Too many favs

“You’re early,” he said.

“So are you.”

“I’m always early.”

You crossed the room and set your water down. Law watched the movement, not enough for anyone else to notice, but you had gotten good at catching the small pauses. The way his eyes stayed on your hands. Your throat. The strip of skin that showed when your shirt lifted as you bent over.

Neither of you said anything about it.

That was how most things were with him. Quiet. Controlled. Carefully kept at a distance.

Law nodded toward the mat. “Warm up first.”

You did as he said. Shoulders. Back. Legs. Easy movements at first, familiar enough that you could focus on anything except him. That worked until you lowered yourself to the mat and shifted one knee outward, easing into the hip stretch that always gave you trouble.

Your breath caught.

Law noticed immediately.

He crossed the room, his eyes already on your leg, the tension in your hip, the way your fingers had gripped against the mat.

He crouched beside you, close enough that his knee nearly brushed your thigh.

“Lie back.”

You glanced up at him.

There was no sharpness in his voice. No impatience. Just that quiet, certain command he used when he expected to be obeyed.

Your mouth opened, but whatever you meant to say disappeared.

“Now.”

Your breath thinned.

For one stubborn second, you stayed where you were.

Law did not repeat himself. He only looked at you, steady and unreadable, patient in a way that made your pulse beat harder.

Then you lowered yourself onto your back.

His eyes followed the movement.

“Good,” he said quietly.

The word was almost clinical.

Law took your leg carefully, one hand cupping behind your knee, the other settling at your hip. His palm was steady enough to make your body go still beneath it.

You tried not to react.

His fingers pressed at your hip just enough to guide.

“Stay still.”

Your eyes flicked to his.

Law’s gaze did not move from your face.

“If it’s too much, say so.”

You nodded.

Only then did he look away. He guided your knee outward a little at a time, giving your body no room to rush ahead of him.

The stretch opened slowly.

You exhaled, fingers curling against the mat.

Law’s gaze snapped to your mouth.

Neither of you moved.

Then his jaw tightened, and he looked back to your hip.

“Breathe.”

You did, but it came out uneven.

“Slower.”

You tried again.

His palm settled more firmly against your hip. “Good.”

The word sank lower this time.

He pressed your leg farther, not enough to hurt, just enough to make your body yield under his hands. Your knee angled wider. His palm slid from your hip to the outside of your thigh, holding you open to the stretch.

The position was too intimate.

You both knew it.

Law’s hand was firm. His body leaned over yours, close enough that you could see the faint shadow under his eyes, the dark line of his tattoos, the way his lips parted once before he closed them again.

You swallowed.

His fingers flexed against your thigh.

“Still all right?” he asked.

You nodded.

His eyes lifted.

“Use your words.”

The command was quiet.

It went through you anyway.

“Yes,” you said, barely above a whisper.

For a moment, the stretch stopped being the reason he was touching you.

His gaze held yours, too long and too direct. There was something in it you had only ever seen in pieces before. In the mess hall when your shoulder brushed his. In the infirmary when his hand lingered after checking a bandage. In narrow corridors where neither of you moved aside fast enough.

Want, carefully restrained.

Yours answered before you could hide it.

Law saw.

His breathing slowed. His hand eased against your thigh, no longer adjusting, only holding.

Then he let go.

Not abruptly. Not like he was afraid.

Like he had made a decision he did not like.

He set your leg down with careful precision and sat back on his heels. “Other side.”

Your body felt too warm. “Right.”

You switched legs without looking at him.

Law’s hands found you again.

This time, the silence was worse.

His touch was just as controlled, but there was no pretending now. Every adjustment felt measured. Every pause felt chosen. His fingers curved around your hip, his knuckles grazing the bare skin where your shirt had ridden up.

You inhaled too sharply.

Law stilled.

His eyes lifted.

You expected him to pull away again.

He didn’t.

He leaned in just enough that his voice reached you alone.

“You need to stop looking at me like that.”

Your pulse jumped.

You stared at him. “Like what?”

Law’s mouth tightened, but his eyes did not leave yours.

“Like you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.”

Your lips parted, but no answer came.

His hand stayed where it was, like he had forgotten to let go.

Then someone’s footsteps sounded faintly in the corridor.

Law drew back before the door opened, smooth and composed. By the time Shachi stuck his head in to ask about sparring rounds, Law was already standing, expression unreadable again.

You sat up slowly, still warm everywhere he had touched you.

Law did not look at you while he answered.

But when Shachi left, the door sliding shut behind him, his gaze returned.

Brief.

Dark.

Unfinished.

Law held out a hand.

You took it.

He pulled you up too quickly. You came to your feet close to him, closer than necessary, your chest nearly brushing his. His hand remained wrapped around yours.

Neither of you stepped back.

“You warmed up?” he asked.

You lifted your chin. “Are you?”

Law’s gaze dropped to your mouth one more time.

Then he let go.

Slowly.

“Get into position.”

“Fix your face, Captain,” you say, stepping beside Law and bumping your shoulder with his. “Your face’ll get stuck like that.”

Law side-eyes you, noting that you’re smirking, pleased with and amused by yourself. He doesn’t answer.

You giggle at his silence, smirk turning into a wide grin. Law’s lips twitch imperceptibly into a smile before he steels his face once more.

“Focus, Y/N-ya,” Law warns. “The worst thing you can do is underestimate an enemy.”

“You’re such a worry-wart,” you say, unsheathing your katana.

“You’re a headache,” he counters.

You laugh again.

“I’ll see you when this is over,” you say, leaning in close to his ear, “sweetheart.”

Law blushes, but you don’t see it as you suddenly rush forward into the battle aboard the Polar Tang’s deck, your katana quickly finding home against the steel of an enemy’s blade.

The conflict carries on for a while as pirates clash. Blades clink against one another, scraping as opponents pull apart. Voices cry out in pain as pirates are sliced into, hit, and pushed overboard. If you focus in on the chaos, you can hear Law’s stern voice saying, “Room,” "Tact," and “Shambles” periodically. Across the deck, dead enemies scatter the wood; some enemies have been reassembled incorrectly, legs where shoulders should be, heads on incorrect torsos, and arms and legs switched; and the remaining pirates continue grunting as they swing their weapons and shout insults.

The battle has proceeded for nearly an hour, and the majority of the opposition has been defeated. Yet, there still remain several pirates who are a bit harder to bring down. Despite the Heart Pirates winning the battle, the entire crew is slowing down as the effort of the battle begins to take its toll. You are not immune from this.

You take a deep, shaky breath as you steel yourself, readjusting your grip on your blade and fighting the exhaustion finding a home in your overworked muscles.

Damn. The extra help of a Devil Fruit would be nice about now, you think. Then again, I’d like to be able to swim.

You purse your lips, shaking your head.

Enough. Focus, Y/N.

You take a step forward, rushing your opponent, a tall, burly man with a kinky beard. He’s decked out in jewelry he surely plundered, and a fine coat that seems to set him apart as the captain.

Weird that the captain would fight me and not Law. Captains usually go for each other, don’t they?

Your blade meets the Captain’s in front or you. You grit your teeth as you push forward. Your blades screech as they slide off one another, and the Captain takes a step back before fighting himself and swinging again. You duck, sidestepping away as you swing your sword towards his legs, hitting home. He growls, pushing past the leg wound and charging you once more. You side step him several times, using your Observation Haki to anticipate his moves. Finally, you see a break in his attacks, and you duck again as he steps forward, swinging his sword with the anger of man unused to losing. You push your katana blade forward with as much force as you can muster, stabbing the Captain in the chest, just barely missing his heart.

Damn it!

The Captain screams angrily, but he doesn’t go down. Instead, the hand not grasping tightly onto his sword finds its way into your hair, yanking you away from him. He holds you away from him, pulling your sword out of his chest and throwing it across the deck.

“You little bitch,” he cries. He yanks you close to his face. “You did well. I didn’t expect someone as puny as you to hold your own. Alas,” he snarls, lips curling in a mean, ugly expression, “you’re not stronger than me.”

Still holding you by the hair, the Captain sheathes his sword, exchanging it for a revolver. He holds it to your temple.

“Any last words, bitch?” He asks cruelly, and you expect he probably isn’t actually going to allow you any final words. You consider spitting in his face.

However, you don’t get to fully ponder the thought before the Tang is covered in a blue dome as a familiar voice yells, “ROOM!”

The Captain holding your life in his hands looks up to see the enraged Surgeon of Death in front of him. Law is snarling at the man, rage swimming in his eyes, one hand white knuckling Kikoku and the other outstretched and held downward maliciously.

“Take your grimy hands off of my wife.”

Law says the words slowly, with an intense conviction rarely seen. He looks livid, and he looks ready to kill.

The phrase has the desired effect of prolonging your execution. The Captain pauses, one hand still gripping your hair and the other still holding the gun to your head, but his attention has shifted from you to Law. In fact, the whole battlefield pauses, its attention shifting to Law, including the attention of the whole of the Heart Pirates who stutter at the threat.

“WIFE?!” Shachi and Penguin yell, confusion lacing their words.

Bepo suddenly begins wringing his hands anxiously where he stands in front of his unconscious opponent.

“Well, ain’t this the development?” The Captain laughs, a disgusting smirk spreading across his face, and his grip around in your hair tightens as he presses the gun harder against your temple.

“I am giving you 5 seconds to let go of my wife and drop your weapon,” Law says, unfazed by the battlefield's surprise at hearing him call you “wife.” He continues staring down his opponent, weapon at the ready, unfazed by the fear and unease permeating through his enemies.

“And what if I don’t?” The Captain sneers. “What if I shoot her right now and let you watch the life drain from her eyes? What could you do about that, Trafalgar Law?”

The Heart Pirates are panicked, fear swimming in their eyes as they glance at each other and back at the scene unfolding in front of them. The battle has all but ended. Everyone is either unconscious on the ground, floating in the sea, or frozen in anticipation as they watch with bated breath. Who will move first? The trigger-happy captain or Law?

“I promise you,” Law growls out, “you don’t want to find out.”

Then, with unprecedented speed, Law flips his hand.

“Shambles.”

You gasp as you’re transported across the deck, air knocked out of your lungs at the sudden movement. You whip around to look behind you, finding that Law had switched your position with his.

A gunshot rings out and you choke, fearing Law had been shot. However, Law had anticipated the gunshot once he switched places with you, and unhindered by the Captain’s hand, as you had been, he ducks, dodging the bullet.

You watch in awe as Law dodges the gunshot and faces off against your attacker. Law uses his Devil Fruit to throw various objects at the enemy, and he switches his own location several times, moving too quickly for the Captain to aim his weapon. Finally, Law stills in the air, pointing Kikoku at the enemy, lining up his shot.

“Injection Shot.”

A beam shoots from the tip of Kikoku and blasts into the Captain. The impacts blows the pirate backwards into the air, and he crashes into the water with a large splash as he is embraced by the sea.

Law lands on the deck of the Polar Tang and addresses the remaining enemies.

“Get off my ship unless you want the same treatment as your captain.”

The conscious enemy pirates scurry off of the Tang, pulling their fallen and unconscious comrades with them. Many jump into the sea themselves in their hurry, but most of them manage to climb back aboard their own ship before attempting to fish their captain and crew mates from the water.

Law watches as the opposing crew leaves, changing their course to sail away from the Heart Pirates and their captain’s wrath. It is only when he believes his crew safe that he pulls his eyes away from the horizon and searches for yours.

As Law’s eyes meet yours, you are met with a panic that has surely been steeping as he fought. The adrenaline from the excitement has worn off, and he takes quick steps towards you where you sit on your knees, exactly where he had teleported you earlier.

“Are you alright?” Law asks as he drops to his knees in front of you. His hands gently grab your face, turning it ever so slightly as he examines you for injury.

Your own hands reach, grabbing onto his wrists.

“I’m fine. Just a little rattled,” you assure.

You feel your lips pull into a smile, but you can’t help it because your husband is just so sweet in his concern.

Law lets out a deep breath when he determines you’re alive and well, letting his forehead dip against yours.

“Don’t do that again,” he says, which translates to I was terrified.

“I didn’t get captured and held at gunpoint on purpose,” you tease.

Law’s fingers find your side, pinching. You squeak.

“Don’t,” Law says, which translates to don’t joke about your life because the thought of you dying terrifies me.

Law does not have to say much for you to understand him—he never has—and that is one of the many reasons he has fallen head over heels for you. You understand he’s shaken up by the image of you at death’s door, and you know making light of the situation—which may help you process it—is not helping him calm down. So, you let you teasing tone fade away and replace it with a calm, sure tone.

“I promise I won’t make a habit of it. I fully intend to keep coming home to you,” you say lowly, your words meant for him and him alone.

Law nods. Then…

“Ahem,” comes a confused, potentially anxious voice. “Captain? Care to share what’s going on?”

Pulling his head away from you and looking up, Law faces his crew without standing and without letting his hands fall away from you.

“No,” he says simply.

You laugh. The Heart Pirates complain.

“No? What do you mean ‘no’? You can’t just completely obliterate some pirate captain without an explanation!” Penguin argues.

“You’re focused on the wrong thing, Penguin,” Ikkaku chimes in.

Shachi chimes in. “Captain, why did you call Y/N your wife?” He demands.

“Tch,” Law replies, offering nothing as his cheeks flush pink.

You rub your hand comfortingly up and down Law’s arm.

“Well, they know now, Sweetheart. Might as well confirm it,” you say gently.

“No.”

You giggle and you watch as the sound makes Law visibly relax.

“We’re married,” you say, looking to your crew mates.

“What?!” Someone exclaims.

“How long?!” Someone else asks.

“Hmm. When were we in the North Blue last?” You grin.

The Heart Pirates’ jaws drop, staring at you in disbelief.

“THAT WAS OVER TWO YEARS AGO!” They shout.

You just laugh, a wide smile overtaking your features.

“Tch. Stop being dramatic,” Law says simply.

“I can’t believe you kept this a secret,” whines Shachi.

“I can’t believe we weren’t invited to the wedding,” Penguin adds.

“I knew,” Bepo says.

“WHAT?!” The attention is suddenly on Bepo, whose ears flatten as he looks down at his paws, wringing them anxiously.

“Sorry,” he says.

Throughout the commotion, you return your attention to Law, who looks relieved that the attention is no longer on him. You smile gently.

“Thank you for saving me,” you say softly, reaching out to tuck a strand of hair away from his face.

The steady hum of the Polar Tang’s engine doesn’t reach your ears through the hammering of your heart. Seated firmly over Law’s hips, you carefully sink down on his hard cock, using your hand to guide him inside you little by little.

You have never really been on top of him before, as it’s always Law who takes the lead, and the stretch is brutal. You’re starting to realize that him fooling around with you before sex isn’t just because he likes to tease you, he’s intentionally prepping you, clearly knowing you’d have a hard time taking him if he didn’t.

Not wanting to prove him right, you push the thoughts from your mind and force your hips to descend a bit lower. It’s not that it’s difficult, as you’re completely sopping wet, but the intense burn makes your legs stutter a bit.

“Y/n, what are you doing?” Law watches your scrunched up face. “Slow down, you’re hurting yourself.”

“No, it feels good.” You’re only half lying. Despite his size, the feeling of Law’s hard member pushing past that tight ring of muscles is downright addicting, and you’re glad he doesn’t make any serious attempts to stop you.

“Just be careful.” He growls. Even though he finds it incredibly arousing to watch you struggle this much without him in control, the idea that it’s from pain and not pleasure sours it.

You must be almost at the base now, feeling like you couldn’t possibly take him any further. Your hips still for a moment, both hands on his chest now, waiting for the sting to dissipate a little and for your body to stop trembling.

Law is trying not to let it show how amazing the tightness feels, but the way your small hole is gripping him in an effort to accommodate his size has him going a little wild. “Done already?” he teases.

“No, I’m just making sure you can take it. Wouldn’t want to go too fast for you.” It’s a weak attempt to hit back, but you’re sort of focused on other things at the moment.  

“Look, if you need my help getting it in…”

“Shut up.” You force yourself to move a little, slowly lifting your hips and pushing them down again. You’re so completely soaked that he glides in and out easily despite the size difference between you.

The tightness of the fit makes you feel every vein, and the ridge of his tip drags against you in a way that spreads a delicious heat through your body. The sting is purely enjoyable now, quickly turning into a throbbing pleasure in your abdomen. You’re moving a little faster now, loving the way his fat member pushes against your walls in all the right places.

Law waits a little until he’s sure you’re no longer in discomfort before speaking. “Not to ruin it for you, but I’m only about two thirds of the way in.” He deadpans, and before you even get a chance to process what he said, he shoves his hips up to slide even further into you.

You make a sound between a gasp and a whine. He’s already far enough inside to roughly press into your g-spot, and another thrust has him buried to the hilt. You can feel him nestled into that place deep inside of you that has your entire body tingling with pure bliss. Try as you might, you can never reach that spot by yourself, and your brain shuts off a little from how good it feels.

“Theeere we go. You did that almost by yourself.” He coos, and it sounds almost soft for his standards, mocking you over how you’ve begun to quiver again.

Words fail you, and so do your hips. Leaning forward, you try to shift more of your weight to your arms in an attempt to help your legs find their strength, but another well-timed thrust from Law has you collapsing fully into his chest.

He’s crammed so deep inside you that you feel lightheaded. “Shut up, Law.” Is all the response you can manage, desperate to hide the fact that you’re close already. Fuck, you can’t let him gain control this quickly, especially not when he’s literally tied up underneath you.

But Law is having too much fun to humour you any longer. Clearly done pretending you were ever in control, he doesn’t give you a moment to collect yourself, knowing you’d just try to get back up again. So, he simply starts thrusting into you like this, quickly building up an intense pace.

The feeling is heavenly, and you don’t even bother to move anymore. Why would you, with his chest so warm and comfortable beneath you, his heavy breathing and beating heart the only sounds you can register, and the dragging of his cock inside you the only thing you can feel?

Your mind is empty save for the powerful force of his movements, and it’s like the only thing you can feel is him and the way he’s splitting you open. A small part of you is still torn between wanting to resist the tension steadily forming in your abdomen, and wanting to simply give in to the increasing pleasure. But deep down, you know this is a struggle you’re doomed to lose, and you couldn’t be more delighted about it.

Unbeknownst to you, Law saw right through you the moment you asked to be on top. He knows how he is in bed, loving to disarm you before having his fun. And he knows you’re trying to do the same to him. Granted, he didn’t expect you to pull out a pair of handcuffs, but that only makes the prospect of ruining you all the more exciting. He revels in your moans as he keeps pounding your insides, forcing them to accept the entirety of his length.

“Aah- L- Law. C- close.” It’s no wonder, since he’s been ramming repeatedly into your g-spot for the past couple minutes. You’re gripping his shoulders, but the powerful rush you’re bracing for never comes, as his movements grind to a halt.

“I know you are.” It’s unfair how steady his voice sounds again, you think. “But I thought you wanted to take over this time, no?” You have to hold back on the sudden urge to slap him, maybe another time.

“Yeah, but-”

“Unless you need me to do it after all?” His eyes are piercing yours, and you can tell where he is going with this. “You know what I want.”

Fuck it. It feels too good. Your dignity would wait for another day. “Law, please, I need you. Please make me cum. I can’t take it anymore. Please.”

He smirks at how easy it was to get you to beg and picks up the pace again. You’re barely prepared for the speed at which he’s shoving into you, and you’re all but wailing at the pleasure threatening to overcome you for the second time that night.

“Couldn’t even take my cock without help, huh? Had to tie me up like that would do anything.” Law’s voice is a little strained from how fast his hips are ramming into you, but he still lets out a short raspy laugh at how far gone you are.

The pressure finally flows over. Your entire body is on fire, the orgasm he’s giving you making you shake and convulse, and the way your mouth is ripped open does nothing to stop the incoherent sounds from leaving your lips. All you can do is lie on Law’s chest and accept the pleasure he’s giving you, feeling the tingling rush in every nerve in your body.

You’re slowly coming down, utterly spent and beginning to feel very sensitive. The same cannot be said for Law, who is still going at the same pace as before and shows no sign of wanting to stop.

“Law…” You say weakly. “’s too much.” But you don’t make any big attempts at stopping him, the drag of his cock against your insides too delicious to pass up even if it means getting a little overstimulated. You manage to push yourself up now, having regained some strength in your arms, and your gaze falls on his face.

God, he’s beautiful like this.

Law’s hair is even messier than before, and the way his arms are held above his head shows off his heaving torso. You move his tank top further up his chest, fingers gliding over his tattoo. He opens his eyes at your touch, having closed them in an effort not to cum at the feeling of your orgasm pulsating around him.

When Law notices you looking, his eyes narrow again, the mischievous expression back. “Trying to act all tough and in charge when you can’t even fuck yourself on my cock for more than a minute?” But you notice a softness in his gaze that wasn’t there before, and the way he’s a little breathless shows you how much he is also losing himself in the pleasure, despite his best efforts to remain in control. Fuck, you could cum again just from the sight of his heavy, dark eyes and the way he bites into his lip.

You look down to hide the blush creeping up your face at the sight of your hot boyfriend, and you gaze falls on his stomach. The muscles in his abdomen flex every time he raises his hips, and the sight is not helping at all to clear your head. You’re the one biting your lip now, and you slide your hands up to his wrists, where the manacles are grazing his skin. You really need to feel his hands on you. “Law, you can take them off, you’ve proven your point.”

To your utter surprise, he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I have, actually. I need you to remember how I can still wreck you even with my arms tied.” But his words don’t have the same bite to them as before. He must be close, too. Despite how he is always fully in charge when you start to have sex, Law’s self-control tends to crack a little when he loses himself in the heat of the moment, and he becomes eager in a way you could almost describe as passionate.

You know you have a chance at getting him under your thumb a little if you play your cards right, and it’s not a tough hand to play when he’s under you like this. All you need to do is to feed his craving for affection, and he will be in no condition to push back, forced to let himself indulge in the feeling of being loved.

Your hands caress the skin of his arms as they slide down to his shoulders. You bend down do kiss the lowest part of his chest that you can reach in your current position, and work your way up to his collarbones, slowly, like you have all the time in the world. Law shudders under your touch, the unusual feeling of surrendering to this kind of tenderness is giving him goosebumps.

When your mouth reaches the lower part of his neck, he lets out a raspy breath that barely conceals a moan, and you slide your hands under his shirt again, tenderly tracing where you know tattoos are etched into his skin.

“Fuck.” You mutter.

Seriously, how is he this beautiful?

He’s panting, teeth clenched, mouth twitching ever so slightly. His eyes are fluttering a little from the effort of keeping them open, but all it’s doing is showing off the long, black eyelashes framing them. You can’t stop you hand from wandering up to his tousled hair, lightly tracing over the ridge forming between his black eyebrows on the way up.

Law groans when your hand finds its way to his scalp, alternating between massaging it and lightly tugging his hair. You tentatively use your grip to tilt his head back, wanting better access to his neck, and to your surprise, he doesn’t resist.

You can practically feel how close he is, his thrusts getting more desperate although he’s fighting to keep his pace consistent. You feel him in every part of you, and that, coupled with the sight in front of you, has you rushing to the edge as well.

But you need to hear him before letting yourself fall. Just once is enough. You need to make him moan, make him prove you right in your suspicion that he’s just as hopelessly in love with you as you are with him. That he’s just as much at his partner’s mercy as he always pretends only you are.

So, you give his hair a particularly firm tug, practically pinning his head back on the pillow. The reaction is immediate. Law lets out a breathy moan, and when you start being rougher on his neck, sucking hickeys, nipping at his skin, he can’t hold back anymore.

“Ahh- ah… y/n…”

Your orgasm hits you like a truck, and before you know it, you’re cumming again. You barely register it at first, so focused on pushing Law over the edge that you hadn’t noticed how close you were. The raw force of your orgasm makes you let out a high-pitched whine, but the intensity keeps building instead of decreasing, and you swear every single muscle in your body is shaking.

Law follows you only a second later, releasing himself inside of you with a stuttering groan, an expression of unmasked pleasure on his face. You’ve never seen him this lost in the moment before, this open. So expressive you can clearly trace every new surge of his orgasm from his face alone. And it’s mesmerizing.

There’s something so intimate about seeing your boyfriend, usually in full control of every situation he’s in, be so desperately out of control for once. So helpless. All because of you. All because you can make him experience a pleasure so overwhelming he doesn’t know what to do with himself. With no hope of regaining any semblance of composure as long as you’re making him feel good.

You could spend hours watching him like this, hypnotized by the agonizing bliss written all over his face, listening to every sound he makes from rough groans to breathless whines. But eventually, his movements become weaker before dying out completely, which is lucky as you really couldn’t have taken more after the second round.

You’re both coming down from your respective highs now, motionless except for the occasional twitching of your sore hips and law’s cock releasing the last of his intense orgasm inside you. He’s still breathing heavily under you, and you watch the bobbing of his adam’s apple in awe as he swallows dryly.

The silence between you is a comfortable one, and you make no move to untie him as you let yourself enjoy the moment a bit longer. You keep kissing around his neck and collarbones, savouring the minutes you still have, knowing you have a limited number of them before Law’s mind is back to normal.

But you’re surprised that he lets you treat him so tenderly for as long as he does, and your curiosity makes you look up. After all, you need to make sure he hasn’t died, either from the intensity of his orgasm, or from the shame of it happening while being tied up. But Law is simply looking back at you, a slightly amused expression on his face.

“You really enjoyed that, didn’t you?” He asks with the slightest smirk tugging at his lips.

“Seems I’m not the only one.” You tease back. You’re half joking, half trying to get him to accept the fact that giving over to pleasure can be quite nice sometimes. You need this more often, and start playing with the idea of actually acquiring a pair of seastone cuffs. Just in case he refuses to let you be on top again.

“Hm. Yeah I guess I did.” He looks like he’s pondering some deep philosophical question, and you can’t help but giggle a bit at the sight.

“Don’t you want to remove those? You’ve definitely proven your point now.”

“Oh, right.” With the help of his room, Law removes the shackles and lets his arms rest on your lower back, wincing slightly at the soreness. “My shoulders are killing me, though.”

You start rubbing them, letting your fingers work their way up and down his neck as well, anything for an excuse to let your hands roam his body a little longer.

“You know, I did quite enjoy that, actually.” He says, and he has the nerve to sound surprised. As though having his partner sit on his dick for the better portion of an hour while kissing every part of him isn’t something generally considered enjoyable. “I’d be ok doing that again at some point.”

“Really?” You perk up. “So, like, next time?”

“No.”

“The time after that then!”

“Hm. No.” He sounds like he’s trying to deliver some bad news to a sick patient in a gentle but straightforward manner.

“Ok, so when?”

“Maybe like every 10th time or so would be ok.”

“Law, we are not doing one of those ‘buy 10 get 1 free’ deals they have at coffee shops. Not for sex.” You really have to refrain from throwing in his face that this was by far the most intense orgasm he has had since you two have been together. Maybe in his life, from how befuddled he still looks. That last thought makes your chest swell a bit.

“You’re saying this should be a spur of the moment thing?” Law looks at you as though you’re the one being unreasonable here, making you fight back an eye roll.

“Yes.” You explain, unable to really be mad at him, with his innocently curious expression and tousled bed-hair making him look incredibly cute. There’s something very wholesome about him when his eyes aren’t carrying their usual steely expression. “Can you imagine how much less fun this would have been if you had known about the handcuffs the entire time?”

“Hm. Maybe…”

Though you would love to keep discussing with him like this, your hips are very sore and starting to cramp up from the position. You shift a little in an attempt to allow more blood flow to reach your legs, but Law notices and takes this as his cue to move as well. He helps you lift yourself off of him and gets up from the bed.

“Can you stand?”

“Are you offering to carry me? Because then, no.” You joke, and you know his sigh is theatrical as he bends down to pick you up.

Law, being a doctor, is always very particular about aftercare, and you’ve always loved that aspect about him. It’s one of those things that shows you how much he cares for you and your wellbeing, a welcome contrast to his usually stern exterior. He walks to the bathroom and sets you down on the toilet to pee while he cleans himself up in the sink.

When you’re done, he cleans you up as well with a damp towel, and as he bends down to reach between your legs, you notice the dark red marks littering his neck. You don’t know how you hadn’t noticed them before, but now that your mind is clear again, they’re impossible to miss. Law notices your touch on his neck and inspects himself in the bathroom mirror after rinsing the used cloth.

His eyes lock on yours through the reflection with a dark, teasing expression, almost as if trying to scold you lightly. “Every 10th time is ok.” Law only smirks at your whines of protest, carrying you back to bed.

All right, seastone cuffs it is. That’s your last thought before drifting off into a deep, comfortable sleep.

Thanks for reading! This is the 3rd and final part of this mini series. I hope you liked it ;) (This is my fic, don't repost! Reblogs are always appreciated <3)

Without meaning to, you matched it.

You stirred a little.

Shanks tightened his arm at once.

“Mm,” he mumbled, not awake enough for words.

You smiled into the pillow. “I’m not leaving.”

His mouth brushed clumsily against your shoulder. Not quite a kiss. More like a sleepy attempt at one. Then another, softer, against the side of your neck.

“Good,” he breathed.

Your heart gave a strange, aching little turn.

You turned carefully in his hold. He made a disgruntled sound, but let you move, only to pull you closer the second you faced him. His red hair was loose over the pillow.

For a while, you only looked at him.

The man the world feared. The captain everyone followed. The Emperor who laughed too loudly, drank too much, and walked into chaos with a steady presence.

Here, he was warm. His face softened by the dark. His hand curled around your back.

You lifted your fingers and brushed the hair from his cheek.

Shanks leaned into your touch.

Still asleep.

The happiness of it was so small it hurt.

Not grand. Not loud. Just his breath against your wrist. His body warm under your hand.

You loved him.

It struck you so simply that you closed your eyes.

Shanks moved closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours. His lips touched yours once, barely there, a half-kiss lost between sleep and waking.

You tucked yourself against him.

His arm came around you again.

And warm, safe, and loved, you fell back asleep.

Law

The thin blanket over your legs had slipped sometime after midnight.

Law slept close.

His chest was against your back, one arm around your waist with his hand tucked against your ribs. His fingers had found themselves under the fabric of your shirt sometime in the night.

You felt his breathing first.

Slow. Even. So much calmer than he ever sounded awake.

You stayed still, listening to it.

In.

Out.

Then yours began to follow.

Your shared room was quiet. No footsteps in the corridor. No voices. Just Law warm against you in the dark.

His nose brushed the back of your neck when he shifted.

You smiled before you could stop yourself.

“Cold?” he murmured.

His voice was rough with sleep, barely there.

“A little.”

He made a low sound of disapproval. Then his arm pulled tighter, drawing you closer until your back fit against him more securely.

“Better?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”

His fingers moved once over your ribs in a slow, absent stroke. His breathing evened again against your skin. You thought he had fallen back asleep until his mouth pressed lightly to the back of your shoulder.

One kiss.

Then another, clumsy and tired at the edge of your collar.

Your heart softened so quickly it almost hurt.

You turned carefully in his arms.

Law frowned before his eyes opened. But when he saw you, the look faded into something quieter. Something unguarded.

“Go back to sleep,” he murmured.

You lifted a hand to his face instead. His hair had fallen across his forehead.

You brushed it back gently.

Law’s eyes slipped shut.

For once, he simply let himself be touched.

And there it was.

Happiness.

You loved him.

Not because he said enough. But because he reached for you in his sleep. Because his breathing slowed when you were near.

Law opened one eye. “You’re staring.”

“Sorry.”

“You’re not.”

“No.”

He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.

It was not much. Just warmth. Just breath. Just him.

But when he pulled you closer, when your forehead rested beneath his chin and his hand rested on your back, it felt like everything.

You closed your eyes.

Law’s breathing found yours again.

“People have courted with less.”

“You would know?”

You looked down at the first page before he could see the corner of your mouth move. “Are you asking about my romantic history, Captain?”

Law went still for half a second.

There.

Barely anything. Not enough for anyone else to notice.

But you did.

His fingers flexed once around the clipboard he still held. Then he looked away and clicked his tongue.

“I’m asking if you can count to fifty without turning it into a problem.”

“Probably.”

“That isn’t reassuring.”

“You keep assigning me things anyway.”

“You keep standing where I need you.”

That hit strangely.

He seemed to realize it at the same time you did.

The infirmary quieted around the words.

Then Bepo walked past with a crate in his arms, and both of you looked away like you had been caught doing something worse than standing in the same room.

You took the reports. “I’ll have these done before dinner.”

“Good.”

You started to leave.

“Don’t guess,” he added.

You stopped in the doorway. “I would never.”

“You would.”

You looked back at him.

He was watching you now, expression carefully unreadable.

The bed at the inn sat between you anyway.

His arm around your waist. His breath at your neck. The quiet shock of him waking and pulling away like he had touched something he was not allowed to want.

Your face warmed.

Law’s gaze dropped for half a second. Then he turned back to the cabinet beside him and opened it with more force than necessary.

“Go count gauze,” he said.

You obeyed before you could say something stupid.

By dinner, the ship had settled back into its usual rhythm.

The mission was over. The crew was tired, bruised in small places, and more interested in food than conversation. Shachi complained about the rain having ruined his good boots. Penguin told him he did not own good boots.

Law sat at the end of the table, listening more than participating. That was normal.

The way his eyes found you once across the room was not. It was brief. Nothing anyone else would notice.

But you felt it like fingers at your wrist.

You looked away first.

After dinner, you finished the inventory logs. Then you checked a crate of sealed bandages. Then you reorganized two drawers in the supply cabinet because your hands needed something to do.

Not here.

He had said it like a promise.

He had not brought it up since.

Neither had you.

That was the problem with Law. Silence did not feel empty with him. It gathered weight. It became its own conversation.

Later, after most of the ship had gone down for the night, you saw light under Law’s door.

For a moment, you considered walking away. Then you raised your hand and knocked once.

“Come in.”

You opened the door.

Law was at his desk, a stack of charts spread in front of him. His hat was set aside. His hair was a mess from his own fingers. A cup of coffee sat untouched near his hand.

You looked at it.

Then at him.

“I came here to bully you into resting.”

That made his pen stop.

Slowly, he lifted his eyes to you.

“You’re going to bully me.”

“Yes.”

“In my room.”

“You left the light on. That’s basically a cry for help.”

“It is not.”

“It was either that or a lure. I chose the less concerning option.”

Law leaned back in his chair. “You could leave.”

“I could.”

Neither of you moved.

His room was familiar, though you had never spent much time in it alone. Desk. Books. A coat thrown over the back of a chair. Kikoku resting within reach.

And the bed.

You tried not to look at it.

Failed.

Law noticed.

You cleared your throat and stepped fully inside. “How long have you been awake?”

“A normal amount.”

You came closer and picked up the coffee before he could stop you. It was cold.

You held it out accusingly.

Law looked at it. “That was intentional.”

“You intentionally made coffee and didn’t drink it?”

“I was working.”

You set the cup down away from him. “Go to bed.”

“No.”

“Law.”

“I have three more charts to finish.”

“They’ll still be there tomorrow.”

You looked around his room until you found the narrow shelf beside his bed. You walked to it and ran your fingers along the spines.

“What are you doing?”

“Settling in.”

“You’re not staying.”

“You haven’t gone to bed.”

“That isn’t an invitation.”

“I didn’t need one.”

You pulled a book free and glanced at the title. Dense. Medical. Perfect.

You sat on the edge of his bed.

Law stared at you.

“That’s my bed.”

“I know.”

“You’re being difficult on purpose.”

“Only because you respond so consistently.”

His eyes narrowed.

You opened the book across your lap. “Finish one chart. Then sleep.”

“Three.”

“One.”

“Two.”

You turned a page. “One and a half.”

“That isn’t how charts work.”

“I’m not a doctor.”

“That has never stopped you from having opinions.”

You looked up at him then.

He was still watching you.

“One chart,” he said.

He resumed writing. For a while, that was all there was.

The scratch of ink. The soft shift of paper when Law reached for another page. You tried to read, but the words kept slipping out of order.

At some point, you stretched your legs out on the bed.

Law noticed.

He did not comment.

At some later point, you leaned back against the wall. Your eyelids grew heavy.

“You’re not reading,” he said.

You blinked. “I am.”

“You’ve been on the same page for ten minutes.”

“It’s a complicated page.”

“It’s the table of contents.”

You turned the page with dignity. “Now it’s not.”

Law made a low sound that was almost amusement. The book dipped slightly in your hands.

“Go to your room,” he said, quieter now.

“In a minute.”

Law’s pen stopped again.

“You’re going to fall asleep there.”

“Probably.”

“That isn’t your bed.”

“No.”

You let the book rest against your stomach. “Do you want me to leave?”

He did not answer right away. Then his eyes came back to yours.

“No,” he said.

“Then finish your chart.”

Law looked at you for another second.

Then he picked up his pen.

The scratch of ink started again.

You meant to keep reading. You even made it through another page, maybe two. Then the words blurred, the book slipped lower against your stomach, and Law said your name once from the desk.

You meant to answer.

Instead, the room went dark.

When you woke again, the lamp been turned off.

You were on your back.

Sometime during the night, Law had gotten into bed beside you. After that, sleep had done whatever sleep wanted, because he was half over you now, his weight settled along your side, one leg pushed between yours beneath the blanket.

His arm was low across your waist. His hand had slipped beneath your shirt, palm warm against your stomach, fingers curved near your ribs. Your own shirt had ridden up under his wrist.

So had his.

There was bare skin at his hip where the fabric had twisted, pressed against you every time he breathed.

You stared at the ceiling.

Law’s face was tucked near your collarbone. His hair brushed your jaw. His mouth was close enough to your throat that the next slow breath from him moved over your skin and made your stomach tighten beneath his hand.

You tried to shift your leg.

His thigh pressed down instinctively.

A small sound caught in your throat before you could stop it.

Law did not wake.

His hand shifted once, sleepy and unthinking.

You went still.

He was asleep.

His knee shifted once beneath the blanket.

You bit down on your breath.

His hand stayed where it was, warm and open against your stomach. Then his palm pressed a little firmer, holding you there like he had no intention of letting go.

You stared at the ceiling and did not move. Not because you couldn’t.

Because you didn’t want to.

You turned your head a fraction. His hair brushed your lips.

That was when Law woke.

His body went rigid against yours.

His hand did not move.

Neither did yours.

Your eyes stayed on the ceiling. His palm was still hot against your skin. His thigh was still between yours. His mouth was still too close to your throat.

You waited for him to pull away.

He didn’t.

His breath touched your neck once.

Twice.

Then, very carefully, his forehead lowered to your shoulder.

Your chest tightened.

“Law,” you whispered.

His voice came rough from sleep. “I know.”

Two words.

Quiet.

Heavy.

Not an apology. Not an explanation.

You did not know what to do with them.

His fingers flexed once, barely a movement at all. Your body reacted anyway, your stomach tightening under his hand before you could stop it.

Law felt it. His fingers stilled against you.

Then his hand flattened more carefully over your stomach, like he had realized exactly where it was and still could not make himself leave.

“I should move,” he said.

You closed your eyes.

“Are you going to?”

Silence.

His answer came so quietly you almost missed it.

“No.”

The word went through you slowly.

“Good,” you whispered.

Law exhaled against your shoulder.

His arm tightened around your waist, not by accident this time. His leg stayed where it was. His hand stayed under your shirt.

Deliberate.

Careful.

Still too much.

Not enough.

You covered his wrist with your hand.

Neither of you spoke for a while.

Eventually, because you were apparently determined to survive this by being difficult, you said, “You finished the chart?”

A pause.

Then, against your shoulder, dry and low, “That’s what you’re asking right now?”

“It was the agreement.”

“You fell asleep.”

“You were unsupervised. Anything could have happened.”

His breath moved against your skin in something almost like a laugh.

“Two charts,” he said.

“You said one.”

“You were asleep. I renegotiated.”

“That’s unethical.”

“I’m a pirate.”

You smiled.

Then his hand moved again.

His fingers slid a little farther across your stomach, slow enough that you knew he was awake for it this time.

Your smile faded.

Law’s mouth pressed once against your shoulder.

Brief.

Closed.

Controlled.

Then he went still, like he had not meant to do it.

You did not let go of his wrist.

“Law.”

His voice was low against your skin. “Don’t.”

“Don’t what?”

He was quiet for a second. Then his hand tightened once beneath yours.

“Make me say something stupid.”

Your throat went dry.

You turned your head slightly toward him. “Like what?”

He did not answer right away.

His mouth brushed your shoulder again. Lighter this time. Almost accidental, except you both knew it was not.

“I sleep better with you there,” he said.

The words were so soft, so rough around the edges, that for a moment you thought you had imagined them.

You swallowed.

The joke rose first. Something easy. Something safe. You let it die.

Instead, you said, “Me too.”

Law went quiet against your shoulder.

Then his mouth moved lower, just enough to press against the skin near your collar.

His mouth stayed there for a second too long.

Then another.

Your fingers tightened over his.

His hand answered under your shirt.

The morning outside his room grew brighter.

You should get up. The crew would be moving soon. Someone would need him. Someone would come looking. The day would begin whether either of you were ready for it or not.

But not yet.

Not for one more minute.

You breathed in carefully.

Then out.

“I can come back tonight,” you said.

For a moment, the silence was so complete you could hear your own pulse.

Then his hand tightened under yours. “You don’t have to,” he said.

“I know.”

The answer took him a long time. When it came, his mouth brushed your shoulder.

“Yes.”

You closed your eyes.

Neither of you moved until footsteps passed in the corridor. Then Law lifted his head.

The loss of his warmth at your shoulder was immediate.

His hand slid out from under your shirt, careful now, almost too careful. You missed it before it was gone.

He rolled onto his back beside you and stared at the ceiling.

You did the same.

The space between you was narrow.

Not enough to pretend.

For one dangerous second, he looked like he might lean closer.

Then someone knocked on the door.

Both of you froze.

“Captain?” Shachi called from the hall. “You awake?”

Law closed his eyes. You pressed your lips together hard.

“Unfortunately,” Law said.

“You want breakfast?”

“No.”

“You sure? Bepo made rice.”

A pause.

You whispered, “You should eat.”

He turned his head just enough to look at you.

His expression was flat. His ears were still red.

“Don’t start.”

You smiled wider.

From the hall, Shachi said, “Was that a yes?”

Law looked back at the ceiling. “Yes,” he said, like the word pained him.

“Great. Also Penguin wants to know if—”

“No.”

“You didn’t hear the question.”

“No.”

Footsteps retreated down the hall.

The room quieted again.

You sat up first, smoothing your shirt with more attention than necessary.

Law’s eyes flicked to the movement.

Then away.

You pretended not to notice.

He sat up after you, one hand dragging over his face.

For once, he looked rested.

Actually rested.

The sight did something terrible to your chest.

You reached for your boots.

Behind you, Law said your name.

You stopped.

His voice was low. Careful. Still not looking at you.

“Tonight,” he said.

You looked back at him.

“Tonight,” you said.

His shoulders eased by a fraction.

Then he reached for his hat, put it on, and became your captain again.

Usopp and Luffy are yelling somewhere above deck. Nami is complaining about something being broken. Chopper laughs so hard you can hear it through the walls.

And you stand in the kitchen trying to hold a plate without dropping it.

Your fingers shake… again.

You tighten your grip, jaw clenching “Careful, love.”

A warm hand slides under yours before the plate slips. Sanji takes it easily.

You immediately pull your hand back “I had it.”

“Mhm.” He smiles softly “And I’m the Pirate King.”

You huff quietly.

He places the plate down and turns back to the stove. The kitchen smells warm. Garlic, butter, something sweet baking in the oven.

Usually the smell makes you happy.

Today it only makes your chest hurt.

“I can still help…” you mumble.

“You are helping.”

“I barely cut two carrots.”

“That’s still helping.”

You look down at your hands.

Your fingertips are numb again. That strange heavy feeling like your hands are asleep and aching at the same time.

You flex them and pain shoots through your wrists.

You hide it quickly but Sanji notices everything. His eyes flick toward you for one second.

“You should sit.”

“I’m fine.”

“Sweetheart…”

“I said I’m fine.”

Silence.

Only the sound of oil sizzling in the pan.

You hate that tone in your own voice… sharp and angry, but not at him, never at him, mostly at yourself.

Sanji says nothing after that. He just moves around the kitchen calmly, cigarette hanging from his lips while he cooks for the crew like always.

Perfect movements.

Your eyes stay on his hands… strong hands. Fast hands. Hands that work.

You swallow hard.

“I can wash the dishes at least.” you say.

“You washed them yesterday.”

“And dropped three.”

“You dropped one.”

“It still broke.”

“So?” He shrugs “Franky breaks half the ship every week.”

“That’s not the same…”

He glances at you again and you look away first.

You move toward the sink before he can stop you. The plates are already stacked there.

You can do easy.

You grab the sponge, but the moment you squeeze it, pain burns through your palm so suddenly your breath catches.

The sponge slips right out of your hand.

Splash.

Water everywhere.

“Ah—shit.”

You try to grab it quickly, but your fingers refuse to close properly. The plate beside it tilts dangerously.

Sanji catches it before it falls, of course he does.

And suddenly your eyes burn.

“I’m sorry…” you whisper.

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I can’t even do dishes right.” your voice cracks embarrassingly at the end.

You turn away fast.

Stupid.

You hate crying about this.

You hate the pity even more.

But Sanji doesn’t sound pitiful when he speaks… he sounds serious “Look at me.”

You don’t.

A chair scrapes softly against the floor.

Then he’s in front of you, looking at you carefully “Look at me, love.”

Slowly, you do.

His brows are slightly furrowed “You think I care about dishes?”

“No, but—”

“You think I want you here because you can scrub pans?”

“That’s not what I mean.”

“Then tell me what you mean.”

You open your mouth but nothing comes out, because the truth feels ugly.

Sanji waits patiently anyway.

Your throat tightens.

“I just…” you stare at the floor “Everyone does so much.”

“Hmm.”

“Luffy fights sea monsters like it’s nothing. Zoro trains until he bleeds. Nami handles navigation alone during storms. Usopp builds things. Franky fixes everything. Robin knows everything. Chopper is our doctor.”

You laugh weakly.

“And I can barely hold a knife some days.”

The kitchen goes quiet.

You expect him to answer immediately, but he actually doesn’t. He just moves closer and very gently, he takes your hands.

Even though you try to hide how stiff they are, his thumbs rub over your knuckles carefully.

“Does it hurt right now?” he asks softly.

You hesitate “…Yes.”

“Numb too?”

You nod.

“Since this morning?”

“Since yesterday.”

“And you still tried to help me cook breakfast.”

You shrug helplessly “I wanted to do something useful.”

Something flashes across his face, not anger at you, but something sadder “Oh, sweetheart.”

The nickname almost breaks you.

You look away again.

“I know everyone says it’s okay,” you whisper “but it doesn’t feel okay.”

Sanji stays quiet for a second, then he suddenly pulls you gently against his chest.

One hand cradles the back of your head while the other rubs your back slowly.

“You listen to me now.” he says quietly.

His voice is low and firm in that rare way he gets when he means every word.

“You’re part of this crew.”

You grip his shirt weakly.

“You hear me?”

“…Yeah.”

“No. Really hear me.” He leans back enough to look at you “You think being useful is the reason we love you?”

Your eyes widen slightly “I didn’t say that.”

“You didn’t have to.”

You fall silent.

Sanji sighs softly “When Chopper gets sick, do we throw him overboard because he can’t work?”

“No.”

“When Zoro is half dead after a fight, do we tell him he’s lazy?”

“Of course not.”

“When Luffy can’t move after doing something stupid?”

“That happens every week.”

Sanji snorts quietly “Exactly.”

Despite yourself, a tiny laugh escapes you.

“There it is.” he murmurs.

Your face warms.

He brushes his thumb under your eye.

“You’re hurting,” he says simply “that’s not failure.”

“But I make things harder.”

“You don’t.”

“I do.”

“You don’t.”

“I can’t even help in fights.”

“And?” His brows pull together again “Do you think your only value is fighting?”

You hesitate “A little…”

“Absolutely not.” he says it immediately, strongly “You make this place softer.”

Your breath catches.

Sanji continues before you can answer.

“You stay with Chopper when he studies too late. You listen to Usopp’s stories even when they’re terrible lies.” he smiles faintly “You help Robin find books. You calm Luffy down sometimes, which is honestly a miracle.”

You blink rapidly.

“And me?” he says quietly “You help me too.”

“How?”

He gives you a look like the answer is obvious “You sit with me during late nights in the kitchen.”

Your chest aches.

“You taste every new recipe.”

“You cook those for everyone.”

“I still want your opinion.”

His fingers squeeze yours carefully “You remind me to rest.”

“You never rest.”

“Exactly. Someone has to tell me.”

Another tiny laugh escapes you.

Sanji smiles softly at the sound.

Then he lifts one of your hands carefully to his lips and kisses your knuckles, slowly, like your hands are something precious.

Not broken or useless.

“You do enough.” he whispers.

The words hit harder than you expect, because part of you still doesn’t believe them.

And maybe he sees that, because he suddenly tilts your chin upward gently.

“And even if you did nothing,” he says, “even if all you could do was sit here and breathe beside me, I would still want you here.”

Your eyes sting again immediately “Sanji…”

“I mean it.” his forehead rests against yours now “You don’t have to earn your place every single day.”

The tears finally spill over.

You hide your face against his chest with a frustrated sound.

“Ah, don’t cry…” he murmurs immediately, holding you tighter “Now I’ll cry too and the others will never let me live it down.”

You laugh weakly through tears.

“There you are.”

His hand rubs your back slowly.

After a while, your breathing finally calms.

“…I still hate it.” you admit quietly.

“I know.”

“I hate needing help.”

“I know that too.”

“And I hate feeling weak.”

Sanji hums thoughtfully. Then he gently pulls back just enough to look at you “You know what I think?”

“What?”

“I think you’re strong as hell.”

You immediately shake your head “No.”

“Yes.”

“I can’t even—”

“Love.” His voice softens again “You wake up hurting and still try every day.”

You go still.

“That sounds strong to me.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Maybe because nobody ever says it like that.

Sanji smiles a little.

“Now.” He wipes under your eyes gently “Doctor’s orders.”

“You’re not the doctor.”

“Temporary doctor’s orders.”

You snort.

“You sit right there.” he says pointing toward the small chair near the kitchen window.

“And what are you doing?”

“Cooking.”

“I should help.”

“You should rest.”

“But—”

He gives you a look… not angry, just stubborn. Very Sanji.

You sigh dramatically and sit down.

“Good.” He smiles again finally, softer now “That’s my sweetheart.”

You watch him move around the kitchen again.

Comfortable.

After a minute, he speaks without turning around “Can you do something for me though?”

Your shoulders tense immediately “What?”

“Tell me if the sauce needs more salt.”

You blink “That’s it?”

“That’s a very important job.”

A small smile pulls at your mouth.

Sanji glances over his shoulder and catches it immediately “There’s the smile I like.”

He brings over the spoon carefully.

You taste the sauce. Warm. Rich. A little spicy.

“It needs more pepper.”

Sanji gasps dramatically “Perfect. I trained you well.”

He bends over and leaves a soft kiss on your lips before moving back to the kitchen.

You laugh again, more real this time.

And somehow, sitting there while he cooks beside you, the guilt feels quieter.

Not gone maybe, but quieter.

Sanji notices that too as he smiles softly to himself before turning back to the stove.

“See?” he says gently, winking at you “Always helping the chef.”

── .✦ Zoro:

tags: established relationship, comfort, chronic pain, emotional support, soft zoro, insecurity, hurt/comfort

The Sunny rocks softly under the afternoon sun.

You grip the broom tighter.

Bad idea.

Pain shoots through your fingers immediately. Your hands feel numb in some places, burning in others. You try to ignore it and keep sweeping.

“You missed a spot.”

You look up and see Nami pointing near the stairs with her pen.

“Oh—yeah. Thank you.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah.” You smile quickly “Just tired.”

She watches you for a second longer before walking away.

The second she leaves, you shake your hands behind your back.

It hurts.

Again…

Later, everyone eats lunch together.

Luffy is stealing meat from everyone’s plates.

Sanji is yelling “LUFFY! STOP TOUCHING THE FOOD!”

“I’m hungry!”

“You already ate three plates!”

“I’m still hungry!”

Basically the usual.

Across the table, Zoro drinks quietly.

You glance at him and he notices immediately.

He watches you with a questioning expression on his face and says “You’re staring.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m thinking.”

“That face means trouble.”

You laugh softly, making him smirk.

Then his eye move lower to your hands.

You pull them under the table immediately, which makes his expression change a little.

That evening, you find him training on deck. Weights. Swords. Sweat.

Normal Zoro things.

You stand nearby awkwardly “Can I train with you?”

He pauses “You trained yesterday.”

“I know.”

“And the day before.”

“I know.”

“And you could barely hold the practice sword after.”

You force a laugh “I’ll get better.”

He studies you carefully “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

Big lie… but you hate saying no. You hate sitting around while everyone works.

Everyone has something.

Nami navigates.

Sanji cooks.

Usopp fixes things.

Chopper heals people.

Robin researches.

Franky builds.

Brook plays music.

Jinbe steers.

Zoro fights.

And you… you struggle to even hold a mop some days.

So you keep trying, even when your hands shake, even when your fingers go numb, and even when you wake up at night because pain crawls up your wrists.

You keep trying because if you stop, what are you useful for?

“Again.” Zoro blocks your attack easily.

Your wrists hurt already.

You tighten your grip at your best and then swing again.

He blocks again “You’re too tense.”

“I’m fine.”

“You say that every five minutes.”

“I am fine.”

Your fingers suddenly lose strength and the sword slips.

You freeze.

Your hand tingles painfully.

Zoro looks down at the fallen sword, then at you.

You quickly bend down to grab it, but pain shoots through your wrist so hard you suck in a breath.

But he already heard that “You’re hurt.”

“No.”

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not lying.”

“You’re terrible at lying.”

“I said I’m fine!”

Your voice comes out sharper than you mean.

The deck goes quiet, even the wind feels still.

Zoro stares at you, then he sighs “Come sit.”

“I don’t need—”

“Sit.”

You hate how weirdly gentle his voice sounds… it makes your chest hurt.

You sit down near the railing while he puts the practice swords away.

For a while, neither of you talks.

Then he sits beside you.

“You’ve been hiding it.”

You stare at the ocean “Hiding what?”

“The pain.”

You shrug “It’s not a big deal.”

“It is to you.”

You laugh weakly “Not really.”

“You can barely hold things some days.”

Your throat tightens.

“I can still do stuff.”

“I know.”

“I just…” You swallow hard “I’m slower.”

Zoro says nothing.

“And everyone else does so much…” you continue quietly “I can’t even finish basic chores without messing up.”

“You don’t mess up.”

“I do…”

“You don’t.”

“I do.” you repeat, louder this time “I can’t scrub the deck long enough. I drop things. My hands stop working in fights. Sometimes they go numb for hours.” your voice shakes “I’m supposed to help the crew.”

“You do help.”

“How?”

The question comes out too fast and too honest.

You immediately regret it, but Zoro doesn’t get angry.

He leans back against the railing “You think helping only means fighting and chores?”

“I mean… yeah? In a pirate crew, yeah.”

“That’s stupid.”

You blink “That’s rude.”

“It’s true.”

You glare at him weakly.

He continues anyway “When Chopper patches us up after the smallest cut, is that useless?”

“No.”

“When Brook plays music or makes you all laugh after bad days?”

“No.”

“When Luffy drags us into trouble and somehow makes people free?”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

You open your mouth and close it again.

Zoro looks toward the sea “You stay awake with people when they can’t sleep.”

You blink.

“You listen when someone’s upset.”

You stare at him.

“You remember small things.” he says “Like how Chopper likes compliments. Or how Usopp gets nervous before fights and what calms him down.”

Heat rises to your face and say “That’s not important.”

“It is.”

“It’s not enough.”

Zoro goes quiet for a moment, then suddenly snorts “You know? I don’t like using him as an example, but even the weird eyebrows man never uses his hands to fight.”

You stare at him “…Sanji?”

“Unfortunately.”

A small laugh escapes you.

Zoro points at your hands “There are other ways to fight.”

“I can’t exactly kick like him.”

“You don’t have to.”

“But—”

“Even I use my mouth for a sword.”

You blink again “That… sounds weird when you say it out loud.”

“It works, doesn’t it?”

You laugh despite yourself.

“There’s more than one way to help people. More than one way to fight.” He looks directly at you now “You keep trying to force yourself into something that hurts you.”

Your eyes sting suddenly “I just don’t want to be dead weight.”

His expression hardens immediately “You are not dead weight.”

The words come fast, strong and certain.

“You hear me?”

You look away quickly.

“You belong here.” he says quietly now “With us. With… me.”

Your chest aches painfully, in that overwhelming kind of way that isn't always bad.

“You noticed all that?” you ask softly.

“Obviously.”

“I thought I hid it well.”

“You hide it terribly.”

You groan “Great.”

“You flex your fingers every ten seconds.”

“…Oh.”

“And you make this face.”

“What face?”

“This one.” he copies your annoyed expression badly.

You stare at him “That looks nothing like me.”

“It does.”

“You look constipated.”

“Tch.”

Now, that makes you finally laugh… a real laugh this time.

Zoro watches you carefully afterward, like he’s checking if the sadness is still there.

And it is, but lighter now.

“You really think there are other ways?” you ask quietly.

“Yeah.”

“What if I still can’t do enough?”

“You don’t decide that alone.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means the crew already wants you here.”

Your eyes widen slightly.

“And I want you here…” he adds.

The softness in his voice nearly kills you but his red ears are so cute.

You stare at him for a long moment, then suddenly lean forward and kiss him.

Zoro makes a surprised sound against your lips.

Then one hand moves carefully to your waist, pulling you closer in a gentle push. Always gentler than people expect from him.

The kiss is warm and slow, feeling close and safe.

When you pull back, your face feels hot.

“That was a thank you.” you mumble.

“Hm.”

“What?”

“You can thank me again if you want.”

You snort loudly “There’s the idiot swordsman again.”

“And there’s the smiley you.”

You lean against his shoulder.

Finally, you don't feel guilty about all this.

── .✦ Buggy:

tags: established relationship, chronic pain, insecurity, comfort, subtle care, emotional hurt/comfort

The ship rocks hard under your feet as someone on deck is screaming again.

“WHO TOOK MY FUCKING CAPE?!”

You close your eyes “…There he is.”

One of the crew points quickly “Captain Buggy, Mohji used it to cover the cannon!”

“WHAT?!”

You hear stomping, loud crashing and then a man screaming in fear.

Then Buggy’s voice again “YOU USED MY CAPE FOR A CANNON?! ARE YOU INSANE?!”

You smile a little despite yourself, because your hands ache badly, today too.

The numbness started this morning before sunrise and it crawled from your fingertips to your wrists until even holding a spoon felt strange… like your hands belonged to someone else.

You flex your fingers slowly, pain shoots up your arm “…Ow.”

You hide the sound quickly.

You still have work.

Everyone on this ship works.

Even if Buggy acts dramatic and lazy sometimes, the crew still moves because people do their jobs.

You want to do yours too.

You grab the rope beside you and start tying down the supply crates before the weather gets worse.

Your fingers slip immediately “Damn it.”

You try again but the knot comes loose.

You try again and again and again.

Your jaw tightens “Come on…”

You can fight through pain, usually… but numbness is worse. It makes your hands stupid.

You try pulling harder.

A sharp sting suddenly burns through your palm and your fingers give out completely. The rope falls.

“Shit—”

“Why are you doing that?”

You jump.

Buggy stands behind you with his arms crossed.

“You’re gonna tie the crates like that?” he asks.

“I can do it.”

“Yeah? Because from where I’m standing, it looks like you’re fighting a rope and losing.”

“I said I can do it.”

Buggy narrows his eyes.

You hate that look… that careful one. The one that says he noticed something is off.

“I’m fine.” you add quickly.

“Uh-huh.”

“I am.”

“Sure.”

You glare “Why are you even here?”

“Because this is my ship.”

“You were screaming about your cape two seconds ago.”

“That’s different. That was important.”

You snort softly.

Buggy walks closer and grabs the rope from your hands and says “I’ve got it.”

“No, give it back.”

“Why?”

“Because I should help.”

“You are helping.”

“How?”

“You’re standing there looking pretty and keeping morale up.”

“That’s not real work.”

Buggy starts tying the knot quickly “Well, good thing I, the captain, didn’t ask.”

You cross your arms.

The ache in your hands pulses harder now from trying too much.

Buggy notices you rubbing your fingers, but he says nothing, and for you, that somehow feels worse.

Later, the crew gathers for lunch.

You sit beside Buggy while everyone argues over portions.

Cabaji points across the table “Captain, they’re taking extra meat again!”

“I CAN SEE THAT!”

“It was one piece!” someone shouts.

“THAT’S STILL THEFT!”

You try picking up your cup but your fingers twitch halfway there and the cup slips.

Buggy catches it before it falls, fast.

Nobody else even notices.

“Careful,” he says loudly “you break my cups, you buy new ones.”

You stare at him “…Thanks.”

“Tch. Don’t get emotional.”

He pushes the cup back toward you more carefully this time.

Under the table, his foot bumps yours once, soft, as if he’s checking you’re okay.

You look down quickly before anyone sees your face.

That night, the pain gets worse.

Rain hits the ship hard. Wind screams outside your room.

You sit on the edge of the bed trying to wrap your wrists tighter. Maybe if you press hard enough, your hands will listen again.

You hiss quietly.

The door opens.

Buggy walks in carrying a plate “What are you doing sitting in the dark like some tragic widow?”

You blink “What?”

“I brought food.”

“I can see that.”

“Well don’t sound too grateful.”

He puts the plate beside you.

You stare at it “…I wasn’t hungry.”

“Yeah, because pain does that.” he shrugs “Eat anyway.”

You freeze.

Buggy starts taking off his coat like he said nothing strange.

“You didn’t have to—”

“I know.”

Silence fills the room for a moment except for the storm outside.

You look down at your hands again “I hate this.”

Buggy pauses “Hate what?”

“This.” You flex your fingers weakly “I can’t do basic things some days.”

“So?”

“So I’m supposed to help!”

“You do help.”

“How? I can barely hold a cup lately.”

Buggy scoffs loudly “Please. Half my crew can barely hold conversations.”

“That’s not the point.”

You stand suddenly and start pacing “I can’t fight right. I drop things. I mess up knots. I slow people down—”

“You don’t slow me down.”

“You help me constantly!”

“Oh no.” Buggy says flatly “How horrible. Helping my partner. Truly devastating.”

“Buggy.”

“What?”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

You stop moving.

He looks at you. No jokes. No yelling. Just sharp eyes watching carefully.

“You think I keep you around because you can fight?” he asks.

“I mean… it helped.”

“That’s stupid.”

You blink.

Buggy points at you dramatically “You think I, the great Captain Buggy, only values people for strength? Look at my crew! Half these idiots eat soap if nobody stops them!”

A crash sounds outside.

Someone yells, “IT WASN’T SOAP!”

Buggy shouts toward the door, “YES IT WAS!”

Then he looks back at you again as his voice lowers “You’re with me because I want you here.”

Your chest hurts suddenly, but different from before.

“You don’t get it,” you whisper “I feel useless.”

Buggy groans loudly like the conversation annoys him.

Then he walks over to say “You know what I think is useless?”

“What?”

“You sitting here hurting yourself because you’re too stubborn to ask for help.”

You look away “I don’t want people treating me differently.”

“Good. Because they won’t.” Buggy crouches in front of you “But I will.”

You blink again “What does that mean?”

“It means,” he says slowly, “and please don’t make me repeat it, that I’ll help before you ask. And I’ll make it look natural so nobody bothers you about it.”

You stare “…You already do that.”

Buggy freezes for half a second, then immediately points at you “HAH! So you noticed!”

“You’re not subtle.”

“I’m extremely subtle.”

“You literally steal things from my hands when they hurt.”

“That’s called romance.”

Despite everything, you laugh, small and tired, but real.

Buggy watches your face carefully after the sound leaves you, like he missed hearing it.

“Tch.” he mutters “There it is.”

“What?”

“That annoying laugh.”

“You like my laugh.”

“I never said that.”

“You smile every time.”

“I do NOT.”

“You’re smiling right now.”

“I’m just naturally charming.”

You laugh again.

Buggy’s shoulders loosen slightly, then he grabs your wrists carefully.

“You’re warm.” he says.

“My hands always are when they hurt.”

“…Does it feel bad now?”

“A little.”

He rubs circles into your wrists with his thumbs, awkwardly. Like he refuses to admit he learned how to help properly.

“You don’t have to fix everything alone.” he mutters.

You look at him quietly and admit “For someone who screams all day, you say really nice things sometimes.”

“Don’t spread that around.”

“Your reputation?”

“Exactly.”

You smile softly.

Buggy notices immediately and squints at you suspiciously “What?”

“You’re being cute.”

“That sounds like a threat.”

“It is.”

The storm outside gets louder, but inside the room, it feels strangely calm.

Buggy keeps rubbing your wrists.

You finally whisper, “I’m scared sometimes.”

He goes still “Of what?”

“That one day I won’t be able to do anything useful.”

Buggy clicks his tongue “Then you can sit next to me and insult people professionally.”

“That’s your job.”

“I can share… with you.”

You smile weakly.

“But really,” you say, quieter now, “what if I become a burden?”

Buggy’s expression changes immediately, sharp and obviously offended “Don’t say that.”

You blink at the sudden tone.

“I mean it.” he says “Don’t call yourself that.”

“…Sorry.”

“Tch.”

He stands up fast and pulls you with him.

Before you can react, his arms wrap around you tightly, not graceful and not elegant at all, just very Buggy style.

“You’re an idiot sometimes.” he mutters against your hair.

“You say that lovingly.”

“I say it truthfully.”

You relax slowly against him.

His chin rests on your head.

Outside, thunder cracks loudly.

Buggy squeezes you once more and then he pulls back enough to look at your face “You done being dramatic now?”

“You’re literally hugging me.”

“That’s unrelated.”

You snort softly.

His eyes flick down to your mouth for one quick second, then away immediately.

“…What?” you ask.

“Nothing.,,”

“You made a face.”

“I did not.”

“You did.”

Buggy groans like this is exhausting, then suddenly grabs your jaw dramatically and say “Fine! Since you clearly require attention—”

He kisses you, fast at first, almost clumsy. Then softer when you lean closer. 

His gloves brush your cheeks carefully.

You melt a little against him.

Buggy huffs quietly into the kiss.

When he pulls away, his face is slightly red under the makeup.

“You better not get all emotional about that now.” he says immediately.

“Too late.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

You grin.

Buggy rolls his eyes dramatically, but he kisses your forehead anyway before pulling you back against his chest.

── .✦ Mihawk:

tags: established relationship, chronic pain, guilt, comfort, quiet intimacy, soft mihawk, domestic moments, emotional hurt/comfort

The knife slips from your fingers again.

It doesn't fall far, it falls onto the wooden table with a dull clack and your shoulders tense instantly.

You stare at your numb hand… again.

The feeling comes and goes every day. Sometimes it burns. Sometimes your fingers feel heavy like stone. Sometimes you cannot even tell if you're holding something until it drops.

Today is one of the bad days.

You flex your hand slowly “Damn it…”

Across the kitchen, Dracule Mihawk looks up from the book in his hand.

His eyes move from your face to the knife “You are pushing yourself again.”

“I’m fine.”

“You dropped it three times.”

You hate that he notices everything.

You grab the knife again before he can stand up “I said I’m fine.”

Mihawk closes his book with one quiet motion.

The sound alone makes you nervous.

Not because he's angry, Mihawk rarely raises his voice and that almost makes it worse somehow. His silence always sees too much.

He walks toward you slowly “Give me the knife.”

“I can still cut vegetables.”

“You can barely hold the handle.”

Your jaw tightens “I’m trying to help.”

“And I didn’t say otherwise.”

“But you’re doing everything lately.”

“That’s incorrect.”

“You know what I mean.”

Mihawk studies your face for a long moment, in a calm and sharp way “You're in pain today.”

You look away first “…It’s not worse than normal.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

The numbness crawls higher into your wrist. You hate it and so you hate your own body. Hate the stupid weakness in your fingers. You used to fight beside him. Not at his level, obviously, nobody is at his level, but enough to stand proudly beside him.

Now even holding a teacup too long hurts.

You laugh quietly, bitterly “Some good partner I am.”

Mihawk’s expression changes slightly but enough that most people would miss it… you don’t.

“You think your worth depends on what you can carry with your hands?”

“It should depend on something.”

“It does.”

“Like what?”

“You're here.”

You blink “That’s not enough.”

“For you, maybe.”

“Mihawk…”

“You speak as though I chose you for labor.”

His voice stays even, deep and calm.

“But I can’t fight properly anymore.”

“You still can.”

“Not like before.”

“No,” he agrees immediately “not like before.”

The honesty hurts more than pity would.

You pull your hand back against your chest “See?”

Mihawk sighs softly through his nose.

“You continue to measure yourself against impossible standards.”

“That’s rich coming from you.”

That actually earns the faintest look of amusement.

“Yes. Perhaps.”

You lean against the counter, exhausted already.

“I just…” You swallow hard “I hate needing help.”

“You have needed help since the day we met.”

The memory flashes immediately. You trying to hide shaking hands while wrapping a wound. Mihawk silently taking the bandages from you without a word. The first time he held a cup near your lips because your fingers stopped cooperating halfway through dinner.

He always knew. Always.

And somehow that makes the guilt worse.

“I thought maybe if I worked harder…” you mumble.

“To accomplish what?”

“To stop being a burden.”

Silence.

You shouldn't have said that.

Mihawk steps closer.

His voice lowers “Never say that about yourself again.”

The words are quiet, but firm enough to cut stone.

You stare at him.

“You think caring for you is a burden?”

“I mean—”

“You think I am forced into it?”

“No…”

“Then don't insult my choices.”

You look down quickly “…Sorry.”

Another silence.

Then you feel leather gloves brush lightly against your wrist.

Mihawk lifts your hand carefully, like he already knows exactly where it hurts.

“Where is the numbness?”

“Mostly fingers. Wrist too.”

“And pain?”

“Everywhere.”

“Hm.”

You almost laugh tiredly “Very helpful answer, I know.”

“It's accurate.”

His thumb presses lightly against your palm. Testing.

You flinch and his eyes narrow immediately and he asks “That bad?”

“It’ll pass.”

“You say that often.”

Because it usually does… sometimes.

You watch him remove his gloves one finger at a time before setting them aside.

Then he reaches for the kettle.

“I can still make tea myself.”

“I'm aware.”

“Then why are you—”

“Sit down.”

“…You sound like a doctor.”

“You would ignore one of those as well.”

You mutter something under your breath.

“I heard that.”

“I know.”

You finally sit at the table while Mihawk moves around the kitchen with smooth, easy motions. Precise and controlled like always.

He never rushes.

“You don’t get annoyed?” you ask quietly.

“At what?”

“At me struggling all the time.”

“No.”

“But doesn’t it get tiring?”

Mihawk pours hot water into a cup “Yes.”

Your chest sinks immediately.

Then he continues calmly “Pain is tiring. Watching someone you care for hurt is tiring. That doesn't mean I resent you.”

You stare at the table “I can’t even hold my sword properly some days.”

“You're grieving.”

The words hit harder than expected “What?”

“You speak as though you lost nothing.”

Mihawk sets the cup in front of you carefully.

“But you did.”

You look up slowly.

“You lost ease. Strength. Freedom. Certainty in your own body.” His gaze stays on you “Yet you expect yourself to feel nothing about it.”

Your throat tightens painfully.

Nobody says things like that to you.

Most people tell you to stay positive, to try harder or to be grateful it isn't worse.

Mihawk never lies to make things easier, and somehow that comforts you more.

“I’m tired…” you admit quietly.

“I know.”

“I hate feeling useless.”

“You aren't useless.”

“I can’t even help around the castle without messing up.”

“You help me every day.”

“How?”

“You listen.”

You blink.

“You stay.”

Another answer comes before you can speak.

“You make this place feel inhabited instead of empty.”

Your face warms immediately “Mihawk…”

“And,” he says calmly, “your presence discourages idiots from interrupting my evenings.”

You laugh despite yourself “There it is.”

“There what is?”

“The romantic talk.”

A faint smirk touches his mouth “Don’t become spoiled now.”

You wrap your hands carefully around the warm cup. Heat helps sometimes.

MMihawk watches your grip for a moment, then he asks“Have you practiced the stretches I showed you?”

“…Sometimes.”

“You forgot.”

“Maybe.”

“Hm.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I am.”

You groan softly “I knew you were going to say that.”

“You injure yourself further by ignoring limits.”

“I’m trying not to have limits.”

“That's foolish.”

You glare at him weakly “You’re supposed to encourage me.”

“I am encouraging you… to use your brain.”

You snort into your tea.

The room grows quieter after that, but a comfortable quiet. Rain taps lightly against the castle windows.

Mihawk sits across from you again with his wine.

You watch him for a while.

“How are you so patient with me?”

“I’m not patient.”

“You are with me.”

“That’s different.”

The answer comes too fast to be accidental.

Something soft pulls painfully in your chest.

You look at your hands again “They’re ugly lately.”

Mihawk immediately looks irritated “Your hands.”

“The swelling’s worse.”

“They’re hands.”

“You know what I mean.”

“They’re yours.”

He says it like that settles everything and maybe to him, it does.

You laugh quietly again “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you remain here.”

“Unfortunately.”

“How tragic.”

You smile into your tea.

Then the numbness suddenly spikes sharply through your fingers.

You hiss softly.

Mihawk is beside you immediately and says “Show me.”

“It’s fine.”

“Show me.”

You hold out your hand reluctantly.

He takes it carefully between both of his larger hands.

His thumbs move slowly across your knuckles, with a gentle pressure.

“You should rest.”

“I rested yesterday.”

“You rested poorly yesterday.”

“…You notice too much.”

“Yes.”

His fingers continue massaging your hand slowly and it kinda helps, but not enough to remove the pain completely. Nothing ever does. But at least it’s enough to loosen the tightness in your chest.

“You know,” you mumble, “most people would leave.”

Mihawk looks genuinely unimpressed “I’m not most people.”

“I know.”

“Then stop speaking as though I’m temporary.”

Your eyes sting unexpectedly.

That’s the problem with him. Mihawk doesn’t speak gently often, or at least not so obvious, but when he does, every word lands directly inside your ribs.

You look at him quietly. At the sharp golden eyes, at his calm face… at the man feared across entire seas sitting here massaging your aching hands without complaint.

“You really don’t mind?”

“No.”

“Even when I can’t do things?”

“Yes.”

“Even when I get frustrated?”

“I expect it.”

“Even when I’m difficult?”

One eyebrow lifts slightly “You’re frequently difficult.”

You gasp softly in fake offense.

“But yes.”

You shake your head with a tiny laugh.

“You’re terrible at comfort.”

“And yet you’re calmer now.”

“…Damn it.”

That tiny almost-smile appears again.

Victory.

You stare at him for another quiet moment before speaking softly.

“Thank you.”

Mihawk pauses, then he nods once “You don’t need to thank me for loving you.”

Your breath catches immediately, because he just said it so simply, like it’s a fact. No embarrassment and no hesitation, and that makes it feel even more real.

You stand slowly from the chair.

Mihawk watches you carefully in case your hands fail again.

But instead, you step closer until you are standing between his knees.

His gaze lifts toward you “What are you doing?”

“You said something nice.”

“A rare mistake.”

“So I’m rewarding you.”

“Hm.”

You place your hands lightly against his chest and he just lets you.

Then you lean down and kiss him softly and slowly.

Mihawk goes still for half a second before one hand settles against your waist.

His thumb brushes once against your side while he kisses you back with quiet restraint, controlled like everything else about him… but warm… always warmer than people expect.

When you pull back, he looks at you silently for a moment.

Then he says “You’re smiling.”

“You noticed?”

“I notice everything.”

You kiss the corner of his mouth quickly this time and tell him “That’s annoying.”

“And yet,” he murmurs, eyes softer now, “you continue to stay.”

── .✦ Law:

tags: established relationship, chronic pain, guilt, comfort, soft law, domestic moments, emotional hurt/comfort

Your hands hurt.

Not enough to stop functioning completely and not enough to count as an emergency. 

Just enough to make every small thing irritating and exhausting and humiliating if you think about it too long.

Today, unfortunately, you keep thinking about it.

You stand in the kitchen of the Polar Tang staring at the container in your hands, jaw tight as you try twisting the lid open again.

Nothing.

Your fingers slip as pain sparks through your wrist.

You grit your teeth and try again anyway, but the lid doesn’t move.

God, this is stupid.

Behind you, the crew is loud as usual… Shachi laughing too hard at his own joke, Penguin arguing back, Bepo trying unsuccessfully to calm them down before Law inevitably tells everyone to shut up.

Normal.

Everything feels normal except for you.

You finally force the lid open using the edge of the counter, but the motion sends a sharp ache through your palm that makes you hiss quietly.

And for some reason, the fact that something this easy has to become a whole ordeal every single time, makes your chest feel tight suddenly.

You set the container down harder than intended and stare at your hands.

The numbness comes in waves today. 

Fingertips tingling, grip weakening without warning, joints stiff and sore like your body is punishing you for existing in it.

You hate it and you hate that everyone else can move without thinking about it.

You hate that you have to calculate every little task.

You hate needing help.

Most of all, you hate that you’re used to it now.

“You’re glaring at the counter.”

Law’s voice makes you jump slightly.

You look over your shoulder.

He stands in the doorway with his hands in his pockets, expression unreadable beneath the brim of his hat.

“…I’m fine.” you say automatically.

“Hm.”

That hum means liar.

He watches you for another second before his eyes drop to your hands.

Your fingers curl instinctively.

Law notices that too, of course “You’re hurting.”

It isn’t a question.

You look away “It’s manageable.”

“That bad, then.”

“I said manageable.”

“And I said that’s bad.”

His voice stays calm, flat, irritatingly perceptive.

You exhale sharply through your nose and lean back against the counter “I’m just tired today.”

Law walks into the kitchen quietly, stopping in front of you “Tired physically or mentally?”

You laugh once without humor “Guess.”

His gaze stays on you long enough that your throat starts tightening.

You hate that he can read you this easily and you hate that part of you is relieved by it too.

“I can’t do anything right today.” you mutter finally.

“That’s not true.”

“I almost lost grip on my weapon yesterday.”

“You still hit your target.”

“Ikkaku had to finish maintenance for me.”

“Because your hands were locking up.”

“I can’t even open containers normally half the time…”

“So?”

The word catches you off guard.

You blink at him.

Law’s expression barely changes, but there’s something firmer in his tone now.

“So,” he repeats, “you adapt. Or someone helps you. That’s not a moral failure.”

“It feels like one.”

Silence settles heavily between you while the submarine hums around you softly.

You stare at your hands again.

“I just feel useless sometimes…” you admit quietly “everyone else contributes so much more than me.”

Law’s eyes narrow slightly “You think your value to this crew depends entirely on physical ability?”

“No, but—”

“No,” he interrupts flatly “you don’t get to ‘but’ your way out of this one.”

Despite yourself, your mouth twitches weakly.

Law steps closer.

“You help Bepo study navigation routes because he gets overwhelmed reading maps.” he says “You reorganized the medical storage because none of these idiots know how to put things back correctly. You stay up repairing clothes and equipment even when your hands hurt.”

“That’s small stuff.”

“It still matters.”

You swallow hard “It doesn’t feel like enough.”

Law goes quiet, then he sighs softly through his nose and reaches for your hands “Give me these.”

You let him take them without protest.

His fingers are warm around yours, steady and careful as he turns your hands over in his grip. He presses gently along your palms and wrists, thumbs working against the sore muscles like he already knows exactly where it hurts most.

Because he does know… he always does.

“You’ve been overusing them.” he mutters.

“I know.”

“You compensate when they start going numb.” His thumbs press into the base of your palm, easing some of the ache immediately “That strains everything else.”

You watch his face while he works, focused and quiet. Slightly annoyed in the way he always gets when he cares too much about something.

“You notice everything.” you mumble.

“I’m a doctor and captain.”

“You’re nosy.”

“Hm.”

The corner of his mouth twitches faintly.

Your chest aches but not in a bad way.

You suddenly feel exhausted all over again.

“I hate this…” you whisper.

Law’s hands still for half a second “I know.”

The simple honesty in it almost breaks you.

No forced positivity and no pretending it’s easy. Just understanding.

Your eyes sting embarrassingly fast.

Law notices immediately, because of course he does.

“You’re thinking too much again.” he says quietly.

“I can’t help it.”

“You can.” his thumbs resume their slow movements against your hands “You just don’t know how to stop.”

You laugh weakly “Amazing diagnosis, doctor.”

“I’m very talented.”

That actually earns a real laugh from you this time, and there it is that tiny shift in his expression when he hears it, small enough most people would miss it entirely.

You don’t, you know Law too well for that.

Warmth blooms slowly in your chest, soft and aching and without thinking too hard about it, you step closer and reach up to grab his face.

Your fingers fumble slightly against his cheeks from the numbness.

Law lets you reposition your hands without a single complaint.

Then you kiss him right on the mouth, slow and warm.

He exhales softly through his nose, surprised for only a second before one hand slides automatically to your waist.

When you pull back, you kiss his cheek… then under his eye, then the corner of his jaw.

“You’re being weird.” he mutters.

“You’re nice to me.”

“I’m literally treating your symptoms.”

“You’re holding me.”

“That’s unrelated.”

You laugh quietly against his skin before kissing his forehead.

Law sighs like you are personally exhausting him, but his grip on your waist tightens slightly.

“You know,” you murmur between kisses, “you’re really bad at pretending you don’t like affection.”

“I don’t like affection.”

“Mhm, sure.”

You kiss his nose. Then beneath his lip. Then his temple.

Law’s ears start turning faintly pink beneath the brim of his hat.

Victory.

“You’re annoying.” he grumbles.

“But you love me.”

He goes silent for one fatal second too long, making you grin immediately.

“There it is.”

“Shut up.”

“No.”

You kiss him again before he can argue further, softer this time, lingering long enough to feel the way he melts despite himself.

Law’s hand slides from your waist to the back of your neck, fingers warm against your skin.

When you pull away again, he rests his forehead lightly against yours with a quiet sigh.

“You done?” he asks.

“Not even close.”

He gives you a deeply unimpressed look that loses all effectiveness when you kiss both his cheeks in quick succession.

“You’re clingy now.”

“I’m having a bad day and you’re my cure.”

“Hm.”

That stupid soft hum again.

You smile a little and then you say softly “You know? You’re a good doctor and a good captain… but you’re also a perfect partner. I love you a lot.”

Law rubs his thumb slowly along the side of your neck while looking at you with that quiet, intense focus he gets sometimes, the one that always feels like he’s paying attention to every tiny detail about you at once.

“Then… for that, don’t forget you don’t have to prove you’re useful to deserve being here.” he says quietly.

Your chest tightens.

Even now, hearing that from him feels overwhelming.

You lean forward and kiss him one more time, gentler now.

Law lets you… of course he does.

Then, after a second, he presses a small kiss back against your mouth so quickly you almost think you imagined it.

“…Don’t look so smug.” he mutters immediately.

Stupid. Reckless. Necessary, maybe, but still stupid. You had moved before he could. Taken the hit meant for one of his crew. Gone down hard enough that the sound of your body hitting the deck had cut through the fight worse than any blade.

For one second, Law had forgotten how to breathe.

That was the problem.

Not the injury. Not the stitches. Not the blood.

That one second.

The empty, bottomless second where he had thought, No.

Not her.

He looked at you now, at the slow rise and fall of your chest.

“You’re a problem,” he said quietly.

Law leaned forward.

He should leave and do something useful before he started overthinking.

Instead, he reached out and touched two fingers against your wrist, checking your pulse for the tenth time in an hour.

Steady.

Alive.

His eyes closed.

The words came before he could stop them, dragged out of some place he had spent years sealing shut.

“I love you.”

They were barely sound.

A confession made to the dark. To a sleeping patient. To a room that could not accuse him of weakness.

Law opened his eyes again, furious with himself.

You slept on.

No teasing smile. No soft little “Captain?” that would force him to stand there and explain what he had no intention of explaining.

He let out a quiet breath.

Then, because fear had already ruined him once tonight, he lowered his mouth to the back of your hand.

“I love you,” he whispered again, rougher this time.

Your fingers twitched faintly against his.

Law froze.

For one awful second, he thought you had woken.

But your eyes remained closed. Your breathing stayed even.

Your hand curled weakly around two of his fingers.

Law stared at it.

Then he bowed his head. “Don’t do that again,” he said quietly.

You did not hear him.

That was safest.

That was worse.

By the fifth, your skin felt warm for reasons that had nothing to do with the bar.

“You’re staring,” you said.

Law leaned back in his seat, one arm stretched along the booth behind him. His glass rested in his other hand.

“No, I’m not.”

“You definitely are.”

“Then stop looking back.”

Your breath caught before you could help it.

He saw.

The noise around you blurred into clinking glasses and laughter from the crew. Bepo was half-asleep against Penguin’s shoulder. Shachi was loudly losing at cards. No one was paying attention.

Except Law.

He set his glass down and tilted his head toward the empty space beside him.

“Come here.”

Your stomach dipped.

“Why?”

His eyes dragged over your face, slow enough to be deliberate. “You ask too many questions.”

“And you give terrible answers.”

That almost-smile came back. Softer this time. More dangerous.

“Come here,” he repeated.

You should have argued. You were good at arguing with him.

Instead, you slid out of your seat and crossed to his side of the booth.

Law caught your wrist before you could sit. His hand slid down until his fingers threaded loosely through yours.

“You’ve been avoiding me all night,” he said.

“I have not.”

“You have.” His voice was low. Rougher than usual at the edges.

You swallowed. “Maybe you’re imagining things.”

Law tugged once, and you practically fell into the spot beside him.

“Easy there,” he said, steadying you with one hand at your waist. “Don’t make me catch you twice.”

It had to be the alcohol.

Yours, maybe. His, maybe.

Maybe neither.

“I don’t imagine things.”

“No?”

“No.”

His gaze dropped to your mouth.

Then back to your eyes.

The room suddenly felt too small.

“You’re tipsy,” you whispered.

“Maybe.”

Your heart kicked. For a second, neither of you moved.

Then his fingers loosened to give you the choice to pull away.

You didn’t.

Law noticed that too.

His mouth tilted.

“Good girl,” he said quietly.

-Smile fades. Eyes go so serious. Way more serious than you’re used to.

-“...Who hurt you?”

-His voice isn’t loud , not Luffy loud. It’s quiet. Too quiet.

-He grabs your hand so gently it’s almost not Luffy at all. “You’re safe with me, okay?”

-That’s all he says in the moment. But later?

-He brings it up again. “I don’t like that you’re scared. I’m your captain. I’m supposed to protect you.”

-The next time someone so much as raises their voice at you?

-“Don’t talk to them like that. Or I’ll punch you into the ocean.”

-If he ever finds the person who hurt you, they’re gonna learn what Gear Fifth looks like up close.

-Clings to you more after that, lots of cuddles, hand-holding, head-in-your-lap moments.

-Says things like, “I love you. You’re mine. I got you,” with total, unshakable certainty.

Roronoa Zoro

-You flinch. Barely. He was just reaching to tuck your hair behind your ear, but your body moved like it was muscle memory.

-He stops instantly, hand suspended in mid-air, eye narrowing with sharp precision.

-“...Who hurt you?”

-Voice like a blade being unsheathed. Low, deadly calm. Not a demand. A promise.

-Zoro doesn’t do softness well, but the second he sees that flicker of fear, he switches.

-He steps back just enough to give you space but never takes his eyes off you.

-“You know I’d never lay a hand on you like that... right?”

-Later, when you talk, he listens. Every word. Every silence. And then he gets quiet. Still. Dangerous.

-The kind of quiet that means someone’s going to regret ever putting hands on you.

-He doesn’t say it, but you know he’s going to make sure it never happens again.

-Afterward, he’s more mindful, not coddling, but protective in small ways. Walking between you and others. Always watching.

Sanji Vinsmoke

-It happens so fast, he’s reaching to grab a jar from behind you, and you flinch.

-His hand drops like it burned him. Golden eyes wide, flickering with panic.

-“Mon chéri… who hurt you?”

-Not accusatory,  heartbroken. Like the very idea cracks something inside him.

-He’s immediately checking you over gently, carefully, like you’re made of glass.

-“I would never… I mean- ! I’d never lay a finger on you, you know that, don’t you?”

-You nod, and he gives you a shaky smile, but he’s not really smiling.

-If he finds out who it was? They’ll be lucky if he doesn’t go full Germa.

-Sanji may be a gentleman, but when it comes to someone hurting the person he loves?

-"I’ll make sure they never see the light of day again.”

-Afterwards, he’s extra attentive, constant soft touches, verbal affirmations, cooking your favorites every day.

-You can feel how much it’s eating at him, but he just keeps loving you louder.

Trafalgar Law

-You flinch when he brushes past you to grab something, the reaction so quick, so ingrained, it makes his heart stop.

-He freezes. Doesn’t even breathe for a second.

-Then, in that dead calm voice:

-“Who hurt you?”

It’s not emotionless. It’s too focused. Too sharp. You know that tone that’s the voice of a man already making plans.

-“I need to know. So I can deal with it.”

-He’s not trying to scare you, but Law is all razor edges when it comes to people he loves.

-“You don’t have to tell me now. Or ever. But I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”

-He gives you space, but watches you like a hawk for days. Weeks.

-Anytime someone gets too close, his hand is already on sword.

-If he ever finds out who it was? Oh, they’re not just going to suffer, they’ll vanish. Quietly. Permanently.

-Around you, though? He softens. Always announces his presence. Doesn’t touch without asking.

-He becomes incredibly intentional the small touches, the eye contact, the way he always checks in with,

-“You okay?” even when you’re just standing beside him.

-You never flinch again not around him. Not around his crew. Not with your captain.

♡♡♡

You've been annoying him non-stop asking him to teach you about male anatomy with him being the test subject. But he refused countless times.

"Fine, the I guess I'll ask the green-haired swordsman of the strawhats " you pouted, Law glanced at you but still no sign that he'd change his mind.

Well seems that's not enough.

"Or maybe Captain Kid and his muscular blonde first mate. I bet they'd be eager to help me out" you teased and Law flinched at the name of the red haired captain. Jackpot.

You stepped closer to his chair moving your fingers gently over his back.

"Gonna ask if someone knows where the kid pirates are" you whispered in his ear before turning around walking towards the door.

"Don't you dare" he snapped. You stopped and turned on your heel, big smile on your face.

"I'm gonna wipe that smile off you if you don't stop" he warned.

"Rude" you pouted. "Sooo does that mean you agree to do this?"

"If you stop being a pain in my ass"

"I promise captain" you teased gleefully.

Who would've thought that Kid would be so useful.

The next day Law was awaiting you in his office. You were really excited that he agreed to this.

"What's with the bag" he asked as you put it on his desk.

"Nothing, it's more like a first aid kit" you replied trying not to smile.

"Ok so- what are you doing" he asked as you grabbed one of his doctor's coats.

"I'm the doctor today and you are my patient, so I thought that i needed to dress appropriately." You teased taking your glasses out of your bag and putting them on and then grabbed his stethoscope and placed it around your neck.

"Now dear patient I need you to take your clothes off and lay down on the examining table"

"Why do I-" he started but you cut him off.

"Good patients don't question their doctor" you scolded "Besides someone once told me that a good doctor always knows what their patients need" you teased making him frown as you used his own words against him.

He grumbled, muttering something like "why did i agree to this" "should've let her do it with zoro-ya" to himself. But you ignored him.

You were too excited. For once he would be the one on the examining table, be the test subject and not you. You could feel a rush of heat run through your body.

Only wearing his underwear Law wanted to lay down when you stopped him.

"When I said you should take of your clothes I meant all of it" you said motioning at his underwear.

"Thin ice" he growled, anger in his eyes.

"Come on, you always make me lay down totally naked so it's only fair when you are too" you said giving him your best puppy eyes. And of course that worked.

He stripped naked and laid down. You gasped at the nice sight in front of you. Feeling your cheeks burning and your core already aching. Ok calm down otherwise this will be over before you had some fun you told yourself. Though that beautiful body made it hard to focus.

You cleared your throat and grabbed his wrists cuffing them to the side. The look on Law's face told you that he did not like that, especially the moment he realized that you had replaced the normal cuffs for his wrists with seastone prism.

"The hell did you do" he yelled trying to get away. But it's already been to late as you just finished cuffing his ankles.

"What? If i use the normal ones you'll be using your devilfruit sooner or later and that's not fair." You explained with a smug smile.

"Now stop complaining and let's start"

"Ok what do you want me to teach you? Keep in mind that my movement and sight is kinda limited." He said annoyed.

"Would you say that a men's body is less sensitive than a female's" you asked placing a hand on his chest.

"Well a woman has a greater nerve density therefore they may feel pain more intensely."

"I'm not talking about pain, I'm talking about light touches and stimulation" you said using your fingertips to gently draw lazy circles on his chest.

You could feel his muscles tense even with this light touches. Still he remained his professionalism.

"It depends on who's touching. For example if men get touched by a stranger from the opposite sex than it would still feel kinda pleasant whereas women might consider it unpleasant and therefore they could react less sensitive"

"But I'm no stranger" you said moving your fingertips closer to his nipples.

A shiver ran down his spine, while he was muffling a small moan.

The look on his face told you that he wanted to say something but was lost for words. He couldn't bring himself to say that the touch of a romantic partner is more intense.

"Ok how about we test it" you said as you grabbed the bag rummaging in it as you took a blue feather out.

Law looked at you and you could be wrong but it kinda looked like he was panicking a little. But you also could've only imagined it.

"Light touches are more intense for women, whereas men could feel up to nothing." He said out of nowhere, staring at the feather in your hand.

"Might be true but you once told me that some regions on the body are densly packed with nerve endings making it highly responsive to light touches and delicate stimulation." He cursed himself for teaching you this but was also a little proud that you remembered.

"Shall we find out where these regions are" you teased as you twirled the feather in your hand.

"There's no need for such a childish game. I could just show you" Law argumented.

You pretend to think about his offer. "But that's no fun. Besides you always say that I'm behaving like a child so" you mocked with an evil smile.

"Now dear patient let's start"

You moved the feather carefully along Law's arm stopping at his shoulder - no real reaction.

You continued your path now moving it along his neck receiving a small twist from him. He gritted his teeth as you kept on moving it lightly left to right and then back again.

"Sir you have to tell me how it feels, it's really important that the patient keeps communicating with the doctor" you taunted.

"The neck region's-" he stopped taking a deep breath "skin is thinner therefore-" again a short pause "more sensitive to touch" he explained finally able to ending his sentence.

"Would you say in a good way or not" you asked stopping your movements but leaving the feather on his skin.

He stared at you for a moment before giving you a nasty look. Well seems like he's too scared to admit he's liking it.

"Ok so neck is a yes" you said pretending to be crossing it of from a checklist.

Before he could say something you continued. Moving the feather along his collarbone watching his expression.

"Law are you still there" you asked moving your face closer to his. He looked at you a mix of confusion and annoyance. "I'm not learning anything if you keep quiet"

"The collarbone is relatively thin, with less muscle and fat padding underneath, which allows nerve endings to be closer to the surface." Since he could say that without even the slightest change in his voice or expression you figured that it may be sensitive for others but not so much for him.

"What about here". He pulled at his bonds the moment the feather touched his nipple.

"No need to answer that" you taunted moving it around and around this sensitive area.

"Fuck" he cursed pulling harder at the cuffs. The feeling of the small bristles dancing across his sensitive nipple did sent a feeling of arousal through him.

That was a good spot it seemed so you decided to linger there moving from one nipple to the other and then back again until a small moan escaped his lips. That sent a rush through your own body and you could feel your core heating up.

You had to stop - for the sake of both of you

Law was thankful when the teasing on his nipples stopped but didn't have long to relax. You moved the feather downwards along his abs, brushing carefully up and down.

He tensed a little but not enougn to satisfy you.

"This area, particularly around the belly button, can also be sensitive due to thinner skin and underlying nerve fibers" he explained again way too calm for your liking. It almost seemed like he was bored.

You looked down his body. Smiling you got onto the table sitting down on the spot just above his knees.

"correct me if I'm wrong but i think you once mentioned something about the groin area to be rather sensitive due to the concentration of nerve fibers"

"Don't" he warned. If looks could kill you'd probably be dead right now. You hesitated for a moment, the way he looked at you made you shiver - he was really really mad at you.

Maybe if you untied him right now he would not punish you but you will never ever get the chance of playing with the surgeon of death again. You're screwed anyways so why not have some fun as long as you can.

"Sorry but this is important for me to understand the male body" you teased dragging the feather from his inner thigh higher and higher.

"I swear if you don't stop right now you're going to regret it" he threatened but you ignored him.

"But you seem to enjoy it" you mocked as you looked at his twitching cock.

The tips of the feather gently caressed the area where the thigh meets the groin, making Law grit his teeth. He pulled hardly at his bonds almost throwing you of him.

The tension between you was getting so intense. You could feel the wetness between your own legs as you finally let the feather drag over his cock.

A moan escaped his lips. Fingers clenching into a fist.

You dragged the feather slowly and torturous across his shaft gaining another moan from him. Then decided to pay some attention to his balls. Which got you the same reaction.

He was hissing, breath hitching, body jolting and once again he was trying to break free. You kept repeating your motions - torturing his shaft then going back to his balls over and over.

"Fuck stop" he shouted in between moans.

"You know I've heard that feather touches can stimulate the skin's tactile receptors and increase sensations, particularly in erogenous zones, but an orgasm typically requires more intense, rhythmic stimulation. I guess it's only an edging process" You said not once stopping your movements while a big smile spread on your lips.

"Fuck" was the only thing he said as you kept edging him. Precum slowly dripping down. You decided to pick it up a notch and moved the feather on his tip.

His body jolted and his back was arching. A low moan leaving his lips.

You could see exhaustion in his face so you stopped completely lifiting the feather from his body before giving his cock a qick kiss.

"You know I thought you wanted to teach me something about the male body not a million cursing words" you laughed.

"But since you've been such a brave patient you should get some reward" you continued as you licked his cock. Long lustful licks along his shaft, your hands gently massaging his balls. You slowly wrapped your lips around him and started bobbing. Since he was already so riled up it didnt take him long to come in your mouth.

Swallowing you climbed off of him. He looked relieved but still exhausted, breathing heavily.

"Breaks over, let's continue with our lesson" you said startling him.

"Seriously there's nothing more to explore" he groaned still trying to collect himself.

"What about your feet" you asked playfully, knowing that your own were more then sensitive.

"No" he said, when you suddenly felt yourself cuffed to the table.

"What the hell" you cursed not knowing what just happened.

"Next time you cuff someone make sure to double check it." He explained a smug smile on his face. Fuck!

"Ok listen Law I'm sorry but this was just a game" you stuttered heart pounding like crazy.

"Oh i know and this will be too. Room - shambles" suddenly your clothes were gone.

"Law please" you almost whimpered.

"Don't worry the doctor's going to take care of you, besides what a better way to find out if women are more sensitive than men than to compare it right now" he teased.

You immediately started regretting this whole thing. He's examined you so many times - knowing every sensitive spot on your body and how to get you riled up.

"Let's begin the lesson" he taunted you before brushing his lips over your ear. His teeth carefully biting your earlobe pulling.

You started to hiss. Your already wet core getting wetter.

"Law" you whined. But he paid you no mind. The only thing he was thinking about was getting his payback.

He let go of your earlobe and moved over to your neck.

"No" you moaned, your neck always being a sensitive spot. He nibbled and sucked on the skin.

"It seems that your neck area is just as sensitive as mine" he said into your skin. You doubted that. You were sure that yours is worse.

He continued his assault on your neck and you were sure that he would leave marks.

Slowly but hungry kisses were placed along your collarbone causing you to pull at your bonds.

"Seems you're a little more sensitive here" you could feel the smile on his face. That bastard was enjoying this.

He moved to your breasts one hand kneading it while your nipple was greeted by his tongue.

"Law please stop" you whimpered between moans as he gave kitten licks to your sensitive skin. Your back arched, head shaking.

"But we're far from done. And to say it in your words this is fun." He taunted you before giving you a moment to breath.

"That's not fair, you're a cheater" you pouted looking at him.

"Life's not fair sweetheart" he said making you blush. Did he just call you sweetheart. When he looked at you and saw the warm smile on your face he realized what he just said.

To cover up that he was also slightly blushing he continued tormenting you burying his lips between your boobs while this time both his hands started kneading and squeezing them evey now and then teasing your nipples.

His touches made you shiver and by now you were sure that you created a sea between your legs for how wet you were.

He let go of your boobs and mirroring your belly. He took a single finger and let it's tip drag slowly and deliberately down the skin of it.

"Oooh god" you moaned head tilting back. How could a single fingertip feel so good and so horrible at the same time.

Laws skilful fingers and tongue were driving you crazy. You were sure you would explode any minute.

You squealed as the finger dipped into your bellybutton. Tears formed at the corner of your eyes you were so riled up you just wanted to cry.

Law saw the despair in your eyes and removed his finger.

"Almost done" he cooed, voice calm though you could hear a sadistic undertone in it.

He stepped to your lower half as you were taking deep breaths eyes staring at the ceiling. Why did you believe you could play with Law and then get away with it. Maybe one of the other three would've been a less torturous choice.

You were ripped of your thoughts when you felt something at your feet making you squirm.

"Please not there Law" you almost screamed. He smiled and stopped before placing a kiss on your sole, knowing all too well this would drive you crazy. He kept kissing from your feet up to your inner thighs. Sucking on the tender flesh.

You shrieked when his tongue made contact with your wet folds. Licking up and down at a torturous pace making you squirm.

You could feel him smile into your pussy before sucking on your clit.

"Fuck Law" you moaned out loudly, heart racing as everything around you started spinning.

His tongue devoured you licking up every little drop of your juice, everytime you were close to release yourself on him he stopped. That went on so many times that you lost count.

After some time he decided to push his fingers inside you, scissoring you. Tears began to run down your face, the stimulation becoming too much for you. Even the squirming got less and less simply because you felt like you were drained from all energy.

"Please" you whimpered desperately.

"You gonna do that again" he asked his fingers relentlessly moving in and out of you.

"Maybe......need to.......learn" you stuttered through a moan.

"Learn? What an eager student you are, maybe I should reward you for you being so willing to learn" he said a little surprised by your answer.

Law smiled at you and placed a small kiss on your core which was followed by his cock entering you making you scream out his name.

He fucked you senseless, walls tightening around him while he rubbed your clit.

"L-aw.....I.." you gasped not able to say it.

"Cum for me sweetheart" he said calmly as he picked up the pace bringing you both to your highs.

"So i hope today's lesson was educational" he mocked as he pulled out of you.

Law fantasized about having kids with you. He was especially preoccupied by the act itself, i.e. cumming inside of you and getting you pregnant. Realistically, he didn’t think a family would be feasible in the near future, but when he broached the topic with you, you were enthusiastic and on board for all of it, especially in bed. He went fucking feral for it.

Law was insatiable. He’d pull you away from the crew and fuck you anywhere he could get away with, whether that be his cabin, the supply closet, the laundry room, the galley, literally anywhere. He’d whisper or grunt out the nastiest words that he could think of (which were arguably very sweet, too) and he’d cum inside of you every time. He also made sure that you came on his cock every time, without fail.

Law wasn’t worried about actually getting you pregnant, because anytime he came inside of you, he either used his medical knowledge and timed it according to your cycle, or he used his devil fruit powers to simply remove his cum. It was a win-win scenario: Law got to live out his fantasies with reckless abandon, and you came every time.

Someday, though, he wasn’t going to do either of those things. He wasn’t going to plan around your cycle or take his cum out of you. He’d actually just get you pregnant. Anytime he fucked you, he’d tell himself that it was today. Today would be the day that he finally got you pregnant. That was a big part of the fantasy—the idea that he’d fuck you and today (whatever that day was) would be the day he finally pumped you full of his kids.

One random afternoon he pulled you into a random supply closet, ripped off your clothes and fingered you from behind until you came. Then, when you were dripping wet and shaking, he pinned you against the wall and slipped his cock into you. His chest pressed on your back while one of his hands gripped your hip. The other hand reached around your front, rubbing your clit in rough, euphoric circles.

Before you even had sex, Law started to get hard at the idea of how you would look pregnant, walking around like that for everyone to see and know that it was him who did that.

As he slid his cock into your messy cunt, he murmured in your ear. “Let me do all the work, gorgeous.”

Law’s hips crashed into yours and let out a wet, filthy sound each time. You tried to bite your tongue and keep the moans in, but you were struggling. His lips were centimeters from your ear, his voice was husky and gravelly. Desire trickled out of his lips at a rate comparable to the juices leaking out of you.

“Don’t you want to start a family, sweetheart?” Law growled, sending goosebumps down your neck. His wiry facial hair tickled your skin. “Gonna creampie you ‘till you get pregnant for me.”

His hips increased their pace at each nasty word he uttered in your ear.

“You wanna take it all for me? You’d look so f-fucking hot pregnant, baby, won’t you let me cum inside and make you a mom?”

The answer was obviously (and always) yes. When you whimpered and whined it only spurred him on.

“Gonna be such a good mommy for me, fuuuccckkk.”

Law’s cock grinded into you, scraping your walls and hitting your g-spot. Each thrust slammed ecstasy into your core, making you squirm and keen his name. Your legs were starting to give out, your face was pressed against the wall, and you barely had the strength to remain standing.

“Law, fuck, cum in me—f-fill me up, wanna have your k-kids” you moaned into the wall as his fingers on your clit pressed down.

Your words, as simple as they were, set him off. When you participated in the fantasy like that it drove him fucking crazy.

He started to kiss and nibble on your exposed shoulder, biting it like he was mating with you, like you were all his. When he bit down hard enough, you yelped. He loved that sound.

“’m gonna fuck you full,” Law groaned and his hips shuddered. “You gonna have my babies? Be a mommy for me?”

You attempted to nod while Law let out guttural noises in your ear. “Gonna breed this pretty pussy. Pregnant with all my—fuck—my kids, fuck baby—I—fucckkkk.”

Law could hardly speak. You just felt too good around him—it’s like you were swallowing him up, squeezing him, like your body was begging him to cum inside. He moaned, low and primal, fucking you at a feverish pace.

He was at his wits end.

“F—f—fuuuhhhhccckkk, fuck, ‘m cumming—I—mmm, ‘m cumming.”

With those heaving words, Law’s hips spasmed frantically and he shot his seed deep inside, as close to your cervix as he possibly could. You could feel the ropes of hot, sticky cum spurting out of him, filling you up.

Your orgasm was seconds after his, blissful and mind blowing. As you reeled in pleasure, your walls clenched around his cock he convulsed again. He imagined your walls milking him dry and almost blacked out from pleasure.

When Law was done cumming in you, he peeled his sweat-ridden chest off your back and flipped you around. He kissed you passionately for a minute before he realized how weak you were after cumming twice.

Law used his devil fruit powers to switch your clothes onto you from where they lay crumpled in a pile on the floor. He could have used his powers to get you into bed if he wanted to, but he preferred to carry you there in his arms. If anyone on the crew saw, they would know what happened (and he didn’t care).

When he fucked you ravenously, Law was hyperaware of the effects that such rough sex had on your body. He was cognizant of that always, but in the moments after you had sex he made sure to treat you like you were delicate and precious to him. While he carted you off to bed, he gave you a few more kisses. He always gave you as many as you'd take.

You nuzzled into his chest and the next thing you knew, he was cuddling you in bed. Law knew that you loved cuddling after sex, so he obliged with the sweetest smile on his face. He felt lucky that you let him fuck you in whatever depraved and fantastical way he could think of. What a privilege.

Law pondered it for a while and decided that maybe it would actually be today, if you were fine with it. If you’d let him, he’d actually get you pregnant this time. No devil fruit powers would be used to take his cum out of you, if you gave the go ahead. And if you said no, if you asked him to take his seed out of you, he’d be ecstatic to give it another go. After all, if today wasn’t the day he got you pregnant for good, maybe it would tomorrow. He would give you as many tomorrows as you wanted.

ヽ(>∀<☆)ノ thank u for reading!! (*ﾉ∀`*) also its law's birthday so i hope we all dream of fucking him tn, he deserves it (๑˃ᴗ˂)ﻭ

here's my masterlist and my posting schedule for october!

a faint tingle slowly pulled you out of a deep sleep.

then came a familiar weight sinking into the mattress beside you.

a sleepy whine slipped from deep in your throat.

“wake up,” a low, soft voice murmured, the kind that always sounded like music to your heart, pulling you further awake.

“mmmh, what is it?~” you mumbled, dragging a hand over your face.

the weight of your boyfriend’s head falling onto your stomach knocked the breath out of you. the rough stubble on his jaw scratched pleasantly against your skin.

you opened your eyes to a room drowned in bluish darkness, barely lit enough for you to make out the beautiful eyes of the man you loved.

a tired smile curled at the corner of your lips.

your hand instinctively found his hair, fingers brushing over the cheek framed by dark strands.

he looked so vulnerable there between your thighs, huge and exhausted, his face melting into your palm.

“what’s wrong, sweetheart?” you murmured.

his hands slipped beneath your tank top, cold fingers tracing over your warm ribs and making you shiver.

“i’m home, pretty thing.”

“yeah, i noticed…”

his hands found your breasts, squeezing them as a sly grin spread across his lips.

“law… it’s late…” you shifted beneath him, affection staining every word.

“c’mon, pretty girl, just a little… it’s been a long day,” he muttered, kissing your stomach. “it’s only three in the morning…”

“mmmh really?” you asked, eyes falling shut again as you played with his hair. “don’t you wanna sleep…?”

“not after seeing you like this.”

you cracked one eye open. he was smirking against the waistband of your shorts, fingers circling your nipple.

your needy little cunt started throbbing beneath him.

“no… i don’t.”

he shifted, pulling his hands from your shirt and settling fully on top of you, his bare knee pressing right between your thighs.

only then did you realize he was just in his underwear.

you smiled when his face hovered level with yours.

“hey~” you whispered.

your hands cupped his face, exploring something already so familiar to you.

he kissed you slowly, one hand at your waist, the other wrapped around your throat, gentle, but enough to leave you drowning in the feeling of belonging completely to him.

you kissed him back, and it deepened quickly, all hunger and need.

“law~ i’m sleepy…” you mumbled.

he clicked his tongue, pulling away just enough to tilt your head back and mouth at your throat.

“you won’t have to move,” he muttered.

before you could even process what was happening, his hands were all over you, flipping you onto your stomach so fast that if the kisses hadn’t woken you up before, the pressure of your face against the pillow definitely did.

“law~” you moaned.

“yeah, that’s my name, needy girl,” he teased under his breath.

he kissed your shoulder, and only then did you feel his cock hardening against your ass.

he barely pulled away, lifting your hips with one hand while he dragged the pillows from beside you and shoved them underneath your stomach instead.

“hey…” you laughed softly.

still, you cooperated, grinding your ass back against his cock.

a low growl rumbled from his chest.

he kept kissing along your back, pushing your hair aside, one hand gripping the back of your neck while pressing your face deeper into the mattress.

a startled gasp slipped from your lips when he tugged your shorts and panties down together.

you were still half asleep, blissfully happy your lover had finally come home and decided to fill you up with himself.

almost unconsciously, you arched deeper against the pillows.

“you want this?” he asked softly against your ear, almost sweet about it, completely enjoying the control he had over you.

you barely managed a weak little “yes.”

your cunt exposed, you could barely feel him pushing down his own underwear before lining himself up with you.

the wet head of his cock dragged against your entrance.

a moan spilled from your lips.

sleep had completely abandoned you by now. all you could think about was his hand around your throat and the thick tip of his cock bullying against your drooling hole.

you squirmed impatiently, trying to get him to push in already.

and he did, one rough thrust stealing the breath from your lungs, desperate to stuff you full of him.

his free hand dug into your ass, crushing you beneath him completely.

“you can sleep again in a minute…” he growled.

his thrusts filled you perfectly, hitting that soft spot that made stars burst behind your eyes.

the sounds falling from your mouth were anything but pretty, and the sharp slaps echoing through the room only made you wetter.

the filthy wet sounds where your bodies met made you tremble.

you started rocking your hips back for your own pleasure, and he didn’t stop you, just followed your rhythm, forcing your soft body deeper into the bed.

you could practically see stars, sweat sliding down your back, your nails digging into the sheets just as deep as he was burying himself inside you.

he leaned down, rough guttural noises spilling from his throat as he enjoyed every inch of you.

“so fucking tight…” he breathed

you could feel yourself getting close.

but you didn’t stop, your hips chasing more of him until everything became too much, the pressure of his cock against your sensitive cunt pushing you over the edge.

your moans turned uneven and desperate.

he pressed you down harder, overwhelming you even more.

“why’re you rushing, slut? i’m not done with you yet,” he murmured with a quiet laugh, enjoying the way your body twitched from the overstimulation.

his hand left your throat only to grip your ass tighter instead. you could feel everything and nothing all at once, dizzy from still being fucked through your orgasm.

soon his hand slipped between your thighs, rubbing at your swollen clit, slick coating his fingers until you nearly screamed.

he almost pulled out completely before slamming back inside, leaving you even more fucked stupid than before.

“j~just finish already” you begged.

“need you to help me out a little, pretty thing…” he muttered, abandoning your abused little bundle of nerves only to wrap his hand around your throat again.

impatient and clumsy, you rocked your hips back against him, sore and completely out of your mind, feeling your slick gush around his cock even more.

his arousal pulsed harder inside you. he fucked you so hard tears nearly welled in your eyes, your breathing ragged, fingers twisting into the sheets hard enough to tear them.

as his thrusts turned rougher and faster, he finally came, ruining your back and shirt with thick ropes of hot white cum.

the second he finished, your body collapsed against the pillows beneath you, completely pinned under him, covered in his mess.

you brought your hands up to your face.

“good girl… now we can finally sleep,” he exhaled, leaning down to kiss you again.

he sounded exhausted, and ridiculously pleased. his hand drifted over your back smeared with his cum, almost like he was absentmindedly trying to clean you up.

“what?” he asked, amused. “you wanted more?”

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.

Shanks

Plot: Childhood crush reunited years later.

Story: The Years Between Us [female OC]

Plot: Current Emperor era meets Historian.

Series/Story: Salted Ink [female OC]

Plot: Early Emperor era Shanks falls hard for his crewmate.

Story: I Found [female OC]

Plot: Yandere/Dark Shanks. Series contains 2 Shanks centered short stories.

Series: Red Territory [female reader]

Plot: Aftermath of Shanks using haki.

Story: Anchor [female reader]

Trafalgar Law

Plot: Law being annoyed at the inconvenience of falling in love. Series contains 9 short stories.

Series: Law in Love [mix of GN/Female reader]

Plot: Brook asks what color panties you’re wearing. Law hates it.

Story: Panties [female reader]

Plot: Kid flirts with you. Law hates it.

Story: Crossfire [female reader]

Plot: You are terrible at seduction.

Story: The Art of Seduction [GN reader]

Shamrock

Plot: Shamrock falls in love with a woman that is “gifted” to him.

Story: Bird in the East Wing [female reader]

Sequel: The Perch

Sequel: The Gilded Cage — future

Various

Plot: Mihawk/Zoro/Shanks/Law & what gets them going.

Story: Kinks [female reader]

Misc.

Tumblr writings:

Red Hair pirate text chat

Red Hair pirate movie night

Procedures for when Shanks is in love

Sticky Notes [Law/Shanks/Mihawk]

Panties [Shanks/Ace/Eustass Kid/Mihawk]