You’ve Changed (for The Better)

redraw

all I want is you...

"ᴮᵃᵇʸ, ʷⁱˡˡ ʸᵒᵘ ʰᵉˡᵖ ᵐᵉ? ᴮᵉᶜᵃᵘˢᵉ ᴵ'ᵐ ᵍᵒⁿⁿᵃ ʰᵉˡᵖ ʸᵒᵘ ᴬˡˡ ᴵ ʷᵃⁿᵗ ⁱˢ ʸᵒᵘ ⁿᵒʷ, ᵃˡˡ ᴵ ʷᵃⁿⁿᵃ ᵈᵒ ⁿᵒʷ ᴵˢ ʷᵃⁱᵗ ᶠᵒʳ ʸᵒᵘ ᵗᵒ ᶜᵃˡˡ ᵐᵉ, ᵇᵃᵇʸ, ᴵ'ᵐ ˢᵒ ˢᵒʳʳʸ" ~ᴿᵉᵇᶻʸʸˣ

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⚓️ Monkey D. Luffy — "I just want you to be okay... okay, baby, alright."

You were the only one who didn't laugh when he shouted he was going to be King of the Pirates.

You looked at him with wide, glassy eyes, and nodded like it meant something more. Like he meant something more. You were the only one who ever looked at him like that.

The others never noticed how quiet you got after the battles. They did not see how you curled up on the deck, legs pulled to your chest, staring into the sea like it might give you answers. But he did. Luffy saw everything — even if he could not always understand it.

“Are you okay?” he had asked once, lips tugging down, unsure.

You blinked like you were surprised he noticed. “Yeah, Captain. I’m just... tired.”

You smiled after that.

But it never quite reached your eyes again.

He did not have words for how that made him feel — how your sadness curled around his ribs like a sea monster, heavy and tight. So, he tried harder. Pulled you into dancing when Brook played, dragged you into snowball fights on winter islands, left oranges by your bed when you forgot to eat.

He even gave you his last piece of meat once.

You laughed. Genuinely. Just for a second.

And he thought, Maybe I can fix this. Maybe if I stay close enough, long enough, loud enough... you’ll be okay again.

But one day, you were gone.

No note. No footprints. Just a jacket left on the rail, your scent already fading into salt.

Now Luffy stands at the edge of the Sunny most nights, straw hat clutched in his hand, whispering under his breath like a prayer he cannot quite name.

“I know what you want… Let me be the one to hold your hand forever...”

And the sea says nothing back...

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🗡️ Roronoa Zoro — "Tell me I’m disgusting. Tell me that you love me. But really you mean nothing."

Zoro has always been good at two things: fighting and silence.

Feelings? Not so much.

You came into his life like a flashfire — sharp-tongued, sharp-eyed, loud and full of life in all the ways he never was. At first, you got on his nerves. Too many questions. Too many looks. Too many feelings.

But you stayed. Through storms, through bloodshed, through his worst moods and longest naps. You were there every time he opened his eyes, and eventually… he started looking for you.

He never told you that.

But he didn’t need to, right?

Except... you started asking. And that was the beginning of the end.

“Do you even care about me?” you asked once, after another close call — blood on your shoulder, adrenaline in your veins, and his voice still sharp from yelling your name in panic.

Zoro had stared at you too long, jaw locked, like the words were stuck somewhere deep in his throat.

“…Of course I do,” he muttered eventually, but his voice was distant. Like he was talking to a ghost instead of the person who had almost died in front of him.

You laughed. Bitter, quiet.

“That’s not enough anymore, Zo.”

You left that night.

You did not slam the door or pack a dramatic bag. You just… disappeared. No note. No goodbye. Just a silence that felt like a sword pressed to his throat.

Now he trains harder. Sleeps less. Bleeds more.

Because the ache in his chest? It is louder than any wound he has ever taken.

He swears he hears you sometimes, late at night — that little scoff you always gave when he got lost, the gentle click of your tongue when he drank too much. Maybe it is memory. Maybe it is madness.

But he talks to you anyway.

“You wanted a real answer?” he mutters into the cold air, voice rough. “Here it is — yeah, I care. More than I should. More than I know how to say.”

His fists curl. His swords stay sheathed.

“Tell me I messed it up. Tell me I pushed you too far. Just… tell me something.”

No reply.

Only the sound of wind and waves.

Zoro turns back to the dojo, jaw clenched like he’s holding back something he’ll never say again.

And in the dark, where no one can see him — not Luffy, not Sanji, not even himself — he finally let out a gentle sob.

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🍳 Vinsmoke Sanji — "You make me feel dirty. Tell me I’m disgusting. Tell me that you love me. But really, you mean nothing."

Sanji had always known how to play the part.

The flirt. The charmer. The perfect gentleman with a rose between his teeth and a cigarette between his fingers. But with you... that mask never fit quite right.

You saw straight through it.

And he hated how much he liked that.

You never swooned. You never batted your lashes when he called you "mademoiselle" or offered your favorite dessert on a silver tray. You always looked at him with something sharper — like you were searching for the man behind the suit, behind the smoke, behind the smile that trembled more than it should have.

“You’re not as good as you pretend to be, Sanji,” you said once, not out of cruelty — but truth.

He never forgot it.

He told himself he could change. That he wanted to. That maybe if he loved you right, if he made you feel safe and seen and special, you would never have to see the broken parts of him — the blood on his hands, the rage in his chest, the cruel voice of his father echoing in his skull every night.

But you saw it anyway.

You saw all of it.

And worst of all — you stayed.

Even when he pushed you away with a sharp tongue and clenched fists and long nights drinking too much and saying too little. Even when he called himself a monster, and you cupped his face and whispered:

“Then be a monster who loves me.”

He kissed you like you were salvation. Touched you like you were fire. Needed you like he was drowning.

And still, somehow, he ruined it.

He said something wrong — something cruel in a moment of weakness. You flinched. You left. And this time, you did not come back.

Now, his cigarettes burn down faster. His fingers shake over the cutting board. He makes dishes for you every night and throws them out uneaten.

The others stopped asking questions.

But he still talks to the kitchen walls like you are hiding in the corners.

“You make me feel filthy, you know that?” he whispers into the steam of your favorite soup, eyes red from smoke or something worse. “You make me feel everything I try to bury.”

The spoon clatters. His hands fall to the counter, shoulders shaking.

"Tell me I’m disgusting. Tell me you hate me. Tell me anything... just—"

His voice breaks.

No one answers.

Just the soft simmer of something he will never serve.

“Just tell me you love me,” he breathes, softer this time, like it physically hurts to say.

And in the quiet of the galley, he stays alone — waiting for the door to open again, even though he knows it never will.

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🎯 Usopp — “I remember crying. I just want you to be alright.”

Usopp always told stories.

Wild, beautiful lies — the kind that made people laugh or roll their eyes or shake their heads in disbelief.

But you? You never laughed. You leaned in.

Every time he said something outrageous — “I fought a sea king with one hand tied behind my back,” or “My aim’s so good I could hit a fly on a cannonball” — you smiled with that soft, knowing look in your eyes.

“Tell me another,” you whispered once, voice small as you lay next to him on the deck, eyes on the stars. “Tell me the one where you save me, Uso...”

He did.

He told it a hundred times. A thousand.

Until one day, you needed saving — and he failed.

It was not some grand battle or dramatic fall. You had been slipping for a while — smiles growing quieter, footsteps growing softer, hands fidgeting with sleeves when you thought no one was watching.

But Usopp was. And he was terrified.

Because he knew all the stories in the world could not fix the shadows in your eyes. Could not fill the silences that stretched too long between your words. Could not reach the places inside you that even you seemed afraid to touch.

Still, he tried.

He made you gadgets. Left tiny presents in your hammock. Carved your name into a seashell and whispered into it, saying, “You’re not alone. You never were.”

He told himself you would be okay. Because the hero always wins in the end.

But then… you stopped coming to breakfast. You stopped meeting him on the deck. One day, he knocked on your door and found it open, the room empty.

Gone. No goodbye.

No final story.

Now, Usopp sits in the crow’s nest with his slingshot across his lap and swollen eyes that have not seen sleep in days.

He looks out over the sea, voice hoarse.

“I know I’m not the strongest. Or the bravest. Or the smartest,” he mumbles to no one, “but I would’ve tried. I was trying.”

He presses the seashell with your name to his chest like a talisman, fingers shaking.

“I remember crying,” he says. “I just want you to be alright. I don’t care if you ever come back. Just—just be okay. Please.”

But the sea doesn’t answer. It never does.

“All I need is you now,” he breathes, forehead against the window, as the tears come again. “All I want to do now… is wait for you to call for me.”

And he does...

Every night...

Even though he knows you never will...

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⚕️ Trafalgar D. Water Law — “Fix the holes in your heart, it’s what I wanted from the start.”

Law didn’t mean to fall for you.

You weren’t part of the plan. You weren’t like Cora — loud and chaotic and selfless — and you weren’t like Bepo or his crew, either. You were… soft. Not weak, but gentle in ways he didn’t know how to process. You didn’t ask for anything. Didn’t demand answers.

But you looked at him like you saw him — and that was so much worse.

You never flinched from the cold edge of his voice or the scalpel-sharp way he kept people at a distance. You stood beside him in silence, in storms, in sickbays soaked with blood that wasn’t always someone else’s.

And one night, after a mission that nearly killed you both, you found him on the floor of the infirmary — gloves off, coat stained, hands shaking.

You didn’t ask what was wrong. You just knelt beside him and whispered, “Let me help.”

He told himself it was a one-time thing. That letting you touch the cracked, hollow places in his chest wouldn’t mean anything. That he wouldn’t get attached.

But then you smiled.

You made tea for him in the mornings.

You remembered his favorite food without him telling you.

You asked how he was when he was trying so hard to pretend he wasn’t anything at all.

He couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t want to.

So he gave you pieces of himself in silence. Little things. A book from Flevance. A quiet "goodnight." A rare smile when he thought you weren’t looking.

But love, for Law, was never soft.

It was surgical — precise, dangerous, bloody.

And somewhere along the way, without meaning to, he began to treat you like a patient. Like something broken he could fix.

He didn’t realize it until the night you finally said it.

“I’m not something you can save, Law.”

You weren’t angry. You just looked… tired.

And he didn’t have the words. Not the ones that mattered. Not the ones that would make you stay.

So you left.

Not with malice. Not with drama. Just with silence. Just like everyone else.

Now, the sickbay is too quiet. The ship too clean. There’s no laughter echoing down the hall, no gentle knocks at midnight asking if he’d eaten.

Just Law, alone with his ghosts, staring at the hole you left in him — too deep to close, too old to ignore.

He’s operating in silence again. Gloves on. Scalpel steady.

But his hands tremble.

“To fix the holes in your heart, it’s all I wanted from the start... That’s all I wanted...” he mutters like a curse, eyes blurring.

He drops the scalpel. Covers his face with blood-streaked hands.

“Come back...” he whispers, so quiet it gets swallowed by the hum of the ship.

And no one hears it but the walls — and the sea.

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🔥 Portgas D. Ace — “I got mental issues, always fucking miss you.”

Ace doesn’t sleep well when you’re not around.

He tosses and turns on sheets soaked with sweat, waking up breathless and angry at himself for dreaming about you — again. It’s not even the good dreams anymore. Not the ones where you’re laughing, curled against his chest, warm like sunlight, kissing him.

Now it’s nightmares.

You leaving.

You crying.

You dying.

And he always wakes up too late.

The room smells like old smoke and iron. There’s a cracked glass on the floor by his bed. A shirt that still smells like you shoved under his pillow. And his fists ache — from punching walls, from holding back.

“I got mental issues,” he mutters to himself, leaning against the frame of the bed, shirtless and shaking. “I’m really fucked up, huh...?”

There’s blood on his knuckles. Again. He doesn’t remember how it got there.

There are tissues everywhere. Piled in corners, scattered across the floor. He doesn’t throw them away — like maybe if he keeps enough of them, your scent will linger just a little longer.

He misses you so bad it makes him angry.

Like it’s your fault for being so gentle. For loving him when he didn’t think he deserved it. For touching his skin like it wasn’t a curse, and telling him he was good like you believed it more than he ever could.

He told you once, in a rare moment of stillness:

“You’re the only thing in this world that makes me feel real...”

You kissed his temple and said, “Then be real with me.” smiling.

But he couldn’t. Not fully.

Because what if you saw it? The dark, cracked part of him that asks every night, Was I even supposed to be born? What if you walked into that storm and didn’t come back out?

So instead, he pushed you away.

Not all at once — no, Ace is too cowardly for that. He did it in pieces. A missed dinner here. A half-hearted kiss there. Another mission he took without telling you.

You stopped chasing him eventually.

And when you were gone… when the ship felt too empty and the fire in his chest flickered low — that’s when he realized.

"l'lI always fucking miss them..."

And now he’s sitting on the floor of some cheap inn, holding your sweater like it’s the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

He wants to call you. Wants to say I’m sorry, I was scared, I didn’t know how to love you right, but please, please come back—

But the Den Den Mushi stays quiet.

And Ace stays ruined.

He’s not a storm anymore. Just smoke. Just echoes. Just... want....

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🕊️ Sabo — “Please don’t desert me, please don’t desert me.”

Sabo isn’t used to begging.

Not as a revolutionary. Not as a brother. Not as the man who smiled through bloodied battles and watched the world crumble under kings and fire.

But with you?

He begs in silence.

He does not know how to say, “Please stay.” So instead, he leaves cups of tea where you’ll find them. Wraps a blanket over your shoulders when you fall asleep at your desk. Brushes your fingers when he passes by, like touch is the only language he still remembers how to speak.

You love him with an ease that makes him ache.

You never demand pieces of his past he cannot give. You don’t pry into the darkness that swims behind his eyes on bad nights — you just sit beside him, wordless, warm. Present.

And Sabo… Sabo falls.

Hard. Deep. Quiet.

He starts to write you letters he never sends. Pages stained with ink and doubt.

—"You make me feel like I deserve to live again.

I can’t lose you too.

Please don’t leave me like he did."

But you never left.

Until you did.

It wasn’t a fight. It wasn’t betrayal. Just a slow, quiet unraveling — because Sabo kept part of himself hidden too long. Kept telling you, “I’m fine,” when he wasn’t. Kept pushing you out when all he wanted was to pull you in.

One day, you stopped knocking on his door.

The warmth faded.

Your coat was gone from the hook by his bed.

He found your necklace left behind — on purpose, probably. Something final.

And that night, he drank alone, firelight flickering against the scars on his hands. He could feel himself unraveling.

“Please don’t desert me…”

He whispered it into the dark, broken and too late.

He pressed his forehead to your necklace, eyes stinging with everything he couldn’t say in time.

“Please don’t desert me. Not like he did. Not like—”

But no one answered.

Only the crackle of flame and the silence of a room too big for one person.

He still wears that necklace.

Hidden under his scarf, against his chest.

He tells himself that if he ever sees you again, he’ll say it right this time. No riddles. No brave smiles.

Just—

“I’m scared of being left. But I’d rather be scared with you than safe without you.”

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🎪 Buggy the Clown — “I’ll make you feel special, help you feel less stressful.”

Loud? Yes. Flashy? Obviously. A little bit unhinged? Well, that's Buggy's whole thing. He was the kind of guy who could stand on top of his ship with his arms thrown wide, demanding the world recognize his greatness. And for most people, that was all they saw — the captain, the performer, the clown. His bravado, his flair. The show.

But there was so much more beneath that.

He never let anyone see it, of course. Because if they did, if they saw what was lurking beneath his perfectly painted smile, then they’d know. They’d see that the self-inflated ego was just a shield. A shield to protect a heart that had never truly felt like it was worth anything.

Buggy had always believed that no one could really love him. Not for who he truly was.

He was a pirate, sure, but he wasn’t the kind of guy who got the kind of love he saw in movies or heard in songs. He wasn’t the romantic hero. He wasn’t the charming, smooth-talking swashbuckler. No, he was the laughing stock of every crew, the one everyone used for comic relief. A joke.

It wasn’t that he didn’t enjoy the attention — no, he craved it, needed it. But deep down, behind all the clamor and the glitz, Buggy was terrified that if anyone ever got too close, they'd leave. And that thought? It was crippling.

But then… you came along.

You, who didn’t laugh at his jokes just to make him feel good — you genuinely laughed with him. You, who never flinched at his disassembled limbs, never turned away when he got a little too dramatic, when he overreacted or shouted just to make sure everyone was paying attention.

You stood beside him, even when the rest of the world told you to run in the opposite direction.

And Buggy? Oh, Buggy fell hard.

He didn’t know when it happened, honestly. He didn’t know when he’d started thinking that maybe, just maybe, there was someone who could look at him and see more than just the crazy pirate captain with a flair for the theatrical. He didn’t know when he’d started feeling like he could actually be loved. Like he could be enough.

But you… you were there. You made him feel like he didn’t have to hide behind the act. You made him feel special in ways that no one ever had before.

The day he left — the day he walked away, pretending like he was doing you a favor — it wasn’t because he didn’t care. No, it was because he cared too much.

The sight of you laughing with him, your warm smile, the way you didn’t treat him like he was a walking joke, it scared him. It terrified him more than anything in his life.

You were the first person who made him feel like he was worthy. Like maybe there was more to him than just the chaos and the bluster. But he wasn’t ready for it. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to let someone in that close. Because what if you saw the truth? What if you saw all his flaws, all his broken pieces, and realized that even though he had everything to offer, he wasn’t enough?

You were too good for him. He was just a clown.

Buggy stood at the helm, his fingers gripping the wheel tightly as he looked at the ocean ahead of him. The ship was drifting farther and farther from the shore, from you. From everything he’d let himself feel.

He hated this. He hated it more than anything he’d ever hated in his life.

But what else could he do?

He tried to convince himself that this was what was best for you. That he was just some mess of a man, a guy who would only bring more destruction into your life. That you deserved someone who could love you properly, without the chaos. Without the theatrics. Someone who wasn’t going to break your heart.

And yet, every time he looked at the ocean, he could still see your smile in his mind. The way you’d looked at him, like he wasn’t just some eccentric fool. Like he mattered to you.

His chest ached. Damn it.

“I’ll make you feel special, I'll help you feel less stressful…” he muttered to himself, as if saying it out loud would somehow make it true. But even as the words left his lips, he knew they weren’t enough. Not anymore.

“I’m not ready for this,” he whispered, almost like a plea to the wind. “Not ready for you. You deserve better.”

When the Den Den Mushi call came through, he knew it was you. It was always you who’d pick up the phone when the others just let it ring.

He hesitated for a long time before answering. When his face finally appeared on the screen, he smiled — but it didn’t reach his eyes. His usual flair, the confidence, it was all gone. And for once, he didn’t know what to say.

“I’m sorry, sweetheart,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought… maybe if I just walked away, you’d be better off.”

“You’re not the problem,” you said, your voice tight, like you were holding back tears. “You’re the one I want, Buggy.”

He wanted to reach through the screen, to take you in his arms and never let go. But he didn’t. He couldn’t.

“But I’m too much for you,” he said, shaking his head. “I’ll just bring chaos into your life. You deserve someone who can love you the way you deserve. Not a mess like me.”

You stared at him, your eyes filled with unshed tears. And for a moment, just a moment, Buggy saw something he hadn’t seen in years — something real. Something pure.

“I’ll make you feel special,” he said, his voice catching in his throat. “Well, I wanted to. But I can’t. Not like this.”

You didn’t say anything. You just looked at him, and for the first time in a long time, Buggy felt completely seen.

The call ended. The ship drifted away.

And Buggy stood there, staring at the horizon, wondering if he’d made the right choice. Maybe someday, he’d get the courage to come back. But until then, all he had were the memories — of you, of your laughter, of how you’d made him feel like maybe, just maybe, he was worthy of love after all.

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🍷 Shanks — “I remember nights we were dancing in the moonlight.”

He never told you he loved you.

Not with those exact words, anyway.

He said it in other ways — in the way he laughed at your jokes even when they were terrible, in how his arm would always find your waist when you leaned too close to the sea rail, in how his eyes lingered a little too long when you weren’t looking.

And sometimes, he’d let the mask slip.

Like that night, on some quiet island no one would remember. The tavern was half-empty, his crew rowdy and drunk. And you, you were warm beside him, fingers stained with fruit juice and salt air, eyes glowing like you had swallowed the moon itself.

There was music playing. Something simple. Soft.

You nudged him and said, “Dance with me.”

He scoffed, sipped his drink, and said, “Nah, I’ve got two left feet.”

But your hand stayed outstretched.

And so he took it.

The floor was uneven. He stepped on your toes twice. His laugh was louder than the music, and your cheeks hurt from smiling. And when the others weren’t looking, he spun you into him, held you close, and whispered—

“If I could bottle this moment, I’d carry it everywhere.”

You didn’t say anything. You didn’t have to. Your smile told him you felt the same.

That night, you danced under the moonlight until the candles burned out and the stars were your only audience.

But things change.

Shanks always leaves eventually. You knew that from the beginning.

He told you once, long ago, “The sea is a jealous thing. She always calls me back.”

And still, it hurt when he went.

You stayed behind on some island — a “safe place,” he called it — with a kiss to your forehead and a promise you never asked for.

“I’ll be back before you know it.”

You knew better.

Weeks passed. Then months.

No letters. No sign.

And Shanks? He was far away, sitting by a fire on a different shore, holding your necklace in his palm like it was the only thing that kept him tethered to anything human.

His crew thought he was fine.

But sometimes at night, when everyone was asleep, he'd take out the old Den Den Mushi and stare at it. Thumb hovering over the dial.

And he’d whisper—

“I remember hiding, I remember crying... God, I just want you to be alright.”

He never dialed. Never called.

Because he thought maybe you were better off without him.

But if you walked back into his life — wind in your hair, sea in your eyes — he’d say it.

Not with flowers. Not with grand speeches.

Just a quiet, choked—

“I never stopped dancing with you. Even when you weren’t there.”

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⚡ Kid — “You control my life. I feel like a fucking puppet.”

Kid had never been the type to lean on anyone. To trust anyone. The idea of someone else controlling his life, controlling his choices — that was something he never allowed. He was a man of steel, a pirate who carved his own path, never bowing to anyone.

But then you came along.

And from the moment you stepped into his life, everything started shifting in ways he couldn’t control. He hated it. Hated the way you made him feel things he didn’t want to feel. Hated how his heart raced when you laughed. Hated how his thoughts would drift to you when he was supposed to be focused on his next big heist.

He hated how you made him feel like he wasn’t in control.

At first, it was a joke. A distraction. He’d tell himself that he didn’t care about you, that he could walk away anytime. He wasn’t the kind of guy who needed anyone. Certainly not someone like you, someone who had the power to make him question everything he knew about himself.

But then... then the feelings crept in. Slowly at first, like a seed being planted deep in his chest. And then, before he knew it, it had taken root. He couldn’t get rid of it. He couldn’t escape the way you made him feel.

You made him feel alive in a way he didn’t know was possible. And that scared him more than anything.

One night, after yet another pointless argument, Kid found himself alone on the deck of his ship. The moonlight reflected off the ocean, and the cold breeze brushed against his face, but none of it could clear the heat building inside him.

He had tried to push you away. Tried to act like he didn’t care. But all it did was make him feel more desperate, more broken.

And now, here he was again. Standing in the same spot, staring at the empty horizon, trying to ignore the voice inside his head that kept calling your name.

The ship creaked behind him, and then he heard it. The soft sound of footsteps.

You. Of course, it was you.

He couldn’t look at you. He couldn’t face the person who had so completely taken over his life. Who had him tangled up in knots, unable to let go.

“You’re still pissed?” he asked, his voice rough, trying to mask the vulnerability bubbling under the surface.

You didn’t answer immediately. Instead, you walked up beside him, standing in silence. He could feel your presence, feel the weight of it pressing against him. You were close enough to make his breath hitch, but he wouldn’t let himself acknowledge it. Not yet.

“Kid,” you said softly, and the way you said his name made his insides twist. “You know I don’t want to fight with you.”

He scoffed, turning away to hide his face, but you could still see the tension in his shoulders. He clenched his fists at his sides, as if the action might stop the flood of emotions threatening to spill over.

“Don’t even try to act like you understand. This isn’t some game. It’s not all sunshine and rainbows, alright?” he spat, his anger rising in a desperate attempt to cover up how raw he felt inside.

But you didn’t flinch. You never did.

“I don’t need you to explain it to me,” you said, your voice calm, like you weren’t afraid of his anger. “But you don’t have to push me away, either.”

Kid felt his heart skip a beat, but he refused to look at you. He couldn’t.

“It’s not that simple,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, the edge of his anger beginning to fade. “You don’t get it. I don’t want to feel like this. You can’t just come in and change everything. You can’t just control me like I’m some damn puppet.”

His words hit harder than he intended. There. He’d said it.

You stood there for a moment, not saying anything. He could feel you staring at him, waiting for him to break the silence.

“Kid,” you finally said, taking a step closer, “I never wanted to control you.”

He shook his head, but the knot in his chest only tightened.

“Then what the hell is this?” he asked, his voice cracking slightly. “Every time I try to pull away, you’re still there. Every time I think I’ve got my shit together, I— I start thinking about you. About how you make me feel—”

He stopped, his throat tightening, but he couldn’t stop himself. His frustration, his confusion, his desperation all came out in one breathless sentence.

“I’m losing control. And I hate it.”

You didn’t say anything right away, but you didn’t need to. You didn’t need to explain yourself, because you understood. You’d always understood.

You reached out, gently resting your hand on his arm, and for the first time that night, Kid looked at you. His eyes were stormy, conflicted, but beneath it all, there was something more — something softer. Something that made his heart feel like it was going to burst.

“I’m not trying to control you, Kid,” you said, your voice quiet but firm. “I just... I just want you to be you. No masks, no act. Just you. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

He swallowed hard, his chest tight. You weren’t asking for anything more than that. And somehow, that terrified him even more.

“You don’t get it,” he whispered, barely audible. “You make me feel like I’m not enough. Like I can’t even control my own damn life anymore.”

You smiled softly, and for once, Kid didn’t see pity in your eyes. You weren’t looking at him like he was a broken thing.

“You don’t have to be perfect. You don’t have to have it all together,” you said, stepping closer. “I’m not here to control you, Kid. I’m here because I care about you. And that’s all.”

He stood frozen for a moment, the weight of your words sinking in. And just like that, all his walls came crashing down.

“God, I hate you,” he muttered, but there was no real heat in his words. Instead, there was just that undercurrent of raw emotion he had never wanted to show. “You make this so damn hard.”

And maybe that was okay. Maybe being vulnerable for once, letting someone else in, didn’t make him weak. Maybe it made him stronger.

“All I want is you,” he whispered, more to himself than to you, but you heard it anyway.

You smiled again, this time with a tenderness that took Kid by surprise. You didn’t say anything, just stood beside him, silently offering the support he never knew he needed.

For once, Kid didn’t feel like he had to fight it.

______________________________________________________________

Mihawk's secret...

(short reacts) | "you confess when you're totally shitfaced drunk" + one piece men

summary: you had WAY past your drinking limit and now you're just exploding with LOVE for him.

characters: crocodile, mihawk, marco, ace, shanks, law, corazon

• ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ • ♡ •

CROCODILE

You’re swaying in his arms, eyes glossy, cheek pressed against his chest.

“Croco-babyyy…”

“Don’t call me that.”

“I LOVE you.”

He goes rigid.

You grab the front of his shirt.

“Like SOOO much. Like, if someone tried to stab you, I'd bite them. Right on the ankle.”

You squint.

“Your scary lil hook hand is soooo cool, I love it. You're my favorite angry man.”

He malfunctions. Literally just stares at you like you're an alien who dropped from heaven.

“You're drunk.”

“I'm in loveeeeeeee!”

You pass out mid-hug.

He just stands there. Frozen.

Mutters:

“...What the hell am I supposed to do with that.”

(Spoiler: He tucks you in and sits there watching you sleep like a guard dog with heartburn.)

MIHAWK

You cling to his arm like a koala. You’re warm and soft and talking a mile a minute.

“You’re sooo handsome. Like, it’s RUDE actually. I have to look away sometimes cause you’re too hot and I feel like I’m gonna die.”

He blinks.

“You’re intoxicated.”

“I’m INTO YOU.”

He blinks again.

You poke his chest with a pout.

“Do you know how annoying it is to like someone who looks like a vampire prince and has very judgmental eyebrows?”

He raises one.

“THAT.”

Then you melt into his coat and sigh.

“I love you sooooooo much… If you asked me to run away and start a farm I’d do it. For you. I'd plant cucumbers.”

He doesn’t sleep that night.

MARCO

You climb into his lap like a sleepy kitten.

“Marrrrrrcooooo…”

“Yeah, baby?”

You press your forehead to his.

“I love you SO much it’s dumb. Like, I wanna kiss your face and also cry and also buy you matching socks.”

He laughs softly.

“That’s a lotta feelings, huh?”

“It’s not my fault your smile makes me feel like life is worth living.”

He actually covers his face because holy shit that one got to him.

“I’m gonna fucking die, yoi.”

“Noooo you’re not, I love you too much. I won’t let you die. I’ll protect you with SOCKS.”

You fall asleep on him mid-rant.

He kisses your hair and whispers:

“You’re killin’ me, songbird.”

ACE

You run up to him and tackle-hug him.

“ACE I HAVE SOMETHING TO SAY!!”

“Wha—?!! Are you okay?!”

“I’m in love with you.”

“YOU’RE WHAT?!”

“Like a lot. Like, if you turned into a plant I’d water you.”

He’s already spiraling. Red. Stammering. Sweating.

“I—uh—what?! When?! Why?!!”

“Cause you’re cute and warm and you make my tummy do loop-de-loops.”

“SO DO YOU!!! WAIT—NO—WHAT AM I SAYING?!”

“Okay, wait, but would you love me if I was a worm?”

You both pass out cuddling under a table with Ace going into specific details about he'd take care of you if you were a worm and how you'd take care of him if he was a plant.

Sabo finds you both crying and whispers:

“Idiots. They deserve each other.”

SHANKS

You stumble in. Red-faced. Teary-eyed. Drunk on rum and love.

“Shanks…”

“Here we go…”

You grab his coat.

“I’m gonna say something crazy.”

“Hit me.”

“I’m in love with you. Like, I’d kill a seagull for you.”

“...That’s a weird standard but I’ll take it.”

“And I think your laugh is sexy. And your scars are cool. And your nose is NICE. And I’d marry you. Right now.”

He pauses.

Smiles.

“Say it again tomorrow when you’re sober, sweetheart.”

“Okay. But you’re mine now.”

“Deal. By the way, what’s your ring size?”

LAW

You shuffle in with a flushed face and a stuffed penguin.

“Trafalgaaaar…”

“Don’t slur my name.”

“I love you.”

He looks up from his book like you just summoned an ancient evil.

“Excuse me?”

“So much. You’re smart. And hot. And I like your hands. And your voice. And if you died I’d start a cult.”

“...A what.”

“A cult. With matching outfits. And hats.”

“You’re fevered.”

“I’m in love.”

You lean on his shoulder and then pass out on his lap.

He doesn’t move for two hours.

CORAZON

You run into him mid-giggle.

“ROSINANTEEEE!!”

He flails.

You grab his face and kiss his cheek.

“You are the love of my LIFE. Your laugh is cute. Your coat is STUPID but I LOVE IT. I love YOU.”

He goes full tomato. Tears are already streaming down his face.

You write “I’D DIE FOR YOU” on a sticky note and slap it to his chest.

Then immediately fall asleep in his arms.

He’s crying and hugging you and writing down “I LOVE YOU TOO” over and over and over.

He genuinely just loves you so much.

Tell Me No Lies

law x fem!reader

you’re a psychologist who can spot any lie and that makes law keep his distance, afraid you’ll see how he truly feels. but when a mission forces you to pose as his lover, the lines between act and reality blur fast.

a/n: this was a request but since it's really long I summarized it

words count: 3.9k

tags: slow burn, mutual pining, undercover couple, spicy but not smut, fluff, tension, crewmates being chaotic

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

“You want me to do what?”

Your voice slices through the meeting room of the Polar Tang like a dagger, sharp, pointed, and just a little amused.

Penguin holds up his hands, grinning like he’s already imagined you and Law making out in a booth “Not my idea! Bepo came up with it.”

Bepo, ever innocent, blinks “It’s logical. Varrick lies constantly. You can tell when people lie. Captain’s the one meeting him. It’s simple.”

You stare “You want us to act like a couple.”

“Just for the night!” Shachi chimes in from where he’s stuffing chips in his mouth “The place is a casino-slash-brothel. No one goes in there looking like a business partner. You show up all cold and stiff, he’ll know something’s up.”

Law hasn’t said a word.

He sits at the head of the table, arms folded, expression blank. But you know that face. He’s thinking. Calculating. Fighting something.

Then, flatly “Fine.”

You blink “Fine?”

“You’ll have to stay close,” Law adds, eyes flicking to yours “I can’t talk in code around Varrick, and I doubt we’ll get a second chance if he feels like we’re onto him.”

“So, what, I sit on your lap and play with your hair while you ask about Navy routes?” you ask, raising an eyebrow.

Penguin snorts soda through his nose.

Law doesn’t miss a beat “If it gets us the truth.”

You swallow hard. Because that should not have sounded that smooth.

Later, in your room, you stand in front of the mirror, pulling on the final piece of your dress, a deep red number that hugs your waist and legs and dips dangerously low down your back. You smooth it down, checking the slit up your thigh, the way the silk shimmers under the ship lights.

“You don’t have to look like a goddess,” you mutter to your reflection “You just need to catch a liar.”

But damn it, the dress works. And the second you step into the hallway, you hear Shachi’s voice echo from down the corridor “Caaaptaaaain!”

You freeze.

“Don’t be mad when she looks hotter than you, bro!” Penguin adds, loud enough that it bounces off the steel walls.

“Stop yelling” Law says from somewhere out of sight. His voice is tense.

You round the corner and stop dead.

Oh no.

Law... Law is in a black suit, crisp and clean, no tie, the top buttons of his shirt undone. His hair’s slicked back just enough to make your throat go dry. Tattoos peek out at the edge of his collar. He’s leaning against the wall, looking at his den-den mushi, but when he looks up and sees you his fingers still. His eyes trail down, slow. Too slow.

You hear Shachi whisper “damn” under his breath and fist bump Penguin like they just won a bet.

Law clears his throat “You’re… ready.”

You tilt your head, smirking “You look nice too. Didn’t know you owned a suit.”

“It was a gift” he mutters.

You take a step forward “From who? Someone who wanted to see you flustered?”

His jaw ticks “I’m not flustered.”

You do notice the slight red creeping up the back of his neck. Just a little. Enough.

Before either of you can pretend to be normal, the rest of the crew crowds the hallway behind you.

Bepo holds up a little camera “Say cheese.”

“We’re not taking pictures” Law snaps.

“Oh come on,” Penguin grins “Look at you two!”

“You’re never letting this go, are you?” you ask, eyes narrowing.

“Nope.”

Shachi elbows Bepo “Ten bucks says they come back married.”

Bepo nods solemnly “I’ll take that bet.”

Law groans and starts walking past them, ignoring the chaos.

You trail after him, heels clicking on the metal. As you pass the guys, you whisper, “Try not to blow our cover.”

Penguin winks “Go get that intel... and maybe some action.”

You don’t answer but your cheeks are hotter than they should be.

And the second Law opens the hatch to the upper deck, the cold sea air hits you and so does the reality of the night ahead.

The casino is loud. Velvet-lined walls drown out the outside world, while gold lights glint off dice and crystal glasses. Somewhere near the back, a piano plays slow jazz. It’s all soft temptation and sharpened edges.

You walk in beside Law, his arm around your waist. His fingers rest against the small of your back like they belong there, not too tight, not too loose. Just… there.

You can feel the heat of his palm through the silk of your dress. You can feel everything.

Stay focused.

Varrick is waiting in a private corner booth, exactly where intel said he’d be. He’s slouched in the plush seat like he owns the place, surrounded by too many drinks and not enough class. Rings clink against his glass as he lifts it.

“Trafalgar Law!” he says, standing with a grin too wide to be real “Wasn’t expecting you to bring arm candy.”

Law’s arm tightens around you. Not protectively. Possessively.

“She’s more than that,” he says, calm as ever “But she doesn’t like to talk much.”

You smile politely at Varrick, then glance at Law from the corner of your eye.

Smart. That gives you the freedom to observe.

You slide into the booth beside Law, close, but with just enough space between you to keep your focus.

Varrick leans forward “So, you wanted info on that Navy ship?”

Law nods “I heard it was seen heading east out of Ivona Port last week.”

Varrick shrugs, swirling his drink lazily “Could be. Could be west. Hard to say.”

You place your hand lightly on Law’s thigh. Barely a touch. Just enough.

Lie.

Law’s eyes don’t move. His posture doesn’t change. But his fingers tap against the glass in front of him once, acknowledging you.

Varrick chuckles “You know, these Navy guys come and go. They don’t tell me everything.”

Your fingers slide up, brushing over the inside of Law’s wrist as you reach for your own drink.

Another lie.

Law hums “Then tell me what you do know.”

“I know they’re not looking for pirates right now,” Varrick says “Some big job further north. Something to do with weapons.”

Your nails gently press into the back of Law’s hand, slow and deliberate.

Lie.

You feel him tense slightly. Like he’s thinking.

“Do you want something in return for this info?” Law asks coolly.

Varrick grins “Only a little favor later. Nothing serious.”

Even now he's lying.

This time you run your fingers slowly down Law’s forearm, letting your touch linger like a lover’s caress. But it’s all code. All signal.

Law shifts beside you. To anyone watching, it just looks like he’s turning toward you, lips brushing close to your ear.

“You’re sure?” he murmurs.

You nod “Three lies so far.”

“Mm.”

Varrick raises a brow “You two are cute, y’know that? Real cozy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you’re actually into each other.”

Law leans in, his lips grazing the edge of your cheek as he speaks “We are.”

Your heart skips.

You almost miss the way Varrick’s mouth twitches at that. A little wrinkle in the corner of his eyes. Something flickers. Jealousy?

“Lucky guy then...” Varrick mutters.

Law’s arm moves from your waist to your lower back, pulling you closer. Not fake this time. Not calculated. His hand is warm, firm, fingers curling possessively.

You’re practically in his lap now.

You keep your eyes on Varrick “So what’s the Navy doing near Blue Rock Island?”

He flinches.

Small. Quick. But you see it.

You drag your hand up Law’s chest like you’re playing with his shirt but your fingers dig in slightly at his collarbone.

That’s the truth. That’s the target.

Law tilts his head slightly, voice low and smooth “Blue Rock, huh?”

Varrick blinks, caught off guard.

You glance at Law just for a second and see it.

His eyes are calm. But his pulse at his neck is faster now. You shouldn’t be this close. He shouldn’t be looking at you like that. You’re supposed to be watching the informant, but now you’re catching the way Law’s lips part ever so slightly when you shift in his lap. The way his breath hitches.

He’s too good at hiding. You never have a baseline for him and suddenly, you realize you do now. You’ve been close enough tonight to read him. Feel him.

So when his ears turn red the moment Varrick leaves the table you finally know what his tell is.

“You’re enjoying this” Law mutters as Varrick disappears into the crowd.

You swirl the last sip of wine in your glass “Enjoying not getting stabbed in a double-cross? Sure.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

You turn your head slowly toward him, lashes low, a smirk threatening at the corner of your mouth “No? Then clarify, Captain.”

His jaw clenches.

You lean in “Or are you upset I figured out your tell?”

Silence.

Got him.

He doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at you. Just sips from his glass like he’s trying not to set it down too hard. You watch his throat bob, slow and tight. He’s flustered. Controlled but clearly struggling to keep that control.

Which is dangerous and tempting.

You reach out, brush something “imaginary” from his collar, letting your fingers drag across the base of his throat. He stiffens just slightly, and you swear under that cool expression, his eyes darken.

“I’m not ready to leave” you say casually, turning away to scan the floor “We did the job. Got the truth. Maybe we deserve a little fun.”

Law doesn’t argue. That alone is suspicious.

So you both stay. You drink. You people-watch. You flirt, just enough to be part of the act. And he plays along, letting his hand rest low on your back, murmuring sarcastic commentary about the drunk nobles and sleazy gamblers, voice low and rough in your ear.

But then Varrick returns.

You’re seated now in a more open lounge, a couch near the roulette tables. Varrick walks up with a drink and a too-easy smile.

“Forgot one little detail,” he says, tone casual “Seems like the Navy isn’t after pirates right now because they’re meeting with one. Some kind of alliance. Dunno who.”

Lie.

You shift against Law and drag your fingers along his inner thigh, too slow to be innocent.

Varrick talks more, and you let your hands wander. One arm over Law’s shoulder, the other toying with the fabric of his jacket. A fingertip gliding along the inked edge of his collarbone. Every time Varrick lies, you punish Law with a new touch.

You want to see how much he can take.

When you trail your hand up to the side of his neck and run your thumb along his jaw, you feel it. That little twitch. A shiver. His hand slides up your waist and grips tight, like a warning.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear.

“He’s lying again.”

Your voice is barely above a breath.

“And you’re pushing it” Law growls, so low only you can hear.

But you just smile and press a kiss to his cheek, slow and lingering “Don’t lose your composure, Captain. Someone might think you’re affected.”

Varrick finally gets bored and excuses himself, clearly thinking he’s dropped enough bait.

The second he’s out of sight, Law stands.

“You come with me. Now.”

You blink “Excuse me?”

He doesn’t even look back. Just starts walking toward the upstairs hall of the casino. Like he already knows you’ll follow.

Which… you do.

Up the stairs, past the velvet curtain, through the dim corridor lined with private doors. He finds an empty suite with a key card left in the slot—probably reserved for VIPs or those with a winning streak.

He opens it.

You step inside, the door clicking shut behind you.

And then he pins you to the wall. Hands at your side, like blocking you. Eyes burning.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he says, voice rough “Do you even know what you’re doing?”

You pretend to think “Touching my captain in public? Flirting with a man who’s obviously holding back? Yeah. I know exactly what I’m doing.”

His gaze flickers from your lips to your eyes and back again. His breath is hot against your face.

“Tell me if you want to stop.”

You grab his lapel and pull him down.

“I’ll tell you if you lie.”

For a few long seconds, Law doesn’t move.

His fingers flex on your hips, like he’s debating whether to pull you in or push you away. His eyes are on yours, unreadable to anyone else but you can see it now. The cracks in that cold, calculated shell. The tension. The restraint.

You’ve spent months trying to get a baseline on him. To decode his behavior. Now? You are the baseline.

And he’s struggling.

“I should let you go” he mutters, voice low, more to himself than to you.

“But you won’t” you whisper back.

His eyes drop to your lips “No.”

He steps closer. Your back is fully against the wall now, your breath tangled with his. You tilt your chin up, almost daring him.

“What’s holding you back?” you ask.

His mouth twitches “You.”

A beat.

Then “You’re too good at reading people.”

You grin “So are you.”

His hand slips to the back of your thigh, just under the slit of your dress. Not high, but enough to make your pulse skip “You’ve been testing me all night.”

“Guilty.”

“You think it’s funny watching me lose control?”

“I think it’s hot.”

That does it.

He lets out a quiet, sharp breath, like he’s just given up fighting gravity, and leans in until your foreheads are pressed together. His hand stays on your thigh. His other lands on the wall beside your head.

You whisper, “You’re not usually like this.”

“No,” he says “You bring it out.”

You stay like that for a moment, so close, heat radiating between you, neither of you quite touching where it counts. The tension is unbearable in the best way. It’s not just attraction. It’s months of silence, near-misses, unsaid things finally rising to the surface.

Law is still Law, he's collected and composed, but now you know what it costs him. You feel the restraint humming under his skin like electricity.

You reach up and slide your fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck. He shivers.

“Stay” he says. It’s not a command. It’s almost… a request.

You nod, slow “I’m not going anywhere.”

He finally steps back, not far, just enough to breathe, and moves to the bed. Sits on the edge, running a hand over his face like he’s trying to reset.

You take the moment to look around. The room is warm-toned, elegant. One massive bed in the center. Silk sheets. Balcony window cracked open to let in the sound of crashing waves and soft jazz from below.

You sit beside him, gently bumping his shoulder “So. What now?”

Law doesn’t look at you “Now, we sleep.”

You raise an eyebrow “You’re going to act like none of that happened?”

“I didn’t say that” he replies, voice quiet.

He leans back, hands braced behind him, eyes finally meeting yours “I’m saying we don’t have to rush it.”

Your heart stutters.

He adds, almost awkwardly, “This isn’t just the mission. Not for me.”

You don’t tease him this time. Instead, you smile, warm and soft.

“Not for me either.”

He pulls off his jacket, tosses it over the chair. Starts unbuttoning his cuffs. You stand and go to the bathroom to remove your heels and freshen up, giving him space, and maybe yourself a moment to breathe.

When you come back, Law’s already under the covers, shirt slightly open, tattooed chest half-visible in the low light. He’s facing the wall.

But when you slip in beside him, he immediately turns over and pulls you in, an arm draped over your waist, forehead pressing into your shoulder like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The room is quiet now.

The casino noise is a distant hum through the balcony window, soft music, muffled laughter, the whirl of spinning wheels and shuffled cards. But inside, it’s just the sound of two hearts beating faster than they should.

You’re lying on your side, Law behind you, one arm slung around your waist like it belongs there. His hand rests just beneath your ribs, warm and heavy. Not demanding. Just… steady.

The silence stretches. Not awkward, but charged. Comfortable, yet not quite safe.

Your voice cuts through it, soft and curious.

“If we’re just gonna sleep… then why here? Why not go back to the ship?”

You feel him pause behind you. Not tense but thoughtful.

He exhales through his nose “Because.”

“Because?”

His voice drops, rough like he hasn’t decided if he wants to answer honestly “Because if I took you back to the ship, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

He shifts slowly and pulls you in tighter, chest pressed to your back now. His nose brushes your neck, and his breath sends a shiver down your spine.

You barely manage a whisper “This?”

He hums “Stay close. Let myself… feel something.”

You blink. That wasn’t what you expected.

He continues, quietly “On the ship, I’m your captain. In control. Always thinking. Always five steps ahead.”

You glance over your shoulder, catching the faintest edge of vulnerability in his eyes.

“And here?” you ask.

“Here,” he says, “I get to be a man lying next to someone who makes him forget all of that.”

You don’t answer for a moment.

Then, deliberately, you reach back and trail your fingers down his forearm, slow and gentle.

“Good,” you whisper “Because I like this version of you.”

You feel his smile against your skin.

He doesn’t say anything else. Just tucks his face into your neck like he’s finally allowing himself to breathe.

You shift slightly.

Not much. Just enough to test the space between you.

He doesn’t stop you.

So you turn.

You roll slowly to face him, your knees brushing his under the covers, your chest barely touching his. The low golden light from the hallway filters in through the crack under the door, just enough to catch the edge of his face, his jaw, his eyes, that small crease between his brows.

He’s watching you. Carefully. Quietly.

You speak, low and honest “You’re not the only one who forgets how to breathe around the other.”

His expression flickers. Just a second. But enough for you to see hope, doubt, desire. Then gone again.

You lift your hand to his cheek, gentle.

Then he kisses you.

Hard.

There’s nothing hesitant in it. No more caution, no more reading cues, no more pretend. Just heat, and months of tension finally snapping. His hand slides to the back of your neck, pulling you in deeper.

You kiss him back with everything you’ve been holding in.

Your hands move instinctively, one gripping his shirt, the other slipping around his waist. He shifts, pressing you into the mattress, his knee between yours, his breath shaky against your lips.

When he finally pulls back, just an inch, his forehead rests against yours. Both of you breathing like you’ve just surfaced from underwater.

You whisper, “That didn’t feel like something we’ll forget in the morning.”

Law shakes his head slightly, lips brushing yours.

“It’s not.”

Another beat.

Then you add, teasing, “So much for just sleeping.”

His mouth curves into a tired smile, eyes half-lidded “You started it.”

You laugh soft and warm and tangled in sheets and tension.

And when he pulls you close again, one hand splayed across your lower back, your smile fades into something quieter. Something real.

Because this time, neither of you is pretending.

The next morning, the sun isn’t even fully up when you and Law leave the casino.

No one says anything at first. You walk side by side, close enough that your arms keep brushing, but not close enough to make it obvious.

At least, that’s what you tell yourself.

But the second the Polar Tang comes into view, the nerves hit you like a cannonball.

You’re holding your heels in one hand, the other arm looped awkwardly around your waist to keep Law’s massive coat closed over your dress. Your own shoes were giving you blisters, so somewhere between the casino lobby and the harbor, Law, annoyed and muttering, slipped out of his and made you wear them.

Now here you are, flopping around the deck in his too-big shoes while he walks beside you in his socks, lipstick faintly smudged across the corner of his jaw.

You don’t look at each other. You cannot look at each other.

And then just as your foot slips slightly in one of his clunky boots “Well, well, well… Look who finally decided to come back.”

Shachi.

Leaning on the railing with a bowl of cereal and way too much smugness for six in the morning.

You freeze.

Penguin appears from the stairwell, blinking at you both. His gaze travels from your tousled hair to your crooked dress zipper, to Law’s missing shoes, to your very obvious lipstick on his jaw.

He lets out a slow, exaggerated whistle.

“That,” he says, pointing his spoon between the two of you, “was not part of the mission.”

Law doesn’t even flinch. Just keeps walking, face unreadable except for the ears burning red.

You try to look casual. Like you didn’t just sneak off a casino floor at sunrise “We, uh... we stayed for surveillance reasons.”

Penguin snorts “Yeah, I bet you were surveilling something.”

You shoot him a glare, still wearing Law’s boots “My heel broke.”

“Sure it did. And your lipstick broke too? All over the captain’s face?”

You reach up automatically to touch your lips, and groan when you realize he’s right.

Law growls under his breath “Enough.”

But Shachi’s having too much fun “Man, I thought you’d at least try to sneak back on like it didn’t happen. This is so much better.”

“Do you want to swim today, Shachi?” Law deadpans.

Bepo pops his head out of the hallway “Did you two share a bed? Was it part of the act or did something actually happen? Because you both look like—”

“Bepo.” Law cuts him off like a gunshot.

You turn to face Law, trying so hard not to laugh because the man looks like he wants to teleport to another planet. His hair’s still a little messy. His collar’s open. And he’s got the exact same expression he had when you kissed him: that barely-holding-it-together calm that only you can see cracking.

You mutter under your breath, “We should’ve never come back.”

Law nods “Agreed.”

Then, just when you’re about to make a break for your quarters, Law stops and turns.

He grabs your hand.

The crew goes dead silent.

He lifts your fingers to his lips in one smooth motion. Kisses them.

Soft. Deliberate.

Then walks off with all the calm dignity of a man in socks who’s still the most dangerous person in the room.

Your brain short-circuits. The crew loses their minds.

Penguin lets out a strangled “WHAT—”

Shachi screams “HE’S IN LOVE!!!”

And you’re just standing there, one hand in the air, heart about to burst out of your chest.

You finally bolt down the hallway toward your room, calling back “I’M NOT TALKING ABOUT THIS!!”

Bepo shouts after you, “CONGRATULATIONS ON YOUR EMOTIONAL MATURITY!”

You slam your door shut, cheeks on fire, heart racing, and a stupid smile you can’t shake no matter how hard you try.

This scene we all know, where Sanji kicks Luffy, speaks to me in a very deep way.

While of course, Sanji's goal was to hopefully push Luffy away, and put his life as a member of the Straw Hat crew behind him for good, this scene particularly shows us just how much hatred Sanji held towards himself. His captain knows this, hence his quote:

"No matter how much you kick me, you're the one getting hurt."

The way he speaks to Luffy, slowly more agitated with his kicks and facial expressions, tells us something important.

"Go away." "Get out of my sight." "Get out of my face, now!"

Can easily be classified as Sanji talking to himself and the shame he felt, placed back into the core of his trauma, surrounded by his abusers.

Sanji was kicking himself.

If I counted correctly, Sani kicks Luffy a total of 61 times, including his final blow, which is not shown in this clip. I've written extensively before about how well Oda writes about trauma.

Sanji was drowning in shame and trauma over being surrounded by his abusers again, and he tried to walk the path alone, convincing himself it was the right thing to do. To sacrifice himself.

Luffy did not fall for it, and accepted every blow, emphasizing how Sani truly hated himself, as victims of abuse regularly do.

This scene is immensely powerful for that reason.

gif by @apparently-artless

OF LAND AND SKY

F!Reader x Trafalgar Law

SFW

Law didn’t find joy around loud noises, uncontrollable chaos, and, over all, people. Like a snow leopard, he preferred to hide in the shadows. Planning, observing, thinking…wanting to make sure that what he envisioned came true.

However, that changed when he and the crew were docked at a village during the winter season—snow was unavoidable and the temperatures were significantly colder than what they were used to.

“Captain, are you really sure you wanna go out there?” Penguin asked, looking out at the white landscape.

Law nodded as he slipped on a coat and zipped it up. “I’ll be gone just for a couple hours. Let Bepo be outside as much as he wants. He deserves it.”

With that said, he stepped outside and felt the frigid wind slice through the air like knives. The town was quiet, muffled by the snow, and the villagers paid him no mind. His history as a former warlord and title as the Surgeon of Death made him untouchable. The fact that he was also involved in Big Mom’s fall added to his list of accomplishments and reasons why he shouldn’t be crossed.

But there was someone willing to cross the line.

You.

At the village, Law had a goal. He was looking for you, his contact, someone who promised him information regarding Blackbeard, his next target for elimination.

As he passed by a library, he didn’t hesitate to enter. In your letters you described a quiet meeting place. And a library fit the description perfectly.

Quiet corners make better conversation.

Inside, Law shook off the snow and walked down the quiet aisles, eyes wandering from their books to him. He didn’t know what you looked like, which was a minor complication. But the situation was still controllable. If he played his cards right. If you two found common ground, it would be smooth—any hesitation from you he’d bend to his favor.

“Hey, stranger,” your voice cooed, smooth and amused. Law turned and looked at you, who naturally expressed an aura of confidence with a dash of elegance, a dangerous combination. Your dark gold eyes had an intense stare, posture straight, and you stayed in place.

You weren’t afraid of him. You had no reason to.

“Didn’t expect Mihawk’s daughter to be lounging around here.”

You lifted an eyebrow as you set a book in your hands back on the shelf. “What gives you that idea, Dr. Trafalgar?” His name sounded smooth as silk from your lips, your tone containing a hint of coyness that you knew would test his patience.

“Instinct.”

“Ah, like a cat hunting its prey.” You smiled, turning to look at him fully. “I’m more of a hawk like my father and observe from above.”

“Then we’ll get along well.” Law replied. You leaned against the bookshelf and crossed your arms over your chest, your fingers naturally touching the matching cross necklace you wore like your father.

“We’ll see about that.” You started, “and, even though Mihawk is my father, I am my own person. Don’t expect me to be like him.”

“Noted.”

Now there you were: two predators, ones from land and sky planning a high stakes mission, not knowing that this partnership unfolded a growing tension none of you planned for.

@onepiece-bingo

Animal Instinct

I'm curious. Reblog this if you know how to cook

I don’t even care if it’s macaroni, ramen or those little bowls you stick in the microwave. Please, I need reassurance that most of the population on tumblr WOULDN’T STARVE TO DEATH if their parents couldn’t fix them food or they couldn’t go out to eat. 

love languages

synopsis: what i think the love languages of different one piece characters are (platonic/romantic)

feat: luffy, zoro, usopp, nami, sanji, ace, law

notes: i feel like love languages can be interpreted in both platonic or romantic ways, so i tried to mix it up, but feel free to interpret it how you will!

warnings: slight spoilers for sanji's (full) backstory (?)

luffy

physical touch. LUFFY is big-hearted and compassionate, sending love to everyone he comes across on his journey often without even meaning to. he is very attached to the people he loves - and very much physically.

luffy is always seen hanging off the arms of zoro, wrapping himself around nami, sitting close to robin when she reads, it's his way of making those around him feel loved and protected.

although he isn't massively clingy to the point where he won't allow you to have your own space, expect a degree of clinginess! physical affection is how he expresses his love towards others as well as what brings him comfort. he is a huge hugger: hugging comforts him when he feels sad, but also helps him comfort those he cares about.

zoro

quality time + acts of service. due to ZORO being reserved, he doesn't often say much - these love languages don't often require words for showing and receiving love.

quality time matters a lot to zoro. even if it's just sitting in silence, a small conversation, training together, or walking outside, he enjoys having someone by his side in these moments as the time spent together shows a level of love and commitment in the friendship or relationship.

zoro strongly values loyalty. spending quality time with him shows that you care strongly about being together and genuinely enjoy being next to him even in the smallest of moments. he likes that he doesn't always have to say things to keep it interesting, sometimes just having someone there can feel very loving and he appreciates that.

zoro is big on actions - if he seriously loves you, he's always got your back and would go to the greatest lengths to show it. he would practically level an army for someone he loves and then act like it's nothing at all. he treats people he loves with a priority and wants to ensure that they are safe and protected.

nami

giving/receiving gifts. for NAMI, i feel like this is a given, but this doesn't mean she is ultra-materialistic and that gifts are the only way to her heart!

when nami was young, she never asked for or expected anything, and lived in a life of poverty. to receive gifts from someone she loves would make her whole world, as it's something she was never able to experience when she was younger. she loves receiving gifts especially when they are well thought-out and gifted with love and consideration.

however, she also expresses love through giving gifts. although nami always jokes about the crew owing her money and needing to pay her back at high interest, she seriously would never trade friendship or love for money. if it's for someone she loves, she would gladly use the money instead to help them or spoil them affectionately with gifts.

usopp

words of affirmation. USOPP feels loved by hearing words that make him feel grounded and secure.

usopp is insecure, unsure of his place in the crew as well as insecure of his lack of strength compared to those around him. he has an inferiority complex - hearing words of affirmation remind him that he is good enough and that there is no need to compare himself to others.

usopp is a liar, yes - but he just wants to be believed in. words of affirmation make him feel sure of himself and that there is no need to lie about who he is. he feels the most loved and validated when someone accepts him for his true self underneath the lies, as this allows him to become more confident in his own skin.

however, he also uses words of affirmation to show his support and care of others. usopp is full of stories (although most of them are fictional), and would use his words to cheer you up in your hardest moments.

sanji

words of affirmation + acts of service. SANJI expresses love by giving his all, but never expecting to receive any love in return - words of affirmation and acts of service give him the love he never knew he needed.

sanji's traumatic childhood of being told that he was a failure and that he shouldn't have been born by his biological family caused him to feel unworthy of love. words of affirmation make him feel deserving of love and care after feeling worthless all his life.

sanji is extremely selfless, going to great lengths to protect and give to the people he loves. he goes out of his way to do acts of service for his friends but feels selfish asking for anything in return. acts of service give him the love he has been missing - going out of your way to do things for him, big or small, makes him feel loved as he feels reassured that his existence is not a burden and that it's not selfish to want things for himself, like favours or help.

sanji will always offer words of affirmation and shower you with compliments to remind you of how much he loves and admires you. he is also very emotionally aware and highly sensitive to the needs of others - he expresses this through acts of service (especially with cooking!) to show his care to who he loves, especially if they need it.

ace

physical touch + words of affirmation. ACE resembles luffy in many ways, he is very physical displaying and receiving love. but besides affection, he needs assurance through words that he deserves love.

ace loves physical touch and is very playful when displaying affection. he loves a good hug, kiss, tickle fight, cuddle, hair ruffle, you name it - he finds it fun and feels like it's the easiest way to let someone know he cares about them or loves them. although he is well-mannered and not as rowdy as he was when he was little, he can be when he's affectionate.

however, ace is also similar to sanji in the sense that he is extremely self-sacrificing and would put his life on the line for those he loves. he needs words of affirmation to remind him that his life is valued and that he shouldn't throw it away selflessly because he deserves to live and be loved.

ace also cares deeply about others' happiness, he would definitely use words of affirmation to comfort you during hard times or to build up your confidence and remind you of how much he loves and cares about you.

law

acts of service + quality time. similar to zoro, LAW s very reserved and introverted. he isn't so sure how to show or receive love in the typical way, and has his own ways of doing so, mainly based on actions opposed to words.

law is very practical. he cares a lot about being efficient and doing things right because of his role as the captain (and doctor) of the crew. acts of service such as favours or giving him a helping hand mean a lot to him as someone who is always busy and working. he also expresses his love towards others through acts of service, such as protecting or aiding others when they are injured. he is not the most emotionally expressive, so his love language is deeply rooted in doing opposed to saying.

law also highly values quality time as he feels as though meaningful interactions with a friend/partner make the relationship strong and connected. having deep, meaningful conversations with him or supporting him in difficult moments let him know that he can trust you and that you care about him.