#(f2f)

She had no time to waste after all because she had to pick up her bandmates in fifteen minutes. She slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key. The engine roared to life. A strange tingle immediately spread through her body. Her skin felt warm and electric.

“Oh… what the heck is that?” Maya gasped as the sensation grew stronger. Her waist began to pull in tighter. She groaned loudly pressing her hands to her stomach. “No… stop… this isn’t right!” But even as she spoke the words her body betrayed her with a soft moan that escaped her lips. The pleasure was only increasing but it wasn’t the only thing growing.

Her bust swelled larger, creating full heavy curves that strained against her black loose fitting top. “Ahhh… fuck it feels so good but I shouldn’t give in…” She tried to fight it gripping the steering wheel but her back arched on its own pushing her chest forward.

That’s when she heard a sultry voice in her head. “But why not? Give in to me and you’ll realize how much better it is. Just give me another rev, you know you want to.”

Despite herself, Maya couldn’t help be intrigued and increasingly turned on by what was happening. Her foot pressed down slowly on the accelerator. Her lips grew plumper and softer. Her hair shifted from its usual messy dark waves to long silky locks that fell perfectly down her back. Long oval nails extended from her fingers with a glossy shine. Even her eyes turned from her dull brown to crystal blue.

Maya groaned again deeper this time her voice growing huskier. “Mmm… fuck make it stop… no! Keep going! Oh shit what’s happening to me?!” The pleasure mixed with the changes made her squirm in the seat. She could feel her old self slipping away yet part of her wanted more.

“Soon you’ll be like all my other owners, hot, horny, and desperate for cock. You’re going to love becoming a cum dumpster. They always do.” The voice purred and Maya let out an uncharacteristic giggle as her hair started to turn blonde, her nails turning pink.

“Please… no! I’m supposed to be a goth… this is turning me into some kind of dumb whore…” Maya whimpered even as she moaned louder her hands roaming over her expanding chest. “But god it feels incredible… don’t stop… make my tits bigger… yeah just like that… fuck yes.” Her clothes transformed too.

Her top shrinking into a tight pink tube top that barely contained her new tits. Her black jeans morphing into a white mini skirt which shower off her gorgeous long legs. White knee high socks and tall stilettos finished off her look, making her look like the perfect bimbo babe. Her many tattoos started to disappear one by one.

Her mind changed along with her body. Thoughts of kindness and empathy faded. In their place came sharp focus on herself. Vanity took over as she admired how hot she looked. Selfishness and narcissism filled her head.

She pictured herself as the slut the car wanted to make her into, imagining herself as a groupie blowing drummers in green rooms and fucking singers after the shows. She knew she had the perfect pussy that would drive them wild.

“You’re my best creation yet. You’re going to be the hottest, tightest, bimbo ever. You’re going to be the perfect little slut for lead singers to cum in. Forget about your band, you’re mine now.” The car added.

However the words that should have made this new Maya wet with joy was instead making the old Maya fight back.

“No… wait… not just some groupie bitch…” Maya moaned breathlessly her voice thick with lust. “Fuck that… I’m not some band’s plaything… I should the one worshipped… the one who’s the star… I fuck the groupies, not the other way around… yeah… I want it all.”

A shear black lace long sleeved top materialized on her and the pink tube top melted away and reformed into black lace trimmed bra that pushed up her enhanced chest and showed plenty of cleavage. The mini shirt stayed mini but it turned plaid, with darker tones. She now wore black thigh high stockings with lace tops and shiny black platform boots. The new outfit hugged every curve of her transformed figure perfectly.

“No! This isn’t possible! I make the changes here, not you!” The car said frantically. Maya could feel it trying to assert control over her but something was helping her. Something Maya had no idea was helping her but could feel tingling at her lower back. A tattoo she had recently gotten with her friends, a cool archaic design she had picked out from a book. A tattoo that the car couldn’t erase, a symbol that protected Maya.

“You don’t make the rules! I own you now, and I say what I’m going to be!” Maya groaned as her hair darkened quickly, turning black as the night and smokey makeup curved around her eyes.

She imagined herself no longer backstage at a concert on her knees but instead on stage itself under the lights, her new body on full display as she belted out dark seductive lyrics. Fans screamed for her. Backstage she was being worshipped, not doing the worshipping and she got everything she craved.

“Give me the booze… the drugs… lines of coke and bottles of whiskey… and all the sex I can handle… because I want a lot… so fucking much.” She saw herself surrounded by eager bandmates and groupies taking what she wanted. Getting her perfect pussy eaten by some hot opening act before a show. Passing around whatever cock or pussy caught her eye because she was the queen who deserved it all. The car wasn’t happy.

“No! Stop you goth bitch! I’ve turned every kind of girl into a wanton dumb whore and now it’s your turn! It’s your destiny!” It screamed but Maya just smirked, her tattoo pulsing pleasurably.

“Shut the fuck up. You serve me! You will change girls into whoever I want them to be! And I love evil goth sluts now! I should thank you for making me release my inner bitch but instead I think it’s time the tables were turned on you.” Maya said with a cackle and revved the engine harder and faster, smoke wrapping around the exterior.

The black smoke clung to the body of the car, infecting the purple paint, turning it darker by the second until it was as black as Maya’s hair. Even the seating changed to match. Inside Maya’s hands gripped the steering wheel, her eyes flicking closed as immense pleasure flowed through her as she felt the car cede control to her unwillingly.

“No! This can’t be happening! You’re just some random goth loser! This can’t be-” It said but was cut off the moment it fully became Maya’s, the moment Maya became something more.

Maya’s eyes opened lazily, her blue bimbo eyes gone, replaced with the same hue of purple the car used to be. Maya could feel every inch of the car now, every bolt, every nut. It was more than just a car now, it was an extension of her body, of her power.

Now transformed she smirked at her reflection in the rearview mirror. She stretched her arms up high arching her back to show off her new figure letting out one final satisfied groan. “Fuck yes… this is what I needed all along.” The old Maya was gone. This new woman felt amazing. She revved the engine with only her mind, driving through the streets with wild abandon.

She cruised through the quiet campus streets, her convertible purring beneath her. Turning a corner she saw them, her friends, waiting for her, not knowing their lives were about to change forever.

Selene and Thalia were sitting outside their dorm, dressed in the same nerdy goth gear they always wore. Pale skin hidden under baggy black hoodies and long skirts heavy eyeliner and awkward shy vibes.

Maya pulled up to them and honked the horn. The two girls looked at the car unsure why it was seemingly waiting for them. As they approached they somehow recognized the driver.

“Holy crap what happened to you?” Selene blurted out her eyes wide as she stared at Maya’s massive cleavage and tiny skirt. “You look like… like a goth porn star honestly.”

Maya laughed, throwing her hair back. “Thanks babe, I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Thalia stepped back a little clutching her bag. “Maya? No way. Did you get some kind of makeover?”

Maya laughed again with a low throaty sound and leaned over the door of the convertible. “Get in bitches. This car drives like a dream. Trust me you’ll love it.” Her voice dripped with new confidence and a hint of command.

The girls hesitated exchanging nervous glances. “I don’t know…” Thalia muttered. “You seem different. Really different.”

“Come on you pussies!” Maya purred revving the engine just a little to tease them. “We have a gigs to get to. Hop in or walk.”

Reluctantly Selene slid into the passenger seat while Thalia climbed into the back. The moment their doors shut Maya floored the gas pedal. The engine roared louder this time sending fresh waves of that familiar tingle through the air.

“Oh, mmmm fuck this feels even better being the one in control.” Maya moaned happily gripping the wheel.

Selene gasped first her hands flying to her chest as the tingle hit her. “What the… ahhh… my body… it feels so strange… stop the car Maya!” But even as she protested her waist cinched in and her bust began to swell pushing against her baggy sweater. She groaned deeply her voice cracking. “No… this is wrong… mmm… but it fuck feels so good…”

Thalia squirmed in the back seat her eyes fluttering. “God… my skin is burning… I feel… hotter… fuck what is happening to my lips?” Her mouth plumped up as her hair straightened and grew into a high blood red ponytail. Long oval nails grew from her fingertips. “Maya… turn it off… I’m not supposed to look this… ohhh fucking hot! God don’t stop…”

Maya smirked glancing at them in the mirror. “That’s it girls. Let the car work its magic. Feel those tits getting bigger? Just like mine. We’re going to be the hottest fucking band around.”

Selene moaned louder her clothes already shifting into something tight and leathery, revealing just enough. “I… we should fight this… but my pussy feels so empty and needy… make me sexier… fuck yes… bigger tits… tighter waist… give me these fat lips for sucking off some random crowd member after the show…” Her mind warped quickly just as Maya’s had. Thoughts of quiet empathy dissolved into selfish cravings for the spotlight and endless pleasure.

Thalia arched her back with a filthy groan her new body on display as the transformation accelerated. Her outfit reformed into a tiny black lace teddy that barely reached her hips. But her legs weren’t bare, instead they gained thigh high stockings and heels. “Give me the curves… make me a goth bitch who needs cock and drugs every night… I want to be the one getting worshipped by fans after the show… don’t hold back! Ohhh yes… my clit is throbbing… turn me into a sex hungry whore!”

The black convertible sped down the road filled with the sounds of their eager moans and dirty pleas as all three embraced their new rockstar selves. Selene rubbed her hands over her enhanced breasts panting heavily. “Fuck… I want to be up on stage shaking my ass now! I want to be snorting lines off some guy’s dick before we play… then letting the whole supporting band rail me in the green room… this feels too good to stop.”

Thalia leaned forward from the back her voice husky and broken by gasps. “Yes… make my pussy the wettest fucking thing at every gig… I need to be the nastiest slut who gets all the booze and cock. Fuck I’m so horny already thinking about riding faces backstage while high off my mind.”

Maya laughed loudly her own body still buzzing from the power of the car. “That’s my girls. We’re going to be fucking infamous, no longer the Goth Girls, we’re the Goth Goddesses now! We take what we want… all the drugs… all the fucks… and we look like bad bitches doing it. The crowd is going to worship us.” She revved the engine again sending another pleasurable wave through them as they drove toward their first real gig with filthy promises on their lips and wicked smiles on their faces. The old versions of themselves were completely erased leaving only three hedonistic rockstars ready to conquer the night.

Mark stared. "This… this isn't real."

"Wow. Groundbreaking observation, boomer." She examined her acrylic nails—long, pink, stiletto-shaped. "Look, you summoned me. One wish. No take-backs. No refunds. What do you want?"

His heart hammered. This was insane. But Emma's face flashed in his mind—the dark circles, the flinch when her phone buzzed.

"I want…" He swallowed. "I want people to stop bullying my daughter."

The genie stared at him. Then she laughed—a sharp, mean cackle.

"Oh my God. That's your wish?" She wiped a fake tear. "Sir. Your daughter is, like, a total loser. No offence—but like, full offence." She popped her gum again. "She's getting bullied because she's boring. Frumpy. Zero rizz. Negative aura."

"She is NOT—"

"Sir." The genie held up a manicured hand. "I've seen her energy. It's giving… sad hamster. You want the bullying to stop? She needs a glow-up. A real one. Not just, like, a new backpack."

Mark's throat tightened. "That's not what I—"

"Too bad. I'm the genie. I know what you actually need." Her eyes gleamed. "You need your daughter to become someone nobody would ever mess with. Someone powerful."

She snapped her fingers.

---

Emma was asleep in her room when it hit.

The first thing she felt was heat—a warm, golden pulse spreading from her chest outward. She gasped, sitting up, and then—

Oh.

Her body was changing.

Her modest A-cups swelled, pressing against her oversized t-shirt. She grabbed at her chest, feeling flesh fill her palms—round, heavy, perfect. The fabric strained as she grew from A to B to C to… "Oh God—" D. Double-D. Her nipples hardened against the cotton, visible, obscene.

Her hips cracked outward. She fell back against the pillow, spine arching, as her ass inflated—two perfect, round globes filling out her pyjama bottoms until the seams groaned. Her waist cinched. Her stomach flattened into a taut, toned plane. Her legs lengthened, toned, smooth—every scrap of body hair vanishing.

"No—no, what's happening—"

Her face. She could feel it shifting. Her nose shrinking, refining. Cheekbones lifting. Lips plumping—she touched them, feeling them swell like pillows, soft and wet. Her jawline sharpened. Her eyes grew larger, brighter, framed by lashes that thickened and darkened until they were naturally lush.

Her mousy brown hair lightened—from brown to honey to platinum blonde, cascading in thick waves past her shoulders. It felt expensive. Silky. Her roots were perfect. Her parting fell exactly right.

She looked at her hands—her nails were growing, extending, painting themselves a vicious pink.

And then the clothes. Her worn t-shirt shimmered, dissolved, reformed—a tiny white crop top that barely contained her new tits. LOGO: PRINCESS in rhinestones. Her pyjama bottoms became skin-tight leggings that made her ass look insane. Her bare feet found heels—white platform pumps that appeared from nowhere.

She stood—wobbling only briefly before her body knew how to walk in them. Knew how to move. How to sway her hips. How to make every step look like a threat.

She caught her reflection in the window and gasped.

She was gorgeous.

---

But the worst part—the best part—was her mind.

She could feel it happening. Her old thoughts, her old self, screaming from somewhere deep inside.

(No! This isn't me! I'm not—I don't want—)

That voice got quieter.

Shut up, a new voice replied. This one was louder. Stronger. This is so much better.

Emma—no, not Emma anymore. Emmie. The name settled into her brain like it had always been there. Emmie looked at her reflection and smiled.

Her old self had been pathetic. Weak. Crying over some mean texts? Embarrassing.

She felt powerful. Confident. Mean.

She liked it.

"Mmmh…" She ran her hands down her new body, cupping her heavy tits, squeezing her perfect ass. "Fuck yes…"

She remembered the girls who'd bullied her. Jessica. Taylor. That whole clique.

She wasn't going to avoid them anymore.

She was going to destroy them and then rule them. She was the bully now...

---

Mark found her in the kitchen the next morning.

His daughter—or whatever she was now—was perched on the counter, scrolling through her phone with one perfectly manicured hand. She'd somehow already acquired an iced coffee. Her legs were crossed. Her posture screamed superiority.

"Em—Emma?"

She looked up. Her eyes were colder than he'd ever seen. Calculating.

"It's Emmie now." She sipped her coffee. "And you're going to buy me a new phone. This one's, like, ancient."

"Emma, what happened to you last night—"

"Emmie." She hopped down, heels clicking on the tile. She was taller than him now—those platforms, that body, that presence. "And nothing happened. I just… levelled up."

She was right in front of him now. Close. He could smell her—coconut and vanilla and something else. Something that made his head swim.

"You're going to give me your credit card," she said softly. "And you're going to call the dean and tell him I need a single dorm. And you're going to stop being, like, embarrassing."

"Emma, I'm your father—"

"No." She smiled. It was the cruelest thing he'd ever seen. "You're my assistant. My little helper. You do what I say, when I say it."

She reached up and patted his cheek. Gentle. Condescending.

"Be a good boy, Daddy."

His knees nearly buckled.

---

The genie appeared one more time—just a flicker, leaning against the kitchen doorframe.

"Nice work, Emmie," she said with a grin.

Emmie didn't even look surprised. "I get a wish too, right? Since I'm, like, the one who changed?"

The genie raised an eyebrow. "Clever girl. Go ahead."

Emmie looked at her father—at this weak, pathetic man who'd wanted to protect her. How cute. How useless.

"I wish," she said, "that my daddy becomes completely devoted to me. That he can't say no. That he lives to make me happy. That he's, like, totally obsessed with serving me forever."

The genie snapped her fingers. "Done. No cap."

Mark felt it hit him—a wave of warmth, of need, centring on his daughter. His beautiful, powerful daughter. He should serve her. He should worship her. He should give her everything she wanted and thank her for the privilege.

"Oh," he whispered. "Oh no…"

Emmie smiled. "Oh yes."

---

The genie was already gone, the app deleting itself from Mark's phone. Somewhere across town, it was already installing on another device—ready to improve another life.

Emmie took her father's wallet from his hands. He didn't resist.

"Good boy," she murmured.

She had a campus to dominate...

—

You first spoke to Law at Punk Hazard because he was standing alone—and something about the way he kept his arms folded, chin slightly dipped, gaze sharp—made you want to get under his skin. Not in a mean way. Just… curious.

“Do you always look like you’re calculating someone’s lifespan?”

You didn’t expect him to answer, really. But he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye and said, “Depends who’s asking.”

That was it. The moment it started. You laughed, loud enough to earn a glance from Luffy. Law didn’t laugh with you, of course. But his gaze didn’t leave yours.

After that, you made it a habit. Small comments. Light teasing. You’d drift toward him during meals or meetings, always with a grin, always testing the line.

And Law—well, he let you. He’d give curt replies, the occasional sigh, a subtle look of tolerance. But he never told you to stop.

You noticed the little things. Like how he didn’t step away when you stood close, or how his eyes would flick to you when you entered a room, just briefly, before shifting back like it hadn’t happened. Like it meant nothing.

Still, he was quiet. Hard to read. You never expected him to feel anything back.

But it didn’t stop the flutter in your chest every time he acknowledged you.

The ship was docked in a small, uncharted port for a quick break before setting sail for their next adventure. As usual, the crew was scattered around, either exploring or relaxing. You found yourself walking through the galley, where Chopper was sitting at the table, looking up at Law, who was reading a book, as usual, with his usual nonchalance.

“Law!” Chopper’s voice echoed. “Can you carry me? My legs are so tired from running around all day.”

You chuckled softly, watching the interaction. Law didn’t respond immediately, his eyes flicking over the top of his book. “I don’t have time for that,” he muttered.

“Please?” Chopper pleaded, his big eyes practically sparkling with hope.

Law let out a long, exaggerated sigh. “You’re a raccoon. You can walk just fine,” he replied, still not looking up.

“I’m a reindeer!!” Chopper whined, flailing his arms. “And I’m small! It’s hard to walk! And my hooves are getting sore…”

Law remained silent, and for a moment, you thought he might just ignore him. But then, without another word, Law stood up and walked over to Chopper, effortlessly scooping him up into his arms. Chopper let out a delighted giggle, and you could see the rare, soft expression on Law’s face.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” Law muttered, not looking at you, but you saw the faintest smirk on his lips.

You couldn’t help but tease, “You look like you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

“I’m not,” Law replied, trying to keep his face neutral, but the slight pink tint to his cheeks gave him away. “He’s heavy.”

“Uh-huh,” you said, raising an eyebrow. “That’s why you’re carrying him like that?”

“I’m just saving my energy for more important things,” Law replied, his voice deadpan as he turned away, but you could tell he was trying to hide the smile that threatened to break through.

—

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clinking of utensils and the rustling of bags as you decided to take over Sanji in preparing your snack. You were focused on making a quick sandwich when you noticed Law entering, his usual frown in place.

“Making food?” he asked, eyeing the bread you were preparing.

“Yep, just a snack,” you replied cheerfully. “Would you like some?”

Law didn’t even flinch. “Bread again?” he asked, the disapproval clear in his voice. “I told you I don’t like bread.”

You giggled, turning to face him. “You know, just because you’ve been to a few islands doesn’t mean all bread is the same.”

“I’m not hungry for bread,” he said, a slight growl to his tone, but he made no attempt to move.

“Fine, but you’ll be missing out,” you said teasingly. You reached for the bread and began spreading some jam on it, completely ignoring his objections.

“Can’t you make something else?” Law asked, clearly trying to avoid the topic of bread altogether.

“I’m busy. Ask Sanji.” you replied nonchalantly, continuing to spread the jam. “Besides, I’m not sure what else to make for you. You’re surprisingly picky!”

He crossed his arms and gave you a side-eye. “Are you making fun of me?”

“No, not at all,” you said with a playful grin. “Maybe if you stop being so picky, I’d cook you something better.”

His eyes narrowed. “You’re impossible.”

“Well, it’s not my fault that you’re difficult to please.” You handed him the sandwich you had made, the smile on your face never fading. “But hey, you can at least try it. Who knows? You might end up liking it.”

He hesitated for a moment, but you caught the faintest glance of curiosity in his eyes. He took the sandwich from your hand and, with an exaggerated sigh, bit into it.

The look on his face was priceless. It was clear that he wasn’t particularly thrilled with the bread, but he was doing his best to hide it.

“Well?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s fine,” he said after a long pause, but the look in his eyes said otherwise.

“You’re not fooling anyone,” you said with a wink, knowing full well he was trying to be polite, but you could tell he wasn’t enjoying it.

Law’s lips twitched upward slightly, a rare, almost imperceptible smile. “You’re annoying,” he muttered, but there was no bite behind his words.

—

The days after Dressrosa had been heavy and tense. You noticed how the atmosphere had shifted. Law was quieter, withdrawn. It wasn’t just the injuries or the exhaustion—it was something deeper. Something that made him retreat even further into himself. The memories of Corazon.

You, too, felt the shift. Not only had you seen what the war with Doflamingo had done to him, but you’d also been silently nursing your growing feelings for him.

You tried to get his attention. Small touches, little words of encouragement, waiting for any sign that he might let his guard down. But no matter how close you tried to get, he kept his distance, his eyes always focused on something beyond you, something that you could never touch.

The pain of seeing him like this was almost unbearable. You had always admired him from afar, but after Dressrosa, something in you couldn’t just sit back and let him suffer.

So you did what you thought was best—you tried to comfort him.

It was late in the evening when you approached him again. The crew was scattered about the ship, and you found him standing at the stern, looking out at the fading light of the sunset. His posture was rigid, tense. You hesitated, unsure whether to approach, but your heart urged you forward. You had to at least try.

You stepped up quietly, your voice soft. “Law… I know you’re not feeling great, and I know you don’t want to talk about it, but you don’t have to go through this alone.”

His eyes flickered over to you, but he didn’t say anything at first. You weren’t sure whether he was listening or if he was lost in his thoughts, so you pressed on.

“I know you’re angry, and I know that the battle took a lot out of you. But I just… I just want to be here for you. I don’t want you to carry this alone.” You bit your lip, hoping he would hear the sincerity in your words.

There was a long pause before he finally spoke, his voice low and strained. “I don’t need anyone’s pity, Y/N.”

Your heart sank. You were so close, and yet the words you didn’t want to hear were coming out of his mouth. You weren’t pitying him—just offering comfort—but it wasn’t what he wanted. It wasn’t what he needed. And as much as it hurt, you knew it was no use.

“I’m not pitying you, Law,” you said, trying to keep your voice steady despite the disappointment settling in your chest. “I just care about you. I hate seeing you like this.”

Another long pause, and this time you could feel the weight of his silence. His back was turned to you, his hands resting on the rail, eyes focused far off in the distance. He wasn’t facing you, but you could sense the tension in him growing, like he was fighting against something inside himself.

Finally, he spoke, his words cold. “Why are you always all over me? You’re damn annoying. I don’t need anyone right now. Not you. Not anyone.” His voice was quieter this time, like he was trying to convince himself of something, but the bitterness in his tone was still there.

You couldn’t help it—the words stung more than you expected. You had hoped that maybe, just maybe, he’d let you in. But that wasn’t going to happen now.

You turned away, feeling the crushing weight of his rejection in the pit of your stomach. You wanted to say more, to convince him to let you help, but the moment was gone. You took a deep breath, the sadness overwhelming you. “I’m sorry, Law,” you whispered, barely loud enough for him to hear. Then you walked away, your footsteps heavy as you retreated back to your quarters.

—

For the next few days, everything between you and Law changed. You had taken Law’s words to heart and began to withdraw from him. Your attempts to get close, to show him you cared, faded into nothing more than professional exchanges. You only spoke to him when necessary, keeping things strictly business. Your usual playful teasing, your attempts at being near him, stopped. It felt like a huge part of you was missing, but you couldn’t keep pushing him when he clearly didn’t want it.

And yet, Law noticed.

Law noticed the shift. He wasn’t blind, after all. He wasn’t sure when it had started, but the space between the two of you had grown too wide. The more you pulled away, the more it seemed to weigh on him, but he didn’t know how to fix it. He wasn’t used to being vulnerable, to having someone care for him the way you did.

He had pushed you away when you had tried to offer comfort, and now, in the silence that followed, he began to realize just how much he missed your presence.

He tried to reach out, but it was subtle. A glance here, a pause in his steps when he saw you, his voice softer when he spoke to you—but it wasn’t enough. It never felt like enough. He could see the way you’d avert your eyes when you talked to him now, how you only addressed him when necessary. He hated the distance between you. It was like a silent ache that wouldn’t go away.

The air between you and Law was thick with unspoken words. Every interaction felt like walking on eggshells.

You could feel his eyes on you sometimes, but you refused to acknowledge it. It was as though you were both trapped in a dance, stepping around each other but never quite meeting. And for a while, you didn’t know how to break it.

The quiet tension between you two didn’t escape the others. Even the crew began to notice. Zoro made a comment one day about how much the two of you had stopped talking. “You’ve been awfully distant lately,” he had said to you with a raised eyebrow. “What happened between you and the doc?”

You couldn’t even bring yourself to answer. You just shrugged, offering a quiet “Nothing,” as if that would explain everything. But deep down, you knew it was something more than that.

—

One afternoon, as the crew gathered on deck to relax, you sat near the railing, staring out at the sea. The sun was setting, painting the sky in soft hues of pink and orange, but you weren’t truly looking at it. Your mind kept drifting back to Law, and how you felt so much like a stranger to him now. His earlier words—telling you to leave him alone—echoed in your head. You had tried to give him space, to respect his wishes, but that didn’t mean you didn’t miss the connection you had once shared.

The sound of footsteps approached, and though you didn’t turn around, you knew it was him. Law stood just behind you, quietly observing. You could feel the weight of his gaze, but you didn’t react. Instead, you kept your eyes fixed on the horizon, pretending not to notice.

“You’ve been distant,” Law said, his voice soft but cutting through the silence like a knife.

You didn’t reply at first. Instead, you took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, your fingers curling tighter around the railing. “I’m just giving you what you wanted,” you said finally, your tone colder than you intended.

There was a brief pause. You could hear Law shift, but he didn’t speak again. The silence grew heavier between the two of you, and you felt the tension rise. Law took a small step closer, but still, he didn’t say anything more.

It wasn’t like him to back down. You expected more from him—some kind of argument or insistence—but instead, he fell silent. It left you feeling even more uncertain.

—

The next day, Law tried again, though this time, his approach was even more subtle. As you were organizing supplies in the galley, you caught him watching you out of the corner of your eye. When you looked up, he quickly turned away, pretending to inspect something on the opposite side of the room.

But you could see the way his gaze flicked back to you when he thought you weren’t looking. And though he said nothing, you could sense a flicker of unease in his posture, something he hadn’t shown before.

Later that afternoon, you walked into the library, the creaky wooden floorboards beneath your feet echoing in the stillness. You had intended to grab a book, but as you turned a corner, you almost collided with Law, who had clearly been heading the same way. You both froze for a second, neither of you quite knowing how to react.

“I didn’t mean to get in your way,” he said after a long beat, his voice softer than usual.

You couldn’t help but notice how he avoided looking directly at you. His eyes drifted to the side, and his shoulders were tense as if he was bracing for something.

“It’s fine,” you muttered, stepping around him.

Before you could continue, he reached out, lightly grazing your arm. His touch was brief—barely noticeable—but it made your heart skip a beat. You glanced at him, and for the briefest moment, you saw something flicker in his eyes.

“Y/N,” Law said quietly, as if testing the waters. “Are we okay?”

The question took you off guard. His tone was so sincere that it almost caught you off balance. But you quickly shut it down, not letting your feelings show.

“We’re fine,” you answered quickly, turning away.

⸻

The following days passed in a haze of missed opportunities and strained exchanges. Law’s attempts continued, each one more subtle than the last, but they were there. He’d offer a slight, almost imperceptible smile when you crossed paths, or occasionally make small talk, his words carefully chosen, though his usual confident demeanor had been replaced with something more uncertain.

It wasn’t until the night before you docked at the next island that you realized just how much the distance between you had grown. You were alone on the deck, gazing at the stars, when you heard a familiar voice behind you.

“Y/N.”

You turned around, not surprised to see Law standing there, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against the railing. His face was neutral, but there was a nervousness in his posture that you hadn’t seen before.

“Law,” you said, trying to sound indifferent, but the way his name slipped from your lips made it clear you weren’t as unaffected as you pretended.

He hesitated before speaking, his gaze falling to the ground. “I’ve been trying,” he said quietly. “I don’t know how else to fix this… but I’m trying.”

The sincerity in his voice made your heart ache. You’d spent so much time avoiding him, burying the hurt, but hearing him like this… it was too much to ignore.

“You don’t just get to say you’re trying,” you said, your voice tinged with frustration. “I’m not your… your backup plan, Law. I can’t just forget what you said.”

He winced at the sting in your words, but he didn’t look away. “I didn’t mean it,” he replied, his voice barely above a whisper. “I was angry. And I didn’t want to drag you down with me. But that was wrong. I shouldn’t have shut you out.”

There was a long pause between you, neither of you speaking. The night was still, the only sounds being the faint lapping of waves against the ship. Slowly, you took a step toward him, your eyes meeting his for the first time in days. The distance between you felt smaller now, though the weight of everything still hung heavy.

“I don’t know how to make this right,” he admitted. “But I don’t want to lose you.”

His words hit you like a wave, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to feel something other than frustration. You took a breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you looked up at him.

“I don’t want to lose you either,” you said, your voice steady despite the emotion threatening to rise.

Law’s eyes softened, and for a moment, it felt like everything else faded away.

And then, before you could stop yourself, you reached up, your hand brushing his cheek. It was a simple gesture, but it felt like the world had shifted in that one moment.

Law closed his eyes briefly, his breath hitching at the contact. When he opened them again, there was an intensity in his gaze that made your heart race.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You didn’t say anything in response, not immediately. Instead, you leaned in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that was gentle at first, as if testing the waters.

For a split second, Law didn’t respond. His lips stayed still under yours, as though waiting for you to lead. And then, as if giving in to the quiet desperation you both had been hiding, his lips moved against yours. The kiss deepened, tentative at first, then more confident, a mix of relief and pent-up emotion that neither of you had allowed to surface before.

But it was his body that betrayed him first. You could feel the heat rising in his skin, the subtle flush spreading across his cheeks and neck, and his fingers, which had been holding onto the railing, suddenly loosened their grip. His breathing quickened, and for a moment, you could feel his chest rise and fall in a way that matched the unspoken vulnerability in the kiss. He was blushing—a rare and almost imperceptible flush that painted his usually stoic face with a soft warmth.

When the kiss broke, you stayed close, the air thick with the emotions neither of you had fully expressed. Law’s breath was shallow, and his eyes were still closed, his forehead resting against yours as if trying to collect himself.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice hoarse with emotion. He didn’t move away, his hand slowly coming up to cup the back of your neck, keeping you there just a little longer.

You didn’t say anything right away, content to stay in the moment. But then, you spoke softly, your lips brushing against his when you did. “We’ll figure this out,” you said, your words steady despite the storm inside you.

Law’s eyes opened then, the usual guarded expression now replaced with something raw and genuine.

He smiled, a small, genuine smile that reached his eyes for the first time in days. “Yeah. We will.”

-