You Know The Trope Where The Monster Is On A Rampage But Is So Careful With The People They Care About?

i wish ao3 allowed people to give kudos per each chapter. These 100k word NOVELS need more love than 200 tiny digital hearts ☹️

RUN, RABBIT, RUN: Part 2

Wet Cat Activities (and an Impromptu First-Aid Class)

Trafalgar Law x Reader Zombie Apocalypse AU

Part 2 of my @infixop gift for @namism!

CW: Zombies, graphic depictions of blood, death and violence. Named side character (not super relevant), descriptions of decomposition and bugs. No use of Y/N or gendered pronouns.

WC: 8151

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(A/N at the bottom)

Law wakes up at the crack of dawn. The morning light is just coming over the horizon, casting long shadows across the roads from behind endless skyscrapers. He’s quiet when he stirs, barely moving under his blanket before he shoots up. He’s not wearing his hat. In the early morning light, you can see the flattened shape of black hair, usually hidden.

“Good morning.” You say, blinking the dryness away from your eyes. 

Law turns and frowns at you. “Did you stay up all night?”

You don’t bother to answer, taking a sip of the cold water you procured from your bag. You’re down to one and a half bottles, so you hold the liquid in your mouth, savouring the way it wets your dry tongue and throat. The plastic bottle crinkles in your grip.

Law’s frown deepens. “I’m not letting your lack of sleep hold us behind today.” 

“I don’t intend to let that happen.” You say. 

The morning goes by quickly. After eating a little more of your rations, you finally decide to breach the question that’s been nagging at you all night.

“What’s the plan?” You ask, zipping your grey backpack up around your blanket. 

Law doesn’t look at you. But after a moment of silent contemplation, he answers. “I think we should still try to cross the river. There’s another bridge if we travel further west.”

You don’t try to smooth the disgusted expression that crawls upon your face. Your hands bunch around the straps of your bag, turning to him and asking: “Are you kidding me, Law? Did you forget what happened last night?”

“I have good reason to suggest this.” Law says, as cryptic as ever. 

You can tell he knows something more, and it frustrates you that he doesn’t seem to trust you enough to share. The frustration melts into hot anger, licking at your ears as your mind wanders to Johnny and Yousaku and Michelle. Strangers who took you in despite knowing nothing about your nature. You could’ve been a maniac that gained their trust only to steal resources, yet they still trusted you. Your stomach turns unpleasantly, and you can’t help but let out a few sharp words.

“Just like how you suggested we go to the bridge two days ago?” 

“I did not suggest that.” Law retorts. He’s far too calm in the face of your accusation, arms crossed and expression carefully neutral. “I only confirmed that there are resources on the other side.”

Okay. That part is true. You take a breath. It’s unfair to blame what happened last night solely on Law. It was a combination of factors and small decisions— 

Letting grief overtake you at a time like this is the worst thing you can do right now.

“Sorry.” You mutter. “But you still haven’t told anyone how you know that. We need to work together from now on— so can you at least tell me why?” 

Law stares at you. You meet his eyes. You will not relent. You hope he knows by now.

“I lived on the other side for most of . . . this situation. So I know.” Law says, finally.

Somehow, that sentiment doesn’t surprise you. You blink at him. 

“That explains some things, I guess.” You say, pushing your bag to the side. “So, you know another way to get across? Why are you here, anyway?” 

Law shrugs. “Somewhat. There are a few things that need to be done before I can say for certain. So let’s get going.”

He stands up, swinging his bag over his shoulders. You follow suit, and the two of you leave the roof quietly.

You don’t push the fact that he only answered your first question. 

~~~~

The streets of the city are mostly empty. The offices and residential buildings loom high over you, caging you in like rats in a sewer. Cars still line the roads, some parked by the curb and others haphazardly in the middle of the street. Scorch marks from fires long put out scar over ashen remains. It’s really a pity. Usually, during the springtime your city is an oasis of green. There were flowers on every corner and tall, leafy trees. Now, it’s a barren wasteland stretching out far ahead of you. 

Law doesn’t talk much. You’ve been walking for close to two hours now, and he still hasn’t said a single thing. A few zombies had to be slashed here and there, and you can’t help but feel useless. The only weapon you had was that shovel. The steady weight it had in your hands is not forgotten. 

At least it’s cloudy today. You think as you look to the sky. Suddenly, a cold breeze blows by. The scent it brings catches on your nose. A slight humidity, the distinct petrichor of precipitation.

Shit, you think. Nature is scary. You know this from living on the streets for the last month. A strong wind can knock over shelter, and the scorching sun depletes water sources far too quickly. Humidity is one you haven’t faced quite yet, but the thought of the wet, sopping clothes sticking to your skin and the ailments that come with being too wet for too long is enough to make you shudder. 

And here, all signs point to rain. 

You voice your thoughts to Law. 

“We can keep going until it starts raining.” He responds.

Yeah, whatever. Mr. Efficiency or something, you think. However, the clouds are congregating at an alarming rate. It takes another block of walking before the blue sky disappears behind a battalion of angry grey. Another two blocks, and the grey turns a deep shade of blue. The cold is setting in fast. Without the sun, the wind is able to thread through your jacket, chilling your fingers. There is a certainty within you that if not for the skyscrapers, the sight you would be seeing is one of the impending rain moving closer and closer, turning the streets beneath it the ink black of wet asphalt. 

You turn to Law. “We need to find shelter. Now.”

Almost immediately, a few drops of water hit your head. Then a few more. Then it starts pouring. 

The streets around you are filling up with little fat dots, much like a colour by number scene. You let out a muffled sound, hurrying to maneuver your bag over your head as some form of cover. Frantically looking around, you lock in on an old apartment building with an extended canvas over its entrance half a block down. You start gunning for it, running as fast as your legs can carry you.

Law’s footsteps follow your own— interrupted with the pitter-patter of rain hitting your bag. The rain is coming down really hard. You’re sure it’ll have you soaked in seconds if you don’t get out of it now. Glancing back, the sound of a deep chuckle travels through the thrumming of rain. It startles you enough to make you jump and stumble over your own feet. You almost fall.

Law’s laughing. You didn’t know he could do that. 

“Shut up!” You turn to him, huffing. “If you haven’t noticed, our misfortunes are shared. And what are you doing? Hurry up!”

You duck under the canvas, Law following close behind. 

The rain is really coming down now. All around you, the world is a misty white, broken by little needles of falling rain. You’re still somewhat dry, with the exception of your pants and shoes. The squishy feeling when you move your toes means your socks weren’t able to escape the downpour either. That’s the worst of it. Your clothes will have to dry out with hopes and prayers if the rain does not stop falling. 

“I hope the rain passes soon.” You say. It’s already wet and miserable. The only way for it to get worse is for it to last.

The apartment entrance behind the two of you opens with a mechanical click.

Instantly, Law is sliding his sword from its sheath. It’s out and in his hand before he even turns, and you step back, nerves standing on edge. 

A short guy with dark hair and dark eyes stands in the doorway. His eyes are wide with alarm. He raises his hands, trying to seem as innocuous as possible. “Do you want to come in? It’s quite . . . wet outside.”

Despite his kind words, you narrow your eyes in suspicion. 

“We don’t have anything on us.” Law says. 

You eye his backpack, very much full with things, but not edible things.

“That’s— I don’t plan on robbing you.” The guy says again. He pulls the door open wider. The building is dark behind him, full of shadows. Does this man not have any self-preservation skills? You would not be this insistent with the possibility of getting skewered. 

“I’m Piper.” He says. “I’ve been living here for a while. There’s no one else here, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

Law turns to you then, questions in his eyes. You frown, eyes darting back to Piper. 

“You can take a look around, if you want.” Piper says. 

Even if you look around, if there are others inside it’s over before you even begin. But then you turn, and the white mist of rain still surrounds you. You shiver. 

Maybe he’s actually nice. Maybe, just maybe, there is someone kind in the middle of the apocalypse trying to help others. You look at Law again, then nod.

He nods back. 

“We’ll take your offer.” Law says. 

Piper beams, opening the door even wider. Law enters first, you follow close behind. 

The lobby smells musty. There are a few armchairs to the left of the entrance, pushed against walls covered in yellowing, flowery wallpaper. On the right, is a rickety set of stairs, its handrails a freshly painted pristine white. Further down the hallway, long shadows criss-cross the emptiness like knitted yarn. It’s quiet, lingering hands stretching out through old cedar floors, only stopped by the thundering rain outside and the small window at the end of the hall. He shows the two of you to a room upstairs. Two hundred two. The second door after going up the stairs. You lock the doors after Piper lets you be, letting Law carefully inspect the place. 

The rain does not stop. 

Piper offers to let you stay the night.

Neither of you object. 

~~~~

You didn’t sleep much again. 

The dawn brought with it more rain. With Law still asleep in the other room, you slowly get up from the spot on the carpet you decided to take, shuffling through to the entrance. You remove the table placed there for extra security, and unlock the door. The hallway is empty. You tip-toe out to the railing, leaning over. The wood creaks and bends, stretching under your weight. It’s mostly dark on the first floor. The shadows seem to shift, making shapes in your eyes. You blink, leaning further down. 

“Hi!”

You yelp, jumping back. Piper is beside you, an easy smile on his face. He holds out his hand, helping you up with a grunt. 

“What’s your name again? I don’t think I asked.” 

You tell him your name after little consideration. He’s probably been lonely, you think, living in such a big building by himself. 

“That’s a cool name.” He says. “Have you lived here long?”

The question catches you off guard. “Like here in the city?”

“Yeah.” He says. 

So you start talking, About yourself, about your life before all this. About your dreams, aspirations, your life now that the world has ended. Piper is easy to talk to, you find, good at wrangling out more words from you even when you think you’re done. It’s more than you even dream about sharing with Law.

“Can I ask you one more thing?” Piper says after you’ve rambled enough that the sun is starting to come up. The rain is still falling, but the soft shade of grey is unmistakable. “Why were you up so early?”

“I’ve been having insomnia.” You admit. Piper hums, moving to stand straight. He stretches, then starts making his way down the hall, slowly. “I think it’s the stress. I don’t sleep well when I’m stressed. Especially with the last three days.” A tired chuckle escapes you. 

“Yeah, sounds like it.” He stops by the window, staring out at the falling rain. 

The silence stretches. You turn away. The wallpaper is coming to life again, the patterns crawling like folklore creatures around the walls. 

“Have you been bitten?” 

What an odd thing to ask. You stop leaning against the guardrail, standing up to your full height.

Piper is walking back towards you, each step slow, careful, like the steps of a predator. The dawn light shining through the clouds is just bright enough to light up the hallway through the window. The thrumming rainfall is a constant— but the low dragging of metal against the wood is not. 

“I know the signs.” Piper says. His eyes are so wide. The black pupils seem to have shrunken. “Insomnia, twitchiness, hunger. I’ve seen many like that right before they succumb. I take it upon myself to put people like that out of their misery.”

“That’s bullshit.” You say. You’re pretty sure you haven’t been exhibiting any of these signs. And you didn’t even know if the signs were real. You haven’t been bitten. You know that. If you were bitten, you wouldn’t be fighting this hard to keep living. “No one actually knows that stuff.” 

“If you are me, then you do.” His voice drops dangerously low. Piper raises his hand. In it, you see the long and disdainful hook of a crowbar. 

You need to get Law. You open your mouth to scream but Piper is already rushing at you. The crowbar swings at your head and you have just enough time to tuck it into your arms. The edge hits your elbow, hook thankfully just missing skin, but it sends a shock of pain and unpleasant numbness through the limb. Stumbling back, you shift your weight and grab the curved end of the crowbar as Piper tries to reel it back. He fights you, the weapon rolling forwards and backwards between the two of you in a frenzied game of tug-of-war. He’s winning— just barely. You can feel the cold metal slipping from your hand as you’re forced forward, drawing closer and closer to the landing. An idea suddenly strikes you— and with his next tug you let go. Piper stumbles backwards with the momentum— and the crowbar flies out of the window behind him with a loud crack, leaving a mosaic of shattered glass in its wake. 

Instantly, the cold wind from the outside pours in along with the rain. Piper hisses, stepping away from the puddle forming on the floor. 

You’re breathing heavily, all senses on high alert. 

“Why can’t you make this easy for me?” Piper wails. He moves towards you, fingers twitching. 

In response, you drop low, backing yourself against the landing wall, readying for anything he might try. 

Click!

Piper spins and you look up. Law comes out from two hundred two, sword lending against his shoulder. He’s in a plain black shirt and his hat is missing. His eyes are narrowed, mouth pulled down in the same frown someone unceremoniously woken up would wear. But then he looks. Really looks. And you see him shift.

“You too!” Piper wails, voice cracking. 

Law tenses. He’s taking the sword from his shoulder when Piper charges at him. 

The sword clatters against the ground behind Piper, useless. You’re still pressed against the landing wall when Piper shoves Law out the window, the remaining wooden frame shattering from the force. Law grabs Piper’s arm, cursing as the man dangles his upper body out in the rain. Piper sneers. You rush forward, grabbing at Piper’s shoulder, trying to get him off but he swings— his elbow makes hard contact with your cheek. 

Your vision blurs with dancing stars and you let go, wobbling towards the landing. The taste of iron fills your mouth with a gush of blood and for a second— you’re stunned. 

Piper pushes Law. You see him teetering for a split second. 

Then he falls

“Law!” You shout, running forward as he disappears out the second story window. You get two steps in before you remember him, Piper, still there and alive. He’s still staring at you, eyes wide and breathing heavy, when he slowly pulls out a knife from his pocket. 

You glance around. The stairs are right beside you, but he might just chase you down. You can run but but— 

Then you spot it. Law’s sword. It’s so close. Just behind Piper and if you time this right— 

Piper lunges for you and you dive, the knife missing you by a hair. Your hand closes over the sword as you slide to a stop against the far wall, right under the dead ‘EXIT’ sign. The sheath slides off easily, and you throw the cover at Piper, using that distraction to scramble up against the wall. You spit out the blood in your mouth and aim Law’s sword right at Piper. 

“Don’t come closer!” The sword feels foreign in your hands but you grip it anyway. Your skin is icy-hot and all you can see is Piper and his knife. 

He hesitates for a moment there. His eyes are filled with a frenzy. He wants you dead— and he’s already shown what he can do. 

He might’ve just killed Law. 

No. You can’t think about that right now. Piper advances, that tiny knife held up, and despite your much larger weapon, you take a step back. 

You need to do this. To protect yourself. You can make a cut on his legs and render him unable to follow you. Then you can go and check if Law’s okay. 

Piper’s staring at you, expression raw. He doesn’t try to stab you. Not yet. 

He’s readying himself. You realize. He’s talking himself up to make the kill just like you. But this is the one truth. You need to get him before he gets you. 

The sword goes through his stomach. The squenching, soft feeling under your hands is alien.

You just stabbed him. You just stabbed someone.

The world spins and on instinct, you pull back, knuckles still wrapped tightly around the hilt of Law’s sword. The feeling of the metal coming out is just as bad as it going in. Blood flows down his pelvis and legs, pooling around his feet at a rate you didn’t want to think about. He takes a step towards you and you step back. His eyes are wide, full of fear. You wonder if he sees the same of you. 

He opens his mouth, and a garbled sound comes out. 

You turn and run.

Law. If you only think about Law you can probably keep your mind long enough to find him and make sure he’s okay and get away. 

You burst out from the fire exit at the end of the hall. The rickety black stairs shake under your weight and the force of the wind. Rain pelts your face, hitting your eyes but you ignore it, hopping down the stairs two at a time. It seems like forever, your hand grazing the railing and the other still grasped tightly around the hilt of Law’s sword, until your feet finally touch the pebbled path of the alleyway. You turn left, then left again at the next opening between the buildings. The sound of pebbles crunching underfoot and falling rain accompany your steps and all you can think about is Law. 

You pray he’s okay. 

The suffocating walls on each side of you break into open streets and you frantically look both ways— relief rushing through you when you see Law standing in the middle of the road, wet coat standing out from the white mist around you. To his right are bushes, a few more deformed than the others. Your footsteps alert him, and he spins to you, a sharp look ready before he realizes it’s you. 

“Law.” You call, jogging the few steps to stop before him. “I’m glad you’re okay— are you okay?”

“I’m fine. What about—” He manages to say before you interrupt.   

“He’s not an issue anymore. Don’t worry about him.” You look away. The sword in your hand is glistening with the rain. It’s almost clean now, the remaining crimson spread around the metal like sunlight dappled upon leaves. “I lost your sheath though. Sorry.”

Law doesn’t press. He does sigh, however, the rain trailing down his face in little droplets. “That’s fine. Just keep holding her now. We need to find a place to wait out the rain.”

“We . . . can go back inside?” You offer. There isn’t a better option. The rest of the apartment is empty, and who knows about the other places?

Law nods. 

The two of you walk back towards the entrance of the apartment building. Ghosts of the path you took the day before haunt your steps, and the vision of Piper leading the two of you into his home flash over reality. Your throat tightens. A chill, more thorough than that of the rain, seeps into your bones. 

Law turns to you. His eyes gloss over with concern and he opens his mouth—

“Did you call your sword her?” The words rush out of your mouth in a shaking string. You need something, anything, to bring you away from the body that is surely laying on the second floor hallway. 

Law blinks. 

“Yes.” He says.

“Is it like the boat thing?” You ask.

Law moves forward again, reaching out to hold the door open for you. You step inside, and the lobby smells exactly the same. Stale. Vaguely like cigarettes. Just like yesterday. 

“You can think of it that way.” Law says. The door closes softly behind him. “Her name is Kikoku, by the way.”

“You named your sword.” You say. “Are you one of those people that give names to everything?” 

Law scoffs, and you can’t help the laugh that bubbles up your throat. The tension in your shoulders is finally lifting, leaving behind an exhaustion that grows deep in your limbs. Kikoku is suddenly very heavy in your hand, and you hold her out, urging Law to take her back. 

Law reaches up his left hand— and winces. 

You frown. “What’s wrong with your arm?” 

Law grunts, reaching for Kikoku again, this time with his right hand. You jump out of his reach, carefully setting her against one of the lobby chairs. You turn to Law, crossing your arms. How can you assume Law fell out of the second floor without any consequences? 

“Law. What’s wrong with your arm?”

Law stands there, looking very much like a child caught red handed for some infantile crime. He attempts to mirror your stance, raising his own arms until he winces again. 

“Law.”

“I may have fractured my left forearm.”

Oh. 

“And why didn’t you tell me?” 

Law shrugs. “I thought there were more pressing things to deal with.”

Okay, fair. Law doesn’t know he’s dead.

Actually— you should probably go check and make sure that he is dead.

“I’m going to get our stuff from upstairs.” You say. 

“But what about—”

“He’s not a problem anymore.” You insist. You hope the look on your face speaks for you. To admit he’s dead to someone else— is to admit you killed someone.

Law’s face remains passive, but he relents. “Take Kikoku with you.”

You nod. You pick Kikoku up as you walk to the stairs. Each step is agonizing. The muscles in your legs scream with every lift, and the landing of the second floor looms ever closer. That growing, anxious hole deepens. Slowly, oh so slowly, your eyes begin to level with the landing. You turn so you can see around the bend, and a sigh of relief leaves you when you spot Piper’s still body through the railing, sagging against the door to unit two hundred two. Kikoku’s sheath also lies across him in the hall, dropped there from the altercation. 

You hop up the next two steps, brushing around the railing and his body. Kikoku’s sheath is quickly picked up and tucked under your arm. Opening the door to two hundred two, you spot your bags on the floor. You pull your backpack over your shoulder and Law’s into your free hand. His hat is on the bed, and you grab that too, tucking it under your arm with Kikoku’s sheath. 

Piper still doesn’t move when you step around him again. His blood splashes against your shoes. The fabrics around his stomach are soaked with blood. A familiar queasiness settles in your stomach. You hurry to the landing and don't look up as you descend the stairs.

Law is waiting for you around the corner. You hand him his hat. It goes back on his head almost immediately despite the wet status of his hair. 

The two of you begin moving down the hall. There is no desire to go upstairs again, not with the cracked window and all that occurred minutes ago. The first floor is not much different from upstairs, both sides lined with rooms labeled by floor and number. You pass them by, one by one, until you stop at one of the slightly ajar doors. Just inside, a purple, metallic glimmer catches your eye. You press forward, pushing the apartment door open. 

“Wait—” Law says—

A wave of death hits you. The sweet, rotting smell is strong, and you quickly spot the source. A decomposing body, melting into the carpet beside a purple bat— the source of the metallic reflection. The body is mushy, the skin almost completely gone. Law makes a noise of disgust from beside you as you gag inwardly, lifting the collar of your shirt over your nose. 

“I’m just going to get the bat.” You whisper to Law. You’re not quite sure why you lower your voice so. Maybe, you think, you hope to disturb the dead less than they have been. You shuffle slowly on the wooden floor. The clack of your shoes are soft, and you reach the bat in three small steps. Bending down, you pick it up. The metal is cold in your hands, but strong all the same. It’s sturdy, and you turn, ready to leave, when a sound from deeper in the house catches you attention. Glancing towards the little opening at the far end of the living room, you spot the telltale deformed shadow of a zombie. 

You look to Law. It’s just one. You’re sure of it. And whatever happened in this apartment, it must be the romantic tragedy of some poet. It’s not a story you will know, and now, you can’t let that thing keep wandering around. 

“I’ll get it.” You say. Law’s silence is his agreement. 

You adjust the bat in your hands, lifting it in a ready position. You shuffle down the room, around the carpet and couch in the living room, slowly approaching the entryway. You stop right before the entrance. 

It’s a kitchen. The big windows look out to the side of the building beside it, letting in faint grey light. Rain splatters across the glass like snail trails, drawing long patterns. It’s a beautiful backdrop for the hideous creature knocking itself against the far counter. 

You tighten your hands around the handle. 

One zombie is not so scary as you shuffle closer. Its decomposing skin is greyish, and you gag a little into your mouth when you spot the shadows of maggots crawling just below the surface. Flies buzz in an ever constant hum now. And, as much as you wish, you can never get used to the smell of death. It makes your eyes water, blurring your vision. You can’t hesitate anymore. 

You lunge for it. Your bat makes contact with its head— bone breaking with a sickening crunch. It goes down without much of a fight. The skin breaks in an explosion of rotting flesh and blood, a wave of maggots crawling over each other in a clear desperation not so different from your own. They spill over the counter, down the wood flooring, and around your shoes.

Your head goes blank. Your arms don’t feel like your own. The motion seems automatic— the only thing you can keep doing— the endless repetition of the head of the bat making contact with that twitching mess of rot below you. Outside, with the adrenaline and sun and howling wind, slaying a zombie never felt as visceral as this. 

A soft call of your name freezes you. The bat slips from your fingers and you stumble back. Pain from the sharp edge of the kitchen counter startles you enough to breathe again, a gasp shooting from your throat as you spin, leaning against that same counter, gagging. 

“Are you okay?” 

You look up at Law, startled. 

“That is a hell of a question.” You say. “Are you talking about this,” You gesture behind you. “Or this?” You throw your arms out. 

It feels like you’re losing your mind. The incident earlier. This second wave of adrenaline. You can’t breathe, you’re exhausted and the sight of blood has carved itself into your mind. You stumble forward towards him. The world is both upright and sideways, and you drop down into a little ball, wrapping your arms around your head as you lean against the kitchen counter, sobbing. You want to sleep. But you can’t. Not right now. Not when Law is still untreated and you haven’t even found a safe, zombie-free place to spend the night. 

You feel a hand wrap around your own, urging you to stand. 

“It’s filthy here. There’s another room down the hall that’s empty. Com’on.” 

His hand is warm. Comforting. And it’s nice that he doesn’t offer to go upstairs. You force your focus on him. Only him. Somehow, you find the strength to stand. Your legs are shaking, and warm tears slide down your cheeks. The sticky cold of your clothes seeps into your bones. The world is blurred, and your head hurts. From exhaustion or the cold or disgust, you have no idea. 

Law pulls you closer then, awkwardly wrapping an arm around your shoulders. His body, warm and alive, grounds you. You take a heaving breath, resting your forehead against his chest. The tears are slowing. The little control you feel is back, and you turn around, picking up your bat. The end is almost alive with wriggling maggots and crushed ones. 

If you had more food in you, you’re sure you would’ve thrown up by now. But you don’t. You pick up your new bat by the handle, and follow Law out of the kitchen, past the blue couch and matching carpet, where you wipe the remains from the metal. It leaves streaks of mush in its wake. Tomorrow, if you make it until then, you’ll clean your new weapon more thoroughly. 

Law waits for you outside. He looks more concerned. That’s another thing you never expected to see from him. There are no words shared even as Law leads you down the hall, to the very last room at the end. You push the door open, and he locks it behind you. 

The layout of the apartment is quite similar to the one you were in before. The living room is arranged slightly differently, with smaller armchairs, a coffee table, and a T.V instead of just carpet and a couch. The kitchen, one that probably looks the same as the one earlier, gleams at you from the other side of the room. You look away. 

Law needs help right now. Think about Law.

“Do you know first-aid?” You ask him. You didn’t. You were planning on taking a class but then the world exploded. 

“Yes.” Law says, hesitating. But then he continues. “I was a surgeon before all this.”

You blink, then send him a shaky grin. There’s an urge in you that needs to be cheeky. You’re pretty sure it’s the trauma. “Oh. That means you can talk me through fixing your arm, right doctor?”

Law scoffs. “You can’t fix a fracture. It needs to heal on its own, and we need to brace it so that the bone sets properly. ” 

“Details, details.” You turn then, starting towards the other doorway across the entrance. “We should probably get you out of the wet clothes first.” 

You push the flimsy door open to a bedroom. There is a large bed in the middle, covered in maroon sheets, with a wardrobe tucked neatly at its side. At the far side is another door. One you assume goes to the bathroom. 

You step across the creaking wood floors and enter. 

The bathroom is small, with a tub on the far side and a window above. The light is soft and grey, but it’s enough to see most things. You turn around to Law. He’s followed you in, still quiet, and his arm is still limp at his side.

“Sit down.” You say to him. Law looks around, before deciding to gingerly sit down on the closed toilet lid. He’s only wearing a black shirt and pants. They’re both soaked. You lift his hat by the rim, setting it on the counter beside you. Then, you carefully pull the corner of his sleeve, urging him to take his good arm out. The wet fabric clings to his skin. It jostles his other arm as you try to tug the sleeve off. Law grunts slightly, sound penetrating the silence. You freeze. 

“It’s fine.” Law says. “It just hurts a little when you touch it.” 

You take a deep breath. Trying to ignore the queasy feeling crawling up your back. “If you say so. But let’s try something else.”

You let go of his sleeve, instead reaching down to the hem. Your hands are gentle, slowly lifting the fabric. The expanse of cold skin grows ever-larger. You urge the shirt over his head, your fingers brushing against his cheekbones. Then you nudge his good arm out. You get ready for the hardest part, the part where you try to get wet, tight clothes off a fractured arm, but then you pause. 

His body is covered in tattoos. Swirling black ink loop over sharp muscles. Hearts and circles and patterns you have never seen stretch over his chest and shoulders and arms. The patterns are so pretty. The edges are all slightly blurry, a show of time passed. You can’t help lifting your hand, ghosting just slightly over the bottom of the large heart stretching right over his chest. Your fingers brushes just barely against his skin, following the pattern with your eyes. 

“Your tattoos are so pretty.” You say. Law inhales. His abdomen tenses under your fingers.

You rip your hand away in a flight of mild, confused panic.

“Sorry.” You mutter. You glance up then, eyes meeting his. The pair of gold are gazing at you with an inexplicable softness. 

You turn away before that look can drown you. Twisting your hands together in front of you, you look anywhere, everywhere that is not Law. “Let’s get your shirt off completely first.”

You stand. You already thought about how you’d do this. Wiggling your fingers into the shirt from the shoulder hole, a little space is created around his arm. His skin is icy under your fingertips, interrupted by a slight, swelling bump. You swallow, trying to keep your hands steady despite the uncomfortable feeling. Slowly, the material nudges downwards, and you reach to pull the sleeve from his hand. It’s like an inchworm, bunching up and extending, until finally, his hand comes out from the sleeve opening.

You unceremoniously discard the garment behind you. 

“What do I need to do?” You ask him, resting your hands on your hips. Your heart is pounding. It’s easy to ignore the way injuries gross you out if you’re not looking at it. 

Law is still looking at you that way. But he speaks with a steady professionalism that almost knocks you over from the contrast. “Best case scenario, we first get a stabilizer for the forearm. A piece of wood or hard plastic can work. We also need bed sheets and a pair of scissors. If you can find all these, that would be great.”

“It’s like a scavenger hunt.” You say, feeling the edges of your lips tilt up. “Do I get a prize at the end?”

“Depends. If you do well ‘fixing my arm’, you might get something.”

“Really? What is it?”  

Law glares at you. There’s no real malice behind the look.  “Depends on how you do. Now get moving.”

“Whatever you say, doctor.” You laugh, heading out from the bathroom. 

First things first, you take a look in the living room. There's a sewing kit under the coffee table. You rummage through the threads and needles, feeling a sense of victory when your hands close around a pair of red fabric shears. 

Now, for the stabilizer. There aren’t many flat hard plastics or wood planks in the average household. You look around, trying to find something that could work as a replacement. Your eyes land on a hardcover textbook shoved under the T.V. 

Hm. You think. It's time to improvise. You pick up the textbook. It’s for some advanced math subject you remember crying over in school. You bend the cover back, and rip. 

It doesn't budge. 

You try again. 

Its cover still doesn't come off.

You hold up your newly found shears. The sharp point goes through easily enough, leaving an edge of rough, jutting material. You open the shears, carefully holding it open like a knife, and gently scrape the mess. The extra pieces are slowly falling off, leaving a little pile of dust beneath you. Satisfied with the newer, smoother look of the cover, you tuck it under your arm with the shears.

The next course of action is the bed sheet. You head back to the bedroom, straight to the wardrobe. Pulling open the heavy drawers, you shuffle through them, going from top to bottom. A drawer of shirts, then pants, then miscellaneous towels and sheets. You pull one of each out, eyeing the clothes for Law’s size.

Law is right where you left him. You hand him the towel and shirt, and set the textbook cover on the counter. 

“Now what?”

“We need the bedsheet to be triangle shaped.”

“What kind?” You ask, spreading the fabric out on the ground. 

“Isosceles.”

You follow Law’s instructions, slicing through the fabric with ease. Patches of the cloth fall away, leaving an isosceles triangle with a large base. You then fold the extra pieces strategically into long strips. While you were busy with the bed sheet, Law slipped on the T-shirt you got for him. It’s just a little small, stretching across his chest. You stare pointedly at the wall behind his head.  

Law, thankfully, does not seem to notice your predicament. He holds out his arm for you, and the textbook cover is already tucked under the fracture.  “Since my forearm is the problem, we need to stabilize it. First, tie the two strips, one right above my wrist and the other below my elbow. Make sure to tie the knot under the brace.”

You do as he instructs. The bed sheet strip loops around his upper arm twice, then you cross it under the cardboard hardcover and pull.

Law doesn’t scream. But he does inhale sharply, body following with a noticeable jolt. Vertigo hits you, that familiar queasy feeling fogging your mind. You never liked looking at injuries. Your own or anyone else's. That’s why you always played it safe, avoiding situations that may cause you pain and refusing to go into medicine. You regret that a little now. If you had studied medicine like Law had . . . maybe you would feel less grossed out now. 

“You’re shaking.”

Law’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. You blink, taking a deep breath, and the world stabilizes enough. 

“Just . . . give me a minute.”

You take a few grounding breaths. The queasiness subsides enough to think again. Your fingers tremble as you double knot the tie under the stabilizer. Then, you repeat the same process with the other strip of bed sheet just above his wrist. You give both a careful tug— and they hold.

“What’s next?” You look up at Law, hoping he doesn’t notice the uneasy look that is surely all over your face.

“You’re doing great.” Law says. He gestures to the cut bed sheet. “We’ll make the sling next. Turn the point to my arm. Yes, like that. Pull this corner under my arm and behind my neck. Now take the other corner and tie it behind my neck.” 

You do as he says. The bed sheet goes under his arm, then over. You press the corner on his shoulder, and lean forwards with the other one. It’s hard to see over him when he’s seated— and you're practically draping yourself onto him in your attempt to tie the knot behind his neck. Your thawing fingers fumble against his warm skin, and from here, you can feel the steady rise and fall of his chest. He’s so close, his face brushing against your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek—

The knot is so hard to tie from this angle.

You back away, the corners of the sling once again free to fall. 

“Can you please get down? It’s hard to tie the knot.” You do not acknowledge the pounding of your heart. 

Law scoots off the toilet, slowly lowering himself to the floor. The makeshift sling has somewhat fallen off— so you kneel before him, going through the motions he led you through one more time. You try to drape the other corner around him first. You reach out, lean forward— and this time— a little too far. You’re falling before you realize, knocking Law down backwards. 

His back hits the tiles first. You land on our arms, hands splayed out on either side of him. The shock travels through your shoulders and knees, aching the bones just slightly. You try to get up, but Law begins moving too and his flailing arm hits the inside of your elbow just so that you fall down again into that mess of tangled limbs and legs. The bottom of Law’s shirt is slowly soaking from your own wet clothes, and you feel yourself shrivel at the feeling of his muscles under your fingers. 

This is so embarrassing. You look up at him, lifting your head from his chest and you realize he’s looking at you too. 

Your eyes meet. Deep hues melt into pots of gold, and the sight makes you shiver. Your breath catches in your throat. You feel a hand— his hand— rest on your back. 

The touch startles you enough to rip you from his gaze.

“Sorry!” You shoot up, scrambling to unstraddle his thigh and get away from him, away from the heat flooding into your ears and the intensity in his eyes. 

He gets up too. There’s a look on his face, one that makes you think he wants to say something. But you don’t want to know what it is. 

“Let’s try this again.” You blabber, stopping Law before he can even start. One more time, you go through the motions of swaddling his arm. You’re careful not to touch him, not to look at him. This time, you hold on to both corners and awkwardly shuffle behind him, successfully tying the double knot against the nape of his neck. You do not let yourself linger.  

“There. Is this good?” You stand up, walking around Law. 

Law drops his shoulder. The sling sags, but holds. 

“Yes. Thank you.”

You exhale a sigh of relief leaning against the wall beside you as you stare down at him, wondering what to say. The idea strikes you a second later, and you smirk, pulling on the teasing tone from earlier. “So . . . what’s my reward?”

“Bold of you to assume you even got a passing grade.” Law says, moving to his feet. “You knocked your patient over.” 

Your neck instantly burns in a rush of heat, boldly different from the one minutes ago.

“Look,” You start to say, but stop when he reaches towards you. His hand comes startlingly close to your cheek. And before you can even register what’s happening—

Law flicks your forehead. Hard.

“Ow!” You jump back, hands coming up to the wound, a retaliating kick quickly landing on his calf. It’s not malicious, with just enough force that he feels it. “What was that for?”

“I’ll tell you everything.” He says.

You stand there, confused. “Huh?”

“I’ll tell you everything.” Law repeats. “About why I know so much about the other side. About why I’m here.” 

You stare at him, unsure of what to say. 

“There’s a safe place out there.” He says, still as cryptic as ever. “But right now, I want to finish changing so you can too.” He gestures at you and your still wet clothes, cold and drying at the edges. 

You, in turn, eye his pants. “I trust you don’t need help for that?”

Law rolls his eyes at you. 

The confession doesn’t shock you as much as it might have. Maybe the sleepless nights are finally catching up to you. Either way, you think you’re okay with moving on right now.

“Okay doctor.” You laugh, striding to the door. “Don’t take too long!”

He takes a lot longer than you thought he would— without accounting for the arm. By the time it’s your turn to change, you already have a set of clothes picked out and are also more than half dry. You’ve also reached the conclusion that you trust Law enough to believe whatever he’s going to tell you, and he trusts you enough to finally tell you what’s actually going on. 

When the bathroom door closes behind you, you strip yourself of your wet clothes. It’s thrown in a soggy pile with all the other garments. The clothes you choose for yourself fit decently well. They’re comfortable and dry.

Law is on the bed when you come out of the bathroom significantly less wet. 

“I found these in the kitchen.” He holds up a stack of canned turkey and crackers. 

Your stomach growls.

~~~~

It’s not a gourmet meal, but it sure feels like it after a month of canned soup. You push the crumbs of dinner onto the floor, shaking the bed sheets free from residuals.

It's then that the fatigue of the day truly hits you. Your eyelids are so, so heavy, limbs dropping against the bed and Law seems to notice, for he nudges you towards the pillow, urging you to lay down. But you shake your head. “You still haven’t told me anything.”

“You’re exhausted. Sleep first. I’ll still be here tomorrow.”

Your stomach does a loop. A day ago, if he said those words you wouldn’t have believed him. But now . . . 

“Okay. You stay. I’ll go to the couch.” Law stops you as you try to slide off.

“Why?” He asks. “This bed is big enough for the both of us.”

You stare at him then. A vague idea of you resting by the door to stop him from leaving haunts you. But you can’t say that. It’s embarrassing. And you don’t think he would just do that anymore. But your mouth moves before you can stop it. Maybe it’s because of the exhaustion of the day, but all the insecurities begin to spill out like water from a broken dam. In a small and broken voice, you confess: 

“I don't want you to leave.”

“I’m not going to leave you.” He scoffs immediately, but then softens. He reaches out his pinky, looping it with your limp one resting against your leg. “If it makes you feel better, I promise you. And sleep on the bed.”

“How old are you?” You let out a chuckle, full of a genuine sound you didn’t know you possessed. The anxiety is not completely gone. It’s still there, right under the surface. But you think it’s quelled enough to rest. The euphoria of a soft mattress beneath you is lulling you right to sleep. Your eyes are so heavy. With your stomach full of food and all that’s happened today, it feels like your physical body is ready to give out at any second. You lay down against the pillow, closing your eyes. The weightlessness of sleep cradles you, tipping you along the edge of dreamland.

You don’t remember anything after that.

A/N: I got an offer to take a free first aid class in the middle of writing this fic so i did. It was lowkey really fun and the entire time i was giggling like a madman because I can now write semi accurate medical treatment :D

shout out to my doctor friend as well, she read over law's instructions and was like "yep, a medical professional would say this" so slay your exams girlie <3

The textbook is also a linear algebra textbook (i hated that class so much)

lore for anyone interested: The city geography is based on Albertan prairie city geography where the city is split in half by a river (if you're curious, search up Calgary 💀 or Edmonton 💀 on maps). Most of the time the downtown is on one side and the lower human density residential areas on the other. It's not always split exactly like that, but i just really enjoy the aesthetic. There is another thing I'm working on rn that has the exact same geography because that's how much i like it LOL.

That how i decided on the climate as well, it's just a prairie climate, in the spring and summer we tend to get rain for either twenty minutes or DAYS depending on how the sky is feeling. The weather also changes really fast.

yeah

Sleepy Stalls |Master-list|

Trafalgar Law x !GN!Reader, Fluff, Crack, soft!law, unironically sweet, head-cannons, reader is a mechanic here, overprotective!law because secretly he cares too much, stubborn reader, comfort.

The Heart-Pirate Captain with an s/o who struggles with sleep...

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-••-•-•-•-•

1st of all, this is insomniac central.

Law cannonly has nightmares, so you could definitely infer he struggles with sleep himself. Most likely kept up by whatever's gearing through his mind.

So he'd be incredibly understanding with you.

Law's the type to put you before himself. So no matter how tired he was he'd always check up on you. Whether you're working in the engine room, eating lunch, or relaxing in your room--he’d quietly seek you out.

Your captain was keen, and he’d been observant of your habits.

The surgeon wouldn't be overly concerned--but he would worry. You're his precious crew-mate and lover, so he's over-protective. Not in an annoying way, but selflessly.

Since Law is a doctor he would have a lot of sleep-aid. From herbal properties to medication—he'd give you anything you needed or asked for. Even if he ends up a hypocrite in the process.

He would act nonchalant and impassive about it, but deep down it’d wear on him.

Law would 100% have chill out time with you in his office if you were tired, or just in general.

In each-other’s presence, the company would drive away any restlessness. Including Law and yourself. So be prepared to snooze off in each other's arms or space.

If you'd cuddled him or sat close, he'd be out like a light. His head would be the first to fall against your shoulder or thigh with a bonk.

You wouldn't expect him to be the clingy type, but if you're there—he'd prefer you much closer.

He would find comfort in your pulse when you’re sleep. (As it wasn't often you were)

Law would tenderly take in your snoozing form, gently crouching beside you to take your pulse. His own worries would ease when your pulse thrummed softly against the pads of his fingers.

When you’re asleep, he’d be the type to quietly watch over you, gently brushing your hair or stick close. His touch would be uncharacteristically soft, and so would his words.

“Just relax, I got you…”

“You look peaceful when you sleep…I wish you did it more often.”

When having bad nights, he wouldn’t push, but he would be there. He’d silently offer to let you rant, or seek comfort. But he would never push. Law just wanted you to know he’d always be there for you. (No matter the burden you believed yourself to be)

Law isn't officially 'cold' or 'uncaring' when comforting people, he's just an awkward dude who isn't the best at it... but he is an amazing listener.

However, if you'd ever been stubborn about your sleep, he'd meet your pettiness with his own. He'd scold and lecture, but it was never meant harmfully.

He was just frustrated he couldn’t help you faster.

Law would never make you feel bad about it, because it's not always your fault. There could be a thousand things wrong, but he wasn't gonna’ let himself be one of them.

He wouldn't bullshit you, and it might come off rather blunt, but he just wanted to get straight to the point. He didn't want you getting hurt, not on his watch, or just in general.

“____-ya, I don't need my star mechanic running on nothing. Nor' do I need you passing out on my sub. If you’re tired, you are tired. You don’t need to push yourself. Not for me or the crew.”

“Look, if something happens in the engine room or navigation—I need you. I need you well so you can perform at your best. I'm not losing you, and I’m not letting you pass out and hurt yourself because of your recklessness.”

“So just take it easy, alright? You're on rest for the day, and that's final, don't make me babysit you. I trust you enough that I don't have to.”

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Despite his harsh words, they were true. But being stubborn was your specialty, and you felt the need to prove yourself. So pushing yourself to clean the valves and filters was your next task—even though he didn’t give you any.

It’d been after a rough night, so you were irritable, and you’d been snappy. Even if you didn’t mean to be, it was just the way it was.

Without sleep, you were weaker and more emotional and you hated it. Your ego hurt, not only by his lecture, but at the fact you couldn’t function as easily as others. So that frustration, that deep welling hate fueled your resolve.

Though it didn’t last.

Law had found you snoozing off and covered with grime in the engine room, sleeping at an awkward angle. Your were cuddled against a pipe, using it as your pillow as your black-stained hands supported your head.

Your cheeks had been smeared with oil, and your messied suit had been covered with it. Tools and disposable bags had been near by, and the room was spotless. Shining against after a long month, he found himself frozen at the sight.

He’d slowly let out a breath, easing up as he kneeled beside you—gently shaking your shoulder. He wasn’t mad, only frustrated.

But that frustration let up as you didn’t stir, only slept exhausted. And that made his chest ache the most.

You didn’t need to prove yourself to him, you had already done that. The moment he saw you, he recognized your skills—and your personality took the cake. You already far surpassed his expectations and he could want nothing more, other than you.

He’d always been grateful, accepting you at whatever you came—your lowest—your highest, he loved you regardless.

Law just wished you wouldn’t push yourself to prove something you didn’t need to.

He would gently pick you up, looking around the room before cradling your face with his hand. He’d crack a soft unbelievable smile, before shaking his head and bringing you to his room.

Law would call you an idiot placing you on his bed, carefully taking off your shoes before tucking you in. He’d wipe a warm cloth across your face, cleaning away the harsh oils before it stained too much.

He’d watch you with tender eyes, brushing hair out of your face before letting you be. He’d rest at his desk, reading, but watching your from afar—waiting for you to stir.

He wouldn’t lecture you like he did before, but he might just reassure you that you didn’t have to do this. And he might just thank you for cleaning the engine room.

In his own Law way of course.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

Your captain would always be adamant about your health. No matter your argument or fuss—you were one of his top priorities.

Not ever in a tasking way. But maybe in an awkward loving one.

No matter the difficulty of his or your own, he’d always be patient, and he’d encourage you to go at your own pace.

Because everyone was different, and he was perfectly okay with that.

~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

With Law’s silent assurance and presence, your atrocious schedule had been eased.

Though it’d still been noticeable. The bags under your eyes pointed you out, and your snoozing tendencies didn’t help. The crew found you asleep in various workspaces many times, and it hadn’t really been a concern.

And as long as they believed you were getting enough sleep, they wouldn’t bother you about it.

Everyone had gotten used to it, but it didn’t mean they let up in the teasing. Light-hearted remarks had been thrown, but you never paid them any mind. If anything your captain listened to them more than you did.

He didn’t participate in it, but he let everyone have their fun. Until Shachi’s rather dark humor had been thrown into play.

You’d been dozing off at the table at lunch, slowly eating but surely getting in the nutrients you needed. You’d been sitting by Ikkaku and Shachi while your captain sat across from you.

“You sure you don’t wanna go lay down ____?” Hakugan asked, handing you over a basket of croutons. “A little nap might help.”

“No, I’m fine.” you muttered, mixing some in with your salad. Your jaw rested in your palm, and you stirred your salad around before taking a bite.

The tables conversation flew over your head and you could only think of what you’d do next after lunch. Train? Sleep? Clean? Be bored and bug your captain? It’d probably end up in the last one, but nothing stopped you from changing it.

“Mm, if you say so,” Ikkaku butted, taking a bite of her sandwich. “You really shouldn’t push yourself, I don’t want to find you asleep on the examination table again.”

Shachi snorted beside you, and you heard laughs echo around.

“Right? Scared the shit of me, I thought you were going in for surgery.” Penguin chuckled.

Law cracked a smile, watching you shake your head. “It wasn’t that bad.”

“Oh, it totally was,” Ikkaku teased, nudging your shoulder.

“It could’ve been worse,” Clione muttered, “finding you asleep on the control panel was not on my wish list.”

“Pff—yeah, right next to the throttle? Real smart kid,” Bart commented, plopping down another dish of food.

More laughs followed and you found yourself hiding your expression behind your sandwich, smiling quietly behind it. You took a big bite before Shachi started in.

“Oh, it was worse—remember? She fell asleep mid filter change and it totally blew up on her,” he laughed, gently knocking your head with his fist.

“Ew, don’t remind me.” you winced, making a face.

“Nah, you’re so stubborn about it I might have too.” he said, finishing up his sandwich.

“I’m starting to think someone needs to slip some sleep-aid into your drink.”

“Yeah—that’d get you some well earned rest,” Uni rolled his eyes, side-eyeing Law for a moment, seeing his expression darken.

He coughed in his fist, nudging Bepo.

“Uh, Captain?” The navigator sputtered, blinking idly at him.

Law didn’t respond, only deadpanning at Shachi who hadn’t yet realized his annoyance. It seemed he took the joke literally. Especially when he knew you didn’t like the symptoms of sleep-aid, it only irked him more.

“You go and do that and you’ll find a shit ton of laxatives in your coffee.” he said blandly, threateningly poking his fork.

The table quieted before Shachi coughed on his food, quickly swallowing it. He hit his chest, using you as a shield. Which you were mindlessly unaware of.

“Woah—haha, only joking Cap!" He paled, patting your back. "Right ____? All fun here, I'd never," he continued, nervously laughing.

"Mhmf, only jokes,” you muffled, with a mouthful of food.

Law paused, looking you over before rolling his eyes at your clueless expression. He layed off, but didn’t completely rest his glare. Law does not play around with you, not matter the joke or tease.

……..the facial hair is growing on me.

Complications |Master List|

Ace x Reader, fluff, crack, sfw, minor swearing

Summary: School stresses you out, and Ace is there to motivate you!

A/N: Yeesh . . . college isn’t easy, and it definitely isn’t everyone’s thing. I hope this fic reaches those who need it, and you’re motivated! Best wishes to the person who requested this, and best wishes to those who have an upcoming test/exam/quiz!

•-•-•—•-•-••-•-•—•-•—•-•

Working in your room, unbothered, your journal lies in-front of you.

The clock reads: 2:25pm, by your side, and you know you’ve already wasted half the day. You’d been procrastinating since this morning, changing up tasks, and different schedules—to avoid this very moment.

But, you couldn’t ignore it forever, so here you were now. Begrudgingly studying.

SLAM

“____!” Ace swung your door open, peeking in.

You flinched, throwing your pencil up as you shouted. “Oi! Don’t scare me like that!”

“Oh, there you are!” he piped, smiling as he came in, completely disregarding your startle. He through his arms around your shoulder, holding you as he looked to what you were working on.

His head rested above yours, and a look of disgust crossed his face. “Ew. What is that?”

“What’s what?” You sighed, sinking into your chair.

“What do you mean what—oh my god,” he gasped, “Are you working on math?”

“Yes?”

“Ew.” he deadpanned, scrunching his nose.

“It’s not ew, go away if you’re just gonna be annoying.” you grumbled, pulling your journal to hide it as he inched closer.

“Ace—“

Curiously, Ace reached to grab the journal, flipping through the messied pages. He raised a brow, seeing organized definitions . . . to the very un-organized ones.

The hot-head read it as if he could, nodding in understatement before he set it down. He leaned against your chair, flipping to a certain page.

“What’s this mean?” he asked, pointing to a scribbled equation with a poorly drawn ‘fuck this!’ with arrow beside it.

Along with a few other curses and symbols.

You cleared your throat, averting your gaze.

“Look, I’m trying here, don’t judge.” you crossed your arms, averting your gaze.

“I’m not judging,” he shrugged, flipping to a page—where you’d actually gotten an answer.

“Hey, you got this one.” he smiled, patting your shoulder, encouragingly rubbing it to your neck.

“Yeah, and I barely understood it.” you grumbled.

“But you still got it.”

“Barely.”

“But . . . you still got it.” he repeated.

You scoffed, looking away.

Yeah, it was true, you’d got it.

But you didn’t understand it. You’d didn’t get all the material. Maybe in sections, but once you put everything together and you were under-pressure? You’d flunk it. You’d mess it up again.

And in a few weeks, there’d be expectations and things you were ready for, expected to understand, but couldn’t.

“Yeah, barely.” you whispered, growing quiet. Your eyes glossed with tears, and you lowered your head.

“Hey.” Ace nudged, “What wrong?”

“Nothing.”

You shifted up, closing your journal, letting it glide towards the others. You let out a shaky breath, holding your tongue.

Great. That was just more things you needed to study for.

Tears welled.

“____,” he murmured, grabbing your arm.

“Hey, look at me.” Ace pulled you to face him, plopping you to the chair as he kneeled in-front of you. He rested his arms on your thighs, leaning in.

“Hey, you’re doing good. I didn’t mean anything by it.”

“I know you didn’t.”

“Then why are you crying?”

“I’m not.” you answered, rubbing your face.

“I’m just frustrated and stressed out.”

Ace paused, not expecting you to answer, but agreed. “Yeah, you are.”

“What? Don’t look at me like that, you’ve been stressing over this thing forever.” he grabbed the journal, placing it in your lap. “I’m not completely clueless.”

“I know you’re not, I just. . .”

“Yeah, I know, but look.” he grabbed your chin, tilting it down.

“See this thing here?” Ace gestured to the book, hitting it against your leg. The paper snapped softly throughout the room, and you paused before answering.

“Yeah?”

“You’re trying, ____, and that’s a lot more than other people can say.” he smirked, letting it drop in your lap.

“Look, I know that test—or exam, or whatever the hell you’re working so hard for is important, but you don’t need to worry so much.”

Ace leaned closer, smiling. “You’re smart, really smart, even if that stupid test says otherwise. I know it, deep down you know it, so stop freaking out.”

“You got it, you always do.” he smoothed, poking your forehead.

“I know, that’s why I’m studying but it still doesn’t make sense.” you tried.

“Because you’re thinking too much.” he poked you again, harder this time—making you wince.

“That’s not even a thing,” you muttered, grabbing the journal, but Ace took it right out of your hands.

“Oh—trust me, it is.” he laughed, pulling back.

“You’re doing it now, sitting here crying, and I’m not saying you shouldn’t, get frustrated all you want, but this?” he shook the paper, “doesn’t decide your worth. Even if people say it does.”

“You’re working hard, hard enough anyone out who’s smart enough to realize it, will. So don’t beat yourself up about it.” he smirked, pulling you up.

“You’ll get there, I know you will.” he cupped your face, smoothing over your tears.

You sniffled, lowering your gaze. “You think so?”

Slowly, Ace leaned forward. “I know so, and I’m proud of you for trying, even if it’s hard. You’re getting closer—trust me on that, and you’re getting better without even realizing.”

Gently, his lips met yours. Ace’s kiss was soft, reassuring, and sweet. His hands traveled to your waist, and his forehead leaned against yours.

Steady, and calming.

“You’ll get it right, I know you will. You’re gonna do great.”

One Law headcanon that is truly so beautiful is the one where people write or draw law with vitiligo

Like he always looks so ethereal and stunning! 😩

doctor!law who always maintains his stoic professionalism with every patient—except when it comes to you. He insists it’s “just routine” that he visits you so frequently, ensuring your health is progressing as it should.

Morning rounds start with him pulling up a chair beside your bed, his amber eyes scanning your chart with precision. But even as his hands work with practiced ease, the way his thumb lingers on the edge of the clipboard suggests something more. His voice is low but gentle, asking how you slept, what you ate, and how you’re feeling, as though he’s committing every detail to memory.

At night, long after visiting hours have ended, his familiar silhouette appears in the doorway of your hospital room. He claims he’s just finishing his notes or double-checking the evening staff’s updates. Yet, somehow, he always ends up seated beside you, shoulders relaxing as you talk about your day. You notice the faint smirk tugging at his lips when you tease him about working too hard.

The truth is, Law tells himself he’s just being thorough. That it’s his job to ensure his patients feel cared for. But deep down, he knows no one else has ever drawn him in quite like you—no other voice has ever made him want to stay so desperately beyond his hours.

doctor!law who doesn’t do sentiment. At least, that’s what he claims, his sharp gaze and sharper tongue scaring off most patients from ever trying to get too familiar. But when it comes to you, it’s different—not that he’d ever admit it.

“You’ve been sitting around too much,” he says one afternoon, his voice cutting through the soft hum of your hospital room. “Come on.”

Before you can protest, he’s helping you to your feet with that infuriating air of calm authority. You don’t miss the way his hand lingers a moment longer than necessary, steadying you like he’s worried you might topple over.

“I didn’t ask for a walk,” you mutter as he leads you down the hall.

He doesn’t even look at you, his pace deliberate but not rushed. “And I didn’t ask for a stubborn patient, but here we are.”

The courtyard is quiet, bathed in golden afternoon light. Law doesn’t bother making small talk as you stroll—he’s never been one for unnecessary chatter. But his sharp eyes track every step you take, scanning you for even the slightest sign of discomfort.

“Stop pushing yourself,” he orders when you quicken your pace, his tone leaving no room for argument.

“You’re such a control freak,” you tease, trying to coax a reaction out of him.

His lips twitch, the faintest hint of amusement breaking through his usual scowl. “Someone has to keep you in line.”

Despite his gruff demeanor, there’s a strange comfort in his presence. He doesn’t fill the silence with platitudes or false cheer—he just is, his calm steadiness grounding you in a way nothing else can.

When the walk ends, and he’s escorting you back to your room, he slows, his voice softer now. “If you feel worse later, tell me. Don’t wait until morning rounds.”

“Do you always go this far for your patients?” you ask, half-joking.

He gives you a sidelong glance, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “No,” he says simply. “I don’t.”

And just like that, he’s gone, leaving you wondering if you imagined the faint smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he walked away.

doctor!law who doesn’t entertain nonsense. That’s the image he maintains in the hospital’s halls and the workers’ lounge. The moment someone brings up the whispers about him and his favorite patient, he scoffs, eyes narrowing as if the very idea irritates him.

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, flipping a page in the medical journal he’s not really reading.

But when no one’s looking, his ears strain to catch the next part of the conversation.

“Did you see how he was walking with them in the courtyard yesterday? They looked so comfortable together,” one nurse says, voice filled with barely contained glee.

Another one chimes in, “Right? And the way he always stays late in their room? If that’s not a crush, I don’t know what is.”

Law’s fingers tighten around the edges of his book, his lips pressing into a thin line. Anyone watching would think he’s annoyed—but the faint flush creeping up his neck tells a different story.

“I’m sure they’re just being professional,” someone offers cautiously, only for another nurse to laugh. “Oh, please. That man has never gone out of his way for anyone like he does for them. He practically lives in their room.”

Law clears his throat loudly, snapping the room’s attention back to him. “If you have time to gossip, you have time to work,” he says, his tone sharp enough to cut through the air.

The nurses scatter, muttering apologies, and he goes back to pretending to read. But later, when he’s alone, he catches himself smirking faintly, replaying the words in his head.

He tells himself it’s absurd, that people are just reading too much into things. Yet, when he sees you later that evening and you joke about the “rumors,” he doesn’t deny them outright.

Instead, he leans against the doorframe of your room, arms crossed, a teasing glint in his amber eyes. “Apparently, I’m the topic of the day in the lounge. Care to explain why everyone thinks I’m obsessed with you?”

You raise a brow, smirking. “Maybe because you kind of are?”

He scoffs, though the tips of his ears turn red. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. If I’m here, it’s because you’re clearly a magnet for trouble. Someone has to keep you in check.”

But when he catches a glimpse of your smile and hears your laughter, he thinks, Maybe they’re not entirely wrong.

Gonzo |Master-List|

Usopp x reader, fluff, comfort, mentions of depression, angst, platonic relationship with the straw hats, (they don’t play about you), crack, !fluffy bonus!

Summary: Growing overwhelmed, you disappear off the ship for a walk, and a certain someone is very worried.

A/N: First time really writing Usopp! I’m happy with how it turned out, hopefully, I captured his character well. Also, yes, I didn’t properly cut the pictures out, but do I care? No. Am I going to ever fix it? Probably not.

•-•-•—•-•-••-•-•—•-•—•-•

3:05pm.

“Hey, has anyone seen ____?” Usopp asks, swinging into the galley with a trinket he meant to show you.

Lunch had let up a few hours ago, and he hadn’t seen you since. You were keeping to yourself, that was fine, he didn’t mind. But he was getting worried.

The whole crew was.

Sanji paused, setting down a pot of something he’d been working on. “Is she not in her room?”

“No, I’ve looked and she’s not anywhere!”

It started a few days ago, he nor the crew knew what happened, but they’d given you your space. They didn’t pressure you, they just were there.

Each and every member knew what it was like to experience a funk, and Usopp especially, knew everyone dealt with it differently. The sniper was lenient, and he wasn’t pressuring you to feel better. However, he was trying to make you smile.

It wasn’t much, but he’d made a fool of himself on purposes, acting clumsy or saying random things that would usually make you smile—but recently, there’d been none of that. And it broke his heart.

He missed your laugh, and he missed you.

“Well, let’s not panic. I’m sure she’s around,” Robin assured, setting down her tea. She turned to Franky, asking if he’d seen you below deck, maybe near the docking systems.

They’re were plenty of hiding spots there.

The cyborg hesitated, thinking back. But it was just as Usopp feared.

“I haven’t seen her, sorry bro. Did you check the crows nest?”

“Yes, I already said I’ve looked everywhere. I don’t know if she left or if she—“

“Usopp.” Nami interupted, resting a hand in his shoulder. “I’m sure she’s okay, you know her.”

“I’ll go ask the others if they’ve seen her,” Sanji grabbed a cigarette, smoking it while he renewed Robin’s tea. He turned to leave, but that was quickly interrupted.

“Sanji! I’m hungry!” Luffy shouted, swinging the door open—near slamming it in the cook’s face.

“You idiot! Watch where you’re going!”

Luffy only laughed, leaving a short apology. He would’ve strolled in if it wasn’t for the worried look on his best-friend’s face. Usopp looked close to tears, and that didn’t sit right with him.

“Wait, did something happen?”

“No,” Robin replied, “we’re just looking for ____.”

“____? Well where is she?”

Sanji, painstakingly, drug a hand down his face. “That’s what we’re trying to find out dumbass.”

“So…I’m guessing you haven’t seen her?” Usopp muttered, looking to the small metal bended flower in his palm.

It was metallic, with sanded edges that had accentuates of gold—something he knew you’d like. It was small, but it was something. And he planned to make more with you, as he figured it’d keep you busy.

He knew you hated mindless things, but if you were doing it with him, it wouldn’t feel so empty.

Luffy shrugged, shaking his head, “No, I haven’t, have you looked?”

“Yes Luffy, I looked.” Usopp grit, tightening his hand on the flower. His uncharacteristic snap sent the room quiet, and he averted his gaze.

“Sorry, I’m just worried.”

“It’s fine Usopp, we’ll find her. We still haven’t asked the others yet.” Nami smiled, “don’t get all worked up about it now.”

“Yeah!” Luffy agreed, peeking down the hall.“Zoro! Have you seen ____! Usopp’s worried and can’t find her!” He shouted, making the navigator cringe. She immediately sent a glare, but she didn’t comment. It was simply the truth.

“Hah?!”

The swordsman came down the hall, with an arm rested atop his swords, while Brook and Chopper followed behind.

Two of them shared a looked, but shrugged clueless, the third—Chopper, hesitated. He was the first to mutter your name, mulling over this morning and afternoon before pausing, gently shaking his head.

“No. Is she with you guys?”

“No, she isn’t.” Sanji sighed, blowing out smoke.

“Maybe she went for a walk?” Brook input.

“No, she would’ve said something.” Usopp said, looking to the window. It wasn’t impossible, but it wasn’t entirely not possible. “She always does.”

“Maybe it was a spur of the moment kinda thing? Maybe she forgot something in town?” Chopper offered, though it didn’t ease anyone’s worries.

“She still would’ve said something,” Robin murmured. “It’s not like her.”

“Yeah, it’s not.” Usopp breathed.

“Well, let’s check the ship again before we get our heads in a twist,” Franky stood, cracking his knuckles. “I’ll check the docking area.”

“Good idea,” Nami agreed, standing from her seat. “Let’s just split up and look, if we can’t find her here, then we’ll go check the island.”

Everyone nodded, prioritizing your safety over anything else. It was rather strange you disappeared so suddenly, but you were just here a bit ago. If you weren’t on the ship, you couldn’t of gone far.

You just had to be close.

4:40pm.

Usopp was on the verge of a mental breakdown.

He began to doubt everything.

Himself.

This situation.

The fact that an hour had passed, and you still weren’t found.

Literally. everything.

He felt like shit, and he felt like the worst boyfriend in the world. How hadn’t he noticed you left? What if you were taken? What if you’d fallen off the ship and drowned??

He was horrible. Horribly, horrible.

Usopp was now ranked the best, for the worst human in the Grand Line.

He didn’t deserve you.

He couldn’t even believe this was happening.

Without another word, Usopp hopped off the ship, ignoring his crew-mates calls as he trekked l the woods. He couldn’t keep dwelling on this, he just needed to find you.

What if you were hurt?

What if you weren’t coming back?

That thought rattled him the most, and he soon wondered—pushing away a branch, if he’d triggered any of this. If he’d made you feel this way.

It put an ache in his chest, and tears stung his eyes. He loudly called your name, growing frustrated with himself more than anything.

Self-blame cracked his resolve, but it didn’t slow him.

You couldn’t have gone far.

Nami’s exact words, and she was right.

But, another hour already passed.

5:55pm.

“Stupid, stupid—stupid—this can’t be happening.” Usopp cursed, feeling the need to tear out his hair. He let out a fake laugh, calling your name again.

“Are you even alive?!”

Oh. My. God. Idiot, why would you even say that?! What if she heard you? What if she didn’t?

“Dumbass, just find her—stop thinking for once and just do. You’re such a scaredy cat.” Usopp desperately called your name again, damn near tripping over his own feet as a branch he pushed, mis-fired.

It swung back, and he dodged, letting out a yelp.

“Now the woods hate me too, great.”

He wiped some dirt of his face, quickly standing up.

SNAP

Usopp froze.

He stiffened like a board, and looked down.

He hadn’t been the one to step on a branch. It was just grass.

Now, either that was you, or that was some evil demon coming to rip out his guts.

He much preferred you.

“Uh, ____?” He shakily muttered, whispering your name as if it’d help his unparalleling anxiety.

Very slowly, he got up.

He quietly peeked over the overgrown bushes, and saw you. His shoulders slacked, and he let out a breath of relief. Warmth flooded his chest, and he relaxed against the tree beside him,

Every negative idea he had disappeared in an instant. All he could think about was you, and that you were okay.

“There you—“

Usopp slipped, his hand tore off tore bark from the tree and it gave-way, sending him crumbling to the ground. He wanted to get up, he did, but he felt much too relieved. Besides, he needed to cool down anyways.

“Usopp?”

His heart perked, and he shifted to his knees, but you were already kneeling beside him. Your hand carefully found his, and he could finally smell your scent.

Ugh, he could cry.

“What are you doing out here?”

“No. What are you doing out here?! You just left? I’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Usopp went to scold you more, but he hesitated seeing the exhausted look on your face.

Gods, now want the time.

Your eyes were tired, and softened as if you’d been crying. Your face was roughed, with scratch marks aligning your arms and legs—as if you’d been running from something.

“Are you okay?” He asked, reaching for your face.

You stiffened, swallowing back tears.

Managing a weak nod, the reaction was immediate, your mouth opened to speak—but nothing came out. Your brain gave mid-way and you couldn’t find a stupid enough excuse as to why the hell you were out here, alone.

Usopp waited, but as he realized you couldn’t talk, he didn’t hesitate to pull you in. His arms wrapped around your shaky form and he squeezed you with all his being, as if your life—or maybe his, depended on it.

“Don’t answer that, I know you’re not. I’m sorry I asked.” He mumbled, holding the back of your head.

Tears of his own came to, though he held them back. Now wasn’t the time to be frustrated with you, it was time to understand. Time to talk, not to scold, but be whatever you needed.

A minute or so passed, and he finally pulled back.

He reached for your face again, attempting to soothe you, but you burst into tears.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to disappear,” you choked, shakily wiping your tears, but he caught them instead. “Everyone’s probably so worried, I wasn’t thinking—“

“Hey, hey, stop—it’s okay. No one’s mad,” he shushed, holding the side of your head. “Yeah, we were worried, but we get it—I get it. You don’t need to explain yourself, please don’t apologize.”

You sniffled, listening, but not truly hearing. There were so many feelings and things to think about at once; guilt, shame, frustration—it was overwhelming. You didn’t even know what to say.

Another broken sound followed, and out of embarrassment—you’d wished you hadn’t left the ship at all. You’d wished you’d talked, you’d wished you’d communicated, but for some reason you felt like you couldn’t.

And, you never could understand why.

You felt, mute.

Usopp knew the feeling, he lived it. He went through it, back in the past—called a liar, never believed—never understood. Never wanted, never thought worthy of existing.

He knew.

He knew how it felt.

He pulled you in for another hug, gently lowering you to the ground as he gathered you in his arms. His head rested atop yours, and every fight, every injury—any pain he’d ever felt wasn’t comparable to this feeling now.

“It’ll be okay.” He murmured, holding you tighter.

“I know it’s hard, and I know it’s a pain, but you’re here now, right? That’s something isn’t it?”

A weak smile crossed his face and he leaned back to look at you, “You’re strong—so—so strong, and I’m so proud of you,” he held your face, kissing the corner of your eye.

“You came out here to breathe, right?” he asked, rubbing his thumb over your tears.

There was a quiet before you agreed, and he smiled. “Yeah, and maybe you didn’t tell us you came out here—and we were worried, but this meant something.”

You looked to him in confusion, not getting where he was going—as it all sounded pointless. But you knew better than that. It wasn’t nothing.

“You coming out here meant you’re trying, and—that’s everything right now.“

“I guess so,” you mumbled, but it was clear you were hearing it now.

Usopp gently ran his hands to your shoulder, rubbing them gently. “You guess so? Well I’m sure so.”

You let out a weak sniffle, and rubbed your eyes to fight a smile.

He was very determined to say in the least.

“Oh, wait—here,” he muttered, pulling out a trinket from his pocket. The item fumbled clumsily in his hands, and he weakly laughed when it fell. “Whoops,” he blurted, finally placing the flower in your hand.

“Oh, Usopp…”

“Yeah, yeah I know—pretty awesome right?” his eyes lit up with hope at your own, and his thoughts flowed easily.

“I made it this morning, with one of those zinc piece you helped me shear off.“

“You did?”

“Mhm! I did, and I thought maybe we could make more—together? If you wanted?” he offered.

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to, I just thought—“

“Yeah, I can.” you interrupted, smiling softly. Your sniper rambled one, explaining how he crafted the piece, gesturing to your hands to show you as if he wasn’t trying distracting you.

It felt something you’ve been lacking, meaning, even if it was just him talking about metal.

“And—bam! Just like that you have a flower!” he beamed, tossing the trinket up in the air before back into your hand. “Once we get back, I’ll get the stuff, and maybe we can…” Usopp’s voice trailed, and you leaned closer which seemed shut him up.

It wasn’t Usopp’s intention, but his hands stuck awkwardly out by his sides. He didn’t know what you were doing, but he wasn’t necessarily complaining. Your hand gently found his thigh, and you placed a soft kiss to his lips as thanks.

He deflated like a balloon, and his hands tenderly found your waist.

“Hey…” he whispered, reaching for you again. “What was that for?”

“What, I can’t kiss you?”

A gentle breeze blew between you, and birds chirped faintly in the distance. The sky was turned a gentle orange, while clouds of pink surrounded gentle stir-ins of blue.

“No—no, that was perfect, I loved it. I just, I wasn’t expecting it. I mean, don’t get me wrong I love when you kiss me—I just,” he choked over his words, letting out an embarrassed groan as he turned his head.

His hand found the back of his neck, and he slowly looked back. “I-I mean…”

“I know what you mean, but still. Thank you.” you assured, grabbing his hand. You placed the flower in his palm, and you held it there to emphasize his work. You couldn’t be more than thankful, really, and you loved seeing him like this.

It showed he cared, and he was always so easy to tease.

“Huh?” Usopp muttered, looking to your palms, before quickly searching your face. “For what?”

“For being there for me, I appreciate it.”

“Oh, yeah—of course.” he muttered, shifting his hands. It was stupid of him, but he didn’t really know what to do with them.

They were so warmly held in yours it sent his heart racing.

“You don’t need to be nervous, I don’t bite.”

Usopp cleared his throat, leaning back as if you’d burned him—not really, but your touch felt like it had. He crossed his arms, turning his head.

“I’m not nervous, you’re just…pretty.” he admitted—but immediately regretted it.

Now wasn’t the time idiot.

You let out a snort, laughing quietly. “I appreciate the compliment, but your still blushing wise-guy.”

“I am not!” he bursted, taking a stand. His face was as red as your scratches, and he couldn’t find the words to save his dignity.

It was long gone.

“Well—uh, you’re blushing too! And I am wise! Cause I’m the—guy of wise,” he hit his heel against the ground, coughing awkwardly.

He needed more of Sanji’s couple training.

“Mhm, very.” you agreed, laughing sofly as you shifted up. Your limbs ached in protest, but Usopp caught it. He saw the shakiness, and he saw the exhaustion as his hands settled to stable you.

He muttered your name, carefully bringing you forward. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded, sending a tired smile.

It was small, but it finally reached your eyes, and that subtle change fixed the worry in his chest. He reciprocated the gesture, brushing some messy moss of your clothes. “You ready to head back?”

A hum was your response, and he looked you over again. He didn’t know what happened, but he wasn’t gonna let you walk on your own.

An idea crossed his mind, and he smirked.

“Oi—?”

In the blink of an eye he had you on his back. “Now get ready for the Usopp express!” A mocked evil laugh met your ears and he looked at you over his shoulder. His expression softened and he kissed your cheek, “Good to go?”

“Always,” you rested your head to his shoulder, wrapping your arms around his shoulders.

“You know, you should offer this Usopp express more often.” you added, and your words tickled his skin. He honestly didn’t know how to answer that, and he stalked forward.

Your breath and words washed over his neck, and he felt like the biggest sap in the world. He ducked under a branch, keeping you close as his hands found your thighs.

Usopp’s steps were careful, and steady—as they always were, but everything inside was the complete opposite.

He felt like a mess.

7:20pm.

Finally making it the ship, the sky was warmed with an onset blue and dark orange. The ships lanterns had been lit, overcasting a cozy glow over the rails.

The sunset hung overhead, and on-top the deck was a certain swordsman who watched the forest from afar. He hadn’t let up since Usopp left, though he trusted him to find you.

Brook watched along, hollering as he alerted the crew of your presence.

“He found her?!” Chopper zoomed from the deck, immediate to call your name, and everyone was quick to follow. The crew waited patiently as Usopp hiked up the gangway, ready to lunge as soon as you made footfall.

He gently set you down, and Nami was immediate to hug you first. Her hold was tight, and the little doctor wasn’t far behind, jumping to hug your leg.

“You okay—?” she asked, looking you over, but Luffy was quick to slam into you and your hugging circle.

Usopp took a pale shade as he watched Luffy knock you and Chopper to the floor, tumbling a few feet away.

“LUFFY!”

“Come on, bro!”

“Not cool!”

Luffy smiled, pulling back and Chopper was quick to hit him over the head, “hey what was that for?!”

“What? I was excited!”

“So?!”

“I’m just happy she’s back!”

Usopp was quick to hit him next, “You idiot! You could’ve hurt her,” he snapped, “she’s already tired—!”

“And scratched,” Zoro commented, holding out a hand to help you up. You didn’t immediately take it, too slow to think, but he carefully grabbed your arm to hoist you up—cautious of your minor injuries.

“Oh shit, yeah what happened?” Franky raised a brow, poking your cheek, “you look like a cat beat you up.”

You smiled, weakly pushing his finger away, “Long story.”

“Yeah, you never did tell me what happened,” Usopp deadpanned, pointing an accused finger at you.

“Yet again, long story.” you sighed.

“Wait was it actually a cat?!”

“Anyways, we’re glad you’re back,” Robin interrupted, gently placing a hand on your head, “you had us worried.”

“Yeah, sorry about that…”

“Good, you should be—“ Zoro scoffed, but Nami was quick to elbow him in the ribs.

“Don’t listen to him. And don’t apologize, we understand.” she smiled, adding rather calmly, “just don’t do it again.”

Nervously, you laughed, watching Zoro cripple to the floor in pain… Quick to say, you didn’t hesitate to agree.

“Honestly, I wondered if a sea king snuck you from below.” Robin commented, crossing her arms.

“YOHO!” Brook shuddered, “Absolutely not my dear Robin! You think so cruel.”

“Though I do say that is a rather common occurrence with pirates—“

“Ok! How about we get you inside and some food?” Nami gestured, already pushing you inside.

“I’m not really hungry—“

“Too bad, you at-least need to drink some water.” Usopp took your hand, keeping you safe as he led you to the kitchen. The door swiftly closed, and a distant shout already rang from inside.

Brook, who was left with Robin outside, seemed to enjoy the rather chaotic welcome home. It was normal here, and they didn’t think it’d ever change.

“It really wouldn’t be the same without her,” he murmured, keeping a light—but bittersweet tone.

Robin only nodded, “I think she knows that, deep down.” she looked to the window, seeing you in the kitchen as Chopper patch you up.

“It just might take some time for her to see it.”

. . .

“Yeah well whatever the idiot said, clearly worked.” Zoro grumbled, finally taking a stand. He sucked in a breath, wincing as his side stitched.

“Ugh, I think that witch broke my rib(s).”

9:00pm.

Bonus:

“The great Usopp has found his treasure!” The snipe declared, running straight at you.

You were in the Aquarium, watching the fish and tank to relax, but your peace and quiet hadn’t last long. You lover grabbed you, cozily tackling you to the couch.

A panicked sound muffled your lips, though it was too late. He pulled you to his lap, wrapping his arms around you to keep you close.

“Treasure?” you asked, looking up to him.

“Well—yeah, duh, I was looking for you.” he muttered, breezing over what you said—as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No, you called me your treasure.” you repeated, leaning up, gently interrogating.

That was the first time you’ve ever heard him say that, otherwise—he’d said it to you in your sleep.

“Oh—Haha, did I? That’s funny,” he muttered, looking to the fish. “Oh would you look a that, their trying to kill another.”

“Huh?” you blurted, looking to the tank, but nothing was out of the ordinary. You deadpanned, looking to him before hitting his chest, “you’re such a dork.”

“Ow, I am not.”

“Are too.”

“Am not.” he finished, stuffing your face with the blanket.

“Hey! Quth—it!”

“Admit defeat!”

“M’fine—you win.” you pushed the blanket away, and he smirked.

“Usopp the great always wins.”

“Yeah, cause he can never admit defeat.”

Usopp utterly appalled, held his chest, “Not true.”

“Is true.” you mumbled, resting your head on his chest, and that was the end of the argument. Your arms came around his shoulders and he shifted his hold.

He smiled, tucking you in with a blanket he grabbed to keep you warm. Usopp didn’t plan to sleep here, but you looked too comfy to move. His hand gently combed through your hair, and he closed his eyes to soak up the moment.

Then softly, he mumbled:

“I forget your real sometimes.”

“Hm?” you hummed, drifting off.

“Nothing.” he fixed, realizing his mistake. He held you tighter, bringing his leg between your own.

“I’m just talking to myself.” he whispered, brushing your hair back. His hand traced your features, and his eyes closed to remember the moment, cherishing it forever as he drifted off.

“Goodnight.” he mumbled, as though were soft to agree.

The night settled in, and under the fish tank’s light, he joined you in sleep.

Cause of my insomnia number one: