a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc
tags: sfw, fluff, soft, ooc(?)
You were many things aboard the Red Force—calm, sharp-tongued, and painfully unbothered by Shanks’ endless antics.
You were also completely unaware of the fact that the most feared (and flirted-with) captain in the New World couldn’t seem to stop touching you.
Not in a creepy way. Not even in a romantic way… at least, not that you noticed.
He’d toss an arm around your shoulders like it was a habit. Rest his hand on your waist when laughing. Tug you into his side when something “dangerous” happened, like a slightly aggressive breeze or a seagull flying too low.
You just chalked it up to him being Shanks.
Until, one bright morning, the crew decided enough was enough.
It started with Benn Beckman sighing dramatically as he walked onto the deck.
“Do you two need a room or something?”
You blinked from where you stood, arms crossed. “We’re not even doing anything.”
Benn pointed. “His hand has been on your lower back for ten minutes.”
Shanks blinked down at his own hand like it betrayed him. “Huh. Didn’t even notice.”
You raised a brow. “Are you okay? Do you have tactile issues?”
Lucky Roux snorted as he passed by with a turkey leg. “Yeah, it’s called ‘falling for someone and not knowing what to do with your hands.’”
Shanks turned red. You remained… utterly unaffected.
“Touch-starved pirate disease,” Lime Juice muttered, jotting fake notes like a doctor. “Tragic. Symptoms include: prolonged physical contact, excessive grinning, and spontaneous cuddling in public.”
Hongo popped his head out of the crow’s nest. “I saw him brush your hair behind your ear during the storm last week.”
“That was because it got in their face,” Shanks defended.
You nodded. “He didn’t want me to get stabbed by my own bangs. Very heroic.”
“You’re wearing a braid,” Yasopp called from the helm.
“…Okay, I’m not good with excuses,” Shanks muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand bumped yours in the process.
You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Captain.”
“You’re touching me again.”
“...I genuinely didn’t notice DAHAHAHA.”
The crew erupted into laughter.
You blinked slowly and glanced down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “You’ve been holding my hand for a minute now. You good?”
“…You’re kinda warm,” he added, grinning.
You didn’t smile, but your voice was flat with dry humor. “You wanna marry me, too? Get it over with?”
Shanks choked. “Whoa—what?”
“You’re already touching me like I’m your lover. Might as well commit.”
“I’m starting to like them more than you, Cap,” Benn said, lighting a cigar.
“They’ve got more bite,” Lime Juice grinned.
Lucky Roux offered you a celebratory turkey leg like a sword. “You just proposed better than he ever could.”
You calmly took it, giving a single nod. “Thanks. I accept my own proposal.”
Shanks was still frozen. “Wait, are we actually engaged now?”
You took a slow bite of the turkey leg, deadpan. “Keep touching me like that, and you’ll owe me alimony.”
You were minding your own business—arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, back leaned slightly against the Sunny’s railing—when a familiar weight thunked into your side.
You didn’t flinch, didn’t glance, didn’t even blink. Just spoke.
“Treating me like a living chair.”
He grunted. “You’re stable. And not annoying.”
“That’s a compliment?” you asked, still deadpan.
The crew had noticed. Of course they had. This was the sixth day in a row Zoro had casually latched onto you like a sleepy barnacle.
“Oi, mosshead!” Sanji snapped, appearing from the galley with smoke swirling and a righteous fury in his eyes. “Get off them, you clingy cucumber!”
Zoro cracked open an eye. “Make me.”
“Oh, I will!” Sanji stomped over dramatically. “Y/N-chwaann shouldn’t have to carry your freeloading swordsman body weight! If anyone deserves to be close to them, it’s me!”
You raised an eyebrow. “You literally tripped into my lap yesterday trying to ‘tie your shoe.’ You were barefoot.”
“It was a metaphor!” Sanji cried. “For falling head over heels!”
Zoro scoffed. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
“Says the mossy limpet glued to their side like a touchy fungus!”
Zoro didn’t move. “Jealousy’s not a good look, curly.”
“Guys,” Nami sighed, “can’t we go one day without turning affection into a shouting match?”
Brook leaned on his cane, chuckling. “Yohohoho! Young love… or something!”
Usopp squinted. “Wait. Has Zoro always been this clingy with Y/N?”
Robin smiled mysteriously. “Since thriller bark, at least.”
Franky nodded solemnly. “Saw him fall asleep on their shoulder mid-battle once. SUPER unconscious.”
“I thought he was dead,” Chopper added, horrified. “Turns out he was just really comfy.”
Zoro’s grip on your shoulder tightened very slightly, and you finally glanced sideways at him.
“Do you know you’re this touchy?” you asked.
He looked like he wanted to evaporate into the deck. “I… just don’t mind you being close.”
You blinked slowly. “Is that samurai code for ‘I like you’?”
Sanji audibly gagged. “Oi! Don’t flirt in front of me!”
“We’re not flirting,” you said.
Zoro mumbled, “Might be.”
“Y/N-chwann” he said gravely, dropping to one knee. “I beg of you—pick me instead! I would never lean on you like a sweaty tree log!”
Zoro growled. “Because you’d faint from being close.”
“AT LEAST I’D DIE HANDSOME!”
You looked between the two of them and sighed.
“I just want to drink my tea without being fought over,” you muttered, walking off—Zoro immediately following, like a shadow with swords.
“You’re still touching me,” you noted.
“Didn’t say I’d stop,” he replied casually.
You stopped walking, turned, and looked him square in the eye.
“You’re aware this is very couple-coded, right?”
He blinked, then grunted. “Guess we should make it official then.”
You blinked right back. “That was fast.”
You smirked just a little. “Romantic.”
He shrugged. “You’re warm. And you don’t talk too much.”
“That’s your idea of a proposal?”
From behind you, Sanji dramatically screamed into the ocean.
Kuraigana Island was a wasteland of stone, wind, and uncomfortable silences. You didn’t mind. You were the type to thrive in eerie places — quiet, observant, and allergic to nonsense.
Which is probably why Mihawk didn’t bother with small talk.
Lately, the world’s greatest swordsman had developed a habit of materializing wherever you were. You’d be cleaning a blade — and there he was, pouring tea. You’d sit on the crumbling stone wall for some air — and there he’d be, suddenly trimming the overgrown vines right next to you.
At first, you thought it was coincidence.
“...You know you don’t have to sharpen every one of my knives,” you said flatly, watching him work silently at the bench beside you.
“I didn’t,” Mihawk replied, still honing the blade. “Only the dull ones.”
You blinked. “That was my butter knife.”
From the far side of the ruins, Zoro grunted as he finished a set of squats. “He refilled their canteen twice this morning.”
“Once,” Mihawk corrected, still not looking up.
“Twice,” Zoro insisted. “Once after breakfast. Then again after they just looked at the sink.”
Perona floated down with a snort. “He also folded their coat. While they were still wearing it.”
You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. Is that why my sleeves were shorter for a second?”
“I always have a wrinkle.”
Mihawk looked up with that unreadable expression. “And now you don’t.”
Zoro huffed. “What even is this? He acts like a butler. But like, a scary one.”
Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not a butler.”
“Could’ve fooled me,” Perona muttered, arms crossed. “You fixed the strap on their satchel too.”
Mihawk didn’t respond to that.
Perona raised a brow. “You gonna deny it?”
“No,” Mihawk said coolly, “because it was crooked.”
Zoro leaned against a stone pillar, towel around his neck. “He also moved your seat at the dining table.”
“That was my seat,” you said.
Mihawk finally gave you a long, side glance. “You’ve sat on the left for the past four mornings. I simply ensured it remained consistent.”
You deadpanned. “You rearranged the furniture.”
Zoro stared. “And when they tripped over that vine—”
“I cut the vine before they fell,” Mihawk snapped with a tone just shy of defensive.
“Bro. You lunged across the courtyard.”
Mihawk sipped his wine calmly. “It was in the way.”
You raised an eyebrow. “And when you pulled me by the hood into the shade the other day?”
“You were blinking slowly.”
You stared. “That’s just how I blink.”
Then Perona gasped. “Wait, wait — you also fixed the strap on their scabbard!”
“I adjusted it. The weight distribution was uneven.”
Zoro clapped once, grinning. “So you are clingy.”
Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, the glint in them sharp and dangerous. “I am not.”
You leaned your chin on your hand, amused. “Then what would you call this?”
Perona lost it. “You mean hyper-awareness. Of one (1) person.”
Mihawk ignored her. “It’s strategic. I simply ensure you're at your most efficient.”
“That’s not efficiency,” Zoro said, wiping his forehead. “That’s doting.”
Mihawk arched a brow. “You think a swordsman cannot be observant?”
“You folded their laundry in order of fabric weight.”
“They prefer it that way.”
You blinked. “I never said that.”
He side-eyed you, expression cool. “You didn’t need to.”
Zoro grunted. “You see? He’s acting like we’re all weird for noticing.”
Perona jabbed a finger toward him. “He's totally doing the ‘if I act calm, no one will notice I'm obsessed’ thing.”
Mihawk finally gave a soft, tired sigh — the kind that said you people are exhausting.
Then, turning to you, he asked, “Would you like tea?”
“I haven’t said I was thirsty.”
He didn’t blink. “You will be.”
You stared. “Are you psychic?”
“No,” he said simply. “You’re predictable.”
You squinted. “...That sounds like flirting.”
Mihawk blinked slowly. “I don’t flirt.”
Perona groaned. “OH MY GOD—”
Mihawk stood up, cloak sweeping behind him, expression unreadable as always. He held out the canteen like he’d already won this conversation.
You took it with narrowed eyes, muttering, “Thanks... I guess.”
He nodded, calm as ever. “You’re welcome.”
Zoro crossed his arms. “Still denying it?”
Mihawk looked at all of them — then at you — and with perfect poise said,
And with that, he turned and walked away.
You stared after him, took a sip from the canteen, and sighed.
