I Hate When The Low Moods And Insecurity Hits Out Of Nowhere. Nothing Major Happened Exactly I Just Woke

I hate when the low moods and insecurity hits out of nowhere. Nothing major happened exactly I just woke up feeling so awful about little things and things I have no control over hitting me all at once. I know it'll pass but t's just exhausting.

If anyone else is going through similar feelings like this, just know I'm there with you. Be kind to yourselves, there's never anything wrong with resting, making yourself a priority and doing something for you 💕

Pulse Point

opla!Zoro x reader

Summary: After almost losing you, Zoro is willing to do whatever it takes to keep you alive.

WC: 8.1k

Warnings: blood/gore, violence, no death but we get pretty close, medical inaccuracies probably

The last thing you completely felt was a sword plunging straight through your chest.

The blade was ice cold and nothing had begun to hurt yet. It was just uncomfortable. Like there was something inside you, pushing your chest apart. There was, technically, but there was supposed to be something besides slight discomfort. You could feel the metal moving inside you, but it did not hurt. Maybe the adrenaline was helping.

For a second, you were one with the sword. Your body, pierced on its blade, took one final step backwards, pulling the sword out of your attacker's hands. He looked surprised. As if he expected you to be invincible. Like this wasn't a part of his plan. Like he expected your chest to secretly be made of rubber, like your captain, and the blade would just push your body backwards.

Unfortunately, that strength belonged solely to your captain. You were not indestructible, despite your frequent and overconfident declarations of that being so every time you managed to walk away from a fight with only a couple bruises and bloodstained clothes.

Those declarations were bold faced lies. You knew that you were as mortal as the others. As mortal as the man in front of you, whose blade had gone straight through your chest, who was looking on in disbelief as you waited for something to happen.

He reconciled with himself quickly enough, and grabbed the hilt of the sword once more, shoving the blade in further.

You could hear the screams all around you, but they rang dull and hazy, your ears stuffed with cotton. It was like you were underwater and they were above it, but even when they dove in, the words were still incoherent and dim.

You tried to scream yourself, but your voice choked in your throat. Your mouth hung open instead, in a look of pure shock. You felt like a doll, completely unable of moving on your own, only manipulated by the forces around you, namely the blade that had cut you open.

It started to hurt. At first you felt a burning ache, along where the blade sat. Soon, it spread. You were being torn apart. Cleaved in half. It hurt like all hell.

The man holding the sword showed no more remorse for you, using his foot as leverage to get your body off his weapon, pushing you to the ground.

Once your body was removed from the blade, you began to fall back. You attempted to tuck your head forwards to prevent any hard contact, but you were no longer able to control your movements.

Halfway down, you saw your murderer get tackled to the side by an unyielding force. It passed by so fast, you were unable to even see who had done it, but they began to hit him hard.

You hit the cobbled ground with a flash of white as your head collided against the stones, another ache that lingered as you attempted futilely to get ahold of yourself.

You were cold, your extremities shivering in shock as you lifted your head up hazily to view the gore of your chest, a horrific sight of blood and flesh. The pain radiated through you like a second heartbeat, so oppressive that you found it difficult to breathe. You simply choked on the air.

Finally, a person entered your line of sight. Luffy. He hovered over you, your captain. The way he looked at you reminded you of the day you almost lost Zoro. The pain in his eyes. He looked as inexperienced as ever. You did not want him, or any of them, to go through that experience again. Not with you.

You wanted to say something, apologize for not reacting when he thrust the blade forwards, for essentially letting him run you through, leaving a gaping wound that was drenching everything it could with a thick coating of blood.

Luffy shouted at you, looking desperately around before dropping to his knees next to you. You were still underwater. You couldn't hear anything clearly, and your vision was drifting in and out of focus.

Sanji came forward, on your other side. His coat was already slipping down his arms and with a swift movement, he bundled it up around his hand and pressed it against your wound.

You could tell he was apologizing, the same word, "sorry", etched on his lips as he leaned forward, sending more flashes of pain through your body. It was red hot, burning so bright you tried to writhe away from him, but Luffy's position made it difficult, blocking you from rolling over.

You attempted to scream, but instead, you felt something fill your mouth.

When you coughed the warm liquid up, you realized it was blood. At the very least you weren't choking on it yet, but it was only a matter of time.

Nami made her appearance at your feet, and Usopp followed, sitting in between Sanji and Nami, the same horror you saw from Luffy in his eyes.

You noted immediately that Zoro wasn't hovered over you as well and you worried that a grave fate had already befallen him.

When your lips parted to mouth his name, no sound leaving your bloodied jaw, everyone's heads shot in the same direction, at the approximate location your killer fell.

Nami leaned over and you saw Sanji carefully peek at the coat he was using to hold you together. It was a disgusting sight. The fabric came away completely darkened, soaked through with blood. Too much blood. The coat pressed down again, and now Sanji looked scared.

Zoro came into view, he looked furious, but it melted away immediately when he saw you. His anger was replaced with fear and devastation.

You wanted him to grab you and hold you against his chest, promising that everything would be alright, like he had many times before, but you didn't think that it was possible to be alright. Not this time.

He sat at your head, looking down at you and the sunbeams from behind his head made him look like some kind of angel, despite the flecks of blood splattered across his face and the bruise slowly darkening on his cheek.

For once, he did not shout at Sanji for touching you. He hardly acknowledged Sanji's work. His eyes were fixed on you. If he looked down at your injury, his eyes did not trace up the arms to see who it was staunching the blood and his brow did not furrow at the sight of the crewmate he would easily insult for looking at him the wrong way were this any other situation.

His hands took your face, attempting to reach out to you with his words, but you were unable to hear his request.

You wanted to hold him, and a weak arm raised from your side, hanging lazily in the air before Zoro took it. He squeezed gently, and you attempted to return the gesture, but your hold was weak enough as it was. He felt it anyways.

Sanji was forced to push harder on the injury and you recoiled once again, doing anything you could to escape the pain. This time, Zoro did notice Sanji and snapped out of his fear.

"Careful." He practically snarled at Sanji. You heard him faintly, surfacing for a second before dipping under again. The pain did not lessen, and you knew Sanji had to hold it as tight as he did because otherwise you'd be absolutely drained of blood.

You heard muffled talk above your head, but you only barely managed to grasp what they were trying to say. They were talking about finding a doctor, getting you somewhere safe.

You were exhausted, and you wanted nothing more than to close your eyes and drift into sleep, but you knew if you did fall unconscious, you might never wake up.

Your body became weightless as Zoro lifted you from the ground, new pain mixed with the old, and you felt awful. The coat pressed harder against you, if possible, but you didn't react. You were too weak. You felt like you were being squished when a hand pressed against the exit wound on your back.

Zoro began to walk, his pace hurried with your body resting in his arms, life seeping out as quickly as your blood.

Despite your limp position, you noted that your arm was not hanging down as Zoro ran. He had taken care when lifting you up to grip your wrist in his hand, a finger pressed against your wrist, directly over your pulse point, though by now it was more likely you would be feeling his pulse instead of him feeling yours.

You looked up and met eyes with Zoro. "Stay with me." He ordered as you surfaced again. You did your best, but you were fading fast. "Stay with me!" He shouted, picking up his pace. He was practically begging, and your heart broke.

Your head fell back, unable to hold itself up anymore, your breaths shallowing. Your eyes threatened to shut, but you tried your hardest to keep them open.

You felt yourself moving faster. Zoro's underwater voice begged once more. "Please." Whatever he was asking you to do, you could not hear. You drew whatever strength that remained and focused on his voice. "We're gonna find a doctor. They're gonna fix you."

Your eyes drifted shut for a long second before opening again. You didn't think you were going to make it. You felt unfixable.

You wanted to say goodbye to Zoro and thank him for everything he had done for you. You wanted to tell him how much you loved him, but your voice had disappeared long ago. Or perhaps only a minute or two. Time was drastically changed in your state.

The bright light of the sun disappeared as you were brought inside a building. You were no longer able to keep your eyes open as your body was laid down. You heard desperation from the muffled voices, but even those drifted away.

The last thing you heard was Zoro's deep voice, practically silent, but you recognized it nonetheless. There was some more ambiguous sounds, and a faint touch on your hand, and you were out.

None of the crew was allowed inside for the process, which left them standing outside the building, waiting.

Zoro stood still, only one step away from the door. If it opened he was likely to get hit in the face. He was covered in blood. Your blood. He felt sick.

He had never seen you like that before. So frail, broken. Weak. It hurt him to no end. You were strong. You were powerful and you never backed down. You stood tall before your enemies and treated them all equally, that is to say with unyielding force, and a barrage of attacks so powerful they had even put Zoro on his ass once.

Seeing you like that, your face ashen, your body nearly limp as you struggled to draw your breaths, it terrified him. You were a human, as fragile as any other, but Zoro had never seen you like that. Echoes of the way your body trembled while he carried you buzzed through his arms. An awful sensation.

"Zoro?" He turned around to look at whoever had called. He faced the crew, all sharing looks of worry, the same fears running through their heads.

"They're gonna help. Everything will be alright." Nami said, for the group's benefit as well as her own. "The doctors will help." Zoro said nothing.

Hours passed, each second agonizingly long. No updates, no confirmations, just a painful, unending wait. The only comfort the crew found was knowing that you were not dead yet. They would have been told already.

It was around midnight when the strangers came. There were three of them, each wearing dark cloaks. Black in the moonlight, but it would be reasonable to think that they might be blue in the daylight.

They walked without stopping to acknowledge the frightened crew, pushing past Zoro and walking straight into the building, closing the door behind them.

Zoro heard a couple guesses as to what the strange people were doing there, but all he could understand was that they were going in to help you. In that regard, he did not care if they had not looked at him, despite his looming presence at the door. He just needed you to be safe. He needed them to save you.

Time passed slower than ever, and Zoro was growing irritable. When Sanji left to get them some food, he refused his portion, saying it could be sacrificed to the captain. It was, but the group could tell that he was terrified for you.

Finally, after one last hour, the strangers left, the one at the front clutching a jar, with an indiscernible item floating inside. Payment for their strange services, the crew guessed.

They were followed out by the doctor, who was thanking them profusely before turning to the awaiting crew.

"Your friend is stable." The doctor said, tone warning. The crew hardly cared.

"They're alive?" Luffy asked. "Yes." There were relieved sighs all around. "But, there's a problem." The tension returned.

"We needed to use an old form of magic to save them. It keeps them alive, but only for a little while. When the magic runs out, your friend will die."

Zoro's fist clenched. "You couldn't save them?" He asked, accusatory. "We tried, but the wound cut too close to the vital organs. Without proper surgeons, our only shot was to mend as much as we could, and use the magic. We use it here to allow for peaceful goodbyes."

Zoro hated everything the doctor said, about not being able to heal you entirely, about this waning magic and the thought of having to say goodbye. It was disgusting.

"Goodbyes?" Usopp asked weakly. "Like, goodbye, forever?" The doctor nodded, a false solemnity. "Your friend is strong. I've had people slip through my fingers with far lighter injuries. I suppose they wanted to come back to you."

"Are they awake?" Zoro asked, voice flat, but bubbling with restrained emotions.

"Asleep right now, but they will awake in the morning. Until then you can find an inn to sleep in, and visit in the morning."

The doctor began to close the doors, but Zoro grabbed the door, holding it firmly. "I'm not leaving." Zoro said. "I want to stay with them." "We don't allow visitors at night." The doctor explained, a deep frown directed at Zoro's hand on the door. "It might disturb the other patient's rest." "Are there any other patients with them?" Zoro demanded. "Well no, but we still have rules." "Damn your rules. I need to be with them."

The doctor took an indignant breath, but let it out weakly. "If you touch nothing, you may stay. But only one of you. The rest will have to come back in the morning."

Zoro stepped forward, opening the door himself. No one dared challenge him. He was going to be at your side. He had to be.

"I'll see you in the morning," He turned to the crew, trying to control the shaking in his voice. A few scattered goodnights were spoken and with that, the crew left.

Zoro was led inside. The building smelled of pure alcohol, with an undercurrent of blood. It stung as he walked down the hall, led into the room where you were being kept.

You were alone in the room. On a bed, not accompanied by any fancy machinery or dressed excessively in bandages. He supposed your wound would be dressed under the paper thin gown you had been given. You lay still, your face calm. If Zoro had not seen the rhythmic, steady rise and fall of your chest, he would have sworn that you were already dead.

He approached you carefully, hand reaching out to hold yours. Your skin was cold against his. Still, he held on. With a careful touch, he pressed his thumb against your pulse point, feeling the gentle thrum beneath your skin, a sign of life. You were alive.

It wasn't right however. Not a heartbeat. The steady thumping of a pulse was replaced with a consistent feeling of movement. The magic, he realised. That was what was keeping you alive. Not your heart. Not anymore.

Still a sign of life, he breathed a sigh of relief, trying to keep himself composed, even though he wanted to collapse at the knowledge that you were at the very least alive. It meant he had time to save you. "It's going to be alright." He promised your sleeping form. "You are going to survive."

He sat on the floor, leaning back against your bed, head cushioned by your mattress. A hand stayed protectively around the hilt of his swords, at the ready, in the highly unlikely event that someone came to finish you off.

The other hand reached up to feel your pulse point again. It felt strange to feel the thrumming of magic under your skin instead of your blood. It was only a slight consolation that it was still responsible for your life.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake, Zoro slipped into a dreamless sleep at your bedside, soothed by the fact that for the time being, you were still alive.

The rest was needed, for he did not wake up until one of the nurses arrived in the morning, opening the door to your room, spurring Zoro into action. He did not pull out his swords, but the nurse looked terrified nonetheless. He probably looked a mess, having slept on the floor, your blood soaked into his clothes, still looking fresh from a fight.

After quickly checking on you, still asleep, the nurse nodded and left quickly, making significant efforts to not look Zoro in the eyes.

"Zoro?" Your weak voice caught his attention. He spun around to face you, seeing your eyes, fixed on him.

He moved to you, grateful to see you awake. You moved carefully, trying to ease yourself into a sitting position.

"Does it hurt?" Zoro asked, looking like he wanted to help, but unsure of how to offer it.

"I can't feel anything." You answered numbly, hand reaching up to your chest, where a check from the nurse had revealed your bandaged midsection.

You were not lying to comfort Zoro. In place of the agonising pain from before, there was nothingness. Like your insides had been scooped out, leaving you hollow.

Zoro explained as best he could what the doctors had done to you. You listened, all the while staring at your chest, feeling the hollowness.

"How much time do I have?" You asked, and Zoro cursed himself for not asking that question earlier. "I don't know."

"You have the next two days." The doctor said sternly, appearing from the door. "To say your goodbyes, pay your dues. It will be painless."

You said nothing, just looking blankly at the doctor. Faced so suddenly with your death twice in a very short timespan was a painful experience. You had thought you were safe.

Zoro watched you nervously. You looked scared. Obviously you despised the thought of dying, but he was still so unused to it.

He watched as your hand inched over to his. He reached up and took it without question. You squeezed his hand firmly, trying to keep your cool.

"Can we have a minute?" Zoro asked, tone sturdy, authoritative. "Alone?"

The doctor frowned, but said nothing, leaving as requested.

As soon as the door closed, Zoro turned to you, completely focused on you. Tears burned at his eyes. He was going to lose you.

"They couldn't save me?" You asked, looking straight ahead, still processing everything. "No. It was the only option. But I'm going to find something else. I promise. You're going to be alright."

You leaned forward, falling onto him, hugging him as tight as you could.

"I thought I was never going to do this again." You mumbled into his shoulder, tears welling in your eyes. "I wouldn't even get to say goodbye." Zoro's arms wrapped around you in a protective hold, avoiding where the sword had exited your body. He too, felt the tears stinging his eyes. He had thought much of the same. "I was so scared." You admitted quietly. "It hurt so much and I couldn't keep my eyes open, it was awful."

You curled up, body moving closer to Zoro, who just held you tighter, clinging to you. "You're safe." He promised. "You're safe now."

He could feel your shaky breaths through his shirt. The spot on his shoulder where your eyes were pressed was suddenly damp. Zoro tried rubbing your back, but cautiously avoided the area of injury, giving him limited space to work with.

There was a knock on the door and you jolted up. Zoro expected you to wince, but the movement did nothing to affect you. You simply answered it with a call.

"Come in."

The door burst open, and your crewmates spilled in, rushing to you. The floodgates burst open. There was tears and confessions, everyone spilling truths that needed to be told to you for fear of you never getting to know otherwise.

Finally the doctor came in again, to deliver the news properly, this time with your found family there to hear it as well.

You got the recap, about the magic in you, how it would fade, giving you a peaceful send-off, with enough time to say your goodbyes. You nodded at the explanation, lips set in a firm line. You were still dying, but at least it was painless.

The crew decided to say their goodbyes individually, allowing them one last moment with you before the end.

The realisation set in slowly but surely. That you truly were experiencing the end, that death was coming for you, and your ticket to the afterlife, if there was one, had been paid with the magic in your chest, thrumming in place of your heart, keeping your blood moving as your body uselessly tried to replenish what had been lost.

The one-on-one conversations were moving, and you found yourself growing serious. This was your end. You had accepted it. They needed to as well.

You began to feel it fading. The strength you had felt earlier in the day was gone now, and it was more comfortable to sit still than to move around. You were getting weaker. You were still dying. It was frustrating, even if you had come to terms with it.

Most of your friends had gone already. Zoro was last. Before he came in, around lunchtime, the doctor paid you a visit to make sure everything was alright.

"How are you?" The doctor asked. "Fine. It doesn't hurt. I'm just tired." You admitted quietly. "You held on to your life well. We were all impressed. For a second, we almost thought you would make a recovery." The doctor said, checking your bandages for blood. "Oh?"

"Unfortunately it was impossible." The doctor covered quickly. "Without a surgeon, we could never be able to mend it properly. But, you've been stabilized. It's the best we could do."

The doctor finished the checkup and left, allowing Zoro to enter.

He looked tired. You saw the redness of his eyes. He had cried. You wondered if he split off in order to let it out or if he did it in front of the others. He had changed into fresh clothes, no longer covered in the horrific reminders of your attack.

"Hey Zoro." Your voice sounded so weak and you wanted to punch something to cope with your body threatening to shut down around you.

At the very least, you could speak. Throughout the day your voice had faded, going from your strong, regular tone to a scratchy whisper. It was tiring to speak too loud. You wanted to save Zoro the pain of seeing you like this, but he had already seen you while you knocked on death's door the first time. At least this time you were clean and able to see and hear him properly. You didn't want him to see you like this, but he didn't care. He needed to say goodbye.

He stood next to your bed. The sheets were pure white, a stark contrast to the blood that had been shed on the operating table. The bandages around your chest were pristine too, as if you were attempting a fashion statement instead of hiding your mortal wound.

In his mind's eye, Zoro could still picture you, limp in his arms. The visions flashed as he looked at you in the bed, barely moving, voice faded.

He had replayed the entire ordeal a thousand times over during his wait, from the last minutes of the fight, to him finding his place at your bed, protecting you from an unlikely attack.

He remembered every gory detail. The way you felt in his arms, the colour of the blood stained into the fabric of his shirt and Sanji's coat, the very make of the blade that had pierced you, every bruise he had pummeled into your murderer's face.

Your hand reached out, and he took it. This time, you inspected it, a finger brushing along his knuckles, which were rough and irritated. "Zoro." Your tone detailed the rest of the rant you wanted to go on. About how he needed to channel the anger somewhere else when he got angry. To not just rush at whatever he could and fight it.

He shook his head, defending himself. "I did this to the asshole who-" his voice caught and he cleared his throat, grumbling at the floor.

After taking down the man he had been a furious whirlwind, pummeling his fists into the man's face until he had been unrecognizable, only pulled away from his violence by the sight of you, eyes glazed over, trying desperately to stay alive.

You squeezed his hand, only slightly stronger than it had been less than a day before. He squeezed back with the same force.

You could feel the emotions in the room. It was stifling. Zoro refused to sit in the chair set up for your visitors, and by the looks of it, he would refuse if you asked him to.

You sat in silence, looking over his body, registering every inch of his skin you could see, making sure he was okay. You noted a cut on his bicep. It had scabbed over, but looked rough. At the very least, it could have used a bandage. The bruise on his cheek was darker now, but not serious. Still, an ice pack or some cold vegetables should have been used to soothe it.

"It's fine." Zoro refused to let you say anything about the situation, knowing your analytical way of scanning him for injuries.

"I've had worse." His voice wavered.

You felt the world still. His voice had never wavered before. Everything he said was strong and assured. Even in the most brutally honest discussions you had had with him, tears on both of your faces, he had not broken. He had hesitated, he had choked and been cut off. He had spoken words quickly in times of stress and his tone occasionally made him sound careless, but it shattered you to hear him crack.

You needed to hold him, so you pulled him down. You tugged on his arm and he followed your guide as you looped your arms around his neck. You could feel his unsteady breathing as his arms wrapped around you, his face buried in your shoulder.

You sat in silence, his ragged breathing in your ear as he tried to resist the emotions he was trying so hard to hide.

You leaned back, and he followed your lead, joining you on the bed, lifting you up so that you could lay on him, between his legs, just like you did on the ship. You rolled over once he got behind you, so that you were chest to chest, head nestled next to his, the rising and falling of his chest still evidently restrained.

You realized that he was warm and briefly wondered how cold you felt to him. His arms wrapped completely around you, warming you up. You realized a little too late that you were shaking. He held you protectively. Like a shield. He wanted, more than anything, to protect you, but he had not been able to. He had let you get hurt. He had stood by and done nothing until it was too late.

Having already failed you in his mind, he simply held you tight against him, begging whatever powers that may be- the powers that he did not believe in- to give him more time. To give him all the time in the world. To give him a miracle, anything to prevent him from dealing with this devastating reality.

"What do I do?" He unintentionally asked out loud. He found himself unable to look down at you, furious at his involvement, or lack thereof, with your current position, so close to death. He wanted to cry, but refused to let that happen. He needed to stay strong for you. He needed to protect you. He was not going to let you get hurt again.

"Zoro?" You said it just to catch his attention. The overuse of his name had been apparent, but necessary. "It wasn't your fault. It's okay. You can let it out."

The dam broke. The words were simple, but it was what he needed to hear. He shook with heavy sobs, but stayed quiet. There was no bawling or shouting, or anything you would expect. It was just quiet. His shaky breaths were all you could hear against the silence of the room around you, like he had trained himself to be as silent as possible when he cried.

"It's okay." You spoke the words again.

"It's not." His voice shook again. "I should have stopped him." "Don't blame yourself, it won't help you." "I could have stopped him."

"It was my fight." The firmness in your words silenced his protests. "I may have lost it, but it was my fight to lose. I wouldn't have stepped in between your fight with Mihawk." He opened his mouth but you stared him down.

"Promise me that when I'm gone you won't blame yourself. I don't blame you. I lost the fight. There was nothing any of you could have done." He nodded. A weak gesture.

"Promise me." You ordered.

"I promise." He said with a heavy sigh, followed by a shaky inhale. You breathed out and laid your head against his chest. "Good. It wasn't on you."

He was reaching the end of his cry, his breaths beginning to settle. "Please stay with me." You requested, comfortable in his arms. "Until the time comes."

"Of course."

He pulled the thin blanket up to keep you warm, still in his arms, lulled into a sense of peace for your last hours, however many you had left.

You thought back to the good times. Walking along sandy beaches and through lamplit towns at night, where the only thing that mattered was the person holding your hand. You thought back to napping with him, on deck, sitting next to him, your head on his shoulder, or in the hammock, swinging back and forth with the rocking of the boat, feeling safe in his arms.

You remembered talking. Talking about your interests while he lazily listened, comforted by the sound of your voice as you explained what you did and why you did it.

In a strange twist of events, you stayed quiet, while Zoro spoke up.

His monologue was about you, how much he loved you, the way you had impacted his life, memories he had of you, anything he could think of, so long as it pertained to you.

His speech was stilted and certainly not well thought out. His sentences dropped off at odd places or fizzled out when he could not think of anything more to say. His voice stayed as level as he could make it, the occasional tremor running through. It was far from an impassioned declaration of love, but that was not what he could provide for you. That was not what you needed. You needed him. And that included his awkward words, still unused to being this intimate with anyone.

He finished his tangent by pressing his face against your head. "I'm gonna miss you." He said into your hair, pressing a gentle kiss to the crown of your head.

His admission left a sinking feeling in your stomach. Had he really accepted that you were dying?

You shifted so that your eyes looked up to the bottom of his jaw. "You have no idea how much I love you." He murmured, and for a second you thought he had fallen asleep on your head, but he was just still, wishing this moment could last forever.

"I believe in love because of you." You felt another kiss to the top of your head. "What am I going to do when you're gone?"

You sat up a bit, so you could look him in the eye. "You are going to become the best swordsman in the world. Obviously. With or without me you are going to follow your dreams."

He took your face in his hands, carefully, like you were made of a fragile glass. It felt that way. He held you so gently he was scared you would break. "What do I do to make you stay?"

The question was strong. It wasn't a soft thought he spoke out loud just to say something, the musings of a grieving man. There was purpose behind it. He wanted an answer.

You shook your head instead, tears brimming in your eyes. "You can't. There's nothing."

His brow furrowed and you realized how serious he was. He would swim around the world if it would somehow cure you. He would do whatever you said even if it only gave you a few more days with him. You did not want him chasing a lost cause.

"Even if something could be done, it's too late." You leaned forward again, falling against him.

"Don't say that. You aren't dead yet. There has to be something." He insisted, sitting up straight, trying to keep you comfortable while he did so. "Zoro, stop it. There's nothing."

His eyes scanned your body as if there was a machine that could calculate a solution for him. His analysis turned up nothing. "I'll talk to the doctor."

You watched, half-formed protests dying in your throat as you spoke, as Zoro manoeuvred himself out of the bed, laying you down carefully, and deciding what to do next.

He walked towards the door and you said the only thing you could. "Roronoa Zoro." His full name made him stop. This could be the last time he heard you say it.

"Don't give up. I can help you. Let me help you." You shook your head. "This is the last resort." You touch your bandaged chest, where the magic keeping you alive slowly faded away.

"I survived." He pointed at his own scar, a dramatic line ripped across his chest. You wanted to agree, but you went through something different than he did. "The blade went straight through me. He barely missed my heart. I bled out." "You can heal." The desperation in his eyes shattered your heart. "They have a doctor here. Not a surgeon. They can't fix this. They can only sew it up and keep me alive as long as they can."

Zoro's head shot up. "You need a surgeon." His eyes practically ignited with hope. "Zoro." "I'll get you to a surgeon."

He leaned down, arms slipping behind your shoulders and under your knees, lifting you off the bed. "Zoro, put me down." You argued, doing nothing to get out of his grasp.

He hesitated for a second, your body laying the same way it had when you were dying less than a day ago. "You can't spend your last moments in here, waiting for it to end." He said sternly.

"Zoro." "One last trip." He insisted. "What's the worst that could happen?"

He knew that he had caught you in a corner, determination covering his features. "What if it doesn't work?" You asked, preparing him for the likely occurence. "Then I'll know I did everything I could to help you." He promised.

You said nothing in return, letting him help you up, and when your legs were too weak to help you walk, he swept you up, carrying you to the door, opening it to face your crew. At first, there was an oppressive silence, as if they had expected you to be dead.

"We're going to find a surgeon." Zoro insisted. There was no need for argument, the crew was more than ready to accommodate this detour.

There was a hurried walk to the ship, prepared to set sail as soon as possible, headed to a nearby island that boasted a city, surely there would be a surgeon there.

In the meantime, Zoro stayed with you. You were laid in a bed, offered many comforts, but it was evident that you were getting weaker. He sat next to you, one of your hands clasped in his for comfort.

You started the trip sitting up in bed, able to keep up with conversation, but soon there was a change. You were getting tired, and laid down.

Zoro stayed with you through it all, as the boat sped along the waves. As your eyes drifted closed, he urged you to stay awake.

You took one long blink and suddenly you moved, shifting under the blankets, lethargic movements that betrayed how little time you had left.

Zoro watched as you leaned up slightly against your pillow. "Zoro, if this doesn't work, I want to be buried at sea." Your voice was weak, but Zoro hung on to every word.

He wanted to interrupt and tell you that it was going to work, but he said nothing. He waited for you to finish. "Sail somewhere uncharted and leave my body to the sea. That way I'll always be with you. In the waters."

He looked up at you, the hand not holding yours went up to caress your face. He leaned in, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "Kiss my lips, idiot. " You mumbled. A smile brushed the edge of his mouth. He obliged you, and despite your tiredness, you looped your arms around his torso, tugging him in with what little strength you still had.

"Promise to bury me at sea?" You asked. "I promise." His voice was rough, tainted with emotion. "But it is going to work."

You smiled. "Of course it will."

Luffy came in to update you on the progress of your journey. Almost halfway there, by Nami's calculations.

You still did not expect to be alive by the time they docked, but that was a concern you would not voice.

As you were left alone again, you fought to stay awake. A losing battle. Zoro urged you to stay conscious, but it was getting harder and harder to do, fighting the urge to fall asleep, knowing it would be a rest you would never wake up from. He held your hand in his, his fingers carefully positioned over your pulse point, feeling the thrumming slow under his touch.

"Stay awake. You can do it."

You did your best, minutes feeling like hours as you struggled to stay awake.

When the boat docked, Zoro was already picking you up, running to find you the surgeon. He was not going to lose you. Not if he could help it.

The hospital was in sight when your eyes finally drifted closed, unable to hold them open for much longer.

"Stay awake." Zoro pleaded, shoving through the front doors.

"I need a surgeon!" He shouted, your weak body held against his chest, a haunting reminder of the day before.

When your body was pried from his arms a second time, an overwhelming emptiness filled him once more.

He spent every second questioning the staff of the hospital about your condition. Every answer was the same. Nobody knew what was going on.

Time passed as slowly as it could, and Zoro was restless. Any attempts to soothe him were ignored.

The only update he got was the doctors coming out, asking the strangest question he had ever been asked.

"Where did the heart go?"

Zoro was confused. Your heart was still in your body, it's processes aided significantly by the magic, but it was still there. It should have been.

"What?" He asked, confusion and anger bubbling in his chest. "The patient's heart is missing. It's been removed. Do you have the specimen?"

Zoro's world lurched as he put pieces together. The doctor looking upset at his insistence of being with you. The lack of a distinct heartbeat. The jar carried by the strangers. The way you confessed to feeling like you were hollow instead of in pain.

Those doctors had removed your heart. That was why you were "beyond saving". Because they had stolen one of your most vital organs.

It made no sense. Why would they do that? The fury raged on as Zoro's brain tried to think of any other explanation for what had happened. Your heart was missing from your chest cavity. Your heart.

His anger bubbled, swearing a lengthy and bloody revenge against whoever had removed your heart and all responsible for it.

Another doctor rushed towards the one interrogating Zoro, and with a jumble of words like compatibility, donor, and transplantation, they came to some sort of decision.

They left quickly, promising Zoro that they were going to try something risky, before rushing off with determination, leaving Zoro fuming and confused.

He stopped his harrassment of the staff briefly, finding the crew sitting nervously in a waiting room. Upon seeing him, they jumped up, but the look on his face startled them.

"What's wrong?" Nami dared to ask.

"Their heart was stolen." Zoro said, his words a long line of barely controlled anger, his body tense, ready to explode.

"Those fucking doctors took their heart out. It's gone."

Confusion spread across the crew, trying to understand what Zoro was saying. Surely he was joking. Your heart was not removed from your chest. There was no way.

There was no need to discuss the actions that would be taken wether or not you survived the procedure.

They were going back to that first island and Zoro was going to unleash absolute hell upon the doctors who had lied to him about trying to save your life.

Until then, the anxiety doubled, as more hours were spent hovering outside sterile doors, waiting for news that would either bring some semblance of normalcy to the world or tear it in half.

Finally, after a wait that spanned far too long, the doctors came out, looking shocked.

"Your friend survived the transplant. They're going to be okay." One of the doctors informed the crew. The excitement was palpable.

There was a cascade of cheers as the news was released, grinning faces and happy hearts. You were alive again.

Zor insisted upon waiting at your bedside, a looming, protective figure that barely softened his posture, even when your crew came in to see you.

He stayed by your side, day and night, asking the nurses about when you would wake up.

They said they didn't know. Only that you would.

Eventually.

Zoro spent his time with you by talking, remembering how you had helped bring him back from the brink of death.

Zoro clammed up the second somebody entered the room, but when it was empty he began to talk about anything and everything. Things he saw out your window, thoughts on the weather, complaints about whatever was on his mind. Anything and everything.

He made multiple apologies. For not helping you fight, for not finding this solution quicker, for not giving you a chance to end that bastard's life yourself, for letting those doctors steal your heart and replace it with a finite amount of magic. For everything.

His hand held yours, his fingers gently pressing your pulse point. He could feel the steady thrum of your new heart, weak as it was. It was still there. So were you.

One night, after having fallen asleep, slumped over in a metal hospital chair, his hand let go, and upon awaking, he scrambled to find your pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when he found it.

The torture stayed with him for three days, three whole days of waiting for you to come back, to fight against the odds and to prove how strong you truly were.

It was around lunchtime when you drew in a sharp breath, awakening to a stabbing pain in your lungs. Your eyelids fluttered, and a long, thin breath brought you back as you drowsily came to.

Zoro's heartrate doubled, a beacon of hope lit in his chest that burned brighter than the sun had ever been.

He felt your fingers twitch in his grasp, and your new heartbeat accelerated under his steady hold.

Your face pinched, contorted with pain, but Zoro was still just barely holding back tears. You were truly alive.

He spoke your name, a soft tone being taken on, one that had not been present during his ramblings to your unconscious body.

"Zoro?" Your voice was raspy, but there was nothing for him that could ruin the moment. "I'm here." He said carefully, hand moving to hold yours, squeezing it gently.

You squeezed back instinctively, laughing. "This probably isn't the afterlife then." You coughed and a wince ran through your body, followed by a sharp noise of pain. "Definitely not heaven."

"I'll get a doctor." Zoro said quickly, raising from his seat, rushing to proudly declare that you had bested the odds, and defeated death itself, not once, but twice.

"Zoro?" He hesitated, turning to look at you as you opened your eyes, blinking until he could come somewhat into focus. "Thank you."

Zoro had been accused of being an impulsive man, but he was sure of every thought that passed through his head before he rushed back to your side and kissed you.

His hands carefully caressed your face, the very hands that had bashed your killer's face into the ground and carried your limp body, the lips that had screamed at enemies and pleaded with so many nurses to tell him good news pressed against yours, losing himself in the familiarity of it. He had missed you so desperately.

You were still weak, but he could feel you reciprocating his action. "I love you." He repeated over and over again, eyes glazing over with tears. "I love you, I love you." Like a mantra.

When he slowed down, he saw your eyes drift behind him, where a surprised nurse was blushing at the scene in front of her.

"I'll get the doctors." She mumbled before scampering away, a giggle on her lips.

You were given a hefty painkiller, by doctors who still seemed unable to process that you had survived, but all the more happy for it.

The crew was permitted to see you, and whatever residing pain fighting your medicine was forgotten as Luffy's arms wrapped around you, stretched out long and encasing your body like spaghetti wrapped around a fork. He squeezed you tight as the rest of the group rushed in, drowning in relief and tears.

There was a group hug, which kept you warm and drowned out the fears you had and the weaknesses you felt.

They stayed with you, scattered around your ward, keeping you company, filling you in on the days you missed.

You sat up on your bed, cross legged, Zoro sitting behind you, holding you close against him as the crew talked around you. A game of cards had begun, and the sounds of uproaring laughter filled your ears and warmed your new beating heart.

You noticed the way Zoro held you. His arms were wrapped around you, your one arm crossed over yourself to hold his hand, the other hand taking care of the money you had won from the card game.

Zoro's fingers interlocked with yours, but his thumb strayed towards your wrist. It lay right across your pulse point, blood flowing through your body in rhythmic thumps, your heart doing its job enthusiastically.

His thumb pressed gently on the spot, feeling your pulse, as he did every second he spent at your side. He kept it there, making sure that you were still present. You are. You always will be.

247 notes View Post

4rticbolt

1 month ago

April fools but not me, everyday can be my day

Saw @moldychefboyardeecan post and got a little of inspiration (fighting a little of art block rn)

My OP Fanart Masterlist 2025

152 notes View Post

4rticbolt

2 months ago

RUN, RABBIT, RUN: Part 1

A Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

Trafalgar Law x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU

Part 1 of my @infixop gift for @namism!

CW: Zombies, graphic depictions of blood, death and violence. Named side characters (they not super relevant tho). No use of Y/N or gendered pronouns.

WC: 4185

Masterlist Next ->

(A/N at the bottom)

Around one and a half months after you finally left your apartment building and dived into your new life as a vagabond survivor at the end of the world, you meet Law.

You are the one that finds him, alone and out of breath, a few streets away from the now empty city university. He’s got a large backpack, his clothes are layered and unsoiled, and he glares at you from the shadow of his ugly spotted hat, distrust clear in his eyes.

You don't say anything, but you also don't take your eyes off him. Despite the unnatural danger zombies pose, another human is always more dangerous. And he seems like a threat. You eye the sword he holds in his left hand, unsheathed and covered in gross pieces of rotting flesh. It’s like a katana, but longer than any you’ve seen.

You raise your shovel. It's not much compared to an actual weapon, the dented metal spade is rough under the sun. You hope you look threatening.

“Are you going to be a problem?” You shout across the street. A zombie tumbles by a light pole further down the road. Your eyes dart in that direction for a second, then turn back to the man before you.

“No.” He replies. Simple. He looks down at his sword again, and frowns. A few of the fattier chunks slide off the glistening metal, landing with sad plops onto the hot asphalt. Above you, crows sit one by one on the power lines, their beady eyes watching, never blinking.

You pull your own eyes away before the implications of the swirling feeling in your stomach actually say anything about your current state of being.

“Well.” You say, unsure of how to continue. At that moment, your little ragtag group of survivors turns the corner.

“”Hey! Find anything—” Johnny’s voice dies when he lays his eyes upon that tall stranger with the huge scary sword across the road.

“I did find something.” You mumble.

For a few seconds, no one moves. The zombie down the road has disappeared down another street, and the crows are beginning to circle, clearly interested in the carrion the man is dropping all over the ground. He stares at you and the three others you met earlier that month.

Then he sighs.

Bewilderment grips you. That is not a normal reaction. Or maybe, considering everything, it should be a normal reaction now.

“Like I said, I’m not going to be a problem.” He takes a step towards you.

Johnny tenses beside you, and you raise your shovel higher. If the man wants to stab you, the sword will get you long before the shovel could get his head. So you’ll have to throw it for any chance of success. You ready yourself.

Then the man tosses his sword to the side with a resounding clang.

You’re not sure if it’s the shock that causes the shovel to slip from your fingers— but the sound is enough to make you jump. You bump into Johnny who in turn, stumbles over his feet and falls to the ground. Heat instantly shoots up your neck, making the tips of your ears feel hot. Great. To embarrass yourselves like this in front of an active threat. Just great. So you raise your leg, and aim your toes towards the middle of your shovel’s handle. Maybe passing it off like you meant to drop your shovel in the first place will encourage him to not think less of you. The darn thing skids across the concrete, coming to a stop a pathetically small distance away from you.

He stares at you, then at your shovel, and exhales curtly from his nose.

Despite surviving nine months into the end of the world, you are suddenly overcome with an incredible urge to die. There isn’t time to wallow in that feeling, however, because he steps closer, crossing the road without an ounce of apprehension.

“Law.” He holds out his hand. The word ‘DEATH’ is tattooed across his knuckles, and what you assume is some circular cult symbol on the back of his hand.

You respond with your own name, crossing your arms over your chest. Who knows where his hands have been.

Law stares at you with that same blank yet pointed gaze. The hairs on your neck rise. Huh. Unsure of what to do with this new feeling, you stare back at him, narrowing your eyes into a glare. You can only hope you’re making him feel as unsettled as you are currently.

“Uh. I’m Johnny.” Johnny says from beside you. He’s standing again, dusting himself off from the fall.

The other two in your group, Yousaku and Michelle, introduce themselves too. There’s apprehension in their voices. No one tries to shake Law’s hand.

~~~~

He sticks with the four of you for two nights and three days before the incident. He didn’t have any resources on him despite his big bag, so you compiled together all you had left, and redistributed some to him. The twenty cans of food and bottles of water between the five of you fill you with an anxiety you are now unfortunately familiar with, along with the looming realization that you’ll have to go further into the city to survive. Going further means the danger of both zombies and humans. The apocalypse has put many people in danger. And when people’s lives are on the line, people tend to do crazy things.

“We’re running out of resources.” Michelle says on the dusk of the second night Law spends with all four of you. After an uneventful day of scavenging, you’re all back at the little blocked up building you’ve been calling home for the last few weeks. It was Yousaku who discovered it a few days after you joined the three of them, located in a quiet part of town that didn't seem to have many other humans or zombies. But that also means the resources there are close to zero.

You’re all on the roof, huddling around a burning fire. Law sits to your right and Johnny to your left. Michelle is across the fire from you, and you can barely see her illuminated face through the dancing flames. The sun is setting over the horizon. A chill is setting in, seeping in from under you. Michelle’s words do nothing to soothe the shiver that races down your spine. You pull your threadbare blanket closer.

“I think we should try going across the bridge again.” She continues.

“I don’t know.” You say. “Aren’t the bridges hosting swarms even in the daytime?” Your old apartment was near the east bridge out of downtown and you barely survived the swarm around the bridge on your first, fateful day out in the wild. Sometimes, the images of grey, rotting skin, and the stink of decomposition in the midday sun still appear behind your eyelids when you close your eyes.

There is silence. The crackle of fire fills the silence. In the distance, you hear sounds of shuffles and low moans. You push the image of dripping flesh from your mind.

Then Johnny speaks. “If we cross the bridge, there would be more resources, right? There’s a lower concentration of people outside of downtown. And all the big chain stores were in the suburbs.”

“That part is true.” Law says.

You all turn to look at him. Law hasn’t said much since he joined the four of you two days ago, only mutters affirmation or rejection when handed things or asked to do things. You all wait for him to elaborate. As usual, he does not.

You frown at him. “How do you know that?”

“Logic.” Law says.

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Mr. Know-It-All, is logic a good reason for us to risk our lives?”

“But there are resources on the other side, right?” Youkasu asks. There’s a hopeful tint to his voice, something you haven’t heard in a long while.

Law nods.

“You’re really sure.” Yousaku asks again.

“Yes.” Law says.

He’s too relaxed for this. You think. He’s far too relaxed to be guiding you to your deaths.

You look at his fingers again. The dark letters on his skin do not seem to dim in the fading light.

“Are we forgetting it takes a day to get to the bridge? It’ll be evening by the time we get there!” You say, voice suddenly getting very loud. Because in the evening, right before the sun sets fully over the horizon, the hivemind comes out to eat. Like swarms of ants, the zombies will congregate. Piles of decay shuffling together like a tsunami of flesh to hunt. There were scientists on the news before everything really went to shit, talking about some kind of fungus that liked warm bodies. It made you shudder to think about it back then, and it still makes you shudder to think about it now.

Your worries do not seem to deter anyone else.

“I mean, the zombies are slow, right?” Yousaku says.

“We gotta be thankful for the small things.” You mutter sarcastically under your breath. Law makes a choking sound beside you. You glare at him from the corner of your eye, but he doesn’t bother to acknowledge you.

“If there’s a bunch we can fight them off.” Michelle adds. “There can’t be that many at the bridge.”

You make a face at that. You open your mouth, trying to insist that ‘There are that many zombies’, but Johnny interrupts before you can say more.

“Let’s vote.” He says. “Raise your hand if you think we should go to the bridge tomorrow.”

You dig your face into your knees, and slot your arms under your legs. There’s the sound of shuffling— then quiet again.

“Seems like the majority.” Johnny says after a moment. He turns to you then, a reassuring smile on his face. “This might be our best chance at surviving. We’ll be fine. All we need to do is leave before the sun goes down.”

~~~~

That is the first mistake.

Your group sets out early the next day. It’s sunny outside, but you can’t help but feel the looming threat of a bad decision settling on your shoulders. Your rations reduce just a little more, and everyone else seems more eager to get going. So you pack your bags and no one but you keeps track of the sun in the sky, hyper aware of its position as it slowly crawls westward.

The second mistake is trusting Law’s confidence.

His big sword really makes him seem unstoppable. It shines in the light as he carries it, resting against his shoulder. His quiet, sure attitude, makes everyone assume the best— which is the third mistake. Even his sword can’t stop the rush of one thousand zombies all coming at you at the same time, their physique enhanced by the soft pink sky of the setting sun.

You carry on. The sun is far too close to the bottom of the skyscrapers when you finally see the bridge. It gleams white in the light, a marvel of architecture. Just as you thought, the surface is covered with the heads of zombies. They sway and shuffle, clothes dropping from their bodies as they stumble aimlessly. A few turn towards you, jaws unhinging at the detection of raw flesh. Anxiety floods you. Your grip loosens and tightens around your shovel handle.

“Holy shit.” You hear someone say.

The anxiety clouding your mind turns into a sick satisfaction for just a few fleeting seconds. If you die, at least you die knowing you’re right.

“I think we should get going.” You say instead. You turn to leave. But that’s when you realize. The five of you are surrounded.

Your immediate instinct is to pick the direction you came from and start hitting. The zombies are many but at least they’re slow. You’re able to take them down at a steady pace— a smash— a step forwards— and the next one comes. Their decomposing fingers reach at you from all directions, teeth clamouring. Dead eyes stare past you, clumps of hair falling out of scalps at the softest contact. It always ends up being an endurance battle. Will you last, or will the zombies outlast you? Your shovel is sturdy under your hands, but your arms are already trembling from exertion. You can barely hear the shouts and screams of the others over your own heartbeat. It’s loud, pounding in your ears as you try to fight the vertigo threatening to overtake you. You’ve never liked bodies or blood. And zombies— with their human shapes and festering flesh— test your ability to stomach the mind-bending nausea.

For a second you look away. And you see him. Or, you see Law’s hat. Its white colour easily catches the light of the setting sun. He’s going in the complete opposite direction from Johnny, from the heart of the swarm. It’s where the line of zombies is the thinnest. Where the number of heads seems to be the fewest. His sword is raised, and he’s attacking the creatures with a sharp precision you’ve never seen from any of the other survivors you’ve met. He’s slicing through the decomposing bodies like they’re nothing but thin sheets of paper, dropping whole arms, fingers and heads with dull thuds in his wake. You turn back one more time. The voices of the people you spent the last month of hell with travel over the low groans of the zombies.

They are screaming. Flesh torn from bone. Eaten alive. You can try to save them.

But you are a coward.

You turn and sprint down the path of limbs. For a second you’re Dorothy, bounding down the yellow brick road, where the destination is not a granting of wishes but instead, an embodiment of your desperation for survival. A zombie lunges for you. You swing your shovel and its head flies off. Two more replace it, grabbing at you from the encroaching darkness. Law’s white hat catches the dying light, and you swing your shovel again, and use the spade to shove the swaying bodies to the ground. You jump over another fallen zombie, still twitching, and hurry towards the last place you saw Law. You can barely feel your limbs, only the reverberation of your feet making contact with the hard asphalt as you dodge and hit and shove, the little path Law made growing smaller and smaller with each passing moment.

You need to survive.

The zombies come one after another, but the closer you get to Law the easier it is to evade them. One grabs on to your jacket. You break its skull in half. Another catches on to your ankle. It takes a good hit and a hard stomp for that one to let go. Its decomposing fingers all but fall apart as you rip yourself away, heart pounding. The ever-growing shape of Law’s hat is your only saving grace. Suddenly, another lunges out at you from the darkness. You can see its face. Its graying skin, foggy eyes, and lips peeled back from rotting gums.

Bile burns up your throat as you swing.

You hit the zombie at its temple. Its head rolls off its neck, the last bits of connecting tissue glazing your shirt and arms. At the same moment the spade of your shovel flies off the handle. It soars through the air like a frisbee before landing somewhere in the middle of the hoard. You’re left with a handle, still clutched tightly in your hands.

Shit!

You run. The zombie that lunged at you was mostly alone, it seems, as the path in front of you is now somewhat clear. Your heart drops, however, when you realize you can no longer see Law. You spend a frantic, precious second frozen in place, looking for him, before you snap yourself out of that panic. You need to run.

Just follow the limbs, you think helplessly. So you do.

Heart pounding, lungs heaving, you dive through the scattered crowd, ignoring the crunch of bones beneath your feet and the soft splattering of decomposing flesh. The world ahead of you is blurring, your head is spinning, and you don’t realize until it’s too late that you are going to crash into something.

Bam! The impact halts you completely, and you stumble back, grip almost loosening on the shovel handle. It takes a second, but you realize it's Law.

You look up at him. And it's then you realize his eyes are coloured gold. You quickly avert your gaze, just in time to see another one of those creatures barrelling towards him. You look up at Law again, but he hasn’t noticed it. He’s pushing past you— focusing on something behind you— but not moving fast enough to dodge the mouth gaping at his neck. You move on instinct. The remainder of the handle piece slams into its jaw. It shatters upon impact but the zombie doesn’t fall apart like the others. It’s on the ground now, withering like a worm in the sun, disgusting and pathetic— but no longer a threat. You kick its head for good measure, noticing how its skin and jaw mostly stay together. It must be a fresh corpse, you think grimly.

Turning, you scan the area around you. There are much fewer of them now, two blocks away from the bridge. Law is a short distance behind you. You see his eyes glance down at the carnage by your feet, and then at you. There’s a blooming thread of understanding— and you start running. The zombies Law slashed through have regrouped, and the little gaps to escape are closing slowly in front of you. You charge towards the small space between the two zombies blocking the middle of the road, and brush past them without much issue. You hear Law’s footsteps behind you. It doesn’t take long for him to catch up and overtake your pace. All your desperation allows you to do is keep up.

The air leaves your lungs far too quickly, legs cramping with every lost breath. When Law finally stops, far enough from the river that the sound of rushing water no longer reaches your ears, your vision flashes black. You throw yourself against the brick wall of the building the two of you stopped at. Breathing has never been harder— you heave, gasping for air. You glance up at Law.

He’s barely huffing.

Damn him and his long ass legs. You press your palms against the wall, the texture rough and grounding. It takes a few more deep, wheezing breaths before you can move normally again. Law is still there, watching you silently. The sky is now a somber blue. The events that just passed are still fresh, and you’re sure your mind hasn’t properly registered the horror. There are no other survivors. That is the way things are now. You open your mouth, unsure what to say. The silence is too much, too suffocating—

Then, he starts walking away.

Your stomach drops in panic and you push off the wall. “Where are you going?”

Law shrugs. He’s holding his sword in his left hand and sheath in his right. He doesn’t like sheathing the weapon before cleaning it. “Somewhere to spend the night. I suggest you do the same.”

“You’re not going to survive by yourself.”

Law stops.

You’re not sure what drives you to say that. Maybe it’s the thought of braving these streets by yourself, the fear of slaying those creatures with your own two hands, with no one to back you up and no one to know if you die doing so. You’re both rational adults. Or at least, you hope so. But you try anyway. “Isn’t that why you joined us? You almost got bitten back there. You’d probably be dead if it wasn’t for me.”

He’s silent for a moment then. His eyes do not leave your face.

The sound of your heart fills your ears again. You lift your chin, and stare right back. A cold breeze blows by, and you fight to hide the shiver that runs through your body.

Then, Law sighs. The sound is heavy. “If you want to come, I won’t stop you.”

He turns around again, and this time, you follow him without a word.

~~~~

Life only really fell apart after the power went out. You still remember it happening— staring out your apartment window at the still illuminated city, eyeing the few wandering zombies far below. Then suddenly, everything is black and everything is silent. The low hum of your fridge, your neighbour’s fan, the distant sound of someone’s booming sound system— all gone.

You still remember the creeping horror, the realization that from now on, the night is no longer yours either. Or maybe it never was to begin with. Either way, the fire in front of you is nowhere close to starting and the darkness is growing ever closer. Law is sitting across from you, judgement clear in his eyes.

“Do you want help with that?” He asks.

“From you?” You say finally. When Law doesn’t say anything back, you return to your smoldering pile of grass and cardboard scraps.

Closing your eyes, you try to catch the direction of the breeze. It’s barely there, tenderly brushing against your cheeks. You adjust your body, and you try again. Nothing catches. You shuffle a little more to your left. The flint and steel brush against each other with a satisfying ting and finally, finally, the cardboard lights up.

“Holy shit!” You jump back, startled by the sudden heat. The cardboard burns hot and fast. You turn around, frantically placing the assortment of coals and pieces of wood you have into the fire, careful not to smother it. The cardboard, thankfully, burns just long enough for the smaller pieces of coal to catch. It's now a waiting game. Slowly, the wood stacked on top of the coals begins to burn as well. A small circle of light is created, keeping away the darkness for a little longer.

“I’ll take the first watch.” You say to Law.

“Sure.” He says, attention going right back to the spread in front of him. His sword is laid out on the ground, and he’s surrounded with scraps of bloodstained fabric. It’s all vague shapes and shades of grey at this point, but the glint of the sword tells you Law has polished it enough to be shiny again. You knew swordkeeping was hard work— but doing it at the end of the world seems a little excessive.

You lay down on your side of the fire. The thin cardboard below you is a nice alternative to the cold cement rooftop. Vague shapes of your old bedroom dance behind your eyes. You push the thought away. That life, the safe, comfortable one you knew for so long, is now another reality. There is no point in ruminating on what you no longer have. A sound of shuffling, loud enough to catch your ears, carries over from the other side of the roof. It’s probably Law. You can barely see him, slightly illuminated by the small fire. His movements are like ink drops spreading across a canvas, staining and convulsing in a mass of darkness. The fire pricks at the rightmost edge of your vision, and the sky above is endless.

With no lights in the streets, the night is finally a proper darkness to see things. Stars, planets, the reaching edges of the Milky Way spiralling far out across the horizon, surrounded by endless darkness. It’s beautiful, almost hopeful sometimes— and tonight is the first time you’ve gotten the chance to just gaze. So you lay there, comforted by the cold cardboard beneath you, the heat of the fire beside you, and the sight of the slowly spinning night above.

A quiet settles over your rooftop. It is occasionally broken with soft cracks of burning embers. At some point, you think you hear the soft breathing of the person on the other side of the roof. You, however, keep staring upwards.

Your mind can’t help but drift to Law. You don't try to stop it. You think about his overall clean state when you first found him, his sword, and the lackluster attitude he has towards the zombies, like they’re nothing to worry about. You finally think about the bridge. The screams of people you were beginning to think of as friends. He was ready to abandon Johnny, Yousaku, and Michelle the second things went wrong. How can you be sure he won’t abandon you too? He’s only still here because you stopped him.

You stare up at the sky then at the dying fire beside you. You pull your jacket and the flimsy blanket closer to your chin. The chill of the night is still kept away enough by the fire, but it creeps ever closer, nipping at your toes and fingers.

Despite the ache behind your eyes, you do not wake Law.

A/N: Do it for Miku 🤩🤩🤩 (the thing i repeated while wiritng this during peak midterm season (oml, curve pls save me :'((( )) also thanks to my betas for reading this, all the thanks my good bros

some lore for anyone interested:

the outbreak started because a scientist was studying fungi (specifically fungi that can survive warm bodies) and shot it with some gamma rays or something and made it so it likes humans (animals can't be infected because i like animals :D ). Bro then accidentally got spores on himself and carried it home, aka, out into the the world. Living humans weren't susceptible at first, it only infected dead bodies for a while but then genetic mutation happened and BOOM, live humans were getting it too through open wounds! Then the world exploded :(

the general world timeline is something like: ~12 months ago the first outbreak occured in a hospital morgue, ~9 months ago the apocalypse got bad enough that the military started intervening and the closest power grid blew up or something (this is the point were most people mark as the start of the end), ~ 5 months ago the military got destroyed (cause the mutation also occured around this time), ~ 2 months ago the power reserves got drained, and ~1.5 months ago Reader heads out into the wild

(is this accurate to reality? no lol i did not have time to do that much research)

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4rticbolt

4 months ago

Just because you don’t like a straw hat doesn’t mean they are useless or have no place on the crew. Just a friendly reminder.

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4rticbolt

1 month ago