Plot: Shanks, Ace, Kid, and Mihawk react to Brook asking to see your panties.
A/N: Very old rough draft I found and polished up. This prompt eventually ended up being a one shot with Law x Reader on ao3
Shanks
Shanks laughs first.
Not because he likes it.
Because Shanks is dangerous when he is still smiling.
He throws an arm around your shoulders, pulls you comfortably against his side, and grins at Brook like they’re all having a good time.
“Brook,” he says warmly, “you’re funny.”
Brook brightens. “Yohoho—”
“You ask her that again, I’m throwing you overboard.”
Still smiling. Still friendly. Absolutely serious.
Then Shanks looks down at you and says, “You all right, baby?”
If you’re annoyed but not upset, he turns it into a joke, probably teasing Brook for having no survival instinct. If you are genuinely uncomfortable, the smile disappears.
That is when the crew gets very quiet.
Ace
Brook got the question out before anyone could stop him.
“May I see your panties?”
Ace laughed.
Not because it was funny. More because Brook had said it with such complete confidence that Ace’s body reacted before his brain caught up.
Then his brain caught up.
His smile dropped.
“Wait.”
Across the deck, you slowly turned your head toward him.
Ace pointed at Brook. “You asked her?”
Brook tipped his hat. “Indeed! A very respectful inquiry.”
“No, no.” Ace stood up so fast his chair scraped backward. “That’s not—no.”
Marco, already tired, lowered his newspaper. “Ace.”
Ace was still pointing. “You don’t get to ‘respectful inquiry’ your way out of asking my girlfriend that.”
Brook lifted both hands. “Ah, my apologies! I ask many lovely ladies—”
“That is not helping.”
You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh.
Ace noticed.
His indignation wavered. “Don’t laugh. I’m being serious.”
“You laughed first.”
“I was caught off guard.”
“You laughed.”
“I didn’t know I was mad yet.”
That did it. You laughed properly, and Ace’s ears went red.
Brook bowed low. “My lady, forgive me.”
“Accepted,” you said.
Ace stepped closer to you, all warm skin and wounded pride, and dropped his forehead briefly against your shoulder.
“He asked you that,” he muttered.
“I noticed.”
“Right in front of me.”
“You were very brave.”
“I’m serious.”
You slid a hand through his hair. “I know.”
Ace grumbled something unintelligible, but his arm hooked around your waist anyway.
Eustass Kid
Kid explodes.
Instantly.
Brook says, “May I see your—”
“What the hell did you just say?”
No delay. No patience. Kid is already halfway out of his seat.
Killer is probably already sighing because he knew this was coming.
Kid takes it as an insult to you and to him. He is not subtle. He is not diplomatic. He is loud, furious, and extremely ready to punt Brook across the deck.
“You got a death wish, bones?”
You would have to physically get in front of Kid if you wanted Brook to remain intact.
If you tell Kid you handled it, he would still be fuming.
“Yeah, and I’m handling it too.”
Later he would be grumpy and clingy in the least graceful way possible. Lots of hovering. Lots of glaring. Probably a muttered:
“Stupid skeleton.”
Mihawk
Mihawk barely reacts outwardly.
That is the terrifying part.
Brook asks.
Mihawk slowly lowers his glass.
Looks at him.
Says nothing.
Brook immediately realizes he has made a terrible mistake.
Mihawk’s voice is calm when he finally speaks.
“That was beneath you.”
Somehow that is worse than shouting.
If Brook apologizes quickly, Mihawk allows the matter to end. If he does not, Mihawk’s stare sharpens by one degree and the entire room understands that Brook is being given the rare privilege of leaving alive.
Later, he would simply say:
“You should not be spoken to that way.”
No theatrics. No jealousy admitted. But Brook would never ask again.
no, not in a creepy way. (okay maybe a little creepy)
it’s on nights that he can’t fall asleep. too many thoughts or a nightmare preventing him. he’ll sit up on his elbow, rub the lack of sleep from his eyes, and rest his gaze on you.
loves watching your little micro expressions as you dream.
pouty lips partly open, eyes fluttering behind your closed lids.
sometimes you talk, stressing even as you’re unconscious. occasionally you’ll get a furrow in between your brow, and he’ll smooth it back with the pad of this thumb.
tonight was a bit different. you were quiet for awhile, face devoid of any ongoing emotions, placid. simon watched you, brushing the side of your face with his thumb. a soft hum fell from your lips, tilting your face against the crease of your shoulder. reaching for him even as you sleep.
his chest pulls tight.
you had shifted, expression changing into what simon thought was worry, your eyebrows furrowing up on your face, your teeth biting into your lower lip.
“what’re you dreamin’ about bird?” he whispered almost to himself.
an unmistakable sound fell from your lips.
a moan.
you were having a wet dream.
and simon-
simon was unable to keep his hands off of you.
already felt himself growing hard. (creep)
your thighs squeezed together, weight shifting as you tried to get comfortable.
“si-,” you sighed softly.
his eyes flickered over to your own, only to find them still closed. still asleep. simon slides his hand down the middle of your torso, lightly brushing between your breasts, watching as you arch into his touch.
his palm rests on your stomach for a moment, watching the rise and fall of your breaths even out. sound asleep. simon’s gaze flicks back up to your face again, watching your brows furrow as he slides his fingers into your panties.
you’re soaked.
“christ,” he mutters to himself.
presses the pads of his fingers onto your swollen pearl, slowly moving them in a circle.
your legs clamp together, squeezing his hand as the pleasure burns. another moan falling from your lips.
“easy, birdie,” he coaxes, voice somewhat reaching your unconscious mind.
your legs relax, allowing him to play with you again. hips jolting as he pats your clit.
simon’s rutting into the bed, hips moving on their own accord. cock harder than it’s ever been in his life. why has he never done this before?
he slides his fingers down even further, your hole basically sucking them in. the pads of his fingers prune, your arousal dripping down to his wrist.
must be one hell of a dream.
he thrusts his fingers into your cunt, relishing in the warm heat your body provides. you’re relaxed, more relaxed than you’ve ever been. his fingers slide right up to the second knuckle no problem.
simon bites on his free hand, a groan leaving his lips.
gonna be the death of him.
he curls his fingers slowly, stretching your walls - watching arousal drip down his hand. you’re soaking the bed. feels you clench around him when he hits your spongey spot.
simon’s nearly dizzy with pleasure. can feel his cock throb with every thrust. he’s gonna cream his pants like a fucking teenager.
comes to realize he doesn’t even care.
not with you beneath him, body pliant for him to take what he wants.
what. a. fucking. creep.
can’t help himself, needs to see you come. his pretty baby.
your brows furrow again, mouth drooped open as breathy moans fall from your lips. your breathing’s changed, rapid as the pleasure builds in your nerves.
“o-oh!” you gasp, simon’s fingers curling just right, his thumb circling your clit.
fucking beautiful.
simon just stares, gaze unwavering as he watches you come undone. body warm from sleep arching up into his touch, writhing in pleasure.
he slows his fingers, pulls them out and immediately places them between his teeth, the taste of his sin fucking delicious.
only then does he realize he’s came in his boxers, the wet patch increasingly noticeable now.
“si?” you ask, voice thick with sleep.
“hmm?” he hums, tongue still chasing the taste of you.
“doin’?”
“nothin’, doll. just admiring.” he coos.
“weirdo,” you laugh softly, rolling over on your side. “had the craziest dream,” you mumble.
“yeah? you’ll have to tell me all about it,” he grins, shuffling back under the covers and pulling you close.
The question had come out of nowhere, and actually made you pause for a moment. You found yourself blinking once then twice before the words actually sunk in. An expression of confusion making its way onto your face as you looked at your colleague with furrowed brows.
“What?” The singular word was all that came from you in response. Your colleague, Lua, glanced around cautiously before leaning in to continue talking; her voice taking on a more hushed tone.
”You know…being Mira’s makeup artist. I mean it must be pretty difficult considering how she is.” Your brows furrowed further, but this time the cause was irritation rather than confusion as you started to catch on to what she meant.
“I’m not really sure what you mean. My work is the same as the personal artists of the other members.” Despite knowing what she was implying you had decided to try and give the younger girl the benefit of the doubt. Unfortunately, Lua simply rolled her eyes at your response.
”Oh please, you don’t have to sugar coat it. Everyone knows that Mira is the most difficult member to work with. Especially with her overly aggressive attitude.” Well, at least you had tried. Time to nip this in the bud.
”Let me stop you right there.” You said, taking a step back from her. “Honestly, Mira isn't a difficult person. A little complex maybe, but not difficult. It’s a matter of perspective and understanding.” Lua looked taken aback by your response. Apparently she hadn’t been expecting you to defend Mira this way.
”You’re entitled to have personal differences with people, but don’t assume that everyone feels the same as you. Especially while in a professional setting.” Irritation had completely taken over your face at this point, and Lua had the good sense to look embarrassed.
”If you ask me, Mira is a great person who has a lot to offer; even outside of being an idol. Sure she’s different, but different doesn’t mean difficult. It just means maybe you need more time to understand her.” You found yourself somewhat surprised by your own words. They came out with just the right amount of conviction, and without hesitation.
“You-you’re right…” She managed to stutter out, her face now flushed from shame. “I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions.” She muttered before scurrying off to busy herself with something else. Hopefully, she realized there were more important things to do before a stadium performance than gossip. Speaking of important things, you still needed to do Mira’s makeup before sound check. You quickly gathered your supplies and made your way towards the dressing rooms. Little did you know a certain someone had overheard your conversation.
Mira was used to people viewing her as problematic or rebellilious; such labels had followed her all her life. Whether it was her family or her classmates, people always seemed to keep their distance whenever she was her real self. As time went on she had gotten pretty good at pretending to be unbothered by it, but deep down insecurity still quietly ate at her.
But this new feeling that was spreading through her chest wasn’t one she was at all familiar with. She sat in her white robe looking at herself in the mirror trying to figure out what to say when she saw you. Yes she had heard your conversation with Lua, but more importantly, she had heard you defend her. You had spoken so confidently about her being a person worth getting to know. However, what really struck her was what you said about being different isn’t the same as being difficult. That sentence had hit closer to home than she'd like to admit.
She had rarely felt truly seen by the people around her. Of course there was Rumi, Zoey, and even Bobby, but that was really it. Even after making it big, her family hadn't ever reached out to reconnect. But for you, someone who had nothing to gain from defending her to stand up for her the way you did. Well, it had Mira’s face flushing and heart racing in a way she had never experienced before. Honestly, she was at a complete loss as to how to handle these unfamiliar feelings.
Unfortunately, her thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. A polite voice came through from the other side, asking to be let in. So much for having more time before having to face you.
From the moment you walked in, you had noticed Mira was acting noticeably off. She was oddly jumpy, and every time your faces were close together she'd avert her eyes. Which was extremely odd considering how everyone knew about the idol’s uncanny habit of instictually staring people down instinctively. Furthermore, every time your back was turned you could feel her gaze boring into your figure. It never felt hateful but you’d be lying if you said it wasn’t making you a little worried. The next hour or so passed in an awkward silence, only occasionally broken by routine questions from you regarding details and color choices. Such questions were met with quiet grunts and small nods. However, as when you were putting on the finishing touches that you noticed something else.
Mira’s cheeks and neck were flushed a deep, rosy red. If you weren’t so close, you would’ve thought it was just the blush you’d applied. However, the natural redness on the tips of her ears gave her away. She was obviously flustered, but why? A few moments passed as you had unconsciously begun staring at her face. Eventually, Mira turned to look at you as if to question your lack of movement, but was surprised to find you staring at her. Your focused gaze made the heat in her face grow even hotter as you two firmly locked eyes.
The silence continued to stretch as the two of you stared at each other. Mira found her gaze flickering between your eyes and lips. Your realization of this caused your face to also erupt in heat and color. The tension in the room quickly took on a new edge. However, before things could go any further the moment was suddenly interrupted .
“Mira, sound check is in five!” The stage manager’s voice boomed from outside the door. The unexpected noise caused both of you to jump apart in surprise. You and Mira were both obviously startled, yet oddly relieved by the sudden interruption.
After a moment, Mira gathered herself before finally turning to face you. Her face had returned to its naturally unbothered state. However, traces of red were still visible on the tips of her ears. The corner of her lips twitched as if wanting to open and say something, but nothing came out.
"Thank you for your hard work." The words sounded somewhat strained as they left the idol's mouth. They also sounded uncharastically formal to your ears. You gave her a nod of acknowledge, but as you continued to examine her features you could tell she wanted to say something more. Of course, you had no idea just how right you were.
Mira couldn't help kicking herself internally for not being able to talk you normally. She wanted to tell you how much she appreciated the way you stood up for her earlier. But no matter how hard she tried, the words kept getting caught in her throat. After another minute or two, she realized that expressing herself properly would be impossible in this moment.
Instead she settles for a short, semi-formal bow before swiftly walking out of the room; leaving you standing in silence of words left unsaid. In the wake of Mira's absence, you realized just how intensely your heart was beating; the rhythm thrumming in your ears.
Throughout the duration of the performance, you were left with little to do but watch the performance from backstage. You had always loved watching HUNTR/X perform, but this time something was different. Without realizing it your gaze was almost permanently fixed on the main dancer. An utterly enchanted expression had settled across your features. To onlookers it seemed as if you'd watch her forever, and deep down…they just might be right.
↳ a pretty mouth
⚤ ghostface x female!reader
【 18+ ONLY — Minors DNI 】 warnings ⇢ drinking, sexting, knife play, fingering, oral (m receiving), swearing, orgasm denial, pinning, mentions of blood/killing, degrading,
✉ taking requests
first part ▻ please respond…i showed you my cock
It had been days since any kind of attack or sign of ghostface. You almost believed he had disappeared, but it was still in the back of your mind. You never responded to his messages that he sent, and he never came to see you. Not that you really wanted him too.
He was psycho. But there was something about his voice and not knowing who was behind that mask that just made your stomach flip the right way round.
You had multiple missed phone calls from a private or blocked number. You had the upper hand for once.
➤ you can’t ignore me
➤ i’m not going to stop
➤ you can try to shut me out, but i’ll find a way to get back in
➤ and when I do, i’m going to bury myself in that sweet pussy
His texts turned you on the more he sent them. All laced with dirty things you tried not to enjoy.
Clearly you needed to give him something to make him chase you harder. Your parents would start to get suspicious of the large water bills coming through, and the last thing you wanted to give up was your shower head time every night. You felt possessed almost, turning yourself on as you dreamt of him climbing through your window of the night, holding a knife to your throat as he fucked you in ways you haven’t experienced before.
Your legs began to rub to get friction, you needed to stop putting these thoughts in your head. He was a serial killer. The last thing you needed was to be fucking the town’s killer who had threatened your life countless times as well.
When you finished school you went over to your friend’s house to get ready for a party that was happening over the weekend. All day you had multiple messages from him. Nothing new, that was until.
🟪 Gfce23 sent you a snap
The purple box told you everything you needed to know. It was video, with audio. You excused yourself from her room, heading into the bathroom. Opening the video it was once again his cock in his gloved hand, his body more in view this time for you to get a better look. Eyeing over his pale skin.
“Ughnf—this is all for you.” Your clit throbbed at the sudden moaning that came from your phone. Walls tightening at his words. ‘This is all for you’. You licked your lips at the sight of the red tipped cock on your screen that thrusted into his leather glove.
“F-f-fuck y/n.” Hearing him say your name mixed with a whimper as he pumped himself, stomach flexing every time he gasped and his movements picked up just a little more. You found yourself with your fingers dancing between your legs again, toying with yourself. The video ended there. No big finish for you. Your flustered state calmed down when you returned to reality and remembered where you were.
“Jesus, fuck!” You hissed, running fingers through your hair as you tried to finish getting ready. You knew it was wrong but you couldn’t help lusting after him. Evening came finally and it was time to get drunk and enjoy your weekend. No school, no studying, no homework. Just alcohol and boys. Walking into the house it was already crazy, everyone dancing and rubbing themselves up against each other.
A few mindless games of spin the bottle, truth or dare, and many more kids games. You found the keg, pouring yourself a drink before feeling a tap on your shoulder. It was the same guy whose been chasing after you since the first grade.
“Hey y/n, long time no see. Feel like we never talk anymore babe.” You cringed at the pet name he gave you. You liked princess better anyway.
“That’s because we aren’t even friends, I don’t talk to people who aren’t my friends.” You snipped back, walking away from the over-confident jock that didn’t want to take no for an answer it seemed. You swung your head back and downed the drink in the red solo cup.
“Look, y/n. Just give me one chance and if you aren’t into it then I’ll leave you alone.” He chased you. But not in a ‘I’m gonna kill you’ way that you for some reason missed. You felt bad that you never did give him the time of day, and the alcohol was already going to your head. So what was one dance? You allowed him to grab your hand and take you to where everyone else was dancing, rolling your hips against him and allowing yourself to just relax.
It was hard too when you were so sexually frustrated, after what felt like forever of dancing you found your friend. Letting her know you were leaving and going home, she was too busy dancing with a group of guys to care. You thought about walking home but chose to Uber instead.
It was just up the road but in your tipsy state, in a short skirt and with a killer on the loose? What could go wrong?
Your parents were once again gone for the night, using the time away to connect and get their marriage back on track. You didn’t turn on the lights, leaving the house dark and making your way upstairs to your room. Opening the door you didn’t know what you were expecting, but seeing it dark and just as you left it was disappointing. You walked over to your vanity, turning on the lamp and eyes looking into the reflective surface.
Your eyes shot open and you sobered up at the sight of a white mask and dark cloak leaning against your clothing dresser. Your heart began to race and you stood up, turning around to face the masked figure who had been on your mind day and night.
“Surprise princess.” His familiar voice had you buckling at the knees. You wanted to drop to them and suck the one thing he had been teasing you with the last few times you spoke.
“Get on the bed. Now.” A sharp piercing feeling was against your leg, looking down you saw the knife he held in his hand against the flesh of your exposed thigh. Hard enough to indent your skin but not to actually pierce you.
You nodded as you walked backwards, sitting on the soft surface and using your elbows to keep you elevated. Eyes looking into the dark black mesh that hid your mystery killer’s eyes.
“Don’t think I didn’t see you dancing tonight princess. Open your legs.” You did as you were told and audibly gulped. You never saw ghost face at the party, you wondered where he could have been for him to be able to watch you in such a crowded house. Your thigh was met with a cold, metal against it. His knife slowly dragging up from your knee all the way to the crease where your pubic region met your leg.
He looked down between your legs, eyeing off the cute short skirt and red panties you had on. The same ones he loved seeing you in when you first tried them on. He let out a low groan before swiftly flicking his wrist so his knife teared at the delicate lace.
$60, down the drain. But you didn’t care. You just wanted to feel him against you, touching, rubbing, sucking. Your breath hitched as he lowered himself, the mattress dipping on each side of you as he positioned himself between your legs and removed the lacy garment blocking his view. He tilted his head to the side, muttering a ‘fuck’ as he saw your creamy hole gaping. How he wanted to fill it. His leather covered fingers reached out and began to rub at your wet folds, moving the creamy arousal over your clit and labia. Teasing your core with soft, slow touched. You gasped as he dipped a finger into your cunt, a thick ring of cream engulfing his finger as he entered you.
He began pumping, curling his finger each time to graze against your sensitive walls. You began letting out soft mewls at the sensations in the pit of your stomach. A sensation you had only been able to get from a shower head and your own touch. Without warning, he added another two fingers, thrusting harder and quicker now and watching your hips bucking to meet his every movement.
“Look at you, this pink pussy is aching to be touched. I’ve barely started and you’re almost unravelling under my fingers. How many can you take before I have you begging for more?” He hissed as he added his thumb to your clit, watching you let out a squealed whimper and jerk your body under his touch. He chuckled darkly at your reactions, watching your fingers grab at the blanket comforter underneath you.
Your orgasm was building quickly and you wanted to let go. But ghostface, had other plans for you. Before you could even mutter a ‘I’m gonna cum’ he removed himself completely. Hearing you almost cry from pain at the loss of pleasure.
“Oh no, you don’t get to cum yet princess.” You let out a whine at his words, squirming under his arms. He grabbed your wrists, pinning you to the bed and grinding his cock against your core. It was hard and only made you beg for more.
“I want to hear you say you would’ve been honoured to have been killed by me. That it makes you wet and turned on that I could kill you right here, right now. And no one could stop me.” Excitement mixed with panic filled your stomach as you thought about how he would react if you didn’t say it.
“It turns me on, that I’m so helpless and weak, that you could kill me right now and no one would help me…or stop you.” You had to admit to yourself sheepishly, that it was erotic.
“Such a pretty princess, with a pretty pussy. And a pretty mouth. I think we should see how good it feels.” He pulled you to the floor with a loud thud, your wrists hurting from being held in place for so long. He undid the black cloak, the velcro ripping and revealing black jeans. His member pushing against the rough material just dying to get out.
You decided to unbutton his jeans and pull his dick out. It was just as you remembered, pink, swollen and veiny. His tip ached to be touched, a drip of precum oozing out his slit and and running towards the edge of his head. Your eyes met his mask, his hand came to your head and pushed his member past your lip and into the warm embrace of your mouth.
He moaned loudly for the first time, and it made you ache all over again. He thrusted his hips, fucking your throat feverishly and throwing his head back in pleasure. Muttering all kinds of vulgar words under his breath at the sensation he had been chasing since the first time he saw you. You gagged and coughed at the sharpness and uncomfortable feeling of him hitting the back of your throat.
Spittle running down the corners of your lips and chin as he relentlessly unleashed his strength onto you.
“Fucking take it princess, don’t forget how many people had to die for me to feel your pretty lips around my cock. Take it all. Fucking cock-slut.” His degrading words only sparked you to work his member harder, bobbing your heads in rhythm with him now and swirling your tongue around your mouth in no rhythm at all. He didn’t chase his orgasm, your pussy was his endgame.
“On the bed and get on your hands and knees.” He growled, annoyed at himself for not reaching his own high.
“What should I call you?” You asked innocently, big eyes batting at him as you stood to your feet and moved back onto the soft, plush mattress.
“Call me your master.” You moved onto your hands and knees, feels his gloved hands curl around your ankles and pull your legs further apart, in response you also arched your back even more.
His was pressed against your back, one heavy arm around your waist. His breath moved slow against the back of your neck. In. Out. In again.
Without meaning to, you matched it.
You stirred a little.
Shanks tightened his arm at once.
“Mm,” he mumbled, not awake enough for words.
You smiled into the pillow. “I’m not leaving.”
His mouth brushed clumsily against your shoulder. Not quite a kiss. More like a sleepy attempt at one. Then another, softer, against the side of your neck.
“Good,” he breathed.
Your heart gave a strange, aching little turn.
You turned carefully in his hold. He made a disgruntled sound, but let you move, only to pull you closer the second you faced him. His red hair was loose over the pillow.
For a while, you only looked at him.
The man the world feared. The captain everyone followed. The Emperor who laughed too loudly, drank too much, and walked into chaos with a steady presence.
Here, he was warm. His face softened by the dark. His hand curled around your back.
You lifted your fingers and brushed the hair from his cheek.
Shanks leaned into your touch.
Still asleep.
The happiness of it was so small it hurt.
Not grand. Not loud. Just his breath against your wrist. His body warm under your hand.
You loved him.
It struck you so simply that you closed your eyes.
Shanks moved closer, his forehead coming to rest against yours. His lips touched yours once, barely there, a half-kiss lost between sleep and waking.
You tucked yourself against him.
His arm came around you again.
And warm, safe, and loved, you fell back asleep.
Law
The thin blanket over your legs had slipped sometime after midnight.
Law slept close.
His chest was against your back, one arm around your waist with his hand tucked against your ribs. His fingers had found themselves under the fabric of your shirt sometime in the night.
You felt his breathing first.
Slow. Even. So much calmer than he ever sounded awake.
You stayed still, listening to it.
In.
Out.
Then yours began to follow.
Your shared room was quiet. No footsteps in the corridor. No voices. Just Law warm against you in the dark.
His nose brushed the back of your neck when he shifted.
You smiled before you could stop yourself.
“Cold?” he murmured.
His voice was rough with sleep, barely there.
“A little.”
He made a low sound of disapproval. Then his arm pulled tighter, drawing you closer until your back fit against him more securely.
“Better?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
His fingers moved once over your ribs in a slow, absent stroke. His breathing evened again against your skin. You thought he had fallen back asleep until his mouth pressed lightly to the back of your shoulder.
One kiss.
Then another, clumsy and tired at the edge of your collar.
Your heart softened so quickly it almost hurt.
You turned carefully in his arms.
Law frowned before his eyes opened. But when he saw you, the look faded into something quieter. Something unguarded.
“Go back to sleep,” he murmured.
You lifted a hand to his face instead. His hair had fallen across his forehead.
You brushed it back gently.
Law’s eyes slipped shut.
For once, he simply let himself be touched.
And there it was.
Happiness.
You loved him.
Not because he said enough. But because he reached for you in his sleep. Because his breathing slowed when you were near.
Law opened one eye. “You’re staring.”
“Sorry.”
“You’re not.”
“No.”
He leaned in and kissed the corner of your mouth.
It was not much. Just warmth. Just breath. Just him.
But when he pulled you closer, when your forehead rested beneath his chin and his hand rested on your back, it felt like everything.
Plot: You decide to leave positive affirmations behind.
Pairings: reader x Law / reader x Shanks / reader Mihawk
A/N: Silly shorts
LAW
The first note appeared on Law’s desk three days after you decided he was too grumpy for his own good.
Law noticed it immediately.
In your handwriting:
Today is a great day to do your best!
Law’s expression did not change.
Behind him, the Polar Tang hummed quietly through the water.
He picked up the note.
“Ridiculous,” he muttered.
He crumpled it.
Then paused.
Then uncrumpled it.
Then stared at it again.
Today is a great day to do your best!
It was not.
He opened the top drawer of his desk.
He put the note in the drawer.
Then he shut it very firmly.
—————
After that, you got worse.
Not dramatically.
Just enough to make him suffer.
A blue note on the inside of his office door:
You are capable of amazing things!
A pink note on his favorite medical text:
Believe in yourself!
A green note on the coffee tin:
Your attitude determines your direction!
Law took that one personally.
He found you in the galley ten minutes later, note in hand.
You were making tea.
He held it up.
You looked at it.
Then at him.
“That one felt relevant.”
“My attitude is fine.”
“You threatened to throw Shachi overboard because he hummed near your office.”
“He was off-key.”
“He was happy.”
“He was loud.”
“You see how this supports my point?”
Law’s jaw shifted.
Across the galley, Shachi made a choking sound into his cup.
Law did not turn his head. “Leave.”
Shachi stood immediately. “Yep.”
Penguin followed him out, whispering, “Your attitude determines your direction.”
“Penguin.”
“Gone, Captain.”
The door slid shut.
You were still smiling when Law looked back at you.
“This is a waste of paper,” he said.
“It’s brightening your workspace.”
“My workspace does not need brightening.”
You gave him a kind look. “That is exactly what someone with a dark, emotionally hostile workspace would say.”
His eyes narrowed.
—————
By the second week, the crew started looking for them.
That was when Law’s patience began to crack.
Shachi found one on the infirmary cabinet that said:
Every day is a fresh start!
He read it aloud in a bright, dramatic voice.
Law appeared in the doorway.
Shachi froze.
“What,” Law said, “are you doing?”
“Reading.”
“Don’t.”
“It was on the cabinet.”
“It wasn’t for you.”
The room went silent.
You looked up from the bandages.
Penguin looked at Shachi.
Shachi looked at Penguin.
Bepo covered his mouth with both paws.
Law realized what he had said approximately one second too late.
His face did not change.
But his ears went red.
You turned very slowly back to the bandages.
A smile crawled across your face.
—————
Later, you found the note tucked inside one of Law’s medical books.
Just placed there like a bookmark.
You stood beside his desk, fingers resting on the page, staring at your own handwriting.
Every day is a fresh start!
You should not have felt so warm about it.
It was a ridiculous note.
A terrible note.
The kind of thing printed on a poster in a waiting room beside a fake plant.
But Law had kept it.
Law, who called them meaningless.
Law, who claimed they were clutter.
Law, who apparently did not want Shachi reading them because they were not for him.
You heard footsteps behind you.
“You’re snooping,” Law said.
You turned.
“You left it in a book on your desk.”
“That is not an invitation.”
“It was my note.”
“It was on my cabinet.”
“That I put there.”
“For me.”
The words landed between you.
Neither of you moved.
Law’s mouth tightened.
You looked down because looking at him was suddenly difficult.
“For you,” you repeated quietly.
He was silent.
The ship creaked around you, low and familiar.
You shut the book carefully. “I’ll stop leaving them in public places.”
Law looked at you.
You could feel it.
You made yourself keep going. “Since they’re apparently private.”
His eyes narrowed slightly, but there was no bite in it.
You moved past him toward the door.
Law looked down at you.
Then he said, low, “The public ones are irritating.”
Your heart kicked.
You glanced up. “And the private ones?”
His eyes held yours.
“Less irritating.”
Your smile started before you could stop it.
“Wow,” you said. “That’s practically a love confession coming from you.”
Law’s face went flat. “Don’t push it.”
Two days later, you found a pale blue sticky note on your own door.
The handwriting was sharp. Controlled. Familiar.
Your methods are annoying.
You stared at it.
Then, underneath, in smaller letters:
They are not ineffective.
You peeled the note from your door carefully.
Law slowed, just slightly.
You folded it once.
Then again.
Then tucked it into your pocket.
His eyes flicked to the movement.
You smiled softer this time. “I’m keeping it.”
Law looked away.
“Do what you want,” he said.
So you did.
SHANKS
The first note appeared on the galley door.
You are capable of amazing things!
Lucky Roux found it before breakfast, stared at it for a long moment, then opened the door and yelled, “Who thinks I’m amazing?”
“You made eggs,” Hongo said from the table.
Lucky pressed a hand to his chest. “I feel seen.”
After that, the notes spread.
One on the main mast:
Every day is a fresh start!
Yasopp read it aloud, then looked out at the gray sky and the choppy sea.
“Feels accusatory.”
“It means be positive,” you said.
“It means I have to do chores again.”
One on Beckman’s rifle case:
You’ve got this!
Beckman peeled it off, looked at you across the deck, and said, “I know.”
“You’re supposed to feel encouraged.”
“I am encouraged by competence.”
“You’re welcome.”
He stuck the note back on the case anyway.
Rockstar found his on a barrel near the rigging.
Believe in yourself!
He stood a little taller for the rest of the morning.
By noon, he had tried to give three dramatic speeches and volunteered for a task no one had assigned.
Beckman took the note away.
“Hey,” Rockstar said. “That was helping.”
“That was the problem.”
Hongo found one on the infirmary cabinet.
Your hard work matters!
He stared at it, then looked at the medical supplies he had just organized.
“Hm.”
That was all he said.
But he left it there.
Yasopp found another near the cannons.
Your attitude determines your direction!
He turned it sideways.
Then upside down.
Then called across the deck, “Does this mean I’m allowed to avoid work if my attitude says no?”
“No,” Beckman said.
“You didn’t even think about it.”
“I did. No.”
Shanks loved the whole thing.
Of course he did.
He kept finding notes and bringing them to you like treasures.
“Look,” he said, holding up a pink one. “I am the captain of my own happiness.”
“You are the captain of the ship.”
“I can be both.”
“You are barely one.”
He grinned at you, delighted. “That felt personal.”
“It was encouraging.”
“It was rude.”
“It was accurate.”
His grin only widened.
By evening, most of the crew had at least one note. Some had kept theirs. Some had traded. Lucky had three stuck to his hat. Yasopp had added one to Beckman’s coat that said Smile! It looks good on you! and then fled for his life.
You were cleaning up when you found one last sticky note on the inside of your cabin door.
It was red.
Not yours.
The handwriting was Shanks’s.
Meet me in my cabin tonight?
You stared at it.
Then stared harder.
Behind you, the doorframe creaked.
Shanks leaned there, smiling like he had contributed something meaningful to the ship’s emotional well-being.
“Encouraging, right?”
Your face went warm. “That is not an affirmation.”
“No?” His grin widened. “I felt encouraged writing it.”
“Mine say things like Believe in yourself.”
“I do believe in myself.” His eyes flicked to the note. “That’s why I asked.”
Your mouth twitched.
He noticed, of course.
Shanks leaned in slightly, voice dropping just enough to make your stomach flip.
“So?” he asked. “Should I expect you?”
Mihawk
The first sticky note appeared on the breakfast table.
Bright green.
Cheerful.
Offensive.
Mihawk stopped beside his chair and looked down at it.
Today is full of possibilities!
He looked at you.
“What is this?”
“Encouragement.”
“It is paper.”
“It’s a positive affirmation.”
“It is a visual disturbance.”
“You’re welcome.”
Mihawk lifted the note between two fingers and examined it with cool displeasure.
“I do not require a square of adhesive paper to inform me that time continues.”
“It’s supposed to make you more positive.”
“I am positive.”
You smiled into your tea.
He did not throw the note away.
That was your first victory.
—————
After that, you became worse.
Tastefully worse, in your opinion.
A pink note on the wine cabinet:
You deserve nice things!
Mihawk peeled it off and said, “I am aware.”
A blue note on his favorite armchair:
Rest is productive!
That one annoyed him most.
“I rest adequately,” he said.
“You read reports in that chair.”
“That is restful.”
“You sharpened a knife in it last night.”
“That was also restful.”
“You see how this supports my point?”
His eyes narrowed slightly.
You smiled.
He kept the note on the side table.
—————
Perona discovered them by lunch. She floated through the hall holding one that said:
You bring light into the world!
“Did you give this to him?” she demanded.
“Yes.”
She looked horrified. “Why?”
“To improve his mood.”
Perona stared at you.
Then at Mihawk, who was silently removing a purple note from the mantle.
Then back at you.
“He’s going to retaliate.”
“He wouldn’t.”
Mihawk’s eyes lifted.
Perona drifted closer and whispered, “He absolutely would.”
—————
The retaliation came that evening.
You found a sticky note on your bedroom door.
It was black.
Of course it was black.
The handwriting was elegant and precise.
Your optimism is persistent.
You stared.
“That is not an affirmation,” you called down the hall.
Mihawk stood at the far end with a glass of wine in hand.
“It affirms your lack of restraint.”
You pressed your lips together.
He looked far too satisfied with himself.
—————
By the end of the week, the castle was covered in bright squares.
Not many.
Mihawk removed most of them.
But never immediately.
That was the important part.
You caught him reading one beside the window.
You are enough!
“This one is particularly vague,” he said, placing the note carefully on the windowsill instead of throwing it away.
You looked at him.
He looked back, calm as ever.
“You like them,” you said.
“I tolerate them.”
“You keep them.”
“I study my opponent’s methods.”
“I’m your opponent?”
His mouth curved faintly.
“In this matter, regrettably.”
You tried not to smile.
Failed.
Mihawk saw, of course.
His gaze dipped briefly to your mouth, then returned to your eyes with infuriating composure.
The next morning, you found another black note on your teacup.
Your smile is dangerously persuasive.
You stared at it until your face warmed.
Across the table, Mihawk calmly buttered his toast.
