#buggy x reader

↳ [ // AUTHOR’S NOTE. ] OPLA 2 has me heated & inspired with luffy in all kinds of subby situations (cuffed & hypnotized & mouth taped & what else, hello?!) and zoro tied or waxed up at every opportunity 😩 they are setting the tone right there! so let’s clock what kind of subs these delicious OP men are, shall we 🗣️ from the goodest boys to the superfreaks. buggy turned out so hot with his kinky high heels and sexy circus makeup i can’t (i’ve joined the clown fetish club?? 😭✊🏼). law also has a crazy painslut segment while ace & koby are the softest for good measure 🥰 now heels aside, pick your fave(s) & enjoy!

masterlist 

ace ] a snuggly soft sub. Courtesy of his devil fruit, which really would have to be called “angel fruit” in his case instead, Ace is the most tactile submissive there is. Even stroking his back in passing makes his brain melt. His hair, legs, shoulders, lips, cheeks: Letting your hand ghost over his cute freckled skin will leave your slightly exhibitionistic lover giddy with goosebumps. And in love. And so yearning. Your hand in his hair is everything to him. It’s not a case of “guy makes every cuddle a sex thing”, though. Ace likes cuddling for cuddles’ sake, because the emotions are a huge relief. The making out and kissing is so unusually frequent, people looking on will think he’s using drugs. Ace is high on your gaze, and barely thinks of anything else but being side by side in bed, spooning (Luffy thinks that’s so adorable when he walks in on you in your sleep. He supports his brother getting all the love). That’s his happy place. Releasing him from the tough, less than gentle world. Ace could make anal sex romantic. Marriage proposal during a fisting sesh, he could pull that off. He jumps with joy when you buy him plushies. You made one for him by hand, he carries it with him 24/7 in a trouser pocket. This dude is just the king of fluff. Ace finds all his wishful thinking in a soft domme, a hard domme wouldn’t match him right. You can pinch him all you pleased, those nipples especially. But roughly handling him would just be awkward and hurt Ace. He’s too sweet and yes, lazy. Petting is like having sex to him. Corny, but, it’s Ace. He enjoys to make love to you in missionary or another intimate position, but the body contact always counts more than the “yay, it goes in and out” part. Regular sex is not crucially urgent to Ace. It’s just a byproduct of huddling up in bed sometimes. Whatever your libido says, he adapts. He could please you every day or do it once a month in comfy silence. If you want to tickle him to get a glimpse of that 1000 Watt-smile or see how well his fingertips can work your clit, Ace can pull off both. One thing is his favorite, though. Being snug, together by a fireplace, mumbling to each other.

buggy ] the most committed pet. With all the ribbons, a time to feed him… and fuck, cause this clown wants it bad. But stylishly. Someone’s fully queening out with you: Buggy is all in with the feminization, dumbification, putting him in collars and you having him make some noises considered strange by others alright. He is the original superfreak. Law pretty much loves himself a sado-domme that torments him with red hot tweezers for breakfast, Luffy is all about the impossible sex positions and self-tie shenanigans, but Buggy… he commits to the bit. Always. A circus makes a performer slip into ludicrous roles, you both love that. Acting out just because! Life is filled with restraint and nonsense, so why not be unrestrained without sense? Buggy as a pet sub is ‘brainless’ in a smart way. And fucked brainless especially. Sounds edgy, ruined makeup style, and it is. Edging you is his favorite when he eats you out with fantasy positions and tricks, fun makeup, cat ears, false lashes, painted nails, platform heels on (he can do cartwheels in those!), just letting his oral freak flag fly. Sit on his face and ruin his eyeshadow, his sexy rouge, and that glimmering cheek highlighter while you’re at it. At this point, his lipstick stains on your clit just turn you on for a second round each time. If the world sucks, start sucking. His sex motto extraordinaire, humping his pillow with two hands of his down his throat. Yep, he can fit that many. Yes, he loves it when you draw lewd pictures of him like this. And if you need him bad, Buggy satisfies you from behind, giving your ass a proper worshipping. Does this guy nut glitter? Lock him in that tiger cage, put him in his lace wear, and bring those whippy whips. His high libido will soon tell. On all fours? Buggy does it best.

koby ] obedient sub. With gorgeous pink ribbons, humiliation kink, soap baths and everything. Being forthcoming and more on the soft domme side, you prepared a lot for your sweetheart, tea cups and big pillows and little treats (or not so little, as sweet stuff can be a luxury on the Grand Line, after all) and a warm fireplace to spend some time in a cozy tavern that’s not exactly close to any busy areas or marines. Koby shyly returns the favor of you setting the mood and running errands to get all of those cute things to create a nice time. With eating you out a lot, lots of sucking and curious tongue moves involved. It feels so good and it just goes on and on for minutes on end: “You taste amazing… Can I do it more?” Fuck, this is the big treat, then, is it. Your clit just experiences heaven with that pliant, malleable and warm tongue doing its loving thing. Slave to love and your scent, your baby licks you up from behind, in missionary, sideways even, even if it’s a bit unorthodox and hard to pull off. No problem though, you’re having fun rolling around in the sheets. Now, hear me out: Koby’s actually the most obsessed with vanilla fucking among all these guys to top it off. Your pussy is in for all that gentle stimulation, those good angles, and those pretty as hell hands really sneak to your most sensitive area again and again, so you both edge for like 30 minutes plus. But the ribbons and the fluffy handcuffs stay on! The sweetest collared sub ever. You absolute love birds, this is relationship goals.

luffy ] a bonafide contortionist. No one’s shocked. You thought he’d be all ‘straight up feederism kink and suck slash squeeze on Mommy’s breasts’ all day’? That would only be one part of the picture. He’s simply the least serious sub of them all unless romantic confessions are concerned, because laughing together is the ultimate bonding experience, although bonding with handcuffs (heh) is kind of attractive on him. Even though... yes... they’re basically useless on him. You could stuff basically anything up his elastic ass and he’d have the time of his life. Experimental subs have nothing on this guy. He can be his own bondage rope, y’all. His pet play skills extend to any possible species. You punish Luffy humorously for his impatience sometimes, spanking and gripping his head between your thighs. Pain excites Luffy, spanks are playful to him. Although his age could or couldn’t play a role in this, he doesn’t take BDSM stuff as seriously as Mihawk or Trafalgar Law would. Impact toys are fascinating to use on him: You can take your frustrations out on a sub that never breaks but bends. Snuggles and aftercare love is his kind of sex, too, it just warms his heart to love you and be loved. Luffy really likes to kiss you a lot after playing. As a puppy, for instance. A sweet pup deserves his hair to be ruffled, and forehead kisses, anything that makes him blush.

law ] the pain slut final boss. This god of chains and fingering truly likes the whole shebang of provocative kink equipment galore. Spikes, harnesses, flogging and perfectly romantic dungeon furniture. Trafalgar is the kinkiest on this list by far, and no one is surprised at all. Nobody can tell him what to do! Except for you, his girl, because that’s how it works. If he walks up with some risky piercings you can place on him or he wants you to pull out some crazy hooks and suspensions and clamps and whips, that’s just another manic (and super sexy) Monday for Law. Temperature play is his favorite as of recently, and a proper anal fixation, but it has to be extreme, like everything he does. Him roleplaying as your sick patient is a staple. His boner for your doctor voice and outfit and all those medical tools you brought stays all night. Law likes to be tortured and sense-deprived, he was made for this. His unrestricted moans will have your pussy in not so literal shambles. Trafalgar Law is so masochistic, he has nothing against you electro-shocking his skinny brains out with the craziest tech machines. Or you waterboarding him into a freeze state that allows you total control over his body, since he’s a Paramecia user. He pines to get beaten up by you, fucked silly, then thrown to the ground. He wants to be exhausted, discarded, deeply humiliated, he wants to know his limit and gets off on being hurt for hours: Especially at the hand of his very attractive dominant whom he lends his life line to. Law always wants to hang there like a bag of sand when you’re done with him. He trusts you. He’d only open up and show you his real boundaries because Law knows you can gauge – and also push – him well. You don’t hesitate, because you know he’s pretty much impossible to destroy and doesn’t want some queasy consideration, and he likes that. You’re able to chill and eat takeout with him for aftercare, and not be intimidated by the intense comedown from all those unreal play scenarios. He’s not sub dropped once. No sub can outdo him, this guy is always ready to get fucked up. Law has no problem being a kink dispenser, you can do whatever the hell you like with him (even suffocating him with hugs, heh).

mihawk ] the immaculate service submissive. As hard and stern as he might seem, Mihawk is actually the most classically submissive on this list. Why? His trademark elegance prevents him from domineering his partner: Wife, ideally, because this man is not commitment-phobic. If you top him he will put a ring on it FAST. Because he knows most people quickly pigeonhole him into this hard dom image and don’t even try to look past his façade. Mihawk cooks gentlemanly, bathes you, massages you with expensive oils, and gives you all you ever wanted. You as his domme will choose his clothing for the night, or day, even. Want him to change his beard grooming or the hair? He’ll do it. He is not a diehard masochist like Law or Sanji, but damn, he’d sacrifice anything for a woman he loves and find great satisfaction in it. Mature kink is about responsibility, and that’s what Dracule does. He ain’t vampiric for no reason. Vampires ask before they come in. And blood-wise, if you get your period, he’s the one who gets the hot wraps and the luxurious teas (!) and the blankets and the herbs to make you feel much better. Fuck, he can’t stand to see you hurt. That’s why he’s not a dom. A pregnancy kink he does have, that’s his only top-like side. In his daytime brooding imaginations, he will slice up any punk who dares to touch his hypothetical pregnant wife… get chopped! Mihawk also fantasizes about helping you go about lactating, post-partum bed times, waning. Then again, that’s also an aspect of his service sub default. If you want kids or not in this chaotic world is up to you. But one thing’s for sure. Mihawk will flood you with cash ‘cause he’s a real pay pig disguised as a twilight sugar daddy.

sanji ] truly versatile. Black leg Sanji? More like sexy leg. He can be a platter-wielding service sub like Mihawk or a groaning pain slut just like Law (he fantasizes about you putting out cigarettes on his whole body…), bend himself around for your own pleasures pretty much like Luffy but without the upper body, or snuggle just like Ace. All of it will get him off, and all of it will thrill you, too. Because what genre of BDSM couldn’t this man present as chic and salacious. You want your feet and neck kissed, he’ll devour this. You want to pull his hair? To the All Blue and back. Sanji is so obsessed with his domme, he would fry himself in a human-sized oil pot if something ever happened to her. He is your human furniture and your latex fashion model and your gimp. Sanji is for the anxious attachment dommes: If you’re afraid he won’t cuddle after sex, this guy will be so glued to you, you’ll never feel lonely again. Sanji selflessly understands that even dominant women want attention, care, listening, intimacy, favors, love, affection, not just female subs. He will never betray your rules in bed, he cleans up toys, he listens to feedback: subs need spines as well. Sanji embodies that. He’s horny with a conscience. As for you, do what you want (unless it’s joining the world government), and Sanji works with that. You can choke-fuck him Trafalgar Law style and admire his hot bod, or comb his hair to tell him how proud you are of him. Cause you are. Sanji really overextends himself with all he does chronically. Sanji carries that shit. He is the most obedient sub on this list by far: You actually have to teach him to contribute and say what HE wants, too. Which, and you really had to coax it out of him, is predictably being fed food by you… it’s too cute. Or is it? Making Vinsmoke Sanji lick some cake cream from your fingers has got to be the biggest turn-on ever invented. Let’s be real, this guy invented worship.

shanks ] unpretentious rope bunny. With a lot of sub drop in the mix: Shanks is not a rough and tumble kind of bed partner. Putting his charisma aside, he’s confident in showing his dome all those sensitive and weak parts of him. And yes, let’s be shallow for a minute: Shanks looks way too good all tied up, handsome muscles on display. A ship offers enough material to work with. He wants to see how you can control his body, fixate him, pin Shanks down, expose his sweetest spots, test his sturdiness, showcase his physical beauty, and never let him go. All while finding the time and space to do this, because rope stuff is not a spontaneous discipline. It’s that psychological element that makes the redhead sub so enamored with the art of knots. If you cinch him in place, neither of you will go anywhere. That constancy and reliance is a huge green flag for Shanks who craves your full attention. All the detail you put into your patterns make him feel loved by seeing the dedicated intent… you look after every tension in the rope, all the cross-sections and angles and the skin. Bondage is knowing your partner. He wants to be studied, in a way. And slathered in ointment after, it’s so invigorating to Shanks. The tunnel vision you get while working on his shibari is so hot to this guy, the spotlight on him is actually wholesome, not just challenging or technical. That’s just beautiful. Shanks really blooms when you tie the knot: Literally. He wants to claim that his wife has him all tied up in his feels. And yes, he does cry sometimes, and you comfort those tears with Shanks in your lap.

sir crocodile ] impact play and switching. The desert is dry, but no one who knows `Mister Zero Vanilla´ intimately is… But let’s start from the beginning. Toys and furniture and all the stuff that leaves an imprint makes Croc a horny young man again. It’s too seductive not to try. A contract is in place, you both wrote down what you want to do. It’s negotiated. And it’s freaky. He underestimated your willingness to pound the shit out of him a bit, but that’s good news: He can finally feel something. Whips and chains to the balls, and a hook (surprise) up his ass to make him clench those teeth? Some frivolous kisses for your pussy lips and legs in between? Let’s go. Obviously you’re not using his hook, but a more blunt toy, although the thought of something pointy is titillating to him. Rather, your idea is to switch and see what he can do with that gold stinger – or Goldfinger, as you joke – when you back yourself up against him. As he stands, he uses the metal to wrap around your neck, holding you in place, giving it to you nice and slow from behind to warm you up like the desert, and then picks up the speed as he smokes and grunts, hurling out the praise for you, the good girl. “What a nice ass, want it spanked?” alternates with clamps on your labia or nipples, made of luxurious materials of course. The pain gets you hot, and he releases quickly. Since Croc likes it hairy, even looking at your exposed lips makes him all hungry. And then you switch again. Tired after cumming, he’s frozen in his office, so you torment him with heavy tailed whips and horrible canes, do we sense a phallic pointy theme here, and shove up an entire arsenal of vibrators in his tight ass. He begs for mercy as part of the script, it’s so hot. In the dead of the night, who would have thought the mighty Sir Crocodile is subject to some insane CBT methods with a batch of wet sand shoved into his mouth so he won’t make a sound? He’s crazy. But it’s a rush to be inside his underwater hideaway. Be careful before he’s gonna wife you up, he is a dedicated man.

smoker ] sensory stuff and vanilla. Few people can imagine him subbing, and that’s his hazy secret. He’s classy about it. “So what” style. But unlike Mihawk, wine is not involved. A woman putting out cigarettes on his body is. Cigars, if she really wants to drive him insane. Come to think of it, nobody is surprised with this at all. His smoke body doesn’t bear the burn marks, he has tons of supply at hand, and hey… Smoker sees no point in doing this on someone else in his busy schedule. That schedule involves getting his wallet drained by you, cause his marine money all blown on burn stuff is getting a bit boring now. Pay pig Smoker? That’s what he works for. Heh. Another idea you had was running ice cubes on him, which not only tingles, but remains the most effective power play of all. Why? Because the water immobilizes him partially, and you can resort to some free use all night. Used sparingly, this can go on for hours. You can ride him in reverse how you like, he won’t kiss and tell. Cigars in mouth, he coughs like a broke stove during groans, you both love that shit. He’s impressively endowed, long and straight, with stamina, a dream for any rider queen who loves to edge her play partner. Smoker, lazy as he is on the couch or bed, lets his sexy abs glisten, and you can mockingly run your hands through his hair. “Oh, somebody can’t move. Guess I’ll deprive you more…” Followed by various forms of orgasm denial, and using him as your personal stripper. Or sex doll. Ripping his clothes off is fun, and Smoker is well-built. And experienced. No bullshit. He’s confident enough to have you fill him up with booze for some heavy makeouts. No sexual stuff, he’s a gentleman, but the teasing can go far when he’s intoxicated. His oral fixation should be, let’s say, apparent without discussion, Smoker can surely fancy some boobs in his naughty mouth if you command him. He’s languidly obedient in a way. If you want to see rug burn on his back, he will lie down, alright. Um, and… upon your request… He also made you very happy on his motorcycle if you know what I mean. Smoker, the king of deep strokes and all the huffing, puffing, lady pleasing.

zoro ] needy lil’ brat. He’ll do what you want, but oh so tease you for it. Zoro could lay there with a spreader bar between his juicy gym legs and he would talk some shit. Or when you ride his thigh. Or when you run ice cubes all over him. Somebody gag this mosshead already! He actually fell asleep during a bondage session once. In his defense, he trained push-ups with Sanji beforehand. They both tried to outdo each other, so Zoro collapsed into a fairy-tale like slumber with you a little later. He was too sweet in his sleep to resent, though you repeated the rope play two days later. Zoro… is for the lenient doms out there, strictness doesn’t work. No, he doesn’t slack off, he can put his back into it. Zoro’s ambitious manner is world famous. But yeah, he shows his cute side as a sub. Don’t you worry. You can nurse him like a service domme sometimes, or a Mommy domme, it’s flexible. He really does like being taken care of, but a full-on little one he is not. It’s more about the looking after someone aspect. He devours Mommy’s hefty food, and lets himself be groped, then stroked, then petted when he’s been a bad boy. You tie his wounds, knead his back. It’s not complete dominance on your part unless you brat tame him. Zoro loves pampering and acts of service too much. The entitled brat learns his sexy lesson with riding crop whips to his muscly butt and thighs, enduring slaps and even a bit of CBT, Zoro’s most high-adrenaline kink interest. Does he own a penis pump? Yes he does. Zoro doesn’t even pretend one bit that he’s not a classy kinkster like Mihawk. Zoro likes his sex stuff real, and visceral, and frequent, and a lil’ bit trashy. If you like cum play and sweat… this is your address.

read it on ao3 

NEW: one piece characters as porn stars hc

end note. tell me your own hcs about them in the comments, i am stoked about this topic and there is just so much to say!! i just imagine law as the freakiest guy ever he is so... and then there’s ace and shanks being all cutie pie about this lmaoo

—His choice of pet names is: "darling", "(my) gem". Does everything he says drip with both luxury and danger? Yes, we wouldn't have it in any other way.

To no one's surprise, Sir Crocodile was smoking in his office. The expensive cigar was soon taken away from his lips, you had taken hold of it. He caught your wrist with his hand gently, not letting you get any further away. ❝Careful, gem… If you take something from me, you’ll have to offer something better.” His smirk was pure, addictive poison, just like his tobacco.

—His choice of pet names is: "sweetheart", "love". He's the definition of warmth and simplicity in one. His words are as sincere as how he presents himself to you.

The crew was partying wildly. The last mission had gone wonderfully well, having retrieved what you were looking for. Shanks had his arm thrown around you, hearty laughter escaped past his lips as you two moved around, a little messily, until he leaned down to whisper something in your ear. ❝Sweetheart, if you keep dancing like that, I’ll have to kick everyone out so I can keep you to myself.❞ He might be joking… Or not. That was for you to judge.

—His choice of pet names is: "(my) star", "pretty thing". It was evident he'd dramatize his affection as if it were a performance on its own. Don't mind it, though.

Once more, Buggy had failed a new trick he was trying to master. A spectacular failure, for sure. But you clapped anyway, motivating his poor attempts further. ❝I knew my star would support me! It’s for you that I shine!❞ He puffed up with clear pride… Then immediately tripped over. You were quick to help him get back up, trying not to laugh.

—His choice of pet names is: "hey, you", "love". The first one was how he called for your attention early on; he's silly like that. Nevertheless, you did make him soften up later on, even though he pretends he's not absolutely head over heels.

You were invading his space, as he liked to call it, sitting on his desk doing nothing specific. Smoker came in soon after, not hesitating in removing his coat and draping it over your shoulders. His excuse? ❝It’s cold, love… Don’t look at me like that. I won’t say it twice.❞ He absolutely did say it again. As long as it may make you smile at him.

—His choice of pet names is: "sweetness", "(my) treasure". If he addresses you with a pet name, be sure it'll always be laced with a possessive undertone, one impossible to ignore.

You two were inside his office, spending some quality time together away from prying eyes. You were sitting on his lap while Doflamingo read reports. One of his hands was comfortably settled on your curves, tracing your waist lazily. ❝Sweetness… Don't squirm. You're distracting me. Unless…❞ He lowered his glasses enough for you to catch a glimpse of his eyes. ❝… That's exactly what you want.❞

—His choice of pet names is: "(my) angel", "little one". His affection is full of heart… Jokes aside, this man is so soft and clumsy at the same time that it's difficult not to swoon for him.

Donquixote Rosinante, aka Corazon, was attempting to light a cigarette, the usual. But he soon set his coat on fire… Again. You rushed to his side, trying to help him put out the fire. ❝Angel, I swear this time wasn’t my fault…❞ He whispered with that lovingly silly smile of his, his arms awkwardly wrapping around you as he laughed at his own clumsiness.

—His choice of pet names is: "Y/n-ya", "adorable idiot". The last one is specifically used for when you make him worry too much, which could be any other day, to be honest.

You walked past his office, finding the lights still on despite the late hours. You couldn't have that happening, not for two nights in a row. You stepped inside, demanding that he rest properly for once. Surprisingly, Trafalgar sighed, set down his scalpel, and met your eyes head-on. ❝Y/n-ya… If you keep looking at me like that, I'll have to actually listen.❞ Cheesy, but it worked. He went to sleep right away, with you by his side, of course.

—His choice of pet names is: "(my) angel", "partner". I must admit, it's beautiful to see him feel at ease with someone enough to let his walls down. He sees you as an angel sent from above, always there for him.

It was late already, late enough for you two to be cooking dinner together. As expected, it was spaghetti. Killer attempted to taste the sauce through his mask and failed miserably. You couldn't contain it and laughed at the look his mask was left in. ❝Fafafa… Don’t laugh, angel.❞ You laughed harder. He joined you, unrestrained.

—His choice of pet names is: "spark", "my favourite disaster". Challenge him, please. That's the way to get into this man's heart. Make him trip over his thoughts, and that smirk of his will never leave his red lips.

His cock dragged along your walls at an almost torturous pace, stretching you open so perfectly with every deep, lazy thrust. He savored the way your soft curves trembled beneath him, how your plush thighs squeezed around him, and the little gasps you made each time he ground against that sweet spot of yours.

"Easy now, sweetheart," he murmured against your neck, voice low and warm with that signature grin. "No need to rush... I could stay buried in you like this all night."

His hand roamed appreciatively over the soft swell of your stomach, squeezing gently, then moved up to cup one of your tits as he kept up his unhurried rhythm. The pleasure built gradually, wave after wave, until it became too much and your nerves felt raw, oversensitive from how long he'd been edging you like this.

"Shanks--nngh, please--it's too much," you whimpered, pushing weakly at his chest.

You twisted beneath him and started crawling away on shaky arms, trying to escape the overwhelming intensity.

A playful, husky chuckle escaped him.

Before you could get far, his arm wrapped around your waist and yanked you right back toward him and he pinned you down into the bed in one smooth motion and pulled your hips up high.

"Oh no you don't," Shanks laughed, voice thick with teasing affection. "You're not slipping away from me that easy."

He lined himself up and slammed his cock back inside you in one hard thrust, bottoming out deep. The sudden roughness made you cry out into the sheets.

His pace shifted instantly, no longer slow and lazy. He started pounding into you with powerful, relentless snaps of his hips, the wet slap of skin against skin filling the room. Your soft curves bounced and jiggled with every brutal thrust, ass rippling as he drove into your soaked pussy.

"Fuuuck, you feel incredible," he groaned, gripping your hip tightly, fingers sinking into plush flesh. "All warm and tight... squeezing me so good even when you're trying to get away."

You sobbed from the overstimulation, legs shaking hard, but Shanks kept you anchored in place. His hand slid under you to grope your stomach lovingly while simultaneously yanking you back onto his cock with each forward thrust.

He leaned over your back, red hair tickling your skin as he nipped at your shoulder.

"C'mon, baby... don't fight it," he teased breathlessly, voice still carrying that warm, cheeky tone even as he railed you harder. "I know you can take it. My pretty girl always does ♥"

He angled his hips to hit your sweet spot over and over, fucking you with rough, confident strokes. Sweat slicked your bodies as he kept up the intense rhythm, clearly loving how overwhelmed and messy you were for him.

Every time you tried to squirm forward even a little, he just laughed softly and pulled you right back, burying himself deeper.

"That's it... let me hear those pretty sounds," he praised, voice husky. "You're not going anywhere until I've had my fill of this perfect body."

Dracule Mihawk

Mihawk had you pinned beneath him in a deep mating press, his movements slow and precise as he rolled his hips.

His cock slid in and out of your creaming pussy with controlled depth, dragging against every sensitive ridge inside you. He watched your face intently with those sharp golden eyes as one large hand rested possessively on the plush swell of your stomach, fingers occasionally pressing down hard until he could feel himself moving inside you.

"You are trembling already," he observed quietly, voice low and composed. "Yet your body continues to pull me deeper."

The slow, intense rhythm had gone on for so long that pleasure had turned into overwhelming overstimulation. Every stroke felt like too much, your walls fluttering and twitching around his cock as tears gathered in your eyes.

"Mihawk, L-love--I need a moment--" you gasped, voice breaking.

You pushed against his chest and twisted away, managing to slip from his grasp just enough to roll onto your stomach. On trembling legs, you started crawling toward the edge of the bed, desperate for relief.

You could hear a quiet exhale from behind you before his hand shot out with lightning speed, fingers wrapping firmly around your thick ankle. With one powerful tug, Mihawk yanked you back across the sheets until he had you where he wanted again.

"Escaping me?" His velvet voice murmured, laced with subtle amusement. "How foolish."

He flipped you onto all fours and mounted you instantly with no warming and slammed his cock back inside you in one brutal thrust, burying himself to the hilt. The sudden roughness ripped a strangled moan out of you.

Mihawk began fucking you hard, hips snapping forward with raw power and precision. Each punishing thrust made your plush thighs and ass ripple violently, your tits jostling beneath you while being pressed into the mattress.

"You will not run," he growled low, one hand fisting your hair to arch your back while the other gripped your soft hip hard enough to leave marks. He pulled you back onto his cock with every forward drive, his balls tapping at your clit, stimulating you even further.

Your body shook uncontrollably from the overstimulation, but Mihawk showed no mercy. He railed you with deep, devastating strokes, angling perfectly to hit that sensitive spot inside you without fail.

"So soft and warm around me," he murmured, voice strained yet still controlled. "Yet so greedy. You can take more of this."

He leaned over your back, teeth sinking sharply into your shoulder as he pounded harder. Sweat glistened on your skin as he kept you locked in place, refusing to let even an inch of distance form between you.

Every time you tried to crawl forward even slightly, his grip tightened and he dragged you right back, impaling you deeper on his thick cock. His breathing grew heavier against your neck, but his rhythm remained relentless and dominant.

"Stay," he commanded quietly, voice rough with lust. "You will come again for me like this. I want to feel you fall apart while I take what is mine."

Mihawk's intense gaze burned into you as he continued, wringing every broken moan and shudder from you with masterful control.

Donquixote Doflamingo

Doflamingo lounged back against the headboard with a lazy grin while you straddled him, riding his cock with exhausted rolls of your hips.

Your thighs burned as you ground down on his cock, barely able to do more than slow, tired circles. Sweat glistened on your body as your tits bounced with each weak movement. He watched you with amusement, hands resting behind his head like he was enjoying a show.

"Fufufu... getting tired already?" he teased, voice low and mocking. "Keep moving, little dove. I want to feel you work for it."

The overstimulation had crept up slowly. Your pussy was swollen and hypersensitive, every grind sending sharp sparks through your exhausted body. You couldn't take any more.

"Doffy... I can't--" you whined with a hiccup.

You tried to lift yourself off him, but your shaky legs gave out, impaling yourself again by accident. Desperate, you slid sideways and started crawling away across the large bed as your body quivered with each movement.

"Oh? You think we’re done here?"

Thin strings shot out instantly, wrapping tightly around your wrists, ankles, and waist. With a sharp tug, Doflamingo dragged you right back across the sheets like a helpless puppet, flipping you onto your back in front of him.

"You're not finished yet~" he sang, grinning wide.

More strings lifted your legs high, spreading your thick thighs obscenely wide and folding your knees toward your chest. He used the strings like marionette wires to lift you off the bed and over him, before dropping and impaling you on his cock in one brutal motion.

You screamed as he filled you completely.

No more slow grinding, he was over that. He immediately started fucking you with vicious, upward thrusts, using the strings to slam your body down onto his cock in perfect time with his hips. Your whole body bounced with every savage impact.

"Fufufu! Look at you," he laughed breathlessly, eyes gleaming with sadistic pleasure behind his glasses. "All spread open and helpless on my cock. This is how I like you best."

The strings kept your legs locked wide and high, completely controlling your movements as he railed you mercilessly. Every hard thrust punched deep, the wet slap of your bodies loud and filthy. He used another set of strings to pinch and tug at your nipples while one teased at your swollen clit.

"Struggle all you want," he growled, voice thick with lust. "These strings aren't letting you go anywhere until this cunt is ruined."

He brought you down harder with the strings, impaling you deeper with every snap of his hips. Your plush body jolted violently as he fucked you like a toy, his grin never fading.

"Cry louder for me," he demanded, laughing darkly. "I love how you tremble when you're overwhelmed. Such a perfect little plaything~♥"

Doflamingo kept you suspended and spread, strings digging into your soft flesh as he pounded upward without mercy. He was lost in the thrill of controlling every inch of your pleasure, dragging out your overstimulation until you were a broken, dripping mess.

Charlotte Katakuri

Katakuri had you in his lap, facing him as he guided your movements with his hands on your hips as his massive cock stretched you wide while he rolled his hips upward in shallow, measured thrusts. 

Even in the heat of it, his expression remained mostly composed, though his eyes softened with rare affection as he watched your body move against him. Your tits were pressed warmly against his broad chest while your stomach squishing against his abs with every slow grind.

"You are doing so well," he praised, voice low and steady, almost soothing. "Taking me so deeply..." although he was barely half way inside of you.

But the long session had pushed you past your limit. Pleasure had turned into overwhelming overstimulation as your pussy fluttered and clenched uncontrollably around him. Your thighs shook violently against his sides.

"Katakuri--I’m so full--I can’t take much more of this…" you breathed through gritted teeth, looking at where the two of you remained connected.

You pushed against his chest and slid off him, stumbling across the large bed, desperate for a moment to recover.

His right arm transformed into flowing mochi and the sticky, flexible substance stretched across the distance and wrapped firmly around your waist and thighs. With a gentle, controlled pull, he dragged you back toward him, the mochi gently but inescapably binding your soft body.

"No, not when you need this as much as I do," he said calmly before he flipped you onto your back and loomed over you. 

More mochi extended from his shoulders, wrapping around your wrists and pinning them above your head while another thick strand looped under your knees. He folded your thick thighs high and wide, spreading you completely open.

Then he pushed his cock back into your pussy with one powerful thrust, burying himself completely unlike before. The sudden pressure of your body adjusting to his full length ripped a loud cry from you.

His pace turned more rough and demanding as he used his strength to slam his hips forward as though trying to get himself even deeper than he already was.

The mochi held you perfectly in place, keeping your legs spread wide and your arms restrained. Despite the roughness, his touch remained protective, almost reverent as he watched your reactions closely.

"You are so soft and warm," he growled quietly, voice strained but still composed. "So perfect like this... overwhelmed and full of me."

With his size it was impossible not to brush your sweet spot with each movement, making tears spill down your cheeks as your body shook hard in his restraints, but Katakuri did not relent. 

"You feel incredible when you squeeze around me like this," he praised, leaning down to press a surprisingly tender kiss to your forehead even as he pounded into you. "Let go. I will hold you through it."

His thrusts grew even harder, the bed creaking loudly beneath you both. He kept you completely trapped in his embrace, refusing to let you escape the pleasure he was determined to give you.

"I want to feel you come apart again... my beautiful, soft girl."

Katakuri's intense gaze never left your face for long as he drove into you relentlessly, using his mochi to keep you locked exactly where he wanted while he chased for your release.

Crocodile

Crocodile had you bent over the edge of the bed with your upper body pressed into the silk sheets as he took you from behind.

His cock stretched you open with each deep, controlled thrust, the weight of his body keeping you pinned. One large hand gripped your soft hip while his golden hook rested against the plush curve of your ass, cool metal teasing your heated skin. 

"There we go... just like that," he drawled, voice low and smug. "You're going to take every inch until I decide otherwise."

The long, unhurried pace had pushed you into dangerous territory as every slow drag of his cock made your nerves scream as your legs shook beneath him.

"Fuck~♥” you swore, gripping the sheets below you. “I’m getting too sensitive, show a bit of mercy Croc--" you plead died with a moan as he hit your sweet spot dead on.

You clawed at the sheets and tried to crawl forward unsuccessful, unable to pull yourself off of his cock in your frantic attempt for relief.

"Mercy? From me?"

Sand suddenly burst from his left hand, swirling around your waist and thighs, stopping you in your attempt to get away.

"You're not going anywhere until I've had my fill," he growled smugly.

Before you could recover, his hook slid around the front of your neck and pulled you upright onto your knees, pressing your back flush against his chest. The curved metal rested firmly under your chin, keeping you arched and trapped.

"Pathetic thing," he laughed darkly into your ear. "Begging for mercy while this greedy cunt keeps sucking me in."

He immediately started pounding into you, hips snapping upward hard and deep. Your soft body jolted violently in this new position, tits bouncing wildly, plush stomach shaking with every brutal thrust.

His free hand reached around to roughly grope and squeeze your tits, pinching your nipples hard while his hook kept your neck secured against him. The new angle let him drive even deeper, hitting that sensitive spot even harder than before.

"Look at these tits bouncing for me," he growled smugly, voice thick with lust as he kneaded and slapped the soft flesh. "So perfect... made to be played with while I take you how I want."

You moan loudly from the overwhelming overstimulation, but Crocodile only fucked you harder. The sand around your thighs kept your legs spread wide as he railed you relentlessly from behind.

"You don't get to run from what you asked for this morning, remember?" he growled, voice rough with lust. "You said it yourself that this body is mine to use... and I'm nowhere near done with you."

Every powerful thrust made your body ripple. His hand continued mauling your tits, tugging your nipples and squeezing the plush flesh as he pounded upward without mercy. The hook under your neck kept you perfectly displayed and helpless.

"It's like you were made to be fucked like this."

He kept you locked in the kneeling position as his low, mocking laughter mixed with your broken cries as he dragged out your overstimulation, clearly savoring every tremble.

Caesar Clown

Caesar had you on all fours while he fucked you with steady, rhythmic thrusts at a brisk consistent pace, each one perfectly angled as he continued his 'experiment' that had already been going for well over 2 hours. 

His dug his fingers into your hips while he observed every twitch and moan, constantly fine-tuning his movements like the dedicated scientist he was.

"Shurororo~ Yes! Look at those beautiful reactions!" he cackled. "Your pussy is clenching so perfectly around me.--Such excellent data!"

This relentless pace he kept up for more than sixty minutes had completely destroyed you. Your nerves were fried raw from the extended session as he exploited every sensitive spot.

"Caesar--ahh--it's too much, I can't handle it anymore--" you begged, voice shaking and desperate.

You lunged forward and tried to scramble away for any relief from the overwhelming intensity.

"Oh no you don't! You're not ruining my experiment!"

Thick pinkish aphrodisiac gas suddenly burst out from Caesar's body, flooding the air and filling your lungs. The gas hit your senses instantly, making your skin burn hotter and pussy throb with desperate, aching need as your mind grew foggy with forced arousal.

Even as you felt overstimulated, the gas made you crave him even more.

Before you could crawl another inch, Caesar's fingers wrapped around your waist and yanked you back hard. He dragged your body right back to him, flipping you onto your back with a wide grin.

"Shurororo! That's it--breathe it in deeper," he cackled, eyes gleaming with chaotic delight. "My special aphrodisiac will make you need my cock even more~"

He slammed his cock back into your pussy, forcing a loud, broken moan from your throat. His pace instantly became fast and punishing as he started fucking you erratically.

Your tits bounced with every thrust while the aphrodisiac gas continued pouring into the room, making every sensation feel electric and unbearable.

"You feel that? Your body is begging for me now!" Caesar groaned, voice whiny yet dominant as he pounded into you. "Look at you trembling and dripping... so insightful!"

He leaned over you, his hands pinning your wrists to the bed.

"Trying to crawl away from me? How rude!" he laughed breathlessly. "Now you're going to cum until you can't think straight. All thanks to my genius gas~"

The mix of his rough, frantic pounding and the overwhelming aphrodisiac left you sobbing and moaning uncontrollably as your body burned with desperate need.

Caesar kept you trapped beneath him, fucking you like a madman lost in his favorite experiment. Which he was, to be fair.

"This cunt is going to milk me dry while you lose your mind for me."

Buggy

Buggy had you on your stomach with his cock buried deep inside you as he fucked you with frantic, desperate thrusts.

His torso floated above you while his hips slammed against your ass, driving his cock into your creaming pussy. You were filled to the brim and dripping messily with both your releases, the obscene wet sounds loud with every thrust.

"This is the best pussy in the Grand Line, I swear!" he moaned loudly, voice cracking.

"I can't--Buggy Baby--I need a second--PleEEase" you gasped, voice breaking.

You started crawling forward, trying to escape his relentless cock.

A high-pitched, whimper tore out of Buggy the moment he felt your pussy pull away from him.

"Wait--no! D-Don't leave me like this!"

His floating upper body zipped forward and pushed down hard on your shoulders, forcing your plush body back onto his thrusting hips. At the same time, his detached hands floated around to your front, greedily grabbing your tits and roughly pinching and tugging at your sensitive nipples.

"Mmmph--fuck, you feel so good~♥" he whimpered. His head floated beside yours, capturing your lips in a sloppy, messy kiss, tongue pushing deep as he drooled into your mouth.

You tried to crawl away again, pushing forward with a broken sob, which Buggy matched.

"Nooo--come back!"

His cock suddenly detached completely, staying buried deep inside your dripping pussy and continued to thrust on its own with frantic energy.

His full body, save for his cock and hands, quickly reassembled behind you as sat back on his knees, eyes wide and glassy as he watched you.

His detached cock, now free from his hips, started ramming into you even harder and deeper than before, with no body to restrict the motion, allowing it to piston wildly and reach impossibly deep with every stroke.

"Fuuuck--look at you," Buggy moaned breathlessly, voice trembling as he watched your soft body writhe and jolt in pleasure. His floating hands continued twisting and pinching your nipples. "You're losing it... shit, you look so hot like this."

He stayed back and watched greedily, biting his lip as his detached cock slammed into you relentlessly, pushing more of your mixed releases out with every thrust. His hands kept tugging and rolling your nipples as he took in every tremble and broken moan you let you.

"J-just a little more, baby, please..." he begged, voice. "I can't stop yet... you look too perfect taking me like this ♥"

Even as his own body shook from overstimulation, Buggy remained fixated on the sight of you falling apart for him.

Smoker

Smoker had you bent over his wooden desk with your tits and stomach squished against scattered documents as he fucked you from behind.

His cock stretched you with every heavy stroke, the desk groaning under the intensity. Two cigars burned between his teeth, smoke lazily drifting through the room while the windows were already completely covered in a thick white haze for privacy.

"Always so damn needy," he grunted, one rough hand gripping your plush hip as he drove into you. "You're making a mess of my desk... again."

The relentless rhythm had quickly pushed you into overstimulation. Your pussy throbbed, hypersensitive and twitching around his girth with every deep drag.

"Nngh~♥ W-Wait--slow down, my body can't--eeii!--handle this--" you gasped in broken pieces.

You pushed your hands against the desk and tried to crawl forward, desperate to escape the intense pleasure flooding your body.

"You're not going anywhere," he grunted.

A single hand wrapped around your waist and pulled you back against his hips, burying his cock deep inside again in one motion.

That was the only warning you got before he started fucking you harder, hips snapping forward, making your body rippled wildly against the desk. Then he leaned over you, smoke curling from his mouth as he spoke against your ear.

"Keep trying to crawl away and I'll clear the smoke from that window, press you right up against the glass and fuck you there instead.--Let every marine outside see how well this slutty body takes my cock."

The threat made you clench hard around him.

Smoker let out a surprised, rough groan, his hips faltering for a moment.

"Shit... you just got tighter," he muttered, sounding both annoyed and smug. "You really like that idea? Heh, you filthy girl."

He immediately picked up the pace, pounding into you with deep, brutal strokes. Thick smoke tendrils slipped under your body, one pressing firmly against your swollen clit while another teased your nipples, adding sharp stimulation while he railed you.

"Making such a mess..." he grumbled, gripping your hip tighter. "and dripping all over my reports... yet still squeezing me like you want me to follow through on that threat."

You sobbed into the desk from the overwhelming sensation, his gruff words ringing in your ears. Your legs shook violently, but Smoker kept you pinned in place, refusing to let you escape even an inch.

"Stay right there," he ordered. "--Or I'll live up to my word, it's your decision."

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.

Mihawk

He does what he wants, when he wants. Period. If he wants you when you’re in a pub, you’re not getting away until he gets what he wants. Sitting in the booth across from him, he’s been known to put his boot between your legs on the bench, making you rut against him and rubbing it against you until you cum, quietly talking you through it in his sternest voice. Other times he’ll take out his dagger, holding it to your throat or sensitive places as you fuck. He’ll draw thin lines, not breaking the skin, but testing your trust as he makes you be still for him. Once, after a particularly aggravating meeting, he made you sit on the floor at his feet. While he cleaned Yoru, he demanded that you grind on his boot and get yourself off. But no matter what he asks of you, he always rewards you for obedience.

Sir Crocodile

For being such a twisted person, he’s not as kinky in bed as you’d expected. Sure he loves marking you up, pushing your limits, demanding submission and obedience, but there’s half a romantic in him (though only with you.) Even so, sex is rarely easy with him. And usually, the hook stays on. So of course he’ll use it just as he would use his hand otherwise. He’ll rub the cool metal against your skin until it warms, until it’s slick from your mouth - or elsewhere. He’ll tease you with the tip, making you be still so it doesn’t pierce you, playing a dangerous game of stimulation with the sharp tip around your nipples. He loves making you cum with it, sometimes denying you touch from his hand until you do. After making you lick it clean - or making a show of licking it himself - he’ll take you until you’re begging for mercy, as always.

Buggy

You already know what this man is up to. Every part of him is detachable. He can send you off to have your day with his left hand in your clothes, using your chest and ass as a stress ball. He’ll finger you over and over, holding your soft bits for comfort - definitely not your comfort, but he doesn’t give a shit. Good luck to both of you getting a damn thing done on those days. He loves leaving you with his cock buried inside you like a toy, getting hard inside you over and over and over throughout the day, his cum plugged up and acting as lube. When you finally return? He drags you off and reassembles himself, fucking you senseless - properly. Has he sent you with his nose in your underwear before? Do you want to have this conversation?

Katakuri

He is deeply repressed, your husband, in just about every way. But sexually? He has a lifetime of horny to make up for, and he’s terrified to hurt you or wear you out with his enthusiasm. First of all, you’re just so small. (Even in a world where he’s not actually giant sized, everything about him is so much bigger than you.) And he loves it. Too much. It’s far too arousing to watch you struggle to take him, to fondle and pleasure your body in his lap with his big hands. And sure, you may not be afraid of him, but he’s still worried about frightening you with his sounds and expressions as you take his cock inside your crushing tightness. But if you tell him you’re into it? If you begged him to use you? He’d fold instantly despite his reservations, but he’d use his observation haki - like he secretly always does - to ensure it’s never too much. The problem with using it? The risk of coming too soon when he watches you come undone.

King

He’s still annoyed with himself for falling in love with you. And sometimes he likes bringing that into bed. You’re so small, his little human lover. It takes a hell of a lot for you to be able to take him as it is, and he’s not about to waste all that effort with just one round. Once you’re exhausted enough to not be able to resist anymore, he’ll pick you up in his hands and plunge you down on his cock like a fuck doll. You’re just so little, it’s a wonder you can take him at all, and it gives him endless satisfaction watching the bulge in your belly as he sinks down to the hilt inside you. He loves your begging and tears, his body a weapon against you that you laughably don’t want to escape. Although he doesn’t know which is more pathetic - you, or his love of manhandling your small body to pleasure himself.

Eustass Kid

Your captain is never one to pull punches, in bed or otherwise. He has the conqueror’s spirit and damn if he doesn’t love using it in the bedroom. He loves pushing you to your limit, pounding you ruthlessly with an arm on your throat and a hand flicking your nipples until they tingle. So of course he thinks to use his magnetism on you. He makes rough and ready cuffs the day he decides to try it with you, holding you suspended and pinned every which way as he stuffs you fulll over and over. He makes you a collar studded with metal to pulll on, he makes underwear with foil strands running through the fabric so he can watch your face as he gropes you at the absolutely wrong times. If you let him, he’ll give you sex piercings that will really drive you crazy. Any insane thing you can think of, he’ll be thrilled to try it.

Killer

Your blond lover is a man of contradictions - a conqueror with a gentle streak, a ruthless massacring butcher with painted nails and lips, a metal head who loves cooking. He is strength and intelligence, loyal to a fault - both to his firebrand captain and to you. For all his posturing and shows of force, his love for you is shockingly sugar sweet. He’s always gentle and protective, making sure you eat, painting your nails and braiding your hair before bed. Sometimes you have to ask him to, you know, let you see his rough and intimidating side that you find so hot. He doesn’t treat you like glass (as evidenced by all the mornings you can’t walk), but you can take more, you assure him. And one of the things that arouses you about him? His punisher blades. So he wears one, holding it to your throat as he fucks you, giving you a taste of his fucked up side. You’ll be seeing more of that from now on. Hope you’re prepared.

Rob Lucci

Even in his human form, he’s ruthless and leaves you unable to walk the next day. But when he wants to use his Zoan form? The first time he was too rough, having to patch up your bite marks and… other injuries. So he reluctantly altered his approach. He is still ruthless, even as he preps you to take his oversized Zoan cock. He pins you roughly, kissing you fiercely. Often he’ll start in his human form to stretch you, then shift while inside you. He ruts into you like the wild animal he is, knotting and mounting you again and again, manhandling you into whatever positions he wants. He is always glad to have chosen this place to call home, a former warehouse with soundproof walls - so he can make you scream and wail with no consequence except needing to leave out the ingredients for honey lemon tea in the morning for your raw throat.

Basil Hawkins

In many ways, Hawkins is a simple man. Sure he has a strange and arcane devil fruit, and his obsession with tarot predictions could be called odd, but his ambitions for power and money are nothing so unique. And for all that loving a pirate and accompanying him is full of adventure, your life and love is fairly simple in the quiet hours. So much so, that he begins to worry that he’s boring you. So he approaches you about trying something - letting the cards decide what happens in the bedroom every once in a while. Using the themes and associated elements and numbers dictate the positions, the intensity, the duration. Does it work to inspire? Or is it just an awkward attempt by your lover to please you and show his love… that will never be spoken of again? (If you know what’s good for you~)

Doflamingo

Your lover is no stranger to kinks and play that would make others run for the hills. He likes it rough, he likes you helpless, he likes it wrong. And what easier way to accomplish that than by tying you up, shibari style, and leaving you dangling for him to play with? Sometimes he starts slow, taking his time, tormenting you as he binds you. Other times, you’re suspended before you can process it, your clothes torn off with a sadistic snicker and a promise to buy you something new. He’s a bully, mean and selfish when he takes you, making you take more than you can handle over and over. More than once when he’s been busy and you’ve bothered him for company, he’s strung you up and had his clone fuck you senseless. He lays out a sleeveless shirt the next day to show off the red marks from his strings.

Bartolomeo

You picked him. This insane wildcard. And he’s obsessed with you, of course he’ll try literally ANY kink you suggest. And this one you mentioned? He won’t shut up the entire trip to the nearest bed in excitement to try it. He strips you quickly, chaotically, your clothes and his landing across the room. Biting his lip so hard he makes it bleed, he concentrates and crosses his fingers. He creates a small barrier that wraps around your wrist, then your other and your ankles. He uses them to carry you to bed and hold you down. When he’s assured they’re not hurting you, he smirks and pushes his crossed fingers inside you. He rubs his face in your chest, rambling about how perfect you are, how tight and wet and sexy you are, how hot you look pinned and helpless like this. Let’s hope you really are prepared for such a long night.

Kalifa (CP9)

She is a woman of order, and that extends to every aspect of her life. She likes things clean and neat. And while she’ll reluctantly accept the consequences of the mess of lovemaking, she prefers whenever possible to do it in the bath. It is her domain, after all, and she likes the control. At times she’ll hurry things along, making you cum fast and then finishing bathing quickly. She leaves you in the water as she gets out to work, teasing you with her slick naked body as she leaves you. But she loves the indulgence of long baths, and occasionally uses her power on you when she is particularly eager for absolute control over your body and pleasure. She’s a tease, after all, and doesn’t mind using you like a doll while she gets off.

Daz Bones

Your reticent and stoic lover, for all his intelligence, admittedly still finds it difficult to believe that you would choose him. That you feel someone so drenched in blood and sin could be worthy of you - though he’d never voice it aloud. Instead he shows it through his actions, becoming the perfect lover - anticipating your every need and want before you know it yourself. And as he studies you, he notices your hesitations, your blushing, your squirming at certain… ideas. And so he carefully brings up the idea in the bedroom. If you want more thrill, if you really do trust him, he could tease you with his blades. And if you accept? Your heart will be racing as hard as you’ll cum. He is confidence personified when he acts, no more evident than in bed with you. He’d never hurt you more than you wanted, but his dark side is thrilled that you would enjoy something so fucked up.

Caesar

Of course chemicals will make their way into the bedroom with your mad scientist of a lover. The vast majority of his successful experiments over time have been aphrodisiacs. (Not that he could brag to the scientific community about that.) But you? You get to try them all. Sex pollens, sense inhibitors and enhancers, mind control experiments, animal heat mimicry. Usually he uses them on you, liking being in control during those experiments, but he can’t deny that he likes when you’re in charge. He’ll curse you if you give him one of his own drugs, but after a few orgasms, his cock weeping all over, he’ll silently and begrudgingly forgive you. He’s devious with them, more than once slipping you one at inopportune times (usually when he doesn’t want you to leave because he’d miss you.)

Kuro of the Black Cat Pirates

He is the captain of a thousand plans. Of course he’s come up with endless scenarios to try with you when it comes to intimacy. Ways to seduce you, positions to try, preparing meals that are said to serve as aphrodesiacs, buying you classy yet alluring clothes for him to take off of you later. Or order you to take off. But he’s also impatient and tired of pretending. So a great many of his ideas revolve around punishment. He’ll make you strip and rut against the corner of the table, he’ll use a paddle on you, making you count the strikes and mocking you for getting wet, he’ll tie you in a dozen different shibari positions to have his way with you where you cannot resist. You present him with just the challenges he prefers in these days of seeking peace. And planning how to get inside you each night is his guilty pleasure.

Enel God of Lightning

Your god is demanding, often bored, and loves wielding his power over you. Testing his favourite worshipper, to see if you’ll break before finishing. One of the most common tests is using his lightning against you. Little shocks to your lips, your nipples, between your legs. Occasionally he’ll shock you a little harder when you start to cum, loving how your body writhes more as the sheer sensation lances through you. It would be bothersome to find a new devotee, so he’s careful to not hurt you. And if ever he pushes you too hard, and your pleas for mercy are earnest, he’ll feel something almost akin to human emotion as he helps you down from the high and cleans you up. You’ve proven your devotion thoroughly, after all. But he’s glad when you let him test you again. He needs to know you still don’t regret being chosen by him.

Sakazuki Akainu

As the one person he cares for enough to love, trust is essential between you both. And he is prone to testing that in bed. He is intense, demanding, unyielding. Sure he’ll let you have a safe word, but he expects you to accept the full force of his love more often than not. He’s rough, holding and pinning you tightly, making you repeat refrains of ownership and love to him as he wrecks you. And sometimes, he’ll tease you with his devil fruit. Seeing if you’ll flinch as the sweltering heat makes your skin wet with sweat. Seeing how you arch your chest or hips away from the intense heat, but drip arousal for him anyway. The only time he ever softens up is afterwards, praising you for your absolute confidence in him, for giving yourself to him in every way.

Kizaru Borsalino

Vinsmoke Sanji

Sanji was the sweetest. He was protective, kind and always so attentive, so knowing of your needs.

It made you giggle, made you kick your feet and daze off at his smile. He’s truly such a dreamboat.

But he was indeed—overbearing. Especially for someone like you.

You weren’t exactly one of the fighters of the crew but when it came down to it—you could muster a punch or two. A kick in the face or a slam in the shin.

But off duty? When you’re relaxing and at ease?

Gods, you avoided it when you could.

Your personal space was your one guarded treasure—skin onto skin made you shiver, sudden movements made you flinch and hand grasping your waist made you queasy.

You worried about it often—what if Sanji doesn’t want anything with you after all the attempts of ignoring his affection? One you cannot even return yourself? You feel so selfish, so stupid even.

What kind of girlfriend can’t return a hug? What kind of girlfriend can’t give a kiss? It’s such a small thing, it should be easy and yet you cannot bring yourself to do it.

The guilt makes it to your stomach, all the way up to your chest.

It’s not that you didn’t want to touch him, hold him; you just couldn’t do it.

The crew was having its usual after-victory-party and as much as you wanted to attend it, you were already so tired.

Your body was heavy, your head felt groggy. Shoulders stiff and your neck aching. You just wanted to rest for a bit—alone, away.

Not to mention you got an awful bruise on your ankle, not exactly sprained but it stung when you walked. You didn’t feel like it was something Chopper had to look over… besides, you hated doctor’s appointments anyways.

So here you are.

Hand on the wall to steady yourself, panting as you try not to wince for every step.

Dragging your bruised foot behind you as you try and make it to the kitchen. You need a pack of ice for it at least.

You hear the partying from afar, a smile presses down your lips when you hear Ussop’s cry of victory for beating Luffy at volleyball.

And it isnt until that, you hear a certain blonde lovesick chef sing your name.

Your eyes drag from the floor, the once stiff shoulders, neck aching and the grogginess from before lightens at the sight of your boyfriend.

He has a wide smile on his face, and you return one back.

“Sanji!!” You try and straighten yourself, so not to drag attention to your wound but he only beams at you.

“I was wondering where you wandered off to, my sweet.” he lifts the silver tray of dessert and drink into view, “I’ve come bearing your refreshments. You weren’t around so naturally I got curious.”

You lean against the wall, giving him a cheesy smile, “is that really all~? You know, you can just say you missed me.”

He blushes, fiercely. “I... Ahem. Well of course, that too.”

He twirls to you, suddenly quite giddy on his feet as he leans over, tray of treats offered to you.

You take the silver platter, it’s loaded with your favourites and when you look up, you see him tilting his cheek at you.

As if expecting a kiss of gratitude.

Your eye twitch, adverting your gaze. Pretending to not have seen it.

“You’re the kindest, Sanji.” you start moving, biting down the sharp pain. “But If you remain here any longer, Luffy will be going for the refills already.” You say to avoid confrontation, trying your best in seeming aloof, normal.

He blinks, watching your attempt at wobbling away.

You’re oblivious to it but he takes in your silhouette like a painting. Like a flower. His gaze falls on the curve of your lips, to the slope of your neck, the trace of your collarbones… all the way down to the shape of your legs.

He blinks, noticing a certain bruise blooming across your feet.

He does not think when he does it—he simply only cares. Only worries, because for you, how could he not?

“My love, hold on—“

He strides forward, blocking your path.

He kneels down, fingers making it to your ankle.

His hand is meant to be gentle, meant to be soft but the sharp sting of pain of the bruise and the sudden sensation of skin onto skin makes you flinch.

You jerk your feet away, “S-Sanji!” You wince, backing away and he misunderstands your discomfort.

“Sorry, beautiful, I just thought that should be looked over—“

“I’m fine.” You swallow, sliding your leg behind your healthy shin. “It’s nothing really. Just a small bruise.”

“Small?” He looks at it again, not quite sure what you mean with small.

“My love, you should at least let Chopper look it over, I’m sure he’ll—“

“Sanji,” your voice becomes stern, eyes hard as you feel that usual unease at the thought of someone touching you, let alone examine you.

“I rather not. Trust me, it’s a small little bruise, it’s not going to kill me.”

He blinks at you, still kneeling down.

Theres something off with your expression.

It’s hard lined, stiff—rigid.

As if you’re hiding something.

As if you do not wish him to uncover something.

And he’s not wrong.

What kind of girlfriend can’t offer a kiss on the cheek? What kind of relationship is it where you cannot hug and cuddle? You feel that same guilt from before twist your stomach and your hands clutch the tray.

Sanji makes it back up, taking the tray away from you and setting it down onto a nearby table.

“Is everything alright? You seem anxious about something.” He says, looking you over. His eyes are soft, his curled brow slightly raised.

A look that makes your chest heavy. You cannot meet his gaze.

“No, it’s nothing Sanji, I’m just going to bed. So don’t worry.” You try and move past him but he grabs a hold on your shoulder—the same sickening feeling you always feel—makes you twitch. Makes you flinch away.

“Did I… did I do something wrong?”

perhaps it is the grogginess from before, perhaps it’s the pain from your foot and the guilt ravishing down your stomach—but you snap.

“I said it’s nothing! Why can’t you understand that? Look, I appreciate the desserts and refreshments but I just want to go to sleep. I promise it’s nothing.”

Your hand clutch onto the wall, not being able to face him. You try and take a step forward, but the bruise makes you land the footing wrong, twisting it to the side.

You wince, buckling forward and before your knees smash against the floor tiles—Sanji manages to catch you.

Your face lands into his chest, his hands on your arms and you slump into the floor. Foot swelling with an aching pain.

His touch is feather light, careful, gentle. As if even now he sees your struggle.

And at that—your heart breaks. His kindness, his patience, his earnest desire to care for you, to protect and be there for you. It makes everything hurt so much more.

You start to sob, shoulders trembling and Sanji tries to meet your gaze.

“H-hey, what happened? Did you hurt yourself? Here, let me help you get to Cho—“ his hand loosens on your arm but you panic—grabbing him by the sleeve. Hard. Firm.

“No!” Your chin falls low. “Please don’t. I rather just have you here.”

Your voice is a plea, and in that, something within Sanji stirs.

The girl he fell in love with; happy, joyful and sweet has started to reveal her cracks—your heart lays ready. Open and vulnerable for him to see. You feel guilty, you feel frustrated, you would not be surprised if his patience snapped here and now… but Sanji doesn’t discard you. Doesn’t tease or demean you.

Instead he lets you sob.

Gentle, sturdy hands bringing you closer, and closer still. You tell him how you feel, you let him know of your anguish and your struggle. You tell him all of it and as you do, he only hums in response. Taking in the scent of your hair, feel the warmth of your back. He praises you, smoothers you, and wipe the snoot of your face.

And when you come to a close, he rubs away the tears staining your cheek.

“You thought I would grow impatient of you?”

You press your lips together, “You’re always so kind to me Sanji but I go from hot to cold in an instant. And you’re always so ready to give me all the affection and love in the world but I can barely return a hug. I feel like such a mess.”

At that, he exhales through his nose. A smile coming onto his face. “Is that it? I thought I did something to hurt you.” He tilts your face to him, “I would never do that to you. Even if you’re angry at me, even if you would come to hate me—hugs or no hugs, my heart will always be yours.”

You feel your vision sting with tears again but he wipes them away.

“You mean that?”

“Always.”

For the first time since you started dating him, you lean into his touch. Feel yourself sinking into his chest. Your hand makes it to his back, slithering up to his shoulders.

It’s warm, it’s soft.

He smells of cigarettes and something refined, like cologne.

For a moment, you two sit there. On the floor. Embracing. Holding. His arms around you are not tight but firm. Strong arms promising you safety. And perhaps, bit by bit, the guilt that once shackled you by the neck, scatters into pieces. Laying you bare in your lover’s chest; vulnerable, unguarded. For the first time in a long, long time, you feel ready. You feel safe.

And you will remember this feeling. In his arms, in his embrace till you grow old and withered. Knowing you’ll have him by your side. Forever and always.

Summary: Sanji will carry you back to bed, your face nestled in the crook of his neck. He will tuck you in, and roll your curtains down. But before he has the chance to leave, you will grab his wrist—your chest warm and bristling. You will ask him to lean in and when his face inches near yours; quickly, swiftly, you peck him on the cheek.

“Sleep well, Sanji.”

You won’t see it as it’s hidden under the dim light, shadows caressing his face but his cheeks are bright pink, his ears are burning red. “You too, my love.”

Smoker

Your commander, your captain and your lover. He’s broody, he’s bossy but you like him that way.

Despite his stern and rough exterior, he’s quite the softy underneath. You liked to tease him for it—you found it pretty cute after all. He’d just call you noisy and wave you off.

But as indifferent as he try to seem—he’s more observant than he lets on.

Smoker wasn’t an overly affectionate lover in the domain of physical touch, public displays of it was a no-go. Which was fine by you; you weren’t exactly the most needy in that aspect.

When it was just the two of you, you still moved out of reach. When he skimmed over you thighs, he’d sense your shoulders tense, your lips pressed and your face stiff.

He didn’t prod, didn’t question. He leaves you be. Let you have your space, your distance. And as weeks start to pass you realise he does not initiate anything anymore. No hugs, no hand holding. Instead he waits, patiently.

If you two walked, side by side, no one would be able to tell you two were dating.

One day Tashigi even asked, “Are you two still together?”

You had blinked then. “Yeah…?”

“Oh. Okay. I was just wondering since you two barely touch each other.” She said before being commanded back onto deck.

That interaction made you pull your brows together. Were the two of you really that unaffectionate with each other?

No—he calls you ‘sweetheart’ or ‘darling’ even in front of others. He still looks at you with something soft in his gaze, still rolls out your name like it’s precious.

But Tashigi, a close friend to both him and you questioned your relationship—your eye started twitching.

This needs to change.

Months you’ve dated him and you two still haven’t kissed.

Call it a woman’s determination, a feminine passion—a burning female spirit but this needed to be dealt with.

After work you stomped directly into the local lingerie shop and bought the cutest one without blinking. All lace and see through. The cashier didn’t even get the chance to wish you a good day before you stomped back.

You did your entire full-body-shower, used all your expensive products that has been collecting dust for the sake of special occasions—and even made sure to paint your toenails in glitter.

You were more than just determined—you were ready.

You weren’t going to battle, you were going to war. You mapped out a plan, scheduled time and date—you even lit the special candles on!

You gave him a note the next day.

Pink. Heart shaped.

An invitation in others eyes, a war declaration in yours.

“9 pm. Pronto. Bring wine. “

He had blinked. The letter was curt but doodled with hearts. You even managed to do a winky-face at the end.

He cocked a brow. And brought the letter slowly closer to his nose.

Is that… perfume?

The one you usually wear?

Tashigi sees it too and takes a peek.

Only to hold in a tight squeak.

“Oh my.”

“‘Oh my’-what.” Smoker bites back and she covers her mouth. “No, nothing captain just er… Good luck, tonight!”

He bites deeper into his cigar, why does he need a good luck? Is it perhaps a threat and not a casual quality-time spent like usual? He stares at the glittery letter like it was a crime scene needed to be solved.

Whatever you had planned, if he knew what’s best for him, he better not miss it.

Subordinates around him glanced to each other at that pink heart shaped letter in his hand. If they knew what’s best for them, they better pretend to not have seen it.

It was 9 pm. And you were ready.

The room was lit in candles.

Swaddled in ribbons and rose petals.

Your hair was scented. Your legs were waxed.

You even wore your armour made of sheer fabric and laced edges.

You stood in the centre of the room, the door unlocked.

So when he walked in the first thing he saw is you beaming, all joy and glitter as you spread your arms out.

“Smoker! ♡”

He freezes.

Wine bottle clattering.

Jaw on the floor.

You stood there, exposed and ready.

Still smiling even as he just stands there, his face gradually growing redder and redder the longer he stares.

He stutters out your name, not sure what he’s seeing.

“What the… what is this?”

“I’m taking our relationship to the next level. What else?”

He blinks. And then he manages to rip his gaze from you, eyes darting across the room with such intensity you almost believe he’s analysing a war-game.

“Ahem!” You say and he returns to look at you. You spread your arms and hands out further. “Won’t you er… come closer?”

“Er.”

“Er?” You repeat, your face coming into a scowl. “What do you mean ‘er’? Do you know how much effort I put into myself tonight? And all you say is… ‘er’!?”

He seems to understand now why Tashigi wished him good luck for tonight.

He takes his cigar out, “Doll…” he mutters, closing the door behind him. Face still slightly pink. He picks the wine off the floor and put it on a nearby counter.

He comes closer, and you brace yourself to be pounced on but instead he only stands there in front of you. And the longer he just stares and looks you over, the more you burn red.

His gaze goes over you, the shape of your lips, to the point of your chin down to the curve of your neck. Your chest rising hard and tense.

“…Darling?” You say and he hums. Caressing your cheek with his knuckles before striding behind you. Slumping down on the edge of the bed.

“H-hey! What are you doing?”

He gives you a brow, “that’s what I should be asking you.”

“What do you mean? Aren’t my intentions clear enough?” You gesture at the candle lights, the lingerie and the flower petals but he only stares harder into you.

You blush.

Both from nerves and embarrassment.

And suddenly, you feel very, very insecure.

You pull your arms in, hands clutching your chest, your heart thumping.

“Don’t you… don’t you want me?” The sensitive tone of your voice makes him straighten himself. “No—I mean, of course I do but this is so unlike you. We haven’t even shared a kiss and now you want…” he looks around the room and you grow red.

“So? W-we can kiss now!”

You inch closer, suddenly the newfound confidence you once had from days of preparation has faded. And you’ve grown back into being apprehensive, shy.

You go to stand in front of him, plucking his cigar from his mouth.

“L-let’s start now…” you feel your lips wry and he only watches as you lean down. Calm, and perfectly still. Hard eyes set on yours.

You place your clammy hands on his broad shoulders, your breath hot and heavy as you inch near.

Only a bit more… only a bit closer…

Your nose was grazing his now and you feel shivers run down your spine, feel your breath come out in shudders and your legs running cold. You swallow.

Closer… still a bit closer…

You squeeze your eyes shut. Pulling away last second. Your hands snapping back to clutch your chest.

Your heart was hammering, loud and heavy—you feel tears glazing your vision.

“Hey…” he reaches for your wrist but you pull away.

What the hell has gotten into you?

You were so determined a second ago… so why… why are you sobbing like a little child?

Your brooding and stern boyfriend goes to his feet, faintly he guides you to sit down onto the bed and you do. Feeling your sobs getting uncontrollable.

He sits down with you, his knee touching yours. Watching as your face places in your hands.

He says your name, calmly, sweetly. His tone so soft compared to the one he usually carries, a tone that is reserved solely for you.

“Hey, look at me.”

And you do.

You hold in your sobs. Chewing your lip. Snoot running down your chin. He only lets out a sigh at the state of you, eyes softening.

“You’re unbelievable.” He takes a nearby towel, and leans in near.

“Be good and stay still for me,”

You nod. Hiccuping.

He rubs your cheeks. Wipes your nose.

Once done he only gives you a brow.

“What were you thinking?” He barks out and your hands clutch your thighs.

“I only wanted… I only wanted us to be closer.”

“Closer?” He tilts his head, “You don’t think we’re close?”

“No I do! Don’t get me wrong, I do. It’s just…” you fiddle with a strand of hair. “I just want to touch you… that’s all…” your voice grows softer, your head sinks lower.

Your lashes wet and your eyes already swollen.

You hear him rumble a sigh. Feel him ruffle up your hair. You glance at him and you swear you see him smile. A fraction of one. That small, cocky one. The one that tugs at one corner more. The one that makes you clench your legs together.

“Then why don’t you?”

You blink.

Yes… why was it so hard for you? Why were you so wary of others touching you? Why… why?

Sometimes when they did, you would question their intentions. Is it a bargain? A transaction? Even with Smoker, you had those thoughts sometimes. It’s not like you didn’t want him to touch you but…

Your mouth moved on its own. You sit there, close and next to him and spill it all out. Despite wearing only a sheer dress made of lace and frills—you don’t feel vulnerable. You don’t feel scared. Not with him. Not with the way he looks at you, like you’re the one sole thing in this world that matters.

So between the scented candles, the scattered rose petals and the softness of his gaze—you come undone. And you don’t pull away, you don’t stagger and you don’t make distance. You let him close, so close your heart is laid open. Bursting with longing, beating with need.

When you finish—he only takes a last puff of smoke before drilling it down the ashtray. His focus returning to you.

“You’re a foolish woman.”

“You don’t need to be mean—“

“You’re foolish for thinking you could find comfort in someone like me.” His hand reaches out, slowly, softly—like he’s afraid you’d go up in smoke any second now.

“But I’m here. And I’m not going anywhere. If this is what you want, what you need—then I’m prepared to give you my all.”

His hand is placed on your jaw. Strong, large hands that are so tender, so gentle at the touch of you. For once you don’t flinch, you don’t back away or feel shivers run down your spine.

Instead you lean in, closer to his face, feel his breath onto yours. Smoke and cigar. You feel a smile curl on your lips.

You tug onto his coat, hands slightly trembling but you don’t care. You want him, you need him.

“Kiss me.” You say, and he chuckles, low and quiet.

His kiss is slow and steady, wet clicking sounds escaping when he pulls away but you tug him closer. “More.”

“You sure are demanding, woman.”

But he obeys. This time the kiss is deeper, it’s hotter, it’s sloppier. A kiss that leaves no room for doubt, no question for sincerity. You feel a surge of warmth in your chest, one that makes you smile, makes you greedy. You break the kiss off when you’ve been robbed off of air. You’re heaving, you’re panting.

But you don’t feel nauseous, you don’t feel odd. Instead you feel light, you feel safe.

You see him look at you like a man who’s won the damn lottery and maybe he has. Because it sure does feel like it.

And you? You can only grin like an idiot, all goofy and inlove. You watch as he pulls you in for an embrace. It’s slow, a bit clumsy but his strong arms wraps around you anyways.

Not tight. Not heavy. But present.

“I’ve… I wanted to do this for a long, long time.”

Your chest squeezes at that. And you feel your own body leaning into his, melting into his chest, your hands tugging his back. You smile into his neck. All warm and happy.

“Me too.”

Summary: After that night, things got easier between you two. You guys weren’t exactly hugging and making out in public, god no, but sometimes Tashigi would spot how your legs would be entangled with his under the table. Your foot playfully nudging his. Or see a large, firm hand placed securely on your thigh. Nothing loud. Nothing obvious.

Tashigi will blush pink then… she rather not imagine what her two superiors were up to that eventful night with the heart shaped letter. She rather not think of it at all.

Dracule Mihawk

Measured, precise, focused. Mihawk isn’t rash or clumsy in his making. He notes the way your gaze flickers when he caresses your cheek, feel the way your chest tightens, air stuck in your throat when he traces the curve of your neck.

He sees it. Notes it. Let’s you have your distance. No questions asked.

Mihawk is a patient lover, one who is willing to wait—and for you? He’ll do more than just that. He’ll ensure safety, promise you a guarded home and a secure future.

It made you happy, it made you feel settled and cherished. But when you sit in bed with him, the night breeze slithering its way by the opened windows, the pale moonlight peeking behind velvet curtains—you long for more.

Despite the fear, despite the wariness and the anxiety taking root in your heart; You want him to come closer to you.

You want to feel his skin, feel his lips press on yours.

On his side of the bed, he’s reading a book, the candle light gives the sharp curves of his face a quiet glow. His golden eyes low and focused, dithering from line to line.

Your cheeks are flushed, your hands are warm.

You feel your thighs clenching, your chest brimming. You want more than just kissing, more than just skin onto skin.

And yet you hesitate.

You know why he’s withdrawn his affection, knowing he’s waiting for you to make that move, but despite knowing it’s out of respect of your own heart, you fear that maybe he doesn’t want you anymore.

Doesn’t want to hold you.

Doesn’t want to kiss and embrace you. You know that is not the case and yet…

“Mihawk…” you breathe out his name, for some reason, tonight you feel especially shy. Especially soft.

He turns his sharp gaze to you, giving you a brow. “Yes?”

Your lips are at gape—unsure what to say.

Touch me. Hold me… Kiss me…?

That would be too much wouldn’t it? Too forward, too fast and too nerve wracking. But you want it, you know you want it.

But if he did do it—if he did listen to you and leaned in? What then? You feel a shiver sending down your arms, your stomach coming into knots at the thought of physical contact.

You’re scared. You’re anxious. You’re worried.

So you do what you’ve always done.

“No it’s nothing.” You slump down into bed, turning your back at him. Heart thumping, cheeks bristling.

For a moment, Mihawk watches you.

The way your shoulders were tensed, and how your expression was so… tender. There was something hidden behind the soft glow on your face—the way your lips were parted, the flushed cheeks and how your eyes were glinting, saying something that couldn’t be anything but: “I need you, I want you.”

He closes his book and he lays on his side, facing your back. Elbow planted on a pillow, cheek resting on his palm, his head held high.

He says your name, softly. Quietly. Like it’s a secret, a prayer. You turn then, and your face reddens even more.

His shirt is busted open, ivory skin peaking behind white frills, black hair glinting silver with the pale moonlight. His eyes low and dangerous—eyes that are solely focused on you.

Hes quiet for a spell, taking in the shape of your mouth, the soft edges of your face. The pink blush spreading across your cheeks.

Perhaps it is the way he looks at you; the softness in his gaze, the warmth blazing down your stomach and the need bulging out your chest—your hand reaches out for his. Slowly. Carefully. Like he’s danger, like he’s made of cuts and edges.

Everything feels so hazy, like a fever of some kind, a dream you never wish to wake up from.

You take his hand in yours, it’s large, it’s calloused, it’s rough. You guide his palm to your cheek and you smile. His gaze softens at the sight of it. Not a lot. Not something you would normally notice but a fraction, a shred of affection.

And you see it then—not once has he lost his attraction towards you. Even if he has withdrawn his affection, and kept his distance, not one drop of his desire has gone unchallenged by him.

He wants you, as much as you want him.

Your chest brims, your smile making your cheeks rounder.

“Can you kiss me?” When you say it, your voice is a hush, a tender whisper.

“Do you want that?”

You nod, not trusting yourself to speak.

And he sits up, inching closer until his frame is hovering above yours. You’re laying on your back, eyes locked on his lips. Probably soft… probably cold…

His hands are braced between your head. His face is a myriad of secrets, but the way he looks down on you, eyes following the lines of yours face—you start to feel exposed. Almost vulnerable and weak.

You feel your lip starting to quiver, your pulse rising and your blood rushing hard and fast.

“You’re beautiful.” He says it not as a comment but a fact, a truth that cannot be questioned and you clench your legs. Melting under his focused gaze.

And as if he had all the time in the world, he leans in. Slowly, quietly, lips inching near yours. It takes everything in you not to arch your neck and take his mouth in yours.

His kiss is soft at first, almost like a peck but one that stays. Lingering. Feeling. He tilts back by a little, watching your expression before kissing you again. This time a bit harder, a bit longer. It becomes wet and heated.

You moan into it, feeling shivers run down your arms and when he parts you let out a soft gasp.

“Are you okay?” His breath is warm against your face and you nod. “Mhm.”

You cannot bring yourself to form any words but you rise up from the sheets. Your hands placing themselves above his pecs, guiding him down onto bed.

You roll yourself over him, straddling between his torso—heart beating, fingers trembling.

It feels weird, it feels strange but you don’t back away. Not now. Not with the way hes looking at you.

His knuckles reaches for your cheek and when they brush you—barely a caress, a ghost of a slither and still, you flinch at the sudden contact.

“You’re bold today.” He says, lip quirking up one corner and you incline your head. “Mmh… Mihawk, I want you to touch me.”

He blinks, coming into a sudden stir.

Dracule Mihawk; one of the Seven Warlords of the sea, ex-Marine Hunter and definition of “I can cut you from where you stand”—is for the first time (since a long time), panicking.

Or atleast panicking in the most Mihawk way possible.

His eyes darts across your face, the knuckle caressing your cheek is frozen in place and at loss for words.

He opens his mouth as if to say something but closes it again. He swallows.

“Touch you how?”

“Erm.”

You feel your face burning up, “I suppose… softly?”

A small chuckle escapes from him, well not an actual chuckle but equivalent to one. A soft exhale from his nose, the tiniest fraction of a smile.

The knuckle grazing your cheek, turns, and his palm presses against your face. You feel yourself lean into it and he takes his other hand and place it on your chest. Above your heart.

“You want this?”

“More than anything else.”

And thus, the hand on your chest slides down, down to your stomach. Skimming over your thighs and—and you flinch. Grabbing his hands.

Your heart beats hard and uncontrollably, your chest heaving and your stomach dropping.

You feel yourself spiralling—the loss of control, the fear rising like no other. You feel yourself becoming cold.

“C-can you just hold me instead? I’m scared.” You feel your insides twist and turn, your fingers running frozen but Mihawk does not stress you.

He sees you. He knows you.

Slowly, gently—kindly, he guides your face to his chest. Strong arms coming to hold you, encase you, protect you. Holding you dear like a blade.

Your head presses against him, he smells of wine and something sharp. Something dark.

He does not rub circles on your back, does not pat or squeeze you but simply holds you in place. To keep you safe, to keep you warm and grounded.

He looks down to you, sharp eyes growing soft. “I’m here. I’ll always be here.”

And your chest squeezes, hands clutching onto his sleeves.

You know he is and you know he will.

Summary: You both stay like that for a while. You in his lap, cheek pressed to his chest. You feel him take in the scent of your hair and you lean in. Letting yourself melt into his warmth as sleep comes to beckon. When days start to pass, you will notice feeling a little bolder, a little sturdier. Slowly, gradually, you will not shy away from his embrace. From his touch and his presence. Mihawk is after all—a patient lover. You take your time with it, some days are harder than others but you will never have to be nervous for his patience coming undone. No. Not with him. Not with the man who loves you, adores you, worships you.

Portgas D. Ace

A flame that burns hotter than anyone else’s, his passion raw, his heart swelling with both pride and fire.

Ace does not simply like you—he loves you. He burns for you, he breathes and lives for you.

He wants you like nothing he’s had before. When he sees your figure appear from the far distance his mouth comes agape—his cheeks burns red when you swipe a lock of hair behind your ears.

He watches you, yearns for you.

When you come close he hitches his breath. Swings his arms and makes sure to clear his throat before replying to you.

You find it cute of course. You laugh and you smile at his obvious affection for you. But despite dating for months now, you two haven’t done anything but hand holding and occasionally when you feel extra spicy, you wrap your arm around his.

Not often. Not much.

After all; you have your distance with it. And sometimes, you find yourself not wanting to go further than that but when you’re in a relationship with someone, that isn’t realistic.

The idea of someone holding you too tight, too firm—it scares you. The feeling of a hand slithering between your thighs makes your stomach turn and the thought of it frightens you like no other.

A memory from before you met with Pop still haunts you. Ever since, your skin has become a prison. Sometimes you felt dirty, filthy—impure. Other times you felt angry, disappointed—hurt.

And It’s not like you didn’t want Ace to touch you—in fact he’s the only one you want to touch, to feel, to hold.

You tried once, when you had gotten yourself drunk enough to numb it down and let him give you a kiss on the lips.

Back then, he had laughed. He had smiled. And you wanted to smile back. But there was this feeling of nausea reaching all the way up to your throat, and your stomach twisting.

That kiss? You hated it. And for a split moment, you hated him too.

You pretended it was nothing, told yourself it would go away, and that you would feel better in a day or two.

But life isn’t that simple.

Nowadays, you couldn’t look him in the eye. You strode further away from him and when you met his gaze you snapped away. Pretending not to have seen him.

It’s not like you hated him, it’s not like you were angry at him—no, this unease was directed at yourself.

Why are you like this? Why can you not get over it? Why must it plague you even now—when you have someone like Portgas D. Ace who loves you. Who cares and wants you?

You felt awful. You felt disappointed and angry at yourself. Why was it so hard for you…?

It happened one afternoon, Ace had gathered up his courage and took his chance when you were finally alone on the dock.

He calls your name, “Wait up!”

When you stop and turn, you see your very loving and passionate boyfriend run up to you.

“Oh, hi Ace.”

“Hey. look, erm. You busy?”

You shake your head, “No, I was just about to see Marco with something. Why? Is everything okay—?”

He takes a step forward and you keep yourself from flinching.

“I was just thinking, lately that uh.” He rubs his neck, “Are you avoiding me?”

You press your lips shut.

Yeah you were.

“No, what makes you think that?” You try and force a smile and he cocks his head to the side.

“You… sure?”

“Yep.”

He blinks at you and you blink at him.

Ace looks you over.

Your expression is stiff, awkward. Eyes not meeting. His hand reaches for your shoulder but you instinctively take a step back.

And you curse yourself for glancing at him.

His hand falls. His expression—hurt.

“Hey, beautiful you know you can talk to me right? Did I hurt you? Or make you sad?”

“No, nono Ace, you didn’t do anything. I’m fine really. Im just tired lately that’s all.”

He pulls his brows together, “… Are you sure?” His tone is soft, almost a bit… sad? A tone that breaks your heart.

“Ace, I—“

“Hey lovebirds!”

Both you and Ace snap your heads to the sound of the voice. It’s Izu.

“Quit your lovers quarrel and get over here Ace! Pop needs your help.”

Ace opens his mouth to protest but you talk over him, “You should go Ace.” Your voice is curt, sharp. “I needed to help Marco anyways.”

Before you let him get a word in, you push yourself away. Leaving him alone on the dock.

It wasn’t easy, it really wasn’t easy but you cursed yourself all the same.

You bang your head against the pillow.

The hell is wrong with you!?

Why can’t you be honest? Why did you pull away? God you feel so stupid!

You didn’t want to hurt Ace’s feelings, you didn’t want to lie straight to his face but what were you supposed to say?

‘Sooo I have issues and one of them is I don’t like people touching me. Whoopsie!’

You press yourself deeper into your pillow.

Yeah that isn’t going to work out.

You feel angry at yourself, disappointed and frustrated.

Why was it so hard?

You wanted to pull your hair out.

Your door is met with rapid knocks. Ace calls your name from outside, “you in there?”

You open the door up for him and he stands there, long and lean.

“Hi.”

“Hi.” He says back, the lantern light giving his face a soft glow.

“I was worried you’d already be asleep, mind if I come in?”

“No of course!” You say, tone awkward and he moves to sit on your bed, and you sit next to him with a respectful distance.

For a moment the both of you just sit and stare at your shoes. Twiddling with your fingers. Tapping your heels.

“So… about last time…” he clears his throat. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?” You turn to look at him and his eyes are set on the floor. Face hard and firm.

“I gave it some thought and I think I understand now. Ever since I kissed you that night, you haven’t looked me in the eye. We were both so drunk and I was so excited; I completely got ahead of myself. I’m sorry. You probably don’t want something like this with someone like me—“

“No.” In panic, you cut in and he turns to look at you.

“No?”

“I do want you, Ace.”

You feel your heart beating, loud and fast but you won’t back away. Not this time. Not when he believes it’s his lineage that scares you.

“I want you more than anyone else in this world.”

He blinks, his freckled cheeks growing pink. “Yeah? Is that right?” He clears his throat, trying his best to cool down. “But then… why do you keep backing away? Am I doing something wrong?”

You shake your head, not sure what to say so instead— you go to your feet, striding in front of him like you’re marching for battle, fist clenched and Ace pulls his brows.

“Babe?”

You see your own hand reaching towards his chest, pushing him to lean back as you plant a knee between his legs.

“—babe, uhhhhhh”

Ace—Firefist Ace, Second Division commander of the White-Beard pirates—is internally screaming right now. Face going pink to red and eyes forcing themselves to stay on your eyes. Holding his breath as your face inches closer.

Holy shit; you’re hot.

This man does not know if it would be polite to keep looking at your face, or down at your chest or your hand on his shoulder — or if he should look away in shame for all these thoughts popping up his head.

“I don’t have the right words for this, so let me show you instead Ace.” You say, your breath is soft on his face and it feels like he’s put himself on fire.

Show him? He’s getting the wrong idea entirely.

“H-hey, beautiful, I- er, uh, look we-we… haven’t even done anything like this… yet… uh.”

“You’re right. We haven’t.” You sigh, completely misunderstanding his fluster.

His hands are in the air, wafting about, unsure where to place them.

At your hips? Nah too forward. Maybe your back? Too awkward. The side of your thighs? Too impolite.

“Thats why I want to do this.” You say.

“Do…. This?”

“Yes.” You blink, your chest bristling and your stomach turning at this newfound contact.

In truth you rather jump off his lap and say: Goodbye Moby Dick, Hello afterlife! You feel weird, strange—odd and misplaced. But you want Ace, you want to hold him, touch him, kiss him.

And you don’t plan on giving up a normal, loving relationship with this man simply out of fear from a past long ago.

So you let yourself straddle on his lap, face hot and hands slightly trembling. You ignore the discomfort and you tilt your head, your courage gathering like a storm.

“Ace, I want you to know; I’m not mad at you. I don’t want you to not touch me. I just—I just want to take things slowly.”

You want to grab onto something, so to ground yourself, so to steady these feelings brewing up your heart.

Ace sees your courage, the way your face is determined, your voice firm and unwavering. he senses your need for comfort, for reassurance—for strength. And he gives you that. That and more.

He takes the hands placed on his chest, and slowly gives them a squeeze. You feel a shiver run down your arms and you clench your thighs against his knees.

“Slowly then.” He hums, carefully, softly, he places a peck on your knuckles. “We’ll take it as slow as you want. I’ll wait for you, I’ll always wait for you.”

You blink, tears forming.

Yes. Yes but of course he would.

How could you ever think to doubt him?

You feel your mouth moving on its own—you tell him how you feel and why it’s become like this. You tell him of a certain day, of a certain event and you feel yourself starting to sob. And when you do, he steers you into his chest. Strong, calloused hands placed softly against your back. Hands that promise you of safety, of security—of everything you’ve ever lacked.

When you come into a calm, you feel him plant his chin on top of your hair.

“I’m sorry,” he hums. “I’m so sorry.”

He is not saying sorry to pity you or to comfort you—no. He’s saying sorry that you have been forced endure it, to burden yourself with such strength he himself cannot measure to.

He holds you close, he holds you dear. And you lean in. It feels right, it feels safe.

“I’m here, and I’ll always be here.”

At that your chest squeezes and you move from his embrace to look at his face.

His eyes are on you, and they are soft, they are loving, they are kind.

He rubs your cheeks from tear stains and you press down a smile. You feel warm, you feel happy.

“Can you kiss me? Please?”

“You sure?”

“Yes, more than anything.”

And he hums. Tilting your chin, swiping your lips. His heart thumping loud and hard under your palm.

He inches closer, his heat radiates into you and when his lips meets yours it is a peck. Barely present. Faintly there. Your face starts burning and you lean in. Kissing him back.

It’s unpractised, it’s clumsy, it’s silly but it makes you giggle, it makes you smile. You start to feel needy and press yourself deeper into his lips, only stopping when both of you are out of breath.

His face is all boyish—his grin lopsided, his freckled cheeks round as his eyes glints with something that can’t be anything but stars in his gaze.

He looks at you like you’re something precious, like you’re the last flame in this sorry world and he’d do anything to keep you guarded, protected—he feels himself burning for you, hot and fiery. His arms pulling you in for an embrace, one that you don’t wish to pull away from.

Because you know, with him by your side—you will never have to flinch away.

Not from him, not anymore.

Summary: Ace will not treat you like you’re wounded but he will gesture for permission, his touches will be softer, lighter. He’ll move slowly for you, keep his eyes on you. When you kiss him, he will wait for you to press it deeper, harder before going further.

And when you ask him, “Don’t you find me difficult?” He will only answer, “no. Never.” Thats all he says before ruffling your hair up, and that is all that is needed to be said. You will grow sated, settled—his hand locked onto yours.

Red-hair Shanks

Red-hair Shanks. That man made you foam at your mouth. Made you squeal and fangirl. You loved him with all your heart.

Tall. Tanned. Strong.

Mature. Aloof, and passionate.

Sometimes you liked to sit up at night and giggle in your own little corner, wondering how you pulled him.

Even now with things established—he still made you shy, made you blush and scream into your pillow.

But as much as you loved him, wanted him—you couldn’t help the twisting knots in your stomach when he placed a casual hand on your thigh. Or the nausea riding up your chest when he skims over your waist.

For a one-handed man, he sure is touchy…

It was the one aspect of Shanks that made you more nervous than his focused gaze on you.

And despite trying your best to seem normal about it—Shanks sees you, observes you.

He does not force you into it, instead he only watches you more intensely now, eyes low and dangerous. Sipping his drink in silence as he watches you eat. Making you fret under his gaze.

He tries to catch every hidden puzzle of your heart, to see the makings of your apprehension, the doings of your wariness.

Shyness? No, it’s more than that.

Fear then? Close but not terror, not really.

An awful memory? Maybe—it made the most sense.

With that notion made, he waits for you to come to him. Waits for you to take things to next level—withdrawing his physical affection for you. Giving you space, giving you time.

So despite his own yearning for contact, he does not pull you into his lap anymore, does not get handsy even when he’s absolutely shitfaced.

He’s lazy and lousy, sure, but he’s a patient man—he can wait. Especially for you.

And you should feel happy that he respects that. You should feel sated, relieved.

But instead you fear he does not want you anymore, does not feel attraction towards you anymore.

It’s hypocritical, it’s stupid, it doesn’t make any sense. Yet you fear his loss of desire more than you fear touching him. Feeling and holding him.

You want him so much, your chest burns.

The crew was partying tonight (again) at the island’s local inn, and you watched as your boyfriend slung an arm around Beckman.

You watch how he does not hesitate slapping another’s shoulder. You watch as he laughs and jokes and plays with them.

And your chest squeezes.

You feel so childish. So stupid. So pathetic.

You weren’t jealous that he was friendly, that’s just Shanks. But you watch how easy it is for everyone else—and how easy it is for him to be comfortable with everyone, everyone except you.

You don’t know why you were so sensitive tonight but you felt like the odd one out. The one who cannot partake in casual hugs, in friendly games and aloof shoulder-slapping.

And as you kept watching your lover sway back and forth with the crew, whilst you sat alone watching everyone from afar—something in you cracks.

You felt misplaced.

You felt unwanted and unneeded.

And so, from the corner of Shanks’s eye, he sees you leave. Your expression blank.

Seeing Shanks being so casual with everyone else but have a distance with you, made you feel weird. Made you feel odd.

You know it’s not done maliciously—in fact it’s the opposite but you’re too much of a coward to take the step he wants you to make.

After all, he only cares.

You know that and yet…

Maybe Shanks doesn’t want to touch you anymore? Maybe you’ve grown undesirable—a bore. A dull colour. The thought of that makes you tear up.

Why is it so hard for you? It’s just touching, it’s just hugging and kissing.

You want it, don’t you?

If you wanted it so bad why couldn’t you just do it? You hated yourself for how difficult you were being.

You felt entirely dejected.

You and Shanks were sharing a room which you returned to.

Once you got out of the shower, crying your eyes out and feeling like such a loser—you sat at the edge of the bed.

You wanted to cry again but something trudges outside the room, and you hold the tears in.

Someone knocks on the door, “You in there?”

It’s Shanks.

Of course it is.

You press your lips, only opening your door an inch and sure enough; It’s him.

His frame fills the entire opening and he lets his fingers between the crack. Pushing it just wide enough to see you clearly.

“Is everything alright?” You force out, voice cracking. not at all in the mood to converse right now but he only gives you a soft smile.

“The boys are having fun, but when you left it wasn’t the same.”

Your heart tugs at that. Eyes sinking.

“As much as I love leaning over you, having a door between us does little for chatter. So… mind if I come in?”

This is his room for tonight as well and still, he cares to ask.

You hum, stepping aside.

When he enters, a scent of booze and cologne trails him across the room and you watch as he makes it to the balcony window. Letting the night breeze in.

The moon leaves a glint of pale light across the walls and he turns to glance over his shoulder, to look at you.

As he thought, there was something amiss with you tonight.

Your shape carries a quiet sadness, one that can be found in the way you do not meet his gaze or how your fingers fiddle with the hem of your sleeves.

He says your name, his voice low and raspy—and you manage to look at him.

“Why are you standing so far away?”

“No reason.”

Your chin falls low, eyes swollen from all the crying in the shower.

“Yeah?” He pushes himself from the window, striding across the room slowly. Each step heavy, and you back yourself into the wall.

Heart thudding from outside your ribs, your chest squeezing and twisting, and tears threatening to scatter.

His long frame looms over you, forcing you to press your back against the wall.

You feel trapped, caged.

“What’s the matter with you tonight, doll?” He says, his voice always grows so soft around you and you press your face into your hands.

Realising you cannot keep the tears from spilling.

Gods you feel so stupid. So childish.

What is there to say?

‘Sorry I feel jealous how you can be so casual with everyone else but forced to be distant with me because I have issues, whoops!’

You can’t say that! It sounds ridiculous! He’d laugh at you, make fun of you—would he not?

When you don’t answer and sob into your hands, his eyes narrows. His hand coming to reach for your face but thinks better of it and stops.

“Hey, look at me will you?”

You shake your head. “It’s so stupid.”

“It’s not stupid if it’s making you cry.” He leans down, just slightly. “You know I’m here for you, don’t you?”

You shudder, you hiccup, you feel snoot building up and you pull your hands away from your cheeks and his heart squeezes at the sight of your teary face.

“You’ll find me ridiculous.” You hiccup and he chuckles, just a little. “How could I? Why don’t you try me, hmm? I’ll have you known I’m a pretty good listener. Now… look at me will you?”

You feel his hand slowly lift to your chin, tilting your face up.

When he takes his sleeve and inches it near your face, you flinch away but he only hums. “Let me take care of you, ‘kay? Then I’ll be all ears.”

You hesitate at first… but you nod. Bracing yourself for the contact.

He wipes your nose, your cheeks and your eyes. “There. All pretty.”

You feel your knees growing weak—this man is going to be the death of you if he keeps praising you like this.

“So, will you tell me? If it’s too much, we can just go to sleep. I’ll keep you warm. What do you say?”

At that your heart comes undone.

And you come back into a sudden sob and Shanks blinks—then panics.

“H-hey did I say something wrong? I’m sorry, hey, don’t cry—“

He turns his head left and right. Trying to find a towel or a napkin, sweat dripping down his cheek but he turns his gaze back to you when his sleeve is being tugged.

“Shanks i feel like such a child.” You sob out, tugging him closer.

“What makes you say that—?”

“I’m so stupid, and childish and selfish- and- and-“

He takes you by the shoulders and you tense up. “Woah, woah! Okay, slow down. Start over for me, you don’t need to spill everything out in one go. Just take it one at a time.”

His hand on your shoulder is large, strong and firm. You want to brush them off but in this moment, all you truly want to feel is him.

Not the discomfort. Not the unease and guilt.

You want him. Your aloof and drunk of a boyfriend.

So your courage gathers, letting him witness you raw, naked, bare. The hidden parts of your mind comes into view, and this time you refuse to back away. You tug him closer, clutching onto him like he’s the only thing that makes sense in this world.

Your confessions comes out of you between tears and sobs, but you don’t relent. No. You tell him all of it—your insecurities, your fears and your needs.

And Shanks? He does not sigh or laugh or comment. He simply stands there. Hand on your shoulder growing fainter and lighter by the minute, but he does not pull away. No.

He lets it rest there. Letting you know he’s here. Watching, listening. When your sobs start to slow, and your thudding heart comes into rest—he only hums. Hunching down so his forehead ghosts right onto yours.

“You thought I’d find you childish? Dating a lousy man like me I thought that would be the least of your worries.” His forehead starts to press against you.

You hold in a whimper. “I’ve been watching you all this time, hoping to not toil you but it seems I’m no better than a blind man. I’m sorry.”

You look up to him then, his breath hot against your face.

“Sorry?”

“For making you feel undesirable.” He takes your hand, guides it towards his lips—watching your expression with a low, gentle gaze. He does not give your hand a kiss, instead they sit only a breath away. Giving it a soft squeeze by the wrist.

“Tell me how to make it up for you.”

His voice is a soft, husky whisper. As if he’s sharing a secret with you. You shudder from the usual fear—but your chest also bristles with warmth. With excitement.

“—kiss me.” You swallow, “I want you to kiss me.”

At that, he smiles. Kissing your hand. Soft lips above your knuckles.

“As my lady commands.”

Your heart is hammering. Thudding. Pounding—and you squeeze your eyes shut as he inches near your lips.

The kiss is quick at first—nothing more but a brush of lips. You tilt you face, asking for more and you hear him chuckle. Low and teasing.

The next kiss is deeper. It’s slow, it’s sloppy, it’s lazy. And when you dont flinch back, you feel him pressing you against the wall. His leg ushering between yours.

You moan into it—for the first time in a long, long time, you don’t feel the expected unease, the usual nausea, or the need to pull back. No.

You feel light, you feel greedy.

You push deeper into the kiss, and he only parts when your breaths are getting heavy and desperate.

He looks over you then.

Your cheeks flushed. Lips swollen. Lashes wet.

You see him grin at the state he has you in.

He leans closer to you again, one hand cupping your face as he gives you a kiss on the cheek… before making it to your neck and you yelp.

Hands on his broad shoulders, giving them a light push.

“S-Shanks!”

“Too much?” He hums, his breath vibrating across your blushing neck and you nod, frantically. Not trusting yourself to speak.

He drifts his face away and only gives you a sheepish smile. His thumb rubbing your cheek. “My bad then, I wanted to show you how much I wanted you… have I made myself believable?”

“Yeah… trust me you have.”

“Good.” He kisses your forehead this time. “Let’s go to bed; I’m willing to take the neck kissing another time.”

You stifle a smile at that.

Heart almost bursting.

He leads you both back to bed, a soft, faint hand on the small of your back. His touch still gentle—as if to tell you there’s no rush. No hurry. That he’s willing to take this as slow as you want, as you need.

And for once, you let yourself believe. The insecurities, the worries and the fear coming undone as he wraps you both under the blanket.

Your hand is placed onto his… with him here you feel safe. You feel warm.

You give it a squeeze, and he gives you one back. It’s silly, it’s playful, but to you it’s a promise. A promise of patience, of endurance and of love. One that he’s willing to keep, one that he’s willing to make.

And you too, keep that promise close. Smiling as you fade into sleep.

Summary: As days start to pass—you notice he lingers closer to you nowadays. Not touching, not intruding but present. As if to show you he still wants you near, still needs you close—and you feel yourself smiling more often now. You start to grow bolder, more comfortable and more willing. You don’t rush into it, no. You take your time, you let it bloom—and he only watches. Giving you praise and recognition for your efforts and trials. And one day you will realise you don’t flinch or pull yourself away, not with him. Not with Shanks.

Donquixote Rosinante "Corazon"

(Reader knows Corazon can speak, but lets him keep scribbling notes for the sake of his secret being kept. Just wanted to clear that up so it doesn’t get confusing!)

Gentle. Attentive and kind—everything his brother isn’t. Corazon is the type of guy to get flustered at you winking at him. Perhaps even nosebleed when you fly him a kiss.

And he did.

Bashfully so.

Mouth agape. Cigarette dropped. Coat burning. Ears turning red and inaudible sounds escaping the back of his throat.

You would laugh at the effect you had on this man. He was so cute, so unashamedly in love with you.

He was soft with you, kind to you.

Around him you felt light, you felt happy despite the circumstances the Family of the Donquixote pirates often found themselves in.

It has only been a few months since the two of you started dating, but nothing went past shoulders grazing, thighs nudging and perhaps when it got extra steamy—you’d feel him squeeze your hands.

Corazon wasn’t exactly a chatterbox, so when he sat extra close to you or grabbed your wrist just a little bit too tight; you endured it.

It was his way of communicating with you, his way of telling you ‘I’m here, don’t worry.’

For him, you could swallow the empty knots twisting down your stomach, you could pretend to not flinch or tense up at contact. And you were good at pretending—but you had your limits.

It happened at an inn; you were keeping watch whilst the rest of the Family went to settle some scores.

You were leaning over the balcony railing, breathing smoke into your hands as the winter breeze skims across your shoulders. Watching the townsfolk below.

You were often good at your assigned job.

You never once messed up since you joined the Family—but perhaps today you were too lost in thought, too relaxed at the sight of snow dangling down the mulling skies—that you don’t hear the door click open.

He sees you leaning over the railing, back faced and eyes set on the orange skies.

Corazon stood still for a second. Admiring the figure of your back, the shape of your shoulders, the curve of your waist.

Then it hit him. He should surprise you!

Yes! What a wonderful idea! He should surprise his lovely girl with a hug from behind!

He could totally imagine you laughing and smiling and hitting his shoulder playfully!

What a reasonable idea!

He snaps his fingers, and his Devil-fruit powers come into play. He approaches, carefully, steadily.

And when he knows he’s at the perfect distance to lunge at you—he releases his powers and pounces.

You scream. You arch. You flail.

Your elbow hits him in the face and stomach. You swear you hear him grunt when he crashes against the floor.

Your eye twitch when you see your boyfriend K.O’d on the floor.

“CORA?????”

You’re heaving, you’re panting—you’re lowering your battle stance.

He did not respond. He simply laid there. On his back. Questioning his existence. Wondering how a smaller woman like you manages to throw a punch like that.

You inch closer, trying to see if he’s still alive but you stop in your tracks when he sits up. Note already scribbled.

‘I wanted to surprise you.’

Your throat let out a squeaking sound.

Half in disbelief, half in anger.

You were good at pretending, good at enduring.

For Cora, you could swallow your unease down but right now? Right now you wanted to do nothing but scream.

“Surprise me?” You seethe, “What were you thinking? What part of me possibly made you think I’d find that even remotely funny!?”

You see him wry his lips and you click your tongue—your hands feeling the sides of your ribs. Where he had grabbed you.

It felt wrong, it felt weird.

You felt dirty; itchy.

Him touching you… it felt like betrayal in a way. He could not have possibly have known you don’t like being touched but still. It felt like he has stomped on you. Like he’s intruded on your space, on your trust, on your patience.

You see him lift up a note, but you’re not in the mood to listen so you wave it away. Turning your back at him.

“Leave. I don’t want to see you right now.”

For a moment—Corazon only stares at you.

He’s known there was something you have not told him, he’s not blind. He’s seen how you avoid his hands, how you pull away when he leans too close, how you don’t meet his gaze when his shoulder bumps against yours.

And now? It all seems to make sense. He should have known better—he shouldn’t have been so selfish.

His chin sinks, whether he likes it or not—he’s not that much different from his brother.

When he leaves the room, it feels like you can breathe again. Your shoulders slump, your chest releases and your knuckles soften.

You glance behind your shoulder, and you see the note he scribbled before you shut him out.

‘I’m sorry, I won’t do it again. Please forgive me.’

The anger, the annoyance, the pent up frustrations from all the other times you’ve endured—melts away. Your heart breaks.

“Ah.”

You push your face into your hands. Groaning. Your head starting to ache. You felt like the biggest bitch in the whole Grand Line.

You thought showering would distract you. Or eating, or drinking or whatever that you do when you feel like drowning yourself.

But none of it worked.

You were pacing around your room in circles. Feet stomping. Face frowned. Nails bitten.

The hell do you tell him?

The hell was there to say?

The only reason you’ve kept quiet for so long was your worry of being too difficult—a drama-queen who can’t handle a bit of touching. You didn’t want to burden him, didn’t want to bother him.

You should apologise but you couldn’t find him anywhere even when the rest of the crew came back. Even Doffy didn’t know where he went.

You wanted to pull your hair out… or so you did until your door rapped with knocks. You see a note pushed under the gap.

‘It’s me. Can I see you? Please?’

Your chest bristles, slamming the door open in an instant. Your giant of a man stands there, half surprised at your sudden enthusiasm.

“C-Cora!” In that moment, you wanted nothing more than to hug him but you refrained.

“I’m sorry about last time, I was just so—“

He shakes his head, puts a finger across his lips. ‘Don’t say sorry.’

He lifts a bouquet of flowers into view—and it’s not just any flowers but your favourites. You see a note tagged by the side.

It’s an apology letter.

One where he takes the full blame. Your heart tugs.

You take the flowers, giving him your most gentle smile, “Cora… there’s something I want to tell you. Please come in.”

He blinks, nods, before doing as he’s told.

You both sit on your bed and you place the bouquet next to you.

For a stiff, silent moment, you two just stare. He was fiddling with his hands and you were tapping your feet together.

“So!” You break the silence with, clearing your throat and he looks to you. “About erm. About last time…”

How the hell should you drop the bomb?

First things first: let’s apologise.

“I’m sorry about yelling at you, and hitting you.” You turn to face him. Courage gathering as you fist the sheets. “But could we... Could we start all of this over?”

He pulls his brows and you chew your lips.

“I haven’t been honest with you, I don’t want to keep lying and pretending everything is fine when it’s not. That’s not what I want with you. So… I’m asking if we can start this over. I want us to be honest with each other!”

You reach out for his hand and slowly you place it on your cheek. You brace yourself for the contact but once you feel his skin onto yours—it’s not as bad as you thought it would be. “I want you Cora. I do. I just want to take it one at a time.”

And then—he snaps his fingers.

He says your name. Low, quiet, a husky sound.

Hearing his voice makes you flinch.

It’s not often he gets to speak to you, but when he does—it always manages to make you smile.

“Cora…”

“It’s okay, you don’t need to explain things to me. You don’t owe me your secrets.” His thumb rubs your cheek. “I shouldn’t have surprised you like that. It was selfish of me and I am sorry—“

“No!”

He blinks. “…no?”

“You’re not selfish.” You lean in, your forehead grazing his. His bangs tickling your brows.

Between the walls of silence, in the dim light of the bedroom—the windows outside displays the first snow descending down the skies.

You open your heart out to that man. You lay yourself before him, let him see your wounds. Let him bear witness to your falsehoods and pretense. You don’t stutter, you don’t sob, you don’t cling onto him. No. You say it with your chest, each and every single thing that has been burdening you, hurting you. You sit there, close to him. Knee touching his. His hand pressing onto yours.

You don’t flinch, you don’t tense. You simply sit there next to your boyfriend—warm, safe.

And Corazon’s gaze only softens, carrying a gentle light in them that is more than just fondness but reverence. He peels each layer back, sees you for what you are.

He does not poke, or push. He simply listens. Calm and steady. It makes you feel warm, makes you feel heard.

When you finish, you noticed you’ve been staring at his lips since the first confession. You open your mouth as if to say something but shut it closed again. Clearing your throat.

“Can I… kiss you?”

He chuckles, “Youre asking me that? It’s you I’m waiting for.” His voice teasing but he leans in. Giving you the go.

Slowly, carefully, like you’re approaching danger—you land your lips onto his.

He’s soft. He’s sweet. You feel him smile, and you do too.

You realise it then—there is no nausea riding up your throat, no tensed shoulders, no stiffened and clammy hands. No, instead it feels right. It feels good.

And when your chest is empty, your heart laid open, only then does he pull away. Reaching for the bouquet.

“Cora… don’t you think I’m difficult?”

He plucks a bloom from its stem, and slide the flower into your hair. He grins at you, all goofy and cheesy. “No. Not you. Not ever.”

The night was long but you spent it with him. Smiling, giggling, and murmuring into sleep. A winter night of pure, sweet bliss.

Summary: Your kiss was shared under the first snow. Back then, your cheeks hurt from smiling so much. His hands were gentle. You outlined them, comparing his to yours. They were large, they were soft. They were his. You remember the scent of his embrace, the warmth of his skin. A day you will never forget, even now as you find him bleeding out across the snow. Red melting into pale white, his body already cold.

That flower he gave you? It’s old and withered now, but you still keep it. Still in hopes you will see him one day, and maybe you will. And every year when the last snow falls, you will remember it in its purest form. A blissful memory, a gentle dream. You bury that winter night into your heart. Into your Corazon.

Buggy the Clown

Buggy the Genius, they call him.

Loud, scheming and mischievous.

His crew worshipped the ground he walked on, little did they know he was getting bullied in his own tent by the Marine-hunter and the Ex-Warlord.

They call him stupid. You call him genius.

Others mutters that he’s a fraud. You yell out that he’s got potential.

And when his crew wasn’t looking? He kissed the ground you walked on. Worshipped the air you breathed.

When the swordsman and the desert lizard wasnt around—he gave all his attention to you and solely you.

Yes. that’s your boyfriend all right.

A foolish, cowardly man but one that you adore with all your heart. He makes you laugh after all. He praises you, dotes on you.

You wouldn’t trade him for the whole world.

But he was… indeed… overbearing when it comes to loving you. You enjoyed the grand gifts, the extravagant dates and the colourful love letters—but he sure was clingy…

It was a habit that came to you long before you had the idea of joining the pirate life.

It was a long time ago, a memory that you rather wish to forget. But a memory is just that—it remains. It persists. It hurts even when you grow older, wiser, stronger. When something gets stained, it still leaves a mark. No matter how much you scrub your skin till you’re sore; it’s still there. Haunting you, reminding you.

At first you had only swallowed it down, endured it, persisted it. And when he noticed the way your shoulders were rigid, and your hands were clutched—you pretended it was nothing. Waved it off. Excused it away.

You were dating for months now so you thought it would be fine to let him kiss you. Just once. it was small. Quick. One that left him grinning like a fool and made you feel sick to your stomach.

And ever since, Buggy has grown persistent on kissing you again. His attempts were often interrupted, you laughed when confronted, waved away when encountered.

And one day—he sat you down for a romantic dinner. Rose petals, wine and fine dining. All in your favourites. But before starting, he leaned in for a kiss, trying his absolute best to seem romantic and nonchalant about it but you moved your cheek away.

“Buggy! Someone is ringing the Den-Den!”

And indeed, the Den-Den snail was ringing but your boyfriend only gave you a brow. Not even sparing it a glance.

You itch your cheek.

How many times have you avoided his kisses now? One hundred and six? Or was it one hundred and four? You’ve lost count at this point.

He blinks at you, and as stupid as your clown was, he wasn’t that stupid.

You were nervous, you were wary. It could be found in the way your brows were pulled or the way you could not look him in the eye.

You felt kind of bad, he was gathering up so much of his courage to kiss you but it can’t be helped can it?

“Buggy, what if it’s Mister Mihawk? Or worse… Sir Crocodile—“

“Are you… mad at me?” He cuts you off and you hold your breath.

“What?”

“You’ve been avoiding one hundred and seven of my kisses. This cannot be a coincidence.” His eye was twitching now, voice cracking, “Did I do something to upset you, my love?” He suddenly comes to grab your hands and you flinch.

You look at him, then his hands, and then him again. He’s teary eyed. “My love, my sweet, my gem, what have I done wrong? Please tell me.”

You try to smile, a bit awkwardly.

“No, nono you don’t have to worry Buggy, you haven’t done anything wrong I’ve just been… er… I’ve just felt tired lately that’s all.”

“Tired?” He looks you over then, tugging you closer. “Have you been feeling unwell? Has someone hurt you? Wait here let me call for the doctor—“

It is only when his tugging becomes too needy, too firm, too obnoxious that you hurl away.

“I’m just tired. It’s nothing, really. I’m fine.”

“Don’t be ridiculous! You’re clearly upset over something and that you feel tired! How can that be ‘fine’? Let’s at least let a doc—“

“I said, I’m fine. Please just leave it.” Your voice becomes low, quiet. Eyes adverting but Buggy only leans in a bit closer. Invading your space.

“You may neglect your health but as your doting, flashy lover I cannot do that, just stay put and I’ll—“ his hand makes it to yours again and you flinch away.

Perhaps it’s the invasion of space, or the overstimulation from touching or the fact that the Den-Den still rings, but you snap.

“What part of ‘I’m fine’ don’t you understand?!” Your voice becomes mean. Sharp. You go to stand on your feet, cutlery rattling.

“I don’t want to talk about this here, and clearly you’re not listening to what I say. Answer the Den-Den already and go. I don’t want to see you right now.”

His hand reaches for you but you slap it away. He looks absolutely destroyed, even his round red nose deflates.

“My love, are you sure I didn’t do anything—“

“I said just go!”

He holds his tongue, eyes pleading with you but he won’t push it. You don’t look him in the eye and he rises from his seat.

“Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

You can’t even bring yourself to acknowledge him.

He sighs, taking the Den-Den snail, and leaves. And it feels like you can breathe again.

You hear him answer and shout down the halls but you don’t look back.

When you returned to your room—you felt like melted ice cream who doesn’t deserve to be put on a cone.

You felt like such a bitch. The biggest and worst one there is.

Who the hell snaps at their boyfriend for worrying over them? And who the hell slaps their hand away when they only mean well?!

A stupid, selfish, mean, idiotic jerk that’s who! You were rolling across your bed, throwing plushies in the air—watching them bounce off the tent wall.

You wanted to scream. You wanted to cry. You wanted to slap yourself for being so stupid!

You’re so lost in self hatred you don’t notice him coming in. “Er.. my love?”

You snap yourself up.

“Buggy?!”

“Sorry, I knocked and called your name but you didn’t answer so I got worried… mind if I come in?”

You blink and then you blush in embarrassment.

“Yes! Of course! Sit!” You patted on the bed.

For a moment, you two were just staring at the colourful walls together. You try your best keeping a straight face.

“So—“ you both started, and you lock gazes.

“You—“ you both said again.

“I—“

You blushed, adverting your gaze.

“You go first.” He rubs his neck and you shake your head.

“No you first, I insist.”

“…right. well. Ahem.”

“Did… you not want me to kiss you?” He says, quite blunt and you snap your gaze to him.

“I was just thinking, you never really want to hold hands, or kiss or even touch in general. As if it was the last thing you wanted on the agenda.”

You chew the inside of your lip—but of course he knows.

He’s silly, a spineless dork and a foolish man but he sees you. Knows you.

“I’m sorry if that is the case, I do not want to make you feel uneasy, you know that don’t you!?”

You hum. Finding a ghost of a smile flittering across your face.

“As your extraordinary, and genius lover, it’s my job to—“

“Buggy…”

“Yes, my love?” He answers immediately with his full, rapid attention.

You inch closer to where he’s seated.

You want to do right by him.

you want to kiss him, feel him, touch him. And now you’re more determined than ever to show him that.

He only blinks at you dumbfounded even when you lean closer.

Eyes tender, your chest warm.

“It’s not that I don’t want to kiss you but… let me show you instead.”

“Show?” He echoes and it’s only when you lean in that he starts to get the gist of it.

“W-w-woah! Okay- lady, wait! I thought, I thought you didn’t want to!?” He flails his hands about but you push them away.

“No I do. I just,” you feel suddenly nervous, straightening your hair out. “Can we pretend it’s our first time? When you kissed me last time… I didn’t like it.” Your voice cracks.

And strangely, tears were spilling out of you. One droplet after another, soaking the sheets, drip by drip.

Your boyfriend gapes for a second—seeing you cry like this, it is not at all what he wants for you. He does not wish to see you upset, you’re supposed to be happy, to be laughing and smiling like you always do.

He goes to grab your hands but thinks better of it. Groaning to himself as he pulls himself back in.

“My love why are you crying? Look, please forgive me about last time, it was wrong of me. Please tell me what to do to make up for it! I’ll do anything!”

You try and wipe your tears away, not sure why you’re crying. It’s not like you were sad or in pain. But you do know you needed to let this out, and you know, you need to tell him each and every single thing. Which you do.

At first you are hesitant, you stutter, you mewl but you feel the tip of his fingers touch yours. Just barely, just faintly. As if to tell you he’s here. Close. Present.

You feel yourself unravelling under him. Each confession a little bit easier than the last, each word a given clue to a treasure map—one he’s putting to pieces, bit by bit.

When your sobs come into a halt, he performs a magic trick. Pulling out a colourful napkin from his ear.

You burst out a giggle, and he smiles right back at you when he wipes your face from snoot and tears.

A smile really does suit you the most.

And when you come into a calm, he does not tease or jest or joke. Not at all. His thumb rubs circles on your knuckles. And you don’t feel shivers run up your arm, don’t feel the need to pull away.

He offers you his hand and you give it a stare.

“Here. We can take it slow. Like a dance. One step at a time.”

His grin is stupid, it’s goofy and silly but it makes you bite down a glee. Your hand lands in his, his fingers interlacing with yours.

You two sit like that for awhile, talking, chattering. And before you know it, you never realised how close you sat with him.

Knee bumping against one another, thighs pressing and your feet entangled with his.

And when you notice, it doesn’t feel weird. It feels natural, it feels right.

He says your name, snapping you out of your daze.

“It’s getting late, let’s go to bed. You must be spent dealing with intellectual genial discussions with your handsome, flashy boyfriend.” He rubs his chin and you snort.

Before he gets the chance to get all flustered, you lean in close—quick and fast, landing a kiss on his cheek.

“Eh?” He blinks. And then it hits him.

He lets out the longest squeak.

High and baffling.

Face gradually growing redder and redder.

Hand landing to where you pecked him.

“You kissed me!” He says it like it’s a prize, and you see him exploding into tiny pieces of himself. Flying circles across you. “She kissed me!!”

Steam coming out his cheeks and you laugh, you laugh so much your stomach hurts.

It’s true. Buggy is truly a stupid, foolish man but one that you adore, with all of your heart. You wouldn’t trade him for the world.

And you’re not the better fool for it.

Summary: Buggy is still a lovesick fool for you, one who still spoils you with extravagant gifts and colourful dates but he does not prod you. Does not stress or overwhelm you. He lets you take your time, in your own pace, by your own making. And when you’re with him, you forget all your worries. Your haunted memories and stained skin. With him you can laugh, you can giggle—you can sit there all pretty and just… smile. That is enough for him.

He saw the smile on Alvida’s face when she answered. “I’m simply being thorough. The person before you is known to be an ally to the Straw Hats.”

Shit. Why did he have to fall for you?

Buggy stepped towards Alvida, hoping to appeal to her better nature. “Alvida, trust me. They’re not worth the time. Why not just let them go - we already have Luffy.”

“I don’t care. The jury will decide their fate.” Alvida stated and slammed her weapon against the ground like a gavel.

Buggy couldn’t let the panic show. So he did what he knew best - he began talking. “Pirates and fiends - the person before you is a fool who thinks that the Shit Hats are worth saving.”

He really needed to stop letting his eyes dart to you because any expression you made towards him made him want to melt.

“Do we admire such hope? Absolutely. I know I do.” Buggy answered and then queried again. “Should they be punished for this misguided notion? Maybe, but why does it need to be today?”

“Cut off their head!”

“Execution!”

The crowd was in an uproar for your blood. Buggy needed to figure out a way that didn’t end in your death.

“We already have one, fantastic execution lined up for tonight.” He laughed and caught the glare from Alvida - pick a punishment or they die. “So, I propose torture aboard the most heinous ship in all the East Blue.” He offered.

The crowd took a few moments to ponder… and one-by-one began to agree. Buggy figured that they were assuming that they were the heinous ship. Fools.

Satisfied with everyone’s support, Buggy pulled off his black coat and slammed his hand on the buzzer to seal the sentence.

“Well, the system works. They’ll be on my ship.”

Before Alvida could protest, Buggy grabbed your arm and led you out of the tent. Once at a safe distance, he pulled the cloth from your mouth and began to work on your hands.

“Torture? That was the best you could come up with?” You snapped at him.

Buggy frowned at your bindings. “Right now you’re torturing me.” He grumbled.

“If you think I won’t fight you...”

Buggy unlocked the cuffs and grabbed your chin with enough pressure to stop you mid-sentence.

“Fortunately for both of us, I’m too fixated on you that I can’t lift a finger.” He told you, voice firm but whispered. “Get to the docks and onto my ship. I can’t save you a second time.”