4rticbolt - Oh!

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)

CLINGY MUCH? | ONE SHOT

Shanks x GN!Reader

Zoro x GN!Reader

Mihawk x GN!Reader

a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only so expect this ff cringe and oc

tags: sfw, fluff, soft, ooc(?)

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

SHANKS

You were many things aboard the Red Force—calm, sharp-tongued, and painfully unbothered by Shanks’ endless antics.

You were also completely unaware of the fact that the most feared (and flirted-with) captain in the New World couldn’t seem to stop touching you.

Not in a creepy way. Not even in a romantic way… at least, not that you noticed.

He’d toss an arm around your shoulders like it was a habit. Rest his hand on your waist when laughing. Tug you into his side when something “dangerous” happened, like a slightly aggressive breeze or a seagull flying too low.

You just chalked it up to him being Shanks.

Until, one bright morning, the crew decided enough was enough.

It started with Benn Beckman sighing dramatically as he walked onto the deck.

“Do you two need a room or something?”

You blinked from where you stood, arms crossed. “We’re not even doing anything.”

Benn pointed. “His hand has been on your lower back for ten minutes.”

Shanks blinked down at his own hand like it betrayed him. “Huh. Didn’t even notice.”

You raised a brow. “Are you okay? Do you have tactile issues?”

Lucky Roux snorted as he passed by with a turkey leg. “Yeah, it’s called ‘falling for someone and not knowing what to do with your hands.’”

Shanks turned red. You remained… utterly unaffected.

“Touch-starved pirate disease,” Lime Juice muttered, jotting fake notes like a doctor. “Tragic. Symptoms include: prolonged physical contact, excessive grinning, and spontaneous cuddling in public.”

Hongo popped his head out of the crow’s nest. “I saw him brush your hair behind your ear during the storm last week.”

“That was because it got in their face,” Shanks defended.

You nodded. “He didn’t want me to get stabbed by my own bangs. Very heroic.”

“You’re wearing a braid,” Yasopp called from the helm.

A long pause.

“…Okay, I’m not good with excuses,” Shanks muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. His hand bumped yours in the process.

You tilted your head, eyes narrowing. “Captain.”

“Yes?”

“You’re touching me again.”

“...I genuinely didn’t notice DAHAHAHA.”

The crew erupted into laughter.

You blinked slowly and glanced down at your joined hands, then back up at him. “You’ve been holding my hand for a minute now. You good?”

“Maybe.”

You stared.

He stared.

“…You’re kinda warm,” he added, grinning.

“I’m wearing gloves.”

“Exactly. Impressive.”

You didn’t smile, but your voice was flat with dry humor. “You wanna marry me, too? Get it over with?”

Shanks choked. “Whoa—what?”

“You’re already touching me like I’m your lover. Might as well commit.”

The crew howled.

“I’m starting to like them more than you, Cap,” Benn said, lighting a cigar.

“They’ve got more bite,” Lime Juice grinned.

Lucky Roux offered you a celebratory turkey leg like a sword. “You just proposed better than he ever could.”

You calmly took it, giving a single nod. “Thanks. I accept my own proposal.”

Shanks was still frozen. “Wait, are we actually engaged now?”

You took a slow bite of the turkey leg, deadpan. “Keep touching me like that, and you’ll owe me alimony.”

ZORO

You were minding your own business—arms crossed, eyes half-lidded, back leaned slightly against the Sunny’s railing—when a familiar weight thunked into your side.

Again.

You didn’t flinch, didn’t glance, didn’t even blink. Just spoke.

“Zoro.”

“What.”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what.”

“Treating me like a living chair.”

He grunted. “You’re stable. And not annoying.”

“That’s a compliment?” you asked, still deadpan.

“Take it or leave it.”

The crew had noticed. Of course they had. This was the sixth day in a row Zoro had casually latched onto you like a sleepy barnacle.

“Oi, mosshead!” Sanji snapped, appearing from the galley with smoke swirling and a righteous fury in his eyes. “Get off them, you clingy cucumber!”

Zoro cracked open an eye. “Make me.”

“Oh, I will!” Sanji stomped over dramatically. “Y/N-chwaann shouldn’t have to carry your freeloading swordsman body weight! If anyone deserves to be close to them, it’s me!”

You raised an eyebrow. “You literally tripped into my lap yesterday trying to ‘tie your shoe.’ You were barefoot.”

“It was a metaphor!” Sanji cried. “For falling head over heels!”

Zoro scoffed. “That was the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”

“Says the mossy limpet glued to their side like a touchy fungus!”

Zoro didn’t move. “Jealousy’s not a good look, curly.”

“You—!!”

“Guys,” Nami sighed, “can’t we go one day without turning affection into a shouting match?”

Brook leaned on his cane, chuckling. “Yohohoho! Young love… or something!”

Usopp squinted. “Wait. Has Zoro always been this clingy with Y/N?”

Robin smiled mysteriously. “Since thriller bark, at least.”

Franky nodded solemnly. “Saw him fall asleep on their shoulder mid-battle once. SUPER unconscious.”

“I thought he was dead,” Chopper added, horrified. “Turns out he was just really comfy.”

Zoro’s grip on your shoulder tightened very slightly, and you finally glanced sideways at him.

“Do you know you’re this touchy?” you asked.

He looked like he wanted to evaporate into the deck. “I… just don’t mind you being close.”

You blinked slowly. “Is that samurai code for ‘I like you’?”

Sanji audibly gagged. “Oi! Don’t flirt in front of me!”

“We’re not flirting,” you said.

Zoro mumbled, “Might be.”

Sanji died inside.

“Y/N-chwann” he said gravely, dropping to one knee. “I beg of you—pick me instead! I would never lean on you like a sweaty tree log!”

Zoro growled. “Because you’d faint from being close.”

“AT LEAST I’D DIE HANDSOME!”

You looked between the two of them and sighed.

“I just want to drink my tea without being fought over,” you muttered, walking off—Zoro immediately following, like a shadow with swords.

“You’re still touching me,” you noted.

“Didn’t say I’d stop,” he replied casually.

You stopped walking, turned, and looked him square in the eye.

“You’re aware this is very couple-coded, right?”

He blinked, then grunted. “Guess we should make it official then.”

You blinked right back. “That was fast.”

“Why waste time.”

You smirked just a little. “Romantic.”

He shrugged. “You’re warm. And you don’t talk too much.”

“That’s your idea of a proposal?”

“Worked, didn’t it?”

From behind you, Sanji dramatically screamed into the ocean.

MIHAWK

Kuraigana Island was a wasteland of stone, wind, and uncomfortable silences. You didn’t mind. You were the type to thrive in eerie places — quiet, observant, and allergic to nonsense.

Which is probably why Mihawk didn’t bother with small talk.

Or... so you thought.

Lately, the world’s greatest swordsman had developed a habit of materializing wherever you were. You’d be cleaning a blade — and there he was, pouring tea. You’d sit on the crumbling stone wall for some air — and there he’d be, suddenly trimming the overgrown vines right next to you.

At first, you thought it was coincidence.

Until today.

“...You know you don’t have to sharpen every one of my knives,” you said flatly, watching him work silently at the bench beside you.

“I didn’t,” Mihawk replied, still honing the blade. “Only the dull ones.”

You blinked. “That was my butter knife.”

“Then it was very dull.”

From the far side of the ruins, Zoro grunted as he finished a set of squats. “He refilled their canteen twice this morning.”

“Once,” Mihawk corrected, still not looking up.

“Twice,” Zoro insisted. “Once after breakfast. Then again after they just looked at the sink.”

Perona floated down with a snort. “He also folded their coat. While they were still wearing it.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Wait. Is that why my sleeves were shorter for a second?”

“You had a wrinkle.”

“I always have a wrinkle.”

Mihawk looked up with that unreadable expression. “And now you don’t.”

Zoro huffed. “What even is this? He acts like a butler. But like, a scary one.”

Mihawk narrowed his eyes at him. “I’m not a butler.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Perona muttered, arms crossed. “You fixed the strap on their satchel too.”

Mihawk didn’t respond to that.

Perona raised a brow. “You gonna deny it?”

“No,” Mihawk said coolly, “because it was crooked.”

Zoro leaned against a stone pillar, towel around his neck. “He also moved your seat at the dining table.”

“That was my seat,” you said.

Mihawk finally gave you a long, side glance. “You’ve sat on the left for the past four mornings. I simply ensured it remained consistent.”

You deadpanned. “You rearranged the furniture.”

“Briefly.”

Zoro stared. “And when they tripped over that vine—”

“I cut the vine before they fell,” Mihawk snapped with a tone just shy of defensive.

“Bro. You lunged across the courtyard.”

Mihawk sipped his wine calmly. “It was in the way.”

You raised an eyebrow. “And when you pulled me by the hood into the shade the other day?”

“You were overheating.”

“I wasn’t sweating.”

“You were blinking slowly.”

You stared. “That’s just how I blink.”

There was a long pause.

Then Perona gasped. “Wait, wait — you also fixed the strap on their scabbard!”

“I adjusted it. The weight distribution was uneven.”

Zoro clapped once, grinning. “So you are clingy.”

Mihawk’s eyes narrowed, the glint in them sharp and dangerous. “I am not.”

You leaned your chin on your hand, amused. “Then what would you call this?”

He paused. “Awareness.”

Perona lost it. “You mean hyper-awareness. Of one (1) person.”

Mihawk ignored her. “It’s strategic. I simply ensure you're at your most efficient.”

“That’s not efficiency,” Zoro said, wiping his forehead. “That’s doting.”

Mihawk arched a brow. “You think a swordsman cannot be observant?”

“You folded their laundry in order of fabric weight.”

“They prefer it that way.”

You blinked. “I never said that.”

He side-eyed you, expression cool. “You didn’t need to.”

You blinked again.

Zoro grunted. “You see? He’s acting like we’re all weird for noticing.”

Perona jabbed a finger toward him. “He's totally doing the ‘if I act calm, no one will notice I'm obsessed’ thing.”

Mihawk finally gave a soft, tired sigh — the kind that said you people are exhausting.

Then, turning to you, he asked, “Would you like tea?”

“I haven’t said I was thirsty.”

He didn’t blink. “You will be.”

You stared. “Are you psychic?”

“No,” he said simply. “You’re predictable.”

You squinted. “...That sounds like flirting.”

Mihawk blinked slowly. “I don’t flirt.”

Perona groaned. “OH MY GOD—”

Mihawk stood up, cloak sweeping behind him, expression unreadable as always. He held out the canteen like he’d already won this conversation.

You took it with narrowed eyes, muttering, “Thanks... I guess.”

He nodded, calm as ever. “You’re welcome.”

Zoro crossed his arms. “Still denying it?”

Mihawk looked at all of them — then at you — and with perfect poise said,

“I’m just efficient.”

And with that, he turned and walked away.

You stared after him, took a sip from the canteen, and sighed.

“…Efficiently annoying.”

you’ve changed (for the better)

for @where-does-the-heart-lie ‘s fighting game au I love ur designs I love them dearly

Yasopp when I catch you Yasopp

I've got a lot of respect for smut writers. you write something incredibly sexual, it's probably somewhat of a look into your own soul, and then bitches are too scared to leave kudos of comments half the time, so it looks as though everyone hates your work. And yet yall still do it, and I love that

The Menacing Bra |Master-list|

Fluff, swearing, kissy-kissy, crack, cringe and cliche?? Longish-drabble

You and the cook have a moment, and he actually grew a pair to make a move

!finally revised—lemme know if there’s errors pls and ty!

……………….

Laundry day.

Oh boy, what joy, the repetitive chore that tested your limits. Chipping away your mental capacity and motivation to do absolutely anything.

You’d spent hours on end scrubbing and rinsing the clothes, only to wear again, ferevently repeating the cycle.

You cursed, pinching a clip to your nose. You’d always wished there was some cheat sheet, some easy way out, other than free labor from the boys.

Especially when you’d gotten stuck with Nami and Robin’s clothes. You’d kindly asked, seeing their closets were getting low and they’d never decline an offer like that.

Because, honestly, who would? Washing clothes by hand was time consuming, and neither you nor the women had the patience for it.

Sure you might be throwing yourself under the bus here, but you cannot for the life of you throw fucking soap and bubbles for an hour.

Wiping the sweat from your brow, you scrubbed and submerged the materials hoping you could get done with this before lunch was done.

Which the odds were in your favor as you hadn’t procrastinated as much as you normally did. Meaning you’d started early on it, and there was nice weather! Though that luck didn’t last long as a distant crash emitted from downstairs.

“Spoke too soon,” you muttered, hearing a distant laugh and girlish scream follow after one another. A familiar shout rang after and a chaotic catchy cackle echoed.

You didn’t even want to think what the cook was dealing with now.

However speaking of the boys, if you even had to touch their laundry you’d pass away. That was an actual health hazard, and even thinking about it made your skin crawl.

You shuddered, shaking your head as a shiver ran through your spine, causing some bubbles to fly.

Ew. Just imagining the men’s laundry was a shit show. Maybe not Sanji’s, as he actually cared about his hygiene—but regardless, it was still gross.

Without even realizing, your thoughts filtered back to the cook who’d still been hollering in the kitchen. Consequently reprimanding the idiots for whatever crime they outdrew.

Though the thought of his agitated face made you smile.

The way his brows creased into a frown, and the way his jaw would have clenched—sharpening his chin. You silently cursed as your mind wandered further, leaving the rest of you to the mercy of your imagination.

Ok, sure, maybe you had fallen for the hopeless romantic—but how could you not?!

He’d always showered you in devoted affection—heartfelt compliments, and any craving you could think of. You saw him as the perfect package.

At-least from your point of view.

Maybe a little perverted in the terms of others, but that was just his charm, or so you’d convinced yourself. You had never had an issue with him, he’d never really lust after you—or anyone else for that matter.

Not that you knew of, which made it easy to brush off. Yeah sure—maybe an unhinged comment every now and then, but it could be a lot worse.

Deep down, his selfless acts and perverted thoughts felt more like a puppy love than anything. Appreciation, admiration, and his firm morals…were always so oddly refreshing.

…

However speaking of that said appreciation, you were almost done with this stupid laundry. You just had to hang up one of your bra’s.

The deck seemed to finally quiet, meaning lunch was ready. So as quickly as you could, you stepped onto the railing, reaching to a height where you could hang the garment.

Ignoring the warm breeze that rushed past, you hopped down to deal with the soapy water dumping it overboard.

“____, my love! Lunch is done,” Sanji called, his voice glowing with an excited smile as he steadily rounded the corner to take you inside.

“Yeah, just a sec!” You replied, shaking the soapy suds from the container watching them fall to the ocean below.

“No worries, I can wait darling.”

Turning back with a sigh, you weren’t met with the handsome face of the cook, but a sharp gust of wind and wet towel speedily flying towards you—smacking you straight through your face.

“Shit-“ Thwack

“Damn wind—you alright?” His voice reached, muffled over the violent winds. The pressure being immeasurable as it howled around and over the ship, shoving you against it’s side with blunt force.

You managed to holler back a muffled response, but the towel had still blocked your vision, making it impossible to see. The smell of a wet towel wasn’t pleasant, though it’d disappeared and fallen to the floor as the wind had finally died down, a sopping thud following to the floor. An annoying imprint was left on your shirt, peskily being a darker hue from what it originally was.

“Ugh, what the hell—you okay?” You asked, looking up to the cook as you wiped a dry sleeve across your face—but you froze seeing the sight in-front of you.

No.

Actually die.

He’s dead. You killed the man—or well, the bra that covered his face did. He was as red as a tomato, frozen in place. And you would’ve laughed at the sight if your weren’t embarrassed out of your mind.

Your hands slowly came out infront of you, hesitating at what to do with yourself—and the situation.

“Sanji?”

..

“S-so soft..” he whispered, dramatically plummeting to the floor.

There he goes…

You let out a long sigh, watching as a familiar pathetic trail of blood streamed from his nose. You slowly knelt to his side calling his name again, watching as he twitched like some possessed, squashed cockroach—far too gone for some unknown reason. He was clearly down as bad as you were for him—if not far worse.

Peeling off and tossing aside the bra, your hands hovered hesitating over his face for a moment, before you gently patted his cheeks, hoping to snap him out of his spell. However, he was painfully out like a light.

“Hellooo? Earth to sanji?” You sang, growing increasingly worried as the seconds stretched on.

Sure he had nose bleeds, but never this bad. Maybe back-up was needed.

“Hey!” You finally snapped, gently swatting his face—unable to wait any longer as the seconds and leading minutes painfully dragged on. You’d silently regretted your decision as his eyes fluttered open into hearts—but you could never stay irritated with a face like that.

“Yes darling?” he stuttered, quickly reaching into his pocket as he dabbed a light blue handkerchief you’d gifted him to his face. He secretly felt as if he’d been to heaven itself, knocked out by the cusp of a bra, and awoken by an angel.

“Are you okay?”

“Haha, yes—lovely,” He slurred, obviously still locked in the cages of the aftermath.

You could only grumble at his words—and at the sight. Your heart hammered at the way his eyes shined at your own, and the way his gentle smile lingered. Your heart was taking too many hits, and you really tried to fight it, but your gaze softened looking to his—locking gazes. Without the hearts.

As the air suddenly grew tense, and a heat built—Sanji was up in the blink of an eye offering you his hand, sending you a charming smile as his eyes still lingered.

“Are you sure?” You hummed, taking his hand.

“You’re offly pink.”

“I’m sure, and it’s only for you my Angel.” His voice softened, coming out with zero hesitation, hoping for—and ever so loving your reaction. The way your cheeks flushed, and the way your eyes teasingly rolled, a soft chuckle leaving your lips.

God he wanted you closer.

So he did. It was sudden, but his arm wrapped around your waist and it shamelessly pulled you closer.

He could tell you were nervous, and once again loved it. He loved everything about you. How your breath hitched, and how you brought your arms infront of coyly distancing yourself…

He knew if you’d given him a chance he would go hours on end naming every reason you were so adored. And he was tempted to ask, as you how you felt, but he knew it wouldn’t be so easy to get out of you—so his hand grasped your waist tighter, letting himself lean slightly against you.

His eyes scanned your body, your eyes, your face—your language for discomfort. But he didn’t, so he continued. And he knew a little teasing couldn’t hurt.

“Is it too much?”

Absolutely.

No. Not at all. Not even in the slightest.

You repeated to yourself, unable to properly think enough so you could speak. How could he affect you like this? Making you just…so god damned flustered. Your heart thudded yet again in your chest as you watched a soft smirk tug at his lips—and a light laugh sounded after.

“I’m joking, easy,” he mused, reaching a hand to very gently push some hair out of your eyes.

“No you’re not.” You muttered, cursing the way your voice was so small.

“…You’re right, I’m not.”

And for another moment, his eyes locked with your’s.

It felt as if your lungs had been in his hold, being squeezed softly—making you breathless as he finally leaned in.

Sanji slowly moved his hand from your waist to the nape of your neck, pulling you in, and you could feel the heat rise between you as he watched your lips like honey to a bee.

Sanji felt as if you looked far too sweet not to be held, not to be touched—not to be loved…and he couldn’t even comprehend how’d you taste. He knew he was far too eager to wait, and he’d controlled himself with you for far too long.

His lips longingly met yours, and you melted into it—sliding your hands from his chest to his neck—pulling your hips to his.

Sanji quietly groaned, his legs almost buckling at the feeling, and he needily slipped his tongue to meet yours, further deepening it. The kiss was a first time rush, feeling ever so feverish—and love ever so yearning fully deep.

Finally taken from the shelf you’d both restlessly waited upon, dusted off and brought into the light of the peaceable sense of purpose and belonging you both seemed to give each other.

You parted away to take a breath, but Sanji was too eager. His hands pulled you back and his head further tilted into your’s…

Until a door beside the two of you suddenly opened. An impatient captain running your moment.

“Sanji! Can we eat now?!” A hangry Captain huffed, far outstretching the scene.

“Hey what are you—“

You and Sanji frantically pulled away, letting out a stifled cough you walked past the boy.

“We’re done! He just came to tell me lunch was done! All is well, all is just fine!” You cheeped, bringing a hand to your mouth as you wiped away any dampness—fleeing the scene, turning bright red.

After your quick exit, you’d failed to notice the awkward scene you’d left behind—a very hungry luffy, and a now seething Sanji.

“Huh? What’s her deal—“

“Did you have to ruin that?!” He snapped, grabbing the gummy dolt by his shirt and rapidly shaking him. He didn’t even bother to hide the blush on his face.

“You idiot! Could you not see I was having a moment! I’ve waited forever for this—and you just had to plow through and ruin it!”

“Wh-at moment! And what d-o you me-an ruin it! I just sa-id I was hun-gry!” his rubber head flopped back n’ forth, as he tried—but ultimately failed avoiding the cook’s wrath.

Yeah, sure, Luffy might’ve been hungry, but so was Sanji. He was practically starving.

………………………………

Trafalgar Law is still haunted by nightmares regarding his beloved benefactor, Cora-san

my little spin on the iconic delicious in dungeon comic, but with my favorite scene from thriller bark

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