Buggy’s Husband

“The first one: one of my exes accused me of cheating on him with my mechanic because my mechanic texted me to come and get my car.”

Bakugou’s head snaps towards you so fast you almost hear his neck crack.

His eyes narrow into a glare.

“The fuck? What kind of loser ass thinking is this?” he barks. “Who gets jealous of a fucking mechanic?”

You chuckle, waving a hand to brush off his intensity before continuing. “Next. One time, his mother visited us and jokingly said that the two of us were too loud last night, but I was on my shift the entire night…”

Bakugou freezes.

It takes him a solid three seconds to process the math, and when it clicks, his jaw goes slack. “The hell? Tell me you at least beat his ass,” he demands.

“Oh, you bet! Me and his mother teamed up actually,” you start laughing at the memory and Bakugou smiles proudly.

“Next. I once did this trend of calling my ex ‘my husband’ and he deadass turned to me and said ‘i’m not your husband’... after talking to me about marriage literally a day before.”

Bakugou lets out a sharp scoff, shaking his head. He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking exhausted by the sheer stupidity of your past dating life.

"An absolute coward," he mutters under his breath.

“Oh, it gets better," you say, "The following day we had a fight and I asked him to tell me three things he liked about me, and he literally pulled out his phone to search ‘good traits in a partner’ since he couldn't think of anything on his own.”

Katsuki drags his palm down his face, his eyes wide with genuine disbelief. “You are shitting me. He had to google why he liked you? I can name fifty things right now without even trying, and that idiot needed a fucking search engine?”

You smile, feeling a warm blush creep up your neck at his words.

“I know you can,” you say proudly as you ruffle his messy, blond hair before turning back to the screen.

“Okay, the next one… He ranked all my friends based on attractiveness... and I got placed fourth.”

The room goes silent.

Katsuki’s expression goes blank, his crimson eyes locking onto yours.

“He did what?”he asks. “Who the fuck does he think he is? You're a damn masterpiece and he put you fourth? Give me his address. I just want to talk.”

You quickly pat his knee to calm him down before he actually storms out to commit a crime. “It’s okay, it’s okay, his opinion didn’t affect me.”

“It better not,” he mumbles, crossing his arms over his chest.

“And the last one. My ex would pay at every date, just to seem like a ‘provider’ to others, but once the two of us we were alone, he’d ask me back for the money.”

Bakugou lets out a dry laugh.

“Cheap bastard on top of being a brainless extra. Unbelievable.” He turns his head towards you, his gaze softening just a fraction, though his scowl remains.

“Good thing you're with someone who actually knows what you're worth.”

“Yeah, I’m grateful for this,” you assure him while leaning to place a kiss on his lips.

He accepts it, placing his large hand on your waist, and pulling you closer. You sense this won’t just be a simple kiss once he licks your bottom lip, asking for entrance.

“Wait, Kats, I need to stop recording,” you try to distance yourself a bit, but he doesn’t budge.

“Just cut this at editing,” he mutters against your lips. “It’s gonna be a long part tho,” he smirks and you blush instantly.

“Kaaats!”

Now Kyoya was sure that mortification was the strongest emotion he felt today.

“Kyoya-senpai, you know this person?” Haruhi tried to figure out what kind of person would be shopping for groceries at a commoner’s mall but also be acquainted with the shadow prince of the host club. Related to the owner of the mall? No, that was too small scale for the level of high society that Ouran students dealt with. Them being related to the CEO that owns every mall chain across Japan was more likely.

He hesitated to answer, gaze lingering on the person in front of them. Kyoya carefully put down his burger before pushing up his glasses and stating matter-o-factly, “yes. Haruhi, this is my partner, (Name). (Name), this is the Haruhi Fujioka I told you about.”

Haruhi blinked. Partner? She went through her known information about Kyoya, which admittedly wasn’t a lot, but nothing pointed to him having a partner. Especially not a commoner! But the living proof was standing right next to their table and Haruhi was miffed, to say the least. “Partner?! Kyoya-senpai, you have a partner?!”

“Must you sound so shocked?” Kyoya retorted, and there was some earnesty in his otherwise sarcastic remark. It wasn’t like she ever asked him if he had a partner. Everyone just assumed he didn’t.

(Name) bowed following the introduction. “Fujioka-san,” they smiled. “I’ve heard so much about you. It’s nice to meet you.”

They really were a normal person. Dressed in plain clothes and unassuming. And polite. Haruhi realized early on at her transfer to Ouran that polite was rarely a word to describe the children of the wealthy and elite. Haruhi stood up to bow in return. “It’s nice to meet you too, (Name)-san. Sorry, I hope my reaction wasn’t rude. I had no idea Kyoya-senpai had a partner. Do you want to sit with us?”

Before (Name) had a chance to respond, Kyoya already grabbed a chair from an empty table and pulled it over. One exchanged glance with Kyoya was all it took to get (Name) to sit down. “Don’t worry about it, Fujioka-san. Kyoya doesn’t really tell people about me.”

“Please clarify that it is a mutual decision to keep our relationship private,” Kyoya sighed.

(Name) laughed. “Sorry, I was teasing.”

“No one knows? Also, you can call me Haruhi. Please don’t feel the need to be formal!” Haruhi was trying to figure out how to phrase questions that wouldn’t immediately get shut down by Kyoya. How did you meet, how long have you been together, how is your partner a commoner?

“Well, Tamaki-san knows. He found out after—“

Again, Kyoya was quick to interrupt. “Please don’t explain that story. It’s embarrassing.”

“I didn’t know you were worried about shame. Could’ve fooled me with that outfit of yours and your peculiar new hangout spot!” (Name) grinned, and Haruhi found herself in awe for the second time that day. She was used to Kyoya always having a witty remark ready for when one of the club members decided to yell at him, but (Name) might be his equal in that regard. Not only could they banter with Kyoya— Kyoya seemed to enjoy it. He had an unbeatable poker face but Haruhi definitely noticed the corners of his lips curling upwards as he looked at (Name). There was a softness in place of his usual cunning.

Haruhi leaned back in her chair, pleasantly entertained by the pair in front of her. “I guess it makes plenty of sense for Kyoya-senpai to have a private relationship. But, doesn’t that mean you don’t have a lot of time to spend with each other?”

“Oh, sure. I wouldn’t call it ideal. But, Kyoya is married to his job, y’know? I couldn’t take that away from him.”

That time, Kyoya pinched (Name)’s cheek in retaliation. “You’re making me sound like a bad partner. Yes, we don’t spend as much time together as the average couple, but we always make time for each other.”

“Have I ever told you that you look uncomfortable when you explain our relationship to other people?” Kyoya pulled on their cheek. “Agh! Let go!”

Kyoya complied with the request, but not before pressing a light kiss to the cheek he just bullied. He was a host, after all. He knew how to treat someone right. His regular customers would probably be furious to know that he was so chaste on physical affection because it was reserved for his dear partner.

(Name) wasn’t wrong about Kyoya being uncomfortable. He knew how to play the role of a host, but having to be honest about something real, in public, was a different ballpark entirely. But the fact that he was in a space where no one knew who he was or what his status was served to be quite freeing. The usual pressure on his shoulders of being an Ootori was alleviated for once, so he locked hands with (Name) over the table.

It was Haruhi’s turn to be cunning since she would never be afforded this opportunity against Kyoya again. “Kyoya-senpai has been so grumpy today,” Haruhi started. “But he relaxed as soon as you arrived, (Name)-san. He’s really fond of you.”

If (Name) wasn’t here, Kyoya would’ve probably found a way to twist Haruhi’s comment into more debt for her to pay off. But (Name)’s eyes lit up, so Kyoya let Haruhi get away with it this time.

“You’re really good at reading him, Haruhi-san! I may be teasing a lot, but he’s really a great guy. I couldn’t ask for a better partner.” (Name) talked about Kyoya like he was the most precious thing on the planet. For (Name), Kyoya wasn’t just the third Ootori son. He wasn’t burdened with the harshest expectations. All he had to do was be good to them and sometimes Kyoya wished he lived in a world where that was the only thing he ever had to be worried about in his life.

But, right then, in a commoner mall Kyoya had no familiarity with, it was like living that alternate life. So Kyoya allowed himself to smile at (Name) and take in the praise.

“Neither could I.”

sanji had seen his fair share of weird things ever since he encountered a rubber boy in a straw hat and decided to go on board the going merry.

still, deadly fishmen and a chopped–up clown didn't quite compare to... this.

the first sign something was off were the muffled snores drifting from the kitchen once he headed down to start making breakfast for the crew.

sanji paused outside the door, face contorted in deep thought.

there was only one posible idiot capable of sneaking in just to eat everything in sight, then fall asleep right after—luffy.

please, lord, let there still be food left.

his brow twitched in annoyance at the thought of the inevitable mess—one he knew he'd have the task of cleaning up later.

he sighed, pushing the door open, already prepared for the upcoming headache.

all annoyance quickly dissipated onto confusion, because, instead of the classic red vest and sandals, there was a stranger.

a sleeping figure sprawled out across the table, holding an empty bottle of rum—dangling loosely from his fingers—and wearing a leather hat. smudged black eyeliner framing his eyes, looking way too comfortable for someone who had just snuck onto the ship of the highest bounty pirate in all of the east blue.

sanji stumbled back blindly, his shoulder colliding against the half-open door in mild panic. "uh—guys?!" he called out. "get in here now!"

the stranger stirred at the noise, letting out a grunt in discomfort. "mhm... just five more minutes." he mumbled, voice thick with sleep.

being deprived of his 3 hours of sleep never sat right with him, so he just rolled onto his stomach, burying his face in his arms to block out the noise.

sanji was stunned to say the least, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. "what?" he finally managed to croak out. "what are—who even are you?"

the stranger inhaled slowly, and then—like his mind finally catched up—he paused. his eyes snapped open, he shot upright from the table like he’d been struck by lightning and blinked at sanji as he tried to recall his last sober memories.

he dragged a hand down his face, glancing around the room, taking in the unfamiliar surroundings.

then his eyes landed back on the blonde. a crooked grin slowly spread across his lips.

"oh," he started, "you must be the cook, am i right?"

he hopped down from the table, miraculously landing on his feet since the effects of the liquor had yet to worn off.

"the name's [m/n]."

he stretched lazily, joints popping. one hand slipped into the front pocket of his worn out shorts and pulled out a small compass.

"i came here looking for someone."

[m/n] spun on his heel and made a tipsy beeline straight for the cook.

"cute guy, captain—ring any bells?"

sanji's eyes narrowed, huffing in disbelief.

"i don't know anyone like that."

he wouldn't hand his captain over to some random pirate who walked in like he owned the place.

he opened his mouth again to retort, but was quickly cut short when the soft creak of floorboards echoed from behind him.

the door slid open.

nami stood at the front, eyes half-lidded with sleep. "oi sanji, what's with all the screaming—" she stopped dead in her tracks.

usopp, who was trailing close behind her—crashed face first into her back.

"ow–nami!" he yelped, rubbing his nose hoping to aliviate the pain. he peeked over her shoulder, his face went pale.

if he didn’t know any better, he'd say the stranger's eyes were completely dark—like staring into a void.

zoro entered next.

his hand dropped to his swords without hesitation. "you've got five seconds to explain why you're on this ship." he said coldly.

[m/n] only smirked playfully, gazing at each of them up and down.

"oh, you know... your friend here really knows how to keep me company." he nodded toward sanji. "shame, really. you're quite the sight, but not exactly who i came here for."

at last, as if summoned, luffy stepped forward from behind zoro, all bright eyes and bubbly energy.

[m/n]'s gaze drifted past the others, his eyes landing on him.

he flipped his compass open, glancing down—the needle was unwavering, fixed on luffy. he tilted the compass—just to be sure—but the stubborn needle kept snapping back.

"...there you are." he muttered under his breath.

his gaze flickered briefly toward the cook, expression unreadable. "still so sure you don't know him, blondie?"

he stepped forward, steady.

the entire crew tensed instantly. zoro moved almost on instinct, stepping directly infront of luffy. a human shield.

the drunken pirate only chuckled. as if the unspoken threat was just child's play.

"relax, big guy." he said. "and how rude of me," he bowed his head slightly in feigned courtesy. "to no introduce myself."

he raised his head.

"i'm [m/n], and you're obstructing my view."

zoro didn't budge. if anything his glare hardened. "what do you want with luffy?"

behind him luffy tilted his head, confusion creeping in—though the smile never left his face.

"... oh. hi," he said, completely unfazed by the situation. "do i know you? you seem really cool."

he leaned forward, curiosity taking over. "are those tattoos real? oh! and your hat is so cool!"

[m/n]'s grin widened slightly at that, amused by his complete lack of self preservation.

"yeah?" he hummed, tilting his head as he looked at luffy more carefully, eyes glinting with mischief. "you're a friendly one, aren’t you?"

nami's jaw tightened at the complete disregard. "answer zoro's question."

"ah—right," the boy sighed, almost irritated at the interruption. like admiring the captain was far more important than their questioning.

he raised his compass again, flipping it open and tilting it so they could all see. "that answer your question?"

usopp squinted at it, brows furrowing. "...not really. no."

he leaned in closer, tilting his head. "wait—that's not even pointing north. right, nami?"

the redhead was already thinking the same thing. there was something about this boy—something that screamed trouble.

the pirate chuckled, his gaze never leaving luffy's.

"doesn't point north. my compass points to what i want most." his grin could put even the cheshire cat to shame. "for some reason it led me straight to you."

luffy pointed at himself, unsure.

"me?"

zoro scoffed. "that's nonsense. how'd you even get here?"

"oh," the boy shrugged lightly. "i walked."

"...walked?" sanji repeated, "onto a moving ship. in the middle of the ocean."

[m/n] tilted his head, considering his excuse.

"guess rum makes people do weird things."

he took a step forward—only to be blocked by the mosshead pirate again.

"do you mind?" he slurred, mildly annoyed. "i can't see him through you."

"you're not getting any closer" zoro shot back.

"it's okay, zoro."

luffy's voice cut in, easygoing.

"he doesn't look like a bad guy."

zoro gave him a look. "of course you'd trust the guy with a pistol in his belt."

"not to worry." [m/n] cut in lightly, calm.

"had i wanted you dead... you already would be." he revealed what he'd been hiding behind his back—nami's baton.

nami's eyes widened, she patted herself down frantically.

"when did you—?!"

he twirled it once before tossing it back to her.

"i have my tricks."

he tilted his head, mocking smirk on his lips. "you, of all people, should recognize a thief when you see one."

his gaze drifted back to luffy, lingering. "like i said, just wanna know what led me to this pretty thing."

that caught luffy's attention.

he moved forward, brushing zoro's hand away without a second thought.

"your compass." he said, eyes lighting up with curiosity. "does it really points to what you want most?"

"it does, love." [m/n] teased. "cool, isn't it?

luffy giggled, arms flaling slightly with excitement. "that's awesome! can i try?"

[m/n] leaned in, lowering his voice like it was only meant for him.

"only if you let me join."

a playful wink.

and luffy beamed—the personification of the sun, really.

"yeah, obviously! i was gonna ask you anyway!"

sanji immediately grabbed the back of luffy's vest, dragging him back by the collar.

"you are not touching any weird, dark magic, compass."

"and you," he pointed sharply at [m/n]. "are not staying."

"i am, actually." he replied, unfazed. "don't be jealous. not trying to steal your captain from ya'."

"oh, fuck off—"

luffy still had that same stubborn grin.

and everyone knew once he made up his mind, it was final. no room for discussion.

"he's staying. i like him."

nami groaned. "luffy, not again."

"he's interesting, nami," he continued. "and he blindly trusted his compass all the way here, that's so cool!"

zoro exhaled resigned, done with arguing.

"...fine." he paused. "but if he tries something, i'm throwing him overboard."

[m/n] laughed. "i'd pay to see you try."

zoro just shot him a look.

keep talking and you'll be drowning before you finish your sentence.

luffy leaned even closer, like he couldn't help it—like you were pulling him in. "you're staying, that's final."

[m/n] wondered if his cheeks ever hurt from smiling so much.

"seems like it, captain."

his fingers brushed the cord of his hat, tugging just enough to tighten it. his gaze flickered down to the others lips.

"the king of the pirates," he whispered almost against him, eyes locking on his again. "definitely suits you."

luffy's heart did a strange, unfamiliar flip. gone as quick as it came.

before he could even process it, [m/n] walked past him to explore the rest of the ship, acting oblivious to the wind of emotions he had just caused in the other boy.

usopp leaned toward his friends, "he's gonna be a pain in the ass."

the other three replied in unison. "tell us about it."

it was settled. now the cook had one more mouth to feed. sanji clicked his tongue, hand running through his hair. he really needed a cigarette.

"unfortunately," he mumbled, already turning back to the kitchen. "that's the captain we chose, usopp."

despite everything—the chaos, the tension.

they all knew, no matter how complicated things were about to get, they wouldn't have it any other way.

· · ────── ꒰ঌ·✦·໒꒱ ────── · ·

A salt-filled breeze moved lazily through the patio. Not a cloud in the sky and the refreshing sparkle of the drink in your hand made this almost seem like a normal trip to an island. Almost.

“What… are you two doing?”

You turned your head toward the sidewalk that meandered just on the other side of the restaurant’s half wall. Usopp and Zoro were looking at Luffy’s arm wrapped around you and the drink in your hand.

You smiled and nodded your chin toward the restaurant’s window. “We’re dating. Considering that couples eat free today.”

Usopp looked at the sign and then snorted. “Fair enough. Good food?”

“Great food!” Luffy corrected.

“We just have to keep up the act,” you said with a small smile. “Want to try some of the breadsticks? They’re good.” You offered one to Usopp who snatched it before Luffy could.

“Hey,” your captain complained. “You said they were finished.”

Usopp hopped the wall to take a seat next to you, grabbing Zoro and tugging him over before he could wander off. “Did you apologise to them beforehand for how much they’d be feeding Luffy?”

“I felt bad for a second,” you said. “Then I spoke to some locals and found out this place is a bit of bad news so…”

“Serves them right?” Usopp asked.

“Exactly.”

Zoro dragged over his own seat, slouching into it. “Makes more sense,” he scoffed. “I thought I had missed something.”

“You did!” Luffy said cheerfully. “They already brought the first round.”

“Not what I meant,” he scoffed. “Is there booze?”

Luffy pointed toward the sign with a bone. “Yeah. Couples drink free as part of the plan.”

Zoro looked at you and you shook your head. “Don’t look over here. I’m taken. You can date Usopp.”

He looked to his side then shrugged. “Whatever. As long as I get free drinks.”

“What?!” Usopp squawked.

“We’re dating,” Zoro decided. “Don’t ruin it.”

“Says who?!”

“Whoever’s in charge of booze,” he said, looking back over his chair for the nearest waiter.

“Are we allowed to do this? This feels like the kind of thing people get thrown out for.”

You pressed a hand over your mouth to fight off the laugh at Usopp’s distressed expression, made far worse when Luffy slammed both his palms into the table.

“Yeah! Usopp and Zoro are dating too! That means they’ll bring more! But you guys should sit closer together.”

“No!” Usopp said.

Luffy immediately looked to you for assistance and you shrugged. “They don’t have to. Sometimes people sit further apart but you sitting close is easier than you trying to compliment me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Captain, give me a compliment.”

“Okay.” He looked at you for a long moment and you nodded. “You’re good at hiding food from me.”

“Yeah, stick to sitting closer,” Zoro said dryly. “Oi!”

The waiter who stepped over was tired enough from Luffy’s appetite that he only took a look at the other unconventional ‘couple’ and sighed, bringing the drinks Zoro wanted with resignation. Them not having to prove it was probably much better for their sanity.

You ended up returning to the Sunny far later that night, cheeks sore from laughing while Usopp firmly dragged a drunk Zoro along. Luffy looked at the two of them and immediately snaked his arm around your waist instead. You sighed and just moved his hand to rest right above your hip.

“More here for actual couples,” you whispered though it didn’t really matter if the restaurant heard you now.

“Oh okay.”

His hand stayed there until you boarded and he eagerly explained the plan to Nami who honestly looked impressed at the lack of money spent. You’d thought that was the end of it, even if his touch still lingered on your side.

But no sooner had you arrived at the next island and hopped off the ship than Luffy’s hand was resting on your hip again.

You looked down at it, noticing Franky’s confusion from next to you.

“And this, captain?”

“We might get more free food,” he said with a grin.

“Luffy,” Nami sighed. “They’re not going to have something like that on every island.”

“You don’t know that,” he said with a broad grin. “It worked great last time and I know what to do now.” He was maintaining the close thing, that was for sure. His body was practically flush to your own.

You took the hand from your hip and laced your fingers through his instead so you were holding hands. “This looks much better,” you promised with a small laugh. “Holding hands is much more common.”

Luffy swung his hand with yours happily. “Alright. Let’s go find somewhere that has food then.”

“Good luck,” Nami said to you and you shrugged.

“Just remember to not run ahead if you want this to work,” you told him. “Or you’re going to pull out my shoulder.”

“Right.”

That island had no restaurants with promotions and no heart-shaped signs in windows. By noon, Luffy had already been distracted by three food stalls, a beetle, and a man balancing knives on his chin.

His hand still stayed locked around yours.

At first, you told yourself it was easier not to mention it. He was following the rules you had given him, after all, and Luffy could be stubborn once he thought he understood something. But when you slowed to look at a row of painted shells, he slowed too. When you stopped, he stopped beside you, fingers warm between yours, patient in a way he almost never was around food.

You looked down at your joined hands and decided, very carefully, not to ask why.

And that just turned into a habit.

On the next two islands you found, no sooner had you made land than your captain’s fingers would be laced with your own. He made no true complaints about following your exploration or helping with the tasks you were given to handle. If you slowed, he matched your pace, exactly like you had asked the first time.

One day, when you found a stall with beautiful jade jewellery, you found his arm move from your hand back to your waist again while you looked, more and more weight pressing onto your side.

“You can go and find food,” you told him, turning over a bracelet between your fingers. “I’m not going to keep you here.”

Luffy made a thoughtful sound and leaned his cheek against your shoulder. Then his arm looped around you twice suddenly.

“I’m good.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll wait.”

“Captain.”

“Mm?”

“You’re very close.”

You reminded him as though his arm wasn’t continuing to snake around your entire torso. It wasn’t the first time he’d done this but it was new outside of fights where he used it to move you from danger.

“I know,” he said, seeing no problem with the proximity.

“Alright,” you said, fighting not to laugh. “But it makes it quite hard to look at things.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He unwound himself from you and stood normally at your side, rocking back on his heels with his hands in his pockets. You looked at him for a second longer, smiled, and then went back to considering the jewellery.

It didn’t even take ten seconds before something warm touched your hip and you glanced down to see his arm slowly winding its way around you, as though if he moved carefully enough, you might not notice several feet of rubber.

Luffy started whistling when you tilted your head toward him, eyes fixed very purposefully on the opposite stall.

The old woman behind the jewellery display gave a soft laugh. “That is quite the devoted arm. Very interesting devil fruit power.”

“Eh?” Luffy asked, looking around him.

“Yours,” you clarified, poking his arm that had already wrapped twice around you. “But it really is, isn’t it? I think I’ll take the bracelet, thank you.”

The woman smiled. “Half-price for such a sweet couple,” she said with a small twinkle in her eyes.

“Really? Thank you.”

You paid and Luffy didn’t let go of you when you walked away, still rather curled around you as he laughed.

“See. I told you the couple thing would pay off!”

“You weren’t wrong,” you admitted, smiling at the small bag. “Though, I must say, this is a bit close for a normal couple.”

“You said I should be close.”

“When sitting.”

“Standing and sitting are basically the same.”

You laughed and left it. You certainly weren’t about to admit that you really liked it when he was this close and wrapped around you. It felt wrong to say the pounding in your heart was caused by the press of his chin against your shoulder.

The act continued onto the next island too.

An island where there were no discounts for couples and no heart-shaped signs anywhere. No reason for Luffy to be holding your hand as though the two of you were about to be inspected at any moment.

Yet his fingers were firmly through yours even as the group split and you joined Nami, Robin, and Chopper in walking through a shopping district.

The two women were definitely giving you looks but Chopper mentioned it first after he almost walked between the two of you and got caught on your joined hands.

“Is this still the dating thing?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Luffy said easily. “It works.”

You didn’t really have an answer so you stayed quiet, even when Nami looked over her shoulder, very unimpressed.

“There are no couple promotions here.”

“You don’t know that,” Luffy said. “We found the last one by accident.”

Robin, who honestly looked far too entertained, commented, “You’re very committed to the role of a good boyfriend.”

“I am!” he said brightly.

“He has taken all my lessons to heart,” you admitted with a slight laugh.

He grinned at you and something in your chest did a stupid little flip.

Robin disappeared into a tiny bookshop not long after which meant the rest of your little group settled onto a bench outside to wait. Well, most of you did. Luffy instead chose to drape himself over your shoulders, winding around you like the world’s most enthusiastic backpack. His head rested on your shoulder, hair tickling your face.

“This is boring,” he said into your ear.

“You didn’t have to come,” you reminded him, hoping he didn’t notice the shiver that went through you when he spoke so close.

Nami looked over from the bag of fabric samples she’d been sorting through and then frowned. “You two really don’t need to be so close for this game.”

“Huh?” Luffy asked.

“You’re practically on top of her.”

You lifted one hand in mild protest. “Technically, he’s behind me.”

“You can hold hands again,” Nami said. “That works just as well as… whatever that is.”

“We got food out of it once,” you defended though your heart was pounding. “You never know when it might happen again.”

Chopper frowned up at you. “Why would you get food out of that?”

Luffy, utterly unbothered by the stares he was getting, leaned even more of his weight against you. “Because we’re good at it?”

“Good at what?”

“Dating.”

You made a small sound that was supposed to be a laugh and came out far less convincing when he was so warm against you.

Nami looked at you and you hurried to look away.

He dropped his head back to your shoulder, nose tickling the side of your neck as he sighed. “I’m hungry.”

“Me too,” you said, immediately grateful for the escape route. “Let’s go find somewhere to eat while we wait.”

He was off you so quickly that the sudden lack of warmth almost startled you and you hoped Nami would go back to whatever she had been doing. She wasn’t. She was still staring as though you were losing your mind.

“Can I come with?” Chopper asked.

“Of course.”

The restaurant you found was quiet enough that you could hide your fluster in the dim light. They didn’t offer any couple’s discounts but they had meat enough that Luffy quickly forgot about his acting and set about inhaling the plates.

You helped Chopper guard his meal as you shuffled your own plate closer, waiting for the inevitable.

A hand darted toward your plate and you smacked it lightly without looking. Luffy, entirely undeterred, tried again, this time far too fast for you to stop. So instead, you sighed and reached over to take something from his plate.

He glared at you. “Hey, that’s mine.”

You put it pointedly on your plate. “You started it.”

“But I’m your boyfriend.”

You nearly knocked over your water glass. Chopper frowned up at you and you fought to keep the embarrassment from your cheeks.

“Even then,” you established, trying to regain control of the whole pretend thing. “Couples share. They don’t just rob each other’s plates.”

Luffy huffed and then picked up another piece from his plate and dropped it onto yours with exaggerated slowness. As though it even made a dent in the massive pile he had in front of him. You laughed and leaned over, kissing his cheek before you could think better of it.

“Good boyfriend,” you teased. “Thank you.”

Luffy blinked once.

You realised as you stared at him that that probably was a bit too much. But then he swallowed, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and leaned in to kiss your cheek in return.

“Thank you too.”

And he went back to eating like nothing happened.

Chopper stared at you both for a second. “Is that… part of it?”

You took a very careful sip from your drink and tried to pretend your face wasn’t heating up substantially. “It can be. A dating thank-you thing. Sometimes,” you said, voice slightly too thick.

Unfortunately, it seemed Luffy took that lesson and ran with it.

At breakfast the next day, half of your plate disappeared, only to be replaced with the fruit from his before you could even protest. You sighed and looked at him.

“Captain?”

“Yeah?”

You gestured at your plate and caught his wrist before he could grab from another piece. “Not an invitation,” you corrected. “What was that?”

“Oh right.” And then he leaned over and kissed you on the cheek. “Thank you.”

It flustered you enough that you let go of his wrist and he beamed as though having solved some kind of puzzle.

Sanji, who had been refilling your glass, froze and the water spilled across the rim, splashing across the table and straight into Usopp’s lap.

“Hey! Watch where you’re pouring!” Usopp yelled as he jumped back.

Sanji didn’t respond. The jug was still pouring as he looked between you and Luffy with not a single ounce of comprehension. He opened his mouth as though to ask but before he could, Luffy dropped something onto your plate.

“My turn,” he said, leaning his cheek toward you.

You pressed a quick kiss to his cheek, trying to ignore the eyes all burning holes through your skull. “It’s a way to say thank you,” you said to nobody in particular.

Brook laughed heartily. “A kiss as thanks? How romantic. Though I suppose I would have to receive mine directly on the bone.”

“Nope. They’re our thing,” Luffy said with enough surety that you had to take a second to get your heart rate back to normal.

This fake dating thing was really starting to go a bit far. And then, of course, you ended up making it much worse.

You were in the pantry, trying to reach a jar somebody had shoved onto the highest shelf which was ridiculous considering that half the crew had no real way of getting it. You’d been stretched up onto your toes, reaching desperately for it when a familiar arm stretched past your shoulder.

“Here,” Luffy said.

“Thank you.”

And without thinking, you turned to give him a kiss on the cheek the way he’d apparently taught you to both do now. Only Luffy turned his head at the exact same time.

Your mouth met his. Not his cheek.

For a second, your heart just about stopped.

The jar slipped from your hands and Luffy caught it before it could fall. Your shoulder bumped into the shelf behind you as you stared blankly at him, not certain where to even begin defending that one.

“I…” you trailed off.

The words just weren’t forming in your brain.

“I was going for your cheek,” you finally managed to say.

Luffy nodded thoughtfully. “Yeah.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looked at you then and smiled. “Why? That was fun.” He leaned in and kissed you again, quick and certain. Not long enough for you to move but not short enough for you to pretend it hadn’t happened.

“There,” he said. “Now we’re even.”

You stared at him, finally starting to realise that this might be something you should talk about.

He picked up the jar and twisted the top off with a pop, peering into it curiously. “What’s this for?”

“I forgot,” you said honestly because your memory seemed very caught up on what had just happened.

You should have asked what that meant. You knew you should have. But asking meant giving him the chance to laugh and say it didn’t mean anything at all, and you hated how quickly that thought made your stomach drop.

Things became much harder to explain neatly after that. Because the cheek kisses were a thank you that you’d accidentally taught him but the others were… less easy. Mainly because Luffy seemed to use them for everything.

He’d give you a proper kiss at random points throughout the day. To say good morning. To ask you to move over so he could sit with you. To thank you for moving over so he could sit with you.

It was something you should have stopped. Probably.

Or at least should have admitted that it was a little strange.

Instead, when he leaned in across the breakfast table and kissed you quickly before stealing the last piece of toast from your plate, you only stared at him for a second before saying, “That’s… not a fair trade.”

He grinned with the toast already between his teeth.

The worst part was that you stopped needing a reason too. Once, he leaned over your shoulder to look at the map in your hands, and you kissed his cheek simply because he was there. He grinned for the rest of the afternoon.

So you accepted it as part of whatever game you were playing and every time he did it, it sent your heart into a complete panic. And you found he was weaker to those sorts of kisses too. Especially when you wanted him to do something, there was no easier way.

Which ended up being a problem when you forgot this was far from normal for the others to see.

Luffy had wrapped himself around you with terrifying efficiency. One arm was looped around your waist, the other hooked over your shoulders, and his chin was planted stubbornly beside your head. He was warm and heavy and impossible to move when he decided gravity was somebody else’s problem.

“But it’s my turn to be on watch,” you told him.

His arms wound around you an extra time. “Well, I’m the captain and I think somebody else should do it so you can stay here.”

“That’s not fair,” you said with a small laugh squeezed from your ribs.

“So?”

You tried to pry him off to no avail and Nami had already tried a lecture that went nowhere. And you had no chance of actually beating him in a competition of strength so you relented.

“Okay, okay,” you said. “If you let me go on watch, I’ll buy you whatever food you want the next time we make land.”

“Nope.”

“Captain…”

“What? I want you to stay here.”

He was close enough and you were distracted enough that instinct moved you toward the one thing you knew would work. It was a quick peck, done mainly out of exasperation and because it was the best way to say please.

You just forgot you were very much surrounded by others who didn’t see kissing their captain as an effective way to beg for release.

Sanji dropped a knife from the plates he’d been carrying. It clattered over the floor and stopped alongside Zoro’s foot who kicked it back without looking.

Nami had gone completely still, one hand frozen halfway through sorting a stack of coins. Usopp’s mouth was hanging open and Robin was openly smiling behind her hand. You could have heard a pin drop in the room.

Luffy, apparently caring about none of this, groaned and dropped his head onto your shoulder, his hair tickling your face.

“You can’t do that to get your way,” he complained.

You had an answer but it didn’t really seem to be forming because everybody in the room was staring at you. You hurried to look at him instead as he unfurled his arms from you rapidly.

“Fine,” he huffed. “But only this time. Nami, you can’t put her on night watches anymore. It’s not fair.”

Robin cleared her throat. “So…” she said. “This is new.”

Nami opened her mouth. Then closed it again. And you realised with a very sinking a sinking sense of doom that there wasn’t really any room for misunderstanding that you had, in fact, just kissed Luffy. Very much in front of everyone.

“Habit?” you offered in a very weak defence.

“That’s worse!” Sanji exploded suddenly in a very wounded tone. “I have spent years perfecting the art of romance and he gets kisses out of habit?”

“There is no way this is a game anymore, right?” Nami asked, finally managing to get her voice back. “You two cannot be serious.”

“It’s not that weird,” you defended.

“Yeah,” Luffy agreed and you should have known that he was going to say something slightly worse because he immediately followed with, “But we always do this.”

Brook leaned forward at the table. “All the time, you say?”

“Brook,” you warned.

“It’s normal,” Luffy said and he grabbed your face and kissed you firmly on the mouth. “See?”

Sanji dropped the knife again.

“You picked it up just to drop it?” Zoro asked.

“Shut up!” Sanji snapped though he was staring at you with betrayed horror.

Robin laughed softly. “It’s certainly unusual,” she said. “Sanji feeds all of us without anybody needing to pretend to be a couple.”

Luffy blinked as though that hadn’t even occurred to him. “Yeah, I know. I’m not doing it just for the food though?”

You turned to him, your last defence against this entire thing shattering as you heard him. What did he mean he wasn’t doing this for… The entire time you’d been telling yourself to stop your heart from fluttering as it did and… Your brain wasn’t working.

Zoro scoffed. “Sounds like dating to me.”

“Yup,” Luffy said and you stared at him helplessly.

“We are?”

Nami groaned and just moved all the coins into her bag, sorting forgotten. “You cannot tell me the two of you fake-dated into actually being together. I knew it. I hate that I knew it, but I knew it.”

“Captain,” you said and Luffy looked at you, far too eagerly. You forced yourself to speak before you forgot. “We’re dating?”

“Yeah,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “You didn’t know?”

“No,” you said, softer now. “I thought we were doing the fake dating thing. You never told me it was real now.”

“Right,” Franky said. “Super normal fake dating. You two have been acting like a couple for weeks.”

You gave him a sharp look. “I don’t… I told him to do all those things.”

“Yeah, so we could date better,” Luffy clarified.

And you didn’t really have an answer for that one because the more you were thinking of it, the worse your excuses became.

“We were pretending,” you reiterated. “At first.”

“I stopped pretending ages ago,” he said. “Didn’t you? I mean, there wasn’t free food afterwards.”

You stared at him, realisation creeping up on you with the same heat as the embarrassment crawling over your neck. No, there hadn’t been any free food. Not for weeks. There had just been his hand finding yours every time you stepped onto a new island, his weight against your shoulders while he complained about being bored, his mouth pressed to yours like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

“No,” you admitted. “I wasn’t pretending either.”

Then he grinned widely. “Good.”

You laughed before you could stop yourself, helpless and embarrassed and absurdly happy. Around you, the silence finally broke. Usopp made a strangled noise, Sanji said something wounded and dramatic, and Nami dropped her face into her hands. Even Zoro huffed a laugh from his seat.

Luffy only looked at you, still grinning, as though this had all been settled ages ago and he had only been waiting for you to catch up.

Tags: @miwn8 ; @aceincase ; @chaeisrichnow

“Hah?” he snaps, inching closer as he stares into the camera with furrowed brows. You easily ignore him.

“I’ve been meaning to break up with him sooner, but I just didn’t want to handle all the crying and stuff—from him, not me, just to be clear.”

“I’m not gonna fuckin’ cry over your stupid ass video—”

“Unfortunately, he’s a very emotional person. Very clingy, too.”

“I’m not clingy. You’re the one who spams me with texts while I’m on patrol!”

You dab concealer beneath your eyes as he defends himself against every accusation you make, and it becomes far too difficult to hide your laughter. You let out a soft giggle, and he throws you a very offended glare. (Yes, Katsuki is smart enough to know that this is a silly little joke on your part just to be funny. No, that does not stop him from treating this as a serious matter in which he has to protect his dignity. Lucky for you, that only makes for better views.)

“Now, some people might think breaking up with a pro hero wouldn’t be very smart for my brand, but luckily, mine is very easy to replace.”

“Easy to replace?”

You have to look away from him because the expression on his face is making it ten times harder to pretend to take this seriously, and you’re barely keeping a straight face. “There are lots of blonde men in the world, so I’m sure I’ll easily find someone else to fit the role.”

“Who the fuck are you gonna find better than me, huh?” He challenges, particularly irritated by that statement. 

“As you can see, he’s already in denial.”

“Oi! Don’t ignore me!”

“Anger is the next stage of grief.”

The phone is grabbed before you can dab on your blush, and he spins you around, pinning you against the bathroom counter as he gives you a dirty look. You break into a fit of giggles, wrapping your arms around his neck as you press an innocent kiss to the tip of his nose. 

“Hi, baby,” you hum.

He raises a brow. “Don’t hi baby me, dumbass. You make sure you tell that camera that you’ll never dump your boyfriend and that there’s no other man—blonde or not—like him, and—”

You roll your eyes, hands cupping his cheeks as you pull him into a soft, slow kiss, cutting his words off effectively. He melts into you, kissing back as soon as your lips touch his, and you like to think that your silly idea only makes him kiss you a little more seriously. A little more meaningful, just to prove something.

“Don’t worry,” you peck the corner of his mouth, “I was just kidding. I’d never dump someone with pro hero money from the number five spot.”

— — — — —

“Get ready with me to get proposed to by my pro hero boyfriend!”

You beam at your phone camera from your vanity. Behind you, Katsuki is sprawled across the bed, one ankle hooked over the other, scrolling on his phone while sipping on his morning coffee. The coffee immediately goes down the wrong pipe.

He chokes, and a terribly strained coughing fit erupts from behind you. You almost feel bad for disrupting his peace on his day off—almost. 

“Now, the proposal hasn’t been planned yet,” you explain to your hypothetical audience while reaching for your moisturizer, “but I’ve decided I want it to happen today.”

Another coughing fit. “What?”

“Katsuki, are you okay? You’re coughing a lot today. Do you have a cold?”

“Don’t play dumb with me, woman—what the fuck are you up to this time?”

You give him an innocent smile as you say, “Nothing!”

You’ve decided to keep this little game going for as long as you can—a new scheme whenever you can to keep him on his toes. Partially because you’d be lying if you said you didn’t enjoy his reactions, but partially because, truthfully, you think seeing a softer, more human side of Katsuki will do him some wonders in the public eye. And what sort of doting girlfriend would you be if you didn’t take your chances at helping his public image?

“Why do you keep lying to your audience through these stupid videos?” he demands.

You gasp. “Lying?”

“Yes, lying,” he gives you a flat look, eyeing you like you’re crazy for denying the accusation.

“Why would this be a lie?” You challenge. Then, dramatically, you gasp, clutching your chest in mock hurt as you hiss, “So are you saying that you don't want to marry me?”

“W-what? I didn’t fuckin’ say that—don’t put words in my mouth—”

“So, I guess this video is now becoming a get-ready-with-me to get dumped, because apparently Katsuki wants to break up with me because he fell out of love with me and found someone new. I think he’s been emotionally cheating on me with someone—a sidekick, I’d bet. Always trust your gut, ladies—your gut never lies.”

“Hah?! You—” he sighs, rubbing a hand over his face as he exhales tiredly and gives you a dry look. “You know what, that’s right. M’fuckin’ dumping your ass.”

You clap a hand over your mouth dramatically. “Everyone cancel him!”

— — — — —

“Get ready with me to make out with my pro hero boyfriend!”

You beam at your phone camera yet again. But today, for the first time in the history of these videos, there is no Katsuki behind you that is staring at you in disbelief or glaring at you in irritation. Instead, Katsuki is sitting on the bed, looking up from his phone as a wide, smug grin spreads across his face.

“Finally,” he says, setting his phone aside. “You thought of a good one.”

You blink. “Wait—”

“No, no, you can’t take shit back now. You wanna make out with your pro hero boyfriend, so that’s what your video is gonna be, baby.”

“Katsuki—”

He stands, hastily walking over as he says in approval, “Now we’re talkin. I like this video idea.”

He materializes in front of you, easily grabbing you by the wrist and tugging you up before he hooks an arm around your waist and pulls you flush against him. His lips start peppering kisses up your throat and along your jaw as he works his way up to your lips. You melt against your will, giggling a little as you hiss (weakly), “Kats! We can’t…you can’t kiss me yet!”

“And why the fuck not, huh? You got some other boyfriend to kiss? Bring ‘im here, I can fight.”

“I have to get ready first,” you huff, shoving him lightly, “that’s the point of a get-ready-with-me? You have to wait till my makeup is done.”

“What’s the point in that?” He hums, pressing a soft, delicate peck to your lips before he murmurs, “s’just gonna be a waste of all your hard work when m’done with you, yeah baby?”

You shiver at the tone in his voice, pupils dilating as you stare at him. His eyes are twinkling with amusement as he gives you a wolfish grin, reaching over and locking your phone, and cutting the camera off from recording. This video might not end up getting posted at all, you think—this one might just break community guidelines. 

The apartment is warm when Toji Fushiguro gets home. Warm in that quiet, lived-in way he still hasn’t fully gotten used to. There’s laundry folded on the arm of the couch. Tiny sneakers kicked off by the door. The fridge hums steadily beneath a clutter of magnets you and Megumi collected from cheap grocery stores and corner shops like they were priceless souvenirs.

Home. His home.

The thought still catches strangely in his chest sometimes.

It’s late. Later than he promised he’d be. The job ran long, then traffic got backed up halfway through the city, and now exhaustion sits heavy in his bones as he shrugs off his jacket. 

Usually by this point, Megumi’s asleep already. Usually you’re curled on the couch waiting up for him with some shitty reality show playing quietly in the background. But you’re three states away for work this week, and the apartment feels different without you in it. Too quiet.

Toji rubs at the back of his neck as he steps farther inside. “Megs?” No answer.

His brows knit immediately. The TV glows softly in the darkened living room, muted cartoons flickering against the walls, and there, curled into the corner of the couch beneath one of your blankets is Megumi.

The little boy’s shoulders shake silently. Toji freezes. “…Megumi?”

Megumi jerks slightly at the sound of his voice. Toji’s stomach twists immediately. His son’s face is blotchy red from crying. Tears cling wetly to his lashes while he presses both fists hard against his eyes like he’s trying to stop more from coming out.

Toji moves closer automatically. “What happened?”

Megumi shakes his head hard.

“Hey.” Toji crouches carefully in front of the couch. “Talk t’me, brat.”

Another shake. Then a tiny broken hiccup. Toji feels genuine panic start crawling unpleasantly up his spine. Megumi rarely cried like this anymore. Not since you. Not since the apartment started feeling stable and warm and safe.

Toji reaches out instinctively, rough palm brushing against the little boy’s knee. “C’mere.”

Megumi immediately scoots backward instead. “No.” The word is tiny. Wobbly. But it still hits Toji square in the chest.

“…What?”

“I want dad.”

Toji blinks once. His exhausted brain struggles to process the sentence properly. “I’m right here.”

Megumi’s face crumples harder instantly. “No,” he sobs, voice cracking. “I don’t want papa.”

The words land like a punch. Toji goes still.

Megumi curls tighter into the blanket, crying openly now. “I want dad…”

And suddenly Toji understands. Not papa. Dad. You.

The apartment goes strangely quiet around him for a second. Megumi’s tiny shoulders shaking beneath your blanket. Your blanket. The one Megumi drags around the apartment whenever you travel because it smells like your detergent and the stupid citrus fabric softener you always buy.

Toji stares at his son silently, and something in his chest aches so hard it almost feels unbearable. Because Megumi misses you. Not casually. Not in the vague fond way kids miss adults sometimes. No. This is the kind of missing that lives deep in little bones. The kind built slowly over bedtime stories and packed lunches and cartoon pancakes and warm hands helping tie tiny shoes before school. You carved yourself into Megumi’s life so gently that neither of them noticed it happening.

Until now.

Toji swallows hard. “…Hey,” he says quietly.

Megumi keeps crying. Toji’s never been good at this part. He knows how to fight. Survive. Bleed quietly. But comforting people… Especially people he loves… Still feels like trying to hold water in scarred hands.

He sits carefully on the edge of the couch instead. The cushions dip beneath his weight. Megumi doesn’t move away this time.

“That bad, huh?” Toji mutters softly.

Megumi sniffles miserably. “He always reads m’story.”

The tiny devastated way he says it nearly kills Toji instantly, because yeah, you do. Every night. Even when exhausted. Even when Megumi asks for the same dinosaur book six times in a row.

Toji rubs a hand slowly over his jaw. “He’ll call tomorrow.”

“I want him now.” Christ. Toji closes his eyes briefly. Then sighs.

“C’mere, Megs.” 

This time, after a long hesitant second Megumi crawls into his lap. Still crying. Toji wraps both arms around him automatically, holding the little boy carefully against his chest while tiny fingers clutch desperately at his hoodie.

“He said four sleeps,” Megumi mumbles tearfully.

“Yeah.”

“But it’s too many.”

Toji exhales slowly through his nose. You’d only been gone two days, and apparently both of them were handling it badly. He rests his chin lightly against Megumi’s messy hair.

“He misses you too, y’know.”

Megumi sniffles. “Really?”

“Hn.”

“How do you know?”

Because the apartment feels colder without you in it. Because Toji keeps reaching for you in bed before remembering the sheets beside him are empty. Because dinner tastes wrong when someone isn’t nagging him about eating vegetables. Because the silence feels heavier now that he’s learned what your laughter sounds like filling it.

But Megumi’s six.

So Toji just says quietly, “He called twice t’day askin’ about you.”

Megumi brightens slightly at that. “He did?”

“Wouldn’t shut up about how you’re probably forgettin’ to brush your teeth.”

“I never forget!”

“That’s what I said.”

Megumi huffs weakly against his chest. Toji’s hand drifts up automatically, fingers combing carefully through soft black hair.

He learned that from you. Everything soft, he learned from you. The realization settles heavily in his chest. A year ago, this apartment was barely livable. Megumi barely spoke. And Toji… Toji thought family was something that happened to other people.

Now his son cries because he misses bedtime stories from the man who painted over water stains and made clown pancakes and loved them both stupidly enough to stay.

“Papa?”

“Hm?”

Megumi tilts his head back slightly, eyes still watery. “Do you miss him too?”

Toji stills. Dangerous question. Tiny little thing. But dangerous. Megumi watches him with your same quiet patience. Waiting.

Toji looks away first. “…Yeah,” he mutters eventually.

The word comes rough. Honest. And maybe that’s what finally breaks something open in him. Because saying it out loud makes it real. You’re not temporary anymore. Not some soft thing passing through their lives. 

You’re woven into this place now.

Into Megumi.

Into him.

Megumi nods sleepily like the answer makes perfect sense. “Me too.”

Toji huffs out a quiet laugh through his nose. “Yeah, I know.”

The crying finally slows after that. Megumi sags heavily against him, exhausted from all the tears. Toji glances toward the clock. Too late to call you. You’re probably asleep in some hotel room across the country.

Still, he reaches for his phone anyway. Megumi notices immediately.

“Calling dad?”

“Nah.” Toji opens the camera instead.

Megumi blinks. “What’re you doing?”

Toji angles the phone carefully toward the two of them. “Quit lookin’ confused,” he mutters. “He’s gonna lose his mind if he finds out you cried this hard without him.”

Megumi giggles weakly despite himself. There it is. That tiny sound. Toji snaps the picture before Megumi can hide his face. Then another. One where Megumi’s tucked sleepily against his chest beneath your blanket. Safe. Loved. Home.

Toji stares at the photo for a long second before finally typing out a message beneath it.

your kid misses you.

think he’s emotionally manipulative.

come home soon.

He hesitates. Then adds, after another second:

we both do.

Megumi’s already half asleep against him by the time the message sends. Toji sets the phone aside carefully before leaning back into the couch. 

he was resting on the railing, across deck from you, and made it to your side in the blink of an eye. he lifted you with ease, still hoisting you to his side as he turned to glare at usopp. he was sheathing his sword on his hip, glaring menacingly at the sniper.

“watch it, usopp,” he practically growls out, “almost hit him right in the head,”

usopp sweat drops, apologizing profusely, “i’m sorry, [name]! it was the wind that blew it towards you, you know i’d never do it on purpose, right?” thne in a quieter voice he meekly says, “please tell zoro to stop glaring at me…”

“it’s alright usopp! i know you didn’t do it on purpose,” your words were kind and delivered with a smile as you were still being pressed to zoro’s side. you slapped his chest, forcing him to look at you. his gaze softened immediately, “stop glaring, you big baby, usopp didn’t mean it,”

“still-“

“no “still”, just get over it, zo,” despite it being you who almost got nailed in the forehead with the dart, zoro seemed to be the one who was most personally offended by it. he was still pouting as he carried you off to the railing he was previously napping on. his pout goes away when you peck his cheek and mutter a quick "thank you."

and now he's blushing and hiding his face behind his palm.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

a very endearing way that zoro enjoys using his strength on you is whenever he needs to pick you up, outside of his working out and teasing moments. if you ever fall asleep on deck, with usopp, luffy, and chopper surrounding you two, he’ll scoop you up into his arms with ease and take you to the actual beds in the dormitory. since he knows you’re sleeping, he doesn’t bother hiding his fond, soft smile on his face as he effortlessly carries you.

“hmm?” you’re so sleepy you can’t even will yourself to open your mouth properly to say zoro’s name. just leaning closer into his warm chest and whining for a proper bed.

“i know, baby, we’re almost there,” he softly assures you, leaning down to press a kiss to your forehead, “should’ve just fallen asleep in your bed,”

“hm.”

“mhmm,” he hums back at you, smirking as he hears you mimic him in your sleepy state.

he places you into your bed, discarding his shirt and pants before joining you. the skin to skin contact makes you melt further into him, taking in as much warmth as you can. he feels you guide his hands to your shirt as well before lifting it over your head. with no cloth in between you two, it’s just you two pressing into each other for the rest of the night. when you wake up, luffy and chopper are both complaining about the ultimate betrayal zoro did to them by not carrying them to bed. zoro ignores their pestering, hanging off of your side and ruffling your hair as you yawn.

“can you two quiet down? some of us are still half awake,”

“he hates us,” the two cry in unison, comical tears flowing down their cheeks.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

an aspect of your relationship with zoro that many on board, and assumedly the general population if they knew about this, found…interesting (to say the least) was how you two enjoyed fighting with each other. play fighting and seriously sparring, the activities helped you pass time with one another while also testing your guys’ strength.

it was usually done in the crow’s nest since that was zoro’s gym area and was away from prying eyes.

the sun was just beginning to set on the horizon, gleaming through the windows as you two were heavily panting. the sun made your guys’ skin shine even more from the thin coat of sweat on both of you. zoro’s lips have been upturned in a smirk ever since you two started while you were just breathing heavily, glaring at him.

“get that stupid face off your face,” you scowl, going forward to try taking him down.

he side steps you and catches your body against his, dropping you both down onto the floor to keep you pinned. it all happens too fast and you don’t even bother fighting against him and his iron grip.

“this stupid face you love so much?” he teases, tangling his legs with yours to prevent you from moving, “give up?”

“no!” in one last push of strength, you muster up everything within you to push off of the ground and flip the positions. however, the amount of force you conjured did little to nothing in even budging zoro’s frame pinning you down, “okay, i give up,”

you go limp in his hold, making him release you from his snake-like constraint. he doesn’t move from on top of you though, leaning down to briefly kiss you.

“good lessons today?” he asks against your lips, pecking you quickly before pulling away and looking down at you.

"maybe good for you since you got to just manhandle me around, like some doll," he smirks, hands squeezing your cheeks.

"just how i like you," he teases, going in for another kiss. when the crew isn't around, zoro loves to indulge in your affection. it's obvious with how you two are now passionately making out on the wooden floor. his legs move in between yours, pushing them open so he can slot himself right against you.

his hair is slightly damp due to the sweat of your training session, but you don't mind, pulling at the strands in need. his thick forearms now rest on either side of your head, keeping him propped up to not crush you entirely. as for your lower half, he's shamelessly moving his hips against your own.

"zoro!!! [name]!!! it's time for your monthly check up- AGH!!" chopper's high pitched scream echoes in the crow's nest as well as the sudden slamming of the door. "i didn't see anything!"

"that idiot..." zoro rasps, pulling away from you and resting his forehead against yours as he catches his breath. "fuck, what the hell is his timing?"

you don't say anything in return, simply letting your eyes do the talking. they dart to his pelvis and his cheeks go ablaze, seeing your quirked eyebrow and tilt of your head. wordlessly, you're asking him, "seriously?"

"shut the hell up!! whose fault is that?!"

"yours, you fucking pervert! getting hard from tossing me around and a small makeout session? what are you, a hormonal teenager?"

"shut the fuck up!" he pushes you down onto the wood when you try getting back up, making you laugh at his immature behavior.

"you're such a baby."

"i said, shut up!"

his ears are ruby red as he goes to change into a shirt, glaring at you when his head pops out of the neckline.

"tch, asshole."

"the asshole you got hard for, by the way,"

"stop talking about it!"

you laugh at his flustered state, walking over and kissing him once more, despite the frown on his lips, "let's go and get checked up! you should probably take care of that problem of yours, don't wanna scar chopper even more."

"with your shit attitude, i'm already soft," he spits out with a shove to your shoulder before he himself steadies you again. "why the hell aren't you hard? you think i'm unattractive or something?"

you don't bother hiding your laughter at that question, only making him more mad.

"seriously! that must be the only explanation!" he shouts once more, following you down the ladder of the crow's nest.

"you really want me to air out my business in front of the whole crew, idiot?"

"no, but this conversation is far from over,"

"and i'm the brat..." you murmur under your breath, but his sharp ears somehow pick up on it.

"hah?!" he questions, but you just shake your head and ignore him.

"chopper, we're sorry! we're ready for our check up now!" you say in a sing song voice, "zoro's going to apologize to you properly, he's just sooooo embarassed because he's a horm-"

zoro's big hand clamps over your mouth before you can finish embarrassing him further, "shut the hell up, boy," he grunts in your ear, pressing your backside to his front as he controls your walk to the infirmary.

your slapping his hand, trying to free yourself from his clutches, but he just catches your hand in his other. now you're completely immobilized and forced into silence.

"you gonna behave now?" you nod your head and he finally releases you.

"zoro is-AHH!" he swoops you off of your feet and throws you over his shoulder so you now have an up close view of his back. a sharp smack is delivered to your ass and you're shocked into silence.

"that's what i thought," is his final comment before he's pushing open the door to the infirmary.

⠄･ ⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄⠂⋆ ･ ⠄

You started collecting them during your travels. Every island you visit, every small town, every weird shop or back alley, you search for some new ones that have a past on them. And when you find one, your heart beats a little faster.

All because of him.

Trafalgar D. Water Law.

You met him months ago, maybe even a year passed. You were both staying in a port town while your ships were getting repaired. You talked once, maybe twice. He was calm. Looked a little scary, but... kind.

And then, one night, you saw him looking at an old coin in his hand. Turning it over slowly. Focused. Soft, almost.

You asked, “You like coins?”

He nodded “I started collecting them. Just a hobby.”

That was it. That’s all he said.

But ever since that night, you started collecting them too. Just in case you saw him again… Dumb to do that over a random stranger but here you are anyway…

Now you're on a small island, and there’s news: The Heart Pirates are docked nearby.

Your heart jumps.

You clutch the small pouch at your side. Inside, your treasures. The coins you've found. You’ve kept them safe, thinking about this moment.

You don’t even know if he remembers you… After all, you just talked for one minute almost a year ago…

And yet, you walk fast around the market, hoping and wishing you’ll see him.

Then you hear it.

“Oi, Captain! They said they’ve got fresh octopus!”

The voice is loud, someone from his crew. And next to him, there he is.

Law.

He looks the same. Hat, tattoos, sword. But when he sees you, his eyes widen. Just a little.

You wave shyly “Hi.”

“…Hey.” His voice is quieter now. He walks over. You can see the tips of his ears are a little pink.

You smile “Long time. I’m Y/N, I don’t know if you remem—”

He nods “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

You bite your lip “I, uh… I found some things. Since the last time. Want to see?”

He looks confused “Things?”

You open your pouch carefully. Inside, the coins glint in the sun. Old ones, big ones, square-shaped, tiny ones with holes in them. All different.

Law’s eyes widen “These are…”

You laugh nervously “Yeah. I started collecting them. After we talked. You kinda inspired me.”

He stares at them. His fingers hover over the pouch like he wants to touch them but isn’t sure if he should.

“Can I…?”

You nod “Of course.”

He picks up one with strange symbols. Turns it slowly.

“This is from Rokka Island,” he says “It’s over a hundred years old.”

You grin “I found it in a stall run by an old man with no teeth. He said it was cursed, so he gave it to me for free.”

Law chuckles. Cute.

“Cursed, huh?”

“Yeah. But I’m still alive, so I think he was lying.”

You both laugh.

He holds the coin like it’s glass. His voice is softer “You really kept all of these?”

You nod again “I wanted to show you. I hoped I’d see you again.”

There’s a pause. His eyes meet yours. His cheeks turn a little red.

“…You did all this. For me?”

You shrug, looking down “Kinda… I started because of you but in the end I had fun finding them and knowing all their stories.”

Law clears his throat “That’s… That’s nice.”

You look up “You okay?”

He rubs the back of his neck “I’m fine. Just… not used to people doing stuff like that.”

You smile “Well, get used to it then.”

His lips twitch, in almost a smile. He looks at the coin again.

“Can you tell me where you found the rest?”

“Only if you promise to show me your collection next time.”

He nods slowly “Deal.”

Law glances back at his crew. They're loud. Still arguing over seafood.

He turns to you “Wanna sit somewhere quiet?”

You blink “Yeah. Sure.”

He walks beside you, silent but not cold. You lead him to a stone bench near the harbor, behind an old warehouse. There’s a little breeze and no one is around.

You sit down and open your pouch again. Law sits next to you, leaning in slightly.

You hold up a silver coin with jagged edges.

“This one,” you begin, “I found in a broken fountain on Dressrosa.”

Law raises an eyebrow “You went to Dressrosa?”

“By accident. Long story. Anyway, this coin was stuck under some moss. I thought it was a rock at first. A kid helped me pull it out.”

You turn it in your hand “It’s cut weird because, apparently, they used to break coins in half to share them between people they trusted.”

“Like a promise?” Law asks.

“Yeah. Like, ‘I’ll come back for the other half’. Romantic, huh?”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then says softly, “Yeah. It is.”

You pull out another one, a tiny gold coin, almost like a button.

“This one’s from Skypiea,” you say “It was inside a cracked shell I bought from a sky merchant.”

He takes it, inspecting the edge “This is real gold.”

“Yup. But super thin. The merchant said they used them like gifts. For people they liked. Not for trade.”

Law pauses “Like… a token of affection?”

You shrug, smiling “Guess I collect a lot of romantic coins, huh?”

He chuckles under his breath “Apparently.”

Then, gently, he says, “What about your favorite?”

You pause, fingers brushing over the coins in the pouch. Then you pull out a plain, round coin. No shine. Worn edges. It looks boring.

“This one.”

Law frowns a little “Why this one?”

You smile “It’s not rare. Or valuable. But… the story.”

You hold it carefully between your fingers, like it might crumble.

“I met this old woman in a tiny fishing village. She was sitting outside her house, alone. I was just walking by, but she waved me over and said she liked my jacket.”

Law glances at your jacket, as if trying to find the part she liked.

“She invited me for tea. Told me her whole life story. Her husband died young. She had to raise her kids by herself. Never remarried. Always struggled with money. Then we talked more and I ended up telling her I like to collect coins because I met—” You stop as you notice you’re saying too much.

“Then she got all excited and she said this coin…” you show it to him again, “...was the first coin she earned on her own. Cleaning nets for some grumpy old fisherman.”

Law’s eyes don’t leave the coin.

“She kept it her whole life. Said it reminded her she could survive anything. Even heartbreak. Even loneliness.”

You breathe out, slowly.

“When I was leaving, she gave it to me. Said I had ‘kind eyes’ and that she didn’t need it anymore.”

You look at Law. He’s watching you closely now. No teasing. Just… quiet.

“I almost didn’t take it,” you admit “But she insisted. So now I carry it with me. Not because it’s worth anything, but because… she gave me a piece of her strength.”

Law nods slowly “…That’s a good story.”

You smile “Yeah. I think so too.”

He clears his throat, then holds the coin gently. Like it’s something holy.

“You’ve really been through a lot.” he murmurs.

“So have you.” you say.

His eyes flick to yours. There’s something soft there. Shy. Almost nervous.

“…I’d like to show you mine. My collection…” he says.

You grin “I’d love that.”

You both sit in silence for a moment. The wind moves your hair. The sea glimmers behind him.

Then Law says, “You know… I think this is my favorite coin now too.”

You blink “Huh? But it’s mine.”

He smirks, a little flustered “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You laugh “Then get your own sad grandma story.”

He chuckles, low and real.

“…Maybe I will.” he says.

You watch Law turn the old woman’s coin in his hand, thumb brushing its surface with surprising care.

Then you smile “Okay. That one’s my favorite. But you don’t get to choose that one.”

Law raises an eyebrow, lips twitching “I wasn’t trying to steal it.”

You lean closer, nudging him with your shoulder “Still. Pick another one.”

He blinks “What for?”

“Just do it.”

He hesitates, then looks down at your small pile again. His fingers hover for a moment before he gently picks up the tiny Skypiea coin, the thin gold one like a button.

“This one.” he says simply.

You grin “Nice choice.”

“It’s light. Easy to carry.”

You roll your eyes “Of course that’s your reason.”

But he’s still holding it. Turning it slowly. Like he’s already attached.

You nudge his hand “Keep it.”

Law freezes “What?”

“Keep it,” you say again, softer this time “As a promise.”

His eyes narrow slightly “Promise for what?”

You meet his gaze. Your voice is steady, but there’s a smile hiding in it “That we’ll meet again.”

He stares at you, unreadable for a few seconds.

Then, quietly “…You don’t want it back?”

You shake your head “Nope. That one’s yours now. I don’t collect just for value, remember?”

He looks down at the coin again.

“…And when you look at it, you’re supposed to think of me, okay?” You grin.

Law’s ears turn red. Bright red.

“…Tch,” he mutters, slipping the coin carefully into his coat pocket “You’re annoying.”

But he’s smiling a little.

You lean back, feeling the sun on your face “You’re not very good at pretending you’re not touched, y’know.”

Law groans “Don’t start.”

You laugh “Admit it. You’re gonna keep it forever.”

“…Maybe.”

You glance at him “And maybe one day you’ll give me one of yours.”

He looks at you sideways, face soft “…Deal?”

You pretend to think “Hmm. Deal.”

He huffs a quiet laugh, and the two of you sit like that, close, warm, quiet.

Not a goodbye. Just a see you later.

It’s been a long time.

Longer than you wanted.

Storms. Ship trouble. A run-in with Marines. Then some quiet months on a peaceful island where nothing happened, except you kept checking the docks, just in case.

No Heart Pirates.

No Law.

You still carry your coins. You even bought a few more. But lately, they feel heavier. Like they’re waiting too.

Now you’re on Faroa Island, known for spicy noodles and heavy fog. You’ve been here three days, eating too much and asking too many strangers about submarines.

You’re starting to give up again when a fisherman points out to sea.

“That ship’s weird…” he says.

Your heart stops.

You run to the harbor.

You know that shape. That ugly yellow.

The Polar Tang.

You spot the crew first. Shachi yelling, Penguin arguing, Bepo already hugging strangers.

And then there he is.

Trafalgar Law.

He’s walking down the ramp, coat moving in the wind, calm as ever. His face is unreadable, until he sees you.

He stops walking.

You wave slowly. Nervous. Hopeful. A little out of breath.

“…Hey!” you say, unsure if your voice is shaking or it’s just the sea wind.

He blinks and stops walking.

“You...” he says, like it’s not real.

You laugh “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

Law’s face doesn’t show much, but his ears are just barely pink.

“I figured you’d still be running around.” he says quietly.

You laugh, softer this time “Got time to talk?”

He nods, silent, then gestures toward a quiet part of the dock.

You sit on a crate. He leans beside it.

“I’ve picked up a few more,” you say, pulling your pouch out “coins.”

He watches you open it without a word.

You hold out a new one, a tiny fish-shaped copper coin. The edges are smoothed down, but the little carved scales are still visible.

He takes it carefully.

“This one’s from a cliffside village. Super windy. Almost flew out of my hand into the sea.”

He hums, thumb brushing over the coin. You catch the way his fingers slow down. Familiar. Like he’s used to this.

“…You still have the one I gave you?” you ask suddenly, not thinking.

Law stiffens slightly and doesn’t look at you.

Then, without a word, he pulls something from inside his coat.

A small cloth pouch.

He opens it slowly and inside there is the thin gold Skypiea coin.

Your breath catches.

“You kept it…” you whisper.

He shrugs like it’s nothing, but he’s gripping the pouch a little tighter “I said I would.”

Before you can say anything else—

“WAIT. WHAT.”

You both look up.

Shachi and Penguin are standing there, mouths open, frozen mid-step. Bepo’s behind them, blinking.

Shachi leans in “Dude. We’ve seen you stare at it for months. Every night on night watch. We thought you were going crazy.”

Law’s face is stone “Leave.”

“You never told us it was from them!” Shachi points at you, wide-eyed “That makes it even weirder!”

“Wait,” Bepo says, eyes wide, “is it a love coin?”

Law mutters something under his breath that sounds very murdery.

You try not to laugh “Love coin, huh?”

“LEAVE.” Law growls, eyes twitching.

The crew stumbles away, still yelling behind them.

“HE STARES AT IT LIKE IT’S A TREASURE MAP!”

“IT ALL MAKES SENSE NOW!”

“I THOUGHT IT WAS CURSED!”

Once they’re out of earshot, you cover your mouth, laughing.

Law exhales sharply “Idiots.”

“You didn’t tell them?”

“Obviously not.”

You bump your shoulder into his “You’re soft, Captain.”

“I’m not.”

You glance at the coin in his hand “You are.”

He doesn’t argue this time.

Instead, he slips the coin back into the pouch, then into his coat.

Then, quietly, he says “You… still collect them?”

You nod “Always.”

“…Then don’t stop. Not yet.”

You look at him “Why?”

He doesn’t meet your eyes, but his voice is quiet when he says “Because I want to see what you find next.”

“I… have something to show you.”

You tilt your head “Oh?”

He glances away, like he regrets speaking at all “If you want. You can come on board.”

You blink “On the Polar Tang?”

He nods “My collection’s in my room. Kept safe.”

You raise an eyebrow, smiling “Law, are you inviting me to your room?”

He mutters, “It’s not like that!” and turns away too fast, ears burning.

You laugh softly “Okay, okay. I’m joking, let’s go.”

You follow him through the metal corridors of the Polar Tang. The ship hums gently beneath your feet. The inside is warmer than you expected, surprisingly clean and full of personality. Bepo passes by, gives you a thumbs-up. Shachi is whispering something and giggling until Law glares at him into silence.

Finally, you reach his quarters.

He opens a drawer carefully, pulls out a small wooden box, and sits with you at the low table. No words, just quiet, steady movements.

Then he opens it.

Coins. A LOT of them.

Some are old and dark with age, others polished to a mirror shine. A few are cracked. Every one of them has been placed carefully, like a small piece of his story.

You whisper, “Wow.”

Law watches you “Most of them came from islands we stopped at. A few… from patients. People we couldn’t save.”

You look up at him. He says it plainly, but there’s weight behind his voice. Like every coin holds a memory he doesn’t always talk about.

Then, from the corner of the box, he pulls out a worn, half-moon shaped coin. It’s broken. Just half of something.

“This one…” He pauses, tracing the jagged edge with his thumb “There’s a legend tied to it.”

You lean in “Tell me.”

“They say there were coins made in pairs.” he explains, slowly, like he’s not sure why he’s telling you “Two halves. When put together, a design appears. Only visible if the coins match.”

“What kind of design?”

He hesitates “…No one there wanted to tell me. Said I had to find the other half to find out.”

You stare at the coin in his palm.

Then something in your brain clicks.

Your pouch.

You know that shape.

“…Wait,” you whisper, “Wait a second.”

You fumble into your pouch, digging fast. Coins clink against each other as you search, heart racing. Then you pull out a coin.

Broken. Same size. Same edge.

You place it gently next to his.

Law’s breath hitches.

You both look down.

The pieces slide together with a soft click.

Then the design shimmers into view, like ink appearing on water.

Two mirrored spirals, forming a small, delicate symbol.

The ancient mark.

“Soulmates.”

Neither of you speak for a long moment.

“No way…” you say, breathless.

Law is frozen. Staring at the coin. Then at you. Then back at the coin.

“I didn’t…” he starts, voice hoarse “I never thought anyone would have the other half.”

“I didn’t even know what it was,” you say quietly “I just thought it looked cool. I found it in a market near Raijin Island. A kid gave it to me for free. Said it ‘looked lonely.’”

Law blinks, like that part hits him even harder.

You both sit there. The coin between you.

Two halves. One mark.

“I…” He tries again, but the words don’t come.

His fingers brush yours, just barely, as he picks up the whole coin.

You watch his expression change, like something in him shifts.

You break the silence, voice soft “So… what now?”

He swallows.

Then, very quietly, very Law-like, he says “…Don’t leave. Not yet.”

The Polar Tang is quiet at night.

Outside, waves tap against the hull. Inside, the ship hums low, steady.

You’re still sitting on the floor of his quarters. Still staring at that coin.

Two halves. One whole. One mark.

He hasn’t stopped looking at it since it appeared. You haven’t stopped looking at him.

“So…” you say, softly “We’re soulmates now?”

He snorts “It’s not magic.”

You grin “You sound like you wish it was magic. That way you could blame the coin.”

Law pauses. Doesn’t deny it. Instead, he says, “I don’t believe in fate.”

You tilt your head “But?”

His voice is quiet “But I believe in signs.”

He finally looks at you. Really looks. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes are full of something heavy. Something warm.

You lean back against the wall, the coin now resting between you both on the table.

“Can I ask something?” you say.

He nods.

“Did you… think about me? After I gave you the coin?”

His answer is immediate “Yeah.”

You blink “That was fast.”

He glances down “…I looked at it more than I should’ve.”

You smile “Good. I hoped you would.”

There’s a silence after that, but not awkward, just full of everything you’re both not saying.

Then he speaks “Do you remember what you told me? When you gave it to me?”

You think for a second “That it was a promise. That when you looked at it, you’d remember me.”

He nods “And so I did. Every time.”

The air feels warmer now. You shift a little closer.

“What about now?” you ask “You’ve seen me again. We’re here. Does that promise still count?”

Law’s voice drops lower “…Yeah. Maybe more than before.”

You pause.

The hum of the ship grows louder in the quiet. His hand is close to yours now. The coin sits between you, touching both your fingers.

You look at him “You can kiss me, you know.”

His eyes widen a fraction “You’re direct.”

“You’re slow.”

That earns the tiniest twitch of a smile.

He studies you for one more second and then moves.

His hand brushes your cheek, gentle, almost unsure, and then he leans in, slow and careful, like he’s afraid he’ll mess it up.

Your noses brush. You can feel his breath.

Then he kisses you.

Soft. Steady. Nothing rushed.

It’s the kind of kiss that speaks without words. The kind that says I thought about this every day. The kind that means finally.

When he pulls back, he rests his forehead against yours.

You’re both quiet.

Then you murmur, almost embarrassed “…That wasn’t part of the coin legend, by the way.”

He smirks a bit against your mouth “Maybe we’re making a new one then.”

You wake to soft humming from the ship.

The Polar Tang vibrates gently under your head, steady and warm. You blink your eyes open. You’re still on the floor of Law’s quarters, curled up under a blanket you definitely weren’t using last night.

Law is sitting at his desk, reading something, but you catch the way his eyes flick to you the second you move.

“…Morning.” he says, voice low and raspy.

You smile “Hey, Captain.”

He closes the book “You hungry?”

You stretch, yawning “Starving.”

He stands, brushes off his coat, then holds out a hand to help you up. You take it. His fingers linger just a second longer than they need to.

“You didn’t sleep much.” you say.

“I’m used to it.”

“Still. I could’ve taken the floor alone, y’know.”

“I wasn’t gonna leave you here.”

You grin “Romantic.”

He rolls his eyes and walks out, but not before you catch a hint of pink on his ears.

You walk together to the kitchen, the hallway quiet.

But the second the door to the mess hall opens… Chaos.

“YOOO LOOK WHO CAME OUT OF THE CAPTAIN’S ROOM!”

Shachi nearly drops a bowl. Penguin starts choking on his breakfast.

Bepo blinks mid-sip “I thought you were on night shift, Captain—wait. Why are they here this early?”

You blink.

Law’s face goes from calm to deeply regretting all his life choices in 0.2 seconds.

“They slept here?!” Bepo gasps, pointing between the two of you.

“We knew it!” Shachi yells “Hey nerds, did you talk about coins all night?”

You try to answer, but then Penguin adds, “I’m sure they did more than talk.”

You laugh. Law groans.

“Enough.” he snaps.

Shachi smirks “What, we’re not allowed to celebrate your love now, Captain?”

“It’s not—”

“So,” Penguin adds, dramatically wiping a fake tear, “you shared your coin box? That’s, like, pirate marriage to you.”

“I will throw you all in the ocean.” Law mutters, dragging a hand over his face.

You lean in and whisper, “You’re really bad at hiding your feelings.”

He glares sideways “You’re not helping.”

You just grin.

Shachi elbows Bepo “I bet they kissed.”

Penguin gasps “BET? I bet he melted. Our captain's a secret romantic.”

Law exhales like a man ready to self-operate.

You finally speak, voice sweet, “For the record, we did talk about coins.”

The room goes quiet.

You lean closer to Law, smirking “And then we kissed.”

The crew erupts. Law covers his face with his hand.

You grab a plate and walk to the food like nothing happened, humming to yourself.

Behind you, Law is still standing there quiet, ears red, surrounded by absolute children pretending to be pirates.

Lydia arched an eyebrow when she caught the direction you were staring. “God,” she muttered under her breath, “how is he still alive with motor skills like that?”

You tried to play it cool, texting something on your phone that you would absolutely not remember typing later. “He’s…uh. He’s fine.”

“Fine as in ‘not dying,’ sure,” she said. “Fine as in ‘hot’? Absolutely not.”

Your face heated. You prayed Lydia didn’t notice. Across the hall, Stiles shoved the pile of disaster into his locker, missed completely, and dropped everything all over again. He let out a frustrated noise, cheeks pink, mumbling to himself.

You quickly looked away. You weren’t supposed to think he was cute. Not when everyone else saw him as the weird, awkward loser who talked too fast and tripped over air. But you did. God, you did. And you hated how much you wanted him.

You cleared your throat, forcing your voice steady. “Let’s just go. We’re gonna be late.”

Lydia linked her arm with yours. “Lord help the soul that ever hooks up with Stilinski,” she said casually, “He’d probably shove it in the wrong place.”

You laughed like that idea was hilarious. Like hooking up with Stiles wasn’t something you fantasised about at night.

———————————————————————

You were barely listening when your teacher announced partners for the semester project. A couple names, some groans, flipping pages. You were scrolling through your phone under the desk while you waited for your name to be called.

“Stilinski…and Y/L/N.”

Your head shot up. Stiles froze in his seat two rows over, eyes wide like someone had pointed a gun at him. He looked at you, startled, almost apologetic, and completely unaware of the way your pulse jumped.

You sat up straighter, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear like you didn’t care at all. Like your heart wasn’t slamming against your ribs. Lydia glanced at you from the next table. She was suspicious, and too perceptive for her own good.

You forced a shrug. “Ugh. Of course I get stuck with him.”

But inside? You were screaming. Absolutely thrilled.

Stiles awkwardly approached your table, nearly bumping into the chair behind him. “H-hey,” he said, voice cracking halfway through. “So…um. We’re partners.”

“Looks like it.” You crossed your legs slowly, pretending to be bored while you fought down a grin. “We’ll figure something out.”

His eyes flicked down to your legs, then up so fast you almost laughed. “Right. Yeah. Totally. I’m, uh, I’m good at biology. Well, not good. Medium. Like, average. But! I try hard.”

Lord help you, he was adorable. Too adorable. You smirked in amusement. “I’m sure we’ll make a great team.”

He visibly swallowed, and boy did you love the effect you had on him.

———————————————————————

At lunch, you spotted Stiles before he saw you. He was at his locker, muttering to himself as he rummaged through an avalanche of papers. His flannel was rumpled, his backpack was sliding off one shoulder, and he kept ruffling his buzzed hair in these nervous, distracted little motions that made you want to grab him by the collar and ruin him against the locker door.

This was perfect. You needed to get him alone, needed to get him into your room and on your bed and…Focus.

You walked straight up and touched his arm. He jumped like you’d tasered him.

“Shit! Oh, hi,” he sputtered, hand flying to his chest. “Sorry, I didn’t, uh, see…Hi.”

You slid your hand down his forearm slowly, casually, like you weren’t imagining how you’d be dragging it down his ribs later. “Relax,” you said gently, giving him your best smile. “You free to come over today? We should start the assignment.”

He blinked. Twice. Then a third time for good measure. “Today?” His voice cracked on the word. “At your house?”

You almost laughed. The way his brain short-circuited at the idea of being someplace as private as your bedroom? God, it made you want to drag him into the nearest storage cupboard and kiss him breathless.

He looked like someone had hit him with a frying pan. Like a very confused, startled, incredibly-cute, frying pan victim. You stepped closer. Close enough that he had to tilt his chin down just slightly to look at you. Close enough to let him know you were invading his personal space on purpose.

“Unless you’re busy,” you teased, voice dropping into something lower and sweeter. “But I figured getting a head start might be good.”

His mouth opened, closed, then opened again. He was goldfish-ing. “No, no! Oh my God, no, I’m not busy,” he blurted. “I’m, uh, I’m free. I’m completely free. Totally free. Like…aggressively free.”

You had to bite your lip hard to hold yourself back. This boy was going to kill you. “Good,” you murmured, leaning in just a little bit more. “I like a guy who’s…available.”

His eyes widened. You could practically see the thoughts hitting him one after another, like dominos falling. Does she mean that? Is she joking? She smells really good. Why is she so close? Do NOT look at her lips. Oh god, I looked at her lips.

He did. He absolutely did. And you let him. You loved it. “So,” you said softly, letting your fingers trail up the sleeve of his flannel before pulling back, “come over at five?”

He swallowed so hard you saw his throat bob. “Y-yeah. Yes. Five. I can do five. I’m, uh, very punctual. I can be earlier if you want earlier I can—”

“Five,” you repeated with a slow smile. “I want five.”

His ears turned pink. Deep pink. The kind of pink that told you he was fully imagining it - imagining being in your house, in your room, alone with you. Good. That was the goal.

You stepped backward, walking away with deliberate sway in your hips, and he watched. He tried not to, but he absolutely failed. Just before you disappeared around the corner, you glanced back over your shoulder.

“Don’t be late, Stiles.” You called back to him, and he looked like he was about to faint at just the sound of you getting his name right. He stood frozen, locker still hanging open, looking like he had just been both blessed and attacked.

You couldn’t wait for five o’clock.

———————————————————————

You had spent the entire hour before five obsessively checking your hair, your outfit, your bed, your perfume, everything. It wasn’t nerves, it was strategy. You wanted Stiles walking into your room and short-circuiting so hard he forgot how to blink.

When the doorbell rang at exactly 4:59, you smiled. Of course he was early. Adorable. Your parents were out until late. Everything was ready.

You opened the door, leaning one shoulder against the frame, a picture of effortless confidence. Stiles stood there gripping his backpack like it was a parachute and he’d just been thrown out of a helicopter.

His eyes dragged over you and stopped. Hard. “Oh,” he breathed. “Wow. I mean, hi. Hi. Sorry. Hi.”

You smirked. “Come in, Stiles.”

He obeyed instantly, like you’d flipped some internal switch. You led him up the stairs at a slow pace. Slow enough that he had no choice but to look at your legs, your hips, the casual sway you added just for him. And boy, did he look. He tried not to. But he did.

You closed your bedroom door behind you and paused, waiting for him to walk further inside before you.

He set his backpack down, clearing his throat. “S-so! Uh. Chapter five. Cell division. Pretty riveting stuff.”

You sat on the edge of your bed, crossing your legs, letting your already-short skirt ride just a little higher. “We can start there…if you want.”

Stiles sat in your desk chair like he was afraid it would bite him. He tugged at the strings of his hoodie, eyes darting everywhere but at you. You tilted your head. God, he was nervous. It was intoxicating.

He fumbled with the textbook. “Right, so, um, mitosis…”

You stretched out luxuriously on your side, fluffing your hair as your camisole lifted just enough to show a hint of stomach. “Stiles.”

“Mm?” His voice squeaked.

“You don’t have to pretend you’re not looking.”

He swallowed. Hard. “I wasn’t! I mean, I was, but I wasn’t…Looking is…sometimes it’s involuntary, like blinking, and, ah fuck.”

You laughed softly and patted the bed beside you. “Come sit over here. We’ll work better side by side.”

He hesitated, then stood and crossed the room like a man approaching a dangerous animal aware he might be devoured, but unsure if he minded. He sat beside you, leaving a polite gap. You closed that gap immediately, sitting up and sliding your thigh against his. His breath stuttered.

“Comfortable?” you asked, pretending innocence.

“Not even a little,” he whispered before he could stop himself.

Your smile grew. Good. You leaned over him to grab a pen from your nightstand, intentionally brushing your chest against his arm. Stiles went absolutely still, like you’d pressed a freeze button on him. When you sat back, your faces were incredibly close.

“Stiles,” you murmured, “why are you so nervous?”

He blinked rapidly. “Because you’re…You’re you. And we’re…we’re on your bed, in your room, and you’re wearing that and looking like that, and I’m…I’m a normal human man with, uh…organs.”

You snorted. “Organs?”

He covered his face with both hands. “Oh my God.”

You gently pulled his hands away. “I like when you ramble.”

“You do?” he said, completely thrown.

You nodded, voice dropping lower. “I like a lot of things about you.”

His cheeks flamed. “Name one.”

You leaned close enough that your lips almost brushed his ear. “Your smile. Or maybe it’s just your mouth in general.”

He made a helpless sound that was half choke and half whimper. That noise ignited something deep and hungry in you. You pulled back, watching his pupils blow wide. He was so into you. So flustered. So unbelievably, deliciously out of his depth. It drove you insane.

“Stiles,” you said softly, “do you know I’m flirting with you?”

He stared. “I…had suspicions?”

You bit back a smile. “No. I mean I am aggressively flirting with you.”

“You…are?”

You sighed dramatically, swinging a leg over his lap in one smooth movement, settling onto him with slow, deliberate pressure. His breath punched out of him. His hands shot to your hips like instinct.

You looked down at him, pinning him with your gaze. “Let me make it very, very clear.” You braced your hands against his shoulders, leaning in. “I want you, Stiles.”

A beat passed and his mouth fell open. “You…you do?”

You rolled your hips once, watching his eyes roll back just a little. “Yes,” you breathed. “I’ve wanted you, for a while.”

Stiles made another strangled noise. “You…? You want to…? To—”

“Hook up with you?” you finished for him. “Yeah. I do.”

His hands tightened on your waist. “Oh my God.”

You kissed him before he could spiral further. It was firm, slow, wanting. He gasped into your mouth, surprised but instantly responding, grabbing at you like he was afraid you’d vanish. He tasted like spearmint gum and he kissed like he’d fantasised about this just as much as you had. You shifted closer and he pulled you tighter. You nipped at his bottom lip and he let out a soft, desperate sound you felt in your core.

You broke the kiss only long enough to breathe against his mouth. “Lie down.”

He did. Instantly. You loved how obedient and responsive he was. You crawled over him, hair falling around your face, watching him pant beneath you, eyes wide, chest rising quickly. He looked wrecked already. Overwhelmed. Turned on out of his mind. You kissed down his neck, slow and lingering.

He arched under you. “Oh God! Okay! Oh, wow, yes!”

You smiled against his skin. “Sensitive, huh?”

“N-not usually,” he managed, “but you…holy shit!”

You rolled your hips down onto his again, and his head thumped back against your pillow, a helpless moan slipping out before he could catch it. “You like that?” you whispered.

“Yes,” he breathed, hands gripping your thigh, your waist, your back, anywhere he could touch. “Yes, fuck, yes.”

You kissed him again, though this time it was messier, deeper, and hungrier. He kissed back with enthusiasm that made your stomach flip, his hands skimming under your shirt, trembling but eager. You tugged off his hoodie, then his shirt. He made a nervous little sound, like he wasn’t sure what to do with his hands now that his brain was soup. You guided them to your hips.

“It’s okay,” you whispered. “Touch me.”

He did. Carefully at first. Then less carefully when you gasped. “Stiles,” you whispered, “I want you.”

He swallowed, eyes blown black. “I—I want you too. So much. You have no idea.”

“Oh,” you murmured, grinding down deliberately, “trust me. I do.”

What happened next was a blur of heat and breathless laughter, of him whispering your name like it meant something, of you scraping your nails over his buzzed hair and watching him fall apart under you. He was needy and sweet and overwhelmed in a way that made your whole body thrum.

And when you finally pulled him fully beneath you, skin to skin, his voice broke on a sound that made your stomach drop into your knees. “God, you’re perfect.”

You kissed him breathless for that one.

———————————————————————

The room smelled like you, and Stiles, heat and sweat and something musky that made your whole body hum like a live wire. You lay on your back, sheets beneath you rumpled, hair a complete disaster across the pillow. Your breathing was slow and heavy, every nerve ending relaxed in a way you hadn’t felt in…a while. And fuck, you were satisfied. More than satisfied.

Stiles was lying beside you, flat on his back, hands still half-curled in the air like he hadn’t figured out what to do with them after using them so very well on you. His chest rose and fell rapidly, his face bright red, wide eyes even wider than usual. He looked wrecked. Adorably, completely, wrecked.

You rolled your head to look at him. He immediately jolted like he’d been caught committing tax fraud. “I swear I don’t usually do that, like that. I mean I don’t usually do anything, actually, I’ve literally never…Well, I mean, I have hands, obviously, so technically I’ve done things but not with a real person who’s, uh, alive. Oh my God, please tell me to shut up. Why aren’t I shutting up?”

You laughed softly, still breathless. “Stiles.” He shut his mouth instantly. You propped yourself on one elbow and let your eyes glide over him, slow and deliberate. His cheeks turned even redder. “I liked it.”

He blinked. “You…what?”

“I liked it,” you repeated, leaning closer. “A lot.”

Stiles sat up too fast. Way too fast. So fast that he immediately fell off the side of your bed with a loud thump.

You dissolved into laughter. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he wheezed from the floor. “Totally fine. Nothing damaged except my dignity. Actually no, that’s been gone for years.”

He scrambled upright as he tugged his pants back on, tripping over your backpack, then your laundry basket, then nearly launching your lamp off the nightstand trying to steady himself.

You watched him, chest warm, a stupid smile tugging your lips upward. He was so nervous. So messy. So wildly flustered. And you were obsessed with him. More than before. Way more than before. And honestly? You were impressed. Stiles Stilinski - anxious, fidgety, always-apologizing Stiles - had been extremely good with his hands. Not confident, exactly…but diligent. Intentional. Focused like he was trying to ace a final exam he’d studied for all year. You wanted more. Immediately, if possible.

Stiles was finally pulling on his shirt when you decided to test something. You slid a hand along his bare back, nails lightly dragging.

He choked on air. “You’re…uh…you’re gonna kill me,” he whispered, voice cracking. “Literally. I’m gonna die.”

You smirked. “I’ll be gentle.”

“No, see, that doesn’t help—”

Before you could tease him further, you heard a door open downstairs. There was the echo of voices and keys hitting the kitchen counter. Your parents were home.

Stiles went white. “Oh! Oh God! Oh no! Nope! Nope, absolutely not. I cannot be here, I should not be here, your parents will shoot me, your mom will throw holy water at me. Where are my shoes?!”

“They’re right there,” you laughed, pointing.

He grabbed them, tripped over your rug, caught himself on your dresser, sent two perfume bottles toppling, caught those mid-air, looked proud, then hit his head on your open dresser drawer. “OH THE PAIN!” he whisper-screamed.

You buried your face in your pillow, laughing so hard your stomach hurt. He pulled his hoodie over his head and the zipper got stuck on his shirt, trapping him. You had to sit up to help him. He thanked you like you’d rescued him from a burning building.

Downstairs, your dad’s voice called, “Honey? We’re home!”

Stiles froze again. “I have to go. I have to go right now.”

You stepped close, fingers hooking the front of his hoodie, pulling him down into a slow, warm kiss. He melted instantly, grip tightening on your waist. When you pulled back, his lips were parted, eyes wide, breath shaky.

“I want to do this again,” you whispered.

Stiles stared like he’d just witnessed a miracle. “Y-you do?”

“Definitely.”

He made a soft, overwhelmed sound. “I…I’ll text you. Or you text me. Or we could, uh, coordinate schedules. God, I’m so sweaty! Is it hot in here? It’s hot in here.”

“Stiles,” you whispered, amused, “go.”

He nodded vigorously, kissed you one more time - quick but desperate - and bolted for the stairs, trying to tiptoe but failing miserably.

Halfway down he whispered-shouted, “I LIKE YOU SO MUCH, THIS IS TERRIFYING.”

You smiled into your pillow again. Yeah, you needed more of him. Soon.

———————————————————————

You walked into school the next morning feeling different. Not outwardly different. You still looked like yourself, still had your perfect outfit and mascara and the confidence everyone expected from you. But inside? Inside you were warm. Glowing. Buzzing with the memory of the night before. Your body still hummed. Your brain still replayed his hands, his mouth, the way he’d looked at you like he couldn’t believe you were real.

And now, here he was. Stiles Stilinski, leaning against his locker, attempting (and failing) to open a granola bar without tearing it into shreds. His jacket was messier than usual, his hoodie slightly crooked, his shoelaces completely untied.

You couldn’t look away. Your eyes went straight to the faint red mark on his neck. The one you had put there. Heat curled through your stomach.

He spotted you before you could pretend you weren’t staring. His whole body froze like someone had hit the pause button. His eyes went wide, his face instantly flushed, and he accidentally crushed the granola bar in his hand. It exploded everywhere.

“Oh God, no! WHY? Why does food hate me,” he muttered, dropping to the floor trying to gather the crumbs.

Your lips curved into a smile you couldn’t hide. You walked toward him slowly, and he visibly panicked, eyes darting left-right-like he was calculating an escape route. “Morning,” you said, low and warm.

Stiles nearly fell backward. “M-morning. Hi. Hello. HOW are you?” He articulated each sound like he’d forgotten how English worked.

You bit back a laugh. “I’m fantastic.”

He swallowed, staring everywhere except at you. When he finally met your eyes, it lasted half a second before he looked away like you were the sun.

“See you around, Stiles.” You winked at him and started to walk away, making sure to add a sway into your hips that made your skirt rise.

He was freaking out, and you found it adorable. Dangerously adorable. You were still admiring him from your locker when Lydia suddenly appeared at your elbow like a stylish jump scare. “Why are you staring at Stilinski?”

You didn’t jump. You did not jump.

Lydia narrowed her eyes. “You flinched.”

Okay, maybe you flinched a little. “I didn’t.”

“You did,” she said. “And you’re staring at him.”

“I’m not,” you said too fast. Way too fast. “He’s just…being weird. As usual.”

She raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. Stiles glanced over and saw Lydia looking at him. He immediately dropped all his textbooks. All of them. It was like his body couldn’t handle being perceived by Lydia Martin.

Lydia frowned, confused. “What is with him today?”

You shrugged, trying to look disinterested when all you wanted to do was pull Stiles into an empty classroom and kiss him until he forgot his own name. “I have no idea,” you lied smoothly.

But Lydia wasn’t stupid. She followed your gaze back to Stiles, who was currently spinning in a circle because his backpack strap had gotten caught on his locker door and he didn’t realise it. “…something is off,” she muttered.

You forced a dramatic sigh. “Lydia, nothing’s off. He’s always like that.”

“Hm,” she hummed, unconvinced, and marched off.

Stiles looked relieved like he’d escaped a predator. You approached him again once Lydia was gone. He backed into his locker like you were cornering him. Like last night had short-circuited his entire nervous system.

“Oh shit,” he whispered, eyes flicking to your lips then away. “What are you doing? You’re still…you. And I’m still…me.”

You stepped closer, voice soft. “Is that a problem?”

Stiles made a noise that sounded like a dying kettle. “Not a problem. Just a…situation. A, uh, unique challenge.”

Your smile widened. “Stiles. Look at me.”

He did, for exactly one moment. And in that moment, his expression softened. It was almost reverent. Like he was remembering every second of last night. Like he wanted more but had no idea how to function now that he’d actually gotten you once.

Your chest tightened in a way you didn’t expect. But then you heard footsteps, and Stiles practically launched himself away from you like the hallway floor was lava.

“I CAN’T TALK TO PEOPLE RIGHT NOW,” he blurted, speed-walking down the hall.

You pressed your lips together to hide your grin. God, the way he panicked after hooking up with you was almost just as fun as the actual hooking up part.

———————————————————————

He didn’t look at you for the next two classes. Correction, he didn’t look at you directly. But he stared constantly. Through the gaps between books, around corners, over his shoulder, and in the reflection of classroom windows. Every time your eyes met his - accidentally - he spun away like a malfunctioning Roomba.

During lunch, Lydia kept watching the both of you suspiciously. After fourth period, you found Stiles at his locker again, pretending to look inside it even though it was almost empty. You walked past casually, brushing your fingers against his hand. Just a graze, lightning quick.

Stiles shivered. Full body. You slipped a folded piece of paper into his palm. He looked down at it like you’d handed him a live grenade. He unfolded it, then stared at it, swallowed hard, then looked up at you. He didn’t speak, he just nodded. And it wasn’t nervous. Not this time. This time it was hungry.

———————————————————————

You and Lydia sat on the bleachers like you always did, your skirts smoothed neatly beneath you, your bags dropped at your feet. Jackson and the rest of the team were running drills on the field, shouting, cursing, and sweating. It all should’ve had your attention. Jackson was objectively good to watch. Everyone knew that. But your eyes weren’t on Jackson. They were glued to Stiles.

There he was in full lacrosse gear that looked like it weighed more than his entire body. His helmet was slightly crooked, he kept adjusting his gloves like they were personally torturing him, and his stick handling was…well, abysmal.

“God,” Lydia scoffed, flipping her hair. “Stilinski and McCall are actual public embarrassments. I swear to God, watching them play is like watching baby giraffes try to walk for the first time.”

You snorted on instinct, but your eyes were glued to Stiles’ thighs as he sprinted. Jesus. Why were his legs that good? You followed the way the muscles in them tightened, how his jersey clung to his back, damp from sweat. At one point he pushed his helmet up to wipe his forehead, and you got a full view of his messy, sweat-mussed hair, cheeks flushed pink.

And all you could think of was how he’d looked the night before. Flushed. Breathless. Gorgeous. You crossed your legs tightly and tried to play it cool.

“Totally,” you said, even though your voice came out breathier than intended.

Lydia didn’t notice. She was too busy dissecting Jackson’s technique and muttering coaching tips he’d never hear. But you kept watching Stiles. Watching the way he stumbled and caught himself. Watching the way he laughed at something Scott said, chest heaving with exertion. Watching the way the uniform clung to places you’d had your hands on last night.

And all you could think was, God, I want him again. I want him pressed against me in that stupid uniform. I want him sweaty and breathless for an entirely different reason. He bent down to tie his shoe and you swallowed thickly. You were done for.

Lydia elbowed you lightly. “You’re zoning out. What are you even looking at?”

“Uh, Danny,” you lied quickly. “His…form.”

Lydia hummed. “Hm. Must be a new angle, because you are staring awfully far down the field.”

You forced a laugh, but your stomach twisted. You had to get out of here before she put anything together. When the coach finally blew the last whistle, the team started heading toward the locker rooms.

Lydia stood, brushing off her skirt. “Practice is over. Want a ride home?”

Your heart thumped. You heard yourself say, light and airy, “Oh, no, I’m gonna stay back and study.”

Lydia paused, her eyes narrowing into that terrifyingly observant Lydia Martin look. “With who?” she asked, voice sharp in that sweet way of hers.

You shrugged with practiced casualness. “Just by myself.”

Suspicion colored her whole face. “You’re acting weird.”

“I’m acting completely normal,” you insisted. “You’re the one who’s been strange today.”

Thankfully she didn’t push further. She just gave you that look, like she’d circle back later, and grabbed her bag. “You better text me later,” she warned, heels clicking away down the bleachers.

You exhaled shakily as she disappeared. Then you grabbed your own bag and slid quietly beneath the bleachers, stepping into the shadowed space underneath. The air smelled like grass and dirt and old metal. The sound of the team laughing somewhere near the locker rooms drifted through the field.

You waited exactly where you’d told him to meet you in the note you’d slipped into his hand earlier. Your heart fluttered with anticipation, nerves, and excitement. He’d come. You knew he would.

You leaned against one of the beams, pulse picking up at the thought of seeing him again. Of what you might end up doing to him if he let you. You bit your lip. God, you hoped he’d let you.

———————————————————————

You heard the footsteps before you saw him. They were fast, uneven, like he’d jogged the whole way from the locker room. Then Stiles appeared through the shadows.

His hair was damp and sticking up in ridiculous directions, clearly from a rushed shower. A few droplets still clung to his temples. He wore low basketball shorts slung loose on his hips and his lacrosse jersey, the fabric stretching deliciously across his shoulders. His cheeks were pink from the heat of the shower, or nerves.

“Hey,” he said, stopping short like he’d run face-first into an invisible wall. “I got your note. Obviously. Because I’m here. Uh, hi.”

You didn’t bother answering. You stepped forward and grabbed the front of his jersey, yanking him under the bleachers fully, into the shadows.

His breath caught. “W-wait, are we…? Are we doing this again?” he stammered.

“You took too long,” you whispered, and before he could reply, you kissed him. Hard.

Stiles made a startled noise against your mouth, like his brain short-circuited in real time. But then his hands were on your waist, hesitant at first, then gripping tighter when you deepened the kiss. His lips were warm, soft, a little desperate (he was always desperate) and you loved it.

You pressed him back against one of the metal beams, kissing him again and again, biting his bottom lip just to hear the sound he made when you did.

Stiles exhaled shakily. “You…you can’t just…God!”

“You smell good,” you murmured against his throat. “Fresh out of the shower?”

He nodded, dazed. “I ran. I didn’t want you waiting and thinking I ditched you. I would never ditch you. I mean, unless you wanted me to ditch you. In which case I—”

“Stiles,” you breathed, “shut up.”

You kissed him again, deeper this time, and he made a soft, helpless sound that lit you on fire. Your hands slid under his jersey, over warm skin and tense muscle. Stiles jolted, inhaling sharply.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “I think I’m gonna have a heart attack.”

“Not today.” You tugged him closer by his waistband, feeling his breath hitch, watching the way his eyes went wide and dizzy. You loved how every thought he had showed right on his face. Panic, want, awe, panic again.

“I’ve been thinking about this all practice,” you said, voice low. “About you. In this stupid uniform.”

Stiles swallowed like he physically had to work moisture into his mouth. “Yeah? Because I-I’ve been thinking about last night.”

That heat shot straight through you. He was so painfully honest. So bad at hiding what he felt. So good at making you feel wanted without even trying. You kissed him again, dragging him by the wrist as you started walking. “Come on.”

“Where are we—“

You anticipated his question before he could finish and cut him off in a hurry. “To your car.”

Stiles nearly tripped over his own feet. “My car? Like, now?”

“Unless you want to stay out here,” you teased, pulling him past the last metal pillar and into the open. The parking lot was empty, with just his powder blue Jeep sitting alone, a far distance from the nearest light pole.

Stiles stopped dead. “We’re…we’re not seriously…?”

You didn’t let him finish. You pushed him back against the passenger door and kissed him again, hard enough that he gasped slightly. He was warm and flustered and breathing too fast, hands hovering uselessly like he didn’t know where to put them.

Then he finally settled them, one on your hip, one at the back of your neck, and kissed you back with a sudden confidence that made your knees weaken. “Back seat,” you breathed.

Stiles fumbled with the door handle. Dropped his keys, picked them up, then dropped them again.

“Jesus, Stiles,” you laughed softly, “you’re adorable.”

“That’s not…I’m not trying to be. I’m just…you’re—” He made a vaguely strangled sound and finally yanked the door open.

You climbed in first, pulling him by the jersey until he practically fell into the Jeep on top of you, laughing breathlessly as the door slammed shut behind him. His hands were steadier this time. His kisses deeper, more sure. Still clumsy in the way that made your heart ache, but better. So much better.

“Last night probably wasn’t the best,” he murmured, almost embarrassed. “But I paid attention. I can do that. I like doing that. Paying attention to you.”

That spark shot straight through your spine. You kissed him again, and the rest unfolded in a tangled rush of heat, hands, breathless laughter, soft curses, and the kind of desperate closeness you’d been thinking about all day. The windows fogged. The Jeep rocked just a little.

And Stiles - sweet, frantic, unbelievably good Stiles - was even better than he’d been the night before.

———————————————————————

The world settled slowly around you. Your breathing, your heartbeat, and the soft hum of the Jeep’s engine cooling. The windows were fogged so heavily you could barely see the field outside, and the air inside was warm and sweet and full of the lingering adrenaline between you.

Stiles lay half on top of you, half beside you, one arm braced awkwardly near your head, the other somewhere on the seat because he genuinely didn’t seem to know where to put it. His buzzed hair was a mess again. His cheeks were flushed. His breathing was uneven in that adorable ‘trying to pull myself together’ way.

“Wow,” he said softly, blinking at the ceiling of the Jeep like it had personally changed his life.

You laughed, brushing your fingers gently over his forehead. “Yeah. Wow.”

He swallowed, his eyes darting anywhere but yours. To your face, the window, the car ceiling, your lips, and then immediately away from your lips like they were radioactive.

“You…you keep doing that,” he mumbled.

“Doing what?” you teased, tracing your fingertips down the side of his neck.

“That.” His voice cracked. “Being…like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like, into me.” He said it like it was a foreign language.

You felt your chest warm. “Stiles. I literally climbed into your car to have my way with you until your windows steamed up.”

“Yeah, but, like, on purpose.” He sat up slightly. “That’s wild.”

You gently pulled him down for a soft, slow kiss. It was sweet and unhurried. The kind that made your stomach flip in a different way. Stiles melted into it, then immediately shot up again like he remembered something embarrassing.

“Oh my God. My car, my jersey, I probably smell like…like locker room death!”

“Relax,” you laughed, pushing lightly at his chest. “You smell good. And you look cute.”

He blushed all the way to his ears. “Cute?” He repeated it like it was a holy word.

“Very.”

He tried to get off the back seat gracefully. He failed spectacularly. His foot got caught in the strap of his duffel bag and he pitched sideways into the front seat console with a loud clunk.

“Ow, okay. No, I’m good, I’m good,” He scrambled up, knocking something else over. A water bottle rolled, hit the door, and fell onto the floor of the car.

You pressed a hand over your mouth to keep from laughing too loudly. “You okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, rubbing his elbow. “Totally fine. Not in pain. Definitely not in pain. I’m…I’m gonna drive you home now.”

“Okay,” you giggled, sliding out of the back seat.

You climbed into the passenger seat, still a little breathless, still a little flushed. Stiles started the Jeep, cleared the fogged windshield with his sleeve (somehow making it worse), and finally got the wipers to do their job.

He was still nervous. But something in him had shifted. There was a warmth now. A glow of confidence under all the fluster. He tapped the radio on. Fleetwood Mac filled the Jeep - ‘Dreams’ drifting softly through the speakers.

You blinked. “You like Fleetwood Mac?”

Stiles glanced at you, surprised. “Uh, obviously. I’m not a monster.”

You grinned. “I love them.”

His shoulders relaxed. “Yeah?”

“Especially their Rumours album.”

Stiles’ mouth slowly curved into a smile you hadn’t seen before. It was shy, but proud. “Okay hold on, wait, what else do you listen to?”

“Dad rock,” you admitted. “My parents raised me on classic rock and 80s hits.”

Stiles slapped the steering wheel lightly. “No. No way. I thought you were like, top forty hyperpop, or whatever Lydia listens to.”

“I mean I like that too,” you said. “But I love the old stuff.”

He turned down the music just a little. “Name your top three.”

“Bon Jovi, Nirvana, some Lana.”

Stiles’ jaw dropped. “Bon Jovi? You like Bon Jovi?”

You raised a brow. “You don’t?”

“Oh my god, this is insane!” he muttered, shaking his head dramatically. “You’re like a sleeper nerd.”

You burst out laughing. “A sleeper nerd?”

“Yes. A nerd hiding in a popular girl’s body. A stealth nerd.”

“I’m not a nerd,” you insisted, still laughing.

“Really?” Stiles shot you a sideways look. “Because that’s what they all say before I find out they know every line to Star Wars.”

You froze. Then raised a slow eyebrow. “Does it have to be every line?”

Stiles gasped. Loudly. “NO.”

You bit your lip. “Yes.”

He threw his head back against the headrest. “Oh my GOD. You like Star Wars! This is…this is huge! This is like discovering a new species.”

You shoved his shoulder playfully. “Shut up.”

“No, I mean it,” he grinned. “I had no idea you were secretly cool.”

“Secretly?”

“I mean, you’re hot,” he said immediately, then panicked. “I mean like, obviously, you know that. Everyone knows that. BUT you’re also secretly cool and kind of a nerd and it’s honestly messing with my brain.”

Your heart fluttered and you looked at him and for the first time, the crush in your chest didn’t feel like just lust. It felt like interest. Connection. Something warmer, deeper, and sweeter.

You smiled. “Maybe you just never bothered to get to know me.”

Stiles’ voice softened. “I’m getting to know you now.”

———————————————————————

Stiles practically burst through his front door when he got home.

“Hey son, how was prac—”

“CAN’T TALK, DAD!” he yelped, sprinting past Sheriff Stilinski like he was escaping a crime scene.

He bolted upstairs, slammed his bedroom door, and immediately collapsed face-first onto his bed with a loud, muffled groan. It was the groan of a man who had just gotten everything he ever wanted and had no clue how to emotionally process it.

He lay there for a good ten seconds, kicking his legs like an overwhelmed Victorian maiden, before ripping his phone out of his pocket. He dialed Scott and his best friend picked up on the third ring, sounding tired. “Dude, it’s almost nine. What’s up?”

Stiles inhaled like he needed fresh oxygen to speak. “SCOTT.”

“…Stiles?”

“SCOTT.”

“Why are you yelling?”

“She kissed me.”

There was a pause. “Who kissed you?”

“She kissed me.” Another pause.

“…Stiles, you need to use a name. Preferably a real one.”

Stiles sat up, eyes wide and wild as he told Scott your name. “You know, Lydia’s best friend. The girl who wears lip gloss that costs more than my monthly car insurance. The girl who sits two rows ahead of you in Econ. The girl who is - objectively - way too hot to be seen with someone who collects limited edition Star Wars socks.”

Scott blinked audibly through the phone. “She kissed you?”

“YES.”

Scott’s voice softened, warm and supportive. “That’s great, man!”

Stiles choked. “It…it gets better.”

“Oh.” Scott hesitated. “Uh, define ‘better.’”

“She kissed me under the bleachers.”

“Okay…”

“She dragged me to my car.”

“Uh-huh…”

“And then we…We…” He violently flailed one hand in the air, even though Scott couldn’t see him. “WE DID…THINGS, SCOTT.”

“Oh my God, Stiles.”

“WE DID THINGS TWICE. This was the second time it happened.”

Scott made a strangled noise. “STILES.”

Stiles threw himself backward onto his pillows, kicking his feet in the air like a flustered hamster. “And she likes Fleetwood Mac, Scott. Fleetwood. Freaking. Mac.”

“Okay, cool—”

“And STAR WARS.”

“Everyone likes Star Wars.”

“No, Scott. She knows the lines.” He sat up, deadly serious. “She’s a total sleeper nerd.”

Scott paused. “…Whoa.”

“RIGHT?” Stiles stood up, started pacing. “She’s, like, the hottest girl in school, and she’s secretly a nerd and she likes me and she keeps kissing me and I don’t…Scott, I don’t know what to do with ANY of this information.”

“Stiles, it sounds like she just…likes you.”

Stiles froze mid-pace. His brain short-circuited. “No,” he said immediately, too quickly, voice cracking. “I physically can’t deal with that. I’m not…nope. That’s not…I don’t—”

Scott sighed. “Dude. You’re gone.”

“Gone where?” Stiles asked, panicked.

“Gone. Like…crushing. Hard.”

Stiles’ mouth opened, closed, opened again. “I, no, I don’t…Okay, I like her but not like…I mean, okay, I do like her but that’s only because she smells really good and laughs at my jokes and is secretly a nerd and has really nice…well, everything.”

“Stiles,” Scott interrupted gently. “I can hear you blushing through the phone.”

“What if she wants to do this again? What if she wants it to be like a regular things?” Stiles collapsed back onto the bed again with a loud dramatic groan. “Oh my god, Scott. I’m going to die.”

“You’re not.”

“I am. I am catastrophically unprepared for this.”

“Just…talk to her,” Scott said. “Hang out. Be honest. You don’t have to freak out.”

“I DO have to freak out,” Stiles shot back, gripping his pillow like it was a flotation device. “Because she…Scott, she kissed me like she meant it.”

There was a smile in Scott’s voice when he answered. “Well…maybe she did.”

Stiles went silent, his heart thundering as eyes wide. “…Holy crap.”

———————————————————————

It happened slowly, then all at once. A pattern formed between you and Stiles. A rhythm. A secret life you lived only with him. What started as desperate kisses and rushed hookups - stolen moments after school, under bleachers, in dark corners - turned into something else entirely. It became routine. Comfortable. Addicting.

You started meeting up without even needing to plan it. You’d text ‘hey’, and he’d reply ‘on my way’, and within ten minutes he’d be at your doorstep, half-panicked, half-excited, always breathless.

Sometimes it was at your place, sneaking him up to your room while your parents were at work. Sometimes at his house, while his dad worked late and Stiles pretended to do homework. Other times it was the back seat of the Jeep on a back road off the highway, windows down, wind blowing through your hair while Stiles kissed you like he couldn’t believe you were real. Once, it was on a blanket in the preserve under a sky full of stars - a moment that surprised both of you with how soft it felt, how slow, how unhurried.

And slowly, something shifted. Because it wasn’t always physical. There were days you two didn’t hook up at all. Days where you just…hung out. You watched movies together. Old ones he loved, new ones you made him watch. You talked for hours, lying upside down on his bed or sprawled on your carpet, laughing about the stupidest things.

You listened to music together, trading songs and arguing about which album was best. Little by little, you began to crave his presence, not just his touch. And he started relaxing around you. Getting funnier. Goofier. More Stiles. Before you even realised it, you and Stiles weren’t just sneaking around anymore. You were seeing each other. You were becoming something. Even if neither of you said it out loud.

The night it shifted fully, you were in the preserve again. You’d driven with him into the trees until the path grew narrow and the canopy blocked out most of the sky. The Jeep sat in the clearing, engine off, crickets humming around you. The two of you climbed into the back seat automatically, the same way you always did, but something felt different immediately.

Stiles looked at you like he was trying to memorise you. Not like he was nervous you’d disappear. Not like he was overwhelmed. Just…struck.

“You okay?” you whispered, brushing his hair back without thinking.

“Yeah,” he breathed. “I just…I like being here. With you.”

Your chest tightened in a way that scared you and thrilled you at the same time. You leaned in to kiss him, expecting the usual rush of heat, urgency, the frantic rhythm the two of you always fell into.

But Stiles kissed you slower. Softer. Like he had all the time in the world. His hand slid into your hair, fingertips brushing your scalp gently, sending a warm shiver down your spine. His other hand rested on your waist, steady and sure, guiding you closer instead of pulling frantically.

His lips moved with yours in perfect, tender sync. You melted. It wasn’t the familiar wildfire of wanting him. It was something deeper. You pulled back slightly, breath shaky, eyes meeting his in the dim light.

“Stiles…” you whispered, not even knowing what you were about to say.

He touched your cheek, thumb tracing along your jawline like he couldn’t help it. “I know,” he said softly. “Me too.”

You kissed him again, your fingers sliding into the hair at the base of his neck as he moved with you, warm and gentle and so heartbreakingly present. It felt less like hooking up. More like falling.

Your bodies found each other naturally, slowly, hands exploring with intention instead of urgency. His kisses trailed along your jaw, down your neck, and for once you didn’t feel rushed, or hidden, or like you had to stifle your breathing. You felt seen.

Stiles paused only to look at you again with the kind of look you usually avoided out of fear it would reveal too much. This time, you held it. Your hands rested on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart. He covered your hand with his own, fingers lacing with yours without hesitation. You’d never held hands during…this. But now, it felt like the most intimate thing you’d ever done together.

Everything between you moved gently - warm breath, warm skin, warm hands - like you were synced without needing to talk. And when you came together, it wasn’t rushed or chaotic. It wasn’t about desperation or thrill anymore. It was emotional. Connected. Equal. It was the kind of closeness that made your eyes sting in a way you didn’t dare acknowledge.

Stiles held you afterward, his arms wrapping around you, your cheek resting on his chest. His heart was still beating a little too fast, but steadier than usual. He stroked your back absentmindedly, like he was touching you just to reassure himself you were still there. You swallowed hard, overwhelmed by how safe it felt.

He whispered, almost too softly to hear. “This…feels different, right?”

You nodded against him. “Yeah,” you whispered. “It does.”

Stiles exhaled, shaky but hopeful, and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. Neither of you said the word for it. Neither of you dared to. But you both knew, it wasn’t just hooking up anymore. Not even close.

————————————————————

You didn’t even notice Lydia watching you at first. You were at your locker between classes, still a little dazed from the night before. The memory of Stiles’ hands on your waist in the back of the Jeep occupied the forefront of your mind - the slow, aching kisses that had made your chest tighten in a way you weren’t prepared for. You were smiling at your books like a complete idiot when a manicured hand slammed the locker door shut right in front of your face.

You jumped. Lydia stood there with her arms crossed, hip cocked, eyebrows raised like she had just solved a murder case.

“So,” she said. “You want to tell me why you smell like men’s deodorant? Specifically cheap men’s deodorant?”

Your heart stopped. “I…what? Lydia, I do not. That’s insane.”

She scoffed. “You’re a good liar, but you’re not that good. You’ve been hooking up with someone, and I wanna know who. Spill the beans.”

“There’s no one, Lydia.” You insisted, shaking your head.

“I know there is, so why don’t you just tell me?” Lydia scoffed.

Your stomach flipped. You forced a laugh, tried to look casual. “Why would you even assume there is anyone.”

“Come on.” Lydia leaned closer, lowering her voice. “You disappeared for all of lunch last week and when you finally got to English, you had closet hair. I’ve never seen you going to the library to ‘study’ this much in your life. You never answer your phone late at night anymore, and you’re always busy but you’re never doing anything.”

You touched your hair automatically. Damn her. She missed nothing.

“So?” she continued to prod sharply, “Come on, it’s not like it’s Stilinski, right, so how bad can it be?”

You froze. Lydia watched your face, saw the reaction, and her eyes widened. “Oh. My god. No! Stilinski? You are!”

“Lydia—” you began.

“You’re hooking up with Stiles Stilinski?”

You looked away, cheeks burning, and that was answer enough.

Lydia blinked at you like you’d just told her you were dating a garden shovel. “Why? He’s…he’s Stiles.”

Something ugly twisted inside you. Embarrassment, yes, but anger too. Shame. And suddenly you were ashamed of being ashamed. You straightened slowly. “And what exactly is wrong with Stiles?”

Lydia opened her mouth. You didn’t let her. “No, seriously. Tell me. What’s wrong with liking someone who’s smart and funny and actually treats me like I matter?”

Lydia looked startled. “I didn’t mean—”

“Yes, you did.” Your voice trembled, but you didn’t care. “And I’m really tired of pretending I don’t care about him just because you and Jackson think he’s some kind of loser.”

Her face tightened. “I just…don’t want you to tank your social life for someone who—”

“Someone who what? Isn’t Jackson?” you shot back. “Newsflash, Lydia, I don’t want someone like Jackson.” She flinched. You felt the hit land but couldn’t stop now. “I like him,” you said, soft but firm. “I like Stiles and I’m not embarrassed about it. Not anymore.”

Lydia stared at you, but for once, she had no quick reply. You turned on your heel before she could form one.

Stiles was at the end of the hallway, rummaging in his backpack like he was fighting with it. Scott was beside him chatting. A few other students walked past. Normal scene. Totally ordinary. Except everything inside you was rushing and roaring. Stiles looked up and froze when he saw you marching straight toward him.

“Uh, hi?” he said, voice squeaking in that adorable Stiles way.

You didn’t even slow down. You grabbed the front of his shirt, pulled him down, and kissed him full on the mouth right there in the crowded hallway. A wave of gasps rippled across the student body. Someone even dropped a binder with a loud BANG!

Stiles made a shocked little noise against your lips, then melted. Hands grasping your waist, pulling you closer, kissing you back like he’d been starved for days. When you finally pulled away, Stiles blinked rapidly, dazed and breathless.

“Wh—what? What is happening?” he whispered.

“I’m not hiding us anymore,” you murmured, brushing your thumb over his cheek. “If you still want this.”

His swallow was audible. His eyes were so wide and warm and stunned. “If I still want this?” He gave a helplessly smitten laugh. “I’ve been in, like, a constant state of cardiac arrest over you for weeks.”

You grinned, grabbed his hand. “Good,” you said softly. “Come on.”

Still in shock, Stiles let you drag him away down the hall, past the staring students, past Lydia frozen with her mouth slightly open, past everything. You didn’t look back. And Stiles didn’t stop smiling.

————————————————————

By the time the afternoon bell rang, the entire school knew. You and Stiles had kissed. Not just kissed, but kissed kissed, in full view of a hallway full of gossips and amateur Instagram detectives. Everywhere you walked, people whispered.

“Wait, her? And Stiles?”

“How did that even happen?”

“Well, good for him.”

“Did she lose a bet?”

“No way, I think she actually likes him.”

You squeezed Stiles’ hand tighter every time someone stared too long. He squeezed back, though his ears had been pink since third period.

“Are you okay?” you murmured as you walked toward the exit.

He inhaled sharply. “I’m either fine or I’m dying. Hard to tell. But I’m definitely holding your hand so that’s…winning.”

You bumped his shoulder with a smile. “You’re adorable.”

He made a little strangled sound but didn’t let go. You were two steps from the doors when someone grabbed your elbow and tugged you aside.

Lydia.

Stiles blinked, startled and wary. “Uh, I can wait over there? Or, like…pretend to be invisible? Which is my specialty.”

“It’s fine,” you said quickly, but Lydia’s expression was unreadable.

Stiles hesitated, then moved a few feet away. He was close enough to keep an eye on you, far enough to give you space. You turned to Lydia, already bracing.

“If you’re going to tell me how big of a mistake this is—”

“I’m not,” she cut in.

You froze. Lydia folded her arms, not defensive, just…small. “I’m here to apologize.”

That shut you up completely. Lydia looked down at her shoes before meeting your eyes again. “I was awful earlier. Judgmental and and honestly? Really rude.”

You blinked, thrown off balance. This was not the ambush you were prepared for.

She exhaled shakily. “I think I reacted that way because…I didn’t understand. And maybe because I’ve never seen you choose someone based on how he makes you feel, instead of how he makes you look.”

Your irritation softened a fraction.

“And Stiles…” Lydia shrugged helplessly. “He’s not what I imagined for you. But that doesn’t mean he’s wrong for you.”Her voice gentled. “I see the way he looks at you. Like you hung the moon. And I saw the way you looked at him today.” Lydia’s lips curved in a small, sad smile. “No one’s ever had you look that soft.”

Heat pricked the backs of your eyes unexpectedly.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, sincere and quiet.

You exhaled slowly, the tension leaving your shoulders. “I love you, Lydia. But you were being a bitch.”

Lydia nodded. “I know.”

“But,” you added, “I forgive you.”

That earned the faintest relieved smile. Lydia squeezed your hand. “Just…don’t get hurt, okay?”

“I won’t,” you said, and you meant it. You stepped away from her and walked back toward Stiles.

He perked up immediately, like a golden retriever waiting for permission to wag his tail. “Everything okay?” he asked softly.

“Yeah,” you said, threading your fingers through his again. “Everything’s perfect.”