ACE

ace is eating it up.

he’s leaning against the fence by the track, towel slung around his neck, shirt dark with sweat, chest still rising and falling as people crowd around him.

“fastest lap today,” someone says.

“by a lot,” another adds.

ace grins, proud and shameless. “told you i had it.”

he runs a hand through his hair, flexes his shoulder just a little like he doesn’t notice he’s doing it. “guess all those morning runs paid off.”

a few laughs. a few impressed whistles.

his ego is thriving.

and then—

“ACE!!!”

that voice.

he barely turns before you’re there.

you crash straight into him, arms wrapping tight around his torso, face burying into his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. ace stumbles back half a step, caught completely off guard.

“WHOA—”

your chest presses flush against him, soft and warm, and suddenly he can’t think. his arms freeze midair before awkwardly settling around you, hands hovering like they’re afraid to touch.

you squeeze him hard. really hard.

“YOU WERE AMAZING!!!”

his brain shuts off.

he’s drenched in sweat, skin overheated, heartbeat still racing from the run. he should feel gross.

but you don’t react at all.

worse—you smell good. clean. sweet. like you didn’t just sit through p.e. at all.

“how does she still smell like that?” he thinks, spiraling.

after a second, you pull back, hands still gripping his shirt, eyes bright.

“oh my gosh, ace,” you gush. “you were like—zoom! i swear everyone else looked so slow!”

his mouth opens. nothing comes out.

you laugh and—without thinking—press your hand to his arm.

“wow,” you say, impressed. “you’re like…really strong!”

ace’s muscles tense automatically.

bad idea.

you feel it.

“oh!” your fingers squeeze experimentally. “that’s crazy! do that again!”

he absolutely does not mean to flex.

he does anyway.

someone nearby bursts out laughing.

ace’s face goes nuclear. “i—uh—”

you’re completely unbothered, fascinated, both hands now lightly gripping his bicep like it’s a discovery. “no wonder you ran so fast! you’ve been working out a lot, haven’t you?!”

he swallows. hard.

“y-yeah,” he manages, voice cracking. “i—uh—sometimes.”

earlier, he was bragging. soaking in praise. feeling untouchable.

now?

one enthusiastic hug and a few innocent compliments later, and he’s a mess—heart pounding harder than it did on the track, thoughts scrambled, every bit of confidence short-circuiting.

you finally let go, beaming like you didn’t just emotionally obliterate him.

“you’re so cool, ace!” you say happily. “i’m totally gonna tell everyone!”

you walk off, still glowing, leaving ace standing there red-faced, sweaty, and absolutely wrecked—staring after you like you just ran him over harder than any lap ever could.

LAW

his desk lamp hums softly, casting light over neatly stacked textbooks, handwritten flashcards, and a half-empty mug of cold coffee. he’s calm on the outside—because that’s how he always is—but his brain is running on fumes.

then the door opens.

“baby!” your voice sings out. “can you take me to the mall later? i’m gonna go out with my friends!”

law doesn’t even look up. “i can’t,” he says easily. “i have to study. i’ll pay for your uber.”

“okay!” you reply without missing a beat.

he hears the door close again and exhales, already refocusing—

then it opens again.

you forgot something.

law still doesn’t look up. until—

“ohhh my gosh,” you say, wandering closer. “that looks so hard!”

and you bend down to look at his notes.

law’s brain shuts off.

because this skirt—this skirt—is new.

shorter than usual. dangerously so. something he’s never seen before and absolutely was not prepared for.

his eyes betray him.

he sees legs first. then pink fabric. then the very clear realization that you are standing way too close for a man who hasn’t slept and is very much in love with his girlfriend.

his jaw tightens.

“…what did you forget?" he asks, voice steady through sheer willpower.

you straighten up, totally unaware. “my lip gloss!”

you grab it from the desk, then tilt your head, looking at his notes again. “how do you even remember all this stuff?”

you lean in again.

law grips his pen.

“you don’t have to be that close.”

you blink. “oh! sorry!” then immediately smile. “you’re so smart though. it’s really hot.”

that does it.

he pushes his chair back and stands abruptly, towering over you now. his eyes finally meet yours, dark and unreadable—but his ears are absolutely red.

“…i’ll take you,” he says.

your eyes light up. “really?!”

“yes,” he mutters. “i’ll take you.”

you beam, bouncing slightly on your heels. “yay! thank you, baby!”

you turn toward the door, humming happily.

law grabs his keys.

as you walk ahead of him, he watches the sway of your skirt, exhales slowly, and adjusts his coat.

he tells himself he’ll just drive you.

but the way the wind keeps teasing the hem of your skirt—pink lace flashing when it shouldn’t…

yeah.

law already knows this ride isn’t going to be as simple as he promised himself.

CROCODILE

the casino is loud—music, laughter, cards hitting tables—but his office is quiet.

crocodile sits behind his desk, cigarette between his fingers, papers in neat stacks. every line of his body says the same thing: busy. don’t bother me.

heels click across the floor.

you step inside like you own the place—tiny skirt, glittery top, lip gloss shining. hair perfect, nails perfect, smile even more perfect.

“hi!”

he looks up.

slowly.

“…you.”

you grin and walk closer, hips swaying without even trying. “i came to say thank you! for the card thingy you gave me! i won so many chips!”

he stares at you.

the “card thingy” was a high-level VIP pass worth more than half the casino.

“that wasn’t for you to gamble away,” he says calmly. “it was for access.”

“oh!” you brighten. “well, it worked! they let me spin the sparkly wheel.”

you lean forward over his desk to show him —bracelets jingling—and your top reveals the sparkly pink bra you were wearing underneath.

his gaze flickers for half a second.

then immediately looks away.

“…stand up straight,” he mutters.

you straighten, clueless. “did i do something wrong?”

“no,” he says too quickly.

you look around his office, fascinated.

“wow… it’s so big in here. and clean.” you trail your fingers across the polished desk. “smells good, too. like…expensive.”

he exhales smoke slowly.

“what do you want?” he asks, voice low.

you think for a moment.

then beam.

“can you open this for me?”

you hold out a tiny bottle of lip gloss—glitter pink—the cap too tight.

crocodile stares at it.

then at you.

“…you walked in here just to bother me with that?” he asks.

you nod enthusiastically. “my hands are slippery!”

silence.

he reaches out, takes the bottle with his gloved hand, twists the cap off effortlessly, and hands it back.

“thank you!” you chirp.

you apply it right there—leaning a little closer again—lips glossy, pouty, totally unaware of the effect.

“pretty, right?” you ask, smiling.

his eyes linger.

only a second.

“…it’s fine,” he mutters.

you gasp happily. “you think i’m pretty!”

“i didn’t say that.”

but his cigarette burns lower, untouched. his paperwork hasn’t moved in minutes. his expression, always unreadable, is the slightest bit strained.

you step back, heels clicking again.

“okay! i’m gonna go spin the sparkly wheel again. don’t worry—i’ll be careful!”

“don’t.” he says quietly.

you blow him a quick kiss anyway. “bye, mr. crocodile!”

you leave—perfume trailing behind, door closing softly.

the room is silent again.

crocodile finally lets out a breath and pinches the bridge of his nose, cigarette dangling between his fingers.

“unbelievable,” he mutters — not annoyed enough to hide the tiny curve tugging at his mouth.

BECKMAN

the bar is loud.

music shaking the floor, lights flashing, people shouting across tables—and you, sitting at the counter, kicking your heels and sipping something pink.

your phone buzzes.

you brighten instantly.

“hi! you’re here? okay! i’m inside!”

you hop off the stool—almost wobbling because the heels are high and the floor is sticky—and weave your way toward the door.

he’s there.

leaning against the wall outside, one hand in his pocket, cigarette between his fingers. tall. calm. unbothered. people walk around him like they instinctively know not to mess with him.

his eyes lift when he sees you.

and stop.

“…you wore that,” he says.

you look down at your tiny skirt, cropped top, sparkly purse.

“mm-hm!” you twirl. “cute, right?”

he takes a slow drag. exhales.

“yeah,” he says. “that’s the problem.”

you blink. “huh?”

he flicks the cigarette away and nods toward his car.

“come on. you texted me you wanted to go home.”

“oh! right.” you follow, heels clicking, practically trotting to keep up with his long strides. “thank you for picking me up! my friends wanted to stay but I was bored.”

he opens the passenger door for you.

“get in.”

you slide in, still talking. “this guy said he’d drive me but he was kinda weird—”

his head turns sharply.

“what guy?”

you shrug. “i dunno. tall. lots of cologne. he kept saying i was ‘too pretty to walk alone’ and then he touched my shoulder—”

the door shuts.

he walks around to the driver’s side with a different face now—still quiet, still controlled, but there’s an edge there.

the car starts.

for a moment, neither of you talk.

then, gently:

“don’t let strangers talk you into rides.”

you pout slightly. “he said he was being nice!”

“he wasn’t,” Beckman says. “trust me.”

you stare out the window, then perk up again. “but you came! you’re like my big rescue guy.”

he huffs, almost a laugh. “that what they call me now?”

you nod cheerfully. “yep! you always come when I call. like a knight. or—like—an uber but hotter.”

he shakes his head.

traffic lights pass. the car is warm. quiet. safe.

you kick your heels off and curl your legs up, reaching across the console to poke his arm lightly.

“you’ve got muscles!” you say, impressed. “no wonder everyone listens to you.”

his grip on the wheel tightens just a little.

“seatbelt,” he says.

you click it obediently. “yes, sir!”

the “sir” lands.

his ear twitches. his jaw works once.

“don’t call me that,” he mutters.

“why?” you ask innocently.

he doesn’t answer.

a few minutes later, he pulls up in front of your place.

he gets out first.

walks around.

opens your door again, like it’s automatic.

you slip your heels back on, wobble—

he catches your elbow. steady. warm.

“careful.”

you smile up at him. “you’re always taking care of me…! so sweet.”

he looks down at you for a long, quiet second.

“…someone has to,” he says.

you beam. kiss his cheek without thinking. “night, ben!”

you head toward your door, humming.

he stands there until you’re inside, the porch light flicking on.

only then does he let out the breath he’d been holding and rub a hand over his face.

“trouble.” he mutters—but there’s a soft smile tugging at his mouth.

you only opened your inbox because you heard the notification ping.

you weren’t expecting anything important. just another “class update,” maybe. another event reminder. something boring, something easy.

instead, the words on your screen made your breath stop.

“notice of expulsion.”

your vision blurred for a moment. your hands went cold.

“no… no, wait, what?” you whispered, clicking it again as if it would change.

the email was formal, distant, terrifyingly vague.

“due to multiple reports regarding inappropriate behavior, concerns about academic conduct, and breaches of professionalism…”

you stopped reading. your heart was pounding too loudly.

behind you, sabo looked up from the cup of tea he had been holding on your couch. he’d been sitting there quietly the whole morning, reading something on his laptop before putting it away.

“what’s wrong?” his voice was soft. almost too soft.

you swallowed. “i… i got expelled.”

the silence that followed felt unnatural. like the room itself was holding its breath.

sabo placed the cup down with slow, deliberate care. “expelled?” he repeated. “for what?”

“i don’t know,” you choked. “i didn’t… i didn’t do anything!”

your chest felt tight. “i don’t understand. i—sabo, i would never—”

he stood and crossed the room in quiet steps, hands resting lightly on your shoulders. comforting. steady. terrifyingly calm.

“hey,” he murmured. “look at me.”

you looked up at him with watery eyes.

“you didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, thumb brushing your cheek, wiping a tear before it fully fell. “you know that, right?”

you nodded weakly.

“then this… isn’t your fault.”

his voice stayed gentle, but something in his eyes—something dark—glinted for a split second.

“things like this… they don’t happen without someone pushing for it.”

your breath hitched. “someone—? why would anyone—?”

“doesn’t matter.” his tone sharpened just a little. “you’re done with overworking yourself. with stressing every day. with pushing past your limit.”

he pulled you into his chest, holding you as if you were something fragile.

“I’ll take care of you. you don’t need that place. you don’t need to exhaust yourself for them anymore.”

your fingers curled into his shirt, half because you were breaking down, half because he was the only stable thing in that moment.

“you’ll stay with me today,” he said into your hair. “you shouldn’t be alone right now.”

you nodded, barely able to breathe.

“good,” he whispered. “just leave everything to me.”

♡

hours later, after you finally stopped shaking, after he tucked you into the couch with a blanket and made you warm tea, he excused himself to the other side of the room.

“i’m just answering something from work,” he said with a smile.

his bag sat at his feet. zipped. neat. untouched.

but what you don’t see…

the zipper slightly open. a laptop inside. still on.

a sent email sits in the “sent” folder.

the subject line:

“urgent: concerning student behavior report.”

sanji had been irritated for exactly thirty-seven minutes.

zoro was asleep again.

not regular asleep—no. flat on his back right in front of the kitchen door, arms crossed, swords beside him, snoring like the floor belonged to him. sanji had already stepped over him twice and nearly tripped the third time.

the crew had gathered like it was a show.

“ten berries he doesn’t wake up,” nami muttered.

“he’s gonna get so mad,” usopp whispered.

chopper looked nervous. “should we stop him…?”

robin smiled. “let’s see.”

luffy bounced in place. “DO IT!!”

sanji grabbed a bucket and filled it with cold, fresh water—nothing dangerous, just enough to shock someone awake. he lifted it, aimed—

—and the kitchen door slid open.

“oh—hey, um… did you guys need something?”

you stepped out with a small plate of snacks, mid-smile, completely unaware.

sanji froze.

“WAIT—Y/N-CHAAAN—!!”

too late.

the water came down.

it soaked you instantly, drenching your head, your clothes, the plate slipping from your hands and clattering uselessly to the floor.

the deck went silent.

your smile faded—not into anger, but into something distant.

then the air shifted.

something sharp curled beneath your skin, energy crawling up your spine. your head tilted slowly, water dripping from your chin as your eyes darkened.

not yours anymore.

“…wow,” the voice echoed, layered and amused. “that was cold.”

usopp screamed.

“IT’S OUT—!!”

chopper hid behind nami. “I KNEW THIS WOULD HAPPEN—”

zoro cracked one eye open. “what’s with the yelling—”

sanji dropped to his knees.

“Y/N-CHAAAN—!! YOU’RE STILL BEAUTIFUL—EVEN LIKE THIS—PLEASE DON’T BE MAD—THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE FOR MARIMO—!!”

the yokai turned slowly toward him.

“…this one cries a lot.”

then—

“HAHAHAHAHAHA!!”

luffy laughed loud and bright, like this was the best thing he’d seen all day.

“IT HAPPENED AGAIN!! THAT’S SO COOL!!”

the yokai snapped its gaze to him, irritation clear.

“…you.”

luffy grinned. “you again!!”

“I hate you,” it said flatly. “you’re too warm. you ruin everything.”

luffy jogged forward without hesitation and wrapped his arms around you from behind, hugging you tight, cheek pressed against yours.

the yokai jolted. “HEY—DON’T—”

heat spread instantly. luffy was warm—always was—and it grounded you, chased the cold away. the yokai hissed, squirming, clearly annoyed.

“you again,” it grumbled. “always hugging.”

luffy laughed and squeezed you gently. “yeah… i miss her! give her back to me!”

“…she was mine for a second,” the yokai snapped.

luffy tilted his head. “but she’s mine all the time!”

that made it pause.

steam curled faintly in the air as warmth overtook the chill.

“…tch,” it muttered. “annoying. warm. stupid pirate.”

then the pressure lifted.

your eyes cleared.

you sucked in a breath, suddenly very aware of everything—your soaked clothes, the crew staring, and luffy still holding you like he never planned on letting go.

“…luffy,” you whispered.

he brightened instantly. “you’re back!”

your face burned.

you hid it by burying your face into his chest, mortified. “oh my god… i’m so sorry… that’s so embarrassing…”

luffy blinked. “why?”

“because everyone saw that,” you groaned.

sanji collapsed face-first onto the floor. “THANK THE STARS—!!”

usopp nearly cried. “I THOUGHT WE WERE DEAD—”

zoro sat up. “lunch still happening?”

robin smiled softly.

luffy tightened his arms around you anyway. “i like that part too!”

you peeked up at him, flustered. “luffy—”

“it’s part of you,” he said simply, grinning. “and i like all of you.”

your heart melted.

somewhere deep inside, the yokai scoffed—

annoyed.

but quiet.

because even it knew—

you were safe.

and very, very loved.

♡ you and luffy met because he followed you. no introduction, no explanation. you were doing something interesting and he decided to join. congrats, you’re friends now.

♡ luffy doesn’t ask “can we be friends?” he just starts talking to you like you already are. by the end of the day, you’re running around together like it’s been years.

♡ he laughs so loud around you. like full-body, falling-over, pointing-at-you laughter. if you do something funny, he WILL remember it forever.

♡ luffy shares food with you. not all of it ofc… (maybe a few crumbs here and there), but that alone already means something.

♡ when ace shows up, luffy immediately drags you over like, “this is my friend!!” ace squints at you like he’s sizing you up.

♡ ace challenges you to a fight. not because he hates you—just because that’s how he communicates.

♡ sabo arrives later and is immediately the “smart one.” he teaches you and luffy dumb words you don’t understand just to feel superior.

♡ the four of you are a menace. stealing food. climbing things you shouldn’t. running from adults. laughing the entire time.

♡ luffy always wants to race you. doesn’t matter where. doesn’t matter why. winning or losing doesn’t matter either—he just likes doing things with you.

♡ ace pretends he’s too cool for games but still joins every single one. if you beat him, he demands a rematch—mumbling a silent “it didn’t count.”

♡ sabo is the strategist. “okay, if we distract them, then—” luffy is already halfway gone. you’re laughing.

♡ luffy is very physically affectionate as a kid. grabs your hand without warning. throws his arm over your shoulders. flops onto you when he’s tired.

♡ if you get hurt, luffy freaks out. like full panic. yelling for ace. yelling for sabo. yelling your name like the world might end.

♡ ace gets scary when someone messes with you. sabo gets clever. luffy just punches first.

♡ luffy drags you into his dreams without realizing it. “when i’m king of the pirates, you’re gonna be there too!”

♡ when sabo “dies,” the sunshine dims. but around you, luffy still smiles—smaller, quieter—but real.

♡ he sticks to you even more after that. sits close. sleeps near. laughs only when you do first.

♡ even years later, luffy talks about you like you’re still just around the corner. like time doesn’t really matter.

♡ because to luffy, friendship isn’t something that fades.

“i think they saw us.”

“they definitely saw us,” you hiss back, clutching the pouch to your chest.

from across the terminal, an adult shouts something angry.

“RUN!” luffy yells—unnecessary, but effective.

you take off immediately.

gray terminal blurs around you: rusted metal, stacked junk, the smell of smoke and oil. luffy’s laughter rings out behind you, loud and bright, like this is the best day of his life. he runs like only luffy can—rubber limbs flailing, grin wide, using his powers like the world is just another playground.

“this way!” you shout, skidding around a heap of broken planks.

luffy follows without question.

you vault over a crate. he trips, rolls, pops back up like nothing happened.

“that didn’t count!” he yells cheerfully.

ace’s voice cuts in from ahead. “you two are idiots—over here!”

he’s already halfway up a pile of junk, pouch slung over his shoulder. sabo’s right behind him, panting but focused.

“okay,” sabo pants, “if we split up, they’ll lose us.”

luffy doesn’t slow down. “no!”

he grabs your hand instead and yanks you forward.

“if we run together, it’s more fun!”

you don’t have time to argue.

you all scatter anyway—ace jumping high, sabo ducking low, you and luffy sprinting side by side until your lungs burn. eventually, you collapse behind an abandoned shack, laughing so hard your stomach hurts.

luffy flops backward, arms spread wide.

“did you see their faces?” he cackles. “we’re gonna have the best ship.”

“if we don’t die first,” you say, breathless.

he turns his head, grinning at you like that’s impossible.

“never! we’ve got each other!”

later, when the shouting fades and the pouch is counted—coins clinking, precious and hard-earned—luffy nudges you.

“when i get my ship,” he says, like it’s already decided, “you’re gonna be there too!”

sabo snorts. ace rolls his eyes.

you don’t answer.

but luffy smiles anyway—because to him, you already said yes.

shanks knows who you are before he ever sees you.

your name has drifted through the seas for years now—tacked onto rumors, headlines, whispered warnings in taverns too far apart to be coincidence. a rising pirate. clever. relentless. stubborn as hell.

of course you are, he’d thought the first time he heard it, lips twitching around his drink.

but knowing of you isn’t the same as seeing you.

so when the red force docks at elbaf, when the island hums with laughter and giant footsteps and the smell of spiced ale, shanks expects nothing more than another night passing by.

then he hears your voice.

it’s quieter than the memories make it. older. steadier.

it stops him cold anyway.

you’re leaning against the bar like you’ve done it a thousand times before, elbow propped, talking to the bartender like the world has never once taken something from you. your hair’s all different now. there’s a scar he doesn’t recognize at your collarbone. a sword at your hip, worn and loved.

for a split second, he doesn’t see the pirate everyone talks about.

he sees the kid from roger’s ship.

scrappy. stubborn. always picking fights with him just to prove a point. always telling him off. always standing your ground when everyone else backed down. the way you’d argue with him over nothing, voices raised, only to sit shoulder to shoulder later like it never happened.

buggy used to complain you were annoying.

shanks used to pretend he agreed.

he never did.

“well,” shanks says, voice too calm for the way his chest tightens, “guess the world really is small.”

you turn.

surprise flickers across your face before settling into something careful. familiar.

“…shanks.”

it’s not dramatic. it’s not angry. it’s just his name, spoken like it’s always belonged to you.

you talk like no time has passed. like you didn’t grow up apart. like you didn’t choose different paths. you trade stories, tease each other, fall into old rhythms so easily it almost feels cruel.

you were inseparable back then—two kids dreaming of the sea, running across decks too big for you, daring each other to go further, be better, be more. shanks had assumed—stupidly—that when the ship split, when roger was gone, you’d stay with him.

you didn’t.

he still remembers the way you’d said it back then—chin lifted, fists clenched at your sides like you were bracing for impact.

“i want to see the world on my own,” you’d said, eyes fierce, jaw set. “not following anyone. not even you.”

it hadn’t sounded cruel. it had sounded honest.

and somehow, that had hurt worse.

he doesn’t bring it up at first.

he waits until the laughter dulls, until the night grows quieter, until the space between you feels heavier than the years you spent apart.

“you ever think about coming back?” he asks suddenly.

you blink. “back where?”

he sets his drink down, fingers curling around the glass like he needs the grounding.

“to me.”

your expression stills. not shocked—just… sad, maybe. thoughtful.

“sometimes,” you admit. “but i couldn’t stay back then. you know that.”

he nods. of course he knows. he’s known for years.

what you don’t know is how long he waited anyway.

how every island felt wrong without you arguing at his side. how he half-expected your flag on the horizon every time he set sail. how he told himself—over and over—that you’d come back when you were done proving something to the world.

“you left because you wanted to be free,” he says quietly. “guess i didn’t realize i’d be the price.”

your jaw tightens.

“i didn’t leave you,” you say softly.

shanks smiles—but it’s not the easy one.

“sure felt like it.”

the silence stretches.

finally, he exhales, the sound shaky despite himself.

“i waited,” he admits. “longer than i should’ve. kept thinking one day i’d turn around and you’d be there, calling me an idiot like always.”

your eyes flicker.

“shanks…”

“don’t,” he says gently. “i’m not blaming you. just… wanted you to know.”

because it mattered. because you mattered.

you reach out, fingers brushing his sleeve, and for one reckless heartbeat, he almost believes this is it. that the world might finally give him back what it took.

but you pull away.

♡

morning comes too fast.

the island wakes. ships prepare to leave. the sea stretches wide and open, just like it always has.

shanks finds you at the docks, sunlight catching in your hair.

“you’re leaving,” he says.

you nod. “yeah.”

no excuses. no apologies. just the truth.

he swallows. “you always were.”

you smile sadly. “and you always stayed.”

for a moment, it feels like you might say more. like you might turn around. like history could bend if you asked it nicely enough.

instead, you step onto your ship.

“take care, shanks.”

he watches you go, heart aching in that familiar way.

you’re leaving him again.

and somehow, impossibly, he knows he’d still wait.

because loving you was never something he learned how to stop.

the kitchen smells like sugar, butter, and something faintly citrusy—orange zest, sanji insists, because it makes everything better. home has never been a place. it’s always been a person.

you haven’t known this kitchen your whole life.

but sanji, you’ve always been known.

the counter is dusted with flour, your sleeves rolled up, hair tied back lazily. sanji stands beside you, apron tied a little too tight around his waist, cigarette abandoned on the windowsill because you asked him to. he didn’t even hesitate.

“careful,” he murmurs, guiding your hand as you crack another egg. “pas trop fort, chérie.”

you laugh. “i know how to crack an egg, sanji. you taught me when we were eight.”

his smile softens at that—fond, almost fragile.

you were there back then.

before the restaurant.

before the sea.

before he learned how to charm the world with a grin.

before judge vinsmoke taught him what cruelty looked like.

you remember the bruises he tried to hide. the nights he showed up at your door with trembling hands and a forced smile, insisting he was fine. you remember sitting on the floor with him, sharing whatever scraps you could steal from the kitchen, promising him he wasn’t weak—no matter how many times his father said he was.

sanji never talks about it now.

but sometimes, in moments like this, it lingers behind his eyes.

you mix while he measures, humming softly. he keeps glancing at you like he’s checking if you’re real.

“what?” you ask.

“nothin’,” he says quickly, ears pink. “just… you look happy.”

you pause. “…i am.”

he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years.

flour ends up on his cheek at some point. you reach up to brush it away, and he freezes under your touch—still not used to kindness given without conditions.

your fingers linger.

sanji swallows.

“y’know,” he says quietly, “when i was a kid… i didn’t think i deserved this.”

your heart tightens.

“this?” you ask gently.

“warm kitchens. holidays. someone stayin’.” he laughs softly, but it cracks. “you always did, though. even when i didn’t know how to ask.”

the oven hums as you slide the tray in. star-shaped cookies. hearts a little uneven. imperfect, but made with care.

you lean against the counter, and sanji wraps his arms around you from behind without thinking. it’s instinct. muscle memory. safety.

his chin rests on your shoulder.

“merry christmas,” he murmurs early, voice low.

you turn just enough to kiss his cheek. “merry christmas, mon amour.”

later, you sit on the floor by the small tree, legs tangled, backs against the couch. the lights glow softly. sanji feeds you a cookie this time, watching your reaction like it matters more than anything else.

“still good?” he asks.

“perfect,” you say. “like always.”

he looks down, blinking fast.

“i never told you,” he says suddenly, fingers tightening around yours, “but… when things were bad—really bad—you were the thing i held onto. i thought if i could get back to you someday, i’d be okay.”

you squeeze his hand. “you are okay.”

“yeah,” he whispers. “because of you.”

he reaches behind the couch, pulling out a small wrapped box. neat. careful. nervous.

“just one present,” he says. “couldn’t wait.”

inside is a delicate gold bracelet—warm against your skin. a small charm: a heart intertwined with a star.

“us,” he says softly. “you were my light when i didn’t have one.”

you don’t answer. you just kiss him—slow, tender, full of everything he was never given but finally learned how to receive.

his hands cup your face like you’re precious. like you always were.

later, you curl into his chest, his arms firm around you, protective without being afraid. the tree lights blink gently. snow drifts past the window.

sanji presses a kiss into your hair.

“thank you,” he whispers, voice thick, “for stayin’. back then. now. always.”

you smile, eyes closing.

“always.”

you wake up to the sound of careful movement.

not loud enough to startle you, just soft shuffling—bare feet against wood, the quiet click of a door closing too gently. you stay still, eyes closed, listening.

you already know.

the mattress dips behind you.

a familiar weight settles in, warm and solid, arms sliding around your waist like muscle memory. luffy presses close, chest to your back, forehead resting between your shoulders. his breath is uneven, catching every few seconds like he’s trying not to make noise.

then you hear it.

a small, broken sniff.

“…bad dream,” he mutters into your skin.

you reach back without thinking, palm finding his arm, rubbing slow circles into the warmth there. his response is immediate—his grip tightens, fingers curling into your shirt like he needs to anchor himself to you.

“want to talk about it?” you ask softly.

he shakes his head against you.

“mmph, no.”

that’s how it always goes.

luffy never talks about that dream. he doesn’t say the name, doesn’t describe the fire, the scream that rips him awake, the way his chest feels like it’s splitting open when he realizes he can’t change it. words don’t help him.

touch does.

he presses closer, trying to fit all of himself against you, legs tangling with yours. his nose brushes your neck, breath warm and shaky. one of his hands creeps higher, fingers clumsy as they slide into your hair, curling there like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

you ease back into him, letting him feel your weight, your warmth.

“okay,” you murmur.

he exhales hard at that, like relief hits him all at once. his shoulders sag, body finally giving in now that he knows you won’t push, won’t ask again.

he nudges his face deeper into the crook of your neck.

“…let me stay,” luffy whispers.

it’s not a question. not really. it’s a quiet need, raw and unguarded.

you don’t say anything—just slide your arm back, wrapping it around his, hand resting over where his heart pounds too fast. he melts into it, grip tightening again like he’s holding onto the only solid thing left in the world.

time stretches.

the ship creaks softly around you, the ocean murmuring beyond the walls. luffy stays awake longer than he lets on. you can feel it in the way his fingers twitch, in the way his breathing stutters every so often like the dream is still chasing him.

his head shifts, forehead pressing into your shoulder blade.

“…thought you were gone too,” he mumbles, barely audible.

‘too’—your chest tightens at the word.

you reach back and squeeze his arm gently. “i’m here.”

his breath shudders.

he pulls you closer, almost desperate now, arms wrapping tighter around your waist until there’s no space left between you. his face presses into your neck, lips brushing skin, breathing you in like he needs it to survive.

he doesn’t cry.

after that? luffy rarely did.

but you feel the way his body trembles, how his grip never loosens, how he stays half-awake just to make sure you’re still there.

you stay like that for a long time.

your fingers trace slow, grounding patterns along his arm, over his shoulder, up to his hair. each touch pulls him further out of the nightmare, back into the present—into you.

eventually, his breathing starts to even out.

still tight. still close.

but calmer.

his hand in your hair relaxes, fingers going slack. his weight settles fully against you, heavy and warm, head tucked under your chin like it belongs there.

luffy falls asleep like that.

in your arms.

with the warmth that he always thought was gone.

og post won’t show up in tags, so here’s the link to the fic ♡