#Crocodile | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

inseobts · 5 months ago

Note

Hello there, dear! I hope you're having a good day!

I absolutely love your "Accidental PDA" scenarios. Could I please request a part 2? Maybe with Shanks, Mihawk, and Crocodile?

I love those silly men~♡

(Accidental) PDA

characters: shanks, usopp, mihawk, crocodile, sabo

a/n: I tried to make them longer and added usopp and sabo, hope you don’t mind

words count: around 0.5k - 0.8k each

(zoro, sanji, law, ace, kid)

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Shanks:

The tavern is loud, filled with the usual rowdiness of the Red-Haired Pirates, and you’re just trying to enjoy your drink in peace. Shanks, however, has other plans.

Without thinking, he throws an arm around your shoulders, tugging you in closer as he laughs at something Benn said. It’s casual, effortless, like it’s second nature to him. You stiffen for a second, heat creeping up your neck, but Shanks doesn’t even seem to notice. Or if he does, he doesn’t care.

The crew does, though.

Lucky Roo is grinning into his plate, Yasopp gives a low whistle, and someone in the back yells, “Oi, Captain, didn’t know you were the handsy type!”

The teasing sets off a chain reaction. More whistles, some exaggerated winks, and a few dramatic “Get a room!” comments. Shanks finally glances around, noticing the way everyone is looking at you, at him, at the way his arm is still draped over you like you belong there.

And then, the bastard smirks.

“Jealous?” he asks, completely unfazed.

You, on the other hand, feel like sinking into the floor. You push at his chest, but he doesn’t budge, only chuckles as if this is the funniest thing in the world.

“You could let go…” you mutter, but your voice lacks conviction.

“Could,” he agrees, but his arm stays right where it is, fingers lazily tracing patterns on your shoulder “But I like this better.”

The crew erupts into laughter again, and you just know they’re never letting this go.

You groan, sinking deeper into Shanks’ side as the crew erupts into even more laughter and teasing. His arm is still draped lazily over your shoulders, fingers tracing idle patterns on your sleeve like he has all the time in the world.

“Captain, you should at least buy ’em dinner first!” someone calls out, setting off another round of whistles.

Shanks just grins “Dinner? Please, I treat ’em well every day.”

You swat at his chest, finally pushing him off you, only for him to dramatically clutch his heart like you just mortally wounded him “Ow, sweetheart, that hurt.”

“Not as much as this embarrassment,” you mutter, crossing your arms “Do you have to be like this?”

He hums, tilting his head as if considering “Hmm… yeah, I think I do.”

The crew howls at that, and Yasopp slaps the table “Damn, you’re really done for, huh, Captain?”

Shanks just leans in again, closer this time, and you can feel his warmth even though he’s not touching you anymore. His voice drops, low and teasing “I mean… you don’t seem to mind that much.”

You open your mouth to protest but what can you even say? That your face isn’t burning? That your heart isn’t racing just a little? Because that would be a lie, and everyone here would see straight through it.

So instead, you huff and grab your drink, taking a long sip to avoid answering.

Unfortunately, Shanks notices.

He chuckles, resting his chin in his palm as he watches you, utterly amused “Oh yeah,” he murmurs “You’re definitely cute when you’re flustered.”

The entire crew loses it.

── .✦ Usopp:

The two of you sit together on the deck of the Sunny, basking in the warmth of the afternoon sun. The ship rocks gently on the waves as you both watch Luffy, Chopper, and Franky attempt to launch themselves out of a makeshift slingshot (which is absolutely going to end in disaster).

Usopp is so focused on their antics that, without thinking, he reaches out and takes your hand.

Not in a grand romantic way. Not with any intention at all. Just… naturally. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

Your fingers are warm, your grip instinctively curling around his. And for a few blissful minutes, he doesn’t even notice what he’s done.

Then, of course, someone has to ruin it.

Zoro snorts from where he lounges with his sword resting against his shoulder “Oi, Usopp, holding hands now? When’s the wedding?”

Usopp nearly throws your hand away like it’s on fire. His face goes red so fast it could put a cherry to shame.

He waves his hands frantically “W-WHAT?! I—HOLDING HANDS? WHO? ME? NO WAY!”

Zoro looks unimpressed “You literally just were.”

Luffy grins wide “Ohhh! Are you guys dating? Why didn’t you tell us?!”

Usopp flails, looking at you for help, only to find you laughing.

You’re not embarrassed. You’re not panicking. You’re just sitting there, watching him combust, an amused glint in your eyes.

Oh, this is bad.

Sanji smirks as he lights a cigarette “My, my, Usopp. Didn’t know you were such a romantic.”

Usopp’s hands are everywhere, gesturing wildly as he tries to dig himself out of this nightmare “I—I wasn’t—I mean, I was, but I wasn’t—”

Robin chuckles behind her book “Don’t worry. It was cute.”

Usopp makes a strangled noise that is somewhere between a squawk and a plea to be thrown into the ocean. His heart is about to explode. He can’t even look at you now.

And then you—still so infuriatingly calm—just shrug and say “Well, I don’t mind.”

Usopp forgets how to breathe.

Chopper gasps “So you are dating?!”

Usopp immediately short-circuits “THAT’S NOT WHAT THEY MEANT—WAIT, WHAT DID YOU MEAN?!”

You just laugh again, standing up and stretching like this is the most casual thing in the world “I’ll let you figure that out.”

Then you walk away, leaving a completely fried Usopp sitting there, hands in his hair, while the rest of the crew loses their minds.

Luffy grins “I think you just got confessed to.”

Usopp screams.

He stares after you, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Sanji exhales a puff of smoke, looking far too entertained “Well? You gonna sit there like an idiot or go after them?”

Usopp smacks his hands against his face “G-go after them? WHAT FOR?!”

Luffy tilts his head “Because they just confessed?”

“THEY DID NOT CONFESS!” Usopp shrieks, pointing wildly in the direction you disappeared. “THAT WAS VAGUE! THAT COULD MEAN ANYTHING!”

Franky crosses his arms “Could mean they like you.”

Chopper nods “Or that they wouldn’t mind if you liked them.”

Robin smiles behind her book “Or that they’re waiting for you to make the next move.”

Usopp is malfunctioning. His brain is overheating. This is worse than any battle, worse than any enemy encounter—this is romantic ambiguity, and it is killing him.

Zoro sighs, clearly losing patience “Look, either go ask them what they meant or sit here and keep yelling about it. Either way, shut up.”

Usopp grabs his head “This is too much. This is a nightmare. I need—I need time to process—”

Nami rolls her eyes “If you take too long, they might think you don’t care.”

Usopp bolts upright.

He cares. Oh, he cares. The thought of you thinking otherwise makes his stomach twist into knots.

He groans dramatically “UGH—FINE! I’LL GO!”

The crew cheers. He glares at them “If I die of embarrassment, I’m haunting you all.”

Luffy beams “Can ghosts hold hands?”

Usopp sprints before he can get sucked into another round of teasing.

── .✦ Mihawk:

The castle is quiet, save for the clinking of cutlery against fine china. You, Mihawk, and Perona are seated at the grand dining table, enjoying, or rather, trying to enjoy, dinner.

Everything is peaceful until your fork slips, clattering against your plate before tumbling off the table’s edge. Without thinking, Mihawk moves.

In one smooth motion, he catches the utensil mid-air, his fingers brushing against yours as he hands it back. It’s nothing, barely even a touch, but the air shifts immediately.

Perona, halfway through taking a bite, freezes.

Her wide eyes flick between you and Mihawk, and a slow, knowing smirk spreads across her face “Oh?” she sings, resting her chin in her hands “That was… interesting.”

You blink, confused “What?”

She grins “Didn’t know Hawky was the touchy type.”

Mihawk sighs, unimpressed “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But Perona isn’t letting this go “Ohhh, don’t try to act all cool—I saw that.” She points her fork at him accusingly “You totally just pulled a ‘casually affectionate, but I won’t admit it’ move.”

You scoff, shaking your head “It was just a fork—”

“It was not just a fork!” Perona interrupts dramatically “He caught it! He touched your hand! He lingered!”

Mihawk pinches the bridge of his nose, clearly regretting every life decision that led to this moment “This is absurd.”

Perona leans in with a wicked grin “Admit it. You like them.”

Mihawk finally meets your gaze, and for just a second, so brief you might have imagined it, you see something flicker in his eyes. Something unreadable. Something dangerous.

Then, as if nothing happened, he looks away “You’re being insufferable” he mutters to Perona, taking a slow sip of his wine.

She cackles, delighted “And you’re avoiding the question!”

You, caught between amusement and second-hand embarrassment, shake your head “Alright, that’s enough. Can we just eat in peace?”

Mihawk exhales through his nose, giving you the faintest nod. But as you pick up your fork again, you feel his gaze lingering just a second too long.

And this time, you are the one avoiding eye contact.

Perona is still grinning, twirling her fork between her fingers as she watches you both like a cat who just found the perfect toy to play with “You’re blushingggg” she sing-songs.

You nearly choke on your drink “I am not.”

She gasps dramatically “Oh my God, you so are! This is the best day of my life.”

Mihawk sighs, setting his glass down with an audible clink “Perona.”

Something about the way he says her name, low, warning, should be enough to shut her up. Should be. But Perona, being Perona, just grins wider “What?” she asks innocently, resting her chin in her hands “I’m just making an observation. It’s not my fault that you—”

Mihawk lifts a hand, and for a moment, you think he’s about to cut her off with a sharp retort. Instead, his fingers brush against the base of his wine glass, moving it an inch to the side. A subtle shift. A deliberate one.

And then you realise his gaze hasn’t left you since this conversation started.

Your breath catches. It’s not dramatic, not obvious, but it’s enough.

Enough for Perona’s eyes to widen.

“Oh.” She leans back, eyebrows raising “Wait. Hold on. Wait.”

Mihawk finally looks at her, his usual unreadable expression in place “What?”

Perona points between you both “This is real, isn’t it?”

You stiffen “What is real?”

She gasps again, clutching her chest like she just uncovered the biggest secret of the century “You! Him! This! Oh my God, I was just teasing, but you’re actually—”

Mihawk exhales sharply, reaching for his wine again “Perona.”

“What! You can’t expect me not to react!” She gestures wildly “I live in this creepy castle with you, and nothing fun ever happens! Of course I’m going to enjoy this!”

You groan, rubbing your temples “Perona, I swear—”

But she’s already giggling, positively thrilled “Oh, this is so cute. Mihawk, are you going to deny it? Hm?” She bats her lashes dramatically “Gonna tell me I’m imagining things? That you don’t look at them like that?”

Mihawk doesn’t answer right away.

Instead, he sets his glass down, levels Perona with a stare so sharp it could probably cut through steel, and says, voice smooth as ever “Mind your business.”

Perona lets out a scream of pure, unfiltered excitement.

── .✦ Crocodile:

The casino is buzzing, filled with the sounds of clinking glasses and the murmur of high-stakes deals. You walk beside Crocodile as he moves through the crowd, his presence alone enough to part people like the Red Sea.

It’s nothing new, he’s intimidating without trying, and people know better than to get in his way. But as the two of you step toward a private lounge, the crowd thickens, bodies pressing in too close. Instinct takes over.

A firm hand lands on your lower back.

It’s subtle, barely even a touch, but the warmth of it sends a jolt through your spine. Crocodile doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even glance at you—he just guides you forward, fingers pressing lightly, keeping you close as he moves with that same effortless authority.

You don’t even have time to process it before you hear a quiet, amused scoff.

Daz Bones, walking a few steps behind, raises a brow “Didn’t think you were the chivalrous type.”

Crocodile barely reacts. If anything, he looks bored, taking a slow drag of his cigar before exhaling, smoke curling through the air “Shut it.”

Daz, to his credit, doesn’t push. But the corner of his mouth twitches, like he’s holding back a smirk.

You glance up at Crocodile, expecting him to move his hand away now that the crowd has thinned. He doesn’t.

In fact, his fingers shift just slightly, a feather-light movement that sends a slow, creeping heat to your face.

Daz chuckles under his breath “Didn’t peg you as the clingy type, either.”

Crocodile stops walking.

The air changes.

It’s not obvious, no outburst, no harsh words, but the shift is immediate. Tension crackles, and for a split second, it feels like the temperature in the room just dropped.

Daz, wise as he is, raises his hands in mock surrender “Forget I said anything.”

Crocodile doesn’t even spare him a glance. His hand, however, still doesn’t move.

You swallow hard “Uh. You can—”

“Stay close,” he interrupts, voice low and even “People stare too much.”

It’s a flimsy excuse. You both know it.

But as his fingers press just a little more firmly against your back, guiding you forward once more, you decide not to call him out on it.

You don’t say anything. Not because you don’t want to, but because you don’t trust yourself to.

Crocodile’s hand is still there, still resting on your lower back like it belongs, and every nerve in your body is hyper-aware of the heat seeping through his glove. You try not to think about it, try to focus on anything else, but the way his fingers occasionally press just a little firmer, like he’s keeping track of you, making sure you’re right where he wants you, has your thoughts spinning.

Daz Bones says nothing more, though you can feel his amusement. The bastard’s probably enjoying this way too much.

Finally, Crocodile leads you into the private lounge, away from the crowd. The moment you step inside, you expect him to pull away. To let go.

He doesn’t.

Instead, he moves past you to the plush seating area, finally sliding his hand away slowly, like he’s reluctant to do so.

You exhale, a little too sharply. His golden eyes flick to you, sharp and assessing.

“You nervous?”

You scoff, folding your arms to hide the way your hands might be shaking just a little “Please. Why would I be nervous?”

Crocodile doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he takes a slow drag from his cigar, exhaling smoke in a way that feels almost deliberate. Calculated. Then, just as smoothly, he reaches for the glass of whiskey set out for him.

“You tell me,” he says finally, voice smooth as silk “You’re the one who went quiet.”

Your jaw clenches “You’re imagining things.”

He hums, low and amused “Am I?”

Before you can fire back, the lounge door swings open, and one of his subordinates steps in with a report. The atmosphere shifts immediately, Crocodile’s expression goes from teasing to cold, all business. He gestures for you to sit beside him on the couch, as if nothing just happened, as if he didn’t have his hand on you like a silent claim minutes ago.

You’re still reeling, still trying to get a grip on yourself, but you move toward him anyway, settling next to him as he begins discussing plans.

And then, so casually you almost don’t notice—his arm drapes along the back of the couch.

Close.

Too close.

Not touching, but close enough that if you shifted even slightly, his fingers would graze your shoulder.

It’s intentional. It has to be.

You glance at him, searching for any hint of smugness, but he’s unreadable. Just focused, listening to the report with that same cold indifference.

But when you shift in your seat, just slightly, testing—his fingers twitch.

Your stomach flips.

He doesn’t look at you, doesn’t acknowledge it. But that single, almost imperceptible movement is enough to confirm it:

Crocodile is absolutely doing this on purpose now.

── .✦ Sabo:

Sabo considers himself a composed man. A logical man. He doesn’t fluster easily.

At least, that’s what he thought.

Until you came along and ruined everything.

It happens on a regular afternoon at the Revolutionary Army base. The sun is shining, birds are singing, and Sabo is absolutely not panicking…yet.

The two of you are sitting together, going over some mission reports. Nothing unusual. Nothing suspicious. Just work.

And then it happens.

Without thinking, Sabo rests his hand on your knee.

Not in a weird way. Not in an intentional way. Just… naturally. Like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

You don’t move. You don’t even react.

Sabo doesn’t notice.

But Koala does.

She grins.

“Wow, Sabo, I didn’t know you were so affectionate.”

Sabo blinks “Huh?”

Koala gestures at your knee, where his hand is still resting comfortably.

He follows her gaze. Sees it. Processes it. Immediately short-circuits.

His hand jumps away like he’s been burned. He chokes on air. His soul leaves his body.

“I—THAT WAS—WAIT—” He scrambles for an excuse, for an explanation, for anything that isn’t I just did that on instinct like a lovesick idiot.

Koala smirks “Oh, don’t stop on my account.”

Sabo malfunctions. He turns to you, desperate for backup, only to find you watching him with amusement.

Oh, this is bad.

Hack strolls by, raising an eyebrow “You two finally together?”

Sabo dies on the spot.

“WE’RE NOT—” He practically explodes, looking at you with betrayal when you don’t immediately deny it.

You shrug “I don’t mind.”

The world ends.

Koala gasps dramatically “So you wouldn’t mind if Sabo kept touching you?”

Sabo chokes “KOALA.”

You just smile “Nope.”

Sabo’s brain shuts down. His face burns. His entire life flashes before his eyes.

Koala grins “Sabo, you gonna sit there or take their hand again?”

Sabo does what any rational, composed second-in-command of the Revolutionary Army would do in this situation.

He runs.

Straight out of the room, down the hall, past a very confused Dragon, who barely lifts an eyebrow as Sabo barrels past him like he’s fleeing for his life.

He does not stop until he’s outside, hands on his knees, breath coming in short, panicked gasps.

“You okay there, Chief of Staff?”

Sabo jumps.

Koala is standing behind him, arms crossed, looking way too smug.

He straightens immediately, clearing his throat “I—I just needed fresh air.”

“Right,” Koala says, unconvinced “Totally not because you just had a full-blown crisis over a little hand placement.”

Sabo groans, burying his face in his hands “I wasn’t thinking! It was instinct! And then—and then they said—” His voice breaks. He can’t even say it out loud.

Koala grins “That they don’t mind?”

Sabo melts into the floor.

She claps him on the back “Come on, Sabo. This is a good thing.”

“How is this a good thing?!” He looks at her, betrayed “I made an absolute fool of myself!”

“No, you just made it obvious.”

Sabo freezes.

Koala raises an eyebrow, like she can see the realization hitting him in real time “Wait. Don’t tell me you actually thought you were being subtle this whole time?”

Sabo has to sit down.

He buries his face in his hands “This is a nightmare.”

Koala laughs “You’re so dramatic. Just go talk to them.”

“I can’t just—just walk up to them after that!” Sabo gestures wildly “What if they were just teasing me? What if they didn’t actually mean it? What if—”

“Why don’t you ask them instead of spiraling?”

Sabo hates how logical that is.

Koala grins “They’re still inside, you know.”

Sabo grits his teeth. Stands up. Forces himself to breathe.

And then, before he can overthink himself into oblivion, he marches back inside.

You glance up when he approaches “Hey, you okay? You ran out of here pretty fast.”

Sabo feels his entire existence collapse.

But he forces himself to focus, to stay calm. He sits down across from you, clasping his hands together like he’s about to deliver a serious political statement.

“…Did you mean it?”

You blink “Mean what?”

He swallows hard “That you don’t mind.”

There’s a pause.

Then you smile, tilting your head “Yeah. I meant it.”

Sabo forgets how to breathe.

You lean forward, resting your chin on your hand “Why? Do you mind?”

His mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. He is malfunctioning at maximum capacity.

“…No.”

You grin “Good.”

Then, so casually, you reach over and take his hand this time.

Sabo dies.

2K notes · View notes