summary: exhausted and in need of rest, you enter a tavern where they serve nothing but strong drinks. Law is hesitant to drink at first, but once he gives in, you find yourself laughing and smiling wider than you have all day.
pairing: Law x gen!Reader
word count: 1.9 k
tags & cw: none? fluff and a bit of drinking. kiss!
Masterlist âč
Each step you take feels heavier than the last, the exhaustion making you start to drag your feet.
It's late, past midnight. You and Law had survived a long, draining day, and all that mattered now was finding a place where you could rest, even if only for a moment. Unfortunately, there was only one place that remained open.
"... You've got to be kidding me", Law blurts once you finally reach the tavern.
You can hear laughter and shouting coming from the light that filters from behind the closed door, followed by voices chanting in uneven unison and the thud of boots striking the floor.
It's far from being ideal, and the idea of entering the place isn't exactly appealing. But your hunger wins out, and you sure know this is better than nothing. Law's heavy eyes tell you he might be already thinking about leaving.
"C'mon," you say, reaching for his sleeve, "I'm starving."Â You tug and he follows with a click of his tongue.
When you push the door open the noise hits you louder than what either of you expected, and you feel how the smell of tobacco and alcohol makes your head spin. Even so, you make your way through the crowd, hoping to find a place where you can feel even slightly removed from the noise and the chaos. Finally, near the back and pressed against the wall, you spot a narrow table far enough away from the worst of the noise and somewhat hidden from the multitude.
Law drops onto the bench, takes off his hat, and sets it on the table with a tired motion, exhaling sharply as he tips his head back. You sit down across from him, resting your forehead against your hand, elbow on the table.
After a moment, he brings his head back and sets his heavy eyes on you, assessing your mood while he tries to figure out whether you hate this place as much as he does.
Before you can find the drinks section in the menu, two mugs are set down in front of you. Whatever they were serving, it was strong, and Law's expression tightened as soon as the mug was placed in front of him. He picks it up, gives it a few sniffs, and looks at you like it had personally offended him. Despite how tired you feel, that makes you smile and chuckle. Curious, you lift your own mug and take a careful sip. The alcohol burns your throat and you feel the warmth as it spreads down into your chest. You smile and let out a hiss under your breath.
"Could be worse," you say, bringing it back to your lips, "Come on, let's relax for a moment. We both need it." Law scoffs, unconvinced, but after watching you take a few more sips, he starts drinking.
The food helps more than the alcohol, and with every bite and swallow you feel the weight in your head lifting more and more. You notice how Law's shoulders slowly begin to ease and the stiffness in his posture starts to fade as well. His expression softens into an almost carefree look, something you don't get to see often, and notice a faint red that begins to flush in his cheeks.
Heat rises to your own face as well, and you feel your limbs grow lighter. So light that, before you know it, your feet are already moving beneath the table, tapping to the music and the voices that sing an old shanty with uneven enthusiasm. You're so distracted you accidentally bump his leg.
"Ohâ pffft, sorry," you laugh.
But to your surprise, he nudges your knee right back, and a playful smile spreads across his face. He has his gaze fixed on you, and he seems to have no intention of moving his leg away, which you feel now lazily brushing against yours. It catches you so off guard your heart seems to forget how to beat properly, leaving you with a heavy pang in your chest. You tell yourself it's just the alcohol, not quite knowing how to react.
The smirk on his face only widens at your reaction, and your chest tightens at the sight of it. Curse him, he knows exactly what he's doing.
But you realize you don't want him to stop. There's something dangerously addictive about that look in his golden eyes, about that mischievous look and smirk that keeps widening as he continues to lazily rub his knee against yours. And you find yourself wanting to push further, to try and see how far this game can go.
So, on impulse, you nudge him back, this time harder and more deliberately, and his eyes flicker in surprise. He answers immediately, and after some clumsy kicks and knocks, you're both stepping on each other and bumping your legs together to the rhythm of the song. Careless and uncoordinated, trying to outmatch the other as you steady yourselves against the table so you don't lose your balance.
It's stupid, and it's fun. And when you notice the corner of his mouth lifting more and more with every nudge he returns, you find yourself laughing and smiling wider than you have all day.
Ah, give me the girl with the dark soft hair,
The one that smiles, the one who cares,
They sing her name in every town,
From dock to dock till the sun goes down.
So fill your pint and don't look back,
For nights like these are all we have,
We'll sail at dawn, we'll raise our sails,
Now drink to the ones we won't forget!
The last verse was shouted more than sung, and it was followed by an eruption of cheers and laughter. You look at Law and he looks back at you, both flushed and breathless from your made-up game, laughing as you try to catch your breath. His eyes crinkle as the last laugh leaves him, and his chin comes to rest in one hand.
As the noise settles gradually, you ease your breathing, still looking at him and realizing a second too late that neither of you can look away. You stare at each other as the clamor of the tavern fades and time seems to slow down, feeling something warm and heavy settling in your chest.
Your heart stumbles the moment you feel a slow and soft caress beneath the table. His foot slides against yours again, but this time with a softness that feels completely different from moments ago. You could swear almost tenderly. He traces the side of your ankle near your shoe, slightly lifting the fabric there, trying to feel you through it.
His gaze stays on you, and unable to hold it, you drop your eyes with a shy smile. Your face feels hot, and you try to focus on the table, on your hands, on anything but him.
Then, a new voice from the stage catches your attention, and you notice the sudden silence in the tavern, realizing it was real and not an illusion brought on by the tension of the moment. You turn towards the stage and see a woman step up, wearing a beautiful dress. Every pair of eyes are suddenly on her. When she opens her mouth, a slow melody flows from her lips:
I am longing endlessly,
To feel your touch, to hear your voice.
If I dare speak and say your name,
Will you want me just the same?
Still, I keep your name where I can't speak,
Between my ribs, between my sleep.
If I reach out will you remain?
Or will desire undo the same?
But every glance, every shift,
Makes me wish for what I shouldn't risk.
And I drown in this sea of you,
Oh, so deep, so blue, so bleak.
You're so captivated by her that you don't notice Law leaning towards you until his voice reaches your ear. "Come sit here," he whispers, "you'll break your neck if you keep twisting like that."
His teasing tone makes you roll your eyes, but you accept his suggestion anyway and stand up. Law shifts to make some space for you, and when you sit down next to him, your thigh presses completely against his in the narrow space. He lifts his arm and rests it behind you without exactly touching you, thinking that by doing so he might probably give you both some more space. Drawn by his warmth, you turn your body slightly toward him and lean in without thinking. It feels almost natural.
The song continues, and you turn your gaze toward the stage. Everything feels different from this angle, and you can't help but become aware of every subtle movement Law makes. And something tells you he's aware of yours too.
As if he'd regretted it, he pulls his arm back and rests it on his thigh instead, but when he does, his hand accidentally brushes against your fingers. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly, and you catch the moment his breath hitches. Still neither of you moves away.
He's tempted to pull back, but his desire to feel you, to hold you, makes his fingers graze your knuckles instead. Slowly, he brings them closer until they properly touch yours, skin to skin.
You feel your fingers move against your will, your heart suddenly beating a little too fast. Law feels your touch, and his breathing quickens at that. He takes a moment to reconsider, his hand staying still as he wonders whether he should pull back now before it's too late.
Giving in, and in response to your touch, his hand shifts and his palm turns slowly beneath yours, opening and inviting you in. You hesitate for a moment before sliding your fingers into his, and Law's heart suddenly falters.
Feigning composure, his thumb brushes your skin, and his fingers tighten around yours.
The song feels distant now, and even though your gaze has turned once more to the stage, it's difficult to follow the lyrics. Your attention is drawn to the warmth of his hand and the gentle caress of his thumb against your skin.
Law notices how your grip tightens every time his thumb moves, and that does something to him. He can't help it, he needs you closer.
He leans in to whisper something in your earâ simply a casual comment about the song, saying it sounds familiarâ but you're so distracted that you don't quite register his words and have to turn your head and ask him to repeat what he just said. But when you do, your noses brush.
You both freeze. Completely still and caught in the realization of how dangerously close you are. Unable to do anything but stare into each other's eyes. Law's breath grows uneven with each passing second, and you feel its warmth almost reach your lips. His thumb lays now completely still in your hand.
He notices how your eyes drop to his lips, and something inside him gives in. For a second, he hesitates, leaning only close enough to taste your breath.
And as if you've both reached the same thought at the same time, your eyes fall shut and he closes the distance. His lips brush against yours so gently it barely counts as a kiss. You feel the warm and soft pressure, but when you move them, a soft exhale escapes him before he can stop it, and you feel him melt.
His hand rises to gently cup your face, two fingers under your chin and his thumb near the corner of your mouth, guiding you as he tilts your face to deepen the kiss.
The woman sings the final note and an applause breaks the silence behind you, but neither of you are able to hear it. All you can think of is wishing for more nights like this, as you smile into the kiss when you feel his lips curve against yours.
believe it or not this was just an excuse for me to write some poetry, but before i knew it i was already giggling with more ideas ksksk. also, first attempt at writing in present tense? well, first conscious attempt? idk why but it was incredibly hard and confusing. enjoy it while you can because it might not happen again! đ«Ą
Plot: A tavern waitress with roots in nobility is taken into the polished brutality of Mary Geoise. Saint Shamrock Figarland is tasked with retrieving you. How unfortunate for him.
Read on AO3
As a thank you for reaching 100 followers on tumblr: The first completed chapter of my next story.
Arc 1: The Retrieval
Chapter 1: The Stranger in the Tavern
The tavern smelled like spilled ale, fried food, and sweat.
It always did after sunset.
The fishermen came in loud and hungry. The farmers took the area near the wall, where they could complain about taxes and their wives in peace.
You had been a waitress for six years. Before that, you had washed cups in the back. Before that, you had been the quiet child your mother kept close whenever unfamiliar ships came into port.
You did not remember much from before the island.
Sometimes there were pieces. White stone under sunlight. A high room with curtains too heavy to move in the breeze. Your motherâs hand tight around yours. The sound of her breathing hard while she carried you down steps you could not see the bottom of.
Mostly, there was only your motherâs fear.
She had brought you here when you were small, to an island so unimportant most maps forgot to name it properly. A place of fishing nets, muddy roads, and people who knew everyoneâs business.
She died three years ago.
The cottage was yours now. So were her old warnings, though you had never known what to do with most of them.
Do not speak of where you were born.
Do not trust men in clean white uniforms.
If a ship comes with a world government flag and no trade goods, run.
There had been no ships like that in years.
So you worked. You learned which customers tipped, which customers lied, and which customers needed their fingers bent backward before they understood the meaning of no.
âAnother round over here!â
âYou still owe for the last one,â you called back, balancing three mugs in one hand and a plate of fried potatoes in the other.
Old Merek slapped berries onto his table. âI was testing your memory.â
âYouâve been testing it every night for six years. It keeps passing.â
The table laughed. Merek raised his mug in salute.
You slid the potatoes in front of Ellen the net-mender, ducked under Torrenâs arm as he turned too suddenly, and caught a falling cup before it hit the floor.
Behind the counter, Lysa gave you a flat look.
âYou missed one.â
âI caught it.â
âWith your elbow.â
âStill counts.â
Lysa snorted and went back to wiping down the counter. She owned the tavern, though half the village behaved like she had been placed on the earth solely to keep them fed and drunk. She had once broken a chair over a man who tried to leave without paying.
You admired her deeply.
The front door opened again. Wind pushed in first, cold and damp off the water, followed by three dockhands you knew and one man you did not.
The stranger took a seat in the far corner.
Hood up. Cloak dark. Boots too clean for the road, steps too quiet for a drunk.
You moved between tables with practiced speed, collecting empty mugs, dodging elbows, cutting off fights before they grew teeth.
âYour wife said if you sing that again, youâre sleeping in the goat shed,â you told Harvin when he climbed onto a bench.
He dropped back into his seat immediately.
You were reaching for a stack of bowls when a hand closed around your waist.
Not a bump. Not an accident.
A grab.
The tavernâs mood shifted before you even turned.
You looked down at the thick fingers pressed into your apron, then slowly back over your shoulder.
The man attached to them was a trader from the mainland. Red-faced, broad, drunk enough to be stupid, not enough to be forgiven for it. He grinned up at you like he had discovered something clever.
âCome on,â he said. âBe friendly.â
Someone nearby muttered, âOh, bad choice.â
You set the bowls down very carefully. âYou have three seconds,â you said.
He laughed. âOr what?â
You took his wrist, peeled his hand off your waist, and punched him square in the face.
His chair tipped backward.
He hit the floor with a crash that rattled every mug on the nearest table.
There was silence.
Then the tavern exploded.
Men howled. Someone slapped the table hard enough to spill his drink. The trader groaned on the floor, both hands over his nose.
âOut,â Lysa said.
The trader rolled to his side, cursing through his hands. Blood dripped between his fingers.
âYou broke my nose!â
You picked up a rag from the nearest table and tossed it onto his chest.
âThen something about you finally improved.â
Two dockhands hauled him up by the arms and marched him toward the door while he stumbled and spat threats no one took seriously.
âYouâll regret this!â
âUnlikely,â you called after him.
The door opened. Wind rushed in. The trader was thrown out into the muddy street.
The door shut.
Someone shouted, âDrinks for the lady!â
âYou still have to pay for them,â Lysa snapped.
The tavern laughed again and settled back into its noise, warmer now, brighter. That was how it always happened. Someone tested the boundaries. You reminded them where they were. Everyone here had watched you grow from a silent child into a woman with quick hands and a quicker mouth.
You flexed your fingers once.
Your knuckles stung.
The hooded stranger in the corner had not moved. That was what caught your attention the second time.
Everyone else had turned to watch the punch. Everyone else had laughed, shouted, reacted. But he sat exactly as he had before.
You could not see his face clearly, but you knew he was watching.
You looked away first, irritated with yourself for caring.
Travelers stared. Men stared. People with secrets stared. It did not matter.
You had survived worse than being looked at.
Near midnight, the room began to thin. Farmers went first. Then the fishermen.
When you looked toward the corner again, the stranger was gone.
Your hand stilled on the stack of plates.
The bell above the front door had not rung.
Lysa noticed your face before she followed your gaze. âWhat?â
You looked toward the back hall. The stairwell. The shadow near the side door.
Nothing.
Only the low fire, the scrape of Lysaâs rag over the bar, and the wind pressing against the shutters.
Lysaâs mouth flattened. âYou want me to tell Torren to linger?â
âNo,â you said, still watching the back hall. âNot yet.â
Outside, across the muddy road and beneath the eaves of the closed smithy, Shamrock Figarland lowered his hood.
The tavernâs lamp caught the edge of his red hair before the night took it again.
So.
It was her.
The missing daughter of the Holy Land, hidden for years on this dull little island, pouring ale for fishermen and breaking noses in a tavern that smelled like smoke and cheap beer.
He had expected fear. Confusion, perhaps. A woman raised in the lower world, ignorant of what she was, easy enough to secure once the truth closed around her.
Instead, she had bloodied a manâs face and made half the room cheer for it.
Shamrock looked through the tavern window.
Inside, you were laughing at something the older woman behind the counter said, your sleeves rolled to your elbows, your hair loosened from work, your knuckles reddened from the punch.
Not polished.
Not obedient.
Not tame.
Worth handling personally.
A Holy Knight waited in the alley behind him.
âCommander?â the man asked quietly.
Shamrock did not look away from the window.
âConfirm the perimeter,â he said. âNo action tonight.â
âWe have confirmation?â
âYes.â
Inside, you turned suddenly, as if you felt the weight of his attention.
Your eyes searched the window.
For one brief moment, through lamplight and warped glass, you looked almost directly at him.
Shamrock smiled.
âNot tame at all,â he murmured.
Then he stepped back into the dark.
The rest of the story will be posted soon!
**Credit for dividers: @saradika-graphics & @chrisssiren
Hypnotized by the woman wrapped in his black silk sheets, Mihawk couldnât take his eyes off you.
Even after years of marriage, he still worshiped you with the same fervor and passion as when he first time saw you under the pale moonlight. The corpse lying stretched out on the floor was forgotten before your morbid beauty, and the scythe used to kill the man made you look like death incarnate; no other being could appear as majestic and ethereal as you when taking someoneâs life.Â
âCome kiss me, my love.â the velvety sound of your voice drew him like a pirate is drawn to a sirenâs song. Mihawk left the door to sit beside you in the empty space on the bed that belonged to him, and with the same adoration of a devoted man, gently took your hand in his to spread kisses from the fingertips to the curve of your neck â he was careful to touch the skin that was still sensitive from recent displays of affection.
âHow was your night, dear?â Mihawk stopped kissing you to sink in the delirium that was your eyes as he caressed your face softly with his finger.
â Terrible!â you said, haunted by the memories still fresh in your mind. âLast night you were unhinged, like a desperate, hungry demonâŠâ
He had acted like a beast, cruel and savage; and your body remembered the irrational way Mihawk had attacked you a few hours earlier â you felt every bite mark throbbing with the most delicious pain; the skin on your hip burned with the intensity which he had dug his nails into it to prevent you from escaping his grip.Â
âYou frightened meâŠâ whispered, pulling him closer until his weight pressed against you. âdo it again.âÂ
a/n: i love addam's family and Mihawk is 100% goth
summary: f!reader finds aizawa sleeping in an uncomfortable position and puts aside their petty rivalry to help him.
âAgain?â
You had a cup of your favourite drink in one hand, and in your other hand you had your keys, mobile device, your choice of breakfast - all while staring into the classroom of 1A where Aizawa, in his yellow sleeping bag, was slumped against the wall, looking uncomfortable but oddly serene.
âEven in your sleep youâre a mess.â You grumble, about to move forward, but your eyes linger on him a second too long and that familiar tug at your heartstrings moved you towards him.
You set down your belongings on his desk, kneel before him, and gather his face in your hands. His beard tickled your palm and you will yourself not to let out a laugh, and bring his forehead to your chest, loop your arms under his thighs, and lay him on the ground.
Your hand travels down to his neck, and when his pulse jumps under your thumb, your lip quirked.
âYouâre awake?â
âYouâre the one that woke me up.â
Your expression softens. Still, he did not see it, he chose not to open his eyes.
Instead of leaving, you lean your back to his desk, bury your chin into your knees, and wrap your arms around your thighs.
âFor a man who loves sleeping, you sure donât look well rested, Aizawa.â
He didnât respond.
So, thinking he was still asleep, you move to leave, but his voice stopped you.
âStay.â
You were surprised.
âReally?â
âDonât make me repeat myself.â
You chuckle, grab your breakfast, and get comfy.
âI still think Iâm better than you.â You remind him. âAnd donât you forget it.â
âSo whyâs your class falling behind mine?â
Your eye twitched. âYou shit.â
He smirked. You laugh.
âGo to sleep, Iâll be here when you wake up.â
Plot: A strange island traps Law and you in each otherâs bodies.
The island was not on the map.
Law checked twice.
Fog pressed around the Polar Tang, thick enough to blur the horizon, but not enough to hide the island ahead.
Black trees. Pale shore. No birds.
The log pose spun uselessly.
Bepoâs ears flattened. âCaptain, I donât like it.â
Law folded the map and slid it into his coat. âNeither do I.â
You stood beside the hatch, watching the island through the fog. The air felt wrong.
Law glanced back.
âYouâre coming with me.â
Your stomach gave a small, inconvenient twist.
You ignored it. You were very good at ignoring things around Trafalgar Law.
âYes, Captain.â
Bepo stepped forward. âCaptain, I can go.â
âNo.â Law adjusted Kikoku against his shoulder. âStay with the Tang. If the current shifts, get us out.â
Bepo wilted. âAye, Captain.â
You climbed into the small boat after Law. The moment it left the side of the Polar Tang, the fog swallowed the crewâs voices.
The oars made no sound in the water.
You looked over the side. The boat moved, but the sea did not ripple.
Law noticed too. His eyes narrowed, but he said nothing.
Law stepped onto shore first. You followed.
The island was worse up close. Salt marked the trees well past the shoreline. Shells were stuck in the bark, and shallow pools sat between the roots.
Near one of the trees stood an old wooden sign.
WHAT THE HEART BURIES, THE SOUL MUST CARRY.
Law stared at the sign.
âThatâs comforting,â you said quietly.
âItâs a warning.â
âI figured that out, thanks.â
His gaze shifted to you.
You looked away first.
The two of you moved past the sign and into the trees.
Fog gathered around your ankles. The pools reflected things wrong. One showed Law behind you when he was still ahead. Another showed your reflection turning before you moved.
Your next step caught on a root.
Lawâs hand closed around your wrist before you could fall.
It was quick. Practical. Nothing more.
Your pulse still jumped.
His fingers stayed there for half a second too long.
Then he released you. âWatch your feet.â
âYes, Captain.â
Somewhere deeper in the trees, a voice whispered.
Your voice.
âDonât leave yet.â
You stopped.
Law stopped too.
His expression did not change, but his hand shifted closer to Kikoku.
âYou heard that?â you asked.
âYes.â
âIt sounded like me.â
âI know.â
You waited for him to say more.
He didnât.
Law crouched beside one of the pools, studying the surface without touching it.
The water was perfectly still.
Then it darkened.
The fog moved between the trees, and another whisper came.
This time, it used Lawâs voice.
âPlease look at me.â
Lawâs head snapped up.
Your breath caught.
Neither of you spoke.
Then the ground tilted.
You reached for him.
Law reached for you.
Your fingers touched.
The pool flashed white.
You hit the ground hard.
For a moment, there was only cold stone beneath your back. Then you opened your eyes.
And saw yourself standing over you.
Your own face looked down at you with Lawâs expression.
Flat. Controlled. Already angry.
âDonât panic,â your body said in Lawâs voice.
You screamed.
Unfortunately, the scream came out of Lawâs mouth.
Your hands flew to your throat.
Not your throat.
His throat.
Your fingers hit tattooed skin. Your sleeves were yellow. His coat hung heavy around your shoulders. Kikoku lay beside you, far too close to your leg.
You looked down.
Long legs. Open coat. Spotted hat fallen near your hand.
âOh no.â
Law, in your body, closed his eyes.
It was alarming how much like himself he still looked while wearing your face.
âDonât,â he said.
âThatâs my face.â
âYes.â
âYouâre using my face.â
âI noticed.â
You grabbed your own cheeks.
Law caught your wrists with your hands. âLet go.â
You froze.
The touch was wrong enough to make your thoughts scatter.
You yanked back and nearly tripped over Lawâs coat.
Law reached for you automatically, then stopped halfway.
Both of you stared at each other.
Your hand lifted to Lawâs chest before you caught yourself. âDid you do this?â
His expression from your face sharpened. âNo.â
âYour Devil Fruit swaps people.â
âMy Devil Fruit does not do this by accident.â
âYou said that very quickly.â
âBecause it is true.â
You looked down at yourself. At his coat, his hands, the sword beside you.
Then you looked back at him.
Lawâs mouth flattened.
Coming from your face, it was deeply unsettling.
âStand up,â he said.
You tried.
It was harder than expected.
Lawâs body was taller, heavier, differently balanced. Kikoku dragged at your side. The coat caught under your hand. You got one foot beneath you, pushed up too quickly, and lurched forward.
Law caught you again.
With your body.
For one brief, horrible second, you were pressed against yourself.
You both stepped back at the same time.
Law looked away first.
âCareful,â he said.
You adjusted his coat. âIâm trying.â
He turned toward the trees, then stopped.
You watched him take three steps in your body.
Not badly, exactly.
But wrong.
His shoulders were too stiff. His stride was too long and had to correct itself. Your hands stayed close to his sides as if he did not know what to do with them. He held your face in a blank, controlled expression that looked nothing like you.
âWe need to get back to the ship.â
The path back was gone.
Where there should have been a trail, there were three reflective pools and a wall of fog.
You lifted Lawâs hand.
Law stepped toward you. âDonât.â
âROOM.â
The blue sphere burst outward.
For one second, relief hit you.
Then it lurched.
The sphere warped sideways, clipped through the trees, and snapped back so hard your knees nearly gave out. A sharp pain shot behind your eyes.
Law caught you by the front of his own coat.
You blinked down at him.
Or at yourself.
Everything felt wrong.
âI told you,â Law said.
You pressed a hand to his temple. âThat was awful.â
âYes.â
âYou do that on purpose?â
âCorrectly.â
The fog moved around you.
Lawâs grip tightened on your coat before he released it.
âDo not try again,â he said.
You swallowed, still feeling the pressure behind his eyes. âI wasnât planning to.â
Your voice whispered from somewhere nearby.
âYouâre tired.â
A pool beside you rippled.
You looked down.
In the water, you saw Law asleep at his desk.
Not peacefully. Folded forward over medical notes, one hand still holding a pen. His shoulders were tense even in sleep.
You stood in the doorway with a cup of tea. You watched him for a long moment. Then you crossed the room quietly, set the tea beside his papers, and left.
The image vanished.
You looked atLaw.
He was staring at the pool.
âYou saw that,â you said.
âYes.â
Your face went hot.
His face.
Either way, awful.
âI thought you were asleep.â
âI was.â
You looked at him. Lawâs expression stayed carefully neutral.
âYou never said anything.â
âNo.â
His gaze stayed on the pool.
âI didnât know what to say.â
His heart kicked hard inside your chest.
No.
Inside his chest.
Your hand lifted instinctively, pressing against his sternum.
The fog shifted again. Another pool shimmered. This time, the water showed the infirmary.
You sat on the edge of the examination table while Law bandaged your hand. His fingers moved carefully over your skin. Your reflection looked down at his hands.
Lawâs reflection looked at your face. He stopped himself from saying something.
The pool went still.
Law turned away.
You heard his voice in the fog.
âStay.â
The word was barely there.
Not an order.
A wish.
You swallowed.
âThe sign,â you said.
Law did not answer.
âWhat the heart buries,â you continued, quieter now. âThe soul carries.â
âI remember.â
âWhat does it want from us?â
His silence answered before he did.
Finally, Law said, âAn admission.â
Your chest tightened.
Your voice whispered from behind you.
âSay it.â
Lawâs voice answered from somewhere ahead.
âI canât.â
You stopped breathing.
Law went still.
A pool opened beside his foot.
He did not look down.
You did.
You saw yourself leaving the infirmary late at night. Law stood behind his desk, one hand half-raised, mouth slightly open.
He said nothing.
You left.
After the door closed, he lowered his hand.
The pool darkened.
You looked up.
Lawâs expression was unreadable.
But you were in his body.
You could feel what he was hiding.
His pulse was not steady.
It was fast.
âLaw.â
He did not answer.
You took one step toward him.
His pulse jumped.
You felt it before you could stop yourself from noticing. A hard, quick beat under your ribs. His body reacting before he could cover it.
Law saw your face change.
âDonât,â he said.
âI didnât say anything.â
âYou donât have to.â
You looked down at his chest, then back at him.
âIt happens when I get close.â
Lawâs jaw flexed.
The fog went still around you. You stepped closer again, slower this time.
His breath caught. Only enough for you to feel it.
Your voice dropped. âI thought I was the only one.â
Law looked away.
That was answer enough.
Lawâs hand pressed briefly against your stomach, as if he had felt the nervous twist there and hated knowing what it meant.
You froze.
His eyes lifted to yours.
âYouâre not calm either,â he said.
The words were quiet. Not accusing.
You looked away first. âNo.â
The fog shifted around you, waiting.
âNo,â you said again, softer. âIâm not.â
Law did not move.
You forced yourself to look at him. âI worry about you.â
His mouth tightened.
âNot just because youâre my captain.â
Lawâs gaze dropped for a moment, then returned to yours.
âI noticed,â he said.
âThe tea?â
âThat.â His voice stayed controlled, but barely. âAnd the way you stay too late. The way you look away when I catch you looking.â
Your breath caught.
He felt that too. You saw it in the slight change of your own face.
Law looked down briefly.
âI do it too,â he said.
The admission was small. It still hit like something breaking open.
The fog thinned, but did not disappear. You understood then. It wanted the rest.
You stepped closer. Lawâs pulse jumped again beneath your ribs.
You said his name.
His eyes lifted.
âI care about you,â you said. âNot the way Iâm supposed to.â
For a moment, Law looked like he might still refuse. Like he might force the words back down by habit alone. Then his hand lifted and closed around your wrist.
Your wrist.
His hand.
Both wrong.
Both right.
âI know,â he said.
Your throat tightened.
Then, quieter, he added, âI care about you too.â
The fog pulled back slowly, like the island had finally heard enough.
The island released them.
The ground dropped out beneath your feet. Your vision flashed white. Then you stumbled forward in your own body.
Your own knees.
Your own hands.
Law caught you.
His body was his again, solid and close, and when you looked up, his face was above yours.
His real face.
You grabbed the front of his shirt before either of you could step back.
Law looked at your hand.
Then at your face.
He kissed you.
It was careful for only the first second.
His hand slid from your waist to your back and pulled you hard against him. His mouth opened over yours, the kiss turning deep almost at once. You felt the breath he took when you kissed him back.
You broke away just enough to breathe.
His forehead rested against yours.
The fog had thinned around you. Through the trees, the shoreline was visible again. The boat waited where you had left it. Beyond that, the Polar Tang sat in calm water.
As if nothing had happened.
His eyes dropped to your mouth again.
You breathed, âLaw.â
He kissed you once more, shorter this time, but enough to make your knees feel unreliable.
Then he drew back with visible effort.
âWeâve been gone too long,â he said.
You nodded.
The walk back to shore was quiet. Halfway there, Law reached back.
He did not look at you.
He simply opened his hand.
You took it.
When the two of you reached the boat, the fog had lifted enough for the Polar Tang to come back into view.
âCaptain!â Bepo called, voice cracking with relief. âYouâre back!â
Penguin leaned beside him. âYou both disappeared!â
Shachi cupped his hands around his mouth. âWe couldnât even see the shore!â
Law helped you into the boat first.
Then he climbed in after you, his hand briefly touching your back to steady you.
The crew was still shouting questions from the Tang.
âWhat happened?â Bepo called.
Law took the oars.
You looked at him.
He looked back at you.
His expression was calm again, controlled in the way everyone expected from him.
Bepo made a worried sound. âWas it dangerous?â
SLIGHT SPOILER FOR âTYBW â THE CALAMITYâ, I GUESS.
Guys, I have two things to say. First of all, people who claimed Aizen looked hideous in the trailer shall apologise to the animators. Secondly, I think he got me pregnant with a glance.
warnings: f!reader, destructive reader, mentions of blood and arm injury (not self inflicted, from an enemy attack), hint at parental loss (suicide - mother).
When Law entered your room, it was with the intention of forcing you to let him check out your injuries but before he entered, he braced himself for the sight of tossed lingerie and stacks of books but when he entered, all he saw was scattered bits of paper, canvases, pens, paint and ink, all relating to him. Things he never spoke to you about was on the pristine canvas, smeared with his pain and trauma, and in those drawings, faced a life he wished he could return to.
Law, with his mother and father, Law with Rosinante, Law as a Captain, Law before he was a Captain, Law with Bepo, Penguin and Shachi, Law with Ikkaku, Law with you and with other crew members - everything relating to his life, you had drawn it out, and in the middle of it all was you, surrounded by this pain, with your wrists bleeding, and your tears overflowing.
Law was apart of your soul whether you liked it or not. His life was in the palm of your hands, and to remind yourself of this, youâd kiss the inside of them, and rest your hand over your heart, just to feel a flicker of him, or the thread that bound you to him, and youâd cry enough to fill the Nile, and draw again, to simply relieve yourself from the pain of loving him.
Theyâre all about me.
Law took a step towards you, kneels before you, and gathers your face in his hands. He didnât understand any of this. He couldnât understand you. However, his primary focus was your injuries. The damage you sustained from the enemy attack was still prominent - you forcibly removed the bandages he applied to mimic the sight of bleeding out, and Lawâs jaw ticked.
âWhatâs all this?â
You couldnât answer him. You were ashamed.
Law looked at the drawing of a younger version of him, and then at the mirror leaned against the wall. The white patches of his disease was no longer there and the pain of his suffering was a dull ache. He gathered you in his arms and took you out of your room, into the surgery room, and laid you on the bed.
Then, he got to work, and you were bandaged again.
You didnât want to burden him with this veracity, and with your prolonged silence, Law was becoming agitated.
He said your name once. Twice. You could no longer bear to hear the way he said your name and finally, you told him the truth.
âYouâre my soulmate.â
The words linger in the air and without shame.
âIâd have dreams about you but it was foggy. It would become clear when Iâd draw you. I carried your life in my heart when I didnât know you!â
Law towered over you as you sat, fiddling with your fingers, as you spoke about the past you experienced.
Soulmates huh?
Law busied his hands with the surgical instruments, put them back in their respectful places after cleaning them, and cleaned the surface.
âHow come I donât feel anything?â
âItâs one-sided.â You whisper. âA curse.â
Law stilled.
âIs that why your motherâŠ?â
Your mother suffered the same fate, loved your father but your father didnât love her back. The pain was too much to handle, and now she was one with the soil.
Your silence spoke volumes.
âDonât worry Law, I wonât kill myself. I have too much to live for.â You say, sitting up.
His jaw ticked. âI never said you would.â
âI could see the fear in your eyes.â
His brows furrow as he intently stared at the metal cabinet.
âI wonât share the details of your past, and I wonât share my drawings with anyone. Theyâre my only relief from this. But, if it makes you uncomfortable, Iâllââ
âNo.â
His voice was sharp.
âIf drawings helps, draw away, but if it gets too much you talk to me. You donât reopen your wounds and try to bleed out like this is a theatre. Weâre pirates. I need my crew intact, and I need my crew sane.â
Your eyes soften.
âOkay.â
âGood.â
You linger a second too long, then walk towards the door.
Law says your name. You tilt your head to look at him as the door slides open.
âItâs not one-sided.â
Your shocked eyes meet his sharp ones and when your eyes well with tears, did you look away, and with a quirk to your lip, you say his name so softly, he almost misheard, until you spoke again, and warmed his heart.
âLaw,â You whisper. âIâm glad.â
Then, when you were gone, could Law finally breathe.
Shachi was yelling about something across the table. Penguin was arguing right back. Bepo was laughing. Someone had started a game involving darts that Law was fairly certain would end in property damage.
Normally he would've left an hour ago.
Instead, he sat with a book in his hands and pretended to read. Pretended being the important word. Because every few minutes his eyes kept drifting to the same place.
You.
Specifically, you curled against Bepo's side.
Law's eye twitched. You weren't even doing anything inappropriate. You were just drunk.
Everyone knew what happened when you got drunk. You became unbearably affectionate.
The first time it happened, you'd nearly given Penguin a heart attack by climbing into his lap because he "looked lonely."
Tonight's chosen cuddle target happened to be Bepo. The navigator didn't seem to mind in the slightest. If anything, he looked delighted. You were currently using his arm as a pillow.
"Bepo."
"Yeah?" he answered.
"You're really fluffy."
Bepo laughed, but before he answered, he caught Law looking.
Not just once.
Again.
And again.
Every few seconds, the captain's eyes drifted back toward the two of them before he forced himself to look down at his book.
Ah.
Bepo bit back a smile.
Captain... you're making this way too obvious.
Law turned a page. He hadn't read a single word. When he glanced up again, he locked eyes with Bepo.
Bepo's expression immediately brightened. Law knew that look and he hated that look. Because it meant Bepo had noticed something.
Again.
The bear's gaze shifted deliberately toward you, then back to Law, and he smiled. Law immediately looked away.
Absolutely not. Whatever Bepo was planning, he wanted no part of it. Unfortunately, Bepo had never once respected that boundary.
"Oh!" Bepo suddenly announced.
You looked up.
"Hm?"
"I need to get another round."
"No you don't."
The words left Law's mouth before he could stop them, and the entire table went quiet. Bepo blinked innocently.
"I don't?"
"No."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
Bepo considered this. Then smiled even wider.
"Well, I want another round."
Law felt dread settle into his stomach.
The bear stood, and you immediately grabbed his sleeve.
"Don't leave."
"It's okay." Bepo gently patted your head. "Captain can sit here while I'm gone."
Law nearly dropped his book.
"Bepo."
"What?"
"Bepo."
The warning was obvious. The bear ignored it completely, and you were already patting the empty seat beside you.
"Come sit."
Law stared.
You stared right back with wide, adorable doe eyes.
...
Damn it.
The crew stared at both of you.
This was a trap.
An obvious trap.
A stupid trap.
And yet somehow he found himself standing anyway. The moment he sat down, you leaned against him.
Immediately.
No hesitation.
No warning.
One second there was space between you. The next your shoulder was pressed against his side.
Law's entire body locked.
Warm.
That was the first thing he noticed.
The second was your shampoo.
The third was the horrifying realization that you fit against his side as though you'd always belonged there.
You sighed contentedly and settled closer.
Apparently completely unaware that you had just shortened his lifespan by several years.
Around the table, grins started appearing.
Law glared.
Nobody looked even remotely intimidated.
"Captain?"
Penguin's voice carried far too much amusement.
"What."
"You okay?"
Law frowned.
"Why wouldn't I be?"
Penguin and Shachi exchanged a glance.
"You look uncomfortable."
Uncomfortable? Law looked down. You were practically asleep against his shoulder.
Actually....
You looked comfortable. Very comfortable. A strange sense of satisfaction settled somewhere in his chest.
Before he could stop it, Shachi stood.
"I can take them."
"No."
The answer came instantly. The crew and Law blinked. That had come out significantly more aggressive than intended.
"I mean," he corrected, clearing his throat. "They're fine."
You responded by wrapping an arm around his, like you were proving his point.
Without opening your eyes, your fingers found the front of his coat, bunching the fabric in your fist before you let out a quiet, content little sigh.
Law forgot how breathing worked.
Across the room, Bepo nearly walked into a chair.
Traitor.
Absolute traitor.
When the bear finally returned with drinks, he looked entirely too pleased with himself.
"Want me to take my spot back?"
"No."
Again. Immediate. Instinctive.
Law didn't even think before answering. The smile Bepo gave him afterward was insufferable.
The worst part was that he couldn't take it back. Because by now you were half asleep. Your head rested against his shoulder. One hand loosely gripping the sleeve of his coat.
Your thumb absentmindedly rubbed back and forth against the fabric, as though making sure he was still there.
You never opened your eyes. You didn't have to. You trust him, are comfortable with him.
The idea of moving you suddenly felt ridiculous.
Every now and then you'd mumble something unintelligible and burrow closer. Each time it happened, Law's heart did something profoundly annoying.
Eventually, the crew began heading back toward the Polar Tang. Law carefully stood, making sure not to jostle you awake.
You stirred anyway.
"...Law?"
His name, spoken so softly and without a hint of hesitation, nearly stopped him in his tracks.
"We're heading back," he said quietly. "Think you can walk?"
You blinked up at him, clearly trying to process the question.
"...Mhm."
You took exactly three steps before slowing to a stop.
Law looked over his shoulder.
You were standing there staring at him with sleepy, unfocused eyes.
"...Law?"
"What."
"...Can you carry me?"
...
Damn it.
He knew he should say no. He knew everyone was watching. He knew Penguin was already trying, and failing, not to laugh. He knew Bepo looked far too pleased with himself.
None of that mattered.
With a quiet sigh that fooled absolutely no one, Law stepped back toward you.
"Come here."
The smile that spread across your face was small and sleepy.
You leaned into him without a second thought as he slipped one arm beneath your knees and the other around your back.
"Comfortable?" he asked before he could stop himself.
You nodded immediately, curling against his chest. Tucking your face against the crook of his neck with a sleepy sigh, as if you'd done it a hundred times before.
"...Very."
Law looked away before anyone could see the faint color creeping into his ears.
Behind him, the crew had gone unusually quiet.
Then...
"Ten thousand berries says they're together before the end of the month," Penguin whispered.
"You're on," Shachi whispered back.
Bepo simply smiled.
He'd never seen his captain hold someone so carefully or look quite so content while pretending he wasn't.
â đ â
If you enjoyed this, reblogs are always appreciated âĄ
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Warning: fem!reader, mention of y\n two or three times, reader knows how to fight.
People were creatures of habit.
And that was no less true for the crewâs beloved green-haired swordsman.
At first, it had been something small.
Every dawn, somewhere in the middle of your own training routine, Zoro would appear in the crowâs nest without fail. No greeting, no ceremony â just a low grunt of acknowledgment before silently joining you.
Sometimes the whole thing would turn into a competition.
More often than not, youâd end up sparring with the green-haired brute while he constantly grumbled that you needed to sharpen your swordsmanship, even when he clearly wasnât dissatisfied with the fight you were putting up. Never mind that swordplay wasnât even your primary fighting style. Never mind that if you actually fought him seriously using your preferred techniques, you could knock him flat on his back in seconds.
Though every now and then, you managed to convince him to give it a try.
Nothing erased that smug grin off his face faster.
After your morning session was done, youâd leave him behind in the crowâs nest to shower and get ready for the rest of the day while he continued his endless routine of thousands upon thousands of push-ups, squats, weightlifting, and whatever other insanity he considered normal training.
Around noon, youâd usually stop by with water or snacks â things the stubborn mule inevitably forgot about, being too focused on becoming stronger.
Until one afternoon, when Chopper showed up carrying a tray with water and onigiri balanced carefully in his hooves.
Zoro glanced behind the little reindeer, expecting to see your head appear as you climbed the stairs.
Nothing.
ââŠThanks,â he muttered, though the entire time one thought kept circling in his head.
Where is she?
âY/N-san is sunbathing on deck with Nami,â Chopper explained cheerfully. âShe asked me to bring you refreshments.â
âHn.â
He didnât understand why it bothered him.
You had every right to spend your time however you wanted.
It wasnât any of his business.
It wasnât like he cared.
Not at all.
The same thing happened during crew meetings. Somehow, heâd always end up standing right next to you, casually exchanging comments under his breath while everyone else talked.
And dinner arrangements had slowly settled into a routine too.
One day, youâd simply taken the seat between Nami and Zoro, and after that, it became yours.
Without even thinking about it, Zoro started guarding pieces of meat from Luffyâs greedy hands so youâd actually get something to eat. Not that the damn cook would ever allow a lady like you to go hungry in the first place.
It just⊠came naturally.
In return, whenever Sanji and Zoro inevitably got into one of their arguments over dinner, youâd lightly touch the cookâs arm, bat your eyelashes, smile sweetly, and ask him to pour the green-haired swordsman another cup of sake.
Every single time, the cook would melt on the spot.Â
With hearts practically bursting from his eyes, he would wobble dramatically while agreeing.
âOf course, Y/N-swan!â heâd cry. âAnything for you! Though that filthy muscle-brained gorilla doesnât deserve such kindness from a goddess like you!â
Zoro would only snort smugly into his drink.
Gullible curly-brow.
Until one day, Usopp sat in your seat.
Your seat.
Zoro stared at him. Hard.
ââŠWhat the hell do you think youâre doing?â he asked hoarsely.
âHuh?â Usopp blinked, stuffing freshly grilled fish into his mouth.
âY/N sits there,â the swordsman muttered, irritation already rising in his chest â though even he wasnât entirely sure why.
Usopp looked equally confused.
âSince when does it matter where people sit?â Usopp scoffed. âThereâs space next to Nami and Chopper.â
Then suddenly, realization dawned across his face. The sniper pointed dramatically.
âWAIT A SECONDââ he shouted, nearly choking. âYOU CANâT STAND BEING AWAY FROM OUR DEAR STRATEGIST!â
The entire kitchen fell silent.
Robin quietly sipped her tea, visibly amused.
Chopper froze with his eyes and mouth wide open.
Nami looked horrified at the idea of you ending up with a man who couldnât be forced into a shower at gunpoint and routinely marinated in training sweat for days.
Luffy burst into laughter.
And SanjiâŠ
The blond cook looked personally offended by the very suggestion, a furious vein pulsing in his forehead.
âEXCUSE ME?!â he roared. He launched himself across the room until he was nose-to-nose with Zoro.
 âAs if our sweet darling Y/N-swan would ever settle for this overgrown, dumbass meathead of a moss-brained barbarian!â
Zoroâs face immediately turned red. Partly from anger and partly from something else.
âWatch your mouth, pretty boy,â Zoro growled immediately, shoving himself to his feet. âOr Iâll rearrange your damn face.â
His hand dropped toward his swords.
And right then, the kitchen door opened.
âHey, guys. Sorry I took so long â I completely lost track of time.â
You smiled as you stepped inside and took the empty seat at the table.
Then you noticed the atmosphere.
ââŠWhatâs going on?â you asked, tilting your head slightly as your gaze moved across your crewmates.
âNothinâ,â Zoro barked immediately before sitting back down, eyes fixed very intensely on his food.
He looked irritated and his breathing seemed slightly uneven.
And⊠were his ears red?
You looked toward Nami, but she only shrugged innocently and winked.
âNothing your lovely little head needs to worry about, Y/N-san,â Sanji said smoothly while placing your favorite meal in front of you alongside your drink.
Meanwhile, Usopp and Chopper suddenly found the table fascinating.
Robin hid another smile behind her teacup.
Only Luffy, despite witnessing the entire thing unfold, remained completely oblivious.
âSHISHISHI! Zoro just got worked up because Usoââ
Usopp slapped both hands over Luffyâs mouth.
âH-Heâs angry because I used the last of his sake for my amazing newest invention!â the sniper laughed nervously. âA weapon thatâll blow away any enemy foolish enough to challenge Captain Usopp!â
The entire time, Zoro ignored everything and continued eating as if none of this concerned him.
âOh,â you said thoughtfully. âI think I still have a bottle saved in my room. I can check later. Besides, weâre docking at a new town soon anyway â we can just buy double the amount this time. Sound good?â
You looked at him carefully, trying to lighten his mood.
âHn. Whatever,â he muttered.
The rest of dinner passed in mild awkwardness until Luffy and Usopp inevitably caused enough chaos to distract everyone.
Later that night, you found the swordsman sitting in the crowâs nest, leaning against one of the wooden beams.
You sat down beside him and gently nudged his shoulder with yours.
He grunted softly in acknowledgment. A greeting, in Zoro language.
âRough day?â
âTch.â
âYouâre grumpier than usual.â
âYouâre imagining things,â he muttered.
For a moment, it sounded like he wanted to say something else.
You waited patiently.
âJust⊠I donât like it when someone takes your place,â he finally grumbled, looking away.
Your heart skipped.
Zoro stared stubbornly at the horizon and cleared his throat roughly before continuing.
âWeâre docking tomorrow.â
A pause.
âCome with me to pick out sake.â
His jaw tightened. Then, quieter:
âAnd⊠whatever other crap you like.â
He meant your clothes, perfumes, sweets, books, and all the little things that always seemed to catch your eye whenever you visited a town.
He glanced at you from the corner of his eye and swallowed.
âDeal,â you said with a smile. âItâs a date.â
The words made warmth flicker across his face almost instantly. For a second, neither or you moved,
Then you felt something warm brush against your little finger â subtle, tentative and almost hesitant.
Zoroâs hand had settled beside yours. And with the barest movement, his calloused finger hooked lightly against your own.
Neither of you pulled away.
And for the first time all day, the swordsman looked completely at ease.
toshinori yagi becomes vice principal the same year izuku midorya makes tenure, and the same year youâre hired onto UA highâs staff as a school nurse. recovery girl retires the same fall, excited at the arrival of her third grandchild.
healing quirks are few and far between, and principal nezo manages to poach you from an international nursing program through networking and a few well-placed promises â recovery girl was once your mentor, and youâre excited to carry her legacy at UA.
toshinori yagi knows, immediately, that you are going to be a problem.
you: beautiful and kind, like a summer sunbeam incarnate. youâre patient. youâre soft. youâre a healer â in body and soul.
toshinori yagi wonders when he became such a glutton for punishment. itâs like, in the years after the war, heâs finding himself again. heâs finding the boy he was before one for all struck and stoked an ember inside him. toshinori is learning the type of man he is, unburdened by heroics. he is learning who toshinori is, sans the crushing weight of all might.
apparently, he's the type of man to yearn.
embarassingly so.
you know, immediately, that vice principal yagi is going to be a problem.
him: with a voice like a captive thunderstorm, like melted butter. his eyes are blue â bluer than the sky on a perfect day. heâs patient. heâs kind. he was all might, and now heâs a man who likes patterned socks and intricate bento boxes.
your interactions are always two beats lost in some sort of swirling tension. youâre too busy staring at his smile and heâs too busy trying not to trip over his own words. you always say hello in the halls, and he always rushes to open the doors for you. he always lets you skip him in the cafeteria line, a large palm settled on the center of your back â only for a moment. anything longer would be unprofessional. improper. inappropriate.
inappropriate is the subject of staff meeting class: sex education.
toshinori, legs crossed in the back of the room, pinches his brow.
âitâs completely age-appropriate behavior,â you explain softly; you swear the men in the room are looking for alternative exits: windows, vents, balconies. eye contact is being intensely avoided, save from midoriya and nezu â somehow the two most mature of the staff, âhowever, itâs our job to ensure the students are engaging safely with sex. what has the sex education course looked like in the past?â
toshinori yagi wants to die.
he wants to die. he wants to throw himself out the window and accelerate into the pavement, head first. he wants snipe to put a bullet right between hisâ
âweâre lucky enough to own a copy of the very coveted âbirds and bees of heroismâ,â nezu chirps, happily sipping his tea; he adds on softly with squinted eyes, âit is no longer in circulation.â
âfor good reason,â toshinori mutters dryly.
you tilt your head. confusion abound.
âi donât believe i am familiarââ
âfor good reason,â toshinori coughs out, sitting up. he adjusts his tie as he nervously laughs, âi... seriously, donât we all think itâs a bit outdated at this point? i mean, ha, câmonââ
the birds and bees of heroism: a sex educational series produced by all mightâs agency nearly eighteen years ago. at the time, toshinori had no idea the lines he recorded were clear-as-day euphemisms. he was just happy to check a box on his public relations campaign. he thought it was for the physical exam portion of the first-year licensure courseâ
âdo we have the copy on hand?â you ask, completely unaware of what youâre walking yourself into, âi can review it this weekend to ensure itâs still applicableââ
the dvd is in a case with no cover â and youâre slightly suspicious that someone at some point has ripped copies from the well-loved disk, though you have no immediate idea why. in sharpie, the title birds and bees of heroism is scrawled in handwriting you would recognize anywhere as recovery girlâs.
toshinoriâs head drops. he swears aizawa is laughing beside him. even midoriya seems amused.
he isn't expecting a text to burn a hole in his pocket that saturday from you, the beloved school nurse:
[txt] please tell me they paid you well for these thinly veiled metaphors about finding the clitoris.
toshinori yagi wonders what it would take to fake his own death.
how do you think pro heroes would react to you getting merch of them? such as plushies, posters, shirts, etc. or even putting them into your games like tomadachi life or sims?
slowly building up a collection of Keigo themed merch
- đ
PRO HEROES - MERCH
((Gn!reader, aizawa, hawks, allmight ))
âĄSHOUTA AIZAWA
If Shouta walked in on you wearing a pair of yellow goggles, he would assume you had just stolen his pair. Until he realised they were still around his neck. When you told him you got his merch he wouldn't know what to think. At first he would be confused, maybe even annoyed there was merch of himself in the first place. But it would also make his heart skip a beat, and he wasn't sure why..
âĄKEIGO TAKAMI
Coming home to his walls plastered with posters of himself is not what he would have expected. But it's what he was doing. They were all older pictures of himself from his small modeling gig he did to help with pr, and they made him cringe. You still thought he looked handsome though. When you pulled out a small plushie with his likeness is when Keigo got really shocked.
âĄTOSHINORI YAGI
Seeing you dressed in a skin tight cosplay of his golden age suit made Toshi's jaw drop. You looked amazing and the suit clung to your figure, leaving little to the imagination. You had gotten it specially made for yourself. It was expensive but it was all worth it for the look of love on this face. When you sweetly asked him if you looked good, the man almost fainted.
prguitarman
snowghoul
tangentwithtanner
