stormruff

[stormruff]

suguru x tired (implied depressed, but can be read as just tired from work) reader

suguru is calmly sitting on the couch, reading a book, when you get home from work. he perks up, about to greet you only to be met by your immediate disappearance as you head straight to you and suguru's shared bedroom before he can say a word.

if you were anyone else, suguru would've brushed it off. but you weren't just anyone. you're his beloved, his one and only. he knows you. he knows you're not okay.

so he sets his book down on the couch beside him before heading straight to the bedroom.

he opens the door and finds you curled up on the bed like a neglected puppy.

he doesn't say anything. he simply sits beside you on the bed and scoops you into his arms. he rocks you back and forth while gently rubbing your back. he kisses your forehead every so often until you inevitably pass out in his arms.

he knows you had a rough day, and he'd love to let you sleep, but you need food. so he sets you down and bed and heads off to the kitchen to make your favorite meal.

he takes his time, making everything from scratch with love.

he heads back to your bedroom with a plate of food for you once he's finished and gently shakes your shoulder to wake you up.

when you wake up, you still feel the same dread as when you fell asleep, but somehow, seeing suguru's face and the food he made for you softens the dread into a background thought, at least for now.

everything stays silent. neither of you two say anything, but it's a comfortable silence. one where you feel safe, like you can feel everything he feels without needing him to say it. you can feel how much he cares about you and loves you as you eat your food.

once you're done, he carries you bridal style to the bathroom and bathes you. he starts the water then gently places you into the bathtub. he washes your whole body, not allowing you to lift a finger and gently massages the shampoo into your scalp.

afterwards, he dries you, extremely gentle as if he's dealing with fine china. he carries you back to the bedroom and dresses you in soft, comfortable pajamas before pulling you into bed and falling asleep with you in his arms.

a/n: idc what the pole said i cant help it i need to write for him

[stormruff]

Apex Encounter

This is a fic of one of @verefex's characters. This is a little different from what I'm used to posting, and I am honestly a little nervous to share this. Hope you enjoy and let me know if y'all want more of this story.

If it were up to her, she would have remained in her tent for the whole day, hell, for the whole trip. Dread slowly seeped into her as she watched the sun’s light brighten the tent up more and more. She hadn’t been able to sleep much, not with the smallest of noises in the night causing her heart rate to spike.   

She fiddled with her spoon, stirring the can of peaches she was supposed to be eating. The others were starting to pack their gear, discussing routes, and going over safety protocols. She’d memorized the safety instructions a week in advance, though it had been little to quell her nerves. How was anybody supposed to feel safe in a place like this?  

The click of a magazine being popped into a rifle made her jump. Officer Jones held up his rifle and practiced aiming it, nodding to himself and putting the gun away once he was satisfied.  

Oakley gulped, looking back down at the peaches. If only they all had guns. Even if she didn’t know how to use one, it would still make her feel better to have one.  

The five soldiers that had accompanied the team were surprisingly relaxed, most of them still sitting outside their tent half-dressed and laughing. Though, at least that maybe meant there was no reason to be on guard.  

“Here”   

She nearly jumped out of her skin as something tapped her on the shoulder and turned, face to face with a machete. Lewis smirked down at her, all dressed up and ready to go, his camera dangling from his neck.  

Oakley slowly took the blade from him, “Thanks.”  

“Hopefully you’ll only have to use that on plants” called Yuri, flipping through a zoology book, “But you never know. Also, remember your bug spray, if it’ll even work on the beasts down here. I saw a centipede as thick as my arm.”  

A shiver ran down her spine, her grip tightening around the machete. Lewis patted her on the back, “Don’t listen to him. He’s just trying to get under your skin.”  

“Yeah, like those mosquitos last night. Get under your skin to suck you dry.”  

Oakley ignored both of them, staring back at her reflection in the blade.   

“Attention! Everyone gather round!”  

Professor Ignatious stepped out of his tent, fully dressed with everything from his safari hat to the unknown vials of fluid strapped to his belt. Everyone began to meander over to him, her included. They all formed a circle around him, the soldiers, and the researchers.   

He clapped his hands together, “Right, let’s go over the plans.”  

“Again?” whined a sandy-haired soldier.   

“Yes again. It is of the utmost importance that you all know it by heart and stick to it. So” he checked his watch, “In no less than ten minutes, I want you all back here, dressed and ready to go.” his gaze lingered on the soldiers, “Now, do you all remember who your buddy is?”  

They all mumbled yes. Oakley glanced at Lewis, her buddy. He was currently fiddling with his camera.  

“Right. Once we are all back here and accounted for, you, your buddy, and your bodyguards will set out in the direction assigned to you, all holding onto your rope.” he pointed to four trees, all in different directions and all with long ropes tied to their trunks, “You do not let go of that rope unless you are in full view of your team. Backup rope will be at camp if you are to run out and feel confident about continuing forward.”  

He pulled from his belt a radio, “Between the three of you will be one radio. You are to check back in every five to ten minutes, let us at camp know you’re alright. Now, I want you all back before dark with any samples, pictures, or specimens you find. Am I clear?”  

Everyone nodded.  

“Alright then. Be back here in ten ready to go.”  

Everyone dispersed, heading for their own tents. Oakley followed suit, ducking into her own tent. Her outfit and gear were laid out on her sleeping bag, all folded and lined up neatly. She quickly pulled on her outfit that made her look like she drove the Jungle Cruise and began piling all her gear into her pockets, belt, and backpack. Halfway through, she grabbed her can of bug spray and covered herself from head to toe, even lifting up her clothes to spray it beneath them. 

Five minutes later she was slipping her small pack on and walking out of the tent. Half a dozen others, (mainly the researchers) were outside and ready to go. A quick look around and there was no sign of Lewis. She sighed and took her place in the circle reforming around the professor.  

Another five minutes passed and the soldiers appeared, dressed in their military fatigues and all armed with a rifle. The sandy-haired one who had complained waltzed over to her, standing at least a foot taller than her and probably weighing twice as much.  

“Guess you’re with me,” he said, smirking, his eyes looking her up and down. She averted her gaze and further zipped up her vest.  

Finally, Lewis appeared, stumbling out of his tent with a satchel and his camera. He took his place beside her and the soldier right as radios were being handed out. Oakley reached out to take her team's radio only for the soldier to beat her to it.     

“Alright. You three take the north.” he pointed to one group, “You six, east and west."He turned to Oakley’s group, “You guys take the south.”  

She gulped as she stiffly turned towards the south tree and began to follow Lewis and the soldier over to it. The soldier gathered up the massive bunch of rope and positioned himself at the front, leaving another loose behind him for the other two to grab on.  

Oakley took the back, glancing from the bright yellow rope to the thick greenery around her. Plants and shrubs with leaves several times bigger than her hung above, casting green light down upon them.   

The soldier started forward, prompting the other two to follow. Her knuckles went white along the line as she slid her hands across it, not even daring to take one of them off. As they approached the jungle’s entrance, she looked back at camp, at the people who got to stay behind. Lucky bastards. 

Before long, the grass at their feet was now up to their shoulders. Lewis held up his camera and began snapping photos. She looked around herself, peering through the thick blades for any sign of a sample or noteworthy plant.  

Why couldn’t she have just stayed back at the camp and had samples brought to her? Why couldn’t she just have stayed behind entirely, back in Germany? In the lab?   

All of her colleagues had been stoked when they had gotten the summons as if this was just a simple research expedition to Hawaii and not inner Earth. Not a place where the bugs were the size of your arm and every flower was as big as a tree. Why couldn’t this just have been a research trip to Hawaii? Or Australia? Peru even?  

She was snapped out of her thoughts when Lewis came to a stop, pointing his camera up to the sky, “You hear that?”  

Oakley looked up. The color drained from her face. A bird, a bird the size of a small airplane soared overhead. Its feathers were all sorts of bright colors and its call was something she’d never heard before, almost like a barking whistle.  

She gasped and immediately ducked down to the ground, shielding her head. Oh god, oh god. We must look like bugs! Birds eat bugs! What if it spots us and-  

The soldier broke into laughter, “Afraid of a little ol’ tweety bird?”  

Oakley opened her eyes and gave the man a horrified look, “Little?!”  

He blew her off, “Ah come on, they’re not all bad once you get used to them. Besides, they can’t see us. Now if you’re done hiding, can we move forward?”  

Lewis offered his hand and Oakley took it, glaring at the soldier as she stood. Had he no idea the dangers of this place? Sure, he’d been here before she and the researchers arrived, but his laid-back demeanor was still preposterous to her.  

The three continued forward, following the soldier who radioed their first check and soon their second and third, the team had walked for a good half an hour through the dense jungle. 

After their fourth check-in, Lewis suddenly stopped. Oakley immediately whipped her head around, listening for any signs of danger as her heart began to race. He pointed through the grass at something, his eyes wide in awe. She followed his gaze and her own eyes widened. 

A couple hundred yards away was a flower. It was massive, at least thirty feet tall with vibrant purple and blue petals arranged similarly to a hibiscus only with no yellow stem poking out between the petals. Instead was another arrangement of petals, bright pink and looking like a closed rose.    

“Woah,” whispered Lewis. Her eyes widened when he let go of the rope and began trudging towards the flower, raising his camera.  

“W-wait a minute!” she whipped around and looked for the soldier. He had gone a little further but had stopped just before he went too far to be seen. His hand idly tapped on his rifle as he waved them off.  

“Go ahead! Get those samples or whatever you came here for.”  

“Oakley, you’ve got to see this!” called Lewis.  

She looked between the two of them and then down at her hands clutching the rope. Slowly, her hands uncurled from around it and it fell to the ground. She breathed, grounding herself before turning and following after Lewis.  

The blades of grass were tougher to get through than she had thought. It threatened to slice up her limbs like paper so she was quick to pull out her machete and started chopping her way forward.   

Lewis, seemingly transfixed by the plant, just ran and stumbled right through the grass, unbothered by the paper-cut-like scratches appearing on his arms and legs. She struggled to keep up and was thankful when she reached the massive flower.  

She stared up at it, transfixed. In all her years as a botanist, she’d never seen anything like this. The variety of colors and formations was mind-boggling, not to mention its gargantuan size. 

Lewis began snapping pictures left and right, circling the plant as if to catch it at every angle  

possible, “Hey, Oakley, stand over there.” he pointed over to the plant's stem.  

“Um… you want a photo with me in it?”  

“Yeah, for uh… to show off its size.”  

A small smile played across her lips. Lewis wasn’t as much of a researcher as he was an artist, even if he specialized in taking photos that would often end up in science magazines. He probably just wanted to get a good picture.  

She walked over to the stem and turned to face Lewis, the flower’s shadow casting down upon her. He began to back away, trying to get the whole thing and her in one shot, “Smile.”  

Oakley awkwardly looked at the camera, not sure what to do with her body and face to make it look less awkward.  

Right as the camera flashed, an ear-piercing sound filled their ears, gunshots. She yelped and covered her ears as the rapid-fire continued, the bullets firing nearly as fast as her heart was beating now.   

When it stopped, she slowly rose, every cell in her body on high alert. Lewis had his back to her, peering back at the rope. Before she could say anything, he began creeping back over to it. Her throat went dry, and she looked around, afraid to move and afraid to be left behind. She trailed behind him, keeping her distance as he reached the rope.  

He looked to his left, then to his right. He froze, eyes widening. Oakley tentatively stepped closer, following his line of sight.  

Her stomach dropped.  

As the rope got closer to where the soldier had been, its color went from yellow to red. At the end of it, lying on the ground was the soldier, or at least… what was left of him. Where his legs should have been there was nothing but a growing pool of blood. He was barely conscious, moaning in pain as he stared up in horror at the creature nearly on top of him.  

It was a lizard, similar in appearance to a gaia monster only instead of orange and black, it was grey and green, and it was the size of a bus. One of its clawed feet moved and rested on the soldier’s torso. It jerked its head and swallowed something. Judging by its blood-stained lips, that something had been the soldier’s lower half.  

Oakley slapped a hand over her mouth, bile rising in her throat. Oh god. Oh my fucking god.  

It lowered its head, peering down at what remained of the soldier. By now, with his airways crushed, he was no longer breathing. The lizard opened its mouth.  

Lewis screamed, unable to handle the sight any longer. Oakley’s heart practically stopped when the creature stilled. It raised its head, its eyes landing directly on Lewis.    

He ran for it, turning tails and booking it in the opposite direction. The moment he started moving, the beast lunged forward after him, letting out a harsh hiss. Its long tail and claws tore the plant life around it to bits as it began its pursuit.  

She turned and like Lewis ran for it, running head-on into the jungle. The long and sharp blades of grass sliced into her hands and arms as she pushed them aside. Leaves and vines hit her face and tangled around her but she ripped through them, her breathing growing hoarse and ragged.  

With no idea where she was going, she kept running. Her vision tunneled and all she could make out was the path forward and away from death.  

Feeling like she was on the verge of fainting, she stopped, her knees buckling. She closed her eyes and gasped for air, blindly stumbling in search of something to rest against.  

Fuck! I knew this was a horrible idea, I should have never agreed to this! I should never have left the lab!   

She fell against something that felt a bit like a tree, what with its rough texture. Her mind spiraled, hanging her head and still panting for breath. Did… did that thing get Lewis? Should I go back? I don’t want to go back! What if it's waiting for me?! What if it's already following me?! 

Her eyes snapped open and she raised her head to look around only to pause. Everything seemed much… darker, like a stormcloud had drifted overhead only… darker. Were there storms here? Bad storms?  

She looked up, expecting to see clouds but instead saw something much different. Above her was what looked to be… scales. Whitish scaly skin. Her eyes widened as they stared up at the thing above her. It stretched at least twenty feet above her and seemed to be moving ever so slightly as if it was-  

As if it was breathing.  

Slowly, she turned her head, seeing what she had been leaning on. A foot. A massive, reptilian foot almost like a dinosaur with long toes and claws bigger than she was tall. She hurriedly pushed away from the thing and whipped around, spotting three more feet holding up the long body above her as well as a long, thick crocodile tail.    

Her hand came up to cover her mouth once more to stop her from screaming. Trembling all over, she began to back away, giving the foot a wide berth as she at a snail’s pace stepped out from under the gargantuan creature.   

She let out a shaky breath as she looked it over, from its massive tail to-  

This time, she couldn’t stop the horrified yelp that came out of her.  

Where she had been expecting to see some sort of reptilian head was a torso, a human-like muscular torso. Her eyes continued upwards until they landed on a head… a face.   

It… it looked just like a man, with a nose, lips, hair, eyes, everything!   

It was looking at her. Right at her.  

One of its brows rose, as if confused… or maybe intrigued.   

Oakley stumbled back a few steps, her legs turned to jelly.   

It all but twitched, shifted its weight, and that was all it took to send her running. 

She spun around and scrambled away from that… that thing! Her mind struggled to comprehend it even. That didn’t matter now though, just getting away from it did.  

Her boots pounded against the ground as her legs worked to move faster than they ever had before. A cramp burned in her side but she couldn't care less, all that mattered was the fleeting possibility that she’d outrun that thing. That she’d make it. That she’d survive-  

The next time her foot came down, it fell onto nothing. Her stomach plummeted as she stumbled and began to fall. A scream escaped her when a second later she slammed against the ground and her world began to spin as she began to tumble downwards. Every bump sent a shock of pain through her. Another scream tore through her lungs when one of her legs smashed against something and she heard a sickening crack.  

Finally, the ground evened out and her body came to a stop.   

She lay there, wheezing and staring blindly at the ground. As everything settled, a burning pain in her leg began to blossom. She gritted her teeth as she attempted to move it, the action sending a wave of agony over her. Wet hot tears welled up in her eyes as she tried to move it again.    

No… no no no no no!   

At the snap of a branch, her head shot up. She looked up, her blood running cold. The lizard, the same one that had gotten the soldier, stood at the top of the steep hillside, its yellow eyes centered on her.   

Adrenaline filled her veins and numbed the pain. She rolled onto her stomach and began frantically crawling away, fingers clawing into the dirt to try and move faster. Behind her, she could hear movement that only propelled her forward.  

As her eyes frantically searched for something, anything that might help, they landed on a hollow log, one the size of a house. She scrambled over to it, getting to her feet, placing most of her weight on her good leg while the other dragged behind her. The moment she was close enough she collapsed into the log, grabbing fistfuls of moss to drag herself deeper.  

Oakley rolled onto her back, her throat burning. The little light coming from the log’s entrance was dimmed as the lizard crept through the opening. It let out a low hiss when it spotted her, going dead still, preparing to land a lethal blow. She whimpered and patted her belt for her machete, coming up with nothing. Her breath caught in her throat and she looked back at the lizard, the muscles in its legs tensing.  

It lunged.   

As it was midair, something massive burst through the top of the log, sending splinters of wood flying. It was a hand, greyish and clawed. In an instant, it snatched up the lizard, which let out a shrill growl as the air was squeezed from its lungs. It flailed in the hand’s fist as it was raised up out of the hole it had come from.  

Oakley’s blood ran cold when she heard a sickening crunch and the lizard’s noises seized. The sound of amplified chewing made her stomach squirm and when she heard the sound of a loud gulp, she felt as if she might throw up.  

Everything fell silent, save for the sound of her hammering heart.   

The light coming from the new hole was snuffed out. She slowly looked up, her throat tightening as if trying to choke itself.  

An eye. A large yellowish-grey eye peered through the hole, slowly flicking from place to place until it landed on her. Its pupil dilated.   

Light flowed back in as it pulled away, leaving Oakley staring at the hole in horror. What the- 

She yelped when the ground beneath her began to move. Before she knew it, the entire log was moving, her seat becoming more and more vertical until she began to slide. She gritted her teeth from the pain of her leg, strongly objecting to any sort of movement.   

A scream ripped through her dry throat as she began rapidly sliding through the log until she flew out of its opening and landed in a crumpled heap in the dirt. Fresh tears formed in her eyes both from pain and fear, an unnatural shadow falling over her. She shoved herself up on her elbows and looked up, immediately wishing she hadn’t.  

Standing over her was the same gargantuan, half-man reptilian creature she had run into. It was standing at its full height, muscular torso straightened and blocking out the sun. For a moment, it simply stared at her, before its mouth formed into a small smile.  

The entire jungle seemed to quake as it plopped itself down on its scaled belly, bouncing Oakley where she sat. She let out a low whimper as it came closer, its face filling more and more of her vision.   

A chill ran down her spine as warm air blew from its nostrils and sent her black hair flying back. It was slow close now, it had gone cross-eyed to keep its sights on her.  

Her eyes darted from its eyes to its mouth, a faint red tint surrounding it. Oh god… oh god I’m next… it’s gonna-  

“Hello there, little lady.”  

Everything froze within her. She gaped back at this thing, still trying to comprehend the fact that the deep, rumbling voice she had just heard had come from it.    

It… it talks?  

She flinched as it leaned in even closer. It stopped, its brows furrowing.  

“D’aww, it’s alright. I ain’t gonna hurt ya.”  

It inhaled sharply, pulling her hair towards it. The smile on its lips faded. It squinted down at her leg, bloodied and bent out of shape.  

Its eyes flicked back to hers, continuing to stare at her. She saw movement out the corner of her eye and before she could move to get away, one of its fingers came down and prodded at her leg. She couldn’t stop the pained cry she let out, wincing and flinching away.  

The creature let out a pitiful hum, “Poor thing.”   

Its eyes drifted off as it seemed to think for a moment before returning to her. It let out a rumbling groan before to her horror, its jaws opened wide.  

Sharp teeth the size of her torso headed towards her. She screamed, flipping onto her stomach and desperately trying to crawl away. No! Oh god please no!   

Something wet and squishy slithered its way beneath her. She looked down just in time to see the massive tongue slide completely beneath her, curling and carrying her backward.  

Oakley began to kick and claw at it, still trying to get away, but it just kept dragging her in. Her heart dropped as she passed the creature’s lips and teeth. No! No no no! It's gonna swallow me… it's going to let me die slowly… oh god please-  

Her world went dark as the mouth carefully closed around her, the jagged teeth coming down mere inches from her face.   

She was frozen, frozen in fear and anticipation. Any moment now, it's going to swallow. There’s nothing I can do. The air around her was humid, seeping away at her resolve. She let out a shuddering breath and closed her eyes.  

Go on. Do it. Get it over with.  

The tongue beneath her shifted and for a moment, she was sure this was it, but it didn’t rear back, didn’t push her to the back of its throat. Another groan rumbled around her and the enter chamber rocked slightly. She could hear the thing getting to its feet.   

Suddenly, she began to slide back. Her eyes widened in horror as she became dangerously close to the entrance of this thing's throat.   

Suddenly, the chamber shifted once more and she slid back forward, bumping right into the wall of teeth. She froze, her heart murmuring as she stared for a moment, trying to process what had just happened.  

She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t been swallowed.   

Her surroundings lurched. She could hear and feel the thing moving. What was it doing?    

She whipped her head around when its teeth slightly parted, letting light flow in.   

Oakley hugged herself as she watched the little sliver of jungle go by. The creature lumbered onward, taking her who knows where. 

[stormruff]

A Place in a Giant’s World

After a grueling journey, you find solace in the curve of Loki's massive horn, discovering a softer side to the enigmatic giant.

yall when i tell u ds man is sooo damnn fineee~

loki x gn!reader | ONE SHOT tags: fluff, sfw, size difference, loki being a little shit, wholesome, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ff cringe, and akward © dollywons for divider word count: 2.2k

masterlist | ko-fi

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a golden haze over the jagged cliffs of Elbaf. The island’s terrain was as unforgiving as its reputation, with rocky paths winding through towering forests and steep inclines that seemed to mock your stamina. At just over five feet tall, you felt like an ant trudging through a world built for giants. Your legs ached, your boots were caked in mud, and every step sent a dull throb through your calves. Hours of walking had left you teetering on the edge of collapse, and the weight of your pack seemed to grow heavier with every passing minute.

Ahead of you loomed Loki, the infamous giant prince of Elbaf, his colossal frame dominating the landscape. At sixty-seven meters tall, he was a walking mountain, his presence both awe-inspiring and intimidating. His long, magenta hair swayed in the breeze, the twin braids framing his face neatly while the rest spilled messily down his back. Bandages wrapped tightly over his eyes, giving him an air of mystery, though you’d learned by now that he didn’t need sight to navigate the world with unnerving precision. His massive steps shook the ground, yet he moved with a grace that belied his size, each stride deliberate, almost performative.

Loki’s personality was as towering as his stature. Arrogance dripped from his every word, his sharp tongue weaving taunts and clever quips with ease. He reveled in trickery, delighting in outsmarting anyone who dared cross his path. There was a cruelty to him, too—a penchant for toying with others, pushing their limits just to see how far they’d bend before breaking. Yet, in the weeks you’d traveled with him, you’d glimpsed something else beneath the surface: a flicker of compassion, rare and fleeting, like a star obscured by storm clouds.

“Keep up, little mouse,” Loki called, his deep voice rumbling like distant thunder. He didn’t turn to look at you, but you could hear the smirk in his tone. “Or do you plan to collapse and make me carry you like some fragile trinket?”

You gritted your teeth, forcing your legs to keep moving. “I’m fine,” you huffed, though your voice betrayed your exhaustion. “And I’m not that small.”

Loki chuckled, a low, resonant sound that vibrated through the air. “Oh, but you are. A speck, really. I could flick you into the next island with a twitch of my finger.”

You rolled your eyes, too tired to muster a proper retort. The banter was familiar by now, a strange rhythm you’d fallen into during your journey. You weren’t entirely sure why Loki had agreed to let you tag along—or why you’d chosen to follow a giant with a reputation for chaos. Maybe it was curiosity, or maybe it was the way his rare moments of kindness caught you off guard, like finding a warm ember in a pile of ash.

The path steepened, and you stumbled over a loose rock, catching yourself just before you faceplanted. A frustrated groan escaped your lips. Loki’s steps slowed, and for a moment, you thought he might turn back, but he only tilted his head slightly, as if listening to your struggle.

“Pathetic,” he drawled, though there was a hint of amusement in his voice. “Do humans tire so easily? Or is it just you?”

You glared at the back of his massive head. “I’ve been walking for hours, Loki. Not all of us have legs the size of trees.”

He snorted, a sound that sent a flock of birds scattering from a nearby tree. “Excuses, excuses. Perhaps I should leave you here to become bird food. They’d probably find you tastier than you look.”

Despite your exhaustion, you managed a weak laugh. “You’d miss me too much.”

Loki’s steps faltered, just for a fraction of a second, and you wondered if you’d imagined it. He didn’t respond, which was unusual. Normally, he’d fire back with some biting remark, but this time, he just kept walking, his massive hands swinging casually at his sides.

The sun dipped lower, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink. The air grew cooler, and your energy was fading fast. You’d been traveling since dawn, searching for a rumored artifact said to be hidden deep in Elbaf’s mountains. Loki had his own reasons for seeking it—something about proving his cunning to the other giants—but you suspected he was also chasing the thrill of the hunt. For you, it was a chance to see more of the world, to step out of your small life and into something grander.

But right now, grandeur was the last thing on your mind. All you wanted was to stop moving.

“Loki...” you called, your voice weaker than you’d intended. “Can we… rest? Just for a bit?”

He stopped abruptly, and you nearly collided with the back of his massive boot. He turned his head slightly, the bandages over his eyes making it impossible to read his expression. “Rest?” he repeated, as if the word was foreign to him. “You’ve barely made it halfway up this pathetic hill.”

You gestured at the steep incline ahead. “That’s not a hill. It’s a mountain, and I’m not built for this.”

Loki’s lips twitched, and you could tell he was fighting a smile. “Weak,” he muttered, but there was no real venom in it. He crouched down, the ground shaking as his knees hit the earth. Even crouched, he towered over you, his face level with the treetops. “Fine. Five minutes. Don’t expect me to coddle you.”

You didn’t have the energy to argue. Dropping your pack, you sank to the ground, leaning against a boulder. The cool stone felt like heaven against your aching back. You closed your eyes, letting out a long sigh. The sound of Loki shifting nearby was like the creaking of a ship, his massive form settling onto the ground with a low rumble.

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. The only sounds were the rustle of leaves and the distant cry of some unknown creature. You peeked one eye open, watching Loki as he sat cross-legged, his hands resting on his knees. His head was tilted slightly, as if he were listening to the world around him. The bandages over his eyes gave him an almost serene appearance, though you knew better than to trust that illusion.

“You’re staring,” he said suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

You flushed, quickly looking away. “I’m not.”

“Liar.” He smirked, leaning forward slightly. “What’s so fascinating, hmm? My stunning good looks? My overwhelming charm?”

You snorted, despite yourself. “More like your overwhelming ego.”

He laughed, a genuine sound that made your chest feel oddly warm. “You wound me, little mouse. And here I thought we were becoming friends.”

“Friends?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow. “You’ve threatened to flick me into the sea at least three times today.”

“Details,” he said, waving a massive hand dismissively. “I threaten everyone. It’s part of my charm.”

You shook your head, a smile tugging at your lips. Despite his arrogance, there was something about Loki that made it hard to stay mad at him. Maybe it was the way he always seemed to know when you were struggling, even if he hid his concern behind a barrage of insults.

Your eyelids grew heavy, and you stifled a yawn. The boulder was comfortable enough, but the thought of lying down somewhere softer was tempting. Your gaze drifted to Loki’s massive form, specifically to the curved horns protruding from his head. They were enormous, each one thicker than your entire body, curling gracefully like the branches of an ancient tree. An idea sparked in your mind, born of exhaustion and a touch of delirium.

“Loki,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can I… try something?”

He tilted his head, the movement sending his braids swaying. “Try what? Don’t tell me you’re planning to climb me like some ambitious squirrel.”

You laughed weakly. “Not exactly. Just… trust me?”

He raised an eyebrow—or at least, you assumed he did beneath the bandages. “Trust you? That’s a bold request, coming from someone who can barely walk straight.”

“Please?” you pressed, giving him your best pleading look.

He sighed dramatically, the sound like a gust of wind. “Fine. But if you fall and break something, don’t expect me to play nursemaid.”

You stood, wobbling slightly, and approached his massive form. Up close, he was even more intimidating, his presence overwhelming in a way that made your heart race. You reached out, placing a hand on the smooth surface of his horn. It was cool to the touch, polished by years of wind and weather. The curve was gentle, almost inviting, like a natural hammock.

With a deep breath, you began to climb. It wasn’t easy—your arms trembled with fatigue, and the horn’s surface was slicker than you’d expected—but determination kept you going. Loki remained still, though you could feel his curiosity radiating like heat. After a few precarious moments, you reached the curve of his horn and settled into it, your body fitting snugly against the smooth, cool surface. It was surprisingly comfortable, the gentle slope cradling you like a bed.

“Well,” Loki said, his voice quieter than usual. “You’re full of surprises, aren’t you?”

You grinned, letting your head rest against the horn. “It’s perfect. Like a giant hammock.”

He huffed, but there was no malice in it. “A hammock. You’ve reduced the mighty Loki, prince of Elbaf, to furniture.”

“Comfy furniture,” you corrected, closing your eyes. The exhaustion was catching up to you, and the gentle sway of Loki’s horn as he adjusted his position was oddly soothing.

For a moment, he was silent. Then, you felt a subtle change in his breathing. It slowed, becoming deep and measured, the rise and fall of his chest like the tide. You realized he was doing it on purpose, keeping his movements steady to avoid jostling you. The thought made your heart skip a beat.

“Loki?” you murmured, your voice heavy with sleep.

“Hmm?”

“Thanks”

He didn’t respond right away, and you thought he might ignore you. But then, softly, he said, “...Don’t get used to it.”

You smiled, letting the warmth of his words wrap around you like a blanket. The world faded, and you drifted into a peaceful sleep, cradled in the curve of a giant’s horn.

When you woke, the sky was dark, speckled with stars. The air was crisp, and a gentle breeze carried the scent of pine and earth. You blinked, disoriented, until you remembered where you were. Loki’s horn was still beneath you, steady and unmoving. You shifted slightly, peering over the edge to see his face.

He was awake, his head tilted slightly as if listening to the night. The bandages over his eyes glowed faintly in the moonlight, giving him an ethereal quality. His expression was unreadable, but there was a softness to it, a quiet contemplation you hadn’t seen before.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice low. “I was beginning to think you’d sleep through the entire journey.”

You yawned, stretching carefully to avoid slipping. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough,” he replied, a hint of amusement in his tone. “You drool, by the way.”

“I do not!” you protested, though you wiped your mouth just to be sure.

He chuckled, the sound reverberating through his horn and sending a pleasant vibration through you. “Whatever you say, little mouse.”

You sat up, hugging your knees as you looked out at the starlit landscape. The mountains of Elbaf stretched endlessly before you, their peaks shrouded in mist. It was beautiful, in a wild, untamed way, and for a moment, you felt small but not insignificant. Loki’s presence grounded you, his massive form a reminder that even the smallest things could find a place in a world of giants.

“...Why do you let me stick around?” you asked suddenly, the question slipping out before you could stop it. “I’m just… me. I’m not a warrior or a genius. I slow you down.”

Loki was quiet for a long time, long enough that you thought he wouldn’t answer. Then, he spoke, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “You’re… persistent. Annoyingly so. And you see things others don’t.”

You frowned, unsure what he meant. “Like what?”

He tilted his head, as if choosing his words carefully. “You see me...Not the prince, not the trickster. Just… me.”

The admission caught you off guard, and you felt a warmth spread through your chest. For all his arrogance and cruelty, Loki was letting you glimpse something real, something vulnerable. It was a gift, one you didn’t take lightly.

“I think you’re more than just a trickster,” you said quietly. “You’re… complicated. And maybe a little kind, when you want to be.”

He snorted, but there was no edge to it. “Careful, little mouse. You’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laughed, the sound echoing in the quiet night. For a moment, the world felt perfect—just you, Loki, and the stars. You leaned back against his horn, content to stay there a little longer, and he didn’t protest. His breathing slowed again, steady and calm, lulling you into a sense of peace.

The artifact could wait until morning. For now, you were exactly where you wanted to be.

[stormruff]

(This is not related to the plot, just a random situation)

[stormruff]

Comic thing :p about them

Had this idea in my head

Sometimes I wanna sleep like a creature

[stormruff]

TBD (Trafalgar Law x Reader)

Warnings: spoilers for Dressrosa and Law's backstory as well as the briefest mentions of Punk Hazard

Summary: The Heart Pirates stop at their first winter island since Dressrosa and everybody else has turned down your offer to join you in ice skating, which leaves only one option - Law.

Author’s Note: I do, in fact, have a million other fics I'm supposed to be writing, but unfortunately, this idea took hold of me, and I had to give in. It gets a little shitty at the end and I'm not entirely happy with it, but oh well. Some of this does turn into somewhat of a character study, but I hope you guys enjoy regardless!

"Are you sure you can't come with?" you begged, holding your hands together in a plea before Bepo, who only frowned with guilt.

"I promised Captain I'd go with Penguin and Sachi to keep them out of trouble. I'm sorry," he apologized, bowing his head. "Why don't you ask Ikkaku?"

You crumpled into him dramatically, throwing your arms around him as you complained. "I already asked her! She told me she has the equivalent of two left feet and wouldn't go with me."

Bepo patted your back as you sighed. It was an unspoken rule that the Heart Pirates never stopped at a winter island for long unless it was absolutely necessary. Aside from Punk Hazard, you'd never known Law to willingly leave the Polar Tang at a winter island since crossing into the Grand Line. So, when Law had announced the next island they'd be stopping at was a winter island and that they'd be there for the whole day, you'd been surprised to say the least, but you'd quickly decided to make the most of it.

You'd always been a fan of winter, and it had been years since you'd been able to go ice skating, so you'd asked every single crew member possible to join you once you landed. However, every single one of them either already had plans or didn't want to go. Bepo was your last chance at having a partner for the day, and you'd just struck out.

"I guess it's just me then," you sighed, slightly disappointed but determined nonetheless.

"Are you sure you'll be ok?" Bepo asked, wringing his hands nervously. He shuffled slightly on his feet as he considered his words. "Ice skating is pretty dangerous and normally you're fairly..." "Clumsy?" you supplied, the admission coming easily. It was true that you were fairly uncoordinated, constantly being unaware of the space around you. It earned you more than your fair share of injuries and Law, in turn, more than his fair share of stress for your well-being. Bepo winced slightly at how blunt you were, but shook his head in agreement. "I'll be fine," you assured him, "I'm more at home on the ice than I am on my own two feet. Don't stress about it, okay?"

With that, you waved goodbye to Bepo before zipping up your coat and pulling the scarf around your neck up a little higher to cover the bottom half of your face. Your first step off the submarine's walkway had you smiling excitedly. It was a gorgeous day out, the sun high in the sky and only sparse wispy clouds floating across the otherwise blue sky. There was a sparkle in the air as little snowflakes drifted in the breeze, and the snow that coated everywhere the eye could see glittered subtly under the sun's rays.

A large number of the crew members were gathered around the snowy bank where the Polar Tang had been tucked away from view. You saw a group of them making their way towards the town and quickly ran to keep up with them. You made idle conversation, Jean Bart telling you excitedly about some bakery in town he wanted to see, and before you knew it, you were in the village. You parted ways with them and went off to find somewhere to rent ice skates. Since it was a winter island, such a task was relatively simple and within minutes of parting from the group, you were on your way to the woods to find somewhere secluded to skate.

After a few minutes of trudging through the snow, you wandered out into a clearing not far from where the Polar Tang was hidden. The area was surrounded by snow-covered birch trees and right in the middle was a frozen pond, untouched by anyone else. You quickly sat down and swapped out your boots for the skates. With the proper footwear now on, you stepped tentatively out onto the ice, testing your weight before fully pressing down. The ice held underneath you as you began skating towards the middle. The metal blades glided effortlessly across the ice, and you slowly began to push yourself around the pond. It all came back to you quickly, the movements and confidence feeling natural after years of training.

You're so focused on skating again that you don't hear the crunch of snow as someone comes closer. One moment you're blissfully skating on the ice, and another moment you're being startled by a familiar, gruff voice.

"What in the world were you thinking?"

The sudden intrusion startled you, and you shrieked, the sound cutting through the air as you whipped around wildly towards where the voice came from. The sudden movement caused your feet to trip over each other, and it was only due to muscle memory — and a little bit of luck — that you didn't go crashing down onto the ice, instead stumbling for a moment before catching your balance. Once you were steady, you saw Law standing at the edge of the pond, his arms crossed against his chest and a frown on his face.

"Captain! You scared the shit out of me," you scolded, heart still racing inside your chest. You glided back towards the treeline where Law was still standing and carefully slid to a stop with the edge of your skates in front of him. "What are you doing out here?"

"I could ask you the same thing," Law responded, his voice sharp, though not harsh.

You huffed, an easy smile pulling at your lips as you replied, "Ice skating, obviously."

Law clearly didn't find your answer as amusing as you did, however, as his frown only deepened, his lips pulling down in an obvious display of dissatisfaction. "I know that. What I mean," he continued, his voice tighter than before as he emphasized his point, "is what are you doing out here alone?"

"Well, I wanted to go ice skating but everybody else was either busy or uninterested, so I decided to go by myself rather than skip it," you explained before asking, "How'd you even find me?"

"I ran into Bepo on the way into town, and he told me you'd gone off on your own. To go ice skating, of all things," he said, the last few words said in a mix of judgment and disbelief. "You're the last person on this crew I would trust to go ice skating alone, so I came to find you. Your presence is very easy to find with Observation Haki."

"That's fair," you conceded, always the first to admit that your lack of grace often got you into trouble, "But I'm actually pretty good at ice skating. I told Bepo he didn't need to worry."

"It's not Bepo that's worried," Law snapped. Your eyes widened in surprise slightly, and your heart fluttered in your chest. Law clicked his tongue against his teeth and looked away, still frowning. You could've sworn you saw a bit of blush dusting the tip of his ears, but it just as easily could have been from the cold, so you brushed it off.

"Thanks for the concern, Captain, but I promise I'm fine. You can go back to town," you suggested, not wanting to monopolize any more of his free time.

"Absolutely not," he said firmly, leaving no room for argument. "I just watched you trip over your own feet."

You felt your cheeks heat in embarrassment and indignation. "That was your fault! You scared me," you exclaimed, quick to defend yourself.

"Besides, I'm already here. I might as well stay," he said, sounding not nearly as put out as he looked.

At this, you raised a brow. "Really?" you asked. This was highly unusual for him. You knew for a fact that the Polar Tang was nearby, even closer for Law with his Room, so the fact he was so willing to stay out here with you was odd to say the least, and you weren't one to shy away from pointing it out. "That's surprising."

Law let out a muffled growl of annoyance and embarrassment and looked to the side. "Whatever," he mumbled, hiding behind his hat like he always did when you'd poked a nerve.

You took this as your sign that you were dismissed. You smiled, just a little quirk of the lips, and began skating back towards the center of the ice. The ice still held steady under your feet, and it was easy to fall back into the rhythm of things, even with Law's watchful eyes on you.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ღ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Law sighed, his mind preoccupied as he leaned against a nearby tree. There was always something slightly unsettling to him about being on winter islands. Ever since that day, he'd never been able to look at them the same. Despite living in the North Blue for most of his life, he hadn't spent a long time on snowy islands before Cora had dragged him to every hospital he could think of. Sometimes, Law felt like the color white haunted him.

Flevance's namesake had been the White City; every building, every piece of jewelry, everything had been coated white with the very thing that would spell the demise of not only the country but Law's life as he knew it. After the horror that was Flevance and the white lead disease, there was Minion Island, and the image of pristine white snow bleeding red as the last person Law had left to care for slowly died was permanently burned into his mind. That image —the feeling of utter helplessness, of panic, of anguish — was one that even living on Swallow Island for many years after that hadn't shaken. Despite how desperately he tried, the snow always gave him a sense of dread he couldn't shake off. Even the faint white patches on Law's skin seemed to taunt him whenever he was unlucky enough to catch a glimpse of them in his reflection.

There was a long time when Law thought he might never be free of it, the odd concoction of emotions that always assaulted him on every winter island he'd come across. The second he left the North Blue, he'd done his absolute best to avoid winter islands and to make the visits to them short whenever they'd been necessary.

It had always been easier for him to run.

Punk Hazard had tested his conviction from the moment he'd stepped onto the snow bank and left his crew, left you, behind. On his worst days, it had been easy to forget that he wasn't on Minion Island; that Cora wasn't willingly signing his life away for Law to have a chance at one of his own, that Cora wasn't getting shot right in front of him, that he wasn't locked inside a box, unable to do anything but cry. It had been a harsh awakening to just how deeply everything had affected him.

But he was here now, alive by no short amount of miracles. Doflamingo was gone, locked away in the most secure prison the Grand Line had to offer, and a small amount of the weight Law had been carrying around for his entire life had lifted.

The sound of metal scraping against ice caught Law's attention and immediately brought him back to the present, where you were skating on the frozen pond in front of him. He'd been too wrapped up in his own thoughts to really observe you, but now you'd caught his attention. From the moment Law met you, he'd always known you to be oblivious to your surroundings, sometimes even tripping over nothing but air. To think of you as anything other than clumsy would have been a foreign concept to Law, but now he can't think of a word that describes you less.

Your movements are smooth yet precise at the same time, the kind of confidence and skill that can only come with a lifetime of experience. Each stride was measured, with the intention of propelling you forward through each move. At one point, Law's heart jumped into his throat as you spun yourself in circles, slowly lifting one foot and picking up speed before bowing out of the move, lifting that same foot back and letting your arms fly out to the sides. Your balance was impeccable, and each move flowed fluidly into the next.

Sometimes, Law can't help but wonder how has feelings for you. You're carefree, loud, clumsy — everything he despises — and yet watching you now, gliding gracefully across the ice, he can't bring himself to look away. You've never looked so happy, so free, as you do right now.

The smile on your face is brighter than any sun Law's ever known, and the longer he looks at you, the more he feels like his heart will explode. He sighed, forcing his heart to calm down. In hindsight, his feelings for you had always been obvious. Still, it wasn't until he had returned to Zou, his mind free of Doflamingo's looming presence on his life, when you had hugged him and looked up at him through teary lashes and told him just how happy you were that he was okay, that he realized just how deeply he'd come to care for you.

Now, it was the only thing he could think of. His immediate reaction has been rather immature, and he'd taken to avoiding you, but you were as persistent as you were annoying, which meant that strategy had lasted an embarrassingly short amount of time. You were just like Cora in that way —and many other ways — selfishly forcing your way into his heart and making a home for yourself there. He hadn't even noticed until it was far too late.

With a deep breath, he forced himself to stop thinking so much. In the end, it didn't matter how badly he wanted you if you didn't feel the same, and he'd yet to muster the courage to even broach the topic. No, instead of being absorbed by his own disgusting pining, he should be watching you, making sure you're safe, like he'd intended to do by coming out here in the first place. His eyes followed you as you continued skating, the wind whipping softly through your hair and letting the ends of your scarf float off behind you. You were so focused on skating that you hadn't even noticed the scarf loosening, the fabric barely clinging to your shoulders. You seemed completely unaware of your surroundings.

So unaware that you hadn't noticed the ice underneath your feet beginning to weaken.

The sound of ice cracking echoed out across the clearing, and Law watched as your peaceful expression quickly morphed into panic, your eyes snapping open as you stared down at your feet. "Oh shit," you called out, your voice wavering slightly as the ice gave another sickening crack.

Law pushed himself off the tree he'd been leaning against and held out his hand. "Room," he shouted, the command like second nature to him. His power extended out from his hand, the familiar blue bubble growing in size until you were well within its area. You pushed your feet against the ice, skating away as fast as you could, but the third and final crack in the ice shot out in front of you faster than you could get away. Law located a nearby snowflake as quickly as he could and flipped his palm skyward. "Shambles!"

Law had never been more thankful for his timing. One moment you were stranded out on the ice, a fear in your eyes that threatened to make his throat close up at the sight of it, and the next you were stumbling into his chest. The only sign that you had been out on the ice in the first place was your scarf, which had completely fallen off in your panic. It drifted down slowly, one end of it floating down into the now open water.

You shrieked, your eyes closing in expectation for something that would never come. Law let his free hand curl around your waist, steadying you against him. After a moment, you opened your eyes and looked up at him. It was like deja vu, seeing you look up at him like this, except this time, instead of looking at him with relief during a tearful reunion, it was with fear as you grappled to make sense of what had just happened. You clutched your hands into his coat, looking over your shoulder at the huge break in the ice. "You're ok," Law said, wanting to do something to comfort you instead of just standing there, "I swapped your position at the last minute."

You breathed a shaky sigh of relief, allowing your head to fall against his chest. This close to him, Law could feel your heartbeat racing unnaturally fast, and he pulled you a little closer out of instinct.

After a few moments, you finally pulled away, decidedly calmer than you were seconds ago. You lifted your head and looked over your shoulder once more, a sheepish look on your face. "I guess you were right to worry about me..." you said, your voice trailing off as you frowned. Law didn't say anything, biting back his immediate retort. You sighed, a slightly sadder look crossing your face. "It's a shame. I really liked that scarf."

At this, he frowned. "You know I can just get it for you," he said, only slightly bothered by the notion that you didn't think he was capable of it. He did so easily, the scarf appearing in his outstretched hand before he finally let his room fade.

You looked back at him, an easy smile on your face despite the ordeal that had happened only seconds ago. "Thanks, but it's probably a lost cause. It's made of wool." You stood up abruptly, Law's arm that had been curled around you protectively falling away at the unexpected move. For a moment, you were fine, but you must have forgotten that you were in your skates and not your boots, the blade making it almost impossible to balance when not on the ice, especially for you. With a shriek, you were falling backwards. "Oh crap!"

Law let out a strangled noise before he grabbed you by the arm, yanking you back into his chest. "Why don't you sit down and put your boots back on," he insisted, watching as you nodded before letting you go.

You sat down easily enough and began untying your skates. Law sighed for what must have been the hundredth time just that day, but began to quickly squeeze the water out of the end of the scarf that had fallen into the lake. He hung it up on a low tree branch nearby, hoping the breeze would help dry it off quickly without it sustaining too much damage.

When he returned, you were sitting and staring out at the lake, both your boots on and the skates off to your side. You seemed lost in thought, and after a few moments of standing there awkwardly, he finally sat beside you.

"I'm sorry, Captain," you said softly, something akin to resignation in your voice. "I'm always making trouble for you by being an airhead. I must be quite the burden."

Law's heart clenched as he mulled over the right thing to say. If it were anyone else, he'd have already told them off, but he never could treat you like he did everyone else.

"It's true that you make trouble for me," he started. You winced, visibly bothered by the blunt admission. "But," he continued, his voice softening in a way he hadn't intended, "you're never a burden to me. It's my job as your Captain to protect you."

You were silent at first, and Law wondered briefly if he'd said the wrong thing. He was about to backtrack and say something more like his usual self, when you spoke, your voice low. "Is that it?

"Is what it?" he asked, confused.

You raised your head slowly, and the look in your eyes made his breath catch in his throat. You looked right at him, something unreadable brewing in your eyes as you frowned. "Is that really all it is? Just your job as my Captain?"

He wanted to say yes, to cut off the conversation right there and deny any additional feelings that may or may not be involved, but something about the way you were looking at him made him pause. Something about it unsettled him deeply and needled at his subconscious. The longer he looked at you, the longer he saw something that looked awfully close to hope staring back at him.

He exhaled, a mixture of resignation and finality. "No," he admitted, his voice quiet, "It's not."

"Then what is it?" you pressed, scooting closer to him as you brushed your fingers against his own.

"You should know already what I mean," he snapped, his face flushing as he looked away. You were always so difficult, so stubborn. It made him want to yell at you and kiss you at the same time. Such conflicting feelings.

"I want you to say it," you said, your pinky curling around his as you shifted closer again. "I won't make assumptions. Please, Law."

The soft call of his name from your lips made his heart stutter. You never referred to him by his first name, and to hear you do so—to listen to you say it like a plea—was enough to break him. He forced himself to look you in the eyes as he shifted your hand, his fingers intertwining fully with yours.

"I don't want to just protect you as your Captain. I want to protect you as something precious to me." The admission slipped easily off his lips, and if the way you squeezed his hand and let your head fall against his shoulder was any indication, it was exactly what you'd wanted to hear. "I'd like to do that, if that's something you want."

"Of course it is," you replied, your voice muffled against his shoulder. You lifted your head, your face now just inches from his. "I've wanted that for a really long time now. Ever since I first saw you, I think." Law felt himself drawn to you. His eyes flickered down to your lips as he allowed himself to lean in closer to you. "That's a long time," was all he could muster in response, his thoughts utterly consumed by how close you were to him and the overwhelming urge to kiss you.

You huffed out a laugh, your eyes bright as you looked at him. Law let his free hand drift up to cup your face, his thumb tracing gently across your cheek. You melted into his touch, your body relaxing further against his side. After a moment of hesitation, Law finally met you in the middle, his hand drawing you closer and his lips pressing into yours for a brief, fleeting moment. He pulled away, but you chased after him, your lips pressing firmly into his own. It felt natural, and a knot finally loosened in his chest as he allowed himself to indulge in you.

You pulled away this time, slightly breathless and with a satisfied smile. Law couldn't help a small smile of his own from pulling at his lips. "That's a sight I could get used to," he said, a new warmth in his voice as he took in the sight of you.

The two of you began to make your way back to town, your skates thrown over his shoulder and your hands intertwined. You were both quiet, simply enjoying one another's presence as the snow continued to fall slowly. One day, he thought absently, he'd unburden himself to you. He'd explain everything about Flevance, about Doflamingo, about Corazon, about how those memories, those ghosts, had haunted him for most of his life. One day, he'd explain how all those things weren't so bad with you by his side, how you make it so much easier for him to move on, to relax.

But for now, he'd just enjoy the moment, the warmth he had in his heart from simply being at your side warmer than any winter he'd ever experience.

ღ radishaur — i do not own any of these characters. do not plagiarize. please enjoy and remember to be respectful! 

[stormruff]

The Third Heart

Warnings: pregnancy

Word Count: 915

Pairing: Trafalgar D. Law x Pregnant!Reader

a/n: continuation of "the wanting" and "confirmation"

crossposted on AO3

The announcement came after days of careful observation, gentle prodding, and a final, softly spoken confirmation from Law himself.

The Heart Pirates were gathered in the Polar Tang's galley, plates half-full and conversation casual. Bepo was telling a story, something about a giant crab stealing Shachi's shoe, and laughter echoed through the room. You were nestled quietly beside Law at the far end of the table, your hand resting over your belly, half-nervous, half-awed.

Law placed his chopsticks down with a deliberate clack. The shift in his posture made the crew look up. "I have an announcement," he said, voice calm but firm.

Everyone turned. Shachi's mouth was still half-full of rice. Penguin blinked.

"Y/N is pregnant."

Silence.

And then—

"WAIT, WHAT?!"

Shachi nearly knocked over his bowl. Bepo stood up so fast he bumped his head on the overhead lamp. Ikkaku gasped, hand flying to her mouth, and Clione made a strange gurgling sound somewhere between a cheer and a squeak.

"You mean—pregnant, pregnant?" Penguin stammered. "Like—with a baby?"

"That's what 'pregnant' means, idiot," Law muttered.

You couldn’t help laughing then, covering your face as the crew broke into a storm of exclamations.

"A BABY!"

"We're going to be uncles!"

"Holy crap, we need to baby-proof the ship!"

"Does that mean we'll have a nursery on the Polar Tang?!"

They swarmed you like over excited puppies, careful not to touch but buzzing with energy. Bepo especially hovered nearby, eyes wide and bright, asking a million gentle questions: How far along? Are you feeling okay? Can he bring you tea? Should he move your seat in the galley to a softer cushion?

Law stood like a quiet wall behind you, arms crossed, his usual scowl softening as he watched.

Over the next few weeks, the changes came in waves.

You started showing.

Not much, just a small swell beneath your navel. But Law noticed before anyone else. His eyes were drawn to the curve every time you changed clothes or reached for something. His hands lingered longer when he touched your waist, fingers tracing absentmindedly along your skin with the careful reverence of a man who understood how fragile things could be.

And then came the protection.

At first, it was subtle. He positioned you further from the engine room when repairs were being done. He started bringing you tea before you could ask. Then it escalated.

"You don't need to carry that."

"It’s literally a pillow, Law."

"Still. Let Bepo do it."

He began checking your vitals every night, palm pressed to your forehead, hand resting against your wrist, eyes scanning for any irregularities. He never said it aloud, but you knew. This baby was everything to him. A miracle. A chance to make something whole in the wreckage of his past.

The crew followed his lead.

If Law was protective, the Heart Pirates were fanatical. You weren’t allowed to lift anything heavier than a cup of tea. Someone was always nearby to steady you on stairs or offer a seat. Meals were catered to your cravings. At one point, Penguin hand-sewed you a maternity vest. It was hideous, but you wore it proudly for a day just to see him grin.

"Captain," Bepo whispered one night, as you dozed curled up beside Law on the sofa, "I've never seen you like this."

Law didn't look up from the medical notes he was reading. But a faint smile touched the corners of his lips.

"Neither have I."

The baby came during a quiet night near a remote island port.

You'd docked for supplies, not expecting labor for another week, but the baby had other plans. Law was a fortress of calm. He ushered you into the medical bay with practiced efficiency, ordering the crew to stay out but stay close. Bepo stationed himself right outside the door, refusing to budge.

Inside, it was just you and Law.

You remembered his hands, steady and cool, guiding you through each contraction. His voice, low and firm in your ear: "You're doing perfect. Just breathe."

And when the baby finally came—a wail, sharp and small and alive—you saw something in Law's face you'd never seen before.

Wonder.

Pure, unfiltered wonder.

He held the child like he was cradling the last piece of a broken star. Silent. Staring.

"It's a girl," he whispered.

You nodded, tears slipping down your cheeks as you rested your head exhausted back.

He leaned down and kissed your forehead.

Time passed. The Polar Tang adapted.

The medical bay became a temporary nursery, its corners filled with soft blankets and handmade toys. The crew walked softer now, spoke quieter. Everyone took turns watching the baby when you needed rest. Even Law, who at first acted awkward around the tiny bundle, soon became a practiced pro at swaddling, feeding, even humming under his breath to lull her to sleep.

You caught him once in the galley, early morning, cradling her against his chest. He didn’t notice you at first. She was cooing softly, one small hand gripping the lapel of his coat. And Law—stoic, grumpy, brilliant Law—was murmuring something about how her toes were exactly like yours.

You didn't interrupt. 

You just watched. 

Because in that moment, everything he'd ever lost had made room for something new.

And he was whole again.

So were you.

And the sea? It still waited. Still called. But now, it wasn’t just the two of you braving its depths.

It was three.

And that made all the difference.

This is for @karsinthesilly and @rhuski2002 because they requested a 3rd part. And of course tagging also @stuckinthewrongworld because I know she loves Law ❤️

[stormruff]

Could I request one piece villains (bartolomeo and Kidd included) with a soft kind reader? Like he's a monster and the reader is a literary a flower (gn reader pls) hope it's not much!

SOFT HEARTED

GN!Reader x One Piece villains (+ Kid and Bartolomeo)

(I hope I included everyone you would want)

Warnings: toxic/abusive relationships, violence/cruelty, manipulation, power imbalance, dark themes, cruelty, self-sacrifice, arranged marriage, possible sensitive family dynamics

──★ ˙🍓 ̟ !!

DOFLOMINGOᯓ★

A Kindred Spirit in a Cruel World (3,176 words)

The salt-laced wind whipped strands of hair across your face as you gazed out at the endless expanse of the Grand Line. A gentle smile touched your lips, a familiar expression that rarely left your features. You were a soul of unwavering kindness, a beacon of warmth in a world often cloaked in shadows. For you, true joy came from the simple act of giving – a piece of candied fruit to a child with wide, hopeful eyes, a comforting word to a stranger in distress, or even, if the need arose, a selfless offering of yourself, an organ donated without a second thought to save a life. Your compassion was boundless, your empathy a deep well from which you drew strength and offered solace.

People often wondered how someone like you, so inherently good and giving, found yourself entangled with a man like Donquixote Doflamingo. He was everything you weren't – a force of nature driven by a chilling cruelty, a man who reveled in the suffering of others, who twisted lives for his own amusement. His laughter, a harsh, cackling sound, often sent shivers down the spines of even the bravest pirates, yet to you, it was merely the echo of a different kind of storm. You saw the broken boy beneath the flamboyant exterior, the scarred past that molded him into the monster he had become. And despite the vast chasm between your natures, a strange, undeniable bond had formed, pulling you deeper into his dangerous, unpredictable world. You were the sun to his moon, the calm to his chaos, a tender hand reaching out to touch the untouchable. But how long could such a fragile connection endure in the tumultuous currents of the New World, especially when one heart beat with boundless love and the other pulsed with unyielding darkness?

You were excellent at seeing. Not just with your eyes, but with your entire being. You saw the flicker of doubt behind a braggart's grin, the tremor in a bully's hand, the silent plea in a hardened criminal's eyes. This wasn't a skill you honed; it was an inherent part of you, a profound capacity for empathy that allowed you to connect with the raw, often hidden, core of another being. And it was this very quality, your boundless compassion, that had first snagged Doflamingo's attention, drawing him in like a moth to a dangerously bright flame.

He remembered the first time he truly saw it, or rather, felt it. It was on some forgotten island, a backwater where his crew had just finished asserting their dominance. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and fear, the usual aftermath of their arrival. Doflamingo was striding through the chaos, a predatory smirk plastered on his face, when he stopped. Not because he wanted to, but because you had. You were kneeling by a collapsed stall, not tending to a fallen comrade or assessing damage, but gently stroking the ruffled feathers of a terrified pigeon, murmuring soft, comforting words. A silly, insignificant bird, in the grand scheme of his brutal world, yet you treated it with a tenderness that defied the very atmosphere he cultivated. He watched, utterly perplexed, as you then offered a small, broken piece of bread to the creature, your eyes shining with a pure, unadulterated kindness that seemed to pierce through his carefully constructed armor of indifference.

It was infuriating. It was fascinating. It was, he grudgingly admitted to himself, captivating. Your inherent goodness was a stark contrast to the ugliness he embodied, and for a time, that contrast intrigued him. He found himself drawn to it, to the way your empathy softened the sharp edges of his world, to the bizarre comfort of your compassion, even when he pretended to scorn it. He’d test it, push against it, only to find it unyielding, unwavering. And a strange, possessive feeling began to fester within him – a desire to keep that purity close, to have it reflect back at him, a twisted mirror to his own depravity.

But now, that same boundless empathy, that unending compassion, was a festering wound, a constant, irritating reminder of everything he wasn’t and everything he refused to be. Your ability to see past the facade, to offer understanding where he craved fear, to forgive where he delighted in vengeance, had curdled into a bitter resentment. It was a weakness he couldn't tolerate, a light that burned too brightly in his shadowed existence, threatening to expose the very depths of his cruelty. It was what he loved and loathed, the very essence of you that both bound him and drove him to the brink of fury.

He remembered it like it was yesterday, the memory vivid and biting. It was Baby 5. She’d been careless, as usual, taking a hit during a skirmish that was meant for someone else, her body crumpling in a most un-Doflamingo-like display of vulnerability. The sight of her, pale and bleeding on the grimy deck of their ship, usually elicited nothing more than a disgusted sneer from him. A weakness. A liability.

But then you were there.

You moved with a quiet urgency he found both perplexing and infuriating. Your hands, usually so gentle, were surprisingly steady as you knelt beside Baby 5, ignoring the blood that stained your clothes. Your touch wasn't clinical or detached; it was infused with that damned, unwavering compassion that burned him. You didn't just tend to the wound; you murmured soft reassurances, your voice a soothing balm against the harsh reality of their world. He watched, transfixed, as you pushed strands of hair from Baby 5's tear-streaked face, your eyes filled with an unbearable, soft sorrow for her pain.

He saw the way Baby 5, usually so desperate for validation, melted into your touch, her rigid posture softening, her sobs subsiding into quiet whimpers. You treated her not as a tool, or a subordinate, or a nuisance, but as a person, a fragile being in need of comfort. It was a scene that twisted something cold and hard in his gut. A part of him, the part he brutally suppressed, wanted to reach out, to understand that profound connection you effortlessly forged. But another, larger part, the one that governed his entire existence, raged.

Weakness. That’s all he saw. Your empathy was a gaping hole, a vulnerability he couldn't comprehend, let alone tolerate. It was a stark reminder of the sentimentality he'd long ago excised from his own being, a betrayal of everything he stood for. And in that moment, watching you pour your boundless kindness into someone he considered expendable, the first tendrils of that bitter, simmering hatred began to wrap around his twisted heart. It was a contradiction, a paradox he couldn't reconcile: the very thing that drew him to you, the very thing he secretly craved, was also the most potent source of his disdain.

God, you were the source of his anger, the very wellspring from which his fury flowed. Your existence was a constant, irritating contradiction to his own. It wasn't just your kindness in general, but your courage to openly display empathy and compassion right there, in front of him, that truly set his teeth on edge. It was a defiance, a silent rebellion against the cruel world he'd so painstakingly built around himself. He’d watch you, offering a gentle hand to a whimpering child, speaking softly to a terrified subordinate, or even, once, just gazing with a profound, aching sorrow at the destruction he’d wrought, and a cold, sharp rage would coil in his gut.

He hated you for it. Hated the way your inherent goodness shone, unbidden and untamed, like a defiant sunbeam piercing through his carefully constructed darkness. He hated that you saw beyond the monster, that you refused to cower, that your compassion was so absolute it made his own barren existence feel even colder. It was a mirror reflecting his own twisted soul, showing him everything he'd lost, everything he'd sacrificed, everything he’d brutally suppressed to become the man he was.

Yet, it was the same damned thing that had drawn him to you in the first place. Like a moth to a flame, he'd been inexplicably pulled into your orbit. Your unwavering kindness, your fearless empathy – it was an anomaly he couldn't comprehend, a challenge he couldn't resist. He’d wanted to possess it, perhaps even to corrupt it, to see if he could break that unbreakable spirit. He’d wanted to understand it, to tear apart the enigma of your compassion, to find its weakness, its breaking point. But you never broke. You simply continued to be you, radiating that infuriating, mesmerizing warmth, a constant thorn in his side and a strange, undeniable anchor in his chaotic world. It was a maddening paradox: the thing he despised most about you was also the very thing that had, against all reason, brought him to his knees.

The air in the opulent, yet often chilling, halls of Doflamingo's palace crackled with an unspoken tension. You had been tending to one of his crew, a low-ranking grunt who'd caught a nasty fever, and your quiet ministrations had, as always, drawn Doflamingo's gaze. He watched from the shadows, a familiar knot of conflicting emotions tightening in his chest. Your effortless kindness, your pure, unadulterated compassion – it was a constant affront to his very being, a soft hand gently pressing against the jagged edges of his soul.

When you finally straightened up, he was there, blocking your path. His usual predatory smirk was replaced by something colder, more volatile. "Fufufu... still playing the innocent healer, are we?" His voice was a low growl, laced with a familiar mockery.

You met his gaze, your own eyes unwavering. "Someone needed help, Doffy."

"Help?" he scoffed, taking a step closer, his tall frame looming over yours. "Such a pathetic sentiment. Don't you see, little dove? This world doesn't reward kindness. It devours it. And you... you practically bleed it." His hand, usually so quick to unleash devastating strings, reached out, not to strike, but to brush a lock of hair from your face. The touch was feather-light, yet it felt charged with an unbearable weight. "It infuriates me."

A beat of silence hung in the air, thick with unspoken truths. You knew what he meant. You always did. Your empathy, the very core of your being, was a constant challenge to his cruel philosophy.

"It infuriates me," he repeated, his voice dropping to a near whisper, "how you can look at the ugliness of this world, at me, and still find... something. How you can offer that soft hand, that gentle gaze, when all I've ever known is taking and destroying." His eyes, usually hidden behind his sunglasses, were now piercing, raw, and for the first time, you saw a flicker of something akin to vulnerability, a deep-seated confusion that warred with his inherent cruelty. "I hate it."

The words were harsh, blunt, an honest confession of his bitter resentment. And yet, in that moment, the raw honesty of it was almost disarming. You didn't flinch. You didn't argue. You simply stood there, your compassion a silent, unyielding force against his venom.

Then, just as the anger seemed to reach its peak, a different kind of storm brewed in his eyes. His gaze dropped from yours to your lips, a sudden, almost desperate hunger replacing the fury. He leaned in, slowly, deliberately, his breath ghosting across your face.

"I hate you for it," he rasped, his voice rough with an emotion you couldn't quite name, "but I can't... I can't stay away."

And then, before you could even process the words, his lips were on yours. It wasn't gentle. It was possessive, almost violent in its intensity, a desperate claim. It was the kiss of a man consumed by a maddening contradiction, a torrent of anger and a desperate, undeniable yearning, all tangled up in the paradox of his twisted heart and your unwavering, infuriating kindness. In that kiss, the love and the hatred, the fascination and the revulsion, all collided, binding you to him in a dangerous, undeniable embrace.

The kiss had been a jarring shift, a violent tenderness that left you both reeling. Afterwards, Doflamingo had pulled away, his face a mask of conflict, and stalked off without another word, leaving you alone in the silent, echoing hall. This was the pattern of your relationship with him – intense bursts of raw emotion, followed by a tense, often suffocating silence.

You were his, in his own twisted sense of the word. He introduced you as such, a subtle possessiveness in his tone that brooked no argument. You were a permanent fixture in his life, a strange, soft anomaly in the Donquixote Family’s brutal hierarchy. The crew, hardened by years of Doflamingo's rule, regarded you with a mixture of confusion and cautious respect. They’d witnessed his volatile rages, his chilling indifference, yet you were the one person who could, at times, evoke something else from him – a flicker of something akin to worry, a strange, almost gentle touch, or even a fleeting, unguarded expression that vanished as quickly as it appeared.

For your part, you navigated his volatile nature with a blend of unwavering patience and quiet defiance. You wouldn't change who you were for him, and he, in turn, seemed to begrudgingly accept that. He’d yell, he’d rage, he’d mock your bleeding-heart tendencies, but you would simply meet his tirades with a calm gaze, a soft rebuttal, or even, occasionally, a pointed silence that infuriated him more than any argument. He’d test your compassion, presenting you with situations designed to break your spirit, to force you to acknowledge the "reality" of his world. He’d make you witness acts of cruelty, hoping to see the idealism shatter in your eyes. But it never did. Instead, you'd find small, subversive ways to mitigate the damage, a whispered word of comfort, a hidden act of kindness, an almost imperceptible gesture of solace.

This constant push and pull was the core of your existence together. He thrived on power, on control, on instilling fear. You, on the other hand, sought to soothe, to understand, to alleviate suffering. It was a clash of fundamental forces, a storm and a calm, perpetually locked in a dangerous dance.

There were moments, rare and fleeting, when the "love" part of their relationship, however twisted, would surface. He would watch you as you slept, a strange, almost tender expression softening his usually sharp features. He'd pull you closer during a storm, the rough expanse of his arm a surprising comfort. He'd bring you rare trinkets, not as gifts of affection, but as tokens of possession, yet the act itself held a bizarre, almost endearing sincerity. And you, in turn, found yourself drawn to the wounded boy beneath the tyrannical facade, to the flicker of humanity he so desperately tried to extinguish. You loved him, not for what he was, but for what you believed he could be, for the glimpse of a tortured soul you occasionally saw in his eyes.

But then, just as quickly, the mask would snap back into place. The cruelty would resurface, the mocking laughter would echo, and the cold, hard reality of who Doflamingo truly was would assert itself. And in those moments, the hatred he held for your inherent goodness would flare anew, a constant reminder of the chasm between you. You were his greatest weakness and his most coveted possession, a constant source of both agonizing frustration and undeniable fascination. It was a love built on paradox, sustained by conflict, and perpetually teetering on the brink of beautiful destruction.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of violent orange and bruised purple, a fitting backdrop for the paradoxical life you shared with Doflamingo. Years had passed, marked by countless clashes of will, by his bouts of cruel amusement and your unwavering, stubborn kindness. Their relationship wasn't a fairytale, nor was it a conventional romance. It was a testament to the fact that sometimes, in the most unlikely of pairings, two vastly different individuals could, against all odds, find a way to make things work.

It wasn't that the toxicity vanished; it simply became a part of the air you breathed, a constant, low hum beneath the surface of your shared existence. Doflamingo still reveled in chaos, still inflicted pain, and still, at times, openly disdained your empathy. You, in turn, never stopped offering comfort, never stopped seeing the lost boy beneath the Celestial Dragon's veneer. But something had shifted, solidified into a bizarre, unspoken agreement.

He had learned, in his own twisted way, to tolerate your goodness. More than that, he had come to rely on it, though he would sooner tear out his own throat than admit it. Your presence was a grounding force, a silent barometer that measured his own volatile temper. When his fury threatened to consume everything, your calm presence, your steady gaze, was often the only thing that could anchor him, if only for a fleeting moment. He might scoff at your compassion, but he knew, deep down, that you were the only one who could truly see him, the only one who didn't fear him unconditionally, and perhaps, the only one who didn't want anything from him other than his flawed self.

And you? You had come to understand that Doflamingo's love was not a soft, gentle thing, but a fierce, possessive grip. It was in the way his hand would linger on your arm for a fraction too long, in the way he'd dismiss a threat against you with a chilling finality, or the almost imperceptible softening of his voice when you were truly distressed. You accepted that his world was one of shadows and blood, and you chose to illuminate your own small corner of it, a quiet defiance that he, surprisingly, came to respect. You weren't changing him, not fundamentally, but you were undeniably influencing him, softening the edges of his brutal regime in ways no one else ever could.

Their life together was a constant tightrope walk, a delicate balance between destruction and a strange, profound connection. There were no grand declarations of love, no idyllic moments under starry skies. Instead, it was in the shared silences, in the way he'd instinctively reach for your hand during a tense standoff, in the fierce protectiveness he unconsciously displayed. You were the quiet anchor to his storm, the gentle touch to his hardened cruelty, and in that complex interplay, you found your own unconventional version of forever.

The world might call your relationship toxic, and perhaps it was. But in the volatile, unforgiving expanse of the Grand Line, you and Doflamingo had forged a bond that, against all logic, endured. It was a love born of contradiction, sustained by unwavering acceptance, and ultimately, a testament to the fact that even the most disparate souls could find a way to fit, imperfectly but inextricably, together.

CROCODILE ❀.ೃ࿔*

Where kindness meet cruelty (2,431)

You always saw the good in people, even when no one else did. Your heart was an open book, filled with empathy and a boundless capacity for kindness. You were the one who'd offer a comforting embrace to a weeping stranger, whispering words of encouragement until their tears subsided. Sacrificing your own well-being for another's happiness was simply second nature to you, a quiet act of devotion that defined who you were. In a world often steeped in cynicism, you were a beacon of unwavering compassion, a gentle soul whose presence brought warmth to even the coldest corners.

And then there was Crocodile. Your lover, and the jarring counterpoint to your own gentle nature. Where you offered solace, he dispensed harsh truths. Where you sought understanding, he wielded anger like a weapon. He was the shifting sands of a desert storm, unpredictable and unforgiving, a stark contrast to your own steady, calming presence. You, the compassionate secretary of the Cross Guild, found yourself drawn to the very man who embodied everything you weren't. It was a paradox, a love story etched in opposing shades, and yet, it was undeniably yours.

The docks of Nanohana were a chaotic symphony of shouts, creaking wood, and the salty tang of the sea. A young street urchin, no older than ten, stumbled, sending a cascade of oranges tumbling from their overloaded basket. The fruit rolled across the cobblestones, some squashed underfoot by hurried passersby. The child's lip trembled, tears welling in their eyes, a whimper escaping their throat.

You, ever the first to react, were already moving. Your steps were swift and light as you knelt beside the distraught child. "Oh, you poor thing," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm amidst the din. You began to gather the remaining oranges, carefully brushing off the dirt before placing them back in the basket. "It's alright, we'll get these picked up. Don't you worry." You even pulled a small, pristine handkerchief from your pocket, gently dabbing at the child's tear-streaked face. You'd likely offer to buy them a new batch of oranges, or at the very least, share some of your own rations. You wouldn't just fix the problem; you'd mend the child's spirit.

Meanwhile, Crocodile would observe the scene from a short distance, a scowl deepening on his scarred face. His eyes, sharp and calculating, would assess the situation not with pity, but with a cold, almost detached analysis. He wouldn't lift a finger to help. Instead, he'd bark, "Get up, you sniveling brat! Crying won't put those oranges back in the basket. Learn to hold onto your belongings, or you'll starve." He might even kick a stray orange further away, not out of maliciousness, but as a twisted form of tough love, a brutal lesson in self-reliance. For him, the child's misfortune wasn't an opportunity for kindness, but a chance for a harsh, unforgettable lesson about the unforgiving nature of the world. He'd tell you later that coddling only bred weakness, that true strength came from enduring hardship alone.

The docks incident was a stark, undeniable fissure in their shared reality. It was a clear line drawn in the sand, illustrating precisely where your unwavering empathy diverged from Crocodile's unyielding pragmatism. You'd spent the rest of that afternoon ensuring the child was truly alright, even managing to convince a local vendor to give them a few extra oranges, while Crocodile watched, his arms crossed, a silent, disapproving observer.

Yet, despite these glaring differences, you made it work. It wasn't always easy, and there were countless silent battles fought in the space between your intertwined fingers. But moments of unexpected tenderness, like scattered desert blooms, punctuated their harsh landscape.

You remember one particularly rough night in Alabasta, the wind howling like a banshee through the desert, whipping sand against their temporary shelter. You were shivering, despite the worn blanket wrapped tightly around you. Crocodile, ever alert, seemed to sense your discomfort without a word passing between them. He didn't offer a platitude, or even a direct question. Instead, he simply shifted closer, his large frame radiating a surprising amount of warmth. He draped his own heavy cloak over your shoulders, its rough fabric a stark contrast to the softness of his subtle gesture. He never acknowledged it, never mentioned it the next day, but the quiet act spoke volumes. It was in these small, unspoken gestures that his version of affection manifested—a protective instinct, a silent acknowledgment of your presence and comfort, even if it was buried beneath layers of gruffness.

Another time, after a particularly grueling Cross Guild meeting, you found yourself overwhelmed by the endless paperwork and the constant tension that simmered between the members. You were slumped over your desk, a headache throbbing behind your eyes. Crocodile entered, a cloud of cigar smoke preceding him. He usually had a biting comment or a new demand. But that day, he simply pulled up a chair opposite you. He didn't speak. He just sat there, meticulously cleaning his hook, the rhythmic scrape of metal against leather the only sound in the room. You didn't realize how much you needed that quiet, undemanding presence until he was there. It wasn't comfort in the traditional sense, but it was his comfort—a shared silence that somehow eased the pressure in your head and the weight on your shoulders. It was in these moments that you truly understood how deeply intertwined your lives had become, a testament to a bond forged not in similarity, but in the acceptance of profound differences.

The quiet moments, the ones where the world's chaos faded into the background, became the bedrock of your relationship. You learned to read the subtle shifts in Crocodile's demeanor, the slight tightening around his eyes that signaled a flicker of concern, or the rare, almost imperceptible softening of his jaw when he genuinely approved of something you'd done. And he, in his own gruff way, came to rely on your presence, on the gentle order you brought to the tumultuous operations of the Cross Guild, and perhaps, to his own turbulent mind.

You often found yourself sifting through stacks of bounty posters in his office, organizing the chaos of wanted criminals and their ever-increasing prices. He'd be hunched over his own desk, a plume of cigar smoke curling around his head, ostensibly engrossed in a map or a strategy document. But you knew he was aware of your every movement, the soft rustle of paper, the quiet hum you sometimes made when you were deeply focused. He’d never admit it, but your steady, calming presence was a quiet anchor in his storm-tossed life.

One evening, a fierce storm raged outside, rattling the windows of their temporary headquarters. Rain lashed down in sheets, and the wind howled like a hungry beast. The power flickered, plunging the room into momentary darkness before sputtering back to life. You jumped, startled, a small gasp escaping your lips. Crocodile, who had been observing the storm with an almost casual indifference, turned his head. He didn't say anything, but his gaze lingered on you for a beat longer than usual. Then, almost imperceptibly, he reached out and flicked a switch on a small, oil-burning lantern he kept on his desk, its warm, steady glow pushing back against the encroaching shadows. It was a simple act, yet it spoke volumes. It was his way of saying, "I'm here. You're safe."

You smiled then, a soft, genuine smile that reached your eyes. He didn't return it, of course, but you saw the briefest flicker in his own, a hint of something unreadable, perhaps even content. In that shared, silent moment, amidst the raging storm and the world's cruel indifference, you knew, unequivocally, that your contrasting souls had found an unlikely, yet unbreakable, harmony. You were the light, he was the shadow, and together, you cast a unique silhouette against the vast, unforgiving expanse of the Grand Line.

Crocodile would never admit it, not even to himself, but your relentless kindness was a persistent, inconvenient anomaly in his carefully constructed world of cynicism. He viewed emotions as weaknesses, vulnerabilities to be exploited, yet your boundless empathy chipped away at his hardened resolve in ways he couldn't comprehend, let alone control. It was like a constant, gentle pressure against a rock, slowly, imperceptibly eroding its sharp edges.

He'd often scoff at your bleeding-heart tendencies, muttering about sentimentality being a burden in the Grand Line. He'd witness you offering a stray dog a portion of your own meal, or patiently listening to a tearful merchant lamenting their losses, and a muscle in his jaw would tick. It wasn't anger, not precisely. It was… disquiet. Your actions defied his every belief about survival, about the ruthless efficiency required to thrive in a world that devoured the weak.

One blistering afternoon in Alabasta, you both found yourselves navigating the dusty streets of a small desert town, en route to a discreet meeting. The air was thick with the scent of spices and the distant sound of a bazaar. As you passed a narrow alley, a faint, mewling sound caught your ear. Tucked away in the shadows, a tiny kitten, no bigger than your palm, lay curled on the grimy sand, its fur matted, its ribs starkly visible. It was shivering, despite the heat.

Without a moment's hesitation, you knelt, extending a gentle hand. The kitten, wary, flattened itself further, but you remained still, your voice a soft, reassuring murmur. "Hey there, little one," you cooed, your fingers slowly, carefully reaching out to stroke its head. It flinched, then, surprisingly, leaned into your touch, letting out a weak purr.

Crocodile stopped, his shadow falling over you both. He watched, his golden eyes narrowed, a mixture of disdain and something unreadable in their depths. He half-expected you to leave it, to continue on your way. Instead, you carefully scooped up the trembling creature, cradling it against your chest.

"We can't just leave it, Crocodile," you said, your voice quiet but firm, not even looking at him as you began to gently clean the kitten's matted fur with a damp cloth you always carried. "It's starving. It won't last the night."

He let out a low, exasperated grunt. "It's a stray, Y/N. This isn't a charity mission. We have business." His words were sharp, cutting, but you noticed he didn't move to stop you. He merely stood there, a formidable, unyielding presence, observing your tender ministrations.

You didn't argue. You simply continued to comfort the kitten, your fingers stroking its tiny head until its purrs grew stronger. You knew he wouldn't outright forbid it, not when you looked at him with that earnest, unwavering gaze. He'd grouse, he'd mock, but he wouldn't force you to abandon it.

Later, back at your temporary lodgings, you found a small, chipped bowl on the floor, filled with water and a few scraps of dried meat. The kitten, now somewhat revived, was cautiously lapping at the water. Crocodile was nowhere to be seen, but the message was clear. He hadn't asked about the kitten, hadn't acknowledged its presence beyond his initial protests. Yet, the bowl was there, a silent, grudging concession to your persistent heart. It was a vexing, illogical feeling for him, this involuntary response to your empathy. He understood power, control, ambition. But your quiet, unwavering kindness? That was an enigma he was still, against his will, trying to decipher.

Years passed, measured not by calendars, but by the relentless pursuit of power, the fleeting alliances, and the dust of countless islands. The Cross Guild grew, its influence spreading like a desert storm, and through it all, you remained at Crocodile's side, the unwavering constant in his tumultuous existence. The kitten, long grown into a sleek, healthy cat, often curled on your desk, a silent, furry testament to that long-ago moment in Alabasta and to Crocodile's begrudging, unspoken tolerance.

He never softened, not in the way one might expect. The scowl rarely left his face, his words remained sharp, and his ambition burned as fiercely as ever. But something shifted. The exasperated grunts became less frequent, the cynical remarks sometimes carried a faint, almost imperceptible hint of dry amusement. He still chastised you for your "naiveté," but the bite in his voice was tempered by a strange, almost possessive undertone.

It was during a tense standoff with a rival crew on a remote, rain-swept island. A young, inexperienced crew member, overwhelmed by the sudden violence, froze, directly in the path of an incoming attack. Your eyes widened in alarm, and without thinking, you moved. Not to fight, but to push the young man out of harm's way, leaving yourself momentarily exposed.

Time seemed to slow. Crocodile, already engaged with the opposing captain, saw it all. His golden eyes, usually cold and calculating, flashed with something akin to raw, visceral panic. For a fraction of a second, his guard wavered, a dangerous lapse. But before he could curse, before he could intervene, you had already completed your selfless act, tumbling to the ground with the crew member, both of you narrowly avoiding a devastating blow.

The fight raged on, but the brief, unguarded look on Crocodile's face spoke volumes. It was not anger at your recklessness, not disdain for your perceived weakness. It was a fleeting, terrifying glimpse of fear – fear for you.

Later, when the dust settled and the enemy lay defeated, you stood a little shaken, but unharmed. Crocodile approached, his cloak billowing around him, a silent, imposing figure. He didn't ask if you were hurt. He didn't offer praise. He simply reached out, his hook glinting, and with surprising gentleness, he nudged a stray strand of hair from your face. His eyes, devoid of their usual malice, met yours. For a long moment, an eternity in their complex dynamic, there was no anger, no judgment, only a quiet, profound understanding.

He might never articulate it, but in that silent gesture, in the way he allowed your kindness to exist unfettered in his brutal world, was his ultimate acceptance. You were the anomaly, the inconvenient truth, the softest edge to his sharpest ambition. You were the one who saw the flickering good in a heart he insisted was barren. And perhaps, in a way he would never acknowledge, you were the only one who could truly anchor the shifting sands of Sir Crocodile. You were his balance, his contradiction, and his most fiercely, silently guarded treasure. Their story wasn't one of change, but of profound, unwavering acceptance of each other's unchanging, contrasting natures.

KATAKURI 𐙚 ˚🍰 ⋆

The flutter and the stone (2,593 words)

A warmth emanated from you, a silent, comforting glow that drew people in like moths to a flame. You were the kind of soul who’d offer a gentle hand to someone stumbling, not just to pick them up, but to steady them until they found their footing again. Sacrifice wasn’t a foreign concept to you; it was a quiet understanding, a willingness to put another’s well-being above your own, even if it meant hardship for yourself. You were truly one of the best, a beacon of empathy in a world that often felt devoid of it.

But then there was Katakuri. He was a stark contrast to your vibrant spirit, a calm and serious presence, his emotions carefully guarded behind an impenetrable facade. An arranged engagement by Big Mom herself had sealed your fate, weaving your compassionate nature into the fabric of his stoic world. Now, you found yourself living alongside him on Whole Cake Island, the sweet, saccharine air a strange accompaniment to the quiet, almost detached reality you shared. You, a soul brimming with kindness, and he, a man of unwavering composure, were bound together in an intricate dance orchestrated by a Yonko.

He'd expected a hindrance, a constant, buzzing annoyance orchestrated by his mother. That's what most of these arranged marriages were: a liability, a weakness he'd have to account for. He'd envisioned someone fragile, prone to tears and dramatics, clinging to him for protection, constantly seeking attention he had no desire to give. He'd braced himself for endless chatter, for a person who would disrupt the rigid order he'd meticulously crafted in his life. The idea of sharing his space, his very existence, with someone so utterly out of sync with his own stoic nature had been, frankly, irritating. He’d prepared for the worst, for a constant drain on his already limited patience, a shadow of inconvenience following him everywhere.

But you… you were different. You were a quiet warmth, not a demanding heat. You didn't cling; you simply existed, a gentle presence that somehow softened the edges of his perpetually sharp world. The "endless chatter" he'd anticipated never materialized. Instead, you offered thoughtful observations, quiet support, or sometimes, just a comfortable silence. He’d found you, more than once, tending to a wounded crewmate with a tenderness that made even the gruffest pirates soften. You'd share your meals, offer comfort without being asked, and your eyes held a depth of understanding that surprised him. You didn't demand his attention, but your quiet acts of kindness drew it anyway.

You didn't just shine; you fluttered. You were a vibrant, living thing, a soft current of light that seemed to effortlessly navigate the harsh realities of Whole Cake Island. He found himself, against his better judgment, observing you. How you'd hum a soft tune while organizing supplies, how your laughter, soft and genuine, could cut through the usual cacophony of the island. He’d catch himself, on rare occasions, feeling a faint, unfamiliar stir in his chest when you’d offer a gentle smile his way. He'd expected a burden, a heavy weight to bear. What he got was… something akin to light. A light he hadn't known he needed, but now, he found himself, in his own silent way, watching, almost waiting, for its gentle, steady glow.

You had an uncanny knack for anticipating needs, a quiet magic that hummed beneath your gentle demeanor. Katakuri would find his favorite tea brewed just so in the mornings, a small, thoughtful gesture. Or, on days he was particularly swamped, he'd discover a meticulously packed lunch waiting for him – often including those subtly sweet mochi he favored, even though you’d never seen him eat them openly. It wasn't just for him, though. Your kindness was a boundless well. You'd often prepare extra portions, enough for his siblings, even a specially made sweet for Big Mom herself, always left in a place where it would be easily found, without any fanfare or expectation of thanks. You simply did.

One sweltering afternoon, a sudden, torrential downpour erupted over Whole Cake Island. Katakuri had been in a particularly intense training session, his usual stoicism even more pronounced as he pushed himself. He’d barely paused for breath, let alone considered the oppressive heat or the sudden chill the rain brought. His siblings, too, were scattered across the sprawling complex, many caught off guard by the unexpected shift in weather.

As he finally wrapped up, Mochi sticking to his skin from the exertion, he started towards his usual post. But when he arrived, there was a small, steaming cup waiting. Not just for him, but several, strategically placed for others who would soon be arriving. It was a ginger-lemon tea, perfectly warm, with a subtle sweetness that cut through the humidity and offered a comforting heat against the sudden dampness. Beside it, a stack of freshly folded, dry towels.

You weren't there, of course. You never were, not to receive praise or acknowledgment. But the faint scent of ginger and lemon lingered, a silent testament to your presence, your unwavering thoughtfulness. Katakuri picked up the mug, the warmth seeping into his calloused hands. He took a slow sip, and for a fleeting moment, a faint, almost imperceptible easing of his perpetually tense shoulders could be observed. You just… knew. And you acted, a quiet force of nature, making the world around you a little bit softer, a little bit kinder, without ever being asked.

You continued to weave your quiet magic into the fabric of Whole Cake Island life, a gentle counterpoint to its often chaotic rhythms. Katakuri, for his part, found himself in uncharted territory. He was accustomed to calculating, to predicting, to controlling. But you, with your unassuming kindness and innate ability to simply be, defied all his expectations. He couldn't quite categorize you, couldn't fit you into any of his established frameworks. It was unsettling, yet… not entirely unpleasant.

One evening, after a particularly grueling day of territory patrols and dealing with a new batch of unruly subordinates, Katakuri returned to his private quarters. The air was heavy, the usual tension in his shoulders even more pronounced. He expected the familiar silence, the solitary decompression he always sought. Instead, the soft glow of a single lamp illuminated the room, and the scent of freshly brewed herbal tea, a blend he recognized as one that aided relaxation, wafted gently towards him.

You were there, of course, perched on a plush cushion, a book open in your lap. You looked up as he entered, your eyes, usually bright with warmth, holding a quiet understanding. You didn't speak, didn't offer effusive greetings or pointed questions about his day. You simply gestured to the steaming mug on his small table, then to another cushion opposite you.

He hesitated for a moment, an almost imperceptible flicker of surprise crossing his face. He'd never truly shared this space with anyone, not in this way. But the subtle invitation, devoid of any demand, was strangely compelling. He settled onto the cushion, his imposing form making the furniture seem almost fragile. He picked up the mug, the warmth a welcome contrast to the cold calculation that had dominated his day.

You returned to your book, yet your presence was anything but distant. It was a comfortable, silent companionship, a soothing balm to the weary edges of his mind. He found himself, for the first time in a long time, truly relaxing. The tension in his jaw eased, his shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. He didn't know what to call this feeling, this quiet sense of calm that settled over him. But as he sipped his tea, watching the gentle rise and fall of your chest as you read, a thought, foreign and unexpected, drifted through his mind: perhaps this arranged marriage wasn't a burden after all. Perhaps it was… something else entirely. Something he was only just beginning to understand.

The silent tea-drinking evenings became a quiet ritual, a comfortable pause in the ceaseless rhythm of Whole Cake Island. Katakuri found himself anticipating them, the subtle shift in his mood almost imperceptible even to him. He’d never craved companionship, never sought it out, but your presence was different. It wasn’t a demand, but an invitation, a soft echo that resonated within his usually unyielding self.

The little interactions began to accumulate, tiny threads weaving a tapestry of connection. One blustery morning, you found him meticulously patching a tear in his scarf, a rare moment of vulnerability in his otherwise flawless exterior. You didn’t comment, didn’t pry, but simply offered a spool of stronger thread from your own sewing kit. He grunted in acknowledgment, a sound that in anyone else might have been dismissive, but from him, it was a quiet acceptance. Later, he noticed the mend was virtually invisible, stronger than before.

Another time, during a particularly chaotic family meeting, a flurry of paper charts went tumbling, scattering across the floor. Before anyone else could react, you were already gathering them, your movements swift and efficient, organizing them back into their proper order without a single word of complaint or even a look for approval. Katakuri, observing from the corner, found a flicker of something akin to admiration stir within him. You weren’t just kind; you were competent, resourceful, and utterly unassuming in your helpfulness.

He even started to notice your preferences. The way you always took your tea with a dash of honey, not sugar. The quiet smile that played on your lips when you managed to coax a wilting plant back to life. He’d find himself leaving a small, perfectly ripe fruit on your table, or ensuring a particularly comfortable blanket was draped over your favored reading chair. These were not grand gestures, not yet. They were quiet acknowledgments, a recognition of your unique presence, and a subtle, almost unconscious desire to contribute to your comfort, just as you so readily contributed to the comfort of everyone around you.

This wasn't just an arranged marriage anymore. The rigid lines of their initial agreement were blurring, softening with each shared silence, each unspoken understanding. It was becoming something else, something real and unexpected. A quiet, blossoming partnership rooted not in duty, but in a burgeoning, unfamiliar warmth.

The shift was subtle, almost imperceptible to anyone but Katakuri himself. His siblings, accustomed to his imposing, unyielding presence, might have noticed a slight softening around his eyes when you were near, a less rigid set to his shoulders. But for him, it was a profound internal reordering. The quiet comfort you brought wasn't just a pleasant diversion; it was becoming an essential anchor in his turbulent world.

One afternoon, a squall of minor, yet persistent, issues arose across the island. A supply shipment was delayed, a kitchen pipe burst, and two of his younger siblings were squabbling over a prized confection. Katakuri moved with his usual efficiency, dispatching orders, making calls, his mind a whirl of solutions. Yet, a low thrum of irritation persisted beneath his calm exterior. He found himself, almost unconsciously, seeking you out.

You were in the vast, labyrinthine library, meticulously cataloging old maps. The scent of aged paper and faint cinnamon clung to the air around you. You looked up as he entered, your eyes, as always, holding a quiet, welcoming light. You didn't ask what was wrong, didn't demand explanations. Instead, you simply offered a small, freshly baked cookie from a plate beside you. "They just came out of the oven," you said softly, a gentle invitation in your voice.

He took it, the warm, slightly crisp cookie a surprising comfort in his large hand. He ate it in two bites, the familiar sweetness a momentary balm. He then, to his own surprise, found himself recounting the day's minor frustrations, not in detail, but in a series of clipped, gruff sentences. You listened, truly listened, your gaze unwavering, a silent well of understanding. You didn't offer advice, didn't try to fix anything. You just were.

And in that quiet acceptance, the knot of irritation in his chest began to loosen. The problems hadn't vanished, but his perspective on them had shifted. He felt a quiet sense of calm, a subtle centering that he hadn't realized he craved until you provided it. When he finally rose to leave, the silence between you wasn't empty; it was full, a testament to the unspoken bond that was solidifying between you. He paused at the door, turning his head slightly. "Thank you," he rumbled, the words rough but sincere. It was a rare, almost unprecedented admission from him, a testament to how deeply your quiet presence had begun to affect him. The arranged marriage had indeed become something else entirely. It was becoming a haven.

The "thank you" had been a tremor, a subtle shift in the carefully constructed facade Katakuri presented to the world. For you, it was a confirmation, a quiet acknowledgment that the seed of connection you had diligently, patiently sown was beginning to take root. You didn't press, didn't exploit the rare moment of vulnerability. You simply offered a small, gentle smile, a warmth that resonated with the burgeoning shift within him.

The silent tea rituals evolved. Sometimes, you would softly read aloud from your book, your voice a calm murmur against the backdrop of the bustling island. Katakuri, seemingly absorbed in his own thoughts, would often find himself listening, the words weaving through the usual strategic calculations in his mind. He even began to notice the stories you favored – tales of quiet heroism, of small acts of courage, of unexpected tenderness in harsh worlds. These were the stories that mirrored the silent strength he was coming to see in you.

One particularly stormy night, the type of tempest that rattled the very foundations of Whole Cake Chateau, the power flickered and died. The usual emergency lights clicked on, but the vast, opulent halls felt eerily dark and unsettling. Katakuri, ever vigilant, was already moving to check on security and his siblings. As he passed his quarters, however, a soft light caught his eye.

You were there, not with a flashlight, but with a collection of small, flickering candles, strategically placed to cast a warm, comforting glow. You were not fearful, not flustered. Instead, you were humming a soft tune, carefully placing more candles, your movements calm and deliberate. When he entered, you simply looked up, your eyes reflecting the candlelight, making them seem even brighter.

"It's easier to see," you murmured, "and… it's warmer."

He stood there for a moment, the usual tension in his shoulders finally loosening. The storm raged outside, the world felt chaotic, but in this small pocket of warmth and soft light, with you, there was an inexplicable sense of peace. He found himself, for the first time, simply existing in your presence, without needing to calculate, without needing to guard.

He sat on his usual cushion, and for the first time, you leaned in, gently resting your head against his arm as you continued your quiet work with the candles. He didn't flinch, didn't stiffen. Instead, a warmth, far deeper than the flickering candlelight, spread through him. It was a warmth that settled into his very core, chasing away the lingering chill of the storm and the ever-present weight of his duties. This wasn't just an arranged marriage, a duty to be performed. This was… home. And in that quiet, candlelit room, surrounded by the soft flutter of your presence, Katakuri, the unbreakable warrior, finally understood. This was real. And against all odds, it was beautiful.

BUGGY THE CLOWN ༘⋆𖦹 🎪 🎈

The Compassionate Heart and the Clowns Love (2,145 words)

The salt-laced wind whipped your (Y/N)'s hair across your face as you gazed out at the endless expanse of the Grand Line. A gentle smile touched your lips, a familiar warmth blooming in your chest. You were a beacon of kindness in a world often consumed by chaos and cruelty. Where others saw danger, you sought understanding. Where despair festered, you offered a comforting hand. You were the one who'd sit with someone through their darkest hours, patiently listening, offering words of encouragement, and lifting them back onto their feet. The thought of sacrificing your own well-being for another's safety wasn't a burden; it was simply who you were. You were a good soul, pure and unwavering, a testament to the best of humanity.

And then there was Buggy. He stood beside you on the ship's deck, his signature red nose twitching slightly in the breeze. He was a whirlwind of contradictions, a walking, talking paradox to your own serene nature. Where you were selfless, he was self-serving. Where you were gentle, he was… well, he was Buggy. Loud, theatrical, and prone to dramatic outbursts, he was the kind of person who'd trip over his own feet and then blame the ship for moving. He was undeniably chaotic, a clashing cymbal to your quiet melody. Yet, he was your best friend, a bond forged in the crucible of shared adventures and countless debates. What you didn't know, however, was that beneath all his bluster and clownish antics, Buggy held a secret close to his heart – a fervent, almost obsessive adoration for you. You, the kindest soul he’d ever met, the person who made his chaotic world just a little bit brighter.

You'd often find yourself tending to the small, potted tangerine tree you kept on deck, a splash of vibrant green against the endless blue. Each leaf was carefully inspected, every nascent fruit admired with a quiet joy. Buggy, ever the lurker, would pretend to be polishing his cannons nearby, his gaze, however, was fixed on you. He’d watch as your fingers, so gentle and sure, brushed away a stray speck of dust or tested the soil's moisture. A tiny, almost imperceptible sigh would escape his lips as he saw the soft, contented smile that graced your face. "What a weirdo," he’d grumble to himself, but the words lacked any real bite. Instead, a familiar warmth would spread through his chest, a feeling he refused to name but cherished all the same.

One blustery afternoon, a new recruit, still green and seasick, stumbled against the mast, dropping a tray of freshly baked bread. The loaves, a rare and cherished treat, scattered across the grimy deck. The recruit's face crumpled, tears welling in their eyes, anticipating a harsh reprimand. Before Buggy could unleash one of his famously theatrical tirades, you were there. You knelt, not to scold, but to gather the ruined bread, your voice a soothing balm. "It's alright," you murmured, your hand gently resting on the recruit's shaking shoulder. "Accidents happen. We'll just bake more." You even managed a small, reassuring smile, and the recruit's tears slowly subsided. Buggy, his mouth agape, watched the entire exchange. His planned tirade died on his tongue, replaced by a strange, almost painful ache in his chest. He'd never seen anyone react with such pure, unadulterated compassion. It was in moments like these, witnessing your boundless empathy, that Buggy felt himself tumbling further, irrevocably, in love with you.

You knew Buggy's temper was as short as his stature, and often as explosive as his Buggy Balls. There were countless times his face would contort into a mask of fury, his voice rising to a theatrical roar, usually over something trivial like a misplaced map or a particularly unflattering comment about his nose. Most of the crew would scatter, wisely giving him a wide berth. But not you.

One sweltering afternoon, a clumsy crewmate tripped, sending a precarious stack of Buggy's meticulously polished cannonballs clattering across the deck. The sound of metallic chaos was immediately followed by Buggy's indignant shriek. "You imbecile! Do you know how long it takes to buff these beauties?! They're practically jewels! I'll chop you into a hundred pieces and feed you to the Sea Kings!" His body began to separate, his disembodied hands already twitching with menace.

The poor crewmate, pale and trembling, braced for impact. But then, a calm, steady hand rested on Buggy's arm. It was yours. "Buggy," you said softly, your voice cutting through his enraged bellow like a soothing breeze. "It was an accident. Look, no real harm done. We can gather them up, and I'll even help you polish them again. We have plenty of time."

Buggy's separated limbs paused, his furious eyes blinking. He looked from the scattered cannonballs to your gentle face, then back again. His anger, so quickly ignited, seemed to deflate under your unwavering calm. He let out a dramatic huff, reassembling himself with a flourish. "Hmph! Fine! But only because you asked, (Y/N)! And you'd better polish them until they gleam like my magnificent nose!" He still grumbled, but the genuine threat had vanished, replaced by a theatrical show of lingering annoyance. You simply smiled, already kneeling to pick up the cannonballs, and Buggy, despite himself, found his heart doing a strange little flutter.

Another time, during a particularly frustrating negotiation with a shady merchant, Buggy found himself completely outmaneuvered, his grand plans unraveling before his very eyes. He'd stormed back to the ship, red-faced and fuming, kicking at anything that dared to be in his path. He paced the deck, muttering curses and slamming his fist into his palm. "That conniving weasel! How dare he! He'll regret this! I'll send a Buggy Bomb right through his wretched shop!"

The crew kept their distance, knowing better than to interrupt a Buggy tantrum. You, however, approached him, a mug of steaming tea in your hands. "Buggy," you said, offering it to him. "You look like you could use this."

He glared at the mug, then at you. "What do I need tea for, (Y/N)?! I need revenge! I need to show that miserable flea who he's messing with!"

You gently pressed the warm mug into his hands. "Sometimes," you said, your voice soft and understanding, "a moment of calm can help you think clearer. Besides, you're the greatest captain on the Grand Line. You'll figure out a way to get what you want, without resorting to blowing up perfectly good shops."

Buggy stared at the tea, then at your encouraging expression. The rigid tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, almost imperceptibly. He took a hesitant sip of the tea, then another. He still looked disgruntled, but the wild anger in his eyes had softened into a frustrated pout. "Hmph. Fine," he mumbled, taking another gulp of tea. "But I'm still getting my revenge. Just… after this." He never did end up blowing up the shop that day. And as he watched you walk away, a faint, almost imperceptible blush crept onto his painted cheeks. Every time you treated him with such quiet understanding, such unwavering belief, he felt a pull, a warmth that had nothing to do with the Grand Line's sun, and everything to do with you. He was, completely, hopelessly, madly in love.

The sun dipped below the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and purple. A gentle breeze rustled the ship's sails, carrying the scent of salt and adventure. You were sitting by the railing, gazing at the glittering expanse of the sea, a quiet contentment settling over you.

Buggy, however, was a whirlwind of nervous energy. He paced the deck, his shadow stretching long and distorted in the fading light. His mind was a battlefield, warring between his usual theatrical bluster and a sudden, crippling shyness. He'd rehearsed this moment a hundred times in his head, each version more dramatic and magnificent than the last. But now, with you so close, so calm and effortlessly kind, all his carefully constructed speeches dissolved into a jumbled mess.

He stopped abruptly, facing away from you, his hands clenched at his sides. "Y-Y-You know, (Y/N)!" he blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. "I... I'm the greatest pirate captain on the Grand Line! The magnificent Buggy! No one can compare to my genius, my charisma, my... my incredible nose!" He gestured wildly to his face, but his usual confidence was noticeably absent.

You turned, a small, amused smile playing on your lips. "Of course, Buggy," you said, your voice soft and patient. "No one doubts your magnificent qualities."

His shoulders sagged slightly at your gentle tone. This wasn't going as planned. He spun around, his face a dramatic mask of internal turmoil, his cheeks a surprising shade of crimson beneath his make-up. "B-But... but there's something else! Something... something even more magnificent than my incredible powers and my vast treasure!" He took a shaky breath, his eyes darting to yours, then quickly away. "It's... it's you! You're... you're the most amazing, kindest, most infuriatingly selfless person I've ever met! You make my heart feel all... all weird and tingly! Like a hundred tiny explosions going off at once!"

He finally looked at you, his normally boastful eyes wide with a raw, uncharacteristic vulnerability. "I... I think I'm in love with you, (Y/N)! Madly, completely, utterly in love!" The words tumbled out in a rush, leaving him breathless. He stood there, frozen, waiting for your reaction, his painted smile feeling incredibly stiff. The silence stretched, filled only by the gentle lapping of waves against the hull, and the frantic pounding of Buggy's own heart.

The silence that followed Buggy's confession hung heavy in the air, broken only by the rhythmic lapping of the waves against the ship. Buggy, for once in his life, was utterly still, his eyes wide and vulnerable, fixed on your face. He braced himself for a laugh, a bewildered stare, anything but what came next.

A soft, genuine smile bloomed on your face, a warmth that seemed to banish the last vestiges of twilight from the deck. You stepped closer, your hand gently reaching out to touch his arm. "Buggy," you said, your voice a calm, steady melody that quieted the frantic beating of his heart. "You really are something else."

His breath hitched, and he stared at you, waiting.

You chuckled softly, a sound that sent a strange, delightful shiver down his spine. "Those 'weird and tingly' feelings? I get them too, with you." Your gaze, so open and honest, met his, and he felt a jolt, like a tiny electric current passing between you. "And yes, Buggy. A thousand times yes."

Buggy's jaw dropped. His eyes, usually so expressive in their theatrical fury, were now wide with pure, unadulterated shock. "Y-Y-You... you mean it?" he stammered, his voice barely a whisper. "You're... you're not just being kind?"

You laughed again, a fuller, more joyful sound this time. "No, Buggy," you affirmed, your grip on his arm firm and reassuring. "I'm not just being kind. I really do feel something for you. All of you. Even your magnificent nose." You squeezed his arm gently, your eyes sparkling with affection.

A colossal grin, wider and more genuine than any of his usual theatrical displays, spread across Buggy's face. He let out a whoop of pure delight, so loud it probably echoed across the silent ocean. In a flash of spontaneous joy, he found himself doing something utterly uncharacteristic: he pulled you into a surprisingly gentle, yet firm, hug. His arms wrapped around you, holding you close, and for a moment, the notorious Pirate Captain Buggy, the loud and bombastic clown, was simply Buggy, a man completely, blissfully, and truly in love.

The news spread through the crew like wildfire. Initially, there were whispers, then outright disbelief. "Captain Buggy? In love? With (Y/N)?" But as days turned into weeks, the evidence was undeniable. Buggy, while still prone to his dramatic outbursts, seemed to have a new spring in his step. His threats of dismemberment were often softened by a glance in your direction, and he'd even been caught, on more than one occasion, looking at you with an expression so ridiculously fond it made the crewmates snicker.

You, meanwhile, remained your steadfast, compassionate self, but now there was an added layer of warmth, a quiet joy that resonated with Buggy's newfound, if still chaotic, happiness. You'd still calm his tantrums, still offer gentle guidance, but now, there was an unspoken understanding, a shared tenderness that had blossomed between the kindest soul on the Grand Line and its most theatrical pirate captain. Their journey continued, but now, it was a journey shared, two vastly different individuals sailing under the same flag, bound by a love as unexpected and vibrant as the Grand Line itself.

ROB LUCCI 𓇢𓆸

Kind Soul, Cold Hearted Love (2,158)

A salty breeze ruffled your hair, carrying the scent of the sea and distant islands. It was a familiar comfort, one that always managed to soothe the edges of your heart, no matter the turmoil within. And there was often turmoil. Not from your own spirit, which was a wellspring of empathy and unwavering support, but from the stark contrast of the world around you, and more acutely, the man by your side.

You, dear soul, were a beacon of warmth in a world often shrouded in shadow. You were the soft hand that cradled a weeping friend, the gentle voice that whispered encouragement when hope seemed lost, the unwavering presence that offered solace even at the cost of your own comfort. You would readily throw yourself into harm's way for a stranger, your kindness an almost tangible force, a quiet strength that made you truly one of a kind. You loved with a fierce, unconditional devotion, and that love was currently anchored to a man who embodied everything you weren't.

Rob Lucci. His presence was as cool and unyielding as the deepest ocean, his gaze often distant, calculated. He moved with a predatory grace, his actions driven by a harsh, singular vision of “justice” that frequently left collateral damage in its wake. There was an edge to him, a contained aggression that simmered beneath his composed exterior, a coldness that could send shivers down the spine of even the bravest marine. You were a vibrant bloom, and he, a jagged, beautiful shard of ice. How could two such disparate souls find their way to each other? And more importantly, how could a heart as open as yours navigate the guarded complexities of his? This was the story of your love, a testament to the fact that even the coldest hearts can be touched by the purest kindness, and perhaps, even find a strange, unsettling warmth.

It wasn't a grand, sweeping gesture that drew Rob Lucci to you, but rather a slow, insidious erosion of his carefully constructed indifference. He had always seen the world in stark black and white, good and evil, with himself as the unwavering instrument of the latter's eradication. Emotion was a weakness, compassion a luxury he could not afford in his pursuit of "Absolute Justice." Yet, you, with your boundless capacity for kindness, began to chip away at that hardened resolve.

He first observed it during a mission – a tense standoff in a bustling port town. A stray shot had sent a wooden crate tumbling, threatening to crush a small, frightened child. Before anyone else could react, before even he, with his heightened senses and lightning reflexes, could fully process the danger, you were there. You didn't hesitate, didn't flinch. You simply threw yourself forward, shielding the child with your own body as the heavy wood splintered against your back. A gasp rippled through the crowd, quickly followed by a collective sigh of relief. You, however, merely offered a wobbly smile to the child, brushing dust from their hair as if nothing untoward had happened.

Lucci, perched silently on a rooftop, had watched it all, his eyes narrowed. He processed the data: illogical, inefficient, entirely self-sacrificing for no strategic gain. And yet... the genuine relief on the child's face, the murmurs of gratitude from the onlookers, the soft, unburdened light in your eyes. It was utterly alien to his understanding of the world.

Later, he found you tending to a wounded Marine soldier, your brow furrowed with concern as you carefully bandaged his arm. The soldier, usually gruff and stoic, was speaking softly to you, a rare vulnerability in his voice. You listened, truly listened, offering quiet words of comfort that seemed to possess a strange, healing quality. Lucci felt a peculiar flicker in his own chest, an unfamiliar sensation. He dismissed it as an anomaly, a momentary distraction.

But the anomalies continued. You were always there, a quiet presence of solace amidst the chaos. You offered a drink of water to a tired guard, shared your meager rations with a hungry street urchin, even risked admonishment to gently correct a superior who was being unnecessarily harsh to a subordinate. Each act, small and seemingly insignificant, was a direct contradiction to the ruthless efficiency he embodied.

He started finding excuses to be near you. Not overtly, of course. He would be "observing" a sector you were in, or "analyzing" the crowd near your position. He'd catch glimpses of you, sometimes smiling, sometimes serious, but always radiating that same unwavering warmth. He noticed the way people gravitated towards you, drawn by your innate goodness. He saw how even hardened criminals, when faced with your unvarnished compassion, would sometimes falter, a flicker of something human crossing their eyes.

One evening, under the pale glow of a distant moon, you found him alone, perched on a deserted dock, Hattori nestled on his shoulder. You didn't question his solitude or his presence. Instead, you simply sat a respectful distance away, drawing your knees to your chest, and looked out at the tranquil water. After a long silence, you spoke, your voice soft as the lapping waves. "Sometimes," you murmured, "even the strongest need a moment to just... be."

He didn't reply, didn't even turn his head. But Hattori, his ever-present companion, ruffled his feathers and cooed, a soft, approving sound. You didn't press him, just continued to sit, a silent, comforting presence. It was in that quiet, unassuming moment, amidst the salty air and the vast, indifferent ocean, that something shifted within Rob Lucci. It wasn't a sudden burst of emotion, but a slow, almost imperceptible thaw around the edges of his frozen heart. He didn't understand it, couldn't categorize it, but he knew, with a chilling certainty, that he wanted you near. He wanted that inexplicable warmth to continue to exist in his desolate world, even if he couldn't yet comprehend why. And that, for a man like Rob Lucci, was the beginning of everything.

The stark contrast between you and Lucci was a chasm you, in your boundless optimism, barely perceived. You saw the flicker of something in his eyes, the almost imperceptible softening of his posture when you were near, and mistook it for burgeoning tenderness. You were a creature of pure, unadulterated light, and to you, everyone possessed a spark of that same light, even if it was buried deep. Lucci, however, saw the truth with chilling clarity. He was a predator, a tool forged in the fires of ruthless efficiency, and he knew, with every fiber of his being, that he didn't deserve your softness.

He'd watch you sometimes, when you thought he wasn't looking. You'd be helping a junior agent untangle a complicated knot, your brow furrowed in concentration, a gentle smile playing on your lips when they finally succeeded. Or you'd hum softly to yourself while mending a torn piece of equipment, your movements deliberate and caring. You saw worth in everything, from the smallest insect to the most hardened criminal. Your compassion was a balm that seemed to soothe the raw edges of the world, and it infuriated him, even as it drew him in.

He’d tested it, subtly at first. He'd purposely use a harsher tone with a subordinate in your presence, expecting your gentle rebuke, perhaps even a look of disapproval. Instead, you'd simply offer a quiet suggestion for a more efficient, less confrontational approach, your gaze unwavering, devoid of judgment. It was like trying to chip away at a cloud with a hammer; your kindness simply absorbed the impact, leaving him bewildered.

There was one incident that truly solidified his internal conflict. A subordinate, terrified of Lucci's notoriously short temper, had botched a critical task, leading to a minor but irritating setback. Lucci's gaze had sharpened, his usual calm replaced by a cold fury that promised severe repercussions. The subordinate visibly trembled, bracing for the inevitable. You, however, had stepped forward, placing a reassuring hand on the man's arm.

"It was an honest mistake, Lucci," you'd said, your voice surprisingly firm, "and easily remedied. Perhaps if we approach it from this angle..." You then calmly outlined a solution, one that was both effective and avoided any further humiliation for the blundering agent. Lucci had simply stared at you, his internal algorithms struggling to process this anomaly. You had, without even realizing it, diffused a volatile situation, protected someone from his wrath, and offered a better path forward – all with a simple, genuine act of kindness. He'd dismissed the subordinate with a terse nod, but his eyes remained fixed on you, a strange mix of grudging admiration and self-loathing swirling within their depths.

He knew he was cold. He knew he was aggressive. He had seen the fear in people’s eyes when he entered a room, the way they instinctively recoiled from his presence. And he had accepted it, even cultivated it, as a necessary shield in his brutal world. But you… you saw past the shield. You saw something he himself barely recognized, a glimmer of humanity he had long since suppressed. And the terrifying part was, your gentle touch was starting to make him feel it too. He didn’t deserve it. He was a monster, a weapon, and you were everything good and pure. The thought of tainting you, of dragging you into his darkness, was a stark reality he grappled with every waking moment. Yet, the thought of letting you go, of existing in a world without your unwavering light, was far more unbearable.

The quiet moments became more frequent, the unspoken understanding between you and Lucci deepening with each passing day. Your love didn't burst forth like a supernova; instead, it bloomed slowly, like a desert flower coaxed open by persistent, gentle rain. It was built on the small, almost imperceptible acts of kindness you showered upon him, acts that, to anyone else, might seem trivial, but to Lucci, were profound in their foreignness.

He'd often find a small, meticulously folded napkin tucked into his coat pocket, a fresh fruit or a precisely cut piece of meat wrapped inside – a quiet acknowledgment of his often forgotten meals amidst the chaos of his duties. You never made a show of it, never asked if he’d eaten it. You simply left it, a silent offering of care that gnawed at the edges of his rigid self-sufficiency.

There was the time he'd returned from a particularly brutal mission, his clothes torn and stained, his usual impassive demeanor betraying a hint of weariness. You didn't question, didn't pry. Instead, you simply set out a basin of warm water and a clean cloth, and without a word, began to gently tend to a superficial cut on his arm. Your touch was feather-light, your gaze soft and unwavering. He'd stood there, utterly still, a strange vulnerability washing over him as your fingers, so utterly unlike his own calloused ones, cleaned and bandaged his wound. He couldn't remember anyone ever tending to him with such tender care.

You also had an uncanny knack for anticipating his needs, even before he recognized them himself. If he’d been hunched over mission reports for hours, a slight tension in his shoulders, you’d appear with a steaming mug of tea, or a quiet suggestion for a brief walk. You never demanded, never insisted. It was always a gentle offer, a soft invitation to ease the burden he so stubbornly carried. He'd find himself accepting these small gestures, a foreign warmth spreading through him each time, even as his logical mind struggled to reconcile it with the cold, hard reality of his existence.

One evening, after a particularly grueling assignment, he found you waiting for him in his dimly lit quarters. You weren't imposing or loud; you were simply there, a quiet anchor in his turbulent world. You had a book in your hands, not reading, but simply holding it, your presence a soft counterpoint to the harsh silence. When he entered, you merely offered a small, knowing smile. You knew he needed to decompress, to shed the day's brutality, and you instinctively understood that your quiet, non-demanding presence was exactly what he needed. He didn't speak, nor did you. He simply sat, and for the first time in a long time, the ever-present tension in his jaw began to ease.

These small, constant acts of profound kindness, delivered without expectation or judgment, began to chip away at the fortress he had built around his heart. He saw the world through your eyes, if only for fleeting moments, and in those moments, it didn't seem so bleak, so entirely unforgiving. He knew he was undeserving of such grace, that his darkness could easily eclipse your light. Yet, the thought of your unwavering goodness, of your gentle touch, had become a silent, undeniable craving. He wasn't sure what this unfamiliar feeling was, but every fiber of his being now yearned for the quiet solace you brought.

KID જ⁀➴

Kind Soul, Ruthless Pirate (2,040 words)

The salty spray of the Grand Line was a familiar kiss on your cheek, the chaotic symphony of the waves a lullaby you’d grown to love. You were, by all accounts, a beacon of warmth in a world often consumed by darkness. If someone stumbled, you were the first to offer a steadying hand; if tears fell, your shoulder was a ready haven. You’d sacrifice your own comfort, even your safety, without a second thought if it meant easing another's burden. Your heart, a vast and boundless ocean of kindness, was truly one of the greatest treasures on these seas.

And then there was Eustass Kid. The man who stood at the helm of the Kid Pirates, his crimson coat a stark contrast to your gentle spirit. He was a supernova, a name whispered with a mixture of fear and awe. Cruel, aggressive, and utterly ruthless, he was everything you weren’t. The world often wondered how someone like you could ever find solace, let alone love, with a man like him. Yet, beneath the clanging metal and the fiery glares, there was a different kind of connection—a silent understanding that defied logic. You were the calm to his storm, the quiet anchor that kept him from drifting too far into the abyss. It was a bizarre, beautiful dance, and somehow, it worked. You loved him, and in his own fiercely protective way, he loved you too.

The scent of ozone always clung to Kid, a mix of his devil fruit and the sheer force of his presence. You’d often find yourself unconsciously leaning into it, even when he was grumbling about some perceived slight from Killer or the stupidity of a Marine patrol. One afternoon, you were patching up Heat's torn jacket, a task you'd taken on countless times for the crew. The needle was finicky, and you let out a soft sigh of frustration. Without a word, a large, calloused hand, usually reserved for crushing metal or enemies, reached over and deftly threaded the needle for you. He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the horizon, but the small gesture, the unexpected tenderness in his rough movements, spoke volumes.

Later, as the sun dipped below the waves, painting the sky in fiery oranges and purples, you sat on the ship's railing, watching the endless expanse of the sea. Kid, usually pacing or shouting orders, found his way beside you. He didn’t say anything, just leaned against the railing, his arm brushing yours. The silence between you two was never awkward, but comfortable, filled with an unspoken understanding. You traced patterns on the weathered wood, and then, almost imperceptibly, his pinky finger hooked around yours, a silent anchor in the vastness of the ocean. He'd never admit to such a soft gesture, but you felt the gentle pressure, a quiet affirmation of his presence.

And then there were the nights after a particularly brutal encounter, when the ship was still humming with the aftermath of battle. You’d be tending to the wounded, your hands steady and soft, your voice a soothing balm. Kid, covered in grime and dried blood, would always find you. He wouldn't ask for help, or even acknowledge your efforts directly. Instead, he’d simply plant himself nearby, leaning against a bulkhead, his good eye fixed on you. Sometimes, he’d just watch, a silent, almost possessive vigil. Other times, he’d gruffly shove a mug of hot tea into your hands, or a piece of scavenged fruit, his way of making sure you were taken care of, even as he was still dripping with the fight. Those were the moments that reminded you, and everyone on the crew, that beneath the rage and the metal, there was a fierce, unwavering devotion that only you could truly see.

You knew the signs. The clenching of his jaw, the subtle tremor in his metal arm, the way his voice would drop, becoming a dangerous rumble just before the explosion. It usually started with a trivial insult from a rival captain, a faulty navigational chart, or even just a particularly stubborn knot in a rope. Whatever it was, when Kid's temper flared, the entire crew braced themselves. But you didn't brace; you moved.

One blustery afternoon, a smaller pirate crew dared to challenge Kid's authority, their captain spewing arrogant taunts across the choppy waves. Kid’s hand immediately shot to his hilt, his muscles coiling, the air around him crackling with suppressed magnetism. Before he could make a move, you were there, your hand gently but firmly placed on his bicep. Your touch was like a cool stream against hot iron.

"Kid," you said, your voice soft but clear, cutting through the rising tension. Your eyes met his, and for a fleeting moment, the raw fury in his gaze softened, just for you. "They're not worth it. Let them learn their lesson another day, in a way that doesn't stain your coat." You offered a small, almost imperceptible shake of your head. He glared at the retreating ship, his chest still heaving, but he didn't move. He simply growled, a low, frustrated sound, and the crew collectively exhaled.

Later, after a particularly brutal clash with a Marine patrol, Kid was pacing the deck, the adrenaline still coursing through him. He was muttering darkly, kicking at stray debris, his good eye gleaming with a restless energy that bordered on destructive. The crew gave him a wide berth, understanding the danger. You, however, approached without hesitation.

"You're going to wear a hole in the deck," you remarked, a hint of playful exasperation in your tone.

He stopped, turning his furious gaze on you. "They almost got Killer! And they dared to call us rabid dogs!"

You walked closer, reaching up to gently cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble. His skin was warm, flushed with anger. "And you showed them they were wrong, didn't you?" you soothed, your voice a calm melody. "You protected your crew, like always. You were incredible out there." You could feel the tension slowly drain from his body under your touch. He leaned into your palm almost imperceptibly, his rage slowly dissipating into a simmering warmth. He wouldn't admit it, but your praise, your unwavering belief in him, was the only thing that could truly rein him in.

There were countless other moments, small and significant. A whispered word when he was about to rip someone’s head off for a minor infraction, a steadying hand on his arm when his temper threatened to consume him. You were his anchor, his quiet strength, the one person who could calm the raging storm that was Eustass Kid. And in return, he was fiercely, undeniably yours.

Life on the Grand Line, even with your calming presence, was relentlessly harsh. There were days the storms were less about the weather and more about the weariness that settled deep in your bones. After a particularly harrowing escape from a tenacious Marine Vice Admiral, the entire crew was exhausted, you most of all. You’d spent hours tending to the wounded, your energy completely drained.

You finally collapsed onto a coil of rope, too tired to even make it to your hammock. The salt-laced wind was biting, and you shivered, pulling your worn jacket tighter. Just as you were about to drift into a restless sleep, a large, heavy mass was draped over you. It was Kid’s signature crimson coat, still smelling faintly of ozone and his unique, metallic scent. You opened your eyes to see him standing over you, his back to the railing, seemingly engrossed in the churning waves. He didn't say a word, didn't even look at you, but the warmth of his coat was immediate and comforting, a silent acknowledgment of your fatigue. It was a gesture so unlike his usual aggressive demeanor that it spoke volumes.

Another time, a small, intricate wooden bird carving you'd been working on for weeks—a gift for a tiny, shy islander you’d befriended—slipped from your grasp during a sudden lurch of the ship. It skittered across the deck, heading straight for the churning sea. Your heart leaped into your throat. Before you could even react, Kid's metal arm shot out with lightning speed, snatching the delicate carving mere inches from the edge.

He retrieved it, his fingers, usually so destructive, surprisingly gentle as he held the tiny bird. He squinted at it, a flicker of something akin to curiosity in his eye, before he simply placed it back in your hand. He didn’t comment on your relief, didn't tease you for your clumsiness. He just averted his gaze, as if catching himself in a moment of unexpected tenderness. The crew who witnessed it pretended not to see, a silent testament to the rarity of such a display from their captain.

And then there were the nights when nightmares, remnants of past dangers or the ever-present threats of the sea, would steal your peace. You’d wake with a gasp, heart pounding, the phantom chill of a near-death experience clinging to you. You’d try to calm yourself, but sometimes the fear was too overwhelming. It was during one such night that you felt the gentle dip in the hammock beside yours, and then, a warm, heavy weight settle over your hand. Kid, ever the light sleeper, had noticed your distress. He didn't speak, didn't try to comfort you with words. Instead, he simply stayed there, his large hand enveloping yours, his presence a silent, immovable anchor against the tide of your fears. In those moments, his rough exterior melted away, revealing the unwavering support of the man who, despite all odds, was undeniably there for you.

Their relationship wasn't a grand, sweeping romance, filled with dramatic declarations or public displays of affection. It was built in the small, almost imperceptible moments that stitched their vastly different worlds together.

You often found yourself sketching, capturing the fleeting beauty of the Grand Line on whatever scrap paper you could find. One lazy afternoon, while you were engrossed in drawing a particularly striking sunset, Kid approached. Instead of his usual booming voice, he merely grunted, pulling up a barrel to sit beside you. You braced yourself for a critique, perhaps even a sarcastic jab about your "childish hobbies." Instead, he simply watched, his single eye surprisingly intent on your work. When you finished, he reached out, not to grab, but to gently tap the drawing with a metal finger. "Good," he grunted, a rare, genuine compliment. It was a small word, but from Kid, it felt like a symphony.

Food was another surprising avenue for their connection. While Kid was a notoriously unpicky eater, devouring anything put in front of him with aggressive efficiency, you knew his quiet preferences. If there was a specific, less common fruit scavenged from an island, you'd make sure a portion was always set aside for him, even if it meant foregoing your own. He'd never acknowledge it with words, but you'd catch him sometimes, a fleeting glance in your direction, a tiny, almost imperceptible nod of thanks as he devoured his share.

One chilly evening, after a particularly rough storm, you were bundled up on deck, shivering despite your layers. Kid, who rarely seemed affected by the elements, walked by, then paused. He disappeared for a moment, only to return with two steaming mugs of heavily sweetened tea, a rarity on the ship. He handed one to you, his fingers brushing yours, a silent warmth passing between you. He then settled down beside you, not too close, but close enough that the heat radiating from his large frame offered extra comfort. You drank your tea in comfortable silence, the quiet companionship a testament to the deep, unspoken affection that thrived between you both.

These were the moments that defined your love for Kid: the unexpected acts of consideration, the silent understandings, the unwavering presence. You were his gentle compass in the storm, and he, in his own gruff, powerful way, was your steadfast anchor. It was a love forged not in commonality, but in the profound acceptance of each other's contrasting natures, a testament to the idea that even the fiercest of flames could find solace in the kindest of breezes.

BARTOLOMEO ༉‧₊˚.

Gentle Soul, Boisterous fanboy. (1,925 words)

A soft breeze ruffled your hair as you looked out over the sparkling expanse of the Grand Line. You were a gentle soul, known across islands not for grand feats of strength, but for the quiet power of your compassion. When someone stumbled, you were the first to offer a steadying hand. When tears fell, your embrace was a comforting harbor. You'd willingly stand in harm's way if it meant another's safety, a quiet guardian in a chaotic world.

And then there was Bartolomeo. Your Barty. He was… different. Where you were a gentle ripple, he was a crashing wave, all boisterous declarations and unwavering devotion, particularly when it came to the Straw Hats. His love for Luffy and his crew was a force of nature, often expressed with a protective snarl towards anyone who dared disrespect his idols. He was loud, he was brash, and sometimes, he was absolutely infuriating. Yet, beneath the thorny exterior of the Straw Hat fanboy, you knew there was a fierce loyalty and a heart, however uniquely expressed, that beat just for you. It was a strange harmony, your quiet grace and his roaring passion, but somehow, it worked.

The first time Bartolomeo saw you gently coaxing a frightened stray dog out from under a market stall with soft whispers and a piece of your lunch, he stopped dead in his tracks. He’d been in the middle of a rather loud, one-sided argument with a street vendor who’d dared to suggest "Straw Hat Luffy was just a pirate." His own booming voice had faltered, his eyes fixed on your serene face as the dog, tail wagging, licked your outstretched hand. He felt a strange lurch in his chest, something entirely unfamiliar to the usual surge of fanboy rage.

"Oi, what're you doing with that mutt?" he'd gruffed later, sidling up to you as you shared your water with the now calm animal.

You’d simply smiled, your eyes crinkling at the corners. "He was scared, Bartolomeo. He just needed a little kindness."

He'd grunted, shuffling his feet. Kindness wasn't exactly in his usual repertoire, especially not towards a mangy street dog. But watching you, it seemed… right. Later that day, you found a surprisingly fresh, if slightly squashed, fish left discreetly beside the dog you’d befriended. You knew exactly who it was from, even if he'd never admit it.

One blustery afternoon, a new recruit to Bartolomeo's crew, overwhelmed by the sheer, unadulterated chaos that often followed in the wake of the Straw Hat Fan Club, broke down. He was curled up in a corner, sobbing quietly, convinced he wasn't cut out for pirate life. Bartolomeo, for all his bluster, looked genuinely perplexed, his usual bravado deflating slightly. He just stood there, hands on his hips, completely unsure how to handle a crying man.

You, on the other hand, moved without hesitation. You knelt beside the man, your hand gently resting on his shoulder. "It's alright," you murmured, your voice a soothing balm. "It's a lot to take in at first, isn't it? But you're stronger than you think. We're all here to help each other."

You stayed with him, talking softly, until his sobs subsided and he looked up with a glimmer of hope in his eyes. Bartolomeo, watching from a distance, felt that familiar, strange lurch again. You had a way of seeing past the surface, of finding the vulnerable core that he, with all his walls and his loud exterior, often missed. He might not have understood how you did it, but he knew he was endlessly grateful that you did.

The air was thick with the salty tang of the sea and the screech of gulls as your small ship, the Kind Heart, bobbed gently on the waves. Bartolomeo, as usual, was perched on the figurehead – a surprisingly well-carved depiction of a smiling sheep – his green hair whipping in the wind. He was excitedly pointing towards a hazy island on the horizon, a place rumored to hold a legendary, incredibly rare type of cola that even the Straw Hats hadn't tasted.

"Y/N! Look! That's gotta be it! The Isle of Fizz! I can just imagine how stoked Boss Luffy will be when I tell him I found cola even he's never had!" Bartolomeo's voice boomed across the deck, his enthusiasm infectious despite its volume.

You chuckled, adjusting the worn map in your hands. "The legends also say it's guarded by some rather… enthusiastic creatures, Barty."

He scoffed, slamming a fist into his chest, a green barrier momentarily flickering around it. "Hmph! What kind of weaklings could stand against the great Bartolomeo?!"

You smiled softly. His confidence, though often over the top, was also strangely reassuring. You knew that beneath the bravado, he would always have your back.

As you drew closer to the island, the lush green foliage gave way to towering, oddly shaped rock formations that seemed to bubble and fizz at their peaks. The air grew sweeter, carrying a faint, almost sugary aroma. Suddenly, a volley of sticky, brown projectiles rained down on your ship.

"Cola bombs!" Bartolomeo roared, deflecting the sticky globs with his Barrier-Barrier Fruit. "See, Y/N? I told you there'd be a challenge!" He actually seemed thrilled.

You, however, were more concerned about the creatures launching the attack. They were small, furry beings with large, bulging eyes and what appeared to be miniature cola bottles attached to their backs. They chittered and screeched, their tiny hands furiously squeezing more cola bombs.

"They seem more scared than aggressive," you observed, noticing how they retreated slightly whenever Bartolomeo's barrier appeared. "Maybe we should try talking to them?"

Bartolomeo stared at you like you'd grown a second head. "Talking? To fizzy furballs that are trying to glue us to the deck?"

"Well, fighting them doesn't seem to be getting us any closer to the cola, does it?" you pointed out gently.

With a dramatic sigh and a roll of his eyes, Bartolomeo relented. "Fine, fine. But if they try anything, they're getting a face full of barrier!"

You carefully approached the edge of the ship, offering a piece of the sweet bread you'd baked that morning. "Hello there," you called out softly. "We just want to see the cola. We won't hurt you."

The furry creatures paused their attack, their large eyes blinking curiously at the bread. One particularly bold one crept closer, sniffing cautiously. You held your breath as it tentatively nibbled at the offering. Soon, others followed suit, their chittering softening into more curious sounds.

Bartolomeo watched the scene unfold, his usual boisterousness replaced with a quiet fascination. He saw how your gentle demeanor and genuine kindness were having a far greater effect than any display of strength could.

Eventually, one of the creatures, seemingly the leader, gestured with a tiny paw towards a path leading into the island's interior. It made a series of bubbling noises, and you had a feeling it was inviting you to follow.

"Well, Barty," you said, turning to him with a smile. "Looks like they're willing to show us the way."

He grunted, but there was a hint of admiration in his eyes. "Hmph. Guess being nice ain't always a bad strategy, huh?" He still looked ready to deploy his barriers at a moment's notice, but for now, he followed you onto the Isle of Fizz, a strange blend of gentle diplomacy and impenetrable defense venturing into the unknown.

You lay on the makeshift cot in your ship's infirmary, a bandage wrapped around your arm. The scent of medicinal herbs filled the small space, a stark contrast to the sweet, fizzy aroma of the Isle of Fizz that still clung faintly to your clothes. Bartolomeo paced back and forth in the cramped room, his usual swagger replaced by a tight furrow in his brow.

"I just… I don't understand, Y/N!" he exclaimed, his voice rough with a mixture of worry and exasperation. "Those cola geysers were strong! One wrong step, and – and you just jumped in front of that little fur ball! Why would you do that?!"

You offered him a weak smile. "He looked so scared, Barty. And he was just trying to protect his home, just like we would."

"Protect his home?!" Bartolomeo threw his hands up in exasperation, his green hair swaying wildly. "Y/N, you could have been seriously hurt! That cola could have burned you something awful! And for what? Some… some fizzing rat!"

"They weren't rats, Barty," you said gently, wincing slightly as you shifted. "They were just trying to defend their treasure. Besides," you added, your gaze softening as you looked at him, "you were right behind me. I knew you'd protect me."

Bartolomeo stopped pacing, his face softening slightly, though a hint of his frustration remained. "That's not the point! I shouldn't have to protect you from your own… your own selflessness! You can't just keep throwing yourself into danger like that!"

He knelt beside your cot, his large hands hovering awkwardly above yours, as if unsure whether to touch you. "You're… you're too kind, Y/N. Too good for this world sometimes. And it scares me." His voice was softer now, the booming edge gone. "What if I wasn't fast enough? What if my barrier didn't hold? What would I do then?"

You reached out, your uninjured hand finding his. His fingers were rough, calloused from years of fighting, but his grip was surprisingly gentle. "You would have found a way, Barty. You always do. And besides," you squeezed his hand reassuringly, "I know my limits. I wouldn't do anything truly reckless."

He looked down at your hand in his, a conflicted expression on his face. He knew your heart was pure, that your every action was guided by an innate desire to help others. It was one of the things he loved most about you, this unwavering compassion. But it also terrified him. The Grand Line was a dangerous place, and your tendency to put others before yourself was a constant source of worry.

"Just… just be more careful, okay?" he mumbled, his gaze still fixed on your hand. "Think about yourself sometimes too. You're important, Y/N. More important than any fizzy cola or scared little creature in the world."

You smiled, your heart swelling at his words. For all his bluster and obsession with the Straw Hats, Bartolomeo cared deeply. In his own loud, protective way, he loved you fiercely. "I will try, Barty. I promise. But you have to promise me something too."

He looked up, his green eyes questioning. "What's that?"

"Promise me you'll never stop being you," you said softly. "Your strength, your loyalty… even your crazy fanboy moments. That's all part of why I love you."

A faint blush crept onto Bartolomeo's cheeks, and he looked away, a rare moment of bashfulness. "Tch. Of course not. Who else would protect Boss Luffy's honor with such… enthusiasm?"

But as he looked back at you, a genuine, heartfelt smile touched his lips. He squeezed your hand gently. "Just… try not to give me so many scares, alright?"

You chuckled, a warm feeling spreading through you despite the ache in your arm. "I'll do my best, you big softie."

He scoffed, puffing out his chest. "Softie?! I am the great Bartolomeo!" But the grin on his face betrayed him. In the aftermath of the cola geyser and your selfless act, a deeper understanding had settled between you, a quiet acknowledgment of the contrasting forces that somehow, beautifully, held you together.

[stormruff]

Pairings: Portgas D. Ace x Reader

summary: When your period starts, Ace provides comfort and relief through cuddles

tags: period cramps, cuddling

Shit.. you curled into a ball, arms wrapping around yourself to clutch stomach your stomach in pain. God. Despite knowing and getting ready the day before... nothing could truly brace you for the agony that your period inflicted upon you, both mentally and physically

You weren't even certain about the time, and you had no clue if anyone realized you were absent from your responsibilities. But either way, if you had to be honest. You had no intention of moving from your current spot.

Thirty minutes passed, and you must have dozed off as you were awakened by a knock at your door. You let out a sigh. Opting to disregard it, you snuggle deeper into the blankets.

After a few minutes, you hear the door click and creak open. " babe...?" a familiar voice calls out, causing you to let out another grumble.

"Hey.. are you alright?" you can hear the door shut along with footsteps following up to the side of the bed. "I know that you were on night watch and all but you didn't get up for lunch like you usually do so I thought I'd come to check on you"

The mattress lowered when Ace sat next to you, your back toward him as his hand rested on your hip, giving it a gentle pat. "are you feeling sick?"

You peeked out from the blanket, turning your head to eye him down. "cramps.."

Ace almost didn't hear you, taking a few seconds before he let out a quiet 'oh' sound as it clicked before crawling into the bed next to you.

"what are you─" You feel his arms wrap around you and his face bury into the crook of your neck. "heat helps right?" he mumbled, his hand travelling down your side causing a shiver to run up your spine, his warm hand sliding into your loose shirt to just rest on your lower abdomen.

Instantly sighing in relief, You grabbed Aces arm and hugged it closer, the natural warmth from his body causing you to relax.

"aren't you busy today?"

Ace hummed, placing a kiss on your shoulder. "I'm sure Pop's won't mind; he's got a soft spot for you anyways."

You grin, "I'm just so─" a yawn escapes your lips mid-sentence, causing Ace to smile against your shoulder. " ─oo perfect."

You could feel the other give you a small squeeze. "One of a─" affected by your contagious yawn, tears started to form in his eyes. "─a kind, babe."

Letting himself relax, a comfortable silence fell over you as he snuggled into you. "I love you, (y/n)" he placed a kiss on your cheek.

"I love you too, Ace."

A/N: Hello! im new to tumblr, and it's been a long while since I've written anything. so I hope that this is okay! anything i write will mostly be gender neutral or trans FTM related :)

[stormruff]

Boarding School for Giants (15/25)

***Content Warning: This chapter contains violence/ blood***

------ Chapter 15 ------

I didn’t know how long I laid in the drawer, crying my eyeballs out, but I knew I had to get up eventually, despite feeling so distraught and broken inside. I didn’t have much of a choice, really. If the human-hating principal came back and found me inside the drawer, he might literally kill me, and my mom would get her wish. She wouldn’t have to deal with a bratty, useless daughter like me any longer. I sniffled pathetically and wiped away the last of my soggy, bitter tears. I couldn’t let her win. I had to be stronger. Spiteful anger flared up inside me, bolstered by sorrow. I would show her! 

I slowly sat up, pushing my phone into my pocket. I felt so drained, and I still had to climb all the way back down from the desk to the floor. I heaved a painful sigh. My arms were aching from climbing, and my legs still ached from biking all week. If nothing else, living in a giant world was going to make me very fit. Assuming I would survive, of course. I shuddered and hobbled to my feet. 

Suddenly, I heard a dreadful sound, indeed the last possible sound I would ever want to hear in my situation. A key was jiggling in the lock to the door of the office. My heart dropped into my stomach. It couldn’t be possible. How was the principal here? Now of all times? I surged forward and gripped the fishhook hanging from the front of the drawer, reeling it inside to hide it. I didn’t have enough time to cleverly stash it anywhere. I dashed deeper inside to the back of the drawer, hiding behind a giant box of staples. I waited in silence, my heart pumping wildly. 

I heard the click of the lock, and the giant door creaked open. Time seemed to freeze for a moment as whoever opened the door paused. I heard huge footsteps slowly thudding across the floor, around the desk. What little light filtered in through the opening of the cracked drawer was blocked by an enormous body, leaving me swallowed in darkness. I was terrified. In the dreadful, suspenseful quiet, I could hear steady masculine breathing from massive lungs. I felt horribly infinitesimal and vulnerable, compared to the giant outside. Why was he here? Did he know I was inside?

Abruptly, the drawer was pulled open, flooding the space with light. My heart bounced from my stomach to my throat in fear. A monstrous hand with hairy knuckles forced its way inside, rifling through the oversized office supplies. I cowered in the corner, with nowhere else to run or hide. The hand came closer, effortlessly pushing the obstacles to the side. I considered, for a foolish second, stabbing at the flesh with my fishhook, but I realized I still wouldn’t be able to escape, and what a terrible idea it would be to make the giant angry. The fingers bumped into me and stopped their violent search, squeezing my small form in immediate recognition. 

“Aha!” the giant declared, roughly closing his fingers around me. “I knew you were in here!” He forcefully dragged me out inside his massive fist. I involuntarily cried out in pure terror. He laughed cruelly and glared down at me. He was colossal, towering over me and engulfing me in his inky shadow. His dark eyes blazed with hatred under his bushy eyebrows. 

“H-how…?” was all I could manage to squeak out. 

“How did I know you were in here?” the giant finished my question, raising me up to his vast face. I flinched away. Using his free hand, he pointed a thick finger at the upper corner of the room. My eyes followed to find a security camera staring back at me. 

“It’s a private camera I had installed a while back that feeds directly to my house. It’s motion sensitive, so it alerts me if it sees somebody sneaking around. I rushed over here as soon as I was aware of your debauchery,” he explained in his baritone voice. “Judging by your destination, I’m willing to bet you were trying to steal your phone back, were you not?” 

When his answer was met with silence, he tightened his fingers around me savagely in an implicit threat. “Yes!” I gasped out, before any of my bones snapped. He loosened his hold on me, setting me down in his open palm.  

“Give it to me,” he demanded in a low, growling tone, gesturing with his other hand. I knew better than to refuse this time, and reluctantly relinquished my cherished device to his free hand. He maneuvered the phone, so ridiculously tiny to him, in between the tips of his thumb and index finger. He looked me in the eyes deliberately, smirked, and with a light squeeze smashed the phone between his fingers, easily shattering it into shards of metal and glass. 

“Hey!” I cried out in protest, without thinking of the consequences. My phone had been destroyed! I was so upset. My only link to the human world was gone. My hands balled into fists. 

“Is there a problem, little human?” the principal snarled, coiling his fingers around me again in a crushing grip. I shrieked with pain and fear, remembering again how fragile I was in the hands of a cruel giant like him. I shook my head frantically. He leaned in closer to me, close enough for me to feel his hot, sour breath. 

“You know, breaking into the principal’s office is a serious offense,” he threatened. I whimpered. After the emotional whiplash I had gone through only moments before, I couldn’t stop tears from dripping down my cheeks. “I can’t let you go without some sort of punishment.” I felt a wave of dread, unable to conceive what he planned to do with me. 

He reached back into the drawer, fishing around a bit before pulling out my handmade grappling hook. He rubbed the wicked edge with his finger thoughtfully. “This will do nicely. The punishment shall fit the crime.” A black horror clawed at my guts. 

Without warning, the giant slammed me down on the desk, pinning me on my belly with his enormous fingers. I struggled, but my tinny movements were no match against his gargantuan strength. He took the fishhook in his other hand and used the sharp edge to slice through the back of my shirt, tearing it open and exposing the bare skin of my back. I lost my mind at the unhinged ruthlessness of his actions and started to scream in panic, pushing against his fingers fiercely. 

He drew in his face inches from mine, filling my vision with his immense grinning lips and teeth, framed by his black facial hair. “Scream all you want,” he said with his loud bass voice in my ear. “Nobody will hear you.” He laughed long peals of vicious laughter that sent a shiver down my spine. The cold metal of the giant hook touched my skin. He traced the curve of my back lightly with the sharp tip. “I’m going to enjoy this.” 

Searing pain shot through me as the hook dug into my skin and tore down the full length of my back. I screamed and screamed and screamed as hot blood gushed out of the wound. Another slice followed down the other side, tearing me open anew. The principal continued to laugh sadistically, as if he were a cartoonish evil villain in a movie. I was in hell. The giant flipped the hook around and started beating me with the solid blunt side. While the strikes to him were probably nothing more than light strokes, to me the solid metal was ramming into my back with agonizing force. I pleaded with him to stop, begged him to forgive me my transgression, but he refused to relent, showed me no mercy. Eventually, whether from the blood loss or the pain, I passed out. 

When I came to, the first thing that shot at me through the blackness was pain, awful pain. My back was alive with sharp, hot agony, all over, from my shoulders to my hips. I tried to raise myself off the ground with my arms but my body was too weak. The black in my vision faded to gray, until the room swam into focus and I could discern I was no longer in the principal’s office. I was back in the human dormitory, sprawled out on the floor next to the table in the kitchen. I assumed the principal must have dumped me here, not wanting to leave me bleeding out all over the desk in his office. The thought of that abusive beast of a man carrying my unconscious, battered body here, hiding me in his hand from anyone who passed him in the halls, severely creeped me out. 

I shivered. My body was feeble and cold. My upper half was wrapped up in my shredded shirt, soaked with blood. I tried to get up again, but was confronted with a heaving stroke of dizziness and collapsed back down. Nausea climbed into my throat and I dry heaved bile onto the hard ground. I probably needed medical care, but there was nothing I could do for the time being except lay on the floor helplessly. I lost consciousness again. 

I woke up again, this time later in the evening. I groaned and finally managed to work my way into a sitting position without my head spinning. The room was dark, the light coming in from the windows fading to a deep blue. I struggled to get to my feet and stumbled to the bathroom on sickly, frail legs. My reflection in the mirror was waxen, my eyes hollow with dark circles underneath. I looked almost as terrible as I felt. I turned around and peeled back my shirt to examine my burning, throbbing wounds. 

I audibly gasped. The sight was horrific. My back was stained black and purple with one big, livid bruise, all the individual bruises having melded together into an amorphous whole. I had two long gashes through my skin that were crusted over with dried blood, while still leaking fresh fluid. I wanted to cry. While the slashes weren’t deep, I wasn’t sure if they would heal properly without stitches. I realized with misery that there was nobody here to help me. Mr. Henderson wouldn’t be back until tomorrow, and I wasn’t too keen on entering the dormitory for the giant boys to seek out Joey, especially with my unpleasant memories from last time when I was carried in there against my will. With how bad my injuries were, I didn’t want to risk it. Furthermore, I didn’t know where the nearest hospital was, and I couldn’t exactly walk there myself even if I did. 

I resigned myself to my fate, at least for tonight. Even though I had been passed out for most of the day, I was exhausted and could barely stand without feeling lightheaded. I shuffled to my bed and fell down on top of it, my head swimming. I huffed in misery and curled up in the sheets, letting fatigue take me away from this cruel world, if only for a little while. 

The morning came all too soon. This time I woke up not just because of the searing, throbbing wounds in my back, and the pounding in my head, but also an irritating thirst that left my mouth and throat unpleasantly dry. I got up slowly, to prevent myself from passing out on the floor, and gulped water from the bathroom sink. Overnight my oozing wounds had soaked through my nightshirt. I didn’t have any bandages, so I put on a double layer of shirts underneath my school uniform to wick away the excess drainage, hoping nobody would notice. After I made myself reasonably presentable for school, I regarded my backpack for a moment, then decided there was no possible way for me to put that thing on my aching back, and left it behind. I stuffed a pencil and some sheets of paper in my pocket and headed out. 

As if the universe wanted to dump more agony on my shoulders, it was pouring rain outside. I didn’t have a raincoat or umbrella either. Perhaps I had been fortunate not to bring any of my books or my bag, because all my school supplies would have gotten soaked through anyways. I sighed and turned to the bike rack. My bike was not there. I rubbed my eyes in disbelief and did a double take. Oh shit. My bike was still in the principal’s office. A surge of nausea and dread flowed over me. I guess my bike was lost forever now, because there was no way I was going back voluntarily to the principal’s office to reclaim it. 

It would be impossible for me to get to school on time by walking there, rather than biking. Maybe if I skipped breakfast I wouldn’t be too late. I sighed again, and started the long journey. I wasn’t one to give up easily; I would have to try. Unfortunately, in my current physical state, I wasn’t sure if I could even make it without fainting, with all the blood I had lost. I already felt a bit woozy just walking, struggling to put one foot in front of the other. Today was going to be a horrible day. 

Next chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731606805917138944/boarding-school-for-giants-1625?source=share

1st chapter: https://www.tumblr.com/voraciousvore/731600430392639488/boarding-school-for-giants-125?source=share

[stormruff]

Trafalgar law x sick reader

Despite being renowned surgeon, the one person law loved most was also the only person he could save.

You woke with the faint feeling of emptiness beside you.The right side of the bed—his side—was already cool to the touch. Not surprising. Law was always up early. You, on the other hand, tended to stay behind a little longer, resting. Not out of laziness, but necessity. Being a pirate with a chronic, degenerative condition wasn’t easy. It was exhausting, mentally and physically, and even with all your training, all your stubborn bravery, your body couldn’t always keep up.

You blinked up at the metal ceiling of the Polar Tang and slowly pushed yourself upright. Immediately, a familiar tingle spread down your legs—a prickling numbness that warned you not to stand too quickly. You knew better than to ignore it.

You tried anyway.

Your feet hit the floor and for a brief second, you felt hopeful.

But then your right leg gave out.

You fell back onto the bed with a soft thud, shoulders slumped, and stared at the floor in silence. It was happening more often now—temporary paralysis, fading motor control, the weakening of your limbs. Your family’s neurological condition was progressing. There was no cure. You had accepted that a long time ago.

Still, that acceptance didn’t stop the ache in your chest when you couldn’t even stand on your own.

The door creaked open quietly, and Law stepped in with a mug of coffee in one hand and a book tucked under the other arm. His hair was unkempt, still damp from a quick rinse, and his ship hat was missing—probably left somewhere near his desk again. When he saw you sitting on the edge of the bed, legs trembling and eyes distant, he paused mid-step.

“Good morning, baby,” you said with a soft smile, trying to lighten the mood, even as your heart felt like it was being pressed under a stone.

He gave you a small smile in return—gentle, tired—but his gaze dropped immediately to your legs.

He always noticed. He always knew.

Wordlessly, Law walked across the room and set the mug down. His hand reached for your chin, tilting it upward until his lips pressed against yours in a soft, lingering kiss. You could feel his hesitation, his unspoken worry, woven into the tenderness of the gesture.

“Good morning, beautiful,” he murmured as he pulled away. Then, with a glance downward, he asked in that deceptively calm tone of his, “Are your legs struggling again today?”

You nodded once, barely.

He crouched in front of you without hesitation, You felt his thumbs begin to press slow, purposeful circles into your calves and soles—stimulating circulation, chasing away the cold stiffness that was slowly stealing your independence.

“You don’t have to do this every morning,” you said softly, even though you were already grateful. Even though his hands felt like salvation, "but thank you".

“You don’t need to thank me,” he murmured, not looking up. “This is the least I can do.”

You blinked down at him. There was a sharp guilt in his voice—barely noticeable to anyone else, but you knew him too well not to catch it. Guilt that hadn’t left him since the moment he found out about your condition.

You remembered that night clearly. You were mid-fight when your arms gave out completely, leaving you helpless. Afterward, when he questioned you, you told him everything. The disease, the symptoms, the slow, inevitable decline.

At first, he’d been furious. Not at you—but at the world. At the idea that something was hurting you and he couldn’t stop it.

He didn’t yell. He didn’t break anything. He just stood there, quiet and rigid, as you told him you were born with it. That it was chronic. That it couldn’t be cured. That you weren’t afraid.“I don’t mind dying young,” you’d said, smiling through it all. “As long as I get to live my life the way I want. No regrets.”He had stared at you like he didn’t know whether to kiss you or scream.

After that, he’d thrown himself into research. You’d find books scattered on his desk, diagrams of the human nervous system pinned up on the wall, handwritten notes scribbled between surgeries and missions. You caught him one night—long past midnight—flipping through medical journals with tired eyes, still searching for something, anything, that might change your fate.

You told him to stop.

You begged him not to waste his time on something that couldn’t be undone.

But he never listened.

He still doesn’t.

Now, kneeling before you, his hands still carefully working warmth back into your legs, you reached down and touched his hair.

“This is more than enough, Law,” you whispered. “You’re done more than enough.”He paused. For a moment, he didn’t say anything. Then he looked up at you, eyes dark and aching.

“You’re too kind,” he said quietly.

But you weren’t. Not really. You were just someone who loved him. And he was someone who carried the unbearable weight of wanting to save you, even when he knew he couldn’t.

In Law’s mind, you were the one person who had loved him without conditions. Without judgment. Without fear. And he would move heaven and sea to delay your decline—even if it meant chasing a cure that didn’t exist.

So he stayed there with you, silent and steady, hands still gently massaging your legs. As if his touch alone could keep you here. As if it could buy you time.

And you let him believe it might.

Because for now, this moment—this stillness—was enough.

[stormruff]

Law x g/n Reader. Sad with comfort. Acceptable for all ages. MDNI with any works labeled 18+. Not beta read.

"I don't think I can do this anymore."

Law looks up from his own paperwork to stare you down, a curious and slightly worried look in his eyes as he slowly asks,

"Is the work confusing or are you-"

"I mean, in general. Doing.... this."

The way you wave your arm around the entire room and towards him in an almost nonchalant manner makes him sit back in his chair, loosely crossing his arms as he tries again,

"Elaborate. What are you finding difficult?"

You frown at him, trying to fight back the scalding tears that prickle the corners of your eyes as you bite out, "Everything. This, us, you, me, the ship, the crew, the world - I am overwhelmed and annoyed, and I want the world to stop turning for thirty seconds."

Law hums under his breath in agreement, knowing exactly where you were coming from. It takes him a minute, but as you wipe at your eyes, he finally replies,

"Remember what you told me, when I had that little mental break a few months ago?"

You sniffled slightly with a nod, "Yeah I do, why?"

Law continues, "Everything that happens has a reason. Every action demands a reaction, and it's on you to determine what reaction you're going to give. We are not perfect creatures, we exist to learn and experience new things every day, and it's not our fault when things get overwhelming. Sometimes life throws us more than we're capable of handling on our own."

Law uncrosses his arms and reaches over to you, gently pulling you in your wheeled chair closer to him so he could hold your face in his slightly sweaty palms, continuing a little softer, "That's why we have connections, why we bring people we trust into our lives so they can help carry the burden. You tell me so often that I have to rely on the people around me, but why are you sitting here not taking your own advice?"

Tears finally spill over, wetting Law's thumbs as they caress over your cheekbones and under your eyes gently, wiping away a few streaks. "I wish I could Shambles the sadness out of you and give it to a Marine Admiral, but the best I can do is remind you that you are home, you are safe and you are loved."

He presses his forehead against yours, letting the tip of his nose rub against yours before he gives you a few soft kisses. Pride and adoration swell in his chest at the small smile you give against his lips.

When he pulls away, one of his hands leaves your face to pick up your left hand from your lap, his thumb grazing over the thin, beautiful ring on your finger, matching the one on his own left hand. "You're stuck with me, remember? We go through everything together from now on."

A genuine smile washes over you at his words and you nod again, pressing a few more kisses to his lips as your fingers intertwined with his. "I love you," you murmur against his lips, to which he squeezes your hand gently. He watches with half lidded eyes as you pull back, immediately bringing the back of your ringed hand to his lips to hum against your skin, "I love you, always."

After a few moments, Law brings your intertwined hands to his lap, and he asks, "Shall we take an impromptu nap? I think we both need one."

You hide a yawn behind your free forearm with a slight nod, now exhausted from the sudden emotional rollercoaster. "Yes, please."

Law gave the hint of a smile, and before you could blink, you were both Shambled away, leaving only scattered papers across the desk.

DO NOT PLAGIARIZE, STEAL, REPOST OR RUN MY WORKS THROUGH AI.

ALL FANWORKS/FANFICS WRITTEN BY THIS BLOG ARE OWNED BY MANDIEMEGATRON.

[stormruff]

Heartstrings pt.2

trafalgar law x reader

part 1 - part 3

amid the chaos of punk hazard, you reunite with trafalgar law, stirring old memories, buried emotions, and a shared past haunted by corazon’s death. but there's no time to dwell—doflamingo’s name resurfaces, and this time, you refuse to let history repeat itself.

tags: punk hazard and dressrosa spoilers I guess, angst to fluff, childhood friends, slow burn

a/n: this isn't really what happened in the anime/manga but I couldn't remember it all and couldn't make it too long lmao

word count: 3.4k

masterlist || ko-fi

You don’t know how long you stand there, wrapped around Law like you’re afraid he’ll vanish. Maybe a few seconds. Maybe a lifetime.

All you know is that for the first time in years, the weight on your chest feels just a little lighter.

Eventually, though, Law shifts.

You feel it before he actually moves, the slight tension returning to his frame, the way his fingers twitch like he’s restraining himself. And then, with a sigh, he pulls away.

Not all at once. It’s slow, almost reluctant. But it happens. And you let him.

Because even if he won’t say it, you know this was a lot for him.

He clears his throat, glancing away, shoving his hands back into his pockets. His usual mask slides back into place, the unreadable, too-cool-to-care captain of the Heart Pirates.

But you don’t miss the slight red tint at the tips of his ears.

“You done being dramatic?” he mutters.

You snort, rolling your eyes “Oh, I’m sorry. Did I ruin your broody loner aesthetic?”

Law gives you a flat look “You ruined it the second you showed up.”

You grin “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

He mutters something under his breath but you catch it.

“…Should’ve known you’d be like this.”

And for the first time in a while, you feel lighter.

The mood doesn’t stay light for long.

Dressrosa looms ahead.

The tension on the ship shifts the moment the island comes into view. The crew gathers on the deck, eyes fixed on the landmass in the distance.

Even Luffy, who’s usually oblivious to tension, seems unusually serious.

You stand beside Law, arms crossed, heart pounding.

“We have a plan,” Law says, addressing the Straw Hats. His voice is level, but you can hear the edge beneath it “We need to be careful. Doflamingo isn’t someone you can take lightly.”

Luffy grins, cracking his knuckles “We’re taking him down, right? Sounds simple to me.”

You groan “Luffy... this isn’t a bar fight, this is—”

“—war,” Law finishes, cutting you off. His gaze flickers to you for a second before returning to the others “And we can’t afford to lose.”

You swallow hard.

Lose.

You don’t like that word. Because losing means watching everything fall apart. It means losing more people.

It means losing Law, and you’re not letting that happen.

Luffy, of course, is completely unfazed “We won’t lose.” He grins, full of confidence, full of that ridiculous faith of his “We’ve got you and Y/N with us, right?”

You blink “Huh?”

Luffy just laughs “You and Law are like, super serious about this guy. It’s personal, yeah?”

Your stomach twists.

Law goes rigid.

Luffy doesn’t seem to notice. He just grins wider “Then we’ll win for sure.”

You don’t know what to say to that.

Law doesn’t either.

But when you glance at him, when your eyes meet there’s something unspoken there, something that means, we’re in this together.

No matter what happens next.

The Thousand Sunny docks at Green Bit, just off Dressrosa’s coast. The island is as beautiful as it is deceptive with its bright skies, warm air, a paradise hiding a monster beneath.

Law stands at the railing, arms crossed, gaze fixed on the distant city. You don’t need to ask what he’s thinking.

You already know.

You step beside him “We’re really doing this.”

Law doesn’t respond right away. Then, in a quiet voice, he says, “It’s not too late for you to stay behind.”

You scoff “Are you serious?”

“I don’t want you involved more than you have to be.”

You stare at him “Law, I’ve been looking for you for years. I followed every scrap of news, chased every rumor, just to find out if you were still alive—and now you think I’m gonna just sit this out?”

Law’s fingers twitch at his sides. He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Your voice softens “I’m not leaving you to fight this alone.”

His jaw tightens. But he doesn’t argue.

Because he knows you won’t back down.

Because deep down, he doesn’t want you to.

The plan is set.

Law, Usopp, and Robin will exchange Caesar for their end of the deal with Doflamingo. Meanwhile, Luffy and the others will head into Dressrosa.

Simple.

At least, it’s supposed to be.

You’re supposed to stay with Luffy’s group. That was the agreement.

But as you step onto Dressrosa’s streets, surrounded by laughter, music, the scent of fresh food filling the air, you feel like your skin is on fire.

Like you’re walking straight into the past.

Like he’s watching you already.

You swallow hard.

Luffy is already distracted by the town’s wonders (and the scent of meat). The crew is focused on blending in. But you... you can’t shake the feeling that something is wrong.

That something is waiting for you.

Your stomach churns. Your fists clench.

And before you know it you’re running.

Ignoring Luffy’s shout behind you. Ignoring the looks you get from people on the street.

You don’t stop.

Not until you reach the one place you know Law is supposed to be, because something tells you you don’t have time to wait.

Your heart pounds in your chest as you race through Dressrosa’s streets. The sun is bright, the people are laughing, but to you, it’s all wrong.

Your instincts scream at you that something isn’t right.

Law is walking into Doflamingo’s hands.

And you’re not about to let that happen.

You weave through the crowd, nearly knocking over a vendor’s cart. The shopkeeper yells after you, but you don’t care. You have one goal.

Find him.

You don’t know how long you run before you finally spot Law, Usopp, and Robin, standing near the bridge to Green Bit.

You barely slow down before skidding to a stop in front of them, panting “Law—!”

Law’s eyes snap to you immediately, sharp and questioning “What are you doing here?”

Robin and Usopp look confused, but you don’t have time to explain.

“You can’t go through with this” you blurt out.

Law’s expression hardens “We don’t have a choice.”

“Yes, we do!” You step closer, your chest tightening “You think Doflamingo’s just going to let this trade happen? You think he’s going to honor any kind of deal? It’s a trap, Law.”

Law doesn’t flinch. He just stares at you, completely unreadable.

“I know.”

You freeze “What?”

“I know it’s a trap,” he says calmly, like it doesn’t even matter “But we don’t have any other options.”

You feel like you’ve been punched.

“Then why are you walking into it?!” you snap, grabbing his coat “I didn’t come all this way just to watch him take you again!”

Law’s golden eyes widen, just for a second.

Then his expression shifts.

“…Take me again?”

Your breath catches.

Shit.

You didn’t mean to say that.

Law doesn’t look away “You think I wouldn’t fight?” his voice is low, measured “You think I’d let him take me?”

“That’s not what I meant—”

“Then what did you mean?”

You bite your lip, frustration bubbling in your chest “I meant—”

I meant I can’t lose you.

I meant I’ve been chasing after you for years, and I only just got you back, and I can’t... ugh

You swallow hard, shaking your head “I meant I’m not letting you do this alone.”

Law exhales sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose “You’re impossible.”

“You love it.”

He doesn’t deny it.

But then, his expression darkens. He steps closer, voice quieter “This isn’t just about me. It never was.”

You know what he means.

Corazon.

Doflamingo.

Everything you lost.

Everything he lost.

You take a slow breath “…I’m coming with you.”

Law doesn’t argue. But his jaw tightens.

You don’t have to wait long.

The moment Law steps onto Green Bit’s bridge to make the exchange with Doflamingo, the air turns heavy.

The jungle hums with life, but everything else is too quiet. Too still.

You tense, standing just behind Law, Usopp, and Robin. Your eyes scan the treeline, your stomach twisting.

Then the sound of footsteps. And a voice you haven’t heard in years.

“Well, well…”

Your blood freezes.

A shadow steps out from the trees, a tall figure in pink feathers, grinning like a demon.

Doflamingo.

His sunglasses gleam in the light, his expression unreadable until his gaze lands on you.

He stops dead.

“…Oh?”

You grip your fists, trying not to react.

Law tenses beside you, his hand already on Kikoku.

Doflamingo’s grin widens.

“Well, now THIS is a surprise.” His voice is mocking, laced with amusement “I thought you were dead.”

Your stomach churns, but you keep your face blank “Sorry to disappoint.”

Doflamingo laughs. A low, slow chuckle, like this is the most interesting thing that’s happened all day.

His eyes flick to Law.

“Didn’t know you were the sentimental type, Corazon’s little brat.”

Law’s grip tightens on his sword “Shut up.”

Doflamingo ignores him. His grin turns sharp, wolfish.

“Now it makes sense. I always wondered what kept you going after Corazon died.” His sunglasses flash as he tilts his head “Tell me, Law… how long have you been dragging your little lover into your mess?”

Your brain short-circuits “Excuse me?”

Law visibly twitches “She’s not—”

“Oh, come on.” Doflamingo smirks, stepping forward “The way you’re standing in front of her? The way she’s glaring at me like she’s ready to rip my throat out? Cute.”

Your face burns.

You point at him, scowling “First of all, you’re disgusting. Second, if I wanted you dead, you’d already be bleeding.”

Doflamingo grins wider “Spicy. No wonder Law likes you.”

Law looks murderous.

Usopp, watching from the sidelines, whispers, “Uh. Should we be here for this?”

Robin hums “It’s getting interesting.”

Meanwhile, you’re seething “Don’t act like you know anything about me.”

Doflamingo just laughs again “Oh, but I do. I remember everything, little one.” His voice drops, something darker curling beneath it.

“I remember how Corazon used to look at you two.”

Your breath catches.

Law goes rigid.

Doflamingo grins “You were both his stupid, dumb kids.”

The world feels smaller, colder.

Because you remember it too.

Corazon’s laughter. His warmth. The way he used to ruffle Law’s hair, the way he used to pull you into his coat when you were cold.

The way he died for you both.

Law’s voice is low, dangerous “Enough.”

Doflamingo chuckles “What? Can’t handle the truth?”

Your hands shake. Not from fear but from rage.

You clench your fists, stepping forward “You have no right to talk about him.”

Doflamingo smiles lazily, but his eyes are sharp “Oh, but you do?”

The words sting.

Because for years, you avoided this. Avoided thinking too hard about Corazon, about Law, about everything you lost.

You ran.

And now, it’s caught up to you.

Law moves before you can.

His sword is out, his stance set. “We’re done here.”

Doflamingo tilts his head “Oh, I don’t think so.”

And then everything happens at once.

The bridge shakes. Threads of white string shoot toward you.

And before you can react Law grabs your arm and shambles you away.

Your vision blurs. One moment, you’re staring at Doflamingo’s smug face, the next, you’re standing on the other side of the bridge.

Too far from Law.

“Damn it—!” You whip around, just in time to see threads cut through the air where you’d just been. Thin, deadly, fast.

Law dodges, barely. But his coat tears, a red line appearing on his arm.

Doflamingo laughs “Tch, still quick on your feet.”

Your stomach twists. Law is alone over there.

And Doflamingo is still smiling.

You move without thinking.

But the second you take a step forward more strings fly.

“Shit!” You barely dodge, hitting the ground in a roll. The threads slice through the bridge like butter.

Doflamingo tilts his head at you “You should be careful. I might start to think you care.”

Your teeth grind “Oh, screw you.”

Law snaps his fingers “Room.”

A blue sphere expands. He teleports to your side in an instant, his hand grabbing your wrist, tight, grounding.

“You’re reckless” he mutters.

You glare up at him “Like you’re any better?”

Law doesn’t answer. But his grip doesn’t loosen either.

Doflamingo clicks his tongue “You two really are inseparable, gives me a good idea.”

He lifts a hand and suddenly, the sky turns white.

Threads spread above you like a spider’s web, casting a shadow over the bridge.

Your heart races.

Doflamingo smiles “Let’s see if Corazon’s little brats can survive this.”

Then he brings his hand down and the web falls.

You barely see it happen.

Law’s beside you, his hand wrapped tight around your wrist, his breath ragged with effort, “Room” stretched to its limit.

Snap.

A glint of string. A flicker of movement.

And then you’re gone.

The air leaves your lungs as you’re yanked backward, the force like a hook in your gut. You scream, twisting, but the threads around your limbs are too tight. They bite into your skin, slicing deeper with every movement.

You hear Law shout your name. Hear the panic, raw and sharp in his voice.

But it’s too late.

Doflamingo is smiling.

The next thing you know, you’re slammed onto cold stone. Disoriented. Gasping.

You’re inside some kind of ornate chamber, gaudy, too gold, too bright. A palace dressed in blood.

You’re in his domain now.

Doflamingo stands above you, relaxed, calm, like this is just another game. His threads retract into his fingers with lazy grace.

“You know,” he drawls, brushing imaginary dust off his coat, “I wasn’t planning on taking any souvenirs today.”

You glare up at him, trying to get your limbs under you “I’m not a souvenir.”

He laughs amused “No, no. You’re something else, aren’t you?”

He crouches beside you, sunglasses gleaming. His grin is all teeth “You're Law’s little shadow, just as the good old times.”

You jerk back instinctively, but you’re still bound. His strings have you like shackles.

“You should’ve seen his face instead of fainting like an idiot” Doflamingo continues, voice smooth and cruel “Utter panic. I never saw him like that.”

You go still.

He knows exactly what he’s doing. And he’s enjoying every second of it.

“You really don’t get it, do you?” he says, tilting his head like he’s studying a curiosity “You think you’re just part of this little rebellion. But you—you’re actually Law’s weakness right now. I can use Corazon’s name a million times to make Law lose control but you… you could do so much better than just that ghost.”

You don’t speak. You won’t give him the satisfaction.

He stands, turning his back to you like he’s already won “I wonder what he’ll do to get you back.”

Your chest twists because you know Law will come for you and that’s exactly what Doflamingo wants.

He gestures with one hand and the threads yank you to your feet. Your body screams in protest, muscles burning.

He leans in close.

“You two aren’t subtle, you know,” he murmurs, low and mocking “The way he looks at you? Like he’d burn the world down just to keep you breathing.”

You snap, “He’s not—”

But Doflamingo cuts you off with a smirk “Oh, but he is, little one.”

His smile turns cold “And now I have you.”

He strides to the door, tossing a glance over his shoulder “Make yourself comfortable. You’re going to be here for a while.”

The door slams shut and you’re alone. Bleeding. Furious... Afraid.

Meanwhile Law stands in the rubble, chest heaving, blood running down his side. His haki’s fading. And you’re not there.

He’s frozen, staring at the empty space where you’d been just seconds ago.

Gone.

Doflamingo’s laughter still echoes in the trees.

Robin and Usopp are shouting, but Law doesn’t hear them.

He only hears your name.

His hand clenches around Kikoku’s hilt. Now, you are alone and it’s his fault.

You’re still in the palace when the explosion hits.

The walls tremble. A distant boom echoes through the stone. You stumble, heart racing... they’re here.

Luffy. Law.

They’re fighting him.

Your chest tightens.

You don’t know how long you’ve been here, trapped in this golden hell, toyed with like you’re just another one of Doflamingo’s games. But now, the tides are changing.

You can feel it.

Chaos tears through Dressrosa.

Luffy and Law crash through the palace in a storm of fury and fire, slamming into Doflamingo with every ounce of rage they’ve buried for years.

“You really don’t learn, do you?” Doflamingo sneers, flicking blood from his lips “Even together, you can’t kill me.”

Law’s eyes burn gold “We’re not here to kill you.”

Luffy’s fist cracks with Haki “We’re here to end you.”

And for a moment Doflamingo’s smile falters.

Then he sees you.

Dragged there mid-fight, bruised but standing tall, defiant. The guards had tried to hold you back. They failed.

His grin returns.

“Oh, you made it! I was wondering when my little distraction would show up.”

Law’s blood runs cold.

“Don’t” he warns, voice like a blade.

But Doflamingo steps toward you anyway, lifting a hand, threads spiraling through the air.

“You sure you want her in the splash zone, Law?” he says “I could snap her spine before she even blinks.”

You don’t flinch “Try it.”

But Law does move, so fast you barely see it. He’s between you and Doflamingo in a heartbeat, sword drawn, fury etched into every line of his face.

“She has nothing to do with this” he growls.

“Oh, don’t be stupid,” Doflamingo chuckles “She has everything to do with this. You think I didn’t see it? Back then?” He gestures vaguely, mockingly “Two kids huddled in the dark, pretending they didn’t care about each other. You think Corazon didn’t notice? Since I couldn't see your face that day, I would love to see it now when I'll take her away from you.”

Law doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

Doflamingo hums “Corazon always was a sentimental idiot. Guess you inherited that too, huh?”

“You don’t get to talk about him” you snap, stepping forward.

Doflamingo’s grin stretches wider “Oh, but I do.”

And then he strikes.

Threads launch at you, impossibly fast. But Luffy is faster.

“Gomu Gomu no Jet Gatling!!”

His fists slam into the threads mid-air, tearing them apart in a blur of Haki and fury. He lands in front of you with a scowl.

“Back off, bird freak.”

You blink “Luffy!”

He throws you a crooked grin “You okay?”

You nod, breathless “Thank you.”

He turns back to Doflamingo “You leave her outta this. If you’re mad at Law, fight him. And stop talking so much, you're annoying.”

Doflamingo’s laugh is harsh “Oh, Strawhat. Playing Cupid too, huh?”

Luffy blinks “Huh? You mean… them?”

He gestures between you and Law, who, despite the blood and bruises, suddenly looks very tense.

Luffy beams “They’re cute!”

“Luffy,” you and Law say in unison “We’re not—!”

Luffy waves a hand “Yeah, yeah. Not in love... Sure, got it.”

Doflamingo cackles.

You want to sink into the floor.

Law just mutters, “Kill me already.”

But there’s no more time to argue. Because Doflamingo lifts his hand and the threads descend.

The palace trembles beneath your feet as the battle rages on.

You’re by Law’s side, ducking threads and deflecting stray attacks, your breath burning in your lungs. Luffy’s fists slam into Doflamingo again and again, but nothing sticks long, he keeps getting back up.

Then Doflamingo grins, dark and wild, and hurls a barrage of strings straight toward you.

You freeze for half a second. And that’s all it takes.

You hear Law shout your name, then “ROOM.”

Your surroundings warp in a flash of light-blue energy.

The world disappears.

When you land, you’re way far from the battlefield. Far from him.

The silence is deafening.

You stumble forward “Law?”

No answer.

Panic claws at your throat. You spin in place, trying to understand how to get back there, fast. But nothing... He cut you out of it.

He teleported you away.

You slam your fist against a stone wall, heart pounding “Damn it, I hate you Trafalgar Law! You better survive this because I need to kill you with my own hands now... UGH!”

Meanwhile, Law’s breath shudders.

Teleporting you drained the last of his energy. His hand drops to his side, fingers trembling.

“Clever,” Doflamingo says, amused “Sending your little girlfriend away. Always the noble one, huh?”

Law says nothing. He just smirks and lets the blade strike.

[stormruff]

pairing: law x gn!reader

Warning: none - just fluff, and a bit of jealousy from the reader

—————

In the quiet of the Polar Tang library, that was where you found solace. Your fingers lightly brushed against the spine of each book, your eyes scanning each title and its author.

Most of the books that Law kept were medical and history, but there was a small collection of fictional classics. You scrunched your nose as you stopped briefly on “Romeo and Juliet.”

Seriously? You did not pen the Surgeon of Death as a hopeless romantic. You preferred novels with a bit of self -realization and romance, like Northanger Abbey. But Still, you pulled it off the shelf and flipped through the first few pages. It was worn at the edges with creases in its spine. It had definitely been well-read at one point. On the title page, a faded handwritten message had been scribbled. You stepped into a more lit area of the library to see what it said, and you felt your heart stop.

To my beloved Doctor:

Even if the world rejects our love, I will never deny our love , even in the face of death. When the day comes, may it rest forever in the City of Flowers.

You snapped the book shut, and quickly placed it back in its place. You felt like you had uncovered something private and intimate. The message must have been written to Law, but from who? Was it a secret lover that he met on his journeys?

You had never heard anyone from his crew mention anything , so either this mystery lover was a well kept crew secret, or no one knew. You glared at the book, and moved onto the next few books on the shelf. But you could barely focus, your thoughts still on the secret message. You glared at all the fictional classics - maybe you were better off reading non-fiction. You pulled a herbology book off the shelf, grabbed a pack of sticky notes and a pen , and headed towards one of the open tables.

“Y/N! What are you reading?” Ikkaku slid into the seat next to you. She was holding a novel in her hand that you unfortunately recognized.

“THat’s…” you started, and Ikkaku stared at the book.

“Oh yeah, I overheard some women during our last town visit chatting about romance novels,” she shrugged. “Our captain doesn’t exactly keep and extensive romance novel section, so I was surprised to see this.” She flipped to the first page and her eyes narrowed at the message.

“What are you two doing?” The sound of their Captain’s deep voice made the both of you jump out of your seats. Law was standing there, his one eyebrow raised at the response. “Why do you two look suspicious?” Before you could say anything, Ikkaku shoved the book at him.

“What’s this? Are you hiding a girlfriend from us?” Ikkaku teased.

“Girlfriend?!” Suddenly Penguin , Shachi and Bepo materialized out of nowhere next to Law.

“Where - let me see!” Penguin said , completely flabbergasted.

“Omigosh it’s a love letter!” Bepo gasped staring at the text. “It’s addressed to you, Captain.”

“You guys - “ Law said tersely. At that moment you stood up abruptly, startling all of them.

“You guys are so loud,” you managed to say. “I can’t focus.” And with that, you snatched your book up, and quickly left.

Why on earth did it bother you?

You and the Captain were not together. But there were moments were you felt your heart beat a little faster, with the attention he directed at you.

He would make you a cup of tea at night, while you took night watch, blanket in hand.

He would patiently explain some of the medical terminology , and procedures that he would perform. Which he would never take the time to explain to others, except you.

He was really good at following the stars as a map, and he had a weird knowledge of the Greek mythology behind its patterns.

You headed into the kitchen to make yourself a cup of tea. You stared at the herbology book and the notes that you don’t remember taking , as you waited for the kettle to boil.

You were being petty, over a message.

“Y/N.” Your head shot up to see Law standing there, with the annoying book in his hand. “No books in the kitchen,” he scolded.

“Sorry,” you muttered. Law sat down next to you and you could feel him staring at you as you poured hot water into your cup of tea.

“That message was written for my father.” You felt your face turn red.

He knew it bothered you.

“My mother was a bit of a hopeless romantic,” he chuckled dryly. “But my father loved her for it, and she would read passages of it to him. When my sister and I were growing up in Flevance, she would read it to us.”

“Oh,” you managed to say. Law sighed.

“This was one of the only books I recovered from my home when I went back. I don’t remember the last time I read it, but it helps me to remember them.”

“And here I thought you were a hopeless romantic,” you joked, trying to break the awkwardness. Law set the book down in front of you and leaned forward to study you closer. You could feel your face heat up even more but you couldn’t pull your gaze away.

“I’m definitely not a romantic, and I’ve been in near hopeless situations,” Law said slowly. “But if there’s one thing I know, is I will fight for what means the most to me.” You didn’t know what to say, as the words sunk in. “What about you?”

“To death,” you said without hesitation. Law smirked and pulled back.

“You really are a Heart Pirate, aren’t you?” He said, with a hint of pride in his voice. With that , he left the room leaving you a little stunned at your interaction.

When your eyes turned back to the table, you realized that the novel was still sitting there. But there was something tucked into its pages - a note with writing that there was no mistaking , it was written by Law.

“There is nothing I would not do for [you]. I have no notion of loving people by halves, it is not my nature.”

You felt your heart stop , and you clutched the note in your hands, in awe and disbelief.

Contrary to his partial words, the Surgeon of Death was definitely a romantic, and you were falling deeper for him with every passing day.

End

A/N: That last quote is not mine - but I give you a cookie / part 2 to this if you guess where that quote is from hehe

[stormruff]

Kikoku’s Secret Charm

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Reader

“Don’t tell the crew I like this.”

You catch Law admiring a cute keychain in a marketplace. You buy it for him later—and to your surprise, he actually attaches it to Kikoku (his sword) when no one’s looking.

Words Count: ~2000 words

tag: fluff, law likes cute things

my masterlist here ♡

——

The air smelled like sea salt and grilled skewers as the Heart Pirates scattered across the town’s open market. You were trailing behind Law, not because he asked you to, but because you always somehow ended up keeping pace with him when the crew made port.

He didn’t talk much, but his presence was…comfortable. You liked how he moved with purpose, always scanning quietly, arms tucked in his pockets. You weren’t even sure if he noticed you next to him most of the time.

Then something unusual happened.

He slowed near a small stand. Handcrafted trinkets swung from a canopy strung with beads—keychains, hairpins, and other things that screamed cute. That alone was enough to catch your attention. But what caught your eye more was him. Staring. At a chubby white seal keychain with a tiny pirate hat.

You blinked. No way.

You glanced at him again, noticing that he was still staring at the keychain, his expression unreadable. But you could see the way his fingers twitched, just barely, as if he wanted to reach out but was stopping himself. A strange flutter tickled at your chest.

He quickly stepped back, eyes scanning the crowd like nothing had happened. But you could feel a warmth spread through you at the thought that he—Law, the stoic and always composed captain—had been admiring something so… cute.

You couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at your lips.

⸻

You waited until the crew had returned to the ship. When Law had gone to oversee the loading of supplies, you slipped back to the marketplace and made your way to the vendor. The old woman with the sunhat noticed you right away.

“Back for that seal?” she asked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You picked it up, holding it in your hand as you smiled at her. “Something like that,” you said, trying to keep your tone casual.

She chuckled knowingly and wrapped the keychain in a piece of cloth before handing it to you. You paid, feeling a small excitement building in your chest as you thought about what you were about to do.

It wasn’t much—a simple keychain. But you had a feeling it would mean more than Law would admit.

⸻

Later that night, on the Polar Tang, you stood outside the captain’s quarters. Your hand hovered near your pocket. Nerves bubbled in your chest like carbonated soda.

Just give it. It’s not a confession. It’s just a keychain.

Knocking lightly, you stepped in when he called.

Law glanced up from his maps. “What is it?”

You tossed the wrapped keychain on his desk. “Don’t open it until I leave.”

His brow lifted. “Why?”

“Because if you make a face, I don’t want to see it.”

That got a rare smirk out of him. “You’re assuming I’d react.”

“I know you’d react,” you said, backing toward the door. “And you better not throw it out.”

You were gone before he could say anything else.

⸻

A few days had passed, and the crew had been busy with the usual preparations. You were securing boxes with Penguin when you spotted something strange on the deck.

Law stood by the stern of the ship, his ever-present sword, Kikoku, resting on his shoulder as usual. But this time… something new had been added.

A tiny white seal keychain dangled from the guard of Kikoku. The sight of it made your heart skip a beat, and before you could stop yourself, you rushed over to Shachi, who was standing nearby.

“Wait, is that…?” Shachi leaned in closer, his eyes widening. “That wasn’t there before, right?”

You quickly tugged him away, your face flushing with a mix of excitement and embarrassment. “Don’t ask.”

Shachi raised an eyebrow, clearly puzzled. “Why not?”

You smiled, trying to keep the moment between you and Law private. “Because he doesn’t want anyone to know.”

⸻

Later that day, you found yourself walking down the hallway, lost in thought. You hadn’t meant to run into Law, but of course, you did. He was standing there, leaning against the wall as if lost in his thoughts.

For a moment, you just watched him, noticing the way his shoulders relaxed, his usually guarded expression softened just a bit. He hadn’t noticed you yet, but you couldn’t resist the urge to speak up.

“It looks good on Kikoku,” you said, your voice quiet but carrying through the space between you.

Law turned slowly, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief moment before shifting away again. “You said not to throw it out,” he replied, his voice low, but there was something almost… shy in his tone.

You smiled, feeling a warmth spreading through your chest. “I didn’t expect you to actually use it,” you said softly, walking toward him with a teasing glint in your eyes.

Law’s eyes flicked down to the keychain, then back to you. He didn’t say anything at first, as if weighing his words carefully. Then, in a voice so quiet you almost missed it, he muttered, “Don’t tell the crew I like it.”

You blinked, a slow smile tugging at your lips. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

He didn’t respond, but his gaze lingered on you for a moment longer than usual, as if unsure how to continue. And you, for the first time in a while, felt that fluttering warmth deep in your chest. Something had shifted between the two of you, something unspoken but undeniable.

⸻

That night, after the rest of the crew had retired for the evening, you stayed behind in the mess hall. The air was thick with the scent of leftover food and the faint hum of the ship’s engines. You sat at one of the tables, your fingers idly tracing the rim of your cup.

A few minutes later, Law walked in, holding a cup of tea in his hand. He looked around, and when his gaze landed on you, he paused for a moment, clearly surprised that you were still there.

He walked over to the table and sat across from you, his posture relaxed, as if he’d grown accustomed to having you around. The silence between you was different tonight—easier, comfortable even. It wasn’t heavy or awkward.

After a few moments, he broke the silence. “Why do you always sit near me?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

You looked up at him, a playful grin crossing your face. “Because you let me,” you said, leaning back in your chair.

He stared at you for a moment, his lips slightly parted as if unsure how to respond. “It’s not that I mind,” he muttered.

You raised an eyebrow. “So, you do mind?”

He caught your gaze, then looked away, his cheeks slightly flushed. “That’s not what I said.”

Your heart fluttered at the unexpected vulnerability in his voice. You leaned forward slightly, your hand resting on the table. “Do you like cute things, Law, or just that seal?”

He didn’t look at you right away. Instead, his fingers tapped his cup thoughtfully. “…I like some things,” he said, his voice unusually soft.

You tilted your head. “Like what?”

Law finally looked at you, his eyes intense. He paused for a beat before speaking, his words carrying an unexpected weight. “Like you.”

Your breath caught in your throat, and for a moment, neither of you moved. You couldn’t believe he had just said that. The air between you felt charged, thick with unspoken emotions.

You swallowed, trying to keep your voice steady. “You think I’m cute?”

His lips twitched slightly. “You’re cute when you’re not annoying.”

You laughed, feeling the warmth rush to your cheeks. “Wow. High praise.”

He smirked, clearly amused by your reaction. But there was something softer in his eyes now—something that told you he wasn’t just teasing.

⸻

The conversation lingered between you both like a quiet melody, filling the empty space of the mess hall. You could feel the tension building, the unspoken words that hovered between your breaths. The moment felt fragile, as though it could slip away if you didn’t do something.

You stood slowly, feeling the weight of his gaze on you as you moved. “What’s the matter, Law?” you said, your voice low, teasing. “You going to do something about this?”

He didn’t move. His gaze stayed locked on yours.

“Try me,” he said.

So you did.

You leaned down, kissed him gently—warm, slow, real.

And when you pulled back, you caught it. That flicker of red near his ears.

“Don’t tell the crew about this either?” you whispered.

His voice was husky. “Especially not them.”

[stormruff]

gt doodles for the soul,,, + blushieesss~ 💞💞 id like to think daisy gets flustered when shes not ready to be picked up he hee

[stormruff]

Hello, can I please request a reader x Law? The reader is Law's lover. She was a pirate, but 6 months prior, she disbanded her team. About a month ago, she was captured by the Navy. For almost 40 days, she's been interrogated and tortured. The reason they discovered she's Law's lover. And they want to know all of her weaknesses and her main base. She hasn't said much of anything. Why does the Surgeon of Death have an alliance with the Straw Hats? She just stares at them. Will he come for you? asks the Marine, angry. He won't let his lover die. The young woman laughs. "You're an idiot." "We're pirates. That one or two die doesn't mean anything." She's almost lost consciousness.

hope u like this!

No Weakness to Break

Captured by the Navy and tortured for information about her lover, Trafalgar Law, a defiant pirate refuses to break, clinging to her resolve until rescue comes.

Law X fem! reader | ONE SHOT tags: slight angst, sfw, oc, hurt/comfort, torture, interrogation, ooc(?) a/n: this js me trying to write ffs, this is experimental and for fun only, so expect this ffs a bit cringe and akward word count: 1.7k

masterlist | ko-fi

: 𓏲🐋 ๋࣭  ࣪ ˖✩࿐࿔ 🌊

The cell was a tomb of cold stone and rusted iron, the air thick with the stench of damp mold and blood. For thirty-nine days, you had counted the cracks in the wall, the only distraction from the pain that wracked your body. Your wrists, bound by seastone cuffs, ached where the metal bit into your skin, leaving raw, red marks. Your once-vibrant hair was matted, clinging to your sweat-soaked forehead. The Navy had taken everything—your crew, your freedom, your strength—but they hadn’t taken your will. Not yet.

You were a pirate, captain of your own crew until six months ago when you disbanded them, seeking a quieter life, or at least one less drenched in blood. You’d been reckless, though, lingering too long in a port town, and the Navy had sniffed you out. They didn’t care about your disbanded crew or your past raids. They cared about one thing: your connection to Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death. They wanted his weaknesses, his plans, his base. They wanted to know why he’d allied with the Straw Hat Pirates, what schemes he was weaving. And they thought you, his lover, would be the key to cracking him open.

The interrogator, a wiry Marine captain with a cruel glint in his eyes, leaned forward, his chair creaking. His name was Varkis, and he’d been your tormentor for weeks. His questions were always the same, delivered with a mix of smugness and frustration. Today, his patience was thinner than ever.

“Where is his main base?” Varkis demanded, slamming a fist on the table between you. The sound echoed in the small cell, but you didn’t flinch. “You’ve been with him for years. You know where the Heart Pirates dock. Tell me, and this ends.”

Your lips curled into a faint, defiant smile. Blood trickled from a cut on your cheek, stinging as it mixed with sweat. “You’re wasting your breath,” you rasped, your voice hoarse from days of screaming. “I don’t know anything.”

“Liar!” Varkis surged to his feet, his face red with fury. He grabbed a metal rod from the corner of the room, its tip blackened from use. “You’re his woman. You know everything. His plans, his alliances, his weaknesses. Why does the Surgeon of Death work with the Straw Hats? What’s he after?”

You stared at him, your eyes heavy-lidded but unyielding. The pain in your body was a constant hum, but you’d learned to push it to the back of your mind. You wouldn’t break. Not for Varkis. Not for anyone. Law had taught you that—strength wasn’t just in a blade or a devil fruit. It was in the mind, in the heart. And your heart belonged to him.

“Answer me!” Varkis roared, swinging the rod. It connected with your shoulder, sending a jolt of agony through your already battered frame. You bit back a cry, your teeth grinding together. The world swam for a moment, but you forced yourself to focus on Varkis’s face, on the desperation in his eyes. He was running out of time. The Navy’s higher-ups were probably breathing down his neck, demanding results.

“Will he come for you?” Varkis asked, his voice dropping to a venomous hiss. He leaned close, his breath hot against your face. “The great Trafalgar Law, the Surgeon of Death. Will he risk everything to save his lover? Or will he let you die?”

You laughed. It was a weak, broken sound, but it filled the cell with defiance. “You’re an idiot,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “We’re pirates. One or two dying doesn’t mean anything.”

The words were a lie, and they burned your throat as you spoke them. Law would come. You knew he would. But you’d be damned if you gave Varkis the satisfaction of seeing that hope in your eyes. Let him think you were heartless, that Law was heartless. Let him think you were nothing to each other. It was the only way to protect him.

Varkis’s face twisted with rage. He raised the rod again, but before he could strike, the door to the cell burst open. A subordinate stumbled in, his face pale. “Captain Varkis! There’s a ship approaching—fast. It’s flying the Heart Pirates’ flag!”

Varkis froze, the rod still raised. His eyes darted to you, and for the first time, you saw fear in them. You smiled, blood staining your teeth. “Told you,” you murmured. “You’re an idiot.”

Law stood at the bow of the Polar Tang, his grip on Kikoku so tight his knuckles were white. The Navy base loomed on the horizon, a fortress of gray stone perched on a rocky island. His crew was silent behind him, their usual banter replaced by grim determination. Bepo, Penguin, and Shachi stood closest, their faces set. They knew what was at stake. They’d all heard the rumors—your capture, your torture. Law had spent the last month tearing through every lead, every whisper, until he’d pinpointed this base.

“She’s alive,” Bepo said softly, his voice trembling. “She has to be.”

“She is,” Law said, his voice low and certain. He didn’t allow himself to consider the alternative. You were too stubborn to die, too fierce to let the Navy break you. But the thought of what they’d done to you in the last forty days made his blood boil. If they’d hurt you—if they’d dared lay a hand on you—he’d tear this base apart brick by brick.

“Captain,” Shachi called from the helm. “We’re in range. They’ve spotted us.”

“Good,” Law said, his eyes narrowing. “Let them know we’re coming.”

The Polar Tang surged forward, its engines roaring. Law’s plan was simple: infiltrate, extract, destroy. He didn’t care about the Navy’s numbers or their defenses. He didn’t care about the consequences. All that mattered was getting you out.

As the ship closed in, alarms blared from the base. Cannons swiveled, and Marines scrambled to their posts. Law raised Kikoku, his lips curling into a cold smile. “Room.”

A blue dome enveloped the Polar Tang and part of the base. In an instant, Law was gone, teleporting to the heart of the fortress. Chaos erupted as he cut through Marines with surgical precision, his blade a blur. Penguin and Shachi led the ground assault, their weapons flashing as they cleared a path. Bepo roared, his massive form barreling through enemy lines.

Law moved like a shadow, his Observation Haki guiding him through the maze of corridors. He could feel you—your presence, faint but stubborn, like a candle refusing to go out. He followed it, his heart pounding. When he reached the cell block, he found Varkis standing over you, the rod raised for another blow.

“Shambles,” Law snarled. In a blink, Varkis was flung against the wall, pinned by an invisible force. The rod clattered to the ground. Law’s eyes locked on you, and for a moment, the world stopped.

You were a mess—bruised, bloodied, barely conscious. But you were alive. Your eyes, half-open, met his, and a faint smile curved your lips. “Took you long enough,” you whispered.

Law’s throat tightened. He knelt beside you, his hands trembling as he sliced through the seastone cuffs with Kikoku. “I’m here,” he said, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I’ve got you.”

You tried to laugh, but it turned into a cough. “Knew you’d come,” you said. “Idiot.”

He smirked, but his eyes were dark with fury. He turned to Varkis, who was struggling against the wall. “You touched her,” Law said, his voice deadly calm. “That was a mistake.”

Varkis opened his mouth to beg, but Law didn’t give him the chance. A flick of Kikoku, and the Marine collapsed, blood pooling beneath him. Law didn’t spare him another glance. He scooped you into his arms, careful not to jostle your injuries. “Hold on,” he said. “We’re getting out of here.”

The escape was a blur of violence and motion. The Heart Pirates fought like demons, carving a path back to the Polar Tang. Law carried you the entire way, his arms steady despite the chaos around him. You drifted in and out of consciousness, your head resting against his chest. His heartbeat was the only thing grounding you, a steady rhythm that promised safety.

When you woke, you were in the Polar Tang’s infirmary, the familiar hum of the ship’s engines filling the air. Your body ached, but the pain was dulled by bandages and medicine. Law sat beside you, his coat draped over a chair, his hat resting on the table. He looked exhausted, his eyes shadowed, but he was there. He was always there.

“Hey,” you said, your voice weak but steady.

He looked up, relief flooding his face. “You’re awake.”

“Barely.” You managed a smile. “You look like hell.”

“Says the one who’s been through hell,” he shot back, but there was no heat in his words. He reached for your hand, his fingers intertwining with yours. “You scared me,” he admitted, his voice low. “I thought…”

“You thought I’d break?” you asked, raising an eyebrow. “Come on, Law. You know me better than that.”

He chuckled, but it was strained. “I know. But seeing you like that…” He trailed off, his grip tightening. “I should’ve found you sooner.”

You shook your head. “You found me. That’s what matters.”

He didn’t argue, but you could see the guilt in his eyes. Law was a man who carried every failure like a weight, and you knew he’d blame himself for your capture. You squeezed his hand, drawing his gaze back to you. “I didn’t tell them anything,” you said. “Not a word. They wanted your weaknesses, your base, your plans. I gave them nothing.”

His expression softened, a mix of pride and pain. “I know,” he said. “You’re stronger than they’ll ever understand.”

“Damn right,” you said, smirking. “But next time, maybe don’t take a whole month to find me, yeah?”

He laughed, a real laugh this time, and the sound warmed you more than any blanket. “Deal,” he said. “But there won’t be a next time. I’m not letting you out of my sight again.”

You rolled your eyes, but your heart fluttered. “Possessive bastard.”

“Only for you,” he said, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead. His lips lingered, and you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the moment. The Navy had tried to break you, to tear you apart piece by piece. But they’d failed. You were still here, still fighting, still his.

And as long as you had Law, no cell, no torture, no Marine could ever take that away.