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inseobts · 1 day ago

Note

Hii! Hope you are doing good! :> can i please request the Reaction of Luffy and 2-3 characters of your choice when their partner just sometimes gives their booty a simple pat, a gently slap or even a tiny squeeze as their own kind of affection for them? They might also be bold enough to do it in front of other since it is just their own way to say they appreciate their partner.

Thank you for your time and i hope this isn't weird

Booty Pat

gn!reader

characters: luffy, zoro, sanji

words count: 0.9k each

a/n: sorry, I've had writer's block these past few days, but I hope they still turned out well T.T

tags: fluff, humor, established relationship, physical affection, playful

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

── .✦ Luffy:

When you first got together with Luffy, you weren’t sure how to handle him.

He’s loud. He’s warm. He’s always touching your shoulder, your hand, sometimes flopping across your lap like a big rubbery cat.

You liked it. You really liked it.

But back then, you kept your hands to yourself. Maybe it was nerves. Maybe you were just too shy to be that free. Touching Luffy felt like touching the sun, a little too much all at once.

But Luffy never pulled away. Not once. He grinned when you kissed his cheek. He pulled you into hugs like it was breathing. And after a few months, something in you just… relaxed.

The first time it happens, you don’t even think about it.

You’re walking through the hallway of the Sunny, a towel thrown over your shoulder. Luffy’s standing by the wall, one foot up, talking to Usopp about how he once fought a giant goldfish. Again.

You pass by him, barely listening.

Pat.

Your hand lands right on his butt. Light. Natural. Like you’ve done it a hundred times.

You keep walking.

Three steps later, your brain catches up.

Wait.

You freeze mid-step "Did I just—?"

You turn slowly. Luffy’s head is tilted at you, blinking. Then his mouth spreads into that huge grin he always gives you when you’re being weird.

He starts laughing “Oi, Y/N! Did you just hit my butt?!”

Your face burns “I—I don’t know?? Maybe?”

He’s still laughing “That was funny! Do it again!”

You stare “What?”

“Do it again!” he repeats, turning and sticking his butt out toward you “Come onnnn!”

Usopp’s choking from laughter in the background “WHAT is happening right now?!”

You blink once. Then twice. Then your hand goes out and smack.

Luffy throws his head back “BAHAHA! I love you!”

You grin, finally relaxing “I love you too, idiot.”

A few days later you’re by the railing, watching the sea. Luffy walks past behind you.

Then... Pat.

You freeze. You whip your head around “Luffy.”

He’s already giggling “I did what you did to me!”

You gasp “You little thief.”

“You started it!” he shouts, running away before you can chase him.

Now it’s a Thing.

You pat his butt when you pass by. He pats yours when he’s bored. Sanji drops a plate once when you do it during dinner. Robin covers her mouth politely. Zoro grumbles “I hate this crew” everytime.

Luffy just keeps laughing. Everytime.

And you feel freer. Happier.

You might’ve started as the shy one. But now you’re the Captain’s number one butt-patter. And he’s totally okay with that.

One day you’re lying on the deck, half-asleep, enjoying the sun. Luffy’s voice makes you peek one eye open “Oi, Y/N…”

He stands over you, hands on hips, tilting his head.

“You slapped my butt three times today.”

You squint at him “Only three?”

He gasps “ONLY?!”

You yawn “That’s nothing. I’m pacing myself.”

Luffy bursts out laughing and flops next to you, limbs spread wide like a starfish “You’re so weird.”

“You like it.”

“I do.” He stretches, his shirt riding up a bit “It’s funny. Makes me feel like meat.”

You snort “You are meat.”

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

One day Sanji is plating lunch. Zoro is already asleep at the table. Nami’s balancing ledgers while Robin reads quietly. Peaceful. Calm.

Then you walk behind Luffy.

Your hand lifts, and—Pat.

Nice and casual. Right cheek.

Luffy doesn’t even flinch anymore “That one was soft” he says through a mouthful of rice.

“Appreciation pat” you explain.

Chopper looks up from his bowl “What’s that mean?”

“It means they’re in love” Robin answers, smiling gently.

Usopp sighs dramatically “It used to be peaceful around here…”

“Don’t be jealous” you tease, sitting next to Luffy.

Luffy, unbothered, reaches over and places a lettuce leaf on your head.

You blink “What is this?”

“Affection” he says proudly.

“…Lettuce?”

“Yeah!”

“Luffy, no.”

The next day… you’re walking across the deck when you see him. He’s leaning over the side, watching the fish below, all relaxed and dreamy.

Perfect.

You sneak up. Slowly. Carefully.

Then—Pat.

“BAHAHA!” Luffy’s shoulders shake with laughter “You really do it every day, huh?”

“Every hour, actually.”

He turns to face you, eyes twinkling “Is it a rule?”

You nod “Butt appreciation is a serious job.”

He throws his arms around you, pulling you into one of his tight, full-body Luffy hugs “You’re soooo weird” he mumbles into your shoulder “But I like it.”

You grin “Then you better keep that butt safe. It’s a national treasure now.”

He pulls back, suddenly serious. “Do I need to put it in a safe?”

You laugh. “It is the safe.”

Meanwhile, somewhere on the Sunny…

Zoro: “If I see one more slap, I’m jumping off the ship.”

Nami: “You won’t.”

Zoro: “Watch me.”

Usopp: “We’re all just living in Y/N’s world now, huh?”

Brook: “Yohoho! May I pat a booty too—?”

Everyone: “NO.”

Back on deck, Luffy’s grinning like a fool while you sneak another pat on your way past him.

You’re not counting anymore. He is.

You’re at twelve for the day. A new record.

He pumps his fists in the air like he just won a battle.

“TWELVE!!”

You blow him a kiss and call back, “Lucky number thirteen is coming soon!”

He spins around, arms up, ready for it.

“OKAY! I’M WAITING!”

The others groan.

But you just smile.

This is how you love. And Luffy totally gets it.

── .✦ Zoro:

You and Zoro start slow.

Which, considering he nearly sliced your head off the first time you met, is kind of impressive.

He doesn’t talk much. Doesn’t flirt. Doesn’t do big shows of emotion. But when you touch him, even just resting your hand on his arm? He doesn’t move away. He lets you stay close. Sometimes he leans into it.

Eventually, things change. You get together. And Zoro… tries.

He’s not romantic. He doesn’t know what he’s doing. But when you’re alone, he’s soft. Real soft.

You can kiss his jaw and pull at his shirt and he just closes his eyes and lets you. He grunts, sure, and mumbles, “Tch, you’re annoying” but his hand’s already on your back, holding you there.

He’d never say it, but he loves your attention.

Until one day, when you’re walking behind him on the deck one morning. He’s shirtless, of course. Sweaty from training. Muscles flexing.

Your brain turns off. Your hand acts on instinct.

Pat.

Right on the butt. Perfect aim. Not hard. Just… appreciative.

Zoro freezes.

You freeze.

He turns his head. Slowly. Eye twitching.

“What the hell was that?”

You blink “…Compliment.”

He grabs your wrist. Not rough, but firm “Don’t.”

Your brows raise “Why not? I like your butt.”

“I don’t care.”

“You do care...” you say, smirking.

His ears go red.

A few days later you’re in the kitchen grabbing water. Zoro walks past. You’re feeling bold.

You go for it again.

He catches your hand before you make contact.

“Are you serious?” he mutters, gripping your wrist.

You just grin “It’s my love language.”

“My love language is ‘don’t do that where other people can see’.”

You pout “You let me when we’re alone.”

“That’s the point.”

“How?”

“Because no one’s watching!” he snaps, glancing around the room.

Sanji is definitely watching.

And cackling.

Zoro’s eye twitches.

You lean in close, whispering, “I think your crew should know you’re loved.”

He groans “They don’t need to know that through my ass.”

Later that night you’re sitting in the crow’s nest together. Just the two of you. Zoro’s sharpening his swords, quiet as always.

You crawl over and lean against him. He doesn’t say anything, but his arm shifts so you can fit under it.

You smile “Can I touch your butt now?”

He exhales slowly “You’re so annoying.”

“But you like me.”

“Unfortunately.”

Your hand drifts down.

This time, he doesn’t stop you.

You grin into his shoulder “So soft.”

He grumbles something under his breath.

You pretend not to hear him whisper, “Only you get to do that.”

The next morning you walk past him on the main deck.

You raise your hand.

Zoro glares before you even make contact.

“Don’t.”

You laugh “Okay, okay.”

You wait until you’re alone again.

Then—Pat.

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

You’ve been good.

Sort of.

You don’t touch Zoro’s butt in front of the crew. Not technically. Not unless you’re quick and sneaky. Or it’s dark. Or no one’s facing your direction. You’ve developed stealth.

But Zoro is a swordsman.

His instincts are terrifying.

So no matter how fast you move... Wrist. Grabbed. Every time.

“Stop trying it,” he grumbles, walking beside you one afternoon “You’re not slick.”

You smile sweetly “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You do.”

You absolutely do.

Later, in the galley the crew’s eating dinner. Luffy’s stacking plates with meat, Sanji’s yelling, and Zoro is sitting next to you, arms crossed, calm.

Too calm.

You glance at his profile.

Sharp jaw. Broad shoulders. That little frown he always wears like it’s stitched to his face.

You bump your knee against his under the table.

And when he's about to stand up he glances at you.

You grin.

Your hand slides behind him and he catches your wrist. Under the table.

Without looking.

You nearly burst out laughing.

He squeezes your hand under the table and mutters, “You’re gonna make me leave.”

You whisper, “I'd like the view anyway.”

He grunts. But he doesn’t let go of your hand.

Not yet.

Meanwhile… Nami is staring.

Robin’s hiding a smile behind her book.

Usopp squints “Are they fighting? Or flirting?”

Sanji: “Honestly, with those two? Who knows.”

Luffy looks over “Zoro’s mad again?”

Zoro looks up “I’m not mad!”

Everyone stares.

Zoro realizes what he just yelled “…Shut up.”

Later that night you’re in the hallway, just outside your room. Zoro’s stretching, half shirtless, towel around his neck.

You pass by.

You don’t even think this time.

Pat.

Zoro whips around “You promised!”

“That was hours ago. New day.”

“It’s still the same day!”

You lean against the wall, grinning “It’s our thing. You’re just in denial.”

“I’m not—!”

You tiptoe up, hands on his chest now “Admit it. You like it. Just not when people see.”

He looks away, ears turning red “…Yeah, well. Not everything has to be a damn show.”

You press a kiss to his cheek “That’s fair.”

Then your hand drops—Pat.

He groans “You are the worst.”

You grin “You love me.”

He doesn’t answer. But he doesn’t stop you either.

The next morning you reach out in the galley.

Zoro doesn’t block you.

You blink “Wait. Are you letting me—?”

SMACK.

Right on your own butt.

You freeze.

Zoro stares at you, completely straight-faced “Balance.”

You gape “You just—?!”

He shrugs and walks away like it never happened.

Sanji drops a plate.

Usopp is screaming.

Luffy’s clapping like a seal.

Robin: “…Interesting.”

You’re left in shock “He fought back.”

You smile.

“Oh, it’s on now.”

── .✦ Sanji:

You’ve always been the affectionate type.

Hugs? Yes. Kisses? Any time. Sitting in Sanji’s lap while he chops carrots? Standard.

So when you pat his butt one day as you pass him in the galley it’s not planned. Not even a big moment.

In facts, he’s leaning over the counter, stirring sauce, saying something about the perfect thickness.

And your hand just acts on its own.

Pat.

A quick, loving little thing. Like closing a cabinet.

And without even thinking, you’re already walking away when you hear a “Mon dieu.”

You turn back.

Sanji’s frozen in place. His cigarette has fallen out of his mouth. His entire body is trembling.

“Did you… was that… on purpose?” he whispers.

You raise an eyebrow “What? Did what? Oh... Wait, the butt thing?”

He grabs the counter. His knees wobble. He’s vibrating.

“You… you touched my—?!”

You nod “Yeah? I mean... I wasn't thinking but I like your butt.”

He spins in place. Hearts in his eyes. Actual pink hearts.

“I am in love.”

“You already were.”

“More.”

A few days later you’re walking into the kitchen. Sanji’s tossing vegetables with dramatic flair, humming a little tune. You pass behind him.

Pat.

Right cheek.

“OHHH!” He spins, almost flinging a carrot across the room “Mon amour! Again?!”

You just wink.

He’s already melting.

Luffy: “Oi, Sanji, I’m hungry.”

Sanji, still swirling with glitter and roses “Shut up, I’m being adored.”

One day during a fight, the Straw Hats are surrounded. Some minor pirate crew, nothing serious. Sanji’s kicking through them like they’re made of paper.

You dodge a sword and slide up behind him.

You’re both breathing hard, back to back.

Then, all your brin could think of? Smack.

Your palm lands right on his butt mid-fight.

He gasps “Darling!!”

He twirls mid-air and kicks three guys at once.

“YOU FUELED ME!!”

Usopp: “Did Y/N just slap his ass as a buff?!”

Zoro: “I hate this ship.”

Back on the Sunny…

“You really don’t mind it?” you ask, arms around his waist in the kitchen.

“Mind?” Sanji repeats, stunned.

He turns to you, taking your face in his hands like you’re made of sugar and light “You could grab me in front of the World Government and I’d kiss you on the spot.”

You grin “Is that a challenge?”

“Oh yes, please.”

๋࣭ ˖ 𐔌 ⸻ ࿐ . ۫

The crew has stopped asking questions.

Any time they hear a pat, a smack, or even a playful squeeze, they just brace for the sound of Sanji’s lovesick shout “MON AMOUR!”

Brook: “Yohoho! He’s swooning again.”

Robin: “How charming.”

Nami: “They’re cute but I swear if I hear one more dramatic gasp—”

Pat.

“AHHHHHH!!”

Nami: “I’m moving ships.”

It’s been some time now since the very first pat.

At first, Sanji gasped like you’d proposed marriage every time you touched his butt. Heart eyes. Roses. Knees shaking. Full twirls. Theatrical monologues about how you must truly love him.

But now he looks like he's… used to it.

You pat him when he’s cooking. When he’s slicing. When he’s carrying groceries back from town. When he’s talking to Nami or Robin or any human being, even when he's bickering with Zoro. You sneak it in with expert timing.

At this point, the crew has even stopped reacting. Mostly.

And now Sanji doesn’t even flinch.

This morning you step into the galley. He’s standing at the sink, sleeves rolled up, dish towel tucked in his waistband.

He’s washing plates, quiet and calm, little bits of steam curling up from the hot water.

And he looks really good like this. Focused. Strong arms, wet hands, hair falling over his brow, shirt clinging to his back.

You cross the room like it’s instinct.

He doesn’t turn around. He hears your footsteps and hums lightly “Good morning, darling.”

Smack.

Your hand lands with a clean, perfect sound.

No gasp. No twirl. No drama.

Sanji just keeps scrubbing the plate.

“Careful,” he says. Calm. Smooth. Voice like caramel “I might start to expect that.”

Your fingers curl slightly. Just a little squeeze. Testing him.

Still nothing. A slow exhale. A slight tilt of his head. The corner of his mouth lifts.

You lean on the counter next to him “You’re not even gonna blush? A small drop of blood from your nose for me??”

He doesn’t look at you “If I blushed or got nosebleeds every time you touched me” he murmurs, “I’d die too soon and can't spend the rest of my life with you.”

Oh.

Now you’re the one blushing.

Five minutes later he finishes drying the dishes.

You’re sitting on the counter, watching him, legs swinging “I miss the twirls.”

He chuckles, setting a clean plate down “I still do them. In my head.”

You squint at him “Liar.”

He turns to face you.

And finally he smirks.

“Maybe I’ve just grown stronger,” he says, moving closer “Adapted to your constant, delicious affection.”

You try to keep your cool, but his hands are already braced on either side of your legs “You’re really okay with it?”

He leans in, breath warm “Darling,” he says, lips brushing your cheek, “the fact that you want to touch me all the time is the most romantic thing in the world.”

Then he pats your butt.

You yelp “HEY!”

He laughs, finally showing some of that old sparkle “Just returning the favor.”

You narrow your eyes “You trying to start something, Chef?”

“Only if you’re gonna finish it.” he whispers.

Outside the galley…

Zoro: “They’re still in there.”

Nami: “Yeah, I heard slapping.”

Brook: “I heard love.”

Luffy: “I heard food. Am I wrong?”

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inseobts · 4 days ago

Text

Terminal pt.2

law × reader

part 1

you fall ill with a rare, incurable disease and law refuses to accept it.

a/n: since many asked for it, here we are eheh sorry in advance

words count: 3.3k

tags: terminal illness, soft, angst, worried and protective law

masterlist || ao3 || ko-fi

The sea is calm.

Too calm. The kind that presses against your chest, thick and heavy, like the quiet after something breaks. The Polar Tang glides through the water in near silence, the steady hum of the engine the only thing that proves the world is still moving forward.

Law stands by the observation window, arms crossed, coat hanging loose from his shoulders. Salt crusts the hem. He doesn’t bother brushing it off. His gaze drifts somewhere beyond the horizon, past the steel, past the sea, to a place only he knows.

Behind him, the ship breathes softly. Footsteps echo down the hallway in quiet rhythm. No one speaks unless they have to. Shachi and Penguin pass by with low murmurs, Bepo following a few steps behind, carrying a tray in his paws. He hesitates outside the medbay, like he wants to say something, then thinks better of it.

They all do.

No one talks about what happened a few weeks ago.

Not in front of him.

Law’s fingers twitch at his side, a phantom memory of holding something he can’t replace. A cup passed hand to hand. Your laugh in the early mornings. The way you always leaned in too close when reading over his shoulder.

The infirmary door stays closed.

Law doesn’t open it.

Not yet.

He turns away from the window and walks the length of the hallway with slow, measured steps. Everything about him is precise, controlled. As always. But his shoulders sit lower than usual, and his steps drag just slightly, like he’s carrying something no one else can see.

In the silence, it’s easy to assume the worst. And no one corrects the assumption.

The door clicks shut behind him.

Law steps into the infirmary without a word, the tray Bepo left earlier balanced in one hand. A bowl of soup and a cup of tea.

The room smells like antiseptic and citrus peels. The light’s soft, diffused by the overhead panels. There’s a soft rustle of sheets, the quiet flick of a page turning.

You’re sitting up in the bed, legs tucked under the blanket, a book in your hands.

You glance up at him “You’re late.”

Law exhales slowly through his nose. Not a laugh but close. He sets the tray down on the rolling table and drags it over to you.

“You complain more now that you’ve survived” he mutters.

You smirk, folding the corner of the page before closing the book “Yeah, well. Dying didn’t work out for me.”

He doesn’t respond right away. Just looks at you. Not clinically. Not assessing. Just looking. Your color’s better. You’re holding the book steady again. The dark circles beneath your eyes have faded.

“You should rest.”

“Look at yourself, you're the one who needs some rest.”

He pulls up the stool beside your bed anyway, the edge of his coat brushing your blanket. His hand rests on the rail, inches from yours. Neither of you moves to close the gap.

“So… aren’t you going to check up my blood pressure etc. today?” You say rolling up your sleeve “oh my Doctor please save me”

He sighs and put his hand over your pulse “Everything seems fine.”

You smile at his seriousness. You can see he’s tired. His eyes dark.

And so you move to make space on the bed, patting at the free space next to you “Cuddle time?”

Law’s gaze flickers down to the space beside you, where you pat the blankets, clearly teasing, but there’s a subtle softness behind the playful gesture. His tired eyes meet yours for a long moment. He doesn’t move, his hand still hovering near the rail.

A silence stretches between you two. Not uncomfortable, just the kind where words don’t seem necessary anymore.

Then, with a quiet sigh, he lowers himself down onto the edge of the bed, sitting carefully as if afraid to disturb the fragile bubble of peace you’ve created. The worn fabric of his coat brushes against your side. For a moment, neither of you says anything.

You make a small, quiet sound in your throat, something between relief and frustration, before nudging your head toward the pillows “Come on. I’m not gonna bite.”

He gives you a long, unreadable look before shifting, adjusting his position until he’s lying beside you, his back stiff, but his proximity enough that the warmth from his body makes the room feel a little more bearable.

You’re still not sure if you’re comforting him or if he’s comforting you. Maybe it’s both. You feel it in the way he shifts just enough to make space, but doesn’t pull away.

His hand rests lightly on your side, the fingers brushing against your ribs. You can feel the tension in his touch, like he’s afraid to hold you too close. He’s been afraid of a lot of things lately.

But you’re not going anywhere. Not this time.

You turn your head slightly to look at him. His jaw is tight, eyes closed, but his brow still furrows, like he’s thinking about a hundred things at once. His chest rises and falls in that slow, almost exhausted rhythm. You wish you could read his mind, but you can never seem to get through that wall he’s built around himself.

“I’m not dead, you know?” you murmur, your voice almost too quiet, just a breath between you.

“I know” Law answers, his voice soft but thick with something deeper, something that lingers in the space between his words.

You smile faintly, feeling the pulse of warmth that fills the space where he lies next to you. There’s no pressure, no hurry. Just this… moment of stillness. It’s enough for now.

For a while, neither of you speak. The steady rhythm of his breathing feels like all that matters. Like the rest of the world has faded away for a while, leaving just the two of you here.

Eventually, you shift your body just slightly, turning toward him, sliding closer until your forehead rests gently against his shoulder. His body tenses, but only for a moment before it relaxes into you.

His hand moves from your side, sliding over to your back, his fingers gently tracing the outline of your spine, like he’s checking, testing if you’re really here. You let out a breath, the tension from before starting to dissipate as you allow yourself to sink into him fully.

“You’re not alone” you whisper.

Law’s hand stills for a moment, his breath catching slightly. His voice is barely a murmur, but you catch it all the same “I know.”

And for once, he sounds like he means it.

You close your eyes, letting the quiet fill the space around you. In this small room, in the stillness of the night, there’s no need for words anymore. Just the feeling of his presence, his warmth, the steady beat of his heart beside yours, and the knowledge that even though the world keeps moving forward, you’re still here.

It’s quiet after they leave.

Too quiet, almost.

You lie there, tucked into the bed that’s become both sanctuary and prison, staring at the ceiling with the book still unopened in your lap. The infirmary hums gently with the soft whir of monitors you no longer need, the faint buzz of overhead lights, and the memory of Law’s last touch as he’d adjusted your blanket before heading out.

Just a scouting mission. A new island, routine checks. Nothing risky.

But he still hesitated at the door, eyes lingering on you longer than necessary. Not saying goodbye, just that silent, heavy kind of be careful he never actually voices.

Now he’s gone. The crew’s gone too. And only Bepo remains.

He sits on a stool near the corner of the room, reading a book upside-down without realizing it. His ears twitch every few seconds, his eyes flicking toward you as if you might spontaneously combust if he looks away too long.

You shift under the blanket, then sit up slowly.

Bepo straightens immediately “You okay?”

“I’m fine.”

“You should stay in bed.”

“I’ve been in bed.”

You push the blanket off your legs and plant your feet on the floor. You’re still in your soft pajamas, sweatpants and a loose shirt, not exactly mission attire, but it’ll do. Your legs ache just a little as you stand, muscles stiff but not weak.

Bepo stands too “You really shouldn’t—”

“Bepo,” you interrupt gently, meeting his eyes “I’m okay.”

He hesitates “Captain said—”

“I know what he said. And I know what I feel. I can walk. I want to walk. I need to.”

You don’t raise your voice. You don’t have to. Bepo’s ears droop a little, but he nods.

“Okay. But I’m staying right next to you.”

“I wouldn’t want it any other way.”

Your steps are slow at first, cautious. The hallway feels longer than you remember, the air cool against your skin. But every step forward steadies you. The Polar Tang is quiet, the hum of the engine a steady companion beneath your feet.

You pass the mess hall. The lounge. A few doors you haven’t seen in days.

The first person you run into is Ikkaku.

She rounds the corner holding a stack of towels, clearly not expecting anyone, and nearly drops them when she sees you.

“Holy—! You’re—!”

You lift a hand in a small wave “Hey.”

Her eyes widen further “You’re standing?!”

“Yeah,” you say, smiling, breath just slightly short from the walk “Figured I’d stretch my legs.”

She recovers quickly, enough to set the towels down on a nearby bench and grin “They’re gonna lose their minds.”

You just nod, trying not to let the burn in your chest turn into a cough.

Bepo hovers close, watching you like a worried parent.

By the time the crew returns, the Polar Tang’s upper deck is bathed in golden light from the late afternoon sun. You wait by the rail, arms resting on the metal, Bepo beside you. The salty breeze stings your nose, but it feels good... alive.

The first to spot you is Penguin. He freezes halfway up the ramp, eyes wide.

“What the—?” he blurts “Is that—?!”

Law steps up behind him, expression unreadable as always, until he sees you.

And then, for just a moment, his face changes.

He doesn’t run. Doesn’t call out. But something in him flickers. His steps quicken.

You straighten your spine, meeting his eyes with a steady look of your own.

“Hey, Captain” you say, voice clear.

His coat flutters behind him as he stops in front of you. No one breathes.

He looks at you. Really looks.

“You’re standing.”

You nod “Told you dying didn’t work out for me.”

Law exhales, slowly, and then, finally, he steps forward and pulls you into his arms.

Dinner on the Polar Tang hasn’t felt like this in a while.

The long table is full again, crowded with trays of food, clinking dishes, and overlapping conversations. Shachi’s cracking jokes no one asked for. Ikkaku and Clione are arguing about who’s on cleaning duty. Even Bepo’s talking more, ears perked and tail gently swishing behind him. Someone’s music plays low in the background, barely audible over the sounds of laughter and the scrape of chairs.

You sit at the end of the table, tucked between Bepo and Law, legs stretched out, sipping from your cup like you’ve never been anywhere else.

No one says it out loud, but the difference is obvious.

They all glance at you more often than usual. Smiling easier. Talking louder. Like your presence re-lit something they didn’t know they were missing. Like they were holding their breath and only now remembered how to let it go.

Law notices it, of course. He always does.

He sits quiet, as usual, elbows on the table, one hand wrapped around a mug. He doesn’t say much, but he watches. Watches the way the crew leans toward you when you talk. The way the energy in the room has shifted into something brighter. Lighter.

He doesn’t say anything.

But he doesn’t need to. He’s just… glad.

You, on the other hand, don’t waste a second.

“Hey, Captain,” you call, leaning over just enough to bump your shoulder against his “You’re not gonna tell everyone how you cuddled me the other night?”

The table goes silent.

Law doesn’t move.

You flash a grin, teeth and mischief “No? Should I? You were very warm and soft. Surprisingly clingy for someone who says they hate physical contact.”

“Y/N.”

Your name is a warning. Sharp and low.

You take another sip “Oh, come on. It’s not like you were purring or anything.”

Penguin chokes on his drink. Shachi actually drops his chopsticks.

Bepo blinks “Captain can purr?”

“No” Law growls, turning his head just enough to glare at you. His ears are faintly red.

You shrug “Could’ve fooled me.”

Ikkaku covers her mouth to stifle a laugh. Clione just whispers something under his breath and shakes his head, clearly enjoying the show.

Law sighs heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose like he regrets every life decision that led to this exact moment.

You lean closer and lower your voice, not enough to be subtle, just enough to be dangerous “Don’t worry. I’ll keep the neck kisses a secret.”

The clang of Law’s chair scraping back is immediate. He stands without a word and walks to the other side of the room like a man trying to escape his own body.

You grin like a cat who’s won the game.

“Do you think he’s blushing?” Penguin whispers.

“Oh, absolutely” you say, taking another bite of your food.

Behind you, Law exhales sharply and mutters something under his breath. But he doesn’t leave. And that’s how you know he’s not really mad.

“You kissed their neck?” Shachi asks, eyes wide in mock horror “Captain, you dog.”

“I didn’t” Law snaps, sitting back down with a thud and stabbing his food like it insulted his entire bloodline.

“Oh, so it was more of a nuzzle situation?” Penguin grins.

Law doesn’t answer. Which is its own kind of answer.

You hide your smile behind your cup. Barely.

“Damn,” Ikkaku says, nudging her elbow into Clione’s ribs “I was convinced our captain was emotionally constipated, but look at him go.”

“Should we be taking bets on who’ll propose first?” Clione asks.

“Please don’t” Law says flatly.

“Too late” Bepo murmurs, scribbling something into a tiny notepad he definitely didn’t just pull out for the first time.

You snort so hard it turns into a cough. Law is already halfway up before anyone else even moves.

“Alright. That’s enough,” he says, tone shifting with just enough authority that the laughter starts to die down. His hand lands gently on your shoulder “You need to lie down.”

“I’m fine...” you lie, coughing once more, which makes your chest ache “It’s just a little—”

“You’re done for the night.” His voice is soft, but final.

No one argues.

Not even you.

He helps you up without a word, steady hand at your back as he guides you out of the room. The moment the door slides shut behind you both, the laughter fades into muffled noise and the hallway settles into stillness.

Your steps are slower now. It’s not that you’re weak, it’s just been a long day, and your body’s still catching up with the living.

Law doesn’t rush you. Just walks beside you in silence, the distance between you closed by the quiet comfort of presence alone.

When you reach your room, you pause in the doorway and glance up at him.

“You’re staying, right?”

He doesn’t answer. Just follows you in.

The room is dim, the overhead lights replaced by the soft glow of the bedside lamp. You slip under the blanket while Law sets the folded hoodie you’d been wearing onto a nearby chair. He moves with practiced precision, checking the monitor out of habit, even though you’re no longer hooked up to it.

He doesn’t sit in the chair. He sits beside you.

You turn on your side to face him, cheek pressed against the pillow “So. Neck kisses, huh?”

He exhales slowly through his nose “You’re impossible.”

You grin “And yet, you stayed.”

His gaze softens. The faintest ghost of a smile pulls at the corner of his lips “Of course I stayed.”

You reach out, brushing your fingers lightly against his wrist. He doesn’t pull away. If anything, he shifts closer.

For a moment, you just look at each other.

No teasing. No jokes. Just the quiet that comes when two people who’ve been through hell finally find a bit of peace.

“Law?”

“Hm?”

You close your eyes, letting the exhaustion take you “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

His fingers brush gently through your hair, voice barely a whisper “Never.”

"I was really scared to leave you"

"I know, I was scared too."

And in the hush of your room, with his hand warm against your skin and the ache of your body slowly fading into the mattress, you finally let yourself rest.

He stays beside you the whole night.

Just like he always will.

The night is deep and still, the ship humming gently beneath you like a lullaby.

You stir a little in your sleep, enough to shift the blanket, enough to feel the brush of Law’s sleeve against your arm. You don’t open your eyes. You don’t need to.

You know he’s awake.

He’s always awake.

He sits at the edge of the bed, one leg tucked up loosely, the other foot flat on the floor. The lamplight’s long gone. Only the dim green of a monitor in the corner casts a faint glow across the room. It pools over his face in soft shadows, under his eyes, his jaw, the tattooed line of his throat.

You don’t speak. Not right away.

Neither does he.

But eventually, when the silence grows too full, he does something rare.

He talks first.

“I thought I was going to lose you.”

His voice is so quiet, you’re not sure he meant to say it aloud.

But you hear it. And you stay still.

“I tried everything,” he says, almost more to himself than to you “Recalculated every dose. Ran every blood test twice. I made Penguin check my math just to be sure I wasn’t—” He cuts off, jaw tight “There was a point where I couldn’t look at you without thinking, what if this is the last time?”

You turn your head slowly, your eyes adjusting in the dark until you can see the outline of him, shoulders tense, fists curled lightly in his lap. Still holding on. Even now.

“I’m still here” you whisper.

“I know.” He exhales like he’s trying to let that truth finally settle “But it doesn’t change the fact that I almost wasn’t enough.”

You push yourself up on one elbow, enough to reach for him. Your fingers skim over his hand, and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His hand turns, palm meeting yours.

“You were the only reason I made it,” you say “You were enough. You are.”

He closes his eyes. Breathes.

You think maybe he’ll let that be the end of it. But then “I didn’t just think about losing you,” he murmurs “I thought about how I never told you what you really are to me.”

Your pulse stutters.

“You make this place... this crew, me... feel like more than just survival. Like we’re allowed to have something more than war and running. Like we’re allowed to be...” He pauses but then, quietly “...happy.”

You blink, your throat tightening “Law…”

His hand squeezes yours. Just once “You don’t have to say anything.”

You smile softly, leaning forward until your forehead rests against his shoulder, and his arm slips around you without thinking.

“But I will” you whisper.

You tilt your face up just enough to press a kiss to his jaw gentle, grounding.

“I love you, Trafalgar.”

He doesn’t answer right away.

But the way his fingers curve tighter around your waist, the way he pulls you against him like he’s afraid you’ll vanish, and that says enough.

Eventually, in the hush of the cabin, he answers you.

“I love you too.”

And it’s the easiest thing he’s ever said.

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