Pem

“I wouldn’t kill him,” you said, turning your attention back to your drink. “I’m just… irritated.”

“At him?”

“No.”

You weren’t really certain what exactly was irritating you, to be honest. Law hadn’t done anything particularly irritating and you had no real problem with any of the Straw Hats. They were a little rowdy but that wasn’t the worst thing… it was just that every time you heard snippets of conversation involving history, it made you vaguely annoyed.

The more you thought of it, the more you did know what was irritating you. And it wasn’t something even in the realm of logical.

Which didn’t make it better.

“So, Robin,” you said.

Zoro frowned at you. “Robin?”

“You should know her,” you told him. “Is she… nice?”

What a stupid thing to ask, really. You cursed yourself for the ridiculous question but at least it seemed to somewhat go over his head. He shrugged.

“Guess so. Why?”

“I was just wondering. I felt like you should know considering she’s on your crew.”

He didn’t respond and you sighed to yourself. Honestly, you didn’t know what you were thinking. Both the times you’d met the Straw Hat Pirates before now, you’d realised that Zoro didn’t have much of an opinion on the social dynamics of his crew.

You looked at your empty tankard and swung your legs off the table to get another.

“Mind grabbing me a second one?” he asked, one eye open.

“Don’t you mean a fourth?”

“You counting?”

You had been out of curiosity more than anything else. Thankfully, no sooner had you approached the table with various foods and drinks laid out and Sanji offered to pour you something, only mildly grumbling when you asked after something for Zoro too.

While you waited, you leaned back against the table and looked around the Thousand Sunny.

Lantern light swayed gently overhead, throwing warm gold across the deck while music and laughter drifted between clusters of pirates. Plates crowded every available surface and somebody had already started a drinking competition near the railings. Beyond them, the sea stretched dark and endless beneath the stars.

It was a lovely ship.

You hadn’t spent enough time aboard it to properly appreciate it before now but the open space alone felt like a luxury. The Straw Hats had somehow turned half the deck into a feast and there was still room for people to move around without colliding with each other.

Beside the Sunny, the Polar Tang rose and fell with the waves.

You loved the submarine. You always would.

But looking at it from here made it very easy to remember that most of your life was spent inside a giant metal tube.

“Are you and the captain fighting?”

You jumped at Bepo’s sudden appearance, swatting at him in protest for the minor heart attack he’d given you. “Please tell me before you do that,” you complained. “And no?”

Why would he think that? Law and you certainly hadn’t been fighting before you boarded the Thousand Sunny. Quite the opposite. He’d liked your choice of outfit enough that if you moved the fabric too much, a fresh bruise might show on your collarbone.

Bepo didn’t look convinced, tapping his claws together. “I’m worried,” he said. “You’ve both been glaring for a while now. Ikkaku thought you might have argued.”

“Glaring?” you said. “We’ve barely spoken the whole evening.”

“I know. That’s the weird part,” he said, voice quiet.

“We’re fine,” you promised.

You were. There was nothing to really be upset with Law about… he hadn’t done anything wrong. The strange annoyance curling beneath your ribs wasn’t something you could blame on him anyway. You looked over to him, still deep in conversation with Robin whose faint smile made something curl in your chest.

Jealousy? It felt vaguely familiar enough to be even though logically you knew there was no reason to be.

“This is for mosshead,” Sanji said, putting a tankard down next to you. “Tell him to get the next one himself rather than bothering a lady to do it.”

You glanced at the drink. “Is this watered down?”

“He won’t know the difference.”

Bepo was frowning at you. “I think you should go and talk to the captain,” he said. “Just in case.”

“He’s in the middle of a conversation,” you countered though you knew you didn’t have to avoid him. “Besides, I don’t have enough energy to handle Straw Hat right now.”

“That’s fair,” Sanji commented. “Luffy can be a bit loud at times but you get used to it.”

Bepo tapped his claws together. “Are you sure?”

“Yes,” you said. “Bepo, I’m fine. I’m having a great time. This ship is actually really nice.”

“I can imagine it’s considerably better than a submarine,” Sanji said. “No offense intended but it does seem a little cramped for such a large crew.”

You couldn’t deny it. The Polar Tang had been an adjustment even if you wouldn’t trade it away for the world. The Heart Pirates were hardly a small crew and they could certainly be enthusiastic in a way that echoed in a metal submarine.

That didn’t make you love them any less.

“I do like the open air,” you admitted. “And I imagine moving furniture around is much easier on a ship like this but I’ve come to see the Tang as a far safer vessel.”

Sanji nodded in acknowledgement. “It’s not for me, chéri, but as long as a beautiful woman is happy, she should stay wherever she pleases.”

“There are other benefits too,” you said. “Brooding swordsman are very good reasons to stick around.”

He rolled his eyes. “We have one of those too. You’re more than welcome to take him back with you. It would certainly make my life far easier.”

“No thank you. One is more than enough but speaking of.” You held up Zoro’s drink. “You okay Bepo?”

“I think so,” he said.

His expression hadn’t really changed, his ears still slightly twitchy like they became when he was feeling anxious, his eyes big and watery. Someday, you should tell him that he looked absolutely terrifying when he pulled that face but you had a feeling it would upset him to know.

The liquid in the tankard almost sloshed over when you shoved it Zoro, sitting by him again and glancing toward Law. You met his eyes and for a second, you stared at your captain across the deck in silence.

Then Straw Hat said something and his attention shifted again.

You breathed out through your nose and refocused on the sky. He was just having a normal conversation and yet, you found yourself mildly annoyed at him. Worse than that, he looked good in this lighting which felt deeply inconsiderate given your mood.

Zoro didn’t speak to you and neither you to him. It wasn’t like you even particularly cared about the swordsman but of all the choices on this crew, he was the quietest.

Yet thirty minutes and two drinks later, Zoro lazily opened an eye and looked over your shoulder. “Your crew’s staring at you like you’re about to jump overboard,” he commented. “Don’t know if you want to deal with that or…”

“What?” you asked.

You turned your head to find the Heart Pirates, who had been spread out mingling, had now gathered together in a small group. A tiny cult formed in the corner of the ship that immediately refocused their attention when you looked over to them.

You breathed out sharply through your nose. “Oh no.”

“Something wrong?”

You sighed. “Whenever they start doing that, I know they’ve got a stupid idea.”

“Sounds like when Luffy and Usopp hold a conversation for suspiciously long,” he muttered. “At least the bear can swim, right?”

“Not that kind of idea,” you said. “It’s usually a theory.”

You looked over at Law and met Robin’s eyes. She said something to him and he turned his head and you looked at the crew. He frowned at their huddle, glancing at you as though you had some kind of answer.

You shrugged helplessly.

He gestured for you to go talk to them and you returned it with a gesture for him to go instead. For a few seconds, you had a standoff, waiting for the other to cave first.

Normally, you would have given in and dealt with the headache before he had to but you had an added motive of kind of wanting him to move away from the Straw Hats. Petty or not, you were particularly stubborn about this.

“Captain,” you mouthed at him, reminding him that they were technically his problem.

He responded with an expression you took to mean they were more likely to talk to you because of that very reason. They didn’t always want to bother him with things and he also dismissed their theories far quicker than you did. You gave him an exhausted look to remind him that you’d dealt with this the last time and that had just made it go on longer.

He narrowed his eyes but you shook your head regardless. He was your captain but you weren’t about to jump to these kinds of problems just because he told you to.

Besides, you were at a party. You held up your drink to show him it was still half full.

“You two always just stare at each other for awkward lengths of time?” Zoro asked.

You froze and realised this must look ridiculous to anybody who witnessed it and didn’t understand. Indeed, most of the Straw Hats were looking mildly confused. Robin laughed behind her hand.

“He won’t go and see what the problem is,” you griped. “Because he’s being stubborn.”

Zoro frowned. “Are you a mind reader or something?”

“No but he’s trying to get me to go and I don’t particularly want to. I’m not the one who’s been sitting still the whole evening.”

Law glanced back at you and raised an eyebrow. You shook your head minutely and he sighed, exasperated, but he stood. It was a minor victory but it relaxed you a little more now that he was walking over to the crew.

Honestly, it was probably better. They listened to him far better than they did to you.

“Right,” Zoro said with a nod. “You got all that through staring?”

“I know him well enough and he’s easy to read,” you defended yourself.

“No. Luffy’s easy to read. I don’t know what that was.”

You couldn’t particularly argue with him about that because admittedly, you didn’t always find Law easy to read. Sometimes he was quite impossible. But that was only when he was in a particularly bad mood.

“He’s annoying me tonight,” you relented. “So, I’m also more aware of him.” It was a poor excuse but it was the best you had.

“Why?”

“Because he’s over there.”

“So, go over there.”

“No, I – ”

The whispering from your crew had become sharper and you turned your head toward them to find the enthusiasm was very much being directed toward you. Penguin was directly gesturing toward you; his attention locked on Law. Law’s jaw twitched and he turned to you, crystal clear in what he wanted. You sighed and stood.

“Wish me luck,” you muttered, grabbing your knife.

“Don’t stab people on deck. Franky doesn’t shut up about it.”

You strolled toward the circle, already knowing this had to be something ridiculous from your captain’s expression. What idea they had come up with now…

“What’s going on?” you asked.

Law sighed. “Stop whining about it to me and ask her then.”

It was good to hear his voice. After avoiding it for the whole evening, you hadn’t realised just how much you missed it until now. You smiled faintly before you looked toward the crew, scanning for the weakest link.

“Yes?”

It turned out to be Shachi because the second you stared at him for too long, he blurted out, “Are you planning on leaving the crew?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Bepo said – ”

“Not that you were leaving,” Bepo hurried to say. “But that we should make sure you didn’t want to. You said you liked their ship more than ours!”

“For moving furniture around, yes,” you said. “What does that have to do with me leaving the crew?”

Law frowned at you. “Why are you moving furniture around?”

“I’m not. I was just saying that it would be easier on a ship like this because the doors are wider,” you said. “Last week, it was an absolute pain to drag the broken bench out of my room because of how narrow the door was.”

“I could have used shambles for that.”

“I wasn’t going to bother you about a bench.”

“You’re also sitting with their swordsman,” Uni said accusingly. “So how are we meant to know you’re not considering their group?”

“We have a swordsman who I prefer,” you reminded him. “But there are like two quiet people on this ship and one of them was busy.”

“You could have joined us,” Law said.

“You were having a conversation.”

“Not one that didn’t have space for you. I made space for you to join me multiple times.”

“No, you didn’t?”

Had he? You had to admit that you’d been so focused on not being caught staring at him that you hadn’t really been paying much attention to the subtle ways he’d normally have invited you to join him.

“And the two of you have been glaring at each other the entire night,” Ikkaku said. “So, we thought maybe you were arguing about something.”

“Which might make you leave because you’re so desperately in love with the captain,” Penguin added in. “And we know that if he said something rude, it would really upset you.”

“Not that he wouldn’t be upset,” Shachi mentioned. “Because he’s obsessed with you and that’s saying something because he’s a bit dense towards women – ”

“Hey,” Law said warningly and they all quietened. “That’s enough. Nobody’s leaving.”

You pressed your lips together to stifle your faint embarrassment. Maybe you had been staring a decent amount but Ikkaku had said that both of you were glaring so that meant… you glanced toward Law and then back at Zoro for a second before realisation hit you.

You brought a hand to your mouth to stifle a laugh as you connected the dots. Oh. Oh that was actually a little embarrassing that you hadn’t noticed.

There was a faint red on the edges of his ears.

“We’re not fighting,” you reassured. “Here, see.”

You pressed a quick, fleeting kiss to Law’s cheek and he immediately flushed, glaring at you briefly before he looked toward your second audience. The Straw Hats were absolutely staring also.

“We’re perfectly normal,” you reassured.

“But the staring – ”

“It’s normal to look at people,” Law said firmly.

The Heart Pirates looked very confused and you placed a hand against his arm. “Normal,” you agreed. “Do you want something to drink?”

He nodded stiffly and you both stepped away, though not before he gave them a warning look. “Stop theorising about nothing.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” you reiterated. “And there’s nothing wrong with us.”

“Are you sure?” Bepo asked.

You sighed and hurried away, practically hauling him with you and it said something about his own embarrassment that he just followed after you. You fought not to laugh as you whispered, hopefully quiet enough to avoid eavesdropping.

“You’ve been staring at me all night?”

“Apparently it’s a mutual hobby.”

“Talk about it later?”

“Yes. For now, join us. I need some relief from Straw Hat-ya.”

You had clearly underestimated Bepo’s hearing because he swivelled his head to you immediately. “So, something is wrong?”

“No,” you both answered.

The party with the Straw Hats went late enough that your feet ached by the time you finally stepped back aboard the Polar Tang. The quiet felt almost strange after hours of music, shouting, and Luffy's voice carrying effortlessly across an entire ship.

The familiar metal halls hummed softly around you as you made your way toward the captain's quarters.

You were tired. Not exhausted enough to skip checking the corridor three separate times before entering, but tired.

“Be doubly sure,” he said firmly.

You checked once more and then closed the door and finally locked it. For a second, you stared at each other and then you burst into honest laughter. Law shook his head but you didn’t miss the smirk on his face.

“I’m leaving?” you asked.

“Honestly…” he sighed and draped his coat over a chair. “Do you know they had a tally of how often we looked at each other?”

You groaned. “I probably won. I was so ridiculously jealous.”

“Jealous?” he repeated. “Of what?”

“The same thing you were,” you countered.

He didn’t refute you, just sighed and shook his head. “Logically, I know I have nothing to be jealous about. You wouldn’t survive with that crew. Not a single one of them has an ounce of self-preservation. They throw themselves against walls for the fun of it.”

You chuckled and walked closer to him, reaching for his hat. He let you take it and put it on your own head instead. “I know, logically, I have nothing to be jealous about either. And yet…”

“Yet you were.”

“It seems that knowing you’re in love with me and knowing that you’re dense about other women existing isn’t enough for me some days.”

Law gave you an exhausted look. “I know other women exist.”

“I would hope so otherwise you need some new medical books.”

“Ikkaku also lives on this submarine,” he said. “But that aside, you could not possibly have found that swordsman interesting for more than a few sentences.”

“I didn’t,” you said. “But I was already annoyed and wanted some peace which seeing as he was passed out for most of the night, I could get. I like my swordsman far more intelligent. And dark-haired. And attractive. And – ”

“And I like my woman far more like you.”

You paused, momentarily caught off-guard by the sudden compliment. It soothed over some of the tension that still coiled in your heart. “I was upset,” you admitted. “But I still can’t believe they jumped to me leaving.”

“Ridiculous,” he muttered. And then, softer, as though it was something that needed confirmation. “Not for something like that.”

“Not ever,” you said.

“That’s not something you can promise.”

“Watch me.”

Law met your gaze for a second and then he sighed. “You have nothing to be upset over. There’s no other person that’s even set foot in this room.”

“I know you love me,” you said. “But that doesn’t stop me from being foolish sometimes.”

“Clearly that’s a trait we share then.”

You hummed and stepped forward, moving into his space just enough for the room to feel considerably smaller than it had. The irritation melted away into something warmer. “You know, I feel considerably better knowing you were jealous too.”

He gave you a blank expression. “I’m not sure you should.”

“Doesn’t it make you feel better to know I was looking at you far more than the swordsman?”

He didn’t answer. It was enough of a confirmation that you laughed softly.

“See, it’s flattering.”

His hand settled at your waist, drawing you a fraction closer to him. “Slightly,” he admitted. “If you were truly jealous though, you could have shown it a bit clearer.”

“Me?” you asked, draping your arms around his neck and moving closer. “What about you? I wouldn’t have minded seeing a little possessiveness.”

“You’d regret asking for that.”

His thumb brushed over your hip before his hand slipped to your lower back, pulling your body flush against his own. Heat curled pleasantly through your stomach and your eyes flicked to his lips for a second, head tilting towards his just slightly.

“There isn’t anyone else,” he said.

“No,” you agreed. “There isn’t. Not ever.”

His shoulders relaxed almost imperceptibly. “Good.”

The word barely left his mouth before you leaned in and kissed him.

After an evening spent sharing his attention with an entire ship full of people, you intended to be far greedier with it now.

Seaside, whenever you stroll along with me

I'm merely contemplating what you feel inside

Meanwhile, I ask you to be my Clementine

You say you will if you could, but you can't

I love you madly

Let my imagination run away with you gladly

A brand new angle, highly commendable

Seaside rendezvous

—

i.

you feel your temples begin to pulse as you shut your tired eyes for a brief reprieve from the endless paperwork scattered across your desk. you’d been promoted to admiral for a handful of years now and yet you still can’t seem to get a hang of managing your workload efficiently.

after rubbing your eyes, you reopen them slowly to adjust to your surroundings. it’s nearing evening and your office in Marineford is illuminated solely by the golden rays of the sun casting through your open windows. 

in spite of the recent warmer temperatures–leading to many of your subordinates shedding their coats in their downtime–you can’t help the shiver that runs down your spine. more often than not, unless you’re standing directly under the sun, you feel a little too cold; it’s a side effect from having eaten the Uo Uo no Mi in your youth. 

Kinryuu is the alias that had been assigned you to after your promotion and, sure, it sounds pretty badass but you sometimes wonder what people would think if they learned that being a dragon Zoan-type gives you the cold tolerance of a dying lizard. 

a gentle knocking against your open office door pulls you out of your thoughts.

“your hubby’s here again, with flowers this time.” Kuzan smirks, just barely dodging the pen you throw in his direction. without saying anything else, he leaves, laughter echoing through the halls of the marine base.

letting out deep sigh, you rise from your seat and stretch your stiff body before exiting your office because you know that Kuzan really meant was: “Sengoku’s giving you 15 minutes max to make him leave before any action will be taken against the Emperor.”

it’s the same shit, just on a different day, really.

for years, the Red-Haired Shanks himself has been… wooing you by dropping by your workplace regularly, completely disregarding the fact that one little misstep could result in catastrophic results. had he been any less notorious than he is, surely by now he would’ve been easily killed by your coworkers.

“... marry me?”

“HUH?”

in your half-Zoan form you had him pinned to the dirt ground. a clawed hand covered in impenetrable shining gold scales was pointed straight at his jugular while the other was buried in his fluffy red locks, gripping onto a handful of his hair firmly to keep him restrained to the floor.

you had come across his crew by sheer coincidence and ended up in a duel with the Emperor himself for nearly half an entire day. his subordinates had simply stayed by the sidelines to watch, instructed by their captain not to interfere at any point.

the realisation that you clearly had not won this fight, despite having him in such a vulnerable position, dawned on you when you felt his hand brush gently against the side of your thigh. Shanks’ eyes were blown wide open as he stared at you with nothing short of pure reverence, lips parted slightly as he breathed like he was perpetually out of breath.

he swallowed thickly and your eyes flickered down to his throat as his adam’s apple bobbed. his skin and clothes were mildly roughed up–as yours surely were, as well–and yet the look on his face indicated no apprehension or malice.

he simply looked like a lovestruck fool.

you can’t help but smile a little at the memory. you recall leaving him in the dirt that day, taking off to the skies in your full Zoan form without saying a word, hoping that would be the last you see of him, completely unaware of how absolutely wrong you were.

leaning your elbows against the railing, you watch as the Red Force rests on the calm ocean water, slightly closer to Marineford than it had been last week.

‘he’s getting bolder,’ you think to yourself. your eyes are drawn to a striking head of red hair, illuminated brilliantly by the setting sun. his face, however, is partially covered by a pair of large sunglasses and a ridiculously fake moustache. ‘or maybe he’s actually just stupid.’

Shanks must’ve finally noticed your arrival because at one point he begins waving his arm around excitedly. petals from the bouquet of flowers he’s holding onto begin to rain into his hair, some getting stuck in the fluff of red while the rest drops to the deck.

you give him a small wave back and have to choke back a laugh when his entire being jolts in surprise at your acknowledgement of his existence. the waving of his arm increases in desperation, the violent motion absolutely wrecks the poor flowers in his grasp.

beneath the fake ‘stache that’s beginning to slip off his face, his mouth moves. the distance, however, is a tad too far for you to catch any of what he’s trying to say. 

after a few more seconds, you gesture for him to leave. Shanks’ body visibly deflates as he drops the destroyed bouquet to his feet but he shuffles off to heed your instructions regardless. you can’t help but feel a little bad, you’ve never seen a grown man become so depressed so quickly.

you watch as the Red Force gradually disappears over the horizon and into the fog that perpetually surrounds Marineford. as you turn to leave to resume your very important admiral duties of signing a million papers, you idly wonder when will be the next time you see him.

ii.

the hotel bar is especially peaceful during the afternoons.

nearing the end of your long-awaited resort holiday, you savour the tranquility of the live piano performance; the gentle music only occasionally interspersed by a cough or the sound of a bellboy’s heels clicking against the marble floor.

sipping your bloody mary, you hum softly in satisfaction at the savoury, spicy flavour as you keep your eyes glued to the book you tossed into your suitcase last minute. the only complaint you have, if you can even call it that, is that the air is a tad too cold.

since you’re at a tropical island resort, it’s only natural for there to be air-conditioning indoors. while you’re sure it’s nice for the other visitors, you can’t help but scrunch your nose and sniffle every few minutes, your sinuses slightly aggravated by the dry, artificially-cooled air.

the moment you find yourself wishing you’d brought a jacket, you feel a thick coat land on your shoulders, immediately engulfing you in warmth and the smell of sandalwood, seasalt and a hint of musk. before you can turn to see who’s committed the deed, the perpetrator himself sits on the bar stool to your left.

“fancy seeing you here, Admiral Kinryuu,” Shanks greets as he props his elbow up on the counter and rests his chin at the base of his palm. his voice had dropped dramatically in volume when he said your title, ensuring that no one but you could have possibly heard him. 

internally, you thank him for keeping your identity secret. most of the general public don’t actually know what you look like, many having only seen pictures of your full Zoan-form in the newspapers. your alias is famous for being that of the youngest marine to ever be promoted to admiral but your face is virtually unknown and you like it that way.

if anything, Shanks is the most recognisable person in the hotel bar right now. the low chattering amongst the guests has ceased and the pianist has started to play out of tempo. you can’t help but notice as well that the bartender who’d been casually flirting with you here and there is now standing on the extreme other end of the bar.

“what’re you doing here, Red Hair?” you ask in as neutral a tone as possible in spite of the slightly nervous pounding of your heart. you very much do not want to fight any pirates during your vacation.

“can’t a guy stop by a famous resort for some booze?” he chuckles. “the bartender doesn’t seem to like me, though.” he pouts and the sight forces an amused snort out of you before you can stop yourself. Shanks’ smile grows even wider and you swear the colour of his ears match his hair a little more than it did earlier.

“i’m off-duty so as long as you don’t start being a menace, i’m just here as a guest.” you take another sip of your drink through the paper straw that’s beginning to get soggy. in one breath, you finish it off and raise your hand to gesture the bartender back over. forehead absolutely beading with sweat, the young man shuffles over, his nervous eyes avoiding your new companion as much as possible. 

“hey, can i have another one of these?” you point to your empty cup. “and also a beer for him, i don’t know.” you wave your hand noncommittally in Shanks’ direction and you swear to god you hear him gasp a little under his breath.

to the Emperor’s credit, his company isn’t as bad as you initially worried. despite inviting himself to sit beside you out of nowhere, he remains quiet as you read and sip on your freshly made drink. it strikes you as a little odd he seems to want nothing more than to exist in your presence but you’re certainly not complaining; especially since his coat’s keeping you warm.

“y’know,” you finally speak after nearly an hour of silent reading, flipping your book closed. “you smell surprisingly clean for a pirate.” you turn to Shanks as you speak.

he blinks at you once. twice.

‘how cute,’ you think to yourself before a devious idea crosses your mind.

maintaining eye contact, you grab the collar of his coat and bring it close to your nose before leaning in and taking a deep breath. 

‘sandalwood, seasalt and musk.’ it’s a very masculine smell, you note. 

meanwhile, Shanks’ face is turning as red as his hair and his lips are parted ever so slightly. it happens within a split second but you manage to catch the way his eyes flicker down to your mouth before darting back up. his tongue darts out to lick his lips.

for whatever reason, your heart starts racing.

“i’m just messing with you,” you say swiftly, turning your attention back to your drink. the Emperor coughs before straightening his posture.

“right– yeah, i know that,” he lies through his teeth. “so what brings you here, Admiral?” he asks as he wipes the palm of his hand against his pants.

“i’m on vacation,” you reply as you stir your bloody mary with the new paper straw that–like its predecessors–is already starting to get soggy. “when i’m not risking my life, i’m dying drowning in paperwork so i decided i needed a break.” you turn to him briefly to flash him a cordial smile.

“sheesh at least try to sound less enthused about your job,” he teases sarcastically before finally taking a swig of his beer that’s long started to become lukewarm.

“well, with the pay and authority, i can’t really complain, i guess.” you shrug half-heartedly.

Shanks doesn’t point it out but he can tell just from the look in your eye that you’re not entirely telling him the truth; but he chooses not to pry. he already deems himself more than lucky to have this chance to sit and talk with you, he shouldn’t try to toe any lines.

you chat until hours past the setting of the sun. the hotel bar is bustling with visitors, staff and performers now, though there’s perpetually an empty region around the both of you, with Shanks at its very centre.

“well, this has been a nice chat,” you say, fighting back a yawn. “i should go to bed soon.” you slide off your bar stool and leave a tip for the bartender on the counter.

“yeah, it has,” Shanks replies with a polite smile as he tries his absolute hardest to mask the disappointment welling in his chest. it seems to work–either that or you’re simply too tired to notice.

“here.” you shrug off his coat. goosebumps ripple over every inch of exposed skin as you do but still you return the piece of clothing to its rightful owner. “thanks. for the coat and the nice day.” you don’t wait for a response before you walk away in the direction of the building’s elevators.

the notorious pirate captain watches silently as you disappear from sight. once you’re gone, Shanks lifts the coat to his nose and smiles to himself when he notices it smells a little like you.

iii.

the night air in Marineford is always frigid and tonight is no exception. 

resisting the urge to sneeze for the nth time in half an hour, you wrap your hands around your fresh cup of scalding hot coffee. the burning sensation you feel on your palms does little to warm your freezing bones but it’s better than nothing.

it’s 11:25pm on a Friday and your colleagues and subordinates are probably out drinking or sleeping away a week’s worth of exhaustion. yet here you are, in your office, hunched over a mountain of paperwork that had accumulated throughout your vacation.

illuminated only by a few candles you’d lit earlier here and there, the overall darkness of the room is relentless in its efforts to lull you to sleep. every time you feel the urge to doze off, though, you take a sip of coffee and pray that the caffeine overdose combined with burning your tongue with the super hot liquid can keep you going for another hour.

it mostly works–but clearly not enough when you fail to notice the intruder climbing in through your window. it’s only when their feet touch the tiled floor are you alerted to their unwanted presence.

your heart races from the shock of it all and, instinctively, your body begins to transform. within the span of mere seconds, you feel the familiar, itchy sensation of your skin turning into golden scales and the ache of your jaw elongating to accommodate your growing, razor-sharp teeth. your eyes sting as they begin to swell and shift, and the dimly lit room becomes crystal clear as your pupils expand beyond human limits.

your surprise turns to complete and utter disbelief when you register who exactly it is that’s standing in your office right now.

“what are you doing here?!” you whisper-yell as you return to normal. “are you crazy, Red Hair?!”

before he can reply, you rush over to your door and close it as quietly as possible. all the while muttering prayers to gods you don’t believe in that none of your colleagues appear to bother you right now.

“choosing to protect instead of reporting me, huh?” Shanks teases, sounding almost giddy with delight. “that’s basically treason.” you shoot him a dry look as you return to your desk.

“in all honesty, i’d just rather not deal with extra work in the future.” you’re not totally lying. the endless stacks of paper on your desk and cabinet almost seem to be mocking you.

“honestly, Red Hair,” you sigh, picking your pen back up, “if you don’t have any good reason to be here right now, i suggest you leave. i don’t have time to chat.” without waiting for any response, you return to signing documents after scanning their contents halfheartedly.

Shanks approaches your desk and places a lunch bag on top of a stack of completed papers. 

your head shoots up and your breath hitches in your throat when you notice how good he looks in the candlelight–you would never admit this to anyone, of course, not even to your subordinates who love to gossip about the hottest pirates during lunch. Shanks always makes the list.

the Emperor smiles at you before walking over to the couch you keep an arm’s length away from your workstation, in case you ever have visitors–or need to take a nap.

“you should eat, at least,” he says softly, just loud enough for you to hear. “i won’t cause any trouble.”

even though you really shouldn’t, you believe him wholeheartedly. so you unpack the food and dig in, chopsticks in one hand, pen in the other.

for over an hour, you eat and work in complete silence. true to his word, the notoriously wanted criminal lounges quietly by your side. at some point, he even shut his eyes and reclines his head, though you can tell he isn’t trying to fall asleep.

you seize the opportunity to look at his face. your eyes scan the slicked-back mop of red hair and the loose strands that frame his head, down to the scars over his left eye, to the stubble that looks at least a few days old. you end at his lips. he doesn’t have the most luscious set you’ve ever seen but they’re well-proportioned and don’t look very dry in spite of the frigid night air.

‘get a grip,’ you scold yourself, tearing your eyes away from the man to get back to work. before you can remember where you stopped, though, a knock at your office door tears through the tranquility of the room. Shanks’ eyelids fly open.

without a second thought, you lunge over to grab the man by his collar and throw him unceremoniously under your desk. you silently thank whatever high being exists that you have an executive desk and not the kind that’s just four sticks and a tabletop. 

“come in!” you call out just as your butt returns to your seat.

a vaguely familiar face steps into your room. using your devil fruit powers, you limit your transformation solely to your eyes for a split second, just to get a clear look of their face. sure enough, it’s someone you barely know.

“hey, Admiral Kinryuu,” the rear admiral (that much you remember, at least) greets casually. if you had been Sakazuki instead, he’d be fired on the spot. “i just finished my own paperwork and wanted to know if you’d like to join me for dinner and maybe a drink or two?”

as the man spoke, the Emperor under your desk makes himself comfortable by resting his cheek on your knee and wrapping his single arm loosely around your lower leg. a quick glance down reveals a big, contented smile on his stupid face. 

“ah, i see you’ve already eaten…?” the rear admiral awkwardly points out, gesturing to the almost-finished lunch box Shanks had brought you.

seizing the opportunity to get him off your back as quickly as possible, you shoot him your most convincing apologetic smile and say, “yeah, see, my fiancé dropped this off for me since he knew i was gonna stay overtime.”

even without looking at him, you can feel Shanks’ smile grow even wider as he peers up at you with what you suspect might be a lovesick expression. he traces shapes into your calf with his index finger and you don’t stop him. 

surprise blooms across the rear admiral’s face, alongside a faint blush.

“o-oh! i see. congratulations on your engagement, Admiral Kinryuu!” you feel a little bad now, seeing how sincerely the man responds to the ‘news’. “with all due respect, i wasn’t aware you were seeing anyone.”

Shanks’ finger trails up from your calf to your thigh and that’s when you’re forced to stop him–not for the sake of your modesty but rather to not compromise his very illegal presence in your office. you grab his hand and squeeze gently, hoping the single action can convey the message of: “please don’t, i’m extremely ticklish there and we’re both dead if i get caught.”

“ah, yeah,” you reply, your espionage training from your CP7 days kicking in without a hitch.  “i like to keep my personal life very separate from work. that’s why i haven’t worn the ring and all that.”

as you listen to the rear admiral–almost embarrassingly–yammer on and on to cover his failed attempt at asking his superior out on a date, you feel Shanks guide your hand to his hair and leave it there.

‘this grown man wants headpats?’ you think to yourself, nearly unable to help the amused smile threatening to stretch across your face. you indulge him, running your calloused fingers through his tresses. you swear you can almost hear him purring like a fat, pampered housecat.

eventually the unwanted guest finally takes his leave. you slump backwards in relief and nearly slide off your chair entirely once you know he’s long gone.

“so does this happen a lot?” Shanks asks, not making any move to leave his hiding spot.

“you mean rear admirals asking me on dates or Emperors hiding under my desk for head pats?”

“the first one.”

you sigh and fix your posture, unwittingly even returning your hand to his head and resuming the headpats. he doesn’t complain.

“it’s… a fairly regular occurrence,” you answer honestly. “i think i’m too friendly with subordinates, so some try to shoot their shots here and there. i’ve never been interested, though.” Shanks hums thoughtfully.

“if i asked you on a date, would you say yes?”

“what’re you? 14 years old?” you snort and he laughs, shuffling closer to lay his head more comfortably on your thigh. 

“i’m 37, thank you very much.”

“old.” you smirk. 

“i’m not that much older than you,” he scoffs halfheartedly.

“touché.”

you continue to banter long into the night, the enjoyable company and lighthearted chatter helping to salve the dull monotonous ache of working overtime on a Friday. 

he talks about his childhood on Gol D. Roger’s ship and you share about embarrassing mistakes you made as a cadet. 

you learn that he loves kimchi fried rice but hates blueberries; you tell him you think the flavour of the fruit is fine, it’s the texture you’re not really a fan of. 

he learns you ate your Devil Fruit when you were 14 and only realised it wasn’t a normal fruit after you tried to swim but nearly drowned to death. 

he tells you about his crewmates; you share how out of all your coworkers, Kuzan is your favourite to hang out with and that you like Sakazuki the least.

he says he really likes you; you tell him you’ve known for a long time.

when the silence gets too awkward, Shanks asks if you’re allergic to anything. you tell him kiwi seeds taste spicy in your mouth so you’re probably allergic to those, and he laughs because who the hell is allergic to kiwi?

eventually, though you’re unsure exactly when, you fall asleep. 

your eyes flutter open when a ray of the morning sun shines at just the right angle to hit your face. rubbing your stuffy nose, you try to recall ever moving over to the couch but fail to remember doing so. taking in a deep breath, you pick up a familiar mix of sandalwood, seasalt and a hint of musk and it’s only then does the revelation hit you: Shanks’s coat is draped over your body like a blanket.

you come to two important conclusions: firstly, Shanks’ must’ve carried your sleeping body to the couch, and secondly, he did, in fact, appear last night and it wasn’t all just a weird dream.

although you definitely feel a certain way about being carried like a baby–by a dangerous, rugged pirate, no less– after passing out, the warm morning air and comforting smell of his coat easily lulls you back to sleep. 

‘i’ll just return this to him… the next time we meet.’

iv.

kneeling on the frozen sea, the icy terrain stings the skin of your knees as you try your best to catch your breath. in spite of the battle raging on around you, your eyes stay glued to your hands resting on the ground, watching as your body slowly transforms back to normal.

for hours you’d been in your Zoan form, fending off all sorts of airborne enemies and missiles whilst avoiding friendly fire from all directions. it seems you’re finally succumbing to exhaustion. 

every inhale hurts your sinuses and every exhale serves only to bounce more cold air back into your face. as useful as this icy platform has been in defending the execution from pirate invasion, you can’t help but curse Kuzan under your breath. he may be the colleague you get along with the best but fuck do his ice powers not complement yours in the slightest.

vaguely in the distance, you hear Sengoku order subordinates to cover you as you rest in the midst of all the bloodshed. you silently accept the chance for a quick reprieve but now that you’re no longer fighting for your life, your mind can’t help but wander.

as your breathing steadies and your heartbeat returns to normal, you turn your attention to the droplets of blood hitting the frozen ice. your forehead had gotten grazed at some point but it doesn’t hurt–you didn’t even realise you’d been bleeding until right this instant.

an explosion goes off in the distance.

‘is this truly justice?’ you wonder, images of a dead young man with a molten hole in his chest and his catatonic young brother who’d failed in his efforts to rescue him flash across your mind. 

you tilt your head in time to barely dodge a stray bullet.

‘is killing people for being their parents’ children really justice? can it be a crime just to be alive?’

you notice the dried blood caked under your now-rounded nails. you can’t recall how many pirates you’ve slaughtered just today alone.

‘does someone like me even deserve the luxury of pondering the ethics of my actions? i’ve spent my whole career abiding by the moral codes of other men in the name of the law… but was it ever just?’

you swallow thickly when you feel the acidic sting of vomit begin to claw its way up your throat.

“fuck,” you curse under your breath. shame and guilt burn your eyes in the form of fresh tears when the scene of Sakazuki punching through Portgas D. Ace’s body forces its way to the forefront of your mind once again.

‘i could’ve stopped it but i didn’t. what am i doing here?’

you rise to your feet shakily only to notice the entire battlefield is now dead silent. briefly, you wonder if you’ve become deaf instead but a quick scan of the terrain proves the entire war has come to a screeching halt.

you notice him almost instantly. how could you not? with his brilliant red hair and near-oppressive aura, one would have to be dead to not immediately be aware of Shanks’ presence on a battlefield, of all places.

unbeknownst to anyone but himself, the Emperor seeks out your face first above all else. whilst maintaining his hardened expression, his eyes scan the ruins of Marineford. although imperceptible to most, you catch the way his gaze softens when he finally finds you.

for the first time since Shanks’ started inserting himself into your life every moment he could, you wish so badly to be able to talk to him but are held back by circumstances.

you wish to tell him that you’re not so sure about this whole marine thing anymore; that you watched countless friends die and that you probably killed people in front of their friends, too; that witnessing your least favourite colleague brutally murder a young man makes you feel sick to your stomach.

you wish you could tell him that you still have his coat; that you keep it safe in your closet and bring it out only during particularly cold nights; that you haven’t washed it since you woke up buried underneath it several months ago because you didn’t want his scent to go away.

you wish you could say you regret not telling him you liked him, too, that one night; that you’ve been looking forward to his visits and when he stopped showing up for the past few months, you kept your eye on the news to make sure he wasn’t dead.

Shanks speaks to the crowd but none of his words register in your head. you only notice when his eyes flicker back to you, as though checking to make sure you’re still there.

by the time the dust has settled, you’ve both gone your separate ways without having exchanged a single word but with an unspoken mutual understanding that you will see one another again someday. 

v. 

the day Sengoku informs you that Sakazuki had defeated Kuzan on Punk Hazard is the same day you hand in your resignation letter.

“i’d rather tell you than Sakazuki.” you shrug when the soon-to-be ex-fleet admiral raises an eyebrow.

“you know that’s not exactly what i’m curious about, Kinryuu.” he’s putting on his ‘interrogation’ face but you know he’d never force you to say what you want to keep secret. Sengoku’s always had a soft spot for you, that’s probably why he doesn’t reject your resignation.

“i just…” you chew on your tongue, contemplating how to put your feelings into words. “after the Paramount War, i feel like this job isn’t for someone like me.”

he nods thoughtfully. the regretful events of that fateful day haunt him, too.

“very well. what will you do in the future, though?” he asks. “surely you won’t become a pain in the World Government’s side, right? you’ll use your Devil Fruit responsibly and not have your face printed on a wanted poster… correct?” Sengoku stares at you intensely as he warns you in the least subtle way possible.

you can’t help but laugh and a smile breaks across the older man’s face as well. 

“i’ll make sure to not cause any trouble until after you’re retired, how about that?” you offer your hand for him to shake. he squints at you but shakes it anyway because deep down he knows the kind of person you are. he’s watched over you ever since you joined as a cadet, after all. 

somewhere in the back of his mind, Sengoku even thinks that perhaps the New World will be a better place when you’re freed from the shackles of the marines’ code of justice. but he’ll just have to wait and see.

vi.

just a week after New Marineford is established, a familiar ship drops its anchor dangerously close to its borders. Inspector General Sengoku is the first to notice since he’d just happened to be lounging by the seaside with a bag of rice crackers when the Red Force made its appearance.

“you should leave, Red-Hair,” Sengoku warns. the distance between his relaxation spot and the ship is just short enough for the pirates to hear him clearly. “the new fleet admiral won’t be as lenient as i used to be, i’ll tell you that.”

“i’ll leave once Admiral Kinryuu tells me to!” he proclaims with a laugh and a fresh bouquet in his hand.

“she resigned. she’s gone and don’t ask me where to because i have no clue.” 

the silence that follows is deafening. 

behind him, Shanks’ crew watches as his shoulders sink and the bouquet drops to the deck with a sad thud. 

“if anything, as someone who mentored her,” Sengoku continues as he dusts the rice cracker crumbs off his shirt, “i don’t think you should pursue her any longer. she deserves to live out her life in peace and i’m not confident that’s something an Emperor of the New World can securely provide.”

there’s no malice in the older man’s words but the sentiment stings anyway, not because Shanks particularly cares about what others think but because he knows Sengoku’s not entirely wrong. the truth that he’d kept tightly locked away for years was now breaking free and forcing its way to the very forefront of his mind.

vii.

for the next several months, the general mood aboard the Red Force is… not great. 

sure, the captain of the ship still performs his rightful duties with a smile on his face but, to the higher-ranking members at the very least, it never looks quite right. it’s always a tad too unnatural, too forced, too sad. 

Shanks has also been drinking significantly more which is, frankly, quite concerning considering the entire crew is full of alcoholics and even they feel like he needs to slow down a little. 

in hushed tones, when their captain isn’t around, the crew members make a habit of exchanging intel about the possible whereabouts of the ex-admiral who’d stolen the Emperor’s heart and never gave it back. they chart maps, make discreet phone calls to landbound old friends, and pour over every news article in hopes of gaining even an iota of information. 

all of their efforts remain woefully fruitless. 

in their desperate bid to save their poor heartbroken captain’s soul, they’d forgotten who they’re dealing with: a prodigy, Cipher Pol-trained, Devil Fruit-user ex-marine admiral… who can fly. 

the gradual revelation that they’d only find you if you wanted to look for them took a toll on the pirates, further souring the already-terrible mood aboard the ship. that is, at least, until a golden dragon descends upon their deck one sunny Friday afternoon. 

by the time your feet hit the ground, you’re back to your normal form. although to the Red-Haired Pirates, you look awfully out of place without your marine uniform on, the coat over your shoulders looks familiar enough that they know your appearance can mean nothing but good news.

“mind if i pay your captain a visit?” you ask no one in particular, with a smirk on your face. you figure that enough of them are gawking at your sudden arrival that surely one would step up to give you an answer.

true enough, the first mate volunteers to lead you to Shanks’ quarters.

as you trail quietly behind the larger man, you recall all the times Shanks bragged about how great his crew is and how Beckman, in particular, is someone he holds in high regard. in spite of his silence, you can feel the first mate’s warmth; especially when he grumbles a “good luck” before leaving you outside Shanks’ door.

after taking a deep breath, you knock, and when there’s no response, you decide to just let yourself in. if you forgave Shanks for crawling into your office through your window, surely he won’t make a fuss about you coming into his room–after giving him the courtesy of knocking, even.

as you gently push the door open, you’re immediately hit with a wave of the scent that’s been fading from the coat that was lent to you all those months ago. your heart flutters at the familiar smell and now that you’re here, you never want to leave.

Shanks is lying in bed, face-down. you wonder if he can even breathe like that.

upon hearing the intrusion, he waves his hand carelessly, a silent “get out” to someone he presumes is part of his crew.

“and here i thought you’d be happier to see me.”

his body practically flies off his mattress, like a corpse reanimated after being struck by an obscenely large bolt of lightning. he tumbles ungracefully to the floor, tired eyes wide open as he gawks at you. his mouth opens and closes, as though he has so many things to say that he can’t decide what should come first.

the light casting in from the open door behind you gives you an almost-ethereal glow and for a moment Shanks wonders if he’d actually died and snuck his way into heaven. it’s only when you come closer to kneel in front of him with a concerned–and also mildly amused–look on your face does he realise this is real. 

“hey.” you smile, reaching out your hand to brush his messy hair out of his face. his eyes flutter shut at the comforting sensation, only to spring back open when you cup his face between both hands to pull him in for a kiss.

something in Shanks’ chest explodes upon contact. your lips feel soft against his and they taste mildly of strawberry. he reaches up to cup your left hand with his own, nuzzling into your warm touch as he hoists himself onto his knees and leans closer into the kiss.

his eyelids quiver shut when he feels you lick his bottom lip, seeking permission that he very enthusiastically gives. when your tongue touches his, he releases a moan so embarrassing that he would not blame you for leaving right now after hearing it. 

little does the Emperor know, the silly sound only fuels the burning in your chest even more. you deepen the kiss even further, pouring years’ worth of unspoken feelings into a single moment of intimacy. by the time you pull away for air, both your lips are swollen and shining with spit as you pant to catch your breath.

still, even though your lips have separated, your hands remain holding his face. you tenderly rub his cheeks with the calloused pads of your thumbs, taking note of the darkness of the skin directly under his eyes.

“bad sleep?” you ask softly.

“bad everything,” Shanks replies without missing a beat. “until now.” you smile apologetically before leaning over to press a kiss to his forehead.

“sorry i took a few detours before coming to find you, Shanks,” you murmur.

hearing his given name finally leave your lips flips a switch in his brain. without thinking, he catches you off-guard by lunging forward, wrapping his arm firmly around your middle as he buries his face into your tummy. the rumbling of your laughter soothes every ache of his, inside and out.

“say it again,” he asks, words muffled.

“Shanks?” you feel his fingers clench onto the fabric of your shirt. 

“Shanks,” you say again, louder this time, and he takes a deep, unsteady breath.

“Shanks, my love.” you wrap your arms around his head as his body begins to tremble. in an effort to soothe him, you run your fingers through his red hair, scratching your nails gently against his scalp.

as he basks in the warmth of your body and the scent of your skin, Shanks thinks about all the things he’s been wanting to tell you. for now, however, he chooses to savour the moment he’s been dreaming about for years, knowing full well you’re finally here to stay. 

–

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“husband,” he whispered quietly, blinking a few times before repeating it a little louder. “husband. ya called me yer husband. like, the title.”

“what? no i didn’t,” you denied, trying to recall the words out of your mouth. 

atsumu leaned closer, blinking a few more times as his lips curled into a smile.

“ya did, and i’m gonna be riding that high fer the rest of my life, babe,” he whispered, quickly pecking your cheek and wrapping his arms around your waist to pull you flush against his chest with a big sigh. he reached out and singled out your ring finger. “but don’t worry, i’ll get a pretty rock on this finger soon. a stone so radiant everyone’s gonna know yer mine,” he mumbled.

something in your heart fluttered at his quiet promise and you relaxed in his arms, humming contently as you flexed your finger a little and hooked it onto his.

“i’ll be looking forward to it.”

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

MIYA OSAMU ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

₊˚⊹♡ you were at onigiri miya, helping your boyfriend out with a dinner rush by working the register, when a customer asked about any recommendations. 

“honestly?” you began, looking down at the menu pasted on the counter, “you can’t go wrong with anything here. my husband has magic onigiri-making hands or something.” you both shared a laugh as they continued with their order, but behind you, osamu whipped his head around, dropping the rice ball in his hand and doing a double take.

then, he nonchalantly walked up to the front counter before casually standing behind you, close enough to where you could hear his breathing over the music in the shop and feel the heat radiating off of his chest. 

“but, if ya wanted to know, my wife’s favorite is this one,” he simply stated with a smile, pointing to one of the options and turning around to continue making the onigiri as if he didn’t drop a bomb and walk away.

you had to pull it together to finish the rest of that rush, doing your best to ignore your racing heart as you brushed past your boyfriend every now and then. soon, it was only you and osamu left in the shop, finishing up with cleaning and prep for the next day.

“so,” you started, taking hesitant steps closer to him as you bumped him with your shoulder, “since when am i your wife?” you asked, your voice going up a register. osamu let out a small huff.

“dunno, since when am i yer husband?” he replied smoothly, reaching past you to grab a towel with a knowing smile as he saw the realization hit your face, your cheeks blooming red. “i actually quite liked the title… husband.”

“hubby and wifey?” you suggested, trying to mask how flustered you were.

“hubby and wifey,” he repeated back, gently untying your apron and pulling it over your head. “sounds like a plan to me.” he paused before looking down at you with a cheeky smile. “it’s actually been the plan, though, so i guess there isn’t a change with anything.”

“you’re so ridiculous,” you giggled as he folded both of your aprons and set them aside. 

“yeah, and i’m going to be yer extra ridiculous hubby one day, so i would get used to it while ya can, because it only gets more ridiculous from here,” he replied, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to your lips. meanwhile, in the back of his mind, he made a mental note to order that little ring box he had saved on his computer. 

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

SUNA RINTAROU ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

₊˚⊹♡ you were at his game, ecstatic to see your boyfriend play, and spent your time afterwards at the gift shop, waiting for him to finish up with his interviews and the swarms of fans.

""he would love this one," you mumbled to yourself, pinching the ears on the stuffed fox you were holding. "but there's so many colors..."

"can i help you with anything, miss?" a sales attendant asked, glancing over at you.

"oh, yes, actually," you smiled up at them and held up gestured over at the plushie display. "my husband resembles foxes in a really endearing way, but i just can't figure out which color looks better with the team colors."

as the attendant pondered and considered the options, suna walked up behind you and reached around, grabbing the darker one.

"i think the husband in question would prefer this one," he said, a small smirk curling on his lips. "and i have to say, i can really see the resemblance between us."

the sales attendant smiled brightly and nodded, but you stared up at your boyfriend, your cheeks bright with color at the realization of your slip.

"oh- yeah... husband," you murmured quietly and gave an awkward smile to the attendant as they checked the item out for you. suna, however, put another item in at the last second.

"so sorry, but do you mind if we also add this one?" he requested, sliding a small keychain labeled "Proud EJP Raijin Wife" onto the counter, avoiding your surprised eyes as he simply tapped his card and grabbed the gift bag. "thank you so much."

he then reached for your hand, leading you out of the shop despite your quiet stammering and staring, a sly grin on his face.

"rin, what's with the keychain?" you asked, trying to calm your heart as he gently swung your hands back and forth.

"you called me your husband, so you gotta play the part, too," he stated quietly, glancing down at the bag. then, a little quieter, "you'll be needing it eventually anyways, so i consider it a long-term investment."

"what did you say?"

"nothing."

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

KITA SHINSUKE ᯓ★ˎˊ˗

₊˚⊹♡ you were seated on the porch of the his neighborhood's cafe, drinking tea as you watched your boyfriend unload large sacks of rice off of his flatbed to various residents, his typical saturday routine.

"he's a good man, that shinsuke," a grandma at the table next to you observed with her friend. "diligent, kind, respectful. his wife is lucky to have him."

"she's at the table next to us," her friend pointed out, nodding her head over to you and catching your attention. "dear, is he as good of a husband as we all see him to be?"

you smiled and nodded, assuming they thought the two of you were married based on the promise ring you wore.

"yeah, he's a great husband," you replied, not noticing him walk up to the porch with two large bags on his shoulder. "i don't think he has a single fiber in him that doesn't scream 'husband material,' so i'm very blessed to have him."

"ladies, pardon me for interrupting," kita began, politely bowing as best he could to the grandmas and subtly smiling at your surprise, "but did ya want me to set yer preorders in the backseat or trunk of yer cars?"

"trunks, please," they responded, watching him like he was their own son as he nodded and walked back. "never let go of that man, dear," one of them said, looking at you. "i could see the love in his eyes when he came over and saw you."

you laughed and nodded, taking a sip of your tea as you waited for him to finish. when he was done, you set your drink down and walked up, a cool bottle of water in hand.

"the older ladies in your neighborhood are so nice, shin," you stated, handing the bottle to him and brushing some dust off of his shirt.

he nodded in agreement and hummed, taking a swig. "yeah, but i'm glad that ya think i'm a good enough husband to talk about with 'em," he added, glancing down at you with a warm smile.

"wait- i didn't- that was-" you started, but he shook his head and rubbed the back of your head affectionately.

"i'm just messing with ya, sweetheart," he chuckled. "i would never want to pressure ya like that, but this?" he lifted your left hand up and looked down at your ring. "i intend to be everything and more than what this represents." he murmured.

you swear you felt the butterflies in your stomach flap away and into the clouds as he pulled back, casually opening the passenger door for you and buckling your seatbelt before driving off. the whole time, he kept his free hand on yours and his fingers lingering on the promise ring that he had a perfect replacement for tucked away in the back of his closet.

· · ─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

m.list

note: did you guys know that suna is the only one on inarizaki to not speak in the kansai dialect?

The "Paint-Colored Erosion Incident," as Nami had dramatically dubbed it, was over. Baroque Works officer Mr. 3, a man whose Devil Fruit ability was as infuriatingly whimsical as it was deadly, had been defeated. His power to create and manipulate a wax-like substance that hardened to be stronger than steel had been a nightmare to deal with. But it was his partner, Miss Goldenweek, and her "Colors Trap" that had left the most lingering, bizarre mark on the crew.

Her paints didn't just color; they manipulated emotions. Painting a flag with a certain color could induce a specific state—tears, rage, or, in your case, a state of dreamy, helpless infatuation. You remembered the feeling with a cringe. One moment you were fighting for your life, the next you were staring at Dorry, one of the giant warriors, with a googly-eyed sigh, convinced he was the most handsome being you'd ever laid eyes on. The effect had worn off, but the memory was mortifying.

Now, back on the Going Merry, the crew was scattered, tending to wounds and exhaustion. Sanji was in the galley, no doubt preparing a feast to celebrate their survival. Usopp was probably regaling a captive Vivi with exaggerated tales of his bravery. Nami was counting her new treasure, her mood significantly improved. Luffy was… well, Luffy was likely trying to provoke the sleeping giants again.

You needed to find Zoro. He'd been separated from you during the final confrontation, and a knot of anxiety hadn't loosened in your stomach since.

You found him on the deck, near the figurehead, but the sight of him stopped you in your tracks. He was sitting on the grassy deck, legs crossed, his three swords resting neatly beside him. But he wasn't cleaning them. He wasn't napping. He wasn't training. He was just… staring at the horizon, a small, ridiculously content smile on his face.

And he was humming.

It was a low, tuneless sound, but it was definitely humming. Roronoa Zoro. Humming. It was so out of character it felt like you'd stepped into an alternate dimension. You approached cautiously, your boots soft on the wooden deck.

"Zoro?" you called out gently.

He turned his head, and the smile that bloomed on his face was not his usual smirk or rare, soft grin. This was something else entirely. It was bright, unguarded, and utterly, devastatingly beautiful. His eyes, normally sharp and focused, were soft, hazy, and fixed on you with an expression of pure, unadulterated adoration that made your heart do a painful little flip.

"There you are," he said, his voice a low, melodic purr that sent an involuntary shiver down your spine. "I was just thinking about you. Isn't that funny? I was thinking about you, and then poof, there you are. It's like magic."

You stared at him, your mind racing. This was… wrong. This was the same look you'd given Dorry under the influence of Miss Goldenweek's paint. A quick glance at his green haramaki confirmed your suspicion. A small, almost invisible splotch of bright pink paint was smeared near the buckle. The color for infatuation.

"Zoro," you said, trying to keep your voice steady. "Are you feeling alright?"

"I've never felt better," he declared, pushing himself to his feet with an easy grace. He closed the distance between you in two long strides, invading your personal space in a way that was both familiar and completely alien. He reached out, not to steady himself or to gesture, but to gently cup your cheek in his calloused hand. His thumb stroked your skin with a tenderness that made your knees weak. "How could I not be alright when you're here? You're… you're like the sun coming out after a hundred years of rain."

You swallowed hard. This was a nightmare. A wonderful, terrible, confusing nightmare. The man you loved, the gruff, emotionally constipated swordsman who could barely manage a "you're not annoying" on a good day, was now spouting poetry. And it was all because of a stupid, magical paint.

"Zoro, you have some paint on you," you said, trying to be direct.

He glanced down at his haramaki and then back at you, his smile unwavering. "Oh, this? Just a little souvenir. It reminds me of you."

"How does pink paint remind you of me?" you asked, a genuine, bewildered question.

"Because it's the color of your cheeks when you get flustered," he said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. He leaned in closer, his lips brushing against your ear. "And it's the color I imagine your lips would be after I've kissed them for a very, very long time."

A full-body blush erupted across your skin. This was beyond anything you had ever prepared for. Zoro's normal compliments were things like "you're not useless" or "your cooking is edible." This was… this was an assault on your senses.

"Okay, that's enough of that," you said, your voice squeaking slightly as you gently pushed him back. "We need to get that paint off you."

"Get it off?" he looked genuinely stricken. "But why? It makes everything so much clearer. It's like a fog has been lifted from my eyes. All this time, I've been walking around, thinking about swords, and training, and navigation, and my stupid captain… but it was all just noise. All that matters," he said, his gaze intense and unwavering, "is you."

He took your hand in his, his grip firm but gentle. He brought your knuckles to his lips and pressed a soft, lingering kiss there. "Do you have any idea how beautiful you are? Not just… you know, aesthetically. Though you are. You're devastatingly beautiful. It's distracting. I should be training, but all I want to do is look at you. But it's more than that. It's the way your brow furrows when you're concentrating on a map. The way you bite your lip when you're worried. The way you laugh, even when I say something that isn't even a joke, just because you're kind."

He was rambling. Zoro was rambling. It was the single most surreal experience of your life.

"Zoro, you're not yourself right now," you insisted, trying to pull your hand away, but he held it fast.

"I'm more myself than I've ever been," he countered, his grin turning mischievous. "You know what I was just thinking about? Our future. After I become the World's Greatest Swordsman, we should buy a house. A quiet one. Maybe on a small, out-of-the-way island. We can have a dojo. I'll teach, and you can… I don't know, you can do whatever you want. You can fill the house with flowers. I hate flowers, but I'd let you fill our house with them if it made you happy."

Your heart was hammering against your ribs. This was everything you had ever, secretly wanted to hear from him, but it was all wrong. It wasn't real. It was the paint.

"Zoro, please," you begged softly. "This isn't real. It's the paint."

"Real? What's real?" he mused, his eyes glazing over slightly. "Is this real?" He tapped the hilt of Wado Ichimonji. "Is this real?" He tapped the Going Merry's deck. "Is the Grand Line real? Or is it all just a dream we're having? The only thing I know for sure is real," he said, his gaze snapping back to yours with dizzying intensity, "is this. This feeling. Right here, right now. You and me."

He leaned in again, and for a terrifying second, you thought he was going to kiss you. You wanted him to, and you didn't. It was a torturous paradox. Instead, he rested his forehead against yours, closing his eyes and letting out a contented sigh.

"I love you," he whispered, the words so soft you almost thought you imagined them. "There, I said it. It feels… good. Like taking a breath after being underwater for way too long. I love you. I've probably loved you for a long time and was just too stubborn and stupid to realize it. Or maybe I did realize it and was just scared. But I'm not scared now. How could I be scared of anything when I have you?"

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. This was cruel. It was the cruelest trick the Grand Line had ever played on you. To hear the words you longed for, spoken with a sincerity that was utterly convincing, knowing they weren't truly his. Not yet, anyway.

"Okay," you said, your voice thick with emotion. "Okay, Zoro. I believe you. But we still need to get the paint off. For me. Please?"

He pulled back, his expression softening at the sight of your unshed tears. "Oh, hey, no. Don't cry. I hate it when you cry." He gently wiped at your

cheek with his thumb. "Fine. For you. Anything. If it'll make you smile a real smile, not one of those sad ones, I'll let you scrub me with a deck brush and Sanji's soap."

A watery, genuine laugh escaped you. "I don't think it'll come to that. Let's just get you to the washroom."

He let you take his hand, lacing his fingers through yours with a familiarity that usually took him weeks of casual proximity to initiate. He followed you like a devoted puppy, his earlier predatory energy replaced by a placid, adoring compliance. As you led him towards the men's quarters, he swung your joined hands between you, humming that same tuneless, happy song.

"You know," he began, his voice thoughtful, "I never really noticed the way the light hits the wood on this ship. It's nice. It's warm. Like you."

"Zoro, the ship is made of wood."

"I know," he said, grinning at you as if you'd just shared a profound secret. "But it's happy wood. Because it gets to carry you."

You decided arguing with his logic was a losing battle and focused on the task at hand. Inside the men's quarters, you sat him down on his hammock and grabbed a clean cloth and a basin of water. You knelt in front of him, your heart still thumping a frantic rhythm against your ribs. As you dampened the cloth, you became acutely aware of your position. You were on your knees before him, about to touch his hips. The sheer intimacy of it, under these bizarre circumstances, was overwhelming.

"Alright, let's see this paint," you murmured, reaching for the edge of his green haramaki.

His hand shot out, covering yours. His touch was gentle, but his grip was firm. You looked up, startled, and met his gaze. The adoration was still there, but now it was mixed with a heat, a smoldering intensity that was pure, unadulterated Zoro, even through the paint-induced haze.

"Careful," he whispered, his voice husky. "That's a dangerous move."

"It's just your sash, Zoro."

"Is it?" he leaned forward, his face inches from yours. "Or is it the last barrier between me and telling you every single thing I've ever wanted to do to you?"

Your breath hitched. "Zoro…"

"Tell me to stop," he breathed, his eyes searching yours. "Tell me you don't want to hear it, and I'll shut up forever. I'll go back to being the grumpy bastard you're so used to, and I'll never bother you with this again."

You couldn't speak. You couldn't form the words. Because the traitorous part of you, the part that had been waiting for months, maybe years, for a crack in his emotional armor, desperately wanted to hear it. So you said nothing.

He took your silence as permission.

"I think about you when I'm training," he confessed, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through you. "I think about your voice telling me to get up when I'm on the ground, exhausted. I think about your hands patching up my wounds. I think about the way you look at me, like you see something more than just a guy with three swords and a death wish. It makes me stronger."

He released your hand and slowly, deliberately, you untied the knot of his haramaki. The pink splotch was right there, a garish reminder of the spell he was under. You dabbed at it with the wet cloth, your fingers brushing against the warm skin of his stomach. He hissed, but not in pain.

"Your hands are so soft," he murmured, his eyes following your movements. "It's a miracle. You work just as hard as the rest of us, but your hands… they're for holding, not for fighting. I like that. I like imagining my hands holding yours."

You scrubbed a little harder, the pink paint beginning to smear. "Zoro, stop it."

"Why?" he asked, genuinely confused. "Don't you like hearing this? Don't you want to know that when I'm swinging a thousand-pound sword, I'm thinking about how much lighter it would feel if it was your hand I was holding? Don't you want to know that when I'm lost, I'm not really looking for North, I'm just looking for you?"

The paint was coming off, streaks of pink mingling with the water on the cloth. But his words weren't stopping. If anything, they were becoming more focused, more intense.

"I watch you," he continued, his voice dropping even lower. "I watch the way you walk, the way you stretch in the morning, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear when you're concentrating. I've memorized the cadence of your footsteps on the deck so I always know when you're coming. I've cataloged every expression you make. My favorite is the one you're making right now. Flustered. Annoyed. A little bit turned on. It's a good look on you."

"Zoro!" you exclaimed, your face burning.

"What? It's true," he said, a lazy, triumphant smirk on his lips. It was the first glimpse of his usual self, and it was both a relief and a terrifying omen. "I want to kiss you. Right now. I want to see if you taste as sweet as you look. I want to find out if your laugh sounds the same when I'm the one making it happen. I want to wake up next to you and know what your hair looks like in the morning, all messy and spread out on the pillow. I want to protect you, not just because you're my crewmate, but because the thought of anything happening to you… it's the only thing that truly scares me in this world."

You scrubbed furiously at the last of the paint, your movements frantic. It was gone. The pink was completely washed away. You sat back on your heels, breathing heavily, waiting.

For a moment, he was silent. The hazy, dreamy look in his eyes began to clear. The intense, romantic focus started to waver. He blinked slowly, once, then twice. He looked down at his now-clean haramaki, then at the wet cloth in your hand, then at your tear-streaked, flushed face.

A slow, creeping horror dawned in his eyes.

"What… what did I just say?" he asked, his voice raspy, his usual gruffness returning with a vengeance.

"You… you said a lot of things," you managed to say, your voice trembling.

He stared at you, his expression a mask of utter panic and disbelief. He looked like a man who had just woken up naked in the middle of a town square with no memory of how he got there. He scrambled back from you, putting as much distance as the small room would allow.

"No," he shook his head, his eyes wide. "No. No, I didn't."

"You did," you confirmed softly.

He buried his face in his hands, a groan of pure mortification escaping his lips. "Oh, god. Kill me now. Just take one of my swords and run me through. I said… I said I loved you?"

"And the house on the quiet island," you added, unable to resist a small, watery smile. "And the flowers. And the part about my lips."

He peeked through his fingers at you, his face a spectacular shade of crimson that rivaled your own. "I am going to murder that clown with the paint. Slowly."

The silence that followed was thick with unspoken words. You watched him, your heart aching. He was back. Your Zoro was back. And he was completely and utterly humiliated. You stood up, wringing out the cloth and setting the basin aside. You didn't know what to say. How do you walk back from something like that?

Finally, he lowered his hands, his expression grim. He wouldn't meet your eyes. He was staring at a spot on the floor, his jaw clenched so tightly you could see the muscle twitching.

"Look," he began, his voice rough and strained. "Forget it. Just… forget all of it. It was the paint. It was a lie."

You flinched at the word "lie." It felt like a physical blow.

"Zoro…"

"It was nothing," he insisted, finally forcing himself to look at you, but his eyes were hard, defensive. "It was just… nonsense. The stupid Grand Line messing with my head. It doesn't mean anything."

You stood there for a long moment, the weight of his words settling heavily in the room. The paint was gone, but its echo remained, hanging between you like a ghost. You saw the panic in his eyes, the desperate need to retreat back into the safety of his emotional fortress. You could let him. You could nod and agree and pretend the last ten minutes never happened, letting the words he spoke dissolve into the salty sea air.

Or you could be brave.

You took a step towards him. He flinched, but didn't move away.

"Was it all a lie, Zoro?" you asked, your voice barely a whisper. "The part about wanting to hold my hand? The part about me making you stronger? The part about being scared of losing me?"

He stared at you, his defenses crumbling under the directness of your question. The hard facade cracked, and you saw it again—the vulnerability, the fear, the truth that had been hiding underneath all along.

He didn't answer. He couldn't. But you didn't need him to. You saw the answer in the way his shoulders slumped in defeat, in the way his gaze dropped from yours, unable to hold the weight of your question. The silence was his confession.

So you took another step, closing the final inch of space between you. You reached up, your fingers gently tilting his chin, forcing him to look at you. His eyes were a storm of emotions—shame, fear, and a desperate, fragile hope that broke your heart.

"It wasn't all a lie, was it?" you asked again, your voice softer this time.

He swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He still said nothing, but his eyes flickered down to your lips for a fraction of a second before darting back up to meet your gaze. It was all the invitation you needed.

You leaned in and kissed him.

It wasn't a frantic, passionate kiss. It was gentle, firm, and full of unspoken understanding. It was a kiss that said, "I see you. I hear you. And it's okay." For a moment, he was frozen, his body rigid with shock. Then, with a ragged sigh that seemed to come from the very depths of his soul, he melted into it. His arms came around you, pulling you flush against his chest with a desperate, almost bruising force. One hand tangled in your hair, cradling the back of your head, while the other pressed firmly against the small of your back, anchoring you to him.

The kiss deepened, transforming from reassurance into something raw and hungry. It was a kiss that had been waiting for months, a release of all the pent-up words and emotions he could never bring himself to say. He kissed you like he was drowning and you were his only source of air. He kissed you like he was a starving man and you were his first meal in a year. The sheer intensity of it stole your breath away.

When he finally pulled back, he rested his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged and uneven. He kept his eyes closed, as if he was afraid to open them and find that you were gone.

"You're still here," he breathed, the words a statement of pure, unadulterated awe.

"I'm not going anywhere," you promised, your hands coming up to rest on his chest, feeling the frantic, steady beat of his heart beneath your palms.

He finally opened his eyes, and the vulnerability you saw there took your breath away. It was Zoro, completely unguarded, his soul laid bare. "I meant it," he whispered, the words rough with emotion. "All of it. I just… I don't know how to be this person. The person who says things like that."

"You don't have to be," you said softly, stroking his chest. "You just have to be you. The person who trains until his muscles scream, the person who would die for his friends, the person who gets hopelessly lost but always finds his way back. That's the person I fell in love with."

A slow, shy smile touched his lips. It was his smile, not the paint's. A small, rare, beautiful thing that made your heart ache. "So… the house on the quiet island?"

You laughed, a real, genuine laugh that felt like cleansing the last of the paint from your own soul. "We can start with you not hogging the hammock every night."

He let out a low chuckle, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. "Deal." He leaned in and kissed you again, a softer, more confident kiss this time. A kiss that wasn't desperate for reassurance, but one that settled, a promise of things to come.

When he pulled away, his gaze was serious again. "But I'm still going to kill that clown with the paint."

"I'll help you," you said with a grin. "But first, I think Nami owes us a fee for emotional damages. And Sanji probably owes you a lifetime supply of food for making you say all those sappy things."

A genuine, full-throated laugh escaped him, a sound so rare and precious it made you stop and just stare. It was the first time you'd ever heard him truly laugh, not just a huff of amusement or a dry chuckle, but a real, uninhibited laugh of pure joy.

"What?" he asked, noticing your stare.

"Nothing," you said, shaking your head in wonder. "I just… I really like your laugh."

His smile softened, and he reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking your skin with a tenderness that was now entirely his own. "I'll try to do it more often, then. For you."

You leaned into his touch, closing your eyes and letting the reality of the moment wash over you. The Grand Line was chaotic and dangerous, full of giants, dinosaurs, and psychotic pirates with magical paint. But here, in the cramped quarters of the Going Merry, held in the arms of the man you loved, you felt a peace you hadn't known was possible.

"Hey," he said quietly.

"Hmm?"

"You know that part about your lips?"

You opened your eyes and looked at him. He was grinning, a mischievous, familiar glint in his eye.

"I still want to find out if they taste as sweet as you look."

You smiled, wrapping your arms around his neck. "Well, what are you waiting for, World's Greatest Swordsman?"

He didn't need to be told twice. As his lips met yours again, you knew that the paint hadn't created anything. It hadn't invented his feelings or fabricated his desires. All it had done was unlock the door. And now that it was open, you had a feeling you and Roronoa Zoro were going to have a very long, very adventurous, and very loving journey ahead of you. And you wouldn't have it any other way.

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You're here because Nami went and fetched for you. You had excused yourself from the party earlier to handle a small matter that occupied you for much longer than you thought you would be. Apparently that was enough time for something to have happened and cause Sanji to let loose. As to what it was, you didn't know yet.

Nami was suspiciously vague about the situation, but you figured you could just ask Sanji what happened himself, after all, you would never turn down an opportunity to care for him, even more so knowing he was in a state you've never seen him in before. A very drunken state. It's… a little out of character for him.

Everything feels like it's spinning. His mind is foggy, and his chest strangely heavy. It feels better to sit, though he'd much rather lay down. Sanji's definitely had too much to drink, more than enough for the rest of the week, he thinks. How the mosshead downs over a bottle every day is beyond him. Being drunk is miserable. Even worse since you weren't here.

You left earlier, before the contest was even announced, and he missed you more than ever. Your beautiful smile that shines brighter than the sun, your hands that interlock perfectly with his, your eyes that fill up with so much warmth when you see him, your familiar scent with the ability to instantly relax him-

He misses you so much. He wants his wife back.

Well. Not really "wife" yet… but he was planning it. You've been together for a while, and he couldn't imagine spending his life with anyone else- he even had the whole proposal planned out. Maybe not in detail, but he had the ring in his possession, and an idea. He sighs softly, keeping his head down, letting the alcohol take a hold of his mind, riding out the intoxication with as much… grace as he could. He shouldn't have drank that much.

It started with the teasing, Nami asking how everything was going between him and you, and well of course everything was going well. Sanji had finished his one glass of wine at this point, and was a little tipsy. While Sanji would never pass up a chance to gush about you, this time he had spilled just a little too much. Too much to the opportunistic Nami, who at this point was two pints in and feeling eager to start trouble this night.

"I'm going to marry her someday… with that beautiful ring…" Sanji immediately bites his lip when those words spill out, not because he's never made such claims before, but because this time, it was different. It's different when the words come out with such sincerity absent of any showmanship. And his crew, his family, noticed. So much for keeping it a secret.

"When?" exclaims a shocked Nami, "Wait, is this why you asked for more berri the last time we docked?"

Sanji snaps up, "No, of course not! I've been saving up for it!"

"How?" Nami's eyes narrow suspiciously, "You do know I'm the one who handles all of our funds, right?"

Sanji's cheeks flush even brighter from embarrassment, "Alright, I'll admit. I'm so sorry I hid this from you until now, Nami-san, but these past…. many grocery runs, whenever I had some change, I would… keep some of it to save up. Not all of it! Just some. For the ring." he sweats nervously.

"Oh Sanji…" Nami sighs, her sympathetic smile betrayed by the sharp glint in her eyes, "You do know that's embezzlement, right? Normally I would pummel you straight into the ocean, but since I love [Name] too, I'll be merciful."

Sanji lets out a breath he had no idea he'd been holding in.

"I'm raising your debt by 3000%" she settles, taking another swig at her drink, while Sanji deflates in his corner. It was so over.

"But!" she counters with a catty grin, "You might be able to fix that if you win a game."

"Game?" Sanji tilts his head.

"Be the last one standing in a drinking contest, and I'll lower your debt by 15%!"

Sanji thinks for a moment before responding, "Nami-san, with all due respect, I think I'll have to pass on that-"

"Why because you know you won't win?" the mosshead interrupts.

"No, because the reward won't make a dent on what I owe." Sanji grits his teeth, not wanting to get all riled up over Zoro's bait.

"Every bit counts, you know." Zoro shrugs, "I'm going to owe 15% less than you then."

"That's fine, because I don't mind paying back to Nami, unlike another idiot it seems."

"Tell that to your future Misses, eyebrows, I'm sure she'd be thrilled to hear about debt you'll owe."

"I-"

One thing led to another and before anyone knew it, Sanji had drunk himself silly while attempting to compete against Zoro in a drinking match.

The debt isn't even really real.

Now he sits a little away from the rest of the crew, recovering from his loss, while taking small sips from the glass of water Robin had brought for him. Back to missing you after the excitement with the rest of the crew.

Luckily, you had just arrived on the scene, spotting him and making your way towards him while he was lost in thought.

Tapping him gently on the shoulder, you give him a warm smile, "Hey 'ji, ready to go and head to bed now?"

Sanji turns to you slowly after feeling your tap, eyes lighting up instantly at the sight of you. You chuckle, taking a seat next to him and holding your arms open to invite him closer.

"My love…." he coos quietly, falling into you. Closing his eyes as he nuzzles against your neck, breathing softly, he's so adorable like this. "Missed you…" he almost whines.

He clings to you like a koala, and if he could, his legs would be wrapped around your waist too, but your current position wouldn't allow it, and neither would your seat.

Instinctively, your fingers brush against his bangs, combing through his, somehow, still soft hair. He smiles, humming contently.

"What happened while I was gone, hon? I don't think you've ever been this drunk before…"

"Contest…" he says softly, "There was a contest, Nami hosted… I think."

"That's a dangerous game…" You chuckle softly, "What was the prize?"

"She said she would reduce the winner's debt by 15%…" he snuggles even closer, beginning to press light, lazy kisses to your exposed skin.

"That's not much…" you hum, his soft locks tickling your neck.

"It's 15%… not 15 dollars. Or at least that's what the mosshead said? 'Could still be significant…" Sanji mumbles, his words fading like his consciousness.

You laugh, shaking your head with a fond smile, "Alright, time to go now you big baby. You look like you want to lay down." you pat his back gently.

"How did you know?" Sanji chuckles gravelly, looking up at you with lidded eyes.

"Just a feeling," you smile, helping him up, "go ahead and lean on me, love, I'll help you get to our room." Sanji, being Sanji, complies instantly, taking advantage of the situation by burying his face into your hair.

You chuckle at his clinginess, looking back to stick your tongue out playfully at the teasing looks the crew threw your way as you wave goodbye for the night.

"We need to take a bath… or at least I want to take one." you hum helping Sanji lay down in your shared bed.

He reaches out to grab your hand before you could leave.

"You want to stay with me?" you ask gently.

"Yeah… I want to wash up too…" he grumbles, trying to sit back up.

"Ok then, but behave yourself."

"Mmhm…"

Steam rises in the room as you fill a bucket with hot water. It would be safer to bathe this way instead of laying in the tub, seeing how your lover could hardly keep his eyes open.

Sighing affectionately, you gently comb your fingers through his hair once, smiling when he leans into your touch with a soft purr.

You took it slow getting clean, occasionally dipping the washcloth in the basin to create more suds. You kept an eye on Sanji as well, to make sure he didn't fall asleep.

"You're doing well, love," you say scrubbing his back, "Almost done here…"

"'m sorry, want to help you too…" he sighs, you could almost picture those sad puppy ears flattening against his head in shame.

"Next time, 'ji." you chuckle, rinsing off the soap, "All done." you press a kiss behind his ear.

Sanji turns his head slowly to meet your lips, "Thank you, darling…" he gives you a lazy smile as you sit there in your fluster.

"My love-?"

You shove a towel into his arms.

Back in your shared room, you're busy grabbing a change of clothes while Sanji watches you fondly from the bed. It's quiet now, you guess the party above has died down as one by one, everyone retires for the night. You're feeling a little sleepy too. As you're thinking this, your hand catches on the fabric of a certain shirt.

"Sanji?" you call out to him.

"Hm? Yes, dear?"

You show him the shirt you pulled out from the closet, his shirt, one of his short sleeved button ups, "Can I wear this tonight?"

For a second Sanji seems to forget his drowsiness, his eyes growing so wide as he stares, "I-uh of course! I don't mind at all, you can wear my clothes whenever you want, love." he says as his cheeks heat up faster than his stove.

You chuckle turning back around to put it on.

"Do you want to get married someday?" he asks so quietly, you had to do a double take.

"I'm sorry?" you pause from slipping on the shirt.

"Do you want to get married someday?" Sanji asks, a little louder this time.

You can feel your cheeks heat up, the blood rushing up to your brain as it short circuits. Marriage…? Well, you would be lying if you hadn't thought about it. The way Sanji breached the topic so casually, in this situation however, well it caught you off guard.

"Sanji…" you murmur, sitting next to his lying form as you finish buttoning up the shirt, "You've been thinking about that?"

"For a long time…" he murmurs, you blame his bluntness on the alcohol , "Want to stay by your side for as long as you want me to…"

Oh, this sweet man.

You lean down and press a kiss to his forehead, "Oh honey…"

He smiles from the kiss, draping his arm over your lap, hugging your waist, "Do you want to?"

You hold back the tears that had magically formed in your ducts, "Yes.. I do want that. I want to stay with you too."

You feel his fingers twitch, fingers that traveled under your shirt, caressing the warm skin beneath. The gentle touch making you feel oddly sensitive as he tugs you closer.

"I would make you the happiest woman in the world…" he mumbles, taking your hand in his own, pressing his cheek against your warm touch, "I would give you everything…" you can feel the breath of his whisper before he presses a tender kiss to your palm. Then to your wrist.

"You're a goddess, my love…" he sits up, wrapping his arms around you once more and pulling you to his lap, your back against his chest, "so beautiful…"

Your breath hitches as his lips brush against your neck, almost like…

"You're teasing…" you mumble, annoyed by how lightly he's dancing around you, annoyed by the sweet chuckle that leaves his lips melting your poor heart.

"Can I hold you more?" He asks, nosing against your nape, "Can I kiss you more?"

You don't like the way your hands shake as you rest them atop his, squeezing them lightly as you gather your words.

"Mhm… please…" you manage to get out, cringing at the nervous delivery.

Sanji doesn't seem to mind though, he never minds. Because he's Sanji, where even your worst awkward moment becomes his cutest memory of you that gets him through the worst of hells. You blame the alcohol. The liquor that's given him so much courage to be so bold.

"You've been so good to me… let me treat you too." he whispers against the shell of your ear, you pray that you don't explode right then and there.

He's greedy, the way his eyes rake over you with such adoration, his thumb still massaging in slow circles on your hip. Eating you up, but making you melt at the same time. Like a bite accompanied by a lick to soothe the wound. All you could really do was just. Take it. You weren't complaining, why would you? He's covering you in kisses and rubbing his cheek against yours like you were the only two people in the world.

Suddenly he pushes you down to lay on the mattress, the pillows cushioning your head as you stare up at him in awe. His expression unreadable, but the way his thumb caressed your cheek sent a shiver to your heart.

"Uh… Sanji…?" you manage to get out, much quieter than you wanted.

"You're so pretty…" he mumbles, leaning down to kiss your cheek, "I love you so much, ma cherie…" his lips trail down to your neck, his breath so warm against your skin- you hold back the squeak that threatened to escape.

"I- I love you too.." you whisper unsure of what to do, but trusting him completely.

He smiles, kissing your nose before moving down- moving down?

There's a shift in the air, just as Sanji buries his face against your tummy with a sigh, "I just don't know what I did to deserve you…" he reminds you of a cat, with the way he's been rubbing his face against you all night. His hand reaches up to hold yours, fingers gently twining with yours, "It's like puzzle pieces…" he mumbles while you were busy trying to keep your heart rate under control.

"Seriously, I must've done something incredible in a past life…" he muses, thumb rubbing a knuckle.

You huff, hand reaching down to brush his bangs aside, "You're just you… and I'm just me, and we happened to find each other. Like you said, it's just like puzzle pieces."

Sanji pouts, "You're not 'just you', you're incredible."

"That's not what I meant, 'ji." you stifle a chuckle.

He hums, unsatisfied with your response, his hand pulling away from yours to play with the bottom most button of your shirt.

"Can I?" he asks softly.

"Can you what…?" you ask curiously, eyes widening when you catch on.

"I just want to kiss you, that's all." Sanji murmurs, taking notice of your expression.

Your mouth opens and closes a few times before you nod, "I was just going to mention that you're y'know, drunk, a little."

"Mmn, don't worry." his fingers deftly undo the button, "Just want to love you like this, is all."

You hold your breath as the buttons come undone, you weren't nervous, no, far from it, you were threatening to turn into putty under his careful touch actually.

Suddenly you feel his lips above your belly button and let out a surprised squeak.

Sanji immediately snaps up, "Are you-"

You cover your face in embarrassment, "No- no, continue… please." You're never recovering from that, that's going to be a memory that comes back to haunt you now-

A shadow comes over you, gentle hands prying yours from your hiding face, "Don't hide, ma cherie… you shouldn't feel the need to."

"I don't want to think about it, it's embarrassing…" you avert your gaze.

"No it's not, I thought it was cute." Sanji leans in closer.

"It's going to haunt me."

"It was very cute, do I really make you feel that way?"

You don't like drunk Sanji anymore, he's too smug. But you would be lying to yourself if you said you didn't like the way he was holding you right now.

"Look at me, love." he coaxes, and you do.

He smiles softly, "Can I kiss you?" he asks.

You huff, heart beating way too fast again, "Yeah.. yes, you can kiss me."

He chuckles before pressing his lips your own gently, "Thank you, darling."

Moving back down, he lets a hand hold your waist once more, "Can I continue?" he asks, pressing his cheek against your stomach, you can even feel the light scruff of his facial hair.

"You can…" you give him the go ahead.

He smiles and continues to kiss you, taking his time, moving incredibly slow to really savor you.

"You know I notice when you push yourself to work harder…"

A kiss.

"Sometimes I want to just pull you aside, serve you tea, stare into your eyes while you talk to me…"

Another kiss.

"Love when you choose to lean on me, I'll help you with anything…"

Another kiss.

Your heart rate wasn't going to go down anytime soon. Soft kisses trail up to your sternum, Sanji pauses for moment, to look up at you.

"Too much?" He asks softly seeing your flustered expression and slightly shaky hands.

"N-no…"

"But your heart is beating so fast…" he mumbles, pressing his ear right above where your heart is, "I know you feel it too."

"I want.. you to keep going…" your grip tightens against the sheets, have you been gripping them this whole time?

Sanji hums softly, trailing kisses up faster now, racing to the finish line until he wasn't. Stopping at your neck and taking his time there. You could feel it more now, his breath, his lips, the occasional bite, you might as well be drunk too with how your head was spinning.

Finally he moves back up to meet you face to face, "Hi." he smiles down at you adoringly.

"Hey…" you whisper back , feeling very dumbstruck by what just happened. It's almost silly, considering you've both have gone further before. It's just a little different this time.

In the next breath, Sanji gathers you in his arms and grunts as he lays down next to you, legs tangling with your as well, "Was that ok?" he asks softly.

"More than ok…" you admit, snuggling closer to his chest, listening to slow thump of his heart beat, "I liked it a lot…"

"That's good," he kisses your hair, "You deserve it and more, beautiful…" he trails off before you hear soft snoring.

Oh you hope you can fall asleep tonight.

“Where is she?"

Penguin blinks. "What?"

"Where the fuck is she?"

Law's already moving, pushing through the crowd. His bass is still in his hand—when did he pick it back up? He doesn't remember. Doesn't care.

People are coming up, trying to talk to him, congratulate him on the show, girls trying to get his attention, some with tits out. The sight would usually work for him, but not tonight. He doesn’t see any of them. Doesn’t see shit except the space where you should be.

He’s checked everywhere. You weren’t backstage waiting for him. Not at the bar, nor in your other usual perch—near the stage where he’d catch you after shows sometimes, that small smile on your face. Law would always be able to spot you through the thick, sweat and drug-filled crowds. 

You weren’t there. 

You’re gone, and Law’s heart is doing something and feeling things he hasn’t felt since being 13 and forced to watch his adoptive dad bleed out against the snow. Fear. Sharp and metallic in his throat, rising like bile.

“Law, the fuck’s goin’ on with you?” Penguin’s voice somewhere behind him, concerned, but Law can’t stop. He can’t explain. Doesn’t have the words for the panic clawing and ripping at his chest. 

Scanning the bar, eyes scanning frantically, he finds Barto at the counter, looking somewhat concerned. Law made it to the counter and grabbed his arm hard enough to make the bigger man wince. “Rooster. Where’d she go?”

”Who? Sugar?”

”Don’t fucking call her—yes. Where?” Law’s jaw is tight and working, coke making everything too sharp, urgent, and overwhelming.

Barto’s forehead creases deeper with concern, the look he gets with his regulars. “She left, Traf. Like..two minutes ago give or take. Seemed pissed—“

”Which way?”

”Law, I’m telling you, I don’t think she wants—“

”Which fucking way, Barto?”

Barto hesitates for a moment, scanning Law's face before shaking his head quickly, he pointed to the front exit, and Law started moving before he could fully outstretch his hand. “Said she was takin’ the bus. Said to tell you—“ Barto hesitates, and Law pauses in his turn, knowing what’s coming, before those words even land. “Said to tell you she left, man.”

You left. You’re done. Done with him, and everything, and why Law, suddenly, can't breathe, grabbing his chest—is he overdosing?

No, no he fucking isn’t. He’s still lucid, the crowd roaring like an ocean, screams and shouts blurring together.. He’s drowning, as if the White Lead that claimed his father, his sister, his mother, his town—poison creeping back into his bloodstream as the puppet strings he had when he was stuck with Doflamingo.

Someone is grabbing his arm—Penguin, worried face blurring over the tears in Law’s lashline, when’d he start crying?—saying something he can't comprehend over the static buzzing in his ears, the crowd and emotions. Looking down, Law’s still holding his bass. 

“Pen’ I-..hold this.” He mumbles, shoving the instrument without a word. He's been playing for ten years, since he was sixteen and Cora-san’s death was still raw, even three years after watching him get capped in the chest after saving him. Three years of recovery, grief and anger before he finally picked up a bass and found the only thing that made sense was the way his fingers could find notes and rhythm when everything else went to hell with him.

He's running, out the door, into the cold November air that hits his bare chest like a slap. Right...he’s shirtless. It doesn’t matter. Nothing mattered right now, except you, and finding you, and making sure you don't get on that bus and leave him. Because that's the thing.

He needs you. 

The only real thing he's felt since he was thirteen years old watching the sirens flood the snowy dock, watching as his uncle slide money to make this look like it was Cora shot due to being undercover. No, watching him die was visceral, just like tonight— his lungs burning, heart hammering against his ribs. 

He started thinking back to earlier. Before you arrived, before everything went to shit.

That girl's mouth had been on him, that much he remembered. Despite the physical pleasure from a woman sucking him off, Law felt..virtually nothing. Well—okay, maybe not nothing—his body jerked, he moaned, grabbed her head  and pushed her down deeper, chasing that physical release, but mentally, he was gone. Already thinking about the set list, about whether his E string would hold through “Shambles” or snap on stage and hurt like a bitch at the recoil, the line he was planning on doing with Pen and Shach after whoever she was… finished sucking him off. 

He didn’t even remember her name. Still doesn’t. Some shit with an S. Doesn’t even remember saying yes, just that she’d been there backstage while he was setting up, all fishnets and practically desperate to touch herself at the sight of him. He was already two lines deep, and Shachi made some comment about him being so wound up too tight, and it had just been...easy.

An easy fuck. 

It’s always easy. For Pen’, for him, for Shach’. Bodies on bodies. A good orgasm before a show, a smooth high. No effort, no real meaning, no point. Just…tits, pussy, cock, mouths, hands—whatever, and friction and a half hour of not thinking about the tightness in his chest that’s been following him around for weeks now, ever since you’ve been around every Friday like clockwork, every since you’ve become not just another face—but the face he looked for, the only one that mattered.

She had made sounds—trying too damn hard, performing, trying to make him think she was deeper than she was—and he closed his eyes and saw the void and blackness that filled. He started wondering about “Puppet Master”, if it was too much for an opening, or the bass line for “Shot With a Smile.” About that fucking E-string. Maybe he should re-string it. He’s been doing this for years, high and hookups, and it was always fine, always enough, but now—

Now it just feels like hell.

Why the hell did he still even let them?

The girl had finished him off and left—five minutes, maybe, before you showed up early with coffee in both hands like you'd been thinking about him. Like you cared, like you were something more than just Friday nights in his Volvo. And Law had stood there wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, already reaching for his joint.

Then Penguin stuck his head in “Law, she’s here.”

And Law’s stomach had done something funny, something that felt almost like hope, almost like fear. “She’s here?”

”Yeah, idiot. That's what I said. She's here, early.” 

Law had stepped out, hair messy, joint pressed between his lips, and lo and behold, there you were—standing in that alleyway with two coffee cups in hand and a face that had said it all. You’d brought him coffee. You were thinking about him, doing something nice, showing up early because you wanted to, and he just—no, the tightness in his chest had felt like too much. Still is now even, as he's running, boots hitting and crashing against the pavement and his lungs burn and he rounds the corner where the bus stop is.

Two more blocks. Just two more blocks.

He thought of everything running to you. Like your nickname—‘ma’—and how it slipped out the second time you fucked in the Volvo. Both of you high, fumbling and laughing when his elbow hit the window. You said something – he can’t even remember what – but it made him really laugh like he hadn’t in years. He responded with ‘ma’ like it was all natural and easy. Like it meant something. He’s never called anyone that. Not once, not ever. It’s not part of his vocabulary to call any of the girls that throw themselves to him to come and go on that rotation—in fact, it’s only really been you. He’d known by the second week, something was different, and he was already in too deep. The way you looked at him when he said it, surprised, yes—but pleased. Like he had given you something precious.

So he kept saying it. Kept using it more like a shield than anything. Calling you ‘Ma’ meant he didn’t have to say your name, didn’t have to acknowledge that you had a name, that you were a person and not another whore for him. Except you were. Are. The only person in months—years, probably—who can make him feel something more than numb. And that scares him more than anything his uncle did. At least, he was able to leave Doflamingo and be free. He can run from himself, but not for much longer, and Law knows it.

Before you had come around, Law’s life was simple. Wake up, smoke, do a line, practice, fuck, do another line, show, smoke, fuck a backstage whore, pass out, repeat. Music was the only thing that truly had mattered in his life, the only thing that felt real. Everything else was as important to him as tissue paper is to a gift—filling between the spaces, nothing but fluff to make him more appealing. To forget everything, and just think about the bass lines. Not about Cora-San, or his uncle, or the fact that he's twenty six and can't remember a time when he wasn’t either angry or numb. His friends were there, and even they knew to keep their distance. Law was always a closed door, a person-shaped husk going through some shit. 

It was fine. It always worked. He didn’t need anything else.

But then you came along, and you hit him like a train.

You started showing up in the crowd eight weeks ago, just another face in the crowd watching the stage. Until, his eyes caught sight of you for the first time—you had you back against the bar countertop, hitting a cart—listening. Not screaming or pushing or trying to get him to look a little longer. You weren’t just every other face. After that show he'd found you outside smoking, and walked up to you. He never did that, doesn’t need approach anyone after. Usually they come to him or they don't and either way it doesn't matter. 

But that night, he walked up to you, handed you his joint and offered you a ride. He wasn’t sure why exactly, but you said yes. On the drive to your apartment he learned you were funny and sharp and always asked questions about the band that made him think before he answered. Not stupid questions like a groupie waiting to fuck him to earn a badge or whatever. You just existed next to him like it was normal, like you  belonged there.

He had kissed you on your complex’s staircase that day and it had felt like the first real thing he’d done in a while.

The show tonight, however, was hell. From the moment he started carrying that bass on him, it felt so heavy, his body shifting uncomfortably against the straps—there’s nothing wrong with Kikuko, it’s just his anxiety, his anxiety about you. The moment he stepped onto that stage, he was hyper aware of where you were—not in your usual spot, but further, back, off center, body language all wrong. Already halfway to leaving.

He'd played harder, trying to prove something, trying to make you stay through sheer force of bass line and desperation. 

But fuck, it was getting hot.

When he'd pulled his shirt off during "Surgeon of Death," he'd watched your face. Watched you watch him, watched how jealousy and hurt and anger mix with want on your face.

He knew why. He knew that there were so many, too many to even count really—that had touched him, seen him, and felt him. But none of them were you. None had ever been you.

He'd played "Lead" looking right at you, thinking about white lead disease, about Doflamingo, about poison that kills slowly. About how he's doing the same thing now—poisoning this, whatever this is, because he's too fucked up to just say it matters.

Singing "Shot with a Smile" had broken him like always—Corazon's song, thirteen years dead and Law still can't sing it without his voice cracking. Twenty-six now and the only person who ever chose him was dead—until you. He'd felt the tears forming and he'd hated it, hated being vulnerable on stage, hated that thirteen years later this still gets him. But he'd sung it anyway because it's the only honest thing he knows how to do.

Halfway through, his vision blurry, he opened his eyes and still managed to find you. 

You stared back, challenged his gaze, letting him see everything—your hurt, anger, jealousy, need, hunger—not hiding a single thing from your face in his view. And it had all been too much for him tonight, too real, and too honest.

His finger slipped.

Actually fucking slipped.

In the ten years he's played bass, his fingers barely slip, almost never lately—even when coming down or during a fucked up night, hes never slipped on a show. Rehearsals and sound checks maybe, but never a show. Music has been the one thing that saves him, makes him feel in control, something he's felt stable with, never failing him. But you—you make him lose control. You make him feel things. You make him crave things that in a million years he never thought he would.

His muscle memory saved him, but in that half second the damage was done. He'd seen your expression shift, seen you close off, seen you making a decision. And he knew, with absolute damned certainty, that you were about to leave.

So when it was time to close the show, it was a Hail Mary. He couldn’t have you leave him without explaining himself, explain that even with all that, he still needs you. “Shambles” had been pure desperation. Law played his bass like he was trying to prove something, as if he could just play hard enough, laugh enough fast enough, intense enough, he could still get through you. To get the face he loved seeing every Friday night, watching his girl cheering him on as she heard the instrument rattle the ground. 

Don't leave. Please don't leave. I don't know how to say this but I'm trying, I'm trying, please just—

 Every time he looked up he found you—not the girls in front screaming, not the crowd, just you. The one who looked tired. The one who looked done. That's when he knew, but he didn’t have the heart to acknowledge it yet. You had made your choice. 

The song ended. Silence, then roaring. Shachi was laughing. Penguin was grinning. Law was standing there, chest heaving, covered in sweat, staring at the spot where you were.

Where you weren't anymore.

That's how he ended up here—shirtless, crying, running through the cold November streets after you.

Law rounds the last corner and there you are, sitting at the bus stop with your cart in hand, staring at the bus stop schedules as if reading it. Looking so small and alone and so fucking done, with everything, with him.

He stops. Can’t move. Can’t breathe.

He almost lost you—is losing you. Because he kept taking the easy way-the groupies, the no-labels bullshit, the letting you think youre and easy Friday night fuck today, when you’ve been more than that to him since the second week. He’s been too fucking scared to admit out loud that you matter, that you aren’t like the other chicks as cliche as it sounds, that he needs you in a way that terrifies him. Cora died teaching him that people are worth fighting for, worth choosing, worth everything, the risk, the love. Law’s spent thirteen years since then choosing nothing, feeling nothing, risking nothing, loving nothing.

Until you.

And hes about to lose you because he couldn’t fucking say it. Couldn’t say that stupid phrase, couldn't say it matters. Simple words. Words hes spent thirteen years avoiding. 

But he has to try. Has to make you understand. Even if he doesn’t know how.

Law forces his feet to move, forces himself back toward where the Volvo is parked two blocks away. His hands are shaking—from the cold, from the coke, from the fear—as he unlocks it, as he climbs in. He does another bump right there because he needs to focus, needs to be sharp for this, needs to not fuck this up worse than he already has. The powder burns his nose and he can feel his jaw working, can feel the chemical clarity settling over everything.

He starts the engine—it sputters twice before catching—and pulls out onto the street. Two blocks. Just two blocks to where you're sitting at that bus stop, to where his entire future is balanced on whether he can figure out how to say out loud the things he's only ever been barely able to say even in his head.

Law pulls up to the curb, kills the engine, rolls down the passenger window. You don’t look up, don't acknowledge him, and his heart is trying to crawl out of his chest.

though who can blame him? — he just really likes how they feel. you tell him that they're so tiny and there's nothing to grab but he shuts you down by giving it a soft squish. you yelp at the feeling and despite your frown and scoldings, there's truly no malice behind it. you secretly love how he just touches them regardless of the time of day. while he's eating, or when he just walks by, he shows them a massive amount of love and that's all cause he likes them just that much!

"they're sort of bigger than mine," he comments while grabbing onto his chest and on to one of your boobs. your face flushes a deep pink and you think he's teasing you but when you see his face, you can tell he was simply stating an observation and really meant nothing by it. he looks at you with this adorably curious expression and asks, "you think one of your bras could fit me?"

"luffy!," you yell, flicking his forehead lightly. he rubs the spot where you hit him and pouts. "ouch! what? i was just asking! maybe we can share!" despite your frown, you can't help the sweet feeling that bubbles inside of you. your boyfriend can be pretty clueless and dumb at times but you know he'd never say anything with animosity — if anything, you find it all so amusing regardless of what you may say.

roronoa zoro does it sincerely ♡

zoro cannot comprehend why you feel as if you're less pretty or sexy for not having such big boobs. he's not with you for that and so he doesn't see it as such a problem. but he knows you can get insecure about it from time to time so he's made it a priority of his to tell you how much he adores them at any moment he can.

whenever he's feeling stressed or tired, he loves to cup one of them in either one or both of his hands and squeeze them. they're like stress balls to him. and he adores how he can fit it all in his hand and that it is just for him to hold. sometimes he forgets how much strength he has and accidentally squeezes it a bit too hard, leaving a bruise.

you're wearing one of his tees and staring at yourself in the mirror with this disappointed look on your face. he comes in from behind you, eyeing you up and down with a small smirk on his face. "stealing my clothes now hm?," he muses, lightly ruffling your hair. you sigh and jut your bottom lip out as you feel over your chest. "i practically look like a boy. there's nothing there," you breath out, your face falling even further.

he knits his eyebrows together in slight frustration at hearing your words. he wraps an arm around your waist and nuzzles his face into your neck, peppering soft kisses along it. "you look good. much better than i do in this so you keep it," he whispers, landing a sweet peck to your cheek. you look at him through the mirror and can see he means what he says and though there's a part of you that doesn't wholly believe it, your heart flutters at how much he shows your adoration for you and your cute boobs!

vinsmoke sanji does it lovingly ♡

when sanji finds out your insecurity with your 'perfectly crafted chest' — as he so put it — he's showering you with compliments every single day. it's not always specifically about your chest though, just anything and everything to do with your blinding beauty. "you're the most beautiful woman in the world"; "my heart cannot handle how divine you look"; "i'm always in awe of your beauty" — just some of the many compliments he has said to you on a daily basis.

whenever you wear anything that reveals even a bit of your chest, he's head over heels. he's running and prancing around telling you how gorgeous you look. and he does not even try to be discreet. he's staring right at it, eyes glued to it and you have to smack him across the head to get him back to his senses. though it only works for a matter of seconds before he's gazing back at them almost dreamily.

you've arrived at fishman island and the moment he sees you wearing the cutest bikini set, his nose is bleeding and he feels his heart pounding out of his chest. usopp and chopper do their best to revive him and thankfully, they pull through! you hold him in your arms and stroke his hair and sigh softly, "sweetheart, what got into you?"

he cups your face and smiles dearly, "my love, you just look so... sexy in this set. and the top is so cute, it fits so perfectly. and before you say anything, look at the state you put me in! god, you're much more beautiful than any mermaid around." your cheeks dust with a light pink shade and you peer down at yourself. though you don't entirely see how he can have such a reaction to you when all these other girls and mermaids are around, it still brings a smile to your face that he sees you so beautifully.

portgas d. ace does it openly ♡

ace has no shame when it comes to worshipping your bitty boobs — and yes, he worships them. when he comes up behind to hug you, his hands will go from your waist and slowly but surely slide up to give your chest some loving. you swat at his hands, scolding him to not do such things so publicly, but he doesn't listen and instead gives them another gentle squeeze. and the minute he hears you say anything bad about them — "they're so small"; "how can you like them?"; "i wish they were bigger" — he scoops you up in his arms and starts to kiss them all over. in between each kiss he'll say, "they're perfect. they're perfect 'cause they're yours."

he loves to lay his face in between them, patting softly on both of them with his hands. he likes the thumping noises they make when he does so. he'll pretend as if he's playing the drums, making 'ba-dum' and 'pshh' noises from his mouth. at times, he gets a bit too excited and hits just a bit harder than usual which earns him a light slap to his cheek. and you want to be mad at him but with the way he pouts and looks at with you with those puppy eyes of his, it's damn hard to be.

ace is getting into bed, crawling on top of you. his eyes are drooping with sleep but the second he sees you in that adorable lingerie top of yours, he's suddenly awake! he dons that infamous smirk of his and lowers down your top to expose your chest and he lets out a content sigh. he just looks at them for a few seconds, not uttering a word, which gets you red in the face, flushed from embarrassment.

he begins kissing it and giving your nipples little kitten licks which makes you let out soft, quiet noises that has him smiling from ear to ear. he feels your fingers tangle in his hair, gently combing through it. he flops down on you and begins to suckle on your boobs. god, he wishes he could just do this forever and if he could, he knows he'd die a happy man. "my two sweet little things," he sighs heartily, going back to show some more love.

trafalgar law does it delicately ♡

law knows how much this insecurity of yours can bother you and though he's never been so good with his words, he does his best to show you. he might just hold them in his hands mindlessly as he works or he might pepper them with kisses before going to bed — he tries his best to ease your mind of this in whatever way he can and he hopes he's doing his best.

he sees the way you look at other woman, your face falling when you see the 'assets' they possess and you don't. the minute he senses that you're doubting yourself, he brings you into his embrace and places a kiss to your temple and whispers to you, "have i told you you're beautiful?". you smile sweetly, letting out a sigh and snuggling into his arms. he whispers a few more sweet-nothings to you and does so until you let go and sees that bright grin of yours again.

you had recently bought this new lingerie set and were wanting to use it to spice up the bedroom. you're standing in front of law, twiddling with your fingers nervously. he tilts his head and walks closer to you, asking softly, "what's wrong?". he tucks a strand of hair behind your ear, patiently waiting for you to confide in him. he's trying his best not to just tear it apart and eat you up this very second.

you tell him that you think it looks unflattering on you because you don't have bigger boobs and he instantly pulls you in, placing a chaste kiss to your forehead. "you look so good," he says, eyes roaming all over your body. "it doesn't matter to me that they're small. they're pretty to me regardless." safe to say, he really showed you how much he loves and appreciates your body how they are. and afterwards he thinks to himself that he needs to buy you more of those lingerie sets.