#one piece reader insert

Something was in the water at the new island the Sunny anchored on. Or was it in the wine? The bread? The butter? You couldn’t remember what you ate. Your memory of the night was blurred—scattered scenes played through your mind the next day. Your recollection was… messy and nonsensical. You tried to recount the night.

In the early hours of the night in question, Sanji went into the island’s town to get supplies and ingredients for dinner. It was a nice day full of free time, clear skies with a slight breeze.

Nami and Robin went shopping and they wouldn’t be back on the ship in time for dinner. Brook, Usopp, Chopper, and Franky went off and did god knows what. Similarly, they wouldn’t be back in time for the evening meal. Sanji promised to make enough so they could have leftovers later.

When everyone went on their separate outings, that left you, Luffy, Zoro, and Sanji on the ship.

It was a small, simple, and delicious dinner that night. An intimate setting with just you four, a nice opportunity to hang out with part of the East Blue crew. You were soaking in some modicum of silence and peace (whenever Luffy allowed it) on the mostly empty ship.

Aside from Luffy’s chomping and smacking noises while he ate, dinner was relatively silent. Sanji and Zoro weren’t butting heads for once, either. You sat at the table, talked sparingly, and drank some of the wine that Sanji bought in town.

When dinner was over, you helped Sanji wash up (like usual), then you sat at the dinner table and did some reading.

An hour or so passed. You read your book while Sanji prepped food and cleaned the kitchen a few feet away. Gradually, the room got warmer. You opened a window, letting in some of the cool evening air, propped a door open, and sat back down again.

After a few minutes, you noticed that you felt a bit ill. Lightly perspiring, you almost shivered—your limbs felt heavy, you felt light-headed. You tried to reason it away. Did you have too much wine?

No, you didn’t. You stood up, and as you rose to your feet you realized that you felt like you were going to pass out. At the same time, your body started to buzz. You had never felt like this before. Something was seriously off.

Sanji was still in the kitchen cleaning up, and you staggered in his direction, stopping at the sink to splash some water on your face. The cold water felt great on your hot cheeks, and you could have sworn you saw steam rise up from where the cool droplets met your skin.

“My love, are you alright?” Sanji’s sweet voice shocked you out of your feverish stupor. You had almost forgotten he was there. When you turned to face him, your body pulsed and heat tingled outwards from between your legs, radiating to your whole body. He had never looked so good before.

The blonde’s eyes widened in shock—your pupils were dilated, your breathing was shallow and quick, and your face was covered in a sheen of sweat. He brought a hand to your forehead and confirmed that you had a fever. “Are you sick, dearest? You don’t look well.”

When his skin touched yours, your breath hitched. “Sanji, I don’t feel too good.”

“Do you need to go lay down? I’ll get Chopper to come take your temperature and give you something to help you feel better, okay?”

You didn’t know it, but Sanji was starting to feel ill, too. He was sweating just barely and had, up until that point, been blaming it on the fact that he just cooked and cleaned and was a bit exhausted. But what was more concerning to him was that in your feverish state you looked even more beautiful than usual—no, beautiful wasn’t the right word. In his mind he remarked that you looked fucking hot. Stunning. Sexy, even.

He could rip your clothes off here and now and ravage you, had you been up for it. But that sentiment wasn’t necessarily out of the norm, rather, it was that you were evidently sick, and he was starting to feel a bit woozy himself.

Maybe the food had turned, and he didn’t realize it, so you were both suffering from food poisoning. But that would have been very unlike him to not pick up on the food tasting rotten. It must have been something else. Did you both pick up some virus from the last island you were on? Like Nami on Little Garden that one time?

A soft whine slipped out of your lips. The noise made his stomach flip. You sounded like you were in pain but… you also sounded a bit erotic to him. In this state, his mind raced. Is that what you would sound like in bed? Whining like that?

Sanji mentally berated himself more than ever before, letting self-disgust wash over for a moment before he shook it off. When he got back to his senses (he had been staring at you for only a couple of seconds), he started to guide you to your cabin for some rest. “Come on, gorgeous. Let’s get you to bed.”

But no matter how many internal curses he threw at himself, he felt a tent forming in his pants. Something weird was happening.

He balked at the idea that seeing you in your current state was getting him so flustered. You were ill, after all. What sort of gentleman would he be right now, if he was thirsting over you while you had a dangerously high fever and were obviously in pain?

As he tried to shrug off how odd he was starting to feel, the blonde chef guided you down the hallway and towards your room. You walked behind him and your vision started to get splotchy. With every degree your fever worsened, you felt something get more intense—was this feeling arousal? At a time like this?  

Sure enough, heat bloomed between your legs; small zaps of pleasure radiated outwards with each step. The arousal-sickness combination was disorienting and concerning.

And not only were you just aroused, but it was coupled with wild sensitivity—as you moved, the fabric of your pants brushed down there, sending an electric shock up your spine as the tingling sensation intensified. Were you hallucinating, or was wetness seeping out of your core, saturating your panties?

The walk down the hallway felt like years.

By the time you were almost to your bed, you were soaking wet from nothing other than walking. You tried to squeeze your legs together. Was there a stain on your pants from how unreasonably wet you were? Should you hide it? The fabric of your pants was rubbing you just right, and, in the moment you sat on the (conveniently large) bed, you convulsed in pleasure. Undeniably, you moaned. A quiet one, but a moan, no less.

You sat there for a few seconds, eyes closed and mouth hanging open as you positively buzzed in pleasure. You didn’t know what was happening, and you were unaware that you were slowly rubbing your thighs together, drawing out more tingles of pleasure. Was that an orgasm?

Sanji’s mind was racing, and he was hyperaware of everything—every shallow breath and flutter of your eyes was making his heart patter and the tent in his pants grow. He was fully erect now, and his mind was so scrambled that he didn’t even think of hiding it. He almost couldn’t breathe. Something was wrong. Very wrong.

It was from this point on that you started to question if any of this was real or if you were just having a fever dream.

Sanji stood over you, watching in what could be called a mixture of concern and rabid desire. Your eyes opened finally, and it felt like you had tunnel vision. You noticed it then—his erection, hard and big. There was a visible stain on his bulge where precum pooled into the fabric. His cock twitched when he realized your eyes were focused on it.

“A-are you okay?” Sanji asked. He didn’t know what to say. He needed to drag himself away to a bathroom and deal with this.

His words got caught in his throat as your body literally worked against your own whims. Your fingers moved like they were being controlled by a puppeteer—you watched them in third person as they trailed down your abdomen and came to rest over your throbbing core.

Looking up at him, you gave yourself a squeeze through your pants. Some erotic sound tumbled from your lips. Your fingers started to circle over the fabric of your pants where your clit must have been, and you spread your thighs a bit. You couldn’t control yourself.

“Help, Sanji,” you whispered, mouth dry. “Don’t know what’s happening. Can’t stop.” Your fingers moved faster, building a crescendo of pleasure that would crash onto you soon. You felt like you were going crazy with need. No longer focused on the fever wracking your body, your mind knew only one thing: you needed pleasure.

If you didn’t get more soon, you were worried you’d pass out. Or something would happen. Would you go crazy?

“H-help?” Sanji’s voice cracked. “What do you mean?”

“Touch me,” you whimpered, fingers moving faster now. His jaw dropped.

Luffy suddenly staggered to the door and leaned on the frame. He was unbothered by the sight in front of him and, quite frankly, he looked a damn mess. His hair was plastered down on his forehead in sweat, he had no shirt on, and his pajama pants were riding down, showing the band of his boxers.

“Guys,” Luffy’s voice was strained. “I feel really weird.”

Your eyes darted down. Luffy was rock hard, bulge standing out against the gray fabric of his pants. His cloudy vision came to rest on your chest. With no care in the world, one of his hands reached down to start rubbing himself.

“It won’t go away no matter what I do,” Luffy rubbed the heel of his hand down the outline of his erection, and his words were broken by a loud grunt. “I came here to ask for help but it—it looks like you beat me to it.” He cracked a grimace/smile and threw his head back after a moment, leaning his whole weight on the door frame as he touched himself through the fabric.

You snuck a hand into your pants. Brushing your clit gently, you keened. You were on autopilot, incapable of controlling your actions and not the most cognizant. All you knew was you needed more, and if you didn’t get more, something bad would happen.

“Mmmphhhh,” Luffy stifled a groan as he squeezed himself, lost in his own world. “It’s like my body is on fire.”

Your vision went black around the edges—you started to rub faster, spreading your legs open wide and creeping your fingers under your panties.

Burying your hand in your underwear, you hissed in air at your teeth as your fingertips came in contact with your hot folds. Your back arched and a needy sound trickled out. “F-fuck, Sanji help me.”

Sanji froze, eyes glued on your hand that was shoved down your pants, stirring under the fabric. The stain on his pants got bigger and wetter—it was very noticeable.  

“What do you want me to do love?” He asked in a hushed, hesitant tone. He was holding onto his last shreds of reason, trying not to pounce on you, but those shreds of rationality were slipping out of his grasp like sand.

Your vision started to go black. You closed your eyes, lost in the pleasure that you pulled from yourself in a daze. Sanji reached a hand up to your core and ran a thumb up and down over the fabric above your clit. Your wetness was seeping through the layers already.

Some amount of time passed. You came and it helped you regain lucidity. When you opened your eyes—you had no clue how long it had been—you were laying on the bed and Luffy stood over you, watching intently.

Sanji was sitting at the end of the bed, now shamelessly digging his thumb into the tip of his cock, playing with his slit as clear precum seeped out of it. His hips bucked upwards a few times and you watched. You realized that you were touching yourself, moving your fingers in swift and messy need.

Luffy leaned in and pressed his lips on yours. The first few kisses were surprisingly sweet, loving, even, but they quickly turned sloppy. He maneuvered onto the bed—now, his knee was pressed against your core, a hand braced on one side of your head, and the other rested on your cheek as he kissed you passionately.

You made out for a few seconds, grinding down onto his knee a bit, aiming for friction. Your mewls were driving him and Sanji insane—the blonde continued to tease himself and stroke slowly while he watched Luffy take in every inch of you with his lips. The captain’s lips moved south.

He pulled your pants and panties off quickly, spread your thighs wide, and started to eat you out on the spot. Pressing his tongue on your clit, the captain drew soft circles around your sensitive bud, then he swiped his tongue up and down along your entrance. Luffy wasted no time slurping and greedily licking every inch and crevice of you that he could.

You started to lose touch with reality again—you realized, distantly and in third person, that whatever was wrong with you seemed like you would start to black out any time you went too long without an orgasm. As you were making this conclusion, a loud thud at the door distracted you once again.

Zoro’s body had dragged him across the ship, bringing him to your room of its own accord. He could hardly walk, slamming into the door frame, and before he knew it, he was sitting on the bed next to Sanji, eyes darting between Luffy eating you out and the blonde’s fist stroking and squeezing his hard on.

Your eyes shifted to Zoro, sitting with his legs spread wide on the bed next to Sanji. The swordsman started running a palm over his clothed erection. His breaths were fast, his cheeks were bright pink, he didn’t seem fully aware of the fact his eyes were glued on his nemesis/frenemy’s fist pumping over his cock.

No one said a word for a few moments. It was a silent agreement—whatever was happening needed to be addressed, and there was only one thing to do.

It had been too long without climax for you (again). Your vision went black and your mind went blank. When an orgasm finally crashed into you, minutes later, it brought you back to reality and a few moments of lucidity. Your ears were greeted by a cacophony of ragged breaths and deep groans to your left.

Turning your head, your eyes were met with the sight of two people (who you thought utterly hated each other) entangled on the bed.

Sanji was completely naked, while Zoro had on short, tight, black boxer-briefs. He was on top of Sanji, rubbing his aching erection on Sanji’s while his brows furrowed and needy sounds trickled out of his mouth. Every few seconds, Sanji let out a whimper and arched his back off the bed.

“Don’t stop,” Sanji gasped, grabbing fistfuls of sheets as Zoro’s muscles rippled.

“I f-fucking can’t,” the swordsman grunted in response, his tone tinged with annoyance.

Your eyes stayed glued on the pair, bewildered and feral, until Luffy’s tongue, buried inside of you, demanded your attention. Was he using his devil fruit powers? Head had never felt this good before. His tongue prodded your pulsing hotness, sliding up and down greedily between your lips before pushing inside of you again.

The slurping noises from your captain were sinful. Your eyes crept from his head buried between your legs to the sight of his hips rutting on the sheets beneath. His cock craved friction. He wished his tongue wasn’t buried in you but something else instead.

Grabbing tufts of Luffy’s hair, you dragged his mouth closer, pressing his roaming tongue as deep as physically possible.

“L-luffy, need m-more. Please.” You begged, vision getting blurry around the edges. You felt hotter than before.

Instead of your captain’s voice in response, a loud moan from Sanji answered your pleading. Your eyes snapped to the pair of men again—Sanji was squirming under the swordsman, shuddering and clawing at Zoro’s biceps now as he grinded up into his cock.

“Cumming,” the blonde grunted, pushing his hips upward, grinding harder onto Zoro. “I’m c-cumming, fuck, fuck, fuck.”

The chef came on his own stomach while Zoro rocked his hips into the blonde’s shaft with more urgency, overstimulating him and eliciting desperate cries.

“Can’t stop,” Zoro choked out amidst his own moans and heaves for air.

Tears pricked in the corner of the chef’s eyes, but he didn’t tell the swordsman to stop, in fact, he rutted his hips up again and again. He was gearing up for yet another orgasm when Zoro brought him into a kiss and trailed his fingers towards the blonde’s erection.

More moments fleeted by—more gut-wrenching pleasure from Luffy’s tongue inside of you, hazy images of Sanji and Zoro grinding on each other, smearing the milky puddle of cum all over Sanji’s abdomen on Zoro’s underwear and abs.

Your eyes fixated on the outline of Zoro’s erection through the damp fabric. You were mesmerized.

Time faded into oblivion. The next memory you had was of Zoro flipping you over, onto your stomach, and climbing on top of you. He positioned you in prone bone, pressing his chest on your back. Trailing his fingers down and squeezing a rough handful of your ass, he then dipped two fingers into your hot folds and coaxed fireworks of pleasure from you.

Zoro relished how wet and ready you were for him thanks to Luffy’s previous work. He played with you for a little while, dragging his finger pads across your g-spot repeatedly and curling them upwards inside of you until you begged for more. When he pushed his cock inside, he felt so big that it was almost painful. He entered you centimeters at a time, and when he finally bottomed out and the ring of hair around the base of his cock met your flesh, his hips started to pump into yours rhythmically, gaining speed each moment that passed.

“Feels hot and s-sticky inside,” he gasped, hips shuddering into you as his tip passed your g-spot. You shifted under him the slightest bit, drawing a sensitive gasp from the swordsman. Every movement from him felt euphoric—and coupled with his weight on top of you, you felt like you were going crazy with desire. He couldn’t fuck you fast enough.

Turning your head, you realized that Sanji had one hand wrapped around his cock again but was now in a similar position to you. He was flush with the bed, chest pressing on the covers, simultaneously stroking himself and humping the sheets as he watched Zoro fuck you.

Zoro groaned pure filth in your ear. “Just like that, baby. Fuhccckkk. Feels so good.”

Each pass of Zoro’s length inside of you and past your g-spot was met with a squelching noise from how wet you were—every roll of his hips pushed him deeper inside of you and it felt like you were floating.

As Sanji watched, his fist moved faster and so did his hips. He roughly jerked his length and rubbed his glistening tip into the covers. His cock felt hot, it was pulsing, and each brush of his flesh against the fabric made him shiver. He was working off of animal instinct alone, eyes so dilated and mind so foggy that all he knew was that he felt good and he didn’t want it to stop. He could watch the pair of you for hours. He didn’t care.

Voice husky and bathed in lust, Zoro was getting more worked up. “Say my name,” he groaned as his length passed in and out of you. “Say it.”

Before his name could exit your lips, Sanji moaned into the sheets below. “Zoro. Zoro. Hah, fuck, Zoro.” Moments later, you watched him orgasm all over the sheets below, mouth agape and eyes squeezed shut.

Hearing the chef’s desperate, pathetic mewls made Zoro fuck you faster. Just when you thought you were at the precipice of orgasm, Zoro reached a hand under you and started to rub your clit, then he bit your shoulder. The pain felt good, and the combination of sensations was overwhelming—your orgasm was intense, shocking, and ecstatic.

A fleeting thought passed through your mind—where’s Luffy?

He was perched at the end of the bed, touching himself to the sight, waiting for his turn, which he promptly took when Zoro was done with you.

The next scene in your memory was Luffy fucking you, but you weren’t quite sure how you got there. You did remember that right before Luffy touched you, he asked you softly, “Do you want to keep going? Or have you had enough?”

You croaked out an eager, “more.”

“On top?” Luffy asked, waiting for your confirmation. And when you again agreed, he shifted, so he was laying on the bed, and you were on top of him.

Sinking down on his cock, you started to ride him. His hands came to rest on your hips and his eyes looked hungry. As if he wasn’t full from the ridiculously huge meal he just ate.

Parallel to you and Luffy, Zoro had Sanji on his lap. Zoro’s chest pressed on Sanji’s back, so the chef was facing you and Luffy. The swordsman’s large, rough hand wrapped around Sanji’s front. Languidly, Zoro played with Sanji’s shaft, teasing him at a snail’s pace.

Zoro wasn’t all there mentally because of (what you deduced to be) the aphrodisiacs. It’s like he was running on pure thirst. Something in him wanted Sanji to beg and wanted to see you getting off to the sight. He was getting a kick out of the cook being absolutely pathetic. He wanted to see him be utterly shameless.

“’m gonna cum,” Sanji whimpered, writhing around on the stocky pair of hair thighs underneath him.

“Shhh. Not yet, cook. Can’t you hold on for a little bit longer? Don’t you want to watch?”

Sanji got quieter and nodded, holding his orgasm at bay as best he could while he watched you ride Luffy, who was practically growling out commands faster than you could keep up.

 “Faster.” “Faster.” “Harder.” “More.” Every time he spoke, you did as he said. You did so until your legs started to burn, until your thighs started to shake, until he was doing all the work for you, lifting you up and down on his shaft.

He pressed his tip on your spongey hot spot and wrenched pleasure from you. Zoro edged and teased Sanji within an inch of his life while the pair of them watched—it was almost cruel. The cook was in tears over how good it felt, how badly he wanted to keep cumming, and how much it was getting to his head.

“Please Z-zoro, fuck, please.” Sanji was close to his breaking point.

“Just a bit longer, curly brows, hold on.”

A few more seconds passed. It didn’t take long for Luffy to bring you to the brink of orgasm, which was what Zoro was hoping for. As you started to shake, eyes rolling back in white-hot pleasure from your orgasm, Zoro finally gave Sanji permission to cum.

You hadn’t expected the swordsman to be this controlling, this mean, and this verbal.

“Mmmphhhh. Just like that,” Zoro exhaled while he watched you cum all over Luffy’s cock. “Now you can cum.” He then murmured something in Sanji’s ear that would have left you gob smacked if you had enough wherewithal to think. “There’s a good boy.”

While Sanji painted his own stomach white, you collapsed on top of Luffy. He kissed the side of your head and started to pet your hair.

“You need a break?” He asked you, voice tender and kinder than usual. You nodded and then drifted into unconsciousness for some period of time.

Memories after this point completely faded to black. You had some notion of waking up and sucking Zoro off and then riding Sanji until he cried again, but… the images were blurred. Someone came on your face, two indiscernible figures in your memory were entangled on the sheets again, but… you drew a blank after a point.

---

When you finally came to, you concluded that whatever the fuck that was must have been a very strong aphrodisiac. You couldn’t figure out what it was in though—the wine? The water? Something in the food? Whatever it was, it must have gotten out of your system through sheer number of orgasms and hours of fucking.

You were still on your bed, under the covers and tucked in along with Luffy. Sanji and Zoro were off somewhere, presumably getting cleaned up but…? Who knows. 

You checked the clock—it was around 10:00PM. You, Sanji, Luffy, and Zoro had been going at it since 5:00PM, shortly after your early dinner. So… almost five whole hours? But you didn’t feel like it, really. You weren’t sore or anything which was a feat in itself.

Putting some clothes on, you wandered to the kitchen for a glass of water. You were parched. You’d have to wait to debrief until you saw Zoro or Sanji, or until Luffy woke up.

You walked into the kitchen and were met with a sight that broke your brain for a second. Nami, Robin, Franky and Usopp were at the dinner table, chowing down on the dinner leftovers Sanji packaged up for them in cute little serving boxes. They must have just gotten back from their outings.

Your eyes flashed around the room—wine bottles were open. They were having a grand old time.

Your stomach sank. Fuck. They were about to have even grander of a time if they kept eating and drinking like that. You’d have to sit yourself out for round two—not sure you could handle it, honestly.

After that night, you came to a good understanding of the dynamics with each man in bed. Not only from your memory, but because you went in for seconds with each of them at some point. Luffy was greedy and forthcoming, but kind, like usual. Zoro was an absolute machine, filthy and verbose. And Sanji was, well, Sanji. He was doting, pathetic, and desperate. What a good variety to choose from—you were never left wanting again.

ik im gonna look back at this later and go GOD DAMN woman, were you okay? frothing at the mouth. anyway...

thanks for reading!! this was pretty challenging for me, i wanted it to be halfway decent but just couldn't get it anywhere i wanted really T-T idk if i'll ever live up to the luffy aphrodisiac kinktober fic i wrote :p

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

The silence after the skirmish was wrong. It was too quiet, too… small, literally. Because where your Captain, your lover Trafalgar Law should have been standing - intimidating, broody, coat flapping and Kikoku balanced on his shoulders - was now a six-year-old child with the same sharp eyes, the same scowl just.......smaller. And he looked like he was deciding which one of you to dissect first.

“Tch.” the kid huffed as he looked down at himself and saw that his clothes were like 5 sizes too big. It looked adorable, though you knew better than to comment on it right now.

“C-Captain…?” Bepo squeaked carefully, unsure of what just happened. 

The child slowly turned his head, eyes cold and calculating in a way no child’s should be. “Don’t call me that,” he said flatly. “I don’t know you.”

Oh no, oh no. You knew this wasn’t good, you knew this was going to be a mess. Even if it was also kinda cute, tiny Law looked so adorable. Scary even for his age but still, really cute. You looked between him and the crew and decided to try to calm the situation down and at least get you all off the battlefield.

“Okay so, how about we all get back to the Polar Tang and continue panicking there. Besides at least he's still in one piece and only a tiny cute version with a scary scowl, so it's like.....still a win right” you sighed as the crew remained perplex and stared wide eyed and in pure disbelief at Law before they slowly nodded and moved towards the ship while you just placed a hand on Law's hat and guided him towards the Polar Tang.

“Resistence is useless, Captain, either way you walk by yourself or I'll have to pick you up” you said firmly moving him.

“Don't call me Captain and I'm not—” he cut himself off as he saw the look on your face and the way you were leaning down ready to hoist him up. “Fine but I'm not going to like it nor be friends with you” he grumbled. 

Once on the Polar Tang and inside the infirmary tiny Law refused to stop analyzing everyone, he refused to eat the apple Bepo wanted to hand him and to stop glaring like he was memorizing everyone’s vital organs. “You’re all watching me,” he muttered from the infirmary bed, knees drawn up.

“Is he… creepier like this?” Penguin whispered looking a bit warily at the Captain.

“Yes, so much more.” you said immediately, exhaling deeply.

The sound of it got Law's attention and his eyes snapped to you. “You. You’re loud,” he murmured as he pointed at you, his brows narrowing a tiny bit. 

“Hi,” you replied cheerfully waving a hand and taking a step closer to him but making sure not to overwhelm or crowd him. “I like to refer to myself as charming.”

He didn't blink and just stared at you, very long and very intense. “…You’re dangerous,” he decided more as a matter of fact.

“Yeah I've heard that one before and it's usually accompanied by you lecturing me about something,” you sighed, then reached into your pocket and pulled out a small, wrapped chocolate bar, the emergency kind you saved for long scouting missions because Law often told you, you were getting annoying when you were hungry.

You tossed it onto the bed and it slid to a stop near his knee. He stared at it like it might explode or attack him. “Poison?” he asked, eyes wary.

“Yes because that's what I do for a living - poisoning little Captains” you joked and he stared wide eyed at you. “Im just joking, calm down there's nothing besides too much sugar in it,” you correct. “You look like you could really need the sugar right now. And for the record, my name is (Y/N). We’re…uhm well we're......friends. Sort of.”

“Friends? More like lo—” Shachi started but you elbowed him hard and glared. How should you explain to a six-year-old that you two were more than just friends, that you were lovers or something close to it that neither of you wanted to officially name, well the grown up version of him and you at least. 

“I don’t have friends,” Law muttered, though his small hand crept toward the chocolate unable to resist. “Everyone I know is doomed to die.” The words hit harder than any blade could because this was him stripped bare, no sarcasm, no emotional walls. Just raw, unfiltered Law and everyone knew it and how sadly true it was.

“Well,” you said gently, your voice softening, “now you have a whole submarine full of idiots and Ikkaku who would die for you. And you have me. I’m the one who tells you when you’re being an arrogant prick. You're not alone, Law.”

He paused for a moment, the wrapper halfway open and a teeny tiny flicker of amusement crossed his face. “…I’m an arrogant prick?”

“The worst,” you laughed. “But you’re also the best doctor I’ve ever met. Even at six I'm sure you’re probably better than most of the hacks in the Grand Line.”

“…I do know a thing or two about anatomy.” he huffed a bit proud and then finally ate the chocolate, which felt like a small victory for you.

But the victory was rather short-lived because things got immediately worse. He critiqued the ship’s layout and demanded it to be 'more efficient', he called Shachi loud and structurally unsound, he bit Penguin once and tried to perform surgery on a melon for practice while talking to himself about all the arteries that went to and from the heart.

You caught him halfway through. But didn't immediately interrupt him, it was remarkable that he at age six knew all of these things. At one point though you reminded yourself that he was a kid and he was currently handling a sharp object. “Put the scalpel down,” you said firmly.

“It’s educational,” he huffed and pursed his lips.

“It’s fruit murder, and you shouldn't run around with this, if you accidentally lose a finger or an eye I'm never going to hear the end of it and your adult self would be really really mad at me,” you pointed out as you took another step closer to him.

“…You’re mean.” he glared.

“You tried to autopsy lunch,” you countered and he pouted a tiny bit, making you smile because it looked just too cute. “You're adorable when you pout, and you should definitely stop that if you want to intimidate me.” 

“I'm not pouting” he muttered but you only smiled wider and patted his head. 

“Of course not, just keep telling yourself,” you teased with a smug wink.

Later, you found him sitting alone, legs dangling off a counter, swinging slowly. “You don’t treat me like a child,” he suddenly said.

“You don’t act like one,” you shrugged.

“…Good.” He hesitated, then added, quieter, “You stay close. Like you’re guarding me.”

“Habit,” you said lightly, blinking surprised at him. “You attract trouble and someone has to keep you safe.”

“If I’m dangerous… why do you trust me?” he hummed, thinking.

“Because even when you’re terrifying,” you said meeting his eyes, “you protect people and care for us. You just like to pretend you don’t but we all know you too well.”

He looked away, ears pink. “…You’re annoying.”

“Also a habit but that's part of my charm,” you winked and handed him his anatomy book telling him to explain a few things to you. You often did that with Law not because you were all too fond of learning about it, even though it was actually really useful and sometimes even very interesting, but mostly because you liked the glint in Law's eyes as he taught you. Looking at him now you realized that even the tiny version had that same beautiful spark in his eyes. And when the ship rocked later that night, he instinctively grabbed your sleeve and didn't let go.

The next day it turned out the real problem wasn't that Law was six. It was that six-year-old Law was an absolute tyrant. The first tantrum happened over soup and would later on be remembered as the bread incident.

“This has bread in it,” he snapped, staring into the bowl like it personally betrayed him.

“…yeah,” you said, inwardly groaning that the crumbs accidentally ended up in his bowl and you tried to deflect it. “You’re on a pirate submarine.”

“I don’t eat bread,” Tiny Law declared, crossing his arms. The entire mess hall froze as they realized the faux pas. 

“Well the grown-up you does,” you lied and you felt everyone's eyes on you. 

“What? (Y/N) the Capatin—” Penguin started but you kicked him under the table. “Ow!”

“That man is not me.” Law stated with a glare that could sink ships. 

You pinched the bridge of your nose, so much for your lie even tiny Law was too smart for that and seeing through you. “Fine we get you a new bowl,” you sighed defeated.

But the tantrum escalated when the crew tried to swap his soup for a bread free version and he decided this was, in fact, an assassination attempt. He crossed his arms and turned his back to everyone. “I refuse to cooperate,” he shouted and you finally had enough, you were hungry and Law was grating at your nerves. 

“Timeout,” you said pointing toward the corner. What followed was absolute silence, Shachi paused his spoon halfway to his mouth and Penguin and Jean Bart looked wide eyed between you and Law.

“…What?” Law asked, confused breaking the silence.

“You heard me,” you huffed firmly, while deep down trying not to laugh and ask yourself what you were just doing.

“You cannot confine me,” he protested as he stared at you like you had just committed a war crime.

“I absolutely can,” you countered. “Corner. Now.” Five minutes later, Trafalgar D. Water Law, the surgeon of death, was sitting on a stool in the corner, arms crossed, scowling so hard his face looked like it would crack. “This is humiliation,” he muttered.

“Correct,” you said, not even trying to hide your amusement. “Maybe you should think about your life choices next time.” He was definitely brooding and sulking right now but you just couldn't help but smile because this was Law, and even if he was just a six-year-old boy it was just too funny to think that you had just put a man who's name struck fear all over the seas on the ‘timeout’ chair.

Later on, after he 'survived' the detention, you tried to find Law some clothes that would actually fit him and Bepo tried to help, but that turned out to be a mistake. He knelt, holding out a pair of soft, fuzzy pajamas with little polar bear patterns, the only thing small enough for a tiny little menace and you didn't have the energy to ask where they even came from.

“C-Captain…? These are very warm…” Bepo stammered holding them out to Law.

Law slowly lifted his head and god, his glare could have frozen magma. “…I will not wear those.”

Bepo ever the sweetest one on this submarine immediately apologized. “S-Sorry…!”

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Okay, okay. No bear pajamas, for the tiny surgeon.” Law nodded once, sharp and clearly satisfied. “…Wait,” you added. “I'm not done, Bepo juat tried to help and you were rude so…..I want you to apologize to him.”

“No.” Law said firmly crossing his arms, acting like you wanted him to admit that the void century never happened.

“Okay then…..Timeout, round two.” you said hoisting him up. His shriek echoed through the submarine.

“This is tyranny!” he protested in your arms. 

“You’re on a pirate ship,” you replied calmly. “Try again.” you continued before sitting him down on a chair in the corner again.

Shachi approached the little menace and crouched in front of him with finger guns. “Hey champ—wanna hear a joke to kill some time?” he asked trying to lighten the mood but Law’s eyes narrowed and Shachi backed away.

Penguin tried next. “We can play cards!” he exclaimed but Law just tilted his head, slowly and really unsettlingly and Penguin raised his hands in surrender. 

“…Do you enjoy making fools of yourselves?” Law asked flatly and both men retreated immediately.

“He’s terrifying,” Penguin whispered as he and Shachi both subtly moved behind you as if trying to hide.

“He gets that from his future self you should be used to it,” you grinned.

By hour six, the crew had given up to try to get to tiny Law because apparently, you were the only one he was listening to, the only one he argued with instead of silently plotting their demise.

“You’re enjoying this,” Law accused, sitting beside you on the floor, arms crossed.

“Immensely,” you smirked, not even trying to pretend otherwise.

“You contradict me on purpose.”

“Yes,” you shrugged shamelessly, still smirking.

“…You’re insufferable,” he brooded and a small frown on his face formed.

“Aw, say it like you mean it,” ypu teased.

He huffed trying to be grumpy but then scooted half an inch closer to you without realizing it and you just smiled not commenting on it because this was not much different than grown up Law and ypu knew the moment you'd point it out he'd retreat again.

Bepo watched from across the room. “I-I think… he likes you…” he mumbled softly.

“I do not,” Law snapped. “…She’s just more tolerable than the rest of you.”

“That almost sounded like a compliment, I feel honored,” you whispered to him and nudged him gently and he opened his mouth to say something but then stopped himself. You saw the tiniest tug on the corners of his lips and that felt like a victory again.  

Over the time you started noticing things about him, despite his attitude, he sought you out when the ship was loud, he sat near you during meals, he pretended not to care if you left the room but he always looked up with almost hopeful eyes when you returned.

“Where did you go,” he eventually muttered when you stepped away for too long. 

You smiled but didn't tease him. “Well every once in a while, I need to use the bathroom but I’m right here now,” you replied, making him nod satisfied.

Later, when the crew unanimously voted to put you in charge of him, Penguin declaring you ‘Captain-sitter’ Law scoffed. “I don’t need supervision.”

“Then why are you holding my sleeve?” you asked, raising your eyebrows, looking extremely smug.

He froze as he realized you were right. “…Tch.” he grunted and slowly, almost reluctantly, released it. But when the lights dimmed that night, he wordlessly dragged his blanket over to where you were sitting and you let him, after all this was still the man you loved even if he was currently a tiny menace.

The next morning Jean Bart told you that the Polar Tang needed to dock to restock some supplies and you knew this was going to be very, well interesting. The island was loud, a bit too loud. Bright fabrics flapped in the wind, merchants shouted over each other, kids ran past with sticky hands and shrill laughter and six-year-old Law did not like it. He walked stiffly at your side, jaw tight, eyes darting everywhere like he was mapping escape routes. Every time someone bumped him, his shoulders tensed further.

You noticed the way his small hand kept lifting, hovering and stopping short of yours. He looked furious about it, like he wanted to reach up but something stopped him from doing it. You slowed your pace a little, pretending to be distracted by a fruit stall. When he hesitated beside you, you didn't wait for him to decide and instead reached down and simply took his hand in yours.

He jolted like he had been shocked. “I didn’t—” he growled immediately, trying to pull back. “I wasn’t—”

“Relax,” you said easily. “Crowds suck, even your adult version often took my hand in them, besides I really wouldn't want to lose my favorite surgeon. We would be screwed without you,” you winked.

He scowled, cheeks faintly pink. “I don’t need—” he protested but it died down. His hand not letting go of yours. In fact, his fingers tightened around yours, small, warm, stubborn and in a strange and sweet way protective. “…Don’t read into this,” he muttered.

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Captain,” you grinned, enveloping his hand completely. He huffed, puffing out his cheeks but kept holding on anyways.

You stopped at a small vendor selling little carved charms, beads, useless but pretty things. You were halfway through inspecting a small wooden charm when the seller leaned forward with a grin. “Ah, you have good taste,” he said smoothly. “For someone like you, I could make a special price.”

“Someone like… me?” you blinked raising an eyebrow, eager to here what stupid kind of sweet talk would follow next because you knew the drill the vendors used to lull potential buyers in.

“A pretty woman deserves something nice, wouldn't you agree?” he nodded with a smile too practiced and sweet. Ah the pretty woman compliment, what a classic, and completely lame.

Suddenly a sound came from beside you. It was low, sharp and like a warning growl that had absolutely no business coming from a six-year-old. You glanced down at Law and he was staring at the man like he was considering surgical disassembly. “…Who is this,” he asked flatly.

The vendor chuckled. “Your little brother?” he asked looking at you and before you could give an answer Law puffed his tiny chest out.

“I’m not her brother,” he hissed his grip on your hand tightened almost possessively. You looked between them and choked on a laugh, this was way too amusing right now. 

The vendor raised a brow, clearly confused and having no clue what was going on right now. “Ah. Then…well.....uhm....?” he stammered unsure of how to react to that.

Law stepped closer to you, practically plastered to your side now and somehow the image of a koala clinging came to your mind. “She’s with me.”

“Lucky kid,” the man grinned, a mix of amusement and tension in his eyes. 

“I will end you,” Law muttered, baring his teeth and your eyes widened. 

“Okaaay, buddy, how about we keep those thoughts inside” you said, squeezing his hand, the whole situation hilarious and terrifying at the same time.

“Perhaps… I give a discount and we all have a nice day,” the vendor stammered after he cleared his throat 

“Good,” Law snapped. “Now stop talking to her,” he warned.

The man swallowed caught off guard that he got terrified by a little boy and gave you the discount on the small wooden charm, that no one really needed, for a really good price and then retreated instantly.

As you started to walk away you couldn't help it but laugh, the fact that a six year old scared a vendor, a rather bulky man, into giving you a discount and tuck his tail in only to retreat was comedy gold. “This isn’t funny.” Law bristled.

“You just threatened a grown man over a wooden charm,” you chuckled unable to stop.

“He was annoying,” he huffed. 

“He was flirting,” you corrected, making Law stop dead in his tracks.

Slowly, he looked up at you. “…That was flirting?” he asked, scrunching his nose.

“Oh yeah, it's a common thing here, helps with selling things. Well mostly,” you explained shrugging.

His brows knitted together and for a long moment he thought hard as if trying to process everything. “…I didn’t like it.” 

“Why not?” You asked, teasing him gently. “He wasn't that bad at it, a bit slimy maybe but he sold it rather well,” you laughed, obviously not serious about it.

“…Because,” he started, scowling harder. “He was wasting your attention.”

Your chest tightened a bit. He might have only been six but the way he looked at you and how he had said it was so much like his grown up self and you realized how much you missed him. Not that ypu minded, his tiny version was adorable, cute and made your heart swell but you missed the man who held you, who kissed you and who scolded you for eating too much sugar. “Well,” you said softly, smiling at him, “lucky for you, you’ve got my attention now all to yourself.”

He hummed satisfied and after a moment he extended his hand. “Hold my hand again,” he said firmly and you did. This time he didn't pretend he hated it, no this time he didn't hide that he was in fact enjoying it. 

As you kept walking you soon found out that the second stall you stopped by was even worse or funnier depending on how you saw it. It was crowded and narrow and the vendor was very enthusiastic, leaning way too close as he explained the craftsmanship of some shiny, completely unnecessary trinket you didn't need nor want.

“And for someone like you,” the man said with a wink, “I can make a very special deal.”

It was almost the same stupid line as before and you were mid-eye-roll when Law suddenly stopped walking, planting his feet. You felt his hand tighten around yours like a vise and you raised an eyebrow looking down at him. “…She’s mine,” he said out of nowhere and it was as if the entire world had paused in that moment.

You raised and eyebrow and looked at him, slowly and totally caught off guard at how firmly he had said that. How this didn't sound like a suggestion or something but like a matter of fact. “…I’m sorry?” you asked perplex.

The vendor meanwhile laughed awkwardly. “Ah—kids say funny things—”

Law stepped forward, eyes dark, voice sharp and dangerously serious for someone who still had baby teeth. “She’s mine. Go away,” he repeated firmer now and the man paled.

You pressed your lips together, fighting a grin as the vendor backed off immediately, muttering apologies and retreating at record speed, pretending that another customer needed his help. Once he was gone, you crouched slightly to Law’s level. “Mine?” you repeated, teasing. “Wow. Bold claim, Captain.”

His ears instantely turned red. “I was establishing boundaries,” he shrugged trying to downplay it.

“Oh? Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“Don’t mock me,” he scowled but still blushed a tiny bit.

“So if I’m yours…,” you started grinning wider and before he could throw in whatever terrifyingly possessive excuse he was winding up for, you scooped him up, straight into your arms and the reaction, well it was immediate and catastrophic......and a bit funny.

“PUT ME DOWN—!” he yelled, rigid as a board. “I DID NOT AUTHORIZE THIS—!” But his arms looped around your neck anyway. In fact they did it really tight. Like, very tight.

You adjusted him on your hip effortlessly. “Huh,” you said innocently. “Weird, for all your complaining your awfully clingy.”

“I am NOT—” he paused as he realized he was indeed clinging. But more surprising was that he didn't loosen his grip and instead tightened it harder. “This is a tactical hold,” he snapped. “In case you drop me.”

“Sure it is,” you chuckled, heart swelling a tiny bit, the familiar scent of his shampoo hitting your nose.

“Stop walking so confidently,” he complained trying to pout but it didn't work.

“Nope,” you said popping the p. 

“You’re enjoying this,” he grumbled into your ear.

“Immensely,” ypu laughed and he glared at you, cheeks blazing, still refusing to let go though.

“You’re abusing your authority.”

“Captain-sitter privileges,” you replied. “Plus, you were the one who claimed me and that simply comes with consequences.”

“…I didn’t mean like that,” he protested weakly.

“So I’m not yours?” You asked, tilting your head feigning a hurt look.

He hesitated long enough to betray himself, eyes locked on yours before he grumbled. “…You’re under my protection,” he muttered. “That’s different.”

“Aww,” you cooed. “My very own tiny bodyguard.”

“I could still stab someone,” he grumbled.

You laughed softly but not mocking or teasing. “I’m counting on it, otherwise you'd be a really bad bodyguard.”

He finally buried his face against your shoulder, furious and absolutely defeated. “…Don’t tell the crew,” he muffled against your skin.

“Oh, I’m absolutely telling the crew.” you chuckled softly but your heart was doing a flip as you held him. 

“…Then I’m never letting go,” he whispered, tightening his grip again and honestly, you didn’t mind one bit.

The rest of the walk through the port made it clear tiny Law did not like anyone near you. Glaring or scowling at strangers if they got too close. You didn't mind, at first it eas funny and worked surprisingly well to keep annoying vendors or creeps away from you but it became a problem as it turned against the crew too. It started with Bepo reaching for your sleeve to get your attention but Law was instantly between you.

“Don’t touch her,” he said firmly.

Bepo froze, he had not expected that from Law. “I—I just wanted to ask—” 

“No,” Law said flatly, arms crossed, stance wide like he was guarding a treasure chest. “Ask from there.”

You blinked and stared at Law. “Buddy, Bepo’s allowed to—”

“She’s mine,” he repeated, dead serious and taking your hand.

“…Oh, I'm sorry Captain” Bepo said ears dropping.

“That’s new.” Penguin whispered. “That’s terrifying.” Shachi whispered back.

Bepo though was clearly distressed now and crouched in front of tiny Law a little later, hands folded, eyes huge and shimmering, giving him that puppy look he always did when he was apologizing to Law and felt like he did something wrong. “C-Captain… I'm sorry I didn't mean to be intrusive.”

Tiny Law opened his mouth to snap but then to your surprise stopped. Something inside him pulled in his chest, like he remembered this from his adult version. You looked from him to Bepo and realized that Bepo’s puppy eyes, that expression, that unbearable sincerity and that cute look, was triggering a memory. 

Law's scowl faltered for half a second and he looked… confused. “…You okay?” you asked gently, not wanting to ruin the moment or overwhelm him right now.  

Law blinked hard, turning away with a sharp ‘tch’. “He’s… annoying but he can stay.”

Bepo perked up, ears straightening again. “R-Really?!”

“…Yes,” Law snapped, cheeks faintly pink. “Stop looking at me like that,” he grumbled, still not totally understanding why it had unsettled him like that, only that it felt familiar. 

You walked up to him and placed your hand on his head. “It felt familiar because Bepo looks at your adult version like this when he has messed up and it gets to you every single time.” You explained softly and Law looked up at you nose scrunching. 

“It wasn't the first time I felt something like this, when you called me arrogant prick I felt something……like this too.” Law confessed.

“Well it seems some of your memories are pushing through every now and then, don't fight them though and don't be afraid of them either, they're part of you, you tiny menace. They're part of what makes us care for you,” you whispered, heart fluttering a bit.  

Later on Shachi and Penguin were laughing their asses off because they successfully scared Hakugan and Clione into believing their cabin was haunted. You sighed and tiny Law watched from your side, unimpressed and with a face worse than every eye roll. “…Idiots,” he muttered.

And while you convinced Clione and Hakugan that Shachi and Penguin were just messing with them, the two latter high-fived and laughed harder, Penguin even nearly tripped and something inside Law made click again. You saw it the moment you turned back to him. It was like a flash of warmth was hitting him, like he saw the noise but knew it wasn't threatening it was annpoing him but at the same time made him feel a sense of belonging. His grip tightened on your sleeve. “…They’re loud,” he said.

“But?” you prompted, sensing there was more to it.

“…They’re annoying but efficient and it's good they're here” he admitted grudgingly.

“Wow. High praise,” you grinned, nudging his shoulder gently.

“…Don’t tell them,” he scowled and you smiled and zipped your lips shut with a wink. 

That evening when the Polar Tang had surfaced you were on the deck, leaning your arms on the railing inhaling the scent of the sea air as the sun dipped low. The light caught you just right, warm and gold, wind teasing your hair. Tiny Law, never far from you, stopped dead in his tracks as he saw you. He stared at you with wide eyes, something deep inside him seemed to recognize that image, he didn't know how or why but looking at you in that moment felt like home.

“…You look stupid,” he muttered, because that was his default defense mechanism.

“Okaaaay. Well thank you, definitely not rude of you but fine,” you laughed. “Really charming Captain.”

“…Stay like that,” he added quickly. “I mean—don’t move. It’s strategic.”

You paused and tilted your head softly. One moment he told you you looked stupid the next he told you to stay like this. It was confusing but at the same time a bit sweet. “For what?” you asked raising an eyebrow, glancing at him.

He pursed his lips for a moment and you could see the gears in his head turn. “…For morale.”

“Morale? Well if it's for morale I guess I have to follow your orders, Captain” you teased and then felt him shift closer, leaning into your side.

When Penguin tried to tap your shoulder a moment later Law snapped at him “DON’T.”  

“Noted.” Penguin said, retreating with both hands raised.

Law didn't even look at him. He was too busy staring at the horizon and stealing glances at you, fingers curled in your clothes, expression tight like he was holding onto something he didn't want to lose, something that he didn't yet remember had already been his once. But at the same time, somehow he seemed to know.  

After that moment though Law's clinginess reached an unmanageable level because he followed you everywhere. Like a tiny, adorable shadow, one hand permanently clutching either yours or the hem of your shirt. You walked into the med bay, he was there. Deck? there. Galley? There. Bathroom? Luckily not in there but he waited outside the door like a tiny judgemental gargoyle.

“I am not following you,” he insisted when you pointed it out once. “I am monitoring your vitals.”

“Wow,” you deadpanned. “My own personal haunted Fitbit. I'm really lucky,” you laughed and softly nudged his cheek.

“You’re under constant threat,” he mumbled, trying to justify his actions.

You tried not to laugh, because he was being so damn serious while trying to hide how much he just enjoyed being close to you. Seriously that was so Law. “From who?” you asked playing along.

“…Everyone,” he clarified and you just shook your head smirking. The crew, of course, had noticed and they were having the time of their lives and you were sure that they were taking notes to make sure to rub it into Law's face once he was his adult self again. Once again you didn't mind tiny Law and his clinginess, well maybe a little bit, but you started to miss the adult version. 

During another supply run at a different island the docks were too crowded once again and it was even for your own liking a bit too overwhelming and loud. So you did the only logical thing. You picked him up and plopped him right onto your shoulders. 

“HEY—!” he yelled while his tiny hands immediately grabbed your hair for balance and were surprisingly gentle. “I did not approve this transport method—!”

“You were about to headbutt a fish merchant,” you replied calmly. “This is for public safety.”

He grumbled but stayed there, clinging to you, even resting his chin on top of your head like a very angry, very possessive backpack.

You walked past the crew and Shachi squinted before his eyes widened and then he lost it. “LOOK AT THEM,” he stage-whispered to Penguin. “CAPTAIN IS LIKE AN ANGRY KOALA.”

“(Y/N), when’s the wedding?!” Penguin gasped dramatically while choking on a laugh.

“As soon as I find a ring small enough for his ego!” You said not missing a beat.

You felt Law's grip tighten on your hair, not painful just firm. “I CAN HEAR YOU,” Law yelled down, scowling.

“Good,” you shouted back. “Internalize the shame.”

“I HAVE NO SHAME,” he protested.

“Then why are your cheeks so pink?” You asked with a knowing smirk, making him pout a bit and mumble something about being not taken seriously.

You stopped at a vendor stall and Law tightened his grip on your hair even further. “Oh great here we go again” you thought, you had not forgotten the last encounters during which Law scared off the vendors. 

“Don’t talk to them,” he muttered.

You sighed. “Law, I’m literally just buying fruit,” you said.

He squinted his eyes at the stall, the vendors and the apples there. “They’re suspicious.”

“Who the apples?” you asked with a sighed, rolling your eyes.

“They could be assassins,” he muttered, eyeing everything warily. 

Inwardly you were laughing really hard. You couldn't believe that Law was just serious about this “Law,” you started but he cut you off.

“…Assassins disguised as apples exist,” he countered and you froze for a moment. Shachi choked on laughter behind you and you took a deep breath not to let the laughter that was already bubbling up inside you break free.

When the vendor smiled at you, Law leaned forward from your shoulders like a tiny mafia boss. “She’s taken.”

The man blinked confused “Okay well that's good, I guess..... and by who?”

“Me,” Law exclaimed firmly, leaving no room for doubt.

“Buddy,” you laughed, “you’re six.”

“And armed,” he snapped.

“Emotionally.” You patted his leg and looked up slightly as your brain processed his words. “And I really hope you left the scalpels on the ship”

Later, back on the submarine, you all sat together for a small debrief about the supplies you had gathered, when Law suddenly climbed into your lap and the whole room went silent. Ikkaku looked like she was going to combust from cuteness, Bepo’s eyes were wide and Shachi and Penguin's jaws dropped before turning into a mischievous smile. 

“Looks like you're officially claimed (Y/N)” Jean Bart huffed though a small smile tugged at his lips.

“More like possessed” you laughed. “Or haunted, I'm still debating.”

Law shifted on your lap. “I am strategically positioned,” he chimed in.

“You’re literally holding her hand,” Penguin pointed out.

“…Stability support,” Law said stiffly, making you squeeze his hand.

“Medical necessity,” you added with a wink.

Later that evening, when the submarine was calm and the lights were low, Law sat beside you, shoulder pressed to your side. “…If I stop monitoring you,” he muttered, “something bad could happen.”

“Or,” you said gently, glancing at him, “you just feel safe near me.”

He scrunched his nose and furrowed his brow. “…That’s illogical.”

“Still true,” you said and he sighed. 

“…Don’t move,” he added anyways.

“I wasn’t planning to,” you smiled. And somewhere deep in that six-year-old brain, something old and familiar settled into place, a bond between you and him that had thrived and bloomed when he had been an adult. 

That night as you walked into your cabin you stopped mid-stride and smirked. Because right there, sitting dead center on your bed like he owned it, was tiny Law, methodically fluffing and repositioning his pillow with intense concentration. He even lined it up with military precision. “Care to tell me what you're doing?” You asked leaning against the doorframe.

He didn't even look up. “Optimizing sleeping conditions.”

“In my bed,” you blinked.

He patted the spot beside him once, decisively. “Yes.”

“That’s not an explanation.”

He finally looked at you, eyes narrowed like you were the one being unreasonable. “You thrash in your sleep,” he said. “Your breathing pattern changes when you’re stressed. If I’m not present, your vitals may destabilize.”

“You followed me to my bunk because of my vitals?” You snorted because that was such a Law excuse for 'I want to stay close to you but I'm too stubborn to admit it'.

He scrunched his nose a bit and then tilted his head. “Yes.”

“And the pillow?” you asked nodding towards where he had aligned it.

“Support,” he stated like it was totally logical.

“For who.”

“…Me,” he explained.

You pushed off the doorframe and stepped up to him, fighting a smile. “You realize you have your own bunk, right?”

“It’s inefficiently placed. Also I can hear Shachi snore through the walls,” he scowled.

You knew it was true, you remembered adult Law often coming to your bed because of it. “That’s not my problem,” you said crossing your arms.

“It is now,” he stated as a matter of fact and something tugged inside you.

You sat on the edge of the bed, deliberately and intentionally close. “So what—you’re just moving in?”

“I am not moving in,” he pouted, stiffly. Though it looked a lot like it.

“Could've fooled me,” you chuckled but then exhaled “then enlighten me please about what this is?” 

“I’m conducting an overnight observation,” he explained in his doctor voice and it was just too adorable considering he was only six.

“How long is this ‘observation’?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He studied you for a moment and then narrowed his eyes as if thinking thoroughly. “…Indefinite.”

There it was, the tiny moment that made it clear he was totally moving in. “Law,” you sighed dramatically, running a hand through your hair.

“…You said I shouldn’t be alone when my head's too loud or too quiet.” he said looking away and you froze, because that, that was something you had never said to tiny Law, but to adult Law you used to say that regularly. And it always led to him ending up in your bed. You looked at him and felt something pull at your heart, your expression softening, while he gripped his pillow tighter, jaw set like he was bracing for rejection he absolutely would not acknowledge.

You kicked off your boots, crawled into the bed and lay down. “Fine.”

His head snapped toward you, he was mid-protest when he realized that you hadn't rejected him. “Fine?” He asked surprised.

“Fine,” you repeated. “But you’re not hogging the blankets.”

“I don’t hog,” he grumbled.

You smiled because you knew that, just like adult Law, he would definitely end up hogging all the blankets throughout the night. “You absolutely do.”

“That’s a rumor,” he protested, puffing his cheeks out. 

You laughed and reached over, tugging your pillow closer to him. “Yes you do, come on now, time to rest. I'm gonna rub it in your face tomorrow after you wake up with all the blankets,” you teased. 

He hesitated for precisely one second before he settled beside you, stiff as a plank, clearly pretending this was purely logistical and for medicinal purpose. “…If you tell anyone,” he muttered, “I will deny this ever happened.”

“I know,” you grinned at the ceiling, “they already know though,” you added. “They always know.”

A moment passed and you felt him relax and get comfortable. It was weird to have tiny Law next to you where usually the adult version would be. “…Your bed smells familiar,” he suddenly mumbled. 

You smirked, a tiny bit glad he said that even if it was not what you expected but it told you that he at least remembered more and more parts of his adult self. “…That’s a weird thing to say but I guess not entirely wrong.”

“…It’s reassuring,” he added quickly. “Not weird.” He inched closer, not enough to admit that he was doing this, just enough that his shoulder pressed into your arm. “…Don’t move,” he murmured.

“Monitoring my vitals again?” you asked smiling.

“…Yes.” His fingers curled into your sleeve, for medicinal purpose of course. You looked down at him and your gaze softened before leaning your head down to rest against his.

During the night he seemingly had a nightmare. No yelling, no trashing, nothing grand but you heard the sharp intake of breath, followed by another and another, it came too fast and too shallow and you knew that sounds just too well. Law’s small shoulders were tight, drawn up like he was bracing for impact. His fingers clawed into the blanket, knuckles white, breath hitching in short, uneven bursts. 

You immediately turned onto your side, feeling his body already stiffen. You pulled him closer till his back fitted into your chest. Until the space between you both disappeared. You slid an arm around him, firm and steady, hand resting over his middle, not trapping, not restraining, just there.

Your body seemed to already know what to do. Adult Law’s nightmares were different, heavier of course. He’d wake rigid and cold, jaw clenched, breath shallow like he was still bracing for pain that never came. You could never pull him fully into you then, he was too tall for that, but you’d hold him anyway. A hand on his back. Fingers interlaced with his. Your forehead pressed to his shoulder while you whispered him back into the present. Sometimes he’d let you nuzzle into his side. Other times he’d lean into you, rest his head on your stomach or snuggle into the crook of you neck until the shaking stopped. He never talked about them but he never had to. 

So when tiny Law pressed into your chest, instinctively seeking the same anchor, it didn't surprise you, it just hurt a little because the shape was different, even though the fear was the same. Your chest ached, it pained you every time to see him so vulnerable. You didn't want to wake him fully and startle him even more so you tucked his head gently beneath your chin, his hair tickling your neck softly.

“…No,” he whispered, barely audible. “Don’t—”

At first, he kept trashing and mumbling, his body tense but then instinct took over. His breathing stuttered before it started to slow down again. You felt the exact moment his body registered safety as you felt the tension draining out of his shoulders, the sharp edge of fear dulled as your heartbeat pressed warm and steady against him.

“It’s okay. I’ve got you,” you murmured softly, barely more than air while kissing the top of his head.

He made a small sound, not quite a word but something close to it. His hands relaxed, one drifting to grip your sleeve like he did when he was overwhelmed, fingers curling tight. “…You stayed,” he mumbled, half-asleep.

“Of course. I’m here, I'll always be” you answered immediately. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“…Good,” he whispered groggily.

Your arm tightened just a little in a protective way. Your thumb traced small, absentminded circles, something you used to do without realizing it, something that always worked. His breathing evened out the same way it always did, like some part of him recognized this even if his mind didn’t fully yet.

By the time sleep took him again, his grip on your sleeve was firm but calm, no panic left in it, just certainty. And as you lay there in the dark, holding the smaller, more vulnerable version of the man you loved you realized something quietly devastating. Even without his memories, even without completely knowing why, he still knew where home was.

His back was warm against your chest, small, fragile and so different yet also so familiar. He exhaled, long and slow and more importantly safe. “…You always do this,” he mumbled and you almost didn't hear it.

“Do what?” you asked quietly, your heart stuttering.

“…Stay.”

You closed your eyes, a small smile on your lips. “Yeah,” you breathed. “I do.”

He shifted just a little, fitting closer, trusting the space you made for him without hesitation. And you realized, softly and painfully, that nothing had changed where it mattered because Law instinctively knew where his anchor was. It was the same unspoken truth, that whenever the darkness settled in, you were where Law found the light again.

The rest of the night passed peacefully and the morning sun was warm, but the weight next to you was warmer. The light, fidgety presence of the six-year-old was gone. In his place was a solid, heavy expanse of muscle and heat that pinned you firmly to the mattress. You didn't need to open your eyes to know that the ‘tiny menace’ had outgrown his clothes overnight.

You felt a large, calloused hand slide from your arm to your waist, pulling you flush against a chest that was now broad and covered in familiar ink.

“Law?” you breathed, looking at the man holding you.

He shifted, a low, gravelly groan vibrating against your skin, a sound far too deep to belong to a child. He didn't pull away. Instead, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his breath hitching as he inhaled the scent he had called ‘reassuring’ only hours before.

“I remember everything,” he finally muttered, his voice a dark, velvety rasp. “The bear pajamas. The fruit murder. The 'assassin apples'. I remember you holding my hand in the crowd because you didn't want to lose me.”

He pulled back just enough to look at you. His eyes were now burning with an intensity that made your breath catch. The walls he usually kept between you, the sarcasm, the professional distance, the secret moments between you two, had been dismantled by his own childhood vulnerability. For a long time, the two of you had played a game of ‘almosts’ and ‘sort-ofs,’ never quite labeling the bond that kept you tethered to one another.

“You said I wasn't alone ,” he whispered, his thumb tracing your jawline. “You stayed when my head was too loud. I’ve spent years pretending I didn't need that. I'm done pretending.”

He leaned in, kissing you with a desperate, lingering heat that served as his official signature on the ‘thing’ you had both been too stubborn to name.

After a long moment, he pulled back, a familiar, wicked smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth, the one that usually meant trouble for the rest of the world, but was making your heart flutter. “However,” he added, his eyes dancing with a playful glint you hadn't seen in years. “We have a bit of a legal issue to settle.” 

You raised an eyebrow looking a bit confused at him, not sure what he was referring to. “Oh?” you laughed, leaning into his touch. “And what's that, Captain?”

“You put the Surgeon of Death in a timeout chair ,” he rumbled, his grip tightening possessively as he flipped you beneath him, his tall frame looming over you with a predatory sort of affection. “Twice. It was, as I recall, 'humiliation'.”

“Okay it was not humiliation, you were being a tyrant! A cute one though” you countered, grinning.

“I was 'establishing boundaries',” he corrected, his nose brushing against yours. “And now that I'm back to my full height, I think the 'Captain-sitter' is the one who needs to be confined. I’m thinking of an indefinite sentence right here in this bed. Resistance is useless.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him down for another kiss. “I think I can live with that sentence.”

“Good,” he murmured against your lips, his heart beating a steady, rhythmic promise against yours. “Because I’m never letting go.”

You felt your stomach flip in the best way and smiled warmly and genuinely at him, so happy to have him back. “Neither am I. I really loved your tiny version but I think this one, this scary, grumpy and broody version of you with the more imposingly scowl fits a bit better for me,” you purred, lips brushing his in an almost kiss again. “I'm glad to have you back Law,” you added softer now.

“I'm glad to be back, even though you handled my smaller self really good but I missed doing this” he said and kissed you again, deeply and full of love.

“I love you,” you mumbled into the kiss and you felt the tug at his lips.

“Love you too, Captain-sitter,” he teased and held you close both of you realizing how much you needed each other and clearly not letting go of each other.

Oppressive quiet follows the claiming ceremony. Your skin still smarts where they marked you with his brand. You trail his silhouette through halls adorned with gold and into a room filled with flowers resplendent, a sumptuous indoor garden with arched windows and butterflies flitting on perfumed air. There you kneel piously on the soft grass while sunset colors crowd the panes. The sun itself longs to touch Imu’s robes and limn his form with light, just to taste a fraction of his majesty.

You, meanwhile, don’t dare look at him. You just kneel. Waiting. Waiting to be acknowledged, commanded...or, perhaps, condemned.

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

The King of the World doesn’t look at you, either. He probably did so during the ceremony. You wouldn’t know; you kept your gaze on the floor, the vague impression of piercing eyes and curving lips all you dared glean from furtive glances and stolen peeks at the King. You keep your eyes on the grass now, though you see through your lashes the way Imu extends a hand to tempt a butterfly onto his fingertip. These creatures, too, crave the touch of an anointed being.

Held aloft on a fingertip, the captivated creature’s wings flap on silent winds. You swear you can hear them rustle in the hush. They keep time with your frantic heartbeat, pulse throbbing in your chest as Imu’s robe hisses across the grass.

“Amuse me.”

He speaks like a falling blade, all sharp finality and blunt precision forged on the anvil of divine right. He has settled onto a seat (a throne, perhaps, though you don’t quite dare look up to see for certain) and reclined there, legs spread, to look at you. His eyes sting as fiercely as the brand on your skin. You know what he sees: someone finely dressed and afraid, branded and bound, knees pressing into soft soil until their clothes grow damp. There is an expectant quality to his silence. He punctuates it by drumming fingertips upon his thigh. A staccato reminder of what’s expected of you — of what’s required in the scant few hours he’ll grant you before dawn condemns you to death.

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

But you don’t crawl to him on hands and knees as the maids suggested, pleaded, you should. You do not bare yourself to him, or offer pleasure, or plead for your life. Instead, slowly, you work your tongue free from fear and swallow, and you find your voice amid the garden’s oppressive quite.

You say: “May I tell you a story?”

It’s a gamble, a bet, and the prize on the line is your life. But you are damned either way, and thus you choose to roll the dice. Perhaps you are the first to try, because when Imu’s head tilts beneath the shadow of his robe, you swear the motion seems…curious. Like he bears witness to some amusing novelty and not a person’s final, desperate plea for mercy.

He says nothing for a time. You try not to squirm under his stare. You try not to think about your clothes, because they are getting dirty as you kneel, and they are the finest you have ever worn, and they are to be your funerary shroud because he kills his offerings come morning —

Imu shifts upon his throne.

“Go on,” he demands of you.

You begin to speak.

The sun meets the horizon as you recount a tale you know by heart. A long one. The story is famous where you come from. Everyone knows it. You hope Imu does not. You hope the King of the World in his palace in the clouds has not deigned to stoop so low as to hear tall tales from the distant, humble place you call home. He is a god. Stories are for mortals. And when he makes no move to interrupt your yarn, a flare of hope inside your chest ignites.

The Room of Flowers falls into darkness as the sun disappears below the horizon line, but your words illuminate sights unseen, weaving narrative from nothing but the butterfly wing-faint flutter of impossible hope igniting in your heart. Your lips dry. Your throat cracks. Your tongue grows impossibly heavy. But you continue even when you can no longer see the butterflies or flowers and only Imu’s crimson eyes shine in the dark. You don’t dare stop. You do not dare implore him for water or a moment to rest your voice, because to continue is to live, and to stop is to die.

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

Amuse me, Imu had said.

You aren’t sure what will amuse him more: the story you tell, or the way your hands shake as you tell it.

It doesn’t matter either way. You just keep talking.

Even when your voice breaks, you keep talking.

Even when your kneel-numb legs send you slumping sideways, you keep talking.

Even when words rasp in a throat gone dry and sleep claws at your stinging eyes and the brand on your skin sings with vicious pain, you keep talking, talking, talking —

You’re still talking by the time the sun peeks through the windows on the other side of the Room of Flowers. Imu, meanwhile, hasn’t said a word. You talked through the night and he listened all the while in dread-tinged silence. He’s silent now, too, as butterflies wake under the fingers of dawn and stir against night-dark leaves. He doesn’t move as your hoarse voice nears the climax of your tale — the moment you’ve been building toward for hours and hours of desperate articulation. But the King of the World appears unmoved. Unbothered. Not on the edge of his seat, but rather slumped in it, sinking low upon the cushions as though at rest.

Has he heard a single word?

Has the King of the World fallen asleep?

When he rouses from his slumber, will your time at last be up?

Your eyes burn almost as terribly as your throat when you clear it, but Imu does not stir.

Slowly, carefully, you raise your eyes to him — only to find him watching you.

Red eyes. Full lips. Horns curving skyward in elegant sweeps of bone. Skin like dusk, gleaming and smooth. He watches you deliberately, silently, expressionlessly. And you are so transfixed by those crimson eyes that you cease to speak for the first time in hours, shocked to silence by the beauty of the tyrant who holds your life in his ordained palms.

Imu asks in his voice of silken violence: “Why didst thou stop?”

He sounds curious. Perhaps amused? You can’t quite parse his tone. But the words break the spell he holds on you, and your eyes drop to the grass again. They're safer there, you think. And you think quite hard about what to say next, because your answer —

They say he kills his offerings come morning.

“It is late,” you eventually confess, because you must say something and you do not think it wise to keep the King of the World waiting long. “It is late — or rather, it is early.”

The rising sun paints the Room of Flowers in the colors of gilded slaughter. Fingers tap his thigh again, impatient.

“But the story is not yet over,” Imu says.

“No. But...” You swallow thickly. “I am tired.”

It’s a plea for mercy. A request, most humble, for a reprieve. Now is the best time for one, should Imu deign to grant it. The gods of storytelling have blessed you, for your pause came at the perfect moment in the narrative, events poised just on the cusp of the story’s thrilling climax. If you are to stop, now is the moment that will keep the king wanting more. It is the moment that will spare you a day you never thought you’d see, and grant you a sun whose rise you did not expect to witness.

The sun is rising even now, and you are still alive.

Not that that means anything. If Imu commands it of you, you will have to keep speaking. You will have to finish your story. You will have to end your tale, and thus, your life. You talked through the night and exhaustion pulls at you with every breath, but he is the King of the World. He is a god, and you are in his house. What a god wants, a god gets, no matter which deity of story blessed you with their favor when his back was turned.

And so you bow your head, and you wait for Imu’s whim.

“Raise thine eyes to Mu.”

It is the last thing you expect him to say — but you obey. You are helpless to do anything but obey. You look at him, and he looks at you, because he willed it. He stares at you. Watches you. Picks you apart in ways you do not understand, because he is unto a god, and it is not your place to understand gods who walk among men. Your entire body prickles when his head tips to the side, just so. You knew what he saw when he looked at you during the ceremony, but now…

Now, you are not so sure.

But whatever he sees is, somehow, enough.

“Tomorrow night, then,” he tells you.

In three simple words, he has granted you your life...at least for one more sunrise.

Only barely have you realized that he has spared you when he rises from his throne. You sag, hands clammy in the green grass, butterflies in your hair. Finally you remember to breathe as his shadow falls across your face.

Imu says: “Do not disappoint Mu, Offering.”

You nod.

It is a promise, and it is all you can do.

But this, too, is enough for the King of the World. As the whisper of his cloak crosses the Room of Flowers, you repeat the promise you made to Imu — but you do not swear that vow to him. No, instead you vow to yourself that you will not disappoint him. You vow to yourself that you will be enough. You vow to you, and you alone, that you will live to see another sunrise.

You are not the first offering to be bound to Imu.

But, you think as the butterflies halo your bowing head, you might just be the last.

Because against all odds, he had not killed his offering come morning.

i'll cross-post to AO3; go leave me a kudo! link here!

note: IDK if imu has his horns unless he’s using his Devil Fruit so this might not be canon to his usual appearance but IDGAF, i like his horns so here we are...also do we want a follow-up? do we??? ALSO THIS IS MY FIRST TIME WRITING IN SECOND PERSON USING “YOU” FOR THE READER AND I’M SO NERVOUS ABOUT ITTTT but it was fun so once more idgaf <3 ("◡‿◡✿)"

EDIT: Chapter 2 happened. Read it here. Chapter 3 is also up!

SERIES MASTERLIST

Mess halls had a tendency to live up to the name associated with them. When someone is trapped in a strict regime, they'll take every opportunity they can to relax and let loose, so of course it’s going to get messy.

It's an opportunity to sit down and enjoy a meal with your brothers in arms without the usual tension found on missions. Everyone can speak freely and laugh together while talking about whatever comes to mind regardless of how unimportant it may be. 

You've seen many a mess hall in your day. While most of your life has been spent at the Marineford base, you've bounced around to several other bases for various missions and training opportunities. There were some differences here and there, but the base layouts were standardized so as to minimize confusion in an emergency. It would be inconvenient if a new unit was present for an attack but had to stop and ask where everything was. 

Kitchens were always in a protected, centralized location. Food was as important as weaponry to a soldier. You can't put up a fight on an empty stomach, after all, so it makes sense to have such precious fuel protected. 

Meals were still a structured part of the day. They were generally half an hour in length, though that could vary based on how much activity a base saw. You've heard rumors that the G-8 base gets to have full hour meal breaks, but you’ve never been there to verify that in person. Though you suppose it would make sense. It's not like they have to deal with much of anything with how impenetrable that fortress is.

There was a certain kind of comfort that came from being in a mess hall. Even when you were stationed at Marineford, you took all of your meals there with everyone else despite having an admittedly very nice house to retreat back to. Akainu made for dreadful company. The meals would either be in absolute silence, or he would interrogate you on upcoming missions and your recent performance. 

On the other hand, work talk was taboo when you were eating with everyone else in the dining hall. Anyone who tried to discuss such things would be booed into silence. Exaggerated stories of harrowing fights, sea king sightings, or simply just embarrassing stories of the other people in their platoons dominated the conversation.

It was something you looked forward to. While you never really weighed in much, just being there and listening to the tall tales made you feel normal. Like you were one of them and not some worn down child soldier. 

Now you were confronted with a familiar yet all too different scene. The dining area of the Moby Dick was massive, making it much more reminiscent of the kinds of mess halls you find in bases rather than ships. Which made sense given the sheer size of this vessel, you suppose. 

Unlike what you would see on bases where they were all separated, the tables here were all pushed together to give the appearance of one massive table. Like this was one big family meal. At least this is what you believe family meals look like based on what your comrades have said. You wouldn’t know personally. Akainu never spoke of his family, and he would shut down any attempt you made to ask about them. You don't know anything about your mother much less what her family looks like, so you've obviously never shared a meal with any of them. 

This was your third day as a hostage, or whatever you were supposed to be, but this was your first time eating with the crew as a whole. Up until now, you were taking your meals in the infirmary or the nurses quarters. The offer to join everyone else had been on the table, but you had declined. They didn't let you do that today. 

Haruta, seemingly under the impression that you were buddies now, hooked his arm around yours and dragged you here against your will. Why did he do this? According to him, this was allegedly because “everyone wanted to see you”, to which you call bullshit. That's just preposterous. 

… Although everyone did appear to be continuing their odd fixation on you. Some had even cheered at Haruta’s success in bullying you into coming here, for whatever reason. Whitebeard hadn't cheered, but he did openly state that it was nice to see you “getting along” with everyone. You most certainly were not. He must have cataracts in his old age. 

Presently, you were sandwiched between your assailant Haruta, and Fire Fist Ace. The chairs were all so close together that you were shoulder to shoulder with both of them. Every dramatic flourish of Haruta's arms as he spoke jostled you, as did the ravenous- downright uncivilized- way Ace was shoveling food down his gullet. Was this extreme intermittent fasting? Was the mountain of food on his plate supposed to tide him over until next week? 

Granted, the amount of food on your plate was hardly minute by comparison. You had initially only taken small amounts as the kitchen division was going around with massive serving platters, but every single time, without fail, they would insist that you needed more than that, and forcibly served you more as if you were some poor starved creature they were trying to fatten up.

Now you have always had what most would consider an impressive appetite. It wasn't something you ever really put much thought into. You are in a labor intensive field, it makes sense that your body would require more calories than the average person. But you haven't exactly been doing much these past few days. Nothing that you did to help the medical staff was particularly taxing, and you only sparred with Haruta for a few minutes yesterday. Your body doesn't really have an excuse to be all that hungry at this point, yet you find yourself packing away the food on your plate regardless of that fact. Is this what stress eating looks like? It’s a plausible explanation.

As much as you hate to give a pirate a compliment, these people can cook. You were no stranger to quality food. Due to the status of the people stationed at Marineford, only the best applicants were hired to man the kitchens. The meals there were of an extremely high standard for a militant operation. Admirals in particular had their meals personally prepared, a perk that you had access to due to your paternity, though you seldom took advantage of it. To do so, you would have to take your meals with Akainu. 

Eating in the cafeteria with your unit was infinitely more appealing. 

And that's what the food heaped onto your plate reminded you of. Hearty and calorically dense. A filling meal to keep you energized until the next one. It was also delicious. Possibly more so than what you could find at the base. Everything was seasoned and cooked to perfection. You never considered that a pirate crew might have a higher budget allotted to its kitchen than a Marine base, but that seemed to be the only reasonable explanation.

A thud next to you pulls you from your thoughts. You don't even need to look to identify the source. With how close you all are, of course you felt it when Ace slumped forward face first into his plate. Again. 

The first time it happened, you thought he had just up and dropped dead right next to you. For a brief moment, panic coursed through your veins because surely a pirate dying right next to you would lead to you being blamed for it. You hadn't done anything to him, but who would believe that story?

Before you could consider booking it out of there, Ace sprang back up and continued eating as if nothing had happened. A few of the people seated around you noticed your blatant confusion and filled you in on the unique quirk of his. They told you that it happened whenever he ate, and that it happened a lot. 

Which appeared to be true. This was, what? The fifth time he's passed out? All during the first meal of the day. You watch Ace out of the corner of your eye as he snores loudly into a pile of hashbrowns. People are afraid of this man. You were once afraid of him. It all feels ridiculous now. The man can't even fend off sleep long enough to finish a meal, yet he's been nothing short of a fiery terror to the Marines. It's embarrassing, frankly. 

Whatever. It's no skin off your back. You shake your head and close your eyes to try and block out your surroundings. The visual component, more specifically. 

If you just focused on the words and not the people saying them… it was almost like being with your unit. 

Faceless conversations came at you from all angles. Someone was boasting about killing a sea king. Memories of Sven telling the story of how he got the scars on his face for the thousandth time resurface. Everyone at the table would groan and tell him to tell something different for once, but that was never enough to stop him. He'd just embellish the tale of being attacked by a juvenile sea king to make it even more exciting this time around. 

Sven was at the head of the table with his knees higher than the surface of it. The dining furniture was very clearly not built with his height in mind. As soon as there is a lull in the conversation, he crosses his arms with a smirk on his face, “You know, that reminds me of something that happened in my youth.” 

Exasperated groans ring out from almost every person at the table and bunched up napkins are thrown at Sven. A marine named Tafton shouts from the other end, “Don't even start with that shit again! I'm going to go insane if I hear that damned story one more time!”

At the other end of the table sat a mirror image to Sven in the form of his twin, Sten. They were identical, with only the facial scars on Sven to differentiate them. “At least you all have only been subjected to it recently. I've been forced to endure it ever since it happened when we were kids.”

Sten's eyes narrow at his brother, “And what do you mean “your youth”? We're twenty! You barely even have a beard!”

Chuckles and lighthearted jeers are made at Sven's expense, but he shows no sign of acknowledgement toward that fact. His grin broadens, and he continues, “All I'm saying is that this really takes me back to when I was a kid. To when I got these.” He runs a hand down his face for emphasis. 

“Yeah, yeah. Fishing trip, sea king, teeth, we know the story!” Nesca waves her hand dismissively, “At this point I think everyone here can recite that tall tale of yours from memory.”

The newest addition to your unit, Ensign Roland, quietly interjects, “I-I don't know this story…”

Sven slaps his hands down on the table in excitement, easily launching everyone's lunch trays into the air, “How could I forget? Let me tell you all about it!”

The marines around Roland playfully shove and kick him. “Now look what you've done! I really hope you like this story, because it's all you're ever going to hear out of that guy!”

Tafton locks eyes with yours and clasps his hands together in a pleading fashion, “(Y/N), can't you stop him?”

A wry smile graces your lips, and you shake your head, “I'm a captain, not a dictator. He can speak as he likes.”

Elbows lightly jab into your sides from your refusal to enact conversational authoritarianism, meanwhile Sven beams at being given the go ahead. 

“So there I was on the boat with my old man, nothing but an old pocket knife and my own wit to protect me…”

How funny. You find yourself replaying a story that everyone in your unit was desperate to get away from. They would all think you mad, and perhaps you are. It certainly feels like you've lost your mind given the recent series of events. 

In another group, you can make out someone talking about an embarrassing incident while the victim of said incident loudly protests. It's like Nesca is right there, telling everyone about how she scared the piss out of a new recruit last night. 

Nesca drops her tray onto the table and plops down next to Ensign Roland with a wicked grin on her face, “Roland, buddy! How are you?”

The new recruit squirms uncomfortably and avoids her gaze, “F-Fine…”

“Great to hear it!” She slings an arm over his shoulders, the action being strong enough to jostle his glasses and make them slide down his nose. “I just wanted to check in on you after what happened last night.”

Roland's face goes bright red. Everyone at the table picks up on it instantly. It's like blood in the water. In a vain attempt to save face and stop the inevitable, Roland hisses under his breath, “Shut up! Nothing happened!”

The peanut gallery is woefully unconvinced. Sten leans forward with a teasing smirk, “I thought I heard someone scream last night. It was you, huh?”

“N-N-No! I didn't scream!”

Nesca brings a hand to her chin. “Really? Because I could have sworn it was you at the end of that hall…” 

“W-Well what do you expect when you’re walking around in the middle of the night looking like-” Roland gestures vaguely at Nesca’s face, “like that!”

“Like what? You got a problem with my face?”

Roland pales and quickly tries to backtrack, “No! That came out wrong! I just- I meant-”

The frantic attempt is cut off when Nesca flicks his hat off and aggressively ruffles his hair, “I’m just pulling your leg, relax!”

Tafton rested his elbow on the table as he chimed in, “She got the drop on you when she was walking around at night with that dangly bit glowing, huh? She does that to everyone, it has to be on purpose. Don’t feel bad about it, it happens to the best of us.”

Nesca shoots him a smirk. “Of course you would say that since I’ve gotten you twice now.” 

“Stop bringing that up!”

A deep sigh escapes you. You missed them terribly. All of them. Part of you wonders if leaving was a mistake, but…

“Zehahaha!”

Every other noise ceases to exist when you hear that laugh. Your muscles all tense, and your head snaps in the direction of that wretched sound. You know that fucking laugh. Your eyes lock onto the monster that those accursed noises are coming from.

Marshall Teach. The demon who attacked your unit and-

“(Y/N)? Is something wrong?”

Haruta’s voice succeeds in making you stop your one sided staring competition with Teach. Your head snaps over to him so fast that it makes him flinch back. His hand starts to reach for you, then falls back in uncertainty.  “D-Did something happen? What’s with that look on your face?”

Your mood has completely soured. How could you forget that that thing is a member of this crew? And everyone here accepts him. He is the kind of person that everyone here chooses to break bread with. That makes everyone here no better than him. 

“I lost my appetite.” With that said, you stand up sharply and storm out of the dining room. Your hands, no, your whole body is shaking with a barely contained rage. You want to kill him. You want to rip his fucking head off and watch the life leave his already soulless eyes.

… But what were you supposed to do? How could you kill him now when you’re unable to use your powers and weak from sea stone? You need to leave before you do something stupid.

By the time you make it out to the deck, your heart is hammering in your chest as if you were in the middle of a battlefield. Maybe you are, in a sense. This is enemy territory if nothing else. You pace back and forth, chest heaving as your breathing becomes increasingly erratic. 

“Captain! We need reinforcements! Pirates are attacking, and we have casualties!” Tafton’s voice comes through your transponder snail sounding more terrified than you’d ever heard before. “He’s attacking us on the ship! Hurry!”

Gunshots and clashing swords can be heard in the background before the line goes dead. Sven and Nesca start to run in the direction of the battle, but you immediately transform and take off at your top speed to get there as fast as possible. You don’t care that you’re flying into a high risk situation alone, all that you care about is getting to your unit as quickly as possible. 

How could this be happening? They were just supposed to stay on the ship to guard the cargo while you three went to get supplies for the last part of the journey. Your unit shouldn’t have been in any danger.

Please be okay. Please let everyone still be alive when you get there.

Your knees buckle, and you find yourself having to catch yourself on a nearby wall to keep from falling on your face. You sink down to a sitting position as your fingers thread through, then pull on your hair. You pull and pull until it starts to hurt, but it does nothing to distract you from the viscera in your memories. It never does. It doesn’t help, nothing ever fucking helps! You can still see, hear, smell everything from that day!

“Never thought I’d see your mug around here.”

All of the awful noise in your head comes to an abrupt halt. You slowly turn your head until you can see the thing that is speaking to you.

Teach is standing over you, blocking out the sun and encompassing you in his shadow. You can’t see his face clearly, but you could hear the smile in his voice. Of course that sick fuck is grinning over what he did. He’s proud of it, and now he has the audacity to approach you.

Despite the tremors going through your body, you force yourself to stand and take several steps back. Your words come out in what could be compared to a snarl, “Don’t fucking talk to me!”

“Whoa, whoa! Calm down, I’m just here to try and make amends since it seems like we’re going to be seeing a lot of each other from here on out.” Teach rests his arm against the wall and leans down toward you, his eyes twinkling with amusement at your predicament. 

Those words leave you speechless, but only for a moment. Then you’re irate again. “Make amends?! Have you lost your goddamned mind?! Why would I ever want to make amends with a piece of shit like you?!”

His eye twitches ever so slightly, and you catch his hands clenching into fists. “Come on, I’m just trying to be the bigger person here. You tried to kill me, so I think I’m being pretty nice by trying to move past that.”

“I tried to kill you because you murdered my men!”

“They attacked me first. I was only defending myself.”

Self defense your ass. “Bullshit! I don’t give a shit even if it was! They didn’t deserve to die! They had families, people who loved and mourned them!”

The smile he had been sporting tightened into a sneer, and the look in his eyes hardened. “Oh? A marine that cares about lives being lost? That’s a good one.”

Mother fu-

“Hey. That’s enough, Teach.”

Marco calmly walks into the conflict, his face neutral. He comes to a halt once he’s between you two and faces Teach, leaving his back to you.

In the time that it took him to get here, Teach had reverted his expression to a more unassuming one. His smile and posture both now considerably more relaxed than they had been when it was just you two. He chuckles and lifts his hand to rub at the back of his neck, “Sorry, sorry. I was just trying to smooth things over with the kid, but I guess I wasn’t doing a very good job of it, huh?”

“Now probably isn’t the best time for that.” Marco looks over his shoulder at you, then back to him. “They’ve got a lot on their plate. Maybe just give them some space for the time being.”

“Yeah, you’re right. Sorry about all that, kid.” Teach waves at you casually, as if he had merely spilt a drink on you, then promptly wanders off.

As soon as he’s out of sight, you slump against the wall again. You hadn’t even realized how much tension was in your body until it left. There’s a pit in your stomach, one so heavy with guilt that it weighs you down both emotionally and physically. You slide down the wall until you’re sitting again, then bring your knees to your chest so you can hide your face in them. 

No one should see you when you’re in such a pathetic state. This is disgraceful. You should be chasing that monster down and ripping his throat out, but instead you’re cowering like a child.

“I didn’t think you two knew each other.” Marco’s voice makes you tense up again, but you keep your head down. Maybe if you keep quiet, he’ll get bored and leave you alone.

Rather than that happening, you feel him sit down next to you. What the hell is he doing? You expect him to continue speaking since everyone on this god forsaken ship loves to yap incessantly, but he remains silent.

After a few minutes pass without a word, you lift your head up just enough to glance at him. You find him staring ahead at the sea instead of at you. His expression does nothing to communicate what’s going through his head. Why is he still here?

Having apparently stared too long, Marco takes notice of you. His head turns ever so slightly as he meets your eyes. You don’t look away, neither does he. There’s a beat of silence, and then he offers a smile, “The wind’s nice today. Perfect for flying, isn’t it?”

What is he getting at? Your eyes narrow, then drift over to the wrist sporting a sea stone cuff. You look back up at him with an unimpressed scowl, “Are you mocking me?”

“Flying always helps to clear my mind,” Marco reaches into his pocket and pulls out a familiar key. “Seems like you could use the chance to do the same.”

Is… Is he being serious?

The potential opportunity for freedom makes you balk. This can’t be real. Surely he isn’t actually offering to take the cuff off. Is this a joke? Some cruel trick to further worsen your mood?

Before you can voice any of these concerns, Marco shifts and reaches for your hand, stopping just short of actually touching you. “May I?”

“... Yeah.”

This feels like a trap… but if there’s even a chance that you can get that damned cuff off, then you’re going to have to take that risk. You hold out your wrist to Marco while watching him closely, waiting for him to either surprise you or prove your suspicions correct.

He gently takes hold of the cuff to keep it steady, then inserts the key.

Click.

It opens, then falls to the floor.

A rush of energy flows through you the instant the sea stone breaks its prolonged contact with you. At first, you just stare in shock, unable to believe that this is actually happening. You quickly get to your feet, eyes darting between the discarded cuff and Marco as your brain struggles to make sense of his actions.

Marco, on the other hand, maintains his nonchalant front. He moves to stand as well, but it’s not a hurried action. He moves slowly and stretches his limbs before focusing on you again with a raised brow, “Well? Are you going to fly or not?”

“You’re… going to let me?” Your fingers flex as you feel your devil fruit powers simmering just beneath the surface, ready to activate the second you will it. 

“Yeah, I’ve got no reason to lie to you.”

Without wasting another second, you shift into your full beast form and launch yourself high up in the air. You spin as you ascend to assess your surroundings. 

It’s a whole lot of nothing. Ocean as far as your heightened eyes can see. There’s no telling how far off the nearest populated island is. Your mind has been too clouded to bother with paying attention to where this ship was sailing. Sure, you could pick a direction and hope you find something, but not in your current state. You’ve been exposed to sea stone for three days now, and it’s going to take more than having it off of you for a few seconds to recover from that.

So that’s why Marco was okay with doing this. There’s nowhere for you to go.

Loud flaps of wings far larger than your own sound from behind you as the man of the hour joins you in the air. He’s also in his beast form, an admittedly stunning one. How annoying that someone as lowly as a pirate has such a prestigious devil fruit.

Marco coasts just behind you while you let the wind pull you along. It would seem that he was going to be accompanying you for this outing. Not surprising. Of course he doesn’t trust you not to do anything foolish if left unsupervised.

Whatever. At least he’s being quiet.

Rather than dwelling on the unwanted tagalong, you focus on what’s before you. Windy, salty air blows through your feathers as waves crash beneath you. This is the closest thing you’ve had to a peaceful moment since your abduction. Who knows how many more of these moments you have left…

Despite how pleasant this little excursion was, your lack of energy was hitting you hard and fast. You absolutely don’t want to return to the Moby Dick, but you need to find somewhere to land to catch your breath. Fortunately for you, there is an islet nearby for you to rest at.

Your wings turn as you bank left and begin your descent. Once you’re close enough, you revert to your half-beast form, then to your human form as soon as your feet make contact with the sand. The islet is very small, consisting of nothing but sand and a few rocks. It's maybe a few square meters big, leaving little room for much of anything.

Dull thuds come from behind you. Marco has joined you. Damn. And here you were hoping that he would settle for just circling above. You keep your back to him, hoping that he’ll take the hint that you don’t want to interact with him.

“Are you feeling alright?”

Irritation burns at your frayed nerves. Why does he have to be so damn nosey? You take a deep breath, knowing that he won’t drop it until you give him an answer. Your voice is tense and gruff when you speak, “I’m fine. Just tired after having that cuff on me for so long.”

“That’s understandable,” Marco takes steps forward until he’s by your side. “You should start to feel better after getting some sleep, but don’t hesitate to let me know if you’re still feeling rough tomorrow.”

All you do is let out a grunt of acknowledgement at the comment. You definitely aren’t going to clue him in on any weaknesses you may have.

Silence hangs in the air for a moment far too brief before it’s interrupted again.

“So how do you and Teach know each other?”

In an instant, your hands are balled into fists and your jaw tightens. You reply back through clenched teeth, “Drop it. I didn’t answer the first time you asked for a reason.”

If Marco took notice of your hostility, he didn’t let it impact him. You can feel him staring at you, but you refuse to meet his gaze. He lets out a sigh, presumably from your stubbornness, then continues, “He had a point, you know? If you two are going to be on the same ship, it might be a good idea to talk things out.”

“Talk things out?”

Before you can even think about it, you whip around and swing at him. Marco easily sidesteps the punch, but you don’t let that discourage you. You close the distance quickly and grab onto his shirt to keep him from dodging again. Your free hand comes at his head in a hook, but instead of trying to duck out of the way, he catches your fist.

Your chest is heaving, but not from exhaustion. You pull him closer, hands shaking. Your eyes bore into his own, and the lack of emotion on his face only serves to piss you off more. “How dare you?” There’s an infuriating crack in your voice that you’re praying he didn’t hear, “How fucking dare you say that to me!”

Instead of looking furious or scared by your outburst, Marco just looks… Resigned? You don’t recognize the face he’s making. He’s still holding back your fist with one hand; seemingly with very little effort. His other hand starts to raise up, prompting you to shove him away and jump back. Your arms raise up into a defensive stance to prepare for a counter attack.

But it doesn’t come. For the first time, Marco appears to be startled. He starts to reach out, then stops and puts his hands down by his sides, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you.”

What? Why the fuck is he apologizing? You attacked him first. He has every reason to retaliate. Marco’s head tilts to the side as he watches you closely. You hate how he’s looking at you like you’re some sort of scared animal.

“I shouldn’t have said that. I have no idea why you dislike him.” He lets the words hang in the air for a moment before continuing, “What happened? Please tell me so I don’t say something stupid again.”

“Like you don’t know… I bet all of you were in on it.” Your arms lower, but not completely.

“In on what?”

“Stop playing dumb!” You storm up to him again, getting right up in his face, “The attack on my unit! It was a damned massacre!” 

As soon as your ship came into view, your eyes locked onto the intruder. The large behemoth of a man was towering over everyone else while sporting a large club for a weapon and laughing maniacally. Without a second’s hesitation, you dive at him and shift into your half-beast form.

The pirate looks up just in time to jerk his body to the right. You can feel your talons slice into the side of his neck, and he hisses in pain in response. You land on the deck hard and whirl around to continue the assault, and that’s when you see everyone else.

Bodies are strewn across the deck, all unmoving. Your mind goes blank, and you instinctively stagger back in shock only to almost trip over something.

Not something, someone. You look down to see a body without a head. Well… the head is still there, but it’s been crushed into an unrecognizable paste. Your eyes are drawn to something on the body’s hand that’s reflecting light back at you. A wedding ring. You know that ring.

“Tafton?” No… No, you were just speaking to him a few seconds ago! He isn’t dead! He can’t be!

Heavy footsteps start running away from you. You look up to see the killer sprinting to get away from the consequences of his inhuman actions. You start to transform again, ready to give chase and avenge Tafton. 

But then you hear gurgling.

The noise stops you in your tracks. Who was that? Who’s still alive? Your head frantically whips around in an attempt to locate and identify the source.

Sten is lying flat on his back, body twitching as weak gurgles come out of him. You rush over and drop to your knees next to him, ready to do everything you can to save him but… the damage is so much worse than you imagined. His chest is caved in. Blood is seeping through his uniform, and more spurts out of his mouth with every labored breath he takes. What… What are you supposed to do?

His eyes have rolled back into his skull, leaving nothing but the whites visible. Not knowing what else to do, you take one of his hands into yours, “Sten! Stay with me! Please!” Using your other hand, you take out your transponder snail and scream into it for help.

“Don’t you dare die on me! You’re going to survive this!” You lean over Sten’s shuddering body as you force yourself to keep looking at the wound, hoping that you’ll somehow see something you can do to fix this. 

“Y-You have to live!” Your vision starts to blur, and something wet drips down your face. “You’ll finally have a story that can top Sven’s! You have to live so you can brag about it and give him some competition!”

His body goes still. The once trembling hand in your grasp becomes completely limp. There is no more gurgling.

All you can do is stare at his lifeless corpse. This can’t be real. Everyone was alive only a minute ago. This was just a transport mission. It wasn’t supposed to be dangerous.

Crying interrupts the moment. Your head snaps up to find a survivor amongst the carnage. Ensign Roland is sitting on the deck, surrounded by bodies and covered in blood. His hands are clutching a rifle as he rocks himself back and forth.

“I did nothing.” His voice is high pitched and comes out as a terrified whimper. “They all died, and I did nothing! I just watched it happen!” His voice crescendos until his words are coming out in raw screams, “I let them die!”

More footsteps are approaching, and for a moment you think that pirate had the nerve to come back. Your body tenses and prepares to fight again, but it’s not him. Nesca and Sven rush on board with their weapons drawn, only to freeze when they see everything.

Sven’s battle axe falls to the ground once his eyes land on Sten’s body. You want to say something. Anything. But all words die on your tongue. What could you possibly say that could make this better?

Everyone is dead, and it’s all your fault.

That day… That horrible day has haunted you ever since it happened. Those were your first casualties. That was your first real failure.

Marco’s shirt wrinkles in your grasp. When did you even grab it? You let out a shuddering breath and duck your head down when your eyes begin to sting. By the time you find your words, your voice has completely lost its commanding edge. You sound pathetic.

“Those people had families… They were just doing their jobs, and that piece of shit killed them for it.” The stinging in your eyes intensifies, prompting you to release Marco and move away from him. You hate it when people see you cry.

“I’m never going to “forgive” or “talk things out” with that thing. I hate him. I want him to pay for what he did.” You walk over to the other side of the islet, though that only gained you about ten feet of distance from Marco.

Deep breaths. You need to take deep breaths to reign yourself in. Getting emotional in front of the enemy won’t do you any good. You’ve already shown him far too much. It’s not like your story is going to move him. Pirates don’t care about innocent people dying.

“You’ve been through a lot, haven’t you?”

What? You slowly look over your shoulder at him, “Excuse me?”

“And at such a young age, too.” Marco takes steps forward until he’s right next to you, “That’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate? I was one of the lucky ones that survived. What do I have to complain about?” A tremor of disgust travels through your body at his words. How can he talk about that as if you were the victim? “My unit was just doing their job, and I failed them. I wasn’t there when they needed me most, and they were the ones who paid the ultimate price.”

“It sounds like you really cared about them… I can tell you were a good leader.”

“What?!” You recoil at the absurd statement. “A good leader wouldn’t have let their men die!”

“Do you really think that’s true?” Marco turns his head to study you. When you neglect to respond due to your blatant confusion over his question, he takes it as his cue to go on, “Do you really believe that people only die under poor leadership?”

“I… Yes? If you really knew what you were doing, then no one should have died.”

Marco huffs out a soft laugh and shakes his head, “You really are still just a kid.”

Just a kid? Indignation and rage spikes within you, and you’re about to try and attack him again when he continues.

“Even the best leaders have lost people under their care. Whitebeard has, and you surely don’t think you’re a stronger leader than him right?” You just stare at him. “Right, I guess you don’t want to be compared to a pirate, huh? Look at the Marines. All of the Admirals have been responsible for casualties. Sengoku has made calls that lead to people under his command dying. You aren’t a failed leader because of that. It’s just an unfortunate part of this life, isn’t it?”

“But… It was my fault. I should have been there.” Your voice came out so quietly that you aren’t even sure he heard you.

“Were you slacking off?”

“No! Of course I wasn’t! I left to pick up supplies for the trip back to base!”

“You can’t be everywhere at once. You said they were just doing their job, but so were you. It was reasonable for you to assume that your crew would be okay until you got back. No captain can forever be looming over their crew’s shoulders to protect them from every little thing.”

Your first instinct is to argue, to tell Marco that he’s wrong. He has to be wrong. There had to have been something you could have done differently. But nothing comes to mind. Your mind is blank.

Marco’s shoulders relax, and he smiles as he approaches you again and puts a hand on your shoulder. You don’t immediately slap it away. “How about we head back to the ship now before it gets too far away. I wouldn’t be against carrying you back, but I’m sure you would be.”

An annoyed scowl flits across your face, and you swat at his hand, “You try that, and I’ll rip out your throat.”

The threat does nothing to scare him and just makes him laugh, “I believe it!” His arms light up with blue flames as he starts to transform, prompting you to do the same. Just as you’re about to launch yourself into the air, he speaks up again.

“And (Y/N)?” You look over at him. “Thanks for opening up to me. I’m glad you could talk to me about that.”

Your feathers ruffle at the sentiment, and you scoff. “Shut the hell up. That was just a stupid slip up. Once I get my bearings back, it won’t happen again.” You take off before he can reply. 

—

Night had fallen, plunging the ship into complete darkness with nothing but the moon and stars to reflect off the sea.

You’re leaning against the railing and staring down at the barely illuminated waves. This is the first time that you’ve been alone for any significant length of time since being brought here. Your eyes drift down to your bare wrist.

Much to your surprise, Marco hadn’t put the cuff back on upon your return. At first, you thought it was surely a mistake on his part, but someone on his level wouldn’t have that kind of oversight. That left you with the question of why? What is his angle here? What is there to gain from leaving you free to fly away at the first opportunity? 

Like right now.

No one is watching you. What is stopping you from transforming and flying away? Nothing.

Well… maybe not nothing. There is something keeping you here. More specifically, someone. Your hands clench into fists as your thoughts drift to Marshall Teach. If you leave now, who knows how long it will be before someone else has an opportunity to end him. And there could be countless victims to his violent ways until that day.

No. You can’t leave. You owe it to everyone to stay until you take his head. You owe it to Tafton and the family he left behind. To Roland who deteriorated to a shell of his former self. To Sven for losing his twin brother. You will avenge them. 

You’re not leaving until that man is dead.

“(Y/N)? Oh, there you are!”

Your homicidal plans are interrupted by the familiar voice of Elise. You stiffen, then quickly force your face to relax into a casual expression before facing her. “Yeah? Did you need something?”

Elise lets out a sigh of relief and quickly sidles up to you, “Oh, no, not really. I was just worried when I couldn’t find you.” Her eyes focus on your face, trying to gauge how you’re feeling without prying too directly.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I just wanted to enjoy some fresh air before bed, that’s all.” And plot a murder, but that’s for only you to know. Everyone else will find out after it’s said and done.

Having concluded her reading of you, she smiles. “It looks like you’re feeling better now. I’m glad Marco was able to get through to you, even if only a little bit.”

The observation makes your eye twitch. “I think it has more to do with that stupid cuff finally coming off…”

She giggles at your blatant annoyance, “Sure, sure. That too, I suppose.” Her hand lands on your upper arm, and she gently guides you away from the railing. “Anyway, it’s getting late, you need to get some rest.”

You aren’t a child -despite what Marco thinks- you don’t need someone to enforce a bedtime for you. But you allow it. Elise means well, even if she does associate with pirates. Besides, if your new mission is going to be successful, you’re going to have to willingly associate with them as well.

Should be easy enough. If you could fake being a proud marine, pretending to be a reluctant pirate shouldn’t be that difficult.

It’s impossible to look at Zoro and keep the smile from your face; he looks much too much like the slumbering bear that he is.

Of course, he’s big and strong like one, but there’s endless size and strength on the Grand Line. There’s even plenty on your own crew. Something so simple couldn't capture the connection between your favored man and creature.

The way Zoro often communicates in grunts and grumbles made you notice first. The habit crops up whenever he’s decided that words aren't worth it. Which is often. The funny part is half the time he’s actually using words, he’s growling or roaring them too. 

Sure, he turns much more tiger in battle, made of speed and elegance and ferocity, but all the time between? The only word to describe the way he moves about the ship is “lumbering”. He lugs his weight around with a lazy air as if the muscles making up his bulk are too tired to control it with finesse. Maybe “too sleepy” is a better way to put it.

Eyeing him head to toe, you decide you’d be sleepy too if you had to feed and maintain a body like that. You’d take any moment you could to rest and recover and find some comfort between all the violence. It warms your heart to see him doing so, sunken into the trusty cushions of the crow's nest couch. 

Seeing his soft face remninds you also, of course, of the contrast between how sweet and fluffy bears look and how terrifying they are when provoked. You don’t think many would ever describe Zoro as looking sweet, but you think they just aren't looking hard enough.

He’s all masculine lines and muscle, yes, but it’s how he carries those that’s so sweet. First, the man eats, and even more than that he drinks. Instead of his muscles and veins constantly pressing out against his skin to show threat, they rest in him comfortably, waiting for their due time. Sure, you can see their details when he moves, but at rest he looks like you’d simply sink into him, be enfolded by him. You’d kill for one glorious hug.

Second, he uses them to protect as often as he attacks. And yes, basically everyone outside of the crew gets the attack part of that equation, but you are privileged. You get to be on the protect half and see it in excess from your vantage point as nakama. 

He’s always lifting heavy objects out of a struggling crewmate's hands, griping about the extra work but still dutifully towing anything anyone needs for however long the job takes. There’s nothing like the relief of feeling him lift weight straight off of you, giving physical form to the promise of support. He makes Sanji struggle with large, unwieldy supplies for the kitchen on occasion, but at the end of the day, they are crewmates and that promise is for you all.

He’s always there the moment anyone needs to be pulled to safety, whether their merriment and play has lost them their footing where it would actually hurt or to save them from their task at hand. Usopp especially had been saved from many a falling board back when he was the stand in shipwright.  You yourself have been saved from flying debris during storms to even being spared the small consequences of slipping attention under Zoro’s ceaseless watch. 

There’s one exception though: Luffy gets to be bonked. Maybe one day it will knock the lesson into him.

But none receive this side from Zoro more than your dear doctor, Chopper. Though he is quiet about it, Zoro always has an eye out for the little guy and swoops in whenever needed. Honestly, he often shadows Chopper like a mother keeping a wary eye on her cubs. 

You try to hold in your snicker thinking of how much he’d grumble at being called a mama bear. 

“Something funny?”

Zoro doesn’t open his eye, doesn’t twitch a single muscle besides the ones needed to speak. 

“I don’t know if you have the sense of humor to get it,” you tease.

A frown contorts his face, and it’s just the kind you were aiming for: pouty.

“I have a sense of humor.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Zoro finally rolls his head to the side to set his eye on you. It’s squinted indignantly, but there’s still an air of sleepy ease to his face. He finds you grinning like a pixie.

“Whatever,” he concedes easily. He’s never found it in him to be as confrontational and competitive with you as he is with anyone else pushing his buttons. “You want a clown? Go look for the cook. Or the captain.”

Zoro closes his eye again and shimmies himself deeper into his napping spot. Can’t have that now.

“I don’t want to bug Sanji or Luffy,” you say.

Zoro scrunches his nose and brow at the quiet part - you want to bug him. He thinks better of responding. But that leads him to a new issue; the stare he’s felt from you this whole time is now all he can feel. His mind latches to it, eager to have your undivided attention but also nervous. What are you planning? (And is your assessment of him up to snuff-) and why are you just staring-

“You look comfy,” you muse. 

You don’t say it with any emphasis that would tell him there’s something else you mean. No, you say it simply. You mean your words and nothing else. 

“Thanks?” He thinks it’s a compliment, but its strangeness makes him unsure. 

“You’re very welcome,” you answer. Academics could fill dissertations arguing with each other over whether or not you’re being sarcastic. The answer will never be conclusive. 

You continue to stare. Zoro continues pretending he’s not hyper aware.

“I wish I was comfy too,” you hint.

Zoro hums from his chest and offers nothing else.

“I’d go to the women’s quarters to take a nap, but Nami is currently turning the place upside down looking for an outfit she got way back in Alabasta,” you continue. “Sunning on the deck sounds nice, but the boys have invented a sport somewhere between baseball, dodgeball, and wrestling, so nowhere is safe.”

“That sounds really hard for you.” 

You’re not sure where you’d start your own dissertation on the tone of that one.

“I want to nap here.” Surely that paired with him being on the only furniture one could lay on in here will get the message across.

“No one’s stopping you.”

You hate him.

A heavy sigh puffs out of you when you curl forward and rest your face in your hands. Surely that was a no. Zoro is denser than lead sometimes, but he isn’t stupid. You guess this isn’t going to go your way, but who could blame you for trying? You were simply struck with how handsome he looked the moment you popped your head into the crow’s nest to check on him. It wasn’t uncommon for him to take your breath away, but the coziness radiating from him had set your heart aching with the need to be a part of it. Perhaps you’re not meant to be.

Rubbing your eyes with one more sigh, you sit up with the intention to reset and move on. Maybe Jinbei will be chill with you finding him to grab a nap while he meditates. His aura is nice and he’d probably keep the others from disturbing you. Or try. When you blink the spots out of your vision, you notice a very important change.

Zoro has upturned his arm to hold his palm out to you.

Nothing else has moved an inch. He’s still just as reclined with his face to the ceiling. His expression is back to the content ghost of a smile that he had when you first found him. The only motion you see is the gentle rise and fall of his breaths, steady as lapping waves on a shore.

You reach out a hand over his and hover it just above the line of touch. After a moment, you let your fingertips drop to rest on his rough palm then slide them up and over to settle a grip on the heel of his thumb. He closes his fingers around the same spot on yours and brushes the inside of your wrist with the tip of his thumb. It tickles lightly, sending tingles under your skin, and you smile. You try to do the same to him but huff a laugh when the reach of your thumb falls short. He gives your hand a squeeze then lets his arm fall lax again. 

You stand and walk next to the couch inside the opening of his arm, trailing fingertips over his wrist, across forearm, elbow, then up bicep and over shoulder. Even all his training couldn’t keep the pleasant shiver from taking him. His fingertips land softly on your thigh and brush up to your hip, urging you closer. It’s the gentlest trap you’ve ever been caught in. You happily snare yourself further.

Zoro lets out a long breath through his nose when you set a hand on each of his pecs. You take your time easing weight into them, hands pressing slowly and slightly into his skin. The fingers at your hip respond in kind, adding just as much pressure to hold you surer and pull you in. You let yourself linger longer than necessary before throwing your first leg over his hips. It was too gratifying watching him try to keep his breath nonchalant with you making those lungs work hard for you under your pressing palms. If only you knew they always do, just like the heart thumping at their center.

When your knee sinks between the cushions and the meat of Zoro’s thigh, his patience shows its first irreparable crack. He’s frowning now, still refusing to open his eyes again, and working to corral you on top of him with the hand at your hip. He takes a steady grip and pushes up, lifting you over him. You can’t help but laugh at him.

“What? You’re the one taking forever,” Zoro grumbles indignantly, “Just get on.”

That phrasing knocks the wind out of your sails, leaving you blown askew in the gust of thoughts and dreams you’ve had of this man. This hardheaded, blunt, stupid, ferocious, ridiculous, steady, beautiful, loyal man. Making you feel young and dumb again with an almost inuendo. You’re glad that his eyes are still shut because you’re sure your thoughts are on your face. All from a few haphazard words.

The hand that held you up now guides as you settle on him. The warmth and safety you feel from such a simple gesture makes you even more sure you’re a goner. It doesn’t help that you know those wide palms and strong fingers have worked endlessly to collect final breaths from dying lungs. He could do much more than treat you impatiently; he could hurt you. But Zoro would much rather hold you - close, where he could instead hurt anyone who would try to take or harm you.

Your left arm squirms its way between Zoro and the cushions. You get a hold of the thick of his shoulder, feeling the muscles relax in your grip, and use it to pull your cheek deep into his pec. It’s just as soft as you had hoped. Then suddenly it twitches under you, showing the strength beneath as his arm comes down to rest around you. His hand finds a home between your shoulder blades, and both of you sigh at the natural coziness of you settling into his arms.

“I just knew you’d be good at hugs,” you mumble. The words carry your breath across Zoro’s bare skin and he fights another shiver. “You know, if you ever let anybody have one.”

“I hug,” he argues compulsively. Your snicker is immediate. “I do! There’s just no point most of the time.”

“No point?” you echo. He gives a noncommittal hum. An idea hatches in your mind and you can’t hold in your giddy smile. Zoro feels it press your cheek into his chest and begins to worry.

“So,” you begin, pushing through your nerves to start trailing your fingers along his arm, “there needs to be a purpose?”

An “mhmm” behind pursed lips is all you earn.

You switch from caressing to massaging his shoulder and that gets a sigh. More sure now, you relax your full weight into him and snuggle deeper into his hold. He helps you along, pulling you against him with sturdy hands. You shift your thigh further between his legs, which he widens in welcome. When you find your spot, his thighs squeeze your own for a brief moment - an action made without thought, only the need to feel you. All the while you keep rubbing at his muscles, working to turn them to mush. 

Only when he’s fully melted beneath you do you speak up.

“Well, enjoying touch must not be enough reason, so I’ll set you free,” you say, feigning nonchalance.

Before you can even begin to press up, Zoro’s arms lock around you. You try again to get up but get nowhere. You’ve been in jail cells with more give to their bars than this (a habit you picked up after joining the crew of course).

“Lay down,” he orders. As if you were able to move an inch.

“What else would you call this?” you say, still tense and ready to leave, but trapped horizontal thanks to the immovable object keeping you in his clutches. You are able to turn your head up to look at Zoro and find him staring you down through a squint.

“Being a pain.”

You smile wider up at him and his heart kicks.

“You caught me,” you admit and finally relax yourself back down. You can’t help but get one more jab in though, just to hear more of him. With a gentle coating of sarcasm, you say, “Nothing gets past you.”

Zoro has had enough. Was a hazy afternoon nap with you as his beloved heated blanket too much to ask? Was he not allowed a little slice of heaven? He’s known as a devil for sure, but they’re always stealing slices of paradise. Surely he can have his own.

Zoro pinches your side then swiftly winds his arms tight again to throw you back into Clown Penitentiary. Yet again, you’ve no hope of breaking your shackles and fleeing your cell, no matter how you squirm. You writhe and laugh yourself breathless. It leaves you both rumpled, though Zoro’s steady breathing is a far cry from your happy gasps to catch your breath.

While you take back the air that joy stole, Zoro loses his own to the sight of you. Your hair and clothes are all askew, eyes slightly teary from your cackling, and you’re so full of life and happiness and so close and so you. An urge to hold you and keep you and your love and laughter all to himself the rest of his days tears through Zoro’s chest, settling in his muscles before he forces them to relax. A slice of paradise, indeed. 

You let him be for real this time and simply enjoy the chance to exist alongside him. Even though you prod him no more, you keep his thoughts stirring long into the quiet. Half of him is tethered to you, grounded by the calm of your breaths, the softness of your body, the beat of your heart thumping so near his. The other half is flying through pasts and futures, all precious, all with you.

Those memories and daydreams lap like gentle waves at the edges of his mind while sleep pushes its way in to fill his head. Their lulling current carries him off to join you in sweet slumber, feeling an embrace that’s echoed through time since the first person held another in love.

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

And then you brought him crashing to earth when you both woke.

“Hey Zoro?”

A grunt.

“Why’s your fly open?”

He flushes bright red even as he smirks down at you, fiendish as the devil himself. 

~ ~ ~ ••• ✦✦✦ ••• ~ ~ ~

Thank you for reading!! Wishing everyone a better year than the last 🤍🤍🤍

PS - asks and other fics are not abandoned. Thanks for your patience❣️

Trapped, caged under Zoro’s massive frame, laying flat on your stomach, you let out pathetic moans, your pussy clenching around Zoro’s thick length throbbing and twitching inside you. Despite everything, he remains stern, focused solely on his training, almost oblivious, almost forgetting you’re stuck beneath him. 

His muscles tensing as he lowers his body down, driving his cock deeper into you, he doesn’t break his rhythm - steady pace, strict push-ups, keeping you pinned and helpless. “H-how many… do you still have to do it?” You wail, clawing the cool ground of the training room. But Zoro doesn’t even glance down at you, his eyes fixed straight, continuing his morning training routine. “Shut up, girl, gonna lose my count.” 

Seventy-two and he’s not done. His abs contract with each push-up, his cock sliding in and out of your cunt with lewd, wet noises. “Zoro-” Your voice comes out raspy, needy, you squirm but it’s a losing game. You can’t compete with Zoro's strength. 

You should have left him alone while he was trying to work out instead of distracting him with your horny thoughts… dedicated to his training and to you, he just shrugs, pinned you on the ground, sloppily yanking down your skirts and panties before casually fucking you while starting his push-outs.

“How many,” you whine again. “‘Til failure.” He grunts, but his muscles aren’t showing any sign of fatigue. Hands pressing firmly into the floor, close to your head to keep you in place, he increases the pace and intensity of his efforts, his cock slamming into you harder, punching your cervix, fat tip bullying your sweet spot. The sound of skin slapping against skin fills the room, laced with your helpless moans and Zoro steady breath. 

Your knuckles turn white, Zoro uses your body for leverage, almost punishing, his toned chest pressing against your back with each descent, his biceps flexing, glistening, dewy with sweat. “Zoro…”

“Shh girl, you wanted me, you have me. Now stay still f’me, don’t mess up my trainin’.” 

Dripping wet, cunt clenching around Zoro’s cock like a vice, you claw the ground harder, face flushed, babbling incoherent nonsense. You can’t believe you’re being fucked steady and deep… like that. He’s not even trying to fuck you, he’s focused on his goddamn training only, his hips thrusting forward, balls deep inside you slapping against your pussy, ignoring your whimpers and needy moans. 

Nails digging into the ground, your body trembling, his length slides smoothly inside you, wet sounds that only he can hear over his own low, raspy grunts. 

100.

He’s still not close to failure. 

But damn, you are.

You’re drowning in ecstasy, soaking, waves of pleasure building into your lower stomach, Zoro’s barely breaking a sweat, cunt spasming around his girth, you trail of whines, moans, needy, desperate sounds. “Zoro… gonna cum…” 

“Mmhm” He doesn’t stop nor slow down, even as he feels your velvet walls tightening around him, focused on his count, oblivious to anything else. Shuddering, you let out a shaky breath, cumming all around Zoro’s length, cheeks red from efforts of… doing nothing. Zoro feels the way your body convulses, how your cunt clamps down, but he keeps it with his steady thrust. 

“Pretty girl… need to take your trainin’ more seriously… already reached failure.” 

Another push-up. “But not me girl, not me. Gonna use ya for all my training.” 

He slams again. “Push-up, abs, dumbbells… wanted me, now you’re stuck with me.”

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