the mission would get inconvenient.

Instead, exhaustion made you honest. “Because I do.”

Law said nothing.

Then he shifted onto his side, facing away from you. “Go to sleep,” he said again.

But his voice had changed.

At some point, you must have drifted off, because the room disappeared.

Sleep did what neither of you would.

It ruined everything.

You woke slowly.

Warm.

That was the first thing you noticed.

Solid, steady warmth pressed against you from behind.

Your eyes opened.

For one confused second, your mind could not arrange the facts into anything useful.

There was an arm around your waist.

A hand rested against your stomach, fingers relaxed, tattoos visible even in the dim light.

Your legs were tangled with someone else’s.

Law’s breath moved softly against the back of your neck.

You went completely still.

Behind you, Law was still asleep.

Not lightly, either. Not the tense half-rest you had seen him take in corners and against walls.

This was real sleep.

His face was close to your shoulder. His chest rose and fell against your back. One of his knees had slipped between yours during the night. The pillow that had once separated you had been shoved somewhere near the foot of the bed.

Your heart started beating much too hard.

You tried to move.

Law’s arm tightened.

He made a low sound in his sleep, rough and quiet, and tucked himself closer.

Like his body knew something the rest of him refused to admit.

You stared at the wall, burning alive in silence.

This was bad.

This was very bad.

This was soft, and warm, and natural in a way that made it worse. There was nothing careful about it.

You should have woken him.

You didn’t.

For another minute, maybe two, you let yourself stay.

His hand was broad against you. His thumb rested just beneath your ribs. His breathing brushed your skin. You could feel the steady beat of him behind you, the weight of him, the rare quiet of a man who spent most of his life braced for impact.

Then Law woke.

You knew the exact second it happened.

His entire body went still.

Not relaxed-still.

Horrified-still.

His breath stopped against your neck.

You closed your eyes.

Neither of you moved.

Then Law removed his arm from your waist.

Slowly.

Carefully.

Like he was disarming an explosive.

You rolled onto your back at the same time he shifted away, and both of you ended up staring at the ceiling with far too much space between you now.

The pillow lay on the floor.

Neither of you looked at it.

“Morning,” you said. Your voice was too calm.

Law cleared his throat. “Morning.”

Another silence.

His hair was a disaster.

There was a crease from the pillow on his cheek. His shirt had ridden up slightly at the hem. His eyes were still heavy with sleep, and when he glanced toward you, something unreadable passed through them before he shut it down.

You wondered if you looked any better.

You doubted it.

Law sat up first.

“I’ll check the street,” he said.

“Yes. Good. Street.”

He paused at the edge of the bed.

For one dangerous second, you thought he might say something.

You wanted him to.

You did not want him to.

His hand flexed once against the blanket.

Then he stood.

You sat up and reached for your bag.

The room became busy with avoidance.

Boots. Belts. Weapons. Buttons.

Law checked the window. You fixed your sleeves. He adjusted his sword. You packed the map. Neither of you mentioned the bed. Neither of you mentioned his arm around you, your legs tangled together, the way his hand had tightened before he woke.

At one point, you both reached for the same glove on the chair.

Your fingers brushed.

Law froze.

So did you.

It was nothing.

Barely a touch.

But after waking up wrapped around each other, it felt obscene.

You pulled your hand back first.

“Yours,” you said.

Law picked up the glove. “Thanks.”

His voice was level.

Too level.

You turned away before he could see your face.

By the time you were both ready, the room looked untouched except for the unmade bed and the pillow abandoned on the floor.

Law opened the door.

You stepped past him into the hall.

Outside, the rain had stopped. The mission waited. The world had continued.

Law walked beside you in silence.

After half a block, he said, “You snore.”

You looked at him.

He kept his eyes forward.

“I do not.”

“You do.”

“You were asleep.”

“I woke up.”

“You woke up and your first thought was to judge my breathing?”

“My first thought was not that.”

The words landed before he seemed to realize what he had said.

You both stopped walking.

Law’s expression did not change, but his ears went faintly red.

Your chest tightened.

“What was it?” you asked quietly.

He looked at you then.

Law’s eyes dropped briefly to your mouth.

Then back up.

His voice came low.

“Not here.”

You nodded once.

He turned and started walking again.

You followed.

Neither of you talked about the bed.

Not yet.

.✦ ݁˖ pairing: law x fem!reader (with hints of Zoro and Ace as well!!) .✦ ݁˖ genre: modern highschool au, blog au, fluff, coming of age, VERY slowburn, angst, hurt/comfort .✦ ݁˖warnings: rejection, misunderstandings, tell me if there's any more! .✦ ݁˖ note: The reader is written to like constellations and does not like the heat. This is very slowburn.... // Zoros stuff is more on angst while Ace's is very chill :p Law is in between it all. // Every chapter includes a letter! .✦ ݁˖ summary: Struggling to understand what love truly is, you constantly write letters for people under an anonymous blog called "Dear Stranger" which unfortunately for you, blows up. What happens when the 3 boys you've loved in the past and present find out that all those letters were for them? .✦ ݁˖a/n: SO EXCITED TO BE PUTTING TS OUT i really wanted to write smth kinda long-ish...? So I came up with this and kept entering flowstate when writing the letters hahdhdhdhs. Had trouble deciding who I wanted for end game but my plot idea forced Law !

𝜗𝜚⋆₊˚ CHAPTERS

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Rob Lucci 𓏲 ࣪˖♡𓂃

(a/n: bro my throat is sooooo bored)

- possessive traits, size difference, teeny tiny dumbification

⁃ my dear broody, indifferent leopard. He’s intense. Outside and within the bedroom. He doesn’t do flings, situationships or anything other but “his”.

⁃ His pet names have hints of all his beloving traits. Possessive, controlled, measured and extremely professional. He wouldn’t throw out the words sweetheart or darling or doll out casually! That wouldn’t be professional at all,,,

⁃ ,,,But if he marked you? Made you his by scent alone?

⁃ He’ll tie a cute pretty ribbon around your neck, white and satin, and you’ll hitch your breath when he secures it. And it’ll be tight with purpose. So to leave a trace, a dent, a small faint mark to let others know, he was there first.

⁃ By then, Lucci would lean in slow and measured, your jaw grabbed, voice hot and heavy as his breath skims over your earlobe, whispering; “Mine.” and then nibble, latch his mouth on your neck.

⁃ Sucking, kissing, biting and licking. And if you try to push him for being too flustered, he’ll bury himself deeper, growing annoyed with your squirming; you both know its useless.

⁃ and if you insist he calls you by a pet name, it’ll always be done with the undertone of possession, control and claim.

⁃ “My wife” “my girl” “my pet” it’s always “my” with him. As if the hickeys on your neck or the matching dress to his suit isn’t enough of an indicator of who you belong to.

⁃ “But what about in bed Mlem!?” Look here pretty, Rob Lucci, for the man he is — is extremely territorial. Maybe it’s the animal in him, but when he fucks he does it to scent, to rut, and to leave a mark of himself in there. It’s instinct — animal.

⁃ Eye contact during it. 100%.

Not because its endearing: but it’s about domination. That he has control, power and isn’t willing to let you go from his sight. It’s all about making you feel small, vulnerable and terribly weak under in him — and it’s working. His gaze is focused, dark and narrowed but as you grow more hot; breath gone and huffing? Turning flushed and sensitive? Something soft settles in his gaze. It’s faint, almost unnoticeable but it’s there (as he thrusts into your harder)

⁃ he likes how small you look under him.

a sense of vulnerability perhaps; how you allow a killer like him to grab, bite and pull you despite knowing his truer nature. That unspoken trust? It does something to him, something warm, stuttering; a human feeling. It’s unbecoming and he can’t get enough of it, can't get enough of you.

- Rob Lucci is a biter. He bites. Neck, nipples, thighs and all over your chest, he’ll bite and nibble and kiss as he fucks you through it. And if you’re just a little bit too loud, he grips your throat, or shove a finger down your mouth. “Shhh,” his voice slathers across your neck, hot and heavy, as he thursts into you. Hands gripping your wirsts hard enough to bruise. “so tight—”

⁃ He’ll degrade you, just enough to make you teary, call you pathetic, mock your tears, and have you beg for more.

⁃ You’re wet from just a bit of kissing and core rubbing over his thigh? “Tch, pathetic.” ⁃ You moan just a little bit too loud? Back arching a little too high? “How needy.” ⁃ You tug at him, pleading with him to stop teasing? All he offers is: “Beg.”

⁃ And when he fingers you — his fingers long and precise, hitting each spot as you make a mess on his thigh? “Look at you, all stupid from just my fingers,,, it’s almost humiliating.” And he says it with a small, faint chuckle.

⁃ And if you want more? You’ll have to beg with him, tug and plead with him as he keeps circling your clit, kissing and nibbling your neck. Hands clutching onto his long, dark hair to ground yourself.

⁃ Truly, Rob has his ways of making you feel impossibly needy.

⁃ and then, for taking it without a fuss or a cry—he’ll offer smaller praises, the pace of his thrusts slowing down, turning heavy, hard and entirely controlled.

⁃ And as he leans in with a faint curve of a smirk on his lips. His voice laced with a small dark undertone of condescension; “good pet” or maybe when he feels gentle, his voice drops lower and the words that leave his mouth sounds more like a secret than praise; “you’re too good for me,,, too good,” or his favourite “you’re mine. Only mine.”

Summary: His dirty talk is possessive, curt. He let’s you know how stupid you look, how small and cute you sound beneath him — and he talks to you like you’re prey, something that’s within his mercy, and his alone. It’s not meant to be teasing or degrading; it’s meant to be dominating. Possessive. You’re his, and he’ll let you know about it for each thrust and fuck.

Sir Crocodile 𓏲 ࣪˖♡𓂃

- sub/dom dynamic, pseudo incest, Daddy kink, size kink,,,, and corruption kink if you squint your eyes. shy- and cute!reader

- outside the bedroom the petnames drip with class, finery and everything rich in this world; Sir Crocodile is scum but scum made of gold, gems and the finest burgundy silks. The same goes with his petnames.

- “Darling” “My lady” “My wife” or when he feels especially fancy, “My pearl”. It all drips with luxury, wealth and better manners made of opulence. You’re not just his girl; you’re his lady, and she doesn’t come cheap.

- That’s how he would refer to you in front of others but behind closed doors? The fine edge of expenses doesn’t drop but it grows soft, domestic. Depending on your personality; shy, younger, smaller? I can see him refer to you as “doll” or even something casual like “bunny”. It rolls of his tongue like rough gravel with just a touch of possession as he gropes your waist.

- “We want the dirty talk mlemiie!” Ok fine, NSFW related; Crocodile is a man of luxuries, don’t expect him to just fuck you through it because you’re needy. You’ll have to earn your pleasure. The same goes for his dirty talk.

- you want him to be more gentle with his tone? Kinder? Softer? You have to deserve it, after all you’re the one who got needy, desperate and utterly wet for him — and when you start crying at his words, all teary eyes and begging; he’ll crease his brows at you, chuckle a little to himself when you start to pathetically rub his hand against your panties. You’re so desperate it’s laughable.

- He’s mean. Not in a “bohoo, poor you!” but in a “you want me to stop? No? Then behave.” And he says this whilst relentlessly teasing you, fingers skimming over your lace, one finger plunging into you, sliding over your folds as he watches you with that smug, proud grin of his. Cigar stuck to his handsome face.

- Look… in bed… the pet names are to showcase you’re his little babydoll, okay? He likes you when you’re beneath him; small, vulnerable and ready to be ruined. It’s all about who is in power here and between you two? It’s him. It’s always him.

- If you’re into it, he refers to himself as “daddy”, taaaaalk to the wall.

- And the nicknames comes off mostly for praise unless of course,,,

“you’re my good girl aren’t you?” He says, hook around your waist to dig you deeper onto his cock.

And if when you’re on your knees? Sucking him off? “You can take it, you’re daddy’s little girl after all—” he hums, hand gripping your hair, pushing you deeper and deeper. And he won’t pity you for gagging.

“Look at you, you’ll sit still and be good f’me, won’t you?” His breath hot on your ear as his hand makes it up your thigh, skimming just under your skirt—his lips grazing your jaw when he feels you’re all soaked through. “Wet? Already? From a bit of kissing? Maybe you’re dirtier than I thought, maybe you’re not my good girl anymore, maybe you're just a slut,” he says that, withdrawing and you panic, clinging onto him, begging and pleading not to stop and he loves seeing how pathetic you can get.

- He’s rough, firm—he grips you during it. Hard enough to leave bruises, dents and marks of his choking. At first, especially if you’re inexperienced, he’ll start off gentle, not soft, not faint but slow, careful not to break you — but as the night progresses, when your walls clench and flutter onto his cock, practically swallowing him whole, he can’t hold onto his restrain. He’ll fuck you hard, rough, the little moans you give off as he breaks you in half only fuels his lust for you.

- At that point, Sir Crocodile is far from being in control, all he wants is to feel you—wet, squelching and hot.

Summary: In public? On everyday occasion? The petnames are classy, adoring, with just a tinge of something domestic. But behind closed doors? He’s sweeter; gentler. You’re his doll, his cuter, smaller wife and his treasure alone to spoil. And further into your little home, when it’s just you, him, sweat and sex? Rough but not mean enough to make you cry unless you beg for it—sweet but not enough to not put you in your place; which is beneath him, legs clenched around his torso as he takes you for himself.

Trafalgar D. Water Law 𓏲 ࣪˖♡𓂃

- degradation kink, dacryphilia, sexual overstimulation, breath play

- Look, this skinny emo plans, asserts, and calculates. And yes, he is grumpy but have you seen the amount of time this man gets flustered? He doesn’t do intimacy well, not as well as he would like to. In other words: Trafalgar D. Water Law, Surgeon of Death and youngest Warlord of the Sea — gets shy.

Like, really shy.

He’s a dork.

A loser.

A geek.

And I freaking love it.

- Mostly he’ll call you by your name but when it’s just the two of you? Or when you’re crying or in pain? That controlled demeanour of his turns soft, brows easing as he comes close to you; “Baby” “Love” or even as something cheesy as “Pretty girl”.

- Law is surprisingly soft with his wording, tone low and gentle, a tone reserved for you and you alone. But not in public, not ever, he has a reputation to uphold, alright?

- He’s a tease. He likes teasing you, grinning all sly and mocking when your hand is latched over his collar, pouting and tiptoeing, trying to earn a kiss — and he’ll just watch in pure, unfiltered amusement at your try reaching for a kiss. and when he finally leans in, head tilting, ready to kiss you—he’ll swipe out of reach once more. And he loves that you get all flustered and sulky over it, tugging and pulling at him.

- But in bed? During sexy time? That cute, dorky, shy demeanour vanishes the further the night goes on.

At first, he’d be hesitant; his tatted hand landing above yours is faint, eyes not meeting when you inch closer, his ears slightly red.

- “You sure about this babe?… I mean, I want to, I just…” he rubs his neck and you decide to tease him. “Just what, Law? You shy?” You say the last part with a hint of a giggle and he’ll look to you then, that cute, dorky loser expression he wore? Gone. Something sharper settles in his gaze, something close like provocation. The rest of the night? Don't expect him to be shy about it anymore because the next minute, you’re pushed down your back, his hands bracing between your head and you’ll stare dumbly into his face. A switch has been flipped. The dork you were teasing? Gone.

- “Shy? You wanna see how shy I get?” His hands travel beneath your skirt, fingers skimming over your lace, his lips going beneath your jaw—”What’s the matter? Don’t wanna talk back no more’?” And whenever you’re ready to retort, he’ll plunge a finger into your folds, thumb circling your clit, pushing, pulling and fingering you till you’re nothing but a wet, moaning mess. That’s the kind of man he is in bed; his fingers skilled, precise and controlled—each curl inside your walls are done to make you flinch, arch and clutch onto him.

- Degrading nicknames. Definitely.

- He likes it when he gets to mock at the state you’re in—”Slut” “whore” and even associate you as “cock dumb”, and which you are. You are dumb for him, especially when he fingers you, pull your clit, and bite your neck as you cum for the third time—tears streaming down your face when he curls his fingers deeper into you, pulling, plunging and squeezing your clit. Law is mean when he fingers, and you love it enough to become a sobbing, whining mess.

- “hah, look at you, fuckin’ slut, takin’ my cock—fuck—just like that you stupid whore” he says that, whilst pushing you into a mating press, legs curled and aching as he stretches you deeper—his hands on your wrists, gripping you hard enough to leave them bruised and marked. And you’ll whine as he moves harder, rougher, not once showing mercy because you’re a whiny mess beneath him.

- And if you tug at him, still begging for more? He’d chuckle, the one that has a hint of cynical mockery in it—”Oh yeah?” His hand glides up from your chest to your chin, tilting it up, thumb on your lower lip. Nudging, rubbing. “Open” and you can’t help but to obey, tongue lolling out, eyes teary as he spits in your mouth and you swallow on instinct. “Hah, what a whore.” and he’ll fuck you harder for it, pushing you deeper into your mating press and rutting into like you’re nothing but a whiny, dirty cum rag.

- Law indulges in breath play. (Source? Me) You’ll wear a choker, one that he meticulously tighten and releases, observing your reactions, asserting when to punish and reward you as he grips your hips hard enough to bruise, forcing you to swallow more of his length, making you choke on your spit; breath hitching, chest filling with air before forces another thrust, releasing the choker just enough to let you sob a moan. Tears streaming down your face for how mean he is during it—turning you into a blabbering, begging mess of cum and sweat.

- For praise; it’s a mix of both degradation and sweetness.

“Who’s the prettiest slut, huh?” He says, bending you over his desk, hand on your throat as he raw dogs you into your cunt, tight and wet for him. Walls squelching around his cock. You won’t be able to answer, as he chokes you, his tatted hand gripping you hard enough to make you drool out spit. “You is it? Yeah—shit—you’re the only whore f’me”

- the tone he carries is possessive, cynical and a dark underlying infatuation he can’t get rid of no matter how much he pounds into you, your pussy swallowing and sucking his length—not once wishing for him to stop.

Summary: Law is a soft lover who hides behind grumpy scowls and nonchalance but underneath it? He holds a special tenderness for you, even if he’s mean in bed—you’re his baby, his love, his most prettiest girl. And if you actually start sobbing, crying and tell him how he’s legit hurting your feelings during sex? He’ll stop mid thrust, eyes widening and brows going up as he lifts you up into his chest. Voice low, dark as he kisses the side of your hair. “shhh, I’m sorry, baby, I’m sorry… don’t cry.” That’s just the kind of softness he has for you, and you alone.

Donquixote Doflamingo 𓏲 ࣪˖♡𓂃

- bondage, degradation and size kink, power difference and toxic relationship dynamics

- My manipulative, blonde birdie. Everything about Doflamingo screams arrogance, wealth and pride — he’s flashy, but not gaudy. He’s got taste, even if it is over the top flamboyant, enough to out-sparkle a gyaru’s own decoden collection, but despite this, there is a hint of elegance. Classic, rich and everything unfair in this world.

- His petnames for his lover would be “Sweetheart” in either the most condescending, patronising tone or a gentle softness so unbecoming of him it makes you flinch.

- He’d wave you over, pat a hand on his lap, let you rest your head on his chest as he tells you about this beautiful fine satin that you would love for your room’s bedsheets, but unfortunately they were stained with blood so he couldn’t fix it for you. And he’d say all of that in the most kind, slow tone he could ever recreate—caressing your hair, stroking your cheek, soft motions lulling you to sleep.

- Doflamingo’s petnames ranges from there. “Dove” “darling” and when he feels especially casual, “baby” on a few occasion, and the way it leaves his mouth, it makes your ear twitch, feet already padding his way. When he calls for you, it puts you into a trance; pulling you towards him like strings around your neck begging for your name to leave his mouth again and again and again.

- His attention is a drug, and his affection becomes a need; a dark delving desire that cannot be anything but the most sweetest taste of codependency and worship.

- He’s possessive. And so is his love. He doesn’t merely want you, but own you.

- Unlike Lucci, there is a darker twist in his desire for his lover, one that strips you off choice and autonomy—you’re his. Everything about you is his — your name, your smile, even your blood running beneath your veins is tied to that man and he’ll make sure you know it. Brand you in his clothing, his jewellery, his money, wealth and power—and if he gets lovesick enough, he might even mark you with an innocent string across your wrist carved with his name. He’ll call it a bracelet, a gift, but you see it for what it truly is: cuffs. So you won’t go, leave and betray.

- each petname is done to show you and everyone else that you’re his—”my darling” “my sweetheart” and “my pretty girl”; each and everything that rolls of his tongue is ‘his, his, his’.

- In bed? Doflamingo is a freak. He mocks, he humiliates, he dumbs you down into something small, stupid, weak and pretty — one that he adores to push and pull at. Strings fastening across your joints as he calls you all the dirty things you can imagine.

- “puppet” “pet” “doll”; petnames to accentuate your place in his world: strung and made by him. “slut” “whore” “slave”, all three to emphasize your use in his bed—to please, bend and be fucked with—it’s not about mere domination but ownership; you’re his and he gets to use you however he wish.

- The nicknames grows more and more cruel as the night goes on—”cumrag” “dirty cumsock” “sextoy” it all drips with degradation, dominance and mockery, and maybe when he feels gentle, he’ll lean down your ear, fingers trailing your jaw as you take a third of his finger into your wet little pussy, “That’s right, be louder with your cute moans, let them know who you belong to baby,” his voice hot against your ear, neck arching as he rewards you with a circle on your clit.

- Whether you two do it in private, in the pool or in the back alley where anyone can walk in—the strings are at play. Squeezing your wrist together so tight you think they’ll saw your hands off, or wrapped across your thigh to spread your legs at an obscene angle—it does not matter. Choking or holding you, they’re present. Always.

- “Hah? What’s the matter little pet? Can’t take no more?” He’d laugh at that, yanking your hair as he forces you swallow more of him—lips swollen, tears running down your cheek and he’ll do nothing but push you hard enough to make you gag. “You’re the one who begged to be my little toy, so get to work.”

- And when you’re curled into a mating press, legs anchored into the air with strings strung across your ankles; calf aching, thighs burning as he digs himself deeper into you, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise—he’ll mock at the state he has you in. “Doffy! Doffy! Doffy! Is that all you can say now?” He’ll grin, forcing a finger down your mouth and on instinct you’ll suck, lick, the taste of salt sticking to your tongue as you swirl around his finger for more—giving him no choice but to push even deeper. “Hah, you dirty cumrag.”

- He’ll humiliate you, make you use your words.

You’re needy, tugging his sleeve for attention but all he gives you is one innocent tilt of his head, grin playing on his lips. “Hmm? You want me to do what?” He says, leaning down knowing exactly what you want but plays oblivious just to see you flustered. “Huh? You want this?” His hand trails beneath your waist band, slithering along your lace, one finger going over your panties, “Go on then, tell me what to do.”

The way your cheeks burn, how you chew your lower lip in frustration as you try and force him to just finger you — It’s humiliating, adorable, and he fucking loves it.

Summary: Doffy is meanie, but he won’t break you, no. You’re his pet, his girl, and favourite person in all one package; he’ll love you in the most wicked and twisted way there is. Affection draped in possession, attention marked with control, and nicknames spewed out to keep you tethering for more and more. Never once looking out your birdcage when your eyes are solely set on him. And he’ll ensure that with strings and chains alone.

Roronoa Zoro 𓏲 ࣪˖♡𓂃

- brat/dom dynamic, praise

- Lazy, sleepy but disciplined and righteous. This man doesn’t play regarding you. You’re his girl.

- Zoro isn’t the type of guy to show you off but he won’t mind it if you cling onto his arm in public for the world to see, or turn him into your personal body guard. No. He’ll protect, shield and nudge you to the side—yes he will grumble, yes he will scowl but he wouldn’t let you out of his sight for a second. Not because you aren’t capable, but because he’s protective, observant and always ready to get you out of harms way. Lousy, but loyal. Fiercely so.

- With that established, petnames under his guise are casual, aloof. “Babe” “woman” or when he grumbles under his breath after you nag to him about how he forgot your snacks; “must you be so damn bossy, lady.” and then he’ll go and get your snacks without further complaint.

- He says it with a tone like it’s a drag, a pain in his butt and yet, there will be a hand on your waist, a shoulder to always lean on and eyes always glazing over your shape. Low, watching and yearning.

- “Mlem, where is the NSFW???” Look here pretty, petnames in bed remain rather civil — the “babe” elevates to “baby”, and it's either in the most lousy tone or as if to mock you. He’d call you "pretty", maybe “beautiful” when he feels especially soft but other than that; he's aloof.

- sure, Zoro’s lazy even in bed but if you’re a brat? The kind that talks back? tease with petty comments and attitude testing his every turn? He's a brat tamer. Talk to the wall. Zoro is a prideful man but he likes a good fight, and when you’re being all difficult and bratty? It turns him on like no other, knowing he can get you screaming his name in private quarters, saying the most nastiest things in your ear, voice low and husky as he talks you through it.

- and if that attitude is still up; best know he’s going to bite back, rough, mocking; the softer petnames become taunting, mean. “Hah? What’s the matter baby? You were talkin’ a bunch of shit just a second ago, what happened?” Zoro says with a cocky smile on his face, knowing damn well you can’t talk back with your lips around his dick, his tip hitting the roof of your walls as he forces you further down by the back of your head.

- Zoro is a tease. He edges, taunts and mocks at the state you’re in whilst relentlessly thrusting into you, and every time you’re about to reach your high—he slows, withdraws and forces you into a lewder position against the wall. “I know baby, I know—you can take it—fuck, yeah,” Zoro’s voice vibrates across your neck, hot and flaring as he fucks you through it, hands on your thighs to press you deeper onto his cock. “spread your legs for me, you can do that can’t you, pretty girl?” your walls squeezes at that nickname, and you can feel his lips curving into a smile at that reaction. His voice is husky, a tone of condescension hidden beneath the breaths as he thrust into you. “You like that? You like being called pretty?”

- Zoro manhandles; toss you across the bed, slam you against the wall, arch your limbs in such way it makes you strain and all he’ll offer as comfort is a kiss below your neck—”shhh, I’ll help your stretchin’ routine later, ‘kay baby?” he says, gripping you harder, rougher, not once seeming to let you go.

- His strength is a force; no matter how much you squirm against him he'll keep you pinned down; hand pushing down your head against the sheets, or an arm locked around your neck as he pounds into you from behind. And he loves, how utterly useless, small and vulnerable you are against his grip.

Summary: Zoro is the type of boyfriend that rolls with anything you roll with. You openly tell him you like being called “angel”? Next morning it’ll rolls off his tongue as if he’s called you it a a thousand times already; natural and casual. And in bed, there is no difference. You want to be called degrading nicknames? He’ll comply, and maybe it’ll leave his mouth a little bit too good

For a while, you thought it had been a dream. But then, the nights began.

Whenever you sat on the edge of the pier, letting your feet dangle in the water, you felt watched. Then one night, with the moon hanging high, the surface churned… and Law emerged before you.

He was strong now. His tentacles glistened, his scars were barely visible. But those silver eyes recognized you instantly.

From that moment on, he kept coming back. He told you of the abyss, of singing corals, of cities built from mother-of-pearl, and of treacherous currents that could tear stone apart. 

In return, you told him of the human world, of the sky, the stars, and what it felt like to live a life without immortality.

Gradually, you lost your fear of his tentacles. Sometimes, one would curl cautiously around your ankle, almost shyly. Other times, he would gently pull you closer to the surface as you laughed.

One quiet night, when the wind was warm and the sea still, you looked at him differently than before.

"Why do you keep coming back to see me?" you asked softly. He was silent for a moment, his tentacle tracing patterns on the surface of the water.

"Because you saved me…" he replied. "And because when I am with you, I don't feel like a monster." Your heart swelled with tenderness.

Slowly, you leaned in until your forehead touched his. He was cooler than you, but his touch was gentle. As your brows met, the world around you fell silent for a heartbeat.

His tentacles wrapped around you with extreme care, as if you might break at any moment. He held you differently than a man would, but with such reverence that you laughed softly and leaned into him.

"Law," you whispered.

"I’m here," he replied, before he leaned in to give you a soft, careful kiss.

Every evening, you returned to the shore. And he was always there. Your guardian from the depths. A quiet love born of ink, darkness, and a single open chest.

— ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — ✧ — 

Law Masterlist

"no." law thought for a moment. "my friends are dragging me to a party tonight."

your face lit up in subtle delight.

"oh how fun! i hope you enjoy yourself."

"fun is an overstatement." law dragged.

you glanced at the clock, then the window, then at law. the apartment was still, peaceful as always. "you're in med school, working part time, and just moved. law, i think you deserve some quality time with your friends." you said earnestly. "no offense but the hard-working, uptight control freak types are usually the ones who need to let loose … speaking from experience." you cleared your throat.

law mentally scratched his head. what? he nodded, feigning understanding.

"yeah, you're probably right." you raised a brow and crossed your arms.

"probably?" law gulped. "no, you're right. you're right." satisfied, you carried on with your trek to the bathroom.

"have fun tonight. set me as your emergency contact if you need anything." laws heart stopped. emergency contact? the casual delivery of such a sincere gesture had law fighting demons. emotional, demons.

with a sleazy—borderline slutty—black button down and some illegally tight jeans, law gathered his wallet and keys and left the house.

. ˖ ꒰𑁬 ❤︎ ໒꒱ ˖ .

"holy shit man." penguin knelt over law with a hand on his back to support the stress being put on law's core muscles. law was situated hunched over the toilet. bepo nowhere in sight. shachi, wasted off his ass, clung to the deck outside.

"dude." law slurred. "i'm fine. i'm sooo fine."

"yeah, i'm sure the ladies are all over you but you need to sober up to some extent. we gotta get shachi home and i can't find bepo." penguin himself, was drunk. drunk enough to fail a breathalyzer test but, sober enough to know what the fuck was up. and right now it was time to leave.

"pen. buddy. i can drive," law slurred his words, "i'm awesome as fuck." penguin shook his head.

"real humble you are, captain." penguin searched for law's pockets.

"woah woah woah. you're not gonna take advantage of- of me" law hiccuped, "when i'm intoxicated? right? i don't know if i entirely swing that way-"

"no you fucking perv i'm trying to find your phone to call your roommate. surely she's home. hope she's not mad." penguin fumbled the device and quickly got a grip to open the lock screen.

"my roommate? fuckkk, no." Law banged his head over the seat of the toilet as he limbless wailed your name.

"dude she can't see me. 'm gonna throw up on her … her. her face. i'm gonna ruin her beautiful face dude." penguin raised his brow at law's confession. definitely going into the 'archive of all emotions law has expressed verbally' folder.

"wait! but- but she said she would be my emergency contact!" law leaned back, losing his balance and hitting his head with a loud thud on the wall opposite of the toilet. "this isn't an emergency pen." penguin scoffed, scrambled for the voice activation button to make a call.

the other line picked up after a few rings.

"hello?"

"who are you calling on my phone dude? it better not be cora. he's … he's gonna beat my ass. again." you heard from the other end in the background. penguin cleared his throat. "hi. this is penguin. i'm uh, law's friend and uhm. we kinda need someone to come get us. more specifically him. he's extremely drunk." penguin heard a giggle.

"bit off more than he could chew, huh?" you said in an tone that made penguin sit up straight. "mm okay, i'll be there soon. what's the address?" penguin relayed it to you and hung up. law was now curled up in a fetal position on the bathroom floor. cheeks flushed a subtle deep red that oddly suited him. chest on display from the several buttons that came undone. his eyes were closed as he hummed incoherent words.

. ˖ ꒰𑁬 ❤︎ ໒꒱ ˖ .

you shorty arrived and walked into the open backyard, looking for any figures that looked like your tall, brooding roommate. the drive wasn't too long.

"shachi! you can't drink that!" a man with a large cotton hat yelled as another man with a black and white hat reached for a vase placed above the mantle. "dude. why are you berating him? let … the guy be free. do whatever?" you followed the voice to see law slumped on the floor.

you approached the group of men.

"law?" all their attention went onto you. law looked up at you from the ground with large eyes. eyes that expressed something akin to adoration and fear. fucccccckkkkkk. penguin examined you. shachi's jaw fell to the floor, vase now the least of his concerns. he extended a hand toward you.

"and who are you?" he dragged and bowed as much as he could while trying to not lose his balance. you extended a hand toward him, giving his hand a firm shake that caught shachi by surprise. "law's roommate," you followed with your name. your eyes cautiously glared into his.

penguin and shachi exchanged glances at each other. looking at one another, then law, then each other again.

"shachi," he said back to close the introduction, "unfortunately, law hasn't told me much about you. especially didn't tell me much about you being a beautiful tall glass—." he fumbled over a few syllables.

penguin sighed heavily at his words.

"yes, he has. you knew his roommate was a girl." shachi smiled at him sleazily and propped his elbow onto penguin's shoulder, giving him a small shrug. "glad to know he's not suffering all by his lonesome now. got someone to keep him com—" shachi was cut off by a loud, hearty slap to his back and a chuckle from penguin. you looked over from the two to law on the floor. still holding the same gaze from when you first entered the scene.

"you okay?" you crouched down to examine his face. your posture hunched as you knees spread from the squat you were in. you head moved from side to side. law's eyes just followed you head, his empty, not a single thought in that empty dome.

"hey." you said sternly. snapped you fingers once. law is shaken out of his daze as he's brought back to earth. "hm? yeah! yeah. fine. good." law cleared his throat and hiccuped. law is not sober whatsoever.

"very well. let's get you home yeah?" you get up and extend a hand.

"can you even lift him? he weighs like a million pounds an- and is as tall as the empire state building."

"shachi we've never been to new york."

law hesitated to take your hand. he's regressed back to the state he was in when you first met. like a stray cat's temper being checked before being rescued.

"it's okay, law."

law felt a lump in his throat begin to form. dont. don't do anything stupid.

he reached out for you hand as you brought another forward to grab law's opposite arm, supporting him as much as your body allowed. law stumbled a bit as he found his footing. "is it okay for your other friend to stay here?" you turned you head to look at law's friends, hands still gripped firmly on law's bicep and heavy palm. "yeah, bepo doesn't drink. he's probably catching up with others." penguin pondered. you nodded.

"alright. you can follow me." surprisingly, you're able to help law walk to your car. the others followed in silence as law groaned about this that and the other. he mumbled incoherent nonsense followed by several 'i'm sorry's'. . ˖ ꒰𑁬 ❤︎ ໒꒱ ˖ .

"hey." you said gently. you turned your head to look back at law in the backseat. his head is turned into the window, large body slumped toward the door. he whined in acknowledgement.

"we're home, law." you got out of the car. you slowly opened the door that law's drunken body leaned on, careful to prevent him from rolling out of the car and onto the floor. the weight of his body heavy on the door.

you caught him in a quick clutch. your hand landed on his oblique while you attempted to press him upward.

"hey, easy now. slow." you assured.

law tried his best to regain his composure but he had no idea where he was at right now.

all he knew was that there was a beautiful woman touching him and he never wanted it to stop. law grumbled, a noise adjacent to a low pur left his lips. "don't wanna."

you're taken by surprise and caught off guard by the change in behavior. law, your stoic, surgeon-to-be, control freak roommate with more pride than a noble heir, was whining like a child and moping like a pathetic wounded animal.

"law." you warned. he didn't budge.

"just let me … let me be," he hummed and drawled on, "whatever you want me to be." you furrowed your brow and halted your movements. you shook your head and gave one final, last push to get law standing. "you're drunk. can you walk?" "no." he shot out quickly. you panicked.

"need you to carry me." your panic was short lived. a long, deep exhale left your nose.

"you ... are 200 lbs of muscle and you want me to carry you." you voiced your thoughts even though you knew you were essentially talking to a brick wall. a scoff left your lips.

law hummed again for the umpteenth time that night. you felt like a zoo keeper handling a stubborn, clingy tiger. you were fed up but there was something endearing about seeing law like this. you should've known what you signed up for when you offered to be his emergency contact.

the two of you stood there for a moment. the smell of tonka 25 and alcohol permeated the air around you. law was practically shirtless with how many buttons were undone, the warmth of his bare skin radiated off his alcohol-filled body. the top you were wearing didn't do much for saving skin contact. law ducked his head into the crook of your neck, soft breaths fanned over your skin. you wanted to bask in the moment a little more than you'd like to admit but his warm body combined with the heat of the warm spring night made your skin crawl. you needed to get him into the elevator and into your shared apartment.

"law."

law lazily raised his head. he felt like it weighed a million tons. "yeah."

you squatted down ever so slightly to push his body up against the car. the door adjacent was still open.

"stand."

like a solider, law's body stood straight, sleazy grin on his face. "yes ma'am." it still had little to no tautness given how his head bowed back to look down at you through his lower lashes and hooded eyes. oh now he was just pissing you off.

you playfully shoved his body away to close the door, a hand gripped his bicep firmly to ensure he wouldn't fall over. law stumbled a bit and groaned. "what was that for?" a look of utter confusion on his face. it was goofy.

"for being an ass to your oh so kind savior that's what." you locked the door and dragged him by his arm towards the complex elevator like a mother dragging her child off the playground. law didn't argue. he just smiled like an idiot with heavy eyes.

you arrived at your apartment and helped him take his shoes off. luckily his leather boots had zippers. law groaned about how he could do it himself but you didn't want to hear another word out of him tonight.

"drink this." you poured law a glass of water and handed it to him. he stood there with a blank face. law just ducked his head down from where he stood. lips met the rim of the glass as he drank. "you gotta be joking."

law looked up at you from his position above the glass and continued to drink. you grabbed his hand with the hand of yours that wasn't occupied and clasped it around the cup.

"grown ass man." you walked toward the counter to fetch a banana for law as well. you peeled it before giving it to him. this time, you grabbed his empty hand and forced it to take the banana. "you can eat by yourself, i'm sure."

law slowly began to sober up but that wasn't to say he was completely void of his idiotic state. he threw the banana peel away and set the glass by the sink. he stumbled like a baby giraffe but he still did it.

while he was in the kitchen, you invaded his bedroom in search for comfortable clothes. there's no way he would let you live the next day knowing you let him sleep on his bed in his outside-clothes. you settled for sweatpants and a shirt with a circular logo on it. it oddly resembled a face.

law made it to his room. you shoved the clothing into law's chest and looked at him with what was supposed to be a threatening stare but it only made law chuckle.

"change."

he began unbuttoning the rest of the buttons on his shirt without a second thought. you groan and leave the room. "goodnight."

. ˖ ꒰𑁬 ❤︎ ໒꒱ ˖ .

safe to say the next day you woke up to a cup of coffee prepared just the way you liked and apology-pastries on the counter. of course law didn't give them to you though. he avoided you as much as possible even though his schedule was free today. law remained locked up in his room thinking about the irreversible damage he's done on his image.

“You’ll catch your death in that.” He said, referring to the thinner coat that Kin’emon had given you with his powers.

Taking it from his hands, you recognised the fabric to be the same as his clothes. “Is this yours?” You queried while slipping your arms through the sleeves. It smelled like him which gave you the answer. For all his talk about attachments being a distraction, Law didn’t seem to be taking his own advice.

You pulled the coat across your chest and snuggled against the softness, a cosy hum escaping your lips. Wearing his coat was a territorial move by Law. It was amusing to see his jealousy shine through his denial. You suspected it was made worse after Sanji’s comment earlier.

“I’ll just have to dream about what it’s like in your body…”

Foolish, yet always reliable, Sanji.

Law set his sword down. With a disappointed ‘tsk’, he stepped forward and brought his hands to your coat. You couldn’t help but be startled at the sudden proximity when he usually preferred space. Quietly, Law ensured that there was no exposed skin. His fingers working their magic around the buttons to keep you protected from the harsh climate.

You fussed against him, trying to remind him that you were highly capable of dressing yourself. “I can do it myself. Let-”

Law suddenly clutched the front of the coat and tugged you closer. “Let me.”

You stared into his dark eyes and found a hidden plea. He wanted to do this.

At his request, you removed your hands and stayed still. Law adjusted and buttoned and then adjusted more. You felt his hands smooth over the coat and then he slid something into your hands.

“If you’re in danger, call me.” Law instructed. Glancing down, you saw a mini transponder snail. “Don’t engage with Caesar.”

You understood what he really meant - there was trouble ahead for certain. Looking up at him, you pocketed the device. “What about you?”

Law tilt his head low, falling quiet once more. You expected him to walk off like he had done before. But Law reached into his own coat and pulled something out. Holding it up, you recognised that white slip of paper anywhere.

His vivre card.

“You’ll know if I need help.” He said as your fingers brushing against his gently while taking the card. If he trusted you enough with this, you’d keep it safe. “I’ll show you how to make one once my quest is over.”

~ More One Piece imagines ~